I am a terrible TWI'er.

TWI = Texting While Intoxicated.

Saturday night, the girls and I were all out til about 5 am... Needless to say, I was a good bit intoxicated. And apparently, when intoxicated, I regress. Lots.

I decided to text Pothead:

Me: "I heard that you were hitting on one of my best friends, Muffy. I thought I was your girl?"

He answered the next morning:

"Haha, and what happened to your boyfriend? Lol, you're sexy from head to toes, but Muffy does have a nice booty :)))"

And then later Sunday night he followed up with:

"Now how come you only talk to me when you're drunk? You wouldn't happen to be one of those white girls with a repressed jungle fever now would you? Ha."


At least he has a great sense of humor in dealing with my drunk texting/teasing him!

dilemma.

I may have engaged in some irresponsible behavior on Saturday night. But - I swear - it wasn't for lack of *trying* to be responsible.

So - here's my question - because it isn't the first time that this issue has come up (pun fully recognized) - would it be weird if I had magnum condoms at my apartment?

I kinda think it would be REALLY weird, but, I don't know........I'm feeling like this is a no-win situation.

Regression Complete.

It's official, my regression is complete.

Things that I did last night that I haven't done since college included:
- made out on the dance floor before getting a name.
- smoked pot at a bar and didn't think twice about it.
- kinda got seduced and super turned on dancing to an r.kelly song.
- totally had a one night stand. with a guy with huge blingy earrings in both ears.

A few comments/questions:
- no clue how old this guy was, but somehow i am thinking sub-25. oops.
- WHY do i like the ghetto guy thing so much?
- the motion of the ocean wasn't so great but when the ship is that big, it kinda doesn't matter.

injury on the field.

So I am working at Starbucks this afternoon and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror....and, weird, I have a coffee stain on my lip. I mean, I just drank two ventis, stained teeth would be normal - but my lip, so weird?!

I go to the bathroom to clean it off - rub a little water on it...but so weird, it's not coming off! I lean in and look a little more closely...it's not a coffee stain, it's a big PURPLE bruise. On. my. lip.

Suddenly I remember yelping in pain on Sunday night sitting outside karaoke when Ivory tried to molest me and bit me - hard. I seriously think he might have popped a blood vessel in there. I didn't even know that was possible. Wow, just, wow.

Sunday Funday.

A lot can be said about a weekend that starts with mojitos in Central Park at 4 PM Friday and doesn't really stop from there. While there are quite a few stories to share...here's Sunday's action.

Met up with Muffy around 4 for "brunch" AKA our first meal since the 5 AM pancake and grilled cheese feast we shared that morning. We were both in seriously rough shape from the night before and were planning on a nice quiet Sunday meal, maybe watch a little basketball, maybe talk to some boys, no biggie.

Then, after a bloody and a few beers, Ivory starts texting. I'd agreed a few days before to see him on Sunday and didn't really think I could bail. Muffy and I were having too much fun, though, and I didn't really want to deal with Ivory alone so....Muffy and Pothead were invited! We head over to the old standby, hereby renamed J BBQ.

Ivory.....was in Gigglemonster Stage 7 when we arrived. Swinging back and forth between semi-normalcy and So Loud The Whole Bar is Looking at Us Gigglemonster. Fuck. How to deal with this situation? Um, shots. From the hot bartender, please.

Fast forward 2 hours, 2 shots, 2 beers....Ivory is shitfaced, Pothead is hitting on Muffy, I'm....wondering how the fuck I am in any way involved with this character. What next? Karaoke, of course. We head to the next spot. Take a shot from Asian bartender chick who I think may moonlight as a call girl, and is of course friends with Pothead...and we head to the back.

I can't really even explain Ivory's behavior in the karaoke room...but, suffice to say it was positively insane....involved a LOT of stumbling around the room, covering his face with his shirt repeatedly, and a loud, swaying attempt to serenade Muffy from the stage without a microphone.

Muffy and Pothead were gearing up for their duet when the karaoke machine broke, and Ivory was getting more ridiculous by the instant, so we were out. He had now asked me to come home with me at least thirty times, so I proclaimed that Muffy is sleeping on my couch, we are exhausted, and we have to go - NOW.

After a small goodbye struggle, we head out. I make Muffy walk with me to keep up appearances, then a half a block away.....brilliant idea...back to J BBQ and the hot bartender! Done. We play some skee ball, Muffy woos the hot bartender into giving us a free shot of Patron and.........out of the corner of my eye, I see someone swaying and falling and - it's Ivory! FUCK. As I try to break the news to Muffy...Pothead appears behind us.

Ohhhh nooooooo. Ohhh noooooooo this is bad. We have no words, I don't even say anything to Ivory, the bartender gets a good laugh out of it all, and Muffy and I decide...time to GO. Again. For real this time. We ungracefully stumble outside, have a quick chat with a very bizarre little man perched on top of a car like a spider monkey, and sit down to have a cigarette. We're talking about love, lust, and the evening we just had when...what? I am soooooo about to throw up. Apparently my earlier weekend conversation about how I never vomit anymore was a curse, because next thing I know, I am getting the hairy eyeball from an Upper East Sider walking her dog, as I am throwing up on the street. Wow. 32 years old, Sunday night, puking in a planter. C-L-A-S-S-Y.

