They Always Come Back

Getting “let go” by some chump, the need for retribution is inevitable. Since I’m so fucking mature, I just rip him to pieces on my blog and feel vindicated in some way or another. But in my life, I have had some good luck in this department… The Chumps, they always come back… when you least expect it… they come back, and you get that REAL vindication… they come back because they realize that they just passed up the fucking best thing they could ever have – that’d be me, not like it was in question, hahaha!

Saturday night as I was smearing make-up on my face for the evening’s mayhem, I received the following texts – from none other than the infamous JESUS:

Jerk-Off Jesus: Miss ya.

(hmm… I don’t recognize that number… shit… I do have a suspicion)

MiSS CuriouS: ?

Jerk-Off Jesus: Miss hangin out. I thought you were cool. Coolio.

(ok… I think I know who it is… someone pretty lame would say cool – coolio…. And what the fuck? We hung out ohhh --- TWICE!!!! Twice does NOT breed “miss hanging out”)

MiSS CuriouS: I am cool… Thanks :-) (this was my way of not asking questions… not looking to continue the texting)

Jerk-Off Jesus: I do miss you though. But you prolly (yes spelled ‘prolly’) hate me.

(again, with the “miss you” – are you fucking kidding me??? AND hate would give him too much credit – the text back to him, in my head would have been, “I don’t hate you… I just don’t care” but instead…)

MiSS CuriouS: I hung out with you twice… that’s not enough time to hate someone.

(that was me trying to be the bigger person)

Jerk-Off Jesus: I suppose you are right. What are you up to tonight?

(then, I the immature side of me thought, “why the fuck am I even replying? The second I figured out it was him, I should have stopped”…. So I didn’t reply… why be the bigger person? I’ll make him feel as fucking retarded as I did.)

(Some time passes, and he Mr. Insecure couldn’t take it…..)

Jerk-Off Jesus: OK… I thought maybe we could be friends. Thought maybe we could go out and have fun.

(okay, really… this guy has got to be fucking kidding me?!?!? Now I just feel sorry for the guy… I decide that I can be somewhat mature after all.)

MiSS CuriouS: Sorry I have been running around my Apt Getting ready to go to a birthday party… I was going to reply (lie!!!)… the hair dryer was stuck to my ear :-)

Jerk-Off Jesus: yeah maybe another time…

(Puhleeeaaazze!!! Why in the world would I want to hang out with him again?!?!?! We have NOTHING in common… I should have written “we can hang out if you start drinking, going to live music, and getting some fucking self confidence…” and then I really really wanted to throw in, “and bring another one of those Converse coupons!!!!” but instead….)

MiSS CuriouS: yeah maybe…

Needless to say… Interesting. Very Interesting.

ON ANOTHER NOTE:

In some sick fucked up way of wanting to get back at Jerk-Off Jesus at the beginning of the month, I posted my “I’m a Fake… Sometimes” (in reference to faking an orgasm with him) on MySpace… just those little blog blurbs that no one really ever notices, but I thought maybe just maybe, he’d read it and feel like an ass… but that was then… that was when I cared.

Like everything I do, my plan backfired… Instead, The Brother read it… I went to the movies with him last night, and he said he had to take a couple walks around the block and remind himself that we weren’t together anymore. He says he’s totally cool w/ it now – and he’s been dating a girl from work for a couple of weeks… be reminded, I posted that entry while he has been dating her… basically, she’s 2nd best!!! Hahaha!

I know this girl… I know most of the folks at his work because – ohhhhh.... he works at the restaurant next door. When I first met her, I inquired more about who she was… I noticed the “up and down” eyes she had on me. I told him, “dude, that girl totally digs you…” he genuinely replied, “no way… we’re totally just friends.”

Low and behold… I was right… she did like him and now they’re hangin’ out. I’m actually really happy for him… but what I’m getting at is --- a Woman knows these things – she knows when some chick is eyeing her man – she knows when a chick is givin’ her the once – twice – or three times over!

So, after the movie, The Brother and I parted ways… as I was climbing the bus stairs he shouted, “I promise I’ll stop crushing on you!”

Aw. But who can ever stop that. They always come back.

I'm My Best Lover...

My mind has been slightly preoccupied this week, so apologies for the delay…

As if Jesus hadn’t made me learn my lesson, last Thursday another MySpace victim decided to challenge my movie tastes. As much as I didn’t want to reply, I couldn’t shy away from such an attack. And I love to be attacked. Needless to say, I swiftly countered back, and the correspondence with KingKong (because that was the first movie in question) began. The conversation then progressed to, “what’s your number?” Over the past weekend, we exchanged a few text messages, a phone call Sunday morning for plans to meet up Sunday night…. I guess I don’t waste any fucking time!?!?! By Sunday afternoon, however, I reminded myself that this MySpace bit wasn’t all for me, not right now at least. I reminded myself that I’m my best company – that I’m my best lover – and that I don’t really need anymore friends. So I called him, and asked if we could reschedule.

