The Virginity Monologues

Mr. Wrong is still on vacation. I need to see him. I can't explain why. It doesn't even make sense to me. Another work Friend invited me to go to the Dominican Republic with him for the weekend. Tempting.....

As a whole though, I've decided to stop being a slut. I'm purposely putting myself into situations that are based purely on physical, just so I don't have to put my heart on the line. I'm tired of this and I'm not built for the casual sex scene. I can't do it. The truth is, I want to fall in love. I want someone in my life that I can call when my power's been out for 4 days and I can't get it back on and I just need to cry. I want to sleep, encased in someone's arms. I don't want to be a booty call. I don't want to be a good-time girl. I want to be the girl that someone can't wait to see, that someone thinks about and gets a huge grin on their face. I want to do nice things for someone else and talk to them before I go to sleep at night about the inane things of my life and theirs. I want to make dinner for someone, and meet him at the door- scantily clad. I want the feeling that comes from kissing someone I love. I want someone's hand on my thigh, and not just as a sexual gesture, but as a I-love-you-so-much-I-can't-sit-next-to-you-and-not-touch-you gesture.

I once had to describe my perfect day, and yesterday was it, almost exactly. I went to the beach with a big group of girlfriends and had an amazing, amazing time. We played beach volleyball, we laid out in the sun, we discussed men and their penises. It was perfect. Then we dragged our sandy, wet asses back into Manhattan, and decided to all meet for a movie later. There's something about spending some time looking like crap, you feel an almost desperate need to compensate for it by then proceeding to look amazing. All of us girls showed up at the movie having gone balls-out in the hair and makeup. It was just a movie, but both high heels and skirts were present. I love days with the girls. I love removing the pressure of the presence of men and being free to be a girl with the girls.

I have to see Mr. Wrong today. He called me the night before I left on vacation, approximately 10 times, wanting to come over. I told him no, repeatedly, but he kept calling, until at least 2 am. It was weird. Then, when I got back from vacation, he had left the night before to go on vacation, so, I haven't seen him in 2 weeks. I long for it and dread it simultaneously.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

So, I'm back from a week in Ireland. It was an interesting experience. Here's the letters I would write if I could, without looking like a psycho.

Letter #1:
Dear Patrick- a.k.a Footsy (His real name and nickname, so, if you ever meet this man in Dublin, please give him a swift kick to the testicles for me),

You were so adorable. You absolutely swept me off my feet with those eyes and how you made me laugh, and when you kissed me so gently trying to show me that you were the best kisser in Ireland. I was so flattered at Flannery's later that night, when I discovered that you had left to go someplace else, but came back immediately when your friend called to tell you that I was there. I bought it all. The shyness; how you got so mad at me because I let your friend kiss me because he wanted to know if he had garlic breath or not; when you were offended because I didn't remember that the first thing that you said to me was a remark on what a beautiful smile I had. I took you back to my hotel- the first time I've ever done that in my whole life. And we laughed and laughed and laughed. You were so understanding and patient with what I was willing to do and what I couldn't bring myself to do. I almost wept with relief that I had finally met someone who wasn't a complete asshole. You were redeeming my faith in men. You didn't want to leave the next morning. You waited until the last possible minute. You wrestled with me and tried to kick me out of bed because I wouldn't put your 'trousers' on for you and I was enamored. I felt so safe with you. I can't believe how wrong I was, again. I can't believe how easily and with such ruthless efficiency you completely blew me off when I got back from Galway. I am ashamed to admit that I had planned to have sex with you. You presented the perfect opportunity for me to finally lose my virginity, but you won't ever get that chance now. I wash my hands of you, your Irish accent, and your sexy tattoo. I hope that everytime you hear an American accent, it reminds you that you are an asshole.

Sincerely-
Chloe


Letter #2:
Dear Jay-

I saw your text message. The one where you told your friend that we weren't 'lookers'. You still took us out, despite our inadequacies in the looks department, you got us into the VIP room of the hottest club in Dublin, that was impressive. Then, you couldn't keep your hands off me. You danced too close, and offered me lessons in 'sex education'. Puh-lease. You don't think I'm a looker but you have no problems getting naked with me? I don't think so. Can you blame me for taking off while you were in the bathroom, doing Ecstasy (I might add), to avoid having to say no to you when you were going to try and get me into bed? I'm not a looker? Fuck off.

