The Virginity Monologues

I got my hair cut last night. Don't everybody panic. It looks almost exactly the same. My dark blonde roots have received a lovely highlighting treatment, and I have a few more layers around my face, but otherwise, it's the same a-few-inches-past-my-shoulders-gorgeous-mane-of-honey-blonde goodness it's always been. I finally managed to achieve ideal bang-length, as he always leaves them too long. I want to scream at him that he has eyes too and can see that I have an unnaturally large forehead, and if the bangs are too long, they get tucked behind my ear, because I am a rabid ear-tucker, thus defeating the purpose of bangs!!! But last night, as he was cutting them, I made multiple comments on how short I like them and how fast they grow and he seemed to pick-up on my not-so-subtle clues. I was hoping to walk away with more layers, but Ed, my hairdresser, claimed that too many layers can make the hair look too thin. Uhhhh, again, let's discuss the obvious- my hair is ridiculously thick, cutting a few more layers will not make me look like Gollum (did he have hair? I remember it as bizarrely thin and stringy, but my memory might be faulty). I promise.

Did I mention that I'm wearing a winter sweater to work today? That's right. It's August and its freezing. I haven't used my air conditioner in at least a week and I only got to my wear my new swimsuit twice, although I'm taking it to Montreal and plan on swimming in the hotel pool everyday because I miss swimming pools terribly. Hopefully they also will have a hot tub for additional chlorinated water enjoyment. Mmmmm.

I miss Dave. He's still in Europe and I want him to come home now.

And now, because I love Jason Mulgrew of Everything Is Wrong With Me blog fame and because I love music, I am going to steal one of his ideas and list 5 songs that I am obsessed with these days:

1. Belief (acoustic version)- Gavin Degraw. I LOVE songs like this- simple, quiet and passionate. This was playing on my iPod as I passed Marc's place of employment last night on the walk to the salon and my heart nearly broke at the sheer longing that this produced in me.

2. Midnight Train to Georgia- Gladys Knight and the Pips. I don't really have an explanation, I just recently downloaded it and I really just can't get enough. Plus I am in awe of the amount of soul that she can convey through her voice. It humbles me.

3. Overjoyed- Stevie Wonder. I went to a dress rehearsal of the big Independence Day program that they do in DC while I was there over the 4th weekend and Stevie Wonder performed at it, and it was a religious experience for me. A friend and I were discussing the absolute tragedy that it is that so many people aren't familiar with Stevie's earlier work and only associate him with songs like Part-Time Lover and I Just Called to Say I Love You. These songs are not representative of the pure genius of this man and in my opinion, should just be scratched from the record. Overjoyed is a symphony of longing that never fails to give my goosebumps.

4. Shoop- Salt 'n Pepa. Seriously. I've always liked this song, but have recently actually started paying attention to the lyrics, which make so much more sense to me as a sex-having woman. It's smart, sassy and sexy and I can dance around to this for hours.

5. Brain Stew- Green Day. The chords on this song are so tight. And I am incapable of listening to it without moving my head to the beat. Its angry and it rocks and its perfect for the subway ride home on bad days.

Here are the new shoes that I bought this weekend, with plans to knock off socks while in Montreal and then at The Great Birthday Party Extravaganza the following weekend. Incidentally, I know there are readers who live in/near Montreal, so if you have any suggestions of places that I should go, or would like to meet up, please don't hesistate to email, at the email address so thoughtfully provided on my profile.

Because he is a 'friend' and he posted a bulletin about it on myspace, I know that Marc had a rather large birthday party at Lotus. Neither Karen nor I were invited. Thus, reinforcing the conclusion that he is, in fact, as ass-hat. If he were standing in front of me, I'd stick my tongue out at him.

As I'm sure you've noticed, I've been a little melancholy lately. I blame it all on that fucker, Marc. From here on out I promise to be more upbeat and less slit-my-wrists depressing. I'll start with a story that has kept me laughing for the last 48 hours.

