On Saturday night I had my first outing (haha) with My New Gay Friend. We met at the apartment of a girl that I’ll call Mini Me. She was in my sorority and was the recipient of the same “horniest girl” award that I was. I actually crowned her in a very touching ceremony. For that reason, she is the first girl that gets a nickname on this blog. Congrats Mini-Me. Keep on keeping on (your knees.)
Anyways…
Mini Me is MNGF’s go-to girl, but she was nice enough to share him with me for the evening. We headed to Boystown, which is basically the mothership for gays in Chicago. The bar we went to was called Cocktails. Obviously.
This was my very first time being in a gay bar. And I am in fucking love. I can’t think of a better way to spend a celibate evening than dancing with cute, well-dressed guys that aren’t jamming their boners into my back. But the best part about Cocktails was the small stage where beautiful half-naked men danced for the crowd. One got up there wearing a cowboy hat, which he proceeded to balance on his package. I shit you not. For that he deserved a five-dollar bill, which I lovingly stuck down his boxers. In return, he let me feel his big, sweaty pecs. MNGF and Mini Me found this hysterical. I was in Heaven. That’s the most action I’ve seen in months.
After that, I stood at the bar and started talking to a very pretty boy. He had beautiful eyes but could barely form sentences. Still, we chatted for about thirty minutes. And then he asked me out on a date. “Excuse me?” I said. “I thought you were gay!” To my utter surprise, he actually gave me an incredulous look and replied “why would you think that?”
BECAUSE YOU’RE IN A FUCKING GAY BAR IN BOYSTOWN.
Leave it to me to find the one straight guy in the bar. I refused to speak to him after that. I have enough straight men in my life, thankyouverymuch.
MNGF cracked up when I told him this, and said he knew it all along. Now that I know his gaydar is that keen, I have a couple guys I need to introduce him to, because I’ve been questioning their sexuality for years.
The rest of the night is a bit harder to remember. I know there were some O-Bombs and Britney Spears songs and that I made it home safely, and alone. On Sunday, I woke up naked on my couch. Good looking out, Drunk Allie. I was hungover, but I was happy.
Seriously, it was the Best. Night. Ever.
So now that I finally have a gay friend (who also happens to be an amazing person) I plan on making a habit of hanging out in Boystown. At least I know I’m likely to stay out of trouble in that neighborhood and I figure if you can’t date ‘em, join ‘em.
xo
Monday, June 9, 2008
Saturday, June 7, 2008
The Silver Lining To Singledom
Last night, I was supposed to see my friend ZW. He was flying in from California, but due to the weather his plane got diverted to Nebraska. It wasn’t his fault, but he still felt really bad. He even tried to make it up to me by sending me funny texts about what it was like to be a lone Jew in an Omaha biker bar. Entertaining stuff, but I was still pretty bummed. It was 10:00pm on a Friday night, and I had nothing to do. It’s times like that when I really miss having a boyfriend. At least, I do for a little while. Then I remind myself that if I had one, and he was anything like the other guys I’ve dated, I wouldn’t have been able to hang out with a male friend like ZW anyways. If I were still with The Ex, for example, that sort of thing never would have flied, simply because ZW and I had only recently reconnected.
In relationships, when it comes to outside friends who happen to be members of the opposite sex, there seems to be a "grandfather clause” in effect. That means if one of you knew the person before you started dating each other, that’s okay, but there will still have to be an introduction, which is really more of an evaluation. As long as your friend isn’t hotter than your partner, and the two of you don’t give off a “we’ve totally fucked” vibe, then you’re generally allowed to keep hanging out with them.
However…coming home one day and telling your girlfriend that you “met this awesome chick and we’re going to have drinks tomorrow” is NOT acceptable. Nor should it be. It’s important to have friends of both genders from your past, and it is reasonable for you to expect your significant other to respect that. But once you become a serious couple, you sort of (or, in my opinion, you should) become eachother’s best friends. So there’s no need to add any new opposite sex friendships to your repertoire, unless he or she is part of a couple that you then hang out with together. At least, that’s the way I see it.
Of course, homosexuals, like My New Gay Friend, can complicate the issue. The Ex flipped the fuck out when I almost made a gay friend a few years ago. That didn’t make any sense to me. Yeah, it’s a boy, but it’s a boy with whom I can go shopping, watch chick flicks, and obsess over The Hills. The Ex wanted nothing to do with any of those activities. Maybe that was it – he didn’t like another guy competing for my attention, straight or otherwise.
