They shoot single people, don't they?

This will not end well.

2008-05-27T21:49:00.006-04:00

I wish I had updated about Alabaster. Maybe I will, someday; maybe I won't. At any rate, he came over, we hooked up, it was great, and it faded into nothing, much as it had before.

Quite a bit has happened recently.

I quit my job. Because of that, there's a good chance that I won't see Alabaster again. We'll see what happens.

Anyways, I like my new job.

After a few days at my new job, I knew the truth: I would not do anybody here.

That made me so happy! That door cah-lozes! I wouldn't have to worry about work awkwardness.

That was, until this week. He's not a part of our office. He's one of our clients. We work together, but we don't.

Um....

If you find someone cute....and you guys make plans to hit the clubs together....do you think that you would be able to control yourself?

I don't know.

I don't trust myself. I've never trusted myself. I know myself, and I know that as soon as I have a few drinks in me, I will throw myself at him. He has a girlfriend. Either something unforgivable will happen or I'll end up embarrassed. THIS WILL NOT END WELL.

Sexy Texts with Alabaster

2008-04-30T16:29:00.003-04:00

I've written a good amount about Alabaster. He is a coworker of mine who recently became one of my supervisors -- though not my direct supervisor. He made sure of that by telling HIS supervisor that he couldn't have me on his team because we have a "pre-existing personal relationship."

We hooked up three times about a year ago. Each time was wonderful. Then never again. In retrospect, I think it was a combination of things, but mostly that neither one of us wanted to be the one to make the move to initiate things again.

In the past year, we didn't see each other much, though I quite often drunk texted him. I'm very attracted to him, and he's always been in the back of my mind, though I haven't always admitted it to myself.

Like on New Year's Eve, when I started flirtatiously texting him even though I was in a relationship with the Hott Waiter -- a relationship that had only officially begun (initiated by him, of course, and blissfully agreed to by me and then confirmed on Facebook) a few days beforehand.

I was so embarrassed after that night, I immediately deleted every message exchanged between the two of us.

I ignored Alabaster for a while after that. Then the Hott Waiter and I broke up a few weeks later -- now a few months ago.

Then things started getting flirtatious again.

More tipsy texting. (Am I starting to drink too much?) He told me that "pre-existing personal relationship" thing. Then one day at work, I spent a while talking with him about Las Vegas (he goes there often) and Miranda and I both actually called him later that night to further discuss the hotel where we should stay and tried to convince him to come to Vegas the same weekend as us in June.

On Sunday night, I went over to my friend Emelia's house. She works with me and Alabaster, and she lives in the neighborhood adjacent to his -- I'm about a 20-minute drive from either. Emelia and I are very close and she has heard TONS about my history and feelings for Alabaster.

While watching House reruns, my phone vibrated with a text message. I opened my phone and my mouth fell open. I looked at Emelia.

"Alabaster?" she said.

"Yes!" I gasped. My heart raced. So few people can do that to me.

Alabaster: "[Your hairstyle] is intense"

(I had changed my Facebook status to "Samantha has [a crazy hairstyle]" and I had imported a note with an image of my hair and makeup look from the night before, the night during which I tried to make myself look nice for Nature Boy or any other prospective hookup.)

Me: "It's still pretty big"

Alabaster: "thats funny...are you going to try to maintain the look?"

Me: "Well, i see i have a fan!"

Alabaster: "Hahaha...i think i have to see it in person before i would consider myself a fan"

Thus began the texts. He was at the movies. Emelia and I squealed with each incoming text message. The messages were spaced out every couple of minutes, but I tried to wait longer than he did!

At one point, I became so nervous about the meaning of these messages that I became nauseated and started shaking. I begged Emelia for a piece of organic fruit; she brought me soy milk and crackers. That did help.

At one point I told him that I was amused that he was texting random work people while at the movies.

Alabaster: "i also love that you refered to yourself as a random [work person]"

Me: "Not so random, eh?"

Alabaster: "Not so much"

The movie would be ending around 12:15 AM, so I told him to give me a call when he got out. He told me he would.

Emelia and I started screaming.

To be continued....

Failed Booty Call Attempt

2008-04-29T22:17:00.007-04:00

On Saturday night, as I arrived at the bar downtown, I was in a mood. A horny mood, I guess, for lack of a better term.

At any rate, I WANTED TO HOOK UP.

The day before, I had been exchanging text messages with a former coworker. He is tall and blonde, well built, from a very rural U.S. state and likely of Scandinavian descent. I need a nickname for him.

Nature Boy. He LOVES the outdoors.

Nature Boy and I didn't work in close proximity, but we had gotten into the habit of walking to the nearest public transit station, about a ten-minute walk. We had become good friends during that time -- I even told him about when I hooked up with Alabaster.

I knew that he was new in the city, having moved here from his rural state to be with his girlfriend of a few months, a girl he had met at a summer job in a national park. She was a college senior (this was our first winter after college) at the college right down the street from my apartment.

Oh -- also, we share the same birthday. Which I found special.

I always assumed that he and his girlfriend wouldn't last. Though he wasn't really my type (I'm not into blonde guys, and he had a VERY slight, strange effeminate quality to him -- I assume it's because of where he is from), there was a chemistry that we had.

He quit his job early last spring, about a year ago, and I had only seen him a few times since. We kept in touch via Facebook. He and his girlfriend broke up over the summer. At least I was right about that.

There were two moments of heavy flirtation between us.

The first was his farewell party at the bar the day he quit, about a year ago. He was still with his girlfriend at the time, but she wasn't at the table. After quite a few beers and shots, I whipped out my phone to text (I'm the worst drunk texter) and he grabbed me. We were walking to the next bar.

"Are you doing a booty call?" he said, grabbing the phone out of my hand. "Are you texting Alabaster? You are, aren't you?"

"No!" I shrieked. I dove for the phone and snatched it out of his grip. I then took off like a bat out of hell.

Nature Boy ran after me and threw his arms around me, clamping my arms down. He then stopped trying to grab the phone and just held me from behind. "Sam, if you're doing a booty call, it better be with me," he said into my ear.

I broke away. "You really shouldn't say that."

We then got to another bar and Alabaster wasn't there, and then I drank tequila and that was a very, very bad idea indeed....

The other time, over the summer and after he and his girlfriend had broken up, we were at a bar with a few friends and somehow ended up holding hands. He left shortly after that. Nothing else happened.

So, here we go:

This past Saturday night:

Nature Boy and I texted each other several times. Here are a few excerpts:

Nature Boy: "how have you been samantha?"

Me: "Great! [job news]! how have you been?"

Nature Boy: "Glad to hear that, we should hang out sometime soon"

Me: "I concur. it has been far too long since we did something."

Nature Boy: "Yes, i've missed you"

A few minutes later after more small talk:

Nature Boy: "Going out to the new bar in [neighborhood kind of far from me] that replaced [the bar where I first went with Alabaster the time we first hooked up] - out of your way, but if you're in the area"

Me: "[the bar where I first went with Alabaster the time we first hooked up] closed? headed to [downtown lounge] in [downtown neighborhood] tonight. with [work] people!"

We talked a bit more. After checking with his friend:

Nature Boy: "Looks like i'll see you tonight"

Yes!

I felt like it was going to actually happen with Nature Boy this time. I did my heavy-duty primping: in addition to the full-body shave that I do just in case I end up hooking up with someone, I also used my special moisturizer, wore the good perfume, pulled out all the stops on my makeup and hair.

I had been planning to meet up with several of my female friends from work, and I did. I figured the guys would arrive later. I immediately sucked down one martini and ordered a second.

And the guys arrived: Nature Boy and a mutual former coworker of ours. It was great. No hugs in greeting, but lots of great conversation.

We talked for a long time, the three of us floating around to the other groups. There were about 12 of us altogether, and we kept having conversations with different groups.

At one point, my friend "Nadia" (she's appeared in earlier entries regarding the Hott Waiter) pulled me aside.

"Sam, he has a girlfriend."

"Fuck fuck fuck fuck," I replied. "No wonder he was just looking for friendship on Facebook."

"Yeah, he's with Gisele." Gisele? That was an odd couple. Gisele is a dancer who used to work with both of us, but had left quite a long time ago. There's my job for you. One big incestuous family.

I went back to Nature Boy and talked to him in a new light -- he was just a friend. And I had to push the threesome fantasies involving him and his friend out of my head. And the guys then returned to their neighborhood, presumably to hang out with more people from our work, but I refused the invitation.

At any rate, I still had to hook up with someone -- anyone!

The few attractive guys at the lounge had dispersed. I lamented my cause to my friends, who nodded sympathetically and at least attempted to humor me.

Then they decided to leave.

WTF?! The night was YOUNG! I was only two martinis into the evening!

As we waited in the nearby station, I contemplated going to one of my neighborhood bars, then realized that it would make me look like an alcoholic and/or prostitute.

WAIT! THE BUSKER!

I told my friends that I don't know why I hadn't thought of the Busker! I was really attracted to him and didn't see him as relationship material, so he would be perfect.

I texted him: "Hey -- i'm in the mood to hook up tonight. are you?"

A few minutes later: "ha- thats such a hot text. Yes but im in bed kind of sick"

FUCK.

Some texts and a convo later, I learned that he was sick in bed but "recovering." At that point, I just got annoyed. "Are you sick or not?" I asked. "Is this going to happen or not? Just tell me. Okay. I'm guessing it's a no."

"Yeah..." he said sheepishly. I didn't like his tone. Awkward city. "I'm sorry. Sweet dreams. Hehehehehe."

Sweet dreams?

Damn. Well, it's hard having interest in him anymore. I went to bed, defeated.

Little did I know that the next night I would end up fulfilling one of my deepest desires.

Just friends -- finally

2008-04-21T00:14:00.004-04:00

Tonight, the Cowboy and I hung out, our first date in the two weeks since the catastrophe of me visiting him at his home.

I always knew that this was the time to bring up what had been bothering me for around a month or more:

He's a great guy. We have a blast hanging out together. But I just don't feel it romantically with him. Maybe it's because there's too much friendship. Or maybe it's just because he's too short -- we are the same height, which is average for a girl and short for a guy.

Tonight we went to what we thought was going to be a funny play, but ended up being a strange and mostly unfunny one-man show. Then we went to a local bar in a distinct neighborhood of our city that had a good mix of college students and older townies.

After having our first beer, a guy in his late 40s or so sat down next to the Cowboy. We started chatting about gambling, of all things. Then he asked the significant question out of the blue:

"How long have you guys been seeing each other?"

"We're not," the Cowboy said immediately. Wow. I was surprised. This clearly wouldn't be nearly as hard as I thought. "We're just buddies."

We talked for longer, then left the bar. On the way back, I knew I had to talk to him.

A bit buzzed from our beers, we walked all the way back without touching (as always), but as soon as we got into his car, he made the familiar reach to the back of my neck, and I had to say something.

"Wait," I said. "What was up with what you said to that guy?"

"Well, I just said that to defuse the situation," he said. "He just said that so he could find out if you were single."

Shit. I guess it would be harder than I thought.

"I like you," he continued. "I'd like to see more of you. I have a great time with you."

"Well..." I couldn't look at him. I kept my eyes down. "I just think that while we get along great as friends, and we have awesome friendship chemistry, I just don't think that we have great romantic chemistry."

He was blank. "Okay."

"I don't want to hurt you," I said, looking him in the eyes. "I really don't. I have the best time hanging out with you. It's just that chemistry sometimes can't be explained. I mean, I've ended up with some pretty weird people because of chemistry." Namely, ALABASTER.

"I just thought that you and I had this cool thing," he said. "I mean, I thought that you and I could be buddy-buddy and then go and hook up. I thought it was the best of both worlds. Maybe that's just me being a typical guy, wanting to hook up."

We talked for a long time. He's been hurt before, and because of that, he's been wary of getting into a formal relationship. I told him how much I had been hurt by the Hott Waiter and how it has been so hard to admit that.

We ended our super-long conversation with a hug and a kiss on the cheek (me to him). I kept reiterating that I wanted us to hang out again. "If you're cool with it, I'm cool with it," he said.

I hope that we do end up hanging out again, because he is a really great guy.

He has a kid, and, the latest

2008-04-14T22:37:00.004-04:00

Here is the latest news on the multiple guys I am dating:

1) The Cowboy: We haven't seen each other since the night at his house, but we have talked on the phone a few times.

The situation is the same: I love talking to him and we have AWESOME friendship chemistry. However, I don't feel any desire to be more romantically involved with him. I have to figure out how to tell him how I feel.

2) The Busker. We haven't talked since that one time we went out, but he emailed me (though I didn't respond), thenI got a bit drunk and texted him with "How YOU doin?" How Joey Tribbiani of me.

We talked a bit this weekend. He revealed that he has a seven-year-old daughter staying with him this week. I've never dated someone with a kid.

