If someone were to ask me what was the worst day of my life to date, I would have to take them back to freshman year.  I was young and naive and spent the better part of that fateful day being scammed by a nice man on the telephone who told me I had won a diamond watch and a trip to Hawaii. Thankfully, my roommate walked in just as I was reciting my credit card and social security numbers into the phone. She promptly snatched the phone away from me, called the guy a few choice names, and saved me from a world of shame.

After that poor display of gullibility, I decided to stay in that Friday night to work on my studies and perhaps regain a little pride in myself. It figures that the one night I decide to stay in, my roommate comes back to the room at 3 a.m. and tries to sexile me. Woken from a sound sleep, I had no desire to relocate. So I did what any other good roommate would do: I broke out the trusty iPod, cranked up the jams, and let them have their fun.

Imagine my surprise when I woke up early that morning being strangled by my own headphones. Gasping for breath, I looked over to see the cause of this sudden asphyxiation. As it turns out, a late-night guest made his way into my bed and was laying on top of my headphones, slowly killing me in my sleep. But the screaming only began when I realized it was none other than my roommate’s boyfriend laying in bed with me.

I was screaming, he was screaming, and loudest of all, my roommate was screaming. She began hitting both of us over and over again, cursing us out and throwing a fit. Who can blame her? The scene did not look good. I jumped out of bed in order to avoid her whaling and landed in a puddle. As if things couldn’t get worse, the scent of urine wafted up into my nostrils and things began to fall into place.

The night’s timeline went something like this: The boyfriend had awoken in the middle of the night with the strong urge to urinate. But instead of attempting to find the bathroom, he decided that there was no time like the present and whipped it out right then and there. And when I say there, I mean right on my freshly printed out paper for my 8 a.m. class, placed delicately atop a stack of books next to my desk. It was like he aimed to kill. After defiling the product of my sober Friday night in, he climbed into bed with me and forcibly spooned me all night long.

The next morning, not only did I have to deal with canceling a credit card, a yellow-stained 5-page paper and a near-death encounter, but I had to spend the rest of the afternoon scrubbing urine out of the floor and explaining to my roommate that, no, I was definitely not trying to steal her barbaric boyfriend. And no, we most certainly did not hook up.

[You got a a good "Morning After" story to share? Send it to over and we'll post it (anonymously, of course)! Do it! It can't be worse than crossing borders for booty....]

So I’m talking to Frenchy tonight and he says “I just want to be in the moment,” which is a beautiful way of saying “I want to jack off while I talk to you.” — Which is cool, and I tote. understand.  Really, believe me, I completely understand being horny and wanting to jizz.

He says he loves my laugh and my voice.  He tells me he loves the way I look and my glasses down low like a filthy librarian – I mean he got everything in there he could get LOL  To his credit, he was very smooth too.  It wasn’t pathetic (or I’d have told him so) and he wasn’t crass about it.

While I was talking to Frenchers, I got a text from a man I met at work a few weeks back – CowBoy.  CB said, “Can I ask u a ??” – I knew what he was saying before he said it as the text came in at a little after 9:00pm.  Trust me, when a man says “Can I ask u something” after dark, 99.9% of the time he wants some ass.  But I still said, “Ask away buddy.”  Notice how I threw buddy in?  Most of the time that puts guys off their game enough that they stop what they are doing – but CowBoy did no such thing.

He txt’d me back and said, “Do u ever get lonely & just want to hold someone of the opposite sex?”  Which earned a very loud “Fucking Douche” from me.  French thought I was talking to him so he asked what was going on.  I told him and I specifically said, “I’m just sick of guys thinking because I smiled at them, it means I want to fuck.  I’m tired of guys trying to fuck me.”  Granted, that’s not a good game plan when trying to impress a man, but at this point, my honesty button is stuck in the ON position.

French and I started talking about other things and I felt like fucking him.  I just got this flash of him… on me.  It was so real and brought such a smile to my face (just brought it to my face again) that I immediately said, “I’ve got to go.”  He tried to talk me into staying – which any man would do, there’s no problem there – but I told him how I really felt.  I said, “If you like me, then you’ll understand how I do things, and if you still like me after I say this, then maybe we’ll talk more and get to know each other – fucking will come in time, I’m sure.”

I told French the truth – that I’m tired of making men jizz and never hearing from them again.  He got really quiet and then he said, “Will you let me call you tomorrow?”

Interesting.

…………………………………..Up Next?  S.19~Why Don’t We Just Dance?

Claude and I like to speak in code from time to time.  Back when he used to email me at my Investments r Us email account we would code any reference to sex as “debating.”  During the debate, each person makes their “point”, and sometimes, your debate partner might like for you to make your point more than once. 

3D was one partner who would make multiple arguments in the same night.  Yeah, I know that he was bat shit crazy, but he made some really interesting points.

But I digress, for some reason, we still like to speak in code even though we now email off of our private accounts.  Today we’ve been emailing one another about what happens when other people like to see their partner “review their notes.”

• CS: You are a dirty man hooker.  Don’t hide who you really are.  Accept yourself.
• Claude: No Claude.  It was a very good discourse though.  After the first round of arguments, he was “reviewing his notes” in front of me.  Doing that reminded me of some other points I had to make and less than five minutes later we were in heated debate all over again.  It was magical.
• CS: I never understood why people liked to review their notes in front of others or wanted to observe me review my own notes.  I just don’t get the allure to that.
• Claude: Well since I had just brought the debate to a close, he wanted to get in one final point so it was just easier for him to review his notes than opening up a whole new debate.  Even though that’s what happened anyway.
• CS: He can review his notes at home.  I don’t care to watch people review their notes, I find it to be disturbing and it makes me want to never debate with them again.  Not ever.  Mr. Big X used to love that.  Blech.  Vomiting in my own mouth.
• Claude: Lol, oh Claude.  Maybe it is different in your muggle world, but in the magical kingdom, it is usually considered polite to make sure they review their notes when all is said and done.  It can be rude to leave a debate with arguments still hanging in the air.  And for wizards, you don’t always have everyone make their points at the same time in the debate. 
• CS: In the muggle world, we also believe that everyone should make sure that their point is made.  However, there are some people that want to watch your review your notes before the debate begins.  They believe that seeing your “thought process” will make their point more lively.
• Claude: Hmmm, ok, that is a bit odd.  The reviewing of notes is less about seeing their thought process than a necessary part of the point-making process.
• CS: Yes, well, in the non-magical world, the dudes like to watch you touch your own notes.  So to speak.
• Claude: Interesting.  I mean, I definitely have watched someone stir their honeypot for a minute or two, but usually only as prep for full-on debate.  And honestly after a minute or two of watching the prep, I’m all ready to jump right into the debate and am done with prep time.
• CS: Watching someone else with their notes literally does nothing for me.  I’m sure there’s something more interesting to watch.  The whole point of being there is to make some arguments, not to review notes.  You should be prepared when you get there.  And if you’re not, then I can review your notes for you.

Being back under your parents’ roof for Thanksgiving comes with a cornucopia of blessings, such as mom doing your laundry, shopping sprees and overeating until you actually consider braving the Black Friday crowds just to purchase a pair of jeans with an elastic waistband. However, being back under mom and dad’s watchful eye can be treacherous, as well.

This isn’t dorm life anymore. You can’t order Dominos at 2 a.m. and feed it to your late-night booty call in bed. That wasn’t OK in high school, and, believe me, it still won’t be appreciated by your parentals now. You may be a big, bad college student, but there are still some house rules that you must abide by.

That being said, here are some guidelines for navigating life at home for the Thanksgiving season:

Do enjoy Thanksgiving dinner with your entire extended family and celebrate with a glass of wine.

