Saturday, November 11, 2006

Penis Karma

We've talked about karma before. I'd say that we all believe in it, to a degree. After all, if what goes around doesn't come around, then what's stopping you from living a hedonistic existence?

Well, we're not perfect. And we've done some things we've regretted. And I've done some things I've regretted. And it's come back to haunt me.

In the form of a very small penis.

In some ways, I'm a bit of a maneater. I'm always the dumper, never the dumpee. The closest I've ever been to dumped was Round leaving me at the senior dance, but I had technically already broken up with him before then. And I've been mean about a lot of the breakups. Most of the time, I just decide out of the blue that I don't want to be with them any more, call it a revelation, and break up with them as soon as possible. Over the phone, in a letter, over the phone the day after get the idea.

My first serious college boyfriend was one of the worse breakups. I had a dream about this guy who I had been spending a lot of time with. We had the same major and were passionate about both our major and several other subjects, and we clicked unbelievably. It never got romantic between us, but I always felt like it could have. I had a dream about him, and it made me realize what I was missing with my current boyfriend. I broke up with him two days later. He was hysterically upset when I broke the news to him, and he was really messed up about it for a long time after that.

My next major guy was the guy who worked in the adult industry and had a REALLY large penis. Really good-sized -- you have to for the industry! But what I had done to my first boyfriend was really haunting me. I felt bad. I knew it was going to hit me.

And then it did.

It didn't happen with the porn star guy. But as soon as there was a guy I really liked, and with whom I became intimate, to a certain degree, it unraveled. The more I liked a guy, THE SHORTER HIS PENIS WAS!!!! Granted, after a porn star, there's nowhere to go but down, but it WENT down and STAYED DOWN. I'm talking as in five inches being a TREAT.

The thing was, it kept going down. The first guy after the porn star was really good-sized as well, though not quite as big. And then they got shorter and shorter. I attributed it to bad things I had done -- "This is for stealing a guy from another girl who liked him." "This is for hooking up with a guy who liked me, then ditching him." "This is for being a slut."

By the time it got around to my second college boyfriend, I wasn't expecting much at all (he was short in height as well as appendages). But even for him, it was freakishly small. I then broke up with him in an equally abrupt but not quite as mean way. I cheated on him. He never found out, and I never wanted him to.

Round came next.

He was taller than the most recent boyfriend, but EVEN SHORTER IN APPENDAGES. The smallest I had ever been with -- I could barely feel him inside of me. And the worst part was that it was so tough for him to get hard that I would have to go down on him, then IMMEDIATELY jump on top of him before he lost his hard-on. Ugh. It's so demeaning, now that I think about it.

With the exception of the average-sized Jesus Iscariot, it's been downhill. So I'm really afraid now. God, I CHEATED on Round, too! That's cheating on two in a row -- that's REALLY bad penis karma!! I cheated on him TWICE! (Well, one was just that platonic sleepover with McDreamy, but still....that was one sexy night.)

I can only imagine what's in store for me next. It's going to be the size of a kidney bean or maybe a piece of ziti.

So, I've been staying away from guys for the past few months. I have a lot of reasons for that, but the one I never tell anyone is that I'm really afraid what Penis Karma has in store for me next.

Sunday, November 05, 2006

Loving life!!!

Recently (this past), I've just been loving life. Probably because a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I have been working three part time jobs (around 20 hours some weeks when it's been insane, other weeks less), and one of them was particularly grating. I was working for a researcher and doing editing for her, but it also involved doing some photocopying and other mundane tasks. All for fucking $8 an hour. That's like one high-ball at a swanky bar.

I'm convinced she's bi-polar, since sometimes she is friendly and other times she goes completely psycho on me and will scream at me for stapling a document in the wrong way. Since when is there a wrong way to staple something???

After some discussion with the parentals and others, I decided to do something I don't usually do: quit. The job was so stressful and I would literally DREAD going...It would take me a good 15-20 minutes just to talk me into leaving my apartment. But now, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted. I have more time for projects, more time to spend with others in a social setting, and just time to enjoy life.

In other news, last night EVERYONE was making fun of me because I was the youngest one there, the youngest by 10 years in some cases. I was now the baby of the group. The dynamics of friendship have changed for me, since one of my close friends at school is 30. In high school and even in college, I had a lot of friends who were younger, but now I am in a completely reverse situation: all of my friends here are older. Isn't that weird?

That's about all I got. Sorry this post isn't that juicy.

In other news, I'm going to see SAMANTHA on Friday!!!! I can't wait!!! Carrie, I wish you could be with us too.

I love you're like the sistahs I've never had.

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

You Only Get One

You only get one office relationship.

That's it.

I've realized that. Altogether, there are four or so guys that I've had my eye on at work, and now it's hitting me that if and/or when an office relationship becomes imminent, I have to pick the one that's going to work out.

Because if I date one and then date's OVER. OVER.

You only get one.

In other news, Giovanni saw me outside the building today, wearing a short skirt, and said, "WOW....where are you going later?"


Sunday, October 29, 2006

Brotherly Love

Saturday night was unofficially THE going out for Halloween night, despite the rainy and windy weather. I was disappointed since I wanted to do something with Samantha in the city, but the parental units insisted that I head back home since the weather would only get worse.

Thus, back home on Saturday afternoon with all but 2 apples and mustard in the fridge, I headed out for an evening of yummy Chinese food with some girls from the business and then we would all head to the Halloween party together. While we were in my friend Jill's apartment perfecting our Halloween costumes and putting on makeup, one of girls got a phone call from Candice, who needed a ride to the party, and Candice’s sister wanted to come too, Jenny. I almost flipped as they explained to me that Candice was McMarried's wife.

I said I didn’t mind picking them up because after all, I got to see where McMarried lived. Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), he was out of town with a buddy at some concert so he couldn’t go to the party. Yet, I was worried about meeting his wife and his sister. Would it be awkward? Would I like him more knowing who he was married to? Would I be green with envy of her and would other people pick up on that?

Surprisingly, McMarried’s wife was the kind of person that it is very difficult to hate. She was simple-minded and sweet. I was expecting someone drop-dead gorgeous, intelligent, witty and refined woman, but instead, she was just kind of simple. Brown hair, brown eyes, white teeth, kind of tallish, average build. Nothing extraordinary physically or personality wise either. I was disappointed, since in my opinion, McMarried could do soooo much better.

After picking them up, we arrived at the party in style, and I immediately met Tom who was hosting the party. Right away, I got a creepy vibe from him. Another one of the girls described him as "lecherous" and "an evil guy who just wants to get into girls’ pants." Usually, I can read peoples' characterswell, and he did not seem sincere at all, but just rather creepy.

I ran to the other room to hang out with Candice, Jenny, and the other people there, making sure I got my alcohol in early in the evening so later on I would be sober to drive.

But oh yes, the plot thickens.

Jenny (the wife’s sister) called McMuscle, McMarried’s brother and invited him over. He wasn’t part of the business, but they extended the invitation to come anyway.

"Dayum!" I thought to myself as a tall, muscular man walked in with a wife beater and sweatpants on I couldn’t help but admire his chiseled muscles and what a fine speciman of the male race he was. I also immediately noticed a resemblance to his brother’s eye and voice. He was shorter than his brother, around 6 feet tall, and lacked McMarried’s irresistible dimples, but he was still cute. We did the whole awkward introductions thing and handshakes, and then we all socialized for awhile. I made him wear my wig and then we did a kickline and silly photos.
I also managed to start a dance party with McMarried’s wife’s sister, who was a lot of fun and enjoyed dancing. In fact, I spent much of the night wondering why McMarried didn’t marry the fun and outgoing sister.

I began talking exclusively to McMarried’s brother, let’s call him McMuscle, and we chatted over the musical selection playing and both agreed that the entire crap that filled the CD collection, such as poetry readings, classical musical, and altervative music just wouldn’t cut it. Then, we got more into background information and my friend Bethany came over and interrupted the conversation. I shot her a glare, but I realized it was fine if more people joined the conversation. I could tell he was being fliratious, checking out my costume and having a good case of "wandering eyes syndrome." Finally, after a couple drinks into the evening, I whispered to his ear, "I have to go to the bathroom," winked at him, and ran my hand down his muscular bicep.

I sauntered out of the room and wasn’t surprised to see him right behind me. Since the bathroom was the part of the apartment that was set apart from the living room, kitchen, and other rooms people were in, it was a perfect spot for hooking up. As I started to go into the bathroom, he grabbed my hand, pulled it towards him, and said coyly, "So...wanna make out?" I said, "yes" shyly and pulled him towards me in the bathroom and shut the door. He pushed me up against the countertop and starting kissing me and running his hands through my hair and wrapping them around my back. I wanted to be clear about where this was heading, so I said, "We’re just gonna fool around, not have sex—I’m not like that." He nodded as if he understood, and we continue to make out, only he hoisted me up on the sink so I was sitting with my legs and tried to keep them closed together as he kissed me. I was so glad that his sweatpants and my fishnets hadprotective layer between us, but even between that, I could still feel his rock hard body. It might have even been a little too hard, if you know what I mean....

After another minute or two, I told him I should get back before people suspect anything. I left the bathroom first, and he followed a minute or two later. From then, it was awkward becuase I was paranoid that people suspected something and I didn't want to be known as the business whore.

However, by that time it was getting late, and McMarried’s wife announced that McMarried was back from the concert and would be picking them up (including McChiseled). I began to panic and flirted with McMuscle even more. Would McMarried be coming inside??? I was dying for him to come into the apartment and see me hanging over his brother in his halloween costume.

Alas, that didn’t happen. McMarried’s wife and his clan just left when McMarried called her on the cell. McMuscle and I said goodbye and no numbers were exchanged. I didn't volunteer mine and he didn't ask for it. Maybe a good makeout was all he wanted. Which is too bad beause it might be fun to date him and double with his brother and wife.

