Hmm well, today is NYE. Fabulous. Honestly, I hate this holiday. Least favorite of the year. There's always so much hype about how wasted and fabulous we're all going to get while we bar and party hop, and then you find yourself not nearly drunk enough at 3 am when your friend comes over to tell you that some random guy named Chuck (no, not Chuck from the Chief Source, a random guy) that followed you to this party and you will later find out is a coke addict and major alcoholic has actually just passed out in your friend's plate of homemade spinach dip and you have to find a way to throw him in a cab and get him home, even though he doesn't live in Chicago and doesn't know where his friends' house is. (True story, 2 years ago.)
I think the only thing I like about this holiday is the inevitable period of reflection that comes with it. 2004 was a pretty significant year for the world, our country, and I suppose it was pretty significant to me as well. In the midst of what was then my new job, I started supporting myself and finding out what it means to be "independent" (it means broke). I graduated with my Master's degree and found out what that contributed to my credibility (nothing so far, but hopefully something in the future, I'll let you know). I had my first blind date this past summer (miserable), got involved with two guys who had girlfriends (I know, horrible), and really flipped for someone, only to have it not work out. And I'm surprised? And those were only the highlights. But as bad as I may make it sound, every piece of this year was a learning experience. I wouldn't trade any of it. It really does make me want to go bigger and better next year (insert pun here, because I'm sure that's what you were thinking).
At our office holiday dinner last week, one of my co-workers asked us to pick a color and a verb to describe what we hoped would represent our 2005. I picked "yellow" and "focus". Without getting too personal, 2004, for me, was about meeting obligations and standing on my own two feet. And with luck and hard work, this next year will hopefully be about my having the courage to go after the things that I've really wanted, now that I've paid my dues. Do they make a Hallmark greeting for this? They should. It's good stuff, I think.
Anyway, as mentioned earlier, this New Year's will be pretty low-key for me, which is good. I do look forward to making and receiving a number of drunk dials, though, from friends near and far. To everyone out there who I do like, have a safe and happy New Year. See you in '05 (or, um, tomorrow). Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to get some new undergarments from Victoria's Secret in honor of the New Year. Woo hoo.
Can Men and Women Be Friends? - A Ladder Perspective
This is not the last post on this topic, but it is definitely the first. I'd like to open the discussion with The Ladder Theory, as it is the one theory on this topic that I have found makes the most sense. I'd explain it, but it's easier to just read through it.
I personally believe that most of my failed relationships are attributed to the fact that regardless of circumstance, the magnitude of my ladder connection with the guy was disparate in my favor. (See Ladder Disparity). In other words, I'm great, and the guys suck. I like this theory very much.
At any rate, it makes complete sense. The guy who came up with this is intuitive, and obviously really articulate, but clearly has a little too much free time on his hands. And by a little, I mean entirely too much free time.
This is the first installment in my rankings of adult entertainment, as suggested by Kyle. Since this blog deals with primarily the nuances of relationships, including sex, it is only fair that I exercise my First Amendment right and my ethical obligation to fair journalism to present you with periodic reviews of Internet erotica. Oh yes, it's the holiday season, the blog has been quiet lately, and I will stoop to such levels.
First up, a personal favorite: Persian Kitty's Adult Links. Yes, it sounds a little fluffy, and the overall layout of it is just like a little Persian Kitty wearing a Burberry sweater and eating Fancy Feast out of a silver bowl...until the homepage fully loads, with no-holds-barred, blurred out streaming video shots of compromising positions. Wow. Makes me think of Lil' Jon wanting a lady in the street but a freak in the bed. Yaay-yehh.
Anyway, on with the evaluation:
Variety: This has everything you could ever want, in my opinion. Pictures, streaming audio and video, live cams, chat, and most importantly (and I say this with sarcasm) sex/relationship advice and info. Now, if I were the site, I would link the advice page to a blank screen with flashing text that says, "Here's some advice: don't go to a porn site for relationship advice. Are you seriously that clueless?" Also, this site has a nice rare erotic stories link, which one of my exes (who shall remain nameless) was extraordinarily fond of reading in the middle of the day when he thought I was at Media Law class and wouldn't be home until 3:10.
Dirty Stuff: Well, I surfed the site, and I was a little disappointed. The pages were slow to load, and a lot of them made you pay, which is annoying, because I really don't want "Kandee's Hungry Mouth" or whatever to show up on my Visa statement next month. But of the free links, for women I'd highly recommend "Kate's Dicks" and "Sexratz for Women and Lovers", although the latter never really loaded and I am still wondering what "Sexratz" are. Guys, I find the "Hourly and Daily Quick Picks" to be a good find, since they are classified by category. Hey, different strokes for different folks, right? They're quick and easy and most guys I know are all about that. (Sorry, cheap shot, just kidding.) God, the puns are plentiful in this post.
Street Cred: Well sadly, this site has none. This is the LeBron James of the porn world, long ago sold out to tasteful porn seekers and pay-for-porn business models. Better luck with the next review, I guess.
Mojo: From a woman's perspective, I think it's tolerable. I like the little "Proof that Purrs, Claws, and Curiosity will get you anywhere" tagline. Clever marketing. It's like our own little Wild Animal Kingdom, but with people, not animals. I don't know how effective this site is in riling up the male mojo...there's a lot of pink and flowery stuff, which could just make you think of whiny, relationship-begging girls who want to cuddle and watch movies. And I am a girl, but I do know that when it comes down to business, you're not thinking about the former. You're thinking Jenna Jameson and condiments.
Overall Satisfaction: Well, it ain't the creme de la creme, but it will get the job done. It's nicely organized, full of variety, and ribbed for her pleasure.
Okay, I am so mad right now it is incredibly hard to see straight. I have learned to control my temper over the years (well, only sometimes, I guess), but I have been furious all day long, and it's not going away. It's a combination of personal matters - too personal to share with all of you, so I had to resort to the tried and true.
I took a long, hot shower, rocked the iTunes, and screamed Ani DiFranco and Fiona Apple lyrics at the top of my lungs. I also threw in a little Nine Inch Nails and Soundgarden (so good before Chris Cornell screwed his career and went solo) for good measure, to balance out the butch rock. I'm sure my neighbors love me, but then again, I suffer from their wall pounding every Tuesday night, so I think we're even.