Don’t crush cans at the dinner table like you’re at a frat party. Because when asked what you’re thankful for this Thanksgiving, you’re great-aunt Susie won’t be laughing when you say “the morning after pill.”

Do have a few friends over for a Thanksgiving Eve pregame. There is nothing that my mom loves more than having my friends over to recap our lives over wine and snacks before she drives us to our night’s destination.

Don’t invite your entire Facebook friends list and set up a beer pong tournament on the kitchen table. Getting the family dog trashed may seem like a cool idea now, but the moment your parent’s feel it’s safe to come out of hiding in their bedroom, you’ll be getting an earful.

Do go out with friends and relive your high school glory days at a good ol’ fashioned house party.

Don’t attempt to use your fake I.D. at the local bar. There’s simply no good explanation a group of kids from various different states spanning the continental U.S. have gathered together to spend Thanksgiving in a small town in Jersey. It’s just not believable.

Do continue the search for a mate. High school boys do a lot of growing up in college; you never know what old crush or summer fling will need rekindling.

Don’t get drunk and sneak them into the basement. Experience has taught me that being awoken to breakfast-in-bed by mommy can turn quite ugly when a naked boy joins the party.

Do use protection.

Don’t ask your dad for it. He may agree, but it will most likely be a shotgun he brings out, not a condom.

You’ve been warned.

So about Asian guy. Apparently he is not that into me but is into me a little bit.  i don’t think I’ve talked about Asian guy yet. He’s one of the 5 guys i talked about in the first blog. Actually he was the catalyst for all of it. It wasn’t his fault, it’s my fault for giving him too much too soon. Too much attention, too many compliments, too much importance… just too much in general.

A.G. and I met and hung out last week.  We had a pretty great time that of course ended with me drunk and letting him do his thing… but I talked to him before he ever came here (we live an hour from each other) and said in no uncertain terms that we were not gonna have sex.

Apparently he doubted that.  We started kissing on my porch and he did this thing… Opened that pretty mouth of his really wide and put it over mine then stuck his tongue in and out of my mouth slowly…. Good gravy Marie it was beautiful lol i still think about that kiss. In fact I thought about it while I was with Beard – Almost said A.G.’s name during it. If u can’t tell by now, I very much wanted this guy. Who would think a guy u made jizz in his pants without even touching him wouldn’t want u just as badly? I mean… Im just saying.  So what happened?

To tell the truth, I honestly don’t know. That’s the most bullshit part of the whole thing.  I swear there’s more to come… Just not right now.-

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Next Up:  S.14~Asian Guy Pt 2

“Are you kidding?” she asks, but doesn’t expect an answer. She’s leaning against the bar, her long arms draped over it, her fingers dipping in beer spills.

Wagner is silent. He isn’t kidding, clearly.

“She left, and she’s not coming back!” she exclaims.

Wagner nods. “I know. It’s too late.” He moves closer to me, in the middle. I move closer to her. She looks at herself in the mirror. We all look at ourselves in the big mirror behind the bar, continuing conversation through glass.

“What am I supposed to do?” Wagner asks.

“What are you supposed to do?” she repeats. She turns away from the mirror and at the crowd of men gathered to her right. “What is he supposed to do?”

The men perk up at the sight of a friendly, intoxicated blonde. “What is he supposed to do?”

The ringleader motions for the group to stand up. They circle us like vultures. I notice wedding bands. I sip my whiskey, neat, and shift away from Wagner, who is fingering his cellphone and staring at me in the mirror.

She sits up straight. “He dated this girl for years. And he’s here from Florida. And she left, she went back home, and he let her go.”

“Where’d she go?” asked one of the married men.

“Home,” she answers.

“The Lower East Side,” adds Wagner.

“Home,” she repeats. “But then she’s moving. This is it. She’s moving back to California.”

“Oh god,” moans Wagner, and I can’t tell if it’s the crowd, or the booze, or the thought of Los Angeles.

“Wagner! You’ve got to call her!”

The crowd of men agrees, sipping their beers and nodding enthusiastically.

“You’ve got to call her or else.”

“Or else what?” asks Wagner.

“Or else she’s gone. She’s practically gone already. This is it!”

The men offer suggestions, like witty text messages and come hither smiley face emoticons that would convince her via SMS to felate him. Wagner just fingers his cellphone, passing it from hand to hand, staring at himself in the mirror.

“You’re going to wait too long and that’s going to be it.”

“And then what?” asks a married man.

“And then your pussy has left New York.” She excuses herself to use the bathroom. The men slink away, back to their beers and conversations and boring, married lives.

Wagner looks at me in the mirror. I take his phone and text her for him. And then I go back to my whiskey, neat.

For so long I didn’t understand what “dating” really was. Probably because I haven’t been single since the 10th grade, but I am now learning what the majority of people learned in college… dating is rad.

I always thought of myself as a relationship girl, until recently. A few good breaks on your heart and you see that being by yourself isn’t really that bad.. in fact quite the opposite. But what about all those carnal desires??

HELLO BLACKBERRY BBM. Here is a general rule of thumb, dont call a booty call… text.. calling can sometimes give off the wrong message, like you care more than you do. Not to be a cold hearted bitch I just mean to save the energy of having “the talk”. Another rule…. when you enter into a booty call relationship make sure it is clear on both accounts that, this is all it is and will be, because it is very difficult to transition out of that role.

I am not advocating having multiple partners, even one booty call can do the trick, and safe sex is THE ONLY SEX in this situation.  But hey, you get yours and they get theres.  Drop the dignity at the door, just dont forget to pick it up on the way out.

I knew I wouldn’t do the right thing if I saw him.

Forgive me, if you read this – I’m ridiculously inebreatied right now.  I dont even know how to spell inebreated – that’s how much I’ve had to drink.  (note: I decided during proofreading this to leave that in there, because it’s funny as hell… lmao @ inebreatied)

This shit is ridiculous.  I went to the bar and unbeknownst to me – how do you spell unbeknownst?  I mean, you would think it sounds like it looks – or it looks like it sounds – one or the other… but anyway – unbeknownst to me, he was at the bar tonight – drinking beer and talking loud – which is what I like when i drink…

Anyway, he was drinking beer and talking loud and when I came in, he said “hey baby girl” and that’s all it was to it.  When I left I text’d him and said “You should come over” and he text’d me back and said “you think so?”  to which I replied (of course)  “Yes you should.  You know you want to anyway and I want to you to.”

not 15 seconds later, seriously, he knocked on my door.  He was on his way over anyway, even though I didn’t know it.

He walked in when I opened the door and he immediately took his clothes off -I’ll proofread this before it’s published just because – and stuck his tongue in my mouth.  He told me he’d wanted to fuck me all week – that he’d been thinking about me all week.

Which, of course, made me feel good – because I’d been thirsty for him all week.  i wanted him to want me – and to find out he did…

This is what thirst is all about.  If you’re not my friend – the one I told about this, then you should know – this is what thirst is all about… my panties immediately fell off because this dude said he wanted me… nothing more.  no commitment, no awesome relationship in the works, just because he said he wanted me.

I immediately took my clothes off and started gagging on it.  Yeah we watched porn and we had sex, but I honestly think – believe – that a guy will want me the harder I gag on it, so I gag on it.  Not with every guy, but with some.  We did use a condom – well, three condoms – this time, and I am okay with that, but there’s so much more to tell…

I promise, tomorrow night when I’m sober and tired, I’ll blog what all happened and what we talked about, and I’ll proofread this blog to make sure it’s readable before I let it go out… just in case some random person has stumbled across this blog.

oh fuck it.  really.  fuck it.

I didn’t do the right thing. That’s what this is about.  I knew I would fuck him if  I saw him, but I didn’t know I would see him.  I didn’t even call him.

