The week from hell

So last week sucked.

Hadn't written in awhile. BF and I came to terms on the Aruba thing. He was simply being frugal about calling from down there on Monday, and I did end up picking him up from the airport.

But last week - ugh - what a bad week.

I was hormonal. Me and the BF were fighting again, over some imaginary injustice I invented in my head due to the hormonal swings I was experiencing. (Side note - this seems to be getting worse and there are hot flashes now. So I suspect early menopause...not fun.) Telling this just to lay the groundwork.

I was, essentially, feeling very sorry for myself. I felt old, and could hear my biological clock TICK TICK TICKING so loud last week that it kept me awake at night. Well, the ticking and the hot flashes.

So I am at my daughter's school for open house. It's been a shitty sleepless night. I don't wear makeup. I'm wearing a tank top and a little sweater that ties under my rack. The tank doesn't do a good job covering up the new girls. I look like crap, basically, but don't care b/c this is just about getting my daughter comfortable with her new school.

Mistake mistake mistake.

I run into someone I haven't seen in over a year and half. PTA perfect stay at home mom. Runs every morning after walking her kids to school. She thinks I have gotten married. And she asks if I am pregnant.

WOW.

WOW.

Wow.

I guess I HAVE gained weight. Its only like 7 pounds but coupled with the new boobs I guess I look bad.

WOW.

I say no, I am not. And I proceed to say - no I never got married and no I am no longer engaged either.

I want to say I'm just a lame ass big breasted slightly chubby single mom here to meet the teacher. But I don't. I just smile and say something lame like, I'll call you.

Just writing about it now seems shocking. Someone thought I was pregnant. Wow.

I go home and smoke like 5 cigarettes and cry a lot.

And just when I thought it couldn't get worse...

My friend sends me a copy of the Forbes article on "Why you shouldn't marry a career woman". They define career woman as university educated and makes more than 30K per year. I guess I am an uber-career woman at this point.

Apparently I don't keep a clean house. I am more apt to cheat or find someone better than my mate. (This is true, but the same could be said about men!) My mate will be unhappy b/c I potentially could make more.

This is the nail in my coffin. I should just give up on the idea of marital bliss and commitment to my BF and accept singledom as it is inevitable.

I think of the line in the movie Singles. Be Happy- Stay Single!

By Friday I was thinking, ah fuck it all. Nothing I can do about this but exercise and diet and hope for the best on all fronts. If it works out with the BF, fine. If it doesn't, fine but I better get my ass back down to fighting weight and into my size 27 Paper Denim and Cloth that are just a bit too tight right now.

I began exercising in earnest after this past week. I need to lose like 15 pounds. Determined that the next time I run into this woman there is no way she will think I am pregnant. I'd rather her think I was silly and superficial enough to spend a good chunk of disposable income on new boobs than for her to think I am just fat.

Open letter to my bf

Dear BF-

I am very disappointed in you.

For someone who cares so so much about courtesy and manners, and usually is unbelievably thoughtful, you are sorely lacking in this case.

I realize that you like to be frugal, however, I find it ridiculous and utterly absurd that you can spend hundreds of dollars - perhaps thousands - going to Aruba for a long weekend and not be willing to invest just a few to call me today from your mobile with details of your flight back.

Perhaps even sending me an email with your flight details would have been nice. I realize how much effort that would have taken. A fingerprint swipe on the ThinkPad. A few keystrokes in that WIFI - enabled villa of yours. A lot of work.

But alas, you were busy. I understand. Really, I do.

If getting a random cryptic message with no details from you via a stranger's blackberry is what you feel is sufficient for me, then I will respond in kind.

As I was given no courtesy or any sort of effort on this one - and the time is significantly later tonite than the time you originally told me three days ago- I don't feel compelled to make an effort of my own to come pick you up.

I'm communicating this to you via my blog. It's about as personal and direct as you were today. I can't drive the two miles to the airport in your own car to pick you up. Really, I can't. I'm busy. Really.


Words don't just mean something...actions do as well. You've said quite a bit today.

I am still really concerned

about Britney.

Crocs,the whopper-ho-ho diet and yacht hair

So why have I not been updating?

Gleefully happy? On vacation? Bored with nothing to say? Turning into a more private person suddenly?

It's a little of all those but mostly that I am just lazy as shit.

So what have I done and seen in the past month? Here are some random thoughts:

1. What the fuck is up with these Croc shoes? They are ugly as shit. I cannot believe that people leave the house to go out in public wearing them. They look like something you should wear out while gardening, but I am seeing them everywhere. EVERYWHERE. My parents wear them. (Ugh just another sign that they too are turning into old people right before my eyes.) My daughter now has a pair and won't take them off except to occasionally bathe or sleep. My uber cool "I really only like to wear Theory or Diane von Furstenburg" sister is wearing them. Jack Nicholson, not that he's any style maven, is seen wearing them in US weekly. I saw them all over DC and Atlanta. Always on white people though. Silly white folks.
2. Washington DC is really full of geeks. I always knew this, growing up in suburban DC. But I looked around a certain bar two weekends ago in Adams Morgan and the thought lit up my brain like a bunsen burner in an 11th grade chem lab. DC in the summer is full of smart kids who come to intern who aren't particularly socially graceful or remotely attractive. (Especially the guys.) Nerds love DC! It is a town where the nerdy guy that you used to pick on in the locker room now has the upper hand, and he's eventually going to grow up and get well connected and over-educated and legislate you right into the middle class, tough guy. And although at 21 he looks terribly nerdy and most closely resembles a pre-pubescent 14 year old, he will, one day, be an attractive 35 year old lobbyist in a Brooks Brothers suit. With a hot skinny wife. And you, cool high school guy, will have a gut and be a balding Nascar fan with receding hair and a terribly under-funded 401k. And your wife is named Tammi (with an 'i') who may have been hot when she was 19 but right now her diet consists of whoppers and ho-hos.
3. Joan Didion's book, The Year of Magical Thinking, is a really really great book on CD to listen to on a long road trip. If you don't mind crying your eyes out every 10 miles or so.
4. When I met one of my BF's friends this past weekend in Atlanta, all I could think as I was making small talk with him was:

My god, he's got the best yacht hair I've ever seen...

(Yes, yes he does)

24 hour party people

Apologies for being absent. Been uber busy since the party, both at work and on weekends with traveling.

So the party. The Party. I must admit that the day or so leading up to The Party I was incredibly terribly I'm getting my period and have turned into a screaming banshee stressed. Mostly because few, and I mean like only 4 out of over 50, people invited had declined.

I made the infernal party mistake of inviting a number of people based upon the idea that at least 25% of them (or more) wouldn't be able to attend. Weekend in the summer, people on vacay, oh-its-going-to-rain and I don't leave my house people were factored in. Nobody commits these days. Damnit if everyone commited. By Friday morning I realized I was fucked, as my house cannot hold 50 people and it was indeed going to rain.

Lucky for me I had the most excellent party rental place in Raleigh. They rocked. And the accomodated some very last minute additions to my rental.

So The Day of The Party was itself a party. Rock star and gal pal arrived in the morning. The rental party people had set up everything before 11 (the tent, the bar/the tables/chairs/glasses) so we just needed to focus on the food and getting the house ready. This meant spending the day smoking cigarettes and gossipping, all the while accomplishing all our party tasks before 5.

That may have been as much fun as the party. Which reminds me of all the times in my life living with my sister or roommates or boyfriends when sometimes the getting ready/pre-party/drinking before you go uptown/downtown/to Buckhead/to the Highlands/to Five Points/to Shockhoe Slip/to Georgetown/insert your favorite part of town here is equally as good as the fun had on the town.

But I digress.

