I love the 90's, but...

Dear 90's-born boys:
I'm flattered, really. I appreciate the attention, especially since I can only call the attention of boys my age by... falling down a flight of stairs or inflicting some sort of bodily harm relatively similar to that.
However, I think there's a slight misunderstanding going on here.
Yes... I am older than you... and yes, I talk freely about drugs and sex with you... but uh... please understand I'm in no way interested in participating in either of the two activities... especially not with you.
You're cute, and funny... but I'm gonna keep my cookie box over here... while you keep your flashlight over there.
No hard feelings?
Look, because you do make me laugh, let's make a deal: I'll let you stare at my chest all you want... I mean, it's not like you touch it. You can stare at my tits for the entirety of our conversation, do whatever you want with that mental image... but my hand, mouth, and/or vagina (shit, I might as well add my ass to the list) will never get close to your dick.
I'm sorry, that's just the way it goes, brah.
Feel free to keep making me feel pretty and funny though. 
Thanks.
Me.

Being around MGH for so long, and visiting him so often, I started to befriend his hometown buddies.
They're hilarious boys, and I do enjoy their company, but they're all 20 (which I guess is better than when I met them, at 18)... they have two things on their mind: weed and sex.
I have told them I don't do any drugs, but not the other thing. I'm sure the thought of a 25 year old virgin is quite... farfetched to them.
Do I tell them they're barking up the wrong tree when they insinuate things? Nope.
Why else would I write that note? Because it's easier than saying "Yo, homes, I'm uh... I don't do any of that stuff. No, I'm not gay. I just don't want to get attached to any guy that deeply... and trust me, if I allow any guy near my cookie box... that's... something. I don't even let dudes see me in a bathing suit."
That's just too wordy and, quite frankly, border-line neurotic.

I assume they don't suspect the truth behind my little secret because I'm not a prude. I'll talk about any of that shit freely. Come on, I'm a scholar (haha), I went to college... I have slutty acquaintances... and a brother... and lots of guy friends/cousins... the fountain of knowledge is there.

I hear shit. I see shit. I read shit (leave it to me to only read smutty shit as opposed to real literature). Come on. It's in my nature to study shit (after all, I am a med-school drop-out. I know how things work).
I mean, I didn't get my driver's license until I was 19... and that was because everyone around me pressured me to do so. I just need time to feel... quite fucking awesome at something so... is it vital? Important? Which ever. Point is: kids, I'm sorry, I cannot be your sensei there. I know the theory, I just don't participate in the practical.

Poor, unsuspecting boys... trying their best to get in my good graces in hopes of at least getting some mind-blowing head from an older woman... poor things.
But it does make me laugh... then get uncomfortable.

Oh, MGH, the remnants of our... "thing."
It's fun... really... as long as YOU quit butting in like I'm an ex-wife of yours. You're the one who chose to go with Olive Oyl. It ain't my fault you later found out I was the cooler choice.
Baaaam!

Ps. How many times did I say "come on" and "I mean" in that entry? I need to fix that shit. Oh yeah, and I'm sure "shit" made it on there more than ten times. No? Shit. Shit. There. :) I need to fix that too.