Babe in Toyland

Most people are surprised to learn that I have never owned a vibrator. There are several reasons for this.

1. I have heard stories that using a vibrator too much can desensitize the delicate area "down there." Men have enough trouble getting women off as it is, and I have an addictive personality to boot, so why risk it?

2. I didn't want to get used to a piece of machinery that might end up feeling better than the real thing (I mean, men can go at turbo speed, but only for so long).

3. The logistics of purchasing one were tricky. Buying online was risky, because I get all packages delivered to work and with my luck the vibrator would arrive on a day I was out sick and my boss was expecting an important delivery and opening all boxes that crossed my desk. Besides, I can't even buy shoes online for fear they won't fit right, much less something like this. As for getting one from one of the numerous sex shops downtown, even when I have peeked into the most women-friendly ones, I have always felt squirmy and spotlit and ended up backing away before some cheery employee could show me the latest clit stimulator, as if demonstrating something as innocuous as tupperware.

I admit, it's a little strange for someone who is so open about things like bondage and blowjobs and one night stands to be rather shy when it comes to vibrators. Hey, we all have our quirks.

Friday night, after dinner at an Italian restaurant in the West Village, BF David and I decided to see what one of the neighborhood's fine purveyors of kink had to offer.

The store had high ceilings, garish bright lighting, and even though there wasn't any dirt that I could see, there was something about the place that seemed rather stale and dated. Maybe it was the books on sexual positions that featured a man with Saturday Night Fever hair and a woman with (*gasp*) real breasts. Maybe it was the dusty tubes of penis-shaped lipsticks in frosty colors that were worn back in the days of shoulder pads. In a way, I found the retro, slightly shady atmosphere comforting. I didn't even mind when a young-but-weathered looking woman with scars from what looked like razor cuts on her exposed shoulders came over to me and started telling me about the various brands of butt plugs. I felt squirmy, but didn't back out of the store when another employee turned on a Pocket Rocket and waved it in front of me when I enquired to BF David, "why would anybody want a vibrator that small?"

Having BF David there made being in a sex shop fun instead of awkward. We laughed at the thongs for men. We cringed at the latex replica of a human fist.

"What do you think of that one?" he asked, pointing to a particularly well-endowed dildo.

"What about it?"

"I mean, do you think it's too big?"

"Depends on how long you'd be out of town."

The longer we were there, the more comfortable I felt to show my honest opinion toward the merchandise. I enthusiastically pointed out a vibrator with that could make for a promising future purchase. I scoffed at the limited variety of nipple clamps. I examined the fuzzyy handcuffs with great concentration, impressed by the range of colors and patterns but not the shoddy quality of the cuffs themselves.

I felt bold enough to take down one of the riding crops, to see how it felt in my hand.

"It's a little too big," I said, slapping it against the palm of my hand.

"Why not just get a bigger one?" The salesperson encouraged me.

I shook my head. "It's not the one I want." I hung up the riding crop and turned to BF David. "They need a better selection of riding crops here."

I ended up with a couple of new bedroom accessories which made for a very... stimulating long weekend. The toys weren't introduced to "spice things up" (rest assured, said things are plenty spicy as is), but to add a new dimension to our intimacy. And what do you know, it worked! BF David and I have been exchanging secret, sexy smiles ever since.

Shopping for sex toys with a significant other is something I highly recommend, especially if you are going to get to spend the following three nights in bed together.

Be sure to get extra condoms and baby wipes.

teaser

As I mentioned in a previous post, I'm going to be making an announcement soon that has to do with my further involvement in the pick-up community. It's still too early to divulge specifics, however...

My business cards just arrived.

Stay tuned.

Have a great long weekend, everyone!

How to Cure Oneitis

A recent comment asked me to discuss getting over oneitis. This is a topic I am painfully familiar with, so I am happy to oblige.

For those just tuning in, oneitis is the malaise that occurs when you get hooked on a person who does not reciprocate your interest.

