SUNDAY - JUNE FIRST

IT’S 98 DEGREES IN BROOKLYN.

I MADE A LIST OF THINGS I NEEDED TO COMPLETE IN ORDER TO BE DEEMED PRODUCTIVE. THE LIST GOES UNTOUCHED AS I LAY ON MY BACK ON THE KITCHEN FLOOR. THE TILES ARE NOT AS COOL AS MANY LITERARIES INSIST THEY ARE ON HOT DAYS. MY TUBE TOP IS BELOW MY BREASTS, BUNCHED UP AROUND MY BELLY. MY PANTS ARE PULLED UP TO JUST BELOW MY KNEECAPS. THERE IS SWEAT POOLING BETWEEN MY LOWER BACK AND THE TILES.

I’M STARING UP AT THE CEILING OF MY APARTMENT. IT LOOKS CLEANER UP THERE, ON THE CEILING. LIKE MY LIFE FLIPPED UPSIDE DOWN - EXCEPT PRISTINE. FROM THIS ANGLE, I CAN’T SEE THE STACKS OF DIRTY DISHES LINING MY LINOLEUM COUNTER, MY SHALLOW SINK, MY DINING TABLE. FROM THIS ANGLE, I CAN’T SEE THE CLOTHES STREWN THROUGHOUT THE APARTMENT - DIRTY UNDERWEAR ON THE PEACOCK CHAIR, THE WOOD FLOOR, THE TUFTED CHAIR IN MY BEDROOM. FROM THIS ANGLE I CAN’T SEE THE EMPTY PIZZA BOXES, THE EMPTY TEQUILA BOTTLES, THE YELLOW WIG TANGLED IN A HEAP ON THE DRESSER. FROM THIS ANGLE, THINGS SEEM FINE.

JOEL PASSED AWAY AND THEN THINGS MOVED RATHER QUICKLY. I TURNED DOWN THE OFFER TO MOVE TO LONDON. I DIDN'T FEEL STABLE ENOUGH TO MAKE SUCH A HUGE LIFE DECISION. I TURNED DOWN THE OFFER TO MOVE TO SAN FRANCISCO. I REALLY HATE THAT CITY. MY SISTER GAVE BIRTH TO A BEAUTIFUL BABY GIRL, AND THEN ANOTHER WITHIN A YEAR. I MOVED INTO AN APARTMENT ON MY OWN. A TRUE ONE BEDROOM IN THE SMELLY ARMPIT THAT LINKS SOUTH WILLIAMSBURG, BED-STUY, AND BUSHWICK. AS SOON AS I WALKED IN, I KNEW THE PLACE WAS MEANT TO BE MINE. ORIGINAL WOOD FLOORS, BIG BRIGHT WINDOWS, A GIANT ARCHWAY BETWEEN THE KITCHEN AND THE LIVING ROOM - A SEPARATE BEDROOM WITH A DOOR! I SIGNED THE LEASE THAT DAY - IN A PANIC - UNSURE IF I COULD MAKE THE ASTRONOMICAL PRICE OF $1,800 A MONTH WORK WITH MY CURRENT LIFESTYLE. I WAS WORRIED I’D GET LONELY, MISS HAVING A ROOMMATE, GET LOST IN MY DEPRESSION.

TURNS OUT, I LOVE LIVING ALONE - BEING ALONE. EVERYTHING IN THE APARTMENT IS MINE, MY RESPONSIBILITY. I AM MESSY, NEVER DOING MY DISHES IMMEDIATELY. THE BRITTA NEVER HAS WATER IN IT. I LET THE RECYCLING PILE UP. I LEAVE THINGS THROUGHOUT MY APARTMENT LIKE A TREASURE HUNT - LIPSTICK IN THE UNDERWEAR DRAWER. JEWELRY IN THE KEY CATCHALL. HAIR DYE MIXED IN WITH THE CLEANING SUPPLIES. BUT IT’S ALL MINE - AND IT FEELS GOOD.

SIX MONTHS AFTER MOVING IN, I ADOPTED WHAT MY LANDLORD REQUESTED BE A “VERY SMALL DOG” AND TURNED OUT TO BE A FIFTY-FIVE POUND, FOUR-YEAR-OLD PITBULL MIX. ALL WHITE, WITH A SPLASH OF BROWN INK ON HER BUTT. LIGHT PINK AROUND HER EYES, HER EARS, HER SWEET LITTLE MILK CHOCOLATE NOSE.

THE MEN I HAVE BEEN HUNG UP ON NO LONGER PLAGUE MY MIND WITH PAIN. ONE HAS A NEW GIRLFRIEND OF OVER A YEAR. SHE LOOKS SWEET, KIND - THE OPPOSITE OF ME. I CAN’T BE JEALOUS BECAUSE THERE IS NO COMING CLOSE TO HER - OOZING NAIVETY, ANGELIC INNOCENCE, A TENDER SMILE.

THE SECOND NEVER DESERVED MY ADMIRATION. THE SEX GOT STALE AND SO DID HIS CASUAL MISOGYNY. I NO LONGER FALL VICTIM TO HIS GASLIGHTING - MAKING ME FEEL STUPID. FAT. POOR. INFERIOR.

FOR THE FIRST TIME, I FEEL DEVOID OF ANY REAL PURPOSE. I REPEAT A DAILY ROUTINE THAT IS WEARING ME THIN. SEVEN IN THE MORNING - WALK THE DOG. SHOWER. EAT BREAKFAST. GET READY FOR WORK. WORK. GO HOME. WALK THE DOG. EAT DINNER. WATCH NETFLIX. REPEAT. REPEAT. REPEAT.

WHILE NOTHING IS PARTICULARLY WRONG, I CAN’T PUT MY FINGER ON A THING THAT IS EXACTLY RIGHT. I DREAM ABOUT A YARD WITH GREEN GRASS - A FENCE, A DOGGY DOOR. I CRAVE SOMETHING SIMPLER, SOMETHING QUIET, SOMETHING QUAINT. I  SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE ... SOMETHING OUTSIDE OF NEW YORK CITY.

THERE IS A WEAKNESS THAT COMES ALONG WITH LEAVING THE CITY. SOMETHING SILENT THAT SCREAMS: SHE COULDN’T LIVE UP TO THE CONSTANT DEMAND FOR PERFECTION. SHE FAILED. SHE GOT TIRED. SHE BURNT OUT. SHE FELL HARD. SHE LOST HERSELF. HER AMBITION FLAT-LINED. SHE COULDN’T LIVE UP TO THE EXPECTATIONS. HER TEENAGE IDOLS TURNED OUT TO BE PSYCHOPATHS. EVERYWHERE SHE IMAGINED HERSELF WAS STARTING TO BECOME TRANSPARENT. SHE REACHED FOR TRUE MEANING. SHE FOUND ONLY THE STENCH OF POLLUTION IN THE HOT SUMMERTIME - RATS SCAMPERING FROM ONE OVERFLOWING TRASH CAN TO THE NEXT. CHICKEN BONES BARE ON THE SIDEWALK. NEEDLES OUTSIDE OF THE PLAYGROUND. ‘WANTED FOR MURDER’ POSTERS TACKED TO TREES OUTSIDE OF THE ELDERLY CARE FACILITY. A MILITARY-STYLE MURDER IN THE PROJECTS ADJACENT TO YOUR APARTMENT. DID YOU KNOW THAT'S WHERE JAY-Z GREW UP? THERE IS A POOL, LOTS OF GREEN GRASS. HANDS TIED BEHIND THEIR BACKS - SHOTS TO THE BACK OF THE HEAD.

ALL THIS TIME - MOVING TOWARDS THE GOAL OF SUCCESS, OF FINANCIAL COMFORT. OF A FLAMBOYANT LIFESTYLE RICH WITH DESIGNER HANDBAGS, MULTI-COURSE MEALS, PHILANTHROPIC EVENTS - ONLY TO FIND THE WORLD MOVING IN REVERSE.

MAYBE IT’S TIME TO GIVE IN - TO MOVE FORWARD. TO ABANDON THE DREAMS THAT FIND THEMSELVES DYING IN MIDAIR.

I PEEL MYSELF OFF THE KITCHEN FLOOR. PULL THE TOP OVER MY CHEST AND SIT - HUNCHBACKED. MY DOG IS ALERT AT THE SOUND OF MY MOVEMENT - SHE LOOKS UP AT ME. SHE IS ALWAYS WONDERING WHERE I WILL GO NEXT. I WISH SHE WOULD TELL ME, SO WE COULD GO TOGETHER.

UNTITLED

THE METROCARD TURNSTILE SAYS 10/16.
TODAY IS 10/16. 
YOU’RE OUTTA SWIPES. 
YOU FEEL OUTTA SWIPES, TOO. 

YOU BURN 816 CALORIES AT FLYWHEEL. 
YOU DON’T LOSE A
SINGLE
GODDAMN
FUCKING
POUND. 
IT’S ALL Y0U THINK ABOUT. 
YOUR MIND CIRCLES YOUR WEIGHT
BIRDS CIRCLE YOUR DIZZY LITTLE HEAD. 

A HANGOVER? 
FOOD POISONING? 
NO. THE FLU.
57 HOURS IN BED AND YOU’RE WONDERING
IF YOU
DIED, 
COULD YOU DIE IN DREW’S RATTY OLD T SHIRT? 

YOUR HOROSCOPE KEEPS TELLING YOU
DON’T MAKE RASH DECISIONS. 
RASH DECISIONS ARE ALL YOU KNOW.
DRUNK, LETS MEET UP TEXTS. 
QUICK UNREQUITED LOVE. 
IT HURTS UNTIL IT DOESN’T.

AND YOU’RE BACK. 
YOU’RE FAT. 
YOU’RE NOT FAT. 
HAVE A BURRITO, YOU’LL FEEL BETTER. 
YOU DON’T FEEL BETTER. 
TWO FINGERS DOWN YOUR THROAT,
GONE AS FAST AS IT CAME. 

