Oops I Did it Again

Well, by now you know me pretty well...and you know that I am incapable of keeping things simple.

Wouldn't you know it, I have ALREADY disassembled the Can't Have Ya Trifecta. I should never be allowed to have nice things! I don't take care of them!!

Remax2 came over for our "photo shoot" on Tuesday night...with a bottle of bourbon in tow. I was nervous as fuck..I wasn't really sure what he had in mind as far as what he wanted me to do. All I knew was that there was going to be nudity involved.
I wasn't so much worried about being nude in front of him..it's more the having to see the end result..I'm not too keen on having my picture taken, much less naked pictures taken, without a lot of good lighting and retouching!!

Turns out he wanted to see me in outfits. Of course, he's a guy. Guys are all about the outfits. So we picked out some stuff...it was kind of hilarious, actually. Being able to get inside the mind of a horny guy. He nicely informed me that the top I was wearing "wasn't doing anything for him." I was aghast and agape...that was my fallback date top! But apparently, nope, not a good look.

So...we changed my top. And we dragged my mattress into the living room and threw a white sheet over it...he wanted some sort of gritty downtown thing going on, with my brick wall in the background. I just went with it. Who am I to argue with the artiste?

We started out very innocent..as he calls them, "family style" shots. If you consider a black tank top, mini skirt hiked up to "here" and thigh high socks "family style". It was easier to pose than I thought, of course, the more bourbon I drank the more flirty and comfortable I became...but he was also really egging me on, telling me how sexy I am, pretty much adoring me with his eyes and his camera. I could sort of get addicted to this! Imagine that on my list of "interests": posing for erotica.

I was trying my hardest to keep things platonic and friendly--I mean, as much as you possibly can while you're all laid out on a mattress with your ass hanging out of a pair of boy shorts and the man you might be in love with is telling you how hot you are--every once in a while he would come over and adjust my hair, my bra strap..the brushing of his hand against my skin felt like I was being set on fire.

But when I needed to change outfits, I would employ a modicum of modesty and retreat to the bedroom to change in private. That shows that I was being respectful of our friendship, right?

The last outfit I was wearing, I seem to recall, was a brown mesh top with no bra underneath and booty shorts. I guess one can't really achieve a modicum of modesty in that outfit, but whatever...I went into the bedroom to find something else, and he followed me, and I don't know who started what, but all of a sudden there was kissing, lots of kissing, in the doorway of my bedroom.

"Are you ok with this?" I stupidly had to ask. I mean duh. Yea, he was ok with it. He was probably planning it since the beginning of time!

He said he was, but asked if I was, and then I sat him down and had "the talk". I figured, now is as good a time as any.

So I told him that I really liked our friendship, and that he was a way better friend than I ever imagined he could be, but I also had feelings for him and if there was any chance we could date, that would be great too.

And then he dropped the axe: "I only feel friendship for you."

Except he then proceeded to suck the lips off of my face. Hard. I mean, I guess I can't blame the guy...I was wearing a see through mesh top and all..and to prove even further that he only feels friendship for me, he proceeded to remove said mesh top and ravage me from top to bottom for several hours, and with a short slumber break, continue on through the morning.

With friends like him, who needs other friends?

So, the Can't Have Ya Trifecta has now been tainted. As for my good reputation, that has also been tainted. As for my friendship with Remax2, only time will tell.

A New Era?

I sat at home and watched the Inauguration today, and I wanted so badly to feel hopeful and positive.
Friends of mine went down to DC to see it live and in person...other friends had brunches to commemorate the occasion.
I sat at home and watched, in my pajamas, barely getting out of bed to do so. Not because I'm a hater, or because I don't believe.

But at the moment, I just don't fucking feel it.

I'm really excited about the fact that 8 yrs of shit is finally getting put to rest. That we have a President that I can relate to, that is a hundred years in the making, that is a fucking rockstar, and most importantly, seems like he's going to get shit done.

But the fact of the matter is that, the last 12 months have been kinda shite. And I don't see a light at the end of the tunnel. And as much as I want to believe that Barack Obama is going to be my saviour, the man isn't Jesus, and I don't feel all that hopeful.

I hope to God I hope to God I hope to God I'm wrong.

Functional Dysfunction

As much as I have about 8 million topics that I need to discuss with all of you, in light of the fact that I've been gone yet AGAIN for so long...I thought it was time to address my latest man situation, or lack thereof.

I have set up a sweet little deal for myself, that I like to call the "Can't Have Ya Trifecta".

It is made up of two recurring players in my life, Remax2, and Tall Guy (bet you forgot about HIM, eh?) and a new candidate who we will call the Bandaid Crush.

