The Virginity Monologues

As I stood in Scott's bathroom, getting ready on Tuesday morning, it hit me like a ton of bricks- I'm never going to see him again. I knew then that- now that he had gotten what he wanted, he would be gone.

I was right.

No phone calls. No text messages. Just silence, mocking my delusions.

I can't cry about it to anyone. I don't have that right. I knew going into this situation what an absolute asshole he is, and I knew that he couldn't have changed dramatically in the span of only one month. I knew that this would end badly.

I want to lock my heart in a box and never open it again. I don't want anyone to touch me ever again. I don't want to feel butterflies. I don't want to hope. I don't want to meet someone's eyes and know that they are just as attracted to me as I am to them. I don't want to feel that rush of the first kiss. I don't want to believe. I don't want to trust.

I don't want to hurt anymore.

I went to the gym last night and with each step on the treadmill, I berated myself letting him get to me again. I blasted Marilyn Manson and Metallica in my ears, punishing myself for opening a door that should have deadbolted 10 times over.

Labels: Scott

Rest assured, I won't be posting about any major life-changing experiences from the previous evening today (unless drinking the equivalent of a entire bottle of wine counts as a life-changing experience, but I don't think it does).

I haven't heard from Scott since I left his place on Tuesday morning. I'm not surprised and hell, I had such low expectations, I'm not even disappointed. There's still that slim possibility that we might actually hang out tonight, but if I allow myself to believe that for even one second I'd have to kick my own ass for being so monumentally stupid.

Today is the one year anniversary of the day I lost my virginity. It feels like it was a lifetime ago, with everything that has happened in the last year. I guess this is the place where I take stock of what I've learned and hopefully use that information to make wiser decisions in the future. Will I still make stupid mistakes because I'm sometimes ruled by my libido? Almost assuredly. But maybe in the next year, I keep the damage to my heart at a minimum and find someone who's actually worthy of my time and my incredibly high sex-drive.

Yeah. Good luck with that.

The past two mornings, I've woken up not sure if the events of the previous evening had been real or imagined. Luckily yesterday morning, I was naked in bed with the person the events had taken place with, confirming that the activities had indeed taken place.

Since memories were a little hazy and I was all alone in my own bed this morning, it required a phone call or two to confirm that- last night, I did, in fact- smoke weed for the first time in my life.

And after an initial bout of panic/paranoia, I quite enjoyed it. One of my biggest problems in life is that I think too much. I overthink EVERYTHING. I can't turn my brain off. It makes me NUTSO. And the lovely thing that I discovered about smoking weed was that it was as if someone had flipped a switch, turning off all the background noise in my brain (Scott who?) and I wasn't worried about ANYTHING.

It was a beautiful, beautiful moment for me.

I think I'm going to need some tomorrow night when Scott doesn't follow through again.

I need to preface this post with warnings.

1. I have gotten very little sleep in the last 2 nights and I'm insanely emotional.
2. Information contained in this post only proves that I am absolutely clueless when it comes to men and I should be locked away for the rest of my life to stop me from making stupid decisions.

Scott and I have been talking. Brief emails. A few text messages. Phone calls, but neither one of us ever answers (not because we are avoiding them, just because they are at bad times). He misses me. He's sorry. He thinks I'm beautiful. Blah, blah, blah.

Last night, he asked me if I wanted to come over after I left the gym and hang out, watch a movie, whatever. I decided to go. And he lives WAY out in Queens. So, I was either going home super late at night or staying the night and going to work straight from there in the morning. I took a change of clothes and planned on the latter option.

Since I went to his place straight from the gym, he let me shower there and only came in and scared the shit out of me once. Once I was squeaky clean and freshly shaved (everywhere), we sat down to watch a movie, with my legs draped across his lap. I was tired. I fell asleep on his shoulder. He woke me up by kissing me. Have I mentioned that he is a PHENOMENAL kisser? Things got hot. He (I'm not making this up) carried me into his bedroom, and proceeded to show me the reality of all the fantasies that I'd been harboring for the last few months and went down on me for all he was worth. DEAR GOD IN HEAVEN. After I came down from the greatest high of my life, we had sex.