Sincerely-
Chloe


Letter #3:
Dear Christine-

Your title of my best friend has been revoked. You are officially the worst travelling companion, ever! I hadn't seen you in almost 2 years, and you ditched me- constantly- for a boy, that you met, in Ireland! You left me all by myself for an entire day, not having any idea where you were, to worry and fret that you had been killed or abducted, because you had 'slept in late' with your Irish-style boyfriend. I wasted an ENTIRE day of my vacation waiting and worrying about you. My last night there, when I was upset over the humiliation and rejection of Patrick, you again disappeared. I hope this boy was worth shitting on a decade old friendship for.

Sincerely-
Chloe

Things are recovering with Mr. Wrong. This morning, I was walking past him, with my 3 inch heels and my sassy I've-got-ass-and-I-know-you're-looking-at-it walk, and he called out my last name and said, "where you going?" I love it that he calls me by my last name. He called me that as he wrapped his arms around me on Friday night and told me my feet were cold, and then snuggled those cold feet inside his sock-clad feet. I honestly don't think he's ever called me by my first name. I wonder what that means.

My best friend arrived last night. I haven't seen her in almost 2 years. She made me take her to Little Italy. I took her because I love her. Tomorrow we are going on an international vacation for a week. I am ecstatic. But I will miss you all terribly. I hope to have lots of good stories upon my return. I figure the whole scenario has got to turn out good, as it started out last night with my best friend handing me a fistful of flavored condoms.

As a final thought for the day, here are the things that I've been thinking about- 1. Does God exist? and if so, does he really want me to deny myself all of the things that make me happy (ie. sex and vodka)? 2. Why are there so many people in Minnesota reading my blog?

Ta-ta until the 26th. I expect lots of comments for when I return.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Okay, I recognize that I need to start making my posts shorter. They're getting out of hand.

Just a little update- Mr. Wrong has been COMPLETELY ignoring me. He is a bastard. Everytime I look at him, I remember his hand running the length of my hip and my waist as he spooned me and the feeling of complete and total safety from being encased in his arms. And then I hate him for the continual silence coming from him. I am a fool.

You'll notice that I always really miss my ex after I've had a bad experience with another man. I recognize this pattern and am trying to rectify it.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

I LOVE music. Music is a passion and obsession for me. Music can take me back to any time and place. Save the Best for Last by Vanessa Williams was OUR song with my first boyfriend and every time I hear it I get a pang for that boy who was my first kiss all those 13 years ago. Paula Abdul- Forever Your Girl- my 5th grade boyfriend. Thompson Twins- If You Were Here- my former best friend and the boy that I loved more than any other boy, ever. We used to watch Sixteen Candles together, a LOT. Celine Dion- My Heart Will Go On- as much as I HATE this song, every time I hear it, I relive the train station in Russia scene over and over again, where I had to say goodbye to the family that I had loved so much. They played that song constantly in Russia. CONSTANTLY. It seemed appropriate that it was playing over the PA that day. Bell Biv Devoe- Do Me- we put this song on my friend's answering machine in 8th grade when her parents were out of town. It was so awesome. Her parents were not amused. I could go on and on.