If you're wondering if I heard from Ivory today, why yes I did:
11:03: "Morning my baby - miss you..."
12:25: "Heidi Heidi :)"
1:15: Missed call.
2:48: "Are you avoiding me or what???? Hope you are having a good day :)"

Apparently I am his princess for-e-va. I need to figure out how to make all men love me like this.

Date with Delaware

Delaware and I got busted last night by the Po' for making out in a park at like 1 in the morning. What am I, 12 years old???

Obviously it was a great date though... Dinner at a cutesy place in the East Village, followed by drinks at The Bourgeois Pig (one of my new faves), a little make-out sesh in the park, followed by a little make-out sesh at his apartment.

I didn't get home til 3 am, and on a school night! I can't really say that there's anything funny and juicy to share, because the date was actually just a really good one. No abnormal behavior, no ridiculous outbursts or pathetic attempts to get my pants off. Just a good night.

I had pretty much forgotten what that looks like up to this point...

"Beardo = Weirdo"

While translating to Muffy & Heidi today the various texts I'd been receiving from The Beard, all Muffy had to say was:

"Beardo = Weirdo."

She might be onto something. But then again, aren't they all kinda weird in their own peculiar ways?

I'll let his communication speak for itself:

6 AM Him: "Hey"
(Who the hell starts texting at 6 fucking AM!?)
815 AM Missed call.
(And then follows up 6 AM texting with an 8 AM phone call?!)
10 AM Me: "Well someone was calling & texting bright and early... whats up?"
155 PM Him: "Was celebrating after work. Figured if I was awake everyone should be."
205 PM Him: "Come hang out!!"
214 PM Me: "Wish I could...have to work though."
215 PM Him: "When do you get done with work? I don't have to work til 7 tonight."
I ignore.
320 PM Him: "Play hooky!!!"
445 PM Me: "Can't, so sorry! Have fun!"


I kinda think I'm a bitch sometimes....

Weekend Excursion Update.

So, maybe I was a little too wrapped up in hanging with my best friend and her hubs OR maybe I got wasted. Either way, this is the most action I got all weekend :

Saturday, 11:34 PM
Him: You are in.
Me: Are we scheduled?
Him: For?
Me: Miami?
Him: Fuck yeah. I am on point for Ultra.
Me: Done. Call me.

Sunday, 2:46 PM
Him: Wooo.

Monday, 10:52 AM
Him: Hey, completely forgot who this is, and I guess you are going to Ultra as well?

Final Notes on the Failure of a Possible Long Distance Romance :

A) After storing his number, I never got his name. HAVE ANOTHER, MUFFY.
B) I wouldn't know what "Him" looked like, even if "Him" came and smacked me in the face.
C) Yes, I'm going to Miami in a few weeks, but...
D) WTF is Ultra?
E) I really need to stop giving my phone number to complete strangers.

Mid-Atlantic boys are cute, but I drank them under the table. I told all the cute ones I was from NYC every chance I could. (As if that would make me more attractive. Which it does.) I had such an amazing weekend with my best friend and her hubs I could really care less if I made out with a boy at the bar or not.

SIKE.

This weekend better turn up something good or else...I might actually use this okaycupid account I signed up for.

It's not you, it's most definitely me.

I had a realization today: I pick some fucked up guys to date. It's been almost a year since I've started dating again post-commonlaw marriage of my 20s....and it's been a bizarre cast of characters. I feel like I am missing a few early ones but I can remember most of them, in order of appearance:

Taye Diggs Lookalike: HOT. HOT. HOT. A perfect re-introduction to dating and sex. Huge muscles and other things, ouch actually, and he broke my bed, literally. But....the guy's a weirdo and a sketchball. Should probably have known he was sketch from the start since his texts come from a weird string of numbers, not his name or number. Among other things, he's also attempted a 9 AM booty call and was eliminated recently with the whole "sexy slut" comment. Too bad. I really liked him at first.

The Roofying Asslicker: Yes, you read right. Pretty sure he roofied me - either that or I got shitfaced from 2 glasses of champagne, which is simply impossible - then took me to Harlem and tried to lick my asshole all night. Enough said.

The Pseudo Boyfriend: As previously mentioned, we pretended we were bf-gf for a bit, he even met my sisters for a beach weekend. He's really nice and was really fun when he was a big drinker. When the drinking stopped, so did the fun. And the sex...me on top for 5 minutes, missionary for 5, me on top for 5, and...done. IF I was lucky. Predictable sex is almost worse than no sex, if you ask me.

The High School Crush: Possibly the best of the lot, so naturally also the one I have seen the least. Met up fifteen years post-high school at a reunion, stayed up and out together until 6 AM that first night. Have been hooking up and getting the occasional beer every few weeks since. Great guy, perfect anatomy, amazing sex. That's about all we do anymore, the every few weeks night of crazy sex. In large part because he LIVES IN FUCKING BROOKLYN. And thinks it's the greatest place on earth. Like I said, they all have fatal flaws.

