Vodka, Hot Tubs, and Bad Decisions

            Sooo… I don’t even like how this is starting.  Honestly, I am sitting here at my computer wondering why I am such a dick head.  As soon as something comes around, something that’s a little bit better than what you had, the past comes back to bite you in the ass.  Ever hear the saying history repeats itself?  Well, last night it did in a big stupid, verbal self-bashing kind of way.  Fuck my life.

            Last night I was hanging out with the guys.  Can we all take a guess as to who!?  Guy #1.  Right?  I mean, why not!?  Whatever.  He was house sitting his friends place.  There was a hot tub and a pool and beer and I made dinner.  From the house we decided to go to the Castle, a bar down the road to see our friends that were there.  So whatever, we’re there and he is all over me.  I mean, pretend like I was rice, he would have been the white.  At one point we went down to the beach where people were having a luau and we were there arms around one another and whispering very closely to one another about random shit. 

            As were walking back from the beach to the Castle they were making fun of me about something and I said, “oh shut up!”  To which his response was, “just kidding honey.  I love you.”

            DON’T SAY THAT!! I am fucking sensitive and trust me, I would love for you to love me!  Fuckkk!  Did I just say that out loud?!  I have to stop drinking on the weekends.  Oh wait, you think that’s the story?!  Because its not even close to being over.

            We go back to the house and decide to go in the hot tub.  He makes a rule about having zero clothes in the hot tub.  After a little coaxing, I find myself to be nude.  He jumps out of the tub to light up a cigarette and I ask him to grab me one.  He comes over with his lit one, which he lit on the stove inside so I asked him to light me up with his.  He doesn’t take it out of his mouth to give it to me, why would that make any god damn sense?  No, he keeps it in his mouth and leans into mine.  At first I am watching the ends meet and mine light up, then I happen to look up and he is looking right at me.  I think he was reading my soul or something because I was eyeball penetrated.  Deep.

            I broke eye contact with him first and gave him a look as to say, “what the fuck was that?”  So whatever, I smoke my cigarette and decide its going to be a good idea to go in the pool.  Keep in mind that I am still naked and he is now wearing a towel.  Fuck it, he’s already seen me naked, so why should I care? 

            I jump in the pool and cool off and then he comes in and joins me.  Next thing I know he swims up behind me and holds me around the middle.  OK, I can dig this.  Then his hands start wandering down... down... down.  OK.  Again, I can dig this.  That happens for a few minutes then we go back to the hot tub where he has now scooted close to me and his hand is around my waist.  FINE!  (Damn his cute face.  Damn it to hell!)

            He winds up telling me that he can’t have sex with me that night because he was far too intoxicated.  Which was true.  Plastered.  I didn’t care about it but whatever.  We hang out in the hot tub for a little bit longer and were chatting and whatnot.  I get out and throw my towel on while he is still sitting there.  He tells me to get him a drink, so I grab one, and when I walk it over to him he takes my arm and starts talking about something that I honestly don’t remember.  But he is babbling and I am standing there listening to him go on.  Then he is staring at my lips and I am definitely staring at his.  He takes the back of my head and brings me close to him and continues talking.  WHY!?  Why are we STILL fucking talking at this point!?  I don’t understand! 

            “Are you going to kiss me now or later?” I ask.

            Fuck it!  I have nothing to lose right!?

            “Right now.”

            We go upstairs to the bedroom and being that he did not in fact feel like having sex we spooned, naked, closely.  (Naked Napper right?!  Fucking original shit right there!  Ergo, HISTORY!)

            I wake up in the morning and go to the bathroom.  When I come back he is kind of waking up, so I get back into the bed and I am laying on my side not touching him.  Next thing I know I am pulled into his arms and were spooning again.  Side note: WHY!?  What the fucking fuck!?  Why?!  Why is this happening now? 

            His wandering hands start wandering again and then he whispers in my ear, “I shouldn’t fuck you right now, but I am going to fuck you right now.” 

            God.  God damnit.  Not going to lie, I was excited.  It was good; it’s always good with him.  Strangely enough I am completely comfortable around him, so having morning sex in the light wasn’t a big deal to me. 

            We clean up and go downstairs to clean the beer and shit, and then he steals my bread.  (I brought it over the night before for dinner).  A few minutes ago I get a message from him with a picture of the zucchini bread in his truck saying thanks for the dinner and bread. 

            Can I ask everyone here a question!?  WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME!?  I don’t understand myself.  I need to know whats wrong with me.  Why do I feel the need to have sex with him every time I see him?  Why can I not kick this?  I would like to kick him, in the knee, repeatedly. 

            Back to my old self huh??  Two guys in one week?  Not too shabby.  

Wine is the Devil

            Last night was supposed to be our first date, Jeff and I, until about 9:30 I was sitting around doing nothing.  I just finished my Brazilian Butt Lift workout and I did some abs, and I took a shower and I waited about 10 minutes before I decided to say fuck it; I’m going to get a drink.  He had texted me to say that he probably wasn’t going to be doing anything that night because he wore himself out the night before working out and running and shit.  Fine, but seriously???  That’s absurd.

            I meet up with Sando at the Watering Hole and I am still texting him about who knows what and I start drinking wine.  Ever hear that song, “tequila makes her clothes fall off”?  Yea, well, wine makes mine fall off…  every time…

            Unfortunately for me I am also not capable of owning a phone and drinking wine simultaneously.  As is typical for me, while drinking wine, I start texting things that were mildly inappropriate and he is kind of answering the naughty texts and whatnot. 

            “So miss, if you had your way right now.  Where would you go and what would you do?” he asks me. 

            “Well, I wouldn’t go home, lets put it that way.”

            “Where are you right now?” he asks.

            “The Watering Hole at the moment.”

            “And you want your next move to be… ?”

            “Something worth my time.”

            Long story short, I guess he wound up being worth my time because I did in fact go down there to see him.  Was it intentional?  Yes.  Did I shave just in case?  Yes.  (And did I have a long conversation with myself in the shower last night pre-shave about whether or not I should shave.  You know when you think, ‘if I DON’T shave then I know I wont do anything stupid.  But if I DO shave I am probably going to get banged and have zero reservations about it.  FUCK!)  Did I have one too many glasses of wine?  Obviously.  Did I get there and sit on the couch opposite him and have awkward conversation for an hour?  Again, obviously.