There are multiple songs that make me fall in love with my ex all over again. Most notably- The Only Living Boy in New York by Simon and Garfunkel. Here's why- it was September 10, we went and bought my iPod. I was ecstatic. We sat in the Apple store in SoHo and downloaded a TON of music from his laptop. One of the greatest things about my ex was his taste in music. It was impeccable. He introduced me to a lot of really great stuff. I really miss that. After we finished with all of that stuff, we left the Apple Store and were walking, looking for someplace to eat dinner, or so I thought. He had been different that day. I am not big into PDA, and we generally didn't indulge in it much, but he had been particularly affectionate that day, holding me very tight in the line at Apple. Anyway, as we walked, he pulled me into a side street/sidewalky deserted place. We broke up. I cried. He cried. It took every single ounce of strength that I possessed to walk away. I was not hugely familiar with the West Village at the time, so I wandered a little aimlessly looking for the damn subway, bawling on the phone to my sister. I finally made it into the subway. God, I thought I was going to die from the pain ripping at my heart. I couldn't stop crying, which is kind of a no-no on the subway. New Yorkers do not show emotion on public transportation. I pulled out my brand-new iPod. The only music on there was his. I pulled up The Only Living Boy in New York and put it on repeat. I listened to it over and over again on that horrendously long subway ride, thinking of everything that I had just lost. And now everytime I hear that song, I am back on that subway, missing him so much that I can't breathe, wanting nothing more than to go to him and put my head on his familiar shoulder and cry. Which is really weird because I LOATHE letting people see me cry.

The thing is- my ex-boyfriend is one of the greatest guys I've ever known. He has an amazing heart and he was SO good to me. I still can't figure out what he was doing with me. Someday. Someday I will love someone that much again.

Labels: The Ex

I like to think of the last 10 days of my life as just a really bad decision time, with Friday being the Grand Finale. The evening began very innocently with some of my very dearest friends, their boyfriends, and of course, Michelle. We went to a lovely bar down near Union Square and talked and laughed and all the gay men had some very good advice for me on blow-jobs. Eventually the vast quantities of alcohol combined with the lack of food got to us, and we decided to go back to someone's apartment for food and of course, more vodka. We got back to their place, ordered some Disco fries, drank some more vodka and were just having a fabulous mellow time, listening to music and chillin'. I made my gay friend slow dance with me, but the whole scenario was a disaster as he didn't know how to be the guy, so he was the girl and I was the guy, and I learned a very important lesson- no slow dancing with gay men. At 12:30, my phone rang. No, it wasn't Dickhead (everyone's first guess), it was Mr. Wrong. "Baby, where you at?"he wanted to know. I told him I where I was and he said he was on his way over. He came over with a friend in tow. Weed was smoked (not by me) and more alcohol was consumed. Soon, the friend got up to leave, and as he lives very close to me, I asked him if I could leave with him so we could split a cab together. So we left, and Mr. Wrong came with us. I honestly thought that he was planning to stay at his friend's place. Imagine my surprise when we got to his friend's aparment, the friend got out of the cab, but Mr. Wrong didn't get out. The cab continued to my place. At my place, Mail-Room Guy got out with me. What the *#@? Seriously. I had no idea how this had all gone down. All of a sudden, I was standing in front of my building with the man that I had wanted for at least 8 months, but I wasn't even sure that I wanted him to be there. "OK," I said, "you can stay at my place, BUT I am not having sex with you." He was too drunk and high to accomplish anything of worth anyway. I have a tiny bed, having just recently moved from the smallest room in New York City and not having had time or money to get a bigger one. I told him he could sleep in my bed and I'd sleep on the couch. But he grabbed my hand, pulled me down onto the bed and told me to "stay". Who am I to refuse such a request? He put his arms around me, pulled me close, and fell asleep about 30 seconds later. I, did not sleep at all. All I could do was lay there and treasure every single second of laying in his arms. I just looked at him, disbelieving the reality of the situation. I kept thinking that I would wake up and he wouldn't really be there, and the arms around me would be just a figment of my imagination. But, real he was. Especially at 7 am, when he started waking up a little and getting awfully handsy. But nothing of any real substance happened, and at 10, he finally got up and went home.

It's interesting having a dream fulfilled. It's both exhilarating and disappointing at the same time. Now I know what it's like to sleep in his arms. I know the noises that he makes when he's waking up, and what his hands feel like clutched tightly around my waist. It was one of the singularly greatest nights of my life. And it's over. And it probably won't ever happen again. It shouldn't ever happen again.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Things that I've done in my life-