My awesome friends D/T/J showed up to prepare the bar, as they were the volunteer bartenders, around 6:00. And the party officially started.

Guests began arriving around 6:45 - even though the invite said 7 - as fashionably late wasn't going to work for a surprise party. I worried how Hottie's mom would react to the whole drink menu we had published:

Mombanger

But a quick convo with me owning up to the fact that the joke was on me being a mom and not her cleared it up. Phewwww! Awkward conversation #1 complete.

The guests arrived in droves between 7 and 7:15. The house was staggeringly full. The guest of honor arrived at 7:30 with friends and was pleasantly surprised. He knew something was up, but not something of the magnitude to which we planned. And there were several out of town guests that made considerable effort to attend which surprised the hell out him! His face, as he looked around the room at all of these people (from work, from high school, from college) was worth all of the effort.

People began drinking in earnest after his arrival. The Mombanger was a favorite, but the old fashioneds we had on the menu (Mrs. Robinsons) were a hit with the older crown who "hadn't had them served to them in years" apparently.

The tent and bar was the place to be - especially for smokers - who seemed to multiply as the night wore on.

No personal drama - except I was a little buzzed and forgot about the birthday cakes til about 9. Crisis averted thanks to Gal Pal who was drinking more than me but still somehow managed through her Mombanger haze, to get those cakes out.

There was not really any party drama to speak of. No lamp shades on the head. No dancing on the tables. No one hooking up who hadn't already schemed or planned all week to hook up. Perhaps not so curiously, Rock Star and Vegas disappeared into my spare room at 10 never to be seen again.

There was an admission by an attendee at the party that he had separated from his wife. There was another admission from an attendee that things were going well with her boyfriend. In both cases I was shocked. And here is awkward conversation #2 and #3: Two of my friends separately asked if my boobs had grown in the past few months. (Ha! How does one answer that?) I just replied with a quick smile and a, "Yeah, aren't they fabulous?!"

That's as juicy as it gets. Yawn.

Most people left by 11:30. A core group of about 10 stayed til after 2:00. Too many cigarettes. A lot of mess. Too many Mombangers. I don't want to leave the impression that it was boring or ho hum. It was a great party.

Hottie and I had super fabulous a after-party upstairs in the bedroom. I didn't sleep much.

Mom Bangers and Bisexuals

More planning last night on the surprise party this weekend.

The theme of the surprise party is The Graduate -the invite is a replication of the UK version of the movie poster with my BF's picture in the place of Dustin Hoffman and his name replacing Benjamin's in the tag line. My friends, who have graciously agreed to serve as bartenders, wanted to plan out theme drinks for the party, centered around vodka, campari and some sort of whiskey/bourbon. We're doing:

Mrs. Robinson - Old fashioneds
Benjamins or "Mom Bangers" (love that double entrendre) - Vanilla vodka, oj, Galliano, splash of soda
The Sounds of Silence - Campari Cocktails

I am only partially ready for the party and its two days away. Ugh! At least I know that the Rock Stars, Vegas and other cast members will be sloshed before 9pm.

So now a few words on MySpace.

I have a profile there - for staying in touch with my musician friends and two friends from HS. I like getting the bulletin board notices from local bands telling me where they are gonna play. I occasionaly get a run of friend requests even though I am marked as being in a relationship - 99% of them I turn down. I can go weeks and not hear anything and then BOOM there are three or four friend requests in one hour. I have gotten some funny ones in the last two days...one guy who clearly looked like a 35 year old virgin (gamer, computer nerd, obviously lonely) and one really young guy who had the balls to post, as his profile picture, a shot of him in a carriage (perhaps in Central Park) with a grayed out form next to him. If you use your imagination - you can tell it was once a girl who had her head on his shoulders. So he photoshopped his old girlfriend out of the pic and use the pic anyway in an effort to meet new girls cuz that's how he rolls...

But I digress...

I have had a run in the last 24 hours of girls asking to be my friend. Not girls I know. These girls, and some are hot, are bi. I wouldn't think it was too weird except that I've been on MySpace for months now and this is the first run of local bisexual girls sending me requests. I have neither accepted or rejected...yet. I just think its funny.

So busy with this surprise party

No time to blog as I am so busy setting up a surprise party for the BF.

But the rest of the week in SF was pretty interesting. I have to hand it to Gal Pal, who, as Rock Star sistah states, has now graduated to Rock Star status. She hooked up with her new BF all over San Fran and missed out on the following due to being a prisoner in her hotel room of love:

• The best damn won ton soup I have ever had - Far East Cafe in ChinaTown on Grant. (Okay so maybe it was sooo good b/c I was sooo hung over. Whatever. I stand by the reco. And try the Dim Sum appetizer. Who knows what those meatwads were but they tasted deeeelish. The little private eating rooms in this place are really cool.)
• Hanging out with totally hung over US

Due to some strange illness/prolonged hangover/three day headache I missed the best Thai food ever. According to my friends. I had to be feeling really shitty to stay in whilst in SF.

I did meet up with my friend who got married in Vegas (where I met the hottie from Leeds...hello gorgeous!) who updated me on that whole group. Apparently a couple of pregnancies occurred after that weekend (the couples were married or engaged already so no biggie) and there's an impending wedding next month that everyone is heading to in Ireland. Fun! My friend was happy to hear about Ivy League and wants to meet him, and there were no hard feelings about me not going to London for that week in November.

So back to my new Rock Star Sistah, Must have been fun. Lots of time spent in the hotel room. Maybe starting that blog is appropos now???

Dude that is my favorite Jamorquai album

Am on the road traveling - was out in Colorado for the weekend (with the bf) and now in SF with Rock Star and Gal Pal and Ivy will be joining us tomorrow. I have some observations:

• Stoner parties are no fun at all if you are not stoned
• Stoners LOVE Jamorquai...(shit am I even spelling that right?) and they love to listen to it while stoned
• Jamorquai apparently had more than one album beyond the one with the crazy video that everyone knows them for - who knew?
• People in Colorado all drive exactly the speed limit b/c most of them smoke pot regularly
• No matter how far you go away from home, your neighborhood bailbondsmen will find you - proof is Jesse the bondbailsman from Sanford who sat next to us at a bar last night. We're out here in SF and manage to make friends with someone from just one county over back home. This is a good thing. I think everyone should probably have a bailbondsman as a friend
• The more I drink, the better I think I speak french
• This is contagious. The more Rock Star drinks, the more she peppers her words with "mon dieu" and "zut alors."
• Beware of cute women bartenders who offer to do shots with you - chambord gives you a nasty headache
• Beware of bald jewish Harry Goldenblatt lookin guys with pot to offer and crack-style lighters
• My mouth tasted like ass this morning
• I sound like a cross between Bea Arthur, Brenda Vaccaro and Kathleen Turner after a night of drinking and smoking

I have a mansion in hell now

I think after that last post, I have a mansion in hell on one of the best cul de sacs.

Rock star is going today to an early showing of the code, but her Vegas man does not want to play the game as he's actually interested in the movie. Tsk tsk. I am disappointed. A late afternoon showing is perfect for the game. They will probably make out, but that will be hormones and not any sort of mood setting from the film because what sex and sexual energy there was in the book (and I have to admit there was some) is completely stripped out of what made it to the big screen.

My other rock star friend was made a manager today here at work - bravo to you! This is great news.

It has been a slow week. All work, little play.

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.

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

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.

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!

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.

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

Please pass the MOJO.....