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

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Next Up:  S.10~What’s Going On?

Easy on the soda water, homegirl.

A couple of days ago three bars at Penn State were fined for “lack of alcohol training.”

What?!

What exactly were those bartenders doing wrong to piss off the authorities? How hard is it to open a bottle of Bud Light or mix vodka and tonic together? It’s not like us college kids are ordering difficult drinks like mudslides and daiquiris at the bar. I think I speak for all of us when I say the only qualities I’m looking for in a bartender are speed and a heavy hand (well, the hand that’s holding the booze). And if they’re a bit slow at math and can’t add my tab correctly, that’s OK too.

The thing is, bartender experience is the least important offense when it comes to college bars. There are far more pressing and disturbing issues that should be addressed. And fined. And fixed!

The Line
I don’t mind waiting in line if the bar is hopping – I’ll just sip my 40 while I wait – but making people stand in line when the bar is empty only to make it look cooler? That should be illegal.

Watered Down Drinks
I did not pay $7 for soda on ice; if I wanted that I would go to the McDonalds down the street and get unlimited refills for a dollar. If I order a Cran-Vodka, I want it to sting as it goes down, not taste like I could put in my 3 year old cousin’s sippy-cup. So stop filling my mini-cup with ice to make me think I’m getting more booze and tip that bottle in there. I’m paying you more for this one drink than a full bottle at the liquor store so stop being so damn stingy.

Bathroom Mayhem
How can the girl’s bathroom look like a hurricane went through it an hour after the bar opens? There are paper towels everywhere, toilets are clogged and overflowing (with god knows what) and there is some unidentifiable sticky substance covering the floor. Can we maybe run a mop through this sucker? A vomit covered bathroom at 4 am? Understandable. Being in this state at 9:30 when we’ve only had time to down three watered-down drinks and are coherent enough to gag at the stench? Not cool.

Show Tunes
There is a certain time when playing “You’re The One That I Want” and “Dancing Queen” becomes acceptable. By 1 am we have had enough to drink that we will dance to absolutely anything, hugging our friends and singing at the top of our lungs. This, however, is not the case at 10 pm. At this time playing show tunes takes us back to those awkward Sweet 16’s where everyone stood in clumps, swaying on the dance floor, not wanting to look stupid in front of the gorgeous guy from class. Help us out a little and play some hip-hop, would ya? We might actually have a chance of looking sexy and luring in a hookup if we have a beat to shake our ass to.

Last Call
If the bar is closing at 2, then a 1:30 last call is acceptable. What is not acceptable is turning on the lights at 1:40 when there is clearly twenty more minutes for me to hunt down my evening prey. How am I supposed to rope in a boy when he can see the makeup melting off my face and my hair plastered to my forehead? Be a dear and leave the lights off, please. I just dropped $30 on soda water with a splash of vodka, so it’s really the least you can do.

What else do bars do that have you guys wishing you could call the authorities?

So I’m doing this and scheduling it for later… I’ve gotten ahead of myself with daily sessions so by the time I reread this, I’ll know what I did, but I hope I’ll do the right thing.

He called me.

Twice.

In a 3 hour span.

And I called him back.

By him I mean the guy who choked me the other night… the guy who bruised my throat and my chest… the guy I threw up on.

Having him call me back sent me into a sort of tailspin… no one’s ever called me the next day.  No one I’ve ever thrown up on has called me back.  Granted, I’ve never thrown up on anyone but to have to even say that out loud is just insane.  I… threw up on someone… during oral.

I tried to do the right thing about it – he’d put his number in my phone with a picture of his cock  (whispers: yeah… because that’s hot).  I deleted it – the picture too!  It was a pretty picture though.  *thinks*

But when I picked up the phone and said “who is this” – because no one calls me who is not saved into my phone – and he said “It’s me baby girl,”  things turned upside down.  That sexy voice and the memories I choose to remember (read: not the vomit) started me on that thirsty journey again.  He asked me to go drink with him tonight (read: get me liquored up and fuck) and I said a very noncommittal “I’m not sure what I’m doing later but I’ll txt you.”  He called me two hours later and asked if I was off work – which I was but I didn’t tell him that.

40 minutes later I was at the bar and I called him.  Turned out he thought I wasn’t coming and went home (saved by the lie) but asked me if we could “get together” tomorrow night.  I’ll admit, I said yes… immediately.

Some part of me wants to see him.  He’s beautiful looking and wants me.  That’s really all I need.  Who cares if he’s got a pregnant girlfriend across town?  I should.  Who cares if he stays the night there 6 out of 7 days?  I should.  Who cares if he’s been in prison before for a violent crime?  I should.

Do I care?  I should.  I don’t.

I’m thirsty.

The party was awesome !

Thanks to all and big love to the Forma.T team

Pics by Ro :

Special visit : Mister Laidback Luke

Mike ///

She sends a short text “Let me in”. I rush around trying to make sure nothing weird is visible in the apartment (like used condoms, or those fishnets this girl left by my dining room table the other night). All clear so I open the door and she’s standing there in black heels, black stockings and a 3/4 length leopard print coat. I feel underdressed in my bathrobe but who gives a fuck , she’s here to suck (and fuck ).

“You want a drink?” I ask and she’s quick to say no, but then asks for water. I go to the kitchen, fill her glass of water, pour myself a shot of Johnny Black and quickly down it. She’s still standing where I left her in the living room, her coat and heels on. I give her the water and she take a sip then says she’s done. I put the glass on the coffee table and lounge out on the sofa.
“I think we should skip the small talk this time” she tells me, undoing her coat. All she’s wearing is a black bra and panties, the garter and stockings. Niiiiiiiiice.
“Good idea” I say and open up the bathrobe. She gets straight to work, her hands are still cold from outside but her mouth is warm. What a nice contrast, I think. I tilt my head back enjoying the moment…it was a long day and the loungy house music wafting from the bedroom, comfortable sofa and blowjob are a such a swell combination…..

Then YouTube cockblocks me. The playlist I had on stops and now I snap back to reality, still nice, but the music was such a great touch. “let’s change venue” I tell her and I carry her to the bedroom where I toss her on the bed. The song that was supposed to be playing had been removed due to violation of terms. I put on another song and go lie on the bed where she’s waiting to carry on with her duties – she does superbly but two songs later youtube fucks me again. I ignore it for a bit, then grab a dome from my bedside drawer and put it on while I go to change songs again.

With the getup she has on, doggystyle is the way to go and I move her panties off to one side before doing a move I like to call “The Penetrator”. She gives one loud moan and we settle into a good rhythm. Everything is good, even the music, I’m breathing hard and I see a rivulet of sweat making its way down my arm. I just took a shower so I’m not worried about smelling, but I see the AXE spray on the dresser next to me and give myself a good dose across my chest. She laughs and continues moaning, I’m feeling cooled down and enjoying the song that’s playing and almost Laugh Out Loud at the irony of it all (if you’ve ever watched Keys to the VIP, you’ll get it). Instead I just keep on pumping to the beat and give her a couple of smacks on the ass, she’s lovin it and gets into it with me, I feel like I’m in really in the VIP and give myself a mental high five.

A couple of songs later I feel like it’s all gone on long enough so I ask her if she wants desert. She finishes me off in fine style somewhere in between a jerk and a suck and is classy enough to make sure it doesn’t get all over my bedsheets.

Then we do a bit of small talk and 5 minutes after she’s on her way.

Dear Dude,

So I met this guy. We hung out for about a week before he kissed me. It escalated from there and I ended up spending the night at his house. I didn’t sleep with him, but I did mess around with him. He was really sweet and in the morning he asked me what I thought we were and where I wanted this to go. I shrugged and asked him what he wanted. He said ” I don’t want to put a title on things yet. I’m going to see hot girls, and you’re going to see hot guys.” I told him that we could just let things figure themselves out.

