Christianmas Eve-Eve

It's not so much that I want to be right about this, it's just that I know my family. Things have of course descended into chaos as we inch our way towards Christianmas.

My brother and I are very different. Different to the point that we just don't get along. In fact, most people are surprised to hear that I have a brother. We all know that I can be offensive, but it's usually in a fun comical way that doesn't really do any harm. My brother is offensive in a way that is totally opposite: He has no tact. I made a white trash joke based on the type of beer that I drink, he then proceeded to take it to the next level. I can't recall exactly what he said, but something about trailer trash. He is the one person that always says the thing that sends you off the edge.

If you're one of those that has been following my blog from the beginning then you know that I love to dwell. I will obsess over small things to the point of driving myself and everyone else nuts. This is not just some adorable trait that I've come by on my own, this happens to be something that I've adopted. My mother is exactly the same. After my brother made the comment she was ready to knock him out.

Things escalated with spilled drinks and broken glasses. The fighting continued to the point that I ended up making half of dinner to get away. Things calmed down after my brother finally went away. While talking to my mother afterwards she commented on not meaning to ruin my visit. I only come out here once a year for a few days, it should be all fun and games. I told her she was ruining my visit and to let it go.

It's now Christianmas eve and I seem to have caught the attitude. Aside from the nosebleed that I enjoyed this morning, I may be catching a cold. Everyone here smokes, so I can't tell if my sinuses are freaking out from that or if I'm getting sick.

The big day is tomorrow and never have we had a holiday without a problem. Let's see if this year's different.

Hell for The Holidays

This is irrelevant, but I have to share it. About two years ago my mom and I were riding in the car. I had a can of soda that was half full, including some spit. You know, I didn't want to spit into the wind so I did it in the can. My mom picked it up and took a big drink before I could stop her. She spit soda all over the car as I laughed hysterically. She just brought it up again, making me laugh so hard I almost wet myself. Best story ever.

To my story: Today I boarded a flight before the sun was up, in an effort to be home for the holidays. The lines were quick and the passengers mellow. Everything was great until I realized that I was trapped in the middle of a germ-fest! Everyone around me was coughing and sneezing. It was like being trapped in my own personal hell!

Landing in the fog laden Salt Lake City, I met my mother and my wife for lunch. We had a few beers before deciding to purchase the trademark shirts of Salt Lake. SL,UT. What can be better than a shirt that says slut? My mom and I then left to go fetch my brother. An interesting situation was obviously in the making. My brother and I are not the best of friends.

The strangest thing was where we picked him up, at my grandmother's house. I haven't seen my mom's mom in about 14 years. It was slightly awkward considering all of the family drama that exists on that side. We piled back in the car and my mom decided it would be best for me to drive so she could have a beer. Jealous? Yes I was.

The drive was terrifying for me. I haven't driven more than a mile at a time in the last two years. Getting in the driver's seat for a three hour drive on a windy mountain road was definitely rough. I had white knuckles and knots in my back by the time we made it to the house. OY VEY!

It's starting out tame, but I know the drama s coming. It's Christmas after all.

Dick Dumb

We all know, or have been, the dick dumb person. You know, the one that stays with the guy because he's going to change. That's dick dumb.

Maybe you're the girl that loves the guy that cheats on her because 'he doesn't mean to'. That's dick dumb.

You could also just be giving someone tons of gifts in the hope that they'll give you love. That's super dick dumb.

You could also just be a dick or dumb. Those are totally different things. I usually get a bad case of dick and dumb when it comes to dating. I was out last night with a friend I rarely get to see and we were talking about my Shew situation.

I play the defensive like any sane person that dares to date. I expect guys to screw me and then screw me over. That's what they do, isn't it? Shew is a nice guy. I dated one of those a few years ago. I think he still hates my face. I've gone so far as to ask if there's some secret that he's going to come out with, like having a secret boyfriend. It's so hard to trust that a person can actually be genuinely nice without some kind of motive.

The friend I was out with last night was listening to me talk about Shew. Her advice: Knock the shit off. Pretty obvious and sound advice. It's not that I'm out doing anything, it's just that I tend to create drama where there is none. Lucky for me there is an incredible amount of tension at home. That takes the pressure off of Shew to provide me with drama.

The only real issue we've come upon is me not being able to expression any emotion. Well, I can expression the negative emotions like a crack whore looking for a fix, but when it comes to saying the nice things... it's like trying to pull my own teeth! I'm told it's because of bad family relations. That can't be true. It could just be the fact that I'm a bitter factory and it's way more fun to pollute the optimist pool.

While I am certainly not dick dumb with Shew, at this point, I am trying to get a handle on my dumb. So far so good, but there's always tomorrow.

Cycles

Everything has an expiration date. That old milk in the fridge, that best friend from high school, and that person you thought you'd spend forever with. Nothing lasts forever; society says so.

Things in my personal life have been a little bumpy. My roommate and I had the big blow up a week ago, and things have simmered down. I almost feel bad for not wanting to work things out, but i just don't care. It's one of those situations where we are able to live together and go about our lives without animosity, but there's no interaction. Everyone is warning me that she's going to try and do something, but I don't think so. I mean, we just aren't friends anymore. We're not enemies. That's a very different situation. Had we turned into enemies I would worry about her trying to screw with me, or feel compelled to hurt her, but fortunately that's not the case. The countdown is on to the moment we are free of our prison apartment!

As of late, I've been spending a lot of time with Shew. Things are going well with just a few minor skirmishes. I've only been pissed off once so far. That's a Jewmas miracle! Our only problem is that when he gets drunk he likes to say what I feel to be snide comments. Things like: You don't acknowledge the nice things I do. That's the one that pissed me off. Out of all the guys I've dated, I actually am putting a lot of effort into Shew. So much so, I even dropped the attitude immediately and decided to just let it go for a change. It put a downer on the rest of the night, only made worse by my boss making me climb out of bed to work on an email campaign.

Oh, Shew and the Animator have been hanging out. That's partially of my doing. I introduced them and then they became Facebook friends. Side Note: My cell attaches to my friend's Facebook accounts. My roommate deleted me after our fight; I found this out when she vanished from my phone. Tacky! I then was forced to delete her boyfriend as a friend. She's told me before how she uses his account to see what he and his friends are saying about her. I didn't want her having the ability to get back to what's posted on my profile. Anyway, while I was in Baltimore, Shew wanted to go out and I told him to text the Animator. They went out, etc. Fast forward to last night when I went out to have a beer with the Animator. I was slow to reply to Shew when he asked where we were. He then texted the Animator to find out. That was not ok. I'm fine with them being friends, but the Animator is still my friend first. Meaning, I don't want the boy checking up on me by going over my head. Wait until I reply before tailing me. That's simple enough. It wasn't that I didn't want him to come hangout with us, but everyone needs to have separation between their worlds.

Other than the bad case of GMS that I'm experiencing, things are great.

Detox

The day in December that will mark one year of being single is nearly upon us. I don’t count the two flings I’ve had this year as actually dating. They were more like temps. This year has been all about getting rid of the bad.

I’ve been hanging out with Shew a lot lately, and the best part is he isn’t interested in labeling anything. It takes some of the pressure off, especially when it usually puts me into crazy mode. Though there have been a few moments when I notice the intense insanity bubbling in the pit of my stomach. Fortunately for me, it can be killed with several beers and making out.