I stayed a couple more hours, mostly helping a friend who drank wayyyy too much, but I wanted to book it out of there since Tom (the guy who was hosting) was a creepy dude.

It was nice to get some action, but I would DIE to know what McMuscle told McMarried about the party...

Oh, and PS, I'm going out with Candice (McMarried's wife) and sister probably next week to go dancing. Maybe McMarried will join us this time?

Monday, October 23, 2006

Is this really my life?

I'm going to take a break from the "Homecoming to McRugby" series to recant some hilarious tales of harassment I've endured since returning back from my visit.

Back “home” from visiting my loves, it’s back to the creepy old men who haunt my daily life. Yesterday at work, a married couple and their sketchy brother/in-law came in. He was wearing a Hawaiian print shirt and had greasy slicked back hair. When I greeted the table and asked if I could get anyone anything, he replied, “How about a date?” I shuddered and moved on from the table. At the end of the meal, the woman told me I was terrific and “a keeper” to which creepy guy added, “Yeah… can I keep you?”

Also, three scumbag guys thought they were hilarious by making innuendos about to-go boxes and my vagina. Ha. Ha. You said "box," aren't you a wit? Asking howbig my box is and whether or not they could fit all oftheir food in my box. Man, those guys should becomedians. Or have their asses kicked.Then today, an old man came in to dine alone. And for some reason, men like to mistake waitresses doing their job as some sort of personal interest in them.They actually pay us to be polite and pretend that we give a shit about how happy and comfortable you are. This old man during the meal asked me things such as,“Do you live on your own?” and “What time do you get off today?” As I leaned over the table to refill his coffee, he leered and said, “I bet I’m not the first one to tell you that you have beautiful eyes.”

The best, or should I say WORST part? Neither of these horribly men left me a decent tip. I had to suck it up and endure their creepy and inappropriate sexual harassment and didn’t even make enough to buy a latte from Starbucks. It’s disgusting what I have to endure on a daily basis, and I find myself hating my life more and more each day.

Also to file in the Creepy Man database, is this incident from two days ago: As I was gathering my apron and purse and juggling my keys and cup of water, getting out of my car after an abysmal shift, an old man was slowly shuffling up the sidewalk. He stopped in front of my carport and turned to stare at me. Internally I said, "Oh fucking Christ, what does this goddamn old man want?" This is the weirdness that went down, verbatim:

After a moment of staring at one another, I finally speak.
Carrie: Um. Hi.
Creepy Old Coot: *Uncomfortably long pause* ...Can I talk to you?
C: No. I'm, uh, on my way out.
COC: I live around the corner.
C: Oh.
COC: We have drugs in the neighborhood.
C: Oh.
COC: Don't keep anything illegal in your car. I have undercover cops coming here to look around.
C: Oh.

With that I turned and hurried into my apartment and locked the door behind me. Fucking creepy old man. Was he insinuating I was a druggie? Well, let me insinuate that you are a creepy ass hobbly pedophile who needs to stay the fuck away from me, lest I break your frail oldass kneecaps. Assbag. I've never seen this old man before, and he uses our first interaction toe ssentially accuse me of being a druggie? Fuck you, old man. Talk to me again and I'll call the cops on you for harassment.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Thanks, Carrie!

Carrie, you wished us sexy dreams last night. I would like to thank you profusely for that.

I had a dream about Jesus Iscariot last night. As you may recall, I am not remotely attracted to him -- I only slept with him to fulfill a goal I had had for nearly four years.

But it was a good dream. We were standing up on something really high, and we could see all the way across America -- there was a palace that looked like the Taj Mahal in the midwest, although I thought I was looking at Bruges, Belgium. There were elephants there too, and buffalo up in Wyoming.

And then it turned out that we were filming two action movies together. The plot had to do with giant logs being moved, and we had to hide, and go down a tunnel in a capsule that would immediately transport us to the midwest, and we'd be fighting the bad guys.

At one point we were hiding on what looked like a patio with high walls around it and a staircase, and one of the bad guys came downstairs. I told Jesus that we had to start making out so they would think we were just down there for the sex and weren't their enemies. So we started making out -- he pushed me against the wall REALLY hard, and he himself was really hard against me, and I just instinctively wrapped myself around him.

The bad guys left, but we just kept doing that.

I think we lost interest in the action movie aspect of what we were doing. We walked around, holding hands, kissing every few minutes.

It was great. Dreams like that don't come around too often.

Thanks for getting me to that place, Carrie.

Saturday, October 21, 2006

The 30 year old virgin (or 2 girls, a guy, and a martini bar)

Last night I went out with two people from business, Birdman and Betsy. Since we had worked together on a business project, Birdman suggested that we go out to dinner and have drinks as a group to relax/be social. I'm not a particular fan of Birdman outside of the firm, but Betsy is an absolute riot. She's completely extraoverted, warm, welcoming, and is positively hilarious, so I jumped at the chance to hang out with her.

I picked her up and we went to meet Birdman in the city. Since we had about a fifteen minute drive, Betsy cut right to the chase and we dished who was dating in the office; she spilled all about her past dating history and relationships. She completely agreed with me that McMarried was gorgeous, and we both lamented his current taken status. But, since Betsy is naturally very open (i.e. willingly to disclose a lot of information about herself), she confessed something that positively shocked me.

She told me she didn't want to have sex until she was married.

Maybe it wasn't this exact phrase that surprised me. I mean, we hear this ALL THE TIME from friends, acquantences, and even celebrities. But, for A LOT of people, it's just a phrase and they don't actually follow through with this promise. However, for Betsy, I was most amazed/shocked that has followed through (thus far anway).

Betsy is 30, and has dated different types of guys (all races, colors, creeds). She was very upfront about her sexual policy; some men were respectful, while others wanted nothing to do with her. She was tall, blond haired, blue-eyed, and was certainly considered attractive...nowhere near the female version of Steve Carrell in the 40 year old virgin.

Why was I so shocked? I think it was because in our society today, everyone just expects that the time you graduate college, you will have lost your virginity. And Betsy still had her virginity and her Christian morals intact (bad pun, I know). And what was more surprising was that she was proud and open about it. She wasn't afraid or embarrassed that she was 30 and hadn't had sex yet. She embraced it, and I admired her for that.

Her story is not to say that it's only one way. I also admire people who are "sexually free," people like Samantha (from Sex and the city) who have sex whenever they want with whoever is willing, and just don't judge others. That also is an admirable quality.

So there it is. Just putting it out there. You never know who's a virgin...and who isn't. And sometimes, you're pleasantly or refreshingly surprised when you realize people do things that may not mesh with what society dictates.

Homecoming to McRugby, Part II

The entire weekend, I didn’t want to leave McRugby’s side. Being with him just felt right. Not much else mattered to me. When I returned to my school, so manyof my peers whom I had considered to be such goodf riends had changed for the worse. They couldn’t care less that I’d traveled all this way to see them, and I couldn’t care less for their new attitudes. The rugby team, that I had help build from the ground up and put all of my blood, sweat and tears into, had become degraded into a sorority. The primary focus of the team is to party and sleep with the men’s team, and winning games is secondary, as evidenced by their record of 1-3 (and the one win was a fluke, you would have to be a deaf, dumb and blind paraplegic to lose to this team).

It made me sick to my stomach to see everything I had worked for had gone to shit. And it dawned on me thatI had moved beyond this. And even though it had been the most important and consuming part of the past yearof my life, it was over and done with. I looked out at the girls practicing and lamented that rugby had become a thing of the past and then turned to look across the field at McRugby practicing with the guys and smiled towards what appeared to be the only element of this world that seemed to have a place in my future.

And I was completely satisfied with that.

He ran over to me all sweaty after practice and despite the pools of perspiration, he never looked more adorable. We walked off together and he went to shower at a friend’s house. We then went to hang out with the three girls who managed to give a shit that Iwas visiting and had a low-key night of drinking and alittle bit of Beirut. I had always been a bit of a legendary Beirut player, but I was way out of practice. McRugby, who used to be laughable, actually carried the team. We lost, but it didn’t matter. We were going home to have some long-awaited great sex anyway.

The next day we hung around on campus while he went to class and practice and then around dinnertime, we headed into the city to meet up with Miranda and Samantha, who were very eager to meet the mythical McRugby. He had been hesitant to make the effort of going into town, but wanted to do anything he could to make my weekend as enjoyable as possible. He was being as accommodating as possible and ended up having a great time, once he got over griping about driving. Besides, he said jokingly, the exchange of sex, or the sexchange, made any small task worth it.

The ladies and I and McRugby bounced from bar to bar, all of us girls wearing shirts for fellow bar patrons to sign. McRugby’s presence resulted in me having significantly less signatures than Miranda and Samantha, but it was a sacrifice I was more than willing to make. We spent a few hours in town and had to leave early to make our train and get home before McRugby fell asleep at the wheel. I was getting tired anyway, a problem that plagued a majority of my visit, and he ordered me to take a nap on the way home because he wasn’t going to let me pull the “I’m too tired for sex” card, as if I would.

The sex had suddenly become much better. When we dated, it was sort of lackluster and never lasted long, but I didn’t mind because I really cared about him. Of course, following the ugly break-up, this fact about our sex life did not remain a secret. He learned to increase his stamina to last longer than 5 minutes and also purchased certain vibrating accessories to make the sex more interesting. For once, I didn't dread going to bed with him.

Mmmm, younger guys

"Aged eighteen years....just the way I like it."
--Stifler's Mom

We're young. We're just out of college and are making very little money. It would make sense for us to seek out older guys for the obvious reasons. At this time in our lives, just a few years makes a big difference -- it moves you up from that $25,000 starting salary to something that can even double. Getting guys who have attained this makes your life so much easier. Not just the money, but they're established, they probably have a nice place to live, and they're not about drinking Natty Lights on a stained couch on the weekends.

So why am I drawn to younger guys?

Much younger. Eighteen would be the approximate age.