Friday night, 3:30 am. My phone rings. I register that its Mr. Wrong before I answer, but am not coherent enough to stop myself from flipping the damn phone open. He is fairly drunk and I am super amused. He begs me to let him come over and I don't even have to think about it, the answer is no. I laugh at him as he attempts to navigate Harlem, trying desperately to remember where I live and failing miserably. He orders me to stop laughing at him, which only makes me laugh harder. I tell him that he has been to my apartment on multiple previous occasions. If he can't remember where it is, he doesn't deserve to come over anyway. More begging. I remain stalwart in my refusal. He finally grows weary of my laughter and hangs up on me. Only to call back 5 minutes later and beg some more. Thanks to Mr. Magic-Dick Scott, I'm not even interested in Mr. Wrong's drunken, half-ass attempts.

Call Will, I tell him and hang up.

Laugh a little more to myself, then fall back asleep.

Thank God for actually learning something from my bad experiences.

Labels: Marc, Mr. Wrong

I didn't understand the need that other couples had to be with each other every waking second when we first started dating. Don't get me wrong, I LOVED being with you, I just didn't crave you the way that I expected to.

After about a month and a half of serious dating, I began to understand, and I ached for you. You were an addiction, a drug, and I never wanted to come down from that high.

We all went out to dinner one night, the standard 4 of us. You, me, one of my bestest- L, and your roommate, Pete. The laughter and the fun never seemed to stop for us. Whether it was me and L, entertaining with stories of our crazy co-workers, or L and Pete mimicking us and our inability to separate from each other; or you, just being you.

L and I were laughing, you had teased me about something and as I turned to you, to bask in the sheer joy of the moment, being with you, having you; you looked at me and said those 3 words:

I love you.

I felt my face register the shock.

And we both were remembering the conversation that took place a few weeks earlier. When I had told you not to say that to me until I said it first. I warned you that I had ended relationships when men said that too quickly. Those words freaked me out and I needed to be ready.

You immediately took it back. You didn't mean it, you protested.

I laughed and just took your hand in mine. Don't worry about it, I told you. But I knew that you were worried that I would freak out and break up with you shortly thereafter.

You had to leave early that night to go to some friends' play way out in BFE Brooklyn, which I had no interest in. But I called you later, and you didn't answer.

I called you that night to tell you that I loved you too.

2 years later and I'm not sure that either one of us ever really felt it at all.

Labels: The Ex

So, did everybody notice the profile picture? That's really me!

So, I have officially deleted everything Marc related out of my phone. Including a few texts that I was holding onto because I'm sentimental like that (key part of that word- being MENTAL). Here's the rundown of the text messaging that drove me to the point of no return:

Me: Happy Birthday! (on his actual birthday, just bein' friendly!)
Marc: Thanks homie (I swear I am NOT making this up)
Me: Homie? You do realize that I'm white, I'm from an insignificant-only-2-electoral-votes state on the west coast (I actually named the state), and I'm a female?
Marc: Yes, but you say 'yo' so much what do you expect? (This is actually true, I do overuse the word 'yo', but no one else have ever commented on it before and most people generally see fit to tell me when something about me bothers them)
Me: So, I'm just one of the guys now?
Marc: You're cool

Now, I recognize that this exchange isn't grotesquely horrific, but it says something in bright, bold letters to me- HE IS PLAYING ME. Hot and cold has been his game from day one and I'm really fucking sick of it. I spent so much time and money on this man's birthday and then in not so many words, he relegates ME to arms-length-I-only-want-nail-you status.

Well, FUCK HIM (well, not literally, that would defeat the purpose of deleting his number and text messages!)

I don't need his manipulative ass anyway. Here's why:

A. Mr. I'm-Phenomenal-in-the-Sack Scott
B. Mr. I-Treat-You-Great-Buy-You-Flowers-and-Call-You-From-Europe Dave

Not that I really need any of them, I'm working really hard these days on being perfectly content in my solitude and boyfriends are really nothing but trouble anyway. Always having to make plans together and feel bad about flirting with other guys. Who needs that bullshit?