Don't Ask, Don't Tell: AKA the one with the wedding ring. Not much to say about this one except that I clearly shouldn't be involved in this but can't seem to feel guilty about it. Crazy physical chemistry and a few crazy adventures. I won't say more at risk of grossing out Muffy and Diana. Have been slowing down with this one in a too-late attempt to fix my karma, but can't seem to cut it off completely.

Bloated Tiger Woods: Met this one online. All good, talked for a week, then we met......40 pounds heavier than his profile picture. Tiger Woods lookalike, if he was blown up like a balloon. Literally. He kept looking at me and saying "damn...you look good." While I do think I am better in person than pics, I don't look THAT good. I can only surmise that he assumed I'd be 40 lbs heavier too? Either way, sorry, I'm shallow, but I don't date fat guys and that one pissed me off. That's just deceptive.

Shawty: Previously mentioned. Why I think it's OK to meet men at Brother Jimmy's, I don't know. He was OK wasted and sitting, not great wasted and standing, and completely unacceptable sober in any position. And on our first and last date, the "you can sit a little closer, you know!" and "your lips look soooo soft" comments did not help his case. Nor did the attempted phone booth molestation. Ew.

Joepa: Another online date, possibly my last. SO nice, but also giant and awkward. Feel a little bad, I agreed to a second date and never responded to his last texts, but I just was 100% unattracted to him. Bad karma on this one too, he didn't deserve to be straight dissed. I am bad at getting out of situations gracefully.

Ivory Coast: I don't need to say very much about this one at this point, right? The giggling, the bringing the friend on the dates, the track jacket, BROOKLYN, the sonnet texting, the list goes on. So why have I not stopped texting him? Issues I tell you. Issues.

And of course, no summary would be complete without a mention of the bizarre Ex Common Law Husband situation. Still very tight, still talk and text all day every day, and he may or may not have bought me a $400 DVF dress the other day. I watched the last episode of Friends last night and he is Ross to my Rachel. Best of friends, really not terribly attracted to one another.

But, through the adventures of the last year, I've become smarter than Rachel - I've figured out that the attraction part is just as important as the friendship part. Every successful couple I know has both and I'm not willing to settle for one or another. I'd rather wait - I almost said I'd rather be alone, but I've got friends, family, an endlessly amusing cast of characters in my bed, and I live in the most amazing city in the world. Somehow I don't feel alone at all.

(I still probably need to work on my choices. Suggestions and setups with tall, dark, and handsome men are always welcome.)

I think I need to work on my choices.

I don't know why, but I do find Ivory Coast to be somewhat endearing, despite the bouts of the giggles, the rooftop incident, and the time he tried to follow me home. The first two hours of both of the dates we've been on have been really, really nice. They've also both ended with Pothead showing up, some giggles, and some molestation attempts....so, yes, I clearly need to put an end to this.

For some reason, though, I still kinda like him. I really can't explain it, and he keeps doing really weird things that are making it difficult.

Case in point: an hour ago, my phone rings, Ivory's number. We usually text, not call, but OK. I pick up.......it's Pothead. Chatting with me on behalf of Ivory, asking me to come hang out.

So, either:
a) Diana's little sexting bit the other night got them thinking about a threesome.
b) They really are secretly 14 year old girls impersonating French African men.
or
c) Pothead is secretly Ivory's agent/bodyguard, who pretends to be his friend as to not freak me out.

or d) they are just fucking weirdos.

I don't know. It's all very strange. I am thinking about all of the men I have been out with in NYC and my track record is really not looking good. I'm starting to think it's me. Full rundown coming later, maybe someone can help me figure out the pattern.

Like This Isn't Obvious.

The Beard texted me tonight. He works at the bar around the corner from my apartment on Mondays and Tuesdays, so I can safely say that he is looking for a little after-work bootay.

His pickup line for the evening: "Hey whats up".

Riiiiight. Because that one will get me into bed every time.



(He should know by now that I need a couple of shots and a few Blue Moons in me, and then a "hey whats up".)

Update: Ivory

I went out with Ivory last night. Yes, even after doing the 50-yard dash out of Brooklyn last weekend, we've been texting all week and I agreed to a Sunday night date because a) I *did* have fun with him on the first date and b) my karma is all fucked up after the Brooklyn incident and I need to set it straight.

As on date #1, everything was good at the first spot, a nice tapas bar on the Upper West Side, then en route to the second...the requests to come home with me began, and continued every five to ten minutes. Now, I'm not sure when I became such a prude, but I've decided to make this one wait a while.

So...at some point I decided to share my dating secret with him. He was telling me about some girls hitting on him at school....so I nicely suggested that maybe he should start fucking one of them so that he wouldn't be so horny and we could just chill a little.

I don't think he liked that suggestion so much? He told me that he didn't want to do that, he only wanted to be with me...at which point I told him that I am not monogamous. I don't think he liked that either.

