The one who farted

I went to a show the other night and Mr. Bouncy was just all over the place. He would dance right up to me and my friend and just shake it in front of us. He smelled bad, had beer breath and bad teeth. But I thought his dancing was funny and humored him a little bit by shaking my butt a little bit with him.

He tried to do some grinding from behind, but I don't dig that. I mean really, I don't appreciate some strange man's penis pressing into my butt. Even through clothes. I just don't like it, especially if I don't like the man it's attached to.

After the show was over, I sat over that the bar hanging out while my friend talked a guy. Mr. Bouncy came over to chat. He was from the North Carolina and had just moved to the area, blah blah blah. He tried putting his hang on my back, I tried to squirm away politely.

He smelled terrible.

And then he farted.

I was done.

"I'm going to go check on my friend."

"Your friend looks like she's doing fine."

"Well I'm going to go check on her. It was nice to meet you."

I walked over to my friend who is deep in conversation, so I check out the merch table. I look over quickly and he's leaning against the bar looking very dejected. I pretend not to notice.

Smelly men are one thing, farting is another thing. A smelly farting man hitting on you is something different all together.

The one who made me cry

Just to get it out of the way if you were wondering, it was the good kind of cry: you know, the one where someone says something so sweet to you that you cry? Not the you-hurt-my-feelings kind of cry.

And also to get it out of the way, the one who made me cry, let’s call him “Sad Lawyer”, was the reason why my ipod is now broken.

Let me explain.

I met Sad Lawyer online as I meet most of these interesting characters. He was in his last year of law school, and he hated it. This dude was a downer.

Sad Lawyer and I went to another bar to talk some more. After a couple drinks, he fessed up to being recently out of a relationship. It ended because the love of his life cheated on him. Like I said, this dude was a downer. 

Somehow we got on the topic of education and the worth of each individual. I happen to believe every person in the world has some skill or talent that could be of productive use or enjoyment to the world. Sometimes individuals just don’t have the means or access to cultivate these talents. I mean how do you know you’re an amazing skier if you’ve never seen snow?

Anyway, the point is that this is a very optimistic, idealistic way to see the world. One which I suppose at the age of 29, I should have lost.  I'm very proud of this part of me, it's also what keeps me dating by the way. I am a hopeless idealist and romantic at heart.

“You’re a good person aren’t you?" Sad Lawyer said.  "Most of the people I know, including those older than me (he was 26 I think) don’t think that way anymore. We are all so jaded. I’ve never met anyone like you.”

That made me cry. It took a total stranger to look into me like that and say it to my face. I’m sure my mother has said something like that to me before, and maybe my friends think that about me. But hearing those words from an emotionally devastated stranger made me emotional. It was sort of embarrassing. 

Given Sad Lawyers' own emotional status, it is no surprise that he didn’t call me for a second date. He was probably too embarrassed too. I've found that if I drink too much on a first date, too much information is exchanged, and second dates are rare. There's also the occasional making out, but that didn't happen on this date.

But back to the dead ipod…

I had a little too much to drink I guess that night. And the next morning I had to get up relatively early for something and was a tad hungover. Not the I-feel-terrible-sort, more like the, I’m-in-a-grumpy-daze sort. I’m sure only some of that feeling had to do with the booze.

I went to the kitchen to fill my water bottle, when it was full I  put it in my purse.

“Why is your purse leaking?” My roommate asks.

What? I looked down. Shit. My purse was indeed leaking.

I was so out of it, I put the water bottle in my purse WITHOUT the top.

Oy.

Turns out that I drowned my ipod. It needs a whole new hard drive. That was several months ago and I haven’t spent the cash to get one. I work out at the gym without one.

I blame Sad Lawyer.

The one who stood me up on New Year's Eve

Okay, I really, really, really hate this shit. Why tell someone that you have a connection with them and then stand them up on New Year's Eve of all nights? That's just mean. What did I do to deserve that kind of treatment? And it's not like the one who when to the bathroom and didn't come back This one is worse because I was emotionally involved...