It’s also good that Shew is more than happy to have me stay over. I recently told my roomie that I intend to move out when our lease is up. More to the point, I no longer wish to reside with her. I don’t know if anyone noticed, but on my Facebook I had mentioned removing the last one-upper from my life. Well, my roomie is the biggest one-upper alive. Her response to my moving out, “I was already planning on doing that.” A lie. I know this because less than a month before she was telling B. Brown about us maybe getting a bigger place. A month before that she told me that she might be willing to take an extra hundred dollars of the rent so I would want to stay another year. So, I’ve been spending a lot of time at Shew’s apartment to get some space.

It’s not so much that I don’t want to be friends with my roomie anymore; it’s more that I can’t handle being around such a self-centered person. When my mom was visiting I was mortified when my roomie said, “I have so much money, I don’t know what to do with it.” I don’t discuss money. I also don’t try and let other people know if I make more than them. No one wants to hear that kind of stuff. I can’t figure out if it’s a low self-esteem issue, or some weird childhood thing. She’d be better to do like the rest of us and get some sort of drinking problem. On an up note, it appears she is giving me the silent treatment. No clue why, but I’m certainly enjoying it.

Things will soon be getting better. Shew is an expert apartment finder, B. Brown is moving to the City, and in March I will be free of this place.

Put Your Left Shew In

This may come as a shock, it certainly did to me, but I’ve met a nice guy. Not the nice guy that turns out to be a dick sucking assholes, but what I believe may be the rare and illusive nice guy.

The Animator and I went out to his friend’s birthday this past week. I use the term friend loosely as this guy is really the Animator’s long-term crush. The party was at Mr. Blacks, my former favorite club. This was another new location and I had yet to see it. I am happy to say that it is now closer to me and not half bad. 

One confession on my part: I kinda met someone online.  Tacky? A little. However, it’s safer to be meeting someone online, and I’m not talking about manhunt here, than it is to be meeting them in bars. At least this way I get to see some pics, a bio, and dig through his friends to weed out any connections that would later prove to be problematic. We’re talking about Shew: The shoe designing Jew. 

I invited Shew to stop by the party since his plans had been cancelled. I was surprised when he made an appearance, probably not my best idea considering how much I had already consumed at the bar. The three of us danced as the Animator tried to get some face time with his ‘friend’. I would later tell him, and several times that night, that he was way too cute to waste time on the birthday guy. On a side note, the Animator dislocated his arm so I may have to start calling him Hulk.

One more bar and it was time to go home. To Shew’s home that is. We made our way back to what would turn out to be his brother’s house. He was watching the place while they were away. Clearly this boy and I are in very different social circles because the apartment was amazing. Some semi-innocent fooling around would lead to sleep. The only problem was that Shew didn’t finish; never has a guy not been able to finish with me. I’m gonna blame it on the alcohol, but I suppose there’s really no way of knowing.

Jumping a few days ahead: Shew and I have been out a couple of times for coffee and conversation. I was highly impressed that he could remember how I take my Starbucks after only one previous encounter. That right there meant he was gonna be getting laid. We did end up at his place that night on the Upper East Side, reaffirming that we are in very different social circles. I’m very Brooklyn and he is definitely City. I predict that this will be an issue if there is a later, but for now there’s no need to worry about it unless he ever wants to see my place.

Now I have officially entered once again into the exciting world of dating where hearts and asses are broken in an instant. 

Three

Halloween. The night of all nights when it comes to mischief. 

When B. Brown and I set out I was on the tired side. This was our third night out in a row. Lately I’ve been all about work and home, which means one night out is exhausting. Three beers and we were out the door to meet the Animator. We got into the city just after the parade had ended, which made for an interesting commute.

The first place we stopped at had a good crowd, and I give it two thumbs up because the incredible hot delivery guy literally felt my business. When you’re that hot I’m not going to tell you no until later. The Animator got us out in one piece and we met up with two of his heavily intoxicated friends. I realized at this point I had hit a wall. My early buzz had worn off and was stopping me from reaching optimal drunkenness. 

The Animator’s friends were nice. So nice in fact that the guy came back to introduce himself to me three different times, not once getting my name right. We followed them to a house party in a typical New York apartment. The room was the size of an area rug and thirty people were crammed in there. We lasted all of five minutes before heading back into the rain. 

I insisted that we stop at View bar. I was overjoyed to see it was open. Iago, the bane of my existence, informed me about a month ago that the health department had closed it. I don’t know if that was true or a sick joke. Inside there wasn’t a single dick in sight. Chugging our drinks we were once again off.

We stopped for food at B. Brown’s request. She was pacing herself on the drinks after her experience from last night. It seems that vomiting is not as thrilling as bulimics make it out to be. I hate to admit but I was still checking my phone every two minutes to see if London had messaged. Finally, he did, an update on where he was and the plan for the night.

With the knowledge that I would be seeing London, and our tummies full, we moved on. Posh was the next place we landed. It was an interesting crowd to say the least. We drank and danced while this much older man tried to get in between B. Brown and myself. I wouldn’t allow it. I yanked her away and we were out the door. I was pretty much done at this point, never really achieving a hard-on for Halloween.

The Animator stayed behind while we stopped in at a straight bar. Well, we thought it was a straight bar. B. Brown tried to hit on two of the guys at the bar, but they turned out to be playing for my team. As we left London text to say he would be home shortly and I should come over. This was the moment that I met my Halloween disappointment. I had to work in the morning and that meant not staying out all night. I didn’t like it but I had to tell him no.

B. Brown told me to go see him, but it was too late. I received several messages from him telling me to get my behind in gear, but I had to be responsible. I regret not going over, but the good news is that he will be back in December. I can’t be certain things will pan out, but at least there is a second chance for me to get my fill of London.

Two

Typically, I’m not the responsible one when going out. I’m more likely to need a fun-monitor than anything else.

B. Brown and I got our butts in gear and headed into the city where we planned to meet the Animator. Last night we had played at the gay bar and to keep it fair we headed to the straight bar. Joshua Tree is where we founded an impressively hot bartender in May. The hope was that he would be there and B. Brown would get a second chance at their first time.

I sported my Panda mask, provided by the Animator who was dressed as Spock. There were tons of costumes and I just want to point out that no one received attention for their costume like the Animator. Two points for him. The three of us sat at the edge of the bar, two of us all ready tipsy. The bartenders working were ok, but nothing stellar. The cuter of the two was busy being a douche and serving the easy looking girls twenty feet away.

Drink… drink and we were all feeling it. The Animator had headed across the street with his friend that had dropped in. Confident that B. Brown could handle herself for half an hour, I followed. One drink and I was ready to go. There was a chance that London was going to have a free minute and I was more interested in watching my phone than engaging people in the costumed crowd. Phone watching is an activity best done in a dark sit down bar, otherwise people are bumping into you.

I headed back to B. Brown to find her a little riled up. It seems that she had started asking the bartender the questions we never ask. You know, things like: Why aren’t you hitting on me? We’re talking about the nicer of the two bartenders and he wasn’t sure how to handle my B. He looked relieved that I had returned. However, B. Brown was having no part of it. Dumping her drink on the bar she headed for the bathroom. 

When ten minutes had passed and no B had returned, I headed in after her. It seems the friendly bartender had been giving her ‘princess drinks’ and double shots. Sick does not begin to describe what B. Brown was. We spent a solid two hours in the bar bathroom, fortunately they were nice enough not to kick us out. After finding a cab that wasn’t afraid of vomit we made it back to Brooklyn. I was very proud of B. Brown for making it to the bathroom before letting her stomach get the best of her. Unfortunately, the toilet lid was down. I tucked her into bed, wiped myself and the toilet off, and checked my phone once again. No London.

I have a new found respect for my friends. There have been times in years past when they have held my head while I prayed to the toilet for death. Thank you! Tomorrow is Halloween; another chance for London games and vomit filled nights. 

