The Virginity Monologues

Friday night, Karen and I made plans to grab some dinner and a movie. Because of her gym schedule, our time frame was a little tight and the restuarant that we wanted to go to always has a wait. I volunteered to go down early to put our names on the list, because there's plenty of things to do to occupy one's self in Times Square. As I walked into the restaurant, lost in my own world and trying to brush off my irritation at the tourists congesting every available inch of space on the sidewalks, I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to find myself face to face with an absolutely gorgeous black man dressed in a beautiful suit.

"I'm sorry to bother you," he said, "but I saw you walking across the street just now and I had to come and talk to you."

Holy shit.

When I explained to him that I was putting my name down for a table to eat with a friend that wouldn't be there for an hour, he asked if he could buy me a drink while I waited.

Uh, that's gonna be a no problem.

We talk. And talk and talk and talk. I'm surprisingly comfortable around him and am at the top of my game. I'm amazed at the intensity of the connection that I am feeling with him. I can honestly say that I've never felt anything like this before. I don't know if that means anything really significant, but I am definitely reeling. He asks me when he can see me again. He wants it to be soon. Saturday or Sunday? We decide on Sunday afternoon. Before he leaves, he pulls me into an alcove and kisses me breathless.

Okay. Still breathing.

We went out last night. A quick dinner, then Miami Vice. He was very touchy/feely. Always had his hands on me somewhere. The movie was tortuous with his hand on my thigh the whole time.

After the movie, we wandered over to Bryant Park and kissed some and talked some. He makes it VERY clear to me that I am welcome to come home with him. I decline. And quite frankly, I can't believe I did. He's beautiful, charming, insanely succesful, and has a slam-dunk body. But it was too soon. I wasn't ready.

We stood on the corner, waiting for a cab for me to take home. He put his arms around me and just stared into my eyes.

Him: What are you thinking?
Me: Am I going to see you again?
Him: Do you want to see me again?
Me: I wouldn't have asked the question if I didn't want to see you again.

Silence.

Me: I'll take that as a no.
Him: Why would you think that?
Me: Silence always means no.
Him: Don't make any assumptions.

I pull away and walk into the street to hail a cab. Deathly afraid of him seeing the fear in my eyes. The fear of having made my decision and now living with the repercussions. I'm going home and I may never see him again.

He grabs my arm and pulls me to him. He pushes my hair off my face and wraps his arms around me.

Him: We'll see each other again.

A cab stops and I get in.

Him: Call me the second you walk in your front door.

He kisses me, gives some money to the cab driver and tells him to take me home. As the cab pulls away, I am half elation and half depression. I know that I made the right decision. It wasn't a power play, I wasn't not sleeping with him just to gain control. I just wasn't ready. And I'll never regret it. And if doesn't call because I didn't put out then that just makes him a jerk.

Please God, don't let him be a jerk.

So, I have a new boyfriend. He just doesn't know it yet. I see him on the subway almost every morning these days. And it's getting a little creepy. I see him when I'm early, when I'm 15 minutes late and again this morning when I was right on time. But I know he's not stalking me because he's always on when I get on. It may look like I'm stalking him. We get off at the same stop and he works in the building a mere 50 feet from mine.

He looks like my perfect man. Tallish, about 5'11-6'0. He's husky, so I would feel safe and protected in his arms. He dresses beautifully and his shirts are always perfectly ironed. I call him Ted. Because he reminds me a little of a teddy bear.

We play that game where we look at each other and then look away. I don't know if he's really looking at me or if I'm just catching him at the right time. But I'm thinking that maybe one of these days I should talk to him. Good idea?

Yesterday morning, when I sat down on the subway (which I swear is being run by pack of monkeys- it took 20 minutes to go 3 stops this morning, which is irritating), the little girl sitting next to me, immediately snuggled up into my shoulder and fell asleep. And since I am a relatively nice person, I let her stay there until her sister came and got her to get off at 59th street. For the 10 minutes that her head rested so trustingly on me, I rethought my abject horror at the possibility of bearing children. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Last night I went to a comedy fest/charity gig with some co-workers and then because I had been drinking heavily for several hours, was misled into thinking that answering the phone when D called, was a good idea. And then I proceeded to agree to go out with him on Saturday night. We'll see how that turns out.