            Whatever.  So he says something to me along the lines of ‘come sit with me.’  So I go and I sit next to him, and were watching Sports Center or something on T.V and I honestly don’t remember how it happened that we were sitting very close together and he grabbed me.  It was awesome.  You know when you are kind of in that in between stage of kissing where you can feel their breath on your lips, but there is still no contact?  That’s where I was for a few seconds. 

            Then it was off to the races.

            There was a little bit of fun on the couch and then there was more fun in the bedroom.  Also, little did I know that his parents were upstairs.  I did not know that they had come back from Hawaii!  So, awesome! Why not, right!?  Fuck!

            All I kept thinking was “thank god I shaved”.  Not to mention, while sitting with Sando I was contemplating even going down there.  I mean, he had blown me off once; I was not in the mood to be blown off again, so I made it perfectly clear that we were hanging out last night.  I told him that he had two strikes and that baseball was wrong because he had already struck out.  See!  If I keep things on my terms, and use baseball lingo/jargon I am all over it!  I got this shit on lock!  I also have a fucking headache! 

            So, whatever, we spoon a little while, I think I fell asleep for about a half hour and then he asks me if I wanted to stay.  No, no, no.  As much as I would love to stay because I don’t want to fucking drive, no.  I am not going to stay because now everything is coming back to me!  Let’s think about this, I haven’t seen you in almost six years, I just met up with you, had sex with you, and now what?  Is it going to be a weird thing where were not going to talk anymore?  Probably right? 

            It’s all very strange.  It is panning out to be almost exactly like Guy #1, and I don’t fucking like it.  Jeff asked me to naked cuddle (remember that?!  HELLLOOO!  Ergo, Naked Napper!).  He told me I could sleep over.  (Open your eyes!!  History is repeating itself!)  He texted me this morning and said he had fun and he will talk to me soon.  (Fucking Guy #1 did the same thing!)  And just a quick question, what the fuck does that even mean!?  “Talk to you soon.”  Let’s be honest here, you probably wont, but that’s fine. 

            Bla!! 

            I mean, I am down to double dip, but don’t give me the runaround.

            Until next time.

            And FYI, readers, your welcome for the sexual entertainment, I know its been a while.  No one but me knows that more, but whatever.  The Naked Napper is back in business. 

Blast from the Past

            You all remember the first time you had sex.  Or the first time you were kissed, or the first time you even held hands with someone.  Of course you remember, sometimes we like to forget the small details, but maybe it explains a lot about who we become in the future.  For instance, after my first sexual encounter, I just wanted more (not to mention better).  And now look at me!  I am the author of this here sex blog.  (Although the sex has been lacking, you all cant say the blogs havn’t been entertaining!)

            Backing up the bus…

            I was in 8^th grade when I got my first kiss (I think it was 8^th grade).  Needless to say I was a late bloomer in all capacity.  Some of my friends had been French kissing people since we were in 5^th grade.  (Your 10 in 5^th grade, what the fuck do you know about tongue kissing?!).  I even knew people that were “experimenting” in 7^th grade.  (This is the problem with youths today!  They see one porno and, BAM! it’s the right thing to do!  WRONG!  Have fun getting herpes or Chlamydia by age 13).

            By the time I was in 9^th grade or maybe 10^th I don’t know, I had done everything but have sex, and I made myself a promise… I will get laid before college.  I had some time to think about it and weigh my options.  My train of thought is this; you DO NOT want to go to college a virgin!  I mean come on!  Get it over with in the back of some car with some guy, feel an extreme need to pee, and wonder “THIS is what I have been waiting for?” for 7 minutes then put your pants on and go to your best friends house to sit on her front porch, smoke a cigarette, and ponder the idea of sex.  There had to be more to it than that.  There fucking BETTER be more than that!

            In case you all were wondering, the afore mentioned paragraph was exactly what happened to me at the time I lost my virginity.  Not all lights and candles and hot waxes and chocolate covered strawberries is it!?  Fuck no!  Please, that shit, never happens anymore.  And if it does, he doesn’t give a shit about the romance, he just wants to eat some strawberries and fuck and pass out.  It’s the way of the world.  Men are still Neanderthals.  They can’t help it!  (Fucking Darwinism).

            Let’s put it this way, in college I had a LOT of fun.  Some times I do not in fact remember, other times I would like to forget.  And some were memorable enough for a blog.

            Like the one time I was at one of the baseball guys houses and I woke up the next morning next to one of my friends who I had apparently had sex with (don’t follow after me, it’s not pretty) and I see my underwear dangling off the side of the bed.  I am laying there thinking, “coyote ugly, holy shit.”  I start reaching with my toe to grab my cute little skanky underwear.  Snagged!  Throw on my clothes, which are scattered about the room and call my roommate ASAP for a pick up. 

            Or the other time when I went home with this bouncer at the club we used to go to and it turns out he lived with his parents in a lovely South Carolina mansion.  His headboard shared a dividing wall with his grandmother.  That makes for awkward feelings the next morning when you’re dressed like a two bit whore because it is in fact Halloween and your walking out the front door of a stranger’s home.  All eyes on you.  Awesome.

            Or the time I was making out with someone at my friends house and I come to find out he is enlisted in some service (always a turn on for me I don’t know what it is.  Firemen (makes my teeth sweat), Navy, Army, Marines.  I don’t know what it is about these men, but it happens.  Anyways, he was in some service or another and we're going at it and shit, and he stops and tells me “I have to change my pants.”  Remind me never to be that good at nothing ever again, thanks.

            Ever have a guy tell you something absurd?  For instance this one guy told me he was “like really good” at performing oral sex.  I didn’t know whether to laugh at him or challenge him.  Whatever, I took it as a challenge.  Long story very short, I got up and left.  I should have placed a fucking bet on it because I would have walked away a victor. 

