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Bursting My Bubble

Mr. Bubble quickly became my weekend go-to boy. Probably because he had a great bed and great food and was always smiling. These three things made him a lot of fun to be around, but like all good things, eventually doomed to go totally insane. A few Saturday nights ago, after 24 more hours of dating behind us, Mr. Bubble and I sat down to a quiet Italian dinner at his house. Now, the details are rather hazy to me because I was two glasses into a bottle of red wine, but I somehow offended Mr. Bubble. His response to whatever offensive thing I said was slightly exaggerated. We got into an intense argument that nearly rivaled our intense fucking and didn't speak for the next 12 hours. Finally, I made it home, only slightly worse for the wear. Once there, I quickly put Mr. Burst Bubble into the Fuck It Bucket.

Maybe I liked Mr. Bubble a little too much for my own comfort. Things were going too well for me to believe that it could continue. There had to be something wrong with Mr. Bubble, and honestly, it only took me about a day to figure out what that thing was. In the date immediately preceding our demise, I actually started to think that I might want to date Mr. Bubble. Like as his girlfriend. Fortunately, an hour of screaming and 12 hours of the silent treatment cured me of that affliction.

Adult Swim

Surprisingly, I sometimes do things other than have sex. One of the things I generally enjoy is swimming. I hate exercising, but swimming appeals to me because it's easy on my joints and I get to wear a really tight outfit. Mostly , I swim in an effort to not become Orca fat, but also because it's my quiet and relaxing time. No one bothers me, there is almost no noise and very few other people go to the pool near my house. Scratch that. very few people used to go to the pool near my house. Since it's now 900 degrees in DC, EVERYONE goes to the pool by my house. For the entire hour I was at the pool, I was surrounded by screaming children, pool peeing babies, and itsy bitsy bathing suits. For me, going to the pool is about exercising. Accordingly, I swear a racer back Speedo. Apparently, everyone else comes to the pool to squeeze their fat asses into band aid sized spandex, sit on the bleachers and stuff their faces with chips. Due to massive overcrowding, I spent a total of 10 minutes swimming laps. Mind you I was there for over an hour. Not only did I not get my workout in, but I also get so agitated that I went straight to the bar with my bathing suit still on under my clothes. I demand that, in the future, two pools be available. One for people like me who wish to exercise in peace and one for people with Turrets syndrome, limited fashion sense, and no sense of their own expanding ass who wish to float around in a giant bath tub.

Don't Shit Where You Eat

Dear Diary:

I fucked my coworker. Don't tell anyone even though I already blurted it out at the office happy hour when he wasn't there. Numbers 412 and 413 on the list of excellent decisions I've made.

Luv always,
L

P.S. Omfg! He's so fine I can't stand it. Definitely in the top 3 hottest boys I've ever been with.

De facto Dating?

The Roommate says that in the "regular" dating world (ie. not in my hussy world) that if you have sex with someone on three separate occasions with no one else in between, then you're dating that person by default. I don't know about these crazy "regular" dating world rules, but I'm sort of glad that I pretend they don't apply to me. To me, one's relationship status should be taken seriously. Five successful dates does not a couple make. I'm single until otherwise firmly established through conversation, not sex, and I don't enter into anything that I'm not 100 percent committed to.

Part of me is selfish and doesn't want to waste time and emotions on someone I don't see anything long term with. Another part of me is cautious to become too involved with anyone because I know that it would take a lot for me to give up a lifestyle I've become so fond of. My intention is never to hurt anyone. Recognizing that many people become emotionally involved when it comes to sex, I'm honest with my partners about the limitations of our relationship. So far, the policy has served me well. Most of my lovers have been short term, but those who've stuck with me over the years have accepted and understood my stance on the issue regardless of the number of times we had sex.

The Friend of a Friend is dangerously near to entering the list of long term boys I've had. In fact, at 5 months, he has been around longer than Disingenuous, who I actually dated. Not that I should be taking advice from him, but The Roommate says, "Call a spade a spade. There's a name for people who hang out all the time and have sex: couples." My retort was that no one knows we hang out or that we have sex. His response was not surprising--"There's a name for that too: shady couples."

Are relationships nothing more than who you take to bed on a regular basis? Not to sound naive but isn't anything sacred? I refuse to be defined or judged on the basis of who I let into my bed, but I do feel a sense of responsibility when it comes to emotion. Though I won't ask The Friend of a Friend if he does have feelings for me that extend beyond the carnal, I suspect The Roommate may be right. Two people rarely feel the same thing at the same time, and if you know that other person feels more than you, are you obligated to end it? As with so many other questions, I'm left without an answer. I do know, however, that it's scary to hear that someone doesn't need to fuck you to want to be around you.

Nomadic Living for the Modern Girl

I'm going to invent some wacky creation that allows me to carry everything I need for two days of regular life without looking like a crazy bag lady. After my forth date with Mr. Bubble in 12 days, My shoulder is about to give out from carrying a messenger bag brimming with clothing, lube, condoms, toys, toiletries, and other assorted necessities. Probably the only downside to being a hussy versus being a girlfriend is that you have no place to leave your shit.

Due to what is clearly all-consuming ADD, Mr. Bubble never lets me know that he wants to see me in advance. I don't mind, of course, as I rather hate planned outings, and almost always bail at the last second anyway. The unfortunate part of it all is that I have to haul all the things I need to function way down into the depths of Virginia every three or four days. Then, of course, all those things have to make back home with me. Or worse, back to work with me as they did on Friday morning. Nothing like a walk of shame that lasts 13 hours.

