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....

A night with Samantha, the Sex Crazed Irishman, and Andre Agassi

DISCLAIMER: Please be advised that I may not have included every detail of this evening out. Also be advised that my order may not be sequentially accurate. Alcohol may have impaired my ability to recollect the exact times and order of events, but they DID happen.

Saturday night, Sam and I decided to go "in town" to manhunt and take advantage of $1.50 Bud light drafts at Daddy O's, one of our favorite pubs. Armed with hot outfits, just the right amount of lip gloss, and our authentic IDs, we were ready for a night out.

After arriving inside Daddy O's, we scoped out "the man scene." There was a tall cute guy that we liked, and we smiled and gave off our come-hither vibes. We also were busy admiring a group of cute guys, and one of them looked strikingly similar to Andre Agassi. I half expected Steffi Graf (his wife) to walk in as well. While we were looking sexy and smiling seductively at any half-decent man who looked our way, NO guys were buying us liquor or even talking to us. They were all too absorbed in the Yankees/Boston game. As I shouted in the ladies bathroom (that was the only place I could say it without the fear of being booed or shot): "Who gives a fuck about baseball?!"

We wandered upstairs to the almost empty dance floor and the blinding flourescent lights, where sadly, there was little dancing going on, except for a lone man. His name was James, and he was an older (40s) black man wearing a bucket hat, khaki shorts, and what looked to be hiking boots with white socks. He was the most out of place guy in the whole bar. He started shimmying and two steppin it on the dance floor while the crowd watched him, clearly entertained and amused.

Sam kept checking out a guy with an eyebrow ring, and suggested we approach him and talk to him, along with his asian friend. Of course, Sammy Jones gets to talk the cute, tall eyebrow ring guy (he looked just like this guy from Sam's theatre campu) and I get his asian friend. I have nothing against asian people, don't get me wrong! We actually had a a lovely conversation about college and the working world. But I quickly lost interest and was anxious to move on. Sam and I told the guys we were headed to the "bathroom" (Aka let's check out the cute guys downstairs). As we were walking back downstairs, I decided to stand on the steps and shout, "ANDREEE!! ANDRE AGASSI!!!" to the cute, bald guy who looked a lot like him. Standing there shouting ANDRE, slightly intoxicated with a cape codder and bud light in my belly, I don't know why I expected the man to acknowledge us or respond to Andre. Of course he didn't look up! We had to go down and yell that he looked like Andre. We couldn't even get near him because of the amount of bar stools/chairs/people. He apparently was freaked out because that was the second time that night someone said he looked like Andre. The girl who relayed the message to us said, "He's cute. Go talk to him." Yeah, we would if we could get within a ten feet radius. He was definitely Andre. Or maybe his long lost twin.

Somehow, while we were down there, Sam literally ran into this guy who started to talking to us. I thought the guy had a serious speech impediment, becuase all I heard him say was, "Me blannkin ye ginne." It was all gibberish to me. But gradually, the language barrier broke free and we could gather bits and pieces about him. He was from Ireland (hence the brogue, but not the speech impediment), and was visiting America and his last name was an O' something. We exchanged greetings and chatted for a bit, then went our separate ways. Sam and I were anxious to get back on the dance floor to move to "Sexy Back" and "Promiscious Girl."

Upstairs, on the dance floor, we started grooving until Sam was pulled away by what seemed to be a skeevy guy. Another guy came up to me, pointed at the guy Sam was dancing with, and said, "He has AIDS." "How do you know?" I asked. "You can just tell. There's a big AIDS sign written all over him," he commented. Then he complained, "You're her friend, you're supposed to protect her." "I am," I retorted. "I am standing two feet away and watching her closely, making sure he doesn't slip her a roofie." Sam escaped skeevy guys' grip on her and we danced some more. Then, out of nowhere we saw our Irish friend. He came over and proceeded to talk more gibberish..."Ye ankee me blaten" and "Sonna like ya annon." We asked him to do an irish jig and he tore up the floor with his rendition that could have rivaled Riverdance and Michael Flatley as Lord of the Dance.