3) The Math Guy. This is a guy from college. (He majord in math.) He's a year younger than me and living in our city now. He's always had a slight thing for me. Once during college, things got flirty and I kissed him a few times, then realized it was a mistake when he was trembling and realized it meant more to him than it did to me.

Things have always been moderately flirtatious, but I'm not sure what I want with him.

He keeps asking me to go out with him and get some drinks, and we made plans for the next week. However, he had health problems (??) and asked me to postpone our plans. I'm not that interested in him, but I'd like to hang out with him.

4) Alabaster. The guy from work that I wrote about in a recent entry. This part is major.

In my company, I work for my company's biggest client. The client is so big that we have two divisions: the elite and the not-so-elite. I will call the elite division Division A; the other is Division B.

I was promoted to Division A within a few months. Alabaster was promoted a few months later. Several months after that, he was promoted to a manager of Division B.

(Personally, I find that my company tends to promote straight white guys, a minority within my company, much more than any other group, but that's another topic for another time.)

I found out today that Alabaster was promoted to manager of Division A. That means that he will technically be one of my managers. I will retain my current manager, but she is one of four managers within my division. For that reason, Alabaster, will be one of my bosses.

I wasn't at work today, but I spent time with a very good friend from work, "Emelia," who told me the news. After a few drinks (I had SEVERAL today, and considering that it's Monday, that therefore makes me an alcoholic), I started texting him. As usual.

I texted him congratulations on his new position, and joked that I couldn't believe that he was my new boss. After a few texts, he called me. I was in the bathroom at the time.

As soon as I got back to my seat (after multiple margaritas at a Mexican restaurant, we were tossing back Blue Moons in a total dive bar), Emelia told me that Alabaster had called while I was away. I called him.

He answered.

We talked for several minutes and discussed his new position at work. I congratulated him. He was gracious. And then he totally told me something that I didn't expect. This is as close to verbatim as I can remember:

Alabaster: "I told [my boss and your boss's boss] that I couldn't have you on my team because it was a conflict of interest."

Me: "Are you serious?!"

Alabaster: "Yeah. I told him that we have a 'previous pre-existing relationship.'"

Me: "You told [your boss and my boss's boss] that?! He's so weird! There's one only thing that can mean!"

Alabaster: "Well..."

Look. It has been WELL OVER A YEAR since we hooked up.

That conversation gives me hope that something else could happen. As I always remind myself when it comes to all relationships, If nothing were there, NOTHING WOULD BE THERE.

Something is there.

Therefore, something is there between us.

We'll see what happens.

Trapped in a Non-Relationship

2008-04-01T21:02:00.003-04:00

Somewhat awkward moment today: I was walking home from the subway and I ran smack into the Busker. I haven't seen him, nor have I spoken to him, since our date a week ago.

He was on the phone. I had my iPod on. We mouthed, "Hi," and moved on.

This is why I have to stop dating guys in my neighborhood. I can't swing a dead cat without hitting one of them.

I've been continuing to see the Cowboy. And, truth be told, I'm not quite sure why. I think I've established that I'm really not that attracted to him. His height is a huge factor when it comes to that. I wish I could get past it, but I just can't. He's too short.

I am well aware of my dating patterns and I know that staying with someone to whom I'm not attracted is a recipe for disaster. It's been bad enough times. But he's a cool guy and I like hanging out with him. He keeps me entertained.

The other day, I told him that I feel a bit guilty that we always hang out in my neighborhood. He suggested that I come over. He still lives at home, but his parents wouldn't be home this weekend -- they would be away. I agreed to it.

I went to visit him on Sunday, and although we originally planned on sometime before 5, we changed to 7.

I called him when I was almost there to let him know.

"And your parents are still away, right?" I asked.

"Um...they're back now," he told me.

"Oh," I said, my voice hollow. "Oh....okay."

I did not want to meet his parents.

I actually told the Cowboy the other night that I wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship. He told me that he was pretty go-with-the-flow, take-it-as-it-comes.

I was not going to meet the parents of a guy I wasn't even seeing exclusively.

I got to his house. He was inside. I could see his father outside to the left. He didn't introduce us. When we went inside, I could tell that there were people in other rooms, but he must have told them to stay put.

I met his two dogs -- both golden retrievers. One VERY large one and one cute little puppy. I don't like dogs except for the occasional puppy.

I think he could tell because the large one jumped on me and kept trying to lick me everywhere. I think the Cowboy could tell how I felt because I had an expression of disgust and contempt on my face, then went to wash my hands as soon as he restrained the large dog.

"Wow, you really don't like dogs," he said, a bit surprised and amused.

"Well, I told you I wasn't an animal person," I told him. "I guess I didn't tell you just how much."

(To be fair, the little puppy then snuggled in between my ankles, and I found that very cute, for an animal.)

We went upstairs to the attic, where he has a pseudo-suite. After hanging out for a bit, I relaxed, and he kissed me. The kisses are weird -- he always initiates them, and it would never occur to me to do so.

AND HE'S SHORT!

We went out and grabbed dinner. It was fun.

I just don't know what to do. This is never going to be a relationship. But I don't want to hurt him. I'd like to stay friends with him. I don't know how to go about this!!

Pest Control

2008-03-26T18:20:00.000-04:00

Today I had to wait around my apartment for the yearly spraying for pests. Living in a warm tropical climate, various insects are a common nuisance, so my landlord sends someone out once every spring to do a preventative spray. So I had to dip out early on lunch with Rocky to rush home to meet the pest guy.

And what a creeper! He comes in and I'm polite enough, but my apartment... is pretty trashed. I forgot how messy my room was, and quickly ran to stuff my laundry into various drawers, closet, anywhere. As the pest guy gets situated, he comments how "You were doing the same exact thing when I came here last year, sitting in the same exact spot with the laptop and the television, watching some silly soap opera." Which first and foremost, I don't watch silly soap operas. Ever. And second of all, creepy much?

I nervously chuckled and commented that this is the technological age of multitasking and kind of trailed off. I mean, what the fuck does he expect me to be doing. I had to sit around and wait for him to come to let him into my apartment. He's going to be spraying, so should I be baking a fresh batch of cookies to present to him? Should I have been in my full workout gear, sweating to the oldies? I don't think it's that ludicrous that I am relaxing on my couch with my computer and television, but maybe that's just me. Way to make an uncomfortable and creepy observation, Pest Control guy. Do you make comments like that to all of your customers, or just the young single women?

Then, he goes to spray in my spare room, which is jokingly referred to as my "office" or "art studio" but in actuality is just my junk room. And while in there quips, "This room hasn't changed much." What the fuck? Did he keep a dossier of my apartment to revisit in the most creepy manner possible? Save the personal comments and critiques for someone else. The entire process took less than ten minutes, but the ripple effects of emotional scarring will surely haunt me for much longer. As he left, his parting words were, "Okay, I'll leave you to your... laptop." I didn't even know how to respond. I sort of muttered a "Yeah, see ya." and promptly locked the door behind him.

It's one thing to attempt small talk to be personable, but everything that he said was borderlining on stalkeriffic and judgmental. Sorry I didn't tidy the place up for you, or engage in more stimulating activity for the ten minutes we see each other a year. That shit rubbed me the wrong way, and I'm so thankful that I won't have to deal with him for another year.

And strictly on principle, I plan to be in the same spot again next year, tooling around on my laptop and watching TV.

One last tumble in the Weeds

2008-03-24T23:52:00.001-04:00

You would think that after the Trainwreck known as Super Bowl I would have washed my hands of Dandy completely. And if I were a sound person of logic, I would have. But, my emotions are my vulnerability as well as my willingness to fall for guys so easily got the best of me, as they always do.

At work I'd put up an icy front against Dandy. I figured that hateful glares combined with the silent treatment was my best course of action to follow. But it was hard. I'd really liked him, even though he was a druggie douche. Maybe it was more of a pride issue. I'd felt initially that I'd been "settling" with Dandy, and that I was out of his league, so despite the feelings I'd developed, it was almost embarrassing that I'd been dissed by someone whom I'd considered beneath me. Although I suppose that served as a wake-up call of sorts.

Slowly my hard exterior melted away until Dandy and I reached cordial terms. It was difficult to maintain an animosity when we worked so closely together and ran in the same social circles. Plus, for some reason, I've time and time again exhibited a weakness and vulnerability for the men who stomped on their hearts. Maybe I'm a masochist, but I tend to give multiple chances to men I'm emotionally connected to.

After a night at work, I went to our favorite dive bar, the scene of many of my past work-related sexual indiscretions, with my friends Wispy and Gay J. We laughed over cocktails and shots, singing to the likes of Eddie Money, when lo and behold, who should enter the bar but Dandy. My heart skipped a beat, as I hadn't expected to see him there. This was naive on my part as the bar was one of our favorite hangouts.

I was flanked by my two good friends, who were feeding into my ego, and building me up. I felt like I had the upper hand, I was looking fabulous, feeling good from all the cocktails, and Dandy was practically falling over himself flirting with me. In my mind, it was the perfect scenario. I was thinking that he realized how stupid he was to screw things up and wanted to make amends. I played it cool, and Gay J was my trusty sidekick, constantly chiming in to tell Dandy how hot and sexy I was and how utterly out of his league I was and how lucky he would be to go home with a girl like me.

The shots and cocktails were a-flowing throughout the rest of the night, and by last call I was sufficiently hammered. Definitely too drunk to drive. Never too drunk to fuck. Naturally I got Dandy to drive me home and with very little convincing, invited him to stay over. What are principles when there's a need to get laid? The next morning was like old times, nothing awkward, and we went back to get his car (he'd driven mine home) and that was that.

Apparently I learned nothing from the whole McRugby debacle. I was foolish enough to believe that things were turning out the way I wanted. That Dandy was finally cutting Fanga loose, and we were going to be together. Things went back to the way they were, he was full-on back with Fanga and we never spoke of that night after the bar. I guess he just wanted one last roll in the hay before returning to his girlfriend.

Hindsight is 20/20 and looking back on my whole "relationship" with Dandy, I went in with wholly unrealistic expectations. I romanticized our affair, and ignored the looming possibility that he was still with Fanga. But he was never 100% honest with me and I shouldn't blame myself for his lies, because I had no reason not to believe him. The irony of the situation was that I had truly believed that with Dandy I had found a nice, sweet guy. I'm starting to question whether or not such a thing exists...

My Attempt at a Harem

2008-03-23T22:29:00.002-04:00

Lately, I've been thinking that the best option for me is to establish a harem of men. This way, I can draw from it whenever I'm in the mood for a certain guy.

I've been dating two guys: the Cowboy and the Busker.

I met the Cowboy on an online dating site. He went to college in a state known for its population of cowboys, so he has a total cowboy accent and loves to wear cowboy hats and boots and stuff like that, but not so much in the city here -- mostly in college.

I like him a lot. He's cute, and our conversation is AWESOME. He's a really cool guy, and I love hanging out with him and talking with him. He's great.

The only problem is that I'm not sure that I feel attracted enough to him. We have tons of friendship chemistry but don't have much physical chemistry, which is a complete 180 from the Hott Waiter.

His height is a huge reason. I'm just about the average height for an American woman. His online dating profile said that he was two inches shorter than me. I should have known that ANY guy would exaggerate his height. He's actually exactly my height. EXACTLY. Which is tough for me. I wish it wasn't this way, but it's how it is.

He's also a year younger than me, so that's unusual for me as well. He still lives at home, too (yikes!) but will be moving out in a few months.

Now, the second guy is the Busker.

I was at a popular cafe in my neighborhood a few weeks ago with Miranda when we saw this attractive redheaded guy. I don't usually think redheaded guys are hot, but THIS guy was! I asked him if he was in line, he said no, and he moved back. He was with a girl, but they didn't seem to be together.

I joked to Miranda that we should put out a "missed connection" on Craigslist for him. Long story short, I did, and a week later, he responded. He didn't know who I was, but he said that he was in the cafe all the time. We exchanged several emails, I asked him details about himself, and they all matched up.

He busks for a career -- he plays his guitar and sings around our city, particularly in my neighborhood and surrounding neighborhoods. He also teaches lessons and does gigs at local bars, but he's mainly a busker. Sexy!

I was planning on going to a local bar last week, I told him, and he mentioned out of the blue that actually, he was supposed to play music there on that night.

Miranda and I went. It was AWESOME because we knew who he was and he had NO idea who I was!! WE HELD THE POWER!!!!

He texted me, telling me to finally show myself!

And then it happened.

He took off his hat.

He is completely bald on top.

DAMN IT DAMN IT DAMN IT.

Still, aside from that, he's very good-looking and I was attracted to him.

I went up to him at the very end of the night to talk to him. I had been drinking quite a bit.

Me: "Hi."
Busker: "Samantha?"

Perfect. He was thinking of me all night.

We talked for a while, and we said we could call, text, meet up, etc.

A week later -- a few hours ago! -- we got a cup of coffee.