One

B. Brown came to town and with her came a parade of my former blog players.

It’s been roughly five months since B. Brown was last here and it was only appropriate that we go out. Somehow this happened to coincide with a surprise trip from London. You may remember London from such sexual encounters as: Night on his friend’s sofa bed. In case you missed it, London was Wall Street’s friend and I didn’t know he was interested until he was living over seas.

So, we went to Splash. The last time I went to this particular club the bouncer was disinclined to let me in because I wasn’t as tall as my license said. I thought everyone lied on their stats. I mean, I only said I was an inch taller than I really am. It’s an inch. Let me have it! This incident put Splash on my black list; the places I prefer not to go.

The night was going well, for the most part, except for we couldn’t find the Animator. Making our way into the depths of the basement to get a drink and start our search. A little wandering and we ended landed back upstairs. Through the writhing crowd I ran right into London, who was looking incredibly good I must add. My excitement was quickly dashed when I caught sight of London’s friends. 

I can pull off the fake nice thing with the best of them, I did work retail for eight years, but there are just some people that get me in an instant. One of London’s friend’s, who I have had other encounters with while dating Wall Street, was at his side. Though we’ve met a half dozen times he played the “do I know you” card. I told him he knew me and when he put his little hand out, looking as if it were maimed from the limpness, I did by best not to crush it (though I started to).

Once again downstairs, I was making my way to the bathroom when a hand grabbed me. I paid it no mind. Men in bars, especially gay bars, tend to be very grabby. I assumed it was just some old douche. I found out from across the bar ten minutes later that it was London. Considering I’ve had a crush on him since I was dating Wall Street, I felt insane, assuming he probably thinks I am. 

London left later in the evening and mentioned that I had a strong aversion to Wall Street; did I mention he was there too? I actually hadn’t noticed him originally, but I’m pretty sure when I unintentionally ignored London he thought I was doing so because of his sidekick. London went home and I didn’t get to go with him. That is disappointment.

I failed to mention the middle portion of our evening. Not only was Wall Street there, so was the Italian. My friends thought it was incredibly funny to do bunny ears while I was talking to him. My giggly button had already been pushed when a dude dressed as a Greek soldier fell flat on his face. Someone had spilled a drink right before he walked by and boom! Seconds after the Italian faded into the crowd here came the Roman. The Roman is someone that I had a one-night stand with fall of last year. His most memorable moment was walking out of my room in the middle of the night and running into my roomie naked.

Other than the parade of ex bedroom buddies, it was an okay night. I still have two nights to get London home… watch and see.

Lessons in Love

I love movies and the unrealistic world of dreams and possibilities that they present. There’s something intoxicating about letting yourself go in the fantasy, even if only for a few hours.

All of us have had our falls into and back out of love, like, or lust. To some extent we do it because we’ve been preconditioned by society. Sitcoms tell us that we can find someone, fall in love, and get married in thirty minutes. Dramas tell us that we can do all of that and get a divorce in sixty. With my track record I wonder if I’m living in a tragedy. Exactly how much time do I get?

I’ve become a non-believer in love. I got the lessons out of the way early and have reserved myself to the sidelines, rather than diving in and playing the game. Observing is one of my favorite activities, though what I see confirms my own beliefs. I watch friends that treat their boyfriends like trash and manipulate them to ensure they remain in the relationship. I watch marriages that are used out of convenience and the love has all but evaporated. I see the person that stays for the children and wastes away. If these are the things that represent love then I am sure that I’ve made the right choice.

Once in a blue moon I feel as though my mind may change. When a stranger pays a small compliment, and I realize that maybe everyone isn’t as awful as I think. For example, a guy working at Starbucks tonight was giving me eyes and told me he “really likes when people come in with that color of hair.” I had to refrain from laughing, but it was cute… and probably the most honest thing I’ve heard in a long time. 

Then there was the guy on the bus. A three-hour trip and he managed to sit only a few seats away. We played the flirty eyes game for a while, and he even managed to talk to me for a moment.  One problem for me here is that I have perfected the art of being cold. When I’m with friends, I love to chat and make myself a part of the group. When I’m one-on-one with a person that is potentially interested in me, I shut down. A defense mechanism that I’ve used for a long time, not that it does me much good. I had convinced myself to give the bus guy my number once I saw my stop approaching. I went so far so to write it down when I was gathering my belongings. He looked back and smiled as I was getting out of my seat, but then I caught up to myself and put the paper back in my pocket.

There is a little bit of regret in the forefront of my mind as I write this. I should have given the guy my number and at least given him the chance to confirm or refute my assumptions, but I didn’t. My defense of being frigid has literally consumed me at this point. I’ve made the mistakes, with all the wrongs guys, and it just didn’t seem worth it. Would he turn out to be nice? Perhaps. Would he be another Devil, Trainer, Dollar? Maybe.

So, I reserve myself to enjoy the fantasy of the movies. The only place where I can see love as being possible.

Sexfrences

I’ve decided that anyone trying to climb on top of me needs to come with a list of references and a background check. There are several reasons why I feel this way, I’m sure you understand.

There is this one guy that has been trying to get his peter near my anything for the months now. He’s good looking and nice enough for me to be interested. It’s clear that it would just be a hook-up, which I suppose is okay, considering I don’t want to date him either. Then again there is that aftermath of feeling like the kind of cheap whore that leaves their number on bar bathroom walls.

What have been holding me back from a frolic in the sheets are my personal concerns with this guy’s track record. I don’t know where he’s been and whom he’s been in. We all know guys are whores, and I assume the guys that straight up ask to get laid are from a breed of super slut. I could be wrong, but from what I’ve seen in the dating pool supports my theory here.

This is what I propose: When I meet someone it should be like a job interview. They should tell me their strengths and weaknesses in and out of the bedroom. They should tell me what itchy things they’ve caught, and if there’s anything lingering around down there. Also, I want the names for the last five people they were in, ten if there’s more than two in each week. Then I can make a proper analysis.

Is this crazy behavior on my part, asking for so much? No. People lie. I’ve dated people and then been filled in about them after the break-up. Sometimes the information they withhold, even the trivial things, would be deal breakers for me. I like to know what I’m getting into, and being that I trust no one, it makes it five times harder when they don’t trust you either. Example: A former friend that is HIV+ would only tell people he was going to sleep with he had it if they specifically asked. If they were to only say: Have you been tested. He would simply reply: Yes. Many of us ask it that way and assume yes means you are clean. It’s a tricky little white lie that can change your life. That’s where I’m coming form in my argument.

So, sexfrences are a must for anyone that wants their willy near me. Maybe I’ll print up some forms and start handing them out while I dance on the bar tops and drink. Really just killing two birds with one stone there. I’ll probably give them to people on the train as well; some of them get so close we may as well be naked.

Gimme Gimme None

I’ve spent today making decisions I don’t understand and slightly regret. In order to explain I have to rewind to last night:

Usually I come home from Baltimore on Saturday night, but this week I was persuaded by my friend Carly to stay. We hit up the local sex store for some personal items and then out to a Latin Club for drinks and dancing. The only drawback to the club was everyone else knew how to salsa dance. I only know how to dance like a cracker. I can go out there; jiggle and bounce around, but there’s really no rhyme or rhythm to it. 

Then it happened. That annoying urge that arises when you’re drunk and haven’t been sexed-up in a while. The last time I fooled around with anyone was right after B. Brown left in May. Do the math; it’s been a while. Jello is my Baltimore “boyfriend”. We’ve had a few encounters over the past year; I actually met him right around the time The Devil and I ended. The funny thing is that Jello knows The Devil and had some very interesting insights. However, that is not the point of this post.