Watched the sun set on the Baltic Sea, held the hand of a friend as she learned the results of an HIV test, climbed to the top of St. Paul's in London, St. Peter's in Rome and St. Isaacs in St. Petersburg; moved to New York City without a job or knowing a single person, lain next to someone and known that I would die for them because I loved them so much (a boy person, non-related), sat by my sister's side during the ultrasound that told her the gender of her second child, said goodbye forever to someone who had cared for me and loved me like a daughter and I had loved her like a mother, laughed until I cried, stayed up all night long talking to someone because we knew each other better than anyone else in the whole world and there was never enough time to say everything we wanted to say, cried on the phone with my brother as we mourned the death of his brand new baby girl, watched my father walk out on my whole family, swam in both the Atlantic and the Pacific Ocean, been in a water taxi in Venice that was pulled over for speeding, experienced unbelievable passion, fired an Uzi- in Russia, cried all night with a best friend after the 3rd part of our triumvirate had just married the biggest asshole we had ever met, held my brand-new niece in my arms and experienced a love that I had never felt before, bawled like a baby in McDonalds in Moscow because I didn't want to go home, been overcome with joy and fear.

Something I still cannot master- identifying a man that will treat me like garbage and staying away from him.

Preparations that took place in the anticipation of action this evening:

1. Shaving- lots of it.
2. All day listening to Lil' Kim- How Many Licks and 50 Cent- Candy Shop. They both turn me on like nobody's business.
3. Lots of mental activity, pondering what to do, how much to give and where to go.
4. Multiple phone calls from close friends trying to talk me out of it, and me telling them to stuff it.

Getting blown off for the SECOND TIME-
PRICELESS

You'll all be pleased to know that I have absolutely, irrevocably decided not to have sex with DH (that's Dickhead, NOT designated hitter). I still may go out/hook up with him, but I will give him the facts straight up before we head out to his place in BFE and give him the opportunity to tell me to fuck off, it's not worth his time. Whether or not I meet up with him later will be completely determined by him. At this point, no details have been ironed out about when and where to meet. So if I haven't heard from him by the end of the day- he loses and I'm going to the gym, which would be disappointing because I got up early today just to shave my legs. But I have been neglecting my admirer there and I really need to remedy that.

I haven't talked much about my job, but I love it. I LOVE it. I never in a million years dreamed that I would ever be able to do something like I'm doing. It's not that glamorous, I don't hob nob with the rich and famous, but for a girl from an insignificant city in an insignificant state, it pretty much rocks. A former co-worker offered me a job today- at the coolest company in New York City and it pays more money. I hate when things like that happen and you actually have to make a decision. I'm pretty positive I won't leave my current position, that would be a silly career move, but it's tempting.

So, I recently installed something on my blog that tells me how many people are visiting it, etc, etc, and I realized that there are a lot more people reading this than I thought. That freaks me out a little. But as long as none of you are my ex-boyfriend or my mother, then we're fine!

I wasn't going to tell about this. But I have to. Dickhead contacted me yesterday. He wants to get together tomorrow night. This brings up 2 questions. One- do I do it? Do I sacrifice self-respect for some of that earth-shaking, mind-blowing action? I'm thinking yes. I'm serious when I tell you that there aren't words that can accurately portray how hot last Friday was. Regardless of his worth as a human being, this man is passion in squeeze bottle. Next question- do I have sex with him? If I don't, is he gonna kill me? When 2 people are getting together for the sole purpose of nakedness- can I have a meaningful conversation with him pre-festivities about my status as a virgin and the issues that arise with that? Or do I just wait until the moment is upon us and say, "Please be gentle!"

As a side note- what am I going to do with this blog once I lose my virginity? Then that'll be like false advertising or something.

I went to a Yankee game last night. Even my love of Derek Jeter has been tainted by recent experiences. I found myself watching him and thinking, 'I bet even he is a dickhead!' He acts like he's all noble with his charity foundation etc, etc but I bet he doesn't call girls back. Oh, how could I have such horrible thoughts about my beloved! So, I woke up at 4 am and couldn't go back to sleep. I never sleep very well when I've got big things on my mind, and these last few nights have been no exception. So I laid there for a few hours and then decided, fuck it, I'm going to the gym! So I got up and ran out my aggression. It was very cathartic. 3 miles worth of therapy. I love running because I always make great decisions about my life on the treadmill. I see things so clearly when I'm sweating like a pig at 5 miles an hour. When I'm in the zone, I know that I should never, ever get anywhere near Mr. Wrong again and see every perfect reason why. I'm not troubled by the buts and the what ifs. I know that I should not make any more attempts at communication with Dickhead (that's my nickname for the guy from Friday night) and even though it was the best action I've ever had, EVER, it's not worth it to sacrifice all shred of self-respect for a nice piece of ass. Maybe I should stop going out. Everytime I think about getting my groove on, I'll just go running. Of course that could be problematic if things ever get off the ground with Gym Boy, who I haven't seen for AGES, but I'll cross that bridge if I ever come to it.

