V-Card Part II: Leave the gun, take the cannoli.

So, my first time.

Let's call my first...First. Keep it simple, right.

I met First during the summer after 8th grade. We were both working at a summer camp (day camp, not overnight), and eventually started talking and hanging out more and more. First was one year older than me, so she was going into her sophmore year in high school while I was just a lowly freshman. Yes, I took a lot of grief from her about being younger, but I suppose her being older was a bragging point with some of my friends.

First: First was about my height (at the time), had long curly brown hair, great smile, and was tons of fun. She had tremendous boobs, I mean gigantic, and an ample booty. She was no runway model, but I wouldn't say she was fat either. We were both virgins when we met.

We dated most of the summer and through the fall and we experimented a lot. We did everything but have sex until December of that year. I got head everywhere, how our parents never caught us is a fucking miracle. First's mom would say something like "Honey, can you and NN go and get the clean laundry from the basement." We would go down stairs, I would get a blowjob then First and I would frantically fold clothes and go back upstairs before anyone got suspicious.

That December First and I talked about having sex, but honestly, the biggest obstacle was finding a place to do it. Sure, we could have had sex in the woods or at a party in the basement, but First's only request was that it take place in a bed. A reasonable request, I suppose.

One night while at her house her parents left to go see a movie, and we went up to her bedroom armed with about 100 Trojan condoms (non lubricated, I had no idea what I was buying). First got naked in her bed, but her dog, this huge fucking maniac Chow named Suki, went absolutely hay wire when I pushed him out of the room and shut the door. I really thought he was going to break it down. Finally, we had to stop and let him in. Actually, we let him in and he chased me all the way down to the living room. Her dad probably trained Suki to do that, but it backfired because Suki later mauled the father and had to be put down.

One afternoon around Christmas First and I were downtown shopping and had an idea. My buddy Chuck (the same one from all my other stories) and his family were in Florida for the holidays, so I knew his house was empty. More importantly, I knew where his spare key was. I researched what bus went to his house, so we hopped on and rode it about 30 minutes to his parent's place.

It seemed like the perfect setting (minus the very classy public bus ride), we had the whole house to ourselves and there was zero chance of anyone coming home and catching us.

When we got there the key was exactly where it always was. I took it out, unlocked the door, then carefully put the key back so I didn't lose it. I opened the door but as soon as I walked in I knew we had a problem, it was only slightly warmer than freezing inside the house. In an effort to cut their heating bill Chuck's parent's had turned the heat down to like 33 degrees before they left for their trip. It was a fucking meat locker inside.

I pointed First toward's Chuck's bedroom and, trying to be smooth, said something like "Go upstairs and make yourself comfortable, I'll turn up the heat.". Meanwhile, I knew full well that I was far too terrified of Chuck's dad killing me to ever touch that thermostat. Rediculously, I reasoned he would notice the spike on his bill on that day and know it was me. I wasn't willing to risk that, so I just walked over to the thermostat, stood there for a second, then followed First upstairs.

Now came the second dilema. Do we have sex in Chuck's room or the guest room. Again, his parent's room was totally out of the question. If his dad would kill me for touching the termostat, imagine the reprocussions from having sex in his bed! It was unimaginable. No chance. The guest room seems like a logical choice, but no one ever slept in that room, so I was afraid that I wouldn't make the bed right, or that First would bleed all over the sheets. Just the thought of that made me nervous. "Oh Christ!" I thought, if something like that happened I would have to join the French Foreign Legion so that Chuck's father couldn't find and disembowel me. Chuck's bed it was. I reasoned, let Chuck explain away the blood or jizz, or whatever else might come shooting out of us, that was his problem.

We both took off our clothes and slipped between the coldest set of sheets I have ever felt in my life. I am certain that if it wasn't my first time I wouldn't have been able to get hard. The sex was awkward and frantic, as you might imagine. Awkward for obvious reasons, frantic because we were bordering on hypothermia.

After about six seconds I came. First ran into the bathroom, and I instantly got naseaus with fear and regret. Up until that point in my life about the worst thing I could do was lose my bike, set my paren't house on fire, or get bad grades in school. As soon as I came I realized it was statistically possible (.001% chance) that I just impregnated a girl, and it nearly scared me to tears. My father is even scarier than Chuck's. So I would rather throw my bike in a ravine, burn down my whole neighborhood, and drop out of school than have to tell my parents that I got a girl knocked up. Actually, I think I would still rather do those things than tell my parents I got a girl I knocked up.

I heard the toilet flush so I pulled myself together. When First came out I took the condom off, stuffed it in my pants pocket, and got dressed. First and I made sure the house was as we found it and caught the next bus back downtown. Just as I was about to walk onto the bus I pulled the condom out of my pocket and threw it into the street (I have no idea why I did that, just accept it and move on).

One week later my phone rang and it was Chuck. He said "So, what did you do while I was away?". I tried to play it cool, I didn't want to blurt out "I'm not a virgin anymore!", so I said some nonsense. He then said "Did you forget something?", I said "I don't think so?". Clearly paranoid, I thought Chuck's dad had found the condom in front of the house and traced it back to me somehow. I said "Like what?"/ Chuck said "Like the condom wrapper in my bed you asshole!"

Yup, just like Clamenza in the Godfather. "Leave the gun. Take the cannoli."

Chuck still holds that against me.

V-Card Part I: My list

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Shut up for five seconds, please!

Last week Bear asked me to help her with her Halloween costume. What was supposed to take a couple of hours one afternoon has turned into a three part, multi-day, arts and crafts extravaganza. Last night was Part II, and sensing my frustration after Part I Bear cleverly showed up with a bottle of vodka as a peace offering. Arts and Crafts 201 ended at around 9:30, and I really didn't want her to stay over, so I decided to fore go sex and we plopped down on my couch to watch a few minutes of TV.

