The Virginity Monologues

What used to be an occasional annoyance has become an almost everyday occurrence. I mentioned it once previously.

I just walked into my mail room and the UPS guy said to me, “Has anyone ever told you, you look like Britney Spears?”

He shut up when I threatened to punch him in the face.

A few weeks ago when Karen and I went to see Cloverfield (I didn’t like it, the handheld camera style made me sick. Plus, living in New York, you see all the discrepancies. Like it would have taken much longer to walk from Spring St to 59th. And how one second they were in Brooklyn and the next shot they were in Midtown? I don’t think so.), I was in the bathroom and the girl at the sink next to me said, “Has anyone ever told you, you look like Britney Spears?”

I laughed caustically. “Yes, I get it quite a bit.”

“When you walked into the theater, my husband and I thought you were Britney Spears,” she told me.

This is maybe taking it a little too far. But I stopped short of threatening her with physical violence.

Now the fact that this is happening with increasing frequency scares me. Because she is such a train wreck these days and is never photographed looking even remotely respectable. Please, people, stop comparing me to her.

I brush my hair. I don’t have breakdowns on an hourly basis. I wear panties.

Please, please- let it go.

Today's Title from: The Fear by Pulp

I have a confession to make. I used to listen to country music. A lot.

On Saturday night, Karen and I were talking on my bed, and I was scrolling through her iPod when I ran across a singer who sings love songs that used to have me absolutely pining for the kind of love that he sang about. I immediately plugged the ipod into my speakers, and Karen and I sang along to the songs that my heart never forgot.

And I was immediately taken back to my years in high school, riding around in my friend, Bryan’s, truck. Of hot summer nights spent at county fairs and pretending I was in Europe by driving on the wrong side of the road and scaring all my friends; and days spent lazily floating down the river in an innertube. I remembered summer school and how my best friend and I raced my next door neighbor every single morning to the high school across the city. I remembered the weeks spent camping with my hair braided into 2 french braids and a bandana permanently tied on my head and the time I sliced my left index finger open with a pocket knife and had to get 8 stitches. I remembered 4 wheeling and water-skiing and all of the things that you do when you have no other care in the world, but filling your days with friends and as much fun as possible.

And I remembered how I used to believe in love. Before relationship after relationship left me a little more cynical and jaded trying desperately to be more and more realistic with my expectations at the beginning of each one.

I remembered the relationship that taught me that love isn’t always enough (The Ex) and the relationship that taught me that loving someone with all your heart can’t make them be the person you want them to be (Oscar).

And I remembered that deep down- I still believe in love. It MUST exist. I’ve seen it. I’ve heard songs sung about it.

And even though right now it hurts and my plan is to remove myself from the market for a good long while, I believe it will happen someday.

Someday when I know I am good enough to deserve it.

Today's Title from: If I Were You by Collin Raye

Well, the same friend that forced me to leave my Nest of Self-Pity on Monday night, also commanded me to go to the gym last night. And it was tough. I had to go home to get my gym clothes and once I was there, my bed was so tempting. So soft and fluffy. It called to me.

It said, “Chloe, come lay here. Eat ice cream and watch Annie and all your troubles will melt away.”

But I knew I was going to feel better if I went to the gym, as much as I didn’t have it in me to go.

And I went. And my friend, Ana, was right. I knew she would be. As I walked out, I felt about 10,000 times better.

I thought long and hard about what to do about The DJ as I sweated it out on the treadmill. He called again last night and left a message wondering why I hadn’t returned his calls.

I talked to Email Boy. I talked to Nicole, who is also good friends with The DJ, and I talked to Spatch.

I decided I need to talk to The DJ. There are too many mutual friends at this point to avoid him forever. I can either be an adult about the situation and talk to him, or make everyone else uncomfortable anytime we’re all in the same place, which is inevitable.

I called. I left a message. I’m waiting for him to call me back.

Now all I can do is pray that I don’t cry in front of him.

Today's Title from: Tears Dry on Their Own by Amy Winehouse

Labels: The DJ

I was right.

All y'all were wrong.

I can safely say, with 100% conviction that The DJ is not The One.

How do I know this?

Because. Kevin and I had talked of going to The Party tonight together. I didn't want to show up alone, and figured Kevin was the perfect booty shaking partner. So I sent him a text earlier today asking him about the plans for tonight. After several hours, I started to get a little worried that I hadn't heard back from him. So I called him. No answer.