PEOPLE CRAVE CONTROL.
YOU PREFER OUT OF CONTROL.
ADDICTED TO NOTHING. 
AMERICAN SPIRIT YELLOWS TO THE CAMEL BLUES. 

CAN’T KEEP A JOURNAL ENTRY. 
THOUGHTS RUNNING TOO FAST FOR CLUMSY THUMBS.

NEW YORK. SAN FRANCISCO. SINGAPORE? 
LONDON.
PROS: NEW FRIENDS
CONS: NEW FRIENDS

“IF I MOVED, I’M SCARED NO ONE WOULD MISS ME.”
“I’D MISS YOU.”
 LIES DIRECTLY INTO EMPTY EYES. 

IT HURTS UNTIL IT DOESN’T. 
I LOVE YOU BUT IT DOESN’T FEEL RIGHT. 

SAH - FOREFINGER TO THUMB
TAH - MIDDLE FINGER TO THUMB
NAH - RING FINGER TO THUMB
MAH - PINKY TO THUMB
A MANTRA.
A MOTION.
COOL AIR INTO HEAVY LUNGS.

CAT FISH - SNAKE TONGUE

I STOOD IN FRONT OF MY 8 FOOT TALL FRAME-LESS IKEA MIRROR AND CONVINCED MYSELF THAT YOU REALLY COULDN’T TELL I WASN’T WEARING A BRA. I HAD DONE MY MAKEUP PERFECTLY, BUT I KNEW AS SOON AS I STEPPED OUTSIDE INTO THE BROOKLYN SUMMER STANK I WOULD SWEAT IT ALL OFF. I WAS WEARING BLUE JEAN OVERALLS THAT I HAD CUT MYSELF TO BE MORE FLATTERING FOR MY BODY TYPE. I HAD BOYCOTTED THE BRA. THE JUMPER WAS DEEP CUT DOWN MY BACK AND A HORIZONTAL THICK BRA BAND WOULD RUIN THE APPEAL – SO I KEPT IT OFF. I WAS FEELING POWERFUL, LIKE NO BRA SOMEHOW MADE ME STRONGER - LESS SUSCEPTIBLE TO BULLSHIT. 

I HAD DECIDED THAT I WAS GOING TO TRY DATING AGAIN. I HAD TAKEN A COUPLE MONTHS HIATUS AFTER BEING TAKEN ADVANTAGE OF BY A GUY WITH AN ON-AGAIN OFF-AGAIN GIRLFRIEND. TO BE HONEST, I WASN’T HURT – I WAS JUST REALLY FUCKING TIRED. TIRED OF PUTTING IN THE EFFORT. TIRED OF THE SMALL TALK. JUST – TIRED. DATING IS EXHAUSTING.

I ACCEPTED A DATE WITH A MAN. A MAN I INVENTED IN MY OWN HEAD TO BE TALL AND BURLY, LIKE A SEXUAL CONSTRUCTION WORKER OR LUMBERJACK. HIS NAME SHOULD’VE BEEN SHORT FOR A LONGER, MORE PROFESSIONAL NAME BUT INSTEAD IT JUST EXISTED – SAM. SAM SPENT THE DAY WORKING WITH HIS HANDS, BUILDING FURNITURE. I PICTURED A TOUGHER AIDEN FROM SEX AND THE CITY. IT WASN’T MY USUAL TYPE – BUT MY USUAL TYPE WASN’T WORKING SO WELL FOR ME - SO I DECIDED TO GIVE SAM A CHANCE.

WE SAID WE WOULD MEET AT THE CORNER OF STOCKHOLM AND KNICKERBOCKER. I WAS EARLY. I STOOD LEANING AGAINST THE CORNER OF A STORE AND WATCHED THE PINK CLOUDS DISSIPATE SLOWLY, CHECKING MY WATCH IMPATIENTLY.

THERE WAS A TAP ON MY SHOULDER AND I MENTALLY PREPARED MYSELF TO SMILE. “STAND UP TALL AND SMILE PRETTY” MY FATHER ALWAYS TOLD ME. I RELAXED MY FACIAL MUSCLES AND TURNED TO MEET SAM.

TO SAY I WAS DISAPPOINTED WOULD BE A SEVERE UNDERSTATEMENT. I'D BEEN CAT-FISHED. MEN HAD LIED TO ME ABOUT THEIR HEIGHT IN THE PAST, AND IT APPEARED THAT THEY WEREN’T DONE LYING YET. THE RULER OF THE UNIVERSE MUST FIND IT FUNNY TO PRESENT ME WITH THE OPPOSITE OF EXPECTED.

SAM WAS MAYBE FIVE FOOT FOUR – AT LEAST AN INCH SHORTER THAN ME – AND WE WERE MATCHING. HIS BLACK OVERALLS WERE STRETCHED ACROSS HIS BROAD CHEST MORE TIGHTLY THAN MY OVERALLS WERE STRETCHED ACROSS MY DDD BRALESS CHEST. HE HAD ROLLED HIS OVERALLS UP TO THE BASE OF HIS KNEECAPS, FOLDING THEM INTO CUFFS THAT APPEARED TO BE CUTTING OFF THE CIRCULATION TO HIS EXTREMELY TIGHTLY LACED RED CONVERSE. HE WAS COVERED IN COLORFUL TATTOOS FROM THE NECK DOWN – WHICH I NORMALLY FIND TO BE A PANTRY DROPPER - EXCEPT WITH SAM. HIS BEARD REACHED HIS BARREL CHEST AND HIS GAUGES SAGGED LIKE A GRANDMOTHERS BREASTS.

MY HEART STARTED RACING. I WAS A BITCH. I WAS AN ASSHOLE. I HAD TO LEAVE RIGHT THIS VERY MOMENT. I HAD TO RUN. I COULDN’T POSSIBLY EVER BE ATTRACTED TO THIS MAN. I FROZE.

SAM PULLED ME IN TO AN EXTREMELY TIGHT HUG WHICH SMUSHED MY BOOBS AGAINST THE SAFETY PIN THAT PENETRATED HIS BREAST POCKET. I FELT MY ARMS STIFFEN AT MY WAIST AND I CONTEMPLATED HOW I COULD POSSIBLY ESCAPE. HOW DO I FAKE DEATH?

SAM TOOK OFF DOWN THE STREET, LEADING ME TO A BAR HE SAID WE WOULD “START OUT OUR EVENING AT”. I OOGLED AT HIM LIKE A DEER IN HEAD LIGHTS. START OUT? HE THOUGHT WE WOULD BE BAR HOPPING? I LOOKED AROUND FOR AN EXIT FRANTICALLY AND FOUND NO WAY OUT. SAM WAS SHOVING HIS HANDS DEEP INTO HIS OVERALL POCKETS AND PUFFING HIS CHEST OUT IN AN ATTEMPT TO LOOK LARGER. I STARED INTENTLY AT THE GUM-LITTERED SIDEWALK AND HURRIED ALONG. HE WAS TALKING ABOUT HIMSELF, HAVING YET TO ASK ME HOW I WAS DOING OR WHERE I WANTED TO GO.

SAM WAS ON A PLANET ALL HIS OWN. HE WAS RUSHING DOWN THE STREET AS IF TO PUT OUT AN INVISIBLE FIRE. I WAS PRACTICALLY RUNNING AFTER HIM WHEN I WISH I HAD BEEN RUNNING AWAY. HE LED ME TO BOOTLEG – A HOLE IN THE WALL BAR THAT WAS DARK AND DINGY ON THE CORNER OF WYCOFF. I WELCOMED THE DARKNESS. I COULD HIDE. I MIGHT EVEN BE ABLE TO SNEAK INTO A CORNER AND DISAPPEAR!

SAM PLOPPED DOWN ON A BARSTOOL AND ORDERED A BEER AND A SHOT. I VOMITED IN MY MOUTH BEFORE ORDERING A WHISKEY GINGER. I WAS GOING TO NEED TO GET DRUNK FOR THIS. WHILE SAM WAS ORDERING MY DRINK, I SLIPPED MY PHONE INTO MY LAP AND TEXTED A GUY WHO HAD ASKED ME FOR DRINKS THIS EXACT NIGHT – WHOM I HAD REQUESTED A RAIN CHECK FROM.

“HEY, PLANS CHANGED – WANT TO MEET IN AN HOUR?” I EXPERTLY TEXTED WITHOUT GLANCING AT THE SCREEN. SENT.

“AN HOUR? YEAH. WHERE?” HE REPLIED IN RECORD TIMING. SAM WAS WATCHING ME SUSPICIOUSLY.

“THREE DIAMOND DOOR, BUSHWICK.” I REPLIED AND SHOVED MY PHONE BETWEEN MY LEGS BEFORE PULLING THE HARD LIQUOR TO MY LIPS.

SAM WAS STILL TALKING ABOUT HIMSELF. I HAD YET TO ASK HIM ANY QUESTIONS ABOUT HIMSELF BECAUSE QUITE FRANKLY – I WASN’T INTERESTED. BUT THAT DIDN’T STOP HIM. I WAS TUNING HIM OUT, GULPING WHISKEY AND GRIPPING MY THIGH IN SUBLIME SECOND-HAND EMBARRASSMENT WHEN I NOTICED IT – SAMS TONGUE WAS SLIT DIRECTLY DOWN THE MIDDLE, SLIPPING OUT OF HIS MOUTH LIKE THE SLUGS RON WEASLEY VOMITTED UP. I FROZE IN AWE FOR THE SECOND TIME THAT NIGHT.

“IS YOUR TONGUE CUT?” I ASKED STUPIDLY.

“OH, THIS?” HE TOOK THE OPPORTUNITY TO STICK HIS TONGUE OUT, MOVING BOTH ENTITIES ON THEIR OWN LIKE A TWO HEADED SNAKE ATTACKING ITS PREY. I HAD NO TIME FOR MANNERS.

“WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO DO THAT?” I QUESTIONED, SETTING MY EMPTY GLASS ON THE BAR TOP.

