an islandof such great complexity

Taking Back the Control

2009-03-06T17:01:00.004-05:00

I realized how silly I'd become about Drew. I was letting him have all the control. But why?

Thinking more about it, I got angry. The thought that he believed that he had duped me really pissed me off. I decided to take back the control and let him know that I KNOW, and that in fact, I knew everything. But yelling at someone is not my style of confrontation. I am much more subtle than that.

I decided to "Add Drew As a Friend" on Facebook, and without an introductory message. Just an add, to see how he would react. To my surprise, he accepted my friend request, but what he did afterwards actually shocked me. Literally within half an hour, he decided to BLOCK me. I could no longer see his profile. I guess when he first accepted my friend request, he didn't remember who I was. Then he probably put two and two together after examining my profile and obviously freaked out.

His fear made me happy. He was actually scared of me, as he should be. It was my way of saying, "hey asshole, I know who you are and I know that you lied to me." He finally knew that I had figured everything out -- and what a fucking relief... seriously. I finally had the upperhand, the power back, and that was good enough for me.

Battered & Bruised

2009-02-05T10:12:00.003-05:00

Yesterday I looked in the mirror before I stepped into the shower, and I noticed bruises all over my body from Saturday night. They were getting to that ugly stage -- blue and purply, tinges of green.

I must say I was slightly disturbed by it, but it shocks me how much I am not upset over them or about what happened to me on Saturday.

Then a thought suddenly dawned on me. Am I used to seeing women in a battered state? In a bruised state?

I remember growing up, my father was the kind of guy who would stumble into the house drunk, screaming about this or that, crashing into things -- and I would inevitably hear my step mother's shaky voice cut through, crying. I would sit by my door and listen to what was going on, wanting to do something to stop it all -- but what could I do as a child? I was chicken shit.

Now as an adult, I find myself continuously putting myself in bad situations where I am being taken advantage of by men. Many of these situations border on dangerous.

"You're lucky to be alive," one of my friends said to me after I told her what happened on Saturday night. It's funny that she said that because I actually said to Drew before we left for my house, "You're not going to take me home and kill me, are you?"

He was a complete stranger that I randomly met -- and now apparently, he is also a pathological liar -- a cheater -- and a guy who had to be in control. During our rough and tumble sexcapade, he actually held me down by my wrists and said, "Don't you think the man should be in control?" For a second, I imagined him snapping my neck.

Is it fucked up that this turned me on? That even though I said "Ow" multiple times that night, I was enjoying myself?

Maybe I don't know how to accept someone who is nice to me. During my formative years, I've only witnessed abusive relationships -- and subsequently now, those dark and stormy relationships are the ones that attract me the most. It's such a big cliche, but apparently, cliches can be real. If this is the case, please tell me how do we break them?

Maybe Baby?

2009-02-03T12:06:00.003-05:00

So just to be safe I was going to go get the morning after pill yesterday, but something inside me (maybe the baby?) stopped me. I thought to myself... would it be so terrible to have this guy's baby?

As each day passes and I run into jerk after jerk, I feel like I will never find the man of my dreams. The man who will make me whole. I don't think I believe that he's out there anymore. So why not just take a chance and have Drew's baby? So what if he's a total stranger?

Think about it. How many men actually say to a woman they just met that night, "I wanna come inside you.... and if you get pregnant, you should have the baby. We'd make a beautiful baby...?" I had specifically told him that I wasn't on birth control and not to come inside me. Yet Drew, a 33 year old scraggly bearded hippie, did it anyway.

At work last night, I felt kind of like a zombie. If I were to self diagnose, I'd probably say I was in shock. What the fuck is going on in my life right now? What the fuck am I thinking? I can barely pay my rent. I don't have health insurance. I just met Drew the other night and expected it to be a one night stand -- I didn't even give him my number or email -- but somehow he has managed to keep us hooked together in the afterglow. Or maybe he was blowing me off with not asking for my number. Either way, it's weird and unlike anything I've experienced before.

"Maybe he was trying to impregnate you?" one of my friends speculated. "When you are 33, you know what you are doing. He knew the risk."

"Maybe his girlfriend didn't want to have a baby, and he broke up with her and decided to just do it to you?"

The maybes are making me dizzy.

But the jig is now up. I did a little investigating into his job claims and found out he was lying about what he does for a living. He claimed to work for a certain company -- and I happen to have friends who have friends who work there. When they asked around to see if anyone knew a Drew there -- it was negative. No Drew. Can we say sketch city? Why did he have to make that part up? Was it to "impress" me? I didn't even care what he did for a living. I just thought he was cute. I have to really learn to use my brain and not my heart. This is getting ridiculous. I have to stop being so goddamn gullible. But how can I stop being so trusting?

Now the only reason to get in touch with him would be if I actually got pregnant. If I don't get it by next week, I will be worried.

Tarot Reading: Will I See Drew Again?

2009-02-01T09:39:00.002-05:00

Back story: I met this guy Drew last night who I ended up fucking. There goes the whole 6 months celibacy thing I was working on. Like a stupid Internet dork, I looked him up online this morning and found out he is "in a relationship." There are pictures of him with his girlfriend. This discovery somehow did not surprise me.... because I am now used to disappointments.

Last night, he told me he came inside me. I was really upset about that... but for some reason, I eventually let it slide. He said crazy things to me like "If you get pregnant, you should have the baby. It wouldn't be a bad thing. Look at us, we'd have a beautiful baby." Who the fuck is this guy, and what the fuck did I get myself into? I'm actually really worried this time.

Present Position: II of Rods (Reversed)

Try not to lose heart or let others hold you back. Keep the faith.

Immediate Influences: The Emperor (Reversed)

Signifies rigidity; lack of self control; an immature approach to life; a miserly nature.

Goal or Destiny: The Empress

Ruled by Venus, the Roman goddess of love. Symbolizes the power of motherhood, the earth, and practical wisdom. With a garland of stars and images of fruits, the Empress is both beautiful and bountiful. The stars in her crown represents the sign of the Zodiac, indicating she is the mother of all. This card suggests luxury and abundance, and could indicate pregnancy.

Distant Past Foundation: The Lovers

Associated with the sign of Gemini, the twins. The image depicts lovers in an embrace, while an angel looks on. Gemini seeks a soul mate, a new love. This card suggest love, friendship, and partnership. Also represents the duality of earthly and divine love.

Recent Past Events: Ace of Rods

Everything is springing to life in this card. It can indicate virility or the birth of a child. Energy abounds. Could signify the beginning of an exciting new enterprise, career, or course of study.

Future Influence: Page of Pentacles

The Page is lost in thought, focused on the coin before him. This is the card of the scholar. The Page has a thirst for knowledge and pursues it diligently.

About the Questioner: Three of Cups (Reversed)

Overindulgence in pleasurable activities. Stop taking your good fortune for granted.

Environmental Factors: The World (Reversed)

Success may be delayed. You are not quite there yet. Time to filter out imperfections and refine your vision.

Inner Emotions: Six of Swords (Reversed)

An unexpected or unwelcome proposal. The situation cannot be resolved right now.

Final Result: Strength

Linked to the sign of Leo. The lion is a sexual animal but his base instincts are checked by the caress of a maiden. Message: Use your head and not your heart. Exercise restraint; hold your power in reserve. Courage and fortitude will bring success. Could signify healing qualities.

Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck! This is not good.

Short Holidaze

2009-01-18T13:55:00.003-05:00

Over the Christmas and New Year holidaze, I randomly met a 23-year-old named James while dancing at a club. There was something really sweet about him, and it didn't hurt that he liked to dance. He asked for my number and ended up calling me to hang out after Christmas. We went out when I got back into town and ended up making out all night long. At the time I didn't want to go any further than that. We fell asleep cuddling. It felt nice and comfortable.

The next morning, we ended up making out even more, and I ended up wanting to fuck him. When you're 30, sex isn't as big a deal, I guess. I had made a point all night to just not touch his dick, but now I was reaching for it. I pulled down his pants and started to stroke him. He started shivering. The next thing I knew, he came.

I don't know how to express how shocked I was. It reminded me of that Sex and the City episode with the short story writer... I barely touched James and he lost it. I wondered, is it because he is so young? Maybe he's not that experienced? Maybe it's a one time thing? He didn't even seem to feel bad about it. He just said, "Sorry, you just got me so excited." I had to finish myself off. I thought to myself, there is no way I am seeing this guy again.

However, James kept texting me and telling me that he wanted to take me out on a proper date. I was bored and hadn't heard from Lewis (How is it I never hear from the boys I really want to hear from?), so I decided to go out with James again, against my better judgement. We went to see a movie and kissed in the dark like we were in high school. It was nice. Then we went out for some drinks afterwards and ended up back at my place again. I was going to give him a second chance in bed.

Unfortunately, I was disappointed again. It was at least better this time around but not much better. I made him take a shot of whiskey before we started fooling around. I figured the alcohol would slow his "excitement." I think it worked a little bit. We started fucking, but I swear to god, it was over within two minutes. All my passion deflated into disappointment and frustration.

He said, "I feel like that was maybe too short." I replied, "Yeah it kinda was." Not much to say after that. We fell asleep. At least he was a good cuddler -- the kind of guy who wraps himself around you like a cocoon.

At this point, I wasn't sure if I wanted to see him again. I felt like I shouldn't have to be dealing with this nonsense at my age. I am not Mrs. Fucking Robinson. I am not going to be the older woman who teaches the 23 year old how to fuck. Honestly, I just don't have the patience. I want a man who already knows what he's doing. Maybe a man who will teach me a thing or too, not the other way around. That's the kind of take-charge, experienced guy who turns me on... not a young bumbling little boy who still lives with his parents (did I forget to mention that before? not exactly a selling point.).

I gave him one more chance on New Year's Eve. I wasn't even sure if I was going to meet up with him, but he ended up chasing me down and taking me to a late show. I didn't have fun at the show and then somehow I ended up back at his place. As mentioned earlier, James lives with his parents to save money... Let me just say that I would not have gone over to his place if his parents were in town, but they were not around. Going over there though also turned out to be the deal breaker. I got to see that he lived like he was still in high school, which wasn't attractive to me.

We made out a little, but I was kind of miserable. This was partly because almost as soon as we got to James' place, Lewis called me (refer to previous post). Then I just wanted him to fuck me. I was hopeful that things would be better this time around. I was wrong. So wrong. This time it was worse, he couldn't even stay hard. I was really upset at this point. I didn't even cuddle with him after that. I felt like a bitch, but I was just tired of being continually disappointed. I was over it.

James continued to call me in the new year, but I blew him off. Finally, I did the worst chicken-shit thing ever -- I dumped him by text message. I told him that I thought he was a really sweet guy but that he wasn't quite what I was looking for. I told him maybe I would see him around.

The most surprising part was when he texted me back and said, "I just have to tell you that every time we've hung out, I've left feeling fantastic." That was probably the nicest response ever to a text dump in the history of dating.

Not-So-Happy New Year

2009-01-17T11:27:00.007-05:00

I was surprised when Lewis called me on New Year's Eve. Of course, it was 5:30 in the morning. He was over five hours too late to wish me a happy New Year. Then he emailed me at 6am and officially wished me a happy New Year six hours too late. I didn't answer his call, and I wrote him back the next night and said "Happy New Year to you" just to be cordial. (Besides, I was with another boy -- more on that later.)

When he called me so late on such a big "date" holiday (though I don't put much importance on NYE), that's when I really knew I wanted nothing to do with him sexually. He's the kind of guy who is either retarded and can't communicate how he feels until he is so wasted that he makes a booty call -- or he really doesn't want to make more of an effort than is necessary. The latter is probably the reality here. The big irony is that though he wants to put the least amount of effort into his sex life as possible -- that little bit of effort is just not enough to get him laid. At least not by me!

I heard from him two more times (so far) in the new year. Once at 4am asking "You awake?" And another time asking "Are you out and about?" at around 11pm (at least he sent the message earlier than normal). I didn't answer either. I have to admit that the last message made me cry, but I was drunk when I received it so I think that's why I got so emotional. I hated that he could have such a powerful effect on my psyche. I hated it, and I wanted to kill that power.

It drove me to take a vow of celibacy for the first six months of 2009. Today is Day 17. I'm feeling pretty good thus far.

I Hurt Myself Again

2009-01-15T16:47:00.002-05:00

In the beginning I thought Lewis was a harmless, sweet boy. I soon found out that he was not. I felt like I had been duped because he was so nice to me. I felt so stupid!

He would call me "sweetheart" and talk to me after sex. He even came over one night when I was sick and brought me soup and saltines. He made out with me even though I was sick, and said he didn't care if he got sick, too. He would tell me repeatedly that he liked me. One day he even told me "Just don't hurt me," to which I replied, "Have I been mean to you?" He said no.

At this point, I thought it would be a good opportunity to tell him something that had been on my mind... I said, "Well, don't be mean to me, and I won't be mean to you. And maybe you could call me earlier, like when I'm actually awake." He said he would... but he never did.

I continued to get calls from him in the wee hours, right around the time bars close and parties end. I started feeling like I was not a real person. I felt like trash. I felt like an after thought. I started feeling like I was just a number in his cell phone. Gah -- something had changed from casual to... emotional. Normally, I would be OK with this booty calling business -- but Lewis had somehow made me like him. Thus, I wasn't looking at it casually. Still, even someone as unfaithful as Juice would call me at a decent hour to make late night plans. It was the polite thing to do. Lewis doesn't seem to get this.

