the girl lexy has great tits get those

Technology doesn't always work in your favor.

Case and point: On Wednesday my friend from work, Betty, wrote a catty email to another woman at work about a pair of boots another coworker was wearing. The email said something like "Did you see the boots so-and-so is wearing? Is she hooking on the side?". Then, in a moment of insanity, madness, stupidity, utter mindlessness, she accidentally sent the email to so-and-so instead of her friend, the intended recipient. To make matters worse, the chick with the boots was Betty's boss's admin. Betty ended up going over to the chick's cube and deleting the email from her in box before she saw it. Classic.

Last night I went out for drinks with my buddy Andy in Chinatown. There was a big group there and one chick, Lexy, that another girl was setting Andy up with. Lexy was pretty cute and had a fantastic body. We were all sitting around a table drinking, and I wasn't sure if Andy was into Lexy, so I sent him the following message on my Blackberry "the girl lexy has great tits get those". I was hammered, who talks like that? Certainly not me, it was a really strange comment. Ten minutes later I nudged Andy and said "Check your phone". He did, but said he didn't have anything. I sent another message, this one said "she's fun and hot, take her home". He laughed. But again, not all that funny. "Ti many martoonis"

We all wound up at Rocket Bar and had a great time. Andy went home with Lexy and said she was a lot of fun in bed. Good for him.

I had three vodkas at one bar and at least five PBR's at the Rocket Bar. I made nonsensical conversation with about fifteen Georgetown Law students about how they are better off getting a plumbing apprenticeship than a law degree, then staggered home via metro and crashed in bed with the dog. I'm almost sure I'm too old for this behavior.

Needless to say I was struggling this morning at work. I came in at 8am (late for me) disheveled, unshaven, and probably not smelling great. My admin was like "Hey, don't you look great. Did you lose your razor?" I grumbled something, grabbed the newspaper and flopped into my chair. As I scrolled through my emails I noticed one from this woman who I've been working on a deal with. I opened the email and it had only one line, which read as follows:

"NN:

See below a message I received from your email last night..."

I scrolled down in horror. There, one line below was the following:

"the girl lexy has great tits get those"

I basically had a panic attack. A million things rushed through my mind; smash the phone, call it in stolen, call HR, hang myself, delete the memory card, burn the phone...no, burn the whole office, run to Mexico.

Turns out I opened an email from this women instead of a text in my phone from Andy. Her email was just below his text message, and in my drunken state didn't notice what I had done. That's why Andy never got my message.

I drafted a hasty email to the woman that said I lost my phone for a few hours last night at a restaurant, and how some dishwasher called Brazil and sent crazy emails to his friends on on it before disposing of it in a storage closet (sorry Brazil, not sure why I threw you under the bus). What what what? It made no sense, but she bought it.

How fucking stupid am I?

No more personal call or texts on my business line.

Online Photos

Wow, really got shit-kicked for that last post. I figure I might as well get this out of the way while I'm in everyone's good graces. I've mentioned that I'm on trying online dating to see what's out there in DC. I have a few criteria I use when evaluating online photos.

Note: This just pertains to the photos, I do read what they have to say.

First and foremost, if you only have one picture posted I'm moving on. You're filed under "insufficient data". Everyone has at least one great picture of themselves, I need a minimum of three pictures to determine if I'm attracted to you.

If you you show just one side of your face in all of your pictures I have to believe that there is something horribly wrong with the other side of your face. It could be a scar, you're missing an eye, you had a stroke and that side is paralyzed. It's impossible that you're always facing the same way in every picture you've ever been in.

Hats other than baseball hats are a huge no no. You may think you look cute in a hat, but believe me, you don't. Now, you're probably saying "Yeah, but I have that really great hat that I wore to the Kentucky Derby last year...". I think the Kentucky Derby or a major polo match are the only places women should wear hats. I'm not saying you look good in them at those places, they're just the only places you can wear them. But under no circumstances should you post pictures of yourself in hats. Sorry.

So this is a big one, and where I get blasted by all the heavy chicks. I can pretty much tell everything I need to know about a girl's body by looking at her arm between her shoulder and her elbow. If that part of her arm is short, she's short. If it's chubby, she's chubby. If it's ripped, her whole body is ripped. If it looks sinewy, she is underweight and likely emaciated. If it's long and firm, she's tall and skinny. If there's a tattoo on it, there's bound to be more. There is no other part of the body that tells so much. Oh, and this isn't just me. Ask any guy (aside from your husband, he's going to lie if you're heavy) and he'll agree. To be perfectly honest, I check out girls' arms in public too.