I must apologize for my extended absence. Corporate H did tell you that I am pregnant and I've become a homebody and haven't even read the blog for a month! I blame the hormones as always...What the hell happened in Houston? Didn't catch that on the blog...Did I miss something? Is this when I called you from the reunion? I'm thinking I need to visit and pass the MOJO back. Mine is still standing strong. In the past few months I have been propositioned for sex....(Okay, gross, I'm showing/obviously pregnant!!! The loser knew it too - I told you this CH), have been told I'm the prettiest pregnant woman ever ( by a doctor who's had a crush on me for years, he's not that unfortunate in his looks, but I like to joke and be friends, not flirt--no attraction from me, eegads!), asked if I would pose for luscious lactating ladies ( I seriously hope there is no such rag!), and asked to go to the prom with a bouquet of tubing....(the last 2 are from my Zoom friend) I discussed sharing my D's with someone.....didn't happen though, again I'm pregnant and NO MESSING AROUND, ICK! He wouldn't leave me alone for 2 weeks after that, Ha! That will teach him to not do what he says. I love to punish!

Can we punish Ivy? Sounds like he needs it!!

Expect a call Monday.....will have the ultrasound that day!!!!!!

This is the best costume for the day

"In the Hamptons, they'll arrest you for wearing red shoes on a Thuhssssdeeee"


I love Little Edie. Finally finally finally I watched Grey Gardens...(http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0073076/)

Holy crap! Now I get it. If you can get your hands on a copy, which can be difficult, sit down and enjoy. It is interesting and sad and better than any of the recently released too-slick and almost-rehersed documentaries out there. The footage is raw, the women (the Beales) featured are so stunningly original and tragic and the filmakers allow you to draw your own conclusions on them.

What struck me was how beautiful both of these women were at one time, especially Little Edie, and what a life they must have had when both were younger and had money and the future was nothing but bright and full of teas in the Hamptons with rich young men from Princeton and girls who studied at Miss Porter's. They lived in a house that was grand enough to have a name- Grey Gardens - and in a town where all houses have names. But time passes, bank accounts shrink, men leave, asses sag, hair greys, skin wrinkles, invitations dry up, friends ignore and the Edies find themselves in the 70's, seemingly mad at moments and living in that same house but in squalor. Not that squalorous conditions aren't tough all everywhere, but of all places to live in squalor, oh! the Hamptons...



There was another side of me that thought Jesus H. Christ someone should have gotten a fucking job years ago so that the house could be kept up. I'd love to sit around all day and look at the beautiful beach and dance around in a bathing suit with a sweater on my head pontificating on manners or books by Hawthorne or what I used to do back in the 30's while feeding racoons Wonder Bread in my attic BUT my company expects me at the office.

This side of me didn't stick around too long because the part of me that loved watching and listening to Little Edie and her bon mots won out.

Netflix has this movie btw...

More time =

about 12 hours.

He called me yesterday morning at 8 to leave a really sweet message (which I did not retrieve until this morning...bad at checking voicemail) about how good he felt about us.

And at 11 yesterday, he sent an IM:

Him: Can you get a babysitter Sat?
Me:Why? What's up?
Him: Beerfest? I think it will be fun for us...

This was 12 hours after we got off the phone. What up? That's all the time he needed?

Finally a breakthrough

After some more talking, we finally reached a point on the phone last night where we were nice to each other again.

Don't feel like rehashing here yet - so very tired- but it was a good conversation. I told him I thought he had gone through more changes than I in adapting himself to our life together -and that wasn't always fair nor had I previously acknowledged all that he had done.

That was a good moment...

Other key moments:

Do you want to date other women? (NO)

Do you want to date me? (This answer was all over the place from no (ouch,) to not the way things are now (duh!) to a resounding yes by the end of the call)

Do you need more time? (Yes)

How much? (days...not long...need to work on thing about me)

We'll see how this goes but I am hopeful.

This is a fine example...

Of how this relationship has become a pain in the ass.

Was looking for someone to eat with, so asked Ivy. He said:

"If its going to be a good conversation, then I'll try. If not, I would rather wait for tonite."

WTF? I was simply looking for someone to walk to the cafeteria with.

He quickly apologized, but I ate with someone else anyway.

Yet another life more interesting than mine

New link off this page - chosen simply on that name alone - but I know through a friend that this Atlanta girl knows how to have fun and will let us in on all that.

Anxiously awaiting the set up of Gal Pal's blog - get off yer ass girl and write!

Girl you have power - work it

That is a quote from a new friend (gay, obviously) that rock star, gal pal and I met Friday night through my ex. He was such a bright spot in an otherwise marginal weekend. Rock Star blogged about our girls night out, so I won't repeat the details here. The weekend can be summed up in a list...


Things I learned this weekend (in no particular order):

1. Gay men are fabulous for boosting your self confidence
2. Ex boyfriends often have you around to make their current girlfriends jealous
3. That same ex was impressed with the new boobs
4. Slumber parties are still fun even in my thirties
5. Not all men appreciate a booty call, even when you look really really delicious
6. Guy friends have no qualms about asking you directly if your boobs have grown
7. I have no qualms about answering that previous question with a very honest answer (ahh yes they have indeed grown with the help of my reputable plastic surgeon and the dollars I paid him)
8. I hate talking politics or hearing people talk politics at weddings
9. I am very happy with my new boobs
10. Even in the midst of a "break" or fighting or whatever it is that Ivy and I are doing, we still are able to have mind blowing sex (albeit only once all week)
11. ABBA songs are surprisingly sad if you are going through rough times or a break up - even some that are seemingly happy sounding on the surface (SOS...)
12. Related to that, Mamma Mia actually is a fun show if you embrace the cheesiness of it all
13. My rock star friend has an amazing capacity for fun and she brings that out in me (Friday!)
14. You can easily mistake a concern for erectile dysfunction/whiskey dick with a change in morality - Gal Pal you know what I mean here
15. I'm not working my "power" enough and possibly have not yet met the right man (per our new gay friend)
16. If you propose a break or a pullback in your relationship, one should be prepared that your significant other will jump all over the chance to NOT see you very often, and you are screwed if you change your mind and still want to spend a lot of time with him
17. When you later propose going cold turkey for awhile, i.e. no calls or anything, your significant other gets upset about it, but then later ignores you and doesn't call - again apparently embracing your proposal
18. I should stop making stupid proposals I have not thought all the way through
19. Lack of communication begins to create the feeling you are single
20. This situation I am in now has none of the benefits of being in a relationship (closeness, someone I can count on, daily communication, someone you know you will see on the weekends, a best friend, regular sex, someone to face the future with) but all of the crap (not seeing each other but not being able to see other people, occasional fighting, cold unresponsive behaviour, not too much friendship, very little sex) - relationship limbo!

A life far more exciting than mine

There is a new link off this site today that will take you to my birthday sharin' friend's new blog (changes in attitude.) Check it out as her life is far more interesting than mine.

Although I had a really good night.

Anybody prone to sleep walking? I am apparently prone to a related condition - sleep making out. Lovely feeling, waking up kissing your boyfriend in the middle of the night and having no idea who or how it all started.

Spend a night in the box

Yeah that lyric quote (from a Hank Sinatra song) is for my "don't block the box" friends out there. You know who you are...

Went to see the local band aforementioned, and I highly recommend that if they come to a club near you, that you most definitely check them out. Their style is self-described honky tonk rock and roll. The lead singer is a blast to watch - he's six feet five inches of energy and sweat and cuss words under an old Miller brewing hat. All the songs they played last night in the set were great, but the most kick-ass of all was "Bucket o Love." You will not be disappointed.

Bring on the guys in Ford Contours

So I am outside the building, letting my friends' lovah in the door here (he works here but his badge doesn't work on this building) and a guy in a convertible corvette stops and asks me where a certain building is. I tell him its right next door...

The lovah says, "Oh you KNOW he knows where that building is. He just wanted you to see his convertible."