Bear doesn't have a TV, in her mind that is far too conventional, so every commercial and show is mind blowing to her. It's as if all TV programming is from beyond our galaxy. She talks the whole fucking time about how awful everything she's watching is. Finally I had to say "Jesus, Bear, stop fucking talking for five seconds, it's a fucking Travelers commercial. At the end there will be a big red umbrella over someone's head and they will play uplifting music." I realize it was rude, I wasn't trying to be an asshole, but it was a knee-jerk reaction to thirty minutes of constant social commentary. This is my penance for breaking my "no date" rule. Last night was clearly too much of a date.

Poonani texted me yesterday asking if it would be OK for her to bring five of her girl friends to my place on Friday night (Halloween party). Sure no problem, except that the party is shamelessly overloaded with females. By rough estimate, there are going to be 20-25 single girls and two single guys. There will also be an assortment of married and dating couples, but the single ratio makes me a little nervous. My head may explode. No word yet if Kay is coming. I really hope she doesn't.

The girl I lost my virginity to friended me on Facebook. She is married and now has a daughter. That took a bit to settle in.

Dogs and makeup.

As I was driving out of my alley this morning I saw the girl with the dog from my Dogs post. She really seems spunky...or on drugs. It was raining but she was almost skipping down the sidewalk eating an apple, oblivious to the rain. During the few seconds I saw her her dog walked behind her and she did a graceful little spin to unwind herself from the leash. I'll figure out a way to meet her.

Ladies, I have a little gripe with you. Why do you insist on putting your makeup on while driving? What makes you think it's safe to operate a vehicle while applying eye liner? We've all seen this. Women leaning way forward in their seat, visor down, face pressed up against that tiny mirror, poking themselves in the eye with a pencil. Or, same position, but making that stupid face all chicks make, with their lips pressed tightly together like they are kissing something, while they dust their face with that huge paint brush. Can't you do that shit at home, get up five minutes earlier and put your makeup on in a bathroom, with a proper light and a real mirror. It really says something about your inability to plan even the most simplistic tasks.

A couple of observations. The first is I never see really hot girls putting their makeup on in their cars. It's usually old ladies or chicks that, frankly, really should be spending more time on their makeup. What I am trying to say is, if you are "putting your face on" on I-95, perhaps you should reconsider because you look like you put your makeup on at 65mph. Secondly, is your appearance really worth hurting someone by causing an accident? Are you that vain? If I'm on my bike, and a woman applying makeup hits me she had better kill me. If I live I'm not sure I could control myself from dragging her out of the car and driving her lipstick through her larynx.

To be honest with you, I don't even like when girls wear makeup. I hate lipstick and all that other crap on your face. Try wearing nothing for a week. You'll look better and everyone on the road will be safer.

Do all Indian women wear the same perfume?

Before I get into my weekend a quick comment on condoms. Why is it that every time I open and put on a condom it's upside down? Guys know what I'm talking about. You open the wrapper and put the rubber on your dick, but as you go to roll it down you realize it's on wrong and no amount of force or maneuvering will ever make the condom go on more than one inch. This happens to me almost every time. According to the theory of probability and Law of Large Numbers I should be able to correctly guess the top 50% of the time. Billion dollar casinos are built on the very same theories at play here, yet they seem not to apply when my penis is involved. Can't Trojan devise some method to distinguish the top on the condom? Something glow-in-the-dark, or perhaps braille.

Sorry, just venting a little there.

Bear came over Friday night. We had a late night session and one early in the morning. She lingered a little long the next day, though. I had things to do and she was lounging around sipping her coffee.

Saturday afternoon I had planned on having some friends over to watch football and I had invited Poonani as well. However, a few people couldn't make it so I kind of called it off. Poonani texted me and asked if people were still coming over and I said no. She asked if I had plans for that night, which I didn't, so we picked a bar on U Street and met up at 9pm. I showed up at the bar in jeans, an old t-shirt (which I would later regret), and a pair of ratty Asics. Poonani showed up in tight jeans, heals, and a skimpy backless top that left very little to the imagination. We clearly weren't on the same page.

While we were having drinks Poonani was very touchy-feely, she kept touching my arm, or my knee while we talked. I was getting all kinds of signs from her, but I wasn't giving any back, I am trying to keep this on a platonic level. It's not that I am not attracted to Poonani, I just want to see if I can have an attractive female friend without having sex with her.

Side Note: Do all Indian women wear the same perfume? All the Indian chicks I know smell the same, and I'm not saying that in a sarcastic way, I mean literally. I think they wear the same perfume. I'll do a little experiment, I will ask what kind Poonani wears and compare it to another girl I know here who is from India.

Poonani and I eventually ended up at 16th Street Lounge (her choice) where we had a beer and were dancing a little. While we danced we came very close to kissing, but I pulled away and made believe I didn't notice what almost happened. Apparently she doesn't take rejection well because she then bit my neck, hard. I said "What was that for?", to which she replied "No reason.".

Side Note II: While we were dancing I picked up a really strong BO odor. When Poonani looked away I tucked my nose into the neck of my shirt and took a big pull through my nose. It wasn't me. I looked around, but there really wasn't anyone that close to us. Not long after Poonani said "I'm really sweating, I can smell my pits." I don't mind when chicks sweat. Actually, I enjoy sweaty sex, and having sex after a good workout, but there's something about hearing a girl say "my pits" that is kind of a turn-off. It was not the end of the world, just a little distracting.

Around 2:15 we left the bar and I walked Poonani home. By this time we were both pretty buzzed, so when I said good night we ended up making out a little on her front steps. Things could have taken a severely poor turn here if she had invited me up to her place, but luckily she didn't. At about quarter of three I said good night and start looking for a cab.