There's something romantic about focusing so much mental and emotional energy on a person who will probably not return the feelings. There are restless nights and reverie-filled days spent devoted to the object of affection, which sometimes lead to grand sweeping gestures. Sometimes there is even bad poetry involved.

However, there is also something intrinsically unhealthy about oneitis. I mean, come on, oneitis rarely leads to a happy ending. More often than not, a relationship does not result from the obsessive fantasy and if there is an encounter, it usually fizzles. Either being worshipped will become tiresome to the subject of the oneitis, or the worshipper will be disappointed in the reality.

I think the first and probably most crucial step in dealing with oneitis is having a firm grasp on reality. It's very tempting to take small communications and hints and coincidences and blow them up into huge cosmic signs. When all the weird Film Felix crap went down, I convinced myself that I was meant to be with this guy. The tricky thing was that I had very little information to go on and that I never heard from him after our date-which-didn't-even-result-in-a-smooch. Normally, this would be when you say to yourself,

"Oh well, I thought there was potential for something, but obviously he doesn't want to pursue it. Time to move on."

If only it were that simple. Sometimes a person gets under your skin, even though you should know better and have very little to go on. Sometimes your mind creates a romance and then demands you hold on to it even though 99 times out of 100 it will never be real. Sometimes you have to practice tough love on yourself (and I'm not talking about some kind of kinky masturbation act) and let the hell go already.

I'm not saying it's easy. When I met Drama David, I was still hung up on Film Felix. I thought there was still a chance that I would come home one day and FF would be sitting on my doorstep (he lives a few blocks away, so it wasn't that implausible), professing his undying curiosity to know everything about me and bask in my multifaceted beauty. Or something. There were probably flowers involved, too. That never happened and was never going to happen.

And boy, am I glad it didn't.

I could have let my Film Felix obsession sabotage things with BF David. I could have stayed wrapped up in my fantasies and ignored the reality right in front of me, which was a wonderful man, who was treating me like gold, who I had fanfuckingtastic chemistry with.

I chose reality, but I also got really lucky. Many other times in the past, the oneitis had to run its natural course, wretchedly tormenting me along the way.

The best advice I can offer for ridding yourself of oneitis is to do as much as possible to take your mind off the person. Eventually the distractions will evolve into something better than pining for someone that should have realized how awesome you are by now. A little introspection goes a long way, too. Why are you so hooked on a person who won't return your affection? Are you scared of potentially getting hurt in a real relationship? Are you lonely and in need of someone to pin your feelings on? Are you bored with life's routines and need something exciting to focus on? Are you merely in love with the idea of love? Oneitis is usually not about the actual person but what that person represents, their potential for fulfilling certain deficiencies in your own life.

Let's be honest here. Relationships come with their pitfalls and imperfections, but reciprocated love is always going to win out over unrequited love. Every damn time. So be honest with yourself and take that person down from the pedestal. Wallow and pine for a bit longer if you are that masochistic (and I know most of us are), but then stop looking at their picture, get out of the house, go kiss other boys/girls if you need to, and quit devoting yourself to a lost cause.

Or, at the very least, don't do anything that will result in a restraining order.

time flies when you have a naked man in your bed

I have noticed an irony with this blog. I used to write about sex, a lot, even when I wasn't having any. Lately, I have been too busy having it to write much about it. Time to do something about that.

When I decided to mend my floozy ways a couple of months ago, I promised myself that I wouldn't rush into bed with a guy I really liked and that I when the sex stuff did go down, it would be in the context of a relationship. Lofty goals from somebody who, earlier in the year, was known to indulge in a slutty weekend or two.

When BF David and I started seeing each other, things quickly moved in the direction of a relationship, but I was determined not to potentially sabotage things by introducing sex too soon. All four dates we had before I left for Europe were sweet, romantic, and held in places where nudity was not (easily) possible.

David, as it turns out, also has a history of rushing the sex. This whole taking-time-to-really-get-to-know-a-person-before-getting-it-on thing was something neither of us had done in a long time. Being starved for some good old fashioned courtship, I enjoyed every second of the clothed time I spent with him.

