Weekend

Crazy week, shit I hate the snow. Does DC own even one plow?

I haven't called Japan yet. I'm not sure if it's because I am not interested or if it's out of sheer laziness. I am really busy at work and won't be around this weekend, so I don't have much motivation to call her since I won't be able to see her for a week.

I have been getting a lot of emails from my boys in NYC, they are getting a little amped up about this weekend. What this translates into is rapid-fire tequila shots and bar tabs that resemble overseas phone numbers. The tabs were fine when we were in South America paying with what was essentially Monopoly money, but in New York you can do some serious damage. I'm a little nervous.

On the Argentina front I am still getting double-talk. She hasn't committed to visiting DC. I think she is keeping her options open. If she has a good time in NY maybe she'll come down. Who knows? In regards to this I told one buddy "I can be quite charming when I'm not being an asshole", to which his response was "Yeah, but she spent a week with you already, I think that cat is out of the bag". True. My little sister's advice was to take it easy and not get too out of control. Easier said than done when you're going out with the wrecking crew I have up there. It's like throwing me the keys to a 700hp Lamborghini and saying "Keep it under the thirty-five", it's not going to happen. My goal is to be the most sober of the bunch, let's try to work in relative terms.

This really has nothing to do with dating, but I want to just throw this out there for whatever it's worth. Some fucker broke into my car last weekend in my driveway. Is there anything more chicken shit than messing with a man's car? The stupid bastard broke my window despite the fact that I purposely keep the car unlocked. How stupid are you? The master criminal made off with about $2 in change, an $8 pocket knife and a Leatherman tool my father gave me for Christmas. What the hell is that. It would have been worth him doing it if I had caught him in the act, at least I would have gotten the satisfaction of throttling him. But alas, I am a heavy sleeper and didn't hear it. The same chump has broken into three other cars in my alley in one week. Get off the rock, guy.

I may get in the back of the car one night and cover myself with a blanket on the off chance he tries it again. If you read in the paper about someone doing this and getting arrested for shooting some dickless slob in the face please send money for bail because it's me.

Argentina

Two things. First is that I never heard back from the Front Page girl. I left her a message last week and never got a call back. Such is life. Maybe she saw me get two other numbers that night, probably wasn't the best plan.

This weekend Argentina is flying to NYC. My buddies from the New Year's South America trip are planning a fun weekend, and I am taking the train up Friday afternoon to join in.

It has been almost six years since I worked in NYC, so I am totally out of the loop when it comes to knowing any of the relevant restaurants or clubs. The last time I hung out there Spa was one of the hardest spots to get into. I hear it has turned over three times since then, and is probably a car dealership, or something like that now. Therefore, I don't know any of the places we are going, I'm just along for the ride and will trust their excellent judgement when it comes to food and nightlife.

You may recall that I was quite smitten by the leggy Argentina (the girl, not the country). We danced a lot, but there was never any hooking up, we just had a good time together. I really enjoy her company and would like to try to make the generally-difficult transition from friend to...more than friends (intentionally vague here). I realize she lives 4,000 miles away.

You may have guessed by now that I often don't have strong (or any) feelings for the ladies I meet. I liked Dee, but I think a portion of those feelings were because she was playing hard to get. With Argentina I sincerely like her and would like to get to know her better. The only time I hung out with her was under the most severe circumstances. We were jet-setting all over South America, so I would like to see if I feel the same way about her just lounging around DC.

I have been emailing Argentina since I got home from the trip, and invited her to come to DC next week. Her plans have been a little up in the air because she was having trouble getting a visa. She also has been auditioning for commercials, and wasn't sure what her schedule was going to be. Now that she has a visa and a flight up, I really don't know if she is still coming to DC or not, we never made concrete plans.

If I were to take a step back, or if I was hearing the story above from one of my friends, I would slap him in the head and say "Wake up stupid, if she wanted to hang out with you she would have made it clear. The fact that she is being vague is the answer to your question, she's not interested." At the same time I have experienced a fair degree of success in life, and it is all due to my persistence. "Can't" and "I give up" are not in my vocabulary. Therefore, I think I can wear her down.