I was such an idiot to think it was anything more. I wanted him to stop sending me emails wishing me a happy birthday, a merry Christmas, a happy New Year. It was happy and merry but certainly not because of him. If anything, his messages were an ugly stain on the good times. I had somehow opened myself up for hurt. Again. I fooled myself into thinking that he liked me for more than just sex, but I was seriously wrong. I think I cried more over him than I did with Juice, and that, my friends, was probably the biggest surprise of all. The least harmful seeming person can be the most dangerous hook-up of all because it sneaks up on you and surreptitiously crawls into your psyche. Then it's too late to unhook yourself. At least it was for me.

Now I don't answer his calls or emails, but I am friendly to him in person, like nothing happened.

Fallin' Down

2009-01-15T14:33:00.003-05:00

When summer turned to fall, I let Juice go. I told him one night that I thought we should stop seeing each other. He put his hand on my leg and said, "OK, I can be adult about this. But we shouldn't end it like this. We should have one last night."

Funny thing is that I agreed with him. I felt like it would give us both the closure we would probably need to end this once and for all. Our final "blow out" was one of the most amazing nights I've ever experienced in my life. By the end, I was shaking emotionally and physically.

But I also thought, "Now I am finally rid of this guy. I am finally over him."

A week later, I was at a Halloween party and ran into Juice's good friend Lewis. Lewis was the kind of guy who never seemed to say more than two words at a time. He definitely hardly talked to me unless he had to. I was there with a couple other mutual friends, and we were all dancing together.

At one point, I was sort of dancing with Lewis -- friendly dancing though, nothing sexual or anything. He leaned in and asked me if I was trying to lose one of the guys that I came to the party with. I told him that the guy and I were just friends. He nodded, and then all of a sudden put his arms around my waist and pulled me in close to him. I looked at him a little confused, then smiled. All of sudden it was NOT friendly. It was flirty. It was fresh. I was drunk and hopped up. My adrenaline was spiking up and down my veins. I could feel him get hard. All of our friends were staring at us.

He whispered in my ear and said, "I don't usually act like this. I don't normally do this. I mean, you're fucking my friend."

I didn't correct him and tell him that it was over between Juice and I. I just said, "I know. but do you really care? You're single. I'm single."

He paused for a second and then replied, "No, I don't care."

We were touching foreheads and dancing, but I didn't like that everyone was staring at us so I said, "Let's get out of here."

We left the party and as soon as we got outside the door, he pushed me against the wall and started kissing me. That was the biggest turn on... I pulled him down the stairs and we walked towards my apartment. On the way, he told me he has wanted to kiss me for a while. He told me that I always hid how sexy I was. I just listened to him... it was a bit confusing for me, but I knew that I was going with the flow.

Then he said, "I don't want a girlfriend. Is that OK?"

I said it was. I already knew that.

The sex was amazing. He was a good kisser. I wasn't sure what the hell was going on. I had never slept with two friends before. This was totally new territory for me. I had been trying to get out of the whole "secret" relationship, and here I was... entering into another one. I sure knew how to pick 'em.

New Season, Fresh Start?

2008-09-14T09:00:00.010-04:00

So you've probably noticed I haven't posted a lot this month. I just moved into a new apartment, a long term sublet that I got at the last minute. New York real estate is a bitch... but at least now I have a home. What a fucking relief!

Now that I have a more permanent home, I feel like my headspace is a little bit saner. Sure, I am still pretty zonkers, but that's just my natural personality. I'm still a crazy rollercoaster, but at least now, I am not in fear that I am charging full speed without seatbelts.

I don't feel as hopeless as I did at the end of August.

It's well into September now, and it's really beginning to feel like a fresh start for me.

Although I am still feeling that insatiable attraction to Juice, I am at least trying to break those chemical bonds and move on to more reliable prospects.

Trying is the key word. I'm not sure what it is about Juice that has me all hot and bothered, deep to the core of me. Every time I am around him, my heart accelerates, and I find it hard to look at him for fear of getting sucked in by his gaze. It's fucking pathetic the effect the man has on me. His charisma is that overwhelming, and it seems that no other man stands a chance against him unless they can match his allure and are also single and interested in me. Sounds like it's gonna be tough to find a replacement.

In the meantime, I've been a good girl and have not flirted with him at all. I've been trying to keep everything friendly and as professional as possible. I think he's noticed the shift in my demeanor because he hasn't tried to start anything either.

I think the planning of these afternoon trysts have deflated the passion that we experienced when we first hooked up. We've been trying to recreate that vibe ever since and failing, and the failure has been pretty disappointing.

After one of our business meetings last week, I hung out with Juice afterwards and was just trying to be chill about everything. Then he said to me in his low, calm, gravelly voice, "I was hoping I could make out with you for a minute."

Those words perked me up. It was somehow validating. "Only a minute?" I teased.

"Well, maybe five," he replied.

We met up later that day. He came over my house and instantly reached for me and started kissing me. "I don't know what it is when I'm around you, it just drives me crazy," he whispered. I couldn't tell if it was all just bullshit to get me worked up, but who cares when it was totally working? I was absolutely cooing at his touch. It was bringing some thing inside me back to life. I felt like I was finally feeling something. The exhilaration was electrifying.

The makeout session was pretty hot and impassioned, almost like our bathroom romp though a bit more decent. He wanted to go down on me, but I stopped him. This was the second time I've denied him that and I could sense his frustration. "What is wrong with you? Why are you so shy?"

I wanted to tell him that I'm not that shy, that the real reason was that I had my period, but I just couldn't say it. It was embarrassing. Then I realized another horror... I hadn't taken my tampon out prior to his arrival. It didn't even occur to me before. I panicked and made him turn around while I took care of that business.

We continued making out on the bed, and he asked me kind of out of the blue, "How many times a day do you jerk off?" Now I'm not much of a "talker" (I'm a writer!) so I couldn't help but get a little coy. "Ummmmm... I dunno, like once a day?"

It sounded so stupid. "How many times a day do you?" I asked like a reflex.

"Mmmmm once a day?" he replied, but it sounded like a lie. He was just mirroring me.

Then he surprised me. He asked me to jerk off while we fucked. I hesitated for a second, but I found myself being so turned on by the thought, I threw my inhibitions out the window. We started going at it. I let go. He came before I did. Slightly disappointing, but at the same time, I felt like it was a bit of progress. I was a lot closer this time than the other two times. That shift, however, is dangerous. That's when you start to get attached because something inside has peaked out and seen the world and its possibilities.

Afterwards, we had a cigarette and chatted for a little bit. That was when he referred to "it" as an "affair" for the first time. It kind of caught me offguard. Affair? Is that what it was? I didn't know whether I liked or hated it. Deep down though, I knew I wanted more... and I also knew I would never get it.

That is why I have to move on. We are starting to enter hurtful territory here. It's scaring the shit out of me.

Numb and Confused

2008-08-27T08:53:00.009-04:00

When I was in high school, I was really into art. I took an art major starting in the 9th grade, which meant I had art class every day of the school week. In sketching, drawing and painting, I found a way to express the teen angst I was feeling. Friends described me as a typical depressed teenager. I was always sort of sullen. I thought about suicide a lot. I wondered if anyone would miss me. Those kind of dark thoughts that I think normally run through a kid's mind.

My friend Suzy, who has known me since I was a child, used to tell me that she envied my "tragic" life. I always thought she was insane. I, in turn, envied her "normal" life. I wanted parents who got along with each other. Parents I could talk to and share things with about my life. But I've felt alone all my life. I've felt like the only people I could share my feelings and thoughts with were my friends. Family was just blood. Friends were my lifeline.

Recently, Suzy, who knows me better than anyone of my friends today, explained to me that because there was such "tragedy" in my life, my family could never tell me what to do or have the same expectations of me that her family does of her. Basically, she thinks that I could screw up and make mistakes in my life (and believe me, I have made many), but my family couldn't say shit to me about it because deep down they know they have contributed to my somewhat fucked up life.

I don't see my life as tragic, but I do often feel like I am constantly working against the current. I feel like I've had a harder time than some others because I don't have mommy and daddy financially supporting me. I don't even have them emotionally supporting me. I've always sort of felt like an orphan.

I am the oldest child, and I moved out of the house when I left for college, never looking back. I grew up with my half brother and half sister, siblings to me from my dad's second marriage. I never quite felt unadulterated love from my step mother. I knew she loved her own children more than she loved me, but I could understand that. I just accepted it as the way it was.

When I was a baby, I could hear my dad fighting with my step mother. It would often escalate to violence. Sometimes those arguments would happen after my biological mother called the house. They would never give the phone to me. I would sit on the floor by my bedroom door and listen to what was going on.

I'd start writing in my journal, be it those pathetic poems that lamented abstract emotions or full-on charged entries that were trying to work out the chaos brewing in my brain. Writing started being a way for me to release the turmoil. It still is. Thus, this online journal was born.

Suzy wasn't completely right when she said I had no one lecturing me about my life. My dad was a stern figure who was very controlling. I wasn't even allowed to talk to boys on the phone when I was in school. When I would ask if I could go to the movies with my friends, he would simply ask me, "Why?" I was never brave enough to come up with a smart retort. My strict upbringing led me to have no social life. I felt like a dork and a loser. I didn't even know what a "mall" was until I was in middle school. The kids made fun of me for that.

My grandmother also had a big influence on my life. She raised me as a baby between moms, and I think she still considers herself my mom up to this point. I think I still do, too. I am close with her but she has a way of driving me absolutely mad. I think her, more than anyone in my life, knows how to push my buttons. I know it's only because she cares, but I usually walk away from a conversation with her, crying and feeling horrible about myself.

Over the years, my dad has chilled out quite a bit. This is partly because he is a fuck up, himself, so what can he really say to me about my life? He divorced my step mother, got married to a woman he was having an affair with, only to learn that she married him only to get a green card. Then he started another affair with a 25 year old, who he is living with and depending on financially. The man can't say shit to me! And he doesn't. In fact, the last time I saw him, he actually said to me, "Do whatever you want to do with your life." And I replied, "I know, I already am."

My grandmother, however, is growing very old. She's 90. She recently went into the hospital and is very sick. She had surgery this past week and is now at my uncle's house on a respirator. I haven't been able to visit her because I have been looking at apartments, and I can't leave the city until I secure a place -- otherwise, I will be homeless. This has been one of the most stressful months of my life, and I feel like I've been reacting to it without thinking about any consequences. I just don't give a fuck. I feel like I am floating. I feel like I am just watching my life go by. But I know I am responsible for everything that happens. There are no excuses. I am responsible for allowing these things to happen in my life.

What am I talking about? I am mostly talking about all the summer flings I have been having.
It sounds cliche, but I have been feeling utterly empty inside. I feel like I am not worth shit so I've been treating myself like shit. Like I am nothing, so I feel nothing. There is a glimmer of hope though because I wish the destruction and downward spiral would stop. I want my life to turn around. I know I need to hold on to this hope or else I fear I will self destruct.

Tarot Card Reading: Would it be a good idea to hook up with Juice again?

2008-08-21T15:40:00.003-04:00

This is a 7 card or horseshoe spread tarot card reading. My question is "Would it be a good idea to hook up with Juice again?

The interesting and quite accurate outcome is below:

1. The Past
Card Drawn: VIII Strength
Linked to the sign of Leo. The lion is a sexual animal, but his base instincts are checked by the caress of a maiden. Message: Use your head and not your heart. Exercise restraint; hold your power in reserve. Courage and fortitude will bring success. Could signify healing qualities.

2. The Present
Card Drawn: Seven of Pentacles
A weary young peasant rests at the end of a long day in the field. You are working hard, but more consistent effort is needed. This card is about patience. Things will happen, but not now.

3. What Is Helping
Card Drawn: Eight of Rods [reversed]
If everyone goes off in different directions nothing will be accomplished. Use teamwork.

4. Obstacles to Overcome
Card Drawn: Queen of Swords
The sword in the Queen's hand represents her quick wits -- and her sharp tongue. The widow, like other women in difficulty, continues bravely despite loss. Her keen intelligence and cool, logical approach make her appear aloof.

5. Attitudes of Others
Card Drawn: Five of Cups [reversed]
A reunion is at hand. Perhaps an old friend will drop in. The outlook is hopeful.

6. What the Questioner Should Do
Card Drawn: Page of Swords
This perceptive young person is ready for action. The card signifies quick thinking. Can also indicate spying or trouble with the police.

7. The Outcome
Card Drawn: Knight of Swords
The Knight charges bravely into battle. It's Sir Lancelot, defender of chivalry. He's a skilled warrior who rushes into situations without weighing consequences. His charming nature gets him out of scrapes.

