The Virginity Monologues

Yesterday was a big day for me. My seniority at my current place of employment plus a newly available office (remember those layoffs that I told you about?) equaled me finally graduating from cube-land to a beautiful new office complete with large windows facing another office. My darling friend, Ana, was ecstatic about the possibility of ‘windows’ but I assured her that I see nothing but directly into the offices across from me and its going to stay fairly boring unless they start throwing wild sex parties. She suggested I get the whole thing going by having MY OWN wild sex party, so if anyone’s interested in joining in the fun- give me a holler.

Having an office is a wonderful new world. I can pick my nose to my heart’s content. I can readjust my undergarments. I can eat McDonald’s without feeling guilty under the prying eyes of my ridiculously health conscious department. When someone I don’t like is calling, I can give my phone the finger.

And… I can listen to music. I always listen to music whenever I need to concentrate. Back in cube-land this meant listening to my iPod, but this caused multiple problems when people would attempt to converse with me, not seeing the headphones in my ears, and I wouldn’t respond and thus we all looked stupid.

Now, I am listening to Pandora. A lovely web-site where a person can plug in their musical tastes and Pandora will play music that matches. Sometimes Pandora is a genius, like when they played Karma Police by Radiohead earlier, and I got to have a lovely 5 minute moment of nostalgia for that time in college when I was obsessed with OK Computer (yes, I was a little late for the Radiohead bandwagon, but I GOT ON!) But sometimes Pandora sucks donkeys. Apparently something about my musical tastes causes Pandora to think I will like ridiculously sad emo songs where some nutjob chants “breaking my fall” for essentially the entire song. Thom Yorke this man is not. Maybe I should delete that I enjoy David Gray to stop the parade of depression causing emo songs.

Especially since I also had my first appointment with a therapist yesterday and she diagnosed me with 'mild depression'. That crazy bitch. And this after she said, "Wow, you have a complicated background!"

No shit, lady. That's why I'm here.

Today's Title from: You Can Bring Me Flowers by Ray LaMontagne

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man who claims to not play games will inevitably, play games.

I debated long and hard about whether or not to call Ted the Trainer. I am inherently leery of personal trainers as they generally tend to be players (no offense intended to any personal trainers out there, this is just something that I have found to be true here in NYC, but there are exceptions to every rule). So, I called on Wednesday, a few days after our initial encounter. He was pleased to hear from me and claimed to have been “waiting for my call”.

I told him I’d like to take him up on his offer of training, but warned him that I was suffering from an ankle injury and wouldn’t be able to work out for about a week or so. He offered to meet for lunch the next day so we could discuss things and he could take a look at my ankle.

The next day, he came and met me at my office and we discussed my ankle. He gave me tips on how to help it heal and offered to buy me bandages and massage it for me. I believe his words were, “I’ll take care of you.”

He asked me out. For that night. Then for the next day at lunch. And didn’t stop until he found a time when I wasn’t previously engaged. Saturday night was agreed upon and he said he would call around 2:00 and told me to keep the night open for him.

He also told me I had beautiful lips and beautiful features. He was intense about me in a way that I haven’t seen in a while, and I will admit that it turned my head.

Friday I received a text from him, asking about the ankle and letting me know he was thinking about me.

I haven’t heard a word from him since.

Which I actually predicted would happen, but everyone else was convinced it would be otherwise. To this, I say: Tsk, Tsk. Surely all y’all should have realized that I am the biggest douchebag magnet on the planet.

Yesterday I was at lunch with Nicole and one of her relatively attractive friends, Martin. When I made a moderately dirty joke, he turned to me and said, “You’re my kind of girl.”

I replied by saying, “Eh. They all say that. Chances are you’re going to be a complete douchebag, so don’t waste my time.”

And the train has officially pulled into Bitter Central. Welcome, friends.

