I talk a lot about guys being retarded on this site but now I have to share the wealth.  Girls are also retarded.  My past few weeks has basically been spent analyzing text messages from boys.  (Yes, I have some things going on but haven’t written about them…I’m so bad, so bad.)  May I present exhibit A - an IM conversation between me and a friend about a text she plans to send:

It is my birthday next week.  Since I’ve been completely swamped with work, grad school applications and apartment drama, I have no love life to speak of.  Seriously, zip.  Zilch.  The beast that is my sex drive seems to have fallen asleep.  I haven’t even pulled out the hitachi in a couple of months.  I thought I would use the fact that it is my birthday and people are supposed to do nice things for me to rectify the situation.  If I don’t have the time or energy to find a man, why not have my friends bring them to me.  Here is the invite I sent out:

Hello dear friend,

I’m about to turn 27 for the second time and it would be awesome if you came out to help me celebrate.  Happy Birthday to me…again.

In a special twist this year, I’m asking for a very specific present from each guest.  Please bring that elusive creature known as a single, straight man.  Although, it helps if he’s hot, he doesn’t need to be.  There’s someone for everyone….ugly boys need love to.  Just wanted to once have a birthday that isn’t solely comprised of gay boys, straight girls and two uncomfortable looking boyfriends.  Plus, it wouldn’t hurt to have a birthday make out…or six.  Just sayin’

ANYWAY, use this as an opportunity to connect with that straight boy you work with but could never figure out a reason to hang with…or that hot downstairs neighbor…or your boyfriend’s cute friend…the possibilities are endless.  Just tell them your friend Patricia is a weirdo, albeit a hot weirdo, who is forcing you to bring a straight boy to her birthday.  I don’t mind.  Did I mention there will be tons of single ladies, and/or if he’s sexually flexible, a bunch of homosexuals?

Yours truly,

Not So Glamorous

Unfortunately, the early responses I have gotten are all along the lines of “Does straight for pay count?”, “Will it count if he is straight-acting?” and “I can bring someone if you are serious that they can be ugly.”  The party is this weekend so I’ll be sure to let you know what the outcome is.  I have a feeling I am going to get super wasted because most people are planning to buy me a drink in lieu of a man.

This latest round of mercury retrograde brought two odd communications my way from boys I “dated” during the last one.  When I stop seeing someone, I cut off all communication because, well, what’s the point?  I’m busy these days so, if you aren’t having sex with me, I’d really rather you be a gay man so we can talk about pop music.  Having not slept with both of these gents for around three months, they were completely off my radar - aside from any good stories I got from my time with them, of course.

The first to pop up was the Frenchie.  He IMed me while I was bored at work so we chatted it up for a bit, then he asked me to take a survey about a new company he was starting that helps girls figure out if a guy they are dating is a loser.  Interesting…and oddly fitting.

The second was the Spaniard.  He IMed me while I was in my kitchen waiting for 2 pounds of spinach to wilt so I went along with it.  Based on the convo, it seems he only IMed me to tell me he signed up for a cougar dating party.  Awesome…and, also oddly fitting.

Why are boys so weird?  I don’t know any girls who would IM any of their past lovers to talk about either topic.

I love Asian people.  I just don’t tend to date them.  I think it’s the whole me being a size queen thing and the fact that Asian’s don’t have the best reputation in that department that really turns me off.  Plus, I’m usually bigger than them.  That said, I have been attracted to a few in the past, I’ve just never acted on it.  My mother however is a different story.  She likes Asian guys.  She started dating them when I was in high school and when I asked about it she simply answered, “Have you ever seen what a 45 year old white man looks like?”

Last night, I was chatting with my mom about my latest unsuccessful round of speed dating.  I had no chemistry with anyone and the only two guys I enjoyed chatting with were Asian.  This was her cue to, once again, try to convince me that I’m missing out on god’s hidden gift.

Mom: You should try to date an Asian man.  They are fantastic.  They are very respectful, have good jobs and they like giving gifts.

Me: Yeah, but I’m just not feeling it…

Mom: Maybe, instead of giving it up after a few dates you could actually try to get to know someone and have them respect you.