Anyway, at least I'm honest. But, I do believe what I told him. Heidi's Secret to Dating #1: Keep a fuck buddy on the side at all times.. Any woman who's woken up at 7 AM with a snoring naked 3rd date in her bed knows that sexual frustration doesn't usually lead to good places.

Lesson #492: Take Notes.

Shit. So here's the problem. In the midst of google-stalking Delaware tonight (hey, we have a date in four days... a girl's gotta be prepared), I realized that even after the six hours that we spent talking (okay and not talking) last weekend, I can't remember much about what we talked about. I made a point to remember his last name for aforementioned google-stalking purposes, but other than that... And to be honest, it's not really even that I don't remember, per se, it's more that I can't figure out what bits of information actually belong to Delaware, and not any of the other Dates of Recent Past...

Okay, wait, I remember his birthday is coming up next month, okay so that makes it in April. Right. Is it the twenty... No, not the 22nd. Oh, I know! I told him that it was his Golden Birthday this year, and I know he is 27 right now, so that means he'll be 28, so okay April 28, got that down. And then the siblings... I think that he said the older brother still lives at home, but wait- no, I think that was Midwestern Boy. So okay, I think his older brother lives back near his hometown though in Delaware. And I think he's married? Delaware's brother, not Delaware. Oy shit. And he has a sister, a sister...what was it that he told me about the sister? Did she live in Vermont? Ugh, no I think that was The Principal. In fact, I know it was The Principal. And The Principal got a little offended when I didn't recall that detail on that glorious first date of ours. Okay, forget The Principal. I think that when Delaware mentioned where his sister lived, I remembered thinking that all three kids had stayed in the Mid-Atlantic and New England regions, and that his parents must appreciate that. So maybe she lives in Boston? Or crap, maybe Philadelphia? Ohhhkay, now I'm starting to wonder if I made this sister up. No, no, there is a sister. Because he's the youngest of three. So then if he's 27, almost 28, and he's the youngest, then he might have mentioned nieces or nephews. If he did, well, sorry Charlie, I am a total shit for brains apparently. And the worst part is that I wasn't totally drunk, so what's my excuse when I ask him again if he's an only child and what state he hails from? "Oh, I'm sorry, Delaware. I just am such a frequenter of Match.com and meeting random men in bars that I can't keep all you boys straight." Now that would go over fantastically, I'm sure.

Obviously, I'm getting no where with this, and really, really for the sake of my beauty sleep and making sure that I wake up with my alarm clock in the morning (6 hours and counting), I need to get my stalker butt off the computer, stop letting myself think so hard (one would assume that keeping a written record of the details of all of these dates would help jog one's memory, but no), and try to close my eyes and not dream of anything man related.

Ha... tough luck. But here's to trying...

It's been a quiet last couple nights...

I grounded myself for the rest of the week after waking up Wednesday with my head refusing to balance correctly on my shoulders. I mean, Tuesday is just the beginning of the school week for goodness sake. I gotta slow it down a little.

The real reason for the update though is that Delaware and I have been texting (not to be confused with sexting) throughout the week and have scheduled our next date for a week from today. A Thursday...not too shabby. We're meeting at a really cool bar that Muffy, Heidi, and I actually wrapped up my birthday at a few weeks ago. Like it.

I'm actually looking forward to it.

Ugh, don't let me start falling in crush mode...

Although I secretly maybe do love crush mode ;)

This just in:

Apparently, like tequila and texting, tequila and being sexually frustrated don't mix either.

I just received an order confirmation email from Rabbitvibrator.com.

Apparently, I felt a little online shopping was necessary last night. And apparently, I felt that I deserved only the best, because I ordered the $100 one.

Fantastic.

Tequila and Texting do not mix.

Texts from last night:

Him: Hi Diana, its Pothead. How are you?

[six hours later] Me: I'm well thanks, how are you?

Him: I'm a year older, 27 now. We should go for a drink at The Wine Bar sometimes.

Me: I'm sorry, I hate The Wine Bar.

Him: Oh ok, you got a place you like to go for a drink?

Me: Well I mean I do have a boyfriend though... Does that matter to you?

Him: Well, he's your bf, not mine, i digged you that night, you're really cute.

Me: Well thanks. I have a question. What was the guy doing on the roof with just suspenders and boxers but no pants?

[thirty minutes later] Me: Pothead my love...please tell me the suspenders story

-Pothead calls. I don't recall the conversation, just that I know I really egged him on even further. We hang up.-

Me: It was so good to hear your sexy voice.

Him: Hehe, really? Glad you like it babe.

Me: You speak french, can you tell me what menage a trois means?

Him: It means me, you and another cutie.

Me: How about you me and another guy?

Him: Lol, you're funny, you're game like that? I never done that, but i'm like that energy bunny, you only one of me ;)

[I think he meant, "you only need one of me"...]

Him: I'm back home, we should meet up, i'll teach u more sexy french.

Me: Hm, menage a trois. What about you and Ivory Coast?