As my parting comment for the day, I'd like to share with all of you the joy that I have experienced over the last day as I have listened to this voicemail approximately 586 times. Here it is, in text format, the voicemail left for me last night by Dave, who is currently in Europe:

"Hey you, what's up. It's me giving you a buzz from Europe. Hope you're doing well, just wanted to say what's up. Got your message from last night, so thank you very much and I guess we'll talk soon. It's kind of late here and I need to prepare for tomorrow. So, hugs and kisses, baby. Talk to you later. "

Everybody say it with me- Awwwwwww.

Labels: Marc

I have a new obsession. Its with The Godfather. I decided that, as a movie buff, it was a crime against humanity that I had never seen any of The Godfather movies. So, I put the first one in my queue in my Blockbuster online account. And I found that it has become such a prevalent presence among cinema, that I felt like I had already seen the entire movie. As soon as the first one was over, I wanted to watch the other 2 immediately. Unfortunately, I had to send back the first one before I could get Part II. My roommate and I waited eagerly and did the Dance of Excitement when the 2 discs finally arrived. I opened them hurriedly, only to discover that in the Disc 1 of 2 envelope, the movie- Sahara, which although starring one decidedly delicious Matthew McConaughey, is hardly a worthy replacement for any part of The Godfather trilogy.

Much to my further dismay, Blockbuster Online Customer Support is not so easy to navigate and after submitting a request (no phone number given anywhere on the website) and specifically stating that I wanted the correct DVD sent to me and NOT the next one in my queue (Godfather III, which I OBVIOUSLY do not want to watch before Part II). I even sent an additional email to them confirming that my request had been submitted properly. I received an email in return confirming my request.

Imagine my surprise, when, a few days later, I came home to find Godfather III in my mailbox. Having been provided with a customer service phone number in an email from Blockbuster, I called to state my displeasure at having received Part III, when I had not yet been able to watch Part II. They told me to hold on to Part III and they would create a request to have Part II shipped to me as soon as it became available.

Two days later, I received the NEXT movie in my queue (interestingly enough, The Sopranos, yes there is a pattern here), but still no Godfather II.

Since I have in-store rental coupons, I called all the Blockbusters in a 5 mile radius of my apartment only to find that The Godfather II was checked out- EVERYWHERE.

So, last night, I stopped at Tower Records on my way home and just BOUGHT the fucking movie.

Totally worth it.

Good thing I already have Part III waiting for me.

I have a lot on my mind today.

I've been an ugly duckling my whole life. I watched as all my friends had boyfriend after boyfriend and I was The Queen of Unrequited Crushes. My best friend was one of "Those Girls" that seemed to have that magical quality that drew men to her like hipsters to ill-fitting pants. I lost count of all the men that I lost to her indefinable magnetism. When I was in high school, I got lots of attention because I was loud, funny and smart, but I was still a dating pariah. I was said 'No' to by 2 different boys for one of the girl-ask-guy dances. One of them, I will hate for my entire life.

College was no different. I can count ON ONE HAND the number of dates that I went on during my collegiate years. Nobody wanted to date the girl with strong opinions and a big ass. No one. Do you know how many people went to my college? 28,000. That's a fuck-load of rejection there, kids.

During my college years, on an I've-been-an-ass-most-of-your-life-so-now-I-feel-guilty trip to Italy with my largely indifferent father, I learned that for a majority of my childhood he had seen fathering as an obligation, a duty, not as something that he took delight in or even enjoyed doing. My own father didn't really want me.

And so, now that men have started showing interest in me for what feels like the first time in my life, I read too much into it. I get too excited. I keep hoping that its that feeling, that in-love scenario that I've believed in my entire life, but never actually experienced.

I just want someone to LIKE ME, to genuinely want to be with me, to fight for me and to appreciate the depth with which I am capable of loving another person.

So, after a weekend, where I devoted HOURS and HOURS to making his birthday memorable and great, I get text messages from Marc that essentially blow me off, my heart crumbles into a million pieces.