Of course, there's only so long that two attractive people with raging hormones and budding feelings for each other can maintain such puritan behavior. Sooner or later the gloves (and pants) have to come off.

I prepared myself for the worst. I knew the first few times would most likely be full of fumbling, awkward moments. I knew it might take him a little while to get comfortable with bondage, spanking, etc. I also knew there was a chance (though I hoped above hope fate wouldn't be so cruel) that he wouldn't be all that well-endowed. I reasoned with myself that BF David was an amazing man and that if a small penis was "the catch" I wouldn't let that be a dealbreaker. I wouldn't let something like that get in the way when I was falling in love with him.

Anyway, I stayed true to my earlier promise to myself and exclusivity was established before BF David and I got naked. And hell, let's face it, I did breathe a sigh of relief when I saw there was no "catch", that if anything, I had a pretty impressive catch (if you know what I mean, and I think you do). Sure, there was some fumbling and awkwardness, but the strong chemistry we felt during the initial kisses and conversations prevailed.

The only thing better than orgasms is getting them from somebody you care about. There are times with BF David when thinking about my feelings for him is what pushes me over into Orgasm City (population: me!). It's been said countless times that sex is better with someone you care about, but I'd like to reiterate that point.

As for the feeling and caring, it may have been apparent that up to now a certain word has been absent from my posts about BF David (though several astute commenters have used it). He and I did a marvelous job of skirting the L-word. We were "crazy about" (or "nuts about") each other, we were "falling for" and "smitten with" each other, we even "thought the world of" each other.

I was waiting to say The Words to BF David because I wanted to make sure they wouldn't put an unnecessary pressure on the relationship too soon, but more so because I knew they would come out naturally. If it took a couple more weeks, or even months, for that right moment to come, I was okay with that.

Yesterday afternoon, while laying in bed recovering from sweaty fun, we were chattering away about various sexy topics and out of nowhere (but not really) he said it.

"I love you."

I was so surprised and so touched and absolutely flooded with all this emotion and I murmured, "I love you, too" and couldn't remember the last time I meant it so much.

After that exchange, things felt simultaneously lighter and more intense; I felt relief and elation that The Words had been said, and also more bonded to BF David.

I'm thrilled that this is a love thing and that we can be share that so openly with each other. And that's is actually reciprocated! It's a damn miracle, I'm telling you.

So yeah, I've been too busy hiding out in a big sex 'n' love cocoon to update the blog often, but I am going to make an effort to rectify that. An announcement of sorts is forthcoming, having to do with my return to the pick-up community. Just when I thought they couldn't, things are about to get even more interesting...

in sickness

It was creeping up on me ever since I got back from Europe. A sore throat here, a runny nose there. Every time I fly home from a big trip, it seems that my immune system is no match for the septic tank of bacteria that is airplane air. I tried to fight it off with natural remedies, lozenges, fizzy tablets, fruits and vegetables, the works.

I fought the brave fight, but the airplane air festered in the hidden corners of my body, where it grew and mutated and reared its ugly head late Monday morning. All of a sudden, I could barely sit up at my desk. I had no appetite, no energy, and a pervasive achiness in all my muscles and joints.

A not-so-fun fact about me: when I get sick, I often become a crybaby. It must be something about the depression and frustration that accompanies my body hurting and not having enough stamina to do what I want/need it to do.

It would have been one thing if I could have left work early and gone home. Sadly, I couldn't be that indulgent. I had time-sensitive tasks to complete for my boss and a concert that night. I would have skipped the concert entirely, except that my friend, Concert Cindy was kind enough to get me a ticket while I was in Europe, so I couldn't be that rude.

As the day wore on, I couldn't fathom standing in a crowded concert hall for hours, listening to loud music that I normally loved. Usually, such an event would be a treat, but in my condition, it was sounding increasingly more like torture. Yet, going home and hiding out alone in my cluttered room did not seem very appealing, either.

I tried to be stoic, strong, appreciative, independent. I kept crying at my desk, feeling like merely remaining conscious was an effort.

Did I mention I felt crappy?