I woke up early this morning, needing to catch a bus back to New York. Jello has the best intentions, but he just doesn’t know me well enough yet. Right after waking up he wanted to play and cuddle with me. No. I don’t cuddle, especially when I’ve just gotten out of bed. I like to not be touched and I hate being talked to before I’ve had two hours and a big cup of coffee. The thing that I thought was funny as I rode away on the bus: I can’t stand relationship behaviors. It’s amusing because I’ve been thinking that it’s time to start dating again… wrong!

Now, once I got back to the city I had to work at the store. While I was there this guy wrote his number down and gave it to me. He was cute and nice from what little interaction we had. He placed the number on the counter and left. I looked at it, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the trash. Why? No clue. I can’t say that I wasn’t somewhat interested in him. I suppose I can say this is me being me. I do the things I don’t want to do because I have this construct in my head that I want to follow. I feel as though there are two of me: There’s the me that walks and talks (trying not to fall down), and the me that controls the decision making. We’re not getting along at the moment.

Let me give you another example that arose today. This guy I met a while back found me on Facebook and we’ve chatted a time or two. Today he asked me to hang out three times and I said no. This one is the kicker because I wanted to say yes. I’m absolutely interested in this guy but I still told him no. Being the question master, I am asking myself why I do it? I know I do it. I know I don’t really enjoy doing it. I know it doesn’t get me anywhere. So, why?

I am shooting in the dark here, especially since the eye doctor messed up my prescription, but I think it’s because after all of the bad experiences I’ve had and watching other people, I don’t want to deal with dating. My Roomie tells me about her relationship issues and I think how happy I am that I don’t have to deal with any of it. 

I’m sure Abbot will have some fantastic analysis to explain my behavior, but all I can say to him is that I’m better off with BOB (battery operated boyfriend), than I am with a human.

Mommy Dearest

This month has seen a lack of postings on my part. I feel that in order to not become repetitive I shouldn’t waste anyone’s energy when the antics are more or less the “same old thing”. Fortune has turned and I have a twist to increase the interest in my nightlife misadventures.

My birthday arrived last week and with it came my mother. She flew in from that place where I was once from and prefer not to name. What’s in a name? Too many connotations that I don’t want to be associated with. Anyway, I made it my mission to ensure that she fell in love with New York. I’ve been obsessed with this city since I was three years old and saw and ‘I heart NY’ keychain for the first time.

I planned a little party at one of my favorite bars, inviting a few friends. Now, I’ve never actually been drunk in front of mother, let alone drunk and christmasy in front of her. What’s christmas?  Read between the lines, it’s not that complicated… this is where B. Brown would smile. We hid in the back corner of View Bar, my friends coming and going, me running to the bathroom every few minutes. I love beer, but I have the bladder of a twelve-year-old girl. Not that twelve-year-old girls should be drinking, but I’m sure some are up in Queens. 

My mom went outside to smoke, making new friends on the street. Bored with a certain someone’s incessant talking, I went to join her. We met two ghetto-looking people sitting on a stoop. Now, with me you have to be blunt, so when the guy from the stoop asked me if I liked to party, I was confused. I was like, yeah, I like to party. I was assuming he meant like dancing on bars and throwing up in public restrooms. Turns out he meant something a little bit different. So, I officially have a “source” in my phonebook in case anyone is in need.

The night ended with myself plastered, and my mother not far behind. You see, she lives in a state that has strict alcohol laws and our beer is just a bit stronger. I’m a pint guy, but it was kicking her butt. Oh, I failed to mention that I had to keep her from knocking that obnoxious person’s (the one I mentioned earlier) teeth out. If you refer back to the crazy behavior that I was engaging in at the end of last year, this is where I get it. Everything has a source… dun, dun dun!

The three days we spent together were fun to say the least. I think this is the first time the two of us have been together in a way that was outside the parent/child relationship. I highly recommend that everyone sit down and get drunk with their mother. If for no other reason than to show them the person you really are. Most of us run around playing our parts, but when alcohol is introduced, there is no hiding. 

I can officially report that my mom loved New York.

Dating Delusion

Some people do everything they can to make a relationship work. They get hurt, wind up alone, and we feel sorry for them. I’m not one of those people.

A recent conversation with a friend got me thinking about relationships past and how I’ve gotten to where I am. I’ve been less than a saint, played the martyr, and taken a few good hits along the way. Who knows what truth exists, but I fully believe in relationship karma; what I do to someone will directly effect what the next person does to me. 

Let’s rewind several years to the time when I was dating The Mormon (I could go farther back, but then love gets involved. No reason to make things messy.). The Mormon was a genuinely nice guy; a breed I am afraid of ruining now. We only dated for three months, my friends liked him and some even still talk to him, but I was bored. Any good gay gets bored when things go well; I just needed help from a stranger to figure out that I was bored. One late night in a bar I met, The Trainer. 

I confused the grabbing of my arm for a friend and stopped, surprised by the attractive guy in front of me on the dance floor. Long story short, I told him I wouldn’t go home with him, but gave him my number and told him to give me a call. I refuse to cheat on a boyfriend; that is one line I don’t cross. When The Trainer called and invited me over the next day I accepted and dumped The Mormon an hour before leaving to meet him. Does this make me a dick? Of course!

There must always be punishment where pleasure is involved. I fell hard for The Trainer, but he was only looking for a cheap thrill. I spent the next several months being nothing more than an easy piece of ass. That finally ended when I was driving over one night and he text to say I should stay home. Obviously I was curious as to why. Another short text informed me he had started dating a guy he’d been waiting for. I screwed The Mormon and because of that The Trainer screwed me.

We are forced to fast-forward in time because I had several nothing flings along the way before my next boyfriend. I started dating Biker Boy. Oh Lord, Biker Boy. Another great guy, other than his pencil dick, it was just too much. The reason you sleep with them on the first date is so you don’t get a disturbing surprise later. It was a foot long and as wide as a penny, disgusting. We dated almost four months, but two months in I started getting presents. 

I had broken the port where the charger connected to my laptop and Biker Boy offered to fix it. The result was the total destruction of my computer. Christmas arrived and Biker Boy gave me a brand new laptop, aided by my manipulation. I knew that he was head over heals for me; I just had to play him right. I did, I got exactly what I wanted. Not only did I get that, but also I managed to furnish an entire apartment on his credit card. Let me tell you how good I am at manipulation. So good, we never had sex the entire time we were dating. One hand job about two weeks into dating and I was done. What he had was something I didn’t want, except for that other little thing with the Visa symbol. I’m kind of proud of this in a sick way, of course, I know I shouldn’t be, but I think it’s impressive.

I assume anyone that has read my older posts can guess what my punishment for Biker Boy was. Ding, ding, ding; The Devil. Overview: Taking back I love you’s, mind games, open relationship, several dramatic break-ups. No need for the details we all already know. I would say I sufficiently paid for what I did to Biker Boy. I may have even paid for it twice from what happened in my last relationship. 

The point of all this: Have I learned anything? I have learned a few things, but I’m afraid they’ve turned me into an unapproachable monster. There are the Newbies and Italians out there that make an effort to date me and I discard them right away. Most of this is arising because I’m getting that itch to date again, but I am trying to understand the point of dating. Can we date without games and motives? That is the question I can’t answer.

Remember December

When you’re a teenager having a crush is cute. When you’re in your twenties, it’s somewhere between desperate and pathetic. 

Now and then it happens; feelings creep up from behind, leaving you in a state of disarray. I’ll admit I’m a bit surprised by what’s been going on in my head lately. Over the past few weeks I’ve developed a massive crush. Probably to be expected considering the length of time I’ve gone without dating, etc. The strange part isn’t so much the crush, but the person it’s formed around. 