In the meantime- peace out. Don't settle for someone who doesn't deserve you, that's my chinese fortune cookie to everyone out there today.

It's official- all men are dickheads. I'm considering becoming a lesbian, just so I don't have to deal with all this shit anymore. Friday night was crazy. Seriously crazy. 2 parties. First one a birthday party for my boss, so that was tame. Then, I left to go to a going away party for a friend, and it was her, me, another girl and all the a group of boys that included someone from here on out will be known as Mr. Wrong. He's hot. He's got a girlfriend. I love him, God Bless him, I do. But there is no man on earth more wrong for me. Hence, the name. Insanity. We played pool. We got outrageously drunk. There was lots of groping, including some between Off-Limits Mr. Wrong and yours truly. A friend of Mr. Wrong was also expressing some interest in me. He was beautiful and I was interested, but I was distracted by having something I had wanted for so long, finally in my sights. Alcohol makes a person forget all the reasons that you shouldn't hook up with someone, and only lets you think of the reasons that you should, ie- his amazing abs. Lordy, but having my hands on them nearly had me swooning. Anyway, we went back to my friend, Michelle's house, and Mr. Wrong had his hand on my thigh on the way over there in the cab, and then as I got out of the cab, there was a moment between us where I made it very clear that I was his for the taking, if he so desired. Inside Michelle's place, the friend was suddenly coming on stronger, and Mr. Wrong was turning into a dickhead. Then they broke out the weed, which I didn't really want to partake in, so I went into the bedroom and laid down on the bed. Even in my inebriated state, I knew that someone would follow me in there. I just didn't know who. But I decided that whoever came first- would get me. The Friend was the winner. He came in, sat down on the bed next to me, and then proceeded to rock my world and I never even took my pants off! Seriously, I am not lying when I say that was the hottest hour that I have ever spent in the entirety of my life. I get all bothered now, just thinking about it. Eventually, we had to end the shenanigans, I mean, seriously, there was like 10 people in the other room. That's making the propriety line a little fuzzy, especially when I work with some of them. So, he asked for my number and I gave it to him, knowing that I wouldn't really hear from him. I mean, come on, relationships don't begin this way. So I was surprised to get a call from him less than 24 hours later. He wanted to go out, or something, and said that he wanted to see me again, ASAP. I was surprised and a little delighted. So, I told him that I had some free time the following night and I would call him when I got home. I called him at 6:30 last night. Left a message. Casual and breezy. NO RETURN CALL. NONE. What a dickhead. I'm done. If he didn't want to see me, all he had to do was NOT CALL ME in the first place.

Interestingly enough, Mr. Wrong stopped by my desk this morning, acting like we're best friends. As if I hadn't thrown myself at him less than 48 hours ago and then proceeded to hook up with one of his best friends. Yeah, I don't see a friendship in our future.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Okay, first things first- nothing new to report with Gym Boy, he wasn't there when I went on Wednesday and I didn't go last night. Clearly he does not understand the direness of the situation. I have a short attention span and if he doesn't act quickly, he's going to get booted out of my fantasies, right quick.

Despite the absence of Gym Boy, I managed to have an unbelievable evening last night. I went out with some friends to celebrate the independence of Mexico with some margaritas. I ended up in a gay bar with 2 gay friends and a lesbian and learning things that would send my mother into a coma. Not to mention, for a straight woman, a gay bar is one of the most frustrating place on the planet. No matter what, I knew that none of these boys would go home with me. The horrors! Not that it mattered, as I was completely occupied by the company I was with and wasn't interested in pulling someone, as the Brits say. But still. It would have been nice to have the option.