I call Karen and don't really need to talk to her, I'm fine just listening to her talk to other people, knowing that she's there at the other end of the phone, while I silently cry on my end.

So many men. None of them real. None of them genuine.

None of them really want ME.

I am BONE tired. I've had a bagel, a hot chocolate liberally laced with coffee and 2 Aleve and I am still not functioning at normal levels. And I'm fairly sick to my stomach, but I think that can be traced back directly to the Doritos that I ate right before I went to bed last night.

The tiredness could be the direct result of enormous amounts of stress at work, coupled with a weekend that never seemed to stop going.

It's Marc's birthday today. So Karen and I agreed to make him and some friends dinner on Saturday. Friday night, we went shopping and did some early preparation. As an added bonus to the evening, I got an unexpected call while wandering the aisles at Pathmark. Dave was on his way to Europe for 2 weeks for business and called me from the airport to say goodbye. We talked until Karen forced me off the phone so I could concentrate on how much cheese to buy. He really is quite adorable. I'm very taken with him.

Saturday morning, Karen and I made our usual trek to the beach and then upon arriving back home, went about 90 miles an hour for the next 5-6 hours cooking for a large group of people and then cleaning up afterwards. I spent most of the evening in the kitchen, swatting at hands to stop eating my freshly cut up mangoes and trying to decode Marc's behavior. Touch was frequent and persistent. Whenever he needed me to move for any reason, he showed me by placing his hands on my hips and gently moving me to the side. Anything needed to be said was communicated by coming up very close behind me and speaking closely in my ear. As I stood at the sink, up to my elbows in dirty dishes, he came up to me, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me soundly on the cheek.

"What was that for?" I asked

"Just being you," he replied.

He treated me differently than any other female there. He paid more attention to me than anyone else. Dirty comments were thrown right and left. There were a couple of minor wrestling bouts and one insanely amusing conversation.

Me: Marc, come here for a second
Marc (moving in closely behind me): yeah?
Me: Who was that guy, standing on the stairs with Adam (his roommate) last night? Bald head? Two earrings?
Marc (a little pissy): I don't know. I don't know who that was.
Me: Cause Karen thought he was hot, so next time he's over you should give her a holler.
Marc: Oh, Don?

As I was preparing to leave, around 3 am, he kept hugging me and saying good night. And as a large group of us stood at the door, he came and stood next to me, his hand touching mine until I left.

One more big squeeze at the gate. Quietly calling me 'sexy' in my ear.

And I'm more confused than ever.

I love what we have. The comraderie. The comfort of a friend and the sizzle of the sexual tension.

But it can't stay this way.

We either need to act on what's brewing between us or stop the shenanigans.

Labels: Marc

Dear Subway-

I love your sandwiches very, very much. I love the smell that is always wafting from your doors, taunting me to come in and have some turkey and provolone on your freshly baked bread. I love that I can get my sandwiches toasted now, which I frequently do and it fills me with joy. And even though I rarely get them, I find your cookies to be quite tasty, nice and soft with plenty of chocolate chips. However, I'm displeased with something. When I ask for pickles on my sandwich, I don't want a giant blob of pickles smack in the middle of the sandwich. The goal of the pickles is not to get one giant pickle bite midway through the sandwich, it's to have a nice even pickle flavor throughout the entire sandwich-eating extravaganza. Could we work on this? I'm sure I'm not the only one who feels strongly about this. Also, let's discuss the chip selection. Why do you never have Dorito's? No Nacho Cheesier or Cooler Ranch. Instead its shelves upon shelves of regular Lays (hint: maybe people don't like those so much, stop buying so many), a few barbeque Lays and Sun Chips. It's irritating. I LOVE Dorito's. If there continues to be a shortage, I'm going to have to stop coming in. It's as simple as that.

Also, please make the men behind your counter stop giving me creepy looks. It does not enhance my sandwich-building experience.