Him: What??? You're serious? i don't know about that ...come on babe, let me drop by and say hi, i haven't seen you in a while.

Me: I'm actually really serious. Is that a problem?

Him: Ok, let's meet up and talk about what you want to do, imma take a shower, let me know, if you serious, i can seriously drop by and get down to some serious business... Nope that's not a prob ...just say the word, i'll be right by your doorstep, coming to put some dick between your legs, just say the word. Lol, we can alternate...seriously u got me in the mood, i wanna tear your ass apart babe...

-At this point, The Beard was listening in to us girls laughing so hard at the text messages that he grabbed my phone, and decided he was going to answer Pothead for a while. I didn't argue and let him text away. I'm seriously going to hell. The following messages sent from "me" are actually The Beard...-

Me: The only thing you'll be putting in me is a serious bout of nausea.

Him: Ok, i get it...but you started with this, i just played along. i didn't think you were serious at first, that's why i asked you, but think what you want to think.

Me: Take it easy buddy I'm sure there are women lined up around the block to have your awkward sexual advances texted to them.

Him: I didn't make any advances until you teased me about having a sexy voice and wandering about menage a trois ...i called you see how you were doing and if you wanted to meet up, that was it...anyway, it doesn't matter now.

Me: [this was Heidi taking the phone back and trying to wrap the convo up] Dude pothead I'm just drunk and was playin'. Dude its all good.

I'm going to hell. I'm going to hell. I'm going to hell.

An Open Letter (not from) the Heart

Dear Single Men of Manhattan

I don't get sloppy on a Tuesday night to NOT get taken advantage of. Come on. If you see a girl, like me, dressed to the nines with polish on the nails, drinking her way through (yet another) margarita on a school night...take notice. I CAME TO WORK. (And by work, I don't mean a 9-to-5er.) There's some country and western song that says, "Tequila makes her clothes fall off," and guess what? They ain't lying.

Since you, Single Men of Manhattan, can't seem to find the time right now, I'll give you some time to think. Think about what you're missing out on.

Hope you miss me a lot this weekend. I can't wait to give the Mid-Atlantic boys a run for their money.

hugs&kisses!

m.

The Beard

Several interesting things happened last night. They may have been a bit of tequila/sangria/beer induced, and yes, my head is still spinning this morning, so I may have to share these stories throughout a couple of posts.

Back on my birthday, I met a bearded bartender that I thought was kinda cute, we exchanged numbers and a few texts, and then... yah, you guessed it. MDFM Phenom. Whatev.

I apparently had no shame last night after downing a few drinks, and Heidi, Muffy, and I headed back to the bar that The Beard worked at. He recognized me, I jokingly asked him what happened with hanging out, and we ended up texting back and forth while I was sitting at the bar. I asked when he got off, he said 4, it was only 1, so we left.

As I arrived home, I received a text from The Beard asking for some dirty sexting.

I was drunk. I could play this game.

It went on for over an hour, I told him to come over after work, and I finally passed out around 230.

I woke up this morning at 9 AM to 2 text messages and three missed booty calls. Oops.


The best part: I turned my computer on this morning to find that I had googled "Tips on How To Talk Dirty".

Wow, I'm juvenile.

Karma & The Principal

After diagnosing my MDFM situation to be a direct result of my bad karma, I have made a conscious effort over the last few months to right my wrongs and leave a good, I dunno...vibe or something, out in the dating world.

I had pretty much set everything in a positive direction until a quick little slip of the Blackberry occurred this weekend.

Let's rewind to Friday, where I had a planned date with The Principal (as in, of a school). We had met on Match.com, and because he lives in Brooklyn (aka Geographically Undesirable), we decided to meet at some beer bar in Union Square. Because Muffy and Heidi were heading out for what sounded like way more fun than my Principal-date, I met them prior to heading downtown, and admittedly got a little drunk.

Three martinis and a $17 cab ride later: I met him, he was okay cute, we had a semi-boring conversation, I diagnosed that as good of a job as I was doing being able to pretend that he was entertaining me, he was doing a poor job of pretending that I was amusing him, and we mutually cut the date short about an hour and a half in. Cool, no big deal. Then right at the end of the conversation at the bar, I do a little head-tilt at something he says, and I try to re-evaluate if he actually is indeed interested in me. Either way, we leave, we walk toward the main street where I can catch a cab and he can catch his train to Brooklyn, we stop for a moment for me to mention I need to head to the left, and he looks, and says: "Okay, nice meeting you. Good night." And turns and walks away.

I was a bit taken aback at his super abrupt farewell, although admittedly not disappointed to escape the lame date and head back to the girls, but at least I then felt positive in his lack of any interest in me.

Until Saturday.

The girls and I were a few drinks in, making fun of his abrupt exit and decided to make light of the situation. I sent The Principal a quick email from my Blackberry:

"I had such a wonderful time meeting you last night. I'd love to see you soon.

Diana"

I said "wonderful"? "Love to see you soon"? I was sure that this would make his eyes bug a little that this was my response to our Friday night meeting.