I've been thinking this for a while. It only intensified last night, when I was on a college campus, seeing all the new freshmen.

There are so many things great about them -- most of all, their bodies. They're thin, they're lithe, and they haven't begun to show signs of aging like the beer gut, the wrinkles, and especially the balding. They're perfect. They've got that early smattering of chest hair, that sparse facial hair that hasn't yet grown into a sharp-edged beard, that perfectly smooth skin. Of course, you know my type, and you know that I love the skinniness most of all.

I also think that college freshman boys could be a lot like freshman girls, before they become jaded. They have that hope about them. Combined with your self-confidence, they begin believing that they've got the better end of the deal, and they cling to you. What you decide to do with that is up to you. But since they're guys, they won't follow you around like a puppy dog, the way girls tend to.

Because of this, I think that snagging a freshman guy could be a nice, new form of a booty call. Since we're out of college now, we won't have to deal with the aftermath, and the gossip won't spread. It can be all about the fun. Which is what we're all about.

It's all about being Single and Fabulous.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Homecoming to McRugby, Part I

I finally went home to visit McRugby and my friends. And in a word, the trip was wonderful. McRugby was wonderful, and this trip cemented how much I actually care about him. He picked me up from the airport and the second I saw him standing at the bottom of the escalator, my heart began fluttering as all of my feelings I had for him in the past came rushing back in an instant. It felt so unreal, like something out of the movies. The waves of emotion that came over me were overpowering, seeing him there was probably one of the happiest moments in my life.

We hugged and kissed and held each other and pretty much acted like “those” people you see and loathe in public. Yes, I was guilty of a PDA, but in my defense,I hadn’t seen him in about 6 months. The luggage took forever to come out, but once it finally did we made our way over to the parking lot and his car. By this point, we feel we’d waited an appropriate amount of time and pretty much jumped on each other once in the car. The airport patrons and officials were lucky that we didn’t fuck right then and there in the baggage claim. So we climbed over into the backseat, I’d dressed accordingly in a skirt and crotchless underwear- because hey, a girl’s gotta be prepared.

Now, I don’t know how many of you have attempted vehicular sex, particularly in a small car. But, shit’s tough. I’m not that short, so I pretty much had my head crammed up against the car ceiling. Then, when an airport security guy walked by and peered in, we burst out laughing and decided to hold off until we had a little more privacy.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Save me from McMarried!

You might not remember McMarried, but I wrote about him in my very first post in September (scroll down if need be). He's gorgeous, tall (6'3"), muscular, incredibly kind and intelligent . . . .unfortunately, he's married. And also unfortunately, I've been running into him everywhere---all around the business. I ran into him at the library last week and in the department office. He also saw me in the gym a couple days ago and I was uber-embarrassed. Me, dripping with sweat, and him, just coming in for a run. But on these occasions, as I appear awkward and withdrawn as ever, he is always smiling and ready to say hello. That's what makes me like him even more.

This afternoon, in fact, I was showing my parents the recreational center near my apartment, and I was heading up the stairs, leaving the recreational center, when I glimpsed him coming down. I didn't want to acknowledge him, so I pretended I didn't see him and looked down as he walked by me. I couldn't get away---he playfully swung the sweatshirt he was holding in his hands into me so I was forced to look up into his alluring blue eyes. "Hey Miranda," he said warmly, as I responded, "Hi McMarried, how are you?" as casually as I could muster. He lingered on the stairs, and I could tell he wanted to talk, but I continued to walk faster, not wanting to engage in conversation, and I noticed what had to be his parents coming down the stairs after him. My parents wanted to know IMMEDIATELY who he was. My mom was all over him..."What does he do? Where is he from?" I said matter of factly his business position, and also added, "he's married, he lives with his wife."

This is just the type of girl I am. Because I know he is MARRIED, I am trying NOT to like him. That's why I distance myself from him, not wanting to talk to him that much inside or outside of business. I don't want to like him more than I already do. I don't know if he senses my uncomfortability around him, but regardless, he is still warm and genuine, and that makes me like him even more. Part of me wishes he would be mean or arrogant so I can be turned off.

I mean, is it possible to be friends with him?? I'm just afraid of myself more than him. Afraid of falling for him the more I get to know him. I just don't know.....


I am a fucking disgrace to this blog. It's been so long (over a week) since my last post that I forgot my username and have been plugging in similar usernames for a good 1/2 hour until I finally caved and asked the blogger net to re-send me the information. That's beside the point.

Anyway, last night was AMAZING and will go down in going out/bar history. Some of my favorite highlights from the night:

Having a police officer sign my shirt.

Having an elderly couple sign my shirt.

Having a great friend like Samantha to turn the "I love cock" some guy from England wrote on my shirt to "I love cocktoberfest!"

Groping a pole.

Running into Norm from Cheers and feeling him up/taking a photo with him.

Meeting McRugby and discovering his mascot is a PIRATE!!!!! Arrrggghhhh, mateys!

Having some guy in Sam's (a restaurant where people make you hats and supposed to treat you like shit) tell me, "here, you're cute, wear my hat," then discovering what was written on his hat was "I have a small dick" (and something else that I can't remember)

Singing Karaoke and fighting the urge to turn "No Scrubs" into an opera number a la Will Ferrell/Molly Shannon style (Old school SNL).

Meeting Giovanni in person, the hot, italian man from Samantha's work with a tremendous sense of style. And I can promise you, he's not gay. He was gorgeous and I asked him to write something in Italian on my shirt. He wrote, "d'ame un bracchi." I knew it was give me something, but I wasn't sure what. I just put it into babel fish and I got "un ame it hounds." Yeah, that's another reason why Babelfish sucks. I don't have my Italian dictionary with me, but I'm thinking it means "give me an arm/hand" or "give me a break." Either way, I was disappointed it wasn't "dame un beso." I concur with Samantha that he is a catch.

Go for it. You can't go wrong with an Italian man--great food and great sex.


First of all, I had the best time with Miranda and Carrie (and McRugby!) last night. What a night! It will surely go down in history.

Secondly, I am THRILLED that we happened to run into Giovanni, my super-Italian coworker that I've written about before. He's the one who is so freaking Italian, who wears the really tight but flared pants with the boat shoes and the tight button-downs and blazers. He's got wavy black hair and he's tall, just looking SOOOOOOOOO Italian!

He also has a tendency to high-five a little too often, as well as being a big fan of the thumbs-up sign at all times.

We've seen him now! You've met him in the flesh! And I want to know -- what did you think?

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Takin' Care of Business

Dear Devoted Reader (we assume you are out there in cyberspace somewhere),

We welcome your comments, suggestions, recommendations, baked goods, or cash gifts. But could you please provide an email address or blogger page in which we can respond to your comment or answer your question? Thank you.


Tuesday, October 03, 2006

Contrary to popular belief, I do not have herpes

Probably the most important thing I learned this past weekend is that you can develop a pimple on the lower left corner of your lip and it can look strikingly similar to a cold sore. Your so-called friends will then proceed to laugh at your cold sore and shout across a parking lot or crowded restaurant, "You have herpes!" Let's be clear, people. Just because you have a reddish like mark on your lip doesn't mean you have a cold sore. And just because you have a cold sore doesn't mean the diagnosis is immediately herpes.

Now that we've cleared that out of the way, Friday night I was looking forward to an action packed evening at a bar in an upscale, urban area. In order to get to said bar, I needed to take the public, not so quite upscale method of transportation: the subway, home to local drunks, sketchballs of all sorts, those hot 9-5 commuters and sadly, occasional ass gropers/pick-pocketers.

I was sitting down next to my friend Kimmy on the subway when all of a sudden a spray of mist landed right below my eye. I looked up and there was a heavy-set, snickering man in his 30s gulping from a can of Michelob light. He said laughingly, "Ha ha ha, I’m sorry, did I spray ya?"He wasn't the least bit sorry and it was clear he was well on his way to inconsiderate, belligerent drunkdum. Since I was on the phone with Samantha, I uttered a brisque, "not a problem" and shot him a look of death. After I got off my cell phone, the jackass and his middle-aged friends tried to engage us in conversation, talking about the upcoming baseball game and even trying to give us their tickets to the game since it would be a guaranteed "awesome time." I'd rather have a true awesome time a la Will Ferrell in Old School, when he went streaking around the local neighborhood.

Our subway stop couldn't come soon enough. Once the subway doors open, we booked it out of there, and as the doors were closing, I shouted, "C'mon! What man drinks light beer anyways?!" They pounded their hands against the glass and shouted some incoherent words as the subway wooshed their pathetic faces out of sight.

The rest of the evening went much more smoothly. I had a fantastic dinner with my college girlfriends, and we gossiped over the latest engagements, pregnancies, and the classic who got fat/let themselves go. Always a good time.

In the case of singleness, I do enjoy not being tied down to anyone, but it would be nice to date. I was having a discussion with a business mentor, and he was asking me if I had any geographical locations or limitations if our business were to move. I blurted out, "Of course not! I don’t have children, I’m not married, I have no engagements and I’m not tied down." Judging from the surprised look on his face, I think I gave him more information than a simple "yes" or "no" would suffice, but I wondered why I had so much trouble identifying my single status. True, he hadn’t asked me if I was in a relationship, but why hadn’t I readily volunteered that information or hesitated on the single part? Getting married and having children is something we’re all supposed to do in our culture, unless we are nuns or priests of course and are married to God. But when is there a stigma with singleness? Once we reach a certain age, relatives and friends will be perpetually reminding us of our ticking clock and chime in, "I know a great guy I could set you up with..." Are we all predestined to fit neatly in the marriage mold, or is it possible to just have a delictable lov-ah on the side?

Speaking of that, several of my friends and I were talking about how glad we are that we're single RIGHT now, since so much time now (early 20s) is figuring out what WE WANT and how we want to spend our lives. True, I have so much to figure out in terms of my ideal career, and although I may know who I am value-wise, I just don't know where I'll be in five years, geographically and job-wise.