The deal is this...I don't have sex with any of these dudes, but in some form or another I have romantic feelings for them (none of them knows this, I don't think) and I just keep them around as friends. It's a win-win situation. They stick around, I never have to worry about being rejected, and I get to actually spend quality-time with them stress (albeit sex) free.

It's a weird little defense mechanism but it seems to be working. And the best part is, when one or two of 'em stages a disappearing act once in a while (which they always do. boys will be boys!) there's always a third one to keep me company in the meantime! It's a brilliant little plan!

Of course, it's highly dysfunctional on so many levels...for example, these are the kinds of conversations that Tall Guy and I have on a regular basis:

Him: "I've been dreaming about that hot little ass of yours. GOD I want that ass. So did you find a job yet?"
Me: "When am I going to finally get to sit on that giant cock of yours? Eh, still working on my resume."
Him: "Fuck me. Please."

We have been known to have such conversations for several hours, long into the night, when one of us should have just gotten in a cab and been at the other's door, for fuck's sake. But I think the beauty of our little arrangement is that we can keep this going pretty much until one of us gets sick of it...and so far, nobody seems to, so.

Remax2 has been doing a good job of keeping up his end of the friend bargain. I'm pretty impressed with his persistence and consistence. Um..but we're going out and getting drunk tomorrow night, to prepare for a nude photo shoot that we've been planning for months. Cuz I can't just have, like, a NORMAL relationship with the guy, that would just be too weird. Ha.

Bandaid Crush is a recent development, we met a couple months ago and I sucked him into my dysfunction, poor guy. He's new to the city new to the single world and I am merely showing him the ways of the land. So far, he's been my the most consistent out of all the members of my Bizarre Love Triangle...probably because he hasn't caught onto my insanity yet.

So there you have it, you've been invited to get a glimpse inside the mind of a genius. We'll see how long I keep this going before I want to either poke my eyes out, jump off a cliff, or at the very least, smash my vibrator against the wall.

Another One Bites the Dust

A little-known fact about my life at the moment: Mysterious Guy and I have been seeing each other a little bit more than I have let on. Actually, although it was nowhere near exclusive, he and I have been in constant contact since before Halloween, and as much as I have decided about 400 times since then that I was going to end it, for some reason unbeknownst to myself and the gods of fate, I have allowed the relationship, as it were, to continue.

I always knew from day 1 that Mysterious Guy was never going to turn into anything major. There's always been an attraction between us, and I find him quite fascinating at times. He's brilliantly smart and has a dry sense of humor that, once I caught on to it, I rather enjoyed.

However, there are a million and one things that make him absolutely wrong for me. Let's see, there's his severe depression...that sometimes prohibit him from making simple plans, and that also prompt him to cancel plans at a moment's notice. There's his neo-con status...he's a gun-loving Obama-hater who doesn't believe in gay marriage. And he's obsessed with this. Like, to the point where it really freaks me out.

His social awkwardness was bad enough that i would never be able to introduce him to other friends...let's examine some of his finer moments:

-Upon telling him that my sister did not have breast cancer, his reaction was "That's good. Cancer's a real downer."
-His response to an email I sent him telling him I was free that night, if he was feeling spontaneous: "Calm down girl and take a cold shower. I'm in for the night."
-After not seeing each other for a few weeks, instead of greeting me with a hug, or a kiss, or anything resembling a sign of affection, he thought it necessary to tell me that I have really big teeth, and that he had never noticed them before.
-Before I ever met him (over 2 months ago) one of his cats had an accident on his bed, wherein he needed to dispose of the mattress and all his bedding. He has since been sleeping in a sleeping bag on his couch, and has no intention of purchasing a new bed, or bedding. And therefore is not capable of "entertaining" at his apartment. Or so he says.

Each and everytime, I am convinced that I am done, done, onto the next one. But something kept me there, whether it was that feeling of "well, it's better than being totally alone" or our insane physical chemistry, or what.

But tonight was definitely the last straw.

We had made tentative plans to meet at a local bar after I got out of a Sunday afternoon movie. I called to let him know I was heading to the bar, and he launched into one of his insane, paranoid rants. I told him he was a buzzkill and he should just get his ass over to the bar and have a drink before he spontaneously combusted. To which he started spewing more paranoid conspiracy shit...out of the blue...unsolicited...and a little creepy. My stomach started to hurt and I got that feeling of dread one gets when something doesn't feel quite right. He sounded insane.

I got really quiet. And he continued on with his rant. When it was over, he laughed, and turned into his normal self again...asking me if I instead wanted to come over to his place.

