"Do You Have Anything ... Thinner?"

Firstly, do you know what I love about this blog right now? The complete contrast between good and evil. "Hey, I hiked God's mountain, but I did it while swearing up a storm." "Hey! I went to see the innocence of a newborn, but first I had a really dirty one-night-stand."

Secondly, I would love to tell EVERY portion of Friday night, but I am going to have to limit it to just three snippets because the rest would be TMI even by my standards and will be reserved only for an email to my closest friends. I will tell you that Friday night resulted in my sending this text to Shim Shimmy on Saturday morning:

"Nothing says taking it to a new low like getting off a plane to meet a newborn for the first time while wearing a shirt you had to steal from your Vegas one-night-stand because you couldn't find your clothes by the light of your cell phone in the morning."

Thirdly, if you read this and think that I have behaved badly, well, a)you clearly don't know me and b)just take faith in the fact that God has punished me. I was such a wreck getting from one night stand to the airport on Saturday AM that I forgot to turn my car lights off. My battery died, and jumping the battery blew out the fuse for my power steering, resulting in hundreds of dollars of car repair. See? Sex really is the devil's work and God will always remind you.

That said, here is the Reader's Digest version of Friday night, in three short chapters.

Chapter One: You Never Know Who the "Nice" Boy Is
So, my Asian Party Posse was in town on Friday night. Yeah. This is how we roll in Blush at the Wynn. And also, you can see all of the pictures here.




So, there's some set up here. We walk in, and there's a table full of guys with bottle service, and I immediately think that the one is hot. Like, so hot. Shim Shimmy disagrees and wants to give him a haircut. I like it messy, though. But I am not feeling the game. I'm really not. I think I just hadn't been out in too long. Because by today, having been back in the game, I am, for sure, feeling the game. But whatever. Because I am not feeling the game at that time, I avoid the boy I think is so hot and hang out with my girlies and also this boy we meet upon entering the club named ... Slick.

Slick seems like everything a girl should want. I cannot deny that he was freaking adorably attractive. He's in town for a debate tournament, so he's smart and just a little bit dorky. He installs high end home theaters. He's from LA, which is almost like being local! He can carry on a funny conversation. AND I COULD NOT CARE LESS. I really couldn't feel it. And I think it was because he seemed too nice.

Wanna know what we learned later?

Slick had done porn in Korea.

Wanna know what happened as soon as I found that out?

I was a lot more interested.

However, it was too late by that point, because cute and messy boy had made his move and I was defenseless. Well, that's not true. I was so not feeling the game that I actually physically tried to hide behind Shim Shimmy when we saw him get up to make his move. Right? I know. Something's been off with me since that whole "Nice to have met you" thing in Madrid. But don't you worry! I think we righted the ship.

Anyway, my point is, that's screwed up, right? That quasi-perfect boy couldn't hold my attention until I found out he'd done Asian porn? I HAVE TO GET OUT OF VEGAS.

Chapter Two: Do You Have Anything Thinner?
If you have an IQ above 2, then you have figured out by now that at the end of the evening, or the beginning of the morning (either works), I decided to go back to the Hard Rock with this boy to do inappropriate things. On our way to the room, we do what romantic couples in Vegas have been doing for decades. We stop at the apothecary in the Hard Rock lobby to buy Gatorade and condoms.

You really have to feel something for the girl who works at the apothecary in the Hard Rock. She probably sells a hundred combo packs of Gatorade and condoms a night to drunken, horny fools wondering through there who later may or may not remember their room number. And in that process, there are probably two questions that she has been asked so many times that the mere sound of them will want to make her spontaneously combust in anger. The first, of course, would be "Ha, ha, do you have anything bigger?" Fortunately, we were not the people who asked that question, because based on her response to the question we did ask, she may just have come over the counter at us with a baseball bat if we'd asked "Ha, ha, do you have anything bigger?"

What we did ask, though, was what I am sure the second most popular question that gets laid on her when she hands over a pack of condoms is. "Do you have anything thinner?" Yes. Yes he did ask that. And before I could even roll my eyes, the apothecary girl looks at me. And her look speaks volumes, and those volumes read "I hate men and their infinite stupidity."

And then she looks at him. And I fear for him, literally. And she picks the condoms back up off the counter, and the she slams them back down in front of him again, and she says:

"Listen, I sell a lot of these and I know what I'm talking about. YOU WILL NOT FIND ANYTHING THINNER THAN THIS."