Fifteen minutes later the good ole Blackberry beeps with a response:

"I had a great time too and would love to get together again. When are you free? How was your night tonight? Hope you had fun!"

Whaaaaaaaaaat? You have got. to be. kidding me. And more than anything, because I decided to mess with his head and in all honesty make fun of him, does this mean I have to work on karma reparation all over again??? Unreal.


....But now that I reflect on this situation and the juxtaposing evening with Delaware, I'm thinking that it may be quite possible that the MDFM Phenom really is taking a turn-around...

Anywhere But Brooklyn.

Single women everywhere re-hash male behaviors and determine that most guys are assholes. The male version of this conversation apparently concludes that most women are crazy bitches. Last night, I was the crazy bitch. For sure.

Once we sent Diana safely off on her dreamy date, Muffy and I decided to go ahead and head to Brooklyn to Pothead's birthday party. We left the fine island of Manhattan around 2:30 AM....25 long minutes later, the lights disappeared, the shops disappeared, the people disappeared...and we'd arrived at the "house party" in Brooklyn. On a deserted and scary block.

We weren't feeling it, but at this point, we'd spent 25 minutes and 25 bucks getting there, so decided to head in. In a moment of brilliance, Muffy begged the cab driver to wait five minutes "just in case" since our chances of finding a cab once there were none to none.

We go in to find 8 people hanging out in a bright, quiet apartment. Um, OK. We say hello and happy birthday to Pothead who tells us that Ivory Coast is anxiously awaiting my arrival on the roof.

Then the fun really begins. We head to the roof to find Ivory Coast, dressed to the nines in a track jacket and beanie, so stoned that he can only giggle like a Japanese schoolgirl....sitting alongside Suspenders, aptly named because he was in his boxer shorts being held up by suspenders. Um, what? Yes, underwear and suspenders.

We're not really sure what the fuck is going on at this point, but we are positive that we need to bounce. Muffy signals to the cabbie from the roof that we're coming back down, and we tell Ivory and Suspenders that we're out. They ask me where we're going - my answer: "Anywhere but Brooklyn." They are down, I guess, because they say that they are coming with us. Suspenders scampers away to put on his jeans, and Ivory Coast scampers to...put on another track jacket? Not sure. We tell them we are heading down to have a cigaratte and we'll see them in the cab.

Somewhere between that conversation and the door of the cab, we think better of it, and decide it's time to bolt - solo. We jump in the cab and tell him to step on it.

The best part: Ivory still asked me for a "walk and dinner" tonight.

I gotta work on my dating karma.

Muffy is here, ya'll!

I've been working on my introduction for awhile now, trying to pin down the perfect combination of words to tell my story. I've wanted to tell the truth, but not the whole truth. What I'm looking for, what I've experienced and what I hope to find. It's hard to beat around the bush. So, here it is. Uncensored. Full of color. Sometimes funny. A little bit awkward. Extremely optimistic.

- - - - -

I'm a new New Yorker. Four months and some change. I haven't even gotten one full season of New York City under my belt, and I'm already in love. 25 (okay, fine. Almost 26) years old, single, and I'm falling in love with a city. Not just any city, it's New York FUCKING City, but shouldn't I be married by now? Atleast in a committed relationship and talking about tying the knot? Dreaming up the most fabulous of reception venues and gushing over Vera's new collection? I'm from the South, I'm invited to atleast 10 weddings per year, this is not abnormal. This is also one of the many reasons why I chose to get the hell outta dodge. And, just so I don't sound superficial, may I also add that I was in dire need of a new career path, a new lifestyle, a change of scenery, and of course, a new dating pool.

It's impossible to move anywhere without some baggage. I came here on a one-way ticket with only two suitcases. One interview lined up and a temporary place to stay. Some call it "the right place at the right time," I call it fate. There was no time for goodbyes and good lucks, for the most part I didn't even tell anyone I was leaving. So I left and have yet to return. This may present a problem to some, but I found it to be the most perfect and sound escape. It wasn't neat and clean, nor organized or well executed. But the second that plane took off, I knew my life would never be the same.

Okay enough of me reliving my glory day, back to the baggage. Mine comes in the form of The Ex and The Best(Lover)Friend. Honestly, I'm not sure why The Ex is still in the picture. It was 6 years in the making, and I did the breaking up. He was great in college, bad in the post-grad world. Great as a first love, terrible as a forever love. The sex was great...for about a month. About 3 years and one lover-on-the-side-in, I realized I had perfected the most amazing of fake orgasms with him laying beside me. This is a horrible realization. Why didn't I get out then? Your guess is as good as mine. Regardless, move forward all these years and he's still in the picture. For some ungodly reason. He has a girlfriend now, and I still get giddy when he sends me a text telling me that I'm on his mind. It's sick that I enjoy it, and is more than likely bad karma. Whatever. I just like the reminder of how far I've come. Not to mention I haven't even laid eyes on him in 2 years? He'd die if he saw me now.

