The Virginity Monologues

Last Thursday night was eventful indeed. I put together a birthday outing for a friend who works in our mail room. He came, all of his mail room friends came, some of their friends came and then there was me. Another female friend joined us later, but for a large portion of the evening, I was the only female and the only white person to boot. So needless to say, there was a lot of talking and joking about race, but it was all in good fun. Now, an interesting conversation took place on the way home. As a back story to this- you have to understand that I have been body conscious my whole life. Stepmom #1, aka The Antichrist, was obsessed with weight. She was constantly telling my siblings and I that we were fat, putting us on diets, etc, etc and a lot of that mentality has obviously stuck. I've always been curvy, sometimes more curvy than others, but even when I was a gymnast and a track star, my ass and my thighs resolutely refused to adhere to athletic standards and remained luscious. As we were driving home late Thursday night, my friend, Will, began waxing poetic about the shape of me. About my pretty white girl face, my gorgeous black-girl booty and, as he called them- my 'puerto rican ta-ta's'. He was telling me not to ever change a thing, that my body was perfect exactly as it was, that I shouldn't let society dictate to me that I wasn't good enough. What a strange experience that was. Those are words that I have never, in the entirety of my life, heard. But I've been thinking about them a lot since that night. Was he right? Am I good enough, just as I am? Interesting.....

Things I learned this weekend, or Thursday night-
-If you've only had sex once in your life and you end up going home with someone who has to stop and get the large size condoms- RUN for your life. That shit is going to hurt.
-Men can redeem themselves. After lots of groveling and penitence on his part, I finally agreed to drinks with the bouncer. He was a great date. Way hotter than I remembered and he held my hand as he walked me to the subway. He didn't even try to kiss me and he called to make sure that I got home okay. Awwww.
- J.K. Rowling is an evil woman. I cried for the last 50 pages of the 6th Harry Potter book. Serious crying. None of that quiet weepy tears stuff. My roommate had to leave the room, she couldn't take the sobs anymore.