            I would like to take a moment and ponder the ideas of pre-sex fun.  There is always the edible underwear thing, which can get sticky and messy sometimes.  Of course there is also the lighting of candles and lingerie.  I am talking more along the lines of hysterical shit people can do in the bedroom or on a couch.  For instance, a Ball-Cuzzi.  Kind of like a Jacuzzi for the balls.  Picture this; solo cup filled with warm water and a straw.  Insert straw, insert balls, and blow.  Not only is it entertaining to watch, but its hysterical!  Who wouldn’t want to laugh before “fun sex?”  There are so many things that people can do for entertainment purposes pre-sex!

            Anyways, just writing this shit today makes me wonder about myself and how I am alive and kicking!  I will say this though, experience is awesome.  Knowledge is power.  Performing your knowledgeable power through sex is fucking sweet.  Hey, when your good at something make it yours right!  I’m not saying go jump on the pole (although I could use the money), I am just saying!  If your good at blow jobs, blow! 

            Any suggestions of pre-sex fun?  I am up for hearing some ideas!

Oh, you sly man.

            Last night was our game with the guys (not the skirts vs. jerks game.  Our Sunday league games in which Hot Guy is there).  Anywho, we actually won a frigging game and some of us stayed behind to have a few beers and gossip about shit.  It was me, Rae, Cheese and Finny.

            Long story short…

            Saturday night was the last night in my house.  So I had Cheese over for some 2pm brews.  At one point I turned and said to her, “someone just grew a pair of balls, and that someone is ME!”

            “Why, what did you do?”

            “Facebook messaged Hot Guy.  No big deal.”

            Well, lets just say this; I think this whole Hot Guy thing is going to end sooner than later because he is FAR too shy.  I guess Mex was right.  I tried!  I tried as hard as I could without looking like a fucking slam pig to see this guy outside of softball and nothing has been happening.  Fine, I don’t care that much.  Doesn’t bother me too much that he is shy and I am not, and he doesn’t like being loud and rowdy, and my life is loud and rowdy.  (It’s actually a goddamn spectacle). 

            I mean I can keep him on the back burner if in fact one day he decides to wriggle himself free of his shell and speak back or even write back!  So moving on…

            Jeff last night sends me a message that says, "your Facebook posts crack me up.”

Well, I am hilarious.  I don’t know what post he is speaking about so I ask him and he responds back, “the one about the help you needed today.”

            Ohh, that post!  Well thanks for not ‘liking it’ and sending me a personal text message in which you state you like it.  I appreciate the extra effort in this, the liking of my Facebook posts.  HAHA.  So I asked him, “are you stalking me or something?  That was from hours ago, and I posted 3 more things after.”

            BAM! 

            “Always.”

            “Creepy… I dig it,” is my response.   I mean, lets get real here.  Here is Jeff.  A very nice guy, very cute guy, and he likes to flirt.  Shit, I like to flirt.  And I am good at it!  I am even better at it when it comes to him!  So, hash tag winning!  Where can I go wrong here?

            So we end last night’s conversation with me saying that I have insomnia, which I think it partly true, and him responding that he wishes he could help me sleep.

            “Provocative tonight are we Jeffrey?”

            “HAHA, well I didn’t mean it like that.  Unless you wanted me to.  Smiley face.”

            Bla bla bla... the next morning were on Facebook chatting about the previous night’s conversation and he tells me, “I was thinking that if we were together I would have tried my best to tire you out…  So you could get some sleep of course.”

            We figure out how far away we live from one another, which is about a half hour, no big deal.  Although, I have known where he’s lived for years because of Jimmy.  That’s neither here nor there at this juncture though.  And his response to our distance is this, “well now tings are getting slightly dangerous between us.”

            “Are they?  Do we live too close or something?”

            “No, I am just saying, we have talked about some provocative stuff.”

            “Did we? I thought that was just you having a one sided conversation.”

            “HAHA.  Well, are you OK with it?”

            “I actually like it a lot.”

            “I am trying not to be inappropriate with you via text/Facebook chat,” he says.

            “Well why not?  It’s better than way because you actually have the time to think about the answers and questions!”

            “Well in that case, I think your are ridiculously sexy, there I said it.  There is something about you…”

            “Something about me how?  I am clearly awesome and have perfectly arched eyebrows. HAHA.”

            I am laughing writing this out because I am re-reading the conversation right now and going from there… It’s hard.

            “It’s hard being this awesome, Jeff.”

            “I want some of your awesomeness to rub off on me.”

            “Naked or clothed?”

            “Would you be a fan of getting naked with me?  Or are you just trying to tease me?  Either way, it’s working.”

            “Either way…” sly smile to myself because no one is around and no one can see or hear me.  But do you people see, at least he is flirting back, and making it interesting!  Hot Guy doesn’t do this!  Damn his face!

Then he comes at me with this, “alright I’ll stop beating around the bush here, not trying to like plan anything out or freak you out or anything, just know that if we hung out, naked or clothed, I have a feeling it would be a fun time for both of us

            Part of me wants to just open up and get aggressive with you and start chatting about all sorts of stuff but the other part of me wants to get through my work day without having to take a long walk to relax.”

            Let’s just say this readers, I am fucking good at what I do.  I don’t know what it is, I can flirt the pants right off of people.  (Pun intended).  It’s a talent really.  Now, this guy… either he is playing a colossal joke, which is fine because I am still laughing about it, or he is being very serious with me.  Time will tell, clearly. 

            It is easy to flirt with someone that wants to flirt back and say things that are provocative.  Obviously, this means you need to be outgoing and up for a tango.  And gutter talk, and handcuffs, and maybe mirrors in inappropriate places, I don’t know.  I don’t get that kinky with it! 

            Off topic situations, by the by…

            I mentioned before that I was moving, well, unfortunately, I am home now.  I happen to have a goody drawer in one of those plastic drawer things that kids usually use in colleges and shit.  Well let’s just say this, my lotions and creams, and “tools” and waxes and whatever else was alllll in there in this plastic drawer.  Clearly I forget about it due to it being there for years and years of NOT living at home with “older roommates” that would judge it hardcore.