Then, like a pussy, I later sent him a message (‘cuz I couldn’t do it over the phone) telling him that I wasn’t really into meeting anyone after all. I apologized for stirring the pot, but that I just wanted to lay low for a while. He was totally cool about it and asked if I’d be interested in just emailing on occasion. Since then, we have had a sweet exchange.

Here’s the awful truth: I probably would have met him by now, BUT he’s not the best of spellers. What he says is brilliant and hilarious, but the frequency of spelling mistakes makes me cringe. Oh no you didn’t just spell “bachelor” like “bachlor” or “neighbor” like “naighbor” or “awesome” like “awsome”… and even after I brought some of these to his attention, no changes were ever made.

I of course, commented, “Hey KingKong, don’t you wish MySpace had spell check? Maybe that’s why you haven’t had much luck with the ladies!?!!!”

By all means, I’m no perfect cat when it comes to spelling or grammar, but my mistakes are typically those of carelessness versus simply not knowing the answer.

But anyway, we’ll see how things progress because despite the spelling issue what he writes is often endearing…

Weekend Update:

Soooo, Green Eyes, another friend KD, and I all went to my Cheers – Cha’ch. I hadn’t been since New Year’s and thought I should face Lick My Face (see NY’s post “he had me at Lick My Face”). I’m so incredibly awkward when I drink because I get ridiculously forward and throw those few inhibitions I have out the window.

Both past Obsession and Lick My Face were working. Luckily I could face Obsession because it’s been about 8 months since my last “oh shit I can’t go back there for a while” with him. I asked him when some room at the bar would be opening up… he showed me where to go and gave me my first drink of the night… awww, I still have such a soft spot in my heart for him.

When I approached the bar again to see what progress these folks were making on their bill, Lick My Face and I came face to face. I wasn’t expecting it. He smiled and said hello. I did a classic movie “are you fucking kidding could I be anymore awkward” move… with the confused look on my face, I muttered, “I, uh, um… my friends… uh,” I started walking backwards and pointing at my friends. I said no “hi” no “hey” no “hello” no standard salutation… no smile. Just stunned incoherent face and words. Not that I even had much to be embarrassed about.

So the evening ensued… still sober I admitted, “Lick My Face, I’m sorry I get so awkward when I drink… I can’t help but be absolutely LAME.” He laughed and courteously said that I wasn’t… (yeah right)…. But hey, the free drinks and shots started pouring in… over the few hours we were there eating and drinking I had 8 drinks and paid for one. Lick My Face and Obsession were both responsible. They charged all my friends for only one drink a piece. RAD!

But anyway, just because I can get all girly-giddy over fucking nothing -- Lick My Face did a little something that surprised me almost as much as the face lick… here’s the scene of (my small but happy moment):

My hands are on the bar, my words slightly slurred as they were making some sarcastic scathing comment to him while he’s filling up Green Eyes’ sobering water… without even reacting to my caustic remarks he simply turns the water on me. Sprays water all over my hands and the bar. Then he continued filling up her water glass as though nothing had happened. I of course could have moved my arms, but I was so stunned that I just looked at them.

I stated the obvious, “I’m all wet.”

“I haven’t even begun making you wet,” he quietly replied while throwing me a quick smirk.

Later that evening, Green Eyes had gone through more water (god, she loves water)… he then starts filling her water up again, but some of it splashes me in the forehead.

“Lick My Face, you just splashed me.”

Without uttering a word or glance of acknowledgement, he folds a napkin, and wipes my forehead dry. He said nothing. Walked away with that same little grin on his face.

Lick My Face had gone downstairs to count out his drawer, but we didn’t wait. We said good-bye to Obsession, and I thanked him for the drinks and for humoring me over the years. He grinned, “how could I not?”

And then, we left.

Jesus Update:

Bad Fucking News --- I got my Red High Top Converse today – you know, my free gift for partaking in Jesus’ “get the girl into bed” experiment… BUT they were the wrong fucking size!!!! It’s my fault, however. I put the size of my other Chucks, which are all in men’s sizes… the Red High Tops are in women’s. I’m going to try to exchange this free gift, but I’m not counting my blessing. What does this mean???? This means that I participated in Jesus’ little experiment and got NOTHING in return!!!! Bloody Hell!!!

file not found for my photo can go fuck itself. grr. i don't mean to deprive all of my beautiful fucking face!

I'm a Fake... Sometimes

Since Jesus has been the topic of conversation for this week, let’s discuss the one last biting remark I wish I would have said…

AND, I FAKED IT!!!!!