Then, literally, she slams them down AGAIN (for emphasis, I suppose), and rings up our Gatorade and condoms. We just stood there, staring. At her, at each other, at the condoms on the counter. It was like she had told us how it was, and now we understood. And again, I am just thankful that he didn't ask if she had anything bigger, because, you know, what would THAT scene have looked like?

Chapter Three: This is My Life Lesson to You - How to Avoid the Walk of Shame
Okay, listen, there is no real way to avoid the walk of shame. There are going to be times in your life when you straight have to roll out of a casino at 5:00am to get to the airport and you're going to be wearing some slutty heels, some tiny black party shorts, a shirt that was obviously stolen from the boy you hooked up with because you couldn't find your own clothes in the morning and later realized that that was probably because he was sleeping on top of them and a big old mascara stain underneath your right eye.

Or, maybe you'll never have to do that, but I'd argue that you may be missing out if you don't experience that at least once. Sure, you don't have to have done it so many times that you have a life lesson to share on it, like I do, but once is good.

Anyway, in that situation, you cannot avoid the walk of shame out of the casino, but you can MAKE IT YOUR OWN. Don't avoid the eye contact of the people playing blackjack at 5am as you walk out. You know who those people are? The people who didn't get laid the night before. You have WON in this circumstance, and don't let them make you feel any differently just because they're down $500 and you may or may not have an std and be missing your panties. You win here. It's not even a debate. Potential STD and missing panties trumps lost gambling cash and drunken red-eye any time.

Then, you own it as you walk out to the taxi line. I mean, maybe you're lucky and you have a vehicle with you, but chances are, you're going to have to face the taxi line attendant in the bright light of morning. In the shirt that is obviously not the shirt you wore out with your sexy heels and tiny black party shorts the night before. You know what you do in that situation? You look the taxi line attendant dead in the face and say, "This is a nice shirt, isn't it?" He'll say some variation of yes, and then you say, "Yeah. New rule. If you're too drunk and tired to get up and help me find my clothes in the morning, then I take yours." And suddenly, with that one sentence, you will go from being just another tramped out girl trying to get out of sight before her one night stand wakes up to THE COOLEST GIRL EVER TRYING TO GET OUT OF SIGHT BEFORE HER ONE NIGHT STAND WAKES UP.

That's my lesson. Take it. Use it. I promise you it is better than trying to hide behind bangs of shame on your way out in the morning. Own it, ladies, own it.

Tomorrow we'll talk about cuteness and babies!

 

The Final Frontier: Text Message Sex

Who should read this entry: K-Rock, Shim Shim, A-Train, a certain girl in LA I know who is the master of the dirty text (yeah, you know who you are Princess K). And also a certain girl in Chicago who is supposed to be learning to talk dirty from me.

Who should NOT read this entry:

Mom - you should skip this and head right down below it to where the first entry about Spain is.

Person With Whom I Had Text Message Sex Last Night: Don't read this if you ever want to enjoy that activity again. Seriously. Just don't read it. Trust me.

Anyway...

So, as a little background info, I've had this long distance ... thing ... going on for a while now. It's not a SMOS violation (even though SMOS technically ended yesterday!). It's not exclusive. It's not even really defined, but it is a ... thing.

Okay, so media has advanced to the point where the big frontier is no longer cyber sex. Remember when cyber sex was soooo weird and we longed for the days of good old fashioned 900 numbers? Oh no, people, oh no. We have advanced to the point of being mobile while we fuck each other in a virtual imaginary world. We have moved on to text message sex.

And with it comes something totally unique to text message sex as a form of virtual sex: mobility. With phone sex, you may have to juggle that receiver between your shoulder and your ear, but the verbal nature of the act at least requires you to honor the privacy of being alone, usually in your bed. Unless you are a frat boy sharing the experience during rush. With cyber sex, you are by default tied to the location of your computer. But with text message sex -- ah, with text message sex, you can be doing ANYTHING while simultaneously having virtual sex. Think of the possibilities!

Or, don't think of them and I'm going to lay them out for you by telling you the story of my night last night.

So, last night as I was heading home, I get a dirty text from ... let's call him Boom. And I read it, and I smile, and I send back an equally dirty one and think I'm done for the night. And then there is another text with a prompt, and I'm like "Seriously? He wants us to get off via TEXT MESSAGE?" But, whatever, I was there with him anyway. So, you know, games are fun. But, mobility. That's not necessarily conducive to virtual sex, particularly if you have ADD like me. Here's how the night laid out.

