Another Day, Another Dick

The Tug

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Thu, 12 Nov 2009 00:50:00 +0000

I got a call from FONTAINE (the touring soundguy with whom I shared a moment in a mic closet during my trip to SXSW). The band he works for was coming through town and he hoped I'd come to the show. I said I'd go.

After hanging up, I immediately pictured BOOM BOOM in a leather vest & gold pants.

It's a rare event that I have reservations about juggling suitors, particularly in the case of the out-of-town-visitor-hookup. But something was tugging at my gut in the cab on the way to see FONTAINE.

I arrived at the show, and popped over to the soundboard for a hug. It was one of those Holy Shit, I Forgot How Hot You Are moments. He had a beard again, with moonbeams coming out of his eyes that whispered, "have sex with meeee...."

After the band's set, we sat backstage and talked over pizza & beer. Eventually I told him I was ready to go home, and he leaned over and kissed my cheek very slowly. It felt good, and he smelled like a campfire, but my gut started tugging again. "I can't," I told him. "I like somebody." He said he understood, and we said goodbye, lying about how we'd stay in touch.

Going Steady

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Sat, 07 Nov 2009 00:29:00 +0000

LOLITA continues to text me abbreviated versions of her feelings. This does not bother BOOM BOOM, with whom I am going steady.

That's right, I said it. We have yet to go on a date, but the other night when I stopped by his place around 1am for a typical bootycall, he sat me down on the broken-bench-seat-from-a-van he calls a couch and we had this conversation:

HIM: I like you.
ME: I like you too.
HIM: And I'm not running around with other girls....on purpose.
ME: Okay.
HIM: I don't want to fuck anybody else.
ME: Cool.

He was wearing a Chicago Bulls windbreaker circa 1993. Nothing says romance like the Three-peat.

She Who Will Not Be Ignored

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 23:44:00 +0000

LOLITA is back (she didn't really leave).

I knew she was young, impressionable, and a little nuts. But I still made out with her. A bunch of times. She's pretty and she constantly tells me how amazing I am. It's a slippery slope?

But when LOLITA gave me a friendship bracelet (the homemade kind, with string, that children give to their friends), I should have walked away. When she casually mentioned "our wedding" the fifth time, I should have called it off. Instead, I gently told her that she was being a bit overbearing. But as usual, if I didn't call/text right back, she got upset. Lesson #192: You can never ignore a crazy person.

The texts/instant messages/phonecalls/emails got out of control, and I reminded myself that if a man behaved this way, I wouldn't be so gentile about it. So I told her off. I said she was needy and pushy, and that she needed to learn about boundaries.

LOLITA gave me a curt "I've never felt like such an asshole. You won't be hearing from me anymore."

A whole hour later, she texted:

i will not B ignored

The Cycle

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Thu, 29 Oct 2009 23:26:00 +0000

I told STRINGBEAN we'd schedule another date. That was days ago.

You see, I've been spending time with BOOM BOOM. Not a lot of time, which is perhaps perfect.

I'll start with our communication. We hardly speak. One-word text messages, or 1-minute phone calls, which usually happen after 24 hours of very lazy phone tag (we each make one call, without leaving voicemail messages, and then give up).

While we still have not been on a date, we do stop by each other's homes once or twice a week in the morning, before one of us is off to work. On those visits, we hug a lot. And kiss. And touch each other outside our clothes. And discuss the heres & there of the previous or current day. The visits last about 30 minutes tops and ends with a peck on someone's cheek and a smack on some else's ass.

The other get-togethers happen at night, usually late, after one of us has worked, recorded, or rehearsed, or in the rare occasion that we've gone out to a show together. BOOM BOOM says, "May I come over?" or "Are you coming over?" I say yes, we get into someone's home, and get to fucking right away. After fucking, we cuddle, talk about the day, and sleep. He is very cuddly. Sleep-cuddling has always been a no-no for me, but somehow his koala grip feels pretty good, even at 5am when he's stuck to my side and his sweaty head is in my armpit.

In the morning we fuck again, and kiss and hug some more. Then come the cheek-kiss, ass-smack goodbyes. The next day, BOOM BOOM calls me and I take about 24 hours to call him back. The cycle continues.