Naughty Naughty

2008-08-21T11:00:00.006-04:00

Recent IM chat transcript with a friend

Me: hey there...
Friend: what's up?
Me: i have to tell you something
Friend: uh oh. what?!!
Me: i was hanging out with Juice last night and towards the end of the night, he started rubbing my leg under the table at the bar. right in front of our friends.
Friend: oh boy. that's classy
Me: i know, he's so cliche
Friend: then what happened?
Me: we all got really drunk. then headed to another bar. but Juice and i kind of snuck off to a nearby playground and made out behind a tree.
Friend: that's cute
Me: we were outside the bar about to go in and join the others. he started kissing me and saying "just one little kiss." i looked at him and said, "do you really want to go inside? maybe we should take a walk."
Friend: so that's when you went to the playground. it was nice?
Me: we made out for like 3 minutes. it was short. then walked back to the bar. we had a ciggy outside in this little doorway nook, and he kissed me again
Friend: aw
Me: then we ran into one of our friends outside. everyone else had left the bar by then. we went in for a few beers, and then went out for another ciggy break. our friend left. he gave us a look and a wave indicating he knew what was going on. juice and i went back inside the bar and walked all the way to the back of the bar and made out behind a door. he tried to reach between my legs but i kept wriggling out of reach. i just wanted to make out.
Friend: then?
Me: then he led me to the bathroom and we made out some more... but he was trying to go all the way. we struggled. he tried to hold my hands together and turn me around, but i wasn't haven't it. i fucking DENIED him.
Friend: good job!
Me: we left the bar and sat outside for a while and smoked another ciggy. he was like, "maybe you could text me some time and we could spend a nice afternoon together." afternoon delight.
Friend: hmm... what do you think about that? is he sincere?
Me: i told him i would never text him and that he shouldn't expect that from me. i said, "you seem pretty confident that it's gonna happen." he looked at me and was like, "i know it will."
Friend: dag, oh no he di-int
Me: i said, "it's good to be confident"
Friend: you go girl... but wait, he's got the gf, right?
Me: yeah, who he kept referring to
Friend: like what
Me: every once in a while he was just like "i have to go back to my gf tonight, and look what you're doing to me."
Friend: ewww. gross. so how do you feel about this? nice to have the attention, but...
Me: personally, i like having the tension back. i like making out with him.
Friend: too bad he's so cliche
Me: i know. wtf? why do i like the cliche so much? also, before we went our separate ways, he was like, "when the time is right, we are going to have a lot of fun. i think it's going to be really amazing" or something like that
Friend: hmm, cryptic little "when the time is right"
Me: he was saying that he could spend like 8 hours fucking me
Friend: jeez, put up or shut up, buddy
Me: I was like, "why put a limit on it?"
Friend: HA, you're good
Me: he laughed and then he said that his gf was going to be gone from sept to dec... not so cryptic
Friend: ha yeah
Me: and i was like, "that's a long time." then i said bye and turned and went home.
Me: i think i played it so well! but i was drunk... so feisty. i couldn't even believe some of the shit coming out of my mouth! the wit!
Friend: ha, I know!
Me: i was SO ON IT. there's just something about him that brings it out of me i think
Friend: listen, this guy, you know, can't beat all the secret playground make-outs -- that stuff is pretty exciting -- but the debbie-downer in me is like "Quit playing games with Hazy's heart, douchebag!"
Me: i don't think my heart is in it any more. that is why i don't want to sleep with him but i do want to make out with him
Friend: ok then good.
Me: but if i sleep with him (again), i think that's where things will go wrong
Friend: right, if he's inspiring the wit and the making out, then I'm on board, but you know it's a scary line
Me: it IS a little scary. i feel like i am teetering on the edge and he seems to think i'm going to fall on his side of the line
Friend: then it won't be fun anymore
Me: maybe it will?
Friend: maybe but you know well about the boys and their thrill of the chase
Me: yeah i think i have to keep the chase going for as long as possible. i love that the tension is back. makes me happy.
Friend: oh I know, that's the best part
Me: it's good to know that i am still wanted. the first thing he said to me about all of it last night was that he hasn't been able to stop thinking about me since LA... ugh! why is he so cliche? and why do i not mind it?
Friend: i know what you mean. i used to work with a kid who was very cliche and flirty. and I knew it. and I knew he was full of shit. but it still worked
Me: yes that's how i feel!!! i guess they are cliche for a reason
Friend: but listen, you are definitely going to be still wanted. all the boys are all about you
Me: not all boys, just the scumbags
Friend: maybe it's more exciting when they have the gf. like you know there's the separation between you and him.
Me: what, like because i can't really have him? it does make them a bit more desirable in a fucked up way
Friend: I'm putting my minimal psychology knowledge to work here, you know you say how you don't want a relationship now so you play it up with the guys who are not going to infringe on you
Me: yeah that is totally true. i pick the guys who are also not looking for a relationship, at least with me
Friend: yeah
Me: my inspiration at the moment: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/aaliyah/ifyourgirlonlyknew.html
Friend: Nice
Me: it came on my shuffle when we were running at the track yesterday morning actually!
Friend: interesting
Me: it was like a prediction for the evening, or at least set it up like a soundtrack

Nasty Boys

2008-08-06T13:18:00.005-04:00

There is something so alluring about the naughty boy - you know, the bad boy, the rebel, the tortured artist. He's complicated. He's brooding. He's sensitive yet selfish. It sort of kills me that I am so fiercely attracted to this type -- the exact kind of man that is so obviously never ever going to lead to anything substantial.

This summer I've started feeling like I am the official go-to summer fling girl. Feel like fucking around? Why not try spicing up your sex life with some Hazy? It is quite a change of pace for me -- going from being in a committed, faithful relationship to the extreme opposite of wild single gal about town. I've got this spontaneous edge now where literally anything can happen at any time... and it usually does.

Recently I went on a business trip to LA and met up with some clients. One of these clients have been flirting with me for a while now, and I have been resisting for both professional and personal ethical reasons. I don't think I've talked about him here yet though so let me start from the beginning.

Apparently this client (we'll call him Juice, just for kicks) has had a thing for me for quite a while. This particularly surprised me because I thought he was kind of too cool for me in a lot of ways and also because there are a million other much "hotter" women around our scene. Why me? In all honestly, it's probably simply because he hadn't had me yet. He was curious, and the curiosity has been building for quite some time now.

What caught me off guard was the night we were sealing the deal on our professional relationship, he started to hit on me in a drunken stupor. I was shocked at how bold he was being. His girlfriend happened to be hanging out in the same bar as him, and he was whispering into my ear, "Let's have a meeting in the bathroom." All the while, his hand was gently stroking my back up and down, over and over again, and his light blue eyes pierced into mine, while he said, "Sorry," each time his hand reached my bottom. Shivers! Giggles! Nerves!

Juice has an intense charisma about him -- there's something so dirty and wrong about him. It draws me in like he has me chained with laser lights, a bit helpless.

The next week, I started getting texts from him. They were also of the naughty nature like "Let's make babies together" and "I love you." I replied "haha you're so funny" thinking that would deflect him. A couple other times he's just been flirty with me, but nothing as intense or over the top as his previous antics.

But on this business trip to LA, I think he had everything planned ever so perfectly. He got some blow, and he gave me some intermittently during the night. He would hold it in his palm and I would sniff from it. There was something kind of submissive about that... and I went with it.

Another guy that night randomly asked me if I was Juice's girlfriend. I said no, and almost automatically added that I didn't get involved with people I work with. As these words came out of my mouth, I already knew they were a lie based on the "drunken explosion" that happened with my roommate and coworker the week prior. Why did I need to cling to these morals?

There is a bit of naivete on my part, thinking the world is so cut and dry, so black and white, when in reality, life is actually butchered, chewed and regurgitated in infinite variation. There should be no preconceptions fogging our perceptions. There shouldn't be any rules blocking our paths. There really isn't any right or wrong because at heart I am savage. I don't like to be tamed. I don't like to be told what I can and cannot do. So I have come to the conclusion that in my life, THERE IS ONLY "THE MOMENT."

What is the moment? Let me give you an example. When I was heading to the bathroom while hanging with Juice at the hotel with a bunch of other friends and coworkers, he followed me in. He cornered me so I couldn't escape. He leaned forward and whispered, "Just one little kiss. Come on, just one kiss. It never happened."

I laughed and felt my limbs go limp in his arms. Our lips were wrestling and biting and pulling each other. His saliva tasted like cocaine, which made the friction even more frenzied. I frantically reached over to lock the door and click off the lights, as if that would make this sin less so. We were full on making out. His hands seductively glided up and down my ass. I let out a small gasp. At that point someone knocked on the door.

We swiftly flicked on the lights and tried to look sober and not so disheveled. But the guilty look on our faces may have given us away. The brightness of the lights instantly killed any make out mood we were in. I felt silly, like a high school girl. Giddy, even. We decided to head over to the other hotel room, where there weren't any people to distract us. We headed towards the bathroom in there, and he pinned me to the wall and started kissing again. I tugged his hair, bit his neck... I was getting really turned on at this point. His aggressiveness was exactly what I was looking for. I was so sick of dealing with wimpy pussies and craved a man who knows what he wants and isn't shy to ask for it. It was such a refreshing change of pace, and I couldn't help but indulge.

I felt like I was holding firecrackers. It was exhilarating and frightening at the same time. I felt dangerous. I felt naughty. I felt joyous. It was one of the biggest rushes.

Then someone showed up in that hotel room to sleep, and we lost yet another location for our indecent tryst. Why indecent, you ask? Juice has a long term girl who he lives with. Oh yes. You heard me. Perhaps you think I'm crazy? A homewrecker? A hypocrite for all of my disapproving cheating speeches? I never wanted to be that woman, yet here I am... and I am that woman. I was almost disgusted with myself for being so weak and breaking my rules... until I realized how much fun I was having. I was living in the moment, and it was well worth the thrill. I felt alive. I felt happy. It was perfect.

Afterwards, he said, "This is only between you and me. It's our secret." I teased him and said, "Oh really?"

I guess the deep dark truth was that I wish it didn't have to be secret, and somewhere deep in my soul I know my feelings are a bit hurt. But I am also disappointed in myself and feel guilty that I had no will power to stop the situation, and instead totally indulged. Once the deed was over, I knew there was only one woman who would never have to "keep it a secret" and one woman he eventually came home to, and it sure as hell wasn't me. I was like a second concubine, as gross a metaphor as that might be. Who knows? I may actually be more like the 700th.

As if feeling an allergic reaction to the night of sin, I was going to leave right after I got dressed, but he got up and said, "What are you doing?"

"I was going to go back to my friend's house"

"You could stay and sleep if you wanted."

"OK."

There, I melt again. No. Will. Power.

Surprisingly, he was a cuddler. We laid together on the bed for another hour, his arm wrapped around me. Every once in a while, we would look up at each other and smile. God, I had always thought he was hot, and I can't believe our passionate tryst finally happened.

But these are all good feelings that fade after time. The rush of the blow is gone. The mellow glide of the pot dissipates. The afterglow is now dull. The high of "the moment" has worn off. Now what?

A Drunken Explosion

2008-07-28T15:50:00.001-04:00

Is it possible to change one's outlook on life? What if you have been sad your entire earthly life? Can you transform from sad to happy by sheer will power? Are we as human beings so used to being creatures of habits and comforts that we can't dig ourselves out of such a deep rut? Can we overturn our existence and take control of our lives and abstain from blaming fate and destiny?

Sometimes... a lot of times, I feel I cannot change my outlook, try as I might. It seems that my logic cannot battle with the power of my imagination. It simply cannot be bothered with the challenge, with the arduous task at hand.

Much of my frustrations stem from my issues surrounding the undivided attention that I seek from my various crushes. From disappointments from unrequited crushes to the too casual one-night-stands that creep in and out of my shady, shady lane, I am often left unsatisfied. But I allow myself to make mistakes without regrets because ultimately, nothing I do will completely ruin my life. I'd like to think I have better judgment than that.

When the afterglow fades, I can sense the exact moment my thoughts turn dark. My heart slows and is dragged haphazardly across the floor. My eyebrows upturn with a bit of fear, and my lips curl under with a slight pucker. I am surrendering to the drama in my head, and desperately fending off my heavy worries.

During these times of insecurity, my addiction escalates incontrollably. Mixing drugs and alcohol with my need for attention is a potion for certain double trouble. The altered state and liquid courage allow me to lose control. But you know what? A part of me also believes that trouble tends to seek me out, too. Sometimes we collide. Sometimes I narrowly miss a near-disaster. And somehow, I manage to survive and carry on.

I've been living in a sublet for about a couple weeks now. It's the first time in a long time that I've had a stable place to live, and it's a total relief for me. The couch surfing was getting to be too much. I was tired of moving around so much and constantly hustling for a place to crash.

Of course, the problem is that I knew I had a tiny crush on the guy who was subletting me the room. Based on our flirting, I also sensed that this crush may also have a tiny crush on me as well. I felt the tension would be interesting and fun to say the least, and I was looking for a little entertainment...

Oh, I know it's never a good idea to hook up with a roommate, especially if he holds the key to a decent living situation. I know I should keep things cool and be the perfect roommate. And it's really not a good idea to have sex with a roommate who you also work with on a fairly regular basis. But I broke that roommate rule within the first week. I knew it wasn't the smartest move, but at the time I just didn't give a fuck. He fit my main hookup criteria -- he was single, and he was into the idea of sleeping with me. All other questions seemed kind of irrelevant. It was a "drunk explosion," in his words.

Leading up to the "drunken explosion" were several nights of late night chatter and lots of bonding over beer and weed. I was starting to feel comfortable around him. Unfortunately, I think I was also starting to like him as a person. Mistake number 2, if you consider the first mistake was moving in with him in the first place.

