In Which I Put My Libido in a Lockbox

I swear that I'm only going to post about this once. Really. I'm trying to have a more or less real blog here, not an angsty livejournal style screed, but I figure that Valentine's Day is the one day that I can get away with posting something like this.
Anyway, I'm going to try to keep this as non-wanktastic as possible.

I knew when I came here that living abroad for a year meant a year without sex. I don't speak the language very well, there are a fairly small amount of women here who speak English, and to my great surprise I've found myself becoming picky about potential partners. So, I'm presently trying to grapple with an entirely new situation: Self-imposed celibacy. I did this to myself, and it's therefore my responsibility to make myself comfortable with the scenario.
So, I've actually been doing my damndest to kill my libido, and much to my surprise I seem to be succeeding. It's almost as if I've receded to some kind of pre-adolesence- the sort of pre-adolesence that I spent with a flashlight and a fantasy novel, or some kind of juvenile history or science book. Except now it's studying Japanese language and literature, and my asexualness is brought on by attitude and circumstance, not physiology. Because I cannot do anything to change my situation, the best thing to do really is to make peace with it. I know that sounds cheesy as hell, but it's true.
Now, the I know what some people might be thinking- "Aren't there are lots of girls in Japan who really, really want to fuck a gaijin?" I have two answers to that-
1- Maybe in Tokyo, where people have more regular contact with westerners there are girls like that. But I haven't me anyone matching that description in Okayama and
2- Even if I did meet a girl like that, I wouldn't be particularly interested in her. If you want to do someone purely because of their ethnic background, then I find that shallow and vaguely creepy. Not interested. Nora Ephron once said "In my sexual fantasies, no one ever wants me for my mind." Quite frankly, I think Ms. Ephron's sexual fantasies need a rewrite.
So, this brings me to a recap of something a weekend ago.
I was out dancing. Occasionally, with girls. Most of them I didn't know, most of them didn't speak english, and only a few of them I found all that interesting looking. They were all done up in the same high heels and same short skirts with the same hair. Mr. Ecuador was also there, and he was having a great time grinding his crotch into various (appreciative) feminine posteriors.
I, on the other hand, just sort of drank a few beers and chatted with another friend of mine who was there. I did occasionally dance, but never for very long, and it was mostly ironic.
Mr. Ecuador was sort of puzzled by all of this. "C'mon!" he'd say, "get out there! Look at that! Look at all that ass! That ass is for you!"
It was after these little motivational speeches that my ironic dancing would kick in. Not that there could have been any other kind of dancing- an iPod shuffle stuffed with the complete works of Journey, Tom Jones, and Steve Miller would have been more dancable than the arythimic collection of blips that was apparently supposed to be some sort of "remix."
Anyhow, I realize that I what I want isn't in Japan- Or at least not in or around Okayama.
I'm not going to find any smart, hip, geeky, girls with cool record collections who read interesting books. Ok, there are probably plenty of girls like that, but they probably don't speak English. Or, even if they do speak English, probably don't speak enough. Like I said- I've become picky.
After a night of very poor remixes and Mr. Ecaudor's little motivational speeches, I went home (alone) and read for about an hour before I went to bed, and was quite happy about it. After I got up, I read some more, studied Japanese, and ran a few errands before going out to dinner and karaoke with some friends.
It's weird being perfectly fine with impossible singleness. I remember high school angst and loneliness, feeling pathetic through almost all of sophomore year of college, and every so often having free-floating feelings of unformed lust. My past self, I think, would probably find the present me crazy, castrated, and irrational. I don't know if I'm becoming boring or more mature, but I find that doesn't bother me.



Now that I wrote that I'm waiting for the proverbial other shoe...