Tuesday night was potentially one of the most perfect nights of my life. Email Boy and I had dinner together at IHOP in Harlem. And I thought the waitress was going to kill us because we stayed so long, talking and laughing. He told me about a girl he had gone on a date with, and the total lack of chemistry. His favorite drink is a cosmo, and I asked him if he ordered this on dates. He told me no, he kept things a little more manly on dates. "Can't show them the real me too soon," he said.

What are we doing? I wondered. Isn't the point of dating to be with someone who you don't have to put up any fronts with? Isn't it supposed to be about being the most true version of yourself? Why would you be with someone if you can't show them the real you? And I why am I deliberately not dating the one person that I can be that with? And vice versa? We are fools.

After dinner, he dropped me off and I went upstairs and did some ironing while watching the Yankee's beat the Rangers. The perfect end to the perfect evening.

Labels: Email Boy

Lunch in midtown Manhattan is pure and utter chaos. Lines are outrageously long and food service employees move at lightning speed to accomodate us frenzied New Yorkers, eager to get our food and return to our desks. The most chaotic of the chaos is The Salad Bar. I don't remember how salad bars worked outside of New York (are they self serve?) - but I remember being TERRIFIED of them when I first moved here. It was months before I would approach one and that was only after observing for quite some time and with L at my side to help guide me.

Here's how it works. You choose a plastic container of lettuce- options are generally baby spinach, mixed greens and romaine. Extra points to you if you choose baby spinach, this means you are extra healthy. You hand over your lettuce to the nice man behind the salad counter and he dumps it out into a stainless steel bowl and then looks at you expectantly. At this point, you tell him what you want in your salad, and there is NO ROOM for hesitation. They are very quick on the draw and don't like to be held up. The options are endless. Chick peas, cucumbers, artichoke hearts, tandoori chicken, feta cheese, kidney beans, walnuts, pine nuts, carrots, croutons, mozzarella cheese, apples, raisins, pears, tofu, chopped tomatoes, plum tomatoes, on and on and on. Each item costs anywhere from $.25 to $2.00 (shrimp and special kinds of tuna). Then you tell them what dressing to put on and they mix it all up with tongs and dump it back in the plastic container and pass you down to the register where you then proceed to pay an exorbitant amount of money.

And although it's never spoken out loud, the salad bar is one giant competition to see who can create the healthiest salad. Cheddar cheese? FORGET IT. You choose that to go on your salad and you can practically here the collective gasp of horror from all the women in line behind you. Feta or gorgonzola are really the only acceptable cheeses, but it's really better if you skip the cheese altogether. I don't know why they even bother stocking ranch dressing at salad bars because I have NEVER seen it requested, except by me before I understood the guerrilla warfare that is The Salad Bar. The only dressing options ever chosen are anything reduced fat or fat free. Karen, my best friend, actually beats everyone at the salad dressing game by choosing absolutely no dressing at all. Yes, she is a little crazy.

Today my salad consisted of: mixed greens (not quite up to par with baby spinach, but it's better than romaine), cranberries, pistachios, gorgonzola, grapes, pears and reduced fat sherry-shallot dressing. It you had told me 3 years ago that I would one day find this combination to be delicious I would have accused you of smoking crack for the past 24 hours straight. But after a few years of acclimating myself to Salad Culture in New York City, I have to admit that it was TASTY.

The chocolate chip cookie for dessert helped.....

There's an incident from my childhood that sticks out very clearly in my mind. It was when I was 6, during the years of my life that I remember being the happiest and most idyllic. We lived in Portland, Oregon at the time, and just down the street was a huge park for us to play soccer in or get lost in the wooded trails. We played Kick the Can with our neighborhood friends and picked blackberries from the bushes at the end of our street so our mom could make us pie. We swam in the Willamette River and my yellow banana-seat bicycle was my ticket to absolute freedom. My best friend lived right across the street from me. It was at her house that I discovered MTV and in her living room that I attempted to dance just like Madonna in Like a Virgin.

One day, we had all been at her house and it was time to go home. Looking both ways before crossing the street was essential and when we saw that a car was coming, my sister held my arm to stop me from crossing. I was positive that I could beat that car and took off sprinting across the street, the car bearing down on me, the driver not aware that I had chosen that day to prove that I could cheat death.