Perhaps I went a little too far when I coaxed my roommate out that night to meet me at a bar. I texted him when I got a little bummed after running into a recent fling and being ignored most of the night. I wanted to turn the situation around. I sent him a message that said, "Come get a drink with me. I need a smile." He initially replied that he might be too tired to drink, but a minute later, I got another text that said, "OK, you win."

So we met up around midnight and proceeded to get completely shitfaced. We danced and twirled, but it wasn't like I was exclusively dancing or hanging with him. I had a few sets of friends at the bar and was splitting my attention amongst them all.

The thought of hooking up with him had occurred to me, but it wasn't something I was totally set on doing. It was just a passing thought, something to toy with in my head. But then it really happened.

We were walking home together from the bar. We got inside the house, and I gave him a hug and said thank you for coming out to meet me. Then all of a sudden, we were making out. He said, "Maybe we should get naked." I laughed and started pulling him by the shirt towards his bedroom. He joking asked, "Hey, who's driving here?" That made me laugh again. I felt naughty. It was exhilarating. We continued to make out on his bed, and he said, "This isn't very professional of you." I giggled. He really knew how to tickle my sense of humor -- maybe he realized that I responded to his funny charm?

We didn't get to talk about it until a few days later because of our busy schedules. He brought it up as we sat around the house, drinking some Buds and smoking some weed.

"So, fun night on Thursday," he said.

It took me a second to remember, but then I said with some nervous laughter, "Yes, it was fun... I don't know what to say about it other than it was fun."

I was getting really stoned at this point, and I really just didn't want to deal with the situation that much. I sort of felt a depression coming on. My mind sort of drifted, but I think he then said something to the effect of "It's probably not a good idea to do that again." I was OK with that, but perhaps there was a little disappointment there, too. I knew it was the right decision and opinion, but a woman still wants to be wanted, right? I felt rejected even though it really wasn't a rejection. It was just logic. But I was never a person who was ruled by logic. Instead, I like to inject more heart into my decisions. Perhaps that's where all my mistakes stem from, but I just can't help the way I am. I cannot change who I am so drastically as it goes against all my natural instincts. My friend says I'm "delicate" at the core, even if I put on a tough front. She is right on.

A week later, I was hanging with my roommate in the house again. He said, "How do you feel about Jewish photographers?" I asked what he was talking about. He said, "I'm talking about setting you up."

At that point, I felt like he was sending me a clear, but roundabout message that he felt the hookup was a mistake that he definitely didn't want to repeat. It made me feel sadder and even more rejected somehow. I told him I wasn't into the idea of a set up, and that I really wasn't looking to date someone right now anyways, to which he replied, "Well I'm sure he wouldn't be opposed to just having sex. I mean, he is a guy."

I honestly don't know how I felt about that statement, but figured that I'd let it slide. I'm laid back like that and don't like to make a big deal of things if I don't have to. I knew he was probably right about not continuing the whole hookup situation, but there was a part of my pride that was hurt as well. It just made me wonder whether if I was hotter, if he would be as stringent on those rules. In my head I told myself, he probably wouldn't be and this kind of hurt my feelings. It's crazy how much power my random, self-imposed thoughts have on my psyche. I felt ugly, and I started drowning myself in alcohol even more than before.

A couple days ago my roommate was leaving town for a family trip. I gave him a hug goodbye before I went to sleep at night and wished him a good trip. The hug kind of lingered, and I had to pull away. At this point, I am not interested in hooking up with him anymore, and in my head, the guy is already cut off. I have a tendency to be able to move on fairly quickly from these little rumbles because once I've made up my mind about something, it's done. This little affair is SO over, and I'm actually started to feel a little better after having written it all down...

A Poem: Make-Believe

2008-07-25T10:37:00.003-04:00

We're whispering
We're tryin' to sing
You're pulling my hair
Tugging me there like a fling, fling, fling...

Wishing for something to break
so we can just take
and forget what's at stake
convince me it's not make-believe, leave, leave...

I'm nudging your arm
I'm meaning no harm
Our hands get so close
I'm feelin' the dose of your charm, charm, charm...

Searching for someone not fake
so they can't just snake
and forget what's at stake
convince me it's not make-believe, leave, leave...

You're tryin' to kiss
I'm looking to miss
We're feeling it all slip away
While I keep it at bay after our tryst, tryst, tryst...

I'm buying some time
And drinking red wine
Why's it feel like a crime
Convince me it's not make-believe, leave, leave.

Your Heart vs. Your Head

2008-07-12T03:26:00.003-04:00

"It's always better to have a little mystery," my friend said to me today.

Of course, my problem is that I'm a very out there person -- it's just part of my personality. I like to reach out and delve deep. You know, I love to just really get to know people and connect in a very meaningful way.

Then my friend said, "But then again, if you held back that much, you'd probably lose part of your charm."

What a little conundrum?

Pretend to be something I'm not and appear a bit dead inside or just be myself but become completely overexposed. Hmm.

Somehow I have to change my habits from acting too emotional (thinking with my heart) to acting a bit more logically (thinking with my head).

Hope I figure out how to do this... soon!

Feeling Like a Bit of an Alkie

2008-07-12T01:32:00.003-04:00

I've been feeling like a bit of an alcoholic these days. I turn into "drunk Hazy," and she is a bit more of a wild thing than my sober self. She's the life of the party. She's the one everyone adores and wants to dance with. She's the one who throws beer at you and goes skinny dipping at night. But keeping her around so much might be damaging to my liver.

So here it is. The cleanse. No more alcohol for an undefined extended period of time.

Making Out Is Hard To Do... Sometimes

2008-07-03T00:13:00.000-04:00

I've been couch surfing now for about two months. That means it's been about that long since I broke up with my ex. And that's also about how long it took for me to get my mojo back after splitting with my second boyfriend.

Don't get it twisted -- though I seemed to have lost my sexual desires, I was NOT in search of it. Instead, I found myself enjoying my freedom from the chains of a crush. I was free, and for the first time I didn't care if I never made out with another guy again. This freedom, while exhilarating at times, also made me a little bored. Life didn't seem to have quite the same gleam it used to as when I was crushing. I was simply in a vicious cycle of working and running and looking for an apartment. The spark of life had dimmed a bit. So sometimes I was soaring. Other times I felt I was drowning. Either way, I wasn't feeling particularly sexy or romantic.

I started to wonder, would I ever get my sexual urge back? I felt numb at times. I guess that's how it feels after such a big life change. It's hard to imagine that a guy I was SO close to for SO long could barely talk to me now when we're in the same places -- the silence was uncomfortable and dramatic. It was also quite hurtful.

I know it's hard to feel sorry for me because I was the dumper, but you have to understand, the decision was not easy for me. I gave up any security I had in a living situation. I gave up my babies -- my cats, a decision that still breaks my heart every day. I gave up love from a wonderful guy who just happened to not be the right fit for me. Settling and just continuing the relationship would have been the easy thing to do. It was a lot to give up, and I'm still not fully recovered from the shock of the break up to my system.

Perhaps the guilt I felt from the break up was causing me to subconsciously nullify my sex life. It was weird. I was never the kind of woman who was "not in the mood" nor was I the type of woman who would ever really say "no." However, I found myself in a situation where I ran into an old hook up named Bryan and started feeling a little nervous. The old hook up was a nerdy, awkward looking fellow who may have looked shy but was actually quite bold. He was a good complement to my deceptively bold exterior and my actual shy personality.

I fondly remember when I was single three years ago after my break up with the first boyfriend, the nerd and I danced to Stevie Wonder songs in an East Village bar. It sounds cheesy, but we stole away in a cab and headed for my place. He was holding my hand when we crossed over the bridge towards home. He turned to me and said, "Do you think this will make things weird with our friends?" I think I mumbled something like "I don't think so." The truth was, I didn't really care. I was on an adventure. I was going to go for it. I had always thought he was cute, so why not?

He was a little too drunk to go all the way with me that night, but we spent quite a bit of time just making out. It was fun. He was dirty. I was into it. In the sobering morning light, however, I suddenly felt awkward and self-conscious. The liquid courage of alcohol was wearing off, and my insecurities flooded in with the sunrise. We both woke up around the same time. We quickly got dressed. I walked him to the door and hugged him and said, "Thanks. See you later." I closed the door.

Now here I am single again three years later. I was out drinking with mutual friends when we met up with Bryan. It didn't even occur to me that anything would happen between us that night. I thought I was just hanging out with some friends and that was that.

Of course, I found out that he didn't know that I had broken up with the ex a couple months ago until I told him at the bar that night. I could see the romance scheme forming in his head right after I broke the news. And for some reason, I responded and set up the game, practically challenging him to chase me. I told him that I felt like I had lost my mojo. I felt no desire to even make out with guys. He then accepted my challenge and whispered into my ear that he could help me find it. He asked me to go dancing.

I, however, was waiting to meet up with a close girlfriend. She arrived at the bar kind of late, and we decided to leave and head towards another bar across the street. Bryan and another mutual guy friend Lucas ended up tagging along. I think Lucas thought he was going to get some from my friend. Bryan thought he was going to get some from me. Only one of them were right.

We all ended up at yet another bar where this African band was performing. Bryan asked me to dance several times before I said yes. There were a couple other people hitting the dance floor.
Bryan and I found a private corner of the bar to dance to the music. Here we were, dancing again. It was literally a flirtatious dance of romance as he twirled me around and even tried to dip me a few times. He said I was really fun to dance with. As our faces neared each other to the beat of the music, his lips tried to connect with mine several times. That's when the nerves kicked in. I turned my face defensively. I just wasn't sure if I was ready to kiss someone so soon.

Bryan was persistent though, and eventually, he held my face and kissed me. I was surprised at how quickly I responded back, and next thing you know, we're making out. I felt giddy. I was smiling. I playfully bit his pliant lips, his stubbly neck. My fingers clung to his collar, and I pulled him in close for more kisses. There was an urgency growing in my barely there gasps.

That night, I eventually ended up sleeping over his place, but when he tried to do anything more than kiss me, I started to feel panic. I knew I wasn't ready to sleep with him, but I didn't know how to tell him. I found my voice quiver out a pathetic, "I can't." Fortunately, Bryan was really understanding and nicely assured me, "Don't worry about it." I appreciated that. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was one of the few times in my life where I actually stopped something from going all the way. I suddenly felt sort of grown up but young and stupid at the same time. Though I knew I wasn't ready to have sex with him, I also knew part of the reason I was nervous was because I didn't want him to see me naked. It was a terrible hangup that usually disappears after a few drinks, but I wasn't drunk enough this night. Therefore, could only commit to making out.

A couple weeks after this surprise make out session, I ran into Bryan again at a friend's party. Again, he paid special attention to me, which was flattering. I had just had a depressing night before, and needed that pick-me-up. He asked me if I wanted to go dancing, and we ended up twirling and dipping some more that night. More making out ensued. Then he said, "Let's go somewhere, and take all of our clothes off. I just want to get naked."

That night, we finally fucked. The next morning, I got dressed and hugged him goodbye. I had finally found my mojo. I guess Bryan is sort of turning out to be my go-to, in-between-relationships hookup?

The Universe Works On a Math Equation That Never Even Ever Really Ends In the End

2008-05-12T00:12:00.001-04:00

I'm in a very transitional state right now with lots of variables and major life changes. Adding another huge change to my already hectic and spastic life may really destroy any sliver of sanity I have left at the moment, but life doesn't always go according to plan, does it? It is impossible to predict the rhythms of the universe, and if you try, it will trip you up and fuck with you.

If you've read my previous posts, you know the boyfriend and I had agreed to an open relationship. I was shocked that he agreed so readily, but instantly relieved at the same time. Now I felt like I could go out and hang with other boys and just not feel the weight of guilt bear down on me. Afterwards, I felt free... giddy even.

It just so happened that the boyfriend was going out of town for a week on business literally a few days after we had this discussion. It was bad timing for him, but good for me. I spent the last week really trying to figure out how I felt about everything -- my work life, my love life, my friend life. It was pretty enlightening and exhilarating at the same time.

It sounds so horrible to say, but I made plans to meet up with the lawyer about an hour after the boyfriend left. We drank. We talked. But the kicker was when we suddenly decided to work together. This was a bit of a monkey wrench in my plans... Could I possibly work with someone who I wanted to hook up with? OK, I know hooking up with a client isn't the smartest action in the world, but does it matter to be smart in matters of business all the time? What about matters of the heart? Matters of the gut?

In celebration of our professional union, I invited him over to my apartment to get even more obliterated on weed and beer. Yes, I had the crush in my apartment and being really damn charming, too. However, I somehow managed to do absolutely nothing to encourage him to kiss me, to touch me. We ended up spending all afternoon and evening together... so I guess that counts for something, right? He was a total gentleman the entire time and didn't try to take advantage of the fact that I was in such an altered state. I had a glimpse of what it could be like to hang out with this guy on a regular basis and totally got a touch of the tingles. You know, I haven't felt tingles for a while. It felt nice. It felt new. I suspected the good feelings probably wouldn't last so I tried to enjoy each and every moment as much as possible.

