Tuesday, May 30, 2006

The DaVinci Code Drinking Game

It's memorial day weekend, and we're looking for something to do on Friday night. Going downtown or bar hopping is out, as we've got a couple of huge parties to attend at Jordan Lake and Carolina Beach over the weekend. A lot of people have already left town by Friday afternoon...

So, what to do. What to do.

Do we pull a lemming and go see Da Vinci Code - knowing it might be god awful?

My excuse is that there wasn't anything else showing at the time we wanted to go...but in the interest of ensuring a good time, we created the Da Vinci Code drinking game. It's simple, and guaranteed to get you LIT. Plus, if you do this in the early weeks of filming, while the church crowd is piling into the cinemas from their buses and vans, you get the added excitement of feeling especially hedonistic among all the bible thumpers.

There are but few rules:

  • The girlie rule: Any mention of the phrase "Sacred Feminine" - either out loud or in writing on the screen. This will be your first drink, very early in the film so not to worry as you'll catch an early buzz you can ride out for over two hours. 1 drink/sip
  • French word rule number 1: Any mention of the "Senechaux" - it sounds so cool, even if you aren't quite sure what it stands for. Drink up! -1 drink/sip
  • The "Aha" or "Aghast" rule - anytime the characters have that stupid look on their face, the one that seems to say, "Mon dieu, what is this?" or "Can this be true?" or "I am shocked, truly shocked at what this Albino is doing..." And folks, there are so many of these moments that this is the rule that will be get you as drunk as a schoolgirl with her first bottle of Southern Comfort- 1 drink/sip
  • French word rule number 2: When you hear the word,"Incroyable" - the dumbest "Aha!" moment of all, near the end of the film. You gotta do a shot at this moment, just to get past the fact you threw up in your mouth out of the sheer ridiculousness of the moment - 1 shot

Follow these rules and your guaranteed a good Da Vinci code time. It's riskiest with a full house, but no risk/no reward. I did this in a packed theatre in North Raleigh. I recommend you bring at least 10 small (roadie) bottles of Captain Morgan's and add 'em to your coke as needed, saving a few for the shot rule. The sounds of the bottles opening and the smell of rum goes over REALLY well with the religious set. They'll be praying for you during AND after the movie.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Now I lay me down to...

I ran into someone this week that I hadn't seen in awhile, and it reminded me of one of the most surreal bedroom experiences I have ever experienced.

About six years ago I dated a really sweet guy after I got divorced. Smart, well educated, thoughtful, smitten with me, decent in bed but only so-so in the looks department. He made good coin and drove a nice car, and he really liked taking me out to dinner. I was fairly happy with him. He was different enough from my ex husband (i.e. he actually liked socializing with people) that I was having a great time.

Not that there weren't signs of trouble...

He once told me that I swore too much. My response? What the fuck? No fucking god damn way could that shit possibly be true. But I digress.

He took me to church. He wasn't Catholic-no biggie since I am not big on the catholic church anyway as I haven't found time to leave it yet and seem to be content living by my own rules and twisted interpretations. His church was in Durham and was a christian denomination that I can't remember - perhaps Presbyterian, perhaps Methodist. (Hee hee baptists who can read...) Damn I am digressing again. So we go. I am enjoying the morning, thinking of the great dinner and sex we had had the night before, analyzing what everyone is wearing (quite a mixture of what I call Durham granola lesbian chic and uptight almost Baptist Belk outfits with a smattering of almost preppy mid-nineties Dookie) and not at all paying attention to the songs, prayers or what my date was doing.

But I should have been paying attention.

Because when I did come out of my selfish critical fashion daydream, there was my guy singing with his arms raised up towards the ceilings - a la southern preacher praying over his congreation. Like Jimmy Swaggert on tv. Almost, but not quite, like jesus on the cross.

Ugh. What is this?

We don't do this in catholic church. We keep our adoration quiet and well behaved. We don't even sing that loud or well.

Only a few other people were doing it. He was REALLY into this church and god thing. Wow. I just ignored it and went back to imagining what everyone life was like in the rows around me.