So I suppose, in this way, I’m better off being single at the moment. I mean sure, it was sort of a prerequisite to my celibacy, and sometimes like last night it drives me crazy, but for the most part it’s a good thing. I can hang out with any guy I want to without having to explain or defend our relationship. I can make my own schedule without having to accommodate anyone else’s. Hey, I can even leave my feminine product wrappers in the bathroom garbage can without getting yelled at for being gross.
And - this is the best part - I get to spend a lot more time with my girlfriends. Or, like tonight, with My New Gay Friend, which is sort of the same thing
xo
In relationships, when it comes to outside friends who happen to be members of the opposite sex, there seems to be a "grandfather clause” in effect. That means if one of you knew the person before you started dating each other, that’s okay, but there will still have to be an introduction, which is really more of an evaluation. As long as your friend isn’t hotter than your partner, and the two of you don’t give off a “we’ve totally fucked” vibe, then you’re generally allowed to keep hanging out with them.
However…coming home one day and telling your girlfriend that you “met this awesome chick and we’re going to have drinks tomorrow” is NOT acceptable. Nor should it be. It’s important to have friends of both genders from your past, and it is reasonable for you to expect your significant other to respect that. But once you become a serious couple, you sort of (or, in my opinion, you should) become eachother’s best friends. So there’s no need to add any new opposite sex friendships to your repertoire, unless he or she is part of a couple that you then hang out with together. At least, that’s the way I see it.
Of course, homosexuals, like My New Gay Friend, can complicate the issue. The Ex flipped the fuck out when I almost made a gay friend a few years ago. That didn’t make any sense to me. Yeah, it’s a boy, but it’s a boy with whom I can go shopping, watch chick flicks, and obsess over The Hills. The Ex wanted nothing to do with any of those activities. Maybe that was it – he didn’t like another guy competing for my attention, straight or otherwise.
So I suppose, in this way, I’m better off being single at the moment. I mean sure, it was sort of a prerequisite to my celibacy, and sometimes like last night it drives me crazy, but for the most part it’s a good thing. I can hang out with any guy I want to without having to explain or defend our relationship. I can make my own schedule without having to accommodate anyone else’s. Hey, I can even leave my feminine product wrappers in the bathroom garbage can without getting yelled at for being gross.
And - this is the best part - I get to spend a lot more time with my girlfriends. Or, like tonight, with My New Gay Friend, which is sort of the same thing
xo
Friday, June 6, 2008
The Many Faces Of Allie
A lot of people have asked me how The Celibacy Project has affected my ability to go out drinking. That’s a very good question. Its answer lends itself to a discussion of the several different versions of Allie that enter the ring (or rather, the bar) every Friday night.
First we have Single Allie. In her past life, Single Allie was always out looking for a good time. She would start drinking at Happy Hour on Friday and would continue to imbibe until she’d finished watching whatever sporting event was being televised at the bar of her choosing on Sunday.
This sort of behavior inevitably begat a second ego, Drunk Allie. DA would gladly take the reigns where SA left off on Sunday, sometimes even leaving the bar with another kindly, and equally drunk, spectator. Drunk Allie has never had a problem making friends, especially the kind of friends that come with benefits.
But now Celibate Allie has entered the fray. She’s there to cock block the other two. And so far (save for the incident with New Guy) she’s done a very good job. But that’s probably (definitely) because lately, she’s the one in charge of making our weekend plans.
For instance, tonight, we’ve been invited to a birthday party for Mind Fucker. Single Allie thinks it’s a great idea. Drunk Allie heard there will be free drinks, so she’s in, too. But Celibate Allie, the voice of reason, reminds them that a party like this, celebrating a boy like that, can only lead to trouble. And Celibate Allie’s only goal is to avoid having to deal with Regretful Allie. So, alas, no open bar for any of the Allie’s tonight.
Instead, CA is dragging the rest of them out for dinner and drinks with our friend ZW. We met ZW when he was a buddy of The Teacher, and have managed to reconnect as friends since then. Tonight, Single Allie and Drunk Allie will be forced to slow their rolls while Celibate Allie has pleasant conversation about The Celibacy Project with ZW. He is a published author himself, and a big fan of the blog, so he supports the cause. That means we can count on him to get all of us home in one piece, safely and alone. So we’re still going to go out and have fun, it's just that Celibate Allie will keep the others on a short leash so Regretful Allie can take Saturday morning off.
Then on Saturday night, Celibate Allie has decided to throw Drunken Allie a bone. We will spend that night getting crunked at the clubs in Boystown with My New Gay Friend. Did I tell you I have a new gay friend? I’ve never had a gay friend before and I am very, very excited about it.
[Ed. Note: all girls want a gay friend…the Stanford Blatch to their Carrie Bradshaw, if you will. But for that reason, gay guys usually have a harem of straight chicks they already hang out with. And these girls tend to be very territorial. That being said – I GOT ONE!]
