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.
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.
posted by The Husskateer at 7:09 PM
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