Being Typed Into My Phone
I just got out of the bath and I'm imagining rubbing my wet body up against you...
Coming Out of My Mouth
Hey! HEY! HEY! Can I get a sirloin burger, a super size diet coke and some jalapeno poppers? HEY?! Is anybody in there?

Being Typed Into My Phone
Before we even make it to the bedroom, I slide down and put my mouth around your cock...
Coming Out of My Mouth
FUCKIT. That jalapeno popper is HOT. SHIT. FUCK. DAMMIT.

Being Typed Into My Phone
I'm gently teasing you for a long time before I slide you all the way in...

Coming Out of My Mouth
FUCKKKKK. THE GODDAMN CAT PEED ON THE CARPET AGAIN. FUCKING CHRIST. DAMMIT.

Hot, right? Makes me long for the good old normal days of fake fucking on the computer.

But the real issue is if you think of the future. Cell phones - Devil's curse. But they make anything possible at any time. Think about our society's obsession with porn. Then think about the future of iPhones in everybody's hands. Then imagine a future in which people just walk around all day with a dazed look on their face getting off via text message.

I always said my iPhone replaced my need for a man.

 

And This, Ladies and Gents, Is Why I Like My Life the Way It Is

Weekend blog post coming when I theoretically get the last photo (ahem).

In the meantime, I LOVE FLIGHT OF THE CONCHORDS AND SO SHOULD YOU. I love every minute of anything ever done by Flight of the Conchords because I watched every single minute on YouTube tonight, but "Business Time" is particularly special. And sexy. Special sexy.

Now if only I could tell you this amazing condom story I have...

 

But in the end, we're all sinners.

This is in the name of my giving you what you wanted, which is less introspection, more funny. It's been quite a while since this happened (so long ago that I referenced it the other day and K-Rock had actually entirely forgotten about it), and originally I shared it almost exclusively via email to only people whom I actually knew, but perhaps it's time for it to be a public romp.

...

So, on Saturday night, K-Rock and I went to Fado. Fifteen minutes after we got in there, I looked around and said, "Wow. Every man in this bar is dressed to look like John Mayer. I'm not sure I can handle that. Maybe we should leave!" But we did not leave. In fact, because of late I have apparently looked very Midwestern coed, the most John Mayer of the John Mayer lookalikes begins hitting on me. He BUYS ME FREAKIN SHOTS LIKE I'M STILL IN COLLEGE, but I like to play, so I stay. My breaking point, though, is when he goes up to the band and asks them if they know any Dave Matthews Band covers. I return to my table quite sure that I should never return to this bar again.

But then this incredibly hot guy, NOT dressed like John Mayer, starts flirting with me and buying me drinks that do not come in shot glasses. He looks like Henry Rawlins before Henry Rawlins went crazy with the weight lifting. And by 2am, I'm like, "Yeah, okay."

So home we go, and during the deed, I'm like, "This is totally weird. This guy is brutally hot, and my age, and it's like he has no idea at all about what he's doing. What the hell?" Afterwards, I gently find a way to mention my observation in a way that was not nearly as straight forward as how I just wrote it, and he says, "I probably should tell you, I've only ever been with one other person, and that was over 10 years ago."

Before I can stop the next stupid thing from coming out of my mouth, out pops, "Are you, you know, really religious?"

That question falls into the category of "questions you shouldn't ask if you don't really want the answer." And I didn't really want the answer, particularly since the answer was, "Actually, I'm an ordained minister. I just in the last week or so realized it wasn't my calling and that I didn't want to put my life on hold any longer for a God who doesn't seem to be all that loving."

All I can think at that moment is "I am GOING TO HELL. Right now, God's cherubs are hand-stamping my passport to hell because I just facilitated one of the flock fleeing. Of all the easy girls that this dude could have met in a bar on a Saturday night, it's me. And now I'm going to be Satan's whore for the rest of my life."

At this point, a wiser person than I am stops talking. I, of course, actually instead say "So, even if you're not a minister anymore, you must still believe in the Bible, right? Isn't this a sin?"

And he says, "Yes, it's a sin. But in the end, we're all sinners."

And you know what I do next? I ask, "So are you going to ask for forgiveness in the morning?"

And he says, "Absolutely."

And ladies, there is nothing less hot than being in bed with somebody and they're telling you that the next day they will be asking God to forgive them for being with you.