Boom Boom vs. The Hollywood Kiss

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Tue, 20 Oct 2009 22:07:00 +0000

STRINGBEAN is tall, skinny, and I've never seen him in anything but dress slacks, a sensible shirt & a tie. To accomodate weather, last night he added a sweatervest and sportcoat with corduroy elbow patches. Did I mention he is in grad school?

We met at a vegan restaurant downtown and shared beet sangria and he told me about his job, classes, and family. We ended up sharing grade school sex stories and concluded that I'd have been a perfect high school girlfriend for him. We laughed, he paid, then strolled down the street to a pub for a cocktail & more chatter. After, a walk to the water tower, where STRINGBEAN swept me into a hollywood-style dip kiss.

Perfect date? Yes.

When BOOM BOOM called on my way home, I told him I went to dinner with a friend. We made plans for later in the week, because I thought about him all night.

The Return of Boom Boom

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Mon, 19 Oct 2009 21:27:00 +0000

Around the time I received the cookie jar, I ran into BOOM BOOM [the fashion-forward drummer I shagged & made pancakes for this past spring]. He'd been on tour all summer, and I'd almost forgotten about him until I saw his teal jogging shorts and yellow tank top creeping toward me at a party. We attacked one another with hugs & kisses and agreed to get together "soon."

A few days later, BOOM BOOM picked me up to attend a mutual friend's Labor Day barbecue, wearing a hot pink Miami Vice tshirt and tight Wrangler jeans. We spent the afternoon talking to friends and stealing glances from across the front porch. He walked me home, and outside my door, we expressing mutual feelings:

HIM: I like you.
ME: I like you too.

...Which brings me to the present date. We've had a handful of sleepovers, incredible cuddling, quite a few laughs, and one quickie in a rock club's unisex bathroom. I'd say we're dating, but we have yet to go on a date. It's casual, which I enjoy, but how long can it stay casual? If I've learned anything, it's that The Fling has an expiration date. At some point, it gets real. He either becomes a boyfriend or somebody's feelings get hurt.

Thus, my date tonight. STRINGBEAN, a banjo player & snappy dresser with impeccable manners, came to a show of mine a couple weeks ago and asked me if I'd go dancing with him sometime. I said yes to the date, almost as a challenge to my 'relationship' with BOOM BOOM. As great as the cuddles and romps may be, spending time with someone else may convince me to get real with the dude in the teal shorts.

Lolita!

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 23:51:00 +0000

No one has ever made me feel so old or so creepy, and yet I allowed LOLITA into my life. I told myself (and her) that we could be friends, that she was new in town. She was lonely. And maybe I was simply flattered.

But she attached herself to me and made it clear she was going to be more than my friend. And let me tell you, youth are vigorous communicators! There's no "Leave a message and then someone calls you back and then you talk." It's more like incessant calling, emailing, IMing, with the finale being these consecutive text messages:

i called u why haven't you called me back?

what are u doing tonight?

are you ignoring me please don't :)

i like you why don't u like me :(

I finally told her to stop all of it. The friendship couldn't work with her insatiable need for attention. I was angry and she was sorry. She said she'd leave me alone.

A week later LOLITA came to my work with a Wizard Of Oz-themed cookie jar. So I kissed her.

Lolita

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Thu, 15 Oct 2009 00:50:00 +0000

LOLITA is the young girl who walked into my office one day this summer alongside a coworker. We were introduced. I shook her hand and said hello, and she said in that sings-song tone of hers, "I can see your bathing suit under your dress."

The day after we met, she befriended me on the ol' Facebook, and sent me a message telling me she'd spent the previous night googling me, perusing photos.

When I'd run into her, she'd only say things like, "You're beautiful," or "I'm obsessed with you." She left a note in my office with a drawing of a mermaid, that said "I heart you." I never responded to any of these advances. I found myself stumbling on words, unable to look in her in the eye. LOLITA terrified me. She's the kind of girl who would burn your house down if you dumped her.

And so I gave her my phone number.

Back In The Saddle

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Tue, 13 Oct 2009 21:56:00 +0000

About a week after the breakup, I was asked on a date by GEORGE JONES, a friend of friends who was young, pretty, and apparently very interested in me. He found me on Facebook, and asked me to dinner via instant message. It was one of the lamest date offers I've ever received, but I took it. Sometimes you just gotta go on a post-breakup date.

