Sprinkles Story...Part 3

Sex is weird.

Yeah it feels good and all that, but seriously, who thought of it?  Was it like some guy a bajillion years ago went up to some girl and was like, "Hey, what's that you got down there?  Is that a- is that a hole?  Like, just a hole, nothing else?  Hmm.  Strange.  See this thing I got?  Right there?  No, not those, on top of them, right- yeah, yeah that thing right there.  Well it kinda looks like what I got could fit in what you've got.  Wanna try it?  No?  Come on, we got nothing else to do.  Seriously, what's the worse that could happen.  If it doesn't fit I'll take it out, we'll go kill some wooly mammoths or something.  Ok?  Yeah?  Sweet."

And civilization was born.

Seriously though, losing one's virginity has got to be one of the most awkward things ever.  I don't know a single person who had one of those first times you see in the movies, with rose petals and candles and music and a guy whose waited a full month before jumping in the sack.  I remember when my entire group of friends started losing our virginity, one by one.  It was like an epidemic of thrust thrust done.

 Carol told me about her first time when we were sitting in the basement of a friend's house during a party.  Carol and I were just becoming super close as friends, so that would make it around 9th grade.  So we were sitting on this couch, being kind of socially awkward because even though we knew a bunch of people there, we didn't necessarily like any of them.  A guy we knew that would spend the entire next year making out with his girlfriend up against Carol's locker, had just given us an unnecessary drunken lap dance.  When we didn't give him the let's-have-a-threesome-right-now reaction he was looking for, he stormed away, muttering "Dude, fuck this" under his breath.  For whatever reason, this turned the conversation between Carol and I to sex, which would become a main staple in our conversations, even to this day.

Carol was explaining to me the latest hook up she had had and I was explaining how annoying it was that I hadn't even kissed a guy yet and I was already 14 years old (even though when I hear about 14 year olds now hooking up with each other I automatically think 'What the hell?  You're so young!'), when a certain tall, dark, and not even remotely handsome guy walked into the room and right by Carol.

"Oh god, I can't believe he's here." She said as we watched him walk out the basement door.

I knew that Carol and the guy had dated on and off, and I also knew that he was a complete douchebag.  To put it lightly.

Carol then turned to me and explained that not only was that guy her first kiss, but also the person she had lost her virginity to.

"He wanted to do it right away," she said, "but I told him I wasn't ready.  So we waited awhile and then we did it and it was just like, oh, that was it?"

Claudia's loss of virginity had a much more exciting build up to it.  You know how everyone has that person, that one guy or girl that has put them through such an emotional roller coaster over the years, yet you can't seem to ever get away from them?  Well this guy Bill was Claudia's person.  Everyone and their dog knew that Claud was going to lose her V-card to Bill, it was just a matter of when and where.  Well, not so much where, but definitely when.  In the last two or three months of our senior year of high school, the tension of Claud's remaining virginity was becoming unbearable, until one day she caught up with me at lunch while I was in line to buy one of those disgusting Cosmic Brownies, the kind that have those multicolored candies on top and are the consistency of rubber cement.

"Friday.  It's happening Friday."

"What's happening Friday?"

"Me and Bill.  Sex.  Penis in vagina."

Claud and I then had some sort of awkward girl jump up and down and scream thing go on, as if we were eleven and just got backstage tickets to a Hanson concert.

"You have to let me know how it goes, like as soon as possible."

"Oh honey," Claud said as she turned to walk away. "I'll call you during the cigarette."

I got the call the following Saturday morning while I was across the street at my neighbors house.

"I'm not a virgiiinnn." Claud sang as I picked up and said hello.

I then got the details on size, duration, and positions.  But I'll keep that between Claud and me.  And, well, Bill I guess, since he was there and all.

My own first time was interesting.  I had been dating this guy Brian for a couple weeks, and I was really really into him.  He was an all around good guy and quite good looking.  So we had been seeing each other for a little bit (this was about a month after the Claudia and Bill occurrence) , and one night after a bowling date, we found ourselves on my back couch making out.  That couch was our spot, where we ended every night spooning and kissing and being all lovey dovey.  A few years ago my parents got rid of the couches and even to this day whenever Brian comes over, he sighs and goes, "I miss our couch."