Thank you-
Chloe

An Open Letter to All NYC Subway Riders-

Do you know what the most irritating thing in the whole world is? People that board the subway and don't move in. They stand at/near the subway doors as if they are the only people boarding the train, forcing everyone behind them to go around them, thus making the boarding process even more unpleasant than it already is (Did you ever see the Seinfeld where Kramer is getting onto the subway, flailing about wildly trying to get a seat, narrowly missing it every time? That's a freakishly accurate depiction of what it's like boarding the subway) I understand the need to stand by the doors, you can lean up against them when there aren't any seats and you can get out quickly at your stop. The door position is a good one. We all covet it. But if you moved in, so everyone can behind you can also get on the train, you may strike gold when a person sitting down directly in front of you gets off the train and you can snatch their seat. This will not happen if you've parked your ass at the door. And it's much more courteous to other passengers.

Thank you-
Chloe

Work is kicking my ass. These days, it's a good day if I haven't shed tears by the time I leave. I'm hoping it gets better, but there currently isn't any end in sight.

No resolution with Marc. The overwhelming majority thinks he is a lying sack of shit. I'm leaning that way, but again, my downfall being that I want to believe the best in everyone. Must cure myself of that annoying habit. Sheesh. Quite frankly, I can't believe that I'm STILL agonizing over this man. Note to self: move on already! FUCK!

Dave and I had plans to go to a Yankee game last night. He called me during the day to let me know that he had to work late (completely believable, considering he has an upper level management position at a financial institution), and that he wouldn't be able to make the game. No big deal. I let him know that due to this change in plans, I'll be watching the movie in Bryant Park with my girlfriends, if he wants to call me when he gets out of work and we can meet up later. He says he'll call. And since he has previously always called when he says he will, I believe him.

He didn't call. I'm trying really hard not to read to much into this. I mean, he did call me on Sunday and Monday to confirm, then cancel plans. He's been very reliable up to this point. But part of me can't help thinking that now that he's gotten what he wanted, he's disappearing. Because, men are pigs.

If I were being honest with myself, I would recognize that I don't really care. About any of this bullshit. I fear that the reality is that I'm going numb, from hurt and current stress and just the overall exhaustion with men and relationships and the pure crap that it all is.

I also recognize a very serious problem in myself. I can't believe that I've had the men that I've had. In my opininon, I'm completely undeserving of any of them. Marc? Not good enough for. Dave? Scott? Mr. Wrong? D? All men that are, by my definition, completely out of my league. While it bothers me when they blow me off, I figure it was always an inevitability once they woke up to the fact that they were dating someone so far beneath them.

Maybe I need to start dating less attractive men.

I knew, when I saw the random chicken strutting his stuff up Lexington Ave, that the night was going to be an interesting one.

I had seen Marc the night before, as Karen and I sat on her stoop, enjoying the perfect weather and attempting to plan out our evening. He came outside bearing trash and stopped to talk to us. He acted guilty and made constant attempts to get my attention. When I could finally face him, I was mean. Karen's roommate, who had no knowledge of the history there, commented later that he had been walking on eggshells, not his normal self at all. Karen and I giggled at her apt description of his behavior. He invited us to dinner at his place the next night, making sure that I knew that I was included in that invitation.

And so, I walked into his house with trepidation last night. Unsure of what the night would bring.

As we all sat at the table, talking and laughing, I relaxed, settled into myself. Only tensing up again when he would reach over and put a hand on my thigh.

After dinner, he came up behind me and starting rubbing my shoulders, remarking on how tense I was. Then he asked to see The Tattoo, so I took off my jacket and pulled the straps of my cami and bra aside to show him the orchid on my right shoulder blade. He ran his finger over the tattoo, then slid it underneath my bra strap and ran his finger down the length of the strap, snapping it back into place. Everyone else had gone into the other room at this point, and as I turned around to face him, he cornered me.

Marc: Why were you so mean to me yesterday?
Me: Because you treated me like a cheap floozy.
Marc: What are you talking about?
Me: The text messages?!?!?
Marc: I only sent you one and you never wrote back.
Me: No. You didn't. Would you like to see the text message that I have from you?