If you don't show your body in any pictures, you're hiding something. I've been fooled by this one a couple of times. Girls with nice bodies like to show them off and post pictures where you can see them. Girls with lousy bodies show lots of face shots. I need to see at least one or two pictures with your legs.

Lastly, I can't stand when chicks take pictures of themselves in a mirror, or where you can see their arm leading back to the camera. What's that all about? It's like you never leave the house or have no friends to take pictures with. I immediately move on.

Typical DC Girl

Here's yet another example of how strange girls in DC are. I can't tell if it's social awkwardness or a sense of entitlement. Whatever it is, it's not attractive.

Last week I was at Harris Teeter after work picking up some groceries for dinner. I was in the produce isle and spotted a young brunette picking out vegetables. She was cute, but wasn't going to be walking the runway anytime soon, so I thought she would be a good girl to try and chat up. I've never had any luck in the grocery store before and this struck me as a good opportunity to test the waters. I'll call her Teeter.

Teeter: Teeter was young, or at least young enough to believe the nonsense I was about to spew-forth (25?). She was medium height (5'6"), decent enough body, light brown hair, blue eyes. She was dressed like she just left work, business casual, but just OK, my guess is Hill Staffer. It was hard to get a read on her body because of her clothes. She was slim, not too skinny, but not busty or super-sexy.

I walked in Teeter's general direction and grabbed some broccoli, the very small kind though, like broccolini, off the shelf and pretended to look confused. I figured it was a good angle to take in the grocery store, most women are happy to help the decent looking confused guy in the grocery store, much like I'm happy to help any cute girl in Home Depot. So I got her attention and said "Excuse me, do you know if they sell any grown-up broccoli here?" and held up the tiny little broccoli bunch. She laughed and explained that I was holding the organic kind, and then showed me where the "grown-up" broccoli was.

Long story short I got her number and we've been texting a bit.

This morning I sent Teeter a text and asked if she was interested in grabbing a drink tonight at 9 at Little Miss Whiskey's on H Street. She said she couldn't make it, but that she was free the rest of the week. I said "OK, how about drinks same place tomorrow?". Teeter's response was "Sure. What time? Does this place have good food? :-) ".

I was instantly turned off by her question about the food. I clearly said drinks, and she's angling for dinner. I sensed she was more interested in a free meal that hanging out and getting to know each other. For a minute I thought it was a bad joke or reference about how we met, but the more I thought about it the more I realized she wasn't.

I mulled this over at lunch, and when I came back to my desk I sent her a message that said "How's 9:30pm?". Fuck her. If she says yes she really wants to hang out, if not she's a douche bag. Her response "Too late, how about right after work?"

I don't think I'm cheap. I have no problem buying a girl dinner, or drinks, or a movie, or all three. I just don't want to get trapped for three hours if I determine I don't like this chick (which I already think I don't). Even if she offered to pay, or pay for half, I still wouldn't want to be locked into a meal with someone I don't know.

In the end I said I had a rough week and it would probably be better if we tried it some other week.

Don't cry over spilled milk, but spilled coffee...

Life has been moving very fast since Sunday morning. I've received some good and some bad emails/calls.

Sunday morning a dude in Pittsburgh called and offered to buy one of my bikes, and pay me $500 to deliver it to him. Normally my scam alarm would be sounding off with a deal like that, but he's paying enough up front to make it worth my while. I can't see his angle and think it's legit.

Last night I put an offer in on a house on the Hill. I think it's a great deal, so my goal is to get it under contract then figure out how to pay for it later. This is always an unnerving plan and causes me massive sleep loss. I only bring it up because I will become increasingly cranky until I find funding or they reject my offer.

That was the good.

I briefly mentioned last week that I went out on a date with this French girl from Match.com (whom I ingeniously named Frenchy). She bored me to tears and looked nothing like her pictures. The date was a bust and I was hoping that I wouldn't hear from her again. Well, she emailed me Sunday night and said she would like to get together again.

It intrigues me that two people can go out together on the same date and have totally different takes on how the evening went. I suppose it's subjective, like art. One person looks at a Pollock and sees genius, another sees drips of paint. The night wasn't nearly as bad as my date with Jaws, but Frenchy had to sense that I wasn't into her? Obviously, not. I'm not sure what to do about her.

Moving on to Beads.

Beads had a black-tie affair on Saturday night. She invited me to join her but I opted against it since the tickets were expensive. Also, it was a political event, and I can't stand making small talk about healthcare or other mind-numbing political banter. Instead, she came over to my place at about 1am. She looked awesome. She had on a very tight black dress and high heels, but only for a short time.

