The Virginity Monologues

Conversation that I just had with my beloved Randy:

Me: Randy, does this sweater say, "hey- here's my boobs?"
Randy: Chloe, you got big tits. Everything says that.

Awesome.

Don't be misled by the tone of the story that I am about to tell. I am in incredibly good spirits this morning and making everyone around me sick with my perky attitude.

Last Night.

Party at Marc's. Arrived around 10ish. I looked hot. I was walking through the greeting line, hugging, kissing, etc, etc and I got to Marc last. Big hug and a kiss on the cheek. I stepped away a little to wait for Karen to make it through the Niceties Gauntlet and Marc kept his hand on my arm, running it up and down.

"You look beautiful, " he said. Then reached out and ran his thumb across the dimple in my left cheek. He LOVES my dimple. I don't think I've ever once seen him and not had him touch it.

We didn't talk much the rest of the evening. There was a lot of people there. Including one mildly famous up and coming actor that I had met previously, who declared me the best chocolate chip cookie maker ever, and then tried to get me drunk. I was working very hard not to go out of my way to talk to Marc or to appear to always be looking for him. I flirted with lots of boys. I danced. I drank too much beer.

Midnight was time for me to go. Karen had left and I was tired of making nice with people I didn't know very well. I said my goodbyes and barely got acknowledged by Marc. I was mildly irritated that he couldn't spare 5 seconds to say goodbye to me. But I wasn't learning anything I didn't already know- that I am not a priority to him. And it's time for me to move on accordingly.

2:05 am

Text message received:

Thanks for coming. I'm glad you were there.

From: Marc.

SON-OF-A-BITCH.

Labels: Marc

10 days. I've been away from New York City for 10 days. Landing at LaGuardia last night was a powerful rush of returning to the familiar chaotic city that I love so dearly. It may have taken 2 and a half hours to get home from the airport, but all that mattered was that I was home.

Christmas was everything you ever want Christmas to be. Lots of family, even more junk food and oodles of just hanging around. I even managed to squeeze in an additional trip to my brother's house where I got to spend quality time with him and his children and we even had dinner with my errant father who sent my Christmas present to the wrong address. Gotta love it! I saw an ex-boyfriend who declared me New York Hot in my fuck-me boots, semi-short skirt and my new $500 Michael Kors sweater (that I only paid $50 for). He asked me out 3 seperate times while I was there and each time I told him to hose off.

Tonight Marc and his roommates are having a party. I will be there in a new shirt that essentially says, "Best Tits Ever? YEP, I've got 'em!" I can't fucking wait.

December 25, 2005

2:05 pm

Text Message Received:

Merry Christmas sweetheart.

From: Marc.

MOTHERFUCKER.

Labels: Marc

It's time to address some issues. Since this is my blog, I recognize that it is not necessary, but maybe it'll clear some things up.

Every woman has insecurities (probably every man too- and they're probably all related to penis size). Every woman finds some way to validate herself to make up for these insecurities. I don't know one woman that doesn't do this in some form or another. This validation comes in the form of eating disorders, obsessive gym going, not leaving the house without full makeup, a driving desire to climb to the top of the corporate ladder, expensive clothing, a fancy-pants car, etc, etc, etc. The list could go on and on. My validation comes in the form of men.

I was molested as a young child for a long period of time by a close family friend. He would get very angry with me when I wouldn't do as he asked. In my 4 year old mind- I began to equate making men like me with letting them use my body. Combine this with an indifferent father my entire life and you bet yer ass I've got issues where men are concerned. Therapy has helped me to recognize the symptoms, but nothing will ever make my brain stop thinking the thoughts. It's how I react to the thoughts that matter.

I LOVE sex, it's not all about validation. But there is definitely an aspect that when men want me, it makes me feel better about myself, as if I am more valuable as a person. I recognize it, I try not to let it become too much of a factor in who I sleep with. If I let it control me, I would sleep with every man who crossed my path. Obviously, I am not doing that. But it will always be a demon inside of me. You got a problem with that? Don't read my blog.