While on break, I had the rare opportunity to catch up on a bunch of movies I have been meaning to see. Below, in no particular order, I attempt to summarize what to see/rent.
Closer: Complex. Lots of relationship stuff. Good sex scenes. Jude Law is hot. Don't go with a boyfriend/girlfriend you have ever cheated on or one who suspects you are cheating. Will cause delusional bouts of paranoia and possibly lead to therapy on someone's part. Not a "feel good" kind of movie, but well-made and raises some interesting dynamics you rarely see on a movie screen. Grade: B+
The Princess Diaries 2 - Royal Engagement: I embarrassingly own the first installment of this on DVD, and I love that Mary Poppins is in this, but Julie Andrews is clearly hurting for money. This is one of the worst sequels ever. Why? I don't have enough room or time to list the reasons, but Raven from the Cosby Show is in it, is that enough information for you? Don't waste your money - watching this sequel will ruin even the first movie. Grade: D-
Meet the Fockers: Hilarious. Barbra Streisand is genius (and not just because I am Jewish and my people tend to love her). Ben Stiller is adorable. Teri Polo doesn't act for shit in this movie, and neither does Blythe Danner, despite being a phenomenal actress in other films. Robert DeNiro is one of my favorite actors ever, and still manages to be hot at the ripe old age of...well, ancient. Owen Wilson manages a cameo, but since I'm obsessed with him the cameo is not nearly as long as I'd have liked it to be. Certainly not an Oscar-contender, but well worth the movie ticket so you can laugh hysterically. Grade: A-
Napoleon Dynamite: Quirky. Similar to the style of "The Girl Next Door" (one of my favorites of this year), except for no one ever gets laid. Virtually no plot, but scene-to-scene, this movie is so funny. Napoleon is so cute, and I just want to go out with him and clue him into something, anything. The guy makes no eye contact, is a little socially awkward, and speaks in a monotonous voice. I have been known to like guys like this. I wish he would exist in real life; I'd date him. Grade: B
Unrelated: is anyone looking at the hit counter? It now says "666". This is creepy. Anyone up to hitting the blog? I don't want to be associated with Satan.
This post is geared toward the female audience, so if you're a male and you're reading, please disregard unless you are a metrosexual:
Girls, hit up Nordstrom and Neiman Marcus stat. I went shopping yesterday and dropped an assload of hard-earned money on some of the greatest clothing I've ever purchased. Purchases included a Carmen Marc Valvo black minidress, some black pants, cords, and two of the cutest Diane Von Furstenburg and Theory dresses I have ever laid eyes on. The sales are phenomenal - as almost all items were on major sales (which was how I could afford any of it). The only thing I advise against is drinking Starbucks before you shop. I am not a regular Starbucks drinker (or even a fan, I actually kind of hate it), but one venti vanilla latte and it's like I'm on liquid cocaine and cannot be held liable for any actions or purchases made thereafter.
I just got back from Florida about an hour ago, and there is definitely a difference between 72 degrees and 36 degrees. Back to the grindstone.
Also just got off the phone with the Dr. It seems that now I may have unintentionally saddled myself with possible New Year's plans (but more on that overrated holiday later). And Stupid Me mentioned the blog by accident, and now he is begging for the address. Here's the thing about having a blog - it's great to have, it's a constructive outlet, but it launches all sorts of problems. For example, now when I talk to friends, they ask me how my trips went, or what Jerry Maguire is up to - without my having told them anything. Also, there is a great fear of mentioning people (and consequently talking shit), because I know you f*ckers are reading, and I can't talk shit about you when I know you're reading - that's just wrong. And then you have people like Dr. Rob, who try to find the blog, and you have to refuse to give them the address because it's like giving them license to read your diary. Dammit.
Another big fat dammit goes out to the fact that my neighbors are getting it on upstairs, as I am pretty sure that nothing else could account for the unusual, rhythmic wall pounding above me. It's so depressing. They do this every Tuesday. I hope for their sakes that they're getting it on more often than once a week...maybe on Fridays they do it at his place or something.
Personal shoutout to Flynn, our newest member of the community, who felt it necessary to comment on Randy. I'm not sure why I gave this colossal asshole such mention in the blog, and I'm not quite sure what made me think of the grit-loving, Kentucky-bred, millionaire mama's boy who snored like heavy machinery and laughed when I gave him flowers for Sweetest Day sophomore year. (I admit, I asked for it by sending a guy flowers, and I learned my lesson - will never, ever, ever do that again.) But there is something to be said for a guy who invites you to come down to Bourbon country for the town's annual pig roast, drives you around in a Beemer, and makes you stay up until the sun comes up and makes you a bowl of grits to keep you warm while you watch the beautiful Ohio sun rise. Or is there? On second thought, maybe not.
I digress...this post is really about nothing, sorry. I have a lot of things to say, but my mind is all over the place, and it's probably time for bed soon, so I'll do a quick post on movie reviews and then I'm out.
Maybe it's that I am selfish, or maybe it has just been a nice two years since I had a long-term relationship, but it is beginning to take its unfortunate toll on me.
My parents bought a huge king-sized bed for the guest room of our house here in Florida, and the first two nights I was here, and sleeping in it by myself, it was great. I was sleeping 10-12 hours a night and having really good dreams. But last night, my big sister (who got here yesterday) and I had to share the bed, and I slept the worst I've slept in a long time. It was so hot, which I know I shouldn't be complaining about given the weather in the rest of the country right now, and I kept tossing and turning and it was so bad I had to go downstairs and sleep in the den at 4 am. Then I had to go back upstairs at 5 am because it was too cold, I had no blanket, and I was too lazy to turn the fan off.
Anyone who has had the great fortune of sharing a bed with me (or Tim, whose couch has housed me more times than I care to count) knows that I am a bit of a tosser and a turner, but at least I get my share of sleep. I used to rarely ever be bothered by other people, except for this one guy Randy in college, who really annoyed me. He always snored so loud. Anyway, my sister is quiet as a mouse but I just couldn't sleep, and I woke half the house up by moving rooms in the middle of the night, which I felt badly about.
And all of that just makes me wonder if I will ever be able to live with a guy for real and share a bed, because it seems like I've gotten too spoiled sleeping alone to want any company, even in a king-sized bed.