Just as all men measure their cocks… all women, fake orgasms (at one point or another). I know all the usual arguments against faking orgasms – such as:

a) He’ll never know what actually makes you orgasm
b) Why give the guy a false sense of triumph (they look so happy when they think they’ve made you cum – and it’s pretty much a big fat lie – wait, scratch ‘pretty much’ – it IS a lie)
c) Why even bother?
d) If he finds out, he’ll be devastated and question all orgasms from then on…

So, why do we do it? Let’s use the other evening with Jesus as an example. While he was licking my “stuff” down there, it felt lovely…. Just like having your dog lick your pussy would still feel good, I imagine… But anyway, having “your stuff” softly licked will almost always induce a relaxing, arousing, short of breath reaction.

My soft moans – those are real – my twitching – that’s real too – the heavy breathing – all real… as it continues, it feels better and better… your breathing builds (for the men who don’t understand – our breathing actually assists us in completion of the product)… so there you are, twitching, breathing heavily, and you suddenly realize that the orgasm has passed you over… that all the while it felt great and you thought and hoped you could climax, but you realize it’s just not going to happen… but then you look down “there” and see this guy in between your legs… he’s getting all excited thinking he almost has you…. So what, when you realize it’s a ‘no go,’ you just stop and say sorry? But sometimes, you’re so worked up that when you do suddenly stop, he actually thinks he did make you cum…. So why make him think otherwise… why come crashing down on his happy moment?

Basically I fake it when he’s done so much work, and I can’t bear to let him think it was all for naught or I’m just bored and can’t think of a better transition… So really, faking it is a pretty self-less act. Hahahaha!

Friday night… Jesus did put a lot of work into eatin’ the puss’, and I rewarded him by lying… because I’m just so fucking MiSS Sweet CuriouS.

A couple questions for the ladies:

- Why do you fake it?
- How often have you faked it?
- Has a guy ever realized that you’ve faked it?

A couple questions for the guys:

- Have you ever realized a girl’s faked it?
- Would you prefer all the work knowing in a split second she’ll just stop you because it ain’t gonna happen?
- Please Note: women are really really really fucking good at faking it, so don’t think it’s NEVER happened to you because IT HAS!!!!

I Did It All For The High-Tops, Yeah, The High-Tops, Yeah!

Is he a dick or isn’t he? Before meeting, I informed him that I’m a curvy girl. At his house the first night, I told him I didn’t have a regular exercise regiment nor was I a morning person, which meant I’d most likely not go with him to his 6 am boot-camp.

With this knowledge our kissing began. His compliments of “I love your body,” “you drive me crazy,” “you’re stunning” poured out of his mouth. During our smooching break he asked me if I had casual sex a lot and if that was what I was looking for… before I could even answer, he said he was NOT looking for casual sex… he did NOT want sex unless it was with someone with whom he could have a relationship. He thought San Francisco girls were very liberal, and he liked sex only if it meant something. That’s when he told me he had only 12 partners (totally fine number – just less than my own). I didn’t volunteer my number (19-22ish).

He thought I was “super cool,” and he wanted to see where this was going. On the drive home, he said thee, “I want to take you here,” “I want to take you there.” My eyes widened… my thoughts were screaming, “jesus Christ, we’ve had one fucking date… and he has our entire relationship outlined!!!” My chest tightened, but I passed it off as, “hmm, he’s kind of a sweet BOY.”

The next day his emails had clips of, “I loved being with you last night… I could kiss you all day and all night…” “ I can’t wait to see you!” Blah blah blah!

The second date: I arrived at his house and was greeted with Baby-Talk, “don’t I get a kiss?” with a juvenile pouty face… in my head, “oh my god, cut the fucking Baby-talk I want to gag… and that pouty face – don’t make me feel like a pedophile kissing some fucking child… ew!”

Later in the evening, he gave me his SOB STORY… it worked… I fell into that, “you sweet boy – let me make everything okay…” the SOB STORY was immediately followed by making out… clothing removal… and then SEX.

The next morning… he asks how many people with whom I’ve slept… I truthfully answered… AND THEN HE REVEALED HIS OWN TRUTH --- “I’ve actually had sex with around 60 women, maybe more… NOT 12 like I told you last night!!!!!”

He even showed me the track mark from recently getting tested and that he regularly gets tested – BECAUSE HE HAS SO MUCH FUCKING CASUAL SEX WITH THOSE FUCKING LIBERAL SAN FRANCISCAN GIRLS!!! Tells me about fake boobs and ex-football cheerleaders… and suddenly, he painted an entirely new picture of whom I thought he was.

He tells me he was embarrassed about his number and that’s why he hadn’t revealed it earlier. I bought that excuse… but then I did say, “so should I ask you all the questions I’ve asked you over the past couple days AGAIN to find out what else you were embarrassed to tell me?”
He laughed… and said no. But maybe – just maybe – I really should have. And that maybe – just maybe – Miss Skeptical “I’ll fuck you over before you can fuck me over” Curious had just been HAD!!!