He then started to dance with us. I thought he was a friendly, respectable Irish man, but I quickly found out I was COMPLETELY wrong. With my back to him, he grabbed me and pushed me closer, which is fine, but then he reached for my underwear (or, as victoria's secret insists "panties") and pulled them up. So yes, at one point his hands were inside of my jeans pulling my underwear. Is that sexy? No. Is that acceptable? No. Is that even respectful? Of course NOT. I was extremely annoyed and pushed him away. Some background info first. Because I hadn't done laundry for a good two weeks, I was down to my absolute last pair of underwear. They were probably the most UNSEXY thing ever created. I had purchased them years ago in a fit of desperation, and they were my good ol' hanes her ways high cut briefs purchased at Wal-Mart. It was underwear fit for a forty year old hick on welfare. It was, in essence, my reserve underwear that I only break out for utter emergencies. So yes, it was quite a Bridget Jones moment as he grabbed them and pulled them up, as he must have had to pull them up a mile, definitely over my belly button and probably near my rib cage to get the full "high cut" brief effect. I was beyond mortified and of course could not share that info. with Sam at the time. I'm hoping the Irish man was too drunk to notice.

He danced with Sam as well, and she was extremely annoyed at him as he kept wanting to kiss her. I snapped a great photo of those two. Probably the most flattering thing the Irish man said that I could ACTUALLY understand was, "Are you two related? You sort a look alike." I considered that a great compliment, because Sam is gorgeous and petite and I was shocked to be compared or likened to her. We definitely look differently though, Sam has olive skin and blue eyes, while I have fair skin and brown eyes. We have different body types too, but I guess it is our dark hair and our smiles that Irish man must have seen through his druken haze.

On our way to escape him, we ran into the guy who warned us about the AIDS man earlier, and he said, "I like you. I like your friend. I don't want you to get AIDS." We of course had to get a photo with him, and gave him a high five. We're not sure if he's gay or straight. Either way, he was AWESOME.

As we left Daddy O's, we reflected on how the night was definitely interesting, but not the best. Certainly, my expectations were higher and I wasn't counting on the stupid baseball game to ruin some of our fun. But all in all, running into Andre Agassi and escaping molestation from an Irish man was kind of a big deal. And of course, having more memorable info for our blog made it worthwhile!

Saturday, September 16, 2006

A Tale of Two Men

So, I’ve fallen into regular communication with the Ex again. I’ve come to terms with this. In fact, I really have missed talking with him. He says he can’t wait for me to visit, and he’s sending me a package in the meantime. He calls me almost daily just to say “Hi” and “I miss you.” I don’t really know where it’s going, but I’m just going to roll with it.

Today the Soldier IM-ed me. He’s currently stationed in Kuwait until he gets shipped to Iraq. It’s the first time we’ve talked in a couple weeks.

Meanwhile, the Ex has been badgering me to know who the mystery man I slept with after we broke up is. At first I didn’t think there was any reason for me to tell him, but lately it’s really been eating away at me. I’m feeling guilty about the fact that I slept with one of his teammates, something that I had denied in previous conversations.

I know I shouldn’t have to feel this way because only weeks after we broke up, he got back with his ex-girlfriend, a bitch who was on the rugby team with me. So really, what right would he have to be upset about my hooking up with one of his teammates? Furthermore, the Soldier is overseas now, so it’s not like they could have a run-in.

I know this isn’t a particularly entertaining or witty entry, but it’s something that’s been weighing heavily on my mind. I don’t know if I should tell him or not. Any feedback on the matter would be greatly appreciated.

Friday, September 15, 2006

You're so vain, you probably think this post is about you

Sometimes I can't transcend the physical appearance of a person to see the personality and (perhaps) irresistible charm of an individual. I am blinded by their exquisite face or chiseled pecs and fail to gain access to their true being, their genuine nature. In the dating world, I am too concerned with how I would look next to "him." Would I tower over a man of short stature or would we be an aesthetically pleasing couple, with my man several inches taller and me able to rest my head on his shoulder? I ask this because I feel like there's is an unspoken line that cannot be crossed when dating...the short guy/tall girl heavy girl/skinny guy types of couples that you barely see.

This girl I know from high school, let's call her Bethany, said something that resonanted with me. One day during study or some other class when we weren't paying attention of course, she commented, "I can never date a guy who weighs less than me. That's one of my dating criteria." I openly expressed my surprise at her, and pointed out what seemed to be a childish vanity. Later, I thought about how true her comment really is...what women want is the stronger, bigger guy. Who wants to squash their man in bed or be afraid to kiss him passionately for fear of crushing him?

I've been thinking about vanity because there’s this guy in one of my classes and he just asked me to get coffee with him or go out sometime to "get to know each other better." I just nodded weakly and then said I had to go. Luckily, this class is a seminar and only meets once a week. The thing is...this guy is not my type AT ALL. He is rather short, slim, blondish hair, and wears glasses. We would look like the world's MISFIT couple of daters. Personality wise, I try to be open and non-judgmental, but from what I've seen and heard, I'm not impressed. He's very geeky and makes intellectual jokes. Yes, one of those. The other day he said something this RETARDED: "The main message of Socrates' Republic is that we have yet to be formed, we are still need to be modeled into government-minded individuals. We are like playdoh. Plat-o! Haha, Plato, his young apprentice! Isn't that hilarious?" Ummm, NO. None of that intellectual bullshit joke crap will win your way to my heart.