My invitation to her was open-ended, she can stay as long as she would like. Maybe I will email her today and see what her plans are.

Someone really needs to write a manual about these things. Perhaps a decision grid. Man has been walking around Earth for a few thousand years, you can't tell me someone hasn't experienced this exact scenario in that time.

Ben's Chilli Bowl

Friday night I was still wiped out from the craziness of the inauguration, so I decided to stay in, watch some TV, and cook a good dinner. I watched an episode of No Reservations on The Travel Channel, hosted by Anthony Bourdain, who I really like. He's a rude New York wise ass, what's not to like. The episode featured Washington, DC and there was a great segment on Ben's Chilli Bowl, one of my favorite late-night haunts. This plays an important role in Saturday night.

Saturday I went to a party at my friend Paul's house. He just bought a new place so he broke it in right. As far as house parties go, it was fairly calm, but I had a good time. I met two girls at the party that were interesting, one was from Japan and one from South Korea.

I ate a late lunch on Saturday so I really didn't eat dinner before going to the party. By midnight I was starving, and all I could think about was a half-smoke covered in chilli and liquified artificial cheese product. I was bordering on obsession, really. My two little Asian friends had never been to Ben's before, so I convinced them to take a ride with me to indulge in a DC right of passage.

We arrived at Ben's at around 12:30 and I thought it would be empty since it was still relatively early, but the place was packed. The line was out the door and ran down the sidewalk about 30'. We parked and waited for a little while, but the cold got to one of the girls so she grabbed a cab and went home. Now it was just Japan and I.

Japan: Japan was about 4'10", maybe 85 pounds, long black hair, just a really cute girl. Honestly, I don't know how tall she was. She was so short I didn't really have a guage to go by, I can't judge anything less than 5'2". Japan was born there, but has been living in the US since college, so her English is broken, but pretty good.

Japan and I waited outside at Ben's for a while, but we were both cold and decided to go to Solly's for a drink and to warm up a bit. We hung out there until we could feel our toes again then went to try Ben's again, but the line had gotten worse. Japan and I hopped in my car to go to Adam's Morgan to a dinner she knew that was open 24/7. Within 1 block we were making out in the car, so we re-routed to my house.

Japan was really into dogs, and got a kick out of mine, but since Japan and my dog were about the same size Japan got knocked around a bit. We talked in my living room but started hooking up on the couch shortly thereafter. Japan was straddling me on my couch, so I just stood up, threw her over my shoulder, and carried her to my bedroom where our clothes quickly came off.

I have to admit this was a big evening for me because it was the first time I slept with an Asian girl. There is certianly something exotic that is hard to explain.

Once the clothes were off the first thing I noticed was that Japan was totally natural when it came to trimming, it was a fucking jungle down there. Her completely wild bush was exaggerated by the fact that her (and I assume all Asian's) pubic hairs were strait as an arrow, not a short-and-curly in the bunch. I was fascinated, as you can imagine. Not only by the pubes, but by the fact that I could still be surprised. I'm no Walt Chamberlain, but I have been with a lot of women, and seen many more naked, and I just figured I had seen just about everything there was to see. Saturday night gave me hope.

There is something else that supposedly adds to the exotic appeal of Asian women, and I am sure I am going to get blasted for this, but here goes. The theory is that with Asians the distance from: hip-knee > knee-ankle. In caucasians the ratio is reversed: hip-knee < knee-ankle. I don't know if that is a fact, but I can always tell if a woman is Asian from behind just by looking at her legs. Try it sometime, it works.

Japan was awesome in bed, just a ton of fun crammed into an 85-pound package. We had sex for almost three hours, and did it every which way. On top, bottom, doggie style, standing up, sitting down, watching in the mirror, 69, she was so small I could pick her up with almost no effort and swing her around, and she loved it. I go to the gym every night, but this was the best work out I have had in months.

I almost decided not to write this part, because it's a little graphic, but I decided to because every one of my buddies who I told this to were totally jealous. I have never had this done before, and it certainly raises the bar. The only downside is that it isn't exactly the safest activity to engage in. Here goes. Each time after sex, Japan would take the condom off me and lick me totally clean, not a drop of anything left anywhere. I think the biggest turn-on was that is was so subservient. I loved it.