I met Darren online (for those of you that know the current situation, this is a reflection of current anxieties, not necessarily current status, but you never know, there might be a blog next week about it). He worked as a manager of a video store and lived in a studio apartment behind the park. Granted he wasn't the most ambitious among them, but whatever, on our second he looked deep into my eyes and asked "we have a connection don't we?"

I was swept up in it. I didn't know if I felt exactly what he was feeling, but I liked that prospect of someone feeling that way about me. And I liked him enough to enjoy the attention.

It could have been in a line, it could have been how he actually felt at the time. I don't know. But I do know that it was one of the most short-lived intense "relationships" I've ever had.

I understand that this happens from time to time, but I feel like this has become a pattern in my dating life:
1. I meet someone.
2. I experience really intense feelings for them.
3. We get physical pretty quickly.
4. He does something that hurts me or bugs me.
5. I call him out on it.
6. I never hear from him again.
7. I don't really know why and it takes awhile for me to accept that I will not be hearing from him.

It's often that one of these steps might be left out. We might not get physical, I might not call him out on something he did, because sometimes they disappear before I'm able to. Sometimes they don't even do anything wrong, they just disappear, and I'm left feeling that I did something wrong, even though I know I didn't.

But the end is always the same: I'm left waiting for a phone call or an email that never comes. Because of this I prefer being dumped, and while that's never fun either, at least I'm not left wondering. I get the closure to a "relationship" that happened so fast that sometimes I feel like it never happened at all. And otherwise, waiting is just a damn waste of my time.

Anyway, back to Darren, he got me into bed on the second or third date. I could regret this, but I decided to do it, and I stand by my decisions in life. I don't regret them, especially when it comes to feeling alive in a moment. I certainly could have said 'no,' but when I like a guy, it's really hard to say 'no,' and, like I said, I don't regret wanting to act on my feelings. I'm not good at that. I'm a bit of a heathen that way.

My mom once told me, in a very shocking conversation (because I view my mother is quite a prude: she once asked me what it was like to have sex wearing a condom, because she never had!!! I did not answer this question), that I should not jump into bed so quickly. You know me, I'm a slut! Such a dirty slut! You know you are when you're under-sexed mother calls you one!

But, and here's where the story gets super awesome, while Darren and I were having sex (which I don't remember being that awesome), the condom came loose (cause I've never had sex without one, Mom!) and came off without either of us noticing. Wait! You say, "guys should notice that!" Well this one didn't, and I surly didn't.

Well Darren didn't seem to be too bothered by this, and I didn't want to freak out right there in front of him. We might have had a little chat and that was it, it got uncomfortable and we changed the subject.

What sucked even more is that this happened right before Christmas, so Plan Parenthood wasn't open for three days or so, and I wanted to get the morning after pill just in case. I had to wait 72 hours. It was a pretty intense three days.

Darren didn't seem to mind though. He was working overtime because of the holiday season and I didn't see him.

You'd think that that would be enough for me to forget about him, but no. I figured that maybe it was just too awkward and he was just being a guy who gets squimish about anything related to the female reproductive system. Don't know why I would have chosen to have a guy around like that, but hey...

We did though make plans to spend New Year's Eve together though, and I was hoping to ask him to pay for half of the pill that I eventually bought (that shit ain't cheap).

But the motherfucker stood me up. I spent the evening at a couple of parties with some friends, I wasn't alone thank god, and he never got in touch with me.

I was pissed, I was really pissed.

I left for home on January 1st, the next day, and eventually got in touch with him on the phone and told him off. I remember the conversation well. I was in the Modern Art Museum, but not in the galleries, in the lobby. I have a little bit of class!

"I don't deal well with flakes and people that are unreliable, I experienced that too much in high school and I don't stand for it anymore."