I’ve had casual sex or hook-ups before, and it’s been cool sometimes and not cool others… My issue with this situation is the fact that I do believe it was all a ploy to go to bed with the guy… if it was all agreed upon from the beginning that he really was just looking for a “friend” and that he really did have casual sex (please be reminded of his earlier quote – “he did NOT want sex unless it was with someone with whom he could have a relationship”), then maybe I wouldn’t have felt so deceived. Again, I had no problem never seeing the guy anymore – but to think that I was so gullible makes me feel like a slight ASS.

But then, while I was high as a kite last night with Midge, I thought to myself… “wow, I could have very well been part of his little experiment to see what gets girls into bed (sob stories, promises of relationships, baby-talk ‘gross!’)…” but then, I don’t know that I mentioned this before, but on the first night he noticed I had converse on and said he could give me a coupon for a free pair… the second night, he DID give me that coupon, and I’ve already order my Red High-Top Converse… in the end, I got free pair of shoes for participating in his experiment… so really, he ISN’T a DICK… most guys fuck a chick and there’s NO GIFT at the end… just an empty bed and sore pussy… yes, so really, I won in this situation – a good fuck and a pair of shoes. RAD!

Just for the sake of Bitching to Bitch… these were my deal-breakers:

1. The Baby-Talk – I even said, “wow, you sure baby-talk to your cat a lot,” but really this meant, “and stop fucking talking to me in the stupid fucking baby voice!!!”
2. He doesn’t see live music – I saw 17 live shows in 2005… he says he can’t stand watching because he wants to be on stage, LAME!!! When he said this, I almost walked out the door.
3. He never goes to the movies – I’m a movie ADDICT… I can’t fucking wait for the SF Indie Fest in February… I want someone who’d go with me!!!!
4. He has social anxiety – I have almost NONE and want a guy who can hang out with my random groups of friends or fit right in with my family.

So he really did me a favor by leaving… I just LOVE LEAVING FIRST!!! But thank you for the shoes. Such appeasing shoes.

And wow, if I were some guy reading this blog and met me in person, I’d go running the other way. I fucking tear guys a new one. Hm. Am I psychotic Bitch or am I not? Hahahaha! Oh well, fuck you!

Since When Have I Missed An Opportunity to Make Myself Look Bad?!?!

I considered not posting this because it made me look like a pathetic loser... but then I remembered why I started this blog in the first place -- I started it to put moments like these completely behind me... that I can profess my most psychotic insanely stupid moments for people to feel better knowing that there's always someone more ridiculous than they are... but really -- I knew this man was the anti-me, and shouldn't even be worth a moment of my own self-doubt -- and that's why b) from yesterday's post worked fine for me.......... soooo, here it goes, another humbling moment in the day and life of Miss Curious:

Miss Curious:

your text messaging ended abruptly the other evening, and i haven't heard from you since...... soooo, you'll have to let me know -- have you decided we're just not compatible and that's that? or something else perhaps? please don't worry about hurting my feelings... you were just suddenly gone, and i like conclusions to thingsssssss is all :) ... i hope you're feeling better than the other evening........

Jesus:

Hey there,

Well, I guess I am just not sure. Not sure about me more than anything else. I know it sounds weird. I guess I would rather be friends in the grand scheme of things. But if we can't be that that is fine too. I guess I am looking for someone who doesn't drink much if at all and someone who is athletic. I know that may sound superficial. But, I want to share being athletic with the person I am with. And that is a huge thing for me. It's basically a deal-breaker. (By the way --- I told him before we met that I wasn't a 'work out girl' like he talked so damn much about in his profile -- I said I was a shapely female -- he said no worries)

I think you are an awesome person. Just not exactly right for me I think. I hope you understand. And I hope we can be friends. That is really what I wanted in the first place. Let me know what you think.

~m

Miss Curious:

hahaha... i think we both reached the "not compatible" conclusion, but for different reasons... when i left saturday morning, i knew we'd never be "partners"... which is something i know we both wanted (from someone)... why i continued to contact you was because i liked your couch :) ... i liked kissing you on your couch... and although i'm not typically made/wired for casual dating, the idea of having someone to be locked away with on occasion seemed appealing.... but i couldn't agree with you more -- we're very different in some very important ways -- ways that were also deal breakers for me..... and i suppose i thought we could pretend for a little while at least because there was something about you that made me feel slightly less isolated........ again, however, i knew in the back of my mind that we both have visions of someone else.

you're a very sweet man - too sweet for me ;) - and i wish you the best... i hope you find the confidence and strength in which you seek.

best,
[insert my real name]


It's just soooo classic that I knew I wouldn't want anything with him at all because he had so many qualities that already on the 2nd date annoyed the fuck out of me... but yet, here I am with the tables turned!!! Wanting what I can't have even though I 100% know this person can't even touch me (hahaha, like my arrogance?!!?)... I know I could never tell anyone that this man is "AMAZING" --- as my punk little sister, Midge, and I always quote from Dream for an Insomniac:

"Anything less than mad, passionate, extrodinary love is a waste of your time. There are too many ordinary things in life, love shouldn't be one of them."