“I JUST COULDN’T GO THROUGH LIFE WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT IT FELT LIKE.” HE SMILED SMUGLY, “I COULDN’T TALK FOR TWO WEEKS AFTER I HAD THE PROCEDURE DONE. IT WAS OBTUSELY PAINFUL.”

“TO EACH THEIR OWN.” I GROANED INTERNALLY. I WAS THINKING ABOUT WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO BE EATEN OUT BY A SPLIT TONGUE – COMPLETELY INVOLUNTARILY. WHAT WOMAN WOULDN’T WONDER?

“THAT’S NOT ALL.” HE REPLIED, “I HAD A MAGNET SURGICALLY INSERTED INTO MY FINGER A FEW YEARS BACK.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

TO MY HORROR HE CALLED THE BARTENDER OVER.

“DO YOU HAVE A SAFETY PIN?” HE ASKED.

“NO.” THE BARTENDER LOOKED AT SAM THROUGH HALF-CLOSED EYES.

“OH! I HAVE ONE.” SAM GRABBED AT THE SAFETY PIN ON HIS BREAST POCKET AND PLACED IT ON THE WALNUT BAR TOP. HE HOVERED HIS HAND OVER THE METAL WHICH IMMEDIATELY SUCTIONED ITSELF TO HIS WAITING HAND. IT HUNG FROM HIS HAND LIKE A BAT HANGING FROM A BRANCH AND I WILLED MYSELF NOT TO LAUGH. I COULD NOT OFFER THIS MAN ANY FORM OF AMUSEMENT.

“IT’S GIVEN ME A SIXTH SENSE.” HE WAS SAYING, “I CAN FEEL CURRENTS. I CAN FEEL WHEN A TRAIN IS PASSING BY.”

“YEAH, SO CAN ALL OF NEW YORK.” I GRUMBLED IN REPLY.

“IT’S MORE THAN THAT.” HE CONTINUED HIS STORY OF MAGNETISM AND THE AFFECT UPON HIS BLOOD STREAM. I HAD PULLED OUT MY PHONE, CHECKING THE TIME.

“OH, I FORGOT TO TELL YOU. I HAVE TO MEET A FRIEND WHO IS VISITING FROM OUT OF TOWN SOON.” I WAS CARELESS IN DELIVERY AND I COULD SEE HE WAS HURT, “I’M SORRY, IT’S LAST MINUTE.” I FINISHED. IT WASN’T A COMPLETE LIE. MY “FRIEND” HAD JUST MOVED TO THE CITY FROM GEORGIA. I WASN’T SURE IF IT WAS A DATE DISGUISED AS “HANGING OUT”, OR TRULY JUST FRIENDS LINKING UP AFTER A FEW YEARS APART.

“I THOUGHT YOU WEREN’T A BIG DRINKER.” HE RETORTED.

FUCK. HE CAUGHT ME. IN ATTEMPT TO DITCH THE DATE EARLY I HAD TOLD HIM I WASN’T A FAN OF ALCOHOL.

“WHAT ELSE ARE YOU SUPPOSED TO TAKE A FRIEND TO DO ON A FRIDAY NIGHT?” I REPLIED CASUALLY. HE ORDERED ANOTHER BEER AND ANOTHER SHOT. I THINK THAT MADE 3 SHOTS AND 3 BEERS SO FAR TONIGHT. I COULD PRACTICALLY HEAR MY WATCH TICKING, BEGGING ME TO LEAVE.

I BROUGHT UP MY “OUT-OF-TOWN” FRIEND THREE MORE TIMES BEFORE I STOOD UP IN DEFIANCE.

“I REALLY SHOULD GO.” I FLATTENED OUT MY OVERALLS AND TURNED TO LEAVE.

“I’LL WALK TO YOU.”

“AH, I’M GOING TO GO HOME AND GRAB A SWEATER.” I SMILED CLOSE-LIPPED. I DIDN’T WANT HIM TO SEE THAT I WAS MEETING ANOTHER MAN – AND I DEFINITELY DIDN’T WANT THE OTHER GUY SEEING THAT I HAD BEEN WITH SAM.

“I’LL WALK YOU HOME THEN.” HE STATED, DESPERATE.

“OKAY.” I HAD GIVEN UP. WE WALKED IN SILENCE TO MY STREET, WHERE THE PUERTO RICAN CHILDREN RAN THROUGH EXPLODING FIRE HYDRANTS SQUEALING WITH GLEE. I FELT THE TEENAGERS EYES ON ME AND SAM. I WAS MORTIFIED. I COULD FEEL THEIR LAUGHTER IN MY MUSCLES. I TWITCHED.

“THIS IS ME.” I STOOD AT MY STOOP.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TOMORROW?” SAM ASKED, NOSILY.

“I THINK I’M GOING TO SEE FINDING DORI.” I LIED EXPERTLY. I HAD NO INTENTION OF PAYING TO SEE FINDING DORI.

“IS THAT GOING TO TAKE ALL DAY? OR CAN I SEE YOU AGAIN?” HE ASKED.

I STOOD IN STUNNED SILENCE. THE ENTIRE DATE HE TALKED ABOUT HIMSELF AND I WAS VERY RUDE. HE WANTED TO TAKE ME OUT AGAIN? I FELT A PANICKED BOOB SWEAT COMING ON.

“AH, I DON’T KNOW.” I GLANCED BACK AT MY FRONT DOOR.

“CAN I AT LEAST HUG YOU?” HE STRETCHED HIS STUBBY ARMS OUT WIDE.

I DIDN'T GO ON A BLIND DATE AGAIN FOR FOUR MONTHS. 

THANKS, SAM.

ON DEATH, DYING, AND OTHER MORBID THINGS

EVERY TIME I GET DRUNK I TELL PEOPLE I LIVE AT AN INCORRECT ADDRESS. EVERY TIME I FINISH A BOOK I SIT STONE-STILL IN ATTEMPT TO SOAK UP THE  ENTIRETY OF WRITTEN INFORMATION. EVERY TIME I THINK ABOUT DEATH I HAVE A PANIC ATTACK.

I’VE ALWAYS FIGURED I’D EITHER DIE YOUNG OR LIVE FOREVER.

I CANNOT BEGIN TO WRAP MY SMALL BRAIN AROUND THE VAST AND UTTERLY UN-EXPLAINABLE VACUUM THAT IS ‘DEATH’. HAVING NOT DIED MYSELF, THE CONCEPT OF ETERNAL DARKNESS IS ALTOGETHER UNREACHABLE.

THIS HAS NOT BEEN AN EASY PIECE TO WRITE.

I CANNOT GRACEFULLY OVERCOME THE FEAR OF MY IMMINENT NONEXISTENCE. MY FEAR IS NOT UNEASE, NOT THE SWEATY NIGHTMARES OF THE MAN I LOVED CONFESSING TO MIXED EMOTIONS. IT IS THE TYPE OF FEAR THAT STARTS WHEN I AM UNCONSCIOUS. IT ROOTS ITSELF DEEP INTO MY WANDERING MIND AND SUFFOCATES ME WHILE I’M DREAMING LIKE HANDS AROUND MY THROAT. I AWAKEN TO THE DEPRIVATION OF AIR. IT IS NOT THAT I CANNOT BREATHE BUT THAT I AM ACTUALLY CHOKING. I AM BEING TORTURED FROM THE INSIDE. MY POOR SWEET SUBCONSCIOUS HAS FALLEN PREY TO OTHER SIDE AND SHE GOES NUMB. THE TERROR PERMEATES THROUGH MY BLOODSTREAM AND PUMPS ADRENALINE THROUGH MY VERY CORE. CONSIDERING DEATH SETS ME INTO A STATE OF HYSTERIA.

I TOOK TO OCCUPYING MY ACTIVE MIND BY FANTASIZING ABOUT THE OPPOSITE OF DEAD - THE UNDEAD. I BECAME OBSESSED WITH ZOMBIES. I HAD A DETAILED, ELABORATE PLAN OF ESCAPE SHOULD THE ANNIHILATION OF THE HUMAN SPECIES OCCUR WHILE I LIVED IN MANHATTAN. I CONSIDERED HOW POTENTIALLY GREAT A WARDROBE I WOULD HAVE IF I COULD STEAL PRADA DURING AN APOCALYPSE - BUT I’D NEED A STREET AND FOREST FRIENDLY TEAMMATE OF COURSE, AND FOR THAT MY FIRST CHOICE WAS ALWAYS JOEL.

HE WAS THE COUSIN I LOVED TO HATE. I DARED HIM TO EAT A BIG FAT JUICY SLUG FOR FIVE DOLLARS ON THE GRASSY HILL OF MY SUBURBAN BACK YARD. HE ATE IT - SWALLOWED IT WHOLE, GULPED THE GASTROPOD LIKE GRAPE JUICE ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON.

I NEVER PAID HIM.

HE TAUGHT ME HOW TO PROPERLY TAKE CARE OF AN ORCHID. HE WOULD ENCOURAGE ME TO TAKE TIME TO VISIT NATURE. HE WOULD TALK TO ME ABOUT THE SOIL, THE FERNS. HE’D POINT TO THE TYPE OF MUSHROOM THAT WAS EDIBLE, THE TYPE OF BERRY THAT WAS POISONOUS.

I’D COME HOME FROM COLLEGE AND WE WOULD SIT ON HIS SAGGING SECOND FLOOR BALCONY, PASSING A JOINT. WE’D WALK DOWN TO THE FARMERS MARKET AND RETURN WITH ARMFULS OF FRESH VEGETABLES. HE WOULD FLY INTO A SHORT-WINDED TANGENT AND ANIMATE A DISCUSSION ABOUT WHAT AN AMAZING DISH HE WOULD MAKE WITH THOSE VEGETABLES.

TOGETHER, WE WERE THE BLACK SHEEP. THE RELATIVES THAT DYED THEIR HAIR, PIERCED THEIR EARS, TATTOOED THEIR BODY. WE WERE THE OBTUSELY COMPETITIVE GAME PLAYERS, THE CROWD FAVORITES, THE THANKSGIVING FEASTERS. I COULD BE A FUNCTIONING POT HEAD, HE COULD BE A FUNCTIONING POT HEAD.