Darren apologized. Turns out the loser was at a friends house and was too high AND drunk to get his ass off the couch, or even to send me a text message or voice mail explaining his condition.

For some reason I didn't even dump him there, I was going to give him another chance.

I get back to town a week or so later and call him.

I don't hear back.

I maybe called him a week later, no response.

The idiot probably did me a favor actually, now that I'm thinking about how pathetic I was being. I wonder if the dating gods believe that I subject myself to people treating me like crap, so they keep these "relationships" short so that I don't get too involved before I really get hurt. It's better this way.

You'd think that from this story I have super low self-esteem, but you know what? When you have intense feelings for someone and you want to see where the feelings might go, it's easy to give someone a second chance, and a third, and maybe a fourth if they're still around.

What really bugs me about this is that Darren figured that because we had only been dating for a few weeks, he didn't need to "break up" with me and that disappearing was a justified action. Or he was just a pussy, which I think would be more likely, except that others have disappeared on me as well.

I guess most men just are pussies.

I've actually wondered if I should actually take a listen to my mom's advice and not give it up so quickly. But this girl gets starved for attention! I'm not gonna lie! And when it's in my face and I like what's in my face (this part is important, I'm picky!) it's hard to say "no!" In fact, it usually doesn't even occur to me to say 'no.'

So who knows what to do?

The one who had been dancing all night

It’s been awhile since I’ve blogged about steamy romance, and this one’s gonna be a little longer than normal. But here goes…

I was on a choir trip in college that toured through England, France, Belgium and Holland for about two weeks. We got to sing in amazing spaces like Chartres Cathedral in France. It was a fantastic time and an incredibly amazing opportunity. One of the perks of traveling through Europe is, of course, the European men that you might come in contact with. And since the group I was traveling with was compromised of women only, any attention and/or distraction we could get from the opposite sex was welcomed.

In my experience, I’ve found that traveling with large groups of people can be rather exhausting. Nerves and patience become rather sensitive because you just can’t get away from someone if they’re bothering you and attitudes can get ugly. At least my attitude can get ugly.

Traveling with a group of all women is different from traveling with a group that includes men. When you’re traveling with men, at least there is the possibility of flirting, or watching the boy you like flirt with someone else (stay tuned for, "the one who my friends thought was an unattractive douche") or be witness whatever scandal that might occur from male and female hormones interacting with each other.

Other possible tensions arise simply from specific personalities clashing with one another, whether or not they are based on romantic or sexual circumstances, and not getting a break. Of course some of these possible situations do not provide a positive and healthy environment, sometimes quite the opposite, but they at least do make for a lively one. Traveling alone is great, but it can get boring.

Traveling with a large group of only women takes away the sexual tensions (unless there are at least two lesbians or bi-curious ladies along) and just leaves the silly, stupid and annoying drama that occurs when women spend too much time together.

I’ve never considered myself a girly-girl and tend to stay away from women who seem to fall into this category. I’ve found that I tend to make friends with edgy, dorky, intelligent women who don’t get overly excited by all things makeup, shoes, hair product and clothes.

So a small group of women (mostly altos, interestingly enough) found ourselves to be the gals who sat in the back of the bus. Ironically when I was on a bus tour with men, I was among the same category of women, but we sat in the front of the bus. What’s up with that?

I mention the dynamics of traveling with all women because you need to understand why it is so amusing for me to compare my experience to some of those I overheard from these more frivolous girly-girls. Let’s call them Sopranos. And yes, I am generalizing. These were nice girls, very sweet, but I had no real interest in becoming lifelong friends with them or swapping makeout stories on the way to Brussels, like:

“Oh, we met this good looking Frenchman last night who bought us all drinks and promised to meet up with us in the next town.”

or

“Did you kiss him? I can’t believe you KISSED him!”

or

“That gorgeous Italian really wanted my email but I wouldn’t give it to him! I mean what’s the point?”