The other night, I was waiting for the elevator in my apartment building. I had come from the gym and was attired as such (read: tight pants and a bra that pushes my tits to my chin practically). A nice looking boy of my current preference (read: of the African-American persuasion) came down the stairs and was eyeing me. He asked me how I was doing, etc, etc, and I responded politely (I am trying to make nice with all the people in my building) and as he walked away, he said, "God bless you, baby." Uh- with you in my building- he does!

Yesterday was my friend's birthday. For indentity purposes, we shall call her L. I'd like to tell you about our friendship. We worked together and bonded very quickly upon discovering that we both have hordes and hordes of useless information crammed into our tiny noggins. Our friendship blossomed. We ate lunch together everyday. We sat 10 feet away from each other, but still spent half of our day talking to each other on Instant Messenger. Slowly, we began an out-of-work relationship. She introduced me to her friends, but I didn't introduce her to mine because for the most part, they are boring. She told me of one of her friend's interest in me, and encouraged me to date him despite all of my puritanical reservations, and he eventually became the love and the ex that I refer to so frequently. She changed my life. It was under L's tutelage that I began baring cleavage in public, drinking, and sometimes taking off my clothes for boys (well, really, just one boy). She moved a few months ago and I miss her. I miss being able to talk to her about sexually explicit things without getting embarrassed. I miss going to movies with her when she's been drinking and she laughs so hard that she snorts. I miss playing in the fountains at lunchtime on hot summer days and the drunken phone calls in the early am. To my darling L- Happy Birthday.

Progress at the gym. Slow but steady. I walked out of the locker room last night, and he stood right there, as if waiting for me. No words exchanged, but some serious eye contact. I walked away, and then turned and looked over my shoulder and he was still watching me, so I smiled, my first smile at him! ha! Through the dazzle of my teeth, I tried to send brain waves his way that said, "Come over here and give me a better workout than this treadmill!!!" But alas, we continued to keep this relationship in silence. Maybe he has a voice like Mike Tyson and he's self-conscious about it and doesn't want to talk to me. Maybe next time I'll slip him a note that makes it clear that I don't find talking at all necessary for what I have in mind for us.

Okay, a sign that the gym crush has gotten a little out of hand, is when I rearrange my whole life and beg my roommate to be home to let our new roommate in, just so that I can go to the gym. I haven't seen him since the fleeting glance last Thursday and this week is booked horribly solid, so tonight is the only night that I'll be there, as I'll have to go in the mornings the rest of the week. My off-limits mail room boy has been flirty with me today and I need Gym Boy to take my mind off all things Postally-clandestine; like nakedness in utility closets and such (postally, as in mail.... oh fuck it, nevermind).

Oh god, I need to get laid.

I'm listening to Both Sides Now, by Joni Mitchell. This song never, ever fails to remind me of the weekend that I went to DC with my very good friend, K, and we listened to this song constantly. I was going through a tough time with the boyfriend at the time, and I wasn't sure why or if we should be together. This song made me so sad, every time I heard it. I wanted to believe that we were worth fighting our hardest for. He had been out on vacation for over a week by the time I got back from DC, and I went straight to him, without going home first. I just wanted to see his face. We went back to his place, and for a very stupid reason, we were having a contest to see who could hold out the longest on initiating physical relations. I tend to be the aggressor, but I was determined to win. We were laying on his bed, just talking and he turned to me and said, "How about if we kiss each other at the same time, and then neither one of us loses." Then, he kissed me with earnest. And it was the best kiss of my whole life. I felt it in my toes. I felt it everywhere. I decided in that moment, that I would fight, that I would stop looking for a way out, but put my heart into it. 2 weeks later, he gave up the fight and there wasn't anything that I could do about it. I got over it. I always do. I made myself get over it. Nothing keeps me down, nothing. But it was a while before I wanted to get back up. It was a whole new world of hurt, different from anything I had ever experienced before and all I want to do is make sure that it never, ever happens again.

Labels: The Ex