Saturday was only the second time Beads and I slept together. Generally, the first time is a little awkward because you're trying to find a mutual rhythm and what positions you both like. Or you're simply hammered. The second time is exponentially better, as was the case with Beads.

One especially attractive feature of Beads is that she is unusually confident in bed. She is much more comfortable with her body than most girls her age. She knows what she likes and asks for it. She is also VERY vocal. She isn't necessarily a dirty talker, screaming obscenities, though there was a bit of that. She's more like a weatherman, giving constant factual updates. "Oh yeah, rub my ass" or "That's it, right there, squeeze my nipples, I'm really close to coming". None of that is earth shattering news, it's just nice to know what's working and what's not.

The surprising thing is the volume of the updates, she shouts them. I mean, my tenant who lives below me knew exactly what was going on Saturday night. She knew position, pace, depth, speed, and approximate ETA of orgasm. Then, when Beads came I practically had to smother her with a pillow. "Aghhhhhhh! I'm Coooooooooooming!!! Yessssss! Yesssss! Yessssssss!". Jesus, yeah, I get it. I appreciate the enthusiasm and don't want to stymie her in way way, but sometimes I wonder how much of that screaming is genuine and how much is just for show. I'm going to invite myself over to her place this week with a giant box of condoms and see how much yelling she does in her house with her neighbors and roommates within earshot.

One last thing I need to bring up. I made Beads coffee Sunday morning then drove her home. We both took our coffees into the car (in mugs), which I do every morning. This is where the problems started. As we pulled out of the driveway Beads spilled a little. Then, when we pulled away from the stop sign on my street, she spilled some more. Then again at the next light. At the third light she got nervous (I was watching out of the corner of my eye) and held the cup up high, for god only knows what reason. In which physics class do they teach you that Newton's First Law of Motion applies less the higher off the ground you get? The answer is none because it isn't fucking true. She spilled again, this time on my dashboard!

I turned to Beads and said "You are clearly having a tough time over there, why don't you just throw the coffee out?", she agreed, but never did it. She just kept holding the cup up high and spilling it all over my car. I snapped. I held out my hand and she gave me the mug. I rolled the window down, poured it out, rolled the window back up, and handed her the empty mug. I said "I'll buy you another coffee when we get to Georgetown". I think she was a little angry at me.

Movie Night With Beads

Beads texted me yesterday and asked if I wanted to come over her house to "watch a movie", which as we all know is code for "fuck like rabbits". Of course I agreed. The night was laced with oddities, though.

I showed up around 8:30 and as soon as I walked in the house I heard two doors slam shut (or at least close quickly), which I presumed were her two roommates closing their bedroom doors. I thought that was strange, don't you generally say hello? Did she tell them I had the Bubonic Plague? Maybe they were also "watching movies".

Beads and I made some small talk, she showed me around a bit, gave me a beer, and we went into the living room. The TV was on and the show The Office was paused on Tivo. Beads said "One of my roommates is watching this, let's go upstairs". I said "You mean one of the roommates that ran for their lives and locked themselves in their room when I came in?", but I don't think Beads got the joke. As we walked through the living room Beads pointed out everything in the room that was hers "These are my couches, oh, and this is my lamp that my roommate's dog broke the shade on..." She went on and on. I am not sure if the point was to let me know what nice taste she had, how much she contributed to the living situation, or to show what a poorly behaved dog her roommate had. Whichever, I didn't like that she was using the opportunity to bad mouth her roommates, who were easily within earshot.

We made our way upstairs and into the bedroom which was really nice, but why do girls always have so many pillows on their beds? They aren't even pillows you can sleep on, they are always oddly shaped with course stitching and made out of material you wouldn't want to press against your face. I never understood that. It took her five minutes to move and stack them all on a chair like a giant game of Jenga. They wouldn't last one second in my house. I would come home from the bar hammered and knock all ten velvet pillows onto the floor with one fell swoop. They don't look good anyway. Unnecessary!

We climbed into bed and she put the movie on. Her TV had a screen slightly larger than an iPhone, so I strained to watch the movie for a few minutes before I grabbed her and we started making out.

It didn't take long for us to get naked and with the lights on low it was easy to see that Beads has a cute little body. I've obviously seen her naked before, but buzzed and in the dark. She's petite, with a big chest, narrow little waist, and a heart-shaped butt. She's built like a woman should be. She's not wafer thin or super-ripped. She's curvy and soft, but not "curvy" in the online dating euphemism for fat way. Think Selma Hayak.