There’s no new dick in my life, unless you count the pervy old man that made dirty gestures to me through the ATM window. As of late I have been very into Newbie. (Did anyone expect that?) My dilemma stems from him having learned his lesson from the first go around. I don’t consider the time we were hanging out to be dating, but I’m pretty sure he did. I acted like a little bitch, pretty standard, drove him away and we both went about our lives. What is this resurgence of interest? Usually I only remain interested in the guys that behave as assholes; look how last year ended and this year started.

I got drunk a while ago and around six in the morning it seemed like a good idea to text Newbie. Short and sweet, I mentioned I wanted to get together. It was a day or so later that he asked me to go with him to a bar. This is where the fuzzy enters. We both paid for our own drinks and food, which suggests we were there as friends. However, we were sitting on a couch and he had his arm wrapped around me, suggesting maybe it was more of a date. I can’t decipher if the arm was a move or a reaction. I had mentioned I was cold, we were right below the air conditioner, and he could have just been doing the polite thing.

Newbie was a horn-ball; that is probably his most memorable trait from earlier blog entries. He didn’t even attempt to come home with me after the bar and the boy was drunk. I asked The Animator for advice and he suggested that maybe he didn’t think there was an invitation. That’s possible, considering I was a frigid bitch when it came to sex. The Animator also suggested that I just tell Newbie I’m crushing on him. Doesn’t that break the first rule of dating: Never admit what you’re feeling.

I’m somewhere between a cock and a hard place. I’m not doodling his name on notepads, but I am thinking about him. I still don’t believe there can be a hello without a goodbye, but I suppose it’s still worth trying to get past the hello to see what’s between the two.

Shallow B

There are certain things that we look for in other people. Especially when we’re looking for someone we want to play with. I started thinking about this a day or so ago when I was asked what my type was. I’m not entirely sure what my type is, considering I never seem to date the guys that fit my mold.

Teeth: The single most important feature, for me, has to be teeth. I want them straight above all else. When there’s a snaggel tooth jolting out, I cover my eyes in an effort to not lose one of them. Having been a victim of braces, I hate crooked teeth. When I talk to a guy with wacked out teeth it’s the only thing I think about. Fresh breath is something you would think people would be aware of, but there are a number of guys running around gagging us as they introduce themselves. Just throwing that out there.

Body: We all like a nice body. Don’t lie! I don’t think it’s sexy when you have one “big ab.” Don’t try and pass your beer belly off as something sexy. I shouldn’t be leaving impressions of myself in your flesh when I pull away. I much rather those impressions be left on your mind as you learn what a dating disaster I can be. Arms, chest, and belly are the key factors I’m looking for here. Personally I’m not looking for a big… you know. I leave that area to the dick-sucking whores that need them. I’m too lazy as it is to be getting down on my knees, not to mention my knees are as bad as an eighty-year-old woman’s.

Humor: When you tell a joke, especially an obvious one, the other person should understand. The worst thing is when you have to explain yourself over and over. That reminds me of The Photog. 90% of our text messages are him asking me what I’m talking about. He’s brunette, what is wrong with that boy? I like my serious with a side of funny, so I need someone that can keep up, otherwise I’ll drag you along in my comical wake.

Obedience: We all want to get our way, but I like a challenge. I want to get my way, but you can’t just give it to me immediately. Make me work for it a little; yes I know this is a game. I can’t keep myself from playing; I may as well know the rules.

Not to say I’m a picnic myself. I’m probably the most difficult person when it comes to dating. I’ve yet to understand why I force opposition with everything, but I can’t help myself. I take this beyond the ordinary game and turn it into an art. Everything you say and do I’ll turn against you. Not that it brings me much pleasure; I’ve just always been that way. Perhaps a deep-rooted problem I’m overlooking? I figure I’m set as far as looks. I may not be the hottest of the boys, but I’m vain enough that I won’t skip a day at the gym. 

I’ve been asked why I’m not dating anyone. My response: What I really want is me, and I’ve already got that. Plus, I already have a wife and several girlfriends, what more do I need?

Hold My Hair

“You wake up in your bra and your make-up. I’m such a hot mess with you.” -Ashley Tisdale

That says a mouthful right there. B. Brown and I are a hot mess duo of doom. Together we offer a semi-controlled amount of exaggerated fun. Apart we offer mild chaos to everyone that crosses us. We’ve been flying solo for about two months now and I’m not sure which of us takes the cake for number one disaster.

My recent adventure took me to Mr. Black’s with PETA, pretty standard for my bi-weekly outing. The rarity here was that I had not intended to go out, staying in to drink and work. Once I was coaxed out of my hole, I was feeling buzzed to the point I considered turning back. I got it together, put on my retail face and got my ass in the door of the club. 

Pre-drinking is economical. I only had to purchase two drinks once we were in the club. Even at the point of stupid drunk I won’t stop, why should I? The bartender decided to contribute to my night by telling me he thought I was cute and doing shots with me. I’m not a shot guy; I know my limits. On a side note, I decided to keep my number from the bartender, considering he was serving in a jock strap. I’m not about to go home with that. My limits were surpassed later when PETA hot boxed me. Why I think I’ve earned my hot mess title: I spent the 12 hours after I got home puking my guts out. I didn’t manage to get myself together until 7:00 p.m. the following day.

B. Brown was pretty good about not drinking for a month or so, but she couldn’t remain boring forever. She has the gift of blacking out, forgetting all of the bad from the night before. The danger in that; you forget what you’ve. Kind of how I forgot I made out with some guy a few weeks ago when I went out with PETA and then gave him my number. I was a tad surprised when he started texting to hang out. One of those, ‘who the hell are you’ moments. B. Brown may rival me for the title of hottest mess mostly because she turns into a hitter. An angry drunk is way scarier than a vomiting drunk, unless you’re sitting near by.

My messes are spread far and wide. Of course my wife could put a claim to the title. Having just finished a healthy “revenge fuck” as she calls it. The guy she was dating decided he wasn’t ready for anything because he wasn’t yet over his ex. Sadly, his ex is over him. She already has a new guy. Perhaps that means he shouldn’t have tattooed her name on his arm (lesson to be learned here). Can someone please kill the ex excuse? It’s easier to just tell someone you don’t want to dip your stick in him or her every night, rather than use this worn out line. 

I think the three of us may be toxic for each other, even when we are thousands of miles apart. However, I would rather have incredible messes for friends than the boring stick-up-your-ass people that some of my friends hang around. If nothing else, we make for an interesting read.

drunk+

This is a very special post. Yesterday marks my blog-iversary; one year of drama! I must dedicate this post to Ray Ray and Rachel… the Fister Sisters.

I have two parallel tales to share. We’ll begin with Ray Ray; who has so eloquently been named ‘Ten Finger Mary’. My wife is no lady, on the street or between the sheets. She’s been seeing a new guy, who is turning out to be a kinkster himself. You know, the usual stuff: Stickin’ his P in her V, sometimes in the A, and always between her T’s. That’s all a given, but add alcohol… among other things, to the equation and something magical happens.

Man Hands (Ray Ray’s boyfriend-ish thing) asked if she was ok. In her state of euphoria, she said yes and asked if she shouldn’t be. He continued at his diligent work down-under. It wasn’t until the next morning that Ray Ray realized what had happened. Man Hands was a fan of the FB. That’s not fuck buddy or facebook, I’m talking about the finger bang. We remember Ray Ray had gotten three plump fingers not that long ago. Apparently that wasn’t enough, oh no. Man hands got not five… not seven… but all ten fingers in! That’s five in the front and five in the butt, which makes Ray Ray like a living sex puppet. Perhaps I should call him the puppet master, but we’ll reserve that title for when he starts doing dick tricks.

