1657165's blog: "This is It"

The Adventures of a Virgin. My mother and sister are in town. I'm loving having some San Antonians around, but they're seriously cramping my blogger-dater lifestyle. It'd be hard to go out on a date and bring the fam along. So, to keep things interesting around here, I decided to post an entry I wrote in another blog-land, a long, long time ago and far far away. Here you go: I decided I'd write about my original adventure. My first adventure as a virgin. I'd also like to say that although this one girl in particular will be the subject of this posting, she's not important or significant at all. she's basically as insignificant as adventures can be which is the reason I'm writing about her. It's also just a funny story. I was a late bloomer in the self-confidence department. I didn't think I was good looking until I was about thirteen years old. I didn't think I was smart until I was fifteen years old, which is also the age that I thought maybe it was possible that a girl may even like me. It wasn't until I was sixteen that I got over my fear of intimate contact with girls. Up until I was seventeen, I'd only kissed girls, and most of the kissing that I'd done happened after I'd been swilling whiskey for a few hours and started smooching on my drunk girlfriends. There were only a couple of girls that I had any serious interest in during my high school days but the thought of having sex with them paralyzed me with fear. Why, I really don't know y'all. It's just the way it was. I was completely inexperienced at anything beyond some good french kissing. I was also a melancholy young man that thought I'd die a virgin. You can ask my best friend Jennifer, because she sadly had to read long letters from me where I described my unfortunate, make-out-less destiny. The first part of my freshman year at college, I really did a good job cruising down the road to my unfortunate destiny. I was depressed, had no friends, and worked at Goody's Resale shop. That combination is like one big suicide pill for you to swallow. Something changed, however, towards the end of that school year. During the spring semester, when the weather started to warm up and the MSU sluts started their summer prowl, I all of the sudden became a confident and social person. I was ready to goddamn have sex. My friends and I spent a lot of time at this hippie bar, Peasants, in downtown Lexington. Most of the people at this bar were regulars. On Tuesday nights, my crew and I would stand at the left side of the stage, dancing and listening to a band that usually sounded like the band that played the week before, and the week before that. From our regular spot at the left side of the stage, I had a good view of a girl that usually stood by the right side of the stage. She was petite, dark complected and very sexy, I knew from the way our eyes would meet from across the room that she was destined to be the mother of my children. Since I didn't know her name, I called her Cute Girl. It just wasn't a good night for me at Peasants if I didn't see Cute Girl and avoid talking to her. I'm not really sure how long this went on. Awhile. But finally, one night when I was the perfect amount of drunk and Cute Girl and I ended up within close enough proximity of each other to lead to a conversation: I talked to her. I have no recollection whatsoever what we talked about. All I remember is when it was 2:00 am and the bar was closing, she asked if I wanted to go back to her place to hang out late-night and off we went. On the walk to her apartment, I again have little recollection of what we actually talked about, but I do remember quickly coming to the conclusion that the future mother of my children was extremely self-centered and pretty much stuck on her self. "I eat, and sleep music," she told me. And I thought, "what a boring thing to say," so I said nothing and kept walking. Back at her place, she played her keyboard for me and talked a lot about how she ate, slept, and shat music. At some point, she finally stopped talking and sat down next to me on the couch. "I told her that I gave a really good massage" I doubted I gave the best massage, but hoping the intimacy would get her to shut the fuck up, I said, "let me hook you up, baby girl." So I did. And after I'd been massaging her back for maybe a minute or two, I said, "It'll be a lot better of a massage if you take your shirt off." And I thought, oh Christ! That was a really stupid thing to say, she's not ready for me to see her boobies yet. But not wanting her to see my anxiety or have the chance to make any sort of response to my sleazy comment, I just kissed her instead. After Cute Girl and I had been kissing and groping for a few minutes, I had the sudden realization: I'm going to have sex with her. I also realized this: People do this all the time. They go to bars and bring back girls and the only reason why is to have sex with them. I also realized this: I will probably not want to call her tomorrow. She is just as bored with me as I am with her and I didn't give a flying blue fuck about her. Y'all. I'm not sure how I didn't know these things already. Up until this moment, I really did not know that people had one-night stands. Or at least, I didn't think it was a common occurrence. I thought that was something people did in movies. I thought majority of the population only had sex with people that they were in love with. I only planned on having sex with people that I was in love with. I was not in love with Cute Girl. I didn't even like Cute Girl. But I was still making out with her and I was growing more and more anxious. Somewhat unrelated: She was the worst kisser I've ever kissed. Seriously. Kind of