I made my way south and went down on her for a while, and could tell she was getting really worked up. Beads reached down and grabbed me by the ears (what's that all about) and said "I'm close to coming, come up here". I moved up and she said "I want you in me, put on a condom" I said "Sure, where are they?". Up to this point Beads was breathing hard and wiggling around, but after I asked her where the condoms were it was like I threw a bucket of ice water on her. She said "You didn't bring any?" The answer was no, and the reason is that a) it's a little presumptuous to show up at a girl's house with a pocket full of condoms, even if you are there to "watch a movie", but b) it's her house, it's 2010, she should have a couple of condoms around. It's generally my policy to have them with me at all times, but I was kind of making a statement last night, and intentionally didn't bring any.

In hindsight it was a stupid statement. I could have run to CVS, which is right around the corner, but I instead opted for lots of oral, which isn't a bad consoliation prize. We went down on each other once that night, and once again in the morning (yes, I stayed over). I would have rather had three or four condoms and had sex a bunch of times, but things don't always turn out as we would like.

Tonight I am going to a movie with Bear.

One last thing, great story. I told my sister that Beads stayed over on Monday night and she said "Were your sheets clean?", which cracked me up since I was so paranoid about it. I said no, and that I was afraid Beads would smell something, or find a hair/earring/bobby pin/fucking skin cell that wasn't hers and call me out. My sister said, "Oh yeah, how about this!". She proceeded to tell me how one night her college roommate, who had a boyfriend at the time, went home from a bar with some other dude and had ridiculously drunken sex with him. The next night her boyfriend was going down on her and said "Something feels funny", and after licking and fingering her for a little while longer, sat bolt upright and said "What the fuck is this?", and held up a condom. Turns out the fucking thing slipped off the dude the night before and was inside her the whole time. Obviously a huge fight ensued, but I don't know the other details. I'm not sure what I would do, I would like to think I wouldn't strangle her with the used rubber, but I just don't know if I could resist the urge.

For once there is a wild sex story that I am glad I was not involved in.

Six Dates In Four Days

I over-booked myself a bit this weekend and am paying the toll today. I went on six dates in four days, a physically and fiscally exhausting feat-of-strength I am not eager to repeat.

Here was my weekend itinerary:

Friday: 9pm-3am - Drinks with Beads in Georgetown.
Saturday: 11am-3pm - Rock Climbing with Bear.
Saturday: 9pm-12am - Drinks with Frenchy in Dupont.
Sunday: 2pm-7pm - Bike show with Beads, drinks at Brew Pub.
Sunday: 8pm-1am - Drinks and dinner with Bear.
Monday: 6pm-6am - Drinks and dinner at Che NN with Beads.
Tuesday: 6:01am to present - drink never ending stream of black coffee in hopeless attempt at productivity.

I will spare the unnecessary details of the weekend, as there were many. Below are the highlights.

Drinks with Beads Friday night was great. She lives in Georgetown so I picked a bar near her house and we met there at 9pm. I was a little late because my cab driver a) didn't speak English b) didn't know his way around the city and c) had a car that should have been turned into one of those crunched cubes of scrap metal years ago. When I finally got to the bar I apologized for being late and Beads gave me a big hug and kiss, which I wasn't expecting. She had on tight jeans and knee-high leather boots with 4" heels and a tight top, she looked really hot. Beads is a lot of fun, very bright, and easy to talk to. I never felt like the conversation was forced, mainly because we have a lot in common. We went to three of four bars, played pool and darts, and finished the evening with a night cap at her house. We made out a bit in her living room and kitchen but I took a cab home and was in bed by 4am.

Rock climbing with Bear was fun, but the highlight of the day her complete inability to operate a vehicle. She drives like a hundred year old blind Asian woman talking on a cell phone. Ralph Nader would declare Bear "Unsafe at Any Speed" like a Chevy Corvair.

Frenchy was my second, and perhaps last, Match.com date. She was half as attractive and twice as heavy as depicted in her photos, and approximately as interesting as drying paint. This will hopefully be the last time you read about Frenchy.

I took Beads to the motorcycle show at the convention center on Sunday. I don't exactly know how this date came about but I had a great time. She seemed very interested in the bikes and the people watching, which is second to none.

Nothing much to report from evening with Bear on Sunday. The sex was every bit as erratic and invigorating as her driving.

Last night was my third date with Beads. Normally I wouldn't see a girl so many times in one weekend, but it just sort of worked out this way. I wanted to do something casual but a little more substantial than just drinks at a bar, so I cooked us dinner at my house. Beads liked the idea and said she would meet me at my place. Before she hung up I told her to bring her bathing suit along if she wanted to go in the hot tub after. She said "I'm definitely taking you up on that."