Since I rarely aim for accuracy, I almost never have to make an editorial correction, but it came to my attention last night that Festivus was actually on December 23rd, not 26th. Whoops.
Because I feel so badly about this erroneous post, I am including a link on Festivus where you can read all about the pole, the airing of grievances, and the feats of strength. Rally up for 2005.
There has been little time to post all day, as I have been working on my tan, but I just wanted to take a moment and wish everyone a Merry Christmas, wherever you are. And also, a merry Festivus for the rest of us on December 26th.
I was watching CNN earlier tonight, and I kept seeing soldiers in Iraq wishing their families happy holidays. This made me sad, as one of my friends is set to be deployed in about three weeks, after he finishes a training stint in SC. So with that, I want to wish him a really good Christmas and safe travels to and from the Middle East.
As for me, Christmas will entail picking my sister up from the airport, eating sushi, and renting ("Napoleon Dynamite") as well as watching ("Meet the Fockers") movies. For anyone who is interested, "The Princess Diaries 2: Royal Engagement" is terrible, as proven when viewed today. Spend your money elsewhere.
Sorry for the absence...it's a busy time of year, and everyone needs a little down time. I had the longest day ever yesterday, arriving in Ft. Lauderdale at 1:00 am, after a full day of work and a three hour flight delay in Chicago, so today has been spent sleeping it off and opening a window everywhere I go to adjust to the 80 degree weather.
Since this vacation is long-awaited and well-deserved, I preemptively apologize for a lack in quantity or quality of posts. There's not much going on, and for once, that is very refreshing and exciting. But since my girlfriends never believe me when I say nothing is going on, I'll let you know that you'd would be completely undelighted to know that I've talked to Dr. Rob twice in the past two weeks, since he showed up shitfaced on my birthday. But thanks to him, I amused myself at the airport on the phone all evening yesterday, and he did ask me out again sometime in the next couple of weeks. Yet again we'll try going out, just another phase in the neverending cycle. Pretty soon one of us will freak out and decide that it's better to be friends. And then, six months from now (unless someone meets someone else, which sometimes throws the timeframe off), I'll get an email or phone call, or vice versa, and we will tell the other person that we miss them, and the other person will suggest going out, and it will start all over again.
I think everyone has at least one person they cycle with, if not more. Certainly I can think of at least one good girlfriend (S) who cycles with the same guy. Basically, you keep trying to make it work, but it never really does. So you take a little hiatus and then bump into the person again somewhere, and as if it never happened the first time, start trying again. My friend is on a two month cycle, and she's on try #3 as we speak. If Dr. and I are on the cusp of another cycle, this will be try #4 in three and a half years.
When you're in the cycle, it's hard to believe that it won't work out. It's like you're blind to reality and history. But then, you always hear stories about people who did manage to figure things out and now they're together forever and getting tattoos of the other person's name and shit like that. So you buck up and keep on coming back to the same person. Who are you supposed to believe? Do cycles ever really end? Has anyone ever worked anything out with someone who was a part of a cycle, or did it just end as soon as someone found someone else?
Last night, we had our office holiday gift exchange. I made out okay, although truthfully, I was a little disappointed. I think I was sort of expecting a car or something...clearly I was lost in my little "Price is Right" fantasy. But I scored the following:
1. a spa kit from Secret Santa (good, aside from the fact that I go to salons because I'm too lazy to do anything myself)
2. a Victoria's Secret kit with a lot of shiny and smelly girl stuff (good)
3. a good bottle of Australian Shiraz, and a bottle of vintage Chardonnay from my boss (way to go, chief...yum)
4. some Benjamins in cash (not nearly enough, but I'll take it)
5. a silver necklace with a martini shaker charm on it (should i be reading into these gifts?)
6. the first season of "Designing Women" on DVD (a gag gift - I was sort of disappointed I didn't get "Bikini Biker Adventures" or "Gigli", like others in the office received)
All in all, a nice assortment...except for maybe the DVD. What the hell am I going to do with that?
Earlier today, I received a suggestion from a friend of the blog, let's call him "Maneyac", to address something that hasn't been brought up just yet. Ordinarily, I write whatever the hell I want and hope that people enjoy it, but this one's interesting, so let's let it roll.
Most of this little blog "community" is in their twenties, which is an interesting age. Some of us are still weaning ourselves off of mommy's titty, and some of us are engaged, married, with child (oy), or at least entertaining these ideas. Who you date - and how old the other person is - seems to play a big role in determining maturity, experience, and even beyond that, where the f*ck the relationship is going.
I'm interested to know this: is there a preference of older guys/girls? Younger? Why? And does it really make a difference?
I'll throw my two cents in here...in my 8 years of dating, I have dated someone in every category: same age, younger, older, Tonka Toys, and Viagra. And it doesn't make a damn difference to me, or at least not a noticeable one, because guys are like snowflakes (wow, poetic, I know). But honestly, everyone is different, and that's what makes it a process, and what makes it fun. But I prefer someone around the same age, maybe a year or two older. Because really, this is the age group that I relate to the most. Who else in my age group can nod appreciatively when I mention that my first concert was Milli Vanilli at the Coliseum in 1991, or that the saddest day of college was when the Twin Towers fell my senior year and one of the guys in my class that day ran out of the room screaming because his dad worked in the Pentagon? (His dad was okay, thankfully.)
Obviously, there are benefits to dating older people...hopefully, they're more established, more mature, and not still fumbling for a G-spot (if none of those apply to the person you're with now, you need to do some serious re-evaluation). But then again, if you're a girl, an older guy is sometimes the "swinging bachelor" that still eats off of paper plates and calls you his "friend" (despite having dated him for the past year). If you date an older woman, as many of my guy friends have, you could be stuck with the one that's hellbent on getting married five minutes ago and might just forget to take the Pill (which always seems to be the case). Conversely, younger girls have a tendency to have no idea what to do with a guy in bed, and younger guys - well, that's an entirely different post.
As always, scary Older Women stories or College Kid stories are appreciated, but please keep it relatively legal - remember that the consensual age in most states is 18. So if you have a hankering for 3 year old girls (which I am in no way encouraging or endorsing), make sure you are smart enough to use a screenname that doesn't identify you, dumbass.