So anyway, we're on the couch and there's some heavy petting and moving and whatnot.  At one point I began to feel something start to creep around my insert-slang-word-of-choice-for-vagina-here.  A little tingly something I'd never felt before.  Of course, it never reached it's potential, but in my head, this almost-orgasm was obviously a sign that Brian and I should have sex the next day and not a moment later.  So the next day poor little un-suspecting Brian picked me up and we went to his apartment.  At the time, Brian worked the night shift at a tow truck company so he had the house to himself during the days.  So it was about 11:30 in the morning when we went up to his room and got into bed.  Brian's intentions were just to lay there and watch "Along Came Polly".  I had something else on my naive, unexperienced mind.

I'm obviously not going to share the details here, but let's just say Brian was taken by surprised, as was I when I realized that first time sex isn't as easy as you would think it would be.  But regardless of details, I would say that in no way do I regret my personal loss of little miss virginity.

An hour later, he was driving me home, neither of us talking.  Finally, as he was about to turn onto my street, he looked over and rubbed my leg.

"You ok?"

I smiled and nodded.  "Yep, I'm good."

"Ok, see you tomorrow." He gave me a kiss and I got out of the car.

Walking into my house, I immediately ran upstairs and called Claudia.

"Hey, what's up?"

"Hey.  Um, I think I just had sex."

Oh Potti...

My mom is now participating in her morning talk shows.  As in, this morning Kelly Ripa asked a question of the audience, and my mom raised her hand and said, "Oh I know, me too!".  This is in addition to her talking to the TV as if Elisabeth Hasselback can hear her and cares.  And the nodding and laughing and "Yes yes, it's so true!!!".

I love my mommy.

"Baby, You Still Drive Me Crazy..."

he's home :)

How Much Wood Could A Woodchuck Chuck If A Woodchuck Could Chuck Booty Calls

The Booty Call.  If done right, one of life's greatest talents.  And it is a talent.  A booty call can get messy (and I mean it literally in this case although if the guy is a little too anxious a clean up on aisle 6 can occur), so you have to keep a few things in mind.  It's best to leave most, not all but most, emotion out of it.  The best thing to work off of is the physical attraction since chances are the guy or girl is not going to call you the next day, let alone let you sleep over and make you breakfast in the morning.  But what happens when a certain booty call becomes a re-occuring thing, and what exactly is the time period in which one can last?

I seem to have these lingering hook-ups which come and go over a period of a couple years, some more frequent than others.  For sake of anonymity, we'll use code-names for the people I'm going to talk about, even though most of you are well aware of the real identities.  B-22 and I dated for about a year when I was 17 going on 18, and still to this day continue to hook up.  That's 5 years.  True, with B-22 there is a solid friendship and attraction, not to mention ::gasp:: respect grounding us, but still, 5 years is a long time.  We both know that eventually the hook up is going to stop, maybe next week, maybe not until one of us finally gets married.  But B-22 is an extreme case.  Then there's people like Butthead and Douchebag and Eeyore, or Manayunk and Hot English Kid.  All of these have been going on between 1 and 2 years, and some of them actually have some emotion and ex-dating behind them.  But lately I've started to notice that every time I hang out with one of these guys, it is more routine than anything else.  Even Butthead and Douchebag both of whom in the recent past I swore I was falling for, are starting to lose their appeal.  So with these elongated booty calls, does it eventually just turn into something we do because we're bored and just don't have anything to do that night?

For those of us who seem to prefer the over and over's instead of the one night acquaintances (which I wouldn't necessarily classify as a one night stand), at what point do we say, ok I'm done.  Time to find a real boyfriend.

Sometimes a booty call just ends on its own.  Eventually you stop texting each other asking what you're doing that night.  Others entail the "Listen, I kinda started seeing someone" call, even though that someone is usually out of the picture in a few months in which case you DO get the what are you doing tonight text.  I guess the best thing to do is keep it to a 1-2 booty call maximum.  But what the hell do I know- the last serious relationship I had consisted of me going to school and working during the day and my boyfriend working all night.

Either way, random hook ups with a not-so stranger can be fun, it just gets a little tiring after a few years I guess.  Just like me trying to figure out the meaning behind something where the whole point is that there is no meaning at all.  

