The Virginity Monologues

Someone asked me the other day what exactly I want from Gym Boy. This is a tough one to answer. Because, the differences between us could fill the Grand Canyon. I am a caucasion girl from a middle class family and Suburbia. I have an unhealthy relationship with my iPod and designer handbags and it's evident from the 3 inch heels and requisite blacks suits that I am a card-carrying member of Corporate America. Obviously there is much more to me than these details, but they are part of the defining characteristics of who I am. Who is he? He's born and bred Harlem. Him and his pals call each other those words that white people aren't allowed to say, and he's got corn-rows. Really, can this ever work? What is the best-case scenario? I have learned that realistic expectations lead to the least amount of hurt and disappointment. Ideally, I would like to go out with him, a couple of times, maybe, and kiss him a lot, and touch his perfect arms. In reality, I am drawn to him, because these days, I just want something not necessarily cheap, but more like cost effective or frugal. I want something that doesn't require a great deal of emotion from me. I don't want to give my heart. I don't want to have it stomped on. I don't want to cry everyday for 2 months when it doesn't work out. I want someone to laugh with and practice blow-jobs on. Is that bad?

I saw him again last night. I was there much later than normal, as I had met some people for dinner pre-gym. Normally I would have just bagged the gym, but I wanted to see him and I'm training for a 10K and have to get so many miles in every week, or I'll never make it that 6.2 miles. So, I got there, headed for the treadmills and passed him and Co. on the way. He must not have been expecting to see me, he did a double take. It may have been that my hair was still down. I try to leave it down as much as possible, because I am vain and think that I have great hair, and I hate the way my face looks with my hair pulled back. But once on the treadmill, I have to focus, as running is almost completely mental for me, and by the time I was off, he was gone. So, nothing good to report. Something has got to give here!

What motivation it has been to get to the gym, knowing that someone there thinks I'm hot and wants to do some kind of hokey-pokey with me (feasibly, of course, I don't know any of this for sure). I went again, and he was there, and it was cute. He was on the opposite end of the gym from me, but he would come to the water fountain right next to me to get a drink, despite the presence of water fountains much closer to him. No communication yet though. I want him to come to me. And he's always with friends. What is that about? They barely work out at all, why do they even come to the gym? I want to know. So, I just make meaningful eye contact and hope that he picks up on the fact that I am approachable. I'm trying to be less subtle than a big neon sign that says, "I want to fuck you!" Subtlety is not my forte however, and I don't know how much longer I can keep myself from talking to him.

I went to a wine tasting last night. My first one! It was so much fun! It would scare the shit out of you to know the depth of how sheltered my life has been before moving to New York. Afterwards, I bought my first bottle of wine. Minor problem- I don't own a corkscrew. ha! That's what I get for buying wine- the inability to open it. But seriously- here's how I feel- like a giant door has finally opened for me. I've spent my whole life standing on the other side, occasionally peeking through, only opening the door a crack, getting only glimpses of what it must be like to live life to the fullest, reigning in every single urge and impulse I ever felt. And now- that door is swinging wide on it's hinges, showing me that carnival on the other side that is actually EXPERIENCING life, instead of trying to hide all real evidence of it.

How do you know when you've hit that place where you can officially say that you're over someone? Can you ever say that you're completely over someone? Do you ever lose every miniscule bit of love that you ever felt for them? I feel like I can say that I'm finally over the ex- I feel like I'm liberated from my emotions for him. But, how do you know for sure?

I'm done with mail room guy. I realized how skeevy I was being trying to hook up with someone that I know has a girlfriend. That is seriously bad form. Especially because I feel so strongly about cheating- it's a total dealbreaker for me. I will not stay together with someone who cheats on me. So, my new resolve is to not talk about or flirt outrageously with him, starting right now.

There's a guy at the gym that I have been lusting after for ages. I generally position myself on a cardio machine that has an unhindered view of him. I get bored easily and it keeps me seriously entertained being able to watch him. Last night- he made eyes at me, all night. I have no idea what to do, or how to proceed. How do you strike up a conversation with someone at the gym without being a total idiot. Is that even possible? Can I walk up to him and say, "Uh, I can't think of anything I would like more than to rip that tank top off and lick you all over"? What do you do if you get rejected and the whole gym has been witness to this? You can't ever go back again! Augh. I need to stop being such a chicken and make something happen. As long as I play my, I'm-aloof game, he's never going to talk to me, no matter how much eye contact I make. No more machinations, take action already, that's my new mantra.

I realized something very important, a plan created while drinking beer never makes much sense the next day (see previous post). I changed my mind, not for any other reason other than it's a bad idea. I'd rather give it to someone who cares about me enough to at least fight for me.