A week or so passes, and I get another 'sign' that things are a bit different between us. He calls me from his car while he's driving over to pick me up. His radio is blaring. At first I was like, cool, my guy is totally rockin' out on his way to see me. But then I hear a snippet of the song.

"Our god is an awesome god...."

Huh? Holy evangelistic weirdness Batman!

Soooo. I ask him what he's listening to. He says:

"This is my 'pump me up' music."

I get the pump me up music. Nothin gets me in a good, sexy mood like hearing the opening 20 seconds to Van Halen's "Ain't talkin bout love" or the riff from Iron Maiden's "Wasted Years." It's why I have trouble running without my iPod - the music usually gets me going even if I have no energy.

Christian pump up music? Sandi Patti? Before a date? Let me rephrase that - before a date with me?

I file this away and just try to hang out and be blissfully ignorant.

Then, the final straw.

We go out a week or so later -typical Saturday night date of dinner, drinks, back to my house. We have sex. Its pretty good. (Again, good is relative. All sex is good. Its like pizza. Is there really bad pizza? Not really. Like the pizza you had in high school - all frozen and rectangular shaped. Was it gourmet? No. Did you eat it and enjoy it. Yes.) So the sex is just good, and we are finished. This would be where one would like up a post coital smoke if one were so inclined. I don't do this, neither does he. Instead he asks:

Can I pray?

(This is where it got surreal.)

I say sure! I'm thinking he wants to pray siliently. This is how I was raised. We catholics, outside of mass (and hell even during some parts of the mass) like to keep our prayers to ourselves, mostly so no one knows the stupid shit we pray about. (Please god, please please please let the Orioles win tonite against the Yanks. I can't stand to see the smirk on Johnson's face every time the Yankees win. Please let Murray just wail one out of the park. Oh and can I please get oral sex sometime this month?) So I figure, he's gonna get quiet for awhile.

Well.

He takes my hand, and begins to talk, out loud, God.

"God."

"God, thank you for (insert my name here). Thank you for all the good times we have..."

OUT LOUD. THIS WAS SAID OUT LOUD.

Cue to me, on the other side of the bed.



On the outside, I am all calm. But my eyes are wide in disbelief, and inside of me, the little voice is saying what the fuck? Is this happening? Is he actually thanking god for me? Is he actually thanking god for orgasms? IS HE DOING THIS OUT LOUD????No fucking way. No fucking way.

I gotta go to sleep, and then I gotta break up with this dude. Done and done.

So I broke up with him post haste. Told him he was a little too into God and I was nahsomuch so, and alas this would not work. He took it very well, and we are still friends.

It took me a long time before I told anyone that story though. But when I did, people laughed. Not point and giggle laugh but belly I cannot fucking believe you experienced that laughs. And my friends gave him a new name:

Mr. Pray After Sex

Monday, May 22, 2006

Friday Night

So I got a free get out of my house in the suburbs pass from Rock Star in that she was staying at my house and could take care of my dog for me overnight. This meant an unencumbered Friday night at Ivy League's house in CV. No worries. No rushing out of bed at 5 am to drive home to let the dog out...

Got myself all pretty on Friday night and picked him up around 7:45. He looked delicious but very tired. His job is wearing him out...

Great dinner at Mo's Diner downtown with a couple who are friends of ours. Lots of wine, fabulous food. Headed over to Raleigh Times for a drinks. The couple left after round two, but we stayed. Talked among the two of us for almost 2 hours - good mushy stuff. I won't digress here but it was a great heart to heart. We stumbled home around 2.

And like I said, since I rarely stay there, it feels different, special - i.e. Hotel Sex!

Rest of the weekend involved a college reunion in Chapel Thrill, dinner and a movie with the kids, and more fun at my house after they went to sleep.

Friday, May 19, 2006

Lunch (wink wink)

Yesterday I had the rare occurrence of having a meeting with Ivy League (and others...) at 9am and it was a perfectly delicious way of beginning the day. He looked so good that it was difficult to concentrate on the task at hand. The meeting got fairly contentious - and he ended up leaving it early - but afterwards I stopped by his office and asked if he wanted to have lunch. I happened to wink at him when I said this.