My New Gay Friend will take all of the Allie’s out on the town on Saturday night. Celibate Allie will have a wonderful time, I am sure of that. Drunk Allie should be good, too, once we get her a couple (or a dozen, since DA can drink) Long Island Iced Teas. Single Allie will probably be miserable since she won’t get any attention that night, but the rest of us think that could be a good thing for her. And Regretful Allie can go back to doing whatever it is she does when she’s not waking up in bed with us on Sunday morning.
So to answer the question, how does celibacy affect my drinking on the weekends, I suppose the answer is, it doesn’t. I can still go out and have a good time. It’s just that, back in the old days, such activities could bring out my inner-slut. Now they just bring out my inner-schizo.
xo
First we have Single Allie. In her past life, Single Allie was always out looking for a good time. She would start drinking at Happy Hour on Friday and would continue to imbibe until she’d finished watching whatever sporting event was being televised at the bar of her choosing on Sunday.
This sort of behavior inevitably begat a second ego, Drunk Allie. DA would gladly take the reigns where SA left off on Sunday, sometimes even leaving the bar with another kindly, and equally drunk, spectator. Drunk Allie has never had a problem making friends, especially the kind of friends that come with benefits.
But now Celibate Allie has entered the fray. She’s there to cock block the other two. And so far (save for the incident with New Guy) she’s done a very good job. But that’s probably (definitely) because lately, she’s the one in charge of making our weekend plans.
For instance, tonight, we’ve been invited to a birthday party for Mind Fucker. Single Allie thinks it’s a great idea. Drunk Allie heard there will be free drinks, so she’s in, too. But Celibate Allie, the voice of reason, reminds them that a party like this, celebrating a boy like that, can only lead to trouble. And Celibate Allie’s only goal is to avoid having to deal with Regretful Allie. So, alas, no open bar for any of the Allie’s tonight.
Instead, CA is dragging the rest of them out for dinner and drinks with our friend ZW. We met ZW when he was a buddy of The Teacher, and have managed to reconnect as friends since then. Tonight, Single Allie and Drunk Allie will be forced to slow their rolls while Celibate Allie has pleasant conversation about The Celibacy Project with ZW. He is a published author himself, and a big fan of the blog, so he supports the cause. That means we can count on him to get all of us home in one piece, safely and alone. So we’re still going to go out and have fun, it's just that Celibate Allie will keep the others on a short leash so Regretful Allie can take Saturday morning off.
Then on Saturday night, Celibate Allie has decided to throw Drunken Allie a bone. We will spend that night getting crunked at the clubs in Boystown with My New Gay Friend. Did I tell you I have a new gay friend? I’ve never had a gay friend before and I am very, very excited about it.
[Ed. Note: all girls want a gay friend…the Stanford Blatch to their Carrie Bradshaw, if you will. But for that reason, gay guys usually have a harem of straight chicks they already hang out with. And these girls tend to be very territorial. That being said – I GOT ONE!]
My New Gay Friend will take all of the Allie’s out on the town on Saturday night. Celibate Allie will have a wonderful time, I am sure of that. Drunk Allie should be good, too, once we get her a couple (or a dozen, since DA can drink) Long Island Iced Teas. Single Allie will probably be miserable since she won’t get any attention that night, but the rest of us think that could be a good thing for her. And Regretful Allie can go back to doing whatever it is she does when she’s not waking up in bed with us on Sunday morning.
So to answer the question, how does celibacy affect my drinking on the weekends, I suppose the answer is, it doesn’t. I can still go out and have a good time. It’s just that, back in the old days, such activities could bring out my inner-slut. Now they just bring out my inner-schizo.
xo
Thursday, June 5, 2008
The Ex-Files
Yesterday, I wrote about one of my ex-boyfriends. Now I would like to talk about the rest of them. This time in my life, and this blog, are about working through my past and (hopefully) learning from it. So I’m going to give you the rundown on the relationships that have had an effect on my life over the years. I’d also like to take a moment to figure out what each one has taught me. We will do this chronologically:1. The Jock - 1996
I met The Jock in junior high but we didn’t date until our sophomore year of high school. Because that was still so early in my sexually-active history, we barely hooked up. He still gives me shit about that. If only he’d waited a few more years, he could have enjoyed my legendary oral abilities. But alas, he had to settle for some backseat make-out sessions and a life-long friendship.
Lesson Learned: It’s possible to be friends with your exes, but it’s a Hell of a lot easier to do that if you’ve never slept with them.