The thing is, I’ve been the ‘booty call girl’ before and I always seem to get hurt. I don’t want to scare him off because I don’t want to rope him into a relationship at the moment, I just want to know that there is a chance it could turn to something more serious. Am I wasting my time on this, or should I let things play out?

Your advice is greatly appreciated!
–Confused Collegiate

Dear Confused Collegiate,

You are wasting your time. If he wanted you, it wouldn’t matter if there were other hot girls. Hell, it wouldn’t matter if Heidi Klum walked by.

But I think deep down you know this.
You can and will find someone better.

– Dude

[Got a question for El Dude? Ask it: askthedude@collegecandy.com. He won't sugarcoat it, beat around the bush, or any other weird cliche that means lie to you. He'll be 100% real dude, 100% of the time. So bring it on, ladies.]

Before I had written my last post, I was secure in all of my actions. At the end of my last post, I was questioning and now as I’m writing this one, I am realizing. Realizing that I am completely not ok with the things that I’ve been doing for the past couple of weeks. I’ve been getting encouragement about how to live the single life and how “wife up” girls want to live vicariously through me, but I’m realizing how uncomfortable it is, how much anxiety can come with the position. Maybe its due to my primary anxiety issues, but maybe its because I can’t play the boy. I have to play the girl.

If any of you are reading this, you might be wondering “how did this all come to happen/why was this so sudden?” Well, yes the primary doubts are from actually thinking about my actions, but these newer ones are from this evening. The “straight up i-have-a-small-break-wana-come-over-i-don’t-really-know-you kind of booty call” was at the grocery store. Let’s call him GT. I have no expectations of him, but there’s still some kind of feeling present. I absolutely detest his personality and know that I am only using him for sex, but its not only that that’s getting to me. When I saw him at the grocery store, he was with another girl. I’m pretty sure it’s not just any other girl. It doesn’t really bother me that he’s seeing other people or whatever, but what bothers me is several things: 1) This other girl is his on/off girlfriend. What am I doing to her?; 2) How could I have used him? That’s just not me; 3) How could he have used me? I usually have so much more respect for myself, my body and my emotions. I mean, it’s what I was going for at the time. I wanted to use him. I just wanted sex, but ML, a pretty good platonic guy friend, told me I can never really have just sex, especially if I see him and talk to him. He’s right. I could have just sex with him, but only if I knew nothing about the rest of his life. It makes me feel dirty to know about who else he’s sleeping with and how it was not just me using him, but it was him using me. Why should I be bothered if we are both doing the exact same thing? It’s because I’m first of all not comfortable with myself doing it.

This is where I relate back to the last post– Bradshaw v. Hamilton. It’s the Bradshaw in me that wants to continue to indulge my desires, but the Hamilton that wants me to take the Kelly Clarkson view of things: “Oh, no.  I do not hook up, up/I go slow./So if you want me, I don’t come cheap./Keep your head on my hand and your heart on your sleeve.” I need to learn to stop selling myself short, making myself cheap. It may be all good and fun now, but my actions now have consequences later. I just am kind of sick of selling myself short. I deserve to have fun, but not let myself get sucked into that world in which I let whoever have my body whenever. I thought that because I had called GT and that I could continue to call him in the future that it was I who was in control because I could indulge my desires whenever I wanted; however, I just don’t know anymore. I’ve come to doubt that.

What I realize is that I cannot back myself into a corner and comprise my ideals like I have been. I’ve reverted back to the party girl skank that I grew to hate and that got me into bad situations back in high school. I thought that that’s what having fun is all about, releasing all inhibitions. What I really need to learn is patience and will power because it will pay off with true happiness in the end, not this empty, shallow lust. I’m realizing I can never play the boy. It’s me who get’s played no matter what my intentions are. I just have to continue playing the girl and guarding my emotions and my actions. 3 boys in the span of 1 week is just way too much for me to handle– JB, GT, and BL– and those are just the guys I have connected with physically. Oy. At least I got all of that out and into words, so now I’m less freaking out and more understanding.

We’ll see if I can take my own advice and restrain a little. I need to be treated with respect and courted. (Old fashion and lame I know…) But yeah, I just want respect. I should have known that from the start.

I take the title of this article in two ways at this juncture in my life. I, in more than one instance, have taken on the role of the societal male in the dating realm . I made a booty call last week, a straight up i-have-a-small-break-wana-come-over-i-don’t-really-know-you kind of booty call. That isn’t me at all, but it made me feel powerful, feel in control, feel independent. I played the part of the boy, but I also was a player and played the boy. I acted the same way as he does, the same way most ass-hole men in those movies act.

Ever since I’ve become single, it’s like I’ve tried to explore all the options. I’ve tried to become what I’m not. I’ve tried to be the boy. At times, it feels amazing, liberating. At others, I don’t feel myself. I want to indulge my every desire. I like sex, but I know there are more consequences being a woman. I’m wrestling with my inner Carrie Bradshaw and my inner Allie Hamilton , the want to be both a bad girl and a romantic at the same time.

It’s not like I could stop this alter-ego that has appeared. Again on Halloween she came out, luring in a helpless bystander, or someone who this alter thought was helpless. I put myself in the awful, dangerous situation with a guy I didn’t know. It turned out alright, but only because I still had some common sense left after the alcohol had washed away most of it. I stood up for myself and my dignity by refusing to sleep with a guy I had just met, but it was still a small wake up to the direction in which it could have gone and in which I was probably going, the direction of the girl my mother had warned me against. She’s been described as a lush, as one who gives out the “milk for free.”

I used to think, so what if I give out the milk for free right now– I don’t want anyone to buy the cow yet. But it’s really the perception about what kind of cow I’m becoming and how it could impact me later in life. There’s good advice in what your mother has told you, but I overlooked it because I’m in college trying to “find myself.” I wanted to reduce my lack of boredom and embrace my newfound sexuality.

If there was only a way in which I could be both Bradshaw and Hamilton. …More emotional wrestling. I have yet to find out how to confront this new issue, this issue of denying my desires, but still being alright with either decision I make. It’s almost like I’m unsatisfied with the route that I took. The grass always seems to be greener on the other side.

The reason I was so drawn to being “wifed up,” as referred to in my last post, was that I was able to make decisions that I was comfortable with– embracing my newfound raw sexuality with trust. I trusted both myself and AK, well, for a little bit at least. I felt safe. It’s this new found insecurity, this unsafeness, that has led me to try to hold myself up with independence, but also be scared of it at the same time.

It’s difficult playing the boy, in both senses of the word, but it’s hard to stop. We’ll see how I continue to work it all out, being pulled both ways by my sexuality and romanticism.

It’s been a long night. The only thing on your mind is throwing the 12 decorative pillows (that your mom insisted you buy) off your big comfy bed and burying yourself under that warm, fluffy blanket.

You fight to keep your eyes open as you take the elevator up to your room. As you round the corner and get closer to your room you grow more excited to kick off your shoes, peel those skinny jeans off your legs (you swear they weren’t this tight when you bought them…) and take a one way ticket to Snoozetown.

And then you see it. Scribbled on the dry erase board tacked to your door: come back later.

The writing is messy, but the message is loud and clear. Your roommate’s got a boy in there and you are not welcome.

Angry, you stand there for a few moments taking it all in. It’s late on a weeknight. Everyone else is already asleep. And how long have they been in there?  Where the hell are you supposed to go? When can you come back?