Yes, I am independent and have a desire to be strong and invulnerable. I don't NEED a man. I don't ever want to need a man. But it doesn't mean that I don't WANT a man. I want to fall in love as much as the next hopeless romantic and when I do give my heart, I will give it completely, and without abandon. But so far, no one has been worthy of that and I'm not going to live like a nun in the meantime.

If I want to have sex- I'm going to do it. I'm going to continue to explore that world until the real thing comes along.

End of story.

My iPod earphones are covered in sticky finger residue, I'm crashing at 10 pm after a day of chasing small children, and I'm waking up at 7 am because small children don't sleep late. And I love it. I love it when they ask for Aunt Chloe to snuggle with them before they go to sleep at night. I love it when they ask if they can go back to New York with me. And I love it when they put their little hands in mine, completely trusting that I won't hurt them in any way. I need to come home more than once a year.

The transit workers went on strike in New York. My heart breaks for the trouble that this must be causing all my fellow New Yorkers. And for the economic damage that this does to our city everyday. Surely there must be a better way to resolve these problems.

I can't stop thinking about Marc. We don't communicate any more. No emails. No text messages. I miss him. I hate it that anything had to happen to ruin our friendship. I should have just had sex with him. The aftermath probably wouldn't have been much different than what I'm experiencing now.

Labels: Marc

I officially have no ability to focus. I just want today to be over with so that I can go home, go to sleep and then wake up to get picked up at 5 am to go to the airport. I am an incredibly paranoid flyer. I worry excessively about getting to the airport on time. A character trait that members of my family find endlessly amusing.

I stayed at a friend's digs in midtown last night to facilitate an easier path to work if the transit workers decided to create Hell right here in New York City and strike (BTW- they didn't). So, today, I'm fairly tired (I never sleep well if it's not my own bed) and my hair looks like crap cause he didn't have a hair dryer. Pooh.

The silver lining- I just went to a sample sample and got over $1000 worth of merchandise for $100. The merchandise- a pair of beautiful bronze open-toed slides with a 3 inch heel and a v-neck pink cashmere sweater- that shows a little too much cleavage so I'll have to wear a camisole underneath it. Seriously, I am turning into a HOT chick.

I am a huge stress case. I am leaving on Saturday for a week and a half, and trying to get all my work done accordingly. On top of this pressure- there is the impending MTA strike, which means no subways, no buses and me 100 blocks away from my office. I've been laying awake at night trying to figure out how I'm going to get to work and it ties my stomach into knots.

I love the subway. Love it. Even at 4 am, when I have to wait a long time for it. Sure we've had our fair share of disagreements during my years here, but in the end, it always come through for me. Everybody pray that it comes through for me again and that subways will be running as normal tomorrow morning.

Last night I babysat 5 month old triplets. I am not making this up. At one point in the evening, I stood in the kitchen, holding one sleeping baby to my chest with my left arm and making a bottle for another baby with my right arm, testing the temp of the contents on my wrist to make sure it wasn't too hot, and I thought, 'I could do this.' Obviously, not with triplets. But I could be a mother. I could. And I would be good at it. Babies and kids love me. I have the magic touch that puts babies to sleep. I am the 'cool aunt' that all my nieces and nephews adore.

Not yet. But hopefully soon. First I need to find a father, I'm thinking.

Okay, so Biatch tagged me (thanks very much).

So here we go with 8 Random Facts about me.

1. I am the only member of my family not married and procreating. I feel like I am less valuable to them because of this. If there was ever an organ needed to save another family members life I am positive that I would be asked to give it, as my life is not as important as any of theirs.

2. My name is in the masthead of several magazines. My mother carries around a copy of at least one of them at all times so that she can brag to her friends.

3. I LOATHE movies about time travel, the only exception being Donnie Darko. And maybe Somewhere in Time.

4. I got felt up before I ever got kissed. Such is the lure of my breasts.....

5. I was a serious geek in high school. I was an officer in many clubs (including but not limited to- The Math Club and The National Honor Society), went to Girls State, and took AP classes exclusively my senior year. I graduated in the top 5% of my class (450 students) and wore the honors tassles and everything. Every single college that I applied to- I got in and was offered scholarships.