And I say, you and I both know what it means when a guy drives a convertible corvette...he's making up for something else. Personality and/or penis size.

So again, going back on my comment about rich guys and nice cars: Bring on the guys that drive ford contours...

Choosy moms choose...

Oh I have been absent for a week. A long week. Good and bad.

A lot of talking, apologizing and making up to do. I have forgiven the BF for the tantrum in Houston (I think, not so unconsciously, that comment was linked to the whole pass-the-altoid debacle from my birthday...)

We've both agreed to let some things go in an effort to make this work. He will let go of the birthday/strip club shenanigans, and I will let go of the mistrust over his trip to DC and his friends that are girls. (I get to keep my guy friends in all this too.)

I will also do a better job of asking for exactly what I want up front, rather than trying to keep him happy. The latter is a guessing game at best and hasn't worked so far.

I am no longer in search of a millionaire on life support. I assume that Ivy is not looking for a college girl with an eating disorder either, but I think we all know, among us girls here, that he would like me a bit thinner. (I would like him a bit richer and more buff but eh...vat can u do.) The insults one chooses to say in anger are often laced with the truth.


Today was brightened by the fact that my birthday sharin' friend (the one who partied with me at the strip club) has a lover (or lovah - no other word for this guy...long story for another chapter in this blog) who occasionally sends out funny emails. Today's was just a link, and it is worth sharing:

http://www.thesurrealist.co.uk/slogan.cgi?word=Vajayjay


It is an advertising slogan generator, and my friend's lovah cleverly filled in the word to sloganize already - VAJAYJAY. I got back some great ones right away:

Gee, Your Vajayjay Smells Terrific

Yes, it does. I work hard on that.

Mama's got the Magic of Vajayjay

Indeed I do. Why bring the mom thing into though. Really.

Wow! I Could Have Had a Vajayjay!

You totally could have dude, so why didn't you? Regretting a missed opportunity for drinking tomato juice is a stretch, but this...now this is a slogan I can believe in! Regrets like these are just a waste and should be avoided.

Obey Your Vajayjay.

Yes, and often.

This occasionally gets me into trouble, so sometimes you gotta ignore the vajayjay. Always obeying would mean no work and therefore no job for me. A girl's gotta pay the mortgage. However, I have noticed that some girls not only don't obey the vajayjay, they ignore it altogether or worse yet, forget about it unless they are married or close to it. Then after they marry they forget about it all over again. What up? Obey your master...

Daddy or Vajayjay?

Sick. Just sick. I cannot recall what real product this slogan this is tied to. I put this in here b/c sometimes the slogan generator just misfires in a way that is bizarre and makes you cringe.

Vajayjay. It's What's For Dinner.

Always on the menu at my house. Chef's favorite.

Absolut Vajayjay.

Absolut absolutely correlates to that part of my body getting attention.

The Vajayjay that Smiles Back.

Um, wow.

Really?

Is that possible? Is there a class I can take for this? I am just not that talented...

The Loudest Noise Comes From The Electric Vajayjay.

I bet.

I'll end on that one. If you go to the site, you can get served up as many as 500 different slogans for whatever word you chose. Great for real, true laughs.

College girls with eating disorders and millionaires on life support

So in talking with my ex, he explained that he doesn't want to be hurt anymore, and that I have mistreated him for months. (Going back to January.)

I am not supposed to hold anything he says to me in anger against him, but he can continuously dredge up shit I did three months ago.

This seems completely fair.

And, the kicker:

He explained that he was completely justified in getting mad.

Hmmm. I am thinking...no. Maybe I am wrong here, but um yeah I am sticking with no. No it is.

It wasn't justified.

Was I a bitch? Yes.
Was I wrong in being mean and throwing out his t-shirt? Yes.
Could he have yelled at me in private? Yes.
Have I been unfair to him in the past few months? Yes.

But he didn't do it in private. Doing what he did, and essentially abandoning me on the trip, was just plain bad. No one, including loser cheater uneducated psycho violent drunk ex fiancee made me feel as bad as I did on Saturday. And this guy is a mild mannered businessman by day. It's all very very surprising.

I wish I hadn't fallen in love with him. I certainly wish he didn't know so much about me. I wish I didn't know so much about him.

I wish he had never ever told me about how he used to be mean to past girlfriends b/c they weren't the hottest girl in the bar. I've learned to look for that look in his eyes when we are out, that look that spots a young fresh hottie with a killer bod who clearly lacks the baggage I drag along, that look that says,"What does that guy have that I don't?"

He claims its just social color commentary, that he likes to watch people and wonder, and I love doing that as well. However, I don't get that look he does- he gives off this anxious aura when he spots a hot girl with a dorky guy - and it very much gives the impression that he's angry at lost chances or lost years being a dork or whatever. That look was responsible for a few of the fights we had on the cruise, and many other times, and he denies that he does it, but he doesn't realize the looks on his face or his body language. I think that he thinks he looks happier and non-chalant when he's out watching people, but honestly, he just looks mad sometimes. And it makes me sad, and makes me wish I was prettier or younger or thinner (clearly thinner - as his parting comment yesterday bore some truth) or something that would just keep him happy. I don't mind the looking - hell I look all the time at cuter guys - its the wishing and the anger on his face I got sick of.

But I am not prettier or younger or thinner (working on that now!), so he'll be off in search of college girls with eating disorders and I'll look for a millionaire on life support.

You take chances with any guy you go out with - any guy has the potential to be a cad. Why not just go for the guys with money? Poor guys are cads too. Middle class guys are cads. So are rich guys. Most men, by nature, are jerks. I might as well find out if a guy is or isn't a jerk while being wined and dined on his dime, and driven around in a nice car.

See, I can change. I learned something new. I am becoming opportunistic - as the great poet Young MC put forth.

On to other things. Perfect timing. Karma is a good thing.

Who sent me an IM this afternoon?

Yup, you guessed it. Ticket. The hot sales guy. The send me in a limo to waffle house guy. Funny how life works. Had he bothered me last week, I would have reminded him of the fact that I have a boyfriend. (Yes I have to be that obvious.) I might have just ignored the message. But I don't have that same situation anymore. I didn't remind him, and we just chatted. We'll see what happens here. He just bought a house very near mine in the past month...and he has a very nice car.

There have to be other guys out there like Ivy but without the public humilation gene.

Bad timing

Layoffs here today and there is a bloodmobile right outside the building, clearly visible from all windows facing the front.

Do you Haiku?

I do.

I had a moment of clarity this am. Wrote this. Its funnier if you know the company I work for.

We ask you do much
We pay you very little
Eggroll of regret

Seriously. All haikuing aside, I don't want to be asked to leave tomorrow. I do want to be here and contribute, but I can't stop trying to be pithy. As much as I love to write, this blog isn't helping me pay the mortgage.

I dread tomorrow.

I can report that the girls are much better. They are significantly less sore, starting to fall into place, and indeed, as one of my reader's commented, I secretly wish I went just a bit bigger. But I'll enjoy these for awhile and see how things go.

Things with Ivy League? Delicious. He is one adorable man. I actually got turned on last night watching him answer a tie-breaking trivia question at a bar. I love how smart and cocky he is one minute and how kind and geeky he can be the next. God am I lame or what? I so wish I could be cooler about him.

We leave on vacation together in two days.

Come Thursday it won't be alright

It is uncomfortable (weak word but I don't have a ton of time for updates this week) when layoffs are going on at the company you are working for...

Executives go missing, managers go into closed door mode, employees spend a lot, A LOT of time wondering, conjecturing, worrying about what is going on, certain people avoid other people (i.e. people in the know don't want to make eye contact with the masses, for fear their eyes will scream "Yes you are about to be booted out on your ass!" or "No, you are safe, but buckle up as things are going to get even shittier around here") and finally, a strange mixture of no work and a ridiculous amount of output gets done.