Tale two: I ventured out with PETA for a night of drunken debauchery. I was drunk before I left the house, following in the footsteps of my wife, I added the plus by the second club. At club number three I made my way to the bar. For the first time ever there was no line. I had managed to miss last call by two hours the bartender informed. He then proceeded to ask if I danced, we’re talking about stripping now. I laughed it off and he told me if I wanted to “dance” at The Cock, I could drink myself silly for free. In my drunk+ state I told him I’d do it, well knowing I would be out of town the Sunday he was inviting me. To be honest, I’d probably do it. I have no shame when it comes to taking my cloths off; it’s too hot to wear them right now as it is.

Back on the dance floor, a couple started circling me like prey on road kill. I tried my best to avoid the duo of dicks, but I was no match for their aggressive tactics. I was sandwiched between them before I knew what had happened. We danced for a minute, one of them kissing on me with his awful smoker’s breath, the other whispering in my ear to come home with them. I wasn’t immediately turned off until he told me they lived in Harlem. No… I don’t go that far uptown when I have to go home to Brooklyn. I laughed and told them no, finally breaking free when kissy guy tried to stick a finger in my B! Ok… ok, this is a dance floor, not a pick ‘em and stick ‘em event. 

I ran after PETA picking up a life-size penis balloon on the way. I shoved it off on a stranger when the friend of my disappointed dance partners approached me. He asked if I liked big dicks. He seemed shocked when I said no. Is that so strange, must every gay man be obsessed with peters? I haven’t had sex in months and I really wasn’t interested in giving up to any of these douche nozzles.

Long story short, it was incredibly (drunk) fun. Well worthy of being my anniversary post. Here’s to the next year! 

Priority Seating

Happy 4^th of July to everyone! I’ve celebrated twice this week, which means I’ll be staying home tonight to recover.

Candy Mountain and I ventured out to metro once again for drinks and pool. I was about three beers in when I realized that my PBR (Poor Bitch Rum) was only $2! I knew it was cheap, but in all the time I’ve been drinking it there, I had no idea what a deal it was. In an effort to get my money’s worth, I started double fisting them (no gay jokes on the fisting). That’s when Candy Mountain started talking to some girl alone by the pool table.

It took probably two seconds before I hijacked my new Lesbi-Friend from him. I’m a big fan of the vagina club, and when there’s a non-flannel-pennis-approving-lesbian around… I wanna play with her! My Lesbi-Friend scored major points when she mentioned PBR was her favorite beer. Also, she lives on the Lower East Side and was escaping the city for Brooklyn. I first asked if she was lost, but loved her for loving the BK.

The three of us played pool, Lesbi and I drank ourselves happy, and then Candy Mountain and I left. We left our new friend in the hands of some very interesting looking lesbians. It’s interesting that lesbians tend to play more heterosexual roles; one is usually lipstick and the other butch. Gay couples seem to be paired with guys just like them: flaming for flaming, butch for butch, and bitch for little bitch. 

Night two brought me to The Animator and his friend Brian. Maybe it’s our similar names, but this guy just didn’t click with me. Other than the fact that he was on the prowl for some penis, he was a tad overly bitchy (which I would know something about). However, we made our way over to The Ritz, where I started drinking and they continued.

I don’t like being behind on the drinking game. In order for me to catch up, I pounded the beer The Animator handed me and snuck away to find another. Four more beers and several jello shots had me in that happy place everyone likes to go. You know, the one where you either turn into the depressed suicidal person, or the infectiously happy person. I also don’t like being the least slutty person in the crowd. I’d much rather be the drunken girl that smokes the wrong end of a cigarette and knows this song is totally about her. 

The issue I was having was my backpack. It weighed a ton and there was no coat check because I’m the only person that carries their life around in a bag out of fear it will be stolen from their apartment. With my bag on I flipped my shirt over my head, beer in hand, I moved to the dance floor. I love the attention people give you when they think there’s the chance you might be drunk enough for them to have a shot at taking you home. Delusion is pretty.

The Animator and I left his friend, who was still searching for that special penis to sit on, hopping on the train. I didn’t realize how late it was until I got off the train and the sun was up. That’s how I know I had a good time. Love that Brooklyn sunrise.

The Dildo Awards

This is a top ten countdown of the guys that made my life interesting and messy.

10. The DJ: My first real boyfriend. I was 18 and he was 24. The DJ was one of those guys that seemed perfect. He was sweet, attentive, and secretly a gigantic whore. Too bad I didn’t learn a lesson about DJ’s here. The DJ and I were over when I showed up to his apartment and found him in bed with a twinkie. This was one of those moments that made me wonder if he was looking for someone with personality; the boy in his bed certainly didn’t have looks.

9. Newbie: Oh little Newbie. As of late we’ve exchanged a few friendly text messages. I would say we’re on good terms. Newbie was searching for a boyfriend, or at least someone to stand on the other side of the glory hole at the gym. Sadly, I was more interested in my hand. Fun fact: Newbie slept with The Devil before he met me. The problem was that he told me he knew The Devil and said that they never did anything. I went to the sex source and found that to be a wet spot of a lie.

8. Biker Boy: This relationship was short and probably in my favor. Biker Boy was another great guy; he was just a little too possessive. I was forced to show him the door when he told me to choose between my wife and himself. I would never pick a guy over my Ray Ray. Why we kinda liked him: He gave me a laptop for Christmas. Unfortunately, it was replacing the one he broke. Why we’ll remember him: The day I broke it off he locked himself in my bathroom and refused to come out. When he finally left he threw a snowball at my window and then text me five minutes later to ask if we could talk. Ray Ray and I laughed about this for hours that night over a pitcher of beer.

7. Wall Street: If I qualify as a Negative Nancy then he must fit into the category of her mother. Never before have I met a person that was such a downer. The boy had a big package, I won’t lie, but he was so short and skinny I’m surprised he didn’t carry a brick in his bag to keep from being swept away by the wind. Wall Street gave me the choice to be serious or hit the road. I hit the road, literally. I left his place, walked down 34^th Street and called Stay Lo so we could start mocking him.

6. Dollar: Dollar will make a great wife someday. He already has the drinking problem going strong and a lady friend to encourage his bad behavior. I did love his lady friend. If I could have stolen her, I would have. I imagine him marrying someone like Wall Street, sitting around their penthouse apartment, and beating the Cambodian children they illegally adopted. I’ll always remember Dollar for hurting his ankle and being unable to help me move into my first Brooklyn apartment.

5. The Cop: This boy has one good thing going for him, and that would be his current boyfriend. Sadly, The Cop recently cheated on his boyfriend and they may be over. The Cop was another nice guy, but he was clingy and had breath like an asshole (I’m not into rimming).  I felt compelled to get even with him after our breakup because he behaved like such a douche. What I did: Slept with his current boyfriend. This ended up working out pretty well for me. Chicago (The Cop’s boyfriend) and I became friends and still talk today.

4. The Trainer: Let me take a minute to say The Trainer is still the best I’ve ever had. That’s coming from 5 years after the fact. I was young and fairly dumb when we met. I was drunk at a club and he grabbed my arm. I confused him for my friend Mandee. We danced and he tried to take me home. I said no because I had a boyfriend at the time. I gave him my number and told him to give me a call. The next day I dumped my boyfriend and 30 minutes later was at The Trainer’s door. He banged me like a cheap drum for two months then sent me a text saying he was getting serious with some guy. I was pissed, but got what I deserved for screwing my boyfriend over.
  Why I win: I saw The Trainer last year. He said I looked great. This was coming from the former fit, gorgeous Greek guy. He was tied down with a house, a boyfriend, and a beard full of graying hair. I found it fitting to make out with the friend he was with and put my hand down his pants. I did pour a beer on my Ray Ray right before all of that, but she loved it; just a side note.