A few very short minutes later, I got a very long text message from The DJ. Explaining that Kevin is going to The Party tonight with a girl that The DJ is involved with, but Kevin didn't know how to tell me.

And I officially dub myself The World's Most Undate-able Human Being.

Okay peeps, time for y’all to weigh in. Cause I’m CONFUSED.

So, the last 2 nights, I’ve gone out with The DJ and friends. Did I mention that all his friends LOVE me? I end up exchanging numbers with everyone and they invite me- everywhere. And The DJ always makes it very clear what I am to him, as he can’t seem to introduce me to anyone without throwing into the conversation how fantastic my skills are in EVERY department. It’s half-adorable and half-annoying.

At the end of the Wednesday night, me, The DJ and 2 other friends were getting ready to leave together since we all live very close to each other. The DJ mentioned that he is tired. As everyone sort of dispersed, I grabbed his arm and pulled him closer to me and said, “How tired ARE you?”

“Really, really tired,” he said, “but after Sunday everything will be different.”

Here’s where I explain that The DJ is also a party promoter. He’s currently elbows deep in an ENORMOUS party that is going on Sunday night. This party is going to be OFF THE HOOK- big name stars, hundreds of people, etc, etc, etc. He’s been working on it tirelessly and calls me occasionally during the day to bounce ideas off me and get some feedback. This party is a LOT of work. So being really tired is legitimate.

Nevertheless, I don’t take rejection well, and I get quiet.

In the cab on the way uptown, The DJ pesters me relentlessly.

“Why are you so quiet?”

“What are you thinking about?”

Etc.Etc.

I remind him that I need tickets. Previously he had told me he would take care of me for tickets, but I don’t want to assume that I am still in a position to get comped tickets and mention that I need them, but don’t have enough cash on me at the moment for 2 tickets.

He reaches over and grabs my cheek and pushes his face into mine and says, “Baby, I told you I’d get you.”

I pull my head away, afraid to get too close. Afraid he will see in my eyes how I don’t believe that I am good enough for him.

“Why are you pulling away from me?!?!” he asks.

I just smile and return to looking out the window of the cab.

My stop is first and I am not even in the elevator of my building before I am sobbing. I KNOW I’ve over-reacted to this situation, but I can’t stop feeling like this is it, the moment when he realizes that I’m not that great and that its time to get rid of my ass. I got upstairs and cry and cry. Karen tries to talk me off my ledge. Kevin is texting me to make sure I’m okay and telling me how much he loves me.

But I just keep crying.

The next morning, on the subway, everything seems a little clearer. I realize that one night doesn’t equal the end of the world. My good friend at work advises me to wait until the party is over to assess anything about his behavior and I agree. I send The DJ a text apologizing for getting so quiet, and blame it on work stuff that him and I had been talking about earlier.

He sends me back the sweetest text message, telling me everything will be okay and to just stay positive, etc, etc.

Last night- we all went out for drinks at our favorite local bar. We hung out, had a good time, etc, etc. At the end of the night, The DJ, Kevin and another friend were taking off for another bar, while I opted to go home, despite being invited to the other bar.

I don’t read anything into the fact that The DJ and I are going our separate ways for the 2nd night in a row.

But I can’t help feeling like I’m blowing this. I’m neurotic. I’m feeling pressure to be the crazy fun girl that he first met, even though that isn’t really me all the time. And I’m acting weird, and not really myself at all and I’m pissing myself off!!!!! Everyone keeps telling me to just ‘be myself’. But that’s practically impossible for me. I want to be Fun-and-Crazy-Chloe, but sometimes I’m Kinda-Quiet-I-Had-a-Bad-Day-Chloe and I’m afraid to show him/them the not-as-much-fun sides of me

Argh. Any way I spin it, I think he's losing interest.

Damn, I wish I wasn’t crazy.

Today's Title from: Glory Box by Portishead

Labels: The DJ

I sat across from Spatch last night at one of my absolute favorite places in the city- Divine Bar East and listen to her talk about her new relationship with The Stiltwalker. Its difficult for me to listen to. She’s already told me in no uncertain terms that I will hate him, and as I learn more, I don’t doubt that this is true. Everything about this feels, tastes and smells exactly like The Redhead. And I honestly don’t know that I can stand by and watch this happen all over again. I want desperately to be a good friend. I want to be the kind of friend that can support my friends no matter the choices that they are making.