Anyway, back to my night out. After a fantastic and reasonably priced dinner, we headed for a fun Irish bar called Shenanigans, where the liquor wasn’t too expensive for a city ($6) and the drinks were surprisingly strong. As my friends and I ambled up to the bar where a couple of cute guys were sitting, we started over-analyzing how to grab the bartender’s attention, when an older, half-drunk guy overheard us. "She’s definitely gonna ask for your IDs, you guys look so young." We chatted him up while we waited for our drinks, and the bartender (she actuallly called herself "the Nazi ID checker") took our drink orders. The rest of the night we ended up chatting with two older guys that were really funny and good dancers. The place was so packed that we could barely move out on the dance floor. I would have liked to stay longer (we left at 10:30, got there around 8) but I had to go home early since my friend’s shoes were killing her. That’s another thing I don’t get about women, even though I am one. Wear FUCKING comfortable shoes if you’re going to be walking all over a city that is paved in cobblestones!! Jeez.

That was my Friday night in a nutshell. The next day, I headed to my alma mater for the usual drunken festivities, tailgating, and dinner with college friends. The game was enjoyable, but being back at my alma mater was somewhat jarring. Time had moved on and the college had undergone some changes since I graduated. I realized I was a visitor now. I was on the outside, parking my car in the visitor lot, and walking around campus as a visitor, not as a resident. This would no longer be my home, ever again. I couldn't ever have the relationship I had as an undergraduate, and it saddened me, but it oddly felt right. I had moved on too from college.... and I needed to move on, despite my hestitations about my career goals, geographic location, and wanting to remain in the realm of familiarity and comfort.

This is entry is getting too deep even for Miranda. I need to get back to my sarcastic self pronto. And what better way than watching a little Dancing with the Stars and Sex and the City? Ahhh, life is good, my friends.

Monday, October 02, 2006

Holy crap, Google has SO not failed me now!

There are so many guys at work. There's a new one. (And I haven't even mentioned the one I like the most yet! The perfect guy, the one who unfortunately has a girlfriend but who is like my other half -- I'll call him Seamus for future reference.)

This new guy started a few weeks after me, and now sits near me. We didn't talk for awhile, other than a smile or asking an occasional question, but after he and Seamus and I started talking one day, it clicked. And the two of us started randomly emailing each other.

What should I call him? Hmmm, this is tough.

The emails are mostly short, funny things. It's cute because his cubicle is right by mine and we can stand and see each other. All we have to do is talk and we hear each other. The emails are kind of covert, which is nice. And they're flirtatious. Increasingly flirtatious.

He is somewhat my type -- not entirely, though. The first thing I noted about him was that he's the same nationality as Round! He's not skinny, but he's NOWHERE as big as Round was. He's very tall, dark and has the kind of cute face that just makes you smile when you see him.

We have a pretty good amount in common, too. Aside from growing up in the same area and going to similar colleges, we also have one big mutual passion. My absolute favorite thing to do in the world is his as well. (No, not sex!) We have a similar sense of humor. And at the end of the day, we've been leaving and walking back to the subway together -- just the two of us. And it never gets weird or awkward.

So tonight I took the next natural step: I googled him.


I was IMing Carrie when I found out. Her reaction:

shoe gal: whaaaaaaaaaaat?
shoe gal: DO HIM!
shoe gal: MARRY HIM!
shoe gal: GET SOME MONEY!
shoe gal: and share it with me :-P

I hereby christen him GoogleJackpot.

GoogleJackpot is part of a famous family. A very famous family. I can't say anything more than that. As you can see by Carrie's reaction, this means he has access to a lot of money. Fame is in there too, as well as infamy.

He's not directly part of the family; he's related by marriage. But that doesn't matter.

What matters is that if I marry him and it's a slow news week, I could be in People Magazine.

(Is it bad that that's the first thing I thought of? I don't even think marriage is for me!!)

Also, I know that this is definitely him. Several of the sources I saw online matched up details about him that I know are true, like when and where he went to college.

What's weird is that I kind of wish I hadn't found this out. I now have to carry around the burden!! I really want to tell someone at work. But I can't tell anyone that I was obsessive enough to google GoogleJackpot! The only person who has noticed anything between me and GoogleJackpot is Seamus, who sent me an email today saying "Stop office pimpin'!" I hadn't discussed GoogleJackpot with anyone. It's new, and it's at the office.

And I can't tell GoogleJackpot himself. Besides the fact that he would think I was a stalker, I'm sure he wants people to see him for who he is before finding out about his family. It would change too much.

So I guess I should keep quiet for awhile.

I can trust Seamus. Maybe I'll tell him.

Nobody else.

Holy crap, I have to increase the flirtation 3000%. Who knows where this could go?!

Sunday, October 01, 2006

Getting McCheesy

“I'm sitting thinking…Would you like to know what I think? I think you are really great. I think you arereally smart, and you are sarcastic in the best way,and you make me feel very happy. I think you are one of the best people I know. And even when I'm sad about you not being around, I'm still happy that I can anticipate having you around. You mean a lot to me. I just like you to know how important you are to me.”

This positively melted my heart. I’m trying to be as stand-offish as I can with him, but the truth is I’m his, completely and totally, if he wants.

When the Ex, now dubbed “McRugby” courtesy of Miranda,first came back into my life, I thought nothing much of it. But now, suddenly, he consumes so much of my time and thoughts. Every day how much I miss him crosses my mind, and coming home from a long day atwork, talking to him always makes me smile.To this day, he still gives me butterflies. Even in a conversation online, he can make my heart flutter withthe sweet things he says.

And I’d never settle for anything less.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Younger Man/Older Woman

I love working in the city. I love the energy in the morning as people rush to work. I love walking through the downtown and watching people in the morning.

This week, on the way to work, I watched something quite interesting.

I saw a couple walking in front of me. At least I thought they were a couple. Then I realized that the guy was cute -- probably in his late twenties or early thirties, very tall, nice tan, curly brown hair. The woman, by contrast, looked to be in her mid-forties or so. She was tall as well -- probably six feet -- but was a few inches shorter than him, and was heavier than average.

They were walking briskly, his arm dangling around her shoulders. It was casual, as if he were comfortable with her. A dating-type pose. But I immediately assumed that that couldn't be possible, since she was so much older than him. She was probably his mother, I decided. She could look a little bit young for her age. That was a bit of a creepy position, though, with his arm around her like that. It was slightly TOO intimate. He would never get a girlfriend if he kept that up, I thought. Someone is a little too attached to his momm--

And then he kissed her.

On the mouth.

For a good three or four seconds.

Okay, then. Defintiely not mother and son.

You hear about older women with younger men a lot more now. A few years ago, it was almost a trend, just beginning to be seen as something besides taboo. I'm guessing that it's only become more popular.

But the women that are with these guys are usually attractive! Look at my namesake -- she's gorgeous and sexy, as well as an incredibly successful career woman and a self-professed "kind of a somebody" in the New York social scene. That's definitely attractive.

But this woman wasn't attractive. She had a heavy frame. An hourglass figure, I guess you could say, but only because she was big in the hips AND big in the shoulders. Her hair was dark and cut into a chin-length bob. Nothing spectacular.

So where was the attraction?

The more I think about it, the more I remember that the woman walked with confidence. She held her head high -- which a lot of tall people don't do -- and walked enthusiastically, as if she could take on the world. She wore a nice navy blue suit. If I had to guess, I would say that she was a very successful businesswoman.

Maybe men like the power.

It's weird how it's portrayed in the media. Whether it's Samantha on Sex and the City or Gabrielle on Desperate Housewives or even Monica or Rachel on Friends in the episodes when they dated younger guys, age is always a major issue. But these women are all gorgeous and sexy (as much as I hate Eva Longwhoria, that's the general consensus), and it's really not as big a deal as they make it seem. They have nothing to worry about, other than fertility. And it's been shown that most older woman/younger man couples don't have kids.

But when it just hits you in the face on a city sidewalk on a Monday morning, it's shocking.

Any thoughts?

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Men at Work

He is not your average Joe. He speaks with a comfortable easiness about him; he is unpretentious, not at all rude or obnoxious, but genuine and down-to- earth. Beneath his average wire-rimmed glasses, mussed up-hair, and old navy flip-flops, there is something extraordinary, though I can’t quite place what it is. I am drawn to him, yet cannot explain why. As I am talking to him, he is fully listening, gazing into my eyes, and when he responds to me, he is thoughtful, humorous, and wise beyond his years. Whenever we end our conversation, instead of feeling disappointment or frustration, I walk away smiling, even laughing, because he gives me those all too familiar butterflies.

I am talking about my new crush. His name is Joe and physically, he isn’t really my type, but mentally, he is my McDreamy. He is average height, probably even an inch or so shorter than me, with glasses, toussled hair, and bright blue eyes. He often wears plaid shirts, jeans, and flip-flops. Simple attire that hides his age. I learned yesterday he was 30 and I was shocked, since he still could probably pass for a college student. There is something both boyish and mannish about him at the same time.

I heard about Joe before I arrived at work, and people constantly told me to meet him. When I did, we shook hands, he looked into my eyes and I said, "You’re the infamous Joe Stevens." He laughed and admitted, "Yup, you got me." I’ve been exchanging emails with him lately and since he asked me to work under him for one of his projects, I was flattered and jumped at the chance to be closer to him. What is unique about him is that he remembers details, things I maybe have said once at work, that he refers to in conversations or asks me additional questions.

Of course, there’s always a catch. No, he isn’t gay and he doesn’t a girlfriend (that I know about). The disappointing part of the project situation is that I have to work with one of his friends: Matt.