We went to a very typical date restaurant. We dressed up, had two hours of getting-to-know-you conversation, laughed a little, GEORGE JONES paid, and he kissed me goodnight when we got to my bike. It was a pretty good kiss and he smelled like Old Spice.

In the two weeks that followed, we ate a few meals, and had a couple awkward sexual encounters.

One night we slept together, at his place, and I apologized for not being so 'into it.' I told him I wasn't ready to be back in the saddle, that I might need some time. He said he understood and kissed me on the cheek & we went to sleep.

The next morning I woke up in his apartment, alone, not a note in sight, and unable to unlock his back gate behind his apartment to escape. I eventually broke it and got the fuck out of there. GEORGE JONES didn't return my call that morning, or ever again.

George Clooney

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Sat, 26 Sep 2009 00:17:00 +0000

What had been a casual, easy relationship had turned into the hottest gossip in town. I was getting dirty looks and cold shoulders at every turn. A friend told me that he'd been backstage at a show, and overheard a somewhat-famous singer calling me a ho.

A ho!

MEDUSA was trying to destroy me (amongst lame alt-country musicians, but still). It seemed that THE CARPENTER was no longer even part of the equation.

A bit of rage was building up in me. One night, while on a bike ride, I pulled over and demanded he do the same. On a busy street corner, I threw off my helmet and asked him for an explanation. He claimed to feel bad about MEDUSA's actions, but he laughed when I told him about the arm-rubbing incident. He was reveling in the attention. Suddenly he was George Clooney and not the sweet southern boy who picked me flowers. In my mind, I heard him saying, "Ladies! There's enough of me to go around!" So I said something mean as a way of diffusing my own hurt:

ME: I don't love you, therefore I will not put up with your shit.

I hopped on my bike and rode away before the tears started.

Oh No She Didn't

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Tue, 22 Sep 2009 19:27:00 +0000

The morning after the lilacs: I slipped out of THE CARPENTER's apartment and he whispered, "You have a good day, little lady. Call ya later."

By the end of that week, THE CARPENTER had still not called, but played at the club where I work. I asked how he was doing, and he just said, "I'll tell ya about it later."

But he didn't need to tell me. Outside the club, I heard thunder strike and turned around to see MEDUSA [his ex] approaching.

MEDUSA's reputation precedes her - she's usually described as "scary." She is 7 inches shorter than myself, with brown hair down to her ass and the biggest breasts you've ever seen on a child-body. Her eyes are clear blue and she doesn't smile much. She'd be cute if she wasn't so fucking terrifying.

The surrounding crowd looked on in horror/excitement as she put her hand on my arm and her eyes burned up into mine. As much as I wanted to be the bigger person, I knew I was about to stoop to crazybitch level. This happened:

HER: I know what you did.
ME: What?
HER: (rubbing my arm) I feel sorry for you.
ME: Are you touching me?
HER: (rubbing my arm some more) I know what is going on.
ME: Bitch, I'm gonna make you cry if you don't stop touching me.

I then searched the club and found THE CARPENTER and threatened his life.

The Fling

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 19:24:00 +0000

After being home for a day, THE CARPENTER asked me out on an official date. I invited him to my place, and he kissed and squeezed me as I cooked. After dinner, we went to a local diner for dessert and then sat in the car in front of my place, fumbling over whether he ought to stay over. He did.

The next morning, we talked about his ex. They'd broken up a few months before, and I'd heard all about the messiness through the grapevine. She & I are in the same professional circle, and I knew she was, uh...intense. He feared she would be upset about his 'new relationship.' I quickly added that we were just getting to know eachother, so there'd be no need to go public with this affair. It could just be a fun spring fling, right?

A month later, the sex got a little less like lovemaking, and alot more like fucking on my dining room table (and his back porch, and against any wall that'd hold me). We spent a lot of time together - cooking, listening to records, and finally started to go public with the affair in certain circles.

Over Memorial Day weekend, he asked me to meet him under the buckeye tree at a nearby park, where he greeted me with lilacs and told me he liked me, a statement neither of us had made until then. We sat under the starless city sky, blind to the impending wrath of MEDUSA.