Cam has again put forth an invitation to see him, and I am tempted. I long to sleep in someone’s arms as being deathly ill for 4-5 days has kept everyone at bay, and Email Boy’s constant harping on me to ‘play it cool’ with the The DJ, has me hesitant to reach out to him at all. I don’t give in to Cam even though I desperately want to. It’s not worth it, especially knowing that I will be seeing The DJ tonight.

Around midnight, I get a text from The DJ’s friend, Kevin. Kevin is absolutely, breathtakingly gorgeous and has the body of an Adonis. Between the perfect rich chocolate color of his skin and the tightest ass I’ve ever seen, combined with the fact that he used to dance for the Alvin Ailey company- if this man were straight he would absolutely, positively be my dream man. For reasons which I have yet to figure out, Kevin adores me. He sends me texts messages all the time telling me how beautiful and sexy I am.

The text at midnight last night read:

You are sooooo beautiful inside and out. If I was straight, you’d be my wife.

I love this and I hate this. I love this because on one crazy night of my life, I made friends with a group of people who have essentially changed my life. We’ve all seen something in each other that we love and absolutely out of nowhere, my life feels overflowing with good people and good friends. I hate this because- I expect the rug to come flying out from underneath me at any minute.

Today's Title from: Over-Rated by Gavin DeGraw

Labels: Kevin, The DJ

IM Conversation:

Cam: Can I take you out for your birthday?
Me: Um. Honestly. I don’t think so.
Cam: Okay?
Me: I’m in a really complicated place right now.
Cam: Elaborate.
Me: I’m in the middle of ending something really terrible and beginning something really amazing.
Cam: What are you talking about?
Me: Relationships.
Me: I mean, nothing has been said about commitment or exclusivity or anything like that, but I’ve met someone who for the first time in a long time really SEES me and adores me for who I really am. I have to give this as fair of a chance as possible. And hooking up with exes doesn’t fall into the category of Giving This a Fair Chance.


Phone Conversation:

Me: So, I don’t know if that actually needs to be said or not since we barely speak anymore and I haven’t seen you in a month, and we had that enormous fight last Friday when you admitted that you’ve been seeing someone else the entire time we’ve been together and it hurt so badly if felt like someone had punched me in the gut, but… I’m done. This is over.

Silence on the other end.

Me: You don’t have anything to say?
Oscar: No. No disrespect to you, but I can’t deal with this today. I’m not talking about this.

More silence.

Me: Okay, fine. But this is it, I’m done.
Oscar: I’m not talking about this.

And it may not be over in his mind- but it is officially completely over in mine.

And I officially feel 30. And it feels great. It feels great to not make the same mistakes over and over again. It feels good to be an adult and to recognize that filling the empty spaces in my life with the Less Than Deserving- isn’t worth it.

Today's Title from: Glass by Ingrid Michaelson

Labels: Cam, Oscar

I am 30 years old today.

I rang in the new decade last night with The DJ and a few other friends. He had been drinking for a while when I joined in the fun, so he was delightfully affectionate and ecstatically happy to see me. What was originally intended to be one drink ended up being several, including a couple of rounds of shots. I was gifted a deliciously rich piece of chocolate cake from the bartender and a rousing serenade from the entire bar. Around 3 am, The DJ and I headed back to his place, where we took the next step and quite frankly, made the earth move. I don’t know that I have ever had more trouble getting out of bed than I did this morning. The DJ’s constantly pulling me back down for some “more snuggling” did not help.

And yes, I was a total nutcase for immediately assuming his disinterest.

Tonight, my absolute besty- Karen is taking me to dinner at the River Café, a restaurant that I have longed dreamed of attending, because that is what best friends are for.

And I am going to be an awesome 30 year old.

Labels: The DJ

I feel listless and unsettled. With less than 24 hours to go before I turn 30, my life feels out of my hands.

Which is strange because I had an absolutely fabulous weekend.

Friday night was New Good Friend, Nicole’s birthday party. Nicole, The DJ and another friend all went out to eat before hitting a club in Chinatown for the remainder of the night. We danced, we drank, we had a good time. The DJ was working at the club, but he would stop by occasionally to check up on me and see if I needed anything. Around 5 am that morning, we crawl into his bed together, tired beyond all reason but unable to stop ourselves from another round of kissing for hours. He is ridiculously complimentary to me, and I find myself thinking that maybe, just maybe I may have finally struck gold.