I whip out my phone and show him. He says he didn't write it. He says he had a friend over that night and the friend must have been messing around with his phone while Marc was upstairs. He keeps my phone though takes the opportunity to read through other text messages in my phone book. He finds the text message that he wrote to me last December that I still have in there.

Marc: I didn't write this!
Me: Yes you did, you big dummy! Last December!

Understanding dawns on Marc's face and he looks at me confused. I've been caught with a 10 month old text message in my phone from him. I'm embarrassed.

Me: I'm out of here!

I grab my phone back, grab my purse and head out the front door. Unfortunately it's difficult to make a dramatic exit when the gate at the front of their apartment is locked and you have to be let out. Marc had followed me out and is standing at the top of the stairs, asking me to come back.

"Please let me out," I said.

"Please come back," he said.

I trudge back up the stairs. He puts his arms around me and asks me if we're okay.

"You didn't write those text messages?" I ask him.

"No," he said.

"Good, now I don't have to hate you anymore, " I said and I walked back inside. Not sure if I really believe him.

We watch TV, his hand resting on my arm. He asks me if I've ever seen the upstairs and when I answer to the negative, he offers me a tour, showing me his bedroom last. But when I jump on his bed, testing it's softness, he stands in the doorway just watching me. Later, as I'm on their computer, he comes over and starts wrestling around with me. His hand lingering a little too long, holding mine. He orders me to add him as a friend on myspace.

As I get up from the computer and walk away, he comes up behind me, putting his arms around me.

Marc: So, where's the boyfriend?
Me: Which one?

Marc holds up 2 fingers with a questioning look on his face. I nod.

Marc: Do you love them?
Me: No.
Marc: Do they love you?
Me: I doubt it. It's too early.
Marc: So, you're a player.
Me: I can't help it if men fall in love with me like crazy! Besides, neither one is really my boyfriend. I'm not dating anyone exclusively and I'm not choosing one over the other because I don't have to.
Marc: So, technically you're single.
Me: Yes
Marc: Me too

We talk as he cleans up his kitchen. Our old rapport established. The magic still there.

Everyone else in the house converges on the kitchen, its late and its time to go. We're gathering our stuff together in the living room and I poke my head into the kitchen to say goodnight to Marc.

"Goodnight," he says and I head out the door.

As I'm walking away, I hear from the kitchen- "Chloe!"

I turn around and head back.

He yells it louder this time, "CHLOE!!!!"

Me: WHAT?
Marc: We'll finish this conversation later, right?
Me: Sure. Anytime.

He steps in so he's super close to me. Invading all my personal space.

Marc: Okay then, later...

I kiss him on the cheek, dangerously close to his lips and leave.

Labels: Marc

Dear Marc-

I think of you all the time. I think of you everytime I hear "The Whistle Song" because of that night at your house when we spent hours messing around with your music and I laughed until I peed my pants at your "Seduce Me" playlist, which you still won't take credit for. Kanye West makes me think of you because I know how much you love his music and because of that time that I was shaking my ass to "Gold Digger" and your roommate asked me if I had learned about his music through you, which told me that you had been talking to your roommate about me. Chocolate chip cookies almost always make me wish I had some freshly baked so I could call you up and we could sit on the stoop and talk about nothing for hours, like we used to. John Madden Football reminds me of the night we played at your house and I could barely sit still at the utter excitement at just being with you.

At random times, I'll remember your hand in my hair, on my back or holding mine. I'll think back with regret about that night, when I was so scared to follow you into your house, and I chickened out and went home. I think often of how I wish I would have done that night differently. And how I cried and cried the next day about having potentially ruined everything with you. And then you called and talked about how you didn't want to ruin our friendship and I believed you.

It gives me warm fuzzies to remember how you text messaged me on Thanksgiving because you wanted to see me and called me the second you got back in town. Then came to meet me at Kevin's house, which was full of people, and you were text messaging me, even though you were just across the room.

I still have the text message that you sent to me on Christmas, where you called me "sweetheart" and I read it frequently because it makes me feel closer to you, or to what we once had anyway.

