Drunk Dialing & Air Mattresses

I wasn't old enough to get drunk before cell phones existed, but I imagine when you got wasted and wanted to bother someone you just bothered the person closest to you.  Cell phones started this drunk dialing phenomenon almost instantly, making booty calls and love confessions dangerously accessible.  The only person who enjoys drunk dialing is the drunk.  Nobody cares what you have to say at 4 a.m. when you can barely even walk much less construct a coherent sentence. 

Flattered by Flatulence

The first glance.  The first hand-hold.  The first kiss.  The first date.  The first time. 

There are many important firsts in a relationship, but some are more meaningful than others.  My favorite first has got to be the first fart. 

The first fart may or may not be intentional.  It could happen while sitting on a couch watching a movie and someone lets one rip then laughs with a sort of pride about their own fart.  This is usually the way that first farts happen when you are in high school or dating college boys…or just immature men, of which, I assure you I am an expert.  When you get older, wiser, more mature, and all the other good things that supposedly come with age, the first fart usually happens in a different, albeit, more embarrassing way.  It may happen on accident like when you are sitting on someone’s lap, and despite your impressive sphincter control, you laugh too hard and it pops right out.  It might happen because of that ethnic food you insisted on trying for your date because you were trying to be exotic and exciting. 

Drunk Sex Does Not Count

This morning I woke up squeezed on the edge of a couch I was sharing with the man I like and his dog.  I woke up horny, the same way I had arrived to his apartment the evening before.  I also woke up angry and with vodka pounding in my brain. He got up and started his morning routine of checking his iPhone and feeding the dog that whined all night every time he started to spoon me instead.  When he took the dog outside it became increasingly clear that I was not going to be getting any morning action and I became even angrier.  

Feeling as needy as the mutt, I held my arms out to him as he stood by the couch checking his e-mail on his phone. My head strained as I tried to put together the pieces from the night before. 

“What the fuck happened last night?”

He recounted the details with an amused look on his face and I cringed in embarrassment and disbelief. 

Closet Hotties and Used to be Fatties

My gay best friend, Joey, and I were talking about boys recently.  This is a stupid sentence because Joey and I are always talking about boys; either boys or how we have no money and really need to stop drinking so much.  I was talking about one of my new crushes and he said “Don’t be offended by this, but he is kind of a Closet Hottie”

 I am not sure that “Closet” Hottie is the right term, maybe Undercover Hottie; it’s not like he is trying to hide his hotness.  But, Joey’s point was that this guy is hot, but not in an obvious way that would get girls to stop in the street and drop their panties when he walks by.   He went on to say that there are two types of hot guys that he really loves: Closet Hotties and Used to be Fatties. 

One Year Down

I am not someone who gets excited for birthdays and informs everyone that it is coming up, but when I was approaching my One Year Anniversary in NYC I made sure everyone I talked to knew about my accomplishment and I made them congratulate me.  Most people did so without me forcing the high five because they know that it’s a fucking challenge.  I had the day off so I met up with my gay best friend, Joey, for coffee.  We gossiped and talked about boys.  I felt like Carrie Bradshaw.  I never meet for coffee so this was odd, but so much fun.  Joey is the most fabulous gay man there has ever been.  His hair is fucking phenomenal, people comment on it everywhere we go.  He is ridiculously talented and handsome and every man he meets (like 3 a day) falls in love with him.  It's actually kind of awful for my self-esteem.