BUT HE COULDN’T BE A FUNCTIONING ALCOHOLIC.

JOEL HAD A DISEASE. THE ADDICTION, THE DEPENDENCE, THE FIXATION, THE ENSLAVEMENT.

I WAS UNCOMFORTABLE, HESITANT - CONSUMED BY MY DISDAIN. THE PATIENCE AND LOVE REQUIRED TO STAND BY SOMEONE WHO CONTINUES TO MAKE THE SAME DETRIMENTAL, LIFE ALTERING, DEADLY DECISIONS TIME AND TIME AGAIN - IT IS THE PATIENCE OF AN ANGEL, OF A MOTHER. A PATIENCE I DID NOT POSSESS.

---

  IT IS LIKE THEY SHOW IT IN THE MOVIES. THE FUNERAL HOME IS COZY LIKE A GRANDMOTHER'S HOUSE. THERE IS WALLPAPER AND WALL TO WALL CARPET. THERE ARE PEOPLE IN THE ROOM BUT THERE IS A MUFFLED SILENCE. YOUR COUSIN STARTS TO HOWL. HE STARTS TO WAIL. HE’S LOST HIS BEST FRIEND, HIS BROTHER. YOUR SISTER IS GRIPPING HER PREGNANT BELLY, PULLING AT YOUR EMBROIDERED BLACK LACE DRESS. YOU DON’T MOVE BUT INSTEAD YOU NUMBLY GIVE IN TO THE TUG, ROCKING A LITTLE TOWARDS HER AND THEN BACK TOWARDS THE MAHOGANY CASKET.

HE’S HORIZONTAL, EXACTLY THE WAY HE WOULD FALL ASLEEP AFTER A SUCCESSFUL THANKSGIVING INDUCED COMA. HE’D ASK YOU TO MASSAGE HIS SCALP AND YOU’D OBLIGE EVEN THOUGH YOU KNEW HE DIDN’T BELIEVE IN SHAMPOO. HE’D FALL ASLEEP.

HIS HANDS WERE CROSSED OVER HIS FAVORITE BLUE PHISH T-SHIRT. HIS LIPS A SHADE OF GREEN-GRAY THAT CAN ONLY BE DESCRIBED AS EXPIRED. HIS EYEBROWS ARE BACK TO BUSHY AND YOU ALMOST SMILE REMEMBERING HOW YOU USED TO PLUCK HIS EYEBROWS BLOODY ON THE BACK PORCH IN THE SUMMERTIME.

I VOMITED IN THE RESTROOM. I GREETED EVERY PERSON IN THE FOUR HOUR LINE WHO HAD COME TO SAY GOODBYE. WHILE PEOPLE EXPRESSED THEIR CONDOLENCES FOR MY EXTREME LOSS, I FOUND MYSELF SAYING I WAS SORRY FOR THEIRS. A LOSS OF JOEL WAS A LOSS FOR EVERYONE HE KNEW.

"YOU CAN DIG YOUR HANDS THROUGH THE SOIL. I PROMISE IT’S JUST A PLANT." I PLEADED WITH THE TSA OFFICER AT HANCOCK INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT.

"IS IT WEED?" SHE JOKED.

"I WISH." I MUMBLED, COLLECTING MY PLANT IN IT’S PLASTIC BAG.

I CRADLED MY SUCCULENT FROM SYRACUSE TO JFK AIRPORT, WEDGING IT BETWEEN MY LEGS FOR THE BUMPY CAB RIDE HOME. I TOOK THE OPPORTUNITY TO GOOGLE THE APPROPRIATE CARE FOR THE PLANT I HAD CHOSEN TO ADOPT AFTER JOEL’S FUNERAL SERVICE.

"SEMPERVIVUM" THE WEBSITE STATED, "LITERALLY MEANS LIVE FOREVER."

MY KIND OF CRAZY, BABY

HE CALLED ME FUCKING CRAZY.

HE DIDN'T LIKE MY SUPERHUMAN ABILITY TO ARGUE OVER NOTHING. WHAT I SAID I WANTED REALLY WASN'T WHAT I WANTED AT ALL. HOW COULD HE READ MY MIND? WAS I EVEN AWARE OF WHAT I WANTED? I WAS A MODERN MIX OF CONFUSING CONTRADICTIONS - JUST PLAIN TOO MUCH WORK. HE TRIES TO RESPECT ME BECAUSE I HAVE FUCKED AROUND BUT HES A NEANDERTHAL. A HISTORIC PRICK. HE SAID I'M OUT OF MY DAMN MIND WITH INTERNAL STRESS. I'M TOO SEXUALLY LIBERATED AND ASSERTIVE. I HAVE DE-MASCULATED HIM. HE'S UNSURE WHAT ROLE HE IS TO PLAY HERE. I WANT TO BE FREE BUT I'M FULL OF EXTERNAL PRESSURE. YET I AM THE FIRST TO POINT OUT THAT I THINK HE IS THE ONE FULL OF CONTRADICTIONS. HE WANTS ME TO FEEL FREE YET MAKE SURE I AM ABLE TO SETTLE DOWN AND BIRTHE HIS CHILDREN. WHY CAN'T I JUST SAY WHAT I MEAN? WHY DOES 'NO' MEAN 'YES'? HOW CAN HE LOGICALLY DEDUCE WHAT I WANT?

AND THEN I'M RETORTING THAT JESUS FUCK I KNOW WHAT I WANT FROM YOU BUT I JUST CAN'T SAY IT. IF I HAND IT TO YOU, IT IS JUST TOO SIMPLE - AND I WON'T BELIEVE ITS GENUINE.

MY FRIENDS SAY THAT MEN LOVE CRAZY WOMEN. I KNOW THAT MEN DO NOT LOVE CRAZY WOMEN, THEY SIMPLY THINK THEY DO.

A CRAZY WOMAN IS LIKE A STRAY DOG. I CAN SAY THIS WITHOUT OFFENSE BECAUSE I KNOW I'M LOONEY. THERE IS NO TRAINING ME. THERE IS NO BRAIN WASHING ME. THERE IS NO SETTLING DOWN. THERE IS NO GETTING COMPLETELY COMFORTABLE. THERE IS LOYALTY, YES, BUT THERE IS NO GUARUNTEE.

MEN THINK THAT CRAZY EQUALS SEXY. CRAZY WOMEN SEEM IRRESISTABLE. WE DRESS FOR OURSELVES, THINK FOR OURSELVES, ACT FOR OURSELVES. WE AREN'T AFRAID TO MAKE A SCENE AT A PARTY IF YOU'RE NOT BEHAVING YOURSELF. WE ARE THE FIRST TO CALL YOU OUT ON YOUR SHITTY ACTIONS BEFORE GRABBING YOU BY YOUR TIE AND MAKING OUT WITH YOUR FACE IN PUBLIC. WE HAVE OUR HAND ON YOUR CROTCH UNDER THE DINNER TABLE AND WE AREN'T AFRAID TO SQUEEZE A LITTLE TOO HARD WHEN YOU SAY THE WRONG THING. WE ARE AN OPEN BOOK SEXUALLY. WE ARE MORE LIKELY TO GIVE GREAT HEAD, ENGAGE IN SAME-SEX SITUATIONS, HAVE UNASHAMED SEX WITH THE LIGHTS ON. WE TELL YOU HOW WE LIKE IT AND WE EXPECT YOU TO GET IT RIGHT.

YOUR FRIENDS KNOW WE ARE CRAZY. THEY ASK HOW WE ARE IN BED. THEY'RE DISGUSTING AND INTRIGUED. THEY FLIRT WITH US OUT OF PURE SEXUAL CONFUSION. THEY DON'T KNOW HOW YOU CAN HANDLE SUCH A WOMAN. THE THINGS THAT COME OUT OF OUR MOUTHS SHOCK THEM. WHAT MUST SHE BE LIKE IN BED?

'CRAZY' IS OBVIOUSLY A LOOSE AND SOMEWHAT INSULTING DEFINITION. WE ARE SIMPLY UNCHARTTED TERRITORY. YOU CAN HAVE ALREADY 'BEEN THERE DONE THAT' AND STILL BE UNSURE WHAT WE WILL BE UP TO NEXT. IF YOU COME BACK FOR MORE IN A FEW MONTHS THERE IS A HIGH CHANCE YOU WON'T EVEN RECOGNIZE THE WOMAN WE HAVE EVOLVED INTO - CONSTANTLY CHANGING.

THERE IS X-RATED CONTENT IN A CRAZY WOMAN'S LIFE. THERE ARE HAND GESTURES, LIP LICKS, EYE CONTACT. THERE ARE KINKS, PASSIONS, AND ENTERTAINING STORIES. SHE'S CRAZY. SHE'S MYSTERIOUS. SHE'S HIGH ENERGY. SHE'S DESTRUCTIVE. SHE'S SMART. SHE'S TORTURED. WE JUST DON'T FUCKING GET HER.

I USED TO BE INSULTED WHEN MEN WOULD CALL ME CRAZY. I THINK THAT AFTER A WHILE YOU HAVE TO LEARN TO TURN YOUR INSULTS INTO COMPLIMENTS. I RATIONALIZE CRAZY AS NEVER BEING BORING. YOU'RE BUTT-HURT BECASE I'M THE WOMAN YOU JUST CAN'T PUT A FINGER ON. IT'S LIKE A WORD SITTING AT THE TIP OF YOUR TONGUE. IT'S A FORGEIN WORD... YOU'VE HEARD IT BEFORE... BUT WHAT DOES IT MEAN? IT MEANS CHRONICALLY SINGLE. CHRONICALLY UNSATISFIED.