Earth-shattering, mind-blowing, stuff of romance novels, sex. I've got two words for you-

Simultaneous orgasm.

That's right kids. Our first time, right out the gate, we achieved that mythical concept of us both reaching nirvana at the exact same time.

Un-fucking-believable.

About an hour later, he made the heavens move for me again.

And then we finally, finally went to sleep.

This morning, as I was leaving, he kissed me breathless and told me to call him when I got into work. As I walked out the door, my heart wanted so desperately to believe in him, but my head told me I would never see him again now that he had gotten what he wanted.

I called him when I got into the office, fully expecting him not to pickup and that I would leave a message and that would be the end of Scott. He surprised me by picking up. We made plans to hang out again on Thursday night. I'm not holding my breath.

Labels: Scott

In case any of you were worried, I have officially had my daily quota of vegetables, all in my lunch. Salad. Minestrone soup. Carrots.

Why?

Because I woke up hating myself. I hate the way that I let myself worry too much about dumb boys. I couldn't sleep last night because I was thinking too much about 2 situations that are absolutely ridiculous and I shouldn't be wasting one second of my life thinking about them. Neither one of the men occupying my thoughts is good enough for me.

And so, today I hate myself.

Generally, my answer to this conundrum involves cajun fries from the deli next door. But I was thinking about this, and remembered a time when I was a faithful gym goer (which is not an accurate description of my relationship with the gym these days), and how much I don't care about guys when I'm going to the gym and how much better I feel about myself in general.

Because I don't want to care. I want to be ambivalent and blase. I want to not obsess over a text message. I want to be able to walk away and not care whether or not I hear from them again.

I want freedom and liberation.

Maybe the answer is running and carrots.

Because I don't think that its cajun fries.

I have a few confessions to make:

1. I'm wearing pink today. Serious pink. A co-worker told me that I look very chic though, so I'm not terribly concerned about it.

2. I heard from Scott again. An email that reads:

You have every right to be mad with me, I was an asshole. I didn't take how you'd feel into consideration. I got caught up in my own world. You're a beautiful person inside and out, Chloe. You 'll make a man very happy one day. How have you been?

I'm all talked out on this subject, so I have nothing to say. Just though y'all would be interested to know.

3. Women are ruthless. Men, if you knew the things that we say when we talk about your performances in bed, you would never want to have sex again, unless you are supremely confident in your abilities in the sack. Last night I had dinner with the lovely Krissi and it was the conversation of Men's Worst Nightmares. And quite frankly, I haven't stopped laughing since.

Good times.

P.S. The link to the right regarding all the wacko men in my life has been updated, for anyone confused about who I'm talking about.

Labels: Scott

Number of magazines sitting on my desk waiting to be read: 6 (Domino, Gourmet, Bon Appetit, InStyle, Oprah and Weddings- I got them all for free)

Number of Stars (out of 5) that I would give the new Keane CD if I worked for the Rolling Stone as a Music Reviewer: 5 (Best Song: Try Again- it makes my heart just melt all over the place)

Number of Outings With Email Boy in the Last 24 Hours that were Everything that a Date Should be: 1

Number of Details that I could Tell You About Where we Were at or the People Around Us: None, as there didn't seem to be any world beyond me and him and the ease and comfort of our friendship

Number of Times I Made Email Boy Laugh So Hard He Snorted: 1

Number of Very Important Qualities a Woman Must Possess for Email Boy to Date Her: 2 (must be a good kisser, and must not "smell funny")

Number of Blog Posts by Email Boy in the Last 24 Hours that Reference me as a "Wise Woman": 1

Number of Years that I Will Continue to Have Unrequited Love for His Ass: 10 probably (not including the 2 years that have already passed)

Number of Dates That I Just Said 'Yes' to For This Weekend Because I Clearly Don't Understand the Concept of 'Taking a Break': 1

Total Number of Words That I Have Said to Mr. Wrong in the Last 2 Weeks: 5 ("Piss Off" and "Don't Touch Me")

Number of Days Since I Last Had Sex: 12. I guess I can't complain when it's been less than 2 weeks, huh?