Am I Fucked?

The first night our kisses were far beyond the intimacy of strangers. Our foreheads would rest upon the other’s – our faces were so close our eyelashes could almost touch… we exchanged soft kisses as though we wanted to make some dismal history between us finally requited.

We had our second date on Friday night, and I was so eager to see the intensity in which it would extend. He called after work and mentioned he was excited to see me… being my abrasive self, I replied with some sarcastic comment. His tone quickly changed, and I desperately tried to back track, “oh no, I didn’t mean that… I’m sorry… my sarcasm is such a problem… please don’t be mad.” In some scorned somber voice he rejoined, “oh… yeah, whatever…”

I was stunned by his reaction… my sarcastic comment was so clearly sarcastic, and I even tried to apologize, but he maintained this embittered tone.

When I finally arrived at his apartment, his mood had lifted, and he greeted me with a kiss. We briefly discussed the phone incident and brushed it off as us still getting know one another.

The pace of this MySpace encounter still proceeded at full speed ahead. With a movie in the background, we shared personal details of our lives. His confessions surprisingly brought tears to my eyes, and I wanted to protect him… I wanted to comfort him and as every relationship book says not to do – I wanted to save him… seeing my eyes well up with tears, he then tried to comfort me… He has a sweet nurturing personality.

The course of the evening seemed all too intense for a second date. After the emotional fucking, we decided to physically fuck. I know it seems slutty (and that it is) and I know Malenky (see Friday comments) strongly urged me against it, but at the time I made a choice… this is how the decision making process goes.

I have to consider the following:

a) If I know I “have” the guy (by this I mean that no matter what I do I know he wants me badly enough that he’s not going anywhere), I can safely have sex with him and know that dates in the future to see where this could go are still an option.
b) If I have sex with him, I run the risk of thinking he got what he wanted and there’s no challenge left… and I then get completely ditched.

And if I’m okay with both a) and b), I can safely have sex. Let’s discuss b) … although my description of him has been rather positive, I realized that falling into a “save him” relationship isn’t something I’m looking for at this point in my life. Hmm. But then… I probably need some saving as well…. And he probably could be someone, although fucked up himself, could comfort me…. But back to b) I had an overwhelming feeling that things just wouldn’t work out – that things with him would be too complicated, and I am tired of complicated… so b) it would be okay if I got ditched by him.... and even though I was and am okay with b), I still, in the back of my head, thought I had a).

The sex was great. He had one of those mirrored closets that I could watch his 6’5” body on top of me rapidly moving in and out of me. His body was made to fuck. His long arms could reach around and fondle any part of my body while still keeping a steady in n’ out. His pussy eating ability was impeccable. No instruction was necessary. We found ourselves intertwined in crazy positions and just licking and sucking whatever we could get our hands on.

And where do Jesus and I go from here? Well, Saturday night he text messaged me… his tone seemed forlorn. I tried to give him some encouraging words to brighten his mood, but then he didn’t finish what he began. Sunday, I tried calling him to make sure he was doing well… he hasn’t called or emailed since.

So maybe, just maybe, I’ve been ditched already. And I’m okay with that.

Yesterday, I found my head buried in another romance novel (for those of you curious, Judith McNaught is my drug of choice)… it felt like home… safe… drama-free…

But still, I sometimes wish I weren’t such an extremist – I wish things weren’t only love or hate… and fuck, here is another start and stop… another whirlwind of nothing but two measly dates with too much importance and too much intimacy… and I know I should slow things, but it’s not in my nature… perhaps one day it will work in my favor or perhaps all I’ll have are my romance novels and daydreams, and really, that's fine with me... it's more than fine. :)

How Fast is Too Fast?

Tonight, there WILL be making out with Jesus. It's a weekend night, and he lives far away, so there is the "sleep-over" potential. The question: how far can we go? Is it too soon for oral sex? Will he have the "i've already conquered her" feeling if all the clothes come off?

Please Help!

KDwyer: The sex talk (specifically oral performed on myself) often comes up because I'm an open girl... I ask a lot of questions... It's a great way to gauge how open a guy is... if he's totally shy and/or uncomfortable talking frankly about fucking and pussy and cock, then he's not the one for me... hahahaha! Jesus' answer made my eyes widen with excitement -- it was a huge plus for him!

Anyway folks, please help with the make-out advice for the 2nd date... and then, how soon is too soon for SEX? Shit -- complicated business!

Yes, I'm Irresponsible

I’d eaten. He hadn’t eaten. I didn’t want to leave my neighborhood. He didn’t want to leave his. I was dressed and ready. I knew that if I didn’t meet Jesus last night, I wasn’t going to meet him. I hadn’t really felt like meeting him to begin with, so having the coordination be difficult, would have made me call the whole thing off.