SOMETIMES BEING CRAZY IS FUN. I ENJOY THE LOOK OF SHOCK OR PLEASURE ON A MANS FACE WHEN I SAY EXACTLY WHAT I'M THINKING. I ENJOY TELLING MEN THEY ARE DISGUSTING FOR CAT-CALLING ME IN THE STREET. I'M NOT AFRAID TO TELL YOU I'M NOT INTERESTED - AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO TELL YOU I AM INTERESTED.

LENGTHY INTELLECTUAL CONVERSATIONS ARE NO PROBLEM. BY THE END OF A DISCUSSION WITH ME YOU'RE CONFUSED AT WHO'S LEADING THE TOPIC. WHEN DID WE START FLIRTING? WHO KNEW A WOMAN COULD BE SO... DOMINANT? WHO KNEW A WOMAN COULD HAVE SUCH A LOW TOLERANCE FOR BULLSHIT? FOR BOREDOM? FOR MEDIOCRE?

I'M THE ULTIMATE ROMANTIC. I'M LOOKING FOR A DANCE PARTNER TO LEAD. A MAN BOTH COMFORTABLE WITH SUBMISSION AND DOMINANCE. SOMEONE WILLING TO CHALLANGE ME FOR POWER. I'M LOOKING FOR AN ESCAPE HATCH. LOOKING FOR SOMEONE SO PASSIONATE ABOUT ME, I FORGET THAT I'M CRAZY. I WANT A MAN WITH SUCH ACUTE SENSITIVITY TO MY NEEDS THAT HE CAN AGREE I AM INDEED - WITHOUT QUESTION - RESPECTABLE. EXCITING. EXHILARATING. FULL OF LIFE.

THE MOST COMPLICATED THING ABOUT BEING CRAZY IS TRYING TO KEEP UP WITH YOURSELF. YOUR OPINIONS ARE CONSTANTLY CHANGING, YOUR VIEWS ON LIFE EVOLVING SO DEEPLY THAT REACHING A 'NORMAL' PERSON'S LEVEL IS ALMOST IMPOSSIBLE. HOW DO YOU KEEP THINGS LIGHT AND AIRY? DO YOU WANT TO?

IT MAKES ME SAD, TOO. FALLING FOR SOMEONE WHO CANNOT ACCEPT YOU IS THE ULTIMATE REJECTION. CONTAINING TOO MUCH PERSONALITY FOR ONE HUMAN TO LOVE IS EXHAUSTING.TRYING TO DILUTE YOURSELF IN ATTEMPT TO MAKE SOMEONE ELSE'S LIFE EASIER DRAINS THE SOUL FROM MY BODY.

I TELL MYSELF THAT BEING CRAZY IS BOTH A GIFT AND A CURSE. I JUST WONDER IF ANYONE IS GOING TO BE ABLE TO FALL INTO STRIDE ALONG WITH ME. WHEN WILL I MEET MY CRAZY COUNTERPART? SOMETIMES I THINK I ALREADY HAVE, IN MY FELLOW FEMALES, MY BEST GIRLFRIENDS. SOMETIMES I WONDER IF THIS EXHAUSTION I FEEL IS BECAUSE I'VE ALREADY MET MY SOULMATES AND YET IM TRYING TO FIND THE SAME ACCEPTANCE FROM THE OPPOSITE SEX. MAYBE IT JUST WON'T HAPPEN. AFTER ALL - MEN ARE FROM MARS, WOMEN ARE FROM VENUS. 

ALL PEOPLE FIND LOVE IN HUMAN RELATIONSHIPS. HOWEVER NOT ALL RELATIONSHIPS ARE SIMPLY BOYFRIEND/GIRLFRIEND, HUSBAND/WIFE. MY MOST INTENSE RELATIONSHIPS ARE WITH MY BEST FRIENDS. THEY LOVE MY CRAZY. I THINK THAT IS WHAT REALLY MATTERS. 

PART I

HE LOOKS JUST HOW I EXPECTED HE WOULD, JUST HOW I REMEMBERED HE WOULD. I FEEL A DISTANT FAMILIARITY. I'M RELIEVED, A FRIEND.

HE IS TALLER NOW. HE HAS TO LEAN OVER TO HUG ME. OUR CHEEKBONES KNOCK AWKWARDLY, OUR BODIES ARE NOT ACCUSTOMED TO OUR EMBRACE. HE IS TALLER NOW.

BEING REUNITED FEELS LIKE AN ELATED NATURAL STATE. LIKE TAKING OFF YOUR BRA AND LOOKING GREAT NAKED - AN ELEVATED NORMAL, AN UNEXPECTED PLEASANTRY. I'M COMFORTABLE. MY HANDS REST ON THE WALNUT BAR AND I FEEL THE FAMILIAR SCRATCHES IN THE WOOD SURFACE ROUGH AGAINST MY PALMS.

THE WEATHER IS SUBLIME. THE OUTDOOR PORCH IS CROWDED, LOUD WITH THE BUZZ OF A SUMMER NIGHT. THE CONVERSATION IS EFFORTLESS. I SOAK IN HIS DESCRIPTION OF HIS LIFE, THE THINGS THAT FORM HIM. I SOAK UP HIS FACE, THE FAMILIARITY ASTOUNDING. THE BABY FACE, BABY BLUES.

I RECALL WHEN WE WERE SIXTEEN HAZILY. WE LAUGH ABOUT LEARNING TO DRIVE. THE BANTER IS WITTY, AMUSING. WE TRAVEL IN TIME, MOVING FROM PAST TO PRESENT, MOVING FROM OUTSIDE TO IN. TIME HAS FLOWN. THE ALCOHOL HAS DRAINED THROUGH MY BODY BUT THE WARMTH STAYED.

I INVITE HIM BACK TO MY APARTMENT. IT'S AN INNOCENT INVITATION, THICK WITH THE PROMISE OF ADVENTURE.

THE AIR CONDITIONING IN MY ROOM DRAGS US TO MY PERSONAL HIDE-OUT. HE'S SITTING CROSS-LEGGED, INTENTLY CONCENTRATING ON THE JOINT HE IS ROLLING BETWEEN HIS FINGERS. I'M MYSTIFIED BY IT'S PERFECTION - HIS PERFECTION - WHILE HE TWIRLS THE END AND SNIPS THE POINT, ASKING WHERE I KEEP MY LIGHTERS.

"DO YOU WANT TO GO BREAK OUT ONTO MY ROOF?" I HEAR MYSELF ASKING HIM, EAGER FOR A NEW EXPERIENCE.

HE HAS ANSWERED AND WE ARE FLAT-FOOTED, HURRYING ACROSS THE EXPANSE OF MY HALLWAY, THRUSTING THE WINDOW OPEN AND CRAWLING ONTO THE FIRE ESCAPE. THE FIRE ESCAPE IS LEANING AWAY FROM THE BUILDING AND CONSISTS OF SLIVERS OF BLACK METAL THAT MAGICALLY MAKE AN UPWARDS CLIMB TOWARDS THE ROOF. THERE IS ONLY ONE APARTMENT ABOVE MINE SO THE CLIMB IS DEEMED SIMPLE. HE MOVES LIKE ITS A RACE, LUNGING HIS LONG LEGS UP THE STAIRS AND WALKING PIRATE-PLANK STYLE ACROSS THE ONLY CONNECTION TO BRICK. I AM LESS GRACEFUL. I'M BACKED AGAINST THE WALL, AVOIDING STRINGS THAT MAKE UP A TYPE OF LASER BEAM FIELD FOR LAUNDRY, LIFTING LEG OVER LEG. I KNOCK WHAT SOUNDS LIKE A BABIES MOBILE FROM THE TOP FLOOR AND IT RATTLES AND PLUNKS DOWN THE WELL OF METAL STAIRS. I FREEZE. HE CATCHES MY EYE AND LAUGHS. THE KIDS WINDOWS ARE OPEN ON EITHER SIDE OF MY LEGS AND THEY SLEEP SOUNDLESSLY. I GRIP THE LADDER AND SCAMPER UP AFTER HIM.

WE ARE AT THE EDGE OF THE ROOF ON STOCKHOLM. THE STARS AREN'T VISIBLE IN NEW YORK ANYMORE DUE TO POLLUTION. I TELL HIM IT MAKES ME SAD AND LIGHT HIS IDEALLY ROLLED JOINT. FOR THE HUNDREDTH TIME I'M ATTRACTED TO HIM IN HIS ENTIRETY. HIS JOINT ROLLING SKILLS HAVE ME READY TO DO HIS LAUNDRY. I LIGHT, PUFF, AND PASS POLITELY.

"WHAT IS THAT DOOR?" HE POINTS TO THE METAL FRAME IN A PROTRUDING WALL, "WAS THERE A STAIRCASE THAT LEAD UP HERE THIS WHOLE TIME?"

I COVER MY GRIN WITH MY HAND.

I WAKE UP AT AN UNKNOWN LATE HOUR. WE ARE FULLY CLOTHED, WRAPPED LIKE VINES AROUND A TREE - WARY OF BEING INDECENT. HE BREATHES HEAVILY AND I SOUNDLESSLY HOPE HES HAVING DREAMS OF SALTY WAVES THAT CRASH ON WHITE SANDY SHORES. IN A STRANGELY SIGNIFICANT SECOND, I AM SMITTEN.   

NINE PINS

THINGS HAVE BEEN WEIRD LATELY. THE SEASONS HAVE CHANGED AND INSTEAD OF SEASONAL DEPRESSION I’M STARTING TO FEEL LIKE I NEED TO GET INTO TROUBLE.

THE BEST WAY TO GET INTO TROUBLE IS TO  EXPAND YOUR SOCIAL PLANS TO OUTSIDE OF YOUR COMFORT ZONE. THE BEST WAY TO SMOOTHLY ACHIEVE FUN OUTSIDE OF YOUR PERSONAL COMFORT ZONE IS BY GETTING DRUNK. THE BEST DRINK TO HAVE IS SOMETHING THAT GOES DOWN LIKE APPLE JUICE AND SLAMS INTO YOUR LIVER IMMEDIATELY. GOOD BARS HAVE THE ALCOHOL CONTENT LISTED ON THEIR BEER MENU.