The Dicks Continue

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Fri, 18 Sep 2009 03:38:00 +0000

I got buggered by the handful of you about the lack of posts. I assure you I have not been absent due to a lack of dicks. It's been a busy summer.

I'll fill you in on the rest of SXSW. It got good.

THE CARPENTER [The guy working in my building] happened to be passing through Austin on my last day there. He phoned me in the early evening and asked if I'd meet him on the east side of town for a party at an old posh hotel. An hour later, crossing the bridge, I saw his perfect face shining under a street lamp and knew I'd kiss it.

We sat on pavement with our feet dipped into a pool filled with flowers, listening to some country band who might have been terrible had my feet not been in a pool. We discussed books and friends and discovered we'd be on the same flight home the next morning.

The obvious option was to stay together (for the sake of convenience}, so we rounded up my bags and went to THE CARPENTER's hotel, where in a twin bed we had our first kiss and a slow, sweet fuck. I faked an orgasm and we slept on top of one another.

I squirmed when he arranged for us to sit together during the flight, and even more so when he held my hand. He was pretty and I told myself this was a nice way to spend vacation.

SXSW

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Wed, 29 Apr 2009 22:33:00 +0000

I attended South By South West, an annual music conference in Texas. It's like a Mardi Gras/reunion for people who go on tour and/or work in music. After a few years of doing either, one has about a thousand so-called 'friends' whose names we hardly remember, but hug and kiss nonetheless. Then there are a couple hundred folks we actually refer to as
friends, simply because we remember their name and their band. SXSW is where I hug all these people and drink for free. It's totally shallow pretty fun.

I planned a rendezvous with FONTAINE [the soundguy i kissed good-night after a show we worked on last summer]. He was working the festival, but we decided to meet up at the club where he would be all day, just to say a quick hello. He looked good - shorter hair, no beard, texas tan. I sat in the sound booth as he lept around the stage like a gazelle, occasionally winking at me. He finally came over and kissed me on the cheek, whispering, "I've got 20 minutes," then leading me by my elbow to a microphone closet. We kissed and touched eachother outside of our clothes until his coworker walked in on us.

We hugged and I left to find my 'friends' at another party touting free margaritas.

The Carpenter

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Wed, 22 Apr 2009 22:20:00 +0000

We've been having work done in my building for a few months. The same guy has been in and out of my apartment on a daily basis since Christmas, and we've sort of become friends. THE CARPENTER is gorgeous. Remember those diet coke commercials, where all those women were staring at that construction worker on his break and wetting their pants? He is that kind of gorgeous. Tall, dark and handsome. And then on top all those good looks, he's full of manners and interesting conversation. We chat as he passes through my place in the mornings to borrow a wrench or knock down a wall. Over a few months, we've learned about each other's bands, discovered that we share friends, and somehow have become friends ourselves. I like hearing and watching him talk - a sweet southern accent, dark sincere eyes, expressive hands, and plenty of intelligent things to say.

We cross paths at shows or sometimes on the street. We joke around, maybe flirt a little, but it's innocent. THE CARPENTER is not my type. Too pretty for me. And maybe in a grander sense, too good for me.

Breakfast

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 22:10:00 +0000

BOOM BOOM [the drummer with a penchant for neon] came over a few days later for a breakfast date.

Breakfast dates are perfect for we artsy folks. We're all working or being musical in the evenings, yet we never have to be anywhere before noon. And who doesn't want to eat pancakes and bone right after?

The following is an account of BOOM BOOM's Saturday morning date outfit:

-Red sweatshirt, bearing the Gucci logo circa 1982
-Matching red sweatpants bearing the same logo down the right leg
-Orthopedic nurse's shoes (white)
-Neon green windbreaker
-Yellow heart-shaped sunglasses

Yowzers. I have to admit, the brazen fashion sense really gives me a boner. It also gives me the green light on my own freak flag. On this date, I got to wear red running shorts and my favorite sequined tube top that no one likes.

It was a breakfast date, and I did make breakfast. Banana walnut pancakes. We listened to records and talked about our families and at some point during the dishwashing, he said, "That tube top is hideous," and pulled it down, all the way to the floor. I stepped out of it and welcomed foreplay on the buffet table.