            At least I saw it before they did!

            Back to Jeff…

            We are still talking, it’s been 5 hours, and were still going here.  And we are trying to figure out a time for us to get together and spend some time.  I mean, I guess it would be fun.  I am not going to throw all my eggs into one basket here…

            More to come as soon as I get laid/meet up/all of the above.

7 Minutes in Heaven

            Anyone remember that game?  Let me tell you a little something about this game; I think it needs to make a comeback.  But these days its not just hanging out in a dirty ass bathroom as some adolescent with acne and braces, its as an adult in a bar bathroom with patrons enjoying their meals and their drinks one wall away from where you’re going at it.

            I can remember the one and only time I was at a party where 7 Minutes in Heaven was being played.  It went a little something like this; “you two, 7 Minutes.  Go.”  The boy with the baggy, totally 90’s pants, and flannel shirt wrapped around his waist pointed at 2 of his classmates and threw them in the bathroom.  (I was in about 7^th grade when this was going down, so me, being 13 or so, I was scared as shit to be at a high school party where they were doing unknown things in a bathroom.)

            Obviously people were huddled around the bathroom door trying to look through the peepholes and containing laughter behind their hands.  I was actually more in awe after the seven minutes when they burst down the down and the boy was laying on the ground with his pants around his ankles and he was huddled around the toilet bowl.  (Looking back on that, why the fuck would someone be chilling on the floor around the bowl?  I don’t know.)  And the girl that was in there with him was reapplying the lipstick she had worn down.

            I didn’t know what I wanted to do more.  Wear red lipstick or be cool enough one day to be the one selected to play Seven Minutes in Heaven.  I was going for the lipstick though. 

            Think about it!  As an adult now…

            How awesome would it be to stand up in a bar (now that I am not a shy 7^th grader) and say “hey! Who’s down to play 7 Minutes in Heaven!?”

            One of three things will happen. People will not know what it is you speak of, or you get shunned, or you get a winner or 2.  Maybe 6. 

            Maybe that’s what I have to do with Hot Guy.  I can just ask him if he wants to play 7 Minutes with me.  Or I can have a party and bribe one of my friends into initiating this game and picking me and him to enter the bathroom.  That way at least I wont have to be the one to make the move.  But with my luck when it comes to him, he will lean on the sink and I will sit on the lidded toilet and we will talk for 7 minutes. 

            That is, until 6.5 minutes have passed and we have discussed the pros and cons of the potential 7-minute make out session that should have started already.  Then I attack him and say fuck it! 

            Think about it; let’s start having parties, which involve 7 Minutes and see how many people walk away with new lipstick applied, or relationships, possibly even herpes.  (I mean at least there would be proof it happened!!!)  Seriously, analyze those lips before you plant yours on them!  (That’s what I do)  But don’t be an ass hole about it!

            Goal for this weekend:

            Have a party and play 7 Minutes in Heaven.  Maybe I can do a hat raffle where 2 names are picked.  At least that way I get a bit more than one, and therefore I have more to blog about! HAHA

Cheater Cheater Pumpkin Eater

            Last night was our friend’s birthday party.  Which was lame-o, and actually quite interesting given the circumstances.  It was at the local cop bar; so I was fully expecting at least 3 hot men to stroll in there.  Lets just put it this way…  I was WAY off.

            First things first.  My outfit was not the one I wanted to be wearing.  I asked my sister if I could borrow her white pants her response was this, “they’re in the bottom of my laundry hamper.”

            “Well, I mean, smell them and we can throw them in the dryer if its bad.”  (Don’t pretend like you bitches never did it either!  Desperate times!)

            “No, no, nope.  I went out drinking in them.  They need to be washed.”

            “OK.  Well, do you have black pants?  I need either white or black to go with my backless black shirt.”

            “My black pants have been washed so many times they’re faded to grey, and they are sitting with my white pants in the bottom of the hamper.”

            This was not promising.  So I went home and changed into something else.  Not as flattering, but I was at a crossroads.  I didn’t know what to wear, so my white shirt and pink pants were the winning pair.  Fucking wonderful.  This was not the “fuck me” outfit I was planning on wearing, so clearly I was going home alone!

            We get to the bar, Reg, Rae (my sister) and me, and we get a round of drinks.  The birthday boy is sitting with his friends (who BTW are heinous anus and fun sponges.  Literally I felt like a bunch of Sham Wows were surrounding us and they were sucking the moisture right out of the air).  His one friend is adorable, but then he was married, so he was off limits.  Upon meeting his wife I didn’t know if was possible for one to marry a barnyard animal.  I thought that was illegal in at least 38 states.  Including New York.  Not to mention there was ZERO personality.  Why, quickly, why would you marry someone who looks like that (is this judgment?  Yes.  Is the man upstairs upset with me?  Probably, but do I care? Nope) and she also has no fun.  I mean I think its one thing to marry someone for their charm and their winning personality, maybe even their stunning jaw line.  But please, don’t marry someone who is probably related to Mr. Ed and has the character of the afore mentioned Sham Wow.

            We go outside to smoke and when we come back in there is another few guys sitting around and one of them is attractive.  He is a cop, he works with our friend, and then he opens his mouth.  Oddly enough (insert sarcasm and disgust) something stupid comes out of it, and he is one of those typical douche bag guys that has to have a fucking comment or something smart to say.  To be honest, I didn’t care, I just wanted to flirt and talk to someone.  So I did a little bit.

            Who walks in but Guy #1?  What happens?  Oh, he says hi to everyone around the table but me, then five minutes later says, “hey (name)” with a little wave.  To which I responded, “hey buddy.”  HAHA.  Knock him down a peg or two.  What did he want me to say to him  “Hello!  So nice to see you again.  Your dick is still attached to your body after all the vag you have been pounding?  Sweet.”  Honestly!  Get the fuck out of here!