Number of Days Since I Last Had a Kiss That Knocked My Socks Off: 39 (Goddamn Scott!)

An interesting commentary on my relationship with my 2 olders brothers. They will be in Washington D.C. this weekend because one of my brothers is a professional photographer and is doing a wedding there for a close friend. Washington D.C. is easily accessible from New York. And even though they both live very far away from me on the West Coast, I will not be seeing them while they are so close to me, because they just don't really care. They haven't called to tell me plans or try to arrange anything. I called them and they told me that they would call me back when things were more finalized. Just like every other man in my life- I've heard nothing.

Does anyone else sense a pattern here?

And so, I'm removing myself from the dating scene. There's a few hangers-on that I'm sure will fall off in due time, and once they're gone, I'm done for a while. I'm not giving out my phone number to anyone. I'm not pursuing any situation that seems mildly promising. I'm tired of this shit. I can't take the broken dates, the lack of follow through, the too-early obsession with sex, or the silent phone anymore. I've kissed so many frogs, I don't believe in the prince anymore.

I had a huge long post all written, chronicling the events of my non-stop weekend but it got lost in the publishing and it's gone forever. Pooh. S'okay though, it was kinda boring anyway.

I wrote a lot about Friday night, when I went out with a brand-new guy, Mike, who I had an incredibly hot time with in the basement of the Fat Black Pussycat dancing and making out. But I'm getting exhausted with all of the false starts in my life, and even I am having trouble keeping up with all of them. It's a 2-3 date maximum with all of them. It's infuriating! At least I am learning to be more realistic about how things will turn out and am able to adjust my expectations accordingly. After all the shit that I've been through in the last year, the last thing I need is more heartbreak. Here's hoping I'm smart enough to recognize the people that will hurt me and walk away from them in a timely manner.

Saturday and Sunday were filled with friends and shopping and good meals in good restaurants. I've been fretting over my lack of summer clothes and that my entire wardrobe is black on black with some pink thrown in, so I made a lot of purchases to attempt some sartorial diversity. I still walked away with too much pink. I may need a 12 step program for this problem at some point down the road.

Status Report:

Sinus Infection: Fading. I'm breathing and sleeping normal again.

Biopsy: Test 1 came back negative. Test 2 came back 'low grade'. What does this mean? That I have to go back every six months until it either a. clears up on it's own, or b. turns into 'high grade' which involves a very invasive procedure. Good times!

Another Really Awesome Thing About Living in New York: Got off the subway this morning just in time to see Prince rocking out in Bryant Park. Let's Go Crazy!

Man Who I Met in Bar on Tuesday Night and Asked for My Number So He Could See Me Again, Because I'm the Whole Package and He Could Fall in Love with Me Forever: Never called

Man Who Stopped Me on the Way to the Subway Tuesday Night to Ask Me if I Would Go to the Madonna Concert With Him: Called too many times.

New Guy Who Must Not Be Named: eh. Moving so slowly I'm losing interest.

Scott: Gone forever. Thank God.

Mr. Wrong: We're not speaking any more. It's kind of weird.

Email Boy: We're going out Tuesday night.

Can I just give up?

"Do you think I can take 4?"

I asked my roomate as I popped two pills from the box of medicine she had just brought me, having been too weak and sick to go get it myself. She advised that maybe I should read the directions first. From the back of the box I learned that I was only supposed to take one at a time. Satisfied that I had already doubled the dosage, I snuggled back into the couch, to fall asleep for the 5th or 6th time that day.

