The Virginity Monologues

Friendster just became my best friend and my worst enemy. My favorite thing about Friendster was that you could view people's profiles without them knowing. Email Boy? He's on there! I've viewed him and his gorgeous mug many, many times. Thank goodness not lately, though. As Friendster is now allowing you to see who has been viewing your profile, and conversely people can see when you've viewed their profile. It's only for the last month, though, thank god, as I haven't logged onto Friendster in AGES, so I haven't been viewing many profiles. But.... guess who's been viewing mine? That's right- my EX-BOYFRIEND, who I haven't spoken to in at least 6 months and who doesn't return any of my emails. And not just one viewing either, multiple times.

That is some weird shit.

Unfortunately, I can't stalk Email Boy anymore. My heart is breaking.

Busy, busy weekend ahead of me. Hopefully no more instances of believing men who lie to me.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the bookstore window on my way into work this morning and almost reeled in horror. Dear God, I thought, my boobs are ginormous! I don't know if it's the outfit I'm wearing today, or if it's a truth I have been avoiding. But I was horrified. Apparently I'm going to need to start hiding these bad boys. They've gotten out of control.

The weather outside matches my mood. Cloudy and dark. I feel numb. I feel foolish for allowing people to hurt me as badly as they have. I long for cynicism and walls.

Status Report:

Email Boy- emailing petered out again. Apparently he can't handle the commitment of regular emailing. Whatever, I don't care.

Perfect Man Personified- Lots of emailing, date tentatively scheduled for next week

Saturday Night Boy- obviously, gone.

Neighbor Boy- seeing him at a party on Saturday. Very Excited. Definitely interested in where this could go.

Mr. Wrong- um, still want to sleep with him constantly, but haven't done it in at least a month. Progress!

I just figured something out.

I got played.

Awesome.

Well, whoever 'private' was, I don't think it was Him, as they never called back. On the off chance that it might have been him, I sent him a brief text message last night, basically saying hi and don't be afraid to call- not in those words. I got nothing back. Clearly, he's a dirty liar. So I deleted his number and went to sleep.

Night Number 5 of waking up at 4 am and not being able to go back to sleep. I've got too much on my mind.

There are people that come into our lives exactly when we need them most. She is always the one for me. We're good friends, that don't see each other much, but when we do, I always walk away feeling as if I have something more to live for, even if it's only to see her again. It was only a dinner, that lasted nearly 2 hours. We discussed everything under the sun and I may have cried, twice. She never fails to say exactly the right thing and she's being completely honest. At a time when I'm appreciating and valuing true friends more than ever before in my life, she is a shining star. I will love her forever, for no other reason than the support she showed me at a time when I didn't think I needed it, but in reality, needed it more than ever.

One missed call.

Time: 12:50 (lunchtime)

Number: 'Private' (meaning, it was blocked)

Oh, if only I were James Bond! I would have this sussed out in NO time.

If there's anything I hate more than a silent cell phone, it's 'private' numbers. Poo to them.

The purest form of torture is the silent cell phone. I makes rules for myself to curb my obsessive-compulsive phone checking habit. When I go to the bodega, I don't take my phone with me. I can't check my phone until I've actually left the movie theater (as opposed to checking it the second the movie is over). I put my phone in my room while I am in the kitchen/living room area, to keep it out of immediate range. To trick it into thinking that I don't care if it rings.

But it doesn't work. It remains silent.

Taunting me. Telling me that I didn't make the cut. I wasn't good enough to merge from a Saturday night pick-up to a weekday date.

Why do men lie? Why do they promise things that they have no intention of following up on? Why did he give me his number if he didn't want to talk to me? I would prefer honesty from the get-go. That's all I want! A little honesty, a little sincerity and a nice set of arms. Is that really so much to expect?

It makes- no sense.

In the time it takes to write an email, She dissolved our friendship. She doesn't want to talk to me anymore. She doesn't want to be around people with 'inappropriate behavior'. My actions are causing her pain, therefore she needs to remove herself from the situation.