BF David was going to join Concert Cindy and I for dinner, but give the concert itself a miss.

Finally, after much internal struggle about not wanting to come across as too needy or clingy, I wrote BF David a tearful email, explaining that I wasn't well enough for the concert and asking if I could stay over his place. I braced myself for a negative reply, for an explanation that he needed a night to himself, which was totally understandable, seeing how much time we have been spending together (it seems like I am hardly ever home anymore, not that I mind of course).

I cried when I got a reply letting me know that it was fine for me to stay over, and that he would take care of me. I felt so guilty, but so grateful. For me, the worst thing about being a grown-up is having to take care of yourself when you get sick, so it was a huge relief knowing he would be with me that night. When he called at the end of the day to see how I was holding up, I cried some more. Couldn't help it, that's the way I get.

BF David met me at the pre-concert restaurant. As soon as I saw him--yep, you guessed it-- more waterworks. Hey, if your one month anniversary isn't the perfect time to show your partner what a great big freak you are, I don't know what is.

He put an arm around me, murmured comforting words, and gave me a bag filled with a get well card and a brand new DVD of one of my favorite 80's movies. Swoon.

Concert Cindy joined us a little while later and, seeing the state I was in, was not the least bit upset that she had to sell off my ticket. I was thankful to have such wonderful people with me.

I must have thanked BF David a hundred times; I don't know how I would have made it through that night without him. His response?

"What's the point of having a boyfriend if he's not going to take care of you when you're sick?"

I guess I'm used to having the tables turned, being the one that does the taking care of. Like that night I held a pot for hours on end while my then-BF, who drank way too much, periodically vomited in it. Or the time my then-BF went off his meds and needed convincing that life was worth living. Or the time my then-BF bizarrely gave himself a concussion, on New Year's Eve, and bled from his head.

Either that, or I'm used to taking care of myself, even within a relationship. Like the time I had to take emergency contraception and spent the next emotionally-wrecking days curled up in bed, with only the occasional phone call from my then-boyfriend to not-comfort me. Or the time my then-BF left me to throw up in our bedroom wastebasket, while he entertained friends in another room. Or all the times I had no choice but to be autonomous through times of ill (mental and/or emotional) health, because my then-BF did not live in the same city as me.

I'm not trying to be all self-pitying about it, like, "boo-hoo, look at what sucky boyfriends I had." I'm just offering some background on why it's sometimes hard for me to ask for something in a relationship and why I'm surprised when I receive it.

BF David was lovely and took great care of me. He let me borrow warm, fuzzy socks and brought me chocolate cake and orange juice and gave me enough hugs and kisses that I knew I would get well very soon indeed. I credit him with my speedy recuperation.

"This is what being a team means," he said.

I'm beginning to really and truly understand.

one month later

I tried to write a post on Friday, about my dinner the previous night with BF David and how we walked through Lincoln Center afterwards. I wanted to write about how romantic it was to sit at the big fountain, talking, kissing, throwing pennies in and making wishes. I thought about the wealthy people around us, attending an opera or ballet or musical or black tie fundraiser and how all of their money pooled together could never buy this magical moment that BF David and I were sharing. It was so hushed and cinematic and I wondered how many people noticed just how pretty the city looked that night.

I wanted to write something to convey every glittering detail, but I knew that no matter how many beautiful words I tried to string together, I couldn't do the moment justice.

I looked at BF David and my heart gave a squeeze and I got that feeling I always get when I'm with him, that there is no place in the world I would rather be, and I say that as somebody who has just seen some pretty fucking gorgeous places. Yet none of them rival the fairy land that New York City has all of a sudden become to me. Sure, there are still crowded, airless subways and streets smelling of piss, strewn with garbage. There are homeless people sharing sidewalks with spoiled, over-plasticized trophy wives. There is still an air of cynicism and stress and haughtiness, an atmospheric cocktail unique to this maddening, glorious city.

And yet, I am still in a haze that gives everything a halo effect.

I am not used to this kind of happiness. BF David keeps telling me to get used to it.