At 5am Japan asked where she could catch a cab. I tried to convince her to stay because I knew I couldn't send her outside to catch a cab alone. She persisted, so I got up and drove her back to Adam's Morgan.

I was still starving after I dropped her off, so I snuck into the McDonald's, which was closed. There was just a skeleton crew sweeping up, and one worker was trying to coax a bum out of the men's room who had apparently passed out on the can. You know, just your average 5am antics in Adam's Morgan. I slipped a girl behind the counter $20 and I ended up with a triple cheese burger of her own design, covered in mayo and at least three thick slices of onion, along with 1/2 a fryer-basket worth of french fries. I ate the whole thing in the car on the way home and was the happiest guy on Earth. However, my stomach hasn't been right since then. I ate a year's worth of McDonald's in 20 minutes and my system is not happy.

Inauguration Ball

I received a few last minute tickets to an Inauguration Ball on Tuesday night. I was at my office, so I hastily put together an outfit at Banana Republic, since I didn't have time to go home and put on a tux.

I was basically running on fumes that night. I had gone to bed at 2am the night before, and woke up at 5am on Tuesday. By the time the cocktail hour started all I really wanted to do was go to bed. However, my buddy, his wife and I all went to the ball. This is not an excuse for the behavior I am about to describe, but they are some factors to consider.

When I went to will-call to pick up the tickets there was a cute girl walking in at the same time. We didn't talk, but she caught me sneaking a few peaks at her, and vice versa. We also exchanged glances a few times during the cocktail hour. She was really sexy, tall, thin, great legs.

Fast forward about 4 hours and 4 vodka drinks. During a lull in the action of the "show" (I won't elaborate) I spotted my little friend and went and sat with her and introduced myself. I was far too drunk to remember her name. As a matter of fact I was far too drunk to remember my name, I clearly was overserved. I remember most of the conversation, and will not detail it here for the sake of keeping what little pride I have left. What I will say is that it did not go well. Since I didn't have a phone on me to take her number, I made her take my number and put in her phone. I know, nice move. After I gave her my number I left and went back to sit with my friends, who were in hysterics, having witnessed the whole thing.

My buddy, Chuck, knowing that he now had a puppet to play with lured me to the bar where he had spotted a cougar drinking by herself. Chuck pointed me in her general direction and gave me a little push. I walked over to her and struck up a conversation. She was not bad looking. Older, but she had a decent body that she showed off with a low-cut dress. I think she had a boob job, though. To fuel the fire Chuck ordered me an ill-needed vodka on the rocks and had the bartender bring it over to me. With the stage set Chuck then went up to the balcony overlooking the bar and called my cell phone, which was in my office. He left a 15 minute message on my phone with a play-by-play of the scene. When I heard the message the next morning I almost pissed my pants, it was classic. It is safe to say that is wasn't my finest performance. Nothing happened with the women, who eventually walked away from me when I stopped talking at her. At that point Chuck said "Uh oh, wait, yep, yeah, there she goes, she's walking away. See ya. You're still talking, now you see she's gone. Now you're giving me the finger."

I would like to move on and make believe the night never happened, I hate when I get hammered like that.

I am going to call a girl tonight that I met at Front Page on Saturday. I will feel it out, but if she's cool I will try to set up drinks with her sometime this weekend.

One crucial thing just occurred to me. The hardest part of dating is getting phone numbers. Once you get a number there is a 90% chance of some sort of date, and probably a 75% chance of having sex with the girl. For me, and I will venture to say for most guys, it is basically a quest to have sex, even if you aren't terribly interested in her. The problem is that you have now invested time in this girl, and soon you will have money invested too, and we are all looking for ROI.

I realize this sounds pretty shitty, but it's the truth, and I'm not alone. I will go into more detail on this after the date, maybe it will provide a good example.

Results

I should start by saying that I am unbelievable hung over today. It's 8:30pm and I am still not sure if I am going to boot. I took two weeks off from drinking after my trip, and I am really hurting.

On Friday I decided to see if DC girls are more attracted to "bad boys" or for someone they would be more inclined to take home to meet the 'rents. My experiment, which is completely unscientific and lacks even basic controls, did have some interesting results.