He had his hat on. I'm definitely attracted to him. The problem? We only hung out for about 40 minutes, and STILL, tons of people came up to him because he's so well known in the area -- including two girls who TOTALLY hung all over him and flirted with me!

I tried to stay neutral, because nothing can be less attractive to a guy when you get jealous, but it's tough in that circumstance.

We ended things with a hug and plans to meet up again.

I'd just like to hook up with him on a regular basis, no strings attached, have him be one of the guys in my harem.

We'll see how it goes with both him and the Cowboy.

Introducing Alabaster

2008-02-10T22:17:00.000-05:00

Back in October, I alluded to a strange attraction to someone. We hooked up a few times about a year ago.

I love this story, so I'd like to write about it.

I had a moderate flirtation with a coworker that had been going on for around a month. Perhaps "moderate" is too strong a word. We talked a lot, and I had the teeniest inkling of attraction to him -- but I have the teeniest inkling of attraction to anyone!

He's tall (good), and pretty thin (good), and he has dark hair (good), but he has the WHITEST skin you can imagine. Let's call him Alabaster for that reason. People rib him about it. He has a very young-looking face. (When he grew a goatee, another coworker told him he looked ten years older and could now pass for fourteen.)

Anyway, it was a late night at the office, and we finally got out at the same time. He asked me if I wanted to go get a drink with him and his friends in his neighborhood. (Alabaster lives in our city, but in a neighborhood about 20 minutes from me that is filled with college students.)

He had invited me a few times before, and I always tossed off the casual "No, no, no, no" that we girls employ so often, the polite initial refusal. But this time, I surprised myself.

"Sure."

I piled into his car with his friends. Miranda called me while en route to their house (which helpfully made it look like I was popular -- thanks, Mirand!). The whole time, my heart was beating rapidly. I wasn't friends with the rest of these guys -- only Alabaster. And, truth be told, I often have difficulty being the new person in a group of people who already know each other.

We got to his house and walked to the bar. I made sure to get enough money for a cab at the ATM. It was fun at the bar, especially as I began drinking those vodka tonics and loosened up. Alabaster and I flirted a tad, but I tried to make it seem like I didn't care.

Alabaster has a roommate who also worked with us. I'll call him Upstairs. Upstairs is not my type in the least -- big and black -- but he's a very smart and personable guy, and I like him. We spent a lot of the evening talking as Alabaster was off with his other friends, and then Upstairs started buying me drinks. Good ones. Belvedere, not that Absolut crap I was drinking before.

It gets a tad fuzzy at this point. We went to another bar. By now, Upstairs was hitting on me -- HARD. (Not literally hard. He was just hitting on me a lot.) But I was paying more attention to Alabaster, and he was paying attention to me. It got flirtatious. Very much so. We were holding hands by the time the bar closed.

Alabaster was cheap. As soon as he got home, he shotgunned 3 Bud Lights in a row.

For a few hours, we hung out in the kitchen. And that's when Upstairs started getting a little bit scary.

"All I'm saying," he told me, "Is that my bedroom is UPSTAIRS and ON THE LEFT. Upstairs and on the left. I'm just throwing it out there! That's all I'm saying! Upstairs and on the left! I mean, I'm just throwing it out there...." etc. etc. etc. On and on and on and on.

I joked back with him, hoping that he understood that I meant it as a joke. Apparently, that didn't work, and he tried to pull me into his room.

I fought back and told him firmly, without smiling, that no, I did not want to go upstairs with him.

It got more normal after that, even though Upstairs still believed that he had a sliver of a chance with me.

Earlier that evening, while at the second bar, I slurred to Alabaster, "Would you mind if I just crashed on your couch? I'll take the train home tomorrow morning." He told me that yeah, it was fine, no problem whatsoever.

Before long, there were three people left in the kitchen: me, Alabaster and Upstairs. Alabaster and I were standing on opposite sides of the table. Upstairs was seated at the table.

Eventually, Upstairs conceded defeat.

"Well, I guess I'll go to bed, then," he said. THANK GOD. It was about time. At this point, I think that both Alabaster and I were well aware that we wanted to hook up. We looked at each other. I waited until Upstairs had shuffled upstairs and on the left to his bedroom.

"So," I said casually, "Would you be up for any spooning tonight?"

"I would definitely be up for spooning tonight," he replied just as casually. "Spooning sounds like something that would be great."

"Great."

I went into his room and lay on his bed. Of course, I use the word "bed" loosely -- it was a twin-sized mattress on the floor with a single sheet on top of it.

I need to talk more about Alabaster. Everyone thinks he's a douchebag. That's probably the best way to describe him. People make fun of him. He tries to be cool. Yet he's pretty high up in the social hierarchy at work. People are friends with him, but they also mock him, most often to his face. It's tough to describe. He can be a jerk, but he's not malicious or mean.

That's why I found it so odd that I was attracted to him.

Anyway, he was in the bathroom. And he came back.

I was on the bed, on my side, facing away from the wall. In typical girl fashion, I tried to take up as little room as possible.

He turned out the light and came to the bed.

I assumed that he was just going to lie there, cuddle and spoon with me.

He lay down facing me.

We started wildly making out.

Oh, God, it was FANTASTIC. That's up there in one of my favorite first kisses. I just remember arms, and lips, and falling all over each other.

He wanted to do more than I was prepared to do (did I honestly think I'd be hooking up when I went to work that day?), so I wouldn't let him get beyond second base. (Heh.)

It was good. It was really good. And I don't want to write that much about it, because it was more about a feeling, a moment, that you couldn't describe through writing.

The next day, we cuddled and talked, and he drove me home. As soon as we got out of bed (or off mattress), it suddenly became awkward, and remained that way for the 20-minute drive home. We gave each other a quick smooch as I left.

Our next two hookups were strikingly similar. Fantastic making out, such chemistry, and then chilly awkwardness the next morning.

And after that, nothing ever again.

It's over.

2008-02-10T22:15:00.001-05:00

My relationship with the Hott Waiter ended nearly three weeks ago.

It ended in a very ugly way, and for that reason, I don't want to write about it.

The Accidental "I Love You"

2008-01-02T23:31:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I went to a New Year's gathering at the home of the Hott Waiter's good friend from work. It turns out that he had been talking about me so much that his friend, Daughtry (looks just like him -- but improved!), insisted on throwing a party so he could get to meet me.

Squee.

I knew that it would take me a while to warm up to them and actually start talking, which is something I wish that were easier for me to do. I'm fine after some time -- especially when alcohol is involved, THAT loosens me up! -- but I need time to relax.

And I wish I could have been more relaxed earlier in the night. The Hott Waiter kept asking me if I was okay. Grah. I'm going to try to be better at it. It's just that I like this guy so much and he's so great, he makes me nervous about him!!!!

Anyway, the night went on, and the guys hung out together while I bonded with the girls. Which was much easier for me to do and went much more smoothly. I really liked Daughtry's fiancee.

Later in the night, I was sitting in a big poofy chair, kind of sideways, and he sat on the arm of the chair and slid back onto my lap jokingly. At this point, we had each had around three or four drinks -- enough to be slightly intoxicated but not totally gone.

I teased him for his bony shoulder blades, he grabbed my hand (as he always does) and got cuddly with me. He is so damn affectionate and romantic at every given moment!!!!

We talked a bit -- I can't remember what about -- and then he randomly said, "I love you, babe."

It was casual; it was offhand. He wasn't looking into my eyes when he said it. I know it's not supposed to mean anything.

But he said it, and the fact that he said it made my entire body go crazy -- my stomach flipped and I could feel my heart beating everywhere from my crotch up to my throat to my fingertips.

I just smiled and didn't say anything.

I know it means nothing -- we've only been dating a month! Still, though, it was nice.

Food and Sex: One Uncontrollable Urge

2007-12-26T22:17:00.000-05:00

My Hott Waiter and I have been dating for almost a month. The sex has been fantastic. Last time we did it, we went at it for two full hours and I came three times in a row. After, I realized we had shot the bolts out of my bed.

But I digress.

I've always considered myself a foodie, but my Hott Waiter is a REAL foodie. He's very sensual -- really into food and wine, very knowledgeable and particular. It's nice to be with a guy who actually eats his dessert little by little, savoring each bite, rather than shoving bite after bite in his mouth.

The way a guy eats dessert IS representative of his skills between the sheets.

He talks about food passionately, and I've been finding that it turns me on. I'm serious! I find myself becoming aroused when he talks about the nuances of a wine, the accoutrements to a dish, or how tuna is just barely seared....God, I love tuna, the rarer the better....

The first time we had sex, I was blown away by how great a night it was overall. The sex was wonderful -- and since that first time, it has grown and evolved and morphed into FANTASTIC! Dare I say it? The Hott Waiter has given me the best sex of my LIFE! Each time is better than the last!

Anyway, on that first night, the weather was really bad -- we had a major storm, and most people were holed up inside. After having sex, we realized we were hungry, he had no food in his fridge, and we might as well go out.

We ended up at a really trendy place -- a painfully, ridiculously trendy place in our city's trendiest dining neighborhood, the neighborhood that includes his restaurant. This restaurant is open late (which it was) and the food is WONDERFUL and the prices are suprisingly low! We blissfully ate our food, smooched, fed each other across the table, played footsie....that's how he rolls. And I love it.

Since then, almost every time we've had sex, we've gone for food afterward. It's so natural -- you get so tired and hungry after sex that you need to replenish yourself -- and your metabolism is already up, so why not?

Whether expensive or cheap, it's always been good food. We've gone to Wendy's for chicken sandwiches, IHOP for pancakes, and an all-night brasserie in one of the nice hotels downtown.

It's become natural. Sex, then food. After the sex, I want the food!

Funnily enough, last night, he took me out for an incredible dinner -- a seven-course extravaganza and a fantastic bottle of wine. (His best friend is a manager there.)

Did we have sex?

Are you kidding? We couldn't even move!

Sex, then food. It should never be any other way.

The Hott Waiter: Who is he?

2007-12-15T22:50:00.000-05:00

Every guy I date has been compared to a guy on Sex and the City.

So who is the Hott Waiter?

There's no question that we met just the way that Samantha and Smith met. But that's where the similarities end.

And he's a waiter while I'm a young professional. Sounds like Miranda and Steve.

But in terms of how he acts, if only limited to the episodes preceding the finale, you know who he is? PETROVSKY! Intensely romantic to the point of blowing me away, sensual beyond all belief, opening me to a new world, and just impressive.

And also....we haven't been laughing together as often as I'd like. It's still very new, but....let's hope we can change that.

Whirlwind Romance with the Hott Waiter

2007-12-15T22:12:00.000-05:00

It's been two weeks, and it has been fantastic.

In fact, I feel as if I don't want to write about it -- not in too much detail, anyway. I like holding it close to me, feeling like it's something special. I keep it special because I don't reveal too much.

Well, in the past two weeks, the Hott Waiter and I had our pivotal first date, we spontaneously met up at clubs twice, and we spent time at each other's places after that....

Here are a few things that struck me:

He is intensely, openly romantic. On our first date, he was holding my hand before we were halfway down the street. His arms were around me, he was actually playing footsie, and he was holding my hand across the dinner table.

I should have loved it, but it freaked me out!

"Listen," I said apologetically, him holding my hand across the dinner table, "I'm just not used to this."

"Do you want me to tone it down? I can stop--"

"No, no, no. It's good." I smiled. "I like it....I'm just not used to it. I need to relax." And I did relaxed. As time has gone on with us, I've gotten used to it, and I love it now.

There are so many other things. He won't let me walk over so much as a puddle -- he will pick me up and carry me across. He has no qualms about randomly feeding me in the middle of a restaurant, about reaching over to wipe something off my lips, about singing along with insanely romantic song lyrics while grinning at me.

It blows me away. There are times when I can't even breathe.

That is what's most notable about the Hott Waiter.

What's also notable is that, strangely enough, I've never dated a guy to whom I was really, really attracted. In fact, the majority of my relationships have been with guys who blindly adored me -- and while I loved the attention, I honestly wasn't attracted to them.

This is new. Because I am so attracted to the Hott Waiter, I am crazy nervous when I'm with him, and I completely clam up! It almost works out because he never stops talking. (Interestingly enough, my roommate just told me that maybe he talks that much because HE is nervous, too!)

It's weird. Because I'm so nervous, I feel like I can't fully be myself. At my most genuine self, I'm the crazy storyteller, making people laugh. I rack and rack my brain when I'm with him, and I can't think of any stories to tell.

I get paranoid when I'm not with him. I'll be nonchalant, but on the inside, I start freaking out and thinking, "NOW it's it. NOW he won't want to see me again. NOW he'll think I'm weird; NOW he'll think we'll be through."

But each time, we get together again and have an amazing time nonetheless.

Particularly these past two evenings. (My roommates are going to kill me.)

Am I setting myself up for failure? Am I trying to get myself to expect something bad because even if it fails, I can turn to myself and acknowledge that at least I was right all along?