Today's Title from: When Your Mind's Made Up by The Frames

Labels: Ted

Dear Man at the Bottom of the Stairs on the D Train Platform at the 145th street Station This Morning-

I realize that due to the nature of the arrivals of the express trains, sometimes people take either the A or the D train, depending on which comes first. Me, I always take the D. But that’s cause I hate transferring and the D takes me exactly where I need to go, generally at a very swift pace and I can often get myself a seat by the time my train hits 59th street.

I saw you, as I was coming down the stairs this morning, debating about which platform to stand on. I knew what was going on in your head. I should have been more prepared for your sheer idiocy. However, too many things happened at once. Just as I arrived at the bottom of the stairs, a B train had just pulled in, leaving masses of people swarming the stairs. Your confusion increased. You decided you want the A right as I stepped down the last few steps- and well, it can’t be denied, you completely knocked me over. I fell, a step or two and twisted my ankle.

Sir, have you ever twisted your ankle? The pain? It’s excruciating. I’ve done this multiple times. And I generally have to sit for a spell, while I wait for the initial waves to subside and to ensure I have not broken any bones. This morning’s accident was particularly painful, as you should have assessed by the sharp cry of pain that emitted from my mouth and the tears that immediately began falling. I sat down on the steps of the subway. This is how much pain I was in. The stairs in the subway are NASTY. I shudder, even now, to think of what my ass was touching.

You asked me, “Are you okay?”

I replied, very honestly, “I don’t know.”

You proceeded to head up the stairs to the A train. I guess where you had to be was more important than assuring the safety of someone you had just seriously wounded.

Sir, I’m not going to lie to you. If I’d been a little more composed- I would have punched you in the face.

Instead. I sat on the stairs and cried a little longer. Then, I gingerly stood, testing the ankle. Then I proceed to hobble down to the end of the platform to wait for the next D train.

Now, as I sit at my desk with a rapidly swelling ankle, that is turning purple-ish, I can say, with 100% conviction: I hate you.

Have a nice fucking day, motherfucker,
Chloe

Today's Title from: Paper Planes by M.I.A.

I get a bagel for breakfast almost everyday. Yeah, its probably a large part of the reason why I have a fat ass, but I’m a carb addict and I admit it. Besides, I love my fat ass.

Anyhoo- the guys at the bagel counter try to guess, everyday, what I’m going to order. And they are usually wrong. Some days it’s a sesame bagel with veggie cream cheese, sometimes is a plain bagel with walnut and raisin cream cheese, my favorite is a cinnamon raisin bagel with butter, but I also really enjoy an onion bagel toasted with butter. I don’t like to eat the same thing everyday, and I get bored very easily. Today, I got yelled at for never being able to make up my mind.

I told him it was my god given right as a woman.
___________________________________________________________________

So, I have previously mentioned that sometimes I am ‘on’ right? It’s a strange phenomenon that I still haven’t figured out yet. Lately, I seem to be permanently ‘on’. I think it is directly related to the fact that for the first time in my life, I would genuinely rather slit my wrists than date.

Remember the tall, adorably awkward white boy that I met at a party last weekend? I’ve never, in my life, been so grateful that someone didn’t call. The thought of actually going on a date with him caused me literal physical pain.

So yesterday, I was leaving the gym. It was warm and humid yesterday, so I was an absolute sweaty mess. Just as I was walking out the front doors of the gym, a trainer rounded the corner and was coming towards me, I registered that he was cute. He smiled at me and said, “hi!”

In my: I’m-Not-Dating-Besides-You’re-a-Trainer-And-Required-To-Be-Nice-To-Everyone mode, I simply smiled and said a weak hi and continued my journey out the door. The Trainer FOLLOWED me out the door and was all, “Excuse me!”

I stopped and turned around. Wary.

Trainer: Wow. How did I miss you? (he sticks out his hand) Hi, I’m Ted.
Me: Hi, I’m Chloe.

Small talk ensues.