People panic - maybe if I work really really hard right now for the next 5 days and cross my fingers they won't axe me. Good workers, the thoughtful and high performing sensitive ones, seem to freeze with anxiety - the very people who might not necessarily need to worry find themselves awash in panic and desperation that shuts them down from performing at the level on which they usually operate.

You are somewhat in the know when you have been told, "You are okay for now. No long term promises, but for this round, we'd like you to continue to slave away for lower than market average wages." You are also somewhat in the know if you are smart enough to catch wind of what other teams are going through - who has a headcount target, who has already been told. But not knowing everything, every walk to the bathroom, every jaunt down to the cafeteria is precarious.

I'm here to say that being in the know is not fun. See someone you know is going but hasn't been told yet and your heart beats faster, you feel a little sick, and then you feel relief that its them and not you, and then you feel like a total ass for thinking of yourself. There is some survior guilt going on here. See someone else, someone you haven't seen in awhile, and you begin to wonder their fate - are they going? do they know? what exactly does she do around here? It takes over every moment of the day.

I worry that they will change their minds about me in the next two days and that, come Thursday, I'll be asked to go away like the other workers, managers, and executives they tagged this time.

I'm really concerned about Britney

C'mon, aren't you? Oh you know you are.

I mean, what's up with the potential second baby and all that junk food. She's a major pop star, a millionaire, yet she looks like Tammi Jo the hairdresser who lives in a trailer in Vinton, VA, dines on nothing but tuna helper and slim jims and is married to Bo who is a part-time plumber.

I feel like I should be concerned. Us, People and Star magazine thinks we should all be worried.

You gotta admit that's a better subject line than beware the Ides of March, which I bet if you Googled that phrase today is on two gazillion blogs. (This one included, obviously.)

I am touring the facility and picking up slack

Lots of my coworkers are out at an event in Vegas. Party at Pure, dancing at the Wynn. Wish I was there! Snoozeville here.

Feeling so much better. I have learned to sleep propped up on pillows!

Had a quick lunch with Ivy League today. We've been dating for awhile, and working in connecting buildings for over two months, and today was the first time we decided to eat lunch with each other. I don't know why I didn't ask him to do this before. It was only 20 minutes but it was nice - nice to get out of my office, nice to walk out of my building for awhile into the other buildings, and nice to see him.

God he looked really good.

Seriously, I walked to his office and I was almost shocked, as I always am but in a good way, by his looks. Yum. I would drink that boy's bathwater...

I still don't like Mondays...

but the girls feel better today!

I awoke, for the the first time since surgery, with no pain this morning. Nice! Still not sleeping great - sleeping propped up pillows is really hard to get used to - but there's been a drastic improvement in how I feel.

I took it very easy this weekend. I suppose that is paying off.

Ivy and I had a very serious talk on Friday. Came to an agreement on many things, and we both have a better understanding of each other and what we were getting upset about over the past week and also in past fights.

Top Five Things I did this weekend:
1. Lay in bed with Ivy League Hottie on Friday night
2. Lay in bed with Ivy on Saturday and watch ACC Tourney.
3. Lay in bed with Ivy on Saturday night and watch porn and Sportscenter
4. Lay in bed with Ivy on Sunday morning and watch Mad Hot Ballroom and Sunday Morning
5. Watch the Sopranos with Ivy Sunday night

Watched two really disappointing movies this weekend. Lord of War and Grizzly Man. The Grizzly guy in the documentary was self indulgent and wacko, and the movie itself was about 45 minutes too long. Lord of War had holes in the script and I just wasn't convinced that Nicholas Cage and Jared Leto were Russia or that they could go from being small time losers in Brooklyn to arms dealing all over the world. There was a leap that happened about 10 minutes in the script that I just didn't buy...

Buyer's remorse

Why the hell didn't anybody warn me about mood swings post surgery. Damn! I am like a ball of anger one minute and a weepy housewife the next.

It's either lack of sleep that's influencing this or some sort of weird depression I've settled into b/c I am less than happy with the results of the surgery. I know in reality that the swelling is going to go down and I am going to feel better eventually, but right now, living this, is just pure hell. And its been a factor in the fights I have picked with Ivy League hottie all week. Best bet is to stay away from him for awhile.

And honestly, they look really, really stupid when I don't have my clothes on. I hope this gets better. I have buyer's remorse for my new boobs.

Things are less than perfect with my perfect man

Am depressed about my near perfect ability to screw up a great relationship.

Things are less than perfect within my world after the many fights this week with Ivy. I think I am purposely trying to sabotage this - and its now gone past the point of being fixable. I don't want to lose the best thing that has ever happened to me over really really stupid shit. But also can't seem to find a way out of the hole I have gotten myself into.

Will write more later.

Words that don't get used enough as verbs

Nobody ever uses bed as a verb anymore, unless one is writing romance novels. I think we should bring that one back - as in:

I wish I had a place to bed him.

Or

I just don't bed him enough. He's going to go looking for another filly.

Other words in this category that don't get used enough in daily conversation. Insert them where bed was in the above sentences and use away.

1. Ravage
2. Blow

Don't block the box

My girlfriends have adopted this as their new motto in dating.

Your box gets blocked if a certain guy is manipulating your time and you want to spread the love among many beaus.

A good friend just found out that one of her guys is coming to visit her for a full week - and her lament was, "Oh this will be fun but now my box is blocked all week!"

Don't block the box. Spread the word.

I have a bigger set of twins now

The title says it all. I went up a cup!

This bilateral breast augmentation has been a long time in the works. I had a baby several years ago and breastfed for many months, and those two things (pregnancy and breastfeeding) left my girls a bit smaller than they used to be.

Previous significant others were not in favor of the operation, despite always looking at big breasted women as they walked by. ("Honey, do as I say, not as I do!!!")

So, after getting my recent job and paying off some much needed debt, I gave myself the gift of enhanced cleavage. This operation is all about me. And in spite of the pain I am in today (day four post surgery) and being barely able to function at work, I am SO HAPPY with what I have done.

They are still swollen, and they sit extremely high on my chest -they start right below my collarbone - but I know that once they migrate into place they are going to look good. I went for a large C-cup. And being a short girl, this should give me the voluptuous effect I was going after when I paid the doctor thousands of dollars last week. Right now they are easily a full D, and I look ridiculous naked.

In the meantime, before they get to their final state in anywhere from 2-4 weeks, I walk around the house and work feeling like I have two small bowling balls on top of my lungs. They are like steel torpedoes on my chest, and you would think I would love being this well endowed. But they don't move, even as I walk fast, and they aren't quite yet making me feel as sexy as my smaller, un-enhanced breasts did. But I'm ever hopeful, and looking forward to bikini season and going out around St. Patrick Day to see if the new girls make a difference. This will be an interesting social experiment that I'll document here.

No one at work noticed today. Been wearing padded bras for many months now, so hopefully the change won't be so obvious. I also wore a loose shirt. If I wear anything remotely tight, the word will be out. There aren't many women in my building to begin with - this change will just be too much- so I plan on loose clothing for awhile if I can manage it.

Ivy League has been supportive. He claims that it didn't matter to him one way or another, and once we even had a fight about the fact that he didn't like men looking at my breasts in their current small state. Yet, as we covered in the past posts, he is a guy and it is his nature, I've never seen a girl with a great rack not catch his eye.

He's taken care of me over the past week, even through the fights about DC and Atlanta girls, and this included doing things above and beyond typical boyfriend duty. I won't digress here into details, but he's been great in the caregiver department. He's babysat, shopped, did laundry, cooked, cleaned, bathed me, and helped me into the bathroom numerous times.