I LEANED OVER THE EXTENSIVE CONCRETE BAR AND ORDERED A NINE PINS CIDER. IT ALWAYS FEELS LIKE THE PUSSY WAY OUT OF DRINKING 'BEER' AND I AM ENDLESSLY EMBARRASSED BY ORDERING CIDERS. HOWEVER, IN THE END YOU HAVE TO FIND A SIMPLE DRINK THAT WORKS FOR YOU.

MY PROBLEM WITH CIDER IS THAT IT TASTES LIKE JUICE. THIS IS BOTH EXTREMELY BENEFICIAL TO MY DRUNKEN STATE AND EXTREMELY INCONVENIENT TO MY WALLET. THE DEEPER I GET INTO DRINKING CIDER, THE MORE THE CIDER TASTES LIKE JUICE, THE MORE I CAN INHALE INTO MY EAGER MOUTH. EVENTUALLY, I'M NOT SURE HOW MANY I'VE ORDERED - I JUST KNOW THE BARTENDER BRINGS IT MY WAITING HAND WITHOUT DISCUSSION.

THE VENUE IS DARK AND INTIMATE. THERE ARE LEATHER COUCHES FLANKED BY WALNUT TABLES. THERE IS A SHELF FULL OF BOARD GAMES AND  A COUPLE PLAYING JENGA WITH BRICK- SIZED BLOCKS. SOME MAN IS HOLDING MINIATURE BAKED BY MELISSA CUPCAKES. THE VENUE BECOMES STRANGER AND STRANGER AS TIME PASSES. WHAT APPEARS TO BE FREE ALCOHOL ENDS UP BEING FREE CAPPUCCINOS. THERE ARE FREE SRIRACHA FLAVORED CHIPS ON THE TABLES AND I'M SCOOPING THEM INTO MY MOUTH, REALIZING THAT I NEVER ATE DINNER. I ORDER ANOTHER DRINK.

WE ARE HERE TO SEE A COOL BEACH-Y ROCK BAND PLAY LATER IN THE EVENING. THE CROWD IS FULL OF ATTRACTIVE PEOPLE AND IT IS EASY TO FEEL SELF CONSCIOUS.

MY FRIENDS AND I DISCOVER THE OUTDOOR SPACE IN THE REAR WHERE EVERYONE HUDDLES AROUND CHAIN SMOKING. MY FRIENDS AND I JOIN THE SMELLY CROWD AND DIVE INTO DEEP, DEEP INTO THE TYPE OF DRUNK CONVERSATION ONLY BEST FRIENDS FEEL COMFORTABLE HOLDING IN PUBLIC. WE ACCIDENTALLY BURN EACH OTHER WITH CIGARETTES AND DECIDE IT’S TIME TO DELVE INTO THE LIVE MUSIC. WE SQUEEZE INTO THE CROWD, ENDING UP IN THE VERY FRONT. I'M MAGNETICALLY ATTRACTED TO THE LONG HAIRED BASSIST.

SOME GIRL NEXT TO ME ASKS ME IF I'M PLAYING TONIGHT. I'M  FLATTERED BY THE IDEA THAT I'D BE COOL ENOUGH TO BE IN A BAND SO  I ORDER ANOTHER DRINK. I DECIDE I WANT SEX.

I AM SO GUILTY OF DRUNK TEXTING. I HAVE A HANDFUL OF PREVIOUS FLINGS THAT  DRUNK TEXT RELIGIOUSLY. I RECEIVE AN  IMMEDIATE RESPONSE FROM MY EX-COWORKER WHO LIVED NEXT DOOR TO ME IN WILLIAMSBURG LAST SUMMER.

HE HAS A CAR. HE SAYS HE'LL COME PICK ME UP. I'M MOVING TO THE DOOR AND SAYING GOODBYE TO MY FRIENDS FASTER THAN MY DOG WHEN SHE HEARS THE WORD 'TREAT'.

MY PHONE DIES IN MY HAND THE MOMENT HE PULLS UP IN HIS CAR. IT LOOKS LIKE A 1990 FORD COUNTRY SQUIRE STATION WAGON IN TRUCK FORM. I'M NOT SURE WHAT KIND OF CAR IT IS, BUT I'M SURE THAT I'M GOING TO THROW UP IN IT.

I SMILE AT HIM. I DON'T KNOW WHAT HE SAYING, I'M JUST SLOPPILY KISSING HIS FACE. WE MAKE IT APPROXIMATELY ONE BLOCK AWAY BEFORE HE NOTICES THAT I'M ON THE VERGE OF PASSING OUT SITTING UP. HE PULLS HIS CAR OVER, LEAVES THE KEYS IN THE IGNITION AND RUNS INTO THE BODEGA  FOR WATER. I POKE MY HEAD OUT THE WINDOW. IT'S NICE OUT - THERE IS A COOL BREEZE. I SMILE AT THE BLONDE WALKING DOWN THE SIDEWALK AND IMMEDIATELY VOMIT OUT THE WINDOW - TWICE.

I SIT UP STRAIGHT. I FEEL BETTER. I FEEL LOADS BETTER. I MIGHT ACTUALLY BE OKAY! HE COMES RUNNING BACK AND SWINGS OPEN THE CAR DOOR, HANDING ME A LITER OF WATER. I GIGGLE AT THE GIANT BOTTLE BEFORE DRINKING THE WHOLE THING.

WE MAKE IT TO MY STREET BY SOME KIND OF MAGIC. WE PULL UP OUTSIDE MY APARTMENT. HE TELLS ME HE'S GOING TO DROP ME OFF AND GO HOME SINCE I AM CLEARLY VERY INTOXICATED. DRUNK ME TURNS TO LOOK AT HIM, SILENTLY SIZING HIM UP.

"YOU DON'T WANT TO HAVE SEX?" I ASK.

"TRUST ME, I DO." HE ANSWERS, "ARE YOU OKAY THOUGH?

"YEAH I'M FINE." I SAY, AND ACTUALLY MEAN IT. I OPEN HIS CAR DOOR AND WALK ACROSS THE STREET, LITER OF WATER IN HAND. HE FOLLOWS. I MANAGE TO UNLOCK MY APARTMENT DOOR AND OFFER HIM A GLASS OF WATER AND WEED. HE DENIES BOTH, AND WE ARE KISSING AGAIN.

I FEEL INCREDIBLY SLOPPY. THE KIND OF SLOPPY THAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU LEAVE SPAGHETTI ON THE STOVE AND IT FLINGS RED SAUCE ALL OVER THE WALLS. MY BODY IS HEAVY AND I'M MAKING OUT WITH HIS BEAUTIFUL FACE. I LET MYSELF SINK INTO MY BED, NOT TAKING CHARGE AT ALL.

THE BAD THING ABOUT CASUAL SEX IS THAT I DON'T FEEL THE NEED TO PLEASE THE OTHER PERSON. WHEN I REALLY LIKE SOMEONE, I'M GREAT IN BED BECAUSE I WANT TO PLEASE THEM. WHEN I REQUEST CASUAL SEX, I'M ONLY LOOKING TO RECEIVE. I THINK HE REALIZES THIS BUT HE DOESN'T APPEAR TO CARE.

WE HAVE SEX. MY VAGINA HURTS.

SEX IS SO PARTICULAR. THERE IS GOOD SEX AND BAD SEX AND EVERYTHING IN-BETWEEN. THE HARD PART OF "GETTING GOOD AT SEX" IS BEING ABLE TO GAUGE YOUR PARTNER'S DESIRES. THE MOST FUN PART OF SEX IS FINDING WHAT MAKES THE OTHER PERSON LOSE THEIR MIND IN PLEASURE.

AS A GENERAL STATEMENT, PEOPLE DON'T PAY ENOUGH ATTENTION TO WHAT INDIVIDUAL ACTIONS MAKE THEIR PARTNERS GET OFF. WHAT IS MISUNDERSTOOD IS THAT SEX IS NOT ALL ABOUT FINISHING. I'VE HAD GREAT ORGASMS, AND ORGASMS THAT FELT SIMILAR TO THE RELIEF OF PEEING AFTER DRINKING MY ICED COFFEE. WHICH TYPE OF ORGASM WOULD YOU LIKE TO PROVIDE YOUR PARTNER?

I KNOW THAT I HAVE A CRUSH ON A MAN WHEN I TAKE THE TIME TO LEARN WHAT MAKES HIM TICK. IN SOME CASES, PEOPLE HAVEN’T EVEN DISCOVERED THINGS THAT THEY LIKE YET. THERE ARE SO MANY POSSIBILITIES AND SO MANY TIMID PEOPLE THAT IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO TRY ALL OF THE OPTIONS OUT THERE.TO GET RIGHT TO THE POINT - THE EASIEST WAY TO PLEASE SOMEONE IS TO ASK YOUR PARTNER TO VOCALIZE WHAT THEY LIKE.

ANSWERING WHAT YOU LIKE SEXUALLY CAN BE THE EASIEST THING IN THE WORLD WHEN YOU ARE COMFORTABLE WITH SOMEONE. HOWEVER, TELLING SOMEONE YOU ARE CASUALLY SLEEPING WITH HAVE YET TO OPEN UP TO MENTALLY HOW YOU PREFER FOREPLAY ISN'T EASY. PEOPLE EXIST ON MANY DIFFERENT WAVELENGTHS AND PLEASURE VARIES FOR EVERYONE.

ONE MAN THAT I WAS SEEING COULDN'T GET OFF UNLESS BLOWJOBS WERE SO EXTREMELY GENTLE I WONDERED IF IT WOULD BE BETTER FOR ME TO LITERALLY BLOW AIR FROM MY MOUTH ONTO HIS PENIS. ANOTHER GUY I WAS SEEING ACTED LIKE HE COULDN'T FEEL A DAMN THING UNLESS YOU PRACTICALLY YANKED HIS PENIS FROM HIS PELVIS. WITH ALL OF THIS CONTRADICTING INFORMATION, HOW ARE YOU TO COME UP WITH A SEXUAL 'STANDARD' TO KEEP WHEN SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE NEW? IS THE FIRST TIME A DECIDING FACTOR FOR HOW SUCCESSFUL YOUR SEX LIFE WITH A SPECIFIC PERSON WILL BE?