You scan the hallway. Yup, everyone’s doors are closed and the hall is quiet. You are going to have to find somewhere else to pass the time. You take the elevator back down to the study room on your dorm’s main floor. You’re exhausted, but you decide you’ll do a bit more reading and try the room again in a half hour.

When you walk in you find another student in there reading on a couch.

“You too?” You ask. She nods.

You head towards one of the over-stuffed chairs but reconsider and move towards a table. The last thing you want is to get too comfortable and fall asleep down here. You unpack your textbook, grab a highlighter and start reading. But after getting through 3 pages and realizing you have no idea what you just read, you close the book and start chatting it up with your fellow Sexilee. You vent, you complain, you commiserate. Then you see a boy walk past in the hallway and, thinking that must be the man of the evening, take that as your cue to head back upstairs.

When you approach the door you notice the note is still on the dry erase board but you reason that your roommate must have forgotten to wipe it off. To be safe, you knock. You hear some giggling.

“Come back in five minutes!” Your roommate calls from inside.

“Come on! It’s late!” You call. You know you sound ridiculous, but you just want to go to sleep, damnit.

“Five minutes!” You’re tempted to throw open the door and break up the little party, but the fear of seeing some guy’s bare butt stops you. So you put your bag on the floor, pop a squat and wait it out.

Not five, but fifteen minutes later, the music stops and the door opens. Startled (it seems you have dozed off) you jump up. Your roommate laughs and shoos her boy towards the elevator. You gather your things and drag yourself towards your bed. Finally, you can get some sleep.

Well, after your roommate gives you the 20 minute rundown of her evening romp, that is.

Yeah, we’ve all been there.
It’s annoying, it’s infuriating…and it feels good when you can get sweet Sexile revenge.

We waren nooit echt close,het was me toen nog niet duidelijk omdat ik te kampen had met alle onzekerheden waar ik als twintigjarige mee geconfronteerd werd.Maar nu stonden we voor elkaar,een ruim decennium later.We herkenden elkaar meteen al aan de ingang van de winkel,hij lachte en stapte mijn richting uit,we kusten elkaar beleefd op de wang en vroegen naar elkaars doen dezer tijd.Het laten lieten we voor het was,we constateerden dat er moest bij gepraat worden en we wisselden gsmnummers uit en vervolgden elk onze weg.
Niet heel verrassend kwam zijn berichtje later die avond al binnen met de melding dat het voor hem een aangename verrassing was en de vraag of ik zin had binnenkort eens iets te gaan drinken.Het kan dan wel zelfingenomen klinken maar het is nooit een uitdaging geweest hem in bed te krijgen,veel meer dan wat toegeeflijk geplaag kostte het me niet.In de tijd dat hij frequent langskwam,was ik wanhopig op zoek naar die relatie die me de bevestiging gaf dat ik niet gedoemd was alleen te blijven.Het feit dat hij gedurende een paar maanden regelmatig met mij mee naar huis ging,liet me geloven dat hij het misschien wel zou zijn.After all,hij was aangenaam gezelschap,populair in de pub waar ik toen mijn avonden sleet en een attente minnaar.Dat er niet gepraat werd over plannen samen,was toen voor mij iets waar hij misschien nog niet klaar voor was.Verliefd waren we geen van beide en we werden niet als koppel vernoemd.Na een paar maanden vond hij dan wel een vriendin en kwam hij minder langs tot op een moment helemaal niet meer.Ik vond het vooral jammer voor mezelf en voelde me gebruikt,maar ik kon hem wel begrijpen.Zijn vriendin was uiteraard veel slanker dan ik en ze leek altijd wel de juiste outfit aan te hebben,in vergelijking met mijn immer mislukkende pogingen om zo modieus mogelijk door het leven te gaan,ze was hartelijk naar iedereen en ze wist precies altijd wat gezegd.In mijn ogen was ze een soort godin aan wie ik nederig mijn prins afstond.Ik kon geen deuken in mijn eigenwaarde krijgen aangezien die toen nog onbestaand was.Maar na een paar maanden had de godin een andere god tegen het lijf gelopen.
Hij vroeg me op een avond iets zoals waarom ik de laatste tijd zo afstandelijk was,ik bevroor en zocht naar een antwoord.Hij antwoordde in mijn plaats dat ik gekwetst was.Ik keek hem halfdronken aan,zei hem dat hij eigenlijk wel de nagel op de kop geslagen had en dronk mijn drankje leeg en wou weg,wellicht naar het toilet,die details herinner ik me niet meer.Hij werd kwaad en zei iets over niks beloofd te hebben.Ik moet iets geantwoord hebben,we hebben nog buiten in de regen gestaan en we waren beiden nog meer dronken van de frisse buitenlucht.Uiteindelijk zijn we in zijn appartement beland,waar ons drinkgelag wellicht doorgegaan is.Van de rest van de gebeurtenissen kan ik me weinig herinneren buiten dat hij ’s morgens koffie gemaakt had en gevraagd had of ik zin had in ontbijt,de vrijpartij op het terras (die heug ik me nog aangezien dat de eerste keer was dat ik iets deed op een plaats waar ik gezien en bekeken kon worden),ik herinner me zijn complimenten op mijn billen en borsten (vooral aangezien hij het in de winkel niet naliet die twee zo discreet mogelijk te checken,wat ik uiteraard wél opgemerkt heb).Niettemin was het duidelijk dat er geen relatie in zat maar wel fijne sex.Iets daarop zijn we contact verloren.
Ik antwoordde hem dat ik het wel zou zien zitten iets te gaan drinken.Hij stelde die avond voor,ik antwoordde dat ik bij een vriendin was.Toen ik die avond online ging,stond hij afwezig.Ik sprak hem niet aan en zette me te pokeren.Na een half uurtje pokeren en palaveren met wie die nacht online was,reageerde hij.We praatten over slapeloosheid,over de gebeurtenissen van de afgelopen jaren,we haalden herinneringen op,hij zei me dat ik veranderd was.Het gesprek werd frivoler en toen hij las hoe ik tegenwoordig over sex dacht,stelde hij prompt voor een fles bubbels te komen delen.Ik lachte bij mezelf en gaf hem mijn adres.
Toen hij hier aan kwam,werd de fles snel ontkurkt,de rondleiding verliep loodrecht naar de slaapkamer,iets later werd de fles bubbels door mij ingeruild voor water.De katten vonden mijn krullende tenen interessant tot ze iets interessanter gevonden hadden.Het liet me allemaal onverschillig,ik genoot van zijn rustige aanpak,hij nam zijn tijd,ik vond het verhelderend.P was heftig en veeleisend,hij was rustig en attent.Ik genoot van de ervaring die de jaren ons beide rijker heeft gemaakt en viel vergenoegd in slaap.
De volgende ochtend word ik wakker met een volle blaas maar nog slaperig.Hij ligt nog wat te soezen,maar ik ruik dat hij de weg naar de badkamer al gevonden had en zich opgefrist heeft.Hij had goed geslapen maar wou niet vertrekken voor ik wakker was,ik krabbel recht en ga naar beneden gehoor geven aan mijn volle blaas.Ik maak een kop koffie voor hem erbij en neem een korte douche.Wanneer ik uit de douche kom,zit hij aan tafel in T-shirt en boxer met de katten te spelen.Hij feliciteert me met mijn goed geheugen en zegt dat de koffie precies was zoals hij hem graag drinkt.Ik lach en zet een tweede kop voor allebei.Hij kijkt me aan met zijn lichtblauwe ogen tussen zijn immer net te lange zwarte haren wanneer ik weer ga zitten.Ik neem een sigaret en kan niet anders dan de welkome beweging tussen zijn buikje en de tafel te bemerken.Zijn ogen zitten vastgekluisterd aan de mijne wanneer ik mijn sigaret laat voor wat ze is en dat hand voor betere doeleinden aanwend…

Jag tror att det finns precis lika många sexuella relationsmönster som det finns sexuellt aktiva och med anledning av forskning som jag hittade vill jag ta upp ”booty call” som relationsform, eller kanske snarare mötesform. Booty callet innebär att man genom en telefonkontakt eller ett meddelande bestämmer ett sexuellt möte. I mina kretsar sker detta oftast runt tre på natten och booty callet är ett säkert kort, någon som man är säker på att man kommer att få sex med. Det finns dock andra djupare fördelar med ett booty call. Relationen med personen är ofta en vänskapsrelation och det är klart uttalat vad det innebär att ses. Det ligger inte några dolda förväntningar bakom samtalet utan båda parter är medvetna om att det är en strategi för att få sex.