Midway across the street, I tripped. And fell flat on my face, arms and legs sprawled all over the asphalt. The car came to a screeching halt a few short feet from my prostrate body. My sister scooped me up and hustled me across the street, while the driver recovered from the shock of nearly killing me.

I still remember the view from laying flat on the road and seeing the angry grill of the car narrowly stopping in time.

I should have died that day.

But instead, I'm here. In New York City. Fucking up my life more and more everyday. Dealing with the kind of shit I secretly fantasized about dealing with, but never imagined the reality would be so far from the fantasy.

Be careful what you wish for. Sometimes you just might get it.

Interesting Conversation:

Me: Karen, honestly who would've guessed after this last month that I would be giving Mike the boot and that I'd still be sleeping with Scott?
Karen: I would have guessed that.
Me: Really? Why?
Karen: I had a feeling that Scott would outlast all of them.
Me: Huh. Yeah, I guess I could see that. I wonder what that says about me?


Interesting things that I've been thinking about:

1. I've always loved shoes, but I've never been the kind of girl that had dozens of pairs. I had a couple of staples and I wore them constantly. Sample sales and life in New York has turned me into a shoe-owning demon. Here is a pair that I recently purchased and I feel have greatly enhanced my life. Thank you, Michael Kors for creating the perfect summer shoe that lengthens my leg considerably and only set me back $30 thanks to that sample sale. Muah.

2. Why do I love So You Think You Can Dance so much? I don't watch TV! I've never seen a full episode of any of those shows that the whole nation seems riveted by like Lost, Desperate Housewives, Prison Break, CSI, Survivor, etc, etc (except Grey's Anatomy). I blame it all on my roommates. But seriously, I freaking love that show. I have actually cried when some of my favorites got kicked off.

3. Another reason that New York City rocks? Cause I get to go to book signings and meet people like Dave Barry. I love him.

I've been accused of fabricating this blog. On more than one occasion. After days like yesterday, I wish that were true.

I confess, I like to read the Casual Encounters section of Craigslist. It's amusing! It's a fun place to escape for about 5 minutes when I'm drowning in work (which is a LOT these days). Imagine my surprise when I read a subject line that is verbatim to something that Mike had said to me earlier a few days ago. Intrigued, I read the posting. Once I was finished, I was 95% positive it had been posted by Mike, the man that I had recently gone on a 3rd date with and was thinking that maybe this had potential. So, I stole Spatch's idea, created a new email address under a fake name and responded to his post.

I got a reply this morning- with pictures. Definitely Mike. AWESOME! Needless to say, he won't be hearing from me anymore. What a douche-bag. I know we're not exclusive and he can do whatever he wants, I just wasn't expecting to find that he had been actively soliciting for sex with strangers. That's maybe crossing the line. Maybe.

Interestingly enough- after spending the night with him, Scott text messaged me and called me the next day. Surprised would be the appropriate word for my reaction. I wasn't expecting to hear from him again for about 2ish weeks. Men make no sense. Or maybe he finally realized what a treasure I am and doesn't want to let me go this time (insert snort of derision).

I know, I know- I've been a slacker. I apologize. Work has been kicking my ass, which I actually really enjoy. I much prefer to be outrageously busy than bored out of my mind anyday. And everytime I log into Blogger these days, I'm logging into my sister's account to fix her links. My minor in computer science is really coming in handy these days.

Weekend rundown-

Friday night: Dinner at 66 (not that great) with friends for Restaurant Week (a week set aside where fancy-pants restaurants let you eat a meal for a fixed price of $30, but really you're not getting the real deal because Restaurant Week menus are always different from their regular fare and you always end up getting hosed with portion size and ultra-snooty wait staff). Then I met Mike for Date #3. We went and saw Superman Returns, then to an after-hours club in Williamsburg which we didn't emerge from until 5:30 am. You know you've been out too long when you leave to go home and it's light outside.

Saturday: Beach with Karen. Dinner with Karen. Movie with Karen.

Sunday: Church (wacko, I know, but sometimes a girl just needs to get back to her roots). Lunch with Karen. Slept all afternoon in an attempt to catch-up from lack of sleep on Friday night.

Yesterday I got into a fight with Mr. Wrong for about the 5,000th time and I overreacted to a situation with Mike, and in the Grand Tradition of Validation and Bad Decisions, I spent the night with Scott again last night.

At least now I know the first time wasn't a fluke.