2. The Butterball - 1997
I met The Butterball shortly after my transformation from a quiet, brunette, brace-faced wallflower into a blonde, busty, outspoken cheerleader. He was the first football player I dated and I credit him with jumpstarting my chubby-chasing career. I like a little extra cushion for the pushing on my guys, if you know what I mean. I can’t explain it, but I really think it goes back to The Butterball. After him, I only dated offensive lineman. In fact, I dated most of my high school’s O-Line. But my relationship with him was the most significant because his social status, and the fact that he went after me, greatly increased my confidence and helped me shed the last of my wallflower ways.
Lesson Learned: No matter how skinny, or in shape, I may be, I always look smaller next to a large man. So when one takes me out to dinner, I can order dessert without remorse. Sweet! Hey, fat guys need loving, too.
3. Axl Rose - 1997
Axl was another football player and a very, very sweet guy. Our relationship was sort of situational. We were friends with the same people and hung out so much that one day he just turned into my boyfriend. Eventually, and unfortunately, I lost interest in him and went on to date a couple more of his teammates. When I did, he typed up all of the lyrics to “November Rain” and mailed them to me. I will never, ever forget that.
Lesson Learned: Nothing lasts forever, and we both know hearts can change. It’s hard to hold a candle in the cold November Rain.
4. Skater Boy - 1998
As I mentioned last month, Skater Boy was responsible for the loss of my virginity. It was a very sweet story that still makes me smile. He actually read the post about it and sent me an e-mail saying he enjoyed the trip down memory lane. He even pointed out some of the details I had omitted. I explained to him that not everything has to go on the Internet, and some things are best left between us. He agreed. Sigh. Part of me will always love Skater Boy.
Lesson Learned: The age-old adage is true. You’ll always remember your first. And if you’re lucky, they’ll remember you, too.
5. The Teacher - 1999
I met The Teacher when I was a senior in high school. I don’t call him that because he’s actually an educator, but rather he taught me everything I know about serious, long-term relationships. When we met, he was the closest thing I’d ever had to a soul mate. He could make me laugh until I cried, and cry until I laughed. We were together during my first two years of college, so he really helped me grow up. Unfortunately, since I was so young and still finding myself at the time, I never appreciated what I had and I lost him. Today he’s happily married with a baby…and I’ve got a sex blog.
Lesson Learned: I could have been the girl that he married, but I’m not. And if everything happens for a reason, the reason we’re not together is that if I had settled down with him, I never would have reached this necessary period of reflection. So while The Celibacy Project has its trying moments, I think I really am meant to be here, doing this, right now. I owe that to myself and, in a way, to him.
6. The Repeat Offender - 2001, 2002 & 2003
Please see yesterday’s post.
Lesson Learned: If it’s meant to be, it will be. But if it’s not, there should be some sort of Statute of Limitations on lunch dates, because man, those can get awkward and old after a while.
7. The Meat Head - 2001
The Meat Head was yet another guy in my dating history that was cute and sweet, but not much else. Still, it was relationships like ours, which lasted eight months, that kept me off the market and out of trouble. At least for a little while.
Lesson Learned: When I broke up with TMH, that should have been the last relationship I stayed in just to pass the time. Looking back, it was really only the beginning of that detrimental habit. So that’s a lesson I’m still in the middle of learning.
8. The Addict - 2002
When I met The Addict, I fell in love with him almost instantly. He had an alcohol addiction, a substance-abuse problem, and was well on his way to rock bottom. But he could write well, perhaps better than I can. That is my biggest weakness. So despite his self-destructive behavior, I did everything I could to make it work. Eventually, his ability to disappear for days at a time and then show up like nothing happened just got to be too much for me. I haven’t spoken to him since. But sometimes, I still wonder about him, and I hope he got his shit together, because he was brilliant.
Lesson Learned: You can love someone very, very much, but the relationship will never amount to anything unless they can love themselves, too.
9. The Pilot - 2003
When I lived in Arizona, I dated an Air Force Pilot from Texas. We obviously came from different backgrounds, and had very different political views, but the fact that he could fly a plane and drop bombs turned me on despite my liberal anti-war stance. We had to break up when he was deployed to Korea, and I suppose it was for the best. I’ve seen that show “Army Wives” a couple of times and that could not be my life.
Lesson Learned: It actually is possible for me to date a Republican without wanting to convert or kill him.
10. The Ex - 2003
When I met The Ex, I thought I knew exactly what I wanted. After three years of having it, I found out that I was wrong.
Lesson Learned: If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. But if it was never working in the first place, cut your losses and get a new one.
11. The One That Broke My Heart - 2007
I’m still not ready to talk about him yet. We’ll get there, I promise.
Lesson Learned: I’m working on it.