We finished up in the bathroom, and proceeded to retrieve our respective clown outfits strewn about my apartment, dressed ourselves, and went off to our jobs.

It's Motherfucking Cuddle Time

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 23:17:00 +0000

I vowed to be on my own for a while after things ended with the WIZARD - take some time to focus on work, read some books, go to the gym....that lasted two weeks. Enter BOOM BOOM.

BOOM BOOM is in a really great drummer I've been friends with for a while, although no flirting has ever taken place til recently. He's endearing, to say the least - beautiful blue eyes, homemade haircut, a bit shorter than me, a speech impediment, and the most ridiculous fashion sense you've never imagined.

He came to one of my shows, citing that he loves my band. Maybe it was the sudden attention from him, but when he walked in, I suddenly wondered what it would be like to have sex with him. He was wearing blue one-piece ski suit and pink sunglasses. Truly adorable. I scooted over to him when we finished playing and it seemed clear he was thinking about sleeping with me too.

The next night I had another show, which BOOM BOOM also attended. Afterward, we shared a glass of whiskey and talked about music. The top button of my blouse kept coming undone, and he finally said, "I'll consider that an invitation." We hailed a cab and went to his place.

In his bedroomm, he put on an album of Cambodian children's songs and we got right to it. My shirt obviously came off easily, and his glow-in-the-dark camouflage sweatshirt came off with some ease as well. It was late-night, somewhat-drunk sex. Not great, but I could sense the potential. We went at it a couple times before I announced that I was going to walk home.

HIM: No. You can't leave now. It's motherfucking cuddle time.
ME: But your apartment's cold.
HIM: Here. Put this on and come sleep next to me.

BOOM BOOM handed me a hot pink PEPSI sweatshirt, so I snuggled up next to him, listening to the screeching sounds of those Cambodian kids.

The V-Day Massacre of '09

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Tue, 10 Mar 2009 20:42:00 +0000

As you may recall from last year, I don't have the happiest Valentine's Day stories. This year was unfortunately more of the same.

Before my trip to see THE WIZARD, he booked a flight to visit me on Valentine's Day. We talked about honoring the plans, even though we had technically ended our relationship. What was wrong with spending a weekend together?

Of course, there is a lot wrong with this scenario, so we agreed to keep our distance. But his flight was booked, so he ended up in my city for the weekend, silently taunting me from a friend's place the next neighborhood over.

On V-day, I made plans to attend an infamous Make Out Party here in town with a friend. I put on a great outfit and danced with my friends, temporarily forgetting about the WIZARD. I even let SAM [the smarmy guy in a famous band I went out with last year] kiss me on the mouth for a second. I thought it just might turn into a decent V-Day.

The next day, I woke up feeling disgusting, from too much whiskey and a little bit of regret. I wanted to see the WIZARD. And apparently he wanted to see me. He asked me to meet him at the ice cream shop.

Amidst fluorescent lighting and squealing kids, many tears were shed. We unloaded all the feelings - anger, remorse, and some unrealistic ideas about our future... There was discussion of being in a very open relationship: staying in touch, and being together when we happened to be in the same city, and seeing if that led to something more serious. But it all seemed incredibly stupid upon some thought.

As we finished our banana split, I suddenly saw him as someone I wasn't falling in love with - he was a mess and his life didn't make sense with mine. He grinned at me, hiding his fucked up teeth the way he did when we first met. Poof. It was over. We said goodbye in the snowstorm:

HIM: Dude, I totally love you.
ME: I know.

Move Along!

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Sat, 07 Mar 2009 06:40:00 +0000

My trip to see THE WIZARD was contaminated before it began. This long distance thing was about to fall apart.

The sex was still pretty explosive, but the intimacy was gone entirely. A month before, while fucking on my dining room table, we locked eyes and said sweet things to one another. This time it was strictly dirty talk. That kind of emancipated sex used to turn me on, but in this case it made me a little sad.

We spent the weekend playing guitar hero, cooking, fucking, and not really talking. The night before I left, I drew up the courage to ask what changed his mind about me. He pretended he didn't know what I was talking about for a while, but then admitted to me that he was over it.