I had already started walking in the opposite direction, actually I think I might have been running, fast, somehow trying to outrun the creepy conversation that was following me no matter how hard I tried to get away from it. I told him it would be better if I just went home. He didn't sound surprised. He didn't try to talk me out of it. In fact, I think he might have ended the conversation with "next time you see the Chase logo, notice that it has a subliminal swastika in it. "

I thanked him for "enlightening" me yet again and hung up the phone. And removed his # from my contact list.

I am a lonely and crazy magnet. Does this mean that I, too, am lonely and crazy? I am beginning to wonder...

Ring out the Old Before I Wring My Neck

So, I guess it's that time where I'm supposed to put together all of my collective thoughts about the year and sum it all up in a neat little synopsis, tied up tight with a little red bow.

Fuck that. 2008 was a messy year, it was all over the place, and so shall this blog post be.

As I think about the events of the last 12 months, I am shocked at how LONG this year seemed. I have always felt that my life has been rushing by me with every passing birthday, but this year seemed to drag on and on, torturing me with its longevity.

Many of the milestones that hit were heavy duty and seemed, at the time, drastic and traumatic: serious breakup, turning 40, and losing my job.

Looking back on those events, however, I am able to realize that a lot more good has come out of each of those things than not. The guy wasn't right for me...40 is the new 30....and I hated my job with a passion that shone as bright as a thousand suns. So only good can come out of any of it.

Another thing that I seem to have figured out this year that I am friggin RESILIENT. I keep getting punched in the face and somehow emerge with only minor bruising. The glass has been half full more often than not, although once in a while when it is half empty I do so want to fucking give up and throw in the towel on life. But not that often.

I've had break up sex. I've had make up sex. I've had booty call sex. I've dated guys that epitomize every male in NYC, from musicians to computer geeks to writers to former Olympians...guys with blue hair, stoner dudes, artists, frat boys, playrights. ALL of them had baggage. I got myself a stalker. I now know how it feels to be a complete victim and I will never take such things lightly AGAIN (he's still calling). I've made friends with guys who have had their dick in me, and made friends with guys who WANTED to have their dick in me. I've also lost friends, also because they've had their dick in me, and have learned the hard way that fucking is not always the answer to everything.

Mysterious Guy just called. He asked me this question: "If you weren't you, who would you be?" I couldn't even wrap my brain around that. If I wasn't me, I wouldn't be anyone. Period, the end. I'm taking this life, the good the bad and all of it, and making it whatever it needs to be. The pieces of my personal puzzle will fall into place, little by little they've already begun.

So. Happy New Year and all that crap. See you in the '09.

All I Want for Christmas is a Restraining Order

As I mentioned in my last post, I had a date lined up with a guy called Psych Ward.

Susan commented that she was a little concerned about his name....which made me chuckle a little to myself. You see, the reason I named him Psych Ward is because of his profession. However, Susan is a smart cookie, and had reason to be worried, as I will illustrate for you now.

Psych Ward and I had plans to meet up at my favorite bar (note to everyone, do NOT take a first-time date to your favorite bar-a) you don't want your beloved bartenders to think you're actually WITH this person and b) your favorite bar will never, ever be safe again, since said person now knows where you hang out and can stalk you). Psych Ward is very attractive, which I think he spends most of his life using to his advantage. He seemed disheveled, but I cut him some slack as it was snowing out and he had commuted in from LI. Fair enough.

He did, however, reek heavily of Marlboro Reds, and everytime he went to the bathroom he would come back smelling like he had rolled around in an ashtray. I finally asked him if he was smoking in the bathroom, to which he gave me a boyish grin and admitted that indeed, he was.

He then proceeded to down several beers chased with shots of JD. One, two, three went down his gullet. The date was only an hour in and he was wasted and I was bored.

He suddenly became an octopus of gigantic proportions...all eight of his hands were groping at me while we sat at the bar. I kept shoving him off of me and actually told him right out that i didn't feel a love connection so I did not want him touching me. He retreated like a naughty puppy being punished for pooping in the house, but then five minutes later it was as if he'd completely forgotten about our previous conversation and started groping me all over again.

Marlboro tinged kisses kept coming my way. I kept telling him I did not want to kiss him. Why I stayed I have no idea. I don't know if it was because it was Saturday night and I didn't want to slink home at 9pm with my tail between my legs...or because I felt bad that he had taken the LIRR in just to meet me in the snow, or if he was just that pathetic that I didn't have the heart to just leave...so stupidly, I joined him in his intoxication and somehow the night was weirdly salvaged.

That is NOT to say that I was going to ever go out with him again.

I knew he was going to call...and I figured when he did I would let him know that I had a nice time but I didn't think we were a match...so sorry....best of luck...blah blah blah. Like any normal person would do, I have manners, I'm not a bitch.