12. Poor Bastard - 2008
What can I say about PB that I haven’t already said here? I think that I used him as a rebound, but he’s such a sweet, good person, he should never be used as anything. He really did help me get to this point, and now that I’m finally in a good place, I am forever indebted to him for that. As much as I would personally like to be happy and in love someday, I hope that happens for him, too. He deserves it just as much, if not more, than I do.
Lesson Learned: No person, and no relationship, can ever replace the effects of spending time alone and figuring out who you are.
Wow. That was actually kind of interesting. This is the first time I’ve really looked at the entire timeline in relation to where I’m at now. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll list all of the guys I’ve hooked up with and figure out what, if anything, those situations have taught me.
On second thought…I’m not sure if even cyberspace is big enough for that list.
xo
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Murphy's Law Of Attraction
Yesterday, I had lunch with an ex-boyfriend of mine. Not The Ex, and not Poor Bastard – I’ve been in twelve relationships so we’ve really only scratched the surface here. But this particular guy has been in and out of the picture for quite some time now; so we shall refer to him as The Repeat Offender.
I met TRO in 2001. I was visiting a friend of mine in Arizona and we were at the same house party. He seemed to zero in on me that night. Then he said he wanted to marry me. I found that to be a tad overzealous on his part, but it was also kind of sweet. So I agreed to go out with him when we got back to Chicago, because he was from there, too. Since then we’ve been “together” three times. And no matter what’s happened, or how they’ve each ended, he claims he’s still in love with me. Frankly, I don’t get that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a confident girl; if you can look past my questionable history, I think I’m a catch. But he says I’m perfect, and I say he’s delusional.
Why is it the ones you can’t get over are never the ones that can’t get over you?
I realize that’s a very silly question. Because that’s just the way it goes. When a relationship ends, the person who chose to end it has the luxury of not thinking about the other person every day. The one that got dumped, on the other hand, will mindfuck themselves into a coma thinking about everything they could’ve done differently. I’ve only been dumped once but I still do that. And when I do, there are only two things that make me feel better. Well, three things, if I include alcohol. And four things back when I could count rebound sex. Anyways…for now, it’s just two things:
First, at the risk of sounding trite, I believe that everything happens for a reason. I think that every person you meet (and, especially, sleep with) comes into your life for a purpose. Sometimes, years later, we actually figure out what that purpose was. But usually we don’t. It’s a bitch of a philosophy to live by, but it works for me. In fact, my friend CK and I use it so much together that we just call it EHFAR.
Secondly, I believe in Karma. What you do to others will come back around. If I could find a religion based on EHFAR and karma alone, I would convert immediately. Hell, maybe I’ll just start one.
Because when I reminisce about the guy (read: motherfucker) that broke my heart, I tell myself it had to happen that way. If it was supposed to work out, it would have, but it didn’t. If I’m not still in that relationship then there must be better one out there for me. And with that, I have my reason. This always makes me feel a little bit better.
Then I also have to remind myself that payback is a bitch. Just as I have hurt eleven other people, sooner or later it was going to happen to me, and when it did it was going to be bad. This doesn’t make me feel better, but at least it makes sense. And it also makes me want stop breaking hearts to avoid another Karmic intervention. That’s gotta be a positive thing, right?
My religion kicks ass.
So my view of past relationships is predicated on EHFAR and karma. This is what allows me to have loved, been hurt by love, and still want to be in love again.
It’s also why I keep having meals with the ghosts of my sexual past. Each time I do, it’s another opportunity to figure out where it went wrong, why it did, and what that means. Moreoever, being nice to these guys for an hour is a small way of making up for doing them wrong. Of course, it’s not as if I can explain that to any of my exes. When you get dumped, no matter who tries to console you or how they go about it, you rarely find solace. The only way you ever get over someone is to give yourself time (and a couple wild nights of uninhibited random sex can take your mind off it, too.) The Repeat Offender has had four years since our last hurrah, and it doesn’t seem to have had an affect on him. Of course, I’m not about to sleep with him to help him get over it, either. No way, dude. Never, ever again. It wasn’t good when we actually liked each other; I’m sure it would be just plain terrible now. And I don’t think I owe karma that much. Our breakups haven’t been entirely my own fault. So perhaps the next time I see TRO and he’s back on this “we’re meant to be together” kick, I should just try telling him that everything happens for a reason…and that in this case, the reason happens to be in his pants.
xo
I met TRO in 2001. I was visiting a friend of mine in Arizona and we were at the same house party. He seemed to zero in on me that night. Then he said he wanted to marry me. I found that to be a tad overzealous on his part, but it was also kind of sweet. So I agreed to go out with him when we got back to Chicago, because he was from there, too. Since then we’ve been “together” three times. And no matter what’s happened, or how they’ve each ended, he claims he’s still in love with me. Frankly, I don’t get that. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a confident girl; if you can look past my questionable history, I think I’m a catch. But he says I’m perfect, and I say he’s delusional.