Matt is the COMPLETE opposite of Joe: tall, big (not so much as in muscular, but just kind of large and in charge), and EXTREMELY pretentious. I could tell right away he didn’t like me. Any time I had a question or comment about the project, he would completely shoot me down and be utterly annoyed that I would even ask something so mundane. For example, I asked, "How did you select companies for your business proposal?" He responded, "We just couldn’t select them at random, if that’s what you’re implying. We wanted businesses that would actually respond." (Eye roll) Before I had a chance for rebuttal, Joe interjected and saved me. He commented that Matt was trying to say that my question was a great one and valid one, but one he wasn’t focusing on in this project. I thanked Joe and we continued the meeting as usual. Inwardly, I cursed the fact that he had to be friends with a pretentious person like Matt.

And the other thing I wondered about Matt and that often kept me up at night (jk) was if he was gay or straight. It was one of those borderline cases that needed further research for diagnosis. I spent most of the meeting staring at his clothing (I hope he didn’t think I was checking him out!), analyzing the liberal use of his hands, and any additional evidence of gayness.

Speaking of other men in my life....there is the bird man. The same man I wrote about in a previous entry (see: You're so Vain, you probably think this post is about you) who was so not my type at all. He and I are actually working on a project together, and I am happy to report that he is a decent human being. A bit creepy in a way I can’t really articulate, but otherwise okay. He invited himself over to my apartment but I quickly vetoed that idea. I think he gets that I do not want to be involved with him, despite his hints/coffee suggestions, etc. I also wore my clauddaugh ring with the crown facing up to denote my taken status (fictional of course) and wave my hands exaggeratedly for most of our time together.

In terms of men in my apartment, I don’t want any. Let me rephrase that. I don’t want any non drop-dead gorgeous men into my living space. Here’s the rationale: my apartment is a studio, so that the bed, kitchen table, and television are all in a 12 by 14 room. And there’s the additional awkwardness of it....I am worried that people will judge how I align my shoes under my bed, what type of DVDS are in my bookcase, if there’s anything sprawled out of place (which there is, thank you very much). Don’t judge me because I’m a little messy or may do the best of my writing in a towel. That’s right, I said it. I like to write with a towel wrapped around me, my favorite creative clothing item of choice. Honestly, it is the most comfortable thing ever. It is like a 100% cotton comfort dress. I enjoy nothing more than wrapping my immense stripped towel around myself out of the shower, sitting down, and letting the creative juices flow. Ahhh, the joys of not having a roommate (that's a whole 'nother entry people).

As you can see, at work, the men in my life are quite diverse. There’s bird man, who won’t be heckling me again as far as I can tell, and then Matt, the token gay/straight pretentious male. Yet, Joe keeps reappearing in my mind. He's going away on business this weekend, but I would like a chance to get to know him outside of work, maybe go bowling or do something low key that I am sure he would be up for. I know I may be taller than him or we may look unconventional together, but who the hell really cares? In the words of Sheryl Crow, "If it makes you happy, it can’t be that baaaa-aaad." If just talking and interacting with him makes me happy, I wonder what other part of his body would also delight me.....;)

Petrol Pick Up

Today at work I scored me a phone number. I’m not one of those types used to being given numbers, so it wasa pleasantly surprising ego boost.

A guy and his friend, came into the restaurant today and were my first table. Right off the bat I found them unbearably arrogant and obnoxious. They were wearing their dirty work clothes, reeking of petrol, and plopped themselves into the booth, sprawling across the seat. They even had their legs and feet on the bench. I found it to be incredibly irritating, because to me, that’s just disrespectful. I got them their drinks and came back and they were still mullingo ver the menu. I got them some chips and salsa and they still hadn’t decided. One of them, Petrol Pete, complained his sweet tea was “too sweet” and had m etake it back and make a new one of half unsweetened-half sweet tea.

They made obnoxious jokes during the course of their meal and I typically walked away from the table rolling my eyes at their asshattery. When they had finally finished their meals and it was time for the check, they said, “Oh, I thought this one was onCarrie.” I forced laughter and replied, “Ha, if I hadmoney, I would” trying to be friendly, to which Petrol Pete snorted and replied, “Yeah right.”I just whatevered and walked away to run their credit card through and thanked them and told them to have agreat day.

Later when I picked up the credit cardslip, I saw that on his copy, Petrol Pete had left me a note with his name and his phone number that read“Call me if your [sic] not doing anything tonight!”with a cartoon smiley face sticking its tongue out. I laughed and stuck it in my book, I always save phone numbers, even though I never call, just to serve as a pick-me-up on days when I’m not feeling super sexy. In my defense, he was probably at least 10-15 years older than me, and just wasn’t my type.

Besides, I think I’m falling for McRugby all over again…

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Carrie's Celeb Bangable’s Du Jour

1. Dane Cook: I love a guy who can make me laugh and has a hot ass to boot.

2. Tom Brady: Total hunk of man.

3. Josh Beckett: I lurve Boston pitchers, always have, always will. And I like that he’s a bit of a loosecannon. Such a turn-on.

4. Patrick Dempsey: He’s been McDreamy to me since“Sweet Home Alabama.” Dammit Reese! Why would youc hoose that rune over him?

5. Ryan Reynolds: Another funny guy, and have you seen his abs?

6. Jake Gylenhaal: Those eyes, and I love intelligent men too. I’ll even overlook the whole Kirsten Dunst debacle because he said on “Ellen” his favorite dog is a puggle! That’s my dream puppy!

7. Julian McMahon: He was the only reason I watched“Charmed.” Finally he’s on a show that doesn’t resemble crap.

8. Michael Mantenuto: More hometown love for this“Miracle” hottie. What’s up ya sleve?

9. Jansen Ackles: Props to my sister to introducing me to this “Supernatural” hottie.

10. Steve Buscemi: Just because.

Miranda's Celeb Poll

Great idea, Sammy Jones! I have nothing else to write about, and have been fantasizing about a certain McDreamy man lately so I'd like to put forth my own ten celebrities I can sleep with anytime I want.

Here's my list:

1) Patrick Dempsey. McDreamy and McGorgeous. Need I say more?

2) Jake Gyllenhall. Sure, his last name is hard to pronounce at time and he is ostracized for playing the "gay" cowboy, but his ass in "Jarhead" and his gorgeous blue eyes have won me over.

3) Brad Pitt circa his Thelma and Louise role. That's right, I prefer him in a cowboy hat, and nothing else.

4) George Clooney. Yes, he gets sexier with age.

5) Tom Brady. Does he count as a celebrity? Gorgeous, all american guy.

6) Matt Damon. Always classy, always cute. That smile, those eyes!

7) Blair Underwood...because I love men of color.

8) Mario Lopez. Did you not see the latest nip/tuck episode and that perfect ass and body?

9) Nicolas Cage. A beautiful man, a talented actor, and and older guy.

10) Russell Crowe, because I think the sex would be rugged, rough, and Aussie style "down under."

Celebrity Poll

You have inadvertently freed a sex genie. In return, he offers you ten celebrities who you can sleep with anytime you want.

Who's on your list?

Here's mine:

1) Hugh Jackman. One beautiful, beautiful man.

2) George Clooney. As he once said, Sexiest Former Batman Who Was Once On A Hospital Show.

3) John Stamos. Another beautiful man.

4) Johnny Depp. Especially if he were in his Captain Jack Sparrow costume.

5) The Rock. One of the most physically perfect specimans on Earth.

6) Hugh Laurie. Only if he stayed in character as Dr. House.

7) Jim Carrey. He's definitely improved with age.

8) Channing Tatum. Just go see Step Up and you'll understand.

9) Young Marlon Brando. If that were possible.

10) Brad Pitt. He's just pure gold.

The Fallout

Things weren't looking so good for me and Round.

We were in a relationship, according to facebook, but we never referred to each other as boyfriend and girlfriend. While it seemed like we were an incredible match at first, it had been fading. He kept ignoring me when we hung out with other people, and he was condescending to me about music, the ONE subject in the world that I think I know better than anything else. (Call me conceited -- I don't care. I have a musical talent that very few people in the world have, and I won't allow anybody to cross me on that. And he did.)

And over the past week, I had hooked up with two different guys. There was the platonic sleepover with the iconic Dr. McDreamy, which ended up being the sexiest experience of my life. And then there was the full-out sex with Jesus Iscariot, Model Catholic and the administration's pride and joy. Not to mention my final chorus hookup.

At first, I wasn't going to end things with Round -- it seemed pointless to end something so close to the end of the school year, and I needed him to be my date to the senior dance. I wasn't planning to go to the senior dance -- I had heard that it was perennially the worst event of senior week, and what was the point if I didn't have a date?

But after sleeping with Jesus, I knew I had to take off the "in a relationship" status on facebook. After all, the two of them knew each other well! I wouldn't go so far to say that they were friends, but they were definitely acquaintances and both RAs (though, thankfully, in dorms on opposite sides of the quad). And I couldn't just do that without telling Round!

So when he dropped by the next afternoon, after the senior brunch and before the senior casino night (which was the one senior event I had decided not to go to, since I'm not into gambling and didn't want to spend the money), I knew I had to end it.

Round was in the area because he was visiting his friends, a Brazilian and a Croatian, in one of the international apartments downstairs. I called him, and he came upstairs. The TV was on Food Network, as always. The apartment was down to just me and my beloved roommate, College Roomie (I have to give her a name, since I've been mentioning her a lot), and she was out, so it was just us. I invited him to sit on one of the couches -- technically, and quite ironically, a loveseat.

"Listen," I began. I was nervous. "I've been thinking....since it's the end of the year and all....can we 'singlify' ourselves? On facebook? It's just weird...." I trailed off, wishing he would take the bait and join in.

For a moment, he looked blankly at my chartreuse suede ottoman in front of him. His wavy black hair was messy, as if he'd just woken up (which was likely; we had spent many nights staying up until 8 AM and sleeping until 2 or so) and his dark eyes were open, his eyebrows slightly raised in surprise and disappointment. At that moment, I felt genuinely awful. As dysfunctional a relationship as we had, he didn't deserve for me to cheat on him -- twice. Looking at this from a distance, I would historically be seen as the one at greater fault.