Jeeeeeeeez, how BORING. WHO CARES?? Maybe I was just jealous, it’s certainly possible.

So us Altos would hang in the back of the bus feeling like the high school outcasts that just couldn’t be bothered with these silly Sopranos. And, like, the front of the bus is for teacher’s pets or something.

One of my favorite memories from this trip was at a bar in Holland where one of the specials of the night was an “Orgasm.” I, new to this whole drinking thing (you know, being under-aged and all), asked the bartender “what is an orgasm?” which I realized was the wrong wording for the question because he grabbed my wrist and said “Come, I show you!” HA! Silly Dutchman. So cute!

But I’ve not gotten to the crux of the story, the one who had been dancing all night. So here goes:

On our last night in London, my friend and I found our way into a dingy club that we had gotten a flier for, advertising cheap drinks and cheap admission for ladies. There was hardly anyone there that night and in typical clubbing fashion, the music was terrible. But we had paid to get in, and we really didn’t want to wander around looking for something else considering we didn’t exactly know where we were anyway. So we got our drink and dance on and ended up having a darn-tootin’ good time.

I met this little Irishman named Sean. He was your typical light haired bloke, keen on showing a cute American bird a good time (sorry, but my British vocab was dying to be used just there). He bought me I-have-no-idea-how-many Mike’s Hard Lemonades (don’t make fun! That drink was new to me at that point! Didn’t matter what country I was in!) My friend met a guy too, a cute curly haired English one.

I don’t know how it happened, but Sean invited us ALL back to his house and he and the English guy didn’t even know each other, or so it seemed. I figured that since I was with my friend, it would be fine. We were meant to catch a plane to Amsterdam in the morning, but we would be able to take a cab back to the hotel from Sean’s house and we would totally be fine.

Sean rented a room above the Irish pub he worked at and we all piled onto his bed, turned off the lights and put a movie on, I think it was, umm…I think, maybe… you know what? I have no freakin’ idea what the movie was, cause it took no time for us to get, uh, distracted...

My friend and the English bloke left Sean’s room and I assume found a couch in the hallway, leaving us alone to get up to our own debauchery. At this point I was still very new to all of this, you know, intimacy with men thing, especially the taking clothes off bit. I was VERY new to this oral sex thing, I had never done either form of it and asked Sean if he would. Well, he did, and honestly it was pretty horrible. And in typical first time fashion, I didn’t really know what or how to tell him to do it any better. But since he at least made an effort, I figured I would offer to return the favor.

He said, “No, thanks.”

Seriously?

Even now, years later, I’m still amazed by this. I mean, and I’m going to put this bluntly, WHO SAYS ‘NO’ to a blow job??? Who!!??

His reason?

“I’ve been dancing all night and you just don’t wanna go down there.”

How freaking decent is that?

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

It’s not like I wasn’t fumbling around down there anyway. Even though I had little to compare it to, I was already aware of Sean’s size and the fact that it did kinda curve to the right. So it’s not like he was ashamed of it or something. He was just concerned about his “swamp crouch” and how gross it might be to really get down there.

Incredible.

Anyway, in the morning he puts the three of us in a cab, gives me his address (not email) and cash for the cab. (Why do I meet the decent ones in other countries??)

My friend and I get back to the hotel, pack our stuff and get on the bus in just enough time. No problem.

We get on the bus and I’m looking at all these girls, beaming with what I thought at the time to be the best secret in the whole world. You know that morning-after-hookup-glow? I love it. I love feeling scandalous. It’s invigorating.

I just sat there smiling as the Sopranos told the newest round of foreign men stories.

It was a long time before I got to engage in the afore mentioned sex act but was incredibly excited to have made out with a cute boy with a hot accent in another country. I think you’ve learned that is something I take pride in.

I think I might have sent Sean a postcard just for shits and giggles, but never heard back. Didn’t expect to.