As a side note- a man gave me his card in McDonald's last night! McDonald's! What's the possibility that a man picking up women in a fast food joint is looking for a long-term relationship? I'll pass.

So, over a couple of beers last night, a plan was hatched. I've decided that it's time to "break the seal" as a friend once said to me, not referring to that whole- 'don't go pee when you're drinking' phenomenon, but another seal entirely. I'm tired of being a virgin. I'm missing out on something everyone else is experiencing. I'm an incomplete person, right? I'm relatively attractive and a riot to boot, so there's no reason on God's green earth why I should still be a virgin. None! But I'm not dating anyone, and no one's going to date me when they find out I am hymenally challenged. Seriously. Some guys think it's hot, but they're just dirty, kinda. Anyway. There's only one person that I would consider it with. You know who that is folks- that's right, Mr. Ex. It makes sense, it really does. It would be special, as it would be the first time for both of us (assuming he hasn't been gettin' incredibly busy since we broke up), and it wouldn't be cheap and it would be with someone who has and continues to mean a lot to me. Thoughts? Can I get a hell ya? Now if only I can convince him. That's the tough part. He's all noble and shit and probably won't do it because he thinks I won't be able to handle it. I hate that. This is not a time for hesitation!

Labels: The Ex

Remember the guy from the mail room? The H-O-T one? The one with the girlfriend? The one that if plied with enough alcohol, I would definitely consider doing the no-pants-dance with? Well, Saturday night, a co-worker that I am chummy with had a birthday party, at the new hot spot in Union Square. I met another co-worker pre-festivities for dinner and some vodka, and by the time we hit the bar, I was working on a solid buzz. I walked through the door and there he was, the John Wayne of the mail room, minus the girlfriend (he's a cheater, folks). I turned to my gay compatriot (who is very manly and sexy in his own right) and said, "I am in so much trouble." He nodded his head in solemn agreement. More drinking. Some friendly flirting. Remarks about my abundant cleavage (hey, the girls have got to come out sometimes!). Some back rubbing, and lots more alcohol imbibing on my part, to the point where I was the drunkest I have ever been in my whole entire life. Gay friend gone, and me throwing up in the bathroom convinced me that maybe I should head home. I walked through the dancing area and there he was, shaking his booty. He saw me, coat on and heading out, so he made his way over to me. Suddenly his arm was around me, he cheek was pressed up against mine and he was whispering in my ear his concern for my ability to arrive home safely. I have never wanted to suspend time more than I did at that very moment. I wanted to just stand there, cheeks pressed against each other for the rest of eternity. I decided at that moment, that I had discovered heaven- standing there with this man. Did I mention that I am a chicken? And that he has a girlfriend? I assured him I would arrive home safely and left. The ride home seemed to take 2 seconds, as I re-lived our cheek moment over and over again. Except for when I had to get out of the subway to puke. Blegh.

Yesterday, I discovered the true meaning of a best friend. I organized a group of friends to go to a Yankee game together. I LOVE Yankee games. I love baseball, and I love anyone who finds the same joy in baseball that I do. My best friend, had to work late and showed up to the game an hour late, but she had made me posters. Bright pink posters proclaiming our love of Derek Jeter for us to hold up. It was magical. It was my best night of baseball ever. I don't know if he saw them, but for about 2 hours we got to pretend like we were a couple of 15 year old groupies. I didn't even care that the Yankees lost, cause I got to take home my posters, my proof that someone out there knows me, understands me and wants to make my life the best it can be.

I was at a bar (a karoake bar, nonetheless) with some friends a few weeks ago. I wasn't looking to pick up on guys. I just wanted to have a good time with my girls. But, the problem with being me, is that even when not even attempting it, flirting with strange men happens. Always. I should just accept that this is inevitable, and embrace it. Or at least make a valiant attempt to cure it. I digress. We were sitting at a table next to a table full of boys/men who continually got up and sang, badly, I might add. They jokingly would talk to us on occasion. At one point one of them needed the song number from the song book which I was flipping through, wishing that I had enough self-confidence to get up and show those people my amazing rendition of Aretha Franklin's Respect. Every time he talked to me, he would lean over and touch me on the elbow. It sent little zings every time. It was nice. Pleasant, even. After we had finished our exchange of information, he suddenly remembered some other piece of information he wished to impart with me, he leaned over, touched the elbow and said in my ear, "I don't know if this means anything, but you're very attractive." I smiled my 'I do not know how to respond' smile and said, "thanks!" This situation intrigued me. I was flattered. What made him say that to me? We didn't really have any kind of rapport going. He was cute, relatively attractive. I should have asked for his number.