So I am justified, right? Since I looked beyond the things I don't like physically and also confirmed that personality-wise he wasn't for me either.

But then there’s the guy who isn’t your type or doesn’t stand out at all with his muscular physique or popularity with the masses. But gradually, after he makes you laugh non-stop and always insists on holding the door with a touch of class, you forget about looks or how you look together. You see him in a new way, a different way, after knowing the entire person. In a way, he seems MORE attractive the more you like about him...his values, goals, dreams, sense of humor, personality, etc.

I was reading an article once about how we are attracted to people who are similar to ourselves. Not only personality wise, but also physically. Tall, thin, blond women are attracted to tall, thin, blond men, and so on and so forth. I'm sure you know what I'm referring to. Those annoying couples who look SO MUCH ALIKE they could pass for a brother and a sister. Scary and incestuous, yes. But isn’t there something strangely appealing about couples who look good together?

I know, I know. I'm vain, but this post isn't all about me. Who isn't looks-conscious to a certain extent? Looks do matter to a certain degree and that, my friends, can't be avoided.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

Growing Into Sexy

When does ridiculous become sexy?

I'm sure we've all seen people transform before our eyes.

Today, I give you a basic case study with a coworker of mine. He is probably the most Italian guy I've never met. Tall, soft and curly black hair that flutters in the wind, layered Polo shirts with the collars up and other button downs, and pants that I used to believe were girls' -- low-waisted, tight and flared. And the shoes -- boat shoes are key. Casual, formal, anything. And the voice -- so deep!

I'll call this guy Giovanni, only because it's the most Italian name ever. And at first, I just laughed at him to myself because he seemed so ridiculous!

But then, I told a female coworker of mine, "He makes me smile." She readily agreed. All of a sudden, his incredible Italian-ness had progressed from something to laugh at him about to something to laugh with him about.

So when did it blossom into full-out SEXY?

I'm still shocked.

Now I just look at him and want to tear his clothes off. Just EVERYTHING about him -- oh my God! This guy is SO ITALIAN!!

We were talking today. He was saying to me and a friend of ours, "I need some female companionship this weekend. Not necessarily sex, but....I just want to be held."

"I knew you'd say that!" our friend giggled. "You did just want to be held!"

Well, I then told him that a friend of mine -- that's you of course, Miranda! -- would likely be going out Manhunting this weekend. And that she had a type. TALL ITALIAN MEN. And that there was a certain person in front of me who fit that description.

He actually sat up higher and said that we should go out, the two groups of us, meet up, and see what would happen. "But not, like, you and me," he added hastily. "Because we work together."


He might have said no....but the sheer FACT that he acknowledged that in the first place means something, doesn't it?

It also didn't hurt that he gave me a double take when I came in wearing my tall black boots. That boy is SO Italian....

Anyways, thoughts?

Wednesday, September 13, 2006 way!

We’ve all bore witness to it. And we’ve all had to take a moment to regain control of ourselves and makea concerted effort to hold back our lunches. The Public Display of Affection, or the PDA, as it has been reduced to by its most villainous perpetrators, is seeping into everyday culture.

And it’s not even just the lost-in-the-moment passionate kisses that popularize modern cinema occurring in public venues. The ones that make you have to look away in embarrassment or worse, stare intently like you’re watching a car wreck or inspecting road kill on the side of the road. Now, PDA’s are being inflicted upon the masses in writing.

I’ll admit it, I’m a compulsive away message checker. I like to know what my friends, family and people Ihaven’t spoken to in years are up to. But, imagine my horror when I click to get someone’s information, expecting to see some mundane activity and am instead treated to their equivalents of a Shakespearean sonnet, professing their great love not only to their significant other, but to the world.

The most recent culprit of this heinous display is an associate of mine from college and the team. We shall call her Moron and I will present to you her away messages from the past two days in their entirety with only alterations made by the author to protect the privacy of the guilty parties involved.

YESTERDAY’S LITTLE GEM: “Its crazy how much I miss you babe...... tommorow (sic) I will feel whole again though”

TODAY’S TIMELESS TREASURE: “Got to love it being still dark when you wake up......but at least I get to see[Mr. Moron] in less then 12 hours, I miss you soooooomuch luv (sic).”

I’ll give you a moment to let the full gaiety sink in.