NEEDLESS TO SAY, THIS MAN IS TOO ROUGH WITH MY BODY. I HAD TO TELL HIM TO BE GENTLER (MORE GENTLE?) THREE TIMES. MY VAGINA WAS SWOLLEN AFTER HOOKING UP WITH HIM. THAT'S BECAUSE HE LIKES ME TO BE SUPER ROUGH WITH HIM. REFLECTING YOUR PREFERENCES ONTO SOMEONE ELSE ISN'T GOING TO MAKE THEM CUM. PAYING UNIQUE ATTENTION TO PERSONAL PREFERENCES IS THE ONLY WAY TO ACHIEVE A SUCCESSFUL END RESULT.

MY FAVORITE THING ABOUT SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE I REALLY LIKE FOR THE FIRST TIME IS EXPLORING THEIR BODY. LEARNING HOW TO KISS AND TOUCH SOMEONE THE WAY THEY ENJOY - BOTH FROM A SEXUAL STANDPOINT AND FROM A NON-SEXUAL STANDPOINT - IS CRUCIAL. FOR THE MOST PART, WE ALL LOVE TO BE KISSED ON THE LIPS AND THE NECK. BUT WHAT ABOUT THE SMALL OF YOUR BACK? OR YOUR COLLAR BONES? WHAT ABOUT APPLIED PRESSURE AROUND YOUR WRISTS? YOUR NECK?

INTIMACY DIFFERS FOR EVERYONE. THAT IS THE DEFINITION OF INTIMACY. - YOUR PERSONAL CLOSENESS WITH ANOTHER HUMAN. INTIMACY CAN BE IMMEDIATE, OR IT CAN TAKE A LONG TIME.

PERHAPS THE REASON BAD SEX EXISTS AT ALL IS BECAUSE WE DON'T SPEND ENOUGH TIME LISTENING TO EACH OTHERS BODIES AND VOCAL DESIRES.

THE CASUAL GENERATION

LATELY I'VE BEEN PRETTY PISSED. SHELBY IS, IN GENERAL, SIGNIFICANTLY WOUND UP.

I'M TWENTY-TWO YEARS OLD. I TURN TWENTY-THREE IN LESS THAN A WEEK. I AM SUCCESSFUL IN MY INDUSTRY. MY BOSS LOVES ME. SHE SENDS ME ABROAD MORE THAN ANYONE ELSE AT THE FIRM. SHE'S SENDING ME TO LAS VEGAS FOR MY TWENTY-THIRD. I MAKE ENOUGH MONEY TO SUPPORT MYSELF AND GO OUT BINGE DRINKING WITHOUT MUCH HESITATION. EIGHT DOLLAR WHISKEY GINGERS NO LONGER BURN LASTING HOLES IN MY HERMES WALLET. I MOST LIKELY SINGLE-HANDEDLY SUPPORT THE ZARA IN FLATIRON FROM MY SHOPPING ADDICTIONS. IT IS NO LONGER A FINANCIAL STRUGGLE. I HAVE GOOD GIRLFRIENDS. THEY TYPE OF GIRLFRIENDS I WOULDN'T DITCH IF A GUY WANTED ME TO. YET I FEEL UNDESIREABLE. AND SO, I'M FUCKING PISSED.

I'M FUCKING PISSED BECAUSE I AM SURROUNDED BY - FOR LACK OF A BETTER TERM - PUSSIES. I AM SURROUNDED BY PUSSIES. NOT THE VAGINA TYPE BUT INSTEAD THE HUMAN TYPE - WHICH IS INFINITELY WORSE. I'M LIVING MY LIFE ALONGSIDE COWARDS.

OVER THE YEARS I HAVE BEEN CALLED "CRAZY" AND SOMETIMES "BITCH" AND IF I'M PARTICULARLY LUCKY "CRAZY BITCH". I THINK THESE NAMES ARE MEANT TO BE DISTRACTIONS. DISTRACTIONS FROM THE FACT THAT (MOST) HUMANS ARE COWARDS.

I GET CALLED THESE VILE THINGS BECAUSE, UNLIKE MOST OF THE HUMAN RACE, I AM UNAPOLOGETICALLY HONEST AND STRAIGHT-FORWARD. I GET CALLED "HARSH" AND "RUDE" MORE OFTEN THAN I CAN COUNT. MY WORDS DO NOT COME FROM AN INTENTIONALLY CRUEL PLACE. IN FACT, MOST OF THE TIME, I'M TRYING TO BE HELPFUL. IF YOU DON'T WANT MY ADVICE OR OPINION, DON'T ASK FOR IT AND I'LL TRY NOT TO OFFER IT UNSOLICITED.

THIS DIRECTLY TRANSLATES INTO ME HAVING THE MOST COMPLICATED DATING LIFE EVER. IT MEANS I OFFEND 100% OF MY DATES, INTRIGUE 30% AND SCARE THE REST. UNTIL NOW, I HAVE FIGURED THAT PEOPLE JUST PREFER 'EASY'.

OUR GENERATION DISMISSES PEOPLE LIKE ME AS DISAGREEABLE. I GET IT. HONESTY CAN REALLY HURT. BUT HERE'S THE THING: OUTRAGEOUS PEOPLE LIKE ME CAN COMMIT TO THINGS. WE ADMIT TO THINGS THAT OTHER PEOPLE WRITE IN THEIR DIARIES OR CONSIDER 'DEEPEST DARKEST'. MY DEEPEST DARKEST SECRET CHANGES CONSTANTLY AND IS RARELY KEPT AN ACTUAL SECRET. I RARELY HIDE HOW I'M FEELING. I AM ENDLESSLY TRANSPARENT.

BEING A TRANSPARENT WOMAN IN THE THICKEST PART OF MODERN DATING IS INFURIATING. THIS IS BECAUSE EVERYTHING IS GAME TO OUR GENERATION.

BEFORE YOU DENY, DENY, DENY, THINK OF THE LAST TIME YOU ASKED THE OPPOSITE SEX (OR SAME SEX IF YOU PREFER, NO JUDGMENT) ON A DATE. AN OFFICIAL DATE. IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO - IF EVER. THAT'S BECAUSE OUR GENERATION HAS ADOPTED THE TERM 'HANG OUT'. "DO YOU WANT TO HANG OUT" COULD MEAN GET DRINKS, GET DINNER, HAVE SEX, OR GET OUR TOES PAINTED THE SAME SHADE OF BUBBLE-BATH PINK AT ROXY LONG NAIL.

HANGING OUT WAS CREATED AS A WAY TO TAKE THE EASY WAY OUT. WHEN YOU HANG OUT, THERE IS NO DEFINITION TO THE ACT REGARDLESS OF EVENTS OCCURRED. IT'S COMPLETELY NON-COMMITTAL. AFTER ALL, YOU WERE JUST HANGING OUT!  

LET'S SAY, WHILE YOU WERE HANGING OUT, YOU HAD SEX. TWO WEEKS LATER YOU STILL HAVEN'T HEARD FROM HIM. IF YOU WERE TO TEXT HIM AND CONFRONT THE SITUATION, YOU'D BE FUCKING CRAZY. DIDN'T YOU KNOW YOU GUYS WERE JUST HANGING OUT? WHY ARE YOU SO DESPERATE? NOTHING WAS OFFICIAL, THEREFORE YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO HAVE OFFICIAL FEELINGS.

WE LIVE IN A WORLD WHERE PEOPLE ARE AFRAID TO FEEL - OR ADMIT TO FEELING - ANYTHING.

WE LIVE IN A WORLD WHERE FACE-TO-FACE CONFRONTATION BARELY EVER HAPPENS. IT'S A PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE TEXT MESSAGE, A NOTE ON THE REFRIGERATOR DOOR, A POST IT ON YOUR COMPUTER SCREEN. WE DON'T EVEN MAKE PHONE CALLS TO ARGUE ANYMORE, ALL THE DIRTY WORK IS DONE THROUGH IPHONE SCREENS.

IF YOU LIKE SOMEONE, YOU RESORT TO LIKING THEIR SELFIES ON INSTAGRAM. YOU DON'T DARE TELL THEM, THAT COULD FREAK THEM OUT AND MAKE YOU SEEM CLINGY. YOU JUST TRY TO THROW SUBTLE HINTS OUT INTO THE UNIVERSE AND HOPE THEY PICK UP THE CHEERIOS IN THE FOREST.

YOU DON'T ASK THEM ON DATES. YOU DON'T DOUBLE TEXT. YOU DON'T MAKE PHONE CALLS. YOU DON'T COMMENT ON THEIR INSTAGRAMS. YOU DO NOTHING TO SEEM LIKE YOU'RE ACTUALLY INTERESTED. YOU FLOAT IN THE POND OF MEDIOCRE. EVERYTHING IS MATHEMATICALLY CALCULATED TO APPEAR THOUGHTLESS. THE IDEA OF COMMITTING TO ANYTHING, ANY FEELING, OR ANYONE MAKES OUR GENERATION PRACTICALLY SHIT THEMSELVES.

I THOUGHT MY EDUCATION WOULD BE THE MOST EXHAUSTING PART OF MY LIFE. IT TURNS OUT, DATING IS THE MOST EXHAUSTING PART OF MY LIFE. I HAVE TO PLAY THESE GAMES WITH THE MALE GENDER TO BE AVAILABLE BUT NOT TOO EAGER AND ALSO A MYSTERY - FUCK THAT. I AM WHO I AM. I'M TRANSPARENT AND ECCENTRIC AND VULNERABLE AND PASSIONATE. I SPEAK MY MIND, I GET WHAT I WANT BECAUSE I HAVE THE LADY BALLS TO ASK FOR IT. DOES THIS INTIMIDATE YOU? PLEASE FEEL FREE TO WALK TO THE CLOSEST EXIT BEHIND YOU.