And then there's The Best(Lover)Friend. I'd love to give a brief synopsis. But, I think I'd rather let you figure things out on your own. Because honestly, I have no fucking clue with this one. Are we friends? Or battling our way through the most confusing and inconvenient of relationships/friendships? I forever question if I like him like that or if he likes me like that? I mean, doesn't everyone communicate (in some form or fashion) with their best guy friend everyday? That's normal for friends, right? Of course it is...not. I'm not stupid. It's a bizarre relationship - just wait and see for yourself. Sometimes you'll want to cry for me, most of the time you'll laugh your ass off and then sometimes you'll be on the edge of your seat waiting to see if his oddly worded 2am weeknight e-mail followed by his mid-morning USPS delivered mix tape means something or nothing at all?

- - - - -

It's only fitting that I include this song recently sent from The Best(Lover)Friend. Click here. And yes, I already know what you're thinking.

Would love to spill more, but I've got some "googling of boys I met this weekend" to do.

xoxo - m.

Delaware: Four Months Later

Muffy, Heidi, and I headed downtown last night for a hopefully eventful Saturday evening... We started out at a bar in the East Village, where I strategically texted Delaware to let him know where we were and hopefully have him stop by for a casual bump-in. He did end up joining us soon after we had arrived and went through quite a few rounds of drinks with the girls and me. He was definitely able to hang with my girls, laugh with our jokes, and even managed to squeeze some good laughs out of us as well.

Muffy and Heidi decided to head to Brooklyn for a party hosted by Ivory Coast, his friend Pothead, and some others, so it gave me a great chance to escape with Delaware and get to chat one-on-one. We headed to a little divey joint in Alphabet City, had a beer, and he pulled me in for a first kiss: nice, definitely with a sweet tinge to the whole thing.

He asked then if I had ever gotten his call back in the Fall after we had met. I told him no, that I hadn't. He told me that he had thought that I just wasn't interested, but that after four months had passed, I still crossed his mind, so he decided to take the chance and send me that text message. Exact words: "I hoped that if I still remembered you and had thought that you were so great, that maybe you remembered me also."

I mean, I tried not to melt there on the spot.

I was pleasantly surprised all evening by his straight forwardness and cute shyness- definitely two qualities that the men I tend to go for never possess.

We ended up heading back to his apartment (did I mention that he conveniently placed us at said divey joint directly across the street from his place?) so that he could play me a song on the guitar. We made a quick detour to his rooftop deck, kissed there a bit more, headed to his room where he played for me, and then - surprise, surprise - ended up making out on his bed for an hour. Don't worry though, I was a good girl and insisted on heading home by 4 am.

Here is where I do have to note that I called the girls immediately upon my departure to fill them in, and definitely made the bold statement that he may possibly have been the best kisser of my life thus far. Corny, but I realized that I've never made out with someone who just completely exuded passion, and believe it or not, I think I could tell from the make out sesh that he may actually be one of the few left in New York City that believes in... dare I say it? ...romance.

(Even I tend to just believe that romance one day ran off with chivalry, only to never return.)

Who knows? I'm definitely interested in seeing where this one might end up...

To Lube or Not to Lube

Ok, so here's the thing my kitten's been dryer then the sierra desert lately. Actually I don't like kitten, let's call her GINA from now on. So Gina's been dry and after carefully assessing the situation I decide to do what every other professional does in time of crises, take on a partner! Meet the proverbial LUBRICANT. After buying each variety I could get my anxious little hands on I end with DUREX, K-Y and Amirex brands of "feminine moisture aid." Really? Feminine moisture aid, just say it like it is, "this shit wets your whistle." Wait, did I just read one which boasts "warming lubricant? Um, you have my attention.

Let's give her a whirl.

So I'm playing kissy face with my sweetie and I'm really trying to get hot enough to wet the old whistle and there's entry level wetness but not enough for me to ride him like a quarter pony outside of Kmart, which is of course the desired result.

So I reach for the ol' bottle or warming lube, squeeze a healthy portion in my hand and slather is all over GINA. He enter's, meanwhile my inner dialogue is going a little something like this:

"ok, this is good, there seems to be enough for me to work with after the initial wiggling into position, I think I love this stuff!" Mmm maybe I should have started out with a smaller amount cause I think I'm tingling a little too much..... wait I'm sort of burning... oh shit, that's a good spot... "stay there hunny"... wait my GINA is really tingling... uh oh... I better wrap this up...holy moly my GINA is ON FIRE!!!!! Ok gunna fake the O, have to.... Oh ohohohohohohoooooooo, "you rock my world." AHHHHhhhhhh

Thank God that's over, now I need to go pee all this shit out of me!!!!

So what now? I have a GINA that's in fuego so there's no way for another round. This blows.

So there you have it, my first experience with warming feminine moisture aid and the result is a 4-star yeast infection.

Fucking disaster.

A week in text messages.