Why is it the ones you can’t get over are never the ones that can’t get over you?
I realize that’s a very silly question. Because that’s just the way it goes. When a relationship ends, the person who chose to end it has the luxury of not thinking about the other person every day. The one that got dumped, on the other hand, will mindfuck themselves into a coma thinking about everything they could’ve done differently. I’ve only been dumped once but I still do that. And when I do, there are only two things that make me feel better. Well, three things, if I include alcohol. And four things back when I could count rebound sex. Anyways…for now, it’s just two things:
First, at the risk of sounding trite, I believe that everything happens for a reason. I think that every person you meet (and, especially, sleep with) comes into your life for a purpose. Sometimes, years later, we actually figure out what that purpose was. But usually we don’t. It’s a bitch of a philosophy to live by, but it works for me. In fact, my friend CK and I use it so much together that we just call it EHFAR.
Secondly, I believe in Karma. What you do to others will come back around. If I could find a religion based on EHFAR and karma alone, I would convert immediately. Hell, maybe I’ll just start one.
Because when I reminisce about the guy (read: motherfucker) that broke my heart, I tell myself it had to happen that way. If it was supposed to work out, it would have, but it didn’t. If I’m not still in that relationship then there must be better one out there for me. And with that, I have my reason. This always makes me feel a little bit better.
Then I also have to remind myself that payback is a bitch. Just as I have hurt eleven other people, sooner or later it was going to happen to me, and when it did it was going to be bad. This doesn’t make me feel better, but at least it makes sense. And it also makes me want stop breaking hearts to avoid another Karmic intervention. That’s gotta be a positive thing, right?
My religion kicks ass.
So my view of past relationships is predicated on EHFAR and karma. This is what allows me to have loved, been hurt by love, and still want to be in love again.
It’s also why I keep having meals with the ghosts of my sexual past. Each time I do, it’s another opportunity to figure out where it went wrong, why it did, and what that means. Moreoever, being nice to these guys for an hour is a small way of making up for doing them wrong. Of course, it’s not as if I can explain that to any of my exes. When you get dumped, no matter who tries to console you or how they go about it, you rarely find solace. The only way you ever get over someone is to give yourself time (and a couple wild nights of uninhibited random sex can take your mind off it, too.) The Repeat Offender has had four years since our last hurrah, and it doesn’t seem to have had an affect on him. Of course, I’m not about to sleep with him to help him get over it, either. No way, dude. Never, ever again. It wasn’t good when we actually liked each other; I’m sure it would be just plain terrible now. And I don’t think I owe karma that much. Our breakups haven’t been entirely my own fault. So perhaps the next time I see TRO and he’s back on this “we’re meant to be together” kick, I should just try telling him that everything happens for a reason…and that in this case, the reason happens to be in his pants.
xo
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Facebook And Forgiveness
I have stated here, almost ad nauseum, that I do not regret the things I’ve done in my past. There are two reasons for this. First, every action I’ve taken was the result of a conscientious (if not alcohol-impaired) decision I made in the moment and I stand behind whatever it is I wanted to do at that time. Secondly, if I started regretting the things that conventional wisdom says I should, then I wouldn’t have time to do anything else with my life. I’d be sitting around bemoaning my sexual history, rather than embracing it, and that’s just not my style. Plus, I’ve got far more important things to do, like hang out with Playboy Bunnies and write about not getting laid. Shit like that.
However, with all of that being said…there is one thing I regret. I am now going to tell you my version of that story. If the boy involved doesn’t like it or disagrees, then he can start his own damn blog.
When I was in college, during the second semester of my first senior year (yeah, I had two of them) I was out rather late one night. I was on a cigarette run with a friend of mine, and while waiting in line at the gas station, I saw a well-known guy all over a girl that was definitely not his girlfriend. We'll call him The Cheater. Admittedly, looking back, I could have (and should have) kept that information to myself since it was really none of my business. But it was college and since everybody loved to talk about me, I figured I’d talk about someone else for a change. Thus, I told my three roommates what I had witnessed. Two of them happened to be dating guys in the same fraternity as The Cheater. So it took about five minutes for that story to get around, with my name firmly attached to it.
The following week, I hooked up with The Cheater’s best friend. Let’s call him The Mistake. He was a shady little character to begin with and the next morning, I did not feel good about myself. I felt much worse when a few days later, he told everyone we knew some very bad, and very untrue, things about me. We’re talking disgusting things that I can’t bring myself to repeat. Use your imagination, keeping in mind that Karma’s a bitch.