I'm on my own this week as we spent WAY TOO MUCH time together last week b/c of the operation. I am managing okay - I would say that the most difficult thing is driving. I probably shouldn't be doing that, as it hurts to climb into my car, hurts to put the seatbelt on, and hurts to raise my right arm away from my waist. But my commute is short, so I'll suffer through. Everyday I wake up and think the pain will be less, but the last two days have disappointed me in that department.

And sleeping....ugh. I have to sleep propped up, as if I am in a recliner. I cannot lie flat on my back, or my side, or my stomach. Learning to sleep sitting up has been painful, and last night was the first night I got a good nights sleep in this position - and that was only b/c I was past being tired. I have at least 2 more weeks to go sleeping like this.

Said the scorpion to the frog - its my nature...

To continue my rant about men and women and can they be friends without the sex thing getting in the way...

I've now run this whole situation from the last post by two of my friends. No one believes that my ivy league boyfriend slept on the couch and nothing happened that weekend in DC , and both are disappointed that I would be that naive in believing him. My best friend thinks they at least kissed, and he might have felt awkward as ass about it so he's not going to admit to it, but most people think that when a guy invests a plane ticket to another city, he's going to hit it if he gets the chance. Especially if he was less than clear about who he was visiting.

I didn't think so at all, even up to today, as we've been soooooo solid. It just doesn't fit him. But now I am starting to be convinced and disappointed. I guess it was early in our relationship - but it was the weekend after I spent Thanksgiving with his family, so the sneakiness is a bit confusing.

And as for him wanting to keep up with friendship with the Atlanta girl - all my friends agreed that it seemed odd that he was perfectly content with blowing off offers from many of his local friends over the past few months to do things with me, but this girl comes up with an offer and he's ready to go. There's only one reason guys stay friends with girls they've fucked - and that's to hit it again. He claims its because she likes sports and is good at eating chicken wings - but I see him blow off plenty of guys that do those things without a second thought. It ain't her sports acumen he's got his eye on.

In all fairness, it is the ACC Tourney. I have to give him that.

And I have to give him props in wanting to stay friends with her if only to get tix to the Final Four in 2007 as she is connected with that. He's got a little bit of a user in him. Can't blame him for that either. I am a lot like that myself.

But to be naive and actually say to me that she's not a girl but more like a guy friend - HA - its just so disappointing that he's trying to play this game. Honesty would be far more attractive. I've been the Atlanta girl - hell I am THAT girl in several guy-girl relationships I am part of. I KNOW the guys still want to sleep with me, but I just ignore it as sometimes they are so fun to toy with and watch sports with and flirt with and secretly, it is so fun to mind fuck their girlfriends with my mere presence in their lives. I enjoy the power of those relationships. (I should say I enjoyed, note the past tense, b/c I've shied away from being that girl since I got into this relationship with Ivy league...)

What is frustrating is that ivy thinks this girl he's still friends with has the most innocent of intentions:

"She was concerned about you - she asked if you would mind that I would go spend the day with her...."

Oh. Dude. Her concern was in no way about me. It was about making sure that Ivy was ok. She could give a damn about me. It is her oh-so-subtle way of stating "Your girlfriend can't be that cool, can she? b/c if she was that cool, you wouldn't be wanting to hang out with me." She likes the power too.

How do I know this - you ask? I invented that game - that game that makes the girlfriend with concerns seem like a pain in the ass and the friend seem like the most attractive, carefree philly in the world. I used to play it too - but gave it up recently under the pretense of trying to be a better person.

But I digress.

This situation has left me with disappointment, which is the loneliest of all emotions.

I had this guy on a pedestal - many of his other actions in his life point to an unbelievable, quite admirable demonstration of morals and ethics - the kind of thing I've looked for and found in very, very few men- and he's fallen off said pedestal. It doesn't change my relationship with him dramatically - I'm just not quite as crazy about him as I was. That's probably a good thing for my own sanity. I was over the moon for this guy - dreaming about getting married and having his babies and growing old while watching sportscenter sort of crazy. Christ, I not only wanted to be a better person, I wanted to be HIM as I thought he was so cool and so good and so smart and so funny. Honestly, I have never felt so strongly about someone. I still feel really good about him, just not as much so.

In the end, I thought he was different than most other men and the blame for that one is squarely on recently naive me.

This is where I have to remind myself of my favorite lines from the Crying Game; the story of the scorpion and the frog.

A scorpion needs to cross a river and he asks the frog for a ride. The frog refuses on grounds that the scorpion will surely sting him on the ride to the other bank and they will both drown. The scorpion says, "No no no I won't sting you." With trepidation, the frog agrees because the scorpion has convinced him with his arguments and promises. The scorpion hops on the frogs back and they begin the crossing. Halfway across, the frog feels a sharp pain in his back, and realizes that the scorpion has indeed stung him. Before they both go under the water, the frog asks, "Why did you sting me after you promised me you wouldn't?"

The scorpions reply?

"I can't help. It's my nature."

Never vote against nature. I simply forgot over the past few months I was dating a guy. That's my mistake- for thinking too much of him. This whole thing is just his nature.

I can hear Biz Markie

Long time no write. Been very busy with work and life, and have not had too many anecdotes from my own life to pass along. Being in love is not always conducive to funny stories. I don't feel entirely comfortable about writing about my day to day relationship with Ivy - 95% of the time its just going too well to let others in on it - and bliss does not make for interesting entries. I am toying with living vicariously through my friends and writing about their exploits here.

However, sometimes a fight or two springs up that is interesting enough to write about.

(I should note that it also turns out that Hospital diva is now pregnant and that certainly has limited her stories to be posted here.)

Biz Markie, wise sage that he is, sang these famous out of tune words:

You, you got what I need. But you say she's just a friend....

A recent very serious fight between me and Ivy League hottie involved our individual friendships with members of the opposite sex - our peeps that are "just friends." I found out that in Dec., when he went out of town to DC for the weekend, it was not to visit a couple of friends (as I assumed for some unknown reason) but he went a stayed with a girl for the weekend. So those stories of what he did that weekend, from going out to great restaurants to going to a comedy club, was all with this just a friend girl. She's not an ex - she's a "friend" from college that invited him up there.

This issue surfaced and made me a bit uncomfortable lately when I pushed on going up to DC and staying with his "friends" that he just recently visited and he said he didn't think that would be a good idea. Hmmm. I probed a bit out of confusion:

Why? (Alarm bells went off in my head,or was it the off note toy piano key sounds from the Biz song?)

He was like, "Just don't think it would be good idea. It was awkward when I was up there."

Awkward huh. I asked why and he just stated that his friend, she is just not that fun.

She??? (Alarm bells like crazy!)

Honestly, I did not know about this. I asked very few questions about his trip up there before he went and after he went - mostly because I lived in DC for many years and know the city well - didn't think he could really tell me anything I didn't know. I also think he was purposely vague about it. He kept referring to his time up there as being with his "friend."

Skip to the present where I now ask more questions - questions a typical girlfriend might have asked and I should have before he went on this trip (not two months later.) Where did you sleep? (Couch...do I honestly believe this? My friends' say no way.) Is this an ex? (Nope just a friend.) Ahh Biz I love ya! And she is NOT interested in you? (I don't think so.)

This evolved into me being pretty mad. And mad for days. Mad that I felt duped. Mad that he would spend a good amount of money on another woman when he could have stayed in town with me. Mad that he would be stupid enough to think she doesn't like him. Mad that I have let some of my male friendships fall by the wayside out of respect for him. I've turned down the "threesome" ex boyfriend for drinks a good 6-7 times because I just didn't want to rock the boat- and I am in no danger of falling back into bed with that louse. He's just a good drinking buddy now. But a buddy that I nonetheless avoided out of simplicity and respect.