But one thing I can credit Sean for is jump-starting my fascination with Irish boys. They seem to like me, I don’t know why.

Eat your heart out Sopranos!

The one who had no neck, poor thing

And yes, I say "poor thing," you can hide a small penis, a drug addiction, low self-esteem or a hairy back (most of the time), but you can't hide a no-neck. You just can't. It's just always not there.

Justin was a really sweet guy, and good friend in Australia when I lived there. But not only did I simply not find him attractive, he, like the one who didn't know how to get over it (a.k.a. the one with the tiny penis) had developed a hardness about him. At age 20 he had given in to a life of bitterness and pessimism toward the world. But he I think meant well and was trying to deal with what life had handed to him in the only way he knew how. And I don't think he got a whole lot of attention from the opposite sex. Even for those who could see through the surface, there was another layer that was hard to get through. Justin wasn't ready to let them in.

Australians are drinkers. And like the best of them, Justin was a drinker. And when he drank, he would come on pretty strong. He would try to kiss me, hug me, and confess his feeling in a number of ways. He once confessed his feelings for me to someone sitting on the couch next him as if I wasn't also sitting in the room within earshot. And I'm sorry, yes, Justin had no neck, but this drunkeness was not attractive. It just wasn't.

I hung out with him and his friends quite a bit and I began to develop little crushes on his friends. Justin would get angry in his drunken states when his friends would flirt with me. He would tell them off and give them attitude, it was embarrassing.

I started taking guitar lessons with his teacher and that increased his feelings for me. I probably should have stopped hanging out with him all together, or at least had a talk with him about it, but I didn't. But, like a few of the guys that have had feelings for me, it was only when he was drinking that I had to be worried about what he would say or do to affect my comfort level. When he was sober, it all was fine.

As I'm writing this I feel like such a hypocrite since I tend to be at my boldest when I'm drinking and I'm certainly not alone in this. I feel like many of us get into trouble when we drink and our inhibitions are down. But what I don't do is repeatedly put someone in an awkward position when I'm drinking. I think this is pretty inconsiderate and disrespectful.

That being said, he was an interesting person and a pretty good friend when he wasn't drinking. We would talk politics and Monty Python. And he did, of course, have a cute Aussie accent, and we know how I feel about accents. He even offered to give me a ride to the airport when I flew back to the States, which was pretty long drive. I remember dreading the good-bye hug, but the moment passed and it was all over.

I keep tabs on him on one of those socialization networking websites and I really hope that the poor kid is getting more comfortable in his own skin.

I say, if you've got a no-neck, work it! Make it one of your finer qualities!

The one who didn't like cigarettes

David didn't like girls that smoked cigerettes. Even though I was smoking a beedee (a Mexican cigerette) or a clove, or something like that, I wish I had known that this was a huge turn off for him. I would have saved my one-smoke-of- the-month moment for another time. I'm not a smoker, but I like to partake from time to time.

David was a gorgeous Irish guy who was on the same Australian student exchange program. He lived in Boston with his mom while he was going to Harvard. We studied at the same university in Sydney for a semester and had a lecture together called "Australia and America in the '60s." He was in my smaller discussion class once a week and I would try my hardest not to stare. But he looked at me once from across the room and smiled, I melted. I was smitten.

I love the Irish accent. The Irish can't pronounce the "th" sound, so they say things like "tree tirty" and "tousand." I have a thing for the Irish and it seems they like me.

Possibly on my first real date ever, we went to see a silly British comedy at this cute theater near the unversity where they sell a combo of a ticket and "meal" from the concession stand (which he paid for): a drink, a candy bar and some popcorn. After that, we found this awesome cafe near my house that had a Louie Armstong mural, Beatles postcards all over the walls and boardgames to play! We played battleship, and I had myself a merry time chatting up a storm and, I guess, at some point smoking something. But I don't even remember what is was. And, I guess, I didn't ask him if it was alright if I smoked something. So rude!! I'm never rude! well, almost never...