This happened to take place right before graduation. Thus, that was the last thing everybody heard about me before leaving Champaign. At least that’s what I’d convinced myself of. In reality, a lot of people probably didn’t give a shit. But a year later when I finally got my own diploma, and my best friends tried to convince me that nobody remembered or cared, I still remembered and cared…and that’s all that mattered to me. That’s one of the reasons why I relocated to Arizona after I graduated instead of moving back to the city like everyone else. Wow, I can’t believe I’m admitting that. But I can actually feel the catharsis setting in.
After that happened, and pretty much to this day, I have hated The Mistake more than I’ve ever hated anyone or anything in my life. I gave him my body, and he turned around and used it against me, putting the final nail in my reputation’s coffin. I truly believe he did it to get back at me for what I did to his friend. I was humiliated, but not just because of what I thought others might be thinking about me. I lost respect for myself when that happened.
So sleeping with him is the one regret I’ve never been able to get over.
Now the reason I’m telling you this is not just because I enjoy using this blog to clear my conscience. I’m telling you this because that boy added me as a friend on Facebook over the weekend. I almost died when I got the request. But I stopped myself from gleefully clicking on “deny.” Here’s what I decided…
This time in my life is about coming to terms with where I’ve been and what I’ve done. If I am able to forgive myself for doing things that others have found questionable, then why not forgive him for what he did to me? We were young, we were immature, and clearly he’s over it. So I should be, too. Life is too short to have regrets. If I’m going to move forward, I have to move on. I accepted his request this morning.
So I forgive him. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, right? Of course, now that we’re Facebook friends, if I find out he’s still telling that story, I will kick him square in his stones.
xo
However, with all of that being said…there is one thing I regret. I am now going to tell you my version of that story. If the boy involved doesn’t like it or disagrees, then he can start his own damn blog.
When I was in college, during the second semester of my first senior year (yeah, I had two of them) I was out rather late one night. I was on a cigarette run with a friend of mine, and while waiting in line at the gas station, I saw a well-known guy all over a girl that was definitely not his girlfriend. We'll call him The Cheater. Admittedly, looking back, I could have (and should have) kept that information to myself since it was really none of my business. But it was college and since everybody loved to talk about me, I figured I’d talk about someone else for a change. Thus, I told my three roommates what I had witnessed. Two of them happened to be dating guys in the same fraternity as The Cheater. So it took about five minutes for that story to get around, with my name firmly attached to it.
The following week, I hooked up with The Cheater’s best friend. Let’s call him The Mistake. He was a shady little character to begin with and the next morning, I did not feel good about myself. I felt much worse when a few days later, he told everyone we knew some very bad, and very untrue, things about me. We’re talking disgusting things that I can’t bring myself to repeat. Use your imagination, keeping in mind that Karma’s a bitch.
This happened to take place right before graduation. Thus, that was the last thing everybody heard about me before leaving Champaign. At least that’s what I’d convinced myself of. In reality, a lot of people probably didn’t give a shit. But a year later when I finally got my own diploma, and my best friends tried to convince me that nobody remembered or cared, I still remembered and cared…and that’s all that mattered to me. That’s one of the reasons why I relocated to Arizona after I graduated instead of moving back to the city like everyone else. Wow, I can’t believe I’m admitting that. But I can actually feel the catharsis setting in.
After that happened, and pretty much to this day, I have hated The Mistake more than I’ve ever hated anyone or anything in my life. I gave him my body, and he turned around and used it against me, putting the final nail in my reputation’s coffin. I truly believe he did it to get back at me for what I did to his friend. I was humiliated, but not just because of what I thought others might be thinking about me. I lost respect for myself when that happened.
So sleeping with him is the one regret I’ve never been able to get over.
Now the reason I’m telling you this is not just because I enjoy using this blog to clear my conscience. I’m telling you this because that boy added me as a friend on Facebook over the weekend. I almost died when I got the request. But I stopped myself from gleefully clicking on “deny.” Here’s what I decided…
This time in my life is about coming to terms with where I’ve been and what I’ve done. If I am able to forgive myself for doing things that others have found questionable, then why not forgive him for what he did to me? We were young, we were immature, and clearly he’s over it. So I should be, too. Life is too short to have regrets. If I’m going to move forward, I have to move on. I accepted his request this morning.