Ted the Trainer: So, what do I have to do to train you?
Me (cheekily): Do I look like I need a trainer? (I totally do! I’ve mentioned the fat ass?) What are you suggesting?
Ted the Trainer: No, no. I just thought you were cute and wanted to train you.
Me: Ha. You say that to all the girls.
Ted the Trainer: Actually, I don’t. I’m 37 years old. I don’t play games. And when I see something I like I go after it.
Me: Well, honestly, I can’t afford a trainer right now.
Ted the Trainer: That’s okay, I’ll train you for free. What’s your schedule?
Me: Honestly, I would feel badly, getting trained for free.
Ted the Trainer: Honestly, I think you’re cute and I’d like to spend more time with you.

He gives me his number and begs me to call.

I am still sort of reeling from the experience and trying to decide if he's complete bullshit or not.

Today's Title from: What You Wish For by Guster

Labels: Ted

When I was growing up, we had a tradition in our household. We didn’t have a lot of money, as my mother was a single parent raising 4 kids on a teacher’s salary, so we got our boxes of Valentine’s Day chocolates the day AFTER Valentine’s Day, when they were half off.

Today I find myself nostalgic for the days when a box of sub-par chocolates were the highlight of my life. I studied the ‘map’ of the chocolates extensively, making sure that I saved the best ones (caramel or anything with nuts) for very last, and eating the less desirables (orange cream- UGH!) first.
_______________________________________________________________

Yellow cabs aren’t often found in my neighborhood, especially during the late night hours. So, I often take livery (what I call- gypsy) cabs. They are Lincoln town cars that drive around Harlem/Washington Heights/Inwood, looking for passengers. Fare is often cheaper than what you would pay in a yellow cab, although minimum payment is always $6, so if your jaunt is a short one (like the 9 blocks between me and The DJ’s house, a route that I never take anymore), you can get a little screwed on your fare.

Last night, I met Nicole at a bar near her place, about 30ish blocks away from me. Around 1 am, I hailed myself a cab. As the cab pulled up in front of my apartment building, the driver turned around and asked me what I normally get charged for this route.

As I handed him $10, I said, “Six or seven dollars, depending on how cute they think I am.”

He handed me back $4.

I may not be dating, but I definitely still got it.
_________________________________________________________________

I started calling around to therapists today. Its time to fix whats wrong with me.

I want to be able to walk into any situation, and not fret about being good enough. I want to sleep through a night after someone promised to call me and didn't. I want to be able to walk away, when I know I'm with someone I shouldn't be with, and never look back. I want to not worry that every single one of my friends is going to eventually ditch on me. I want to be happy for friends in new relationships, even if I don't agree with everything about it. I want to be confident and strong enough in myself to never settle for less than what I deserve.

I want to stop being so fucking sad all the time.

Today's Title from: The Pieces Don't Fit Anymore by James Morrison

On Saturday night, I attended my first ever lingerie party. Don’t get it twisted, this was not a party where some ‘independent consultant’ comes and peddles her wares to a bunch of women looking to re-ignite their loves lives. This was a party where you are required to wear lingerie to attend.

And peeps, I rediscovered the power of the breasts. It was a magical evening of gawking and staring; complements of my lovely new red bustier. And I finally, finally got to kiss my friend, Jonathan, who is one of my most favorite people in the whole world (not just the burning man community) but who never believes me when I tell him that.

By the end of the evening, I had given my number to a tall, adorably awkward white guy who was enraptured with me. So much so, that he asked to go out with me the next day. But I am smack in the middle of an incredibly busy time of my life right now (am triple booked for tonight!), and offered him next weekend, which he gratefully took.

My problem is- I’m indifferent. Actually, I’m less than indifferent. I don’t want to date. Period.

I’m not lying or trying to convince myself of anything when I say that I’m not interested in any sort of relationship right now. The hurt from the end of Oscar is still so fresh and raw that I occasionally still have to have a little cry before I can even get out of bed in the morning. I can’t even imagine investing emotion into anyone right now. It exhausts and repulses me to even think about it. I’ve already had to blow off some guy that I met a few weeks ago because he was jumping into the whole relationship thing WAY too fast and I was freaking out. I hadn’t even been on a date with The Freak Show and I was already feeling smothered and suffocated.