I get it. You think he’s swell. You think you’re in love even though it hasn’t even been two months. And in the words of Rascal Flatts, “Baby I want the whole world to know/ Just what I’m all about/ I want to love you out loud” [Side note: This is actually one of my favorite songs, so I’m not a completely bitter hag]. And you know, that’s great. Being in love is great. And you may want to shout it from the rooftops, but it doesn’t mean the rest of the world wants to listen.

You may think that this is just the response generated by the jaded cynicism that affects most single women…and in truth, it probably could be. Who knows? If the roles were reversed, maybe I would feel so compelled to let the world know how crazy I am about my man. I mean, I’ll admit I’ve been guilty of it in the past…like when I was in high school.

So I’m going to take a stand right here, right now. Use this public forum to take back the sanctity of public for all mankind! Keep the D’s of A private, because nobody wants to see that.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

On Making the Grade..

One crazy night, my friends and I decided to hit up the local hangout for some cheap booze and good times. Naturally, we all piled into a cab as no one wanted to claim the role of DD for the night. Can you blame them? Who doesn’t want to go out and have a good time? We told our sketchy cab driver to take us to Cheapo's, the local bar/hangout of choice. He was busy smoking cigarettes, running red lights, and telling us about his time in the "pen" (no lie ladies, this is a shady city, especially the guys driving your local cab). We couldn’t wait to get to Cheapo's fast enough..I'm calling the bar Cheapo's, because basically the drinks are cheap and free-flowing. It’s around $3 for a mixed drink, which is served is a plastic cup and consists of them pouring from the hard liquor bottle and then topping it off with a squirt of mix or juice. Yes, that's right, there's no excessive amounts of mix or a carefully measured shot glass. The booze is free flowing. After 2 long island ice teas, which basically consisted of drinking two cups of vodka, I was pretty plastered.

The great thing about Cheapo’s is that it is a bar, but somehow, after a couple hours of people boozing and shmoozing, it turns into a dance club. Yes, that’s right. What is typically just a bar with tables around an open room because a dance club. All the chairs and tables are moved to the side and of course we started dancing it up once a couple hours passed and it was crowded. Since my friends and I LOVE to dance and start things up, we starting grooving and dancing to Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie" and Beyonce's classic "Crazy in Love."

We all noticed that two guys kept staring at us dancing from a couple feet away. One was a tallish guy, brown hair and brown eyes who wore a hooded sweatshirt and looked about mid 20s. The other guy was short and stumpy with glasses (Think Newman from Seinfeld, and in fact we’ll call him that). My friend Leslie thought the hooded sweatshirt guy was cute and grabbed him gently by his arms to lead him into our gyrating circle of 20 something year olds liquored up. He wasn’t the best dancer, but then again, white guys usually aren’t, but he was definitely feeling the music. Newman hung by and watched creepily. Hoodie then kept dancing with us and slowly moved in my direction, until it was just the two of us dancing. We introduced ourselves and made the most small talk that you could make while shouting over "Golddigger" and "Every time we Touch" He told him he was from the area, and was in fact a HISTORY teacher at a local high school. He was only 25, but still...macking it with a decently attractive teacher. This was every high school girl’s fantasy and I had to act on it. We kept dancing for awhile (Leslie even kept joking that she got him over here and now he wasn't even paying attention to her...but it was all in good taste).

He was such a gentleman, and asked if he could kiss me, unlike other of the drunken, sex-crazed guys I’ve danced with at clubs. And we made out and it was nice. Who doesn't kiss and tell?!

After, "Save a Horse" came on and I told him I could not dance with him, I had to freeball it, since that is the best song of all time and it doesn't do Big and Rich justice to grind with a sweaty guy. Somehow, in all my horse saving action and my lasoo swinging movements, I ended up dancing with a cute redhead and he offered to buy me booze. My friend Katrina told him I was all set and didn’t need anything. HELLO!!! Next time a guy offers to buy you a drink, YOU DO NOT PASS IT UP. Even if I didn’t want it, I would have given it to one of my friends.

The night wound down, and since I am just looking for fun and not anything else, when he tried to give me his phone number I gave him a fake one, as I often do. I know it’s mean, but that’s just the way it is. Honestly, I don't sleep around for several reasons:

1) I am complete germa-phobe. I can't even leave the bathroom without taking a paper towel and holding it on the doorhandle. Could I have sex with a random stranger?...the whole time, I would NOT be enjoying but contemplating all the STDS on the market he could have, or worse AIDS. Or somehow I would end up on tv in that awkward genital herpes med commercial. "I have genital herpes...I have genital herpes....I have genital herpes." Talk about a nightmare!
2) Yes, I am one of those dreamy, starred eyed girls who believes in love. And I am looking for "real, ridiculous, inconvenient, all-consuming love." And I don't think it is in a expensive hotel room or at any NSA fling at Cheapo's.
3) I HATE awkward situations. The epitome of awkardness would probably be waking up next to said stranger the next morning and realizing he is a four eyed midget, or worse, our horrid science teacher from high school. Actually, this would probably be more REPULSION than awkwardness, but still...