            Whatever.  So he comes and sits right next to me.  I mean, right on top of me and he is saying things like, “you have big boobs HAHA,” or “oh let me see that picture,” then lean over me and look to the other side of the table.  Or he would just say things that were kind of weird and a bit uncalled for.  It was kind of like a pathetic attempt to flirt inadvertently.  He wants to play games?  I can play some games.  FYI, people, I am an excellent game player.  I know the rules and for the most part I abide by them.

            “So John,” (new hot guy that came in.  I’m using his real name because he comes into play later), “bla bla bla”

            I glimpse out of the corner of my eye and see Guy #1 looking at me like, “what?!”  HAHA.  Vengeance.  Then he starts again with the inappropriate comments concerning my boobs and what not.  We get it; we all know you have seen me naked.  Guess what?  They can also see that I have big boobs, no need to make notice of them unless you want to see them later… In your room… on your bed… So??

            We decide to leave, as it is a Wednesday night and there is work to be done in the morning.  We go around the table to say our good byes and John stands up when I told him to for a hug and we do the whole “cheek kiss nice to meet you” thing.

            “I was trying to go for your lips,” he says to me right in front of Guy #1.

            “Well you failed didn’t you?” with a wry little smile and a burning sensation on my face knowing that Guy #1 was watching the whole transaction. 

            So we all get home to our respective houses and I text my friend and ask him what John’s story is.  He comes back and tells me that John has a hot nurse girlfriend but he cheats on her all the time.  But he is interested if you are.

            Now, there are a lot of things I am willing to do.  But be a home wrecking whore is not one of them.  I have been the cheated on girl in a relationship and I going to go ahead and say that it is probably one of the worst things a guy can do to you.  I would never do that to a fellow female knowingly.  So sorry.  So there you go JOHN, that’s why I am using his real name in this blog.  And believe me you, if I knew his last name I would most likely put him on blast and send this blog to his girlfriend.

            No news of Guy #1 today, or at 3AM.  But I am sure that he was wondering about me.  I mean I did plant false ideas in Bartenders head at the Watering Hole the other night about a guy I was seeing, which I am clearly not.  And then I texted my friend about John knowing he was sitting there with him. Then I flirted shamelessly in front of him.  So, the next time you wanna play games just know that I am a fucking baller and I can play them too.

Plotting Revenge

            Tonight is our friend’s birthday.  Yes, I realize it is a Wednesday, but this is how we roll around this town.  Sunday Funday, Monday day of rest, Two for Tuesday burgers and beer, Cultural Wednesdays, Seclusion Thursdays, and Friday is a day of rest (weird right?) Saturday is usually something.  Then the vicious cycle starts again.

            Tonight were going to the local cop bar that he likes to hang out in and were going to have a few drinks then go home.  However, here is the background story…  If you are in tune with the blogs and know alllll the men of my apparent repertoire, you will be more knowledgeable than those who started reading recently and didn’t do their homework on the past.  It’s like a history book.  The Native Americans were here first!  You cant just skip 400 pages to Manhattan being a powerhouse!  (In this case I guess I would be the powerhouse and the past men are the Native Americans?  Sounded good when I was thinking it) Moving on…

            Background:

            Our friend is good friends with Guy #1, Bartender, and knows a lot of cops, in which he stated before at least 5 of them would “fight for me”, remember that???  So here is the problem (maybe a non problem); Guy #1 is probably going to be there, Bartender will be there, these 5 men are going to be there.  Should I just ask Jeff and Hot Guy if they want to join?  Make it an awkward little cluster fuck!?  I mean, why not right? 

            However, learning from my past mistakes, I have hatches a plan if you will…

            I am going to wear this scandalous little black and white shirt I got the other day, which exposes my back, and a pair of white Capri pants.  Now, it is thundering and raining like a son of a bitch.  Do I care that these white pants are most likely going to be see through?  Nope, not a little bit.  Will it most likely up my game?  Probably.  And why is that?  Men are stupid!  They see a girl wearing a backless shirt and white see through pants and they are down for the count.  No matter how big or small love handles may be.  Well… Sometimes.   Even SOMETIMES men have standards.  Goal for the night…  No standards. 

            Am I a dried up well?  Yes.  Do I need to have sex?  Who doesn’t!?  Do I want to have sex tonight?  YUP!  Am I going to make it a goal for myself?  Abso-fucking-lutely.  Could it very well be Guy #1?  Sure!  Why not!  But, I will also be the mind fucker.  I will absolutely not sleep anywhere but my own bed (alone).  I am going to do the whole, ‘thanks for coming, here is a brownie, get the fuck out.’

            I like to call this idea, thinking like a man. 

            If Guy #1 is there, I am going to be all over everyone else in hopes of making him jealous.  Will it work?  Possibly.  Will he say something to me about it?  NOPE!  Will I get a text message asking me ‘what’s going on’ at 3AM?  Most likely.  Will I try to stay awake for that message?  YES!  Yes, I will.

            Does this mean I have to shave the shit out of my legs, G, and pits?  Well, I did it yesterday, but a clean clean shave is appreciated by all.

            Time to hit the showers!

WTF?!

            Another typical Thursday night with Reg turns into something strange.  I had an interview Friday AM, so we were up very early for that and upon my arrival home later that afternoon I get a text message from Guy #1 asking me how my interview went.

            Funny thing was this; I never mentioned to him the fact that I had an interview so him knowing anything about it is kind of strange.  And what makes things even stranger is this; Finny told me about an opening at her school.  She works in a private school in New Hampshire, so I decided, fuck it, and I sent them a resume in hopes of getting the fuck out of this vortex-like town and away from the man drama I have here.  Man drama being Guy #1 STILL texting my friends, The Ex STILL contacting me at least once a week, Jeff STILL being shady, and Hot Guy is STILL going no where fast.

            Back to things being strange…

            I tell Guy #1 that, “how did you know about the interview?  And yeaaa.. I have another job opportunity in New Hampshire.  Fingers crossed it pans out.”

            “Why New Hampshire?”

            “Why not?  There is nothing here for me,” is my response.

            He doesn’t respond back to me.  Which is fine, and actually kind of typical.

            So now, me and Thad were getting lunch at the Watering Hole a few days later and the bartender, who is Guy #1’s best friend asks me this, “so!  Whatever happened with New Hampshire?”