3. The Devil: The Devil was a dick. I could leave it at that, but I won’t. I was behaving like one of the needy gross people that I hate while we were dating. He was behaving like the asshole rebound guys that I go for. There are a few theories out there as to why we broke up. What’s true: I’m a lush and he’s a ho. We’re on friendly-ish terms these days, meaning I got over my enraged phase. Watching him setup his own demise has been more satisfying than any revenge I could ever have. Just in case of emergency, as I always do, I save tid-bits of information. You never know when you’ll hate someone again.

2. The Photog: I’ve had the hardest time figuring this guy out. Come to think of it we were supposed to hang out the other day and I forgot about it, oh well. We’ve slept in the same bed at least 20 times, one of which his hand was down my pants. I thought we were going on a date not too long ago, but he ended up inviting another friend and ignoring me until I left. The Photog is either playing a very odd game with me, or he’s totally not interested in me and I’m not getting it. There’s still time for the plot to thicken here, so I’ll hold off on my final say.

Number One: There is only one person in my life that could be the biggest bitch I’ve ever met. That would be me! Did you think I would name anyone else number one? Yes, I’ve been screwed by guys in every way a person can be. I’ve also screwed… over a lot of guys along the way. I’d say at this point my karmic scale is about even. 

Three Fingers In

My wife came to town. That’s right, my wife. We had limited fun considering I had the flu the entire time, but havoc was wreaked none-the-less.

There were two notable nights that Ray Ray and I shared. The first is the night we went to Metropolitan in Brooklyn. I love my dive bars, but I hate when other people love them as well. It was packed by the time we had our second drinks finished. Trying to escape the growing crowd we moved to the patio so Ray Ray could smoke and I could stretch. That’s when our new friend Jeff approached. 

Mr. Jeff wanted to ask our opinion on a guy opposite us. Apparently the two had gone on a date and now the dude was ignoring him. He didn’t immediately mention the date was months earlier and that by date he really meant they had bad sex and went their separate ways. *Please note: at this point I was fairly intoxicated. I commented that the guy was balding, boring, and obviously going home with the chocolate daddy he was talking to. That’s when Mr. Jeff tried to get me to play wingman for him. Now, that’s a rarity on my part, and I’ll only do it for my straight friends.

Mr. Jeff pointed out this guy and that guy and finally I was forced to inform him that I don’t pursue guys, they pursue me. That’s when he informed me that I was kind of a little bitch. DING! DING! DING! That’s about the understatement of a lifetime, but it’s the truth. I felt compelled to share my drunken philosophy with our new friend. Guys like bitches. They like big ones, little ones, even slightly retarded ones. They just do, it’s a fact. Think of all the people you’ve dated, or even just been slightly attracted to, I be you can count a bunch of bitches in there.

We left the bar, but the best was yet to come. Ray Ray and I were forced to sleep on a twin blow-up mattress due to the fact that my apartment had been infested with bed bugs and I had thrown all of my bedding out. We lay there giggling like schoolgirls and talking about Ray Ray’s sexual escapades in Utah when she let me in on a secret. I literally almost peed my pants laughing when she told me. The new guy she had been “dating” was a butt man, this I was well aware of. The thing I wasn’t aware of was the fact that he was also a fan of the digitizing his tender emotions. This guy was not so much into sexing the butt as he was into fingering it. Not one, not two, but three fingers! Please, take a moment to look at your hand. Even if you have slender fingers that’s a lot for one ass to take, unless you’re a skanky whore that can’t keep your pants on and your posture upright, but I’ll leave Newbie out of this. This was the cherry on our first night.

Night number two: We started at The Chelsea Hotel so Ray Ray could see where Sid Vicious accidently stabbed his girlfriend Nancy in the late 70’s. No one told me anything about the bar there that night. We walked in and boy were we surprised when it was gangsta chocolate fest ’09. One beer and we were out the door. We traipsed over to my favorite old man gay bar and started depleting their supply of liquor. There is a good reason I stick to drinking beer. You see, when I drink liquor I do stupid things.

Beginning the blood bath of drunken texting I started in on Candy Mountain. I had been irritated I hadn’t heard from him since the last time we fooled around. I’m a lady bitch, you text me the next day! He apologized and I was off to my next victim. I sent a text to my first real boyfriend Jerome. We’ve been broken up going on four years, and apparently tonight was the night I chose to confess my unwavering love for him. I didn’t stop there. I also told him that I had been waiting all of this time for him, and that I was going to keep waiting. If he were a gentleman he would have ignored me, but instead called the next day to talk about it. Simple fact: Yes, though it makes me a loser, what I said was true. Sad truth: Never gonna happen.

Even after that, I still wasn’t done. Then I started in on Newbie. Mostly I was just giving him shit, but I did add that I wanted to see him. Which is partially true. I mean, he’s a nice guy, a liar when it comes to stupid shit, but a nice guy. I have a feeling the last of my text victims will be the one to come around and bite me in the ass, well poke to be more exact, but we’ll see.

Now, my wife is gone and I’m left to tend to myself. I’ve been good thus far to keep out of trouble, even after a night out with PETA and another with The Animator. Though the night I went out with PETA I was re-introduced to a guy I met last summer. All I can say is he has the worst breath, how does his boyfriend overlook that? I mean, cute face, god-awful breath. To PETA’s credit it was a super fun and very needed night, of which more are sure to come.

Bye Bye Boyfriend

I asked the question I knew the answer to. I didn’t really want to believe it was true, but now there’s no turning away from it.

Newbie is the newest in the long line of assholes that I have dated. Though as far as a liar goes he’s right up there. When we first met he discovered who The Devil was. Revealing to me that he knew him; that meant they had hooked up. I’m blonde but a handicapped blind man could have figured that one out. Newbie denied the claim.

Having lectured me on being empty and not opening up, I was assuring myself that it was time to put him out the door. I have repeatedly said that I don’t want anyone right now and that I’m empty inside. Somehow, these guys think I’m joking or kidding. They think they’ll change me, or that they might be the one. Newbie even confessed the L word and was upset I mocked him here.  

So, now I will reveal my revenge tactic. Newbie mentioned that we weren’t exclusive so I wasn’t allowed to be upset over what he was out doing. That rule applies to me as well. No one knows about London. We met last year while I was dating Wall Street, then he up and moved to London. Back in town for a few days, I literally jumped on him. The sex was good and thank J his dick was circumcised. Sorry Newbie, I can’t stand an uncut penis. It’s disgusting. I’ve walked out on a guy before for having foreskin. Not to mention the fact that one of the two times I actually put out I ended up with lint and a string in my mouth.

Now, I went to the source to confirm my curiosity. I asked The Devil himself if they had hooked up. He confirmed it with a landmark Newbie had once mentioned. I may be forgetful but I remember all of the things I can hold against you. Why trust The Devil? He’s not dating me, what reason would he have to lie? I then told Newbie I didn’t want to see or hear from him anymore because I think that he’s a lying douche bag. He informed me he would show up at my work and make a scene. Be my guest, my life is a scene, we may as well make it interesting.

Did I mention The Devil said Newbie was a whore? That’s saying something. I also have it on good authority that Newbie is doing some unflattering things while at the gym. If nothing else, I’ve learned after the last dating disaster to do my homework. I’m not about to let myself get tangled up with another one of these guys. Luckily I was smart this time and didn’t commit without looking in ever corner.