OK, I can't lie. I do sort of like Ivory Coast, despite the 2nd Avenue Groping Incident. But, more than anything, I'm highly amused by his texts. A few choice excerpts from the last 5 days(bear in mind that we have now hung out twice: when we met at a bar and one subsequent date)....in order of receipt:

"Heidddddi I really love you :)"
"Relax and think about my pretty smile for an hour and then you great :) Heidi really I like you"
"...I want to see you again so bad :)"
"Are you the most wonderful girl or what??? Cuz I really like you :)"
"You will have fun times with Ivory Coast :)"
"...hope that tomoro we two lay sleeping in our nest in the churchyard sod w our limbs at rest on the quiet earth's breast n our souls at home w lord"
"...and I am sitting in this boring class daydreaming about you..."
"I think I am a prince :)"
"...we will make a great couple :)"
"hey princess :)...I am getting plenty of rest for only you my princess :)"

footnote: typing all of these things out just freaked me out a little. and I didn't even include the funniest one of all as it deserves its own post. maybe this isn't so amusing???

Introducing Delaware

So in looking back, I believe that the "Man Dropping off the Face of Manhattan" Phenomenon (we'll call this the MDFM Phenom) began sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving of last year.

That means I'm going on about four months of this totally unsuccessful streak of either:
a) meeting someone that I am interested in that feigns interest for a while, at the very least, before halting the phone calls and date requests, or
b) meeting someone that I'm totally uninterested in that apparently is also totally uninterested in me, because he doesn't even attempt to call for the second date and give me the option of rejecting him first.

Let me tell ya, Fall '09 and Winter '10 have definitely given me an ego thrashing.

Rewinding back to one of the first cases of MDFM, a girlfriend and I bravely ventured to Brooklyn for a party where we really knew only the host. We ended up quickly making friends and gravitating to the cute boys of our choice, and I managed to having a super flirty game of Beer Pong (how romantic) with a somewhat-shy but pretty adorable guy from Delaware.

The night wrapped up with Delaware and I being the only two left in the back yard with him serenading me and playing my requests on the guitar. (Sidenote: I normally find the whole guitar-playing, boy-serenading shenanigans super unappealing and insanely corny, but this time, I found it surprisingly sweet...) 3 AM rolled around and Delaware's friends started hollering for him to leave, so he took my number, and texted me right away to tell me he had a great time meeting me. I don't remember exactly what happened after that. I do know that there was texting back and forth for a couple of days and that he had said he'd call by the end of the week for us to plan a date.

He apparently got wind of the MDFM Phenom and never called.

Until..... two days ago? (Note: we met in the Fall, and it is now almost Spring.)

I received:
"Hey Diana, it's Delaware. We met at [Redacted]'s party a few months back. We had a musical night and I still remember how much I enjoyed meeting you. I'd like to get together if you're up for it."

It was such a nice message, and I was definitely curious to eventually hear what caused his four month hiatus, and his subsequent reappearance. I waited a good 48 hours before responding, but ending up texting back and forth with him again all night last night. I made no mention of hanging out and am going to wait to see if he can actually follow through on solidifying the plans this time...

If the MDFM Phenom has taught me anything thus far, it is to not hold my breath, but I am definitely intrigued... and eager to see if the Phenom is finally ready to throw me a fucking bone.

Male Logic

Another special date last night. By the numbers...

Inches taller than me: 2
Attempts to kiss me at the bar: 11
Vodka sodas I sucked down in an attempt to make it better: 3
Times I said "OK, I am going to go.": 7
Requests to come home with me: 7
Times I was shoved into a phone both outside for attempted makeout: 1
Minutes it took him to text me once in the cab: 4

So, what I don't get here is - how can this poor guy not take a hint? Or, say, 25 hints?

Discussed with a male friend this morning and got some good insight into male logic. He said it's very clear - because Shawty knew I wasn't interested, he figured he might as well give it all a shot, just keep trying, get as much as he possibly could out of the date. Very interesting. At least he went for the gold. Too bad it kind of makes me want to bathe in bleach this morning.

Texts from Last Night

Last night, I used the excuse that I was having an argument with my "boyfriend" and therefore could not go meet Pothead, who is a friend of Ivory Coast. I thought that the commitment aspect of that would give the not-so-subtle hint that I wouldn't be interested in visiting with Pothead.

Apparently, there were still gray areas.

Text received:
"Hey, I'm sorry to hear that you are having bf trouble. Come out have a drink, let me put a smile on your cute face :)"

Umm....I'll take a rain check.

let me clarify.

I've said before that passion is important - and sometimes I just want a man to throw me up against a wall and rip my pants off.

I didn't mean while we are walking down 2nd Avenue.

Am I getting Punk'd?

2 texts that I just got in the last 10 minutes:

From Pseudo Boyfriend, who I have been pretty much avoiding since the night of 5-minute lovin and the introduction of Marriage Plan 2011:

"I'm so hating on these people with their relationships right now."

From Ivory Coast, who I met at a bar THREE NIGHTS AGO and am supposed to meet at a wine bar in 2 hours - upon confirming our plan:

"Cool--xoxo"

Pseudo: This is not going to help the me avoiding you situation.
Ivory: Are you secretly a 17 year old girl?

Who sends these texts? Do. not. understand.