Dinner was great. We cooked and ate and drank some wine. Beads helped with the cooking and cleaning, so I never felt like I was "entertaining", it was very relaxed. After dinner we put on our suits and went into the tub. We chilled for a little while then started making out. Beads climbed on top of me and was grinding on me a bit. I tried to take her top off but...surprise, surprise, couldn't figure out the clasp. When will I learn this? Beads laughed then took her suit off, along with my shorts. We made out until our fingers were well-pruned, then moved into the shower to rinse off.

At this point I would like to point out that Bear and I had sex three times in my bed Sunday night. I am generally not a superstitious (stupidstitious) person, but I really feel that if you change your sheets before a date in anticipation of sex, there will be none. Conversely, if you don't change your sheets you will likely regret it. It's a quintessential Catch-22.

Holding true to past experience all I could think about while Beads and I were in the shower is "Fuck, I don't have clean sheets on my bed!!!" I was paranoid Beads would smell pussy or find a long curly hair on the pillow that clearly didn't belong to her and call me out. I knew I had a clean set of sheets in my closet, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out a tactful way to excuse myself from oral sex in a shower to change out linens. The dirty set would just have to do.

Beads and I dried off then got into my bed. Let me ask you, is there a class that all chicks are required to take called "Yes. No. Yes. No. I want you in me so bad"? It's the same routine everytime. In my experience all the indecision is really just a ploy to not look "slutty". I think most women decide if they are having sex or not that night long before they ever leave their house, they just want the guy to think that they are really thinking hard about it.

Honestly, it was well worth the wait (the wait that night, that is) because Beads was great in bed. She was a little screamer and put on quite the exhibition. There wasn't any shocking behavior, but it was only the first time we had sex and it can only get better.

Lastly, it was about 1am when we finished up the second round. Beads went to the bathroom, then I went in when she was done. When I came back out I expected her to be putting on her clothes and getting ready to leave, instead I found her tucked beneath the covers ready for bed. I thought to myself "Okaayy, I guess she's staying over.", so I climbed into bed. Beads put her arm around me and said "Would you like me to go?" Honestly, I kind of wanted to get a good night's sleep, but I really didn't feel strongly about her leaving. The only strange part is how she basically assumed she was staying over. I don't want to blow this out of proportion, but it struck me as a little odd at the time. Beads spent the night and left at 6am this morning.

Beads didn't mention smelling other girls or finding errant hairs, so I think I'm clear.

Facebook

I decided to create a Facebook profile for the blog, really for no other reason than to see if FB would allow me to. If you're interested the name is "Nhot Nhuts". You can also search by the blog's email address of crazygirlsblog@gmail.com. Love to have anyone who follows friend me.

Thanks,

NN

Beads is Back

This morning I watched a woman press the handicap door opener to get into my office building. She hit the button, then waited while the door crept open. Her only disability was laziness. But she's not the first person I've watched do that, it's a growing trend. I think it's a sad commentary on our society that people are so lazy that they can't push a door open. It's one thing if it's a retail store and all the doors are automatic. But to go out of your way to use the automatic door is just obsurd. Is it a coincidence that most offenders are grossly over weight? I don't think so.

Laziness is ruining this country. We need to do away with minimum wage and welfare. This will lower unemployment to nearly ZERO. Productivity will soar, federal debt will drop, and crime will decrease because everyone will be so tired from working all day that they won't have the energy to break the law.

Sorry, moving on...

Last night was a strange evening. I worked out hard after work then went home and took the dog for a long walk (a couple of miles). By the time I got home I was shaking from hunger. While I was cooking dinner I got the following message from Mira, "I am so sorry for not replying sooner, busy first week back". My last message to her I asked if she would like to meet out for drinks some night in NYC. So technically Mira still hasn't answered the question. This chick is a little off, what's up with the delayed responses? I'm not even sure what to do with her.

Here's the thing with Mira, I know her type very well. She's really into being a NYC girl. She's very chic in her opinion. She knows all the hot spots, and despises all the places that used to be hot spots. She lunches, she brunches, and she uses the word "fabulous" a lot. She used to drink Cosmos, but now prefers Dirty Martinis. We will not get along, she's too high maintenance. However, she's super hot, and frankly, I want to see her naked and pull her hair a bit. I will play her games a little longer.