I artikeln ”The ”Booty Call”: A Compromise Between Men’s and Women’s Ideal Mating Strategies” av Peter K Jonason, Norman P. Li och Margaret J. Cason fokuseras mycket på de genusskillnader som finns mellan män och kvinnors inställning till Booty Call. Man menar att booty callet är en kompromiss som relationsform, mellan kvinnans behov av stabila kärleksfyllda relationer och mannens önskan om sex. Personligen tror jag att denna skillnad kan förklaras lika mycket med att kvinnor lärs in i en sammankoppling mellan romantik och sex, eftersom det förväntas av oss att vi ska älska den vi knullar så försöker vi ofta se romantiska känslor i relationer som inte alls innehåller det.

Orsakerna att tacka ja och nej till ett booty call är exempelvis

Anledningar till att acceptera ett booty call: fysisk attraktion, bra timing samt att man var vänner

Anledningar till att refusera ett booty call: att personen hade en relation, inte var intresserad av sex samt att man var upptagen med något annat

Här är ett skämtsamt kontrakt med booty call-regler, kanske inte helt taget ur luften, många av dessa regler är etablerade men outtalade vid booty calls

Så vad kan ett booty call fylla för funktion i våra liv? Jag ser positivt en sexuell relation som inte innebär något arbete eller tid utanför den sexuella kontakten, kanske vill man inte alltid skaffa hus och vovve bara för att få knulla. Har man inte tid för några mer romantiskt engagerade sexuella relationer eftersom man har ett tidskrävande jobb kan booty callet fylla en viktig funktion. Skulle man då kunna se prostitution som en form av booty call? Den relationen är ofta strikt avgränsad till en sexuell aktivitet, skillnaden är dock att någon betalar för den samvaron. Vad gör den ekonomiska aspekten för skillnad i förhållandet?

Jag ser också booty call som positivt i motverkande syfte gällande könssjukdomar, lite som att ha en partner och avgränsa sina sexuella kontakter till denne fast utan det känslomässiga engagemanget. Det kan givetvis även fungera på motsatt sätt också, att man gör en bedömning om personen som ren (någon som inte har könssjukdomar) medan denne har ett flertal oskyddade sexuella kontakter och blir på så sätt smittad.

Är ett one-night-stand finare eller fulare än ett booty call? One night standet innehåller ibland en möjlighet till att utvecklas till något mer medan booty callet är vad det är. En relationsform för sex. När man förr angränsade sex som en aktivitet avsedd för äktenskapet gifte man sig kanske ofta tidigt för att få tillgång till sex. Då skulle äktenskapet mellan dem kunna ses som en booty call-relationsform.

Värt att notera är att vi finner sätt att använda modern teknologi för att utveckla våra relationsformer, booty call via msn eller webcam någon?

The H1N1 virus flu shot came out this week. The news has been buzzing about nothing but flu vaccines for days. Blah blah. I have been putting off getting mine, although my boss almost requires that I get one so that he doesn’t die of any little bug that I bring into the office.

I don’t remember ever getting a flu shot. And then I started thinking about the last time I even got the flu.

Hmmm, there was that time when I was nine and got sick during the American Girl Fashion Show. I projectile vomited three bowls of my mom’s homemade chicken noodle soup…”Mom, I think I feel si–barrrffffff”…all over her hallway oriental rug.

Then there was the time when I was 21 and studying in France. I’m not sure if it was exactly the flu, but it was definitely the only time when I went to the hospital and left sicker than when I arrived.

When I was in Paris, I was sex-starved. Like, really bad. I needed some ass.

I had found a hot French guy at a bar one night and we exchanged numbers. He called me the following day to set up a date. Thank God.

Well, it wasn’t a date so much as it was a Sex Appointment.

Oh sure, he bought me a fruit tart and a coffee, andwalked around and I spoke in broken French. But I’m sure he was eager to  make out with me just so he could shut me up. He promptly took me to his brother’s apartment and took my clothes off.

But it was Springtime.

In the spring, I get these weird seasonal headaches. I end up eating too much, or taking a long nap, or generally forget that the Modern World has invented Motrin to cure my ailments. Basically I stop thinking clearly. Unfortunately, I was in the middle of a bad headache that day.

I wasn’t too much in the mood for sex.

“Non?” he asked.

“Non, j’ai mal a la tete.”

So we kept fooling around. I was also on my period — a fact that hardly deters me from getting down to business, but poses logistical problems when I need to take out my tampon and the bathroom is communal, down the hall, and I’m half-naked.

But I kind of wanted to do it.

But I needed to take out the tampon.

And I had a really bad headache.

And the bathroom is down the hall…

Oh fuck it, I’ll keep it in. “Prends le preservatif…” (Get a condom.)

Yeah — you heard that right — I had sex with a tampon in.

Why? Because I’m STUUUUUuuuuuUUUpid.

My sex friend didn’t seem to mind. We had about five minutes of sex. And when we were done, I got dressed and peace’d out.

But when I finally went to the bathroom, I discovered that my tampon string was gone. And I couldn’t feel my tampon. I tried in vain to feel for it, but my fingers only reach so far. I was squatting, bending, squirming, reaching and poking, but to no avail. The tampon had floated into the inner canal of my vagina.

You’d think I’d treat my vag with a little more respect. After all, I hope for it to be a birth canal one day. Is this how I take care of my body? By stuffing shit up there? If you think of all the things women stick up their vagina, it starts to get pretty disgusting:

Tampons, vaginal rings, cups, sponges, gels, penises, toys, douches, condoms, cucumbers, beer bottles…(come on, someone’s done it).

And then think about all the shoplifters and drug mules who use their vaginas as hiding places for their goods.

Humanity is going to evolve and women will soon have second vaginas that serve as handbags for their keys and gum.

Well, I started to freak out about the tampon. I was 21, living in a foreign country, and all of my friends were out of town for the weekend. I guess no one could help me shine a flashlight up my skirt.

So I traveled to the suburbs to go to the American Hospital in Paris. I spoke to a very nice French nurse and was able to explain my problem in English. “No problem,” she said. “Please wait in this room.” She left to get the doctor.

The doctor was an oversized American woman with a busy schedule and zero patience. “So you think you got a tampon stuck?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I’m sure it just fell out when you went to the bathroom and you didn’t notice.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it’s still up there. It’s been two days.”

“Well I’ve seen lots of these, and usually I can’t find the tampon because there isn’t one to be found. But we’ll look just in case. I’ll be right back.” She leaves.

Three minutes later, she comes back.

“Why aren’t you undressed?! Take your pants off!”

I realize that I am still very much in France. Of course there is no modesty. There are no puritanical robes or conservative little sheets of paper with which to cover yourself. How could I have forgotten?

I quickly strip down and spread eagle.

She puts on a glove and inserts two fingers. I clench up.

“RELAX!!!! I CAN’T GET MY FINGERS UP THERE IF YOU’RE TIGHT!”