This does add something new to the game of love. Nice guys that are really dicks in disguise. I didn’t know any of them could parade around for so long in front of me without being detected. Newbie is officially old news. I suppose this means B. Brown will have to be on the hunt for someone new before she leaves town on Sunday. 

Legally Gay

              B. Brown has finally come to town, Newbie is causing a war at home, and boobs are flying all over the place.

Thursday morning, which could be considered Wednesday night since I didn’t sleep, I showed up at JFK to fetch B. Brown. Her flight got in, but Jet Blue flies into so many terminals I was riding the train around in circles and running up and down stairs to try and find her. Having both been up all night we jumped the train back to my apartment to sleep. NOT! We dropped her luggage and headed into the city.

We’ve had tourist days and local nights. Sight seeing and bar hopping. We are on the hunt to find B. Brown the hottest guy in NYC. Sadly, even with Fleet Week going on, it seems the nasty boys are out. We did however find one gorgeous guy. Mercury Bar was our meeting point for some scandalous activities and the hot spot where we discovered The Bartender. Though it took two days, we were able to get his name, see his perfect abs, and get almost $200 in free drinks. Did I mention that B. Brown had to earn Mardis Gras beads? Oh yeah. 

We still have some future stalking to do as far as The Bartender goes, but one way or another he is coming home with B. Brown! Newbie has tagged along for a few of our adventures. He’s super fun when it comes to the tourist stuff, but as soon as we hit the bar he only has one drink and then kinda sits there pouting. I will only ask twice if something is wrong. I figure at that point if you say you’re fine, you must really be fine. I’m not interested in forcing someone to talk. However, I find his boredom at the bar strange considering he is always trying to get me to go out and 90% of the time he is the one that suggests we have a drink.

We all know my roomie hates Newbie. In fact she is overjoyed when he leaves, which annoys me a little. Yeah, Newbie can be a little buggy but he’s a nice guy. B. Brown and Newbie have gotten along for the most part, that is until he bailed on her while I had to work. That lost him some major points. Oh, did I mention that Newbie dropping the L word? 

Has it even been four months? No. It’s been less than two months since we met. How do I know? I tracked our meeting date down in my very own blog. Thank J for a living journal. Newbie claims we’ve been “dating” for four months. WRONG. That freaks my ass out. The Devil was dropping that bomb on me fast too, sadly I was dumb enough to take the douche bait. Lessons have been learned. The problem is that Newbie is a nice guy and he’s trying to get in, but there’s no door in the wall to let him through.

The other issue I have with Newbie is that I don’t trust him. It may not be his fault but I feel like he is up to something. He is always hours late when he’s supposed to come over. When I call to see what he’s doing it’s totally random, or he’s off in a different area than he said he would be. Yes, I’m the dating Nancy Drew. I want to know where your ass is all the time, even if you’re not officially mine. 

Porno Me Not

Newbie is quickly becoming Devil Junior. We’re on and off more than a hooker’s underwear. 

I was impressed how Newbie ignored my request to end things. In fact, I was almost turned on by it. I’m used to guys that are nice and do exactly what I say, or guys that are cock mongers and won’t do shit. Can there be a happy medium? Of course not! Don’t be crazy; we don’t need to dilute ourselves with that optimistic crap.

It was 10:00a.m. on Sunday morning and my alarm began to blare that familiar Britney song that it played every morning. Like every other morning I didn’t hear it. Newbie, however, did. He popped out of bed and turned the alarm off. I woke up rolling over to see a clock that read: 12:00. I nearly had a stroke. I was supposed to be walking into work and it was nearly an hour commute. I was beyond late.

When it comes to me there are a few things that you never mess with. Work is right at the top of my list when it comes to things I worry about. I’m never late, so for me to be two hours late was unacceptable. I was so furiously angry with Newbie that I just left him. I got ready in 12 minutes, got us out the door, and left his ass behind. I got on a train going in the opposite direction and did everything I could to keep from chocking him.

It took me 8 hours to realize I had probably overreacted to the situation. So, I sent Newbie a text trying to partially apologize and also let him know why I flipped. He ignored it and asked what I was doing. That put me back to square one. I told him to go away; he ignored me again and came over, but this time there was barely any sex. Make-up sex only lasts for so long. Eventually, you’re not making up, you’re just going through the motions and remaining pissed.

The problem that has been looming over us since day one is our different sexual styles. Currently I am in virgin mode. I don’t want to be bothered with sex. I’m too tired and busy to care about it. Newbie, on the other hand wants to rape me like we’re in a porno flick. I’m all for some hair pulling and biting when the mood strikes, but you shouldn’t be leaving teeth marks that last for days.

I had my fill about halfway through when he said, “Suck it, Bitch.” Oh yes. He said it. It was halfway laughable and totally piss me off-able. I had to inform him I’m not a hooker. Newbie likes to add all of my crazy up to the blonde on my head, but blonde doesn’t mean bimbo unless you live in California. In New York, blonde means I’ll smother you with a pillow if you screw with me. 

I doubt any lessons have been learned, but as we enter round three I can’t help but wonder what we’re getting ourselves into.

Pussy Bitch

Disco Biscuits (my co-worker) informed me that I’m toxic and no one should date me. He says, “You’re messed up and the last guy you dated only made it worse.” He also says, “Newbie is a fool for dating you and should never talk to you again.” I would have to say he’s probably correct.

Newbie was celebrating his birthday, so I made a point of coming home from out-of-town early enough that we could hang out. When I got home I was already in a bad mood, made worse when I saw the mess my roomie left. I asked Newbie what his plans for the night were and he said a bar in Brooklyn then into the city. I said no to the bar in BK, not because I don’t love my borough, but because it would be really hard for me to get to.

I was trying to hammer out the details and somewhere along the way Newbie thought I was trying to cancel. For once I wasn’t, I just like specifics in place. He told me not to come if I was going to be “a pussy bitch and no fun.” Now, that set me off. I responded to his text to tell him I wasn’t going. The next thing I did was dial B. Brown and ask if she would be pissed. Like a good friend, she reacted just how I wanted.

Newbie kept texting; finally I told him that he needed to find a nice guy to date because it wasn’t me. He started calling and flipping out; asking if I was drunk. I wasn’t drunk, but I was on my way. I had only had two beers, which this time was actually the truth. Not like the time I told The Devil I had only had two when we all knew I had more like nine in me. Why is it everyone thinks I’m a drunk? I’m just lowbrow fun.

Later in the evening Newbie insisted I talk to him and that he was outside my building. I crawled onto the fire escape, unable to see him. He insisted he was outside the building, then outside the White Castle, then by the train. Now, he either moves faster than God himself, or that was a bullshit story. It was only a few minutes later that he was at the gay bar in the city that was half an hour or more away. He kept texting and I kept replying. I wasn’t in the mood, but I like the drama. Emotional cutting is really the most effective form of self-mutilation, everyone’s doing it.

The following day Newbie was under the impression I “was just being a crazy blonde.” Is that an actual argument? Am I just a crazy blonde? I didn’t know we were all in need of some sort of group intervention. If that’s the case I guess send in the brunettes with their bottles of brown dye!  So, he shows up at my work and we end up at my bar, Metro, having a few birthday beers. Then we went back to my apartment and had sex. What a good solution to the problem, stick a dick in it. Oy!

Now I have a non-boyfriend situation. I’m not sure what we’re doing. I still don’t really want a boyfriend. I like being on my own, but I do like the company. If only I could neuter him, everything would be perfect. Someone get me the cigar cutter!