Friday night was bad boy night. I went out in jeans, work boots, a motorcycle t-shirt, unshaven and with my hair spiked up like a jackass. I had two married buddies as wingmen, which obviously doesn't help matters. We started the night at Bread Soda in Glover Park, then moved to the Wonderland Ballroom in Columbia Heights, and eventually to Saint Ex, my go-to bar. In an unusual twist my two buddies, excited to be out sans-wives, ended up getting trashed while I managed to keep it somewhat under control most of the night (the wheels eventually fell off the wagon at 4am, when I succame to the dozens of shots we had).

We played pool at Bread Soda for a couple of hours. There really wasn't much talent there, the only girl I talked to was the bartender, who was sporting a fresh black eye. She served us a few rounds and ended up drinking whiskey or scotch by herself at the bar when her shift ended. The black eye was intriguing, but we decided to press on to Wonderland before I had time to learn how she got it.

I really can't say enough good things about Wonderland, if you haven't been there I highly recommend it, it's a fantastic place and I always have fun. We had a few beers and some shots there. I talked to a couple of girls, but I ended up spending most of my time talking to this one blond girl with huge cans. I said all kinds of nonsense to this girl, and was being cocky as hell. Eventually I asked her if she wanted to come home with me. The answer was an unequivocal no. I was very upfront, I told her I wasn't looking for a relationship, just a hookup for the night. As you can imagine this did not help my case. She appreciated my honestly, but she still wasn't getting in the car with me, no chance, no how.

After blondie I tried the same approach with an Asian girl and another blond, both with the same results. At this point it was about 2am, so we pushed on to Saint Ex.

By the time we got to Saint Ex my buddies were essentially incapacitated. Between the smoking and the dozens of beers and shots they had they could hardly walk. After one round we got cut off because they were unable to speak. It was late so we grabbed a pizza and they poured themselves into a cab. I got home around 4am, alone, and sporting a fantastic headache.

Saturday night was good guy, or "preppy" night. I am not sure I actually looked preppy, but I certainly looked respectable. I had on a black cashmere sweater, a nice pair of jeans, black Gucci shoes, clean shaven with my hair somewhat combed (I don't actually have a comb or brush, but I did put a little gel in it and ran my fingers through it a couple of times). Come to think of it, I probably looked more like a NYC thug than an ivy league grad, but it was the closest thing to preppy I could muster. I'm not exactly a Vineyard Vines, popped-collar, kind of guy.

I met two buddies at Buffalo Billiards in Dupont to watch the Michigan game, then we moved up to the Front Page. I usually don't like the Front Page, I think it is a little too much of a "scene' for me, but it would do for the night.

I was there with two buddies, one from the night before, and his friend from college. Both are married, and I think both are lawyers. I must say, Front Page was packed, and there were at least two, maybe three women there for each guy. I would talk to a girl for a few minutes, get her number, then tell her my friends were getting ready to leave, so I had to go. Then I would turn around and there would be another girl there looking for a guy to talk to. I did this four times in the matter of 40 minutes. On the fourth one I settled in and talked to this one girl who I thought was cute. However, after chatting for about an hour she started talking/dancing with some other dude. I decided to cut my losses and leave while I was still ahead.

As I side note, I got three empanadas before hailing a gypsy cab for my $20 ride home. I tried hailing three cabs, but when I told them my destination (Cap Hill) they all drove off. I'm not sure what that is about. When one cab drove off I tried to dent the side of it with my fist, but I only succeeded in breaking, or perhaps nearly breaking, my right index finger. Awesome.

While I got three numbers as the good guy versus none as the bad boy, I think that is is hard to say definitively that it was solely due to my clothes or demeanor. For one thing, it was 14 degrees Friday night and there weren't that many people out. Secondly, I think the sheer number of (seemingly) single women at Front Page was largely responsible for my success rate in getting numbers. I may try this again some other weekend to see if I get the same results.

My Best Friend's Girl

I watched the movie My Best Friend's Girl last night. The movie just came out on video, if you haven't seen it I think it's worth renting, it had some really funny parts.