After I woke up again, to my roommate getting awfully excited about "So You Think You Can Dance", I decided maybe I should eat something other than the Cheez-Its that had been providing me all my nourishment up to this point for the day. Top Ramen and Sprite. The Official Food of the Sick. Why does Top Ramen taste SO good when I'm sporting a fever and enough sinus pressure to almost cause my head to explode?

An hour later my roommate decides to do some yoga in the living room and asks if I mind? Nah, I don't mind, I'll just fall asleep, I tell her. The great thing about being sick? The ability to fall asleep on cue.

After another hour of sleeping on the couch, I decide that this is just silly and I go to sleep in my bed for the next 12 hours.

I wake up, not feeling any better at all (and having had some psycho dreams, which is par for the course when ailing) but I can't call in sick again. I take more medicine and hope for the best.

I can only get better from here, right?

I blatantly, flat out lied last night.

I was talking to the New-Guy-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (trust me, as soon as we're getting it on, you'll know about it, things are still VERY early and new and there's really not that much to tell) and he asked me when the last time I had sex was. I told him two months ago (referring to the last time Mr. Wrong and I hooked up).

The truth is- it was last Friday (not Mr. Wrong, don't get yer knickers in a bunch).

But I didn't want to explain to him all the reasons behind the actions. I didn't want to tell him about the most painful 5 minutes of my life on Friday afternoon, where my gynecologist scraped cells off my cervix then put them in a little tube and sent them off to be tested for cancer. Or about the subsequent running dialogue in my head regarding my concerns with my mortality, and where I decided that on my death bed (should it be in the near future or many, many years away), I'm sure I won't be thinking, "Gosh, I wish I'd had less sex!"

Because, kids, I'm definitely not having enough sex. 28 years old. Less than 15 times. I'm not such a fan of those numbers.

I HATE to say it, but... I wish I had a boyfriend.

So, I'm beginning to understand how a person could develop an addiction to gambling. I bet on my first horse race on Saturday at the Belmont Stakes. The horse that I bet on, after being behind the whole race, ended up winning in a very exciting finish. And the rush at having risked (a whole $10) and won, was unlike anything I'd ever experienced before. I wanted to bet again and again and again. After losing in the next race though, I cut my losses and just enjoyed the view for the rest of the afternoon. I hadn't expected to enjoy myself as much as I did.

Certainly more than I did on Saturday night when I went out for some ass-shaking with my girls. We started at a new club and all the ingredients for us to have a good time were there. Good music, enough room to dance and a decent enough atmosphere. Having fun is much more about who you're with than where you're at in my opinion. But there was one, who wasn't satisfied, she has a bit of an obsession with always being in the best spot at the hottest club. She wanted to leave and go to the Meatpacking District, but with no specific destination in mind. So we wandered around for about an hour, while she assessed where to go and not ever really coming up with a clear answer. Did I mention it was COLD? Once we couldn't take it anymore, we went into a diner for some hot chocolate. But she was pissed that we didn't want to stand in the cold anymore following her every whim, so she spent the whole time we were there on her cell phone.

Yes, it was irritating.

24 hours later and I still haven't written back to Scott. It's something I've been fighting myself on about every 15 minutes. Ultimately, the correct decision is not to write back, obviously. I mean, this guy fucked me over so badly that ending it with something so unbelievably impersonal as a text message, didn't even phase me. And now, he's come crawling back, despite my edict to not contact me ever again, and as long as I can hold out and not even respond, I've won. Game, set, match, I win.

Regardless of games and winning and all that silliness, there's no way in hell that he has changed and opening that door is just setting myself up to get hurt again and again and again. NO THANKS. It took me too long to figure it out the first time, mostly because I was blinded by his stellar kissing abilities, and I won't play the fool again. I would have to whip myself Paul Bettany-style were I to allow this absolute asshole back into my life.