He didn't call for several days, and I thought I might be off the hook...and then, there it was, the voicemail I'd been dreading.

"I want to take you out again. This weekend."

No, no no no all sorts of HELL NO.

I fully admit that I avoided calling him back, but in all fairness, it's Christmas week, and it's busy.

Yesterday, Christmas Day, he sent me several emails, and called me SEVEN times. The messages he left were so long that my voicemail was cutting him off. I have to wonder how long he still rambled before realizing he was talking to thin air. He accused me of screening my calls. He diagnosed himself on my voice mail. He diagnosed ME on my voicemail (apparently I have self-esteem issues). He gave me all the reasons why we should be together. He tried to get me jealous by telling me he was being pursued by another woman. He told me I was a bullshitter. He cursed, cajoled, pleaded, analyzed. It was horrifying and entertaining all at once. I didn't know whether to laugh or call the cops.

It never even occurred to him that it was Christmas, and the reason that I hadn't picked up my phone was because I was spending the day with my family. It was like that episode of Seinfeld, where George leaves 500 messages on his date's machine, getting more and more angry that she's not calling him back, and it turns out that she had been away for the weekend and never checked her messages.

Except that was a really funny episode.

Those Damn Rules

I'm sure none of you could tell, but I am not one to subscribe to the general rules of conformist society. Which I think is a very, very good thing. Except, my guy friends are trying to reign me in when it comes to dating.

I never really thought about such things as "the 3 date rule"...letting the guy call me first...not making the first move..playing hard to get. I mean, if you like someone, what's the big fucking deal? I've never been good at playing games, my poker face might as well be an "O" face and I get bored during Monopoly.

But, from what I understand, in these modern times of ours, men are still horribly antiquated in their dating rituals and beliefs, and I've been doing it ALL WRONG all this time. Can you fucking believe it??

Which means that, I'm not supposed to act on any impulsive instantaneous attraction to any of the guys that I date. I am supposed to act like a perfect little lady, let them give me a peck at the end of the night, and then I demurely slink off into the darkness, letting them wonder what mysteries lay underneath my mini skirt.

I am not to email them the next day, but instead wait the dreaded three or so days for them to contact me. When they ask me for plans, I am not to answer immediately, but instead make them wait, to give the impression that I am slightly unavailable.

Believe me, I have not gone insane. And I have not read that horrible book "The Rules" that makes me want to just vomit all over my Frye boots. This is advice that I am getting from trusted buddies of mine who allow women to act in such freakish ways.

I don't get it, but hey, I'll give it a try.

Enter Mysterious Guy. Mysterious Guy and I have been out twice now. I have a certain, inexplicable attraction to Mysterious Guy, but personality-wise I don't think we have a lot in common. However, he is the perfect candidate for this crazy experiment I am conducting..let's see how long I can keep him interested in me.

First date, he complimented me. A lot. He commented on my cleavage. How badly did I want to shove his face right in there, get a little motor boat action going right in the middle of the bar. But no...I had to sit there, clench my teeth, thank him, and start talking about clowns, or something. Anything to divert the conversation away from my twin peaks.

At the end of the night, he tried to walk me home, but I insisted that he go on his merry way. In truth, I was really craving a slice of pizza more than I was craving him, anyway...so it wasn't that much of a sacrifice. But I did let him kiss me, a lot. Kept my tongue where it belonged and told him I'd talk to him soon.

Well I'll be. I got a text from him later that evening making sure I got home ok. And an email the next day. And by Monday, he had asked me out again.

Date #2. An improv show and dinner. Again, conversation steered down a forbidden road. He asked me what my favorite sexual position is. I told him I didn't think that was appropriate dinner conversation *coughreversecowgirlcough*. I was amazed at how difficult it was for me to not lapse right into a full on discussion about the merits of doggie style and which of my four vibrators works best in that position..but I was good, and kept it clean.

I let him walk me to the train, and we made out on the steps, til some horrible teenagers walked by and screamed out "Oh look, they're in love." At least I hope they were teenagers, and not, like, people I work with or something. We broke away, he said he'd talk to me later and I scurried down the stairs like one of those subway rats I keep seeing on the tracks.

So now, I need to see if I've made it to Date #3.

I asked Ha Ha Sound what I should do now, the conversation went like this:

ME so. guy from sat night and i have emailed a few times since our last date...
he's asked me out the last two times
should i ask him for plans?
or wait and see if he asks me out a third time?
do you think it's wrong if i say "i'll make it worth your while"
hahahaha

Ha Ha Sound: yes
just wait
let him call
he'll call

Soooo....I wait.

But if I make it to Date #3, I hear there is a prize for being patient. And we all know what that is.

Fuck, yea!