Since we had been in doors most of the night I hadn't noticed that the temperature had dropped until I started walking around the streets trying to hail a cab. Since it was late and all the bars were letting out I couldn't find an empty cab. I tried a few different corners and even a gas station, but they were all full. I wasn't sure when the Metro stopped running so I thought it would be a good idea to get on a train before three. It would take me over an hour to walk home from U Street, something I wasn't anxious to try in 50-degree weather wearing only a t-shirt.

I was lucky and caught a Metro to Union Station. From Union Station it is about a fifteen minute walk to my house. I tucked my arms into my shirt and walked towards home as quickly as I could. A few blocks into my walk I caught up to a girl who was going in the same direction as me. As I got closer to her I tried to be as loud as possible so I didn't scare her, but I wasn't quite loud enough. When I was just two feet behind her she did a little jump-spin-run-karate-chop move that I think scared me twice as much as I did her. When she calmed down she looked at me and saw that I had no arms, and got frightened even more than the first time. I looked at her and said "I'm cold. I should have worn a jacket. I didn't. That is why I have no arms." and just kept walking. A few seconds later I heard her laughing.

When I got home I put on a sweatshirt, a wool hat, and made myself a giant egg and cheese sandwich.

Is it wrong to bang a midget?

Is it acceptable to say "I really want to sleep with a white/black/Asian chick before I die or get married." Is it wrong to want to sleep with a certain type of girl just because she's different? Is it worse to NOT want to sleep with a girl because of that same difference?

I will use my friends as the test group here and can tell you that most guys want to sample as many different demographics as possible, and we track this very carefully. I'm guilty too. I couldn't wait to tell my friends about the first Asian girl I banged. However, when I told them about the first black girl I slept with they disqualified her because she was only half-black. No partial credit was given.

But why are some demographics protected?

Is it acceptable to sleep with a midget? Is it acceptable to want sleep with a midget just to say you did it?

How about the same scenarios, except now it's a deaf girl instead of a midget? How about a blind girl? How about a really, really tall chick? What about a specific nationality? How about you're out one night and you see a girl that is fat beyond comprehension, and you want to sleep with her just to see if it's logistically possible, and, well, because it will make a great story?

Is the determining factor attraction? Is it only acceptable if you are genuinely attracted to the person, and can look beyond their physical shortcomings? What about intent? Is it only acceptable to sleep with people if you have righteous intentions? These criteria are certainly good guidelines, but we all know that they are not always followed.

Let me give some perspective. Several years ago I was in Home Depot trying to buy a toilet and the sales girl was deaf. She couldn't read lips so I communicated by writing on a pad she was carrying. She could talk, but it was rather loud, and she sounded a bit like the teacher in the Peanuts. The kicker was, she was really sexy. If she was not hearing impared I definitely would have gone out with her. I even considered it, but a bevy of scenarios flashed through my head with me writing on her pad, and I just couldn't do it. Is this wrong? Is it unacceptable to discriminate against a deaf girl you find attractive just because she's deaf? (FYI, I always regret not asking her out.)

Let's backtrack a bit. What about guys that only like girls with really big boobs? Or girls that will only date guys over 6'3"? Are these people any less cruel than someone who only dates midgets? Does the degree of the physical shortcoming have any bearing on our judgement of the offender?

I don't have answers to these, I just thought I would throw it out there.

Diwali

I showed my bike Friday night. I thought I had it sold but the deal fell through on account of the guy being a clown. Back on the market it goes.

Later that night Bear came by for an evening of adult fun, but it really wasn't much fun. Bear's appeal is that she's buck wild in bed, but when she's not being wild she's...well...bland. I guess that kind of crazy behavior isn't sustainable over the long term because it requires an unhealthy degree of one-upmanship. Plus, I think she's looking for something more than a fuck buddy.

Saturday was interesting. I try not to plan any functions in polite society after watching college football because I know that I will not be terribly functional due to hours of afternoon drinking. I went to Chuck's house to watch some games, and his neighbor, AJ (Poonani's brother) joined us for a while. At the end of the game he invited us all over to his house to celebrate Diwali, the Hindu Festival of Lights. I tried every excuse in the book to get out of it, but he was insistent. Poonani joined us for dinner, as well as AJ's wife and his in-laws. Let's just say that we were a bit rambunctious during dinner. I believe I made a few "Festivus" references, including suggesting we have an "airing of the grievances" followed by an after dinner wrestling match. The in-laws were thoroughly confused and offended.

After dinner I decided it was time for me to go home, I was finally sobering up and didn't want to get entangled in any post-dinner festivus drinking. I thanked everyone and said I was leaving. Poonani said she was heading downtown and asked me if I would give her a ride. Of course I agreed and we left. As soon as we walked out the door AJ's wife asked "Are we OK with them leaving together?".

I drove Poonani downtown and she asked me to join her and her friends for a drink. This was a pivotal moment, if I went out for drinks I was going home with Poonani. I decided to do the right thing and go to my own house. There was an awkward good bye moment where I was clearly supposed to make a move on her, but decided not to at. The main problem is that AJ would blow a gasket if I slept with his sister. I am going to try being "friends" with her.

Throughout all this nonsense I sent Persia a text message that simply said "Hey, it's NN from Thursday, what r u up to tonight?"

Side note: Chuck asked me about Persia and I told him what little I knew, and described what she looked like. His face went a little white when I told him her name. I asked what the problem was and he said that Martin (Kay's ex) had just started hooking up with a girl that exactly fit Persia's description. Same name, same nationality, everything. That would truly be some shitty luck.

I never heard back from Persia, which is strange. She asked me to text her (which I normally wouldn't have done, I would have called), why would she go through all this trouble then not reply?

I shaved my beard this morning, I feel like I am walking around naked.

Happiest Hour of the Day

Happy hour truly is the happiest hour of the day. Binge drinking is not only allowed, it's encouraged. Is it really responsible to give people a time limit within which they can drink economically, isn't that entrapment? I think you could use it as a defense in a DUI case. "Your honor, my client was forced to drink seven beers in forty-five minutes then drive home, it was happy hour."