As with most crushes, where there is an up, unfortunately there is usually a down. The gravity of temporary fancies tends to weigh heavily, and your crush could end up crushing you if you are not careful. Recognize this early on, and be wary of your feelings. Don't act on emotions. Don't fool yourself. I know this is all good advice - it's the kind of advice you give to other people but don't always follow yourself. Human emotions are the wild card in every situation, and mine was no exception.

This is at least what I am telling myself with the lawyer. After a couple weeks of hanging out with him on a pretty regular basis, I felt like I had been dating him and that there was a string of thinly veiled moments thick with flirtatious tension, which really seemed to electrify each hang. We seemed to spur each other on. We thrived off the same energy. But all of this, I believe in the end, was a twist of fate. He was destined to be the catalyst for the breakup. It was not because I thought the lawyer was "the one" but because he seemed to have a lot of qualities that the boyfriend was lacking. He served as a contrast catalyst.

Soon after I met the lawyer, I ended up officially breaking up with the boyfriend, and I have to say the dramatic finale fell a bit flat. Even though I knew it was inevitable, I didn't think I would break up with him when I did. That was a total surprise. All of my concerns with the relationship just seemed to spill out. There probably was nothing the boyfriend (now ex) could say to prevent the breakup, but I think it sort of disappointed me that he didn't fight for me -- that would have at least been romantic. But again, he proved that he was a total dude, and I was definitely not looking for a dude. He hardly made any arguments. He didn't show much emotion, though I could tell he was bummed out. Instead, he simply told me that he understood. There was nothing he could say or do. Then, there was just an awful lot of silence.

After the breakup, I felt a change in the air. I hung out with the lawyer the day after the breakup, and I wondered whether we only really made sense as a work relationship -- maybe it's for the best that it veers more professional and more familial -- but you know, being professional and all of that other bullshit doesn't necessarily fit with the biz of music. Sometimes it's more about shared experiences. People connecting on multiple levels -- music tastes, a love for concerts, parties and other artistic events and endeavors, nightlife and day life experiences along with all of that comes lots and lots of drinking and drugging. It's spontaneous and emotional.

The spell the lawyer had cast on me early on was starting to wear off, as I suspected it would. I can be very fickle, fall in love too fast and fall out of love in a blink. I was recently turned off by him the other night, and decided I really didn't want to pursue anything romantic with this guy until I knew him a little better. Apparently there is so much I still don't know.

So in the mean time, we have just been hanging, emailing and texting. I thought back again to the song he dedicated to me the other night -- The Velvet Underground's "We're Gonna Have a Real Good Time Together." I want the good times to last, so I am prolonging the platonic courtship for as long as possible. At least until there is finally some kind of emotional connection. I haven't felt it quite yet. I still think he's pretty guarded. One day, perhaps, he'll let me in.

In the meantime, I am good at suppressing my emotions enough to live life a bit numb. The numbness is the only thing that keeps me from bursting into constant agony -- a true painkiller, a friend to mankind, a dear friend to me. That's why I am completely addicted to the haze of being stoned -- I don't have to feel anything. Mellow is better than any other feeling I've had in my entire life. Mellow is the only thing that keeps me sane.

I've been keeping myself really busy in order not to think about how sadly and awfully this is all going to affect my life. I've been talking to lots of friends in order to validate my reasons for the breakup and to essentially be reassured via third person opinions. Through this, I am also preventing myself from standing still -- a dangerous predicament as it leaves room for lonely thoughts to invade. Every once in a while the sadness sneaks out. That's when I listen to a sad song and have a good cry.

Who's Game?

2008-04-18T17:10:00.001-04:00

Even though I am nearly 30 now, there are still parts of my life that I am not ready to resolve or deal with quite yet. It's like I have one eye open and anxious to see the world, and another lazy eye perfectly content seeing through obscured eyelashes, a protective barrier, a bit of a wink and a squint.

When I was younger, I hoped my life would be stable and all figured out by the time I reached this stage. But as I grow older, I realize wisdom only comes with experience -- and I still have a ton of learning and exploring still ahead of me. My curiosity about romance and its possibilities is insatiable. I am constantly on the hunt for a mind blowing revelation. I am constantly trying out different perspectives. I am constantly trying to bend and twist and extend my views on love.

So what is holding me back in life? Truthfully? I think it's self-sabotage. I don't trust happiness, therefore I am constantly waiting for the impending sadness. I know sadness. Sadness and I, we're like an affair that never seems to die. As for reality, I tend to run away from it instead of towards it. Fantasy is preferable to reality, and perhaps that's why I'm such a toker. I am fearful of commitment because I am claustrophobic and absolutely hate feeling trapped. At any moment, my life will veer towards the catastrophic. I am simply waiting for the downward spiral to commence.

The truth of the matter is that I am a bit addicted to connecting with other people, so when I meet someone that I have chemistry with I become completely open. I've always wanted to be loved and accepted by as many people as possible. I am a connector, a pleaser, a good friend. When I feel I can trust people, I let them in. I allow them to see me... Perhaps that's why some of my crushes also tend to return the affection. There is a give and take, a certain level of excitement and mystery that draws us both towards each other.

My current boyfriend used to have that magnetic quality in the beginning of our relationship. We were ridiculous when we started dating, running around town, getting wasted and sharing stories about each other's lives. We were really connecting, intensely and swiftly. As our relationship progressed, I feel like I know less and less about his passions and his internal dialogue than I did in the beginning. Everything seems really mechanical and routine. Life seems boring and normal and uneventful. Many times, we are not on the same page. Many times, I want to go out for a drink, and he just wants to stay home and smoke pot. He's just not game.

In reaction, of course, I am primed to start a ruckus. It's a nasty habit of mine, one that the angel within me has tried to break many times. The darker, looser side of me is always pushing to explore my sinful desires, the fantasies in my head. But now, I am just really fucking tired of feeling bad for the way I feel. I can't help it if I begin to like someone else. I can't seem to stop my crushes. It's just something that happens, and I think, why should I stop it? Why do I have to live my life by society's rules? Why should I feel conflicted about my natural instincts? It's probably all part of the human condition -- the constant struggle between two opposing forces -- and the human impulse to reconcile the positive and negative. The struggle to be free versus the struggle for security.

I mean, do all relationships eventually get boring? Am I crazy to want someone who will continually inspire me to live the best kind of life? Is it a ludicrous and perhaps an impossible goal to seek someone who will always push me to be my best self? Many of my friends tell me that relationships will continue to flow in and out of exciting and boring times. There is a certain truth to that, but love is a bit more complex because it's all about attaching rationale to something so irrational, something so fickle and emotional. There are elements in relationships that simply cannot be described, pinpointed or argued. It just is what it is, and what we have to ask ourselves is whether or not we can simply accept that? The eternal mystery is whether we can bottle the electricity that happens when two people connect, a bolt of energy that propels us to continue existing one more day.

It sounds so dark and depressing, but lately I haven't wanted to live. I haven't wanted to deal with life at all. I haven't been inspired to reach for anything. In fact, sometimes it's been the exact opposite. Sometimes... most times, I've just wanted to stop living. I fall into a dark place, and I can't find the enlightenment I am seeking. Who has the rope to pull me out and save me? I'm not sure if such a person or persons exists, but I think I am constantly on the lookout.

So what has inspired me lately? Honestly, what has been fueling my creativity and my highs these days are my crushes! Because of this I talked to my boyfriend about taking a break so I could resolve my feelings, but he doesn't want to separate. So I brought up possibly having an open relationship, where we "don't ask, don't tell." This is not a new topic, I've brought it up a bunch before, and he's never been receptive to it until now. It caught me completely off-guard. I expected him to protest and reject, but he simply said okay. I couldn't believe it. I think he just didn't want to break up with me, and he didn't want to get into a big fight about everything so he just relented to my suggestions. Suddenly, I am somewhat free. The rope has loosened, and I'm like the frightened, curious animal who is unsure whether to run for the hills or stay put.

And even more importantly, what happens if I meet a guy who is game?

Bewitched, Bothered and Bewildered...

2008-04-17T12:27:00.003-04:00

I sat waiting for Owen to arrive at this French bar in my neighborhood. I had never really been to that bar before, but it was very otherworldly. The lights were dim, flickered and lit with tiny candles on dark tables. Some kind of jazz music was playing. There were films being played behind me on a screen, some old movie footage, some current music footage of a scatting wrinkled man on accordion. I heard an old woman exclaim in delight in French. I no longer felt like I was in Brooklyn. I felt disoriented.

Before I begin the tale of the rest of the night, I would just like to note that in the beginning, I thought the night was a "music meeting," which to me means that there is the loose intention of laid back networking, but no "real" business at hand. We were letting each other know what was going on with the other, and at the same time veering off-topic every once in a while to get a sense of what the other person is like outside of the biz.

However, at some point, I definitely felt like maybe it felt more like a date. And it felt wrong somehow. No, I should say it felt like I was doing something wrong, even though I really wasn't. One of my friends said the lawyer was a performer, and I was enjoying "the performance." He was testing his boundaries little by little. He drank some of my whiskey, almost nonchalantly. I gave him some of my beer to drink later on because I am a wussy drinker. Those are things you do only when you feel really comfortable with someone. He wanted to sit next to me instead of across from me. Therefore there was the occasional leg bumping under the table. When my stories told of stressful times, he would rub my back reassuringly. I felt like there was one girl who was not nice to me and I didn't know why she didn't like me. He replied with, "But everyone likes you." When we switched bars, he was on one crutch and wanted to drive the few blocks to another bar. It was weird being in his car -- that made everything feel even more date-like. He fiddled with the music, but I wondered why he even bothered for the three seconds we were in his car. I have to say though, I was completely entertained and enjoying the attention. My interest was piqued.

Even still, I felt like things were a little off. I felt like I had to mention the boyfriend -- just in case this guy really didn't know I had one. I had only assumed that Owen knew because we were MySpace friends and my status on there was "In a Relationship." So I slipped into the conversation that I went to a show the other night with my boyfriend. After I said it, I definitely felt there was a pause where he took in the information, but I'm not sure if he cared about that fact so much. Some guys don't care so much if you are already dating someone. I don't think he's the kind of guy that would let a little thing like that get in the way of getting to know someone he was interested in. He seems a bit more calculated than that, but maybe I am just projecting an image on to him. I barely know the guy.

After having a substantial hang with him this time around, I noticed that he seems to have a harder time masking his emotions in person than he does through email. His emails are always short, and often leave me wanting more feedback, more hints at his thoughts, his feelings. The elusiveness is what is keeping me in at this point. The mystery is key here. It's his power, his upper hand. The more common this fella becomes, the less I care. But the more he keeps from me, the more I seem to think about him. To wonder... Is that his deliberate ploy? Why am I so into these silly mating games? Is it all a distraction from dealing with the fact that I am sort of bored in my current relationship? Probably? Goddamnit.

In an act of utter curiosity, I had my friend read my Tarot. As I shuffled the deck, I asked the Tarot cards if I would be hooking up with the lawyer or if any romantic misdeeds would happen. I needed to know. I needed to resolve my feelings more. The "result" card was the Magician. I interpreted that to mean that I would only break up with my boyfriend if I thought I met a guy who had come to save me and transform my life for the ultimate better. A magical guy, a magical meeting, a magical future. It all really made sense to me. I was looking for something extremely extraordinary, but perhaps it is asking too much for such an enlightenment? What I wasn't sure of was whether or not the lawyer had the spells to keep me excited. At the moment though, I must admit I am rather spellbound.

My genuine hope is that he will eventually turn from being a curious crush into a true friend, but the vibe I am getting is that this guy could be the controlling type instead of the held-back type. I think he may constantly be pushing the line to see where he can eventually cross it. I am onto his game though. I'm keeping a careful watch over the line. I'm keeping watch over my feelings. I am egging myself on to stay strong and listen to my inner self. What is right? what is right for me? Those are the guiding questions here for now. However, I cannot predict the future. I simply have to wait and see what happens next.

My First Boyfriend

2008-04-15T14:05:00.004-04:00

Oddly enough, like in the movies, as soon as I got Trent out of my life, I ended up meeting a decent guy who eventually became my first boyfriend. One night as I was waiting to go out with some of my friends, I found myself trolling around the Internet again. It was a pesky, hard-to-break habit, but I had promised myself that I wouldn't revert back to my old ways.

I looked up "male," "single," "New York" and "writer" into the profile search of America Online. I sent an IM to the first interesting dude who came up in the search: Kirk. He was 26. I was 20. That made him the youngest guy I had been with thus far. I decided to send him a hello.

Me: Hello there, feel like chatting?
Kirk: Do I know you?
Me: I don't think so...
Kirk: Is this someone I know playing a joke on me?

As it turned out, this guy Kirk really didn't chat online at all -- and he was surprised that a stranger was sending him a message. He thought it was a prank. Even still, we had a pretty good chat, and ended up chatting quite a few more times before upgrading to phone calls. Our conversations would start after he got out of work and would last well into the morning. They were intense and deep and meaningful. I know that sounds so gross and cliche, but our connection was instant and earnest. We couldn't deny it.