I mulled over how to respond to Mira's message while I anxiously waited for water to boil for dinner. Minutes later my phone rang. I don't know if it was a senior moment or what, but I couldn't recall how I knew the name that was showing on the screen. I knew it was a girl I met out at a bar that I never got together with (thus ruling out the "I'm pregnant" call), but I was having trouble putting the face to the name. I let the call go to VM, and a couple of minutes later the phone beeped, letting me know I had a message. I eventually realized that the name was the chick Beads from "Here's my number...". Judging by how long it took for the message tone to sound, she had left a very long message. My guess was that her phone accidentally called me and I had a six minute voicemail of her phone bouncing around the inside of her purse.

Dinner was done, so I wolfed it down and sat on my couch like a fat bastard. I remembered the message and dialed into VM. I was shocked to hear a very long, but very nice, message from the young Ms. Beads explaining that she was going through a rough patch when we met. She apologized for not returning my message, and asked if I would still like to get a drink together sometime? That must have been a tough call to make but she sounded totally at ease, I was really impressed. It was almost 10pm by then so I decided to not call her back last night. I'm going to call her tonight, though.

Kind of a lot going on.

Jaws

NN: So, what brought you to DC?
Jaws: An ex.
NN: Ohhh...how do you like it here so far?
Jaws: I really haven't seen much of the city, he was an alcoholic so I spent most of the past year taking care of his two kids while he drank all day.
NN: (nervously looking around for bartender) Been to any of the museums, there are some great ones here?
Jaws: No.

That is one minute of a 4-hour date last night that I simply couldn't find a way to politely end. The girl was Jaws, a chick I met online. I call her Jaws because she had the most pronounced chin and jaw bone I've ever seen. I knew from the moment she opened her front door that I wasn't going to get along with her. If it were up to me the night would have gone something like this:

Knock, knock, knock... (door opens) "Oh, hi, you must be NN.", "Yes, and you're Jaws, nice to meet you. You have a good night, now, I'll give you a call sometime." Then I would walk back to my car and go home.

Instead, I endured hours of tedium because I couldn't find a way to end the night and take her the hell home.

Jaws and I went to a bar on Pennsylvania Ave. We each ordered a beer and sat there in awkward silence for about 30 seconds, which seemed like forever and a day. Finally, I started the conversation as noted above. I dragged that out for close to a half hour before she said "I have to step outside for a moment". I thought to myself "hopefully in front of a moving bus", but I'm not that lucky. She went outside and smoked a cigarette with the bartender, which was unfortunate for me because that meant that I couldn't pull him aside and say "Look, dude, here's my credit card, close out our tab ASAP and I'll give you a big tip."

And thus we established a pattern. We would "talk" for thirty minutes, then she would go outside and smoke with the bartender for five minutes. By "talk" I mean I would ask her questions, and she would give one-word responses. Repeat. At 10pm we were both about finished with our drinks, and she was due for a cigarette, so I started frantically gesturing for the bartender to come over. When he got to our table Jaws said "Are you hungry, want to order some food?" Fuuuuuuuck! I couldn't be rude. I wanted to, but I just couldn't muster the gumption to saw "No, we'd like a check" or come up with a lame, unbelievable, excuse to leave. Instead I mumbled "Sure, what looks good to you."

It took us two agonizing hours to finish dinner, by the end of which I had grown bitter. I could no longer feign interest in her. I was now lounging with my feet up in the booth (it was a dive bar, it was acceptable). We were still "talking", but I didn't feel the need to rip the conversation out of her. She must have been a little drunk because she was starting to talk, albeit about church and hunting deer (you can't make this shit up, I dare you to even try).

After some crazy story about her watching her cat pick at a deer carcass that one of her brother's had shot, I motioned the bartender over. Our drinks were empty, but I wasn't going to give her an opportunity to prolong the night any further. When he came over to our table he said "Can I g...." but before he could finish his sentence I slapped my credit card in his hand and shook my head from side to side. He took the hint and walked away.

Jaws didn't seem all that disappointed, perhaps she was having as much fun as I. Who knows. I paid the check and we left.

Jaws had one more surprise in store for me, though. When we got outside she lit up another cigarette. She smoked it as we walked to the car and when we got there she stopped and stood on the sidewalk. Mind you, it was 20 degrees outside. I stood there for a few minutes freezing my ass off, in silence, while she smoked, until finally I said "I'll warm up the car." I got in, started the car, then waited a good five minutes for her to finish her butt and check her fucking email on her Blackberry. I mumbled obscenities the whole time.

When we got to her house I didn't even make believe I was going to walk her to her door. I stopped in front of her place and only said "Well, good night". Normally after a bad date I will say something encouraging like "I had fun" or "I'll give you a call", but I couldn't summon the audacity for such blatant lies. As she opened the car door there was a slight moment of awkwardness where she wasn't sure if she should hug or kiss me, but I ended that quickly by simply giving her a wave. I just held up my right hand and said "Night!" I did wait for her to get to the front door of her house, but I saw her light up another cigarette and said "Fuck this", and took off.