So I forgive him. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, right? Of course, now that we’re Facebook friends, if I find out he’s still telling that story, I will kick him square in his stones.
xo
Monday, June 2, 2008
The End Is Near
That’s right kids, we’re officially well past the halfway point and there’s only one month left to my vow of celibacy. Thank God. Now I’m not saying that on day 92 I’m going to bang the first male that crosses my path. But I will, mark my words, get my make-out on. And you can take that to the bank.
Speaking of which, I was talking to my friend DD the other day. He’s known me for a very long time and he’s watched me to develop into…well, the kind of girl that needs to take a three-month sexual sabbatical. When I first told him about The Celibacy Project, he laughed. A lot. Then he called me crazy and said there was no way in Hell I could do it. And then he laughed some more. DD is kind of an asshole.
But now, he’s eating his words. He actually admitted to me that he’s glad he didn’t bet against me. I think that I’ve managed to convince myself, and most of you, that I can do this. I’m committed to the experience and I’m actually getting used to the idea of a vacant vagina. As weird as it was at first, it’s kind of nice living without the stress of wondering if and when a boy that I like is going to text me. So really, one more month is not that big of a deal. In fact, it’s no longer a matter of if I can do it…the real question is, how’s it going to end?
Is all of this soul-searching going to foster a new Allie Era, in which I place a much higher value on the act of intercourse and abstain from it until I’ve found someone special to break my celibacy with? Or will this be little more than a footnote in my life and I’ll go back to my old cum-guzzling-road-whore days? Sorry, self, I just love that expression. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know.
I would like to think that this experience has changed me for the better, but I also don’t want to have to eat my own words someday. So for the time being, I’m going to avoid making any sort of declarative statement either way. Here’s what I do know. My outlook on relationships has changed. As much as I wish that when this ends, I’ll meet the perfect guy and live happily ever after, that’s not realistic. I can admit that I've fallen too far, too fast, way too easily and I want that – no, I need that – to change. But more likely than not, I’m still going to have to kiss a couple of frogs to find my prince. It’s the fellating multiple frogs that I’m really going to try to avoid for a while. I want to pace myself this time around. There’s no reason for me to be dating six guys at once. That’s generally what I’ve done in the past and I have since realized that in doing so, I was attempting to take the best things about each and combine them to convince myself that I was with one perfect guy. It doesn’t work that way. I’d rather wait and find the right dude than keep accepting free dinner invitations to pass the time. So while I cannot say, unequivocally, that I’m not going sleep with somebody on July 2nd (as much as I’d like to) I can say that I won’t fall in love with anybody that day.
And that is not crazy, DD. That’s progress.
xo
Speaking of which, I was talking to my friend DD the other day. He’s known me for a very long time and he’s watched me to develop into…well, the kind of girl that needs to take a three-month sexual sabbatical. When I first told him about The Celibacy Project, he laughed. A lot. Then he called me crazy and said there was no way in Hell I could do it. And then he laughed some more. DD is kind of an asshole.
But now, he’s eating his words. He actually admitted to me that he’s glad he didn’t bet against me. I think that I’ve managed to convince myself, and most of you, that I can do this. I’m committed to the experience and I’m actually getting used to the idea of a vacant vagina. As weird as it was at first, it’s kind of nice living without the stress of wondering if and when a boy that I like is going to text me. So really, one more month is not that big of a deal. In fact, it’s no longer a matter of if I can do it…the real question is, how’s it going to end?
Is all of this soul-searching going to foster a new Allie Era, in which I place a much higher value on the act of intercourse and abstain from it until I’ve found someone special to break my celibacy with? Or will this be little more than a footnote in my life and I’ll go back to my old cum-guzzling-road-whore days? Sorry, self, I just love that expression. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know.
I would like to think that this experience has changed me for the better, but I also don’t want to have to eat my own words someday. So for the time being, I’m going to avoid making any sort of declarative statement either way. Here’s what I do know. My outlook on relationships has changed. As much as I wish that when this ends, I’ll meet the perfect guy and live happily ever after, that’s not realistic. I can admit that I've fallen too far, too fast, way too easily and I want that – no, I need that – to change. But more likely than not, I’m still going to have to kiss a couple of frogs to find my prince. It’s the fellating multiple frogs that I’m really going to try to avoid for a while. I want to pace myself this time around. There’s no reason for me to be dating six guys at once. That’s generally what I’ve done in the past and I have since realized that in doing so, I was attempting to take the best things about each and combine them to convince myself that I was with one perfect guy. It doesn’t work that way. I’d rather wait and find the right dude than keep accepting free dinner invitations to pass the time. So while I cannot say, unequivocally, that I’m not going sleep with somebody on July 2nd (as much as I’d like to) I can say that I won’t fall in love with anybody that day.
And that is not crazy, DD. That’s progress.
xo
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