Me: Whoa…burn, Ma.  I don’t just give it up…well, not always.

Mom: Plus, if you ever want to know where your G spot is Asians are the way to go.

Me: *silence*

AND, this is just a slice of my relationship with my mother.  That bitch is a total rice queen.

I think my neighbors must hate me.  They HAVE to.  Here’s why:

-When I get new music I ONLY listen to the new music.  On repeat.  While singing.

-When I get drunk alone I sing ballads in my bathroom full volume.

-A few weeks ago there was a fire in my kitchen so they evacuated the building for an hour and everyone had to sit outside and the whole building smelled like burnt rubber.

-I have puked on the steps outside the front entrance.  (Don’t think anyone saw me.)

-Last night, my friend puked in front of my door.  Both of my neighbors saw this.  Thankfully her puke was a pretty shade of red due to sangria and strawberry jelly.  Unfortunately, I didn’t have my apartment keys and therefore had no access to cleaning supplies. Then while we were waiting outside for my roommate to come home with the keys, my friend passed out in front of the entrance and I had to politely asked anyone entering the building to step over her.

They totally hate me.  Although I do provide quite a bit of gossip for all the old women in the building.  I believe I am now known as that drunk girl with the drunk friends who almost set the whole building on fire.

I had a very eventful day last Thursday. I finally took the GMAT, fell in love with a girl and gave an accidental handjob. I would ask which one you would like to hear about the most but since you read my blog I’m pretty sure you are going to skim to the bottom of the post to read about the world’s quickest handjob.

It all started after I took the GMAT that day. I did really well on the exam and I deserved to celebrate. I was also celebrating the end of my self-imposed hiatus from men. Men really throw off my game because when there is a man in the picture I turn into a quivering, obsessive boy crazy teenage girl. So, for two whole weeks (it doesn’t sound as long as it felt) I was asexual: I didn’t flinch when a hot boy walked by on the street; when I went to a bar with friends I spent the whole time actually listening to them instead of simply pretending to listen to them while really staring at the hot, possibly European dude behind them; and, most shockingly, I didn’t use my Hitachi Magic Wand once. A cute boy even asked me out on a date and I told him to not contact me until the test was over. As you can see, I was pretty serious about the man hiatus and, now that the test was done, pretty serious about breaking my man hiatus.

Ironically, that night I met a girl outside the aptly named lesbian bar, the Cubby Hole. I’ve done the whole drunken straight girl make out before but I’ve never hooked up with a girl. The gay man inside me is repulsed by the idea of touching another lady’s bits and pieces. I think I would be ok having things done to me but can’t really fathom the idea of going downtown on a chick. It may be because I’m honestly not attracted to girls, but every once in a blue moon I meet a girl that makes me want to lap it up. This girl, Elise, was just my type. Kind of butch but not a bull dike, think a really pretty boy in a J. Crew blazer and chucks. I stood outside flirting with her for a good ten minutes and ended by giving her my card so we could get together to “talk about business schools”. I love her. I would learn to like pussy for her. Sadly, I still haven’t heard from her. Probably because something about me screams “I love penis”.

Disheartened by the fact that I couldn’t make my dream woman mine, I texted the boy who asked me out pre-GMAT and invited him to come meet up with us. His name is Joey. I would give him a nickname but the name Joey, said in his thick Brooklyn accent, kind of fits better than anything I could come up with. So, Joey met up with us and I ended up accidentally giving him a handjob. Here’s how:

I pulled my signature “let’s take a walk around the corner to find a place to makeout for a minute” move. I don’t enjoy making out dirty in bars but have no problem doing it on the street. He, however, felt weird about making out on the street so we went to his car. (Yes, I know…bad idea. Never get in their car on the first date. I was drunk, sorry.) Once in the car, we kiss for what felt like a hot minute. Then he asks me to kiss his neck. Ok. Then he says, “You can grab it if you want.” Wow. The makeout wasn’t hot and heavy enough at this point to call for any below the belt action. A lesser woman would have been offended by this. Lucky for him, a large portion of my opinion of a man depends on his penis size so I usually go for the grab on my own. Although it wasn’t quite the right moment for the request, it was nice to be invited down for once.