Its an interesting sort of experiment- how for the first time in my life- I genuinely just want some ME time, that all of the sudden, I’m fucking irresistible.

Today's Title from: Stillness of Heart by Lenny Kravitz

I have a problem with pants. I’m short (5’3ish) and I have a fat ass. Finding perfect fitting pants is… well, it’s a problem.

I live in the world between Regular length and Ankle/Petite length. Regular length is always way, way, way too long. Ankle/Petite length is always just a smidge too short. And there are few things in life that I find more offensive then pants that are too short. I’d rather err on the side of too long, but not Regular Length long. That is TOO long.

Anyone know a good tailor in New York City? I need some jeans hemmed.

So, just for fun (because I totally stole this from Charming, But Single), here are the top 25 most played songs on my iPod.

Glass- Ingrid Michaelson (this actually surprises me. I mean, I do really like this song, but I didn’t realize that I liked it THIS much)
Juicy- Better Than Ezra
Clumsy- Fergie
Heart of the City- Jay-Z
Good Life- Kanye West and that blasted T-Pain
Maneater- Nelly Furtado (good song to run to)
That Was A River- Collin Raye
Son of a Preacher Man- Dusty Springfield
The Way I Am- Ingrid Michaelson
Fidelity- Regina Spektor
Stripped- SoHo Dolls
Miscommunication- Timbaland
One- U2
Belief- Gavin DeGraw
Other Side of the World- KT Tunstall
Come Home- One Republic
Hate That I Love You- Rihanna
Apologize- One Republic/Timbaland
Call and Answer- Barenaked Ladies
The Blower’s Daughter- Damien Rice
Someday- John Legend
What if You- Johua Radin
Try Again- Keane
Overjoyed- Stevie Wonder
Release- Timbaland

Honorable Mentions go to:
Paper Planes- M.I.A. (I only just discovered this song and trust me, it will be number 1 before too long)
Southside- Common (this song has this weird trailer at the end that I can’t stand to listen to, so I never listen to the song completely through, making it not “count” on my Play Count)

Today's Title from: Overboard by Ingrid Michaelson

Oh man! What a night!

A few weeks ago, I met the coolest girl ever when I was volunteering at a local animal shelter, Betsy. She lives in my neighborhood, so we exchanged numbers and agreed to meet for drinks or dinner. But as these go, I honestly didn’t think I would ever hear from her. New York is a tough city for making friends.

I was ecstatic when I received a text from her last Saturday night asking me if I wanted to meet for drinks. Unfortunately, I had other plans and offered to meet sometime this week. Last night we met for dinner at this delightful restaurant on 116th and 5th Ave for some Chinese food, and discovered they have $4 cosmos on Wednesday s.

Um, I lost count of how many $4 cosmos I had.

But it was enough to give me the courage to give the bartender my number when I was leaving.

He called me not long after I arrived home (to make sure I got home okay), but I missed the call cause I was puking in the bathroom.

Today's Title from: No Regrets by SoHo Dolls

I just heard from you. For the first time in 3 weeks. For the first time since that awful phone conversation when I tried to end things with you and you wouldn’t discuss it. I tried calling a few times to make sure you were okay, since I hadn’t known what you were dealing with at the time and I certainly would have done things differently if I had.

I sent you a text a week ago. I apologized for how things went down and told you that I wanted you to know how much I loved you. This was my closure.

But, I guess you needed yours too. Which is why I got the text from you today.

I wish I would have known, the last time I saw you, that it was going to be the last time I was going to see you. I wouldn’t have had that ridiculous argument with you. I would have held you tighter. I would have taken more time to memorize the way you smell and the way it felt to have my face buried in the crook of your neck. I wouldn’t have pulled away so quickly the next morning because I had to leave for work. I would have told you all the things that I think are great about you.

I would have linked my fingers through yours and made sure that no matter what- you knew that I loved you.

Today's title from: Something I Can Never Have by Nine Inch Nails

Labels: Oscar