            “I never told you about that.  How did you know?”

            Bartender got very nervous and he’s stuttering, “Oh, well… Guy… I don’t know,” and walks away as fast as he can.

            Which leads me to believe that Guy #1 must have gone back to Bartender and said something about my potentially leaving.  Which next leads me to wonder why he is concerned with my departure?  I mean, isn’t it weird that we hardly speak anymore and he is telling people about this possible move?  I don’t understand why he gives a shit to be honest… unless… his balls are still shriveled like pathetic little raisins and he maybe does like me a little more than he has been letting on.  In which case is STUPID!  And very SECOND GRADE!

            I was talking to one of my friends and co-workers about it and she had been telling me for months that he is scared of commitment and he probably doesn’t want to get hurt by another girl.  I understand that.  But lets be honest here!  He knew The Ex and me for the last year and a half.  He saw how I was as a girlfriend.  Not going to lie, I was an awesome fucking girlfriend!  Which makes this even more fucking frustrating!  What is wrong with me that no one is interested long term!?  And if they are, why are we not jumping off that bridge?!?!  FUCKING LEAP!  Who knows whats going to happen!

            This is the thing with guys I have come to realize; they’re all big, fat, gaping, vaginas.  All of them.  If its not one thing it’s the other.  Oh!  You’re scared of being in a relationship?  That’s fine, don’t be a fucking douche about it.  Oh!  You just stop talking to some girl because it was going well?  That’s fine, don’t be a fucking douche.  Oh!  You still contact her friends in hopes of staying in her life, but to chill on the outskirts?  That’s fine, stop being a fucking douche!  Oh!  You cry about me, apparently, to your friends but don’t have the balls to say anything to me anymore.  Understandable, but you’re a fucking douche. 

            I can’t even begin to tell you how goddamn frustrating it is.  Knowing that he is right down the road, probably sitting on his couch drinking Mountain Trash, playing video games or flipping through the country music channels and I am sitting here typing about what a fucking douche he is!  How is this fair at all!? 

            Now, here is the question:  Why, if he does have some shred of feeling for me, isn’t he doing anything about it!?  Someone, please, riddle me that!

           Sorry for the rant.

Friday Night Lights

            Friday nights have turned into this; me and the girls going to the boy’s game.  The boys I speak of are those that wanted to play us in a “skirts” game of softball.  (Jerks).  The boys are also the same boys I play with on Sunday’s sooo; Hot Guy plays on this team.

            Remember a few blogs back when I was saying how we hung out that Monday (in the parking lot of the field, but whatever, we hung out nonetheless) and then Finny and Cheese were up my ass about Facebook messaging him?  Yes, well we did have small talk conversation, which didn’t turn into anything but whatever. 

            So this past Friday we're at the field.  Oh!  How could I forget this little tid bit of information, my friend Donny had been texting me all day about coming to the game, and I told him yes, I would be there.

            This small exchange turned into the most absurd conversation ever.  About sex.  (He doesn’t even know about the blog! HA).  He was telling me all these dirty little things like, “yea, I’ll get in you,” or “sex is sex, I don’t know why girls think about it so much,” or “my girlfriend wont be there so don’t worry about her.”  WOW!  Ok, first of all, Donny has a girlfriend, not to mention a child on the way.  Let’s be serious, as much as I need to have my cobwebs cleaned, I am NOT going to becoming “that girl,” the home wrecker.  Get the fuck out of here.

            So Reg, Finny, and me get to the field at 7:30 for a 9pm game.  We brought about 50 beers in the cooler that I have now deigned my “dump cooler.”  And we start drinking and partying and playing can jam.  Alas, there is no Hot Guy there.  Now, he was the one that originally told me about the game and where it was and what time.  So why was he not there!?  I was angered.  I thought he was bailing on the game because he is shy and I am clearly not.  I am very obviously loud and outgoing and have a filthy mouth.

            I’m sitting next to Reg, Finny is off ogling our shirtless friend, (don’t get me wrong, he is definitely something to look at) and I hear my phone go off.

            Donny, “wow J”

            I do not answer.  What the fuck does that mean? ‘Wow’?  Whatever.  So the drinking proceeds and the games continue, and still no Hot Guy.

            Then I hear this persistent little voice from behind me, “did you get my message?”

            “Yes, I did.  Wow what?”

            He gets close to me, puts his arms around me and says, “you look sexy and you smell good.”

            I just start laughing.  I am not that kind of girl that is going to squeal like a gutted and bleeding pig when some guy does that (that I know is harmless), tell him to shut up, and of course I smell good!  I am at a fucking legit dump watching a softball game and slinging beer.  Of course I smell good!  Why wouldn’t I put on perfume to go to a sporting event at which I am going to drink and smoke butts?  That would just be ridiculous.  (Insert sarcasm to that entire paragraph minus the first half).

            Then I hear his little voice close to my ear again and he says, kind of loud, “well, I guess I should try before ‘Hot Guy’ gets here right?”

            That’s when I shrugged him off and glared at him, waving my arms at the crowd of people that were around us as if to say, “really guy?  Shut the fuck up!”  He laughed and staggered away to be a heinous little drunk man for another half an hour.  Jerk ass guy.

            At least I now knew Hot Guy was coming to the game.  In Donny’s little speech he let it slip, so I was feeling a little less on edge.  So whatever, Hot Guy gets there and as is typical I cannot speak to him other than to say hey.  He’s smart though, he doesn’t get hammered before playing softball like the rest of them do so he’s kind of just hanging out, throwing a Frisbee around and chatting.

            So whatever, the game is played, me and the girls are drinking, after the game they are all in a bad mood because they lost (due to errors and lack of run production…  Hint hint boys, don’t drink THEN play softball).  It’s probably not the Gatorade of the dump field if you catch my drift.  They scatter rather quickly and I somehow find the balls to ask Hot Guy if he wanted to go to the Watering Hole for a few drinks.  He says sure he would go, along with Mex (the one who originally made the sex bet about Hot Guy.  If you are confused read all the blogs again.  He is in there), and our other friend Hick.