All in all, I think I got an A for my "oral presentation" that night. And now the next step is taking it up a notch from high school teacher to college professor.....


After graduating college, I decided to move away from the state I grew up in. A large part of what motivated me to leave was my falling out with the Ex. There’s nothing like running thousands of miles away from your problems, is there? I was also graduating with no concrete plans or solid prospects, so I saw no reason not to uproot.

The day after I settled in, I was online talking to the Soldier when I receive a message from none other than the Ex. He asked if I had really moved, and I sarcastically replied "Oh, you didn’t get the memo?" I wasn’t wholly receptive to this sudden invasion on my life, because aside from a few rogue messages over the summer, we hadn’t spoken in about 4 months.
And then he dropped the bombshell.

Those three little words.

No, not those.

"I miss you."

Who does that? After months of torment, I had finally laid all of my feeling for him to rest and made peace with what happened between us. I wonder if he’d still be coming to me with this if I hadn’t moved away. I can’t tell if it’s genuine or if it’s a game. I don’t now if he’s just trying to see how tight his hold on me is and see how much control he can exercise. Is he just sensing that in a new place, I might actually have the chance to be happy and he has to swoop in and shit all over it?

I can’t pretend that I hadn’t imagined this exact scenario playing out in my head. That I would move away and suddenly he’d wake up and realize how badly he’d fucked up and hurt me, and come crawling back, trying to insert himself back into my life.

I didn’t tell him about the Soldier. They weren’t really friends, but I’m sure the fact that he was also on the team would cause for some unnecessary drama, even though he’s in Iraq now. I don’t think I ever will. Not that it’s any of his business anyway.

He calls me or messages me daily to tell me he misses me.

And the worst part is…

I’m pretty sure I miss him too.

Monday, September 11, 2006

My Second Tour of Duty

A few weeks after my one-night stand with the Soldier, he was having a going away party because he was being shipped out to Iraq. I went with two of my good friends and drove about 2 hours to drink and be merry with him and his friends. We partied at a VFW hall his family had rented out and then went to a sketchy studio apartment. From there, one of our friends shot off a fire extinguisher and got us kicked out. The Soldier at this point was obviously very drunk. Wouldn’t you be if you were being shipped to Iraq?

We went back to his apartment and stayed over. He was drunkenly groping all of us and could barely see straight. He blindly grabbed my hand and said, “I don’t know who’s hand I’m holding, but we’re going to go fuck in the bathroom.” Who says romance is dead? I laughed and pushed him away and said we were going to bed. I brought a body pillow and my sleeping bag with me to share with my two friends, but he inserted himself between us and fell asleep holding me in a death grip for a few hours. When he finally released and rolled away, my friends and I were treated to a symphony of snores. We were literally laughing our asses off at his loud snores. I’d reach over and hold his nose until they subsided, but he’d quickly pick up where he’d left off just moments after I released my hold.

Somehow everyone else, except for my friend and I, managed to fall asleep despite the loud rumblings coming from the Soldier. We just began having a conversation discussing the melodic rhythms and she said “Maybe we can sing to it?” At this, the Soldier yelled out in his sleep “No!” in an angry tone. We both laughed hysterically and he went on to add, “It’s just bacon!” We laughed uncontrollably until we finally fell asleep. Much like the last time I spent the night with the Soldier, he took my blanket from me and I was left freezing in the night.

We woke up the next morning and he kept trying to fuck me in the ass while my friends were asleep. Finally the sounds of my resistance woke them up and we then sat around laughing and talking, until finally he got restless and kicked them out of the house so that I could give him a proper send-off. They left, we had more incredible sex that he guilted me into (who can say no to someone who’s going to Iraq?), and I gave him a Saint Christopher medallion for protection. We went and sat downstairs and talked, waiting for my friends to return. I gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek and left.

While he was stationed at Ft. Dix surrounded by nothing but, I wrote him letters and sent him cookies and we talked online. He actually got to come home for a week, but I wasn’t able to see him. The last time I spoke to him, he abruptly cut the conversation short because he was “Going off to fuck some chick.” He’s overseas now; I think about him sometimes. I wish him the best and a quick and safe return, but I don’t foresee any further calls of booty duty. With our last conversation, I’m pretty sure I was honorably discharged from his service.