I need to relax....

The Trainwreck Known as Superbowl

2007-12-10T10:27:00.000-05:00

Superbowl Sunday has always been a most important holiday to me, near and dear to my heart. Even when I was too young to fully understand the rules of the game, I'd been captivated by this yearly clash of the gridiron titans.

Dandy had mentioned that he was planning on having a Superbowl Party for the big day, so I immediately requested it off, and mentioned to Dandy that he might want to do the same. He eventually got around to it and when the schedule was about to come out, my manager told me that I needed someone to cover the shift for me, otherwise I'd be working. I found someone to do it, and when the schedule was posted I had my coveted Sunday off!

Dandy didn't.

In fact, not only did he not have it off, he was scheduled to close.

To clarify, most nights, when cover counts are low, you have the chance of being cut from the shift. When you close, you are absolutely guaranteed to work.

I was incensed. Both of us had requested the night off, and even if they couldn't schedule him off, why would they place him in a position where there wasn't any chance he could get it off? I felt horrible, like I had somehow stolen the night off from him, and riddled with guilt, I went on a mission to get his shift covered from him.

So I sought out Born-Again Billy, the creepy 34 year old supposed pious Christian who happened to be the only other person to have the night off without requesting it. After much swindling and finaging, he managed to squeeze $50 out of me in agreement to relieve Dandy of his closing duties.

A few days later, I caught wind of Born-Again Billy telling Dandy he was willing to pick up his closing shift... in exchange for a small fee. I was livid, and immediately went to management to report his attempted extortion. Finally after much argument, the matter was resolved, and Billy was only paid the firstly agreed upon $50.

Superbowl Sunday finally rolled around and my most hated team, the Colts, were contenders. I was a band-wagon Bears fan that night. I spent more than a few hours selecting my outfit. Not only was this party going to be a gathering of Dandy's friends, but his parents, whom I'd never met before, were also going to be in attendance. I wanted a nice balance of sporty casual yet still alluring and attractive. I settled on a pair of nice jeans and a 3/4 sleeve gray and green striped top that displayed my breasts quite nicely. I called him while I was driving over to ask if there was anything I should pick up. He suggested I get my preference of beer because I might not like the selection he had available, and also asked if I could pick him up some cigarettes. Being the most excellent pseudo-girlfriend, I agreed.

I arrived, gave Dandy his cigarettes and a kiss and we shared a smoke and then went inside for some beers, app's and football. I was immediately settled in, embraced by friends and family, engaging them all in conversation and jokes. The Bears returned the kickoff back for a touchdown and I was easing into what seemed like was going to be a most enjoyable Superbowl Sunday. Dandy's mother sat beside me and told me all the wonderful things she'd heard about me and how happy she was that a girl like me was seeing her son. Perfect.

This perfect evening came to a screeching halt as the second quarter began. The door opened and the game was interrupted by the loud obnoxious laughter and stumbling of three drunk girls. Three underage and skankily dressed drunk girls. And the ringleader of this triumvirate of annoyance? None other than Dandy's "ex-girlfriend" Fanga*. My stomach tightened, then dropped. I sent a confused look over at Dandy, who was conveniently avoiding my gaze. The duration of the first half was tainted by those idiotic girls chattering away, slurring about the game and not even being aware of the quarterback of either team, let alone what teams were competing.

My blood was boiling and by halftime, I knew I needed to get away from there. So I asked Dandy's best friend Chi-Town, to join me outside for a much-needed cigarette. We walked around to the front of the house and I lost it. I yelled, "What the fuck is she doing here? I thought they broke up!!" Chi-Town just looked at me sadly and earnestly replied that he had no idea what was going on. Eventually Dandy showed himself and Chi-Town excused himself to return back to the game. All I could do was look at Dandy, there were no words.

For about a minute. Then all of the anger and emotion came flooding out with a vengeance. And I let him have it. In a stream of venom laced with obscenities, I told Dandy that he was a pussy ass piece of shit who tried to make me look like a fool and I was fucking done. And folks, that's the watered down version of what I said. My senses were numbed by the rage I felt and much of what transpired was a haze of white hot anger and burning hatred. I concluded my tirade with two punches, one to the gut and the other a straight kidney shot. Despite the physical and verbal abuse, Dandy pleaded with me to stay til the end of the game and for some unknown reason, I obliged. Maybe I did it to stick it to Fanga, maybe I did it so I could "save face" in front of his friends and family. Either way, I went back inside for the duration of that abysmal game, and Dandy herded Fanga into his bedroom and I didn't see either of them for the rest of the night.

The game ended, I politely said my goodbye's to my friends and family and called one of my friends from work, Hippie. I burst into tears after holding it in for so long and she told me to come over. I made it to her house and imagine my surprise when I saw none other than Rocky in her living room on the couch. Normally I'd be completely against letting Rocky see my vulnerable side, but I was just too far gone that I just let it out. They cheered me up with hugs and copious amounts of weed, leaving my eyes puffy and squinted from all the tears and THC. I made it home pretty late that night to curl up against my pillow and lament in the fact that I'd been made such a fool and allowed myself to care so deeply for such a degenerate.

*Fanga's name is derived from the fact that while stoned on 4/20, she flipped her car over reaching for a rogue chicken finger that her fat greasiness couldn't do without. No. Seriously. That actually happened.

The Hott Waiter: Part IV

2007-11-25T22:14:00.000-05:00

When I last left off, I had just received my email from the Hott Waiter. I was trying not to get my hopes up, so it was a delicious surprise.

He had asked me if there were a better way to get in touch with me, and I joked with him and gave him my email.

I didn't hear from him for a few days. (This was over Thanksgiving.)

While at work on Friday, I received a text. The message read roughly as follows:

What's up - it's the Hott Waiter. thought i would say hi and maybe we could arrange that private show for you really soon.

I let out a shriek.

"What is it?" my co-worker Holly asked from a few desks away.

I threw my cell phone at her.

She grabbed it, read the text and started squealing. She then proceded to ask me, yet again, if he had a friend or a brother or SOMEONE for her!

I decided to play it cool to the Hott Waiter, responding, "I'd like that," later in the evening, but I didn't have to. He beat me to it.

By about 6:00 PM, I had received a call from him and hadn't even realized it -- I was probably in the shower.

His message, roughly:

"Hey, it's the Hott Waiter. Hope all is well, hope we get to talk soon. My number is [555-555-5555]. Well, have a great night!"

YAY. YAY. YAY.

I played it for my friends when they came over. Heh.

I called him back but couldn't get hold of him, so I left him a message that was a tad long and rambling, and I hope he found it funny or at least charming. This is not the time to be boring. He will never remember me if I'm boring.

He called me back today, leaving another message (I swear I have to take my phone off vibrate!) and I called him back right after.

We proceeded to talk for well over an hour.

It was great! The conversation had a great speed and agility to it, if that makes sense. He definitely did most of the talking, and the only low points were when I said something that didn't quite gel right, but then we shifted back into something normal. I'm still really nervous when talking to him and trying to say the right thing.

Here are some tidbits of the conversation:

--He lives alone in a three-bedroom apartment in a city that's a tad far from mine, but easy to get to via public transit. (I can drive, too.) I didn't ask whether he rented or owned.

--He is a RELATIONSHIP GUY! Wow. He was with his last girlfriend for 3 years. She was crazy and jealous, especially since he's the (hott) lead singer of a band and has girls all over him, but he's definitely a one-girl man. He's been single for 9 months.

--I learned all about his siblings, his hometown and where he went to high school (it's that prominent all-boys Catholic school in our city).

--He gets hit on all the time at the restaurant, including by guys, including one very awkward time when an old guy came up to him and kiss his neck.

--His three cats all have gay names, and he acknowledges that people think so, but he's very secure with himself. I told him that Windy thinks he's gay. He laughed and said he knows one thing he can do to prove her otherwise....but he won't do that....except that, well, he WANTS to! We laughed. I was blushing like crazy over the phone.

--This is the most important part: the reason why he kept giving me those cards to fill out was so I would "get the hint" and give him my number!!! I told him to take MY hint by emailing me!!! We laughed about that. He asked if I brought Windy and Blondie there a few days later so they could check him out, and I kind of jokingly evaded the question, but told him that they approved, though Windy thought he was gay.

Anyway, here's the major thing:

WE ARE GOING OUT ON OUR FIRST DATE ON THURSDAY.

SQUEAL!!!!

I have no idea what we're going to do or what's going to happen, but I am SO EXCITED!!! He briefly (and jokingly) floated the idea of me coming over to watch a movie, but I'd never do that for a first date. We'll see....

Holiday Party

2007-11-20T11:27:00.000-05:00

At work there had been a lot of talk about a potential Christmas party. But, unfortunately, with an unmotivated group of restaurant people, plans were moving at a snail's pace and the date ultimately set for the party was in late January, nearly a month after Christmas. The theme was Ugly Christmas Sweater, and the prize that went to the ugliest sweater were two plane tickets courtesy of Jet Blue to anywhere they fly out to. I was determined to win and went on the hunt for the ugliest sweater and then purchased a bunch of tacky decorations from a craft store to further tack it up.

Dandy wasn't motivated enough to make a sweater of his own but he made my heart skip a beat when one day we were hanging out at his house and he commented how nice it would be if I won and we could fly up to my home state together. He said he'd never been there before and he thought it would be fun. Proposing a trip together? If that didn't insinuate a desire to move forward in a relationship I don't know what did.

Finally the party rolled around and I had created a most fugly sweater. I thought I was a sure thing for the win.

I wasn't.

An older woman in her 50s was instead awarded the prize. As soon as I saw that she had dressed up, I knew she'd win. She was the mother figure of the workplace, so when I saw her, I said to Dandy, "Well, I'm fucked."

They announced the winner, it wasn't me, so I hit the bar.

Dandy and I got hammered. I proceeded to dance, and I don't dance. Then I pulled Dandy onto the dance floor. Now, I know that I said I don't dance, but Dandy? REALLY doesn't dance. Dandy proceeded to awkwardly gyrated his hips to the amusement of every single person we work with. Eventually we tired of making asses of ourselves on the dancefloor and after a few more beers/cocktails/shots, we cozied up in a booth and proceeded to passionately make out again to the amusement of all of our co-workers. We kissed and grabbed and whispered how we couldn't wait to rush home to bed. Drunken horny talk is sooooo sexy.

Our time at the place rented for the party drew to a close, but everyone wanted to keep the party going. Neither of us had drove, so our DD escorted us to a downtown bar where Dandy just barely made it inside. He ordered a double tall Jack and Coke and proceeded to down it and pass out sitting up in a chair. Countless people kept coming over and asking if he was alright. I knew that my night just got a whole lot more exciting. Now I got to baby-sit! Eventually the bar closed and we went outside to our DD's car. On the way, Dandy, who was wearing heavy soled shoes, managed to drunkenly stomp onto my foot, I was wearing flip flops. The full force of his body weight shattered my toe. My toenail split and a piece chipped off as it began bleeding. I limped to the car, dragging Dandy behind me, and we crawled into the backseat as I swallowed and hoped the immense amount of alcohol I'd consumed would numb the pain.

When the DD pulled up to Dandy's house, I practically threw out my back pulling Dandy to his feet. Thankfully he never locks his front door, so I pushed it open and then locked it behind me as I tried to guide his stumbling drunk ass to his bedroom. Somehow, he managed to disrobe down to his boxers and flopped facedown diagnally across the bed. I grabbed a t-shirt and shorts from his dresser drawer and crawled into bed, pushing his unconscious body aside.

One thing was for sure, as the pain in my foot came rushing back to me, as I watched Dandy sleep, snoring loudly with drool puddling around his mouth, I wasn't going to be having any sex tonight.

The next day, I woke up way before Dandy. This was typical. Even though I'm hardly what you'd call a morning person, I can't ever sleep in late when I'm away from my own bed. So I had previously located all of the books in Dandy's room, and would sit up and read until he got up. Currently I was making my way through "A Million Little Pieces" the partially-fabricated memoir of James Frey. Exaggerated or not, it was a good read. Dandy eventually woke up with a hellacious hangover and very little recollection of the tail end of the party. He didn't even remember that we had moved to a second location for an after party and was puzzled as to how we got home. Suffice it to say he didn't remember crushing my toe, and I showed him by damaged bloody toenail. He cringed.

We laughed it off and got into my car to go retrieve Dandy's vehicle from the parking lot of the bar that hosted our Holiday Party. I had already been given that night off of work thanks to the Gods of scheduling, and Dandy was in sorry shape, so he immediately was on the phone to the Bossman to beg for the cut. He sounded pathetic enough that he was given the night off, so we headed over to the local fried chicken chain down the road (Classy I know). Dandy was going to pay but naturally, he didn't have enough money and I ended up paying. Needless to say, this was not exactly Dandy's finest hour. At least the cashier totally called him out for not paying for his lady's lunch. I added an "Amen, sistah." We ate, made tentative plans for that evening (dinner, which he would actually pay for... for real) and a movie. We finished up our greasy lunches and each went home, ending the ordeal that was our work Holiday party.