That being said, I really like this one. Thanks to the miracle of human chemistry, I never know why I enjoy the company of those I like so much. They're all so different, with such a spectrum of styles and tastes.

I like Mr. Bubble because this boy knows about more delicious food than anyone I have ever met. Every time I see him, we eat no less than four meals. This last 24-hour date included trips to four different grocery stores and two restaurants. And he made me breakfast this morning. Also, even though he's 30, he frequently looks just like a little boy because there is so much excitement in his facial expressions and his eyes are so damn big. He smiles all the time, and laughs and sings and calls me Sweetpea. Normally all this cuteness would make me want to wretch, but with him, it's not so. We've discussed our mutual ethical sluttiness, and we also have dirty, dirty sex. Honestly, I can't ask for much more in a boy than good fucking and good food.

Since I've been spending 50% of my time working, 30% with Mr. Bubble and the remaining 20% on the fucking Metro, I've successfully avoided The Roommate, The Friend of a Friend, and my best friend for more than a week. Oh, and I also slept with The Volunteer on Tuesday after a 2 month hiatus. That helped. Holy shit. I've been getting more ass than a bus seat lately.

Massive Attack

It's best to start another year with a bang. Especially since the end frequently happens with a whimper. I began my first weekend at 24 barely on speaking terms with The Roommate, not speaking to my best friend, and having only been out with or slept with The Friend of a Friend in over a month.

Friday night, I intended to have a post-birthday celebration with the two cute boys from work. Both bailed, citing family issues, though we all know they couldn't get the green light from their respective baby girls. This is the primary reason why I tell people not to get into relationships. Because my coworkers and I are firmly committed to going out on Friday nights, we went out anyway. We frequented our usual hotspots, and discussed the two dates I had planned for the weekend. The Friend of a Friend was along, and despite his claims to the contrary, was clearly jealous. After four bars, 11 rum and diet cokes, plotting over my weekend plans, and too much bar food, The Friend of a Friend decided I was too drunk/tired to get myself home safely. Isn't it funny that as soon as someone else is on the horizon, boys suddenly remember how much they like you?

The Friend of a Friend drove me home, and we fucked. Apparently I was too drunk/tired to object much. He left uncharacteristically early in the morning. I attempted to go back to sleep, but had to dodge calls from my mother so I decided to give up and get up. I showered and called Mr. Bubble. Thus began 30 consecutive hours of dating.

Date 1

Mr. Bubble picked me up around 12:30 and we headed downtown into throngs of anti-breast cancer walkers and tourists. Oh how I love DC in the summer. Our original plan was to go to the Modernism exhibit at the Corcoran, but felt that it might be crowded downtown. We agreed that if the fates wanted us to build sexual tension in an art museum, then a parking spot would magically appear. And so one did. We had lunch in the little cafe, which I actually recommend for dates because it's cute and the meals are small so you don't look like a fatty but will have the necessary energy to have sex later. Then we went to Dunkin Donuts, where I negated any previous attempt to not look like a fatty by rapidly consuming a Boston Cream donut. Next stop was Trader Joe's for some supplies. Before we could make it in the door, a carnival caught our eye and we wandered over to look at all the poor people. Tragically the carnival had no good rides, no funnel cake, and only one game. Even more distressing was that the game prizes were square pictures of band logos. I require neon colored teddy bear prizes at my carnivals! Finally, we retired to Mr. Bubble's house to make brownies. No, that's not a clever euphemism. We actually made brownies. And they were delicious. Then we fucked, which was almost as good as the brownies. He also made me the most fantastic fruit dip with strawberries. At some point Mr. Bubble also introduced me to 24-hour Korean bbq. My god can this one appreciate food.

After about our fifth meal of the date, we slept in Mr. Bubble's beautiful bed in his beautiful house. We laid in bed on our sleepy Sunday morning while the skies grayed and rain fell. It was the best first date* I've been on since The S almost three years ago.

Date 2

I barely came home long enough after my 24-hour date with Mr. Bubble to drop off my clothes from Saturday before I was out the door again. I met up with The Physicist at his brand new condo, which was also ridiculously gorgeous. We had a somewhat less active date than I had with Mr. Bubble, and watched a movie before getting pancakes for dinner. We did not have sex, as I consider it somewhat bad form to have sex with three people in one weekend. He dropped me off at home just late enough to miss The Sopranos, which I won't hold against him.

When I got home, I realized that I had essentially been on some form of a date since Friday evening. While The Friend of Friend didn't technically count, we fucked so I'm putting it in the win column. I also realized that it was still possible for me to have lovers who didn't make me feel like shit and that I could be content with myself. It doesn't take much for me to feel balanced and happy with my life. I need at least three of the following: (1) a full pack of cigarettes; (2) music I haven't played to death; (3) cute shirts that show off my cleavage; (4) two good fucks a week; (5) fruits and vegetables; (6) a comfortable place to sleep; (7) good sleeping pills; (8) clearly defined, uncomplicated interpersonal relationships; (9) limited interaction with judgy types like my BFF and The Roommate; and (10) coffee.

For the first time in a long while, I had all 10 of those things and felt right with the world. But wouldn't you know it, I had to look at my phone. One missed call and no message...

*Technically, it was our second date since he spent the night at my place on Thursday, but that's semantics.