This was an I love you wink but he took it as lunch (wink wink) i'm gonna get a little afternoon delite...

Fine with me.

We met at my house o'fun (I am going to have to start scheduling between me and Rock Star) and began on a dining room chair and ended up in my room later...it was great. Nice break in the day. Cubicle land would be vastly more fun if my lunch was like this every day.

Tonite I loan my house out to Rock Star and get to spend a night at the bachelor pad. Sleeping at his house, because it happens so rarely (b/c of my dog!) is like going to a hotel. And we all love going to hotels - HOTEL SEX!

Monday, May 08, 2006

Mmmm stark carpet

http://nytimesweddings.blogspot.com/

I've been reading the Veiled Conceit blog for awhile now and the latest entry is just so fucking funny that I've linked to the blog permanently. That guy writes like I wish I could, and his caption on the photo of the two gents in his latest entry (Douchamptons) is nothing less than BRILLANT. Plus, the rant of "fuck you...fuck you no jobs" is sooooo perfectly snarky. Please take a look.

That entry - it got me thinking.

Thinking about Rock Star's engaged guy and what his real, true NYT Vows column should (but never would) read. So I have taken a stab at it. Forgive me, Rock Star, for this creative exercise. I've taken the liberty of naming the couple Eugene and Olga.

In Denial - Eugene and Olga

Eugene and Olga met in 1999, when the world was all agog with dot.coms and Y2K end of the world fears. Eugene was an insecure catholic boy and Olga was a very newly arrived eastern european, somewhat out of his league physically but her lack of green card and lack of mastery of the english language put them on par. Olga saw her potential citizenship opportunity and took it - Eugene was lonely, young and middle class and this seemed like a good idea at the time.

Fast forward 6 years later. They as a couple have evolved into a seemingly already married pair, what with the general lack of sex, lack of fun, couples nights with John and Suzy and their snotty nosed offspring and all. This sort of boredom ahem! stability leads them to feel that the "next step" is needed.


When Eugene finally decides to pull the trigger in August/September of 2005, he does so by wooing his babushka with candles and rose petals strewn all over their apartment and popping the question with a decent size diamond- the best his imagination could do and his corporate line job salary could afford. She is thrilled (my country tis of thee!) and so are here parents Boris and Natasha back in the old country.

But the couple, or at least Eugene (as Olga knew nothing of this or apparently became an ostrich in the fall and early spring) hit rough times not too many moons after that lovely engagement weekend. Eugene began to woo girls outside of his apartment too, mainly girls he worked with. He set his sites on one particular married hottie he had been friends with for several years, just based upon her raw North Carolina sexuality. Flirting and messaging ensued, and later the affair is consummated in, of places apropos, Las Vegas.

But Eugene can't keep his eye on the prize (ahh reader is the prize Olga or married hottie?) and during that same week, he decides to make a pass at another long time and also married and also hottie friend of both his and the first married hottie. A make out session occurs that ends only because of whiskey dick and pure alcoholic stupor. Drama drama drama at the MGM.

Apologies are offered, as well as a bogus "she was coming on to me" story and the initial affair with first hottie resumes. GAME ON. Lots of texting. Lots of IMing. The guys who monitor the corporate network look forward to their interchanges. It is intense and wonderful and all an affair should be.



Where is Olga, you ask?



She is still living with Eugene, gleefully planning her wedding and choosing her trousseau by what goes best with that green card she'll soon be getting. Olga, sensing her american meal ticket might just be slipping away, ingratiates herself deeper with Eugene's family



Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Eugene is falling in love with his lovah. Falling hard. He's doubting his life with Olga, and talking about it with anyone who will listen. He thinks his hottie lovah ( who is now separated) only has eyes for him, because how can women possibly think like men and be sexually involved with more than one person? (His quote to the author personally was - "Oh c'mon she is a GIRL after all. She's gonna fall hard for me...")

Yeeeaaaahhhh. I'm gonna need you to come in on Saturday and redo those TPS reports and reset your philosophy, Eugene.