Growing up, I was fed a steady diet of stories with happy endings, romances in celluloid, song, and paper. I developed grandiose expectations for how my personal love story should play out. As I got older, I got involved in plenty of less-than-perfect relationships, but I learned to romanticize things like long distances, poverty, infidelity, and even mental illness. I had a running mantra in my head that assured bliss-- just as soon as he got a new job or got over his ex or moved to New York or realized how much he loved me or any other solution that never was.

This time, it's different. The initial reservations I had about David when I first met him (the actor thing, the mixed signals he sent Polly when they were briefly involved last summer, the fact that he was named David and I had sworn off all men with that name), all of them vanished when I got to know him. David has been straightforward about how much he likes me from the very beginning. He did not wait three days to call. He changed previous plans to see me. He has raved about me to friends, family, and coworkers. He brings me flowers and sends sweet notes and tells me how beautiful I am. He does all the things I trained myself to stop hoping for.

BF David's affection has never scared me away; on the contrary, it has mirrored and nurtured my own. He is a gentleman, he is smart, attractive, he makes me laugh, and his kisses make me melt. When I am with him, it is damn near impossible to stop smiling. In other words, I'm nuts about the guy.

This last month has been pure magic. With or without Europe, it has been the happiest month of my life. All of those romances that I internalized growing up, all the fairy tales I made myself stop believing in these last couple of years, are coming true anyway. I never imagined that a little party on April 15th would spark something so miraculous.

Happy one month anniversary to us. This is just the beginning.

Ambien, take me away... Now bring me back!

When Broadway Brenda and I were in Europe, we befriended two older women, who made me think of how Polly and I might be thirty or forty years from now. Lively, attractive, and fun-loving. Makes me feel good about aging, seeing women like that out there.

During the last leg of the trip, I mentioned to FutureDolly and FuturePolly that I had a lot of trouble getting to sleep the previous night. Of course, this could have had something to do with the five cups of strong coffee and Diet Coke (or rather, Coca Cola Light, as it's called there) I had throughout the day.

FutureDolly sympathized, and offered to give me one of her Ambien for the final night in Europe. I accepted.

Turns out, drowsiness hit me like a wave and I fell fast asleep without the sleeping aid. Might be because I substituted white wine for the coffee (after all, I need to give two of my biggest loves, caffeine and alcohol, equal attention).

"Great," I thought, "I'll save the Ambien for the flight back to New York. It'll be the easiest flight ever!"

Confession time:

I have always wanted to try Ambien, but not for the reasons it's prescribed. I have heard, from various sources, that if you take this pill and don't fall asleep, you hallucinate. While my drug experimentation days are, for the most part, behind me, I have always been curious to try staying awake through an Ambien dose. It seemed like a safer way to have a little trip than indulging in something as intense as LSD or mushrooms. Besides, what's the worst that would happen, I'd fall asleep?

Don't I wish.

I decided to pop the Ambien an hour or so before boarding the plane. This way, if I didn't like its effects while awake, I'd doze off just in time for take-off. I figured I could keep myself awake that long, but just in case, got myself a Pepsi Max. Right about now, you are probably shaking your head at my foolishness. Rightfully so.

Fifteen minutes later, I felt a general mellowness, and started peering around the airport waiting area, to see if the luggage carts were going to do a little dance or the bolted down chairs were going to start talking to me or something. No dice.

Dammit! The drug wasn't working! How bothersome.

Meanwhile, I began to feel a bit queasy, and the floor beneath me began to undulate.

"I feel like I'm on a ship," I told Brenda (a lot, as it turns out).

FutureDolly (who was on our flight) came over.

"FutureDolly, how long does the Ambien take to kick in?" I slurred, glassy-eyed, "Because, it's not working."

"About fifteen minutes. Honey, you should have waited until you were on the plane to take it." She glanced at my Pepsi Max, concerned.

"Well, it isn't working. But don't worry! I'm fine. I'm fine." The floor lurched again and I stared off into space.

I decided that since the Ambien wasn't doing its job, and I didn't want to be stuck with only one book to read, I'd check out the airport newsstand for something to occupy the flight.