HIM: Dude, the long distance thing doesn't work for me.
ME: I like the distance. I get to look forward to seeing you. And phone sex is great!
HIM: Phone sex is depressing. Even seeing you is depressing, because I know it won't happen again for a long time.
ME: So that's it? I can't be in front of your face all the time, so you give up?
HIM: Yeah.

He took me to the airport and we kissed good bye in front of two security guards who yelled "move along!" over and over. I didn't cry until the plane landed in my city.

To See The Wizard

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 00:58:00 +0000

A lot has happened. And I have not been writing. I apologize to my 4 readers profusely.

So. Here goes. I went to see the Wizard. But I should go back about a week before that.

We were in the midst of one of our text frenzies, where we go back & forth about really dirty sexual scenarios. Towards the end of it, he started texting some pretty sappy, cute stuff - something about wanting to hug me. So what did I do? I told him that he was grossing me out, which I thought came across as a joke.

He didn't call me for two days. And when he did start calling again, the conversations were short and lacking the phrase "I can't wait to see you." When I apologized for my coldness, he accepted it, saying he wasn't upset, but something had shifted.

And then I went to see him. I arrived on his birthday.

Walking through the airport, my stomach turned. I was nervous, whatwith the shift. But the stocking cap he stole from my house was on his head, and his extremely fucked up teeth smiled sweetly. I lept into his arms and bit his face.

We squeezed eachother's knees and kissed at every stop light during the ride back to his house, where we wasted no time tearing off clothes and boning in every way imaginable. We even did the awkward thing he'd seen in a porno and described to me a couple weeks before (I promise to dedicate a blog post to useless porn scenarios).

But afterward we sat on his floor, leaning against his sweaty bed and took a long look into one another's eyes and followed this look with a simultaneous shrug.

Goodbyes

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 00:10:00 +0000

Sometime after discussing our status (we promise to refrain from fucking other people), THE WIZARD left town. It had to happen. The high-speed courtship needed a breather, whether we admitted it or not. So we packed up his one outfit and went to the airport.

Being a frequent participant in long-distance relationships, I have had a lot of goodbye moments in every kind of travel facility.

Trainstation goodbyes are mostly romantic, except when you're breaking up outside the Amtrak in Indianapolis. The mediocre saxaphone soloist makes saying goodbye in the bus station pretty tolerable. But the airport is very sterile. There is no sweet way to be sent off in a place inhabiting so many guns and cranky people.

I didn't hold THE WIZARD's hand as we walked through the security area, nor did I look at him or speak. Tears were sitting in my eyelids, just waiting for the right moment. Even though no one was paying attention, I felt like my weepy eyes were on a jumbotron. THE WIZARD stopped in front of a check-in kiosk and faced me.

HIM: Don't cry, you big baby.
ME: I'm not.
HIM: I will totally miss you.
ME: I know. I'm sorry I acted like an asshole during your whole visit.
HIM: Whatever, Dude.

Against all my convictions, we talk every day. We also have pretty great phone sex. It is cold where I live, so he sent me a warm blanket in the mail, which is wrapped around me constantly and I might daydream about corny things like spooning and slow dancing. I annoy myself to pieces.

I am paying him a visit this week.

The Talk

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Sun, 18 Jan 2009 20:48:00 +0000

After spending a couple weeks with THE WIZARD, I came to know and even appreciate all the little things - his ticks (humming constantly), fashion sense (Air Jordans no matter what the occasion), coffee preference (expensive beans, cream & organic sugar), his politics ('Obama annoys me'), hygiene (one shower per week tops) and most of all, the way he talks.

THE WIZARD's fucked up teeth and big lips create a lisp/whistle/mumble that make listening to him speak both challenging and endearing. He has the combination of common sense and life experience that makes even the most basic statements seem wise, however his vocabulary is limited to the following adjectives: rad, sick, lame, fucking, and harsh. And keeping with the surfer theme, all sentences are peppered with: like, you know, i mean, and totally. He has no reservations when it comes to dirty talk - anal sex is discussed at full volume in the supermarket. And regardless of the circumstances, I am addressed as Dude at all times.

On new year's eve, we played cards at the dining room table while waiting for cookies to bake. After I'd won the third game in a row, he took the cards out of my hand and with little effort, slipped his hands under my thighs and hoisted me onto the table.

HIM: Dude, it's almost the New Year and I love fucking you. I want to fuck you on this table and I don't want to fuck anybody else. Is that cool?