Um, okay–yelling at me isn’t really going to make me relax when I have a sweaty fat woman trying to jam her fingers up my vag.

I take a deep breath.

After two very uncomfortable minutes, she declares that I don’t have a tampon in. “I feel nothing. I see nothing. I’ve tried the speculum, and there’s nothing up there. I’m going to try one more time…”

She reaches all the way up.

“Got it!”

Oh thank God. I told you I had one in, bitch.

“You have a second floor to your vagina. It’s like a second room, almost. Very weird.”

Now, I’ve been told that I have a tilted vagina, which does not bode well for future childbirth, but a second floor? “Hi, I’d like to ride the vagina elevator to the second floor, please.” I mean, is that even possible?

I threw my clothes on and ran out of the hospital. My insurance charged me $150 for the visit. By that night, I was in full-blown flu mode and barely left my dorm room for three days. I suppose this is what happens when you’re completely stupid and lack common sense.

I’m not going to get all Vagina Monologues on you and tell you to admire how beautiful you are as a woman, but Jesus–respect your vag. And enjoy your early years, because at some point all of us will have hairy roast beef flaps and we will need Super-Plus Absorbant tampons just so we don’t lose them up the Black Hole that became our vagina.

Long distance relationships suck. End of story. But what about semi-long distance relationships? You know, the guys who live all the way on the other side of campus. Sure, it may only be a mile but that’s like having hoes in different area codes when you’re in college. There are different restaurants over there, different bars; it’s a whole new world.

I recently ended things with a guy who lived across campus. The whole thing was just so hard. Everything was such a process and neither of us ever wanted to go back to the other’s place just knowing how freaking long that walk home would be (or how expensive the cab ride). I tried to make it work but our combined laziness made it impossible. So I shipped him off to his side of campus and decided to look closer to home for my newest conquest.

And I found one who lived just up the street. Score! My life was now complete, right? Well, sorta. Turns out, dating a guy close to home has its own set of problems. And by problems I mean I never know when he’s gonna pop up on my walk home. From the gym. When I’m a hot, sweaty mess.

I’m sorta stuck at the moment on what would make the best no-strings-attached situation, so I decided to make a list weighing out the benefits of dating a neighbor vs. doing the cross-campus booty commute. Let’s see what we’re dealing with:

Neighbor: Easy, breezy and less embarrassing Walk of Shame in the morning.
Commuter: The WOS is longer, but you take in some great scenery on the way. And who knows? You might be able to fit in a few errands on your way.

Neighbor: Convenience, duh. Getting together is totally simple and plans can be made on the fly. Like, at 3am when you’re chowing down on a $1 slice and the urge for some dessert overwhelms you.
Commuter: You’ve got your own space. You can do your thang and not worry that you’ll run into him at inopportune times: when you’re picking up tampons, when you’re picking up Immodium, or when you’re coming home from Spin class and your hair is sticking to your forehead.

Neighbor: It’s so easy to get together, he’d rarely say no.
Commuter: It’s such a hassle to get together that when you do, you know for sure it’s not just cuz he’s bored.

Neighbor: Cheaper. No cabs. No buses. No making up excuses to get over to his side of town.
Commuter: Did I mention the whole “not running into him” thing? Cuz that’s key. Especially after you embarrass yourself and never want to see him again. Ever.

Clearly, there is no winner in either situation. Especially me. Either I have to fork over my dignity for a long Walk of Shame or fork over my freedom for a short one.

Or just find someone across campus with a car.
That might be the best option yet.

The trouble with mobile/cell phone text messaging. We’ve all suffered from a bit of text stupidity (both sober text and drunk text) and the terrible thing is that unlike conversations where if we don’t remember it, it didn’t happen, text messages are stored, in English. Well, if your drunk a form of broken English anyway. The receiver can forward it back to you, save it for future reference, or shove it violently in your face (either one is not desirable).

Let’s look at the drunk variety because, frankly, they are more trouble. There many types of drunk messages and reasons for sending, but 95% of them (and no, that’s not an official statistic) fall into the following categories: 1) the booty call, 2) the “hey what you doing tonight” (technically it’s 1 in disguise), 3) the accidental send, and 4) the I’m drunk message, plain and simple. Shall we look at them in detail, yes we shall, and from the male perspective because I’m male and writing from a chicks point of view makes me sound gay (it’s all easily convertible to the female side though).

1) The Booty Call. You’re either the sender type, or the receiver type. If you’re receiving, it will illicit three simple responses: curiosity, anger/violence, or the sudden urge to hail the nearest taxi and rush to the sender. If you’re sending, you’ve got to make sure that it’s going to the right person; you don’t want to illicit the anger/violence response. You need to establish precedent, so that the message is well received and expected. You also have to be careful not to create a booty message history, where the one girl gets the same message every Friday and Saturday night at exactly 3am… Try to mix it up, you don’t want to look predictable! There are two other rules that are quite simple, if she says no or doesn’t respond, persistence in this instance doesn’t pay off… The other rule is personalise it, don’t send a hey all, it might seem like efficiency, but the personal touch is more effective.

2)  The ‘Hey What Are You Doing Tonight”. Ok, this might seem really subtle and tricky to you when you’re sending it smashed, but to the receiver, well, they see right through it. It’s the toe in water, the taste tester, the wine on the winery tour, it’s all about the response. If it’s positive, then you resort to number 1, and if it’s negative, well, you’re drunk you’ll probably resort back to 1 anyway. You may be asking, what if I am actually sending this out to find out what they are doing. Dude, it’s 3am, you’ve fallen off the podium, the hot girl behind the bar thinks you’re a douche… let’s be honest here. If you are sending this as a genuine question, well it’s probably going to your mates, or you’re sober, or you’re a virgin.

3) The Accidental Send. This text is the most dangerous, there is nothing worse in this world than rocking up to your Mother’s for dinner and she asks you why you wanted to know if she was alone last night… This also applies to other family members, employers, workmates, and your ex girlfriend (unless you know she’s single, if she is, that’s open game right there buddy yah huh). It’s easy to mistake Grandma for Gabrielle, not so easy to explain to Granny the meaning as she reads your message out loud on Christmas. Make sure before you send the message, you recheck, and then check again, who the message is sending to. Might be a good idea to come out of the toilet cubicle, or side alleyway, or off the floor and view your phone under an actual light to get a better look.

4) The I’m Drunk.  Last but not least, and one that doesn’t require much explaining. This is the greatest message when you’re smashed and you’re surrounded by a bunch of semi-sober tossers who wish to discuss the mechanics of biomedical engineering instead of downing that shot of tequila that they have been hugging for the last hour! You’re just required to send a message to anyone at random that you’re drunk. If they are drunk too, then you’ll get a response, and maybe a drinking partner (unless you wanted to know how to grow your own liver, that may come in handy you know…)

Obviously, this is done tongue in cheek, and doesn’t reflect past experience or anyone… seriously. Where is that damn legal clause…

Since some of you don’t read everything, the e-mail I sent to the dating expert is highly exaggerated to prove a point in this blog.  This experiment is like a social experiment.  Enjoy!

Recently I saw a woman on youtube under the username of Lovein30days that called herself a dating expert (Shay is her name).  She gave dating advice to young women that consisted of loving themselves and of not being played.  As I watched these youtube videos, I noticed that the topics she talked about (which all revolved around sex and dating) she seemed to be truthful about, but her tone seemed like she was either bashing the person she was giving advice to or she the topic urked her.  She has such topics as: “If He’s Not Feeling You, He’s Just Not Feeling You” ; “Cyber Booty Call”; “Friends With Benefits (Free Vagina)” just to name a few.  As I watched, I decided to take up an experiment that would see just how much of a dating expert she is, and if she can tell me something that I either didn’t already know or figure its ok to bash me. 