6. My very best friend in the whole world comes home from Lithuania today. I haven't seen her in 2 years.

7. My sophomore year in high school, three friends and I did a dance to Janet Jackson's If in the school talent show. We included in our dance- the Running Man, the Lawnmower, the Sprinkler and I think the Roger Rabbit. We were the hit of the show.

8. I went jeans shopping last night. I bought a pair of jeans for $100 cause I like the way they make my ass look.

In turn, I tag-

Calli

Monica

Ladies- feel free to tell me to hose off. :)

To help avoid confusion- here are all the men that I reference and a brief synopsis of my relationship with all of them.

Mr. Wrong- I've known him for over a year now. I was in love with him for a very long time and lost my virginity to him. He's an asshole who has stomped on my feelings numerous times and has slept with me when he had a girlfriend. He's the biggest asshole I've ever met in my whole life. We don't speak anymore.

Jay- My next door neighbor. We hooked up a few times before he managed to fuck me over royally. After a very long of the silent treatment we are friends again who hang out occasionally. He still tries to get in my pants, but has been wildly unsuccessful. I adore him.

Marc (a.k.a Neighbor Boy)- He lived next door to my best friend, Karen, before she moved in with me. We've been flirting, text messaging and occasionally hanging out since September 2005. I loved him, I'm fairly certain he had some degree of feelings for me, but never acted on it. After years of dancing around it, we finally had sex in February 2007. We haven't spoken since.

Email Boy- we used to work together, and over the course of the last 2 years have become phenomenally good friends. I used to be obsessively in love with him, but now I accept our relationship for what it is. His friendship is incredibly important to me and I feel that he is one of the very few men that I have ever known that really gets me.

Scott- We were involved of and on for about a year until everything ended in such a way that it is unlikely that we will ever speak again. I loved him in a way that I've never loved anybody and it wasn't just because the sex was so unbelievably phenomenal. It was because when things were good and I was with him, nobody has ever made me feel more special or more beautiful. Unfortunately, he's completely lacking in a conscience and has treated me worse than any other man, ever.

Cam- We dated very briefly last February, then he disappeared for 9 months. He showed up again in early November we dated for about 4-5 months, until I came to realize that I was giving him my heart while he was fucking other women. We still talk occasionally, but all benefits of the relationship have ceased, mainly because he's incredibly selfish in bed.

Updates to follow......

It's that special day of the year. That day when you have to see those people that you got freaky with in your free-alcohol induced stupor at the company party last night. It's not pretty. There was the regular party, DJed by Grandmaster Flash- I'll have you know, and then there was an after-party. All open-bar. I kept myself relatively in check- I mean, compared to others I was stone-cold sober, but I'm definitely going to stay away from certain departments today.

Dear Lord- I need sleep. It was a weekend of 4 am nights again, and after the debauchery of last night, I'm running on empty. It was an interesting weekend, although not quite as exciting as the last one.

Friday night I met up with a guy that I have known for a while- ending up making out with him in his gorgeous Audi in front of my building. Good times.

Saturday night I went out with Michelle, where I was the recipient of a boatload of attention from a beautiful Croatian man. We talked for 2ish hours, then he walked me to the subway, asked for my number, then managed to offend me to my very core by making homophobic and racist comments. I told him to lose my number. What a waste of a human being.

Last night at the After Party- I was hanging out with some people from my old department, they are good friends with Email Boy. It turns out, he was at his company party, approximately 500 feet from us. He came to our party. And much lusting ensued. I was tired and drunk, so I wasn't putting a LOT of effort into it, but I definitely caught him checking out the girls (meaning- my breasts), and I'm thinking that I could definitely get that if I tried hard enough. I'm thinking that maybe it's time for me to put my back into it.

Still no communication with Marc. Interesting.

Labels: Email Boy

This is him. Ryan Dunn. Host of Homewrecker and many of my sexual fantasies. Ain't he purty?