The Hott Waiter: Part III

2007-11-20T00:26:00.001-05:00

The Hott Waiter had told me when his days off were, so I was prepared. We went last Tuesday: me and two of my friends, Windy and Blondie. Miranda was supposed to come, but it ended up being just the three of us. Blondie made the reservation and requested the Hott Waiter in advance.

Windy was there first, and she had spent about 10 minutes chatting with the Hott Waiter. He wasn't there when we sat down, and he returned to the table. "Oh," he said, simply (but not rudely, even if it sounds like that!), when he saw me. "I didn't recognize the name on the reservation. How are you?"

That began the most memorable night of all.

We talked and giggled. Both Windy and Blondie agreed that he was gorgeous.

I asked him how his birthday was. It was great, and he had been celebrating for several days. He was also about to go to one of my favorite artist of all time's concert nearby.

Next time he dropped by, he looked at me and said, "[Jones], right?" "Yes," I gasped. I couldn't believe he remembered. A face is one thing -- a last name is something else altogether.

(Break. Eating food.)

Later on, we started talking about movies, and I think the Hott Waiter mentioned that he was about to see one, and Blondie asked him about what kinds of movies he liked. He said that he liked horror movies, and I winced to myself, since I hate scary movies. Windy told him the last horror movie she had seen was Scary Movie, and that's it.

Blondie suggested another movie to him, and the Hott Waiter said, "Well, maybe I could take [Samantha]," and went on talking about something else without missing a beat. Squeal.

(Break. Eating food.)

Now, this is where it got weird. The Hott Waiter was talking about animals with us (he has cats, and I teased him for being a "crazy cat man") and mentioned that he used to date "a person" in a city about six hours away who had a dog. Now, you may believe that to be an innocuous statement.

Given my paranoia, I decided that that could mean he was gay and said "person" because he couldn't say girl!!!!

That brought forward the possibility that he was gay and had been flirting with me for one of the following reasons: 1) boredom/entertainment 2) sadism/wanting to make fun of me 3) (most likely) trying to get a new regular and therefore more money.

I didn't want him to be gay, but I had to prepare myself for the possibility that he didn't like me. I did not want to invest too much in this guy and get hurt again.

Suddenly, I felt hands on my shoulders. The Hott Waiter was GIVING ME A BACKRUB. I turned around. "You looked tense," he said. (Well, I kind of have this habit of sticking out my collarbones because I think the more they stick out, the skinnier and therefore more attractive I look....so that's probably why I looked more tense.)

Later on, he brought us our dessert menus. He handed them to Windy and Blondie, then kept inching his hand forward and handing it to me, then pulling it away whenever I got close. You girls know that stuff like that ANNOYS ME TO NO AVAIL.

"Okay," I said, "the last person who did that to me got HURT."

"Well, that's not such a bad thing," he replied.

I went to the bathroom a bit later, and for the first time, I opened the door on my own. When I got back, the girls told me that he hadn't said anything about me when I was away from the table.

And then he pulled out his book.

And inside of it was the card that I had filled out last time.

I knew he probably hadn't kept it since the last time, and he had probably just swiped it from the desk. Still, though....

Nonetheless, this time, he handed me yet another card to fill out. I filled it out, and this time I put my actual address. (Hillary had received a thank you card from the restaurant after filling out her actual address.) I drew a curvy arrow next to my address and wrote, "Only so I can receive the card in the mail!

I then made Blondie and Windy add a few lines, so they added "[the Hott Waiter] was wonderful!" and stuff like that.

We left. He helped Blondie with her coat, but he had to go by the time they got my coat out of the closet.

I didn't expect to hear from him. I figured that he had had his fun, and he was probably gay, and this was all a game to him.

Five days later -- last night -- I received an email from him.

Hey, what's going on? It's [the Hott Waiter] from [the restaurant]. Here's my band's myspace, I know you said you were interested. So, do you have a better way to get ahold of you? I might even play some songs for you myself. Hope to talk to you soon.

YES. YES. YES. YES. YES. YES.

Miranda called it the sexiest email she had ever seen.

After much deliberation, I responded nearly 24 hours later, teasing him a bit but also giving my phone number.

What happens next?

We'll have to wait and see.

Oh, God, I hope this works out!!!!

The Hott Waiter: Part II

2007-11-19T23:33:00.000-05:00

Why did it take me so long to return to the restaurant? Even though I loved it dearly, it was three months later and I hadn't yet returned. Although Miranda and I talked about it all the time, amongst ourselves and with our other friends, I assumed that nobody would want to spend the money.

After talking with a few friends from work, however, three of us ended up there about a week and a half ago. After arriving with my friends "Hillary" and "Nadia," I noticed, with dismay, that the Hott Waiter would not be our waiter that evening.

I had told Hillary and Nadia all about the Hott Waiter beforehand, so they immediately started asking me if he was in the restaurant. I looked around and spotted him. He was still as good-looking as ever, with that thick, dark hair, those intense, dark eyes, and those sideburns -- haha, I loved the sideburns! I loved his butt, too, which was definitely checkouttable.

The waiter who we had was nice, friendly and awesome -- I absolutely LOVE the servers there! -- and we settled into our night, ordering martinis and appetizers.

Then the Hott Waiter walked by.

I caught his eye. And held it.

He stared back, looking over his shoulder as he walked by.

It felt like 30 seconds -- but it was probably less than two.

As soon as he was out of sight, I leaned into my friends and held my martini to my mouth, much like George Costanza when he didn't want the deaf girl to read his lips. "I just made eye contact with him," I told them, my heart jumping all over the place.

Come on. I never get like this. I was acting like I was in middle school again!

A few minutes later, the Hott Waiter came to our table.

"I remember you," he said.

I was ECSTATIC. I tried to keep only a tiny smile on my face, but I could feel myself blushing like mad.

"I was here in August," I said. "I had you." He didn't react. "I was with my friend. I sat over at that table." No recognition. "We asked you to show us where [that sports star] ate when he came in."

"Oh, yeah," he said. YES.

"I hear your name is [the Hott Waiter]," Nadia said. I wanted to kill her, but I continued smiling. We chatted with the Hott Waiter about our meals for a few minutes, and he left to take care of his tables. He had a few large parties that night.

I couldn't get over the fact that he remembered me! It had been months!

My friends kept encouraging and encouraging me, saying that he was soooo cute. The Hott Waiter was very busy that night (and, according to the amount of alcohol he served, he must have made a killing), but he occasionally dropped by our table. We learned that he was celebrating his birthday later in the week (turning 26 -- a Scorpio!) and he sang in a band. I told him about how I used to sing in college. He told me the days that he worked.

I got up to go to the bathroom. Just like before, I ran into him right in front of the door, and just like before, he held the door open for me to let me in. There was a paper towel on the floor, and he said, "Let me get that for you," and picked it up. Again, it was awkward. But oh, what I really wanted to do was grab him and pull him into the stall with me, where we could freely make out up against the sink.

Later, Hilary and Nadia went to the bathroom together, despite there only being two single-stall bathrooms, to give me a chance to have some alone time with the Hott Waiter, if he ever did come around again. He didn't. He looked busy, though.

(When the girls came back, he said to all of us, "I was supposed to come and talk to her, wasn't I?" I became a tomato again, as I had been all night.)

At the end of the night, instead of our waiter, the Hott Waiter brought by the usual cards to fill out. He handed one to Hillary. And then he handed one to me. "You should fill this one out," he told me.

YAY!

I filled it out, but again, did not put my actual address. I included my email, wrote down the usual fawning compliments, and added a note: "I would love to learn more about [the Hott Waiter's] purpotedly amazing band" and drew a curvy arrow toward my email address.

That's most of what I remember.

Days later, I debated like crazy with Hillary and Nadia over whether he was actually interested in me. Hillary is an eternal optimist, so she kept asking me to find out whether he had a brother for her once we started going out! Nadia encouraged me to go for it.

But I held back. What if they were wrong? What if I ended up hurt and embarrassed and unable to return to my favorite restaurant?

So I decided to come back the following week.

The Hott Waiter: Part I

2007-11-19T22:41:00.000-05:00

In August, Miranda and I decided to check out a restaurant in the city where we live. This restaurant is in the trendiest dining neighborhood, features New American cuisine, and it's the favorite restaurant of one of our city's most beloved professional athletes (of whom Miranda is a very big fan).

We had an early reservation, and there weren't too many people in the restaurant. We were seated and took a look at the menus.

Then our waiter arrived.

Tall. Dark. Young George Clooney-esque.

I couldn't stop staring.

Miranda couldn't stop laughing.

Miranda has a bit of a problem -- she tends to laugh uncontrollably at inappropriate moments. This was one of them. He just came over and he was so handsome....also, I'm usually fine -- I just blush like crazy -- but when Miranda starts going, I can't help it and join in with the giggles.

In between bringing us our drinks, bread and appetizers, we started getting to know our waiter. Miranda asked him to point out everywhere in the restaurant that our city's famous athlete had sat. The Hott Waiter pointed out all of them and told stories. Miranda was delighted.

I was delighted, too, but in a different way. When I really like someone, REALLY like him, I become an introvert. Maybe it's because when something's important, I don't want anyone else to know. It's primal. If it's just a guy on the street, I'll catcall along with my friends, but this time, it was serious.

A word about this restaurant: it's the kind of restaurant that's impossible to hate. It's classy -- trendy enough to be good for a special night out, but relaxed enough to make it a frequent destination. The prices are high, but not sky-high, especially for our city. The menu features plenty of creative and varied choices, but plenty of more normal options for less adventurous palates. It's no wonder its clientele consists largely of regulars.

And the service. I've been there a few times (as I'll explain later) and what I love about the servers there is that they're so open, and friendly, and real. Often in fine dining restaurants, the servers are overly formal and robotic, and that doesn't put you at ease. After a night out at this restaurant, you and your server know so much about each other, and you're probably on your way to becoming friends!

The Hott Waiter was like that. He spent a lot of time just hanging out and chatting with us, and we loved it. At the end of the night, we filled out cards with our names and addresses on them. I didn't include my actual address, but the rest of the information, including my email, was true.

At one point, I got up to go to the bathroom. The bathrooms there are single stalls. I walked past the bathroom, and he opened the door (which opened into the stall, so he was literally standing inside it), said "Miss," and opened the door for me. It was a tad awkward.

Before leaving, Miranda and I told the Hott Waiter our real names (we already knew his) and left the restaurant, still giggling away, saying that we absolutely HAD to return as soon as possible.

My OkCupid Traits

2007-11-13T23:14:00.000-05:00

I have become obsessed with OkCupid recently. It's an ingenious site -- it's a free dating site, and it also creates a personality for you through questions that you answer. In order to match up with more people, who need to answer more questions.

In time, if you answer enough questions (I've answered 280), you receive personality badges.

Here are mine:

--More Desiring of Sex (that was my first and eternal)
--More Cocky
--More Socially Free
--More Extroverted
--More Kinky
--Less Old-Fashioned
--Less Pure
--Less Trusting

Others that I had at times, but have since disappeared, include Less Compassionate (I don't think that is true AT ALL -- I'm an extremely compassionate person) and More Spontaneous.

Thoughts?

You girls should join....

I'm Weeded

2007-11-13T22:12:00.001-05:00

Things with Dandy were going pretty well. Already I had surpassed whatever pseudo-relationship I had had with Rocky because not only did Dandy and I exchange phone numbers, he also called and texted me several times a day. I usually received a nightly, "I hope you had a good night at work, sleep well" text, and it was just one of those little gestures that girls love. It was just such a nice change of pace to have someone so interested who was open to showing that they cared.

We hung out whenever free time allowed, and he even brought me around to hang out with all of his friends. They seemed like a chill group of guys, fun and easy to get along with. Best of all, they all apparently took a liking to me because, frankly, [WARNING: NARCISSISM AHOY!] I'm awesome. I'm funny, smart, easy to get along with, and can definitely hang with the guys. I'm also pretty easy on the eyes. Apparently they had never been big fans of his ex-girlfriend, whom they deemed immature, selfish, bratty and idiotic. They actually pulled me aside to tell me how happy they were that I inspired Dandy to ditch her and thanked me profusely. I was feeling pretty good about my prospects because being "in" with the friends is definitely a major plus.

A lot of our time was spent socializing in a group, but Dandy and I did also get in some one on one time here and there. After a few beers, the conversation typically shifted towards us and our budding relationship, and Dandy asking where this was going. I was trying hard to break my pattern of being a strict monogamist, so I was still trying to play the cool, laid-back chick role. I didn't want to push for a relationship for fear of being deemed too needy and ruining the good thing that we had going. I actually never brought up the subject, it was always Dandy. This too, instilled me with hope, because if he had it on the brain, I thought it was only a matter of time before things did get serious. But, again I wanted to be seen as the "cool, badass chick" I'd already established prior to any romantic interests surfaced, so I usually shrugged off his questions with a "whatever."