Cheating Platonically with McDreamy

It was a weekend night close to the end of college. I went over to my friend's house -- we'll call her Princess, since I know she'd love that -- planning to do my first power hour. I'd watched people do it, but I'd never done it myself. I was fully prepared, having just finished a large pasta dinner.

Princess had put a 60-song playlist together, bookended by two of our favorite and/or meaningful songs ("No Scrubs" and "Bohemian Rhapsody"). Each song was set to play only sixty seconds and then end, and with each the beginning of each new song, we downed a shot of beer. All that pasta paid off, because neither of us felt that drunk at the end, even though we had drunk the equivalent of several beers. That was when the two guys came over. There was Cartel, the crazy Colombian whose lifelong goal was to become a drug trafficker and who claimed to love nothing better than pleasing a woman sexually. And then there was his friend McDreamy, the pre-med, handsome guy whom I had had an ebbing and flowing crush on since we had poetry class together the year before. I had always felt a level of attraction between us, maybe even a bit of sexual tension, but we had never even gotten close to acting on it.

The four of us drank, hung out, laughed, enjoyed some of the last moments of senior year. As time went on, more seniors kept trickling in, until Princess's living room was full of empty beer cans, solo cups, jello shot trays and laughing people. That's when the stripping games began.

It never got too serious -- it was just strip poker, nobody losing anything beyond a pair of shoes. Then, at around 1:30 AM or so, someone got the idea of us going to the beach and skinnydipping into the water. I know it wasn't my idea because I got so excited the minute I heard it! And before long, Princess and I had gathered up towels and piled everyone into two cars (driven by sober drivers).

It was FREEZING that night -- probably in the high fifties, low sixties. But that didn't stop us. Five of us peeled off our clothes -- me, Princess, McDreamy, Cartel and another girl -- and ran right into the water. What always surprises me is that I didn't look at the guys at all! Not the girls, either -- I didn't look at anyone. I just ran in and thought about how the guys were probably looking at our naked bodies, including all of our dry friends on shore. I got into water up to my waist as McDreamy ran in next to me. I held out my hand and he grinned and briefly grabbed it, then dove in.

At this point, I should explain that I was dating someone.

There was this guy that I'll call Round, for he was pretty round-shaped. I've never dated a heavier guy, and anyone who knows me knows I'm all about the skinny guys. Like McDreamy. He could just stand next to me and be classified my type. But I digress.

Round and I had met the year before, but hadn't become romantically involved until a month or so beforehand. At that time, I was still relishing in a breakup of a relationship that could have easily destroyed the rest of my life with its sheer boringness. The guy was perfectly nice and wonderful to me, not to mention well off, but he was horribly boring and I now realize that I could have gotten trapped into staying in that relationship forever. That's why meeting Round was so spectacular -- every time we ran into each other at a party, we'd just sit down and talk about travel, languages, cultures, the world. It was amazing to talk with someone who was passionate about the same things I was passionate about. Passions on top of passion, as my friend Miranda might say.

And it was great at first. It was exciting; it felt amazing. It seemed like I had finally found someone who actually got me, whom I actually respected. He'd hold my hand and he wouldn't drop it when his friends came by. I could stand back and look at him and be awed by him, and even more awed that he wanted to be with me.

And then the initial passion died out. He began acting more and more like a jerk. He'd bring me to hang out with his friends, and then promptly ignore me. That's fine when I'm in a group of people we both know -- but when you purposely bring me along with people I don't know, that is NOT cool. I once called Miranda when he abandoned me one time during a weekend away, begging her to stay on the phone with me so I'd have something to keep me from sitting alone all night. He became condescending about my best talent. He insulted me. Before long, I knew I'd had enough. But I didn't want to break up so close to the end of the school year, especially since he was going to be my date to the senior dance. Even so, it wouldn't be much of a breakup. I never considered him my boyfriend, although we were "in a relationship" according to facebook.

Anyways, back to the ocean.

So I was still involved with Round as the five of us skinny-dipped in the water in the middle of the freezing cold night. As soon as we had jumped in, we ran out and grabbed the towels, drying off, then putting our clothes back on. I think I called or texted Round, telling him what we had just done. He didn't answer, anyway.

Back at Princess's house, we kept up the drinking, even though it was past 2:30 by then. One by one, people began leaving. We kept playing stripping games, and this time more and more items of clothing came off. Soon, Princess was practically passed out on the couch, so we made her drink some water and took her up to bed. And by the time I came downstairs, everyone had gone except for McDreamy and Cartel.