I want to hate her. I want to cause her as much pain as I've been experiencing. I want her to wake up at 4 am, racking her brain, trying to think of ways to rectify the situation. But really, I just miss her. I miss our easy banter and that when I'm around her, it just feels like home.

I've been so selfish, so self-indulgent. It's always about me. But how do you help to repair the cracks in a person that with every breath appears uncrackable? How do you offer a comforting embrace to a person who wants nothing more than to be perceived as rock solid? I played my role, she played hers.

I would have done anything for her.

All she had to do was ask.

His friend spoke to me first. But, it was only a matter of time before I was in his arms. He was everything that I love. 6'2, my favorite height (which, BTW, makes no sense, as I am 5'3, but, whatever), arms- oh heavens he had arms, college educated and, most important, thought I had a 'fine ass'. 2 bars, an exchange of phone numbers later, found me in an alcove- getting good and truly kissed.

"I just want you to know, " I said, "I'm not going home with you."

"I don't want you to go home with me," he said, as he slid his hand from my lower back, down to my ass, "that's not how I want this to go."

3 a.m., I could stay out no longer, having been woken up multiple times the night before by attempted booty calls from Mr. Wrong, and so I left. He promised to call me. I know better than to believe such silly promises.

"We'll see," I said.

It's been about 24 hours. No call yet.

A few more days to decipher if my luck has changed.

I'm guessing not.

Best friend: gone.

Guess she wasn't really a best friend after all.

I dreamed that I lost my niece and nephew last night. I was responsible for them, and I wasn't paying attention and I lost them. I'm sure that there is a some Freudian meaning to this dream, but I've never been very good at dream interpretation. But I called my sister first thing this morning to make sure that it wasn't any kind of omen. That stuff scares the shit out of me.

Looking back through this blog, I see a pattern. I see myself allowing man after man to treat me like garbage. And I've been very quick to call them all assholes and dickheads. But really, the fault lies in me. I alone am responsible. I have relatively low self-esteem and hooking up with men is a form of validation for me. It's not healthy. It's not smart. It needs to end. Isn't the first step recognizing the problem? Now that I recognize it, can I divert myself from future mistakes?

I better.

Because if I don't?

I lose my best friend.

But worse than that.

I lose myself.

I wish I could tell you about my job. And about what a magical night that I had last night, due the fact that I work for the greatest company on the earth. Someday, I'll get to tell my kids these stories and they probably won't understand what it meant to be able to do the things that I've had the opportunities to do, but I'll know the changes it created in me, to have been able to walk these hallowed halls.

There's a man that I get to talk to for work purposes. He has the deepest, sexiest voice I've ever heard. I never email him, because I would rather call him. I met him once, and he's cute, but oh, that voice. It turns me on.

My best friend and I aren't really speaking. She's pissy because she's taking a big test next week and she doesn't deal with stress well. She said some things that really hurt my feelings, so I decided that maybe it's best to just keep communication to a minimum until the coast is clear. This sucks. I hate it. I want to go into the bathroom and cry.

I've always had a philosophy- that every pot has a lid. I've seen the weirdest, most idiosyncratic people get married, and marveled at people's ability to find those people who are so perfectly suited to them. I never contemplated the possibility that my pot might not have a lid.

Surely, he must exist, right? That smart, funny and sincere individual that makes my heart soar?

What if he doesn't?

My friends have been baffled about my relationship with Mr. Wrong. They don't understand why I keep going back to him (not lately). How do I explain to them the heroin that is having someone want to be with you, when no one else ever does? Why do I take the scraps of affection that I get from him? Because I'm afraid I'm never going to get it from anyone else.

They tell me constantly that I deserve better, yada, yada, yada.

What if I don't?

What if he's the best I can ever get?

Through a third party (I'm a chicken, I know) offered an extra ticket to a Yankee game to the wonderful individual that I interacted with on Sunday night. He can't go. I immediately assume that this means that he would rather eat dirt than hang out with me. I have no idea what it really means, when I'm allowing myself to be rational about it. Maybe he has plans. Maybe he has to work. The possibilities are endless.

What if he really likes me?

What if he doesn't?