Last night I met my buddy Ben out for a few cocktails. I met Ben through C-Roc, they wrestled in college together, and I have known him for about eight years. We meet up about once a month for drinks. Ben's a federal agent now, and he's tons of fun, just hysterical to hang out with. He brought his whole office with him last night, there must have been 20 people, and they knew the entire bar staff. I probably had five vodkas, and we shared a shitload of appetizers, and when it was time for me to leave Ben was like "Just throw in $40", most of tab was comped, they just leave a huge tip. That's a deal in my book.

Our bartender was this hot little Persian chick with one of the best bodies I've seen in a while. As I was putting on my coat Persia said "That's it, you're leaving?", I said "Yeah, I have this other thing I have to go to", "Oh that's too bad." That sounded promising, so I said "Why don't you give me your number, we'll hang out some other time." She was walking away from me when I said it, so I didn't think she heard me. She walked to the other end of the bar, handed someone a drink, and as she was walking back towards me I repeated it. She smiled and handed me a napkin which had her name and number on it and said "I heard you the first time". I chuckled because just yesterday I wrote how cell phones had made physically getting some one's number obsolete, and there I was holding a napkin with digits scribbled on it. Guess not.

Persia: Persia was likely in her early to mid-twenties, hard to tell. She was short, maybe 5'2", with long black hair, and those huge dark eyes that middle eastern women have that are really hot. Persia had a tiny little body, with a tiny little ass (I think she would fit into the Jay ass-caliper) but big boobs. Her shirt was unbuttoned enough to show them off, and they were spectacular. Overall I would rate her a solid 6, but no higher because I didn't think her face was all that and a box of donuts. She could be a good booty call.

I was supposed to go to a book signing in Georgetown after happy hour, but I decided I shouldn't be driving after all that vodka, so I just went home and soaked in the hot tub. The book was something like a female guide to dating in DC, and promised to be loaded with attractive professional women (read: cougars). Another buddy went, I'm sure he will rub in my face what a turkey-shoot it was.

I called Bear last night to see if she wanted to get together tonight (Friday), and she tried to big-time me. She said how busy work was, and how she wanted to go for a run when she got home...I was like "That's all fine, call me tomorrow if you want to hang out." She said "See you at nine." What's with all the drama? Come over or don't. It's not like you have to make excuses with me. She's a wacky girl, wow, prime example of a Crazy Girl DC.

I have had my bike for sale for over two months now, and had received two calls in total in that time. Yesterday I received two calls within an hour, and one dude is coming tonight to see the bike. Strange, I can't figure that out.

Technology

Never in history have so many tools been at the disposal of man to get laid. Cell phones, text messaging, email, online dating, Facebook, Google, these are all things that were likely designed by some nerd looking for a way to have sex without having to speak to a female. Think about it, each technological development reduces the number of live interactions necessary to copulate. It's a brave new world, I tell you.

I didn't have a cell phone until after college, and once I got used to it I didn't know how I got along without one. How did people find each other before the cellular age? I guess we just wondered around town hoping to bump into each other. Getting a phone number from a chick was a big deal because you had to physically get the number somehow. When you finally found a girl willing to give you her number you had to find a pen, and inevitably ended up asking the bartender for one. If you were lucky there was a matchbook (because there was a time when you could smoke in a bar) or a napkin around you could write on, otherwise you had to write it on your hand or arm. Then, after all that, you had to do you best not to lose the paper, or smudge the fucking ink on your arm. I can't tell you how many mornings I spent feverishly digging through my pockets looking for a bar napkin with a girls number in it, only to find out that at 5am I accidentally blew my nose with it and threw it out, or something stupid like that. With a cell phone you just pop the number in and you're good to go.

I thought it couldn't get any better than cell phones, then out of no where text messaging came along. Wow, now you didn't even have to gather the courage to call the girl to get laid, you could just type "what r u doing?" and send it to 15 girls at 3am, anyone who responds obviously wants to have sex. I hardly talk on my phone anymore. It's childish, really, it's like when you were in 3rd grade and you would write something on a slip of paper and pass it across the classroom to a girl. "Do you like me? Circle one and pass it back. Yes No "

I've said it before, I'm not a big fan of online dating. My biggest problem with it is that it's too disorganized. You wink and a thousand girls, get messages from 50, people are winking at you, you're just throwing shit against the wall and seeing what sticks. It's totally based on looks because the profiles all say the same thing: "I'm shy until I get to know you. I like all kinds of music. I love the outdoors. I'm just as comfortable in sweats as I am in a little black dress. Blah blah blah..." Plus, it takes forever to finally meet up, girls want to chat for a month before they will get together with you. Can you really blame them though, there's a thousand dudes sending them messages? But here's my biggest problem with it, anyone can do it. It takes no balls whatsoever to send a girl an email. Guys spend hours carefully crafting witty emails, but they have no fucking game in person. I used to have an advantage because I don't have a problem walking up to a girl in a bar and striking up a conversation. But now with online dating, all these geeks can meet girls, and they are diluting my dating pool. However, I've gotten laid a couple of times from girls I met online, so I guess I can't be too bitter.

Facebook (and myspace before that) is another great way to get laid with minimal effort. It's kind of like an online bar where there's only six degrees of separation with everyone in the room. It's a great way to reconnect with chicks you used to know or hook up with, and it's also a good way to meet new people. Once you're "friends", you basically have a written and photographic bio on the girl. The downside of Facebook is that people you DON'T want to talk to can stalk you. For instance, I received the following email just last night from Lee, my ex who is now married with three kids:

"Hey you,

Hope all is well.. I am not coming down to DC this month, too much going on. Are you coming home for x-mas? Would love to hang out. How are you doing? Your Facebook page and pics indicate you are still handsome and crazy as ever. How the fuck did you end up with a hand print on your body in broad daylight? Better yet, I do not want to know.