I just came home from a cookie decorating party (don't get me started). One of my co-workers was there, and every time someone would put private parts on a gingerbread boy (okay, I admit, I was the only person making pervy cookies, but whatever), she would look away and mutter something about how we don't know how long it's been.
Which got me thinking...how long is a single person expected to go without action? And what, exactly, constitutes "action"? Is it holding hands? Making out? Sex? Anal beads? I mean, honestly. I would assume that most people's unit of measure is sex, because it's pretty stupid to talk about how long it's been since you've gotten some feel up action or something. I always wonder how long it really is when people say they've gone a "long time".
Currently, I am at...hmm, sixteen days, or something like that. I do not think this is a long time. I mean, it's not yesterday, which sucks, but I was unfortunately under the influence last time (okay, barely coherent), which also sucks, because it's hard to feel like it hasn't been a long time when you can barely remember the last time, you know? I think my longest streak ever has been five months, and that felt like f*cking eternity. At that point, you don't even feel human anymore. Someone eventually touches you and you either don't know what to do with them or just have an O right then and there.
So what is a "long time"? I'm interested to hear thoughts on this, particularly those of readers who make self-claims about Cal Ripken-like streaks.
The following pictures are friends of the blog. Most of them are loyal readers of the blog and good friends of the Drama Queen, so I thought I would throw out props where props are due. I am working on future posting material, so I thought I'd amuse anyone that is actually reading this on a Sunday with a few pictures since I have nothing to say yet. I have posted only pictures of people I don't hate, because my mom always says that if you have nothing nice to post to a picture, don't post it. So we'll protect the identities of the very guilty.
Porn stars love Twentysomething Drama Queen. They had a field day with the "Reverse Cowgirl" post.
Make no mistake, Tressel is a fan of Twentysomething Drama Queen. He reads daily. I think I am just posting this because I have it in my pictures files for some unknown reason.
These boys are two of my favorite, and most loyal readers. They are hot and single business partners and stand to make a lot of money someday, so golddiggers, take note.
Beth and I on the train in New York last weekend. Queen B is one of the blog's very best friends. We love her New York attitude and "No, f*ck you!" approach to men. By the way, my fly was probably down here, as it was most of the day.
It's 10:30 on a Saturday night, and I am going to bed. Yes, I am fully aware of the fact that this is lame, but considering that there is a monstrous blizzard outside (you have to love Chicago winters), and after being at work all day, trying to make sure that everything is set to air for 1Q'05, I think sleep is the best option. Also, there has been a weak response to my very excellent topic of dealbreakers, so I'm giving everyone out there some extra time to think really hard about this shit. Generous, I know.
Time for a rant. Do you ever wonder why the hell you do what you do? I love my industry, and I like work, but seriously, this lack of social life due to work is really getting to me. My only consolation is in knowing that on Monday, a bonus is imminent, as we have our office gift exchange and this is usually the event that inspires my co-workers and boss to give me extra money, which is the least of compensation they can offer, considering I make barely enough to afford living on my own and not with one of the many Mexican janitors in my building who smile and undress me with their eyes like rabid perverts when I stroll into work wearing a skirt or a tighter shirt. I am also in and out of the office before anyone else (and they all make more than me). The other consolation is that in four days, I will be in Florida (Jew heaven) for Christmas, eating Thai food, catching up on movies, and working on getting a tan, which is good considering that I am currently at albino status of the skin tone.
Sorry for the late post, I got home about an hour ago. Seriously, does anyone else work until 9 pm on a Thursday? If so, please speak up and talk me down from the ledge. It'd be better knowing I am not the only one.
So I am a bit of a listmaker. I like to make lists for just about everything. Once, I was so nervous about having a "relationship talk" with a guy that I made notes of everything I was going to say to him and glanced at them every now and then while we were on the phone, like I was giving a f*cking book report. I felt like such an idiot, but I didn't want to leave anything out, and I didn't want to say something off the cuff that would sound retarded. But I digress.
Anyway, for your benefit and mine, wouldn't it be great to keep a running list of dealbreakers?
dealbreakers: inherent or discovered characteristics, action, or behavior by a potential/current significant other which promptly causes you to label them a jackass, and thus leaves no option but for you to either write them off from the get-go, or break off the current relationship
The list will be like a Cliffs Notes to carry around with you mentally, as you meander down the dirty sidewalk of life.
To help us all out, I have compiled a mini-list of personal dealbreakers. I think most of the criteria are universal. So in no particular order whatsoever:
"corn chip" toenails: this is what my co-worker calls them. Pretty self explanatory, and completely disgusting.
someone who won't introduce you or acknowledge you to their friends
anyone who still owns and listens to a full album by Milli Vanilli, Ratt, Frankie Goes to Hollywood, Smashmouth, or Sugar Ray
someone who uses coupons on dates (trust me on this one)
any guy who consistently wears t-shirts with ridiculous sexual innuendo, like "Team Donkey Punch" (I ran into a group of guys wearing these shirts a couple of weeks ago - there were no girls present within a 20-foot radius.)
anyone who finds Aaron Carter attractive, or even remotely talented
people who use tip cards or calculators in restaurants
back hair
Let's see how many we can come up with. I'm going to try and add a link to this page at some point with the running list, maybe with little check mark boxes next to them so you can post a hard copy somewhere, if you feel so inclined.
In all of the excitement of the past weekend, I forgot to share an interesting story because it did occur on Friday night, just before I left for New York. Actually, technically it occurred on Saturday morning.
I received the worst booty call ever.
Second Chance called me, and to paraphrase, stated that he was "looking for a place to stay" because he had witnessed a stabbing outside his friend's apartment and was freaked out. And drunk. At 3:57 am on a Friday night.
I'm sorry, but that should win some sort of prize, whether the alleged stabbing took place or not. I was half tempted to remind him that I am a human being and not a homeless shelter, but I didn't want to disturb him in his potentially delicate and troubled state of mind, so I simply did not return the phone call. Ridiculous.
P.S. For all of you lazy jackasses, I have added an email notification service that will automatically send new posts from this blog directly to your email. See toolbar on right, underneath "Links".
Hey boys, feeling lonely lately? Miss the old fling, the old girlfriend, or that favorite older female relative, who used to hold you a little too tight and slip you the tongue every now and then? Have no fear, the Japanese have outsmarted us silly Americans yet again. While our work force has been smoking dope on their lunch break and huddled around the water cooler discussing "The Biggest Loser", the Japanese were hard at work on the Lap Pillow.