The three of us kept up the strip poker for an hour or so. And then we began playing it in its simplest form -- each of us drawing a card, and whoever had the lowest one had to remove another item of clothing or do a shot. And it seemed that I kept losing. I didn't want to drink any more, but I kept taking more and more jello shots. Before long, the three of us were sitting with nothing but sheets wrapped around us. The pasta had been good to me in terms of preserving my sobriety, but it began to get fuzzy, and at the guys' insistence, I had lost even the sheet, just sitting with my legs tightly crossed and an arm in front of my boobs.

Then we got dressed and decided to go over to McDreamy and Cartel's house down the street. We did that. I think we were planning to smoke -- or at least drink some more, continuing the party. By the time we got outside, the sun was rising.

I don't remember what happened once we got inside, but I remember Cartel left and McDreamy looked at me and said, "Look, I know you're with Round. I don't even know Round, but I respect Round, and I'm not going to do anything. But do you want to sleep over? We won't do anything."

And I followed him upstairs. Even though we had spent a lot of time together naked, we got into bed with all of our clothes on -- his roommate, sleeping in a bed in the other side of the room, didn't stir -- and McDreamy was on his back the inside of the bed, I lay on my right side and pressed into him, and he put his arm around me. We must have fallen asleep immediately.

I woke up several hours later and was careful not to move. I discreetly checked the time and saw it was close to noon. He slightly moved. I nestled back into his arm. He put his other arm around me. No kissing, nothing sexual. We breathed. My heart was pounding the entire time. So was his.

Forget sex -- sometimes, not having sex is exponentially more arousing.

His hands ran down my arms and back. I felt his arms and turned my cheek against his chest. His hands were all over my body, but in such a subtle way, it was like he was still asleep. We both seemed to acknowledge that neither of us wanted to know that the other was awake. That would mean that we would have to think about exactly what we were doing, especially since I was spending the night in another guy's bed, another guy who was rock hard and holding me in his arms. We mutually decided, without any verbal communication, that we wanted to stay in the haze we were in. It was like having a wonderful dream, and doing anything to stay in it -- doing anything to enter it once again.

Eventually, we dozed in and out of sleep again. He then rolled into a sprawling position, taking up most of the bed and leaving me to cling to the edge. By the time 2:00 came around and he was still breathing heavily and evenly, I gently slipped out of bed and put my shoes on. I wanted to leave him a casual, one-line note, signed with just an initial. I found paper in a printer, but couldn't find a writing utensil. I was resigning to using a broken pencil when he stirred again and opened his eyes.

"Hey," I said softly.


"I'm gonna go, okay?"

"Okay." He sat up, smiled at me, and opened his arms. I gave him a hug (a long, real hug) and walked downstairs and outside, doing one of my final walks of shame as a college student. Ten minutes later, I was back at my apartment. My roommate, who had been at the party and the skinny-dipping incident at the beach the night before (yet elected to drive and keep her clothes on) gave me a look.

"Did you hook up with McDreamy?" she asked before saying anything else. I was surprised she said it so bluntly -- but this hadn't been the first time I'd cheated on someone with a friend of ours.

"I think McDreamy and I just had a platonic sleepover," I replied.

Nowadays, if I ever want to feel something intense, that's what I close my eyes and think about. Laying in bed in a guys' house, a roommate snoozing across the room, and McDreamy holding me in his arms, running his fingers up my back, his rock-hard cock pressed against me, yet doing nothing. Absolutely nothing.

That's what I always think of first.

What a kiss means...or something like that.

Sorry, I know this post is incredibly lame, but I wanted to write something. I was on one of my favorite sites and I stumbled across this. It may be useful or at least interesting read if you're bored or proscraturbatin'

*Kiss on the stomach-----"lets have sex"
*Kiss on the Forehead ----"Forever you will be mine"
*Kiss on the Ear ---"I'm horny"
*Kiss on the Cheek ---"We're friends"
*Kiss on the Hand ---"I adore you"
*Kiss on the Neck ---"We belong together"
*Kiss on the Shoulder ---"I want you"
*Kiss on the Lips ---"I love you" OR "I want you"
*Holding Hands ---"We can learn to love each other"
*Slap on the Butt ---"That's mine"
*Playing with the Ear ---"I can't live without you"
*Holding on tight ---"Don't let go" *Looking into each other's Eyes ---"Don't leave me"
*Playing with Hair on Head ---"Tell me you love me"
*Arms around the Waist ---"I love you too much to let go"
*Laughing while Kissing ---"I am completely Comfortable with you"

Sunday, September 10, 2006

The Soldier or How I Joined the Poon Platoon

A few months after I’d broken up with the Ex, it was my friend Tits’ 21st birthday. We went to a bar in a nearby town at around 10 o’clock that night. It was a bunch of couples and me + the Soldier. The Soldier was a friend of mine. Not a close friend. In fact, up until two days prior to this night, we hadn’t had a full-length conversation. He was also a member of the rugby team, a newcomer that semester. I’d noticed him a few months earlier and thought him to be extremely "fuckable." But immediately after making this observation, I also noted that he was a complete and total manwhore and made a mental note to steer clear.