Remember my feelings about the Coldplay Concert? My feelings after a Yankee game, especially a game where they won by a walk-off homer in the bottom of the 9th, are similar. Seriously. That is great baseball. I hope I never lose my love of baseball, it brings me so much joy.

Karen called me. "Hello!" she said, "why did you not write anything in your blog about Sunday night?"

I had to redirect Karen to my blog where there is a mention of Sunday night in one post and then an entire post devoted soley to Sunday night and the after-effects of it.

I could do another one about the things I am still thinking about it.

But I'll spare you.

It's never far from my thoughts though. I wish I was better at this.

The problem with me, is that I take something like last night- new and unexpected flirting, and run with it. A simple touch of a hand, and I'm smitten. He was smart. And funny. And kind. I can't stop myself from hoping. I try to be pessimistic and cynical. But my heart just refuses. My heart says- a cute boy is showing interest! It's a match made in heaven! How do I make him realize that I'm the woman of his dreams?!

I tell my friends that I want honesty. I want them to tell me what they really think. Is he really interested? What I really want them to tell me is that they see a big, white wedding in our future. And that I will look beautiful in Vera Wang with my hair up.

I'm tired of this crap. I'm tired of playing games and trying to guess whether a boy likes me or not. I want someone to sleep next to at night. I want to get my hopes up. I want to love without abandon.

I just don't think I can.

Labels: Marc

I officially have approximately 500 crushes. One for each night of the weekend.

Friday was Perfect Man Personified. I went to a party, I wanted to leave early, he begged me to stay. How can I refuse? I stayed. We talked for at least an hour. He's so perfect. We discussed our forthcoming date. Unfortunately, due to my extremely hectic and busy schedule, we hven't yet planned an actual day to go. But it's on our radar, it will happen.

Saturday was another long run. Damn, I love those. Later, I was leaving my apartmnent to go meet Karen for dinner and a movie, and I ran into my neighbor in the hallway, waiting for the elevator. My neighbor is hot. But cagey. We've only recently started talking. He rode down in the elevator with me, walked to the subway with me. Rode the subway with me, got out at my stop, turned around and went back uptown. What is that all about? Did he really just ride the subway with me, just for the sake of riding the subway with me? We talked the whole time, and laughed a lot. He's really funny and adorable and he actually told me that he enjoys my company. I'm still reeling from the whole experience, and wondering what's going to happen next.

Last night, flirting with Karen's next door neighbors. They are hot, cute and respectable. One of them just kept reaching over and putting his hand on top of my hand. It was adorable. I'm smitten.

Labels: Jay, Marc

I'm crazy exhausted. Too many late nights. Not enough sleep. My head hurts. I forgot to wear mascara today (which makes a big difference, trust me) and I've got the fullest day ever in front of me. And yet- I'm in a great mood. Apparently it takes more than fatigue and horrific humidity to dull my spirits.

Yesterday I was talking to my best friend. I was telling her about how I remember a time when I would wake up in the morning, so excited for anything that was going to come my way. I haven't felt that way in a long time.

"I know," she said. "I miss that part of you."

My immediate reaction was to blame it on certain people. But I thought some more about it, and remembered a philosophy that I have been spouting to unhappy people for ages, before I joined their ranks- We are responsible for our own happiness.

I will do well to keep that in mind the next time someone is biting me under the table.

Oh my gosh. Here are the temptations that I had to combat last night with Mr. Wrong: touching- constant and incessant, on my back, my arms, my ass and an occasional surreptitious boob-grab; hands- running through my hair, extoling the virtues of it's softness; at least a half hour discussion about how much he loves my ass; and the grande finale- as he bent down to grab something that had fallen under the table- he pushed my skirt up and bit me on the inside of my thigh (seriously). Oh and those arms! They were everywhere!

But guess what?

I went home alone.

Hardest thing I've ever done.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

So, pretty much everyone that I know is pushing for some good ol' fashioned sex with Email Boy. Some have even made me promise to give serious details- should the blessed event ever occur. But I have to be honest. I doubt my ability to make this happen. For a couple of reasons- and I fully recognize that the given reasons are heavily steeped in my own insecurities.