Just another crazy girl in DC.

Cake

It has been an interesting week. I think I fucked up the Mira situation, but my little French-Canadian minx is still in the picture and I may get together with her in the coming weeks.

I admit it, it's my fault, I was a total retard with Mira. It was a combination of text message and Facebook etiquette breaches. I was trying to be all hip, and came off looking like a moron, or worse, a stalker. What happened was Mira was texting me like a mad-woman, and my phone doesn't have a full keyboard. If I want to "hello", I have to pres: 4433555555666. So I asked Mira if she was on Facebook, and to friend me. I won't go into the gory details, but I sensed she was hesitant and I pressed the issue a little. She ended up friending me, but with limited access to her page, which I am told is bad news. My last contact with her was asking her if she wanted to meet up in NYC for drinks one night, and I haven't heard back from her since. I've consulted with an expert and she is formulating a witty retort that will assuage Mira's fears that I am storing corpses in the trunk of my car. NN The Idiot Boy strikes again, folks.

Conversely, things are going great with Blue (and yes, we're FB friends). Go figure. She invited me to go skiing with her, her sister, and her sister's boyfriend somewhere on Northern Canada, probably on the arctic ring. Damn Canadians are immune to the cold. With the image of her giving me morning head ingrained in my mind, how can I say no?

Bear invited me over tonight. Her text was cryptic, something about her not being able to safely transport a cake, can I meet her at her place at 9? If something/someone jumps out of a cake, and I shoot it, it's not my fault goddamnit.

Here's my plan with Bear. I'm going to get really freaky with her, suggestions are welcome. First order of business is a threesome. She mentioned a while ago that she wanted to have one, and we briefly discussed it. I asked her if she had anyone particular in mind for the third, and she said "anonymous". Her friends aren't great looking except for this one hot Asian girl. She is crazy, and would probably have been up for it, but she was living with her boyfriend at the time. They broke up this summer, so I think I'm going to see what Bear thinks about the idea. What's the worst thing that can happen, she slaps me and says she never wants to see me again? I simply don't know how threesomes take place, it's like quantum physics to me.

NYE 09 Part II

For Part II of NYE 09 D-Ron, Thug and I drove from Montreal to Lake Placid. From the moment we left it was a shit show.

D-Ron drives a classic 1970's Jeep, but for this road trip he borrowed his aunt's Pontiac, which was not in great shape but was better suited for a long drive in Canada than his thirty year old truck. I hopped in the car with D-Ron, and Thug drove in his car alone. Since Thug had the directions we followed him. Just as we pulled away D-Ron said to me "Oh, by the way, there's no windshield wiper fluid. That really doesn't matter because the wipers stopped working two days ago." I said "Is it too late to ride with your brother?" I would later regret not pressing this point further.

The drive from Montreal to the US border was the most chaotic of my life. Imagine trying to follow Mario Andretti through a foreign city, in a blizzard, with your windshield splattered with paint and you will have some idea of what we were up against. We were swerving and cutting across lanes at break-neck speeds with no traction or idea if there were cars around us. Several times I rolled down the window and stuck my head out to look for Thug's car. I would then point in a general direction and D-Ron would turn the wheel towards where I was pointing, without even checking to see if was clear. It was nuts.

When we reached the border I couldn't believe we were still alive. We pulled into a line behind Thug's car and I handed D-Ron my passport. For those of you who have never crossed a US border by car it looks a lot like a giant toll booth, only with guns and dogs. After a few minutes Thug was waived through and we pulled up. The border patrol guard was a female, and fairly attractive. D-Ron handed her our passports and said good morning, trying to set a positive tone. She leaned out of the booth, looked at me, and said "Remove your sunglasses and hat" in a very stern voice. So much for positive tone. The questions came in rapid fire succession. She would ask another question before we had finished answering the prior one: "What was the purpose of your trip? Whose car is this? Where do you live? What do you do for work? Do you have any alcohol or tobacco in the vehicle? When did you arrive? Where did you stay? What did you do in Canada? Did you meet anyone there? How do you know each other" As you can see, there are many ways to answer these questions. Did I meet anyone there? Lady, how many fucking people do you meet on an average day? Fifty? A hundred? Yes, I met people there! I didn't say that, but I was certainly thinking it. We just answered politely and bit our tongues.