I wake up at 10ish, as I don’t sleep well in new places. The DJ hasn’t been feeling well and I don’t want to bother him, so I gather my things quietly, once I am ready to walk out the door, I tap him lightly and tell him I’m leaving. He rolls over, delightfully angry that I tried to sneak out.

“Get back in bed,” he says, “I’m not done with you yet.”

I slip my jeans off and crawl back under the covers. We snuggle for another 45 minutes-ish before he lets me leave. I walk home, blissfully content.

I plan to go home and get some more sleep, but I find myself making brunch plans with Email Boy and Karen, which takes longer than anticipated. By the time I get home, I don’t have a lot of time before I need to start getting ready for my own 30th birthday party. I power nap for about an hour and a half, the attempt to make myself beautiful.

Just as I finish getting dressed, The DJ calls. He’s feeling terrible (having been with him only a few hours before I know that this is not a lie, he is legitimately sick) and opts to stay home and sleep for the night. I attempt to not be disappointed. I fail miserably.

I’m not sure, at this point, if he is bailing because he really genuinely just needs a quiet night at home, or if this is a message he is sending to me- that he’s just not that into me.

I make a valiant effort to put it out of my head and just focus on having a good time at my birthday party. Luckily, I succeed. Champagne helps.

The party is…. Perfect. It’s in Jonathan and Lea’s adorable loft apartment, the perfect size for making everyone interact with each other. I combine all of my different groups of friends, and they get along. The food is spectacular- I gorge myself on Pigs in a Blanket and Dicey’s Famous Gaucamole. I find myself laughing constantly and my glass always full of champagne. I demand lap dances later in the evening and am ecstatic when so many friend indulge me. I feel unable to properly express how grateful I will be forever to Ana and Spatch and everyone else who helped to make this so special for me.

I swim in happiness and am out of my head drunk. In the cab on the way home, I talk unceasingly. I remember being transfixed by the lights of the cars in front of me and all sorts of odd things. I barely remember my head hitting my pillow.

But I do remember, with perfect clarity, the headache that I woke up with.

Totally worth it.

I got a few texts from The DJ yesterday with an apology for not making it and a promise to make it up to me, but I feel unsettled about where I stand with him and am basically just waiting for him to lose interest.

I mean, nobody as great as him is really going to want to be with me.

Today's Title from: The Best is Yet to Come by Frank Sinatra

Labels: The DJ

The text messages this morning went as follows:


Him: You make it home okay?
Me: Yep, sorry I forgot to call.
Him: It's all good. I had a really great time last night. Thanks for staying over.


And a little piece of my heart swells with giddiness and excitement.


I met The DJ just before leaving for Christmas. He was at the Christmas party I attended, where Karen and I became instantaneous friends with him and his good friend, Nicole, meeting up with them later that night, then I had dinner with them the next night, hanging out with them until 2 am.


I was intrigued by The DJ from the beginning. He couldn't be any farther from what I normally go for (meaning: not black), but he's such a good guy, it practically emanates from him. He's been incredibly kind and complimentary to me since the day we met and my belief in his true goodness has only increased 10 fold in the last 3 weeks.


While I was away over Christmas, we texted occasionally, checking up on each other. After coming back, he invited me to a party he was promoting last Friday night, which I took Spatch to, then invited me to another party he was hosting on New Year's Eve, which I didn't end up attending, as I was distracted by the most beautiful kissy-face gay man ever, who couldn't tear himself away from me and Karen.


Last night, we all went out again. First to dinner at a delicious, delicious asian restaurant on the Upper West Side, then uptown to a favorite local bar that we all live within 20 blocks of. Slowly, everyone disappeared from the bar but me and The DJ. Karen, being sick, headed home first, then when I got up to leave with Nicole, he asked me to stay with him while he finished his beer. I agreed, not really thinking anything. Up to this point, I had gotten no really positive signs that he was interested in me. He was friendly enough and certainly touchy-feely, but nothing really solid to base an opinion on.


His place was the first stop on the cab ride home, and when he asked me if I wanted to come in and see his place, I agreed, still not 100% sure where this was going.


When he pulled me down onto the bed and asked me what time to set the alarm for, things were getting a lot more clear.


Luckily, he was fine with the lines that I drew and wasn't ready to cross yet, and I got to have a lovely evening of cuddling and making out with someone I have an enormous crush on.

Today's Title from: You Give Me Something by James Morrison

Labels: The DJ