I grab a hold of his member and slide my hand down to the base to see what’s going on down there (=.5 strokes). Then, I slid my hand up to the top to survey the whole territory (=1 stroke). Then, there is man juice all over my hand. Now, I’ve done this grab hundreds if not thousands of times and I’ve never experienced anything like this. I also know for a fact that I do not give good handjobs so it’s not like I have “the touch”. I believe this was the most premature case of premature ejaculation I’ve ever had the unpleasure of witnessing. As I stared down at my jizz covered hand, I thought, “I just accidentally gave this dude a handjob.” As I stared down at my hand covered in his seed, I said, “Did you really just…did that just happen? Seriously?” His response in the most deadpanned voice: “Yeah. You just got me so hot baby.”

It was then that I told him to drive me back to the bar. During the three blocks it took to get back I also told him that it is glaringly obvious that he is in no way, shape or form able to be in a relationship with anyone and the only thing I could see him ever being to me was a f*ckbuddy but because of what happened I don’t think he’d be a very good one.

So yeah, that was what I did on Thursday.

In my previous post, I alluded to bachelors #10 and 11 from speed dating. Since then, I’ve decided to modify that to bachelor #9.1 from speed dating. Here’s why. The night after my much anticipated call from bachelor #8, I went for drinks with a friend of a friend who happened to find my profile on a dating site. We’d already hung out a few times in groups, so we decided to get together one-on-one to discuss the trials of online dating. Under normal circumstances I would consider this a potential date (ie could end up as a platonic meeting, but could go the way of flirtation)….but these were not normal circumstances. I had already hooked up with one of this guy’s friends (on several occasions)…and I’m just not into getting involved with more than one guy in the same group of friends. It makes me feel like I’m being passed around. Like they’re saying to each other, “Here, I’m done with her. Now you take her for a ride.” Yuck. I admit that I’ve considered breaking this rule on occasion, but even just dipping my toe in these waters was enough to let me know not to go further. I think the only thing that could break me down at this point is if a guy showed me he truly cared about me, and I returned the sentiment. As in, I wanted to be with this guy - and no one else - for the foreseeable future. Then, previous hookups wouldn’t matter….as long as enough time had passed and there were no committed-relationship issues. Really, dating guys in the same group of friends is just complex, and should be avoided. In any case - back to getting drinks with this guy (who happened to be friends with a guy I’d hooked up with). Given the circumstances, I assumed we were hanging out with completely platonic intentions. I was wrong. We went for drinks, and all seemed well until we were walking home and he tried to stick his tongue in my mouth. I’ll spare you the details because then (and even now), I know he is good guy and want to protect our potential friendship. Suffice it to say that I stopped at the Irish pub on the way home to wash the evening down with some whiskey. I was going to count this guy as bachelor #9, since he seemed to think we were on a date even though I didn’t….but then I decided that I’m the one who gets to make the rules. I choose the bachelors. And, I never chose him as a bachelor, so I’m reassigning bachelor #9 to my first speed dating follow up (and flop). The second speed dating follow up (previously #11) never happened. That leaves the count at 9. So, let’s start over:

Bachelor #9.1: Bachelor #9.1 and I really hit it off at speed dating. I even hung with him for a bit during a “mingling” session and let my mind wander to what it would be like to make out with him. You laugh, but that kind of chemistry is hard to find at a speed dating event. Anyway, he was cute and had a refreshingly upbeat personality, so I was looking forward to our date. Unfortunately, things didn’t line up perfectly on our lunch date. The chemistry wasn’t as strong (or perhaps it was the lack of alcohol), and though he talked a lot about his family’s affiliations with professional sports leagues, and the amazing vacations he’s been on…all of which seemed impressive…he was still figuring out what he wanted to do with his life and lived with his parents. I’m all for people moving home when things get tough, but I think it’s important to strike out on your own, take a few chances, and figure yourself out - and bachelor #9.1 was still happy in the nest (granted, a very comfortable nest). Oh, well. I decided not to follow up with Bachelor #9.1. And, I never went out with my second match from speed dating….since I didn’t remember our chemistry being that strong (or really even there), and I’m still blushing from my date with bachelor #8. Yep, bachelor #8 and I did meet up on Sunday…and we have a second date tonight. Finally, something to be excited about! Details to come…