I pull these memories out from their box in my head frequently and I run my fingers over them as if they were my most cherised possessions. They put me to sleep at night and get me through rough days. I don't ever want to forget the intensity of what I felt for you, it reminds me of the abandon with which I can give my heart in times when I worry that I've got it locked up tight forever.

I've missed you these recent months. Everytime I go over to Karen's, I hope to run into you. To see your face, to refresh my fading memories. And when I run into your roommate instead, I hope that he'll tell you how hot I looked. But I understand where you are in your life and we never talked about what was going on between us, so I don't have the right to expect anything of you. I've been as lax in communicating with you as you have been with me.

But I always assumed that our friendship was still there. That I still meant something, or at least more than nothing.

I will probably always love you.

But I don't know if I like you anymore.

Sincerely-
Chloe

Labels: Marc

I wish I could tell you that I am making this story up, but unfortunately, I am not.

Throughout the last year, as jerk after jerk has left their mark on my life and my heart, there was always one guy that I looked to as The Good Guy (besides Email Boy, obviously). Marc had earned himself a spot on a pedestal in my life, as a friend and as a guy who seemed to genuinely always want to do the right thing. There was a night when we let the sexual tension at a party get the better of us and we almost ruined our friendship irrevocably, but I stopped things before they went too far and he apologized the next day for disrespecting me and our friendship.

Communication and interaction has been few and far between in the last few months, well, excluding the drama rama chronicled here, here, here, and here, but he has always been in the back of my mind, as the one that I would choose above all others. The one who- when other guys were jerks, it was okay, because I knew that as long as he was still out there, that good guys still existed.

So, I was pleasantly surprised to get the following text message from him last night:

'Hey cutie, what have you been up to?'

And having recently heard that he was asking Karen about me (they live next door to each other), I responded:

'Hey hot stuff, I heard you've been missing me something fierce.'

The response from him that sent me into a full-out FREAK out:

'Oh, yes. Want to come over to my place tonight so I can show you?'

WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ALL ABOUT? Why is he treating me like some floozy in his little black book?

I spent some quality time shaking madly, pacing around my house and calling Karen frantically before I could respond.

Me: What are you going to show me?
Marc: Come over and see!
Me: Are we going to play John Madden?
Marc: No.

There is no way that I can go over there. Despite being physically indisposed (read: definitely not pregnant), I've had quality Dave and Scott time in the last week and even I have limits.

Me: Well, your timing is not so great. I can come over and I'd love to see you, but some things are off limits at this time.

And because I still have some small-town left in me and I want to believe the best in everyone, especially him, I hope that he responds and tells me to come over anyway.

No response at all.

And my heart breaks because I have just lost My Good Guy.

Labels: Marc

I got my new swimming suit today. I tend to love my swimsuits a little too much and wear them until the seams start bursting in the bust area (always the first place to go for me. Big boobs ROCK!)

I'm SO excited about the new suit. It's a black-halter tankini (my body is not meant for skimpy bikinis) and I can finally get that area in between my breasts tan. It's been an area that has been completely neglected, despite my constant efforts to pull my top down far enough, to the point of indecency, to allow the sun to work some magic there. But alas, everytime I wear a low-cut shirt, the tan line is there- mocking me.

I need a massage. Due to MAJOR changes at work that mean a freakish amount of additional responsibility for me, I'm a little stressed. Being an adult really bites sometimes. In lieu of a massage, I'm off for a mani/pedi at my favorite place with the massage chairs, so maybe that will take the edge off. Either that or the Banana Pudding at Buttercup Bakery ought to do the trick.

Sometimes I feel like my life is a little bit like a game of monopoly and that one of these days, my turn will be over and it will be time for me to go home. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

And then I get called into my VP's office and he explains that they are restructuring and I will be getting more responsibility and he thinks I'm doing a really great job.

And for a few minutes, the reality of my life comes into focus. I understand this is a job that I am accountable for. That I'm good at. That I love.

