Remembering Pieces of Dates

So, because I have terrible luck, my conquest didn't end up working out last week.  He is determined to be a wimpy, sexting tease, and I am determined to not care about this bizarre situation anymore.

Randomly today, I found one of my early college crushes on Facebook.  I asked him out once, and we ended up sitting on a cliff by the ocean for our "date" - we played a game where we sang bits of songs to each other and had to guess the band.  Later, he broke down in tears while telling me how he was heterosexually raped by a girl.  "Is that possible?  Can that actually happen?"  I had asked him.  He called me insensitive, but made out with me fifteen minutes later.  I don't remember how our date ended, exactly.  I vaguely recall it was when I still had morals (so like, way early in college) and I told him I wasn't going to have sex with him unless we dated.  Obviously, we didn't date, and I don't remember much else about him.

It's possible that I drank much of my memories away, or that he was generally one of those forgettable crushes.

These days, he's married now (like everyone else) and I remembered that I crushed on him because he looked like one of the guys in The Strokes.  College me was shallow, but loathe to admit it.

God, I miss those days.

It doesn't count as a date, so why is it already awkward?

A boy that I have been trying to seduce for the better part of a year is coming over later to "hang out" because we have been talking about hooking up for some time.  There is a lot more to this story, but at this point in time, it does not matter so much, suffice it to say that he is the most confusing man I have ever met.

He sexts me incessantly, which would be fine except for the fact that he said we would need to hang out a few times before having sex.  That would be fine, too, if it wasn't for the fact that I am moving out of the city and I have made it clear that we are not anywhere near the dating arena.  This will be physical, and we are running out of time to enjoy that part of this.

Oh, hot confusing man, why are you so perplexing?  Are you trying to appear chivalrous?  Will this rule go out the window when we are messing around and I want to go further?  We shall see.

I really need to stop having sober, no-strings flings and attempt to find someone worth dating.  I will, too.  After this one.  (Maybe.)

Martini Lunch, Bitches

Oh, Friday.

You were clearly made for me to fake being busy.  As we speak, I'm back from a 3 martini lunch, sexting my newest conquest and trying to look sober in front of my coworkers.

They just caught me singing Katy Perry, though, so I don't think it's working.

Fuck it.  I love you, Friday.

PilloWTF Talk

A couple of years ago, through a random series of events that I will not go into right now but probably will in the future, I was in the midst of drunken mistake sex with a guy friend of mine and he paused in the middle to declare his intentions to me.

"This doesn't mean I want you to be my girlfriend, or that we're dating."

I quoted that directly, as it was burned into my memory and will reside there until I bite the bullet.

Right after him, I dated a man who asked me to be his girlfriend while we were in bed together.

Most recently, I was dating a man who would discuss at length how our relationship was "undefinable" while we were in bed.

Above all, overwhelmingly, I want to know:  since when is the bedroom the right place to worry about if you have to change your relationship status on Facebook?

- Smashy

"...in bed."

My fortune cookie from this weekend's Chinese food/tequila binge gave me a totally shallow compliment.  Like any good woman, I ate it up.  I know I'm a smart cookie (pun half-heartedly intended, it IS Monday) and enjoy compliments about my intellect, humor and wit, but let's face it - sometimes you want some cookie to come along and tell you you're pretty and popular and lots of people like you.

I don't take compliments like a normal person because I vacillate between bracingly self-deprecating and off-puttingly confident.  Even in my mid-twenties, I'm still trying to strike the right balance between humility and self-assurance when someone says something sweet to me. 

Once, a gorgeous man told me I needed more self-esteem and I told him just because I didn't reply to every compliment with "I know, right?!  I really am hot!" didn't mean that I didn't believe it.

Do I think I'm pretty?  Yes.

Am I still going to be visibly uncomfortable and blush like a dweeb when someone tells me?  Yes.

Unless it's a cookie.

- Smashy

The Artist and His Afflictions

Recently in my Kingdom of Singledom, I set my sights on a sexy, tattooed artist.  We'd started out like all healthy relationships start out - initial flirtation on Facebook, a few video chats, some phone calls (like, who even talks on the phone anymore, seriously?) and the inevitable comfortable settling into text communication.  We hadn't progressed to actual *dating* outside of my foray to one of his art exhibitions, which ended up being a one-beer kind of event and while Artist is hot, he isn't enough of a draw to keep me entertained
at a one-beer event for longer than two hours.

Throughout this period of time, Artist become The Man Who Said Fucking Stupid Shit.  Somewhere, at some point in time, we apparently turned the corner of Mutual Attraction and entered into the place where everything that fell out of his mouth made him look like a loser. Things like:

"By the way, I still live with my mom.  No, I haven't thought of looking for my own place.  Why do you ask?"

"Well, to supplement my artist income, I sell bongs."

"College?  No.  I never finished high school, so I don't think you can go to college without your GED."

"I don't drive because my car was impounded after a DUI.  Yeah, I'm still on probation."

Now, every woman has a great potential to overlook the faults of men in lieu of how badly she wants to give him a pair of thigh earmuffs. Artist was hot.  Stupid, yes, but hot.  I'm not interested in any kind of a relationship, so why not have a little fun?  That is, until the day that he uttered words that not even the most smashed and unabashed and horny lady can overlook.

He ended up on the guest list for a random red carpet event for a pornography production company and, knowing my penchant for good ol' nekkid, fleshy entertainment, invited me to be his +1.  Our first date, and at a porno party, no less!  Things were looking up! Regrettably, though, I was unable to attend.  I KNOW.  Prior commitments and all that.  Charmingly, I texted dear, sexy, sweet Artist and told him since he would be flying solo that night to feel free and try to get some from one of the porn stars in attendance.  It's not every day that you have that kind of opportunity, you know.  He laughed and tossed a comment at me about that potentially ruining the career of a porn star.

Huh.

Ruin a porn star's career?  How does that happen? 

"Why?"  I'd texted back.  "Because you're that good in bed that they'd never want anyone else?"

"No," he replied.  "Because of my afflictions."

"Afflictions?"  Oh shit.  This is turning down the wrong road real fast.

"Yeah, my STDs."

"Ha ha ha, lol, lmfao.  Good one.  Your 'afflictions!'  Okay, SlutBucket, what STDs do you have?"

"It's not that funny, actually.  I have herpes and genital warts."

"Heh heh... wait, seriously?"

"Yeah, I thought I'd told you."

"NO we conveniently did not have that conversation.  Fuck.  Sorry. I didn't mean to be a dick about it."

"It's cool.  So, if you're not interested in this party, when are we gonna go out?"

"Oh.  Actually, I'm looking at my schedule and I'm just booked solid. Sorry.  Good luck with your art."

What?!  Don't look at me like that!  The skinny is this:  neither one of us wanted a relationship, which means our heavily flirtatious and short-lived non-relationship was meant to be exclusively sexual, and I'm not about to fuck around with STD shit.  However, we are currently platonic friends, and I will forever be grateful that he sacrificed his orgasms for the sake of the health of my snatch.  There are just some things that a girl should never overlook when it comes to our precious, beloved bad boys, and itchy, nasty, infectious bumps are pretty fucking high on that list.

- Smashy

Dipping Your Pen In Company Ink

Everyone tells you not to do it.  Bad for the work environment and all that.  I've done it a few times and had it turn out many different ways, not always in my favor, of course.  But I feel like everyone is obviously overlooking the potential of parking garage sex on your lunch break. 

- Smashy