Just two days after my double-booked date debacle, I went speed dating. Yep…forget 2 dates in one night, I wanted 35. I paid $35 to get into a speed dating event that promised 35 3-minute conversations with the goal of finding a few matches to go out with on a 1-on-1. I wasn’t sure if speed-dating would actually produce any Bachelor contenders, but a couple of friends of mine had met decent guys at a similar event, so I figured I should give it a try. However, Bachelor #8 has nothing to do with speed-dating, so for the aftermath of this event you’ll have to read later posts (get ready for Bachelors #10 and 11). My real excitement that evening began after the speed dating was over. Exciting, because a friend and I went to dinner and were lucky enough to sit a table with a view. Right across from us was a hot guy that, try as I might, I just couldn’t keep my eyes off of. The only problem was that he seemed to be out to dinner with his dad and sister, so there was no way to approach him directly without making a complete fool out of myself. So, For the duration of dinner, my lovely friend put up with me while I interrupted every conversation with “I think he’s looking at me.” I mean, he was looking at me, and I was looking right back. By the time the night ended, I knew I would regret leaving without ever talking to him, so - with a bit of nothing-to-lose attitude and some why-not encouagement from my friend - I wrote my name and number on a piece of paper, slipped it on his table, stole one more glance at him, and - blushing - was on my way.  Believe it or not, 3 days later he actually called. Woo-hoo! I missed the call, but was glad when I realized I could save his oh so sexy “we never actually met, but….” voicemail and listen to it repeatedly. haha. After a few days of phone tag, #8 and I finally talked on the phone…and discovered that we actually have a lot in common. Nice. He suggested we get in touch on Facebook and try to meet up that weekend. Cue the happy music playing in my head. As soon as we hung up, I accepted his friend request and began flipping through his profile pictures. They were cute….and - get ready for this - strangely familiar. As I flipped through the pics, I became more and more certain that I had seen him before….in my eharmony matches. A quick login to eharmony confirmed I was matched with this guy in January and messaged him, but he never wrote back. Crazy. I was too struck by the coincidence of what was happening to be mad that he never wrote back. Just when I thought I had cut ties with Dr. Warren, and took the leap of giving my number to a complete stranger, the “stranger” turns out to be neatly housed in my eharmony “communicating” tab, pre-approved by Dr. Warren, master matchmaker. I’m not sure how I feel about this (the girl part of me is screaming Fate, but my older and wiser side says to enjoy the coincidence - life is full of them, especially in NYC - and see what happens next). Either way, I was too overcome at the moment to keep this to myself…and since #8 had made “coincidence” a major theme of our phone conversation, I sent him a short and sweet FB email outing our eharm connection. So far he hasn’t replied - so maybe I scared him off with my enthusiasm - but, maybe he’s as intregued by the coincidence as I am. We’ll see. I’m supposed to call him Sunday about meeting up, so hopefully there’s more to come on this one. EEEee!

-BB

Did I ever tell you about the time I went on a first date and the guy felt so comfortable with me that he divulged his biggest secret?  He went on to tell me about how he lost his virginity to a prostitute.  Only a few people knew about it and I was the first girl he had ever told.  While it’s shocking to hear that on a first date, I was more shocked by how little I cared.  I was more intrigued than weirded out.  And, yes, we did have a second date.  The information actually came in handy.  A few dates later we were talking about drugs and the subject of my adolescent drug use came up.  He was acting a little judgemental and then I remembered that he had slept with prostitutes and reminded him that he couldn’t really judge.