So what do I do? I decide to go to HIS HOUSE. Isn’t that in the rulebook of What NOT to do on an Internet Date? He said he’d drive me home, so I agreed.

I forewarned him that I’d have a hard time fitting through his front door I was so large. He laughed, and we both reiterated this was a “just friends” rendezvous.

When I arrived, he met me at his front gate… took one expressionless look at me and immediately looked away.

In that second I thought, “holy shit… get me the fuck outta’ here… he hates me… he’s disgusted with me… fuck fuck fuck!!!” My impression of him – he’s cute – much thinner that I thought – cute style.

But, I’d just spent money on a cab, so I thought I’d stay for a minute… get it over with. We chatted for a while. He played with his cat and looked at the TV. All I could think was, “fuck, I think he’s cute, and here he can’t even look at me.”

I proceeded to ask a million questions… the conversation got pretty deep, and all I could hope was that he enjoyed our conversation as I had. He was aloof. Entertained my questions with great answers, but seemed completely indifferent to me.

I gave him the out, “you can kick me out whenever.”

He replied, “I like the company. Wanna’ watch a movie?”

I perused his movie selections having conversations about each one. Finally, we settled on The Life Aquatic. I made myself comfortable under his blanket, and then he did the same. I was relieved that he felt comfortable enough around me to share the covers.

Do-duh-doo… we watch the movie and suddenly I feel his thumb rubbing against my calf. I immediately think, “hmm, this must be an accident he doesn’t realize he’s caressing my calf.”
I remain still… thinking no more of it.

As the “calf-rubbing” continues, I begin to realize that perhaps he DOES know he’s rubbing my calf. And there he goes, he’s rubbing my feet… rubbing my entire lower leg. He DOES know.

I avoid making eye contact. I like the leg rub, but I hadn’t realized he was at all attracted to me. I mean, he answered the door and couldn’t even look at me from then on…

I got up to go to the bathroom. When I returned, he positioned himself, so the “spoon” position was the logical next step.
He wrapped his 6’5” lanky arms around me. He was so warm. I closed my eyes and exhaled in comfort. I could feel his breath on my ear. I turned my head, and our lips met. His lips were soft… our kissing styles – the same. We proceeded to make out like high school teenagers on their parents’ couch… without difficulty his hands and mouth found my watermelons… he’s such a pleaser… mmmm… I get butterflies just thinking about him.

Things didn’t get any further than the titty-touch. He wants us to continue getting to know one another before moving ahead in the hook-up department, but tells me he desperately wants to eat the pussy. Apparently, he enjoys going down for hours and hours… which I couldn’t be happier about.

He’s already emailed this morning, and we’re making plans for the weekend. Hmm. We shall see. He’s a sweetheart, certainly… my only concern is that he could want to get serious very quickly, and I’m not there yet…. I can tell that this will be another – I’m that man in the relationship, and he’s the sensitive female… but hmm, that could be the better position for me in which to be.

Updates soon!

Why Do I Get Myself Into These Things?

First, thanks to everyone for their compliments on my "ugly" problem... they're all very sweet comments (including those anonymous) just be reminded that it took 18 years to be convinced I was a D-O-G, so it'll take some more time to reverse any of that! And I do believe I have other attributes that are dazzling ;) , so I'm not a total lost cause! I'm a friggin' catch! Hahahaha!

To answer another question... the MySpace date (Jesus) is too late because it didn't fit into my "2 dates" before the New Year... I'm still going tonight, I believe. I'm supposed to call him when I finish work, and we're going to make final arrangements. Hmm... I was trying to drag Green Eyes along, but Jesus and I haven't spoken yet for me to ask if bringing a friend was too intimidating. Hmm.

I hate these online dates, but yet here I am doing it again... when he emailed that first time, I was caught so off-guard with his immediate invitation to hang out... my eyes widened followed by a loud gasp... and then I work myself all up and shit... and get nervous and wonder if I'll like him or he'll like me... and will the conversation be all too dull... and this and that.

Oh the fuck. I'm going and that'll be that. I can go home and read my fucking Romance novels and forget anything happened! hahaha!

The Too Late Date...

Sooo, on occasion I get messages from MySpace punks, who typically say "hi, let's chat." Those folks, I ignore... someone who writes more than 3 words, I'll actually entertain the thought by checking out their profile... On Monday, a guy from MySpace (let's call him Jesus), emailed with not just 3 words, but over 3 sentences. I can't even recall what they were, but I checked out his profile... this is how it began:

"Rather than put something cynical or sarcastic in here (like I want to) i will sort of tell you the truth. I am sort of like Jesus. I am that awesome. "

I'm quite fond of arrogance, so I was immediately intrigued. We've emailed back and forth a couple of times and have decided to hang out tomorrow night. He's somewhat new to the area, so he's looking for new "friends," so I've oh, you know, sort of invited Green Eyes to come along... I'm calling him tonight to feel out the situation before confirming with her... but I hope it all works as these things make me frighteningly nervous.... and who knows maybe she'll like him and he'll like her... or maybe we'll all have just met new friends and that'll be that.