Um, okay. If any man is truly satisfied by purchasing this, and this is all it takes, marriage should not be a problem for him in the future.
Okay, we still haven't gotten to 500. But I think something is obviously wrong with the Blog Counter. So accuse me of favoritism or whatnot, but the winner is John S. from Ohio. Congratulations, John! You win because: a) my counter is f*cked up, and b) you must have hit it at least twice since I posted; therefore, you win.
As our 500th visitor winner, you will receive the following:
a makeout session with me!
Rules and eligibility: You must be between the ages of 18 and 30.You must be a male.You must not have a girlfriend. Prizes are not transferrable to ugly, single friends, but can be transferred to hot single guys who make over $150K and reside in the Chicagoland area. Unfortunately, you do not qualify to collect the prize, but I will think of something to send you in the meantime. Maybe if we're lucky, The Chief Source will chip in and donate some discontinued Ronwear (if they have anything left in stock).
Wow...we are up to 498 on the blog hit counter. I don't know if it's unique visitors, or just the same 10 people checking 50 times, or me checking to see if you dicks are posting (although I don't think it ever counts me), but that's quite an accomplishment, seeing as we are a mere two days past our 1-month anniversary.
At any rate, a special prize will be awarded to our 500th visitor. Details and press release to follow.
Last week, I was on the phone with a fellow blog friend, who warned me that eventually I will run dry of subjects to discuss. Obviously this friend doesn't know me as well as he thinks he does, because I came back, refreshed and with a million questions to throw out there.
While in New York, I stayed with an ex, a good friend who I still talk to all the time. And I (mistakenly) assumed that I could stay with him and it wouldn't get weird, because after a long ass time of not dating, how weird could it get, right? We've been friends for longer than we were together.
As always, I was proven wrong. It got very weird. Not a "never want to see you again" weird, but more of a "we are crossing some lines here, so where do we stand because it's weird" kind of weird. And now, I have talked to him twice today already, and I am really wondering what the hell is going on here. Anyway, this leads me to my next question - can you really stay just friends with an ex?
I used to be with Jerry Maguire, whose policy is that when it's over, it's over. No phone calls, no emails, limited contact - it's pointless to try to be friends because you can't regress a relationship to a friendship. Ever-optimistic about the issue, I used to disagree. (And I still wish that Jerry and I were friends, the kind of friends who talk on the phone and have a lot of sex, but aren't necessarily dating. Is that so wrong?) I am still in varying degrees of contact with some people from the past, and no problems. But I do believe the line is crossed when staying with the person and spending copious amounts of time with them. It will probably just suck you back into that shitty vortex of a relationship that you were in before. And unless something major changes on either side, you two will continue to stumble into that same construction cone of an issue that f*cked things up in the first place.
So if you argue that you can stay friends with someone, how far is too far? What's the magic line you can't cross? Can you still talk to them? Hang out with them? Go out with them? Take them into the bedroom and play spanky games, or whatever brand of kink you're into? Is there some sort of grace period you have to pass before you can hang out with them? Or should it be no contact whatsoever, save for a pair of "panties" or boxers you never had the heart to throw out?
My hypothesis on this one will be that most girls will argue you can stay friends, and most guys will argue that you can't. Or maybe this will come down to a divisive "liberals are hotter/conservatives are hotter" showdown? Either way, this should be addressed.
Eat more donuts, please. The rest of us over here in reality feel fat.
I was pretty proud of myself yesterday. While shopping in Greenwich Village and walking around NYU, I kept a sprinkled donut in my coat pocket in case I saw Mary-Kate Olson. I'm not trying to be an ass with regards to eating disorders, because they are serious issues, but this was more of a networking tactic. I thought that throwing a donut in her direction would be a show of support and good faith and hopefully lead to my inevitable casting as an extra in her next movie.
In a completely expected turn of events, I got impatient after browsing "hip" stores for three hours (in the hopes of bumping into her) and ate it.
Odd to come back from a four-day "vacation" more exhausted than before you left. New York - great town. Could never ever ever live there, though. It's way too fast-paced, and definitely not even remotely comparable to Chicago in terms of life pace, or (sadly for Chicago) coolness quotient. Everyone I know living there loves it, but I would pass out from sheer f*cking exhaustion if my ass ever lived there permanently. And if I think I'm broke here...
Among the highlights of the trip (just thought I'd share):
Eating Afghani food, which ignorantly enough, I didn't think existed, save for the rice meal you buy for poor kids when Sally Struthers is on tv and they write you letters and send pictures of themselves smiling, with flies on their faces. It's actually a lot like Indian food, except for with a lot more pomegranate.
Walking around Times Square for two hours with my fly down (thanks to Beth for pointing this out to me two hours after the fact while shopping at H&M)
Hanging out at a hookah bar and smoking apple tobacco
A Prada bag, a Louis Vuitton bag, and a wallet = $85. Enough said.
Tomorrow I'm out, headed to New York for the next four days to visit some friends. I don't really know or care if I'll have a chance for some Internet time, but if not, have a great weekend.
This issue was mentioned a few months back on the very informative Chief Source blog, but I thought I would resuscitate (good word) the issue from the buried archives and bring it to life again, simply because it is such a fascinating debate. Disclaimer: I am in no way trying to compete with any of my political counterparts, merely trying to be a well-rounded blog.
So without further adieu: who is hotter (men or women, take your pick), Democrats or Republicans? Liberals or conservatives?
My opinion is given with all due respect to the editors of the Chief Source, who I'm sure will crucify me for what I am about to say. Conversely, I am confident that the Keeler Report would commend me for the following statements, and add that there's no other way for anyone to go, but personally, I think that the conservatives are hotter. Those who know me would classify me as a liberal, but opposites do attract. There is something about any guy who believes in big business, economic Darwinism, and war that, quite frankly, really turns me on, even though I agree with few, if any, of those principles. This is not to say that I haven't been attracted to liberal guys before, or that I have been with ugly motherf*cker Republicans simply because of their political beliefs, but conservatives are stuffy. They are stubborn and often antiquated in their views, and there is no greater challenge than to bring that conservative out of his shell and unleash the inner beast. That's a challenge I think most girls might be really into. (Although I'd be sure to be safe, seeing as abortion would not be an option, should you be careless and something were to go wrong.)