Bachelor #6…and 7: That’s right. Two dates in one night. I didn’t really mean for this to happen, but when it did, I welcomed it with open arms. I mean, what girl doesn’t long to have multiple men clamoring for her attention in a single evening? I thought my moment had finally arrived….but instead reality reared it’s ugly head. ouch. Here’s how it went down…

Bachelor #6: I met this guy online, and was only lukewarm about the concept of meeting him in person. I have a new fixation with younger men, and he was 6 years my senior. I let that pass because he was actually cute. Then we talked on the phone and I learned that the gorgeous rooftop pics on his profile weren’t actually taken from his fabulous apartment in the city…since he lives in NJ…and I began to question if anything on his profile was real (mostly, I was worried that he wasn’t actually cute). I had no idea what to expect, and was glad we were meeting early in the evening so I would be able to get on with my night (I didn’t expect the date to last very long). I suppose I could have just canceled the date, but he asked me out over the phone…and I couldn’t muster the courage to say, “actually, after talking with you, I’m no longer interested.” So, I mustered all my optimism and braced for my date with #6. Meanwhile….

Bachelor #7: After my date with #5, I wasn’t ready to go home yet. I looked pretty that day, and didn’t want to waste it on a failed date, and so I stopped in a bar that had some surprisingly good karaoke action. I immediately scanned the room for hot guys, and picked a seat within eye shot of the one with the most potential. This fixation, however, only lasted until I met the bartender. Cute. And….(this will melt any girl’s heart) when I ordered my chicken sandwich without cheese, he asked if I’d also like the mayo on the side. I did. Of course, I did. What girl wants her healthy chicken sandwich slathered in mayo? That’s the sort of proactive intuition I’m looking for in a guy. A guy who has my best interest at heart. ha. Anyway, the night only got more interesting. He challenged me to sing a karaoke song, saying “he would if I would.” Little did he know I’d already signed up. A little liquid courage found us sharing the microphone to Madonna’s “Like a Virgin.” Nice. By the end of the evening my beer had been upgraded to a specialty house drink, and we had exchanged numbers with plans to meet up the following night. My Friday night plans had just gone from “luke warm” to “sizzling.”

The plan: I figured the date with #6 would be done by 8pm at the latest, so I told #7 that I had “happy hour” plans and would call him afterwards to meet up. If for some reason I needed an excuse to end my date with #6, I planned to use the following white lie: “my friend just broke up with his boyfriend, and I promised I’d hang out tonight so he wouldn’t have to be alone.” It was true that my friend had just broken up with his boyfriend, and he had asked me to hang out that night. I’d just turned him down for my date #7. Minor detail.

The execution: As expected, my date with #6 was less than thrilling. He was nice enough, and we seemed to share enthusiasm for the same TV shows (this is a rare find for me). But his body language was way off for a first date. Within moments of arriving, he began openly staring at my chest. When I was finally able to restore eye contact, he complimented my “nice necklace.” Right. Apparently he didn’t get a good enough look the first time, because the staring only continued. Then, I looked down to find he’d removed his shoes and was massaging his foot on the bar stool next to us. When I commented on his “nice socks,” he explained that he’d injured his foot playing soccer. Isn’t that what ace bandages are for? Ew. I don’t even want to think about what was actually going on with his foot. So - when we’d finished our drinks and he asked if I wanted to go on a walk, I replied, “That would be nice, but I promised my friend…..” The excuse worked, and I was on my way to bartender bliss. Or so I thought. Three blocks after leaving #6, I called #7 to let him know I was free. Only he didn’t pick up. So I left a voicemail and texted him. One hour later, I got an ambiguous text that he was “bailing a friend moving” but would really like to get drinks sometime. Translation: no thanks. On any other night, I probably would have been seriously annoyed over being brushed off with a text….but having just used a similar line only an hour earlier, I knew it was Karma serving up justice. So, I accepted my fate gracefully and replied to #7 that it was “no problem” and that I had “met up with friends” (which was actually true). And, just in case there was some wild explanation for him flaking out, I texted him “But sure lets meet up another time. Let me know.” We’ll see if Karma allows it.

UPDATE: Bachelor #6 got back in touch and left a voicemail saying he’d like to meet up again (oh, and by the way, he “hoped my friend was doing better”). I sent him an email saying I enjoyed meeting him, but didn’t think we were a match. And…Bachelor #7 actually got back in touch. By text. Turns out he bailed on our date to go to Atlantic City (where, by the way, he claims to have gone broke. More Karma). I decided to text him back, but let him know he needed to step up his game. We have lunch plans today. I’ll let you know if he actually shows.