I won't get too into the plot of the movie, because it was fairly thin, but one point is worth noting, and it is that most women are secretly (if not semi-openly) attracted to "bad boys". There are varying degrees of bad, but essentially bad can be defined as any behavior that is not kind. If paying for a date is nice, not paying is bad. If saying the woman looks nice when you pick her up is kind, saying nothing or even something deriding is bad. On time vs late, getting dressed up vs showing up like a slob, you get the point.

Let me take a step back and say that there is bad, and there is dick-head bad. Dick-head bad involves physical abuse, and that is not what I am talking about here. Guys who would lay a hand on a woman should have their balls cut off and stapled to their foreheads. I am talking more about a general attitude of mild neglect when I say bad boys, someone with a chip on his shoulder.

I am obviously not a shrink, but my experiences overwhelmingly support the theory that women aren't usually attracted to "nice guys". I don't know if women like the thrill of the hunt, or if they like the challenge of trying to change a bad guy to good, who knows what the drive is, but I think it is hard to refute that women are less interested in guys that gush over them then the guys that somewhat ignore them.


There are many variables, but I think Dee is a good example. Twice I ignored her and twice she was interested. Then, twice I pursued her and she turned cold both times. The women I am an ass to, I hook up and never call again, they turn into the stalkers.

I would like to say I don't understand the concept, but then I started thinking about the girls I pursue, and it's usually the ones that are a little out of my reach. The ones that seem a little interested, but who are just not quite available.


Here is this weekend's experiment. Tonight I am going to go to a bar and be a jerk all night. I am going to wear a crappy t-shirt, work boots, scruffy beard, the whole bit, and see how many numbers I get. Any girl that gives me the time of day I will ask to come home with me (ok, so that won't be such a stretch). Saturday night I will get dressed up and be the nice guy all night, Mr Compliments. I'll try to pick similar bars so there aren't too many variables and see what the results are.

I am open to comments and suggestions.

Bear Naked Birthday

I was in Buenos Aires, drunk as a skunk, for my birthday this year. It was actually a great birthday, best ever. At midnight we opened a bottle of Cristal. I made sweet love to a Argentine woman all night. That morning my buddies and I rented a boat and cruised the coast of Argentina for a few hours, and in the afternoon we took a private jet to a party in Punta del Este, Uruguay. Yes, it was a very good birthday.

When I got back to DC Bear called me and said she wanted to bring over my birthday present. We decided on last Tuesday evening at 8pm. At around 8:30 there was a knock at the door so I went downstairs to answer it. My front door is glass, and as I came down the steps there was Bear wearing nothing but a sexy bra and matching thong (not even a coat, and it was freezing out), holding a bundle of balloons in one hand and a cupcake with a candle in it in the other. As I opened the door and she walked in I saw about 5 cars creeping up and down the road watching. I think Bear's stunt elevated my status with the neighbors, who also caught the show.

This is cool Bear.

Not so cool Bear showed up last Saturday night.

When Bear heard that there was a troupe of Argentine girls hanging out with us in BA, and how much money we spent, she assumed that we were blowing lines of coke of off them all week. This couldn't be further from the truth. First of all, none of us do drugs. We're all very health conscious, and barely take asprin (a bottle of vodka a day each is OK though...). Secondly, there was very little hooking up, we were just having a good time, it was all good clean fun. I can understand her concern, but really Bear and I aren't much more than friend's with benefits. I am Mr. Nowhere, for God's sake!

On Saturday night Bear and I got some drinks downtown. We talked for a long time and had fun as always. At about 11pm we left and went back to my place. We had normal sex, and by normal, I mean "Bear Normal", which involves lots of hair pulling, spanking, dirty talk, and other shenanigans. However, afterwards Bear started asking questions about my past relationships. Have I ever said "I love you" to anyone, has anyone ever said it to me. Has anyone ever said it to me when I didn't feel the same way....

It was almost 1am. I was exhausted, and not in the mood to have a conversation, certainly not this conversation. I think Bear's plan was to get a few drinks in me, wear me down with head and great sex, a long backrub, give me just enough time to become coherent again and then pound me with questions. I think the FBI has it all wrong, waterboarding isn't the way to go. If the FBI used Bear's technique Guantanamo Bay would be closed and Bin Laden would be in jail. Give those prisoners this treatment and they'll tell you if they wear ladies underwear.