"Well...." he began. "I guess I can see what you mean."

"I still want you to go to the dance with me," I added quickly. "And we can, you know, boink whenever the urge arises." That was one of his favorite words to say, as well as what we always called it, and he smiled. "I like you," I said, putting my hand on his arm and smiling. Why was he getting cuter and cuter as this went on? "I just think it's weird that we're in a relationship on facebook, you know?" It didn't feel like a relationship at all. Especially when I was hooking up with McDreamy and Jesus I.

I don't remember much of what happened after that. But before he left a little while later, we put our arms around each other and kissed and smiled. I felt so relieved. And for that moment, it seemed like I could get away with everything, tie it up in a little box, and forget about it.

The next day was the senior picnic, otherwise known as the perennially the best event of senior week, with every sport imaginable, competitions galor, and an open bar that everyone rightfully abused all day. I was taking pictures all day and actually have one of myself and Jesus! That was the end of the day, when he was probably as drunk as me. In the picture, our smiles can be interpreted as "knowing" or possibly "tongue-in-cheek" by the bystander who knew the whole story, but I honestly didn't see him like that. This was no longer Jesus-who-I-had-a-LOT-of-sex-with-after-senior-pub-night, this was the same old Jesus-the-chorus-acquaintance-who-I-only-talked-to-while-drunk character.

The day ended with me passing out on the bus and getting home and deciding to make fettucine alfredo. I made it with lemon at the suggestion of Giada from Food Network, and it was so good, I wanted to cry.

The dance was the next day. Round and I hadn't spent any nights together -- like before, it just seemed like neither of us really wanted to -- but I was looking forward to the dance. I hadn't had a date to a dance since my junior prom!! (Whoa. Just realized that.)

The buses were scheduled to depart at 6:30. I wore a gorgeous black gown with silver stones that I borrowed from my sister. I got together with my group of 10 friends or so, waiting for everyone's dates. Buses would leave as they were full, departing for a venue an hour and fifteen minutes away. Little by little, everyone and their dates arrived.

No Round.

We kept waiting. Everyone began to grow impatient, even level-headed College Roomie, who was the one person in my group who had come without a date. I called Round. Thankfully, he picked up.

"Hey, where are you?" I asked him. "Buses started leaving at 6:30."

"I'm coming," he replied, sounding agitated. "I'll be there in a few minutes. Relax."

"I just thought I'd check," I told him.

"I'll be there in a minute. Geez."

"Jackass," I muttered after hanging up.

"Where is he?" College Roomie asked.

"He's being a dick," I replied. "He'll be here in a few."

Ten minutes passed. I called him again.

"I just left the dorm," he told me upon answering the phone.

"Okay, good," I replied and hung up. His dorm was probably a four-minute walk away.

Much longer than four minutes later, he finally showed up. With his average looks, my opinion of his attractiveness fluctuated with my mood. And he showed up with wet hair, in black pants with a royal blue button-down shirt (made of cotton, not anything remotely dressy) and a silver tie. The blue was a great color for him, but I just got mad at seeing him dressed like that. He often dressed up, so I knew that he easily could have done better.

"Hey," I said, seeing him. "Let's get on a bus."

We boarded the next bus, to my friends' relief. We were the last two people on, and there were only two empty seats left, one in the front and one in the back.

The one in the back was in next to an enemy of mine from freshman year, a guy with whom I had traded vicious barbs and had avoided ever since.

The one in the front was next to Jesus.


"Please, please, please go in the back," I hissed to Round. "I can't sit with that guy. He made my life miserable freshman year. I can't be next to him for more than an hour."

"All right," he grumbled exasperatedly.

Phew. I sat down next to Jesus.

And again, this wasn't Jesus with whom I had hooked up. I didn't see him that way. This was just the same Jesus as always, Jesus the acquaintance who wouldn't overtly choose to sit with me on a bus, but who wouldn't mind if I sat with him out of necessity.

Jesus and I only talked on occasion throughout the ride, choosing instead to watch Sixteen Candles on the screen. (Like most of the guys on the bus, I had voted for Jackass instead. But the overwhelming female population won out. Personally, I think Jesus wanted Sixteen Candles.) I texted Round once, and he didn't reply.

The traffic was unbearable, and it actually took us closer to two hours to get to the venue, a casino. The bad timing, combined with Round's lateness, would give us only a few hours at the dance before having to leave.

We got out of the bus and walked inside as a group, me and Round and about a dozen of my friends. The casino was beautiful. Since the dance had begun a while ago, we grabbed a table and went to get drinks, then food. (I got a martini. I thought it looked classy with my gown, and it was the best value for my money, but it tasted godawful until I got sufficiently drunk.)

Round, who had plenty of senior friends, was talking with a group of them as we began eating. My friends and I took pictures of the group, as well as each of the couples. Dateless College Roomie and I took a few pictures together. Finally, Round came back and ate his meal of food. We barely talked. We did take a picture together. Since he always made goofy faces in pictures, I asked him to smile nicely. Later that night, when reviewing my pictures, I realized that he only halfway obliged.

He leaned in to be heard over the music. "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure," I replied.

"Let's go outside."

He led me out to the lobby. The guidos were all out there, drinking gin & tonics and smoking cigars. My stomach was churning. Round had said that in an unusual tone of voice, quiet and controlled, but almost with an undertone of amusement.

He turned around by a wall on the side. "Um, I know about Jesus."


"Look, you didn't break my heart, and I'm fine, and I'm gonna go be with my friends, okay?"

"Okay," I replied. I was trembling. I kept a neutral expression on my face as my heart beat rapidly in my chest.

"Okay." He turned and walked back into the ballroom through the nearest door. Who had told him? I did tell a bunch of people, but only a few chorus members who knew about my goal. There was my main gay, College Roomie, Princess, and another chorus friend named Flower. Flower was an RA along with Round and Jesus, but I doubted that she -- or anybody -- would tell him directly. It probably worked its way through the grapevine of gossip. I marched through the door by my table and immediately found Princess.

"Round found out about Jesus," I told her.

"Oh, honey," she replied sympathetically.

And then I saw him walk by.

Dr. McDreamy.

And everything was perfect again.

Fuck Round! He didn't know that he had given me the greatest gift of all -- single status. I had so many options at this dance now. I could dance with anyone, hook up with anyone, and not have to worry about him finding out or even being alone. I went alone to my senior prom, and I absolutely loved the freedom that came with it.

McDreamy waved to me. I walked over and he gave me a hug. He looked awesome in a steel-colored suit, black shirt and silver tie. Matching me perfectly.

"I didn't think you were coming!" I exclaimed. He hadn't come to most of the senior week activities.

"Hey, there were plenty of tickets left. You look awesome, by the way."

"Thanks. So do you!" At that moment, Hips Don't Lie began playing. Everybody ran onto the dance floor.

"Come on, let's dance!" I cried, grabbing McDreamy and our mutual good friend, a girl who I'll call GirlyEngineer, one of the few females majoring in engineering. GirlyEngineer had only become a friend of mine that spring, but we had so many mutual friends who were juniors that we had spent a lot of time together, and we had bonded instantly.

The three of us danced, and as soon as the song was over, the dance floor emptied. Over the course of the night, I hung out with different groups of people, as I usually did. I told Flower what had happened. Flower had been instrumental in my romance with Round. She told me that he was crazy about girls who wore a certain designer perfume. Back when Round and I first got together, she once sprayed me with the perfume before I went over to see him. He went crazy, as she predicted, then figured out that she must have had something to do with it.

Flower's attitude was, "Fuck him. This is senior week. Have fun."

I agreed. "You don't know how much I want to hook up with McDreamy again."

"You should!" she cried. "You are Samantha Jones, the one girl to hook up with every voice part!"

"Yes, I am," I said, laughing.

Most of the night, I spent time with Flower or GirlyEngineer, and sometimes with both of them and McDreamy. I have so many good pictures from that night. It was fun being with my friends, but the dance lived up to its lukewarm reputation. The lines at the bars were unbearably long -- try an hour or more of waiting for a single drink, since you could only get one at a time -- and the committee hadn't planned for traffic, thus shortening the night to only a few hours.

I had just snuck into the middle of the drink line and gotten a glass of wine when I saw a scene that made my blood run cold.

Round and McDreamy.


They definitely didn't know each other -- at least they hadn't the night that McDreamy and I had had our platonic sleepover.

McDreamy nodded. Then they reached out and shook hands. Round turned and walked out of the room.



Not McDreamy. This couldn't be happening.

I ran past the cigar-smoking guidos to the bathroom, where I sat on a closed toilet and leaned over, breathing between my knees. Fucking Round. There's no reason he would talk to McDreamy -- and definitely no reason why they would shake hands -- other than telling him what I had done.

I couldn't be sure.

I doubted any of my friends would have told Round about McDreamy, but maybe they had told their own friends and it had spread. Oh, Jesus! Not that Jesus. The real Jesus. How could I have opened my big mouth? When was I going to learn from this?

Well, I wasn't sure that McDreamy knew.


It was time to leave by the time I left the bathroom. I got onto a bus with GirlyEngineer, and lo and behold, McDreamy got on the same bus and sat next to me. With that, everything I had seen flew out of my head. McDreamy was sitting with me. I could feel myself grinning wildly on the inside, but I kept it down to just a faint smile on my lips. Everyone would look and see that of all the people to sit with, McDreamy had chosen me. And the bus wasn't even close to being full.

The drive home was much shorter than the drive to the casino. McDreamy and I chatted with each other and with GirlyEngineer, and before we knew it, we were home. McDreamy then invited me and GirlyEngineer up to his house for an after-party, and we accepted.