1. Our relationship is already fairly established. We reached 'Friend' zone ages ago, and I don't know that it's possible to break out of it.

2. I've mentioned that I'm curvy, yes? (Imagine an hourglass, or as another friend put it, a coke bottle). Email Boy is white (gasp of horror!). White boys don't like my curves, unless they've been drinking heavily. There is a very real possibility that no amount of cleavage and double entendre could make him sleep with me, if he's not at all attracted to me.

3. I'm crazy about him. And have been for almost 2 years. This equals a severe degree of nervousness. I can flirt, but my ability to be bold will be seriously hindered by my fear of rejection and it will be difficult for me to make it clear what I am interested in. Unless I have been drinking heavily.

Somebody help me get out of my head. I'm making myself crazy.

Tonight is test night for me. A gathering. Mr. Wrong will be there. I told my best friend that if I sleep with him again, I have to give her my iPod. I will resist. I will resist.

Labels: Email Boy

Saturday morning I ran and ran. Luckily my Friday night had been tame, so I had no hangover to deal with. Only my demons. If I run enough, can I beat them? Can I learn to say no to the most damaging man I have ever known? Can I gain enough self-respect to make up for his lack of respect for me? Will the sting of the wounds he inflicted ever go away?

Dates on the horizon- Email Boy, Perfect Man Personified , and lunch with an interesting fellow from my street, who actually said to me last night- "I want to fuck you". Why am I having lunch with him? Because I want to stop fucking Him. Because it's time to extricate my heart from a situation that I can no longer handle, and at this stage of the game, anyone is preferable.

I don't know how it is physically possible for me to be tired. While I often claim that I am 'going home and going to sleep', I rarely actually do that. Last night, I had dinner with a good friend, and then literally went home and went to sleep. At like- 10:00. It's the earliest I've gone to be in about 5 years. 10 hours of sleep later, I'm still tired. Weird.

September is a big anniversary month for me. A lot of shit happened last September! And everytime I turn around, I'm remembering another event that took place a year, or two years ago. Two things happened one year ago tomorrow. I bought my iPod and got dumped by the love of my life. Awesome. Obviously, it sucked rotten eggs last year (not the iPod part), but a lot has happened since then, and thinking about it barely tugs at the heart strings these days. He was special. He'll always be special. A part of me will always love him.

Email Boy wants to get together and have drinks. I'm SO going to jump his ass!!! And he is going to bowled over by my new found sexual confidence. He will not be able to resist!

As I rolled over to go to sleep last night, with my ears still ringing, I knew that it had been a good night. It was my first Coldplay concert, and definitely not my last. I love concerts. I love singing my heart out to the songs that I've listened to over and over again, filling up those empty spaces in my soul. Hearing them live makes me feel complete. For 2 hours, it doesn't matter who's calling and who's not calling, cause I'm so caught up in the emotion of the moment. My best friend and I link arms when we hear the familiar opening of our favorite song, and right then- life is perfect.

I'm going to Coldplay tonight! Yay!

I would like to take this opportunity to announce that I am officially the worst judge of character, on the planet. I can't get into specifics, but I learned today that someone that I have let become fairly important to me is a really bad person. Really bad. Really. Bad. I have been physically ill and near to vomiting almost the entire day over how horribly I misjudged him. I always give people the benefit of the doubt. I always believe that the goodness in someone will eventually prevail. I've been so wrong. Oh, it's heartbreaking.

Last night, I got to know some of the people on my street. I sat outside with them, talking away the evening. I love to feel like I'm a part of things. Like I belong. The beauty of my street is, you just have to be nice, and they accept you and watch out for you and envelop you in their community. It's a beautiful thing. And then a nice boy took me out for a drink. And told me that I can drive his car. I love driving. I miss driving. This boy is my new best friend!

BTW- despite the continual inappropriate love for someone, I just had a fantastic weekend.

Friday night, I went to see Transporter with some friends, which had a terrible plot and terrible writing, but a beautiful man and lots of great car chases, which I love. Then I met my roommate down in the West Village where we both drank ourselves into a coma. Luckily, half my drinks were bought by a crazy Irish guy who spent a lot of time trying to convince me to to go home with him. I don't remember the last time I laughed that much and that hard. I wasn't prepared to sleep with two different men, two nights in a row, so I went home with my roommate. We sang along to my iPod all the way home. She's the best roommate, ever.