This what girls do in 2006? Wait around for someone to help them, marry them. Marriage is the be all end all. (It does seem to put an end to a once strong libido...but I digress.) Once we find a potential candidate all thoughts of getting with any other penis goes right out the window. We go blind. We don't notice the hot twenty something courier in the building with the doe eyes, sweet smile, perfectly fabulous ass and even more fabulous corn rows. We begin to put things in hope chests. We talk to our cats about you. We watch Lifetime movie network quite a bit at night when you are not around, saving ourselves for you. We set up accounts on TheKnot.com with hopeful anticipation of pushing send on a "Save the Date" email to every girl we've ever known and a few we don't and to ALL of your ex-girlfriends ("I lassoed him girls. I did THAT WHICH YOU COULD NOT DO.") We're not out doing tequila shots with an ex boyfriend or playing bar crawl truth or dare with a coworker or making out with a random guy in a storage closet at work. Nope, that would never happen. I'm not sayin...

But I now I am truly digressing, and this is supposed to be an obit whoops freudian slip Vows entry.

In this state, Eugene thinks of leaving Olga for a new, richer, more exciting life with hottie. After all, his mantra is that guys either want to fuck you or date you, there is no in between, and he's now on the side of dating his hottie.

Oh the naivete Eugene!

Eugene comes back to earth, and back to Olga, after he learns that hottie girl at work has more than one guy (what was he thinking?) and is devastated. Nevermind that he's bored with Olga. Nevermind that he's blind to her citizenship ploy. Nevermind that things with his hottie did not have to end if he had just been less mopey, more confident, and more able to handle the fact that since HE had two women in his life, his lovah was doing the same and had at least two men. Nevermind that he's in no state to get married to anyone at this point.

He's going through with this and that is THAT.

Olga, of course, is very very pleased. She's walking around all day with a smile on her face. That smile which says, "Only a few more blow jobs and then I'm done."

The happy couple will marry in a month and will live, in mind numbing, wedded "I've totally settled for less and will be eternally bored" bliss in suburban Connecticut. And Olga will become an American. To seal the deal, there's likely to be a pregnancy very soon after the vows. Indeed.

Eugene? Eugene will spend some lonely nights thinking of his mistakes while changing the diapers on little Ivan or Svetlana.

Shut Up and Deal

Rock Star had another lunchtime tryst at mi casa today. Too funny. The entire second floor of my house must reek of sex between all that was going on over the weekend and today.

I feel a little like Bud Baxter in the Apartment, just a little male/female role reversal and none of the "using it for company advancement" going on.



http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0053604/



I did not win the lottery, so I am still slaving away in corporate dreariness...glad to have a job but unfulfilled nonetheless.

Monday, May 01, 2006

Things I would do if I won the lottery

Quit my job - the resignation conversation would be soooo sweet and would occur literally within minutes of me picking up my winnings
Set up a college fund - boring but needed
Enroll my daughter in Montesorri - IBID
Give $$ to NARAL- Need to provide some balance to the pro lifers out there with deep pockets
Give $$ to the SPCA - too many dogs out there that need homes/food/etc
Give my sister $$$ so she could quit her job-she's so stressed out about her job this item would be as sweet as my own resignation
Take a 3 week cruise- I want to get on a boat and not leave it for three weeks. Don't care where it goes.
Buy a house at the beach - so that I can hear the ocean at night from my bed
Ride horses once a week-the world looks better from that vantage point

Have more sex

and as a result:

Have another baby and/or adopt some siblings - share my wealth

Get in really good shape and lose the love handles- no more working in a cubicle means I should work more on my abs
Get a little more botox to get rid of the frown lines- I am too expressive with my eyebrows (my doctor's words) and thus have deeper frown lines than a girl my age should. Laugh lines are a nice word for deep wrinkles you add to everyday...
Write that freakin book I have been talking about for the last 6 years
Fund a scholarship at my alma mater that I would write the credentials for: not based upon grades or activities but on ability to do keg stands or shots or how well you dance on a bar or how well you work a room of people or where you decide to take me on the interview