He excused himself when we were done, since he had a scheduled phone conversation with his mom (which was probably a lie). So I let him go and went down to my favorite spot on the rocks over the beach to watch a lightning storm. I remember wanting to call David so I could invite him down there with me. But I didn't have my phone on me, which is good since I didn't know that he had already made his decision about whether he wanted to go on a second date or not.

I saw him after that and he hardly gave me the time of day, it was pretty painful. I didn't get it. We had a blast on our date, or at least I did.

I later found out from a drunk roommate, who was also in our class, that he had told her he didn't like me. Well, by then it was obvious.

It wasn't until four years later when I randomly ran into him on the east coast Chinatown Bus that the reason why he didn't want a second date was because I had smoked something that night. It was weird because as we were talking about it I kinda remembered smoking something, but still doesn't seem to make sense. Why would I be smoking Mexican cigerettes in Australia? Is my memory getting different parts of my life mixed up? Was David making up the whole cigerettes thing? Why would he do that four years later?

I certainly don't smoke many cigerettes anymore. And I know that there are people who find people that smoke them absolutely disgusting. I just never knew I would be one of them.

The one who managed a magician

It's like in the movie American Pie when Jason Biggs' character wakes up alone after losing his virginity to Alyson Hannigan; he's all excited that someone's used him for sex. That's sort of how I felt when I woke up alone after hooking up with Phil, the magician manager.

Phil was a friend of a friend of a friend, and we all went out drinking one night during the summer after I graduated college. Usually on nights like these I'm feeling good for a little while but then get bored of the people I don't know and hate the bars we're at and all the stupid drunk people in them.

But in this case I was feeling sassy! Well, sassy or just really drunk. I think we went to a couple crappy bars near campus and then ended up at a house party. I was drinking Mike's Hard Lemonades, I used to love that stuff.

I decided that I really liked Phil, he had a gorgeous body, he was interesting (manages a magician!! when do you meet someone like that?? I know, I find strange things sexy) and I wanted him to come home with me. And my inhibitions were down enough to let him know I wanted him to come home with me, which meant I had had a few too many. I don't normally just invite boys home with me. I don't, really, I don't.

For some reason we didn't want to tell our friends know he was coming over, so we concocted a lie: instead of driving the hour home, he was going to crash in his car for a little while, sober up, and then drive back. I have no idea why we couldn't just tell our friends that he was going to sleep at my house. But that's what happened. It all made sense at the time.

This was the year I lived with 11 people in a co-operative living community. I invited Phil in and we hung out in the kitchen for a little while probably to have a late night snack. I explained the living situation to him and that there were several other people in the house, so try not to wake them up!

We had some fun, he was pretty good in the sack. There was no sex however, which makes me seem a little less trampy in this story. I remember him getting up a some point and putting on clothes as it was getting light outside, but in my half-waking stuper I figured that he was just going to the bathroom, and fell back asleep.

I woke up hours later by myself, and had my Jason Biggs a.k.a. Jim Levenstein moment. And I was a bit proud of myself and didn't feel too bad about it. Anyways, I had already graduated and was moving away in a month or (I feel that this might be a pattern for me?), so who cares that I was never going to see him again!

I went down the street to a friends house for a birthday brunch and returned back to the house in the early afternoon. I was chatting with a couple housemates in the kitchen when one picked up something off the kitchen counter and asks, "What's this?"

Phil left his card on the kitchen counter I shared with ELEVEN other people!!! He knew this. I did happen to have my own room, he slept in it!! Why didn't he just leave the card in my room? I didn't find the card until the next afternoon, so it was possible that a housemate might have gone and moved it and I never would have seen it.

What I think is so funny is that this means that on his way out the door at 6am in the morning, Phil stopped by the kitchen to do whatever and leave his card. Was it an afterthought? Was he too lazy to go back upstairs or afraid that if he came back in he would wake me up?