I had driven the Soldier and myself to the bar that night, and to show his gratitude, he bought me a beer and a mixed drink. Nothing like feeding alcohol to the designated driver, is there? He put his hat on my head and left to walk around the bar socializing. For a glimpse into his character, let me tell you that the hat read "Poon Platoon." Class act, all the way.

After getting Tits sufficiently hammered, we left to go find a hot dog stand to appease her drunken munchies. While sitting there, talking to the Soldier, I was becoming increasingly bored with his drunken ramblings. He also started looking really good to me, so I decided to lean in and make a move. Nothing like some hardcore making out in the middle of a hot dog stand. Like I said, class act, all the way.

Everyone finished their hot dogs and we got into our respective cars. The Soldier told me that he had guard duty (yes, he was in the National Guard and was actually a soldier) but no alarm clock, so he needed to stay at my place to wake up in time. I know, I know. That was the most ridiculous story ever. And I didn’t buy it. But, I did pounce on him once we got back into my car. When we finally broke apart, and I began driving home, I knew I had lost the battle.

For the record, don’t drink and drive, kids. This has been Carrie’s public service announcement.

I made it back to school and as we made our way to the building I told the Soldier "I’m not going to sleep with you tonight." He said that was fine and I added, "I’m not going to blow you either." He laughed and said that was fine too. We walked in silence until he spoke up and said, "I bet you’re breaking every single one of your rules right now." This wasn’t the first freakishly accurate observation he’d made about my character that night. It amazed me how this guy I had only really talked to a handful of times could read my character so well. I guess that had a large part to do with why I let him stay in my room that night. A note to all guys, if you can see through my bullshit, I’ll probably sleep with you.

I locked him out of my room so I could clean up all of my laundry I’d strewn all over the place when I was hurriedly getting ready for the bar. Had I known he’d be coming home with me, I might have done a little more preparation in the way of putting my clothes away. I changed into my pajamas, which I thought would serve as a prevention of sex by eliminated the undressing process. It didn’t. When I finally let him into my room, he began slowly undressing, all the while shooting me a smug smile. I responded by rolling my eyes and turning over in my bed. He pulled me up to kiss me and then picked me up and tossed me onto the bed. I’ll spare the details, but let’s just say, Best sex of my life. He left that morning, after a night of his nocturnal flatulence and blanket hogging, and I felt kind of dirty, but quickly got over it. I did what I had to for my country.

The Ex

I was entering my final year of college when I decided to join the school rugby team as a way to meet new people. I showed up to the practice with my friend with the intention of finding a boy to bed. I didn't know much about the game of rugby other than it was a game popular in England and Ireland and was, in layman's terms, a mix of football and soccer and was very aggressive. And from what I had gathered, most of the guys who played were dead sexy.

The second I showed up, I was not disappointed. The team was comprised of maybe some of the best looking guys on the entire campus. They weren't all Adonis', but on the whole, they were quite impressive looking. I stood and watched them do tackling drills completely mesmerized. I guarantee there's no bigger turn-on than watching guys play rugby.

But I digress. Of all the guys who caught my eye, there was one who didn't. As the season progressed, two of my friends began fancying this fellow, and I couldn't care less. Although I didn't have much of a sexual attraction to him, we became great friends. I began picking up on the signals as time passed , like the way he looked at me and singled me out. Eventually, we started dating. Internally I gloated, because I was the envy of several of the girls who had all been vying for the attention.

It was a whirlwind romance, lasting only a few months. I had to overcome the hurdle that he was a devout Mormon. Inwardly I groaned, but remained resolute that I would defeat God. And sure enough, in two weeks, we'd overcome his reservations about sex and all that What Would Jesus Do? nonsense. I was hailed as a hero by our teammates and my other friends for triumphing over his foolish religion, and luring him over to the dark side. Eventually God won out this battle, as he began to repent and ended up pushing away from me, resulting in the demise of our relationship.

We tried to remain friends until he decided to reunite with his ex, a skinny little twat whom my friends and I already loathed, and became incommunicado. As quickly as he'd dropped into my life, he dropped out.