Next Subject:

Little Miss Sunshine. GO SEE IT. It's hilariously funny and poignant. At one point, I was laughing so hard I was crying, clutching at my sides in the fetal position. No exaggeration. I can't express enough how much I loved this movie.

The Descent- Scared the holy moses out of me. If you're claustrophobic and easily scared, avoid this movie like the plague.

Next Subject:

Dave called me on Friday. He was leaving the office and thinking about how it was last week at that exact time that he met me. Did I want to go out on Sunday?

If you insist.

We saw a movie last night and things with us were better than I remembered. There's a connection there that I can't explain. And it's getting stronger as we're getting more comfortable with each other.

As we walked around mid-town after the movie, he bought me flowers. Picking out the ones that I told him would last the longest.

I went home with him I stayed all night. We didn't sleep much.

He called me at 10 this morning to make sure I had gotten to work okay and that I was awake enough to function.

Does this mean I have to give up Scott?

There are a few days of the month where my libido is absolutely through the roof. It's on these days when I forget about all my resolutions and consider calling every man in my phone book just to 'scratch my itch'. These days have resulted in some very bad decisions for me in the past, but luckily, I'm becoming a little more discerning these days.

And by discerning, I mean going back to the only person that I've been sleeping with for the last 3 months, instead of some random guy from the street (which sounds nasty, but there are days when it is tempting).

I spent the night at Scott's house last night. My hormones overrode my need to not leave my air conditioned room. And, boy, am I glad I obeyed my lust.

He got home from work right as I was getting there, so we walked in the front door and immediately jumped in the shower because we both had sweat just pouring off us (at 12 am, natch), which was more fun that I thought it would be. Then some damn good sex. Then we talked and talked and talked, about everything and nothing, light stuff, heavy stuff and even a little about our relationship. Needing nothing more than to just lay in each other's arm, and laugh about the craziness of our lives.

Round 2 was the best sex I've ever had, EVER. Scott could barely walk afterwards. And we were both so sweaty, we had to take another shower.

3 am and we still weren't tired, so he made us sandwiches and we played some car racing game on his Xbox. (Side note: Seriously, how am I not the perfect woman? Sex and Xbox? All men should be so lucky!)

Finally, at 4 we staggered into bed, completely worn out. And within seconds of him wrapping his arms around me, I was out.

Satisfied.

Complete.

Labels: Scott

Conversation with Scott last night:

Scott: Hey babygirl, you coming over tonight?
Me: Hell to the NO. It's 105 degrees outside. I wouldn't leave my air conditioned bedroom even if Derek Jeter was begging.

Here in New York City the heat is driving us all insane. The temperature has been around 95-100, couple that with 50-60% humidity and it feels like 110-115. Add to that the heat of subways, bus exhaust, weird patches of heat coming from manholes and other uniquely fun New York elements and it's enough to convince a person that Siberia would be preferable. ANYTHING would be preferable.

No word from Dave since the text message on Monday. Let's not talk about it.

I was told recently that I have a very sexual vibe about me. I can accept that and recognize some truth in it. The problem then becomes, how do I ever get anyone to see me as more than that? How do I ever find a man who's interested in more than just screwing me? Do they even exist?

Labels: Scott

Update:

First a little backstory- while Dave (amazing new guy) and I were in Bryant Park making out/fooling around a little, we joked a lot about how Bryant Park will never be the same again, especially for me, as I work directly across the street from Bryant Park and see it approximately 4-5 times a day.

After the slightly heavy end to the evening, I wanted to establish a little bit of casualness back into things. So yesterday morning, I sent Dave a text message that said:

Bryant Park just isn't the same without you this morning. Forgot to say thanks for last night. I had a great time.

Casual. Breezy. No response required.

This is the response that I got:

So, BP got ya thinking about last night, huh? How much was it on your mind? Anyway. Glad you have pleasant thoughts. The nite was pretty chill, so, yes it was nice.

Since I couldn't think of a reply, I didn't send one.

Is he blowing me off? Did he have a good time? Why is he always wanting to know my thoughts? Nice? What is that about?

Please, someone, explain what this means to me, because I am completely confused.