Silly me. Silly silly silly me. This is where I should have acted in my own self interest instead of trying to be nice and thoughtful. Nice and thoughtful gets me nowhere. Nice and thoughtful gets nobody anywhere. Guys always act in their own self interest.

So we have a big fight about it. We get over it. And the very next day, the subject rears its ugly head again - in the form of another "friend" of Ivy's.

This one is one that he talks to regularly, and she called him on Thursday or Friday to ask him to meet her at the ACC Tourney in Greensboro. He said, sure. She said - won't your girlfriend be mad?

Now, he took this as her being concerned for me (how nice...but I think not) and I see that as her saying "Dude you are making a mistake here - I am a girl and you are going to come hang out with me for the day. Make sure you know what you are doing because most girls are not as cool as me." He is really really naive.

I went through the roof. This was the day after I found out about the DC visit and he's telling me that he's got this girl he's still friends with in Atlanta. But that I shouldn't worry - she's really a guy friend.

Really? A guy friend, huh.

Does she have a penis?

Did you fuck her at any point in the past few years?

The answer to those two questions are No and Yes. So, since she has an actual vajayjay and she has indeed used it on him then she is indeed NOT a guy friend. If he's hit it at one point in his life - she's an ex. Some sort of an ex. (And that was as recently as within two years ago.)

So he thinks that its okay for him to be friends with these two girls (I'll call them DC and Atlanta) because he doesn't like them. So I say, then it must be okay for me to continue to be friends with my guys as I don't like them either. No, he says that is different. I don't trust the guys you are friends with - and you slept with Neil. (That was 6 years ago...) You can trust my situation b/c I know "Atlanta" doesn't like me anymore and I don't like either of those girls.

That sounds like the biggest bunch of male chauvinist fucking bullshit I have ever heard.

I am shocked, just shocked by what I hear. And I am getting mad writing about it now.

Sooooo...there were major fights this weekend over this. We considered breaking up. I certainly thought that he's been less than honest and certainly he thinks I am naive. I have resolved to not let my friendships fall by the wayside.

Curiously, he admitted last night after we had "made up" that he thought DC was into him. He said she got upset when he talked about me while he was visiting. BINGO! I was right. My point to him was that he doesn't really know what he's talking about with these women and I doubt Atlanta has above board reasons for staying friends with him. I need to face the fact that since she broke up with him and he's still friends with her, that most of the time guys stays friends with ex-girlfriends because they, in some way, might want to hit it again. (That is certainly the case with some of my friends...)

It will be good to catch up with some of my friends. I don't think I should let them fall by the wayside again.

Actual things overheard by Consumer Electronics Show attendees in the convention hallway shared with Adult Video News attendees

1. I lost my whip!
2. I thought your performance in Bad, Bad Girls was not up to the quality of Busty Cops.
3. Where the FUCK is the bathroom? Hey you, yeah you, there in that godfather suit. If you give me a piggy back ride to the bathroom, I will give you a golden shower.
4. Should we have worn the "Dirty Bitches" baby doll shirts or the "Filthy whore" shorts to the session today?
5. I'm a vet but she's a novice to AVN - I am basically acting as her anal coach until she further develops her skills
6. That director is so sweet but he's almost deaf and is always shouting at me on set to moan louder.
7. Are my nipples sticking out of this leather corset? Oh, they aren't? Damn.
8. Nope, they aren't mine but you should know that I am upgrading to double D's next month.
9. Who are all these people with CES badges and why do they wear so much clothing?

This Christmas was awkward as ass

This Christmas was awkward as ass. No other way to describe it. Egads it was trying.

A little background before I set this up: am divorced now for 5 years and for the most part get along well with my ex. We share custody and try to make things nice for our daughter. He recently got married to a woman who lives 4 hours away with her kids of her own from two previous marriages. Whom he met, I might add, a mere few weeks before I met began dating Ivy League.

I did the following things over Christmas Eve/Christmas Day to please my daughter and yet torture myself:

Christmas Eve Day - spent time with my daughter and her new stepsister
Christmas Eve- Mass with my ex, his new wife, her kids, my daughter. One big family. Confusing as hell the other parishoners.
Christmas Eve- Party at my ex in-laws (my ex's father and stepmother) with the above mentioned folks and more from my ex's family. Introductions at the party were a lesson in detante.
Christmas -Opening presents with my ex, his wife, her kids and my daughter in a hotel suite. (My true what the fuck moment...)
Christmas -Two more hours with my ex in-laws (without my ex husband and his new family) so that my daughter could open all her presents. Nicest part of the the two days, but upon reflection seems odd.
Christmas - 30 min conversation with my ex's MOTHER who quite honestly never liked me but now dislikes her son, my ex, so much that she calls me to talk.

I am fucking WORN OUT. This postmodern extended family crap is highly overrated and very very tiring. Foreign service protocol work is easier than these two days.

One non-ex bright spot: Christmas afternoon with my rock star, shared-birthday friend and her family. That girl rocks (in so many ways!) and saved my sanity that day, and it was truly truly generous of her to open her family celebration to us.

It all began when my ex husband and his brand new family came into town - unexpectedly- at the last minute. I was planning on going to church at 7 and then going to a party at my ex husband's father's house (obviously still get along well with the ex-in-laws) on Christmas Eve. I offered to back out of the party and let them attend with my daughter, but they both (he and his new wife) insisted that I go.

So Christmas Eve day. My daughter returns to the house to get ready for church with her new step sister in tow. I tell my ex that this is fine - as long my daughter is happy I am glad to watch both girls and bring them to church.

But it hits me 30 minutes later. I am babysitting my ex's new stepdaughter. This is just weird.

Sooo we head out to chuch, me, the daughter and the stepsister. 1 hour early because Christmas Eve masses are so crowded at this church. We take a seat in the back row and I proceed to daydream and people watch. I am not that into mass. I have serious issues with organized religion in general and my own separate issues with the Catholic Church. But I like the incense and creepy Saints statues and crucifixes, the rituals oh the rituals, and man I really dug that DaVinci Code. Oh that was about an alternate view of the church and christianity wasn't it? Hmmm. Whatevah. Anyway, I digress.

Observation 1: Catholics do not dress well.

Observation 2: Catholics at this chuch are, for the most part, not attractive people.

Let me begin by saying there were no hotties anywhere except for a 17 year old boy in a suit about three rows away. Barely legal and I am, unfortunately, truly old enough to be his mother. This church holds hundreds and no cuties in sight.

And the clothing! Catholics look uncomfortable in their dress up clothes. Its like they try, and they are on the right path, but they just don't quite look good enough. (Squint your eyes for effect while saying this - like they come sooo close but ahhh sad to say bless your heart, no.) Like the cute girl in high school AP English - cute but not hot, the hair not quite right but not wrong either, the clothes very Kohl's or Target, and the walk in high heels is not up to par. She dates the football kicker perhaps, or a soccer player, but never the quarterback.

I think Episcopalians and Jews dress the best (more money and taste) and Baptists the worse (those horrible uptight suits that still have shoulder pads in them from Belk.)

I am thinking of these things to keep my mind off the fact that I am saving seats for my ex husband and his new wife, due to arrive at church at any moment.

So they arrive, and we all hug and say hi and the kids are all lined up and I am, very tactfully, sitting next to the new wife. (BTW I purposely dressed up and looked hot for this. I was not very interested in my ex when I was married to him, and even less so after I left him, but I am indeed competitive. It was a good look too, by the way the suburban dad in the other back row was staring.)