Sorry, got sidetracked there.

I answered a few questions. I didn't object to the questions, only to the timing. If Bear wanted to have a discussion about my history she had all through dinner to do so, she was trying to punish me for something. I would say around question number ten I rolled over and fell fast asleep. Fifteen minutes later I heard high heels walking around my bedroom floor. I opened my eyes and there was Bear, fully dressed, saying goodnight. She was mad that I went to sleep and said she was leaving. I think she was bluffing, because if she really wanted to just leave she didn't need my permission, she knew where the door was. Not one to stand in the way of a woman who has made up her mind, I got out of bed opened the front door and locked it after she left.

Bear and I are going to meet up Thursday night, I think I am going to cut her loose. She obviously has feelings for me that I don't have for her, and things will never work out.

Buenos Aires

On December 26th I flew to Buenos Aires, Argentina with a group of buddies from NYC. I can only describe our trip as "excessive" in all regards. I apologize for the hiatus, but I needed a week to recuperate from my vacation.


When I decided to write the Crazy Girls DC blog I made a decision to keep it totally anonymous, so none of my friends know about it, not a single soul. As the expression goes, "three people can keep a secret if two are dead." I realize this blog isn't a big deal, but I thought it would be more authentic if no one was acting up just for the sake of a good entry. I also couldn't risk anyone at my office knowing about this. I say this now because if the guys who I went away with knew about the blog they would have greatly edited their behavior or sworn me to secrecy.


That being said, I am only going to share one story from the trip, one that really only involves me.


We arrived in Buenos Aires (BA) on Saturday morning and were met by a friend who was staying with us for the week. We hired a PR firm to show us around town and get us into the clubs. The PR agency also arranged our accommodations, travel around the city, and had a beautiful Argentine model staying with us 24/7 to make sure we were taken care of. Let's call the model Argentina, more on her later.

We checked into our hotel, grabbed lunch and got a tour of the city. In the afternoon we went back to the hotel and took advantage of their spa, which was fantastic. After massages, steam room, and 30 minutes in the sauna I felt like I had actually gotten an hour or two of sleep in the past 24 hours (which I had not). After the spa we had just enough time to shower and get dressed for dinner. As we left the spa I joked with one friend that I would be greatly disappointed if my very swanky hotel room went to waste that night.


We had a great steak dinner then headed to a club called Asia de Cuba afterwards. We arrived at the club at around 1am, and the place was pretty much dead. We had reserved a table and started getting bottle service immediately. At last count I think we had 3 bottles of Absolut (this is considered a "premium" vodka there), 3 bottles of Cristal, and I think there was a bottle of Tequila in there somewhere. By 3am the place was jam-packed and we were totally out of control. In short, we went bananas.


One of my friends started talking to this girl Paula, who he recognized from the restaurant we ate dinner at. Paula was sitting at the table next to us at dinner with two friends. Paula and a few other girls had some drinks with us, then we all moved to the dance floor. My friend starting talking to another girl so I picked up where he left off with Paula, and we danced for a long time.


I think we left the bar around 6am, the sun was just starting to come up. As we walked down the sidewalk Paula and I spotted a party boat at a nearby dock, and we tried our best to get onto it. After trying to sneak, and eventually bribe, our way aboard Paula and I gave up, and I convinced her to come back to my hotel for a drink. All the rooms in the hotel were suites, so we sat down on the couch and I made us two (superfluous) drinks. We talked for a while and eventually started hooking up on the couch. The club was pretty hot (it's the middle of summer in South America), and we were both sweaty, so I suggested we take a shower together. I'm not sure why, but that seems to be my go-to move. I think because it's a way to get naked without implying sex.