Conclusive proof of my extreme narcosis: I bought a Dan Brown novel.

I returned to Brenda and FutureDolly and FuturePolly. My motion sickness got worse and I felt myself tilting from side to side. I tried to sit up straight.

We lined up to enter a smaller waiting lounge before boarding the plane. I had my passport and ticket ready. Damn unsteady floor! It would have been fun, like being on a carnival ride, if it wasn't for the nausea. Brenda showed her documents to the inspector, then looked at me.

"Go ahead, Brenda, I'll meet you inside."

"I'll wait for you." Her tone was light but facial expression panicked.

[The rest of this story is cobbled together from my own memories plus what Brenda later told me]

"Hi!!!" I smiled at the inspector and handed over my docs. Then I started swaying. Swaying. Side to side. To keep even with the floor, you see.

Brenda expected me to faceplant at any moment. She was sure that she and FutureDolly would have to be carry me onto the aircraft.

Despite looking visibly fucked up, I was let through to the waiting lounge. A couple of girls sat down next to me and FutureDolly started to talk to them. I don't know what she said, because I was busy concentrating on looking at nothing and being frustrated that the Ambien wasn't working.

FutureDolly: "Dolly, these girls are also from New York."

Dolly: [silence, glassy staring]

Brenda: "Oh, that's cool!"

FutureDolly and Brenda: [Readying themselves to scrape my unconscious body off the airport floor.]

Brenda told me that I kept uttering two phrases, repeatedly:

"It's not working."

and

"It's like being on a boat."

Finally, we were on the plane. Maybe I'd be able to stop feeling like I was going to hurl and actually get some sleep now.

"Hey, Brenda, check out that guy," I pointed out an "attractive" guy in a leather jacket, stowing something away in the overhead compartment.

"I can't see, somebody's blocking him."

"Yeah, he's with somebody, but that doesn't matter. You need to see Mr. Leather Jacket."

"I can't, I'm already strapped in."

"I'm telling you, it's worth the view. Go check out Mr. Leather Jacket."

Eventually, I shut up. But not before leaning over Brenda's shoulder, glancing down at the Sudoku puzzle in front of her, and muttering,

"You're doing it wrong."

The puzzle was blank.

I managed to pass out in a queasy haze for one whole hour before waking up and not being able to fall back asleep for the rest of the uncomfortable eight hour flight. I managed not to throw up, get arrested, or make a total idiot of myself to the rest of the passengers.

When Brenda pointed out the very ordinary-looking Mr. Leather Jacket out to me in a sober light, and filled me in on my other under-the-influence behavior (the swaying!), I laughed until I cried.

this is what happy looks like

Before I left for Europe, things with BF David were starting to get pretty intense. It was clear we both liked each other a lot; our combined boyfriend/girlfriend noises were off the charts. We kept discussing the picnic we would have the day after I got back, museums we would go to, places outside New York we would visit together, and so on. I made it clear that I was through with casual physical encounters and was in more of a relationship mindset. BF David made it clear that he was available, emotionally and otherwise.
We were primed for The Talk. However, we didn't have it prior to my leaving. I wanted to, but I also didn't want to rush things. We were seeing each other for a week and-a-half before I was to go abroad for the same length of time. Deciding to be exclusive under those circumstances seemed potentially unwise, esepecially since I had some serious wanderlust to work through. I felt it was important to take this time apart and take a step back. Sometimes following this kind of momentum can be overwhelming and lead to burnout. As I was saying to a friend, I've never had a relationship fail because of moving too slowly. Usually, it's the other way around.

I thought going away would be like pressing Pause. That wasn't the case.

Despite being in a European wonderland, I thought about BF David constantly. I saw some of the most romantic scenery of my life and would have loved for him to be there to share it with me. Despite the thousands of miles, our courtship trickled on, through a postcard here, a voicemail there, and those vital daily text messages. Sometimes, it was almost unbearable to be apart from him. At the same time, I was lucky to be on such a fantastic journey and didn't want to take any of it for granted. People have a maddening way on focusing on what is lacking and I wanted to fully experience what was before me. Which I did.