unfortunate that my first adventure was with a really bad kisser. But she was the worst. She had a tongue that darted around like a snake striking. For real. Quick little jabs of tongue. Disgusting. The more ambitious I got with my hands, the more she seemed freaked out. Finally, she pulled back and blurted: "I don't want to do this. I'm not going to sleep with you." I was baffled. Although I'd had my share of rejection, no one had told me point blank that they were not going to have sex with me. She said that she didn't want to be a tease but just thought she'd tell me straight up the way it was. She said she felt really awkward and announced that she was going to leave. As she got up to put her shoes on, I followed her and pulled her back towards me. And she didn't stop me. There began make-out session number two. At some point, I picked her up and started to carry her down the hall. As we kissed, I looked over her shoulder to see where I was carrying her: the bedroom. We approached the doorway and her eyes grew wide with fear as I gazed upon her bed. Noooooo!! And here is where the funniest thing I've ever seen during a make-out session occurred: with my arms wrapped around her waist, holding her against me, she threw out her arms and her legs and grabbed the doorway to stop me from carrying her into the bedroom. It was one of the most cartoonish and ridiculous things I've ever seen. This was also the point where my first adventure officially ended. Well, at least the making out part of it. I gave up on Cute Girl and went back to my dorm, only after stopping by Krispy Kreme for some doughnuts and a coffee. When I curled up in my bed that night, it was about 5:00 am and I remember the distinct feeling that although this night could easily be considered a failure, it was the start of something. The start of my journey down the slutty road of sloppy drunk kisses and commitment-free fornication. To give myself some credit, there's a little spark of hope in every adventure I embark on. Although I certainly did not find Ms.Right in Cute Girl, I'm hoping that eventually my drunk kisses will lead to a relationship that consists of more than sloppy conversations in a smoky bar and awkward conversations in the morning as the hangover sets in. Despite my previous certainty when I was seventeen of my loveless future, at (almost!) age 25, I'm completely optimistic that I will find this person one day, which will be the happy finale to all of my adventures as a virgin.

Tuesday evening after I got home, I was still moping around, still feeling bitter and rejected due to being dumped via email. I was shuffling rather aimlessly down Congress Ave, thinking about how ugly the world is, listening to a street performer play a sad song on the sax. It was all very poetic. Then, as I passed the State Theater, I saw a sign. The sign was the movie poster for Labyrinth, which will be playing this week. Considering I had a date scheduled the next day with Suzi, I thought this sign was a sign. All would be okay. Dance Magic, Drink. Boo yah! After eating some junk food, I went to the bar by where I stay and ordered a drink and flipped through The Daily Texan while waiting to hear from one of my peeps to see what was happening later that day. Once I got to the end of my drink though, the happiness of knowing I'd soon be able to see Beyonce's crotch on the big screen had worn off. I decided I would go home, call it a night, save my energy for another day's festivities. Instead what I did was hopped on the bus to Ego's to meet up with one of my roomates, I really didn't want to go home and be alone in my dorm. To get to the good stuff, I'll try and sum up what happened from Wednesday night until Thursday evening: country music guitar playing cigarette smoking inside jager shots sleeping on couch wake up headache drink mimosas eat greasy food watch a movie think dirty thoughts about Penelope Cruz take a shower put on same clothes meet at the Continental Club say hello to date. "Hello!" I felt very unprepared for this date. It wasn't necessary for me to go through my pre-date ritual of listening to Nelly and shaving my face. This was the second date and that routine only applies to the first date. I was a little dismayed however that I hadn't shaved and was wearing the same clothes from the night before, including day-old boxers. I was particularly upset by the boxers situation. I really didn't want to go into the date wearing dirty boxers, but my options were limited and it seemed the best route to go. Are y'all going to look at me different now? Now that I've confessed that I wore day old boxers on a date? Dirty boxers aside, the date went well. We bar hopped and ate hot dogs from a street vendor and talked about our mothers and went back to her place and la la la. She hasn't discovered the many mysteries of my mind yet. Suzi said something really sweet. We were kissing and she said: "Sorry if you can tell I'm nervous. You're just so handsome." Squee! She told me I'm handsome! Seems like most of the girls I've been out with lately are too cool to compliment me, but I'm a sucker for compliments. What to do, what to do? Suzi is nice. Hemmingway is nice. I want to date other people. Question: So, in the previous comments, I was encouraged to hold off on making whoopee if I really want to keep mah girl's interest. How long is long enough? How many dates should a girl go out on before giving it up in order to maintain the guy's respect? Do you need to be in a committed relationship first? Is that the only way for her to avoid being classified as a booty-call girl? Y'all tell me. I'm curious what you think. I bet Suzi and Hemmingway are, too. Their fate rests in your hands.