The man really is fan-fucking-tastic in the sack. I mean, how can I let go of a man that goes down on ME every single time! Plus, he's so good at it, he could give lessons. We stayed up until 3 talking and laughing. Then after we had sex a second time, he held me tight, kissed me tenderly and asked me what I was thinking. Weird.

Labels: Scott

I previously mentioned a guy that I went out with a few times, New-Guy-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who henceforth shall be called- D. It wasn't really going anywhere and he wasn't making any effort to see me, so I was already in the process of writing him off when there was some miscommunication one fateful Saturday night. He took a joking text message that I sent a little too literally and got mad at me and never spoke to me again. Whatever. I wasn't terribly upset about it. He clearly didn't get my humor or me, really.

But I felt badly about how things had ended and I didn't like the idea of him thinking that I was a bitch. A few days ago I sent him a text message, apologizing for any miscommunication and that any offense was not intentional. I didn't hear back from him, so I just let the whole thing go.

Imagine my surprise when I got a text message last night-

D: What are you up to tonight?
Chloe: Actually, my dinner plans fell through and I'm free
D: Well, can I cum (sic) get you at 10 and we can finally have that fun that we always wanted to?
(alarm bells start ringing in my head)
Chloe: What kind of fun are you talking about? (just wanted to make things clear)
D: Sexual Fun

WTF?!?!?!?! I haven't seen this guy in a month and a half. I haven't spoken to him in at least 2 weeks. The last time I heard from him he BIT my head off. And he thinks we can pick up right where we left off? I DON'T THINK SO.

My response-
Chloe: Why don't you come get me at 10 and we can figure it out from there.

This was obviously NOT what he wanted to hear, since I never heard from him again. Apparently he was only looking for guaranteed action, which wasn't going to be coming from me.

The really shitty thing? I was seeing D while I was seeing Scott, and D was the one who was 'The Good Guy'. He had been very respectful of me and said some very sweet things to me regarding his feelings for me and what he wanted to be to me. I had looked to him as a shining beacon of hope for men.

The awesome thing is that had this whole debacle happened only a few short months ago, I would have said yes to his proposal, without hesitation, because I would have been so desperate for approval and validation. I guess that means I'm learning something from all this shit.

Now, he's just another guy for me to hate. Another reason to be even more leery and bitter.

Fantastic!!!

Scott's gone. I never responded to the text message that he sent to me after our missed date, and I haven't heard from him again. I'm not sad. I'm not upset anymore. I learned some horrible lessons and I cried a lot. But I'm smarter because of it. And maybe a little harder and jaded. Things I didn't ever want to be.

I've been thinking a lot about that ridiculous phrase that people throw around- 'Love like you've never been hurt.' What the fuck is that all about? How does anybody do that?

Even though Scott is gone, the scars linger. I've been on a few dates with a new guy, Mike (where do I meet all of these guys?). He's great. He always does what he says he's going to do, and if something happens, he lets me know immediately and we reschedule and he apologizes profusely. He calls me to give me updates when we're not sure if plans will pan out or not. He calls when he says he'll call. He's great. And he adores me (shocker! I know).

But because of Scott, I find myself unable to trust Mike. Even though he hasn't given me any reason to think so, as I was waiting for him to arrive at the movies last Friday, I found myself thinking that he wasn't going to show. I didn't believe he would follow through. I don't trust him. And it's not fair to him. He's being punished for the sins of Scott the Asshole. He's on parole for crimes he didn't commit.

How do we recover? How do we ever let hope back in?

Labels: Scott

Last night, my life changed forever. I finally, FINALLY purchased......... a Full-Size Ironing board!

Since I moved into my current apartment (a year and a half ago), I have been using one of those ridiculous mini table top ironing boards and it has been the bane of my existence. It took away all of the pleasure that I used to find in ironing.

I couldn't take it anymore.

So last night, I took myself up to Target in the Bronx, had to wait in line behind, quite possibly the worlds most inconsiderate people. (30 items in the express line? HELLO! Learn to count! And, if your card is declined, it means it DOESN'T WORK! Don't try it 10 more times. You just look STUPID!) And then hauled that ironing board all the way back home.

And then ironed about 20 different articles of clothing while watching The Cutting Edge. It was a beautiful, beautiful night for me.