A day or two before I returned, we exchanged messages saying how neither of us could wait the extra day to each other. After an excruciating 8-hour flight (this is where the Ambien comes in, which I'll get to next time), the second the wheels touched the tarmac, I flipped open my phone and sent BF David a message asking if he wanted to come over later that night. He replied saying he'd love to.

My jet lag was awful, but the thought of seeing him kept me awake and relatively alert. I was so nervous and excited. What if it wasn't the same seeing him again? Chemistry can be tricky. What if my pheromones mutated in the different time zones and European air? What if things were, all of a sudden, inexplicably awkward?

Clearly, my worries were unfounded. BF David came over with a bouquet of irises (he remembered, from reading this blog, that they were my favorite) and a basket full of picnic goodies for the next day. I was skittish and disoriented and nervous, but the second I saw him I knew everything would be okay.

We spent the rest of the weekend together, barely aware that there was a rest of the world beyond my apartment. We did have a brief picnic in the park, late Sunday afternoon, but it became windy and I was hit with another wave of jet lag, so we returned to my place. It was like having a mini-vacation after my vacation, and I couldn't tell you which one I enjoyed more, both were that incredible.

Now what?

Now the minor Is-Something-This-Amazing-Really-Happening-To-Me anxiety sets in. I mentioned it to BF David on the phone last night and he said he's experienced it too. But then he figures,

"It's my turn."

Damn right.

In the last four years I have had two brief, ill-fated relationships and a slew of go-nowhere dates and flings. Not to mention months and months of no-hope-in-sight solitude. Eventually, I had enough and finally resigned myself to spending the rest of my 20's (if not beyond) alone. A couple of weeks later, Polly took me to a party and I met Drama David. Fate, luck, whatever you want to call it decided to shine down on me. I'm not going to bother myself with the When and If it will run out. I'm going to enjoy it. The intoxication, the daydreams, the smiling at everything, the bloodrush at the thought of seeing him, touching him, tasting him, hearing his voice, the melting feeling I get whenever I think of him, I'll take it all.

It's so fucking awesome, I can't even tell you.

Europe is our playground

Wow. I feel like I've been away for years.

Without revealing my itinerary, I can tell you that I had an amazing time abroad. I walked miles and miles a day, seeing old statues and churches and lovely cobble-stone streets and more churches and buildings hundred years old that looked like something out of a fairy tale and did I mention the churches? I ate things I normally don't eat-- sausages and stews and unusual cheeses and smoked fish and countless forms of bread-- in fact, I ate like it was my job, putting in a lot of overtime. I drank local wines and beer and Broadway Brenda (my traveling companion) and I spent two nights running serenading a bus full of tipsy middle-aged tourists with Abba songs. I sat in a lot of outdoor cafes, people-watching, scribbling in my journal, and drinking the best coffee I have ever tasted in my life (with sugar, instead of the artificial sweeteners I usually favor). I rode on foreign roller coasters and walked across foreign bridges, hair blown back in the wind, marveling at postcard views. I heard a medley of foreign languages and accents. I took pictures of flower sellers and outdoor markets and young couples in love and breathtaking cityscapes. I learned more about Broadway Brenda in ten days than I have in the previous year we've been friends. I slept in four different hotel beds, woke up from a kaleidoscope of strange dreams, to see more cities, more towns. I struggled with local currency and bought handcrafted souvenirs and chocolates and wrote postcards and sent text messages to Drama David every day.

I didn't kiss any boys while I was away. That was never an issue. I missed Drama David and couldn't wait to return to him.

It has been a happy reunion and I'm thrilled to announce that Drama David is now officially Boyfriend David. More on that later on.

Oh, and remind me to tell you about my mishap with a little drug known as Ambien...

quickie

Returned from Europe this afternoon. Is it nice to have me back where I belong? Amazing trip, but I'm happy to be back.

I owe you folks a story or two. It will have to wait as I fight off this jet lag and finish prettying myself up for Drama David, who will be here any minute...