I was pretty confident that I had chosen the right course of action, because Dandy responded with relief that I alleviated any pressure for commitment. He said that he liked me a lot and labelled us as "seeing each other" also known as "dating."

To me, "dating" still speaks of commitment to some degree. And in retrospect, it probably would have benefitted me to have the actual terms and conditions that pertained to "dating" Dandy, but being new to the whole dating game, I didn't.

I don't trust myself at the reunion.

2007-11-09T21:10:00.000-05:00

My high school reunion is coming up in a few weeks, and I'm nervous.

Part of me wants to do that Beyonce master cleanse, eating nothing but a mixture of lemon juice, maple syrup, cayenne pepper and hot water for 10 days or so. I've got a bit of a chub problem, particularly in the arms, as was recently evidenced in pictures from a night out last week.

Maybe I'll just get some Spanx.

Anyway, I don't trust myself NOT to hook up with anyone.

The reunion is not too far from my apartment, since I made the unoriginal decision to live in the major city near the town where I grew up. Because of that, I have three friends staying over
with me after the event, including Miranda.

Which means that asking a guy back will be REALLY hard.

Oh, God.

I KNOW IT'S GOING TO HAPPEN. I'm going to hook up with somebody at the reunion.

Another thing -- you guys know that you started joking that I was going to hook up with a guy. Let's call him Oxy for the reason that he tried to rob a store for oxycontin back in high school before dropping out just before graduation. And I never thought of him -- but as soon as you guys started saying that, more and more, I've been thinking about him....

Oh, God, I can't do this.

Life Love Lessons from Sam Jones

2007-11-09T20:56:00.000-05:00

Here are a few of the life lessons I've learned from relationships and other romantic interactions:

--If you're not attracted to him now, you never will be. Don't try to force it. Don't try to convince yourself that you'll make it work. It will not happen.

--Don't underestimate the importance of attraction. It is VITALLY important.

--Money does not buy happiness.

When you actually learn that lesson, it will be much more subtle than you think. For me, I thought it would be perfect -- we could get a great place in Boston, I'd never have to work, he'd make enough money....but I didn't love him. The situation would have been so good, and so comfortable, and I'd never have to worry. I'm so thankful I got out of that situation when I did.

--When you hate someone, that can often increase your attraction to him exponentially.

--Sometimes someone who isn't your type will surprise you.

--Don't cheat. It will haunt you every day for the rest of your life and make you doubt yourself every day.

I wish I could get over this. I've been punishing myself for nearly a year and a half.

--If he has a small dick, RUN FOR THE HILLS.

Relationship Musings...

2007-11-09T00:34:00.000-05:00

It's getting kind of late, and I've been feeling very introspective and very stream-of-consciousness lately. So I decided to jot down a few things I've learned over the years from my various relationships that I think are important for every young woman to know when approaching romantic relationships:

*Nobody wants to date Superman
When you're dating someone who has a problem, whether it be an affinity/addiction to drugs, a mental disorder like Depression, love isn't always enough. And you can never use your love to fix a problem. Sometimes caring isn't enough. You can't always be the hero and rescue someone from themselves and change them in order to fit them to the mold of the relationship. Saving someone is what great friends do, but most guys don't want to feel like they need to be taken care of by their woman.

*When a guy tells you that he has never told anyone that he loves them, and that he believes that he is "incapable of love," RUN.
Run far away. Don't convince yourself that you can be the one who will make him see the light and that one day he will be overcome by his emotions and profess his love for you. Much like dating a serial cheater and believing that you will somehow be the One who will change his philandering ways. By even admitting it, he's doing you a favor and giving you an out. Believe what he says, and end it there. If love is what you're looking for, a guy like this will never be able to give you what you need.

*Sexual attraction and a great friendship doesn't always translate into a solid relationship.
You can be friends and find each other attractive, but at the core, if there's no real compatibility in terms of what you want from a prospective partner, don't try to force something that's not there. Settle for a great friendship, and feel free to sprinkle in a little innocent flirtation here and there, just always make sure to set a boundary that you don't cross.

*Most guys DO want what they can't have.
How many times after you split from a guy do you just wish that one day he'll come to his senses and come back to you, begging for forgiveness and to give it another go? How many times do you attempt the tactic of being cold and distant and even pursuing casual relationships with other guys knowing it will get back to your ex? Realistically though, what do you expect to happen once he's overcome with jealously and starts chasing after you? Will all of the problems you had before suddenly melt away? Will you finally be able to keep him, after he came to see what he had lost?

Probably not. Which brings me to my next point.

*Break-ups happen for a reason.
They call them "break"-ups because the relationship is BROKEN. It's pretty much never worth giving it another go, because aside from a few extreme cases, whatever the roots of the problem that resulted in the initial break-up were, they will still be there. You can love someone with all your heart, but the only way to be fair to yourself and the other person, you need to recognize when a romantic relationship is impossible to maintain.

*Good things come to those who wait.
Every time a relationship ends, you feel utterly lost and hopeless. You feel like you'll never have another chance at love, and that feeling of desperation typically manifests into a desire for what was lost. Even if you got out of an unhealthy relationship, in retrospect, everything is romanticized in your sad and warped little mind, and you obsess over what you did wrong and how to get your Ex back. Let it go. There IS something better out there. And don't be afraid when it takes a little longer to find it. Despite what movies, television and magazines tell you, there is no definitive timeline of finding love. Don't pressure yourself to pursue dead-end relationships just to feel like you've found what everyone tells you you should be looking for. Never feel like you're the only single girl out there because you are not alone. And cherish your singledom and use it as an opportunity to realy get to know You, and what you really want out of life, love, relationships. Figure out what it is you want, what it is you need, and you'll find that when the next guy comes around, you won't have to waste your time and emotion on someone who isn't worth it.

*Never settle..
...for anything less than butterflies.

Ladies, I'm sure you have some other excellent personal philosophies you've cultivated for yourselves and your relationships over the years, so feel free to add your own musings to my list.

Sexual Quirks

2007-10-30T01:51:00.000-04:00

We all have our little quirks when it comes to sex. Something that we do that isn't the most conventional or even acceptable in the intimate environment of the bedroom. Some people are into talking dirty, role-playing, bondage, S&M, furries/plushies, incorporating certain bodily fluids... I won't go into any more specifics, you get the idea.

Me? I'm a giggler.

I have this horrible habit of laughing uncontrollably in the middle of sex. I'm not really quite sure what it is that makes me act this way, but the best theory I could come up with traces back to my high school years.

My mother worked late and we had cable, and while I was home alone, I used to stay up late watching Skinemax.* I didn't watch it for any sexual reasons, I didn't find it to be a turn-on by any means. I just loved the ridiculous plots and horrible acting. To segue off, I'll recant a favorite Skinemax flick of mine. It was about a team of sexy scientists who discovered an alien plant that thrived off of the pheromones in the sweat produced by the fornication of humans. So the plant sent out pheromones of its own to promote sexual activity. And when all of the sexy scientits are exposed to the plant they all began fucking one another. Men and women, women and women, men and men, three ways, even the (sexy) janitor got in on the fun! The dialogue was hilariously projected and I don't know any movie that's ever made me laugh quite so hard. I can't remember the name of the movie, but if anyone out there knows, please inform me, otherwise the mystery will plague me.

I also worked in a library in high school, shelving books. I worked 4 hours shifts, but my actual work only took me about an hour to complete. With three hours to kill, I would typically hang out on the basement floor perusing the massive non-fiction seciton. And what section was the most interesting? The sex books! I was an introverted conservative girl, so I was curious. And the illustrations you find in these books? Also hilarious!

To get back on track to my current state, I'm pretty sure my childish takes on my limited sexual exposure growing up most likely accounts for my regrettable quirk I face in all present day bedroom romps.

I thought the laughter during sex wasn't a completely horrible thing. I'd always read in Cosmo that it was good to have a sense of humor about these things. And I was also a big fan of having an open dialogue between sexual partners. I guess what I hadn't really grasped was the filter I needed to incorporate before my openness and happy-go-lucky attitude crossed the lines of charmingly quirky to alarmingly inappropriate. I'd also managed to control my laughter to the occasional giggle, but I crossed a line the first time I ever went to bed with Dandy.

Granted, the first night we slept together was following the group dinner where we all got tanked and then went to the local dive bar to get even more hammered. I was a drunken mess that night, so I don't think that I should be held fully accountable for my lack of tact.

Prior to this night, I had been sort of coy and playing hard to get with Dandy. We'd made out a few times, but I had refused to let it get past those first base trysts in my car. I was trying to exercise some caution following the Rocky debacle. I thought it woud be better to delay the sleepovers, even platonic ones (platonic meaning, no sex because clearly when you've spent all night making out with someone you're interested in, the sleepover will never really be "platonic"), for fear of losing Dandy's respect.

Clearly with my alcohol intake, I threw caution to the wind that night. So, we went back to Dandy's house and stumbled into his room, making out and pawing at one another, tearing off clothes, being completely sloppy drunk all the while, I'm sure. As soon as we started having sex, I started laughing.

And laughing.

And laughing.

Laughing harder now.

Still laughing.

Dandy is still trying his hardest here to be sexy and manly and whatnot.

I answer back with laughter.

Uproarious laughter.

He finally asked what I was laughing at.

First, I said, between laughs, "Sex is funny."

Then, between more laughs and gasping for air, "And you made a funny face."

Still laughing, Dandy decided that this would be an appropriate time to give up trying and roll over and go to sleep. So we did.

The next morning, Dandy confessed that that had never happened to him before and he didn't quite know how to react. I tried to reassure him that I laugh all the time, and pointed out that it wasn't as bad as if I had cried. He conceded that that was true, and we stopped talking about it.

Then a few days later, I was out on the patio having a cigarette with his roommate when he asked me why I laughed non-stop during sex. Apparently, I had scarred Dandy for life. A few more of his friends asked me about it, and I couldn't really provide a satisfactory answer. I mean, I was drunk and I do think sex is funny, and it wasn't really a reflection on him or his skills, it was just a combination of several factors all jumbled in a girl's drunken mind.

I've since gotten better about laughing during sex, and since that one night with Dandy never had a time where I laughed constantly and without pause. I'll still chuckle occasionally because sometimes silly things happen or there's a funny noise, and you have to kind of laugh at it. You just also have to know when to control your laughter.

*For those of you unfamiliar with the term, Skinemax refers to the latenight softcore pornography you can find on Cinemax. God Bless it.

Waiting for the Call

2007-10-29T22:01:00.000-04:00

I met a great guy on Friday night.

Is he tall, dark and skinny?

Well, he's definitely tall! He's over six feet. I wouldn't call him skinny, but he's thin. He's got some muscles, but I wouldn't call it an athletic build at all.

And he's blonde.

I've never gone for a blonde guy before.

But he's cute.

It was the perfect situation. I was out at the bar with two of my girlfriends, Blondie and Windy, and we met these two guys, Cute Guy and DJ. (I can't think of a decent nickname for Cute Guy yet -- time will tell -- but DJ is actually a DJ.)

Windy and DJ liked each other, so they spent much of the night together, culminating in kissing in the street as we waited for a cab. Cute Guy and I didn't so much as kiss, but it was rainy outside, so every now and then he would put his arms around me to shield me from the rain.

(Don't worry about Blondie -- a few weeks ago, she had met a guy of her own at the bar, so this worked out perfectly! We each met one guy!)

Windy had to get back to her place, so she got a cab first, and the rest of us got a separate cab. DJ was staying over with Cute Guy (unfortunately for Windy, DJ was visiting from out of state), and Blondie was staying over with me. In a twist of luck, Cute Guy lived pretty close to me! (He kept mentioning all night, "I can't believe you live so close to me.") Since Cute Guy was a shorter distance away, we decided to go to his place, and he'd drive us the rest of the way back.

Cute Guy has a dog.

I do not like animals, especially dogs.

I hope he didn't notice.

To be fair, the dog was friendly, and I guess one could say it was cute. Blondie thought so.

After a bit of time there, we headed back to my place and hung out for about an hour. We had to get up early the next day, so I apologized for being such a crappy host, and they left.

As I walked them out, I asked them if we were going to hang out again. They assured me that Windy had already invited them to her birthday celebration, set to take place this Saturday. Great. I don't remember if they asked for my number or if I offered it -- I wish I remembered!! -- but either way, Cute Guy put it in his phone.

That was Friday night.

It is now Monday night.

Is he going to call?!?!

The three-day waiting period has already passed!!

I thought that we got along great! He gave me a kiss on the cheek and hugged me before he left. When he was over, he sat next to me on the couch and leaned his head on my shoulder at one point. He held me in the rain. He seems to be into me.