Saturday night. Holy shit. Marquis, Bed and then 40/40. 40/40 was PACKED. I've never seen more people there. Luckily, our connections got us into the VIP room. Where we talked to a nice, funny guy for a long time- only to discover that he produces porn! He offered to take us to a shoot! It was hysterical. I got home around 4ish, I think. My street had a block party that day, and people were still out partying. Several tempting offers as I walked down my street, but sadly, I went home alone.

Sunday and Monday were much less eventful. Quiet, a little more peaceful and a lovely afternoon at the Bronx Zoo. The zoo would be my perfect date- a little insight for any men hoping to date me. ;)

BTW- Email Flame continues to write to me. Can I just ask him to please fuck me and get it over with?

I need sleep. I need to learn to say 'no' when people ask me to do stuff. I need a few days of doing nothing. That's not going to happen anytime soon.

It's letter time again.

Dear Mr. Wrong-

I can't say no to you, it's unfortunate that you know this. Please don't call me anymore. My poor little heart can't take it. I am emotionally attached to you. It kills me that I am only a piece of ass to you. You don't respect me. You just want me. I need you to leave me alone. Please. It's the only way that I can get you out of my brain. I'll never forget you because you took my virginity, but please leave me to my pleasant memories and let me move on. I deserve more than this. I deserve better than you.

Sincerely,
Chloe

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Holy shit. I am a stupid girl.

Last night. Birthday party gathering for a friend- Michelle and I are the only females and the only white people there. Awesome. Mr. Wrong was there, but relations have been strained between us. It may be because I have been calling him an asshole and telling him that he's a worthless excuse for a human being. But I'm not sure. Despite how much I hate him, I still love him. And I want to say no to him, but don't know if I really can. So Michelle and I leave, to go bar-hopping in the West Village. 5 minutes after we leave, I get a text message. It says, 'I'm sorry I'm an asshole'.

Long story short, him and few others come to meet up with us. But, it always takes a long time for them to get anywhere and in the interim, a man has joined us and has his hand running up and down my thigh under the table. Interesting. I see Mr. Wrong. I call his name, he doesn't hear us because the music is loud. Michelle goes to get him because I am trapped in the table with Mr. Hands, who is realizing that there are other men here to see us and decides to make his exit. We exchange phone numbers and as Mr. Hands is getting up, Mr. Wrong comes over, takes the seat next to me and stakes his claim. One arm draped around me and another on my thigh, he couldn't have made his presence any more felt. It felt kind of nice. To be wanted. And staked.

I ended up in someone else's apartment. Having fantastic sex with Mr. Wrong. I loved every second of it. I loved sleeping in his arms. I loved fighting with him over the covers. I loved the jokes about my unshaved legs (I had purposely not shaved to reinforce my determination to not go home with anybody. Clearly, that works well). I loved his arms and the way he looked into my eyes and the way he kissed me.

How am I ever going to get over this man?

Labels: Mr. Wrong

I have a freaky weird memory. I remember a lot of insignificant things. Like what people wore when I first met them. I can recall complete conversations. And I remember dates- the days that significant events happened in my life. Next week will be the one year mark of breaking up with my ex, but I'm over him, so I don't care that much. But Saturday. Saturday, September 3rd is a big day. It marks my 2 year anniversary of living in New York City.

That first day was terrible. I was petrified. And tired. And hungry. Too tired to drag my ass out of my apartment to get some food, but too hungry to sleep. I called my sister and cried. She told me to call her back after I had gotten some sleep. I didn't have a job. I didn't know anyone and my bedroom was TINY. I thought that I had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

2 years later. I have a job. I have more friends than I can squeeze into my free time. I am learning to accessorize. I know the subway system better than anyone I know.

I did it. There were several people (my father included), who thought that I would fail miserably and be forced to come home with my tail between my legs.

Thank goodness for people who believed in me, cause there was definitely times when I didn't.