Is this true for guys? Does it matter? Is a forward-thinking, equal-opportunity, marching, bra-burning chick hotter than Condoleezza Rice? Wait, unfair question. Anyway, here's your chance to speak out. Run wild.
Seems like we have broken the ice around here and busted out some stories. So while we were on the topic, I figured I'd keep the momentum going and ask some more questions, see what everyone is thinking.
I used to have this long-running discussion with a guy I used to date. We were very big on "numbers". Fortunately, at the end of the series of conversations, we agreed that the other person wasn't too skanky to sleep with, and then we proceeded to add one more to our lists. But the question still remains: at what point does a guy become "dirty"? At one point is a girl a slut? Is it five people? Ten? Fifty?
Dr. Rob, my ex, is an almost thirty year old podiatrist. He is also sort of a dick, a dick that showed up shitfaced at my birthday on Saturday and made an ass out of himself, but that's beside the point. And he's an okay looking guy, nothing special, really. But he's very smooth, and that makes him dangerous. So about three years ago, when we were dating, the conversation came up with him as well, and when I asked him if he minded telling me how many girls he'd slept with, and after I got past the initial "I don't know", he said "I guess somewhere between 30 and 60." Hold up. 30 and 60? That's a thirty person range, for those of you who have to stop and calculate. I'm not exactly sure how anyone forgets 30 people, but apparently it's possible. Or he's a liar. And since he's a dick, he might also be a liar.
My personal thoughts on this is that it does really depend on the person's relationship history (if they've never had a serious one, higher numbers are expected) and their age (if I ever dated a single 50 year old who slept with 1 woman, or an 18 year old who slept with 50, I'd be a little creeped out). But everyone seems to have a different theory about this. I'm particularly interested in hearing the male point of view on this, because I've never heard the same response twice.
Just in case anyone was wondering, the following has been on my mind, or has happened, today:
Why is it that anyone who speaks in French, or in a French accent always sounds so sexy, regardless of what they are saying? Conversely, why do all the British sound smart, regardless of what they are saying?
I just got back from the depressing laundromat, but it was so cold outside that even with a big puffy jacket I was contemplating taking a nap inside one of the huge dryers because it was so nice and warm.
Some guy called me from a 601 area code tonight. I didn't know who it was, and I could barely hear him, so when I said, "Who is this?" he literally replied, "Sorry baby, I must be having the wrong number. I'm lookin' for DeShawn, and you ain't black." Click.
Every person worth their salt usually has at least one good sex story. If you're lucky, you have a few of them. It's always a guy that said something a little too nasty, or the girl that just laid there, or the person that makes strange noises or faces. And I think that most people would agree that girls think that guys get a little too aggressive, and that guys think that girls always expect too much cheesy bullshit. This is absolutely, completely, 100% true.
The reason for this can be attributed to a simple theory: girls learn about sex by reading Cosmo, and guys learn about sex via porn. I really don't think there's any other explanation that fits. Most, if not all males I know, either used to watch or read porn, and developed their ideas of what great sex is like from watching Jenna Jameson do her job, no pun intended. Most women I know are always complaining about how hard it is to get their boyfriend into the "reverse Cowgirl", and how in last month's issue of Glamour, there is supposedly some "sensitive area" that will drive the guy crazy, or at least score you a Prada bag for your next birthday. This fundamental difference in socialization accounts for the entire disparity between men and women when it comes to sex, and why, when in the mood, guys just want their girlfriends to dress up like naughty schoolgirls, and girls just want a room to look like Bath & Body Works threw up in it, with satin sheets and Sade in the background. (I prefer The Body Shop "White Musk" and Chris Isaak, but whatever.)
So is it any big surprise that either side is completely confused when things don't go as planned? My suggestion for correcting this is pretty simple. I propose that we fire everyone at Cosmo immediately, and hire an all-male staff. (It'd be harder to get more women into porn, I think, so this is a better route.) Then, have the staff revamp the magazine and make suggestions about sexual conduct similar to what guys really want, convince the women to go for it, and then we'll all be on the same page. No more of these "Jungle Elephant on Wheels" diagrams, or "Make Him Want You More Now" articles (getting naked seems to work for most people I know, which renders that information pretty useless). And the costume and toy businesses would do pretty well as a result, I think, which would drive business, which would create more jobs. And more jobs leads to more stress, which (hopefully) leads to stress relief by having more sex, which begins the cycle all over again. How's that for economic theory?
If you have any input on this topic, or any further suggestions, or hell, any funny sex stories that you are comfortable sharing (with the exception of bestiality stories, no one gives a shit about Bessie), feel free to do so below. This blog no longer accepts Anonymous comments, so prepare to be identified.
Every day, all of my female friends, co-workers, and I receive this email called Daily Candy. It's this great little daily blurb that caters to everything girl - shopping, product recommendations, trends, etc. Every now and then, they send out a "Daily Candy Lexicon" email, with clever little plays on words and definitions. Yes, it's like "Sex and the City"-style lingo. (There's my reference.) Some of them are stupid, but some are good for a laugh. Here are favorites:
nontourage (n.) A group of undesirable sycophants. ("The party was fun until Justin showed up with his nontourage.")
blamestorming (n.) A meeting whose sole purpose is to discuss why a deadline was missed or a project failed and who was responsible.
carat dangler (n.) A woman who finds it of utmost importance to flaunt her engagement/wedding ring at all times.
yellular:The loudness one adopts in response to a bad cell-phone connection, in the misguided hope that talking louder will improve the connection.
e-mauling:Stalking someone via e-mail.
crappuccino:A poorly made coffee beverage that cost upwards of four dollars.
Everyone is breaking up, no joke. It seems to be like the flu.
I was discussing it with my friend yesterday, and was struck by this thought: hey, if you're single, you never have to worry about getting dumped. Pretty brilliant, right? I mean, considering that the worst thing that can happen to a relationship is the dissolution of one, it's refreshing to realize that if you're not in one, the worst thing can't happen.
Anyone smelled Britney Spears' new perfume, "Curious"? My co-worker bought it for me as a belated gift yesterday, and my initial reaction was nausea, but it actually smells phenomenal, much to my chagrin. It doesn't smell like a cheap skank, WT-chasing, Cheeto-loving pop star who peaked at 20.