I saved the card because I thought it was so damn hysterical. On it, the card has his magician friends' name in huge letters and Phil's name in tiny print underneath, which is why it took me a second to figure out the card was his. And not only that, but the contact information on the card is the business' information! So if I had emailed or called him (which I didn't), what would I have said? "Hi Phil, this is Kinky, the girl you hooked up with and then bailed on! wanna hang out?" No. I don't think that's an email or phone call I wanted to make.

I eventually checked out this magician guy's website. He does that super cheesy shit with confetti, a silly looking 80s tux and bad synthesized dramatic music.

I wonder where Phil is now? I sometimes think about if he really did want me to call him. Does he feel bad because he thinks I used him and never called him? Maybe he had his own American Pie moment.

The one who got high off NyQuil

I'm not kidding.

Mike didn't come to one of my house parties in college because he was TOO HIGH FROM DRINKING TOO MUCH NYQUIL!!! What? We had our own keg, full with regular alcohol, what's wrong with Rolling Rock? Not strong enough for you?

Wow, can I pick 'em... why did I like this boy? Oh yeah, he loved The Beatles, had worked for the British Parliament and loved British Indie rock, which I think is a good reason to like someone. Really, I do. One night he played the guitar and sang to me. I'm kind of a sucker for that. He had good CD collection and went to shows. I'm a music whore, what can I say?

I met Mr. NyQuil Drinker at another house party, and that night passed up a wonderful opportunity to makeout with the one with great hair in a weak moment. DAMN! I'm sure that's one thing I'll regret on my death bed.

We were friends, kinda, when we lived in the same city after college. He started going bald at the age of 24. I laughed. Too much NyQuil?



****As a side note, I thought it was interesting that many a googler has found this post by looking up "NyQuil High" or something like that. It must be trendy like sniffing glue...

The one who loved Led Zeppelin

He was my 23rd birthday present.

I worked with Ron for about a year and I thought he was adorable. He was a short, but not too skinny, funny, cute, lover of music, especially Led Zeppelin, and was a total flirt. But of course, he had a super hot Phillipino girlfriend.

But they eventually broke up.

We bonded over Zeppelin. He gave me copies of some of the many Zeppelin CD's he had including a couple of those really cool "Influences of" they made now featuring Muddy Waters and old British folk music tunes. He even overdubbed 2001: A Space Oydssey with Zeppelin music, I think we were stoned when we watched it. It was one of the coolest things I had ever seen, it was like playing Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon while watching The Wizard of Oz. He said he would make me a copy.

We had a good makeout session after that, which made my actions on my 23rd birthday understandable.

I had my 23rd birthday celebration at a martini bar and got just completely wasted. Everyone kept buying me expensive and exotically flavored drinks that I would never order myself.

There are pictures of me from that night hugging my friends in pure glee, my eyes are totally glazed over. I'm in total bliss.

Someone took me home and Ron got out of the car to give me a good night hug and I drunkenly said,

"Aren't you coming in?" and he just looked at me and responded,
"You're horny aren't you?"
"It's my birthday!" (This was the only thing I could come up with?)

So we're making out on my bed and my roommate is making out with her quasi-boyfriend on her bed. My roommate and I shared a room in the attic of a large house, the room was kinda an "L" shape," so I couldn't see her bed from where I slept, although this doesn't make the situation any less bizarre, but hey, it was college and we were drunk. Very drunk.

At some point we convinced the boys to do a little striptease for us. It was pretty awesome, I have not had the pleasure of anyone since entertaining me with a striptease. Ron got totally into it, my roommates' boy was a little embarrassed. At some point, I just jumped Ron cause he's just so damn cute.

He later tells me that we can't have sex because I'm just too good of a friend. Which was absolutely fine with me since I was still a virgin. It is funny though that we could do all sorts of other things, but actual sex was out of the question.