I always try to figure out families around me - who is the dad, who is the uncle, etc. - while mass is going on as it keeps me from thinking about the mindless banter of the liturgy, and I would imagine the parishoners around us were confused if they play that game too. Who belongs to who?

My mind wanders to Ivy League. Mmm mmm good. What is that absolutely delicious guy doing with me??? That boy can eat crackers in my bed anytime. Amen! Sex on the kitchen island. Pray for me lord! Making out in a parking lot. I am not worthy! It goes on from there - I had a lot to choose from to think about where he is concerned.

I expect lightening to strike me at any time.

What Happens in Cary Stays in Cary

Hello Wednesday!

Yeah...facing the regrets of a night like that on a Wednesday morning. Tough. Tough. Makes for a long week.

Ivy League had gotten mad. Rightfully so on most things but on others I think he overreacted. All of that aside, I should not have played that game and we should not have gone to the strip club.

We did not go to bed angry that night though. Won't bore you with the details but he is a very very very sweet man. Emphasis on sweet.

I woke up sheepishly the next morning thinking OMG I went to a strip club and played pass the Altoid. In the cold, sobering light of day the previous night's activities seemed very stupid.

This horrible feeling of regret did not last long. The phone texts and instant messages from the game players started before 9am:

Me texting my birthday friend: Dude wake up and get on IM...
Birthday friend: Shit that was nuts last night

Birthday Friend: This was a case of WGOOTRSOTR
Me: Wha???

What goes on on the road stays on the road

Me: So Cary is now the road for us? We were four miles from home...

PTA Male player 1:U there?
Me: Yup
PTA1: Wow you girls are rock stars. This is the most fun I have had on a Tuesday night ever.
PTA1: We must take this show on the road...

Ugh.

PTA Male Player 2: Got mints?
Me: LOL. Glad you can laugh.
PTA 2: Laugh - last night was great. Pass the Altoid should be an olympic sport in 2008.

Funny how reconnecting with the players was cathartic and made everything seem a little better and little funnier. However, I was still filled with regret.

Got mints?

Birthday celebration last week. Lots of fun. You only turn 29 as many times as you can claim. I share the exact birthday of one of my close work friends - down to the half hour. Same day, same year, same hour. Do we ever get along! And we celebrated together last week with some work friends.

So we did shots at a local place with a pretty good size group. That was tame enough. Jager shots. My friend did tequila. She nursed tequila shots, but I digress.

There was a small group of us - about 10 - that wanted to go to a gentlemen's club. This is tricky with co-workers, especially at such a conservative company - but the small group seemed game and the two birthday girls were up for it, as well as two other girls. So with a 40%/60% ratio of women to men in our group we headed out.

All of us girls were good and drunk heading there. This should have been a warning as to what was coming later in the night.

The guys were excited to be going - and to be going with women co-workers. Somehow I think this was exotic for them. Most of them are married. Hell everyone in the group but me, Ivy League and another guy is married. So a trip to a strip club is welcome hedonistic fun. A trip there with attractive co-workers has the potential to be downright erotic.

Not sure it was erotic. It was fun and perhaps weird.

So we get there. The dancers were hot. And they really dance at this club. These girls work it and I respect that. We got seats right up front, and proceeded to buy shots (which came with a short lap dance) right away. Both Ivy League and I got shots from the same brown haired hottie in bra and panties.

Ivy League purchased a lap dance for my birthday friend. She thoroughly enjoyed. That was fun for the co-workers to watch. A little girl on girl action. Yum!

Ivy League was into the whole place, and jonesing for a lap dance. I was a bit jealous, but not so much so that I wouldn't buy him a lap dance. I think its just an equality thing.

He was like:
You are okay with this?
And my response was:
As okay as I can be when a mostly naked girl who is younger than me, who has a better body than me is dancing all over you.
Him: You need to be bigger than this.
Me: I think I am pretty big. I am purchasing this dance. But give me a little jealousy. Damn.
Him: You brought me here.
Me: Yes, and I am buying you a dance. But don't condescend to me about being big about having this woman who is SO HOT and SO SEXY and SO NAKED and SO YOUNG and who clearly has NOT had a baby dance all over you. I will be big when you can be big about a younger stronger man with a better chest and a longer dick who can clearly kick your ass in a bar fight is dancing all over me naked.

He didn't really see my point at all. What he heard in that last comment was me saying that I could go out and find this man and sleep with him. This is not my point. My point was, give me some jealousy, understand it, empathize with it if you can imagine yourself in my shoes. I'll get over it quick if you can just respect it.

Again ladies and gentleman, I was there, in a strip club. Willingly. And willing to fund his private lap dance. And he wanted to enjoy it completely guilt free and I was mad at him for asking me to be bigger about it. I think quite frankly I was pretty fucking big about it to begin with. I let him pick out the girl too.

But again, I digress.

I goaded him into the dance. Called him a pussy which was so wrong but my point was, dude, me, your girlfriend, is buying. Take the private dance.

So he does.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, er the cocktail tables at main stage...someone in the group gets out an Altoid. Pops it in his mouth. And has a brilliant idea.

The official Pass the Altoid game begins.

It begins so quietly with a guy in the group passing it quickly via a tiny kiss to my birthday friend. She proceeds to pass it, more seductively, to the other girl in the group that is left at this point in the night. (Besides me... I am still there but not actively participating. Just watching.) It goes around to a few people, then one of the guys wants to pass it to me. By this time, this is full on french kissing while passing the mint. This has reached a certain unspoken level- that moment when enough people bought it and did it willingly that I was faced with being the party pooper to not continue the mint on its oral journey.

Do I do this?

These are my co-workers.

I barely know three of them. They are all married.

The man I love would not like this.

But....

The man I love is in a private room getting an extra long lap dance from a 22 year old hot brunette.

I jump in. I am not one to sit around and steam. I am also not one to turn down a dare, and this was a big ol dare.

So I kiss this inital person. It is a little funny, a little sexy, but it means nothing. I pass it to someone else. A little more interesting. One person in particular was almost erotic. I kissed every remaining person there - both women and the women were the best by far- and that mint was not getting any smaller.

At this point the crowd around us is cheering. Odd behaviour for a strip club. We had ALL our clothes on but we were having fun.

So in the course of 5 minutes I intimately and repeatedly kissed six co-workers. EGADS. Holy bad ideas Batman.

The crowd making noise got somebody's attention in the back booths. Apparently, Ivy League stood up in the middle of the lap dance - he said the stripper was like wha? - and looked out at our tables. The conversation, I would imagine, went like this:

Stripper: What's wrong - I am not done. I still have to grab my breast five more times and hover over you with this fantastic ass of mine for 3 more minutes for you to get the standard dance.
Ivy League: I have to go
Stripper: (Still gyrating, no doubt, but with a puzzled look on her face) Huh?
Ivy League: My girlfriend is kissing my co-workers
Stripper: Ah then. Have a good evening!

He returns to the table with his free Strip Club t-shirt and proceeds to get really really mad.

Really mad.

Did I say really mad? Well, he got really really mad. At me. He had seen me kiss two of the men.
The game ended because it was like dad returned home.

So, as he got mad ("What the fuck are you doing?????You are kissing coworkers!!!!????") I was like, dude you don't have a leg to stand on here. You just had a 10 minute lap dance with a mostly naked 22 year old in a private room. That your girlfriend paid for. Hello! Don't get mad about Pass the Altoid. I got over the lap dance real quick with help from these kisses. You should be thanking these guys. And girls. I am in a better frame of mind in just 5 minutes. Brilliant game, really. Brilliant mint.

He didn't think so.

Will write more about the aftermath later. But it wasn't pretty and involved a lot of yelling at me.