Hmmm. I hope he's good on the phone... hmm.

But anyway, stay tuned for updates!

Living in my Mediocre Hell!

To know that you’re mediocre is a hard pill to swallow. We all want to be great at something… for there to be something we were born to do… whether it be music or writing or building or skiing, anything. To be the best at something… to feel at home doing something… to feel that without a doubt this is what you’re supposed to do… this is your path… to feel like there even is a path…. Instead of always feeling directionless…. Instead of feeling this numbness… this – what do I do now? Where do I go from here?

I always think I should be more intelligent than I am. It’s as though I see my limits of comprehension, and I feel that I should be able to far exceed those… that there shouldn’t be anything I don’t understand… uh… and I know I’m mediocre at so many things… at everything that I’m not horribly bad at… mediocrity – it just doesn’t seem right.

I need some sort of direction and whichever I take doesn’t seem to be quite right, and I have no idea what will ever be quite right… and at what point can I accept my mediocrity!??!?! At what point do I say that everything is okay… that I’m okay.

Uh, jeez, fuck me….. I suppose I’m not mediocre about analyzing my mediocrity… in that department I’ve been quite successful… much to my demise.

My Significant "Other"

Meet Rainbow. We share a bed. She (or he) has the left side. I have the right. I know eventually, maybe ten years from now, someone will replace Rainbow. It's not Rainbow's fault that she can't put out. I wish this amputated-leg bear could fulfill my every need, but unfortunately, she gets hidden under the bed when I bring home random men.

As I was doing my Caress commercial in the shower this morning, I imagined who the next male will be rubbing his hands all over watermelon breasts.

Being single, my sex drive has significantly diminished. I can't even remember the last time I had sex. It was probably no more than 2 months ago, but it seems forever to me.

So yes, I sit here wondering -- not fantasizing -- just wondering... who he'll be.

He Had Me At Lick My Face...

I spent New Year’s at my Cheers… my Central Perk… Cha Cha Cha. Even though I know what’s on the menu, I still look at every time. And their tapas have become my comfort food. And then, there’s the bartender I once couldn’t take my eyes off of. This time, however, he wasn’t my latest prey. Our Forearmed Tattooed waiter was a willing victim.

I’m always surprised when someone flirts with me (I’ll get to this more later). At midnight, Forearmed Tattoo boy came by and said, “what do say Miss Curious,” as he put his cheek out hoping for a kiss. I leaned over the bar and rather than my lips seductively pressing up against his cheek, my nose hit first… then lips, then chin. I was anything but smooth. I then put my cheek out and asked, “what about me?” Much to my surprise, he LICKED my cheek. And ahhh, he had me at Lick My Cheek. He suddenly became all the more appealing because I love the exchange of spit and even more I love to be surprised.

After we closed our tab, he asked if we’d like another round. I pointed out that we’d closed our tab, and he retorted, “I didn’t say anything about your tab.” Ha, I’d heard that one before from his counterpart… my past obsession. And hm, I suppose it’s something they learn in bartender school when they’re wooing some drunk chick. But anyway, why would I ever refuse free drinks? At the end of the evening, it was clear that there was some interest on both sides, but then I got all awkward. He noticed, retracted, and it was over. I should probably wait a while until I can show my face again… classic.

Now let’s get back to that past obsession, the other bartender/manager (Bartender Boy) there that night, and why exactly I was obsessed. But a quick side note of his actions this New Year's... he noticed that I was finishing my drink. I hadn't even realized he ever looked my way; he acted aloof to me. Next thing I know, I had a fresh Mojito in front of me. He walked by, set it down, not even looking at me, and walked on. I couldn’t even say thank you.

Okay – okay – okay, that part is beside the point. Let’s get back to obsession.

HERE'S MY BOO-HOO BACKDROP:

When you have a sister very close to your age, you’re constantly compared to the other. My sister and I couldn’t look any less alike. She was thin, beautiful tanned skin, full lips… I on the other hand was a pale, freckled face, ten pounds too many, frizzy haired dumpy girl. I was invisible to boys. My extended family would always tell me, “at least you’re smart.” My sister never missed an opportunity call me fat and ugly and that no guy would ever want me. All her friends did the same thing (we were young - she's very different now). When I was in sixth grade, I had all my classes with this boy, and we talked all the time about anything and everything. He was popular and all the girls loved him. Despite my ugliness, I was somewhat popular too at that time because as an ugly girl, I worked very hard on my sense of humor and people skills. Anyway, much to my surprise, he asked me to be his girlfriend. Being naive, I thought it was the best day of my life. At night he’d call me. We’d talk for a moment, and then he’d asked to talk my sister. When rumors started to fly around that he was only dating me to get to my sister, I put the pieces together, held my head up high, and I dumped him.