Kirk and I agreed to meet for our first date on Easter Sunday. He was going to get some breakfast with me before he left to meet up with his mom in Staten Island. I remember seeing him walk towards me in a long black leather trench coat with fuzzed out hair. I have to say, I wasn't instantly attracted to him. His intimidating look actually kind of scared the hell out of me. He's the kind of guy you wouldn't want to mess with on the street because he looks like he could seriously snap your spine in two. Yet I knew he was sensitive and kind from the late night talks we'd had over the phone. His exterior may have been abrasive, but he was truly a softy on the inside. We made out during our date, but we didn't end up sleeping together. That was a first for me. I always seem to sleep with guys right away. Kirk told me that he made it a rule not to sleep with girls on the first date. I almost didn't believe him.

After that date, Kirk and I were pretty much inseparable. He kept me stable and was someone I could always depend on no matter what. I went from being a totally wrecked sexaholic on a rampage to a smitten, loyal, loving girlfriend. It was a crazy transformation. The natural high I felt during those early days of the relationship was so addictive. I was ridiculously in love with Kirk. It felt surreal.

On our second date, I brought over a romantic comedy to watch. He cooked spaghetti. We ate and cuddled in his breadbox of an apartment while laughing at all the movie hijinks. "I haven't laughed that hard in a while," he said to me. That made me happy. I loved that I could bring him some joy.

What really shocked me at the time was that I had never fallen so hard and so quickly and so deeply. It was unbelievable that some guy actually loved me and wanted to share his life and passions with me. The intimacy was something I had longed for for so long, and it was incredible that I had finally found someone who was going to stick around.

And amazingly, I only had eyes for him. All other men disappeared and lost their appeal. I didn't have any more late night chats with strangers. I didn't go out and flirt with other boys. I was totally and utterly monogamous. He tamed me.

Even though I was in an exclusive relationship, my appetite for sex and naughtiness didn't disappear along with my promiscuity. Sex was still a drug I craved. Sex was still a measure of validation for me. So during the honeymoon phase of our relationship, Kirk and I had marathon sex weekends... We fucked on his futon, in his bed, in the shower.... It was all good fun and made me giddy. Then one night, we were making love and during one of my moans, I unexpectedly whispered, "I love you." As soon as I said it, I panicked. I really didn't plan on saying it. The damn words just came out without any warning. Of course, I didn't expect him to say it back... and he didn't, at least not right away. He did eventually say it. That's all that mattered.

I might have liked Kirk's personality, but he became sort of like a Ken doll for me. As horrible as it sounds, he wasn't exactly the guy I pictured in my dreams so I began modifying him. I had him dye his hair light blonde and showed him how to style and spike it using hair products. Sounds like a guy's worst nightmare, but for some reason he went along with it. Kirk also used to wear a bunch of earrings, but eventually minimized to none at my nudging. He had a job at a photo lab in midtown, but because he wanted to work towards a better lifestyle, he maneuvered himself into a job at a larger photo company. He was making more money in a managerial position. I wouldn't exactly call it "training," but Kirk was definitely adjusting himself in order to please me and make a better life for the two of us. Maybe we were naive, but we genuinely thought we were going to get married. Back then I was a different girl, less cynical than the glass-half-empty woman I am today.

A couple years into the relationship, I started to get crushes. There was a boy named Dave in one of my classes who was handsome in a very metrosexual way. We got partnered up in class a couple times, and I got to know him a little better. He had talent and charisma, which I admired. The crush seemingly came out of nowhere, and it made me question my relationship with Kirk.

My friend Sophia and I were both in that class with Dave, and she started crushing on Dave, too. The most ridiculous part of this triangle was that Sophia and I were both in long term relationships, so we really had no business even competing over the same man. As irrational and silly as it sounds, I got mad at Sophia because Dave asked her to hang out one night and not me. Jealousy is an evil and terrible thing between girlfriends, and it took a hold of me at that moment.

To me, it was just another slap in my face, another example of men liking my friends more than me. I don't think it was intentional on my part, but my best friends have traditionally been "hotter" than me, and I've always felt like I lived in their shadow as "the friend." When you're the friend of a "hot" girl, people want to get to know you so they can get closer to their real goal. If you forget this fact and you've actually convinced yourself that your crush sincerely finds you interesting or attractive, it only makes the truth that much worse and embarrassing.

I've had several of those "oh no he likes her not me" experiences quite a few times. Each and every time, like a total sucker, I was able to somehow convince myself that I was the object of affection, when in fact, I was merely a stepping stone. Um, yeah, not the most pleasant realization...

Let's just lay it out. It doesn't fucking make sense, but I was fucking sad. I lied in bed crying, staring up at the ceiling. The blank white space above would expand as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I shrank smaller and smaller until I was floating up in the universe, a lonely peon stuck inside an overwhelmingly seemingly solitary life. It sounds crazy, but that is the state of mind I got sucked into.

When I got mad at Sophia for accepting the "date" with Dave, I knew it was irrational, but I didn't care. It didn't matter to me that I already had a boyfriend. As "punishment," I gave her the infamously maddening Hazy silent treatment. Everytime she would try to talk to me and engage me in some way, I acted like I didn't even hear her, like she didn't even exist. It drove her fucking nuts, which was very satisfying for me. The silent treatment lasted about two days, after which I just decided to forgive and forget.

It may seem a little immature, but you know what? I really was an immature late bloomer. I was just beginning to learn about the world of dating and relationships. I really thought people had claims on certain people, but I soon learned that the world doesn't always work exactly like one expects. Indeed no one is anyone's property -- we can all be exchanged and connected in any number of ways, circling into incestuous patterns, until we find "the one" we want to settle down with -- if that even ever happens. We are all basically electrons and protons in the world, attracted together and pulled apart by our undeniable desires. We want what we can't have, and then when we get what we want, we (of course) crave something else... something more. Insane, irrational and completely insatiable. Will the back and forth ever stop?

Confessions of a Crushaholic

2008-04-11T15:26:00.000-04:00

The next time I saw my mother, it was a few years later, and I finally also met my sister Caroline for the first time. I was in 3rd grade. I traveled to Maryland during summer vacation to meet my mother and sister at a motel. They were living in Texas at the time so Maryland was a good central meeting point from where I grew up in Pennsylvania.

The motel looked nothing like the dirty one I shared in Jersey with Michelangelo or the shady, murderous ones I cemented in my brain from Hitchcock's cinematic imagination. In fact, it was more like a friendly mini-community, complete with a pool and a cute young lifeguard.

During my first "out in the open" extended stay with my mother in the summer after 3rd grade, she bought me one of my first toys -- a Jem doll. At the time, I was into the TV cartoon series so I really cherished the gift. I still have a soft spot for Jem and the Holograms. "Jem is my name. No one else is the same." Classic.

I remember my dad's side of the family had specifically requested that my mom put me on a diet while I stayed with her. This of course deepened my loathsome feelings towards my family. They thought I was too chubby and needed to lose some weight. My mom started cooking food that she thought would slim me down. I also remember that she made a lot of spaghetti with frozen mixed vegetables. I actually liked it.

Every day Caroline and I went swimming in the motel pool. That was my daily exercise, and I got a really dark tan that summer. It also didn't hurt that I had also developed a crush on the lifeguard and got really fixated on getting his attention. I was always trying to get the attention of some boy. I was addicted to it. That desire also made me motivated to really lose the weight and become skinny.

Sadly, I don't remember much else about my summer with my mom and my sister. I don't remember having any late night bonding marathons with the sis. I don't remember my mom imparting any words of wisdom to me.

Even though I have only met my mother less than a handful of times, I do vividly remember odd details that have shadowed over my rather bleak perception of her -- like the stench of cigarettes on her breath. Or that her preferred brand of smokes was Virginia Slims. The drunken perfume of alcohol and the whimper of her chronic self-pitying cries. I think it's safe to say that's where my sensitive side comes from.

But who was I kidding? Who am I to judge her when I have become just as bad as she was. My dad's side of the family had always characterized my mom as a certified alcoholic who was also very loose. I felt like I was constantly fighting against being compared to my mother. But my relatives would tell me how much I looked like her, and I took it as an insult because I knew they looked down on her. My dad once told me that he thought I was going to turn out just like my mother. I didn't say anything. I just hung my head down and kept chewing. What was that supposed to mean?

It is now 10 years later, and I feel like I am actually turning out to be more like my father than my mother. He is an alcoholic and has an addictive personality. I have been drowning myself with self-medications and addictions from the moment I arrived in the city, trying not to feel, trying to cope, just trying to get by. First I was binge drinking in college. Then the ciggys, one night stands, weed, blow, shrooms, acid... and who knows what's next? The possibilities are endless.

I also must confess my other particularly problematic addiction. Crushes on new guys in my life. When I meet someone new and feel that unmistakable instant chemistry, it sort of feels like someone punched me right in the rib. I'm winded and feel disoriented, and I spend the rest of my time trying to "figure out" my crush. Usually they are an elusive figure -- someone who has a lot of mystery to him.

All of this happens despite the fact that I have a loving and devoted boyfriend, and I simply end up hating myself for my crushes. The pressure to be the perfect girlfriend is so heavy and intense, and it almost seems to be too high an expectation for me -- making me almost crumble in failure. I can usually stop myself from going any further than harmless flirting. But who knows? Perhaps one day I will fail. Then what?

Everyone keeps telling me that it's human nature to feel attracted to more than one person, but do others feel the quick intimacy as intensely as I do? And does their good conscience weigh as heavily on them? It's like with every flirtatious crush, my soul shrivels with guilt. It's a dark, ugly feeling. I wonder, how much time is left until I finally give into my secret desires and cheat?

All About My Mothers

2008-03-11T02:06:00.001-04:00

After I found out the truth about my stepmom, I began to notice more unrest. I may have been young, but I wasn't dumb. My dad and my stepmom fought so viciously that I often daydreamed of calling the police to report a domestic or child abuse case, just like an episode of Cops or Law & Order. Real life, though, isn't like a TV show. No one's going to rush in and save you.

I felt really bad for my stepmother, but I also felt sorry for the abuses that we -- my half brother Rick, my half sister Karen and I -- had to suffer. We were all a victim of my dad's maladjustment (he grew up without a father, more on that another time), and I was looking for an escape, even if it meant leaving my younger siblings behind.

I was deathly afraid of my father and didn't want to ever do anything that would cause him to get angry at me. It's no wonder I was a goody two shoes. Punishment usually meant that my dad would make us "pick out a stick" from the backyard -- a stick that he would subsequently beat the shit out of us with. So I was the girl in gym class who would hide her bruises underneath sweatsuits. I was the girl who would flinch if someone leaned in to hug her.

On the other side of our bedroom doors, we heard our parents fighting, often in the twilight hour. After the bars closed, my dad would return home from a night out galavanting, full of beer and adrenaline. My mother would confront him and ask where he had been, who had been with. That was the first clue that our dad was a cheater. He was essentially a bad boy.

And what do bad boys do? They get defensive. Ashtrays and dishes shattered against the living room wall. We could hear the smack of our dad's fist against our mother's cheek. After the scuffle, my stepmom would always have bruises and maybe a cut lip the next day. At work and within our extended family, she used the standard "I fell" excuse, but it seemed that everyone knew better, even if they never said otherwise. The abusive patriarchal structure is a commonality in our culture.

During their fights, I would often lie down on the floor, peering and listening through the crack under my bedroom door. Silent tears would slide down my face as I scribbled metaphorical poems about my feelings. I know it sounds so emo, but writing was a cathartic exercise for me and was probably pivotal in my emotional survival. I needed some kind of release, and back then I didn't have the access to drugs and alcohol that I do now. I only had a pen and a notebook, but that was enough. I remember one of my favorite substitute teachers quoted "The pen is mightier than the sword." Of course, at the time, he made a typo and accidentally wrote, "The penis mightier than the sword." Oops. Well, that could be true, too, I suppose.

Not all of my parents' fights were about my biological mother, but a good portion of them were. I knew my real mother was calling the house to try to talk with me but for some reason they would never hand the phone to me or tell me she even called. I only heard my stepmom scream into the phone, "I don't want you to ever call here again." Then I'd hear her yelling at my father about "that woman." I knew she was referring to my real mother.

Throughout my childhood and even still to this day, my biological mom was a bit of a mythical character to me. She was an emotional wreck of a woman who I only remember meeting a handful of times in my life. One of my earliest memories of meeting my mother in person for the first time was actually at his shoe repair shop in the city. During the summers when school was out, I would sometimes accompany my dad to the shop. One day, my mother just came in to say hello. It was awkward and weird, and I didn't know how I felt at all... about anything. She bought me a sandwich and some candy. She cried, and said she missed me so much.

I let her hug me but I didn't understand why she was the one who was so upset. Didn't she leave us? I could understand crying every now and then, but why did she cry SO much? For some reason, I thought it was better if I didn't know the truth and never called her out on these questions. You know, ignorance is bliss and all that bullshit.

My dad told me not to tell anyone that I had met my real mother, and I especially wasn't to mention it to my stepmother. I began to see her as an obstacle in my quest for the truth of my life. I lamented the unfairness of life, though I was happy that I had at least finally met her in person, even if didn't live up to any dramatic expectations I may have had.

After this visit, a strange emptiness welled up inside me. I may question my mother's sorrowful demeanor, but I probably inherited those "sad" genes from her. A chronic sense of loneliness has always plagued me and sort of split my personality into two extremes -- intensely happy and intensely desperate. I also suffer from extremely low self esteem. There has always been this sense that I would never accomplish anything in my life, and I'm constantly in self-sabotage mode. I never was properly encouraged by my family. They would rather dwell on my flaws than pat me on the back.