After a frighteningly fast ride in his car, we were back at the house where I had spent the night with him just days before. GirlyEngineer and I were the only girls there, and most of the guys there hadn't gone to the dance. The next few hours featured nothing out of the ordinary. GirlyEngineer and I played a few awesome games of Beirut; the guys dared me to drink a cup of corn whiskey straight out of the jar it came in (don't do that, ever; it's vile); GirlyEngineer left to make out with one of McDreamy's friends for awhile, then came back. Cartel, McDreamy's crazy Colombian housemate, kept yelling, "OOOOH SIIIIIIIIX!" in his thick accent.

All along, I watched McDreamy. I wanted to hook up with him. And I was going to stay there until I succeeded.

Time passed. McDreamy was paying me no special attention. Neither were any of the other guys. I stayed. I kept playing. I grew desperate. It wasn't until around 5:00 AM or so that I realized that I had seen what I thought I saw. Round must have told McDreamy everything.

I was about to leave, but then the guys announced they were going to smoke. I wanted to stay for that. We smoked for awhile in the basement, and that was good weed -- I instantly felt pretty high. We then went up to the bedroom where I had spent that night and watched a video about Scientology, one of those videos that are absolutely enthralling when you're stoned.

I decided to leave after that, conceding my defeat. I was feeling a bit woozy, so I sat down on the couch downstairs. Cartel, the crazy Colombian who had skinny-dipped and played those stripping games with me and McDreamy the other night, sat down next to me. He touched my cheek. I kept looking ahead, still stoned out of my mind.

"You are going?" he asked me.

"Yeah. I gotta get back."

"Your eyes...." I turned and looked at him. "You look at a cat."

I wanted to laugh, but I just weakly smiled.

Then Cartel leaned in for the kill. He got up and leaned over sideways, meeting his lips with mine. I froze in place. He kissed me roughly, his tongue pushing in violently.

I lifted my arms to push him back. He didn't get the message and kissed me harder. Cartel was good-looking, and a final college hookup would have been nice, but I just couldn't do it. In addition to not being McDreamy, Cartel bragged about his sexual prowess on facebook, claiming that he loved nothing more than pleasing a girl sexually. I gave him a shove. That got him off me. For all that action, the kiss didn't last longer than two seconds.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I told him.

"Okay then, if you say so," he said with a shrug.

"I'm going to go," I said, getting up.

"You'll be okay?"

"I always walk back after I smoke."

"Okay. Goodnight."

As I walked off McDreamy's porch, I felt like crying. Here was my last chance, and it was gone.

I wasn't having the best high. It was light out, and I felt as if I were being followed. At every rustling noise behind me, I turned around, expecting to see somebody. I decided to flag down the next car I saw and beg them for a ride.

I did that, and luckily it was a guy I knew from both high school and college. He had been at McDreamy's party as well. He gave me a ride and I collapsed into bed.

I graduated 30 hours later.

I watched Jesus Iscariot accept the most prestigious award the school gave out.

Cartel left shortly after the ceremony, and was the first goodbye.

Round left me a voicemail asking me to come over, but I never knew if it was an old message.

I don't remember the last time I saw McDreamy. He's in medical school now.

I haven't had sex since Jesus Iscariot. That was over four months ago.

I've thought about the Round-McDreamy-Jesus catastrophe every single day since it happened.

I'm afraid that now that I've cheated, I'll always have a propensity to cheat in the future.

I'm curious as to how long I'll go without sex.

I have absolutely ZERO regrets. I've cheated three times in my life (yes, another time before this, too) and each one has brought be something extraordinary. It's awful, but I'm mostly concerned about not being able to keep my mouth shut about the whole thing.

But I'm learning.

I've kept this blog a complete secret, and I intend to continue to do so.

Would anything have happened with McDreamy if he hadn't found out? I have no idea.

He's already given me the best gift of all -- the sexiest night of my life.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Leave the Kids at Home

Children terrify me. There. I said it. When I was a young girl, not quite old enough to have a real job, I rarely ventured into the lucrative world of baby-sitting like so many of my peers. I think I may have been born without that maternal instinct that you hear about. I was much happier being poor than dealing with shit from other people’s kids.

Sure, there are the moments that are few and far between when I see one of those rare smiling babies or toddlers that are flawless looking and on its best behavior (perhaps Mommy slipped a sedative into the formula?) when I coo and think “Hey, maybe I’d like to get me one of those.” Then I snap back to reality and notice the fifty other children that are screaming and crying and dirty that are terrorizing the general populous, and my ovaries and uterus retract and shrivel inside me a little bit.

What scares me most about having kids, moreso than the little hellions themselves, is what having kids does to the parents. When you have children, it seems that you completely lose sight of yourself. I’m sorry, but I’m a big fan of me. And I’m sure when I find some guy to spend the rest of my life with, I’m going to be a big fan of his. And I don’t want to have to sacrifice my needs and my relationship to cater to the needs of a child. It just doesn’t seem all that appealing. When I’m with a man I like to be number 1, and I’m not afraid to admit my narcissism that I don’t want to take a backseat to some snot nosed brat. I’m not ready for that yet.

My sister just got married to a man who’s the youngest of four. They’re in no rush to have kids of their own (thank God), but his siblings are all bogged down with several kids. And you would think that there’s nothing else significant going on in the world than the fact that their kid wiped a fucking booger on his sleeve. These people are obsessed with their children. It’s borderline psychotic. They have to be invited to every gathering, even when it’s really not appropriate for children to be present, and to even suggest that they get a sitter is unforgivable. You might as well just spit in their face than dare make such an unreasonable request. What? Leave the children at home? Never! Everyone WANTS to see MY kids, because MY kids are so god damn special! These are the same people who try and use logic and reasoning with their three year old.

Call me crazy, but I don’t reason with toddlers. Hell, I won’t even lower myself to debating young preteens and even high schoolers are a stretch. To me, you haven’t earned the right to your own opinions until you’ve lived a little, learned a lot, and your parents are no longer wiping your ass and laying out your clothes. Until you have to start taking care of yourself will I consider your feelings about what I’m telling you to eat/wear/say/do. I’ve waitressed for about four years now, and I am amazed by the parents that come in with children too young to even have a halfway decent grasp on the English language, and make me stand there for TEN minutes while they go back and forth with their drooling toddler asking what they WANT to eat and catering to their tantrums and screams. Guess what? If you’re my kid and we go out to eat, I’ll fucking tell you what you want. You don’t get the choice until you can actually read the menu. Giving young children endless choices is what causes them to grow up to be selfish assholes.

What’s worse is not only do these people let their children completely run their lives, they actually have the audacity to allow their children to impede on the lives of others. You want to give up your life for your kids, by all means, that’s your own personally chosen death sentence. But, don’t you dare interfere with my happiness and well being by inflicting the toxicity of your hell spawn upon me. When I go out in public, I don’t like to be disturbed. I don’t go out to a restaurant to listen to your little brat scream and throw tantrums. I go out to get away from the responsibility of cooking and cleaning for myself and pay someone else to do it for me. I actually saw a child whip food around and hit a man at the next table in the head with a piece of lettuce covered in Ranch dressing. Can you think of anything more disgusting? Probably, but if I had been that man, I would have gone right up to that table and demanded that the parents control their child or suggest that they leave immediately. It’s infuriating.

I’m not saying parents don’t ever need the break of going out, but hire a goddamn sitter. Leave the little brats at home. No one else wants to listen to their shit. And if you insist upon bringing your offspring with you, a rule of thumb that I think everyone should adhere to, is that the children should NEVER outnumber the adults. For example, a group came into the restaurant I work at with 5 children and 3 adults. The adults, rather than deal with the youths, sat on one end of the table and left the kids on the other end where they began tearing apart promos, dumping salt and pepper out on the table, throwing forks and engaging in sword fights with their knives. And these three bitches, who I believe were the two mothers and a grandmother, completely pretended to be completely oblivious the mess that their brats were making. What do they care? It’s just a restaurant, they don’t have to clean up the mess.

Not only are children these people’s worlds, but they actually feel gifted and privileged to be parents. Newsflash, getting knocked up doesn’t take any special skill. I can tell the guy I’m fucking to leave the condom off and chances are, I’ll end up pregnant like you. Perhaps if they instituted an examination and licensing requirement for parenting like I’ve been campaigning for, maybe then I will give you your kudos. Until that day, I’ll just laugh at your inability to wrap it up, and the embarkation on the end of your life as you once knew it.

Lastly, don’t get pissed when I don’t give a shit about your kid and your parenting woes. I don’t care that they’re an honor student, that they got the lead in a school play or that they finally stopped shitting their pants. Their mundane accomplishments really don’t hold any significant meaning in my life. Don’t expect to garner any sympathy from me when you lament about your sleepless nights because Junior was crying. That was your choice. Nobody forced you to have a baby. Me, on the other hand, I’m all set with sleepless nights caused by marathon bouts of sex. And you won’t hear me complaining about it either.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006


Several random musings.....

I have never been attracted to asian men. Ever. I just don't find them attractive...any one of them for that matter. I have been friends with a couple, I have talked to them, they could even have rock hard bodies, but I guess I'm not wired to find them attractive.

I walked by the MOST GORGEOUS older man today. He was about 100 yards away and he was walking towards me. He was wearing a button down blue shirt, black slacks, and carrying a briefcase. He had thick, wavy dark hair and was just my type...tall, dark, and handsome. He was SO hot that I stared at him, yes, stared, and was practically drooling as he walked by.

Nip/tuck is on soon so I'm sorry this can't be longer. But more is on my mind...

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Post-McDreamy: Enter Jesus Iscariot

Here is what happened after my platonic sleepover with McDreamy.

I believe the sleepover happened on the Friday or Saturday night before Senior Week. Over the next few days, I saw Round on occasion. It was occasionally good with him, but more often wasn't. The best souvenir I have of my time with him is a picture of him leaning over and pulling a dollar out of my boobs with his teeth. That was at a townhouse long after I passed the threshold of sobriety. At any rate, I didn't tell him about McDreamy. Why should I have? There was no point.