Greg has officially become the first man to have sex with me and then never talk to me again. Oh, the agony! Just kidding. I don't really care that much. Is that bad? I mean, sure, he's a wiz at the oral sex business, but when the actual sex didn't last longer than 5 minutes, you can bet yer ass I'm not counting down the hours until I our next naked time together.

Wine and Love Actually- NOT a good combination. Michelle and I went ice skating in Bryant Park last night, which was magical, then went to her apartment for dinner, wine and a sappy Christmas love story that we both just eat up like, well, I can't think of any eating analogies that aren't mildly offensive, but let's just say that we love it.

It took every single ounce of self-control that I possess to NOT send Marc a text message at the end of the movie that said, "All I want for Christmas is you."

Obviously, I did not send it. I am determined to make the first communication post sex-scandal come from him. I could be waiting a while.

Also, I've done a lot of thinking and talking about this subject lately. I have a new rule. Actually I have a couple.

Rules for the Marc Situation
1. No more talking to other people about it, besides Karen. She's the only person that actually knows him and thus is able to somewhat correctly decode his behavior. When people that haven't ever even met him give me advice, they're really just blowing smoke up my ass, and I'm tired of all the different opinions.
2. No more obsessing about it. Clearly he has his own timetable, and isn't really in a position where he's looking for a serious relationship. And to tell the truth, I'm not in any real hurry to limit myself to sleeping with just one person (I am such a whore). I mean, fuck, if things start taking off with Marc, I will have to end my hotel shenanigans with Jay and I don't really want to do that just yet. For now- I am leaving all options open.

Labels: Marc

Behavior that should be outlawed on the subway- singing. Seriously, it's like a fucking epidemic these days. Tuesday night, on the way home from my hotel escapade, there were 2 women singing Christmas carols on the subway at 12 am, just for the hell of it. Not for money or anything! What is that all about? I begged Jay to change cars, but he seemed hell-bent on masochism. He was quite enjoying making up his own dirty verses and singing them in my ear....

Then- this morning, there was a woman on the subway singing along to her ipod! Good Lord it was awful. The morning commute is a time for quietness. Not dying cow imitations.

So, I have decided on the man I will marry. His name is Ryan Dunn. He hosts Homewrecker on MTV. My roommate and I LIVE for that show, because we know that we will laugh our pants off for 30 minutes straight. Plus the way he drives his Trans Am turns me on. I know, he's.... white. But I think I would make an exception for him. Now I've just got to figure out how to meet him.....

So, I was with Jay, of the hotel sex last night. More hotel sex was had. We may christen every room in the place eventually. Last night was the conference room. Awesome.

Since we live 10 feet from each other, we take the subway home together. As we're standing in the subway station, he says to me, "So, what do you want for Christmas?"

What?!?!

Me: Um, I didn't realize we had a Christmas gift-exchanging type of relationship....
Jay: No really, I want to get you a present. A nice scarf or something...
Me: Okay, I'm not going to stop you. But as long as we're getting gifts, my birthday is right after Christmas, so keep that in mind.

Seriously. What do you get for the thug-type unbelievably hot individual who lives next door to you that you are fucking on a regular basis? What kind of gift says, 'thanks for the orgasms'? I go down on him every time, isn't that enough? Sheesh!

Labels: Jay

I love to write letters. I just don't like to send them. Here's a new one.

Dear Marc-

Everyone keeps telling me that when it's all said and done, the outcome of the events of this weekend are positive. I mean, I do now officially know that you want to sleep with me and that you think about my breasts on a regular basis. I also know that you respect me enough to not treat me like a whore.

So, why do I feel rejected?

Why haven't we ever been on a date?

Do you have any comprehension of the depth of my feelings for you?

Last Saturday night, your roommate was talking to me about you. What he said suggests to me that you've been talking to him about me. He knew things that he would only have heard from you. What do you talk to him about? Did you tell him about the aborted hook-up?

Clearly, there is more here than just sex or even just friendship. Friends don't send each other mildly dirty text messages and friends don't try that hard to sleep with each other. Friends don't tell each other how blown away they were by the sexual tension between them. Friends don't dance like we did. Friends don't touch each other when they're talking to each other like you did. Remember all those times that your hand rested on my thigh? That's not friendly, buster.