Talk to you soon,

xoxo

L"

Lee went to college in DC, and was supposed to come down for a reunion and wanted to get together for drinks (which I never agreed to). Tell me, if you were Lee's husband, would you be happy about this message? I certainly would not be. I can say with 1,000,000% certainty that if we met for drinks we would have sex, probably in the bathroom of the bar (she is really into that, or used to be, anyway).

As for the hand print...very long story and frankly not worth repeating.

I can't wait to see what technology comes next.

Went out for drinks with some friends last night, had a great time, we tasted all these different wines from Oregon. There was this cute little 22 year old girl there who was completely innocent, which I really liked about her. She just graduated from Georgetown and I think she works for the CIA. Maybe she isn't as innocent as she lets on. She may come to my Halloween party.

Dating Flotsam and Jetsam

It occurred to me that there are some dating and hookup topics that I have failed to specifically address in the past that I feel need clarification. I will try to be complete and specific, but I reserve the right to return to any topic at a later date and amend.

The Check: I pay for dates. Drinks, dinner, coffee, cabs, gas (yes, chicks have offered to pay for my gas), a fucking pack of gum, the guy pays. I don't care who asked whom out, where you went, how you got there, the dude pays. ESPECIALLY on early dates. Also, there is no splitting of checks, that's even worse. Ladies, if a guy allows you to pay for half a check never, ever go out with him again, he deserves to be alone. After many dates, and usually many months of sex, I will sometimes allow a girl to take me out for my birthday, or if she says something like "I want to go see ... and I insist on getting the tickets for us.", I may let it slide. However, I have paid for my own birthday dinner after agreeing to allow my date to pay.

Manners: Unlock and open the chick's car door. Hold building doors open. Say please and thank you. Push her chair in for her. The waiter/waitress is a human being, treat him or her with the utmost respect. Tip at least 20%. Have cash with you. Enough said.

Condoms: Guys are expected to have condoms on hand at all times, and to use them. If there is even a remote chance I will be out after dark I have two condoms in my pocket. The guy is expected to have a condom even if you end up at the chick's house. However, the condom should never be seen until sex is imminent, anytime sooner and one will not be necessary because there will be no sex.

Handjobs: At this stage in life handjobs are unacceptable. If a handjob is all I am going to get I would rather do it myself, I know what I like, I have my technique down. If the girl wants to stick around while I take care of myself that's her prerogative, but at that point she's just a spectator, she lost the right to participate. I have one friend that if a girl comes to his house and will only give him a handjob he outright refuses. If she stays over he waits until she's asleep then jerks off. When he's about to come he wakes her up so she can watch. I don't know why I find that so amusing, but I do.

A gentleman never tells: Sorry, I tell my boys everything. I realize this may contradict what some consider having manners or being a gentleman, but that's just the way it is. Guys tell each other everything, and in great detail. If a girl says "you have to promise not to tell anyone...", it means she's doing something stupendous, and we have all the more reason to tell. Often, I will be in the middle of some lewd act thinking "I can't wait to tell Chuck and C-Roc this.", and once in a great while I will do something just because it will make for a good story. In addition to describing the act, we also describe the chick on almost a molucular level. We talk about tattoos, preferred positions, noises she makes, things she said, faces she makes when she comes, volume of moans, things she will do, and things she won't. We dwell on minute details. For instance, I hooked up with one chick that had a hairy ass. My friend's asked "Like on her cheeks?", I said "No, around her asshole!", "How did you see them?", "It stuck out from between her cheeks!!!", "Like pubes?", "Yes, but only straiter...". This line of questioning went on and on. I then drew several diagrams on bar napkins illustrating the offensive hairs, and we talked about this for a solid hour.

I'm leaving: If a girl at a bar or party agrees to go home with me, I leave immediately, I am exempt from saying good bye to anyone. My friends know and understand this, and are never concerned if I disappear. There is no time to waste, she can change her mind at any moment and for the most insignificant reasons. I generally don't even close out my bar tab, I get her in a cab stat. I can close the tab out the next day. I went to Costa Rica with some guys for a bachelor party, and a few guys I didn't know very well before the party. Our first night there I disappeared after dinner (I left with our waitress to get a BJ) and some of the guys were really concerened. However, those who knew me were like "Ah, don't worry about him, he'll turn up in the morning." At 6am I come rolling in and one of the concerned dudes said "Where were you, I was worried sick!". My buddy C-Roc, who was in the next bed said something like "I told you not to worry grandma.", then rolled over and went back to sleep.

We: If I meet a girl in a bar and she uses the pronoun "we" when talking about herself, I really can't get away from her fast enough. Her friends are still game, though. Referring to herself as "we" is her way of saying "Fuck off, twit, I'm nailing some other dude."

Left ring finger: I have an uncanny ability to spot wedding rings. I can see diamonds through walls, around corners, even in gloves (no lie, I can spot the hump left by a rock). If she has a ring on I won't even talk to her.

Lies: I try not to lie. Not because I have a moral problem with it, but because I am not very good at it, and my short term memory is awful. I usually forget what I said 30 seconds after it has left my mouth, so life is less complicated if it's the truth. However, if being an astronaut or a Colombian cocaine kingpin is going to get me laid, I can be either for a night.

Bachelor pad: I try to keep my place clean. I have a cleaning lady, and between her visits I do my best to make sure my place is presentable at all times. At a bare minimum I make sure there aren't dishes in the sink, the bathroom is clean, my sheets are fresh, and there are at least two rolls of toilet paper in my bathroom (one in use and one spare). I have the following things in my kitchen at all times: red wine, white wine, beer, and bottled water.