We're JUST Pretty Enough To Be This Stupid: Vol. 5

"You know what they say- if you can't do it with your hips, do it with your lips." - 'Therapist' Jim

"Are you eating Nerds?" -Bobby

"You are what you eat." -Alexis

(Shakes head) "You're an idiot.  Do they have anything over there called Dumbass?" -Bobby

"What word do guys use more- cock or dick?" -A certain unnamed family member

"Oh my god.  I knew when you started that sentence it couldn't go anywhere good but I had no idea how bad it would be." -Alexis

"I wonder if actual swimmers have better swimmers..." -Kiel after the Olympics

"Congratulations.  You've just become blacker than me." -Jacqui

"Yes.  Score one for Claudia." -Claudia

"I can't believe I just drank a Pabst's Blue Ribbon.  Oh my god I need to meet someone." -Jacqui

(While lying in bed watching a movie)

"Whose crying?" -Kiel

"Jean-Claude Van Damme." -Alexis

"So...I got bent in a way I don't bend." -Jil

"He's a fox.  And when he's fighting, he's a fox.  Especially when he's covered in other people's blood." -Claudia (on UFC's St. Pierre)

" 'What did you learn in school today?'  'How to give myself an orgasm just by sitting and moving.' " -Claudia

"Oh god, it's like a chicken cutlet getting breaded." -Patti (when sand got on her boobs in a bathing suit)

(Superfreak comes on the radio)

"Oh my god, can you please change it?" -Alexis

"Hey, I want a little funk in my life!" -Dad

"Salt?  Salt anyone?  No?"  -awful band at Vintage while singing Margaritaville

"The ghetto white chick got knocked up.  Big surprise!" -Claudia

"Does anyone from Abington amount to anything?" -Carol

"Bob Saget!" -Alexis

"In case you haven't noticed by now, I wear a bra that can carry midgets." -Claudia

Please Come Home So I Can Stop Writing Stories About You

So this past year in my non-fiction workshop, we spent the majority of the semester writing and re-working a story on loss.  This was one of my drafts and even though I don't use his real name, it's pretty obvious to those of you who know me who this is about.

---

I was in love just once before.  Me and this guy, we were together for awhile- like, really together.  We used to drive around in his car and pick out houses we liked and he would say, "that driveway is big enough for all my cars" and I would say, "that porch would be a great place to sit and read".  Then he would say, "tell me you love me" and I would say, "I love you".

I think I was in love just because he told me I was.  I haven't really figured that out yet.

But this one, this new guy.  He's something else.  I have to take deep breaths when I'm around him; big gaping gasps that catch in my throat and make my chest rise.  He looks at me like I'm crazy.

"Why do you still get nervous around me?" he says, and I answer "Cause I have a crush on you."

I strongly believe that crushes are a lost art.  Not enough people have crushes anymore.  They have infatuations; they're enamored.  I like crushes, they feel weird.  Fuzzy or something.

So this new boy.  Let's call him Jack.  In one of my college English classes I had to read this essay by this guy named Nims and he went on and on about the importance of vowels and consonants and how they create the meaning of a word.  It's all about sound, this guy Nims kept stressing.  Sound sound sound.  So if i were to try and find the meaning of Jack, I would have to realize that he begins with a fricative and ends with a plosive.  Ja-ack.  Nims says this means he is drastic and cuts off airflow to the lungs.  I guess I buy the drastic part, but I may be biased.  I do have a drastic crush on him after all.

The thing about liking someone enough to think about them constantly, but not yet liking them enough to be driving around picking out houses, is that you tend to let them walk all over you a little.  I certainly have my share of footprints on my back.  Big, drastic, airflow-cutting footprints.  Like that time he was supposed to come home for my 21st birthday and see me before I went out to dinner with my girlfriends.  He came home alright, but went straight to the tattoo place to get his rib piece colored in, conveniently calling me to hang out just as I was driving into the city to make my reservation time.

"Sorry, the guy took longer than I thought he would.  It looks cool as shit though."

I'm jealous of that tattoo.