ME: Is what cool? Fucking on the table?

HIM: Well, yeah. But is it cool that I only want to fuck you? And then, you know, I kind of hope you only want to fuck me.

ME: What?

HIM: Just try to keep it in your fucking pants, okay? I think you're totally rad, so like, don't fuck it up by sucking some other guy's dick. Got it?

ME: Okay.

HIM: Dude, you are totally my girlfriend now.

Aliens

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Fri, 16 Jan 2009 21:50:00 +0000

I woke up around 5am to THE WIZARD yammering in his sleep, with his limbs all over me. My heart was racing. Why was he still here? How did I allow a human being to sleep in my bed this many nights in a row? His long crazy hair was wrapped around my neck and the sleep-talking was loud and hitting my last nerve. I was suffocating in this new (and extremely fast) relationship. "Please! I can't do this. Please get off of me." I shoved him away (a little too hard, probably) and he woke up.

HIM: Whoa! You are mean! Stop it. I know this is hard for you. I know. It's too much. I know! I'm fucking living here and you hate it. But you like me, okay? You do. So deal with it.
ME: I'm sorry. I'm a bitch.
HIM: Yes you are. But I get it. It's too much. I'll go on your couch for a while....

And then my stomach groaned. I had about six seconds to get to the bathroom. The salad I'd had earlier that evening turned into an alien baby who was trying to fight it's way out of every orifice of my body. In the bathroom, aside from all the explosions, all I could think about was that this man was in the next room, hearing every second of it. When I got back in bed, crying and shivering and sweating, I told him how mortified I was over and over. He wrapped a blanket around my head and asked where my keys were, then got dressed.

ME: Where are you going? I'm sorry I fucked up. I'm sorry for being a dick!
HIM: I don't want you to be embarrassed. You're sick. I'm going to the store to get some shit to make you feel better. It'll be easier to barf by yourself. Call me if you think of anything you want.

Then he was gone and I was barfing again, feeling like the luckiest girl in the world.

Dude. Whoa.

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 04:31:00 +0000

So, THE WIZARD [no nickname could better suit this hairy and wise man formerly known as WOODY] stayed an extra night. And then he stayed 22 more.

We said goodbye to the fancy hotel and and its pancakes, taking the affair back to my apartment. Bringing sex over the home threshold changed things quite a bit. After that one night in my home, we magically woke up in sweatpants with the desire to watch 'Lost' episodes. And for the first time in a while, I was into this hurried domesticity. Apparently, THE WIZARD was into it too, because that afternoon he cancelled his flight home... As in cancelled. Return flight TBD.

That's right, dear reader. What was supposed to be a casual romp became a human being living in my home for three weeks. And I liked it... Well, sort of.

The sex part was great, of course, simply because it was always there. We had sex several times a day. Food, sleep, and bathing were sacrificed for getting off in any way we could imagine. It was beautiful. Every fabric and surface in my home ought to be sanitized. But along with the sex, he was always there too. Suddenly I was cohabiting. And amidst all the boning, we talked. Personal details were spewed everywhere! By day 9, I was emotionally exhausted and officially freaking out about the level of intimacy. Sweatpants, television, childhood memories, personal politics...it was too much. So I did what I always do: I acted like a jerk.

I attempted to revert back to the root of this relationship. I had sex with him - the filthier the better - and shut down the intimate chats, cuddling, and excessive kissing sessions. He knew what I was doing, and just shook his head in disapproval at me when I'd roll over to 'my' side of the bed. It was around that time that I got food poisoning. There's nothing like emptying your insides to open your heart.

Dude

noreply@blogger.com (Lady) — Sun, 04 Jan 2009 18:12:00 +0000

I watched the snow pour down over my city from the 8th floor of the fancy hotel as WOODY/ THE WIZARD lazily packed his bag. The previous few days were a cuddle-sex festival of sorts. I didn't want this naked vacation to end, but now that it was over, I was gaining some perspective as to whether it was an affair or something special.

Just as my daydream drifted to long-haired, black jeans-wearing babies, WOODY/THE WIZARD threw a Sepultura t-shirt at my face and declared, "Dude, the snow sucks. I'm changing my flight. I'll leave tomorrow."