Let me explain that I don't understand those girls, especially the ones on Maury, who confess their cheating while crying hysterically, still proclaiming that they love their man and beg him to forgive them. If he's not going to find out -- if you are certain that absolutely NOBODY will tell him -- there's no reason for you to tell him. It will only hurt him, and you're only telling him because you feel guilty and think somebody else should make you feel guilty as well.

So why did I stay with him when I didn't care about him? Part of it was that I didn't want to break up with him when there was only a week left in college, and most of it was that he was going to be my date for the Senior Semiformal. (I don't think that I mentioned that he was a sophomore, but was still on campus because he was an RA and could move out whenever he wanted to.)

Anyways, we probably had a few very chilly sleepovers, and on Tuesday came the beginning of Senior Week activities. That night was Senior Pub Night, held right on campus, complete with dollar drafts and plenty of free drink tickets. Earlier that day was the "business casual" drinking event with the faculty, so most of us were still a little drunk and had only left to change or play a quick game of Beirut in someone's kitchen before returning.

It was a fun night -- I spent most of my time hanging out with various groups of friends, especially my friends from the chorus. I was involved in the chorus all four years and it had basically been my life at college. Surprisingly, there was a good amount of guys to choose from. While we did have the requisite gay population, there was an equal amount of straight guys as well. And after my first chorus hookup with a hot first tenor my freshman year, I made my goal.

Before graduation, I would hook up with all four male voice parts: Tenor 1, Tenor 2, Baritone and Bass.

It was easy at first. I had first tenor out of the way immediately, and that was one of the more difficult voice parts. The guy was a fellow freshman who always had a guitar in hand and gave performances in my dorm as doe-eyed girls drooled. I had had an immense crush on him, so hooking up with him was one of the best nights of my life. Definitely one of the top three first kisses, ever. And he played and sang Your Body Is A Wonderland afterward....but I digress.

Getting the voice parts seemed easy at first. I got a baritone that winter, and then had a relationship with a bass that lasted until the following winter. Then another baritone that spring. I went abroad for fall of junior year, and upon return hooked up with two more basses. Nobody -- and by that, I mean nobody NEW, if you know what I mean -- during senior year.

Altogether, there was one tenor 1, two baritones and three basses. No second tenors.

A bunch of my friends knew about my goal and joked with me about it. I would always joke about needed a second tenor, and would jokingly hit on a bunch of the second tenors, telling them my plan with a wink. The problem was, there was practically nothing to choose from by senior year. There were a few cute and straight ones, but they had girlfriends. A few others were gay (and not the type of gay guys that occasionally hook up with straight girls for laughs). And the remaining ones were definitely not the kind of guys I wanted to kiss -- think dorky freshmen.

Anyways, back to that night. I mainly hung out with chorus people. The night was full of surprises -- one of my good guy friends, who was hilarious and fun but extremely Catholic, with an extremely Catholic girlfriend who was a hilarious and fun as he was, had finally taken the plunge and they had had sex for the first time, three years into their relationship. ("I NOTICED YOU WEREN'T WEARING YOUR TRUE LOVE WAITS RING!!" I shrieked. I also have a really great picture of me and him from right after he told me, him smiling proudly and me with a shocked face, as if everything I had ever known had been destroyed.)

So basically, everybody was drinking a lot and getting progressively uninhibited. Then I started talking to Jesus Iscariot, a guy in the chorus. Jesus was pretty much the most revered guy in my class, winning huge awards for his devotion to community service, music and academics, as well as being known for how Catholic of a guy he was.

Jesus and I had always held a bit of tension between us that we both chose not to acknowledge. Not sexual tension or any kind of good tension -- bad tension. We were both expert musicians of the same instrument, although we went in different directions when it came to the kind of music we played. We both also gunned for top positions in the chorus. It seemed like were always trying to outdo each other musically, each trying to prove who was the better musician, but we were polite to each other, but never remotely close. We only talked at chorus parties while drunk.

I call him Jesus Iscariot because of his obvious devotion to religion and his being such a proper Catholic. But he had a dark side, as many do. I always remember him getting drunk freshman year and slurring, "Let's play spin-the-bottle!" and draping himself over my repulsed friend. There was always another side to Jesus Iscariot, and it tended to come out when drunk.

I should also mention that Jesus was a second tenor.

We started talking as we were drinking, and I joked, "Hey, you better watch yourself -- I still haven't gotten my second tenor!" He laughed and said, "So do you want to?"



"You're sure?"


"You're not kidding?"


"Um, let me go to the bathroom."

I went to the bathroom, peed, and thanked God my period had ended the week before. But I just couldn't believe it -- was Jesus Iscariot serious?! I had always avoided him as a hookup because of that uneasiness between us, and also because he used to have a girlfriend. He hadn't sung second tenor until sophomore or junior year, as well. And he wasn't that good-looking at all. He was tall, but had tiny, beady eyes and seemed to be a fifty-year-old trapped in a twenty-two-year-old's body.

I went back into the room and met up with him.

"Ready to go?" he asked me.

"Sure," I replied. And then I remembered Round. Forget it, I thought. This has been my goal for the past four years. I've been with Round for a month, tops. It's not going well. And besides, there was that McDreamy incident from a few nights before. (By the way, McDreamy and I had hung out a bit during the pub night, chatted a bit, but it didn't look like anything was going to happen in terms of a hookup.)

We left the pub night, as it was winding down, and walked down the path to the dorm where I had lived sophomore year. Jesus lived there sophomore year, too, and loved it so much that he stayed and became an RA. Because that was the kind of guy he was.


We got to the dorm, empty of everyone except for RAs, and went into his room. He kissed me. My first kiss from Jesus Iscariot. He started taking my clothes off. His bed was lofted over his desk, so he brought me down onto his futon, but didn't open it, so we were positioned pretty awkwardly on it.

And then he got up, reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a condom.

Jesus Iscariot kept condoms in his desk.

The night was FULL of surprises.

It's not that I wasn't prepared -- those last few weeks, I had been always carrying a few condoms in my purse, just in case. But to know that the model Catholic had condoms in his desk....I honestly thought he was waiting until marriage, at least before he got his girlfriend sophomore or junior year or so.

And we began having sex on that uncomfortable futon, still folded up into a couch. We started out with him on me, then whirled me up on top of him. Before long he was behind me, and then behind me as we were on our sides, spoon-style. It was pretty good sex – not the best I’ve ever had, but still quite good. And he was a pretty good size, even though it curved the slightest bit. (Never had experienced that before – it was interesting.) I appreciated that very much, since I had been suffering some serious bad penis karma lately.

We had been having sex for a long time, and I was pretty impressed by his longevity. And then he flipped me over and we were doing it missionary style again, then me on top again, then doggie-style again, then spoon-style AGAIN....I was actually getting pretty tired. I knew I wasn’t going to finish, not in circumstances like that, especially because I had been drinking. And then Jesus told me essentially the same thing – that he was drunk and couldn’t come, but would I like to take a shower with him?


Oh my God.

This could easily have been disaster. Half the RAs in his dorm didn’t have private bathrooms, and we could have been walking down the hall, showering together in the dorm bathroom, and we could have walked out, only to see one of the priests who lived in the dorm coming down the hall. Oh my God. Their star student and me, coming out of a shower together....

But it didn’t happen like that. Jesus had an adjoining bathroom from his room. We didn’t even have to leave the room and walk next door, like Round did.


Yes, Round and Jesus Iscariot definitely knew each other. All the RAs did – they spent a few weeks bonding together before each school year. And at a school as small as mine, every RA not only knew each other RA, but knew all of them well. It was at this point that I realized just how serious this was. I had slept over with McDreamy, a guy Round didn’t even know, and we hadn’t done anything more than just hold each other. And now I had slept with a guy he knew well.

I got up to join Jesus in the shower.

That was really hot. I had showered with guys before, but it wasn’t nearly as sexy as it was at this time. For one thing, Jesus left the light off. And this wasn’t a large bathtub, but a small space. The water was hot. We started making out and feeling each other up, but nothing more serious than that. And it was HOT. And again I realized that often the sexiest thing isn’t having sex itself.

I was pressed against the wall of the shower facing away from the shower head. My hair was up in a bun and droplets of water were throughout. He was leaning over me and kissing me all over – my neck, my breasts, my face. Everything was hot and slippery. The water over our sweat made everything feel a little bit oily, and we slipped through each other’s arms. He asked me to go down on him, and I did, even though we had already been having sex. (I don’t recommend doing that afterward – the condom makes it taste like latex. Not pleasant, at least not at first.)

I did that for awhile, and then came up for air some number of minutes later. We then resumed what we had been doing for all the time before that, just feeling each other up and making out. And then I jacked him off and he came. We were in that shower for so long. I was pruny by the time we finished. I wondered if that added to the pleasure of being manually stimulated. It’s worth thinking about.

We got out of the shower and he gave me a towel. I dried off, then got dressed. He offered to drive me back to my apartment building. I thanked him but refused, and he insisted. It was a two-minute drive, compared to a ten-minute walk. I asked him if he was sober enough to drive, and he said yes, that by then he was all right. I agreed.

We left the building. This would have been the time that we would have seen anybody. But we didn’t. Of course, the security guys with their omnipresent hidden cameras probably saw us. They also knew all the RAs – and some of them knew that Round and I were together. But no priests, no seniors, no RAs were around as Jesus took me home.

I don’t remember exactly how I said goodbye. I would guess that I either gave him a peck on the lips or decided to be the more distant one and just smile and leave. One of those. I walked up to my apartment and fell into bed.

First thing in the morning, I texted my main gay and fellow chorus member and wrote, “Got a tenor 2.”

“Who?” he wrote back.




He promptly called me, as incredulous as I was when Jesus first made the suggestion that we actually hook up.

I then told my roommate, as she was a fellow chorus member and felt the same way about Jesus as I did, as he had won an award she had been gunning for.

I then called my good friend Princess, another chorus member, and told her as well. She screamed.

And then Round came over. Unannounced.

To be continued....