I declared a pox on online dating this past Sunday evening. It was just a temporary bout of insanity, so no worries, but you know my weekend was utter crizzap to lead to such measures. I was double dawg dared to go out with this 25-year-old marine corps girl this past Sunday. I thought it'd be good writing material, but frankly, I'm just trying to put that day behind me. Recalling it in detail may cause me to curl up in fetal position and fall asleep; that date was bad enough that I'm now a sufferer of post traumatic stress syndrome. I'm not even lying about this: when I called her cell phone, instead of hearing it ring, it played My Country Tis of Thee. For real. Just a couple of things this girl said that made me throw up a little in my mouth: Me: So... Her: Something people don't know about me is that I speak Japanese. Me: Oh, yeah? Have you been to Japan before? Her: (with a chuckle) Oh, yes, yes. Three times, actually. Later, we met at a trendy bar, where she prosted instead of cheersing. What an uber dork she was. The trendy bar was a total frat-boy environment, which is like, totally not my scene, yo. Still, I got a kick out of the pop music being played because it'd been awhile since I'd heard Pink, Ludacris, and J. Tim. I actually randomly laughed out loud at some point and was all: "God, it's been so long since I've heard standard pop songs in a bar, it's almost refreshing." To which she responded: "Really? What do you normally hear in bars?" "You know, your regular indie hipster type music. KEXP stuff." "Really?!? Where do you go??" Y'all. I'll go to practically every bar in Austin if given the chance. I think there are only three bars in Austin that don't play hipster music, and we managed to hit two of them that day. I'm actually not whining about that aspect. I was happy to hear about Luda's ho's in different area codes instead of the Arcade Fire's latest hit for a change. Here is how I'm different than about 98% of Austin's population: I don't own any music by Bright Eyes, Death Cab for Cutie, or the Flaming Lips. I do own Nickelback's most recent album. So there. Anyway - I got off subject for a minute - the point is, despite me being happy to hear Pink requesting for us to get retarded, these aren't the sort of places I frequent. Although I don't listen to Death Cab, I fit in at hipster joints just fine. And now on to something completely different: On Thursday afternoon, My Ex and I ended up corresponding via email: her: I'm wearing a chastity belt around for you, dude. me: I'll spank you with that chastity belt. OMG! Blush! These naughty emails continued for awhile and Thursday evening, despite my better judgment, I found myself waiting for her to join me at a bar close to where I stay. After I'd finished a beer though, and was still waiting, I started to walk home. When I was about half a block away, she pulls up in her car. As she and I are prone to do, we immediately started arguing, which led the conversation to arrive at this point: me: I don't know why I'm putting up with this shit. I at least need to be doing a girl up the butt before I listen to shit like this. her: God, you sound like the last guy I dated. me: That's great. Thanks for bringing that up. Apparently she wasn't happy about me mentioning previous girlfriends and buttsex. Because she's clearly Ms. Etiquette and is always polite and sensitive. Although she was less than two feet away from where I was standing, she drove home and I walked home, my feet are calloused from always trekking this hilly city. So, I'm all ready to throw in my dating hat by this point. I needed a break. Somehow or another though, yesterday early evening, I ended up sitting in a swanky hotel bar on the river, playing backgammon with Ms. fucking ambivalent. We drive each other crazy, but we can't leave each other alone, and something works there. There's more to tell, but time is a bitch and I gotta go. Stay tuned.

Well, I think this is it. Overall, this blogging thing has been interesting. As you could probably tell, this whole thing has ultimately drained the hell out of me. It's been a good exercise, in a way. I can't write about people unless I'm comfortable being written about. And there's something to the idea that one should always act as if their words and actions will be publicly discussed the next day. It keeps us all honest about the shit we deal with, and the shit we toss on each other. But I've been hesitant to get into my own weirdness because it seems that few people can relate and even fewer would mention it publicly if they did. So I haven't been as candid as I could have been. The brief exgirlfriend uprising was also weird. I've dated a lot. Only about three of my exes would go out of their way to trash talk me. Their contributions have ranged from a brief all out war to a passive-aggressive backhand slap. I really have nothing bad to say about them, at least nothing worse than what people could say about me, I believe we'd all be better off if we allowed ourselves to drift towards apathy. There is an entire universe that isn't affected by where my cock has been, and I need to spend more time housekeeping there. My job is non-existent, my Vicodin ran out, and my current roomates are a real pain in the ass. All of these issues and more need to be resolved. Even aside from much of my universe imploding, I'm burned out on dating. I feel like a chess Grand Master. After a while, you see the same moves over and over. Just like Kasparov can mentally play a game to completion after the first few moves, lately I can look at a person I just met, analyze the first few exchanges of a conversation, and declare "Breakup in two months". Fubar itself is a good experience for me. It has led to me getting my cool-as-shit converted online. I've met some people through this thing already. People who live literally around the corner, but in another world. People who I never would have met otherwise. The downside is that there are 1.3 million people in Austin, but lately I feel like I've been running into the same twelve over and over. And I haven't been stellar at maintaining new relationships. Sometimes it has been due to finding myself with really needy people, but honestly, a lot of it is shit I carry around myself. Anyway, when I meet someone new, I'd like to once again rely on my bedroom eyes and my masculine sculptor's hands rather than my angsty acerbic egghead writing. I don't want the events on my life to be timestamped on a website, but...Despite the fact that the freedom to talk about myself is something I look forward to. But as far as you warped lookie-loos are concerned, my story today ends here. Thank you for your patronage.