So: I decided to write about a situation I was in in the past, but twist it around so it wasn’t all true but she can have negative but truthful things to say about it.

http://www.youtube.com/inbox?folder=messages&action_message=1 

Now…in that e-mail there is several things wrong with that.  I told her the guy and I talked via aim and e-mail as well as facebook.  Many people do that, but I didn’t tell her how long we were dating for in the past, I started it off by telling her how long we were talking for now.  I’ll say now I never stated anything about a relationship, and I will explain why I bring this up later.  I mentioned bedroom buddies, but I didn’t mention feelings of attachement but I did ask her if I was played.  Something to think about, right? 

She responded: http://www.youtube.com/inbox?folder=messages&action_message=1 

She infact said that I was a victim of “A Lesson Learned.” She tells me that I was played and he did tell me everything he needed to get me over there.  But…I never said I wanted a relationship with him.    I just said he didn’t call me back.  Sometimes that can hint in me wanting something with someone, but in all honesty, some women just wonder why he didn’t call back for some more sex.  As funny as it sounds, its true.  She even went on to sy that I met him online when I infact told her he was a past love of mine.  She even went on to make a youtube vid of it. 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-54kKq2u9FA

Now, what she put in the e-mail he didn’t say in the vid.  She made it sound like I was completely obvlious to what I did (when in fact she didn’t know the e-mail was mostly a lie).  She even put on her page about the nameless DIVA (what she calls her suscribers and writers) who hooked up with an old flame through cyber space upon the first face to face meeting.  Now, it wasn’t a first meeting if I knew him in the past and I went out on dates with him before going over to his house.  There is where I can say she’s not what she is cracked up to be.  Not only that, she even said that there is no means of a relationship and I was lonely.  It was as if she was bashing this DIVA but in all reality this DIVA used her as a social experiment to show not everyone is willing to give you good relationship or friendly advice.  Some of this isn’t to take seriously, but I don’t think a dating expert should bash a woman like that and put in what they think. 

What if I got caught up or listened to my friends? She didn’t know that.  Although she was going by the e-mail she made a personal opinion on someone and then got some facts wrong like “first meeting with an old flame” and “being lonely” to name a few.  I’m glad she made this social experiement, now people can see that fame for some is at great costs.  She spoke on what she wanted to speak on in the video and made sure she put in so much of her two sense that she literally was bashing.  If you give advice, make sure you don’t put a person down, just let them know what hey did wrong and give them some ways on not doing it again or ways of them helping themselves.   

I’ll be sure to show you some love,

~Analytical Williams

P.S: The e-mail I wrote to the expert isn’t real.  I overexaggerated in the e-mail alot, from going to a concert with the guy to having a casual fling with him.  I just wanted to know what the expert would say.  Sorry, had to say it again.  Not everyone is fit to give advice.

Vandaag liep ik een oude bekende tegen het lijf,het was jaren geleden dat we elkaar nog gezien of gesproken hadden dus zaten we snel genoeg bij te praten en na de laatste updates uit elkaars leven,gingen we over op de serieuzere onderwerpen zoals relatie,huwelijk,sex,eerlijkheid,trouw en geroddel over de wederzijdse kennissen,uiteraard
Hij had de nood zich enorm persoonlijk uit te drukken,zijn frustraties en twijfels die hij gevoeld en ervaren had te delen met mij,de volslagen oude onbekende die zich nog steeds aan het afvragen was of hij vroeger ook zo een veel te open boek was.Binnen het half uur dat ik met hem aan het praten was,wist ik hoe het er aan toe ging in zijn huwelijk en zo goed als zijn bankrekeningsaldo.Ik vond het een regelrechte etter,echt!Niks interessants aan,hoogstens nog steeds ietwat in het bezit van dezelfde looks die mij er jaren geleden toe bewogen hebben naar hem te luisteren.
Algauw vroeg hij of we eens iets kleins zouden kunnen gaan eten één dezer,kwestie van eens goed bij te praten…op zijn kosten,uiteraard en op een middag.Ik besloot dat het makkelijker was om toe te zeggen en dan achteraf de meest lullige excuses te geven om niet te komen opdagen tot hij het beu zal worden om af te spreken.Hij zei dat ik geen haar veranderd was,buiten die neuspiercing die er uit was en mijn haar dat korter leek.Ik kon niets beter verzinnen dan de opmerking dat ik mijn wilde haren aan het kwijtraken was en keek verontschuldigend naar zijn kalend hoofd.Hij grijnsde,ik begon me ergens wel iets te herinneren van wat ik weer bij hem te zoeken had.Die gast heeft nog steeds hetzelfde gave gebit,dacht ik bij mezelf…en die grijns.Voor ik het wist,waren we nummers aan het uitwisselen.Net voor hij terug in zijn auto stapte,gaf hij me een kus op mijn mond terwijl zijn ene hand vluchtig over mijn kont passeerde,als wou hij taxeren welk vlees hij in de kuip had.Ik wou eigenlijk wel verontwaardigd reageren maar mijn lichaam reageerde begerig naar meer…de hele weg naar huis fietste ik in strijd met mezelf.Mijn lichaam leek in lichterlaaie te staan waardoor de rit naar huis snel verliep maar in gedachten was ik hem aan het vervloeken,hoe durfde hij me zo schaamteloos aan te raken en me voor zo gemakkelijk te nemen?Ik had hem toch geen enkel signaal gestuurd,of toch wel?Eenmaal thuis maande ik mijn lichaam aan tot kalmte en mijn geest werd ook tot de orde geroepen,dit kon niet meer zijn en dat allemaal op een week tijd!
Er zijn zo van die dingen die we niet meer doen,maande ik beiden aan,terwijl ze me beiden vanuit de spiegel stonden aan te staren.Deze week zijn we met 2 fouten uit ons verleden geconfronteerd.Lichaam:jij krijgt wat je wil (one of these days)en geest:jij krijgt je gemoedsrust,hoewel ik je de hele week minder aangenaam vind.Sinds wanneer zijn we begonnen te leren uit onze fouten?Waar komt dat ineens vandaan?
Net toen ik begon te besluiten dat ik volledig gek aan het worden was,ging de telefoon,het was geen verrassing zijn stem te horen.Of ik hem een leeg bericht zou willen sturen,vooraleer ik hem contacteerde.Ik moest begrijpen dat het gevoelig lag met zijn vrouw en zijn gezin en of ik het erg zou vinden discreet te blijven over onze ontmoetingen en gesprekken.Ik antwoordde hem dat ik dat absoluut niet erg zou vinden,dat ik het enkel aan het schrijven was op mijn blog,heel discreet en openhartig.Hij lachte en bedankte me,ik vertelde hem dat hij beter de vlam met zijn eigen vrouw aanwakkerde dan te rommelen met een andere vrouw.Hij zuchtte en zei dat hij dat wist maar dat het sinds de geboorte van zijn tweede zoontje totaal niks meer voorstelde in de slaapkamer.Ik stelde voor om eventueel in therapie te gaan,hij stelde voor het gesprek voort te zetten bij een etentje.Ik antwoordde dat ik na de bypass niet graag meer ging eten,hij stelde koffie voor.Ik uitte mijn bedenkingen daarover,hij sputterde dat een tas koffie zeer ondubbelzinnig was.Ik sprak hem aan over zijn afscheidskus,hij zweeg en verbrak de verbinding…

If you’ve been on Planet Mars well you should know that Katy Perry and Russell Brand are now a couple and shacking up all over the world! Those bars look very uncomfortable.. is Russell’s peen in Katy’s sack?