Lastly, I have decided that I need to regroup on my "dating" game plan. Until further notice there will be no "dating". My interactions with chicks will be limited to flirting, meeting out for drinks, texting, late night hook ups, one night stands, friends with benefits, and perhaps the occasional hate fuck. All dinners, movies, movie nights, cooking at my place, coffee, walks in the parks, etc, are suspended indefinitely.

H Street Country Club

First, a plug. A great deli opened on H Street about a year ago, and I can't say enough about the place, it's called Taylor Gourmet. Taylor is an Italian-style deli that has some of the best sandwiches in the city. I must have eaten there three times this weekend. Check it out.

Friday night I went out in Dupont with Andy, his buddy Rich, and their friend Tara. We started at a small bar on 18th, then went to Buffalo Billiards, and finally to Saint Ex where the wheels fell off the wagon.

Andy was saying that South is pressuring him into a serious commitment, which he is resisting. They have only gone out a few times and have not slept together, and she has already invited him to visit her hometown and to a wedding with her. He declined both and decided not to see her this weekend. Tara was cool as hell, and very funny (not my type, though). One of Andy's friends suggested he do something sexually offensive to South to have her ease off a bit. Andy is kind of quiet and un-assuming, and sometimes comes across as naive (though I think it's mainly due to his quiet nature). This steered the conversation to all the naughty things we thought he should do to South, and Tara was really into it. She would later say that she gleaned an interesting view of the male mind that night.

On Saturday night we went to 18th Amendment to watch the Florida/LSU game, then to the H Street Country Club to play mini-golf. The Country Club is a blast. The place is huge, and was packed. Rick's friend Sly, this chick that I have met a bunch of times, showed up with another girlfriend. I played pool with them for a long time but I was also talking to this girl Poonani, who is a vet in town that I know through some friends. I've known Poonani for a while, and she's fun, but I never really thought of her as sexy because she always seems to be dressed like she was working in the garden. To be fair to her, I have only seen her out once, I generally see her around town or at her brother's place, who I also know. However, Saturday night Poonani had come from a charity event, and was all dressed up and looked great.

Towards the end of the evening Poonani was ignoring her date, and hanging out with my crew, and I noticed that Sly was hanging around me a lot too. I don't want to hook up with Poonani because her brother would be so fucking mad at me. Sly isn't all that great looking, but I was tempted to take her home just to fool around. A few of us shared a cab home at the end of the night, and Sly was in the car, but when we got to my house she didn't get out. I never actually invited her to come in, I just figured that if she wanted to come in she would have gotten out of the cab. I think it was awkward since there were other people in the cab with us.

There were other girls at the bar that I was talking to, but nothing special. I did get one girls number, but she was a little older and not that interesting. I won't call her.

A girl in my office keeps trying to set me up with her friend, I think I may take her up on it this weekend. I know the "don't shit where you work" arguement, but I feel this is enough removed to not become an issue.

Bear sent me two text messages at 4am on Saturday night/Sunday morning. She asked what I was doing, to which my reply was simply "drunk". I think she got back from California late last night.

I'm trying to think of an extra curricular activity to do this winter that might expose me to new people. I could always work the door at my friend's bar, which is a great way to meet women, but I'm not sure that's how I want to spend my weekend evenings, even if I only did it one night a week. I'm taking a welding class, but I have a feeling I'm not going to meet many cute single girls there. My sister keeps suggesting I go to a yoga class, but I feel like that's cheesy and contrived since I dont' like yoga much. I would just be doing it to meet women, I don't have any interest in the activity (not that checking ID's at a bar is a past time of mine).

In general, I'm fairly bored lately. I need a project, something to keep me busy. I was hoping to have my Honda sold by now so that I could buy a Harley and play around with it during the winter, but that obviously hasn't happened. Idle hands do the devil's work.

Update

Quick and dirty update.

I'm not sure how or why, but my beard is in full effect. This isn't a neatly trimmed facial configuration, I'm sporting a full lumberjack/mountain man growth. It's like a wild vagina on my whole face. The only part I trimmed was the underside of my neck, I had to keep it somewhat tame for the office. The beard is extremely thick, and getting bushy. My hair is getting pretty long, too. I'm not sure what the look is, or if chicks are into it, but it's easy to maintain and I like it. I just wake up and go. In many ways I wish I didn't have a "corporate" job, suits and Blackberrys are depressing. I think I could be happier as a mechanic, or fisherman, but I have made my choices.

Went out with Bear last night, she leaves for San Diego today. Still no feelings on that. I almost canceled on her last night because I was tired and not up for whatever zany adventure she had planned, but I stuck to our plans because she seemed really excited. For all her foibles, Bear treats me well. When she showed up she knew I was having a shitty day and insisted I take my shirt off and gave me a 30 minute backrub, which she knows I love. I realize it is a little thing, but it's a sign she's a good person - thoughtful.

This morning I was looking in my drawer for a t-shirt and came across two t-shirts and a thong stacked together that belonged to Kay. I started to toss them in the trash, but stopped at the last second. I didn't see myself calling her to give them back, and I doubt she even knows I have them, so what would be the point? I suppose if they were mine I might want them back, but at the same time I might think they weren't worth the potential aggravation. I stuffed them back in the drawer, I'll deal with them later.

With Bear out of town I have a feeling this is going to be a wild weekend. I think I'm meeting my friend Andy out tonight for drinks. He's a tall, good looking dude who does well with the ladies, so he's a great wingman. Frankly, I think I'm his wingman. I'm content to hang back and let him do the work and just take his scraps. The height is really a homing beacon for women...damn you short ancestors (I'm just over 5'10")! I think Andy is still talking to that girl South, so maybe she'll meet us out and bring some of her friends. Saturday my sister and I are going to watch some football at a local pub.

Thanksgiving kayaking trip was called off. The outfitter that was going to rent us the kayaks pulled out yesterday. He is afraid that our complete and total lack of experience will certainly lead to death by hypothermia.