P.S. Just got migraine #3 in as many days. Maybe I should see a doctor? It's starting to get irritating.

Labels: Scott

So, I've been getting these weird sort of headaches, accompanied by a freaky flashing light in my eyes. I sucked it up last night and called my Know-it-all father, who's a doctor, to ask him what the fuck is going on. Classic migraines. Not the horrible so-painful-you're-throwing-up kind, more of a dull ache and partial blindness. AWESOME!!! At least now I can cancel my doctor's appointment because I know it's not a tumor.

I received an interesting email this morning. It read:

How have you been? I know you hate me like a toothache right now. I just wanted to say sorry for being an asshole.

From: Scott.

And thanks to the nifty code I installed, I know he was on my myspace page last night.

WHY CAN'T HE JUST GO AWAY?!?!

Labels: Scott

I was at a party on Friday night, pretty low-key, eating a cupcake, drinking some orange soda, when around 1 am-ish, my phone rang. Mr. Wrong. He was about 5 blocks away from my apartment. Which was unfortunate, as I was in Battery Park City- the opposite end of the island. I told him I could meet him, but I couldn't get there in anything under a half an hour. He tells me to meet him at Will's house, which is a few blocks away from me.

Karen and I leave together in a cab and after I drop her off, I call Mr. Wrong to confirm where I am meeting him, and he doesn't answer. I call Jake, who I know is with him, to see what's going on. Jake tells me that Mr. Wrong had dropped him off, then went to park the car and hadn't returned yet. He had been parking the car for a significant amount of time, and I don't know what's happened to him (anything's possible), so I just go home.

The next day Jake calls me to fill me in on the Disappearance of Mr. Wrong. The idiot fell asleep in his car, which made me laugh so hard I almost cried. I still find it to be spectacularly amusing. The shitty thing is that I've been sworn to secrecy as Jake was specifically ordered NOT to tell me what had happened, so I can't even make fun of him about it!!

God, that's hilarious shit.

The rest of the weekend passed in a bit of a blur. On Saturday I went to Poughkeepsie with some friends, for reasons that are still not clear to me, as all we did was go to the Vanderbilt Mansion and watch The DaVinci Code.

Last night, I went out with Michelle and the boy that she's dating, who is so wonderful that he restores my faith in men. When I was leaving to head back uptown around 12:30ish and was contemplating how to get home in the cheapest and most efficient manner, he hailed a cab, gave the driver some money and told him to take me home. I didn't even know men like that existed!!! I can't even be jealous or spiteful about it, because she absolutely deserves it and I am desperately hoping that it works out for her.

Labels: Mr. Wrong

Email Boy. It's a conversation I've been having a LOT lately, and people are confused.

Make no mistake about it- I love him. Very, very much. This has grown exponentially in the last few months of obscene amounts of communication. He has become one of my best friends. He gets me- he gets my humor, my jokes, my sarcasm... the things that make me tick. He doesn't get offended at the abuse that I heap on him, and I never have to fret over not hearing from him. He may not be as smart as me (which he openly acknowledges), but that doesn't bother me at all. He understands the importance of family, and commitment and being genuine and sincere. I never, ever have to worry that he will hurt me. I know that he won't. In short- he is my perfect man. The love of my life.

People seem to think that I have closed the door on dating him. This is not true. I would date him in a heartbeat. Hell, I would probably even marry him. It's him who is not interested in dating me. I know him. I know men. I know society. Guys like him don't date girls like me. He dates skinny, beautiful women with perfectly coordinated scarf belts, handbags and toenails. I will acknowledge that he cares for me on some level, he does not, however, want to bang me on a regular basis. This I know.

I have to accept things for how they are, or this friendship won't work. If I continue to secretly hope that he'll one day realize that he loves big asses, it won't be a real friendship. And I want him in my life, on any terms that I can get. So, friendship has to be enough for me. I refuse to waste time pining for what I can't have.

Labels: Email Boy