Why can't you just admit to what's obviously between us and act on it?

Love-
Chloe

Labels: Marc

I hope you're all sitting down (well, I'm sure you are, if you're working on a computer), cause this weekend was a DOOZY. I'm warning you right now, this is going to be a long one. It was an extremely eventful weekend.

Friday Night
Karen's 30th birthday party. We reserved a room at a lounge/bar in Chelsea, packed it with people and shook our booties all night long. Just as I was getting really down and dirty with some guy, possibly named Tony?, Marc arrived. It was all over the second I saw him. After I got finished with Tony, I got a big hug from Marc and we were pretty much inseperable the rest of the evening. We did shots together. We did a lot of dancing. The sexual tension was heating up, significantly. Around 1:30ish, we were sitting on a couch, my leg slung over one of his, touching from shoulders to knees, talking about boobs. Mine in particular. I had caught him blatantly checking them out and was teasing him about it, which segued into us talking about his obsession with breasts.

Me: For the record, I was told about a month ago that I have the tits of a goddess.
Marc: Really? I'm going to have to see that.
Me: Hmmmm, maybe (whatever! I wanted to rip my shirt off right then and there!)

More talking about sex, boobs, what not. Him being more blatant about his interest in me on a sexual level. We sort of agree on a plan for me to come over to his house (we didn't want to be obvious about it, we both knew a lot of the people in the room and some of them would have shot me for sleeping with him).

We get in a cab together, while our remaining friends pile into another cab. In the cab Marc asks me to show him the boobs.

Me: "NOW!?! In the cab?!?"

He looked around as if to ascertain who's watching, and said, "why not?"

Me: Oh, HELL no.
Marc: You could have just said no. You didn't have to say hell no.

We all arrive at their houses at the same time (cause they all live within 50 feet of each other) and I am getting nervous about blatantly walking up to Marc's house with so many people watching. There is some miscommunication between me and Marc about exactly what is going on, I think he is trying to bail on our rendezvous, so I get back in the cab and go home.

2 minutes later- commence text messaging:

Marc- Are you home?
Me- Nope, still in the cab on 125th
Marc- You should have stayed here.
Me- Do you want me to come back?
Marc- I thought that was the plan, but then you backed out.
Me- I did not back out, you did! Do you want me to come back or not?
Marc- Come on!

By this point I'm in front of my apartment. I'm not sure what he means by Come on. It can have a lot of different connotations. I get out of the cab. Go upstairs and call him. We argue for at least 20 minutes about where it all went wrong. He tells me how much he wants me. How often he thinks about me naked (serious). It's 4 am at this point. Marc asks me if I'll come over the next night. I say yes.

The cold, dawn of morning brings a harsh reality. Am I willing to sacrifice our friendship and a possible relationship for the opportunity to just have sex with him? Because lets face it, if I have sex with him, without having ever even gone on a date- there's no way he's going to respect me the next morning. There's no possible way that the kind of relationship that I want with him will happen if I have sex with him now.

Karen and I go for mani/pedi's and discuss it at length. She feels very, very strongly that going over to his house is a bad idea. As much as I hate it and it hurts like hell, I agree with her. I can't do it. I care about him too much to let us evolve into a purely sexual relationship.

I go home. I call Marc. I tell him I can't do it. He tells me that he woke up that morning and can't believe he said the things he said to me. He feels bad. It sounds like we are on the same page.

I get off the phone and sob.

Saturday Night
Abby (my roommate) and I go to a concert of a local band in the Lower East Side. We love them. We've seen them a few times and even convinced the lead singer to do shots with us. A fairly famous Grammy-award winning artist who I will not name so that I won't be sued at some point later in life, is there and makes a guest appearance on the stage with the band. Abby and I are 2 feet away from him, not believing our luck.