Friends- I need to have sex. Desperately. I'm kind of in a Catch-22 though. I'm pretty much done waiting for marriage, that's not gonna happen. But, a guy finds our you're a mother-fucking virgin and he categorizes you a certain way. The second you give it up, it changes that, and all of a sudden you're a different person to them. How do you know that he won't ditch you the second you spread your legs? How do ensure that you're giving it to the right person? Or do I just give up the idea of the 'right person' and find someone willing, able and hard? Earlier today, me and a few of the gay executive assistants were discussing a lovely brotha in our office and I said, regarding this fine fellow, "I'd fuck him." Kids, it's true.

Thursday night, I had dinner with some friends. 3 girls, 1 boy. I had met the boy previously, he had proven himself to be a bit of a flirt. But, dinner sort of blew me away. The flirting was heavy and the winking profuse. He was cute, relatively intelligent and there was definitely a connection. Both of my friends remarked on it after we left. But, I have been in this position before and I have learned not to read anything into actions such as these. He was my similar religion and men in my religion have a habit of doing this, to me especially. It's a problem that I have a laid-back, easy-going, I'm-up-for-a-spot-of-fun personality. Men read into this that they can play around with me, flirt with me, without any sort of repercussions to themselves. I hate this. I walked away from dinner confused about the boy's actions. My friends were convinced that he was interested. I, was a little more doubtful. Sunday, I was talking to one of the friends that had been at dinner. He had called her the next day, asked her out and kissed her on Saturday. I'm sorry, but what the fuck? He barely acknowledged her at dinner. Not to mention, she just got out of a serious relationship and has turned into ex-girlfriend from hell. She's completely irrational about the ex and it's all she effing talks about. I can't take much more of her whining and my head spins in agony when she invites me out someplace, because I can't stomach the thought of an evening with her, but don't have the heart to be bitchy and give her the cold shoulder. On top of all of her annoying character flaws, she's high maintenance. Seriously high maintenance. Anyway. I don't care that he asked her out. I had no emotional investment in this ridiculous shell of a man. But it's just another shining examples of the sheer lunacy of men. End of tirade.

Kids, I think I need to take a break from men. Something is going on with me, and I need to fix it before I can even allow myself to think about becoming emotionally involved with someone new. My biggest problem being that I am semi-emotionally incapacitated by my love of my ex. I can't quite grasp the concept that we will never be together again, and I desperately need to completely let go. I need to spread my little wings and find a new pistil for my stamen. The mail room guy keeps asking me out (the horrors!) and the other day I told him he didn't want me, I told him I was in love with someone else. He assured me that he could make me forget about said foe, but I found myself telling him that it was impossible, that this boy is "perfect". I meant it simply to fend off the amorous advances, but after I said it, I realized that I meant it. Boo. Must move on. Really.

I'm also going through a weird phase. I'm lovin the brothas. There are droves of them at my gym, and let me tell you, it isn't the treadmill that's got my heartbeat going. Not that this is in any way a bad thing. I'm just not certain where it is stemming from. Is it just a sexual thing, as I find them to be the most blatantly sexual men alive, or is that what I am really, geniunely attracted to? I should figure that out before I get myself into another realtor situation, hoping for a world shaking experience and leaving with my soul blackened a little, and my world, considerably unshook.

So, here I am 27, figuring who I am all over again. Soon, my friends, I can feel it. The virginity will be gone soon.

Let the partying begin! I am officially out of my the 5th floor walk-up with the crazy ass roommate and into the new digs, complete with elevator!!! There aren't words to express the joy of my heart at this moment. Only making out with Derek Jeter would make me happier (who, incidentally enough was on the cover of Sports Illustrated today. Oh, the joy!).

On a slightly more serious note, while I was standing watch at the U-haul yesterday, and all the manly men were bringing all the stuff down, I was conversing with the man that I've lived next door to for the last year or so. He's interesting and we have decent conversations on a semi-regular basis. He yells at guys for trying to pick up on me, and he watches our for me late at night on the street when I'm walking home by myself. He was telling me about having to go to jail for 2 years, because the police found 10 bags of weed in his apartment. 10 bags! "You deal?" I asked him. "No," he said, "the wife likes to indulge every now and then." 10 bags for a minor indulgence? I doubt it. Well, he has to go to jail or they'll take his son away, is the story, and he tells an interesting line about taking the fall for his wife. But isn't it interesting, how you spend your whole life with an opinion, ie. drugs dealers are very bad people and are only making the world a more awful place to live, etc, etc, and then you discover that your favorite neighbor is one. Does it make the issue any less black and white?