My complex even affected my dreams. In a state of REM, I would be running towards someone or something, constantly falling down every couple steps. I also had this terrible reoccurring dream where I would be standing in front of a group of people naked and for some inane reason I absolutely had to do a head stand. Every time, I would not be able to hold my legs up in the air, just like in real life! How frustrating is it that I can't even do head stands in my dreams?

About a Girl

2008-03-05T10:33:00.004-05:00

Until I was about 6 years old, I thought I had a normal childhood. I lived in an apartment complex in a small Pennsylvania suburb where some of my friends and extended family also lived. I was known for my fits of giggling, which my cousins always told me was very infectious. I would seriously laugh at anything and everything. It was uncontrollable, like breathing, to me.

My older cousin Tony, who was my favorite cousin at the time, used to use this to his advantage. He would say anything and prove the point that I would laugh at anything. He would say, "Hello" or "Is the sky blue?" or "What's going on?" and I would answer with continuous giggling.

There was one day though during my kindergarten years where laughing was not my gut reaction, not even a nervous kind of laughter. I was hanging out at a friend's apartment, and during the course of playing random games, she randomly told me I was adopted. She said her mother had told her that. She wasn't joking.

I was shocked into silence. Say that again?

I was sure I must have heard her incorrectly. What the hell was she talking about? Confused, I soon left for home to try to piece together the truth. Each step grew more anxious until I was finally running home. Luckily it was only a few buildings away.

After I got home, out of breath with a speedy heart, I waited for an opportunity to ask my dad about what my friend had said to me. It was difficult to work up the courage to confront him. He and I didn't have much of a bond. We were two beings together in a house, but I never felt like I could tell him things. I had to be the perfect child and in my culture that meant I had to be a quiet, studious, respectful, obedient daughter who would not dare question her elders. So naturally, instead of talking to my parents or my family about my thoughts and problems, I wrote in my journal and depended on my friends, not my family, for emotional support. I became more introspective, and I depended on words to express my feelings.

Honestly, I wasn't sure how I was going to begin talking to my dad about this. My thoughts swirled, and I couldn't even think of what the Korean word for "adopted" was. Thankfully though, my dad understood and spoke a little English so I just blurted out, "Am I adopted?"

I think at first he was a little taken aback because the question was so out of the blue. He said I wasn't adopted, and asked me why I was asking. I repeated to him what my friend had told me. That's when he sat me down, frowning. He cursed the gossipy nature of Korean women, and then reasserted that I wasn't adopted per se but that my mom was indeed not my biological mother. Technically, she was my stepmother.

Oh, really?

In shock, I asked, "What happened to my real mother?" He claimed my mother abandoned us soon after I was born. Apparently, she was an alcoholic who chose booze over family. Supposedly, she just walked out the door and never looked back. It sounds kind of ridiculous now, but I was a child and believed what I was told. My dad and my grandmother would often embellish that my mother had left me on the couch when she left and didn't even close the door behind her. "She didn't care about your safety at all. That's how messed up she was," they told me. I stared blankly, feeling like I was in some sort of after-school special movie about kids with divorced parents.

Of course, that wasn't the end of the shockers. On top of all that, I learned that I also had a sister named Caroline who was a year younger than me. She grew up with my mother. It's weird knowing that there was a mysterious sister out there somewhere. I wondered if she was anything like me. I wondered if we looked alike. There are so many possibilities on how my life could have been different, it's almost like I got gypped out of a best friend. We could have leaned on each other. My dad said the only reason Caroline didn't grow up with us was because my mother was pregnant with her when she left and he had no luck tracking her down.

For a second, a part of me was relieved to learn that at least my dad was really my father. Mostly though, I couldn't believe that the woman who I had called "Mom" all of these years wasn't even a blood relative. It was a strange disorientation, an out-of-body experience, like a quantum leap into an alternate parallel universe where everything I had ever known about the world no longer existed. It was frightening. What other lies were hiding in my family's closet?

Maybe subconsciously, I've always sensed that she wasn't my real mother. I mean, we were never that close, and I often felt that she usually favored her children -- my half brother and half sister. It's fair to say though that I just thought she was like that because my grandmother, my father's mother and therefore her mother-in-law, paid me so much attention. I've always felt strongly connected with my grandmother. I was her favorite grandchild. I only realized then exactly why that was. Grandmother had taken care of me after my mother left and before my dad remarried, so she raised me like I was her own daughter. I was too young to remember any of that.

After I found out about my mother, I felt like I couldn't trust anyone in my family anymore. I grew distant and uncomfortable around the authority figures in my family. I kept my true self a secret from them and just continued to be the obedient daughter. I looked to others around me for the guidance and intimacy I was lacking in my life -- teachers and bosses were my role models, a comforting and easily accessible inspiration to me. I was on the hunt for a nurturing mother and father figure. I wanted someone to care enough to stop the lies so that I could start living with the truth and stop pretending.

What's Another Word For Pirate Treasure?

2008-02-28T17:22:00.002-05:00

After I lost my virginity, I started having sex with a different guy every weekend. This lasted a couple months, after which I ended up at the NYU Medical Center waiting to get my first HIV test. I remember sitting in one of those waiting rooms thinking about how many strange men I had unprotected sex with. I started freaking out, thinking that I definitely had to have HIV. The chances were too great with my risky behavior.

I went in to meet with the HIV counselor who was going to explain to me some stuff about safe sex before administering the test. He explained how to put a condom on a banana, what a dental dam was and why oral sex with a condom is a good idea. He explained to me what the morning after pill was. Then came the questions... Exactly how many men did I sleep with? How many times were unprotected? What kind of sex was it? I started really sobbing, that deep gutteral, ugly sound that comes out of one's mouth during a terrible tragedy.

My memory was a little blurry. I don't remember many names, if any, and I'm sure that I've blocked out some of the experiences, too. It was a relief when I later found that I was clean, not HIV positive. Thank goodness. I had dodged the bullet of death this time, but my good fortune didn't make me stop what I was doing. I was an addict. I couldn't stop. The damage was already done though. Sex was my heroin. Michelangelo had given me the fix, and I couldn't help but crave more. I loved the feeling of being close and connected to someone. To be wooed was so addictive. My new obsession.

As with my motel experience, I found I didn't mind crossing highways or even boroughs to meet up with the men I chatted up on the Internet. Many of them had a car or were willing to pay for a cab to get me over to their places. Some even took me on dates. I logged in day and night, every spare chance I got. When I wasn't in class, I was I was at a computer chatting and convincing some guy to meet up with me.

All of the hookups were one night stands. Usually I would meet up with them, and we'd fall into bed that very night. It's true that they would usually call me for a second date, but I never returned their calls. I'm not quite sure why, but I just didn't want to. I was full of hesitation. Maybe I was ashamed or in denial of what I had done. Perhaps I thought I could erase everything by blowing the guys off.

Yes, all of them were one night stands... all of them except for one. The guy I started IMing with after Michelangelo was a handsome lawyer named Trent. He made his mark as the first black guy that I slept with. We didn't meet in a chat room though. I was surfing online profiles on America Online and came across his. He lived in Brooklyn and was single. I decided to send him a message, and we ended up chatting not only about sex but about life in general. I confessed to him that I had just lost my virginity. He told me I should have been more careful.

After a few chats, he invited me to meet him at a bar called Match in SoHo. I thought that was classy. I mean, what did I know anyways? I wasn't even old enough to drink. I worried that I would be carded there. The only fake ID I had at the time was an "international student" ID that said I was 24. Most of the time, the fake ID didn't fly but some bouncers hadn't caught on to it yet so it was worth a shot. I crossed my fingers and headed over there.

As it turned out, I got into the bar with no problem. When Trent arrived, I was instantly attracted to him. He had a distinct noble look about him, and his air was a little more sophisticated than Michelangelo's. There was a quiet mystery that drew me in. Shit, was I really this easy? Afraid so.

Admittedly, I was a little tipsy when I stepped into a cab with him a couple hours later. He asked, "Where do you want to go?" I said his place. And off we went.

He lived in a brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. I had never been in this neighborhood before so I felt lost. The streets resembled the old richness of the West Village, but it was quieter. I still had a nervous feeling in my belly about the whole situation, but I didn't care enough to stop myself.

We went up to his apartment. It was a little shabbier than I thought it would be. There was a living room, bathroom, kitchen and bedroom, but none of the high style that I thought would be there. That probably should have worked against him, but it just made him seem more real and down to earth to me. That feeling of actually liking someone fluttered inside me once more. I started to worry that I might actually like a stranger. The truth was, of course, that I was already falling for him. Back then, it seems I fell in love with just about every guy who paid me any sort of attention. So sad when you think about it...

We had sex, but there was no real passion. Trent was an expert in showing almost no emotion, though I knew there was a sensitivity there somewhere. He just didn't show me the full Trent. He was reserved in that way, and the distant personality attracted me even more. It made me want to break through. It gave me a goal, a purpose, something to work towards.

Trent and I would only see each other once every two or three months. It was like that for a couple years. Our dates were always scheduled very last minute, but I made it a point to never call him. I always waited for him to call me. And usually when I had just about given up all hope of ever hearing from him again, the phone would ring.

Throughout my various encounters, I came across a few guys with Asian fetishes. Sort of creepy, yes, but it worked to my advantage so I couldn't really hate on it. I think that Trent was an Asiaphile of sorts, but it didn't bother me. I remember one night I came over to his apartment, and he put on a video... I thought it was just some kind of Japanese animated film and was down to watch it. I had no idea what I was in for. Instead of being like Ranma or Pokemon, it was more like anime porn. Aliens "invading" helpless, moaning Asian school girls with their "tentacles." Uh, yeah. I thought it was weird, but it's porn so it's sort of a turn on, too, because it's taboo.

That night, I noticed a couple of pieces of mail on the coffee table. When he was in the bathroom, I looked through them out of curiosity. One of them, which didn't look like junk mail, was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Trent. This was a red flag for me. I started to feel sad. I began to worry. Was the guy married? That's worse than sleeping with someone who had a girlfriend. Even though I knew that it wasn't going anywhere with Trent, it was awful to know that he hadn't been telling me the whole truth about his life. What else had he lied about?

I realized then that our whole "relationship" was never going to go anywhere and was pointless. Quite frankly, they just weren't worth my time. The sex was rather lackluster. I was only intrigued by his general player nonchalance, and even that wasn't really doing it for me anymore. Trent had not been calling me for for dates. I was simply a booty call. It was a very synthetic relationship of convenience. The emptiness inside me swelled rapidly like the heart of a drowning child. I really began hating myself. My self worth dropped to an all time low.

When Trent came out of the bathroom, I didn't say anything to him. I pretended everything was fine. We finished watching the movie, even kissed a little. I told him I was tired and was going to go home because I had an early class.

I didn't talk to him for a while after that, maybe a couple months? After discovering he was married, I didn't like that I barely knew anything concrete about the guy despite having known him for so long. I was over being just a hook-up. I decided to make a bold decision. I called him and told him that I just couldn't be his friend anymore. That I needed to move on to a deeper relationship. That I was worth more than just a booty call.

This was a very dramatic move for me as I really don't like confrontation. In my head, I kind of imagined he would blow up at me and ask me what I was talking about. Or maybe he would tell me that he wanted to get to know me more. Perhaps he would tell me that he was sorry. But he said none of those things.

He just said, "OK."

That was it? That's all he had to say? I was so shocked that I simply stuttered "OK" back and hung up the phone. I never heard from him again. I consider it one of the worst insults of my life. Was I that easy to let go? Apparently so. Maybe everything my family had been telling me to this day was right after all. Maybe I did need to go on a diet and exercise and acquire a sunny disposition. Fuckin' A, man. I couldn't fucking believe it.

Sometimes cloudy judgments like this leads to a string of mistakes, but I try not to live in regret. Sure, I will wince a little thinking back on some of the insanity I've committed in my past, but I also recognize that I'm a different person today. A little bit of therapy and weed goes a long way, baby. It's the Hazy way.

Losing My Virginity

2008-02-27T18:47:00.000-05:00

When I was 19, I woke up one day during my freshman year and decided I would lose my virginity. That very day. It was sunny out after being dreary for a few days. I was ready for something special to happen.

I logged into a chat room, probably some kind of "barely legal" type of room, where there were always a bunch of horny 30-somethings trolling the room for naive young hotties. I got into a conversation with this guy who I nicknamed Michelangelo. He was a hot Italian, what I would describe as a charming smooth talker. I thought he was gorgeous. He started chatting with me because he was fascinated by the fact that I was a virgin. He wanted to ask me questions on why -- how could someone so pretty be a virgin?

The thing is, I don't think I'm pretty. I never got the "You're beautiful just the way you are" pep talk. Instead, I got "Stop eating fried foods," "You need to exercise because you're fat" and "You have a bad attitude and no man will ever want to date or marry you" lectures on an almost daily basis. It really bore into my brain, and it's only now that I realize I have a distorted image of myself. However, the distorted image remains to this day. The belief and way of thinking about myself didn't disappear after the epiphany. It just meant that I was that much more irrational. It's almost like that particular line of thinking is so ingrained in my brain and in my blood that I can't seem to snap out it. It makes me feel like I am broken and will never be fixed. What a fucking depressing thought.