If you're out there looking for new perfume, it's recommended. I'm going to start wearing it, but if I start attracting people who look like Kevin Federline, it's going in the trash.
In previous posts, certain people have been mentioned by name, and it has been requested that I address situations/issues so that the public can supposedly get to the bottom of it. I never like to let the people down, so here goes:
I share a lot of things on this blog, because it's great to get it out there. Especially when people are dumb f*cks and deserve to be called out. There are, however, some things that should remain private. And as the author of this blog, it is my responsibility to protect the privacy of those relationships.
With regards to the particular situation and person, I respect this guy. I wish him all good things. I'm not going to disclose any further information because it's really no one else's business. I refuse to denigrate him over the f*cking Internet, of all places.
So I'm sorry if I let anyone down, but this is the one topic with which I am asking for a "hands-off".
Sunday. Shit. I am a bit of a wreck. I'm surprised that I was up by noon, to be honest, but a nap is probably in order later this afternoon, before "Desperate Housewives".
Anyway, for those of you who were wondering and actually read without the intention of taking cheap shots at me, last night was great. As stated in the subject, I did break rules 1, 3, and 5, but hey, keeping two out of five isn't bad.
Highlights of the night:
1. Watching Sandy and Sara completely dominate a booth full of gorgeous guys. At one point I think there were 10 guys, and those two. I can't compete - they're a force to be reckoned with.
2. Opening presents. I have more spa shit than I know what to do with, but I guess I'll stay really well groomed this year.
3. Drinking. Always a highlight.
4. Meeting Kevin, smokin' hot guy in Jack Daniels shirt who I called dibs on at the beginning of the night. He is a personal banker. When I told him that hearing banking terms turned me on, he started throwing out "ROI" and "depreciation". I don't know if he really thought I got off on that, but it was funny watching him try to throw it out there. Any moment involving Kevin was a good one.
Low Points of the night: 1. No cell phone reception. Couldn't hear a f*cking thing and then ended up with 4 voice mails at the end of the night from people who were trying to get in.
2. Watching assorted friends make out in the middle of the bar. To friends' credit, there was no private area to get the job done, as attested to in below Point #3.
3. Getting thrown out of private room with Kevin after being busted for making out on the stairwell. The manager, who looked like Mr. Clean, was not happy. Neither were Kevin or I.
4. Having Sandy convince the aforementioned booth of guys that they should come and give me a squeeze to see "how real they were". Yeah, it was decidedly not a good thing. It was annoying.
Before I go out tonight, I wanted to affirm a few things, and I figured that the best way to insure that I stick to these rules is to literally write them down.
So before the Big Birthday Pub Crawl (BBPC), I am laying down some ground rules about my behavior. I am going to try to stick to these rules no matter how under the influence I am. Here we go:
1. I will act like a lady. I will not do any of the following tonight: stand in a position that will give someone a cheap shot up my skirt, throw my ass in someone's face while dancing, burp loudly in a group of people, or hook up on a dance floor. That is sick.
2. I will not accept a cheap plastic crown of any kind, and then proceed to put it on my head and walk around like I am royalty. I am aware of the fact that guys think that girls who wear them are dumb bitches (most girls think this too), and I agree with this sentiment.
3. I will not use the cheap excuse of my birthday to try and get anyone to buy me a shot, not even if he's really good looking and I think it's my only "in" on the conversation.
4. I will keep secrets. I will not tell one girlfriend that the other girlfriend said her ass was fat when we were out last Saturday, or any sort of secret that I am not supposed to tell.
5. I will keep my musical tastes to myself. I will not screech "I LOVE THIS SOOOOONG!!!" when, say, Ludacris' "Area Codes" comes on, and then proceed to say the same thing with every consequent song.
Good morning. I just got home. It is 7:55 am. Why I am up at this blessed hour, I have no idea. Oh wait, maybe it's because I passed out at midnight after drinking for 8 hours at the employee Christmas/Hanukkah party. Right, okay, I remember now.
I don't have much to say about last night, out of respect for the readers and whatnot. I will say that it was fun though, and that's all that matters. And I'll also give anyone who is reading a couple pieces of general advice in regards to appropriate conduct at employee parties (and no, I'm not saying any of this has or did happen to me, most of it is pure observation):
Do not use the expression "Get the f*ck out" to your boss, or jokingly say, "F*ck you". This is not from personal experience, but rather from that of one of my co-workers. Monday morning will be interesting, don't you think?
Don't get your meat where you get your bread. Meaning, don't put yourself in the situation where you are asking a co-worker or boss to pass the condom instead of the calculator. This is a sketchy move, so if you're planning on doing this, make sure it's not because of some hidden motive to score a bigger salary/better stapler/reserved parking space, etc., and that it's actually because you're just horny and stupid and happen to be standing next to them.
The office slut will always hit on the bartender/server/maitre'd. It's just the way it goes.
Where and whenever appropriate, bring a spouse or significant other to keep you in check, unless your spouse or significant other is an alcoholic. Then you're f*cked.
Unrelated: I awoke this morning to 4 missed calls - three from a guy I dated in high school (we are still friends), and one from Second Chance, with whom I am supposed to go to the art museum today, if I don't pass out on my couch in front of a "Beverly Hills 90210" rerun on FX first. Interesting that none - I repeat, none - of the messages were intelligible. I was thinking to myself that maybe we ought to tip them off to switching to Nextel.
Do you ever have an epiphany where you realize that you might be missing out on something that is right in front of you? I talked to one of my best friends last night for two hours. And he is one of the most witty, fascinating guys I've ever known. And I always love talking to him.
We were talking about random stuff when the conversation took a slightly different turn, and we broached (love that word) the topic of why we've never dated. And it hit me like a ton of bricks - why haven't I dated this guy? I couldn't come up with a single reason. My immediate reaction was to try and dismiss it, but I have been thinking about it all day. We have known one another for almost 5 years, and been good friends for about 3 years, clearly standing the test of time (and complicated situations). I have always had this weird suspicion that I was going to end up with a guy that was right in front of me all along. It certainly wouldn't lack in irony...of course I would end up with some guy that I overlooked while I was f*cking around with assorted jackasses.