This morning, I hopped cheerfully out of bed and sauntered over to my closet, FULL of freshly ironed things to wear this morning. Oh the possibilities! I was desperate to wear my favorite white cotton skirt- with pleats and a pretty print in black on it, but decided white skirts are not a smart decision during certain times of the month. So, it's freshly pressed folds must wait.

Ironing Joy has been restored!

Side note- I've recently been accused of having "intense eyes". By more than one person. Not sure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

Interesting Fact about me: I get irrationally freaked out about getting pregnant. Maybe this means that I shouldn't be having sex, since I am SO clearly not ready to have a baby. I'm on the pill, and I'm always very johnny-on-the-spot with the condoms, but I'm convinced that I am that one random person who all forms of contraception will fail.

There are a few reasons for me to be a little more fearful this time around than normal (after the night of Grand Passion with Scott the Asshole), that I will not get into because I fear the backlash, but it's been weighing heavily, HEAVILY on my mind. Like I woke up at 6 am this morning and couldn't go back to sleep because I was supposed to get my period today. I FREAKED out when I discovered that I was not yet menstruating. Enough to get me into the shower and out the door with no makeup on, so I could get to the drugstore and take me a pregnancy test.

Unfortunately for me, the tests aren't idiot proof. I damaged the "test holder", thus making it impossible to see results on either of the test sticks. I was out $15 and I still didn't know if I was pregnant or not. And I was PISSED.

Luckily, as of 5 minutes ago, a test is no longer necessary. And I am definitely NOT pregnant.

But seriously, this fear is OUT of CONTROL. Mostly because I don't believe in abortion (not that there's anything wrong with other people doing it, I just couldn't), and I don't think I could ever give a baby up for adoption (again, nothing wrong with that option either). Which would mean that I would have to move back home, with my mother and raise a child by myself. Which would mean the end of New York City, my career, my social life, my dating life, etc, etc. None of which I would be happy to see go. I will never, ever understand how my mother managed to raise us 4 kids all by herself. She is an amazing woman.

Plus, I don't even know if I want to have kids. I'm not so sure about my mothering abilities.

Anyway. It's a big issue. It scares the SHIT out of me.

Yesterday, my best friend, Karen, and I- purchased a package getaway to Montreal. Why? Because we fucking want to, that's why! And we are both ridiculously excited about it. Our first real trip together! Here's the best part- 2 round trip tickets and 3 nights in a four star hotel came to a whopping total of $955. That's about $475 apiece. That's fucking dirt cheap.

Awesome!

I've made a new rule for myself that I must leave the country at least once a year.

Canada counts, right? I have to have a passport to get in, so I definitely think it counts.

I've got nothing else to tell! Unless you all are interested in hearing how unbelievably horny I am?

I spent my 4th of July weekend this year, almost the exact same way I spent it last year- in Washington D.C. Just like last year- we went to a fantastically fun crab restaurant for dinner one of the nights and then spent an entire day floating the Potomac River. It was fun, but there were too many people and it was a major production to do anything. By the end of the weekend I was a cranky, tired mess and I just wanted to GET HOME, which of course ended up taking way longer than it should have. For some seriously wacked out reason, my friends are incapable of filling up the gas tank in a timely manner. Twice now, with the same group of friends, we have been driving desperately and aimlessly on fumes, praying with all our might that a gas station shows up soon. It irritates the FUCK out of me.

I was also cranky because I was using a new sunscreen, which my skin did not react well to. My face and chest and back are red and blotchy and it's nasty. Even if I wanted to date someone now (I don't), a man would have to be completely blind to find me attractive.

Another reason for crankiness was complete lack of sleep. Due to the large number of us in a not so large house, since I was the shortest, I was relegated to the 'short couch' (no relation to the 'short bus') and spent 3 nights on a couch 2 feet too short for me. Plus, because I was in the living room, I was awake when the first people of the house were awake (generally around 8 am), even though we went to bed at 3 am every night. So on the last night, I forced my good friend to make some room for me on his aero bed because I wasn't spending one more night on that fucking couch. Luckily, he bent to my will, let me crash next to him and only grabbed my ass once in the night (he probably would have tried for more, but probably reeled in horror when he got a good look at the The Great Rash on my face).

I got one text message from Scott. Something to the tune of 'hey baby', with no mention of standing me up for the 500th time. I didn't respond. I just don't want to play this game anymore. And I think I mean it this time.