After the concert, the Famous Person (hereafter known as FP) is walking past Abby and I, while we are waiting at the bar for the lead singer because we want to do shots with him, and Abby gets mildly star-struck and asks FP if we can take a picture with him. He happily obliges, and then invites us backstage. It turns out, he's very nice and kind. Abby and I don't pay for another drink the rest of the night. :)

At one point, members of the band are walking around, offering CD's to girls who'll show them their tits. I'd had a LOT to drink. So I obliged. FP puts his hand on my shoulder, and says to me, "You have beautiful breasts." Oh, the validation!!!!!!

FP and I discuss my sex life, as he has caught me text messaging Greg, who is trying to convince me to come to over to his house. His interest cracks me up, but he is geniune and we talk for a while.

Lead Singer of the band makes me do a shot of Wild Turkey with him. I get back to FP and Abby only to find them making out. I am drunk. I am still upset about everything that happened with Marc and I am feeling like a 3rd wheel. I tell them I am going to Greg's house. I am doing my round of kiss-kiss goodbyes and when I get to FP, he pulls me closer by the hand, so that he is speakly quietly into my ear and says to me, "You're very sexy, very smart and very funny... Make sure this guy deserves you.." And then kisses me.

I laugh and say, "Thank you. "

He says, "And that's coming from a rock star."

I leave for Greg's house, where I get what I haven't gotten in 6 years. :)

Labels: Marc

When the person that I considered to be my very best friend severed our friendship a few short months ago, it was Karen that stepped in and picked up the pieces of my shattered heart and proved herself the truest friend of all. While she may not agree with all of my actions, she stands by me and supports me through it all, and not just to hear the salaciously juicy details (ie- hotel sex, which still makes me blush just thinking about it).

Today is her 30th Birthday.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY to the most gorgeous, funny, wonderful, understanding, good-listening, best fashion advice-giving true friend, with the fucking best set of legs in New York City (and not just Manhattan, all 5 boroughs, baby).

I love you!!!!

-----

Totally unrelated subject- I've been thinking a lot about oral sex lately (KingBob- it's your fault). Guess how long it's been since the last time I had it? Had it- as in received, not given (I did that last week and I'm blaming that for my current throat infection). Too much information?

Anyway. It's been 6 years.

I'm dying to try it again with my new wings.

I just passed Mr. Wrong in the elevator bank. An elevator had just dinged open, but it was going up.

Mr Wrong turns to me and says, "I need to go down."

I practically choked on my tongue to stop myself from saying the millions of insanely dirty things that had just popped into my head.

"I have nothing to say to that comment," was all I said.

Now that we are officially talking again, I should probably tell the story of Josh.

We met my sophomore year of college. Upon our first meeting we hated each other. We have told the story many, many times and it's pretty much 50/50 as to who was the bigger asshole on our first encounter. Somehow we overcame it and eventually grew to be the closest of friends. We lived next door to each other and were pretty much inseperable. We would talk until the wee hours of morning almost every night. We went out of town for weekends together, he went home with me, he became everything to me. It was never romantic. He jokingly tried to kiss me a couple of times, but physical and romance and all that shit never became an issue. I knew more about him than anyone and he about me.

And, holy shit, I loved him. More than I've ever loved anyone, outside of my family.

5 years. 5 years we were in each others lives. After he moved 45 minutes away from me, we obviously didn't spend as much time together, but we never lost our connection. We supported each other over the phone, and I would often spend weekends at his house (men weren't allowed at my house). There was no one on earth I trusted more. When anything went bad, he was the first person I went to.

Even though he forgot my birthday, almost every year.

The story takes WAY too long to tell, but it didn't end pretty. It takes a lot to push me to the point of walking away. And I walked away after writing a very, very nasty email. It wasn't very adult of me. But I couldn't take his apathy towards me anymore. It's not enough to tell me that you love me. That doesn't excuse treating me like shit behavior.

3 years have passed. He's a stubborn individual and I didn't think he would ever talk to me again. I found him by Googling him the other day and sent him an email. We've been writing everyday since.

Is it weird that I want nothing more than to go to him, and talk to him until I can't talk anymore? Do you think his wife would mind?