Monday, June 18, 2007

would you like some lube with that?

Best Friend Roommate and I had gone out for pasta and a pep talk in the midst of my post-breakup crisis of self-confidence. The chain restaurant was nearly empty, the pasta was mediocre, and I was in a funk of self-pity. But the waiter...oh, the waiter. He was tall, dark and handsome, and paying an awful lot of attention to us.

He kept coming back to our table, unnecessarily refilling our drinks, making small talk, meeting my eyes with his and smiling.

"He's flirting with you."

"No he's not."

"Yes he is, and he's hot."

He returned to the table and we quickly pretended we hadn't been talking about him.

"So, what are y'all doing tonight?"

I, of course, had no plans. I was finally beginning to deal with the fact that Bryan was not coming back to profess his undying love for me, and spent most of my spare time eating ice cream in front of the TV. I made up something vague and noncommittal about going out with some friends as Best Friend Roommate hid a smirk behind her glass.

"Oh, well I'm going out to Fred's tonight, y'all should come by."

A flutter in my stomach and positive I would die of awkwardness, I managed what I thought could be construed as a flirtatious smile and, again, remained positively noncommittal. Best Friend Roommate and I debated about it the rest of the meal, but when we left that night, my name and number were scrawled on the back of the receipt.

An hour later, my phone rang. It was Will, the waiter, and though I didn't go out with him that night, we did make plans for the weekend.

Turns out Will the Waiter was 27 and a veteran who had gone back to school, and we had a spectacular time seeing his friend's band play at a local bar. I'd been to bars plenty, I could do the bar scene, but when we got back to his place I was totally out of my element. I hadn't dated since high school, and had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Where should I sit? How should I act? Was I going to be expected to have sex with him? And if I wasn't staying the night, how would I be getting home? I was drunk, which helped my anxiety, but didn't do anything to improve my decision making skills.

Before I really even knew what was happening, we were kissing, and moving into his bedroom, and in a moment of panic I awkwardly blurted out that I didn't want to have sex. Fortunately, he said okay, and my fears that I'd be fighting him off like a bad actress in a sexual harassment video subsided.

What I'm going to share with you next gets a little graphic, but it's so worth it.

I thought things were going well. Everyone know...touching each other, and I was inwardly congratulating myself on successfully navigating the nuances of sexual behavior in the college environment. Suddenly, however, he took his hands away from me and began to focus his attentions on himself. Drunk and frighteningly ignorant of typical dating behavior, I had absolutely no idea as to whether this was normal and what I should do about it. I weighed my options. I was drunk, and didn't have my car anyway, so driving myself home was out. I could go across the street to where some friends of mine lived, or I could just stick it out and see what happened. I decided that while decidedly odd, his behavior didn't seem to be endangering me at all, and perhaps when he was, um, done, he'd return his attentions to me.

So I decided on the least awkward course of action, which was to go along with it. I'm kind of grossed out now writing about how I actually kissed him while he masturbated, but I really had no idea how normal people operated in this sort of situation and, after all, I had told him that I didn't want to have sex, so maybe this was an appropriate response and I was just so out of the loop that I had no idea. Maybe we were supposed to take turns?

But alas, no dice. He finished up, turned off the lights and rolled over to spoon with me. Now I was really confused. I'd just watched this guy masturbate on a first date and he wanted to spoon afterwards? But it was 4 a.m. and I was still drunk, so, again, I went with it.

When I woke up in the morning he was still wanting to cuddle, and soon started kissing me again. Always the optimist, I figured maybe he'd just been drunk the night before and in the light of day things would be different, but, once again, homeboy was flying solo. Again, I weighed my options. I was lying in bed next to a guy who was masturbating in my presence for the second time in twelve hours, and I was yet to receive any satisfaction.

"What the fuck," I thought, "He's doing it, I may as well do it too."

And so ended my first date after re-entering the realm of singledom--mutual self-gratification in bed with a guy I barely knew. He drove me home and I never answered his phone calls again. Disastrous as it was, I'd dated somebody new, and that was huge. I can honestly say that that experience went a long way toward preparing me for some of the weird shit I'd see over the next few months of dating that I can't believe I never blogged about.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007


Thank you everyone for all the kudos on my new house--and to Charming for that little pep talk! I'm really very glad that I decided to stay in Louisiana, and excited about starting school. As Charming said, I'm going to be studying social work, fixing the world and all that. It'll be fun.

I've gone a bit Suzy Homemaker ADD and have put down the sweater I was knitting in favor of preliminarily decorating my new house. So far I've collected more than thirty fabric swatches, drew a diagram of my furniture arrangement on graph paper(with colors!), and made up a list of plants I would like to grow in my new backyard. I get a bit excited about these kinds of things.

What I don't get excited about, at all, however, is the actual process of moving. I'm a terrible pack rat, and I've been in the same apartment for two years. I've got so much random shit it's ridiculous, and I refuse to move all of this junk. The last time I moved I actually went to the trouble of moving a TV that no longer worked, just because I hate that much to throw things away. This time, the broken TV goes. I went through and cleaned out my clothes a few months ago, so that's under control, but I'm beginning to realize that I may have a bit of a problem with, uh, crafts.

I want to make something, I buy stuff to make it; I see something random I think I could use, I stash it away for the day I'm sure it will come in handy; there's a sale on yarn at Hobby Lobby and I buy twenty skeins--then buy more when I actually get to knitting something. My love for crafts, or more accurately craft supplies is beginning to take over my life.

I've been doing this for as long as I can remember, collecting things, and giving up my collections of junk only when it becomes so intrusive that I absolutely must take action. My dining room table is covered in construction paper, acrylic paints, various cutting instruments and types of glue, batting, gauzy fabric, piles of yarn, and a collection of knitting needles in all shapes and sizes, just to get started. The small plastic chest of drawers I purchased specifically to contain the evidence of my craft fetish is no longer adequate, and no way am I moving a bunch of mess from my old place into my new one. But alas, I'm moving in a week, with work and family commitments between then and now, so I suppose I'll be haphazardly sorting things out as I toss them into a box on moving day, and maybe in my new house I can have an entire closet devoted to craft paraphernalia.