            Here we are at the Watering Hole, which I have not been frequenting as much, me and Reg, waiting for the boys to get there.  They walk in and come right over to us and were all hanging out and whatnot, it’s kind of crowded in there so we decided to go sit on the oh so famous front stoop and drink our beers there.

            Come 2AM, we all decide it’s probably for the best if we all head home, respectively.  (HAHAHA I had to put that in there).  So Hick leaves, Mex is leaving at the same time as me, and Hot Guy comes up to me and was talking again and he leans in to give me a hug.  Whoa!  Was not expecting physical contact, but I mean, I am not going to push back or anything, that would just be counterproductive. 

            Breaking apart after this hug there was a weird moment when he looked right into my eyes and just looked for a few minutes.  I started getting self-conscious.  What if there is something on my face?  What if I look cross-eyed due to 8 too many drinks?  What if there is a rogue eyebrow hair looking directly in his direction?  Ya know?  So many things were happening!  But then his gaze went from eyes to lips and you know what that means!

            Nothing. It means nothing when it comes to me and luck with men. 

            “I’ll see you Sunday?” he says.

            “Yea.  See you Sunday.”

            He goes to his car and I go to mine and as I am driving home I receive a phone call from Mex in which he states, actually yells in my ear, “you are such a fucking pussy!  I can’t believe you let that happen!  Why didn’t you walk him to his car?!  Your terrible!”

            WOAH!  Why didn’t I walk HIM to HIS car?  Where is the chivalry?  Shouldn’t he be walking ME to MY car?  Digress.  I am a pussy, I mean I guess I could have done the one step in thing and stare at his lips as well.  But where would that have gotten me, I probably stunk of booze and cigarettes.  I am SO sorry, but I don’t want a first kiss with someone to be like that of an ashtray.  I didn’t have any gum on me either.  So I think I did all right.

           

           

Morton’s Salt Girl

            Ever hear the expression, “when it rains it pours”?  Well remember yesterday’s blog in which I stated that Jeff, Guy#1, and Hot Guy from ball hadn’t contacted me at all.  Well imagine me sitting on my porch playing rummy infinity with Finny, drinking a Mountain Trash beer (Coors Light... love) and smoking some butts.  My phone beeps its dumb ass text message beep I think, “who the fuck is contacting me this late?  Cheese is probably sleeping, Finny is right here, Brownie is home with her child, TT is working, Thad is probably putzing around on the computer, Hatch doesn’t text me that late, and Reg just left so I know she’s not texting me… who is this!?”

            Fucking Jeff!  Unreal!  After almost one entire month of nothing, nada, zilch, I get a message from him that goes a little like this…

            “Hey!  I’m back around (hometown).  How’s everything going (name)?

            “Hey Jeff.  Everything is good on my end.  How about you?”

            “Nice.  How’s your week going?”

            “Going, going.  How’s your grandmother?”

            Lets remember here that almost one month ago on the night he stood me up, he told me that he needed to go check on his grandmother and then bailed last minute.  Which is understandable you know, but send someone a message so they’re not waiting around for you.  Not that I did that because I am so far above such things and I am not the type to wait by the phone like a loser… Anymore… Shut up. 

            “Sorry I havn’t been around to meet up with you for those hugs we had discussed.  My fault.”

             Yes, yes dumb ass, it is your fault.

            “It’s ok.  I forgive you your transgressions.  Might have to make it 2 hugs, but whatever.”

            See what I did there? 

            “How about 3 and we call it even?  Fair?”

            “I can’t commit to that much hugging.”

            Whatever else was said was boring and ridiculous.  But I think I set him up nicely for a little something in the future.  Hey, I mean, come on.  Lets be serious.  I started this blog as a sex blog and whats the only thing missing from it these last few entries?  Sex?  Yea, I’m going round 2 with this motherfucker.  (As a side note, is it possible to become a virgin again?  Cause I think I am almost there). 

            He has been texting me this morning as well.  Needs pointers on playing softball.  I am the queen I guess.  If I were a queen it would be amazing.  I would have sex slaves.

            Also, Hot Guy answered me back in a Facebook message.  He is definitely flirting as well.  He told me to “watch that left center fielder, I hear he is pretty awesome… bla bla bla”

            To which I responded in kind, “oh don’t you worry, I have been scouting you.”

            That answer, to me, was good because you know, its clear that I have been staring at you for he past month, but it also could mean that I am scouting you for the boy vs. girl game we have planned.  Either way… Winning!

            Wouldn’t you know that last night Guy #1 texted Cheese last night?  Remember how I always said that he would text my friends and not me, and that I personally think he did it to get under my skin?  Well, again, last night he is texting her.  She threatened him with a knee to the balls. HAHA.  But seriously!  Move on, doucher!

            I don’t know what it is about me.  Things always come in threes.  3 men, 3 non-men, 3 horrific incidents, 3 bruises.  Anything!  Name it, and I get it in threes!  Ergo, Morton’s Salt Girl should be my next tattoo because when it rains it fucking pours.  For better or worse.

“My Biological Clock Is Ticking Like This!”

            Ever see that movie “My Cousin Vinny”?  If not, I beg you to go rent it, or watch it on Netflix, or download it illegally using your favorite web site that has the power to do so.  If you have seen it, you know where I am going with the title of this blog.

            Back to the losers that didn’t see it:  The whole idea of the movie is this fast talking, leather clad, New York City (Brooklyn style) Italian couple drives to the bowels of Alabama to act as defense attorney for their cousin who was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  She (Marisa Tomei) wants to get married after being engaged for 8 years or something, and he (Joe Pesci) said he would marry her after he wins his first case.  She gets mad at one point while she is wearing this horrific floral one piece, totally 90’s, jump suit looking thing, and starts stomping her foot saying, “my biological clock is ticking like this!  I ain’t never gettin’ married!”

            I feel like her these days.  Only I don’t wear floral one-piece outfits, or have one lone blonde streak in my all black hair.  Actually, the only thing we have in common is being purely hysterical.  (Helllooooo… funny people, Marisa and me.  Were old pals).