I quote the outfitter:

"I would again caution you that because of the weather conditions in late November you are running a very high risk of hypothermia and possible frostbite which can lead to permanent life altering injuries and or death.

I am quite concerned about this as you can see, you are doing this as an unguided trip without a support staff and this is a concern of mine.

One of the reasons for my concern is there are areas along this river that do not have road access for miles and if a mishap would occur you would need to have very strong outdoor survival skills for this environment not only for yourself but your friends as well."

He ended his extremely long email by summarily refusing to rent us the gear we requested, implying that he would be saving three lives.

Lastly, no word from United.

Find me a "6". Just one, I dare you.

About four months ago I was walking back to the office after lunch with Jay, a coworker of mine, when he said "Find me a "6". Just one, I dare you." Jay was referring to a woman that was at least a 6 on a scale of 1-10, ten being "perfect". Jay gave me from the spot we were at to my office to find a 6. The distance was about 8 blocks, in downtown DC, on a beautiful day, at the height of lunch-hour.

"What's the bet?" I said. "I don't even want to bet, it's not fair to take your money!", Jay said.

So, how did this come up? Jay was saying how much he hated DC after moving here from South Beach Miami a year prior. He hated the DC "scene", in general, but also the people.

I should give some background on Jay. He is one of the most narcissistic people I have ever met. It would be a grave mistake to use him as a moral barometer, except in that he is (to the best of my knowledge) exceedingly honest. I am sure his narcissism stems from the fact that he is extraordinarily handsome. I mean, he is a taller, stronger, smarter, funnier version of Brad Pitt. He is known as "Malibu Ken" (he's hot, but dumb, according to female coworkers) in the office, though I think few knew him at all. However, for all his faults, he's a fun dude to hang out with, and we occasionally got lunch together.

That day at lunch Jay announced that he was looking for a new job, perhaps in NYC, because he hated DC. What it boiled down to was that he was bored here, but he rattled off a list of other things he hated. "We live in a swamp - the weather blows. Socially, there is nothing to do here. People are so one-dimensional, they only want to talk politics, these people need a hobby. The women are all pigs..." With that I felt the need to step in. "C'mon, there are tons of cute chicks here..." He interrupted me "That's exactly the problem, there are TONS of them! They're all fat!" Jay was easily excited, and he was now nearly yelling. "This is what I want." and Jay held up his hands with his thumbs out and touching tip to tip, and his pinkie fingers were standing up like goal posts. I said "What's that, bull horns?" Jay said "No, I want a girl who's ass fits in between here.", noting the distance between pinkie fingers. He continued "AND...when she's standing still her thighs should not touch on the inside of her legs, not even at her crotch, there has to be a gap all the way up!" Mind you, he's yelling this while we're sitting in a deli eating, people all around us. I said "OK, OK, calm down."

I held up my hands and made the Jay ass-caliper, my hands being considerably smaller than his, I said "Jay, a nine year old Ethiopian boy couldn't fit in here, no girl's ass is going to fit." I played devil's advocate for a bit, and asked if it was only about her body, but he obviously wanted some substance as well as a freakishly skinny chick. We debated the merits of smoking hot and dumb versus a more robust, yet smart woman, and agreed that you need real substance in the long term. Initial attraction is often based on looks, but if there is no substance you have to move on.

Walking back from lunch I was not able to find one girl who we could even make an argument was close to a 6. There were plenty of frumpy women, or women well out of our age category in either direction.

Jay made his point, but apparently our experiences in DC have been very different. It depends on your perspective. If you compare DC to South Beach you are going to be disappointed in almost all regards. Having worked in NYC, and in the garment district to boot (more models per square foot than anywhere else in the world), I must say that I don't think DC can hold a candle to New York, either. However, for all it's faults I think DC is a great city, and that there are plenty of beautiful women here. I also think that the odds are stacked in mens' favor, because it's one of the few places on Earth where women seem to out number the men (though I have heard that in Brazil there are 3 women for ever 2 men, which is a statistical outlier for the population ratio). Next time you go to a bar in DC look around and compare the number of women to men, I bet you find there are more women. Add to this the tremendous gay male population, and the odds become even better for (strait) guys.

Pukeberry

I was walking to lunch with two lady-friends from my office today when I slipped for no apparent reason and nearly broke my ass. I was walking on the sidewalk, and it's perfectly clear out, so I wasn't sure how I managed to slide. I looked down and saw all these one inch round yellow-green berries on the ground. Most were mushed, but a few escaped being smashed and rolled around the sidewalk as passersby kicked them. "Humm" I thought "I've never seen these before". I was amazed at how slippery they were, like little dollops of Vaseline.

A few steps later I picked up a strong odor that I can best describe as vomit. I turned to my friends and said "Holy shit, what is that smell?" They couldn't believe I hadn't smelled them before, they said "Those are the pukeberries".

Here is a link to a story recent story I found on them (FYI, they're called ginkgo trees): "Pukeberry"

We had decided to eat lunch in a nearby food court. I was waiting in line behind this very tall, very beautiful, elegantly-dressed woman. I, of course, was trying to think of something witty to say when I got a whiff of something terrible. I thought "Jesus, did this chick shit herself right here in line?" I know that my face shows every emotion and thought that runs through my head, so when the woman turned to look at me I looked down at the floor. It was then that I noticed a piece of pukeberry smashed to the side of my shoe's sole. "Oh no, I smell like I shit my pants!". I looked at the blond hottie and she was appalled by the odor, and clearly knew I was the source. I quickly walked away from the line and made two laps around the food court, dragging my feet in the hopes of scuffing the vomit smell out of leather soles of my shoes.

After two laps the odor was still there, and I was forced to endure it all through lunch. Of course, my lunch-mates broke my balls incessantly the whole meal.

After lunch walked three blocks to my office, dragging my feet the entire way. "This should do the trick" I thought, "I don't care of I use up half the soles, I need to ditch this smell before I get back to my office." The girls had gone shopping, so I didn't have to endure their ridicule over my shuffle.