Back to Michelangelo -- I loved all of the compliments he was throwing my way. It was exactly the kind of affirmation from a guy that I had been looking for. He was 30 and flirty. He knew how to make a girl feel beautiful. I agreed to meet him for a cup of coffee (what is it with men and their java?). We went to Starbucks and chatted for a bit. He asked me if I wanted to take a ride around the city in his car. I don't know why and I know it was stupid, but I agreed to hang with him. I wanted danger in my life. It turned me on.

He was parked near the FDR, and we walked over together. It felt breezy. I got into the passenger seat. He asked me if he could kiss me and leaned in rather boldly. My breath got caught in my throat. It was my first kiss. I was in a state of shock afterwards. He started unbuttoning my shirt and reached inside my bra to grope my breasts. I gasped. No one had ever touched me in that way before. I had all sorts of sensations flying through me. I felt dizzy. Then he reached down to unzip my pants and started rubbing my clit. He whispered into my ear, "You're so wet." I gasped even louder and jerked away involuntarily. I was blushing and laughing nervously. I was suddenly self-conscious about the passers-by on the sidewalk.

He said, "Don't pay attention to the sidewalk. No one is watching us."

Then he took my hand and put it on his hard-on. I almost felt like I was floating outside my body, watching this guy take advantage of my shyness. I had never felt a cock before, and let me tell you, it was a surreal feeling. I knew it would be hard, but it felt super hard, like an actual rock. I was kind of scared, kind of fascinated.

As if in slow-mo, Michelangelo unzipped his pants and pulled out his penis. I had never seen one in person before. I was kind of grossed out. Penises just aren't that handsome. In fact, they're downright ugly in a way. He put his hand on top of my head and pushed me down towards his crotch. Now I was really freaked out.

"I want you to suck on it. Put it in your mouth."

Holy shit, my first blow job. A little gagging, but it wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. I always thought I would be able to taste pee or something, but it didn't really taste like anything until the pre-cum started. Damn, I was swiftly making history that day with a ton of firsts. I knew what was next.

Michelangelo asked me if I wanted to go to a motel. I took a second, bit my lip, breathed in deeply, and then said yes. "Are you sure?" he asked. I said yes.

We left Manhattan behind and drove to the first motel we passed in Jersey. It felt so shady. I was starting to get nervous. What the hell was I doing in Jersey? We got a room, and he flicked on the radio. Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" was playing. He told me to take my clothes off. That made me even more nervous. I was self conscious at first because I have never been naked in front of a guy before -- and I really hated the way my body looked naked. The thought of baring it all was actually horrifying to me. I froze. He helped me take my clothes off. I was surprised to find that when I was finally naked, I was less nervous. Is this how it feels at a nudist colony?

We started kissing on the bed. I was completely naked, but he still had all of his clothes on. I felt like he had all the power. I was waiting to see what he wanted to do next. I was at his beck and call. "I will teach you everything," he whispered, almost like a shallow pant. I grew hungry to learn it all.

I laid on my back, and he went down on me. I squealed. His tongue felt slithery and slimy, sort of a nasty feeling. I struggled not to contort and laugh. "Stay still," he said. I tried, but it wasn't working. It was too ticklish. I couldn't relax. He came back up and kissed me. I could taste myself. I didn't like it. HA!

When Michelangelo slid up my body, I could feel his dick rub up my leg. His right knee spread my legs apart, and he told me to tell him if it hurt too much. I just nodded. He slipped his dick in and out, in and out... and just like that, my hymen was broken. The mystery and yearning was gone in an instant. I still felt like I was watching it all happen above me. I felt a little disconnected, but I found myself smiling.

Then I started really getting into it. I started moaning loudly. Really loudly. I didn't even realize it. The bed kept slamming into the wall. Michelangelo put his hand over my mouth and said, "Shhhh, people are going to think I'm killing you not fucking you!"

We were using a condom, so he came inside of me. We laid in bed, sweaty. I stared at the ceiling. He wanted to try having anal sex with me, but we didn't have any more condoms. He said he had recently been tested, and I obviously didn't have any diseases if I was a virgin. We agreed to try having anal sex.

I laid on my stomach this time, and he started licking my ass. What was up with all these uncomfortable feelings with the tongue? I couldn't believe he was doing what he was doing. It seemed gross to me. I mean, icky, no? I guess he was just trying to lubricate the area, but it wasn't a good feeling. He then started to push his dick into my ass. "I can't believe my whole dick is inside your ass," he seemed genuinely astonished. Um, okay... what does one say to that anyways?

I turned a few other tricks that day, too. We tried me licking his ass, which I can't believe I did. I've never done that again to this day, but if I'm being honest, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. HA! I also sucked and massaged his balls. I was feeling adventurous I guess. He had to tell me or show me how to do everything, but it seemed he never tired of each lesson. He must have been operating on pure adrenaline.

After we had completely exhausted ourselves, I got up and jumped into the shower with him. He soaped me up. I dried off. I was bleeding. I forgot about that part and rolled up a bunch of tissues in my underwear so that the blood wouldn't soak through.

We left the motel, and I was still in a state of wonderment at what just happened on the drive back to the city. Michelangelo couldn't stop gushing about the entire experience. He kept questioning whether I was really a virgin, which sort of annoyed me. I just gave the guy my virginity, and now he was doubting whether or not I was? Too real.

"It just seemed that you knew what you were doing is all," he tried to explain. "Well it doesn't matter. I would like to do it again some time."

Even though I knew it was just a hook up, Michelangelo really knew how to hook me in. I started to actually like the guy... hardcore. They say you always fall in love with your first. They say you can't help but get attached. Boy, did I get attached. I was starting to think we could date for real. When I look back, I wonder what the fuck I was thinking? Was I really that naive?

Unfortunately, I was. Michelangelo gave me his number and told me to call him sometime. I called, and we tried to make plans to get together again. That's when he dropped the dreaded GF bomb. "I just want you to know that I really want to sleep with you again and repeat everything we did the first time, but you should know that I have a girlfriend."

I don't know why I just assumed that he was single. I really didn't know to ask these things. I really wasn't even thinking in that vein even. I didn't really know what I was jumping into, and it was starting to bite me in the ass. Or rather, it was starting to tug at my heart. I may not have felt any pain while I was losing my virginity, but I was starting to feel a different kind of pain that I hadn't counted on -- heartache.

I was actually broken-hearted over this man I barely knew. It was maddening and tortuous. I thought of my favorite Latin poet Catullus -- "I hate and I love," he wrote in poem 85. "Perhaps you ask how this is possible? I do not know. I only feel that it is happening, and I am tortured."

I only half understood that poem before, but the meaning behind the work dawned on me that day. I loved Michelangelo because he was my first, but I also hated him for breaking my heart when I least expected it. Motherfucker.

A Good College Education

2008-02-26T06:11:00.001-05:00

When I was in college, especially during my first couple years, I was incredibly addicted to chatting on the Internet. Long after my roommates had gone to sleep, I would stay up in the privacy of late night to jump into the glow of my laptop and pretend I was living in an alternate, more preferable universe. In cyberspace, I was no longer a plain, lonely, shy, sheltered small town virgin sadly seeking a boy, a man, a soulmate, a warm body... I was a bold vixen who would fulfill your every desire and bring you new levels of ecstasy, or whatever other promises I creatively spawned and typed into my IM window.

VioletLove: I will slowly strip while stroking your hard cock.
SozeLaw: Ooooh yeah.
VioletLove: My soft lips will work their way up and down your shaft, up and down...

Well, thank you, Danielle Steele! Chatting with strangers online was how I first started experimenting with sex. I used cybersex to do "research" on sex and dating. Most of the time, I was just using my imagination and faked my way through many cyberchats. It was the kind of accelerated education that couldn't be learned in the snore of a high school health class. The Internet was a mysterious, futuristic world with no rules, no taboos and no strict Asian parents to enforce sexual ignorance. My imagination was building a world that I could control. I was a misguided student eager to skip a few grades and ace the test, and there were more than enough willing teachers to help me excel.

Of course, without the guidance and advice of my roommate and best friend Sophia, I probably wouldn't have gotten through those early post-high school years. Unlike me, she had a typical, more normal childhood and knew a thing or two. She totally schooled me on the basics of life, and college suddenly became less an academic pursuit and more of a personal choose-your-own adventure. I learned a lot from her and drew courage from her experiences. I began to view life in a different way. Sophia had lost her virginity when she was 15 and didn't view sex as scary and "bad." It was a bonus. I began to think that having sex wasn't as evil as I thought it was.

I was the token virgin among my group of college friends. I was a victim of circumstance. Growing up in the suburbs, I never went out to hang out with friends like normal kids do. I always had to explain to my parents why I needed to go somewhere, and if it wasn't for school and if it wasn't convenient for them, I was shit out of luck. It sounds like an Asian cliche, but I truly wasn't allowed to do anything but study. So I ended up joining every club in school just so that I could have some semblance of a social life, even if it meant I had to be editor of the school newspaper and the literary magazine, in addition to duller activities like "Key Club, Latin club, National Honor Society, Diversity Task Force, Korean American Club" and other bullshit resume builders. Let's just say it -- I was a straight-up nerd happy to be in the top 5% of my class with geeky Ivy League dreams. I had my head buried in books, not in some dude's lap.

Reality set in a little more when I didn't get into Columbia University. That sort of ruined all of my scholarly plans. Very half-heartedly, I sent in a last minute common application to New York University, my backup school. That may make me sound stuck up, but that was the world I was living in at the time. Academics and Ivy Leagues were my rule of measure. Little did I know, an unexpected twist of fate would bring me to NYU, where I got the education of my life.

Drinking of course is typical in college, I know, but I seriously never drank socially before. I thought only "bad people" went drinking, probably because both my mother and father were alcoholics and smokers. But man, I started on a drinking binge my first year in New York. I worked my way through Bartles and James. Boones. Steel Reserve. Midori sours. Stella Artois. Champagne. Merlot. Pinot Noir. I loved it all, and I finally started loosening up a bit. I remember crawling into my dorm, into the elevator, down the hall to my room, straight for the toilet so I could puke my guts out. That would not have happened to the old me.

Then I developed another vice... I started smoking cigarettes when I started crushing on one of my professors during freshman year. Let's call him Ed. This really was my nickname for him at the time, too. My friends and I had a habit of giving secret nicknames so that we could talk about them openly without revealing too much to an eavesdropper.

Ed taught a basic journalism class at the university so it was one of the bigger classes -- perhaps a hundred or so students, or at least it felt like that. I was instantly attracted to him from day one. He had this ease and wisdom about him. He was attractive. He was compelling. I thought he was so smart, and I loved that he was a writer.

After each class, Ed would smoke outside the building. I asked Sophia to teach me how to smoke just so I could bond with Ed after class. It sounds so obvious and juvenile, but it actually worked. We would stand outside talking about the day's class topics, homework, writing in general... I started emailing him questions about class. After a couple weeks I finally got the email I had been hoping for... Ed asked me out to get a cup of coffee with him. I almost couldn't believe it. I was so excited.

I don't know if I would call it a relationship or an affair or some twisted friendship, but Ed and I would sit ourselves down at a cafe to chain smoke (you could still smoke inside in New York back then) and drink bottomless pots of coffee over intense, long hours of conversation. Strange, isn't it? Usually the guy gets you drunk, but Ed got me severely the opposite. It was the first time I had ever had open philosophical conversations like that with a man. The sexual tension was simply electrifying. I confessed a lot of private thoughts and fears and constantly complained about my low self esteem and lack of experience. He tried to be reassuring, telling me that I was beautiful and smart and had a lot to offer. I tried to believe him.

I put him on a pedestal as the perfect man for me. I was falling in love. I liked his image of me. I made him ridiculous mixtapes with "La Vie En Rose" and Ella and Billie Holiday, and he bought me books like F. Scott Fitzgerald's Tender Is the Night, Jeannette Winterson's The Passion and Toni Morrison's Jazz.

We went on for a whole school year like that until I found out that Ed had been fired because he had been sleeping with some of his female students for good grades. "But I got a B+ in his class," I thought to myself. Of course, the prof never got between my legs so maybe that's why I didn't get the bump up from my 89%, but in all fairness he never ever tried to take advantage of me. I was confused. Did he not want to sleep with me? Was I somehow different from the others? Why the fuck did he do that anyways? I never did get the answers to these questions. Any trust that I had built with him instantly crumbled.

Looking back, I wonder if I caused it all to accidentally happen and perhaps that's why I never sought out any answers from him. Ed never made a move on me so eventually I thought he wasn't interested in me in that way. I think the moment where it all must have gone downhill for us was a bit before he got fired. I confessed to him that I had lost my virginity. I think I was trying to test him, to see how he would react. To his credit, he only showed about a couple seconds of shock before going back to his normal composed distinguished self. Perhaps the old man just wanted my virginity, and he realized he waited too long. Perhaps he only slept with his students after I told him of my promiscuity.

He tried calling me after the scandal, but I never returned his calls. This was the age before I owned a cell phone, so he only had my dorm number. I was able to move on without him being able to stalk me. I had a habit of cutting men out of my life when it was inconvenient or awkward. It helps me avoid the drama. Every now and then though, I wonder if he is still out there and if he wonders about me.