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Have you ever seen ‘Sex and The City?’ Not
bad, huh? Well, this is better. Much better. This
is not some dopey TV show written by a guy like Darren Star,
who thinks he knows what women think. This is real.
This is my life.
Let’s begin a few weeks back - on my birthday.
I’m still in my early 20’s, but I’m about to
hit the mid- section. So I gotta make due while I’ve
still got it… right? Like Janis Joplin sang "Get
it While You Can.”
So for my birthday, my ex-beau Kevin (names have been changed
to protect the guilty) came into town from San Francisco to
take me out to dinner. He and I were together for five
years, off and on (of course). We broke up two years
ago, but whenever we see each other, we celebrate like old
times (i.e. sleep together). It was a little odd being
back in bed with him, at first, but things quickly fell right
back into place. We slept together on Monday, and then
again on Friday. But unfortunately for Kevin, my standout
memory of Friday was throwing up due to alcohol poisoning
(yes – I’m in my early 20’s). All things
considered, I guess I got lucky cause he still found me sexy
enough in the morning to screw me again (after I changed my
puke stained sheets, of course). Afterwards, we both
got a call from our Mothers. Talk about sick.
So the next night, I got a call from my best girlfriend,
Sandy. Sandy and I used to get into all kinds of trouble
in college. Now she’s in law school with a serious
long-distance beau (insert laughter here). We downed
a couple glasses of cheap wine, put
on our party shoes, and hit the local hang out. As we
had hoped, there was fresh, male meat everywhere. This
was just what I needed after a week with Kevin. We ordered
Red Bull and vodkas and made our way to a table. The
game was on. I talked to a couple guys, but they were
extremely blah. Maybe it’s the 10 cocktails they’ve
consumed, but more likely they’re just plain dumb.
For the most part, ALL guys that I meet in bars are stupid.
If I’m really lucky, we’ll go on a couple dates,
have sex, fall in love, and only THEN realize they’re
stupid. Usually, tho, it’s the next morning, or
when I get a cheesy voice-mail a few days later (‘Uh
– hi, it’s_____ Remember me?).
Anyway, on this particular night - I met a smart one (at
least I think). He went to an Ivy League School and
is now in grad school for something that I can’t even
pronounce (so he MUST be smart!). Sandy and I stayed
out with him and his friends until 4 in the morning.
She’s convinced he’s my new beau. She tells
me to play smart girl and not have sex with him on the first
date. “I’ll cross my fingers,” she said,
“and you try to cross your legs.”
So that brings us to Sunday. A little back story: I’ve
been seeing this guy, Don. Don is a friend of my 30-
something former-boss, also named Don (no joke). Oh,
and they’re roommates. Oh, and my former-boss Don and
I have made out before (AFTER I left my old job, for those
keeping score at home). So, my ex-boss was out of town
and "my" Don had the house to himself. He
tried to get me over there all week, with my ex-beau was in
town it felt sacreligious in a way. So Don and I fooled
around a little bit. He refused to wear protection, so I got
pissed and left him hanging (literally). He felt bad
and took me to dinner at a cheesy/swanky Hollywood dive that
folks like George Clooney have been known to hang at (I can
name drop, can’t I?). Of course this was his make
up dinner. Whew - can’t beat a $13 plate of pasta.
We went home and attempted to fuck. He decided he still
didn’t like the condom. I was over it. I left.
As a result of the fabulous Sunday night, I had a new friend
on Monday - a huge hickey on my neck. The worst part
about it is I didn’t discover it until after a full day
of work an an entire yoga class (which I had my hair up for).
Now that’s sexy. Meanwhile, there’s Sam, a
guy that I’ve been seeing for about a year (even during
about 3 or 4 of actual monogomous relationships). Sam
was having a tough time at work and was fearful that he was
going to lose his job. So, I threw on a turtle neck sweater
(to cover my "blemish") and met him at his place.
Sam is a sweetheart. He makes me laugh and is unusually large
(you know what I mean). But Sam is awkward and shakes
before we do it — kind of like a dog when it’s cold.
But, once he gets into it, it’s great. And he talks
me up - like, "You’re so hot." It’s nice
when I’ve had a tough day at work, or when I’m hungover.
I like being with Sam, but could never be his girlfriend.
At my age, I’ve got to store up for the winter (if you
get my drift). Sam is great but doesn’t have the
full package to make me content. He tried to get frisky
with me at the end of the night (I could tell cause he started
shaking), but I left before he got anywhere.
By FRIDAY I was beat but the hickey was gone. I went
out with Sam again, but by Saturday morning he’d broken
up with me because I hadn’t slept with him. He
thought I might as well be his girlfriend if I wasn’t
going to sleep with him. Well, that was not an option,
so I left.
Saturday night was fast approaching. I went to
a costume party at a posh hotel downtown. Not many people
venture to downtown LA anymore because of its miraculous ghetto.
My friends rented out a bar at the one glitzy hotel left,
and invited a bunch of Orange County-ians, costume only.
I was Catwoman…yes, head to toe black vinyl, complete
with mask and kitty ears. I referred to myself as pussy in
vinyl (of course). How could I lose? Vinyl, booze,
and boys with money.
I flirted all night with a guy named Mike. He and I
usually end up in bed together, but he’s usually too
coked up to get it up. We had fun dancing and fucking
around, though. All of a sudden, an Indian chief caught
my eye. He was tall, dark, handsome and giving me the
eye. So I talked with Mr. Chief for a little while.
Turned out his friend knows Sandy. That was enough for
me. We went back to his suite. It just so happened that
he had the same problem as Mike—he was too coked up for
anything. We attempted again around 7 in the morning,
but it was barely successful. Oh well, a one night stand
wasted.
Well, gotta go - I just got a voicemail from the smart
guy I met at the bar. We should be going out this week.
God I hope he’s not stupid.
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