After a few minutes the guard closed the door to her booth and picked up the phone. Still looking strait ahead D-Ron said "This isn't good". He was right, five seconds later two huge male guards walked over to our windows and said "Out of the car, sir." to each of us. They took the car keys from D-Ron and led us single file to a building 300 yards away that looked like a Soviet gulag. In the building we were led to a small area, separated, and told to empty our pockets onto a long stainless steel table. Out came my wallet, cell phone, camera, empty money clip, two beer bottle caps, and five Trojan condoms. The guard looked at me and I said "Safety first." He wasn't amused. He said "Turn all your pockets inside out" which I did. He said "Where's your money?", to which I replied "At the bar." Again, he wasn't amused, but I wasn't trying to be funny, it was the God's honest truth. I spent ever last cent I had at the bar the night before. He made me take off my coat, then went through all the pockets to make sure they were all empty. In one I had forgotten to remove a Chap Stick. He pulled it out of the pocket, held it up to the light like he was examining a diamond, then pushed it right to my face and said "What's this?". I said "Chap Stick. You know, for your lips." Without saying a word he dropped it on the table and went through my wallet.

While we stood there like idiots with our pockets inside out another, older looking, guard came over and started really questioning us in depth about our "business" in Montreal. Since D-Ron was the driver he bore the brunt of the assault and was getting really nervous. He began to babble, stutter, and was staring up at the ceiling while he talked. He was like Rain Man, I kept thinking "Ray, the ducks are over here, Ray! The ducks are over here." At the end of D-Ron's five minute soliloquy - Canadian travel and the International Hostel System - the guard looked at me and wryly said "Is he always like this?". I shrugged and said "Yeah, I really don't like him much." My sarcasm was rewarded with a quick "Where's your money?" from the guard, and I had to explain again how I spent it all. Though true, this seemed inconceivable to the guard who crossed his arms and said "Look, why don't you guys just tell us where the drugs are." D-Ron and I insisted that there was nothing in the car, but we were wasting our breath.

Long story short they detained us for about an hour. They disassembled the trunk, doors, and probably a good portion of the interior of the car. They also checked our bags and sent a drug dog through the car. Obviously, we had nothing so they found nothing, but it was tremendously unnerving. Finally the guards handed us a small yellow slip of paper that said "Clear" and told us we were free to go. I found it funny that a small Post-It note with the word "Clear" on it was all we needed now to leave the secure area. We just handed it to another guard and we were free to leave with the car. The good news from all this was that whatever they did during their search fixed the windshield wipers, which were miraculously working again!

Two hours later we arrived at the Courtyard Marriott in Lake Placid. We checked in and spent a few hours at the pool relaxing. After, we showered and headed to a place called Wiseguys for dinner. As the night pressed on a few groups of girls came in and a DJ set up a karaoke machine. D-Ron said "I have a great way of meeting these girls." He went over to the DJ then waived me over and handed me a mic. I turned to him and said "I don't sing. If I sing those girls will never talk to us!" He said "Stop being such a pussy. Just sing the words and pretend you love me." I said "WHAT?", but it was too late, the music had already started. I immediately recognized the music, it was the duet "I got you babe" by Sonny and Cher. In the end it was hysterical and D-Ron was right, the girls walked right over to us and introduced themselves. It was genius.

I started talking to this one really tiny girl who looked like Mira Sorvino, so I'll call her Mira. Mira was short, about 5'2", with blond hair and a very trim little body, even in ski clothes. Mira works as a fashion designer and lives in NYC.

We chatted for about thirty minutes, but D-Ron was giving me the signal that it was time to go. I don't know what his rush was, I exchanged numbers with Mira and we agreed to snowboard together the next day.

After Wiseguys the three of us made our way to some of the "hot spots" of the Lake Placid nightlife...both of them. We were drinking a lot with a base of little food or sleep, so at midnight I was toast. Without getting my coat or telling anyone I was leaving I poured myself in a cab and directed the driver to the Marriott.

I woke up early in the morning to a scene very much like the movie The Hangover. As I opened my eyes I was struck by three things: a) a girl tip-toeing out of the bedroom b) a giant patch of red vomit on the floor in front of me and c) the smell of burnt flesh. It took several hours to piece everything together. To make a very long story short, the girl was with Thug, the vomit was mine, and the smell was from D-Ron who set my right eyebrow on fire for pissing on his leg earlier in the evening. I am now missing a large section of eyebrow. Very Nice! I really didn't want to share that part.

We never did ski that day. It was too cold and we were too hungover. We just got in the car and left town. On the way out I sent sent a text to Mira explaining why we weren't skiing. I was surprised to hear that she was disappointed. More on her later.

NYE 09 Part I

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