This friend, he's smokin' hot. I have always thought this. He's nice. Very intelligent. Great job. He tells a mean joke, which I love - sense of humor is key. Watching him play guitar is beautiful because he's amazing and can cover Fuel like no one else. He's a fantastic hook up. We talk about pretty much everything. I am always so entertained whenever I'm with him - who else is capable of dragging me, at 3 am, to a goth bar with cages and whips and chains, simply because it's funny? (That was actually sort of scary, but still fun.) He has seen/heard me cry more times than I care to count and always knows how to make me feel better, which is usually to either make me laugh, or to offer to kick the shit out of whoever guy. (And he did almost go to Matt's house, until I reminded him that it's not good to mess with a convicted felon.) He has bore witness to my abrasive temper, and yet still actively elects to be my friend. I mean, isn't that pretty much the whole package? Am I missing anything here?
I am still thinking a lot about this, and it's not all sorted out just yet. Maybe I will find a reason and then dismiss this pathetic monologue I have going in my head, but it does kind of bother me that I've never considered him an option or entertained any of these ideas until now. Shit, I feel so smart at (almost) 24. Maybe I'll discover a cure for cancer this year while I'm at it.
Well, it's late, but I am making time to post. Dinner tonight was phenomenal. It's strange, but I devote so much of my life to work and complain about how much I work, but on the rare occasion that our office goes out to dinner, we sit at the table, eat foie gras and drink $300 bottles of wine (perks of working where I work), and trade stories like we are one big family. This is very fun. I must admit, for all of the complaining I do about the hours I keep, it's really nice to love the people you work with, and to do fun shit with them. More of this tomorrow at the company party, I suppose. I hope we play flip cup again.
Anyway...my boss, who is one of those guys that knows about everything two years in advance of the rest of the US population because he is so well-connected and well-read, was telling us earlier tonight that Nextel, in a bid to squeeze more money out of cell phone users (as if they need to), is going to start offering a drunk-dial blocking service for outgoing calls. Meaning that for 25 cents per request, if I am a Nextel customer, I can request to block myself from dialing whatever number I give them, on a night from 8 pm until 3 am, or some specific time period.
Wow. That said, I can think of at least three numbers off of the top of my head that I would choose to block because I know how often my drunk little fingers dial them, and that doesn't even include the numbers that I drunk-dial and never remember calling until I check "Dialed Calls" the next day. Let me tell you, if I was a Nextel customer, they'd be making a f*cking fortune off of me every weekend. What a fantastic idea. I wish I'd thought of it myself.
Unless the rest of the competition catches up quickly, I am seriously considering dropping T-Mobile if this service is implemented.
And while I'm on the topic, enough already with the AT&T-Cingular merger. I see and hear ads every f*cking day. I can tell you right now that I used to have AT&T and it was awful, and that for reasons beyond service, Cingular did not "fit me best", so I wish they would shut up already.
Today marks the beginning of a really busy weekend. My boss' boss is in town from New York, so I have the feeling I will have little to no autonomy today at work. We also have an office dinner tonight at 6 pm. Good because it means I won't have to stay later than 6 pm, bad because...well, I'm tired.
So in lieu of my potential lack in posting today, I will leave you with this "fun" piece of trivia that my co-worker told me this morning:
Who provides the voice of the Aflac duck? Click on comments for the answer.
I've gotten quite a bit of feedback from friends lately, and I just wanted to thank everyone for their support (even Paul). It has been brought to my attention that some readers would like further enlightenment as to how women think about men and how/why we act the way we do. Apparently not all guys are cocky bastards who assume girls love their every action. This is comforting.
This provides a nice little segue to a hard and fast rule I call "Panty Protocol". Now honestly, I hate the word "panty". It makes me sick. But I am using this word because it's good alliteration.
Panty Protocol is as follows: pay attention to girls' panties. I know it's a stretch, and I know you really wonder why you should give a shit, but honestly, most girls that I know have a Panty Protocol.
Pick your style - brief, bikini, or thong...
Anything in cotton or some other "cozy" fabric is generally (but not always) worn for one of three occasions:
1. she wasn't expecting to see you and it was last-minute,
2. she is probably hooking up with you out of boredom and doesn't care what you think, or
3. all the cute pairs are dirty.
Conversely, if any of the following criteria apply:
1. the pair contains lace, frills, or silk in its design,
2. it is black,
3. it is a thong of any other material except for cotton,
then you're golden.
Explanation: We think about everything we wear when we go out. And if we think we're going to score, we think twice. Any sort of frilly or cute panties are indicative of a girl whose motive is to be seen in the underwear. By you. Sure, there are exceptions, but for the most part, cotton is reserved for weekdays and situations where you really don't care. Hope this clears things up.
Example #1: If I am going out with Mr. Hotness (see below) tonight, I would consider wearing a thong (not cotton), or satin bikini underwear, or some frilly looking shit because I want to look cute and I am hoping he will see me in them.
Example #2: If I am going out with Media Maguire, I would wear cotton briefs because there "ain't" no way in hell he's seeing my underwear ever again, so who cares what I wear?
Example #3: If Mr. Hotness calls at the last-minute and I don't have time to change, I will wear whatever and hope that he doesn't hold whatever pair I am wearing against me, if it's bad.
The great thing about living in a nice city is that you run into hot people all the time. On the bus on the way home today (and yes, it sucks to take the bus - I feel like I'm in middle school again), I saw the most beautiful guy. He was sitting in the handicapped section, but he wasn't handicapped. It must be mentioned that no one in that section is ever really disabled; I've only seen a disabled person in that section once in my life, like two years ago.
Anyway, back to Mr. Hotness. He was 6', short dark hair, really blue eyes. Shit, he pretty much fit the criteria (although I actually don't have a set "type", so whatever). Naturally, upon realizing how great this motherf*ker was, I glanced downward, to his left hand, to see if he was wearing a wedding ring. And he did have a thin silver band on his left hand...but on his pinky finger. What the f*ck does this mean? I spent the entire rest of the ride trying to figure it out. Is he single? Married? Is he married to a midget, hence the ring on the pinky, in support of little people? Feel free to share your thoughts on this, as it is rounding 9:30 pm and I am still baffled.
It crossed my mind to post something on Missed Connections, but that thought was immediately followed by the second thought that it's lame, so I didn't do it. Plus, I have enough shit on my plate in that department these days. No need to add someone else.