We stayed friends (unfortunately without benefits from them on) until I moved away and we then sorta lost touch.

He randomly called me last month wanting to know if he could enter my name in the competition to win tickets to the Led Zeppelin reunion concert in London in honor of late, great Ahmet Ertegun, the Producer from Atlantic records who discovered and signed them. He said that if I won, I had to take him. Sure Ron, sure.

I'm still waiting for that Zeppelin/Space Oydssey DVD.

The one who reminded us of Gonzo

I have no idea why I even liked him, but we where 11! Why do you have a crush on anybody when you're 11? For some reason he reminded me and my friends of Gonzo, not quite sure why. Maybe it had something to do with the nose? That's certainly not why I liked him though, I know I have weird taste, but looking like Gonzo is not something I look for in men. I had a crush on him for about a week, right before my real first crush ("the one that had his own symbol" to come later) that lasted several years.

I also went to college with him and would see him around every so often. His friend asked me to their bizarre frat formal (stay tune for "the one with the weird arm"). He later told me that when he would go home to visit his parents, he would drink and drive after being out in the bars, I mean what other choice do you have if you want to go to a bar!?

He's a lawyer now.

Glad I never dated him. Even when I was 11.

The one who went to the bathroom and never came back

Might as well start this off with a bang!

I do a lot of online dating. It's an easy way for me to avoid my fear of talking to cute boys that I think are out of my league. If they've read my profile, seen my pictures, and they still want to go out with me, the hard part is out of the way. It's just the actual chemistry that might be absent, but that's another story.

I met Colin online, on one of those "online dating for smart people" websites, how pretentious. We planned to meet at a bar and then go see a band I had found on myspace and was curious about. Turns out this guys is 32, grown an unemployed beard, and now that I think back on it, probably completely stoned. Not that there's anything wrong with these things, but let's just say this dude was not a winner. Conversation is fine, not amazing, but not awkward. His phone rings, he let's it go to voice mail, which I thought was classy. We've been there for about an hour, and decide to go to the club, but first he's got to go to the bathroom, and off he goes.

You know that feeling when you're out with someone, doesn't matter if it's a date or you're out with your grandmother, and they leave you at the table while they pee? It's weird right? So I wait, I watch the group of people laugh and giggle to my right, I chat with the waitress when she asks me if I want another drink. Wow, Colin has been in there for awhile... Did he fall in? Is he puking from an allergic reaction? Is he having a Ewan McGregor trainspotting moment in the loo?

"Hey, excuse me," I say to a nice looking guy that just came from where the bathrooms are, "was there someone in the bathroom just now?" "Um yea, I think there was someone talking on the phone in the stall" Hmm, interesting, maybe he really needed to call that person back...

I give it another few minutes and get another drink.

This is weird. It's been 20 minutes... I'm embarrassed now to say that I even waited that long. How long would you have stayed?

I ask another guy to see if anyone is in the bathroom? "No one in there." "Thanks anyway."

I talk to the waitress and tell her what's going on, she can't believe it. I tell her that I'm leaving and if the guy comes back, tell him that I left and that he's a big douche bag.

I feel a little BAD about leaving. What if he was on a really important phone call with his manic depressive mother around the side of the bar? What if he's puking in the street? He could have at least excused himself! I should NOT feel bad, it's not like he was super hot or anything either, the man is an unemployed stoner for gods sake!

I get home, I send him a rude email... why not?

"That was a very inconsiderate rude thing to do, please do not contact me ever again."

It felt good! He didn't write back trying to explain himself, and now I have a wonderfully horrible dating story to tell my friends...

A few months later, I get an email from him on the same dating website. He says "hi, you're interesting, want to get a beer tonight?" He's not only forgotten that he's been out with me, he doesn't remember that he went to the bathroom and didn't come back! I write back:

"I'm not going out with you. Are you an idiot or too stoned to remember that I don't go out with the unemployed?"

What a tard.