            Anyways, I was talking with an old college friend that lives in South Carolina.  She and her partner were married last winter (I was in the wedding, which was frigging awesome BTW) and she tells me today that she is pregnant!  I mean, I am excited, I love babies and shit.  Then she proceeds to tell me that she is pregnant with multiples.  I guess the normal levels of “being pregnant” are something like 5?  Well she is at 500 something.  Ergo, her doctor tells her its multiples.  (She’s going to be another octo-mom! HAHAHA).  She finds out next month or something the definite number of little penis’ and vaginas that are growing inside her.

            She then proceeds to tell me that she is going to send me her fertility drugs.  She knows I have always wanted multiples.  (How much fun right?  Pop out 3 kids at once and BAM! You’re done for life!  Your vagina only has to be torn open, like a watermelon coming from a pea, ONE time!)  Done!

            I told her to send that shit on up to me and I will do my best to figure out my ovulation cycle.  Now all I have to do is find a man (one that is smart and good looking enough) to procreate with.  Now, this is the question… Is this morally wrong?  I don’t think it is right?  Just because I didn’t necessarily tell said sex partner about my fertility pills doesn’t mean it was a case of entrapment right?  Probably wrong, but whatever!  Scratch!

            It is safe to say that more will be revealed once the fertility pills are safely ingested and I am on the sexual prowess once more.  Problem: who to entrap?  (Haha).

Loser

            OK.  So clearly nothing has been going on in my life these past few weeks.  I apologize if there is an actual fan base out there that gives enough of a shit to read my blogs and what not.  Sorry to disappoint, but this one isn’t going to be fascinating or sexual, or even that entertaining.  But I will do my best to make it witty, and impress you with my hilarious jargon.

            Lets play catch up shall we?

            Here we go…

            Jeff, guy who stood me up a few weeks ago; still haven’t talked to him.  Do I care?  Not a whole lot.  It just proves that my theory about him asking me out to prove to Jimmy that he can.  Wonderful.  Typical male ass hat.  No, please, continue, I love being used in that whole, “lets piss off my oldest and best friend with this girl he used to screw 6 years ago.”  Thanks douche bag.  What is the point in him breathing my air?  I am still not understanding his motives, but then again, I guess that’s why he is single.  Just say whats on your mind dumb ass!  Maybe something will change for you!  Moving on.

            Guy #1:  Do I even have to continue talking about this fucking guy?  Clown.  Just a fucking clown.  He is still doing the whole, “let me text her friends when I know they are together just to get under her skin,” thing.  So sorry to disappoint you, but your not getting under my skin.  You need help.  Lots of help.

            Night Rapist: Just ew.  I went to dinner with my dad one night to the place he is working.  Of course this motherfucker is there.  He’s all, “hey there!  Can I get you something?  Want a Mic Ultra?”  Really guy?  I’m not sitting here trying to get shit canned in front of my father who is a recovered alcoholic.  I mean, I may not have the best moral fiber, but I don’t think that I can swig brews in front of my dad when he is buying dinner.  Get the fuck out of town!  And please, delete my number from your phone.  Then throw the phone in a large body of water where not even a diver will be able to recover it.  Thanks!

            Hot Guy from ball:  This is interesting I guess we could say.  So last night Cheese, Finny, and me went to the field to watch the boys game.  Needless to say, we brought about 40 beers, a 6 pack of ice cream snickers, a box of wheat thins, and smokes.  Oh, and bug spray, LOOOTTSS of bug spray.  Of course Hot Guy is there.  (Ergo, I was there).  After the game were all sitting around, drinking, hanging out, making fun of each other.  As typical shit continues, I am basically pouring beer down this guys gullet in hopes that he will stay longer and that I can actually remove my head from my own sphincter and speak to this fucking guy. 

            Amazingly enough, I did decent work.  I don’t know what it is about this guy, I just can’t seem to talk to him.  I know, I know.  Pussy right?  I am a big, wadded up, ball of pussies.  But whatever!  I tried laying some groundwork in there!  I think it was successful.  Thanks to you, Mr. Bud Light, for your liquidity of encouragement.  It’s like a fucking speech at a ceremony:

“I just want to thank my fans for voting me in!  I couldn’t have done it without you.  Special shout out to Cheese for bringing Mr. Bud Light to the games.  To you, Finny, for spraying the backs of my legs with Deep Woods Off, and of course you, Hot Guy, without you none of the afore mentioned shit would have happened and I wouldn’t be drooling down my own shirt at this very moment thinking about how damn cute you are.  Oh, should I thank God?  Maybe Satan, for without his sick fucking humor, I wouldn’t be where I am today.”  Then I would throw up the deuces and walk away.  Peace out!

Then today, I am being bombarded by Cheese and Finny about sending him a Facebook message just saying something short and sweet, “here’s my number, so call me maybe,” type shit.  No, no no no.  I can’t do it.  I don’t know why, just let it go!  But then a thought hit me; Cheese said she would do it for me, and it would be WAY less embarrassing if I just did it myself.  She is right, and she would totally do something heinous to me like that. 

So my message goes a little something like this, “Hey!  When is your next game?  I am trying to set up another scouting session!”

Short.  Sweet.  Point?  I don’t know.

Oh, the scouting session thing is a joke.  The boys we are friends with have challenged us to a fast pitch softball game.  I graciously accepted.  So now I use it as an excuse to see the boys play.  I am “scouting.”

Right, the only things I am scouting at those games are two things.  1.  How many beers can we finish in an hour and a half?  And 2.  I wonder if those shorts are too loose?  Will they fall down and will we get a glimpse of a cup runnething over?  (Get it?  Pun intended.  Cups running over.  As in jockstraps) Come on!  That was funny right?  Anyways…

That’s where we are for the moment. 

Not to mention I am refreshing my goddamn phone every 8 seconds to see if he got the message and has responded to me yet.  Is that pathetic?  I am going to go with a big fat fucking yes.  Pathetic.  Idiot.  Loser face.  Stop bashing yourself!  This is me in a quiet ass room with too many thoughts swirling in my head.  I have to stop now.