Years later, at a party while I was talking to some friends. I heard some people in the group next to me say that Nadia’s little sister was at the party. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw someone point me out. I also saw the look of disgust on the guy’s face when he saw me, and he said, “That’s Nadia’s sister!?!?” I tried to pretend I didn’t hear what he’d said. I just kept smiling and engaging myself in the conversation. It stung. That wasn’t the only time things like that happened.

So I grew up never forgetting that I was ugly, no one let me forget. And I grew up trying to make myself into this perfect person who was witty, charming, and had a long list of accomplishments in hopes that maybe one day some man would notice and would love me not for how I looked but for who I was.

Later in life, people have commented that I’ve veered toward shy men in the past. And it is very true. Shy men don’t pursue. They get pursued. I don't get pursued. I pursue. And that’s how I found them, and that's why they liked me.

Finally... yes, finally I’ve come to my point. The obsession with Bartender Boy. The first time I saw him I thought he was the most adorable thing I’d ever seen. But of course, I was guilty of the thing I hate - being judged completely upon appearance. I admired him from afar, but in my head I knew he’d never look twice at me. He seemed to be one of those guys that just liked girls for their appearance, and he worked at bar, and I’m sure drunk girls threw themselves at him all the time… and that’s all he wanted. And I resented him. Resented him because he made my heart race, and I could never have him. Not someone like me.

But then one day he did notice me. I pulled the Molly Ringwald from Sixteen Candles where Jake Ryan is waiting for her at the chapel, and she can’t believe he’d be there for her, so she looks behind her, points at herself, and mouths, “who me?” He responds, “yeah you.”

Bartender Boy bought me and my friends a round of drinks and told them that their friend, me, was a character. I couldn’t believe he’d noticed. That he’d actually paid attention to my personality, that he thought I was attractive enough to even pay attention to.

Over the next couple of months, the flirting ensued until finally things came to a head. We had the classic drunken hook up and then a sober hook up the next afternoon. He told me I had beautiful womanly body. I was startled by the compliment, so I didn’t make some cynical, “you don’t mean that,” reply. He sounded and looked so sincere that I truly believed him.

For a long time afterward, I hoped something would happen again. He’d give me free drinks most of the time I went in, which I considered pay back for the great blow job. But nothing ever did happen again.

Although that part was very disappointing, and I felt like a fool half the time I saw him, I still remember that he simply and sweetly made me feel PRETTY.

ENOUGH WITH BOO-HOO STORY AND HERE'S SOME SHIT TALK FOR YOU:

Last Thursday I was in mass mailing hell. I used a glue stick so I wouldn’t have to lick nor wet my desk with some damp paper towel or contraption made by Office Depot… What I did suffer was a case of serious sticky hands. I went to the bathroom for 2 reasons:

1. I would first take a shit

2. I would not only wash my hands from the shit, but also from the nasty glue stick.

Because I’m SOOO NOT SMART, I hadn’t thought to wash my hands of glue before the toilet paper handling occurred. Instead, I was peeling shit covered toilet paper from each and every finger. Oh Miss Curious, get a brain already! (reminiscent of some self-wax jobs and paper towels?!!)

I’VE BEEN EXPOSED!!!!:

Some also NOT SO GOOD NEWS, my Lithuanian obsessed, republican (believes Bush is a good president) uncle Tony occasionally Googles my mother’s family name to see -- I don’t know what… but anyway, because I’m SOOO NOT SMART, I slipped in one of my blog posts and used my Grandmother’s last name. The Google search came up with a Miss Curious blog that had Grandma (insert last name) pop up. He proceeded to check out this new discovery.

Friday night I answered the phone to, “oh my god – oh my god – oh my god… I’m horrified… ahhhh… errrrgh.”

“Hello uncle Tony, what’s going on?”

He explained what he’d discovered… and proceeded to tell me that he couldn’t believe that chicks were taking their tits out in the bathroom for people (well, me) to touch. My first thought is, of course Uncle Tony clicked on THAT post titled, “Titty Talk,” and then the severity of the situation set in and my, “oh my god – oh my god – oh my god… I’m horrified” S’ came spilling out of my mouth. When he got home, he of course told his wife, who immediately checked the sight and would continuously call my uncle over, “Tony you gotta read this… get over here.”

Needless to say, I considered a million options – changing my blog’s name and site… but then what about any anonymous folks that aren’t on my email list to update. He promised not to tell my parents, thankfully… but he and his wife can check it any day of the week and read about my sexual exploits and excessive alcohol irresponsible stories.

So basically, I’ve decided that I will begin to harass my uncle, regularly, to ensure he stops reading this blog. Fuck – Fuck – Fuck. So Uncle Tony (or Aunt Apryle), if you’re reading this right now… you’re dead meat :) !!!