Paula didn't seem all that excited about a shower, but she was eager to try out the hot tub in the bathroom. I ran the bath, which took forever. As the water was running I would occasionally stick a finger under the stream of water and adjust the temperature either hotter or colder as I arbitrarily saw fit. I would say 15 minutes passed before I realized the water level should have been higher and I noticed that the drain was not closed all the way. I fixed the drain and the water lever rose much quicker, but it was still pretty low. I decided I should get this girl in the tub before she changed her mind. I poured a bottle of shampoo into the stream of water (I have no idea if this is against bath protocol or not, but it seemed like a good idea at the time). I told Paula it was ready and we both stripped down to nothing. We each plunged one foot into the water at the same time, and both almost jumped through the ceiling. The water was hot enough to cook pasta in, it must have been just barely under the boiling point.

So, the two of us were standing there naked, each with one badly scalded foot. Strange or not, it was at that moment that I realized Paula had a pretty nice body. I would say she was about 5'5'', long black hair, and brown eyes. She clearly worked out a lot, and was pretty toned.

With the bath out of the question we moved to the bedroom. There was a lot of foreplay, and I eventually grabbed a few condoms out of my suitcase that was next to the bed. The most notable thing about the sex was that Paula spoke Spanish almost exclusively throughout, which was different. I had a Cuban girlfriend who would sometimes revert to Spanish during sex, but it was usually only a few words here and there, and I think she did it on purpose. Paula, on the other hand, just did it naturally.

We had sex twice that "night", and once that "morning", with the distinction between night and morning being about 1 hour. The bath disaster was at about 7:30am, and I would guess our "morning" sex was at about 9:30am. I think we passed out for maybe 30 minutes in there somewhere, so for all intents and purposes, it was all morning sex, the sun was up the whole time.

Paula's cell phone rang at 10:30, so she went into the living room to talk. I took a quick shower and then started looking around for my jeans so I could grab some cash and get a coffee. I checked everywhere but couldn't find my pants. This is usually a fun game, but I had a ton of cash on me, my wallet (luckily my passport was locked in the safe), my Blackberry, and God knows what else in my pants, so I got a little panicked when I couldn't find them. After checking each room twice, I remembered a story of one of my buddies who took a girl to his hotel in Vegas only to find her, and all his cash, gone in the morning. All I could think was "Holy crap, this chick robbed me and is probably on the phone with whoever has a few thousand dollars of my cash".

I continued looking around, but I was really thinking about how I was going to confront her about my "missing" pants. I started saying things like "have you seen my pants....mis pantalones, donde esta?" Paula just looked at me like I was nuts, and said "no se?", sure you don't know...

I checked the bathroom for the third time, then, for some reason, pulled the TV that was attached to the wall in the bedroom. The plasma TV was mounted to a cabinet door that opened, and inside the cabinet, balled up exactly like I do when I am drunk, were my pants with cash and wallet in the pockets. Woohooo! At that second I remembered what happened. Hours before ( that "night"), when Paula went to the bathroom after our first round of sex, I remembered my friend's Vegas story, and vowed that wouldn't happen to me. So I grabbed my pants, balled them up, and put them in the best hiding spot I could find.

Paula got off the phone and saw that I found my pants. She asked me where they were, and I said "under the bed", I didn't know the Spanish word for "bed". I don't know if she understood, but she just started getting dressed. That was easy, American girls always want to hang out and talk, this was great.

I walked Paula to the front door of the hotel so she could get a cab home. The way the hotel was situated you had to walk past the pool to get to the front door, and I could see my friend and Argentina, the model, sitting at a table having breakfast. The doorman, who was actually a super-hot girl, tried unsuccessfully to hold in her laughter. We clearly had "one night stand" written all over our foreheads. I put Paula in a cab, said "goodnight" (which was obviously stupid since it was almost noon), then walked back inside. When the doorwoman opened the door, giggling, I smiled and shrugged my shoulders. The chick at the door was way-hotter than Paula.

I went directly to the pool and sat with Argentina and my buddy. I knew I was in for a ball-breaking, and they didn't disappoint.

Around my third cup of coffee I started to feel a little strange talking about my hook-up with Argentina. It was easy at first, like telling the story to my sister, who I lived with for a while and who gets a kick out of my exploits. However, as the other guys come down to the pool, and I had to retell the story a few times, I noticed Argentina became a little uncomfortable, which in turn made me uncomfortable. I was obviously attracted to Argentina, she was a super-model, and clearly out of my league, but it was still awkward.