But of course, when he got in a car accident last summer, I stayed with him for two days straight, shaking him awake every three hours so his concussion didn't get the best of him.  His whole family was down the shore that weekend so once Jack was feeling better I drove us down to meet them.  When we got there, his dad grabbed me and hugged me and thanked me.

"You better keep this one around Jacky." He said.

I looked at Jack and nodded.  "You hear that?"

Jack laughed and popped open a beer.

I once read this quote that said, "Crushes are supposed to hurt- that's why they're called crushes."  I don't know how I feel about this quote.

My old boyfriend, he used to tell me I couldn't break up with him because no one would ever love me like he did.  He told me it didn't matter that I had lost touch with my friends.

"Look at my parents, at your parents," he would say as I sat crying because once again my roommates had gone out on a Friday night without me.  "They only have like, what, two, three friends?"

I wasn't so convinced so I would just keep crying.  That's what most of that relationship was: me crying, him telling me how much we loved each other.  So you can imagine my surprise when he began emptying his drawer on Valentine's Day.

"You're cheating on me."

"Um, no I'm not."

"Well...I have to go."

So that was that.  Moving on.

Jack and I had known each other for a year before we started dating.  Well, I guess in our case the term "dating" deserves a bit of explanation.  He isn't my boyfriend and I am not his girlfriend.  Actually, I'm not even sure if we're allowed to see other people.  But when we're together, everything is lollipops and butterflies and deep kisses and that works for us.  So we're "dating".

I remember the first time we spent the whole weekend together; it was only a couple of weeks into our pseudo-relationship.  He came to visit me at school and we spent the whole two days in my bed, watching movies and switching between being the big spoon and the little spoon, only getting up to go to the bathroom and open the door for the Chinese food delivery guy.  By the time he left that Sunday, my sheets smelled like orange chicken and his cologne.  I didn't change them for a week.

Jack is the first guy I've been with that I've actually been attracted to.  This is an unnatural concept, even to me.  See, when you go through junior high and high school being the awkward tomboy, only to arrive at college to a Polo-clad roommate whose new goal in life is to girl you up, you tend to still maintain your original mindset of being the "cute" girl.  Never pretty, never beautiful, certainly never hot.  So as someone who had gone her whole life settling for anyone who would give her attention, I was shocked that this boy, with the tattoos and freckles, the blue eyes and muscles that twitched seductively every time he banged on the drums in his band, actually liked me back.  Not only that, he calls me hot and says I could stand to gain five pounds.  The kid encourages me to eat...he is my Brad Pitt.

My friends, that is, the ones that returned after the infamous Valentine's Day Dumping, are wary of Jack.  They think he's unreliable.  Which he is.  They think I'm getting in over my head.  Which I am.  They think I'm crazy for putting myself in this situation, especially considering the circumstances.  I do not disagree.  But, as I tell my friends, it's about settling.

"I've spent my whole life settling.  I'm sick of settling."

"We know," they tell me, "but we don't want to see you get hurt."

"I've been hurt.  It's not so bad."

Jack's in the Air Force.  A few weeks ago he left for Africa; his very first deployment.

I have the message he sent me tacked up to the bulletin board in my room- right next to my grocery list and the picture of my cousin and I from two Thanksgivings ago.  I printed it out as soon as it popped up on my computer that one morning, as I was packing my bag full of books on John Donne and Adrienne Rich and William Blake.  Being an English major came with an extra thirty pounds of dead and cynical poets.  It jumped onto my screen in bright red letters: New Messages!

I clicked on my New Messages (!) and saw it was from him; I guess he somehow found a way onto the Internet over there?  I opened it up and printed out the promise of just one to two more weeks.

After four weeks of hanging on that bulletin board, that stupid bulletin board with that stupid grocery list and that picture of my cousin from that stupid Thanksgiving, the reflection from the sun through my window had begun to fade the ink on my New Message...!.

---

A lot's changed since I wrote that, mainly the fact that he did come back, but then went to Iraq...and then came back and now he's there again.  Patti's trying to get me to enter this writing contest where you submit a true story, and I'm thinking of sending in either this one or the little thing I wrote about graduating college (a bunch of posts back).  So Jil and Cristin and whoever else, if you could just go ahead and give me some feedback, that'd be greeaaatttttt :)