Well, after I sat down at my desk I could still smell it. I keep a bottle of Purell hand sanitizer on my desk, so I squirted a few shots of that on each shoe sole, where you could clearly make out the stain from the pukeberry. To my astonishment, it actually made the smell stronger!

I hope I don't have to throw these shoes out, they were fucking expensive.

Halloween and Thanksgiving

It's that time of year again, Halloween! I've got my costume and am ready to go.

I'm having a party at my place on Friday the 30th. My sister sent out the invites for me and the big question mark was Kay; invite or not? I told my sister to invite her for two reasons. The first is, I don't want to hurt her feelings. The second is, in reality, I don't think she will come, so I didn't see any harm in it. To assure my life stays in chaos I also invited Bear.

Thanksgiving is tricky this year. D-Ron, his brother and I have decided to go on a kayaking trip instead of sitting on the couch, eating, drinking and watching football. I don't have all the details of the trip, but I think we start on the Pennsylvania/New York border on some river, and end up somewhere near Philly. It's a lot of ground to cover in three days, especially since none of us have ever kayaked, and we will have to haul all our camping gear in our boats.

In the event of a water landing...

On Friday afternoon I flew home from West Virginia aboard the smallest commercial plane I have ever been on. I can't be sure, but I thought I heard the pilot yell "contact" just before the prop engines were started. The only pleasantry of the day (the whole week, for that matter) was that the flight attendant was gorgeous. I'll call her United.

United: United looked pretty young, I would say she was in her early twenties. It's hard to tell because the flight attendant outfits make you look older. United was about 5'6", had long black hair, and a really pretty face. She had a Brazilian look to her, and a little beauty mark on her cheek that was very sexy. She seemed to have a nice body, but again, the outfit tends to hide any and all curves.

I was sitting in the last seat in the plane, so when we landed in Dulles I was the last passenger off . When I got to the door United said "Thanks! Have a nice day." I said "Where are you based out of?" She was caught off guard and stumbled a little before she said "Oh, uh, here, Dulles. DC." I nodded "Great, I live here too, I'm NN (and shook her hand), would you like to get a drink sometime?". Now she was really thrown off, and she blushed badly, but said "Yes, I'd like that". I pulled out my phone and asked her for her number, but the pilots were coming out of the cockpit and she clearly didn't want them to see her giving out her number. Maybe it's against policy, but she kind of rushed me out of the pilots' view and onto the steps leading from the plane. United said in a hushed tone "I have to get ready for my next flight, I'll meet you down there (she pointed at the walkway into the terminal) and give you my number." I agreed. I stood in the walkway for a minute before someone from TSA came out and asked me what I was doing. I tried to explain but the TSA woman wasn't having it and made we go to the terminal. From the terminal I saw United come out of the plane a few minutes later, look around for me, then go back into the plane. This wasn't working out so well. I ended up writing a note to her on the back of a business card and asked one of the attendants at the gate to deliver it to her. I have no idea if the guy delivered it, I'll have to wait and see if she calls. If I don't her from her this week I suspect I won't at all.

I stayed in Friday night.

Lavita and I went to hear a band play at Bukem on 18th Street Saturday night. Lavita is a really strange chick. We had a couple of drinks, and we danced for a bit, then out of the blue she says "I'm not going to go home with you tonight". To be honest, I had thought about it, but it wasn't a huge concern and I certainly was not making any aggressive moves. I hardly touched her when we danced. I said "OK, but I don't recall asking you to?". I said it with a laugh, and my intention was to make an uncomfortable situation lighter, but I think she took it as some sort of rejection. At around 12:30 she abruptly announced she was leaving. Lavita got in a cab, and I got a slice of pizza before going home. Strange chick, strange night.

A few hours after I got home the Washington Examiner hit my house and again scared the shit out of me. I screamed "You fucker!" out the window. My neighbors certainly think I'm bat-shit crazy.

My friend Andy and that chick South were going to try and meet up with us Saturday, but they got bogged down in Georgetown. I asked Andy if GG was out with them, and he responded "No, but she got engaged last night". That wasn't good news, GG is officially off the market. Later he sent me a message that said "But South has another girl she wants to set you up with. You game?". I said sure. If South uses GG as a base-line, I would probably be happy with anyone she sets me up with.

The whole day yesterday was a puppet-show. I needed a new book and wanted to go to the used bookstore in Eastern Market to try and get South, by Ernest Shackleton. I hopped on the bike and parked right in front of the store so as to minimize the potential of running into Kay or her friend who works there. As I parked I thought I spotted both through the crowd, but I didn't linger to find out for sure. I threw the bike on the stand and went into the store. I bought the book then took off as quickly as I came. I suppose I should say hello if I do bump into Kay, but I'm really not up for it right now.

At noon I went to Crystal City Sports Bar with some friends to watch the games. I rode the bike there, so I only had a few beers then left early. That bar seems like a good place to meet women, it's not the typical bar scene because people are there to watch sports, not necessarily to hook up.

Last night I met up with Bear and ended up spending the night at her place. When we got into bed she excitedly asked "Can we have anal?" as she bounced on the bed. She's one of the few chicks I know who really enjoys anal. After a few rounds of sex and a shower she said "I'm going to San Diego this weekend". I knew that the guy she was dating lives there. I said "And?". She continued "Well, he bought the ticket for me a month ago, so I decided I should still go so it's not a waste of money".

Here's the thing, I don't care if she goes. I don't care if she fucks the dude, I am totally devoid of feelings on the topic. I appreciate her telling me, she could have danced around the topic and wouldn't have even had to lie, but she told me. But so what, I still don't have any thoughts on the matter. I suppose my lack of interest means that I have no feelings for Bear. I partially think she was baiting me to see if I would get upset.