Then why hasn't he called me yet?

I am so attracted to him. He's a manly man. He's not one of the usual dark, skinny, perfectly groomed guys that I usually like -- and I'm thrilled about it! Ooh, also, he used to be in the military. :-)

Okay. Back to waiting.

The World Series ended last night, and there were games on two of the past three nights since I've seen him. It was the Boston Red Sox vs. the Colorado Rockies, and if I'm not mistaken, I believe he's a Red Sox fan. Being a guy (and a manly man!) he must have watched them. That's probably a good reason why he didn't call me.

Now, here are a few other factors:

--Windy and DJ have each other's numbers
--Windy and DJ friended each other on Facebook
--Through Windy, I friended DJ on Facebook
--I found DJ's Myspace through Facebook
--I found Cute Guy's Facebook and Myspace profiles through DJ -- but they're both set to private

Since I don't have his number, I think I'm going to friend Cute Guy on Facebook tomorrow. I was going to yesterday, but Windy suggested waiting until tomorrow.

Thoughts???? What do I do now?!?!?!?! I really like this guy! I like him a lot more than most guys I meet!

Sexy Dream

2007-10-29T21:31:00.001-04:00

I had an unexpectedly hot dream about Ryan the Temp from The Office last night.

He's nice-looking, but not THAT nice-looking, especially since he got the pube beard this season.
I dreamed that I was working with him, and it looked like area behind the house where I grew up. I was working downstairs, in the area where the back deck is, and every day, he wanted me to come up to the area where the patio is and give him a massage.

I didn't really want to, mostly because I was afraid that people would notice at work and I would get into trouble. But time went on, and I grew to enjoy it.

Before long, I was lying on some kind of bed, and he was on top of me, and we were dry humping like crazy. There was a dark red blanket covering us, and my arms were around him and my eyes were closed as I clung to him.

When I woke up, in that stage in between sleep and waking, I tried and tried and tried to cling onto that feeling. I tried too hard. It lost all meaning before long.

Still, though, it was nice.

Caught Between a Rock and a Dandelion

2007-10-25T20:04:00.000-04:00

You would think that my mind would be made up. That there would be no contest between this sluttacious prick and the slightly awkward and bumbling, yet mysteriously charming, albeit goofy, guy. But as soon as Dandy began expressing an interest and we began hanging out a lot, wouldn't you know that Rocky came waltzing back into my life, eager to pick up right where we left off.

Suddenly, he began spouting off all of the pretty things that swayed me in the beginning. Except now he started using words like "girlfriend" and trying to be something he wasn't, making false promises that he thought I wanted to hear. Physically, I don't think he saw Dandy as competition, but he could see that emotionally, Rocky saw that Dandy was prepared to offer me something that he couldn't, and felt threatened by it. And despite his notched up belt, he seemed to be protective of his conquests.

The Rocky versus Dandy battle raged on in my heart and my mind for over a month. Who did I want more? The nice guy who had just sort of snuck up on me by being the support system I'd desired for months, or the one who I wanted but couldn't have, but now suddenly could? On paper it seemed so simple because one treated me well and the other didn't. But the fact was that had it not been for being spurned by Rocky, I probably wouldn't have taken an interest in Dandy. Hence, the predicament I found myself in.

It all came to a head when a large group of us, including Rocky and Dandy, decided to go out to dinner. Rocky sat next to me and spent the entire meal whispering sweet nothings about how beautiful I looked and meanwhile, Dandy was positioned directly across from me and kept joking and smiling and making kissing faces at me, until we both burst out laughing. The alcohol was going down like it was water and by the time the entrees rolled out on our 4 course dining extravaganza, I was hammered. After the conclusion of dinner, while we were waiting on dessert, I stumbled to the bathroom with my galpal and drunkenly lamented the situation I was in. I weighed the options about Rocky versus Dandy and how I needed to choose one of the other.

After talking it out for a while, I decided that Dandy was the right choice to make. He had been nothing but an upstanding, nice, decent guy, and the only reason why Rocky was entertaining the thought of picking things back up with me was because I was suddenly poised to be taken off the market. The simple and most obvious choice really, but matters of the heart are never quite so clear when it pertains to you... or when you've consumed copious amounts of alcohol.

I left the bathroom with a new perspective and a new mission. I turned a deaf ear to everything Rocky was saying to me and once we ate dessert and paid out, our group moved to the nearby dive bar that we loved and frequented often. After bouncing between the two guys, playing the flirtation game, I sauntered up to Dandy and began making out with him in the middle of the bar, approximately 5 feet away from Rocky. Tacky? Most definitely. But, in my defense, I was drunk and it was the only way I knew how to publicly make my decision. I went home with Dandy that night to begin yet another chapter in my life.

Growing Like a Weed

2007-10-22T01:11:00.000-04:00

Dandy and I became closer and closer at work after that one night in the bar when he held me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye and told me that Rocky was a douchebag and I deserved better. He was always right there to offer me a helping hand with a smile and a compliment. He wasn't traditionally good looking, but he had that Southern charm going for him. He was always polite, with a laugh and a twinkle in his eye. And on a more shallow note, because he was considerably less attractive than me, he treated me like I was the most beautiful girl in the world.

At the end of the night at work, we'd be standing together polishing glassware until one night he finally mustered up the courage to invite me to hang out. It was like pulling teeth, naturally. For days, he simply stammered out the question of "What are you doing tonight, Carrie?" I'd tell him and he'd reply "Cool... cool." and that was it. Finally, I had enough of these timid tactics and said, "Nothing, what are you doing tonight Dandy? Maybe we should hang out."

It started with him buying me drink after drink in the bar, showering me with praise and compliments and telling me that he'd never met a girl like me. A northern girl with such wit and charm and a laid-back cool attitude. I was down-to-earth and chill, a badass cool girl. These were all his words. I'm a little conceited, but I assure you I'm not that narcissistic. The nights began with a few beers and cocktails and great conversation full of laughs and compliments and flirtations and ended with a drunken kiss here and there.

I told him about the McRugby saga, as well as the Rocky situation, and he in turn, opened up about his latest relationship. He had been dating a girl who was 6 years his junior and the difference in maturity levels was taking a toll. He said it was like dating a high schooler. I listened sympathetically as he told me how she was now going off to school an hour away and that he knew it was over. He said that he cared about her, maybe even loved her and that he still cares about her because she could bring him to his highest high. But in the same respect, her immaturity and selfish nature also would beat him down and bring him to his lowest low point. I marvelled at how being spurned by one asshole had led me right to this sweet southern gentleman. It felt like we were coming from very similar situations and after a few conversations, part of me couldn't help but wonder if fate had put us on near identical paths that would ultimately cross.

Strange Attraction

2007-10-22T00:42:00.000-04:00

I am feeling an UNBELIEVABLE attraction to a guy I know. We had a bit of a thing this past winter. We didn't go very far, but it was really, really enjoyable. Unfortunately, it fizzled out -- or veered out of control, the way you look at it.

I'll be writing on that later.

First of all, his type is....different.

I have a type: tall, dark and skinny. And, of course, I like guys to be good-looking.

This guy is pretty good-looking. Not like a model or anything, but average-to-nice, and nice. As for my three specific criteria, two of these things he fulfills well. The other could not be FURTHER from the word.

Any guesses?

I just had the best orgasm of my life.

2007-10-21T23:53:00.000-04:00

Yes, it was self-inflicted.

It's been about a year, and unfortunately, Sam Jones's life has been more than a tad lacking in the sex department. But today was incredible.

It was a lazy Sunday, I had nothing to do, and I had just taken a shower. I decided to relieve some of the amazing tension that had built up over the past few days over a certain love interest about whom I've been thinking. I'm coming up with a nickname for him as I write this.

It wasn't eventful or unusual to start with. I felt like I was about to have an orgasm, and it felt like one of those disappointing ones -- one when you definitely feel a climax -- the climb, the shudders, the climax -- and I wondered if that was REALLY it. After all, this felt like it was going to be a good one.

I was upset.

So I kept going.

It happened again -- an orgasm, and definitely an orgasm, but disappointing. But I was determined. I pushed (or rubbed, I guess) on.

And then it was unlike ANYTHING I have EVER, EVER felt. EVER.

It was the climb of the mountain again, but it was steeper, and deeper, and I felt myself getting to a level where I had never been before. I actually gasped out loud. I usually do everything silently, without moving much, but I had ABSOLUTELY NO CHOICE. I was nearly screaming.

It was incredible.

As I basked in the afterglow, I realized something:

Have I been doing it wrong all along?

Maybe this level existed all along and it wasn't an element of circumstance. Maybe I just never pushed it out.

I am SO looking forward to testing this theory later tonight.

Rocky and Oma-gross-a

2007-10-21T02:40:00.001-04:00

Apparently I wasn't the only one that had become enamored with all of Rocky's charms. Oma-gross-a, a petite Spanish single mother with sagging breasts and a mouthful of horseteeth who bore a striking resemblance to Omarosa (of "The Apprentice" fame), but even uglier (if that's possible), had also taken notice.

Immediately following our sexcapades, Rocky did a complete 180. All interest in me had been lost. He wasn't the commitment type, I knew this. He'd already gotten what he'd wanted so he was moving on. I just was reluctant to let it go. People began to take note of his callous treatment of me (am I a glutton for punishment or what? Seriously where do I find these guys?)

He put up a wall. Cold and distant were the most apt adjectives to describe his interactions with me. And I sat by like a moonstruck moron watching him use the same lines he'd used on me to woo Oma-gross-a. I was still fairly new to "the Game" and aside from the Soldier, had never really encountered anyone with the cowboy attitude of Rocky. What I saw as the grounds for a new potential relationship, he regarded as nothing more than another notch in the belt. I have to take atleast some of the blame for the resulting mess because I had verbally agreed to a no-strings attached situation, despite what I wanted emotionally.

I would pretty much go out and make an ass of myself, mooning over Rocky only to be spurned and disrespected. One of the quieter guys at work, Dandy (short for Dandelion, on account of he always managed to land himself "in the weeds") was always there to tell me that Rocky was being a prick and to not get caught up in his bullshit and to realize I was too good for him and blah blah supportcakes.

Sniff Sniff.

Smell that state of vulnerability?

Yeaaaahhh, I think we all know what direction my life is headed in next...

"Oh! Rocky!"

2007-10-09T23:54:00.000-04:00

I walked into work the next morning and was met with the laughter and teasing of both my trainers and co-workers alike. Thanks to one loudmouth, the word of mine and Rocky's against the wall indiscretions had spread throughout the workplace like wildfire. I am a modest girl by nature, so I felt a little embarassment, but I wasn't ashamed. I just held my head high and just thought of the previous night as being a step into the new direction that my life was about to take.

Don't get me wrong, I wasn't planning on being completely carefree and acting like a slut, for lack of a better word. I felt that I had been too conservative with my sex life up until this point and figured my libido could use a kickstart. It wasn't healthy to moon over the same assholes who time and time again stomped all over my heart and then manipulated me to letting them back into my life. I figured I could use a little more fun in my life and try casual dating, rather than strictly entering into monogomous relationships. I did not however, want a repeat of the Soldier incident, one that I find most regrettable now.

My new job was the best environment to launch the brand new me. It was the first catalyst to my social blossoming in a new locale. I'd never really attempted to enjoy the nightlife down here or meet new people, and once I stepped out, I found that I was actually quite the hot commodity. The attention I was getting from guys everywhere was unparalleled and I was loving every minute of it.

Although despite my new vow of keeping everything casual, I started to develope some feelings for Rocky. Aside from being easy on the eyes, he was always saying the right things. And while someone as intelligent as I would have normally been able to immediately see through this facade as complete bullshit, I was coming off of an extremely unhealthy correspondence with McRugby and those pretty words Rocky was feeding me was exactly what I wanted/needed to hear.

I knew from the first moment that I met him, that Rocky was a complete and total player. He was definitely going to end up playing the role of the Pool Boy at work. Part of me didn't care and figured I could get the instant gratification I needed, and the other part of me hoped, as most women do, that I could change his ways and turn him into the man I thought he should be.

In addition to my stealth pursuit of Rocky, the other men at work began to take notice of me. I felt like the Prom Queen at work. For years I'd been haunted by the giant caboose sitting atop of my legs, and despite the words of Sir Mix-A-Lot, I'd never been able to truly own and appreciate my fabulous ghetto booty. But having a butt is apparently all the rage down here. One of the guys still says to me on a nightly basis that I need to put that thang away.

But I digress.

So Rocky was not the commitment type. From the moment I met him I knew he was a flirt who just loved women and sex. We'd had discussions at length about what we wanted from one another (we decided on nothing (I was lying, because despite my new cool and casual facade, I was still deep down, all about relationships)), and reached a mutual understanding. But deep down, I hoped that things would evolve. I didn't sleep with him immediately, there was a period of coy courtship, but I finally succumbed. It was decent, good skills without major duration. I figured the next time might yield better results.

Only there wasn't going to be a next time.

Turning over a New Leaf

2007-10-09T23:46:00.000-04:00

Midge flew into town as i was concluding the two week training period at my new job. It was different from any other establishment I'd ever worked in and as the days wore on, the group of employees grew closer and our urges to be sociable also grew. With just a few days to go, we decided that we should start hanging out after we got out of work.

Now in a social setting, I began to see my co-workers in a new light. Namely, I started to notice that some of the guys were very attractive. The one I deemed cutest had a girlfriend, so I moved on to other pursuits. I brought Midge out with me to point out Chubs, the stinky annoying guy I already detested, as well as Rocky, named for the striking similarities he bore to the title character in The Rocky Horror Picture Show. He was... a bit of a meathead, muscular, but not the most eloquent with words and, the major resemblance? He lacked a belly button. Seriously. When he was born, his organs were outside of his body and he has a scar when they were sewn back in, where the belly button would traditionally be found.

After consuming numerous alcoholic beverages and flirting with Rocky as well as a couple of other guys, I began discussing the fuckability of Rocky with Midge. We both agreed that I could use a rebound, one that actually lived in the same state as me. And before I knew it, I had Rocky pinned up against the wall of the club and was making out with him like our plane was going down in flames.

It didn't go past that, but that night left me rejuvenated with a new vigor. I didn't need McRugby any longer. There were plenty of other guys out there, and who knows? Maybe I'd just found one at my new job.

The End of the McRugby Era

2007-10-09T23:32:00.001-04:00

Back home, the glow of my vacation wore off quickly when I was faced with a minor medical emergency of a potential miscarriage and a diagnosis of high-risk HPV. Stressed and terrified, I turned to my friends and McRugby for emotional support. I had no friends in my new home at the time and the situation at hand wasn't anything I was ready to discuss with my mother.

Considering that McRugby was a contributing factor the the current conundrum I found myself in, I expected him to be a pillar of strength and support, despite the distance between us following what I felt was a great visit. I was wrong. Overnight, the phone calls, e-mails and instant messages were never returned. I took the hint and learned that he was off screwing other girls at college. Nice. Furthermore, he blamed me for everything that had happened and lamented on what I did to him and the consequences it would have and the havoc it would wreak on his future sex life. Ass. Why worry about my possible cancer diagnosis when you can't slut around?

McRugby, who used to be a devout Mormon, was now all about the hard-partying college lifestyle. Drinking, drugs and casual sex were the courses he was most interested in, and while I do find strict religious ways to be trying, I was completely put off by this new carefree attitude.

I made a mistake by going back down that road with McRugby. I should have known better than to let myself be swayed by his charms when I was so vulnerable. I had just moved to a new place, away from most of my family and friends and was in an unfamiliar town with a new job I couldn't stand, and none of my close friends lived less than 1500 miles away. I'd never felt more alone than I did in the weeks following the unceremonious and final split from McRugby, but that time in my life did teach me about the strength I have within myself to deal with the trials and tribulations I will face in my life.

Thankfully, despite my newfound inner strength, one of my friends, Midge (named for her short stature) was between jobs and had recently broken up with her boyfriend, so she immediately booked a flight and planned to come down and visit me. I was also starting a new job, while trying to maintain my old one (where I had just been named Employee of the Month), so in spite of the dark place I felt I was in, I aso sensed a new chapter in my life was beginning.

Penis Karma

2006-11-11T23:07:00.000-05:00

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

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

In the form of a very small penis.

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

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

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

And then it did.

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

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

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

Round came next.

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

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

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

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

Loving life!!!

2006-11-05T22:29:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You Only Get One

2006-10-31T19:54:00.000-05:00

You only get one office relationship.

That's it.

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

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

You only get one.

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

:-D

Brotherly Love

2006-10-29T19:08:00.000-05:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

But oh yes, the plot thickens.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Is this really my life?

2006-10-23T21:41:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks, Carrie!

2006-10-22T12:31:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thanks for getting me to that place, Carrie.

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

2006-10-21T15:01:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Homecoming to McRugby, Part II

2006-10-21T14:55:00.000-04:00

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

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

And I was completely satisfied with that.

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

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

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

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

Mmmm, younger guys

2006-10-21T10:05:00.000-04:00

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

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

So why am I drawn to younger guys?

Much younger. Eighteen would be the approximate age.

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

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

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

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

It's all about being Single and Fabulous.

Homecoming to McRugby, Part I

2006-10-18T18:26:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

Save me from McMarried!

2006-10-14T19:24:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

Yeah.....

2006-10-14T19:10:00.000-04:00

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

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

Having a police officer sign my shirt.

Having an elderly couple sign my shirt.

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

Groping a pole.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So....

2006-10-14T12:01:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

Takin' Care of Business

2006-10-05T22:27:00.000-04:00

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

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

Sincerely,
Management

Contrary to popular belief, I do not have herpes

2006-10-03T20:32:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Holy crap, Google has SO not failed me now!

2006-10-02T20:56:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I COULD NOT BELIEVE WHAT I SAW.

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

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

I hereby christen him GoogleJackpot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So I guess I should keep quiet for awhile.

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

Nobody else.

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

Getting McCheesy

2006-10-01T17:23:00.000-04:00

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

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

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

And I’d never settle for anything less.

Younger Man/Older Woman

2006-09-29T22:08:00.000-04:00

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?

Men at Work

2006-09-27T21:17:00.000-04:00

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

2006-09-27T19:00:00.000-04:00

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…

Carrie's Celeb Bangable’s Du Jour

2006-09-23T21:54:00.000-04:00

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

2006-09-23T21:26:00.000-04:00

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

2006-09-23T21:09:00.000-04:00

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

2006-09-23T17:07:00.000-04:00

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.

Well.

"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."

Shit.

"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.

Talking.

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.

No.

No.

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.

Shit.

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 me....like 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.

Leave the Kids at Home

2006-09-20T17:51:00.000-04:00

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.

Potpourri

2006-09-19T21:53:00.000-04:00

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...

Post-McDreamy: Enter Jesus Iscariot

2006-09-17T22:16:00.000-04:00

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?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah."

"You're not kidding?"

"Nope."

"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 walked silently, not touching. I CAN'T BELIEVE I'M GOING TO DO THIS!! I screamed inside my head. THIS IS JESUS ISCARIOT!! THE ADMINISTRATION LOVES HIM!! HE'S THE MODEL CATHOLIC!! EVERYONE KNOWS WHO HE IS!! EVERYONE LOOKS TO HIS EXAMPLE!! AND I AM NOT REMOTELY ATTRACTED TO HIM!!

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?

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.

Round.

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.

“Guess.”

“Iscariot?”

“Yep.”

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

2006-09-17T20:12:00.000-04:00

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!

A Tale of Two Men

2006-09-16T19:25:00.000-04:00

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.

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

2006-09-15T21:57:00.000-04:00

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.

Growing Into Sexy

2006-09-14T21:16:00.000-04:00

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."

Well.

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?

P-D-A....no way!

2006-09-13T11:45:00.000-04:00

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.

On Making the Grade..

2006-09-12T19:48:00.000-04:00

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.....

Regression

2006-09-12T18:16:00.000-04:00

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.

My Second Tour of Duty

2006-09-11T21:13:00.000-04:00

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

2006-09-11T20:13:00.000-04:00

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.

"Hey."

"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.

2006-09-11T19:12:00.000-04:00

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"

The Soldier or How I Joined the Poon Platoon

2006-09-10T21:49:00.000-04:00

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

2006-09-10T16:04:00.000-04:00

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.

You should have called it a night...

2006-09-09T23:32:00.000-04:00

How do you know if you've partied too much...if you should have called it a night?!

Read on, my friends!

1. I have absolutely no idea where my bag is

2. I believe that dancing with my arms overhead and wiggling my bootay while yelling WOO-HOO is truly the sexiest dance move around

3. I've suddenly decided I want to kick someone's ass and honestly believe I could do it too (bitch...i ain't playin...)

4. In my last trip to pee I realize I now look more like a homeless hooker than the goddess I was just four hours ago

5. I drop my 3:00AM snack on the floor (which I'm eating even though I'm not the least bit hungry), pick it up and carry on eating it

6. I start crying and telling everyone i see that I love them soooooo much

7. There are less than three hours before I'm due to start work or enter the classroom

8. I can't seem to stop making phone calls to people I haven't talked to in years

9. The man/woman I'm flirting with used to be my biology teacher

10. The urge to take off articles of clothing, stand on a table and sing or dance becomes strangely overwhelming

11. My eyes just don't seem to want to stay open on their own so I keep them half closed and think it looks exotically sexy

12. I've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it

13. I yell at the bartender, who (I think) cheated me by giving me just cranberry juice, but that's just because I can no longer taste the vodka

14. I think I'm in bed, but my pillow feels strangely like the bathroom floor

15. I start every conversation with a booming, "DON'T take this the WRONG WAY but..."

16. I fail to notice that the toilet lid's down when I sit on it

17. My hugs begin to resemble wrestling take-down moves

18. Boys/girls you would never be attracted to seem to look amazingly hot...and you might end up kissing one or two or six of them

19. I begin leaving the buttons open on my button fly pants to cut down on the time I'm in the bathroom and away from my drink

20. I take my shoes off because I believe it's their fault that I'm having problems walking straight

Pimping Internationally

2006-09-09T22:44:00.000-04:00

"You know this song?" a male coworker of mine asked at the bar on Friday as Johnny Cash's "I've Been Everywhere" played overhead. "It was written about me."

"You know Ludacris's 'Pimpin' All Over the World'? That was written about me," I replied without missing a beat.

And so begins the first entry of the world's reigning international pimpette. (To clarify, countries in which I've gotten any kind of action include the U.S., Italy, France, Czech Republic, Switzerland and Canada.)

I once was involved with a guy who said he kept track of states he'd earned. You earn a state by hooking up in a state, with someone who went to college in a state, with someone who currently lived in that state, or with someone who lived in that state for at least a year.

Here we go.

create your own visited states map

By the same parameters, I post you Europe:

create your personalized map of europe

You know what? Looking at that, it looks like a lot less. But comparably, I guess I have a lot of notable hookups, geographically speaking.

Looks like someone needs to plan a trip to Greece or the Midwest.

And there comes the issue of quantity vs. quality once again. Quite the dilemma for Samantha Jones. If you're spending all your time trying to rack up points, bending over backwards for the sake of making that mental (or in my case, literal) checkmark on a fictional (or in my case, real) chart of hookup goals? Is it really vital to get the hot dad, the minor celebrity AND both Indian races (ie: dot and feather), not to mention the elusive midget?

Well, I've thought about it. And I've experienced it. I've hooked up for the sake of adding to my numbers, even though I knew it was destructive.

And it's worth it.

So far. I may change my mind someday.

All over the world, baby, it's only right I share my experiences with y'all, cause I've been places y'all never imagined....

Married Men: Off Limits

2006-09-09T20:57:00.000-04:00

There are just too many around. And you think one is hitting on you, or you're hitting it off with him and he's in your age bracket, but in actuality, he's older and married. That's why ladies, before you even OPEN your mouth (or any other body part for that matter), you check the left hand. Don't be obvious about it and avoid his eye contact, but just casually glance down while you're talking to see if there is or isn't a band around that left index finger.

A week ago I met what I thought was a cute, eligible bachelor who wasn't much older than myself. "Mmm, now this is what I'm talking about," said the voice in my head as I sat down across from him and soaked him in. He was cute, with brown eyes, brown hair, tall, and muscular. We were talking and REALLY hitting it off, getting to know where each other was from and discussing common interests. He kept smiling at me warmly, and I said, "I hope I'm not in over my head here." He said, "I have a feeling you'll be just great here" and winked at me seductively. I kept smiling and chatting with him until another lady walked in the room and asked him a question about his day. I didn't pay attention to what the question was, but I heard the answer quite clearly: "blah blah blah MY WIFE blah blah....." Shocked and horrified, I immediately glanced at his left hand, praying that it was an ex wife rather than present wife. Much to my display, there was a white gold band on his left index finger. Like a turtle retreating into its shell for cover, I walked to the opposite side of the room and spoke to the other people there. I don't much remember what happened after. But I do remember thinking...why did I get such a good vibe from him? Was he hitting on me or was he just being friendly? And the never-ending, cliched question surfaced...why are all the good ones taken? Perhaps he wasn't a good one. Perhaps he was just another married sleeze who hits on single girls and only considered what's in their pants, not what's in their brains. Ladies, I learned a valuable lesson from Oprah last month watching a cheating/affair special. In the words of Ms. Winfrey herself: "If a married man hits on you, it is a insult!" (raucous applause from the audience) Yes, it's a insult because he is already attached and essentially going after something he can't and morally should not, have. Regardless, I know there are more men out there. And I know I need to be more careful next time and check that left hand before I check out his killer biceps.