I AM SO FUCKING TIRED OF GUESSING. I'M SO TIRED OF WONDERING IF MY CASUAL HOOK-UP HAS FEELINGS FOR ME. I'M TIRED OF ANALYZING TEXT MESSAGES AND SCREEN-SHOTTING MY FRIENDS CONVERSATIONS ASKING, "DOES THIS SEEM LIKE A DATE TO YOU?"

WHY DOES LIKING YOU MAKE ME CRAZY? WHY DOES WANTING TO SPEND TIME TOGETHER MAKE ME CLINGY? WHY DOES STATING MY FEELINGS FOR YOU SCARE THE SHIT OUT OF YOU? WHY IS OUR GENERATION SO SCARED OF FEELING THINGS? WHY ARE YOU ALL SO AFRAID OF FALLING IN LOVE, AND BEING PASSIONATE? WHY CAN'T WE ALL JUST STATE WHAT WE WANT, WHEN WE WANT IT? WHY IS EVERYTHING GAME OF CALCULATED MOVES? WHY DO WE MAKE EVERYTHING SO DAMN DIFFICULT? WHY DO WE LET OURSELVES SEEM HEARTLESS?

MAYONNAISE + SOUR CREAM

I STOOD AT THE FOOT OF MY BED AND FOLDED MY ARMS ACROSS MY CHEST. I WAS DEBATING WHETHER OR NOT I SHOULD TAKE THE MATTRESS HEATER OFF OF MY BED.

OFF, I DECIDED, PERHAPS HE'D BE MORE COMFORTABLE THAT WAY. I GRIPPED THE MATTRESS HEATER AND RIPPED IT OFF OF MY BED BEFORE STUFFING IT INTO MY CLOSET, THEN PULLED OUT CLEAN SHEETS.

TONIGHT WAS WHAT HAD KEPT MY MIND OCCUPIED DURING THIS TEDIOUS WEEK. TONIGHT, DANIEL WAS COMING OVER.

IT WAS GOING TO BE OUR FIRST "ADULT SLEEPOVER". DANIEL LIKED TO TAKE THINGS SLOW... SNAIL SLOW. LIKE A DRY SLUG SLIDING DOWN YOUR WINDPIPE ON A SUMMER DAY SLOW. WE HAD BEEN ON AT LEAST SIX DATES AND SO FAR I HAD ONLY RECEIVED A PECK OF A KISS GOODBYE. HE'S 27.

I MET DANIEL ONLINE. I WAS EXTREMELY BLASE ABOUT MEETING UP WITH HIM. I HONESTLY DIDN'T CARE WHETHER WE MET UP OR NOT, BUT HE CREATED A SPONTANEOUS LUNCH DATE AND WORKED A BLOCK AWAY FROM ME - SO WHY NOT.

IF THIS COUNTED AS OUR FIRST "DATE" IT WAS A BAD ONE. WE MET AT THE CORNER OF 27TH STREET AND 6TH AVENUE BEFORE WALKING TO NUM PANG - MY FAVORITE LUNCH SPOT. AS SOON AS HE SPOKE I REALIZED THIS WAS NOT WHAT I WAS LOOKING FOR.

DANIEL IS CUTE. CUTE LIKE THE NERDY BOY WHO BLUSHES WHEN YOU SMILE AT HIM. CUTE LIKE THE CARD YOUR MOM SENT YOU IN THE MAIL LAST WEEK. CUTE LIKE THE NEIGHBORS KID HOLDING THE DOOR FOR YOU. CUTE.

DANIEL IS SIX FOOT TWO - THE PERFECT MALE HEIGHT. HE HAS LIGHT BROWN HAIR, THE COLOR OF A SEPIA-TONED PICTURE. HIS TEETH ARE CROOKED AND HE HAS THE BEGINNINGS OF A MUSTACHE. HE WEARS SWEATSHIRTS UNDER MEMBERS ONLY COATS, SHOVING HIS HANDS IN HIS LIGHT-WASH JEAN POCKETS AND STARING DOWN AT HIS HYBRID NIKE/HIKING BOOT SHOES.HE'S CUTE.

I TALKED THE ENTIRE WAY TO NUM PANG. I COULDN'T TELL IF HE HATED ME, OR TRULY COULDN'T SPIT UP A COHESIVE SENTENCE. THERE WAS NO LINE AT NUM PANG, WHICH FORCED US TO ORDER QUICKLY. FOUR CASHIERS STARED IMPATIENTLY AT US AS WE AWKWARDLY DISCUSSED THE MENU:

"I ALWAYS GET THE ROASTED CHICKEN RICE BOWL WITH JASMINE RICE."

"WHAT ABOUT THE PORK?"

"I HATE PORK."

I GOT IMPATIENT AND ORDERED MY USUAL, PAYING FOR MY OWN MEAL BEFORE STANDING TO THE SIDE. HE ORDERED AND SLID NEXT TO ME, SILENT. WE STOOD - SILENT.

LUNCH WAS NOTHING SPECIAL. WE ATE AND WALKED BACK TO OUR OFFICES, HUGGING GOODBYE. I SAID I HOPED TO SEE HIM AGAIN, BUT I LEFT BARELY REMEMBERING WHAT HE LOOKED LIKE.

"HE WAS FINE, I DON'T KNOW. REALLY SHY. SUPER SOCIALLY AWKWARD." I RECOUNTED MY LUNCH DATE TO MY FRIEND THAT NIGHT.

"WAS HE NICE?"

"YEAH. BUT HE DOESN'T TALK."

"YOU SHOULD SEE HIM AGAIN. GIVE IT A CHANCE."

I SAW HIM AGAIN. HE ASKED ME TO LUNCH A FEW DAYS LATER. I ROLLED MY EYES AT THE PROSPECT OF ANOTHER LUNCH DATE BEFORE TELLING HIM I WAS 0N A DIET. GUYS HATE THAT RIGHT? YES, DANIEL, I'M ON A DIET. I'M TRYING TO LOSE THIRTY POUNDS.

HE SUGGESTS SMOOTHIES. (WHO HAS EVER DRUNKEN A SMOOTHIE AND THOUGHT "MY GOD I AM SO FULL." NO ONE, THAT'S WHO).

WE MEET ON THE PREVIOUS CORNER AGAIN, HUGGING AWKWARDLY BEFORE STROLLING IN AND OUT OF GLOBS OF SUNSHINE. HE'S SHIVERING. ITS ENDEARING.

WE ORDER SMOOTHIES. HE SEEMS HAPPIER THIS TIME, MORE SMILEY. WE SIT BY THE WINDOW, PEOPLE WATCHING. I FIND MYSELF ENJOYING HIS COMPANY - AN UNEXPECTED PLEASANTRY. WE JOKE AROUND BEFORE HEADING BACK TO OUR CHELSEA OFFICES. I SMILE WHEN WE PART WAYS, HE'S ACTUALLY SORT OF CUTE - AND THIS TIME HE PAID FOR MY "LUNCH".

"TWO SPICY LADIES FOR TWO SPICY LADIES." HE MUMBLES.

I LAUGH INVOLUNTARILY. WE ARE AT THE JUICE SHOP AGAIN, ORDERING SMOOTHIES. (I'VE LOST SEVEN POUNDS). THIS TIME I WAS EXCITED TO SEE HIM. WE BUMPED HIPS AT THE REGISTER, PLAYFULLY TOUCHING LIKE PRE-PUBESCENT TEENS. I WANT TO SEE HIM AGAIN.

WE GO TO DINNER ON A TUESDAY NIGHT. HE ASKS WHAT I WANT AND I SAY MEXICAN. WE GO TO A SMALL RESTAURANT ON FOURTEENTH STREET AND SEVENTH AVENUE, I DON'T REMEMBER THE NAME. WE SIT DOWN. ITS REALLY LOUD. I MAKE A JOKE ABOUT BEING DEAF. IT ISN'T FUNNY. HE LAUGHS POLITELY.

WE ORDER DINNER, BUT FIRST I ASK FOR A MARGARITA. OR TWO. DINNER GOES BY QUICKLY, AND I FIND MYSELF WANTING TO STAY BY HIS SIDE. I WANT TO FEEL HIS POINTER FINGER. ITS INVITING IN THE CANDLE LIGHT. I JUST WANT TO GRAB IS NOSE. I'M DRUNK. I GRABBED HIS NOSE. I'M DRUNK.

WE LEAVE THE RESTAURANT. HE PUTS HIS ARM AROUND ME. ITS HEAVY ON MY SHOULDERS. I SLING MY ARM AROUND HIS WAIST. HE LIVES IN THE NEIGHBORHOOD, ALONE.

"WANNA HANG OUT?" I ASK, WANTING TO TASTE HIS LIPS.

"MAYBE NEXT TIME." HE ANSWERS. SILENT.

I'M GRUMPY. HE NOTICES. I'M STILL GRUMPY. WHY WOULD A MAN REJECT SPENDING TIME WITH ME? ESPECIALLY AT NIGHT? HE SAYS MY NAME. I LOOK AT HIM, HE KISSES ME. I LEAN INTO HIS KISS, WRAPPING MY ARMS AROUND HIS WAIST. I FEEL SMALL. MY HEAD IS AS HIGH AS HIS CHEST. ITS NICE. I WANT TO KISS MORE, BUT HE LEAVES ME.

NOW I'M TEXTING HIM FIRST. I'M ASKING WHEN HE'S FREE. AND WE AGREE TO DINNER FRIDAY NIGHT. ITS TONIGHT.

"WHEN CAN WE KISS FOR REAL?" I ASK.

"TONIGHT, YOUR BED." HE REPLIES. I FREEZE. SUDDENLY, I FEEL LIKE I'M NOT READY FOR ANYTHING BUT TEENAGE ROMANCE.

"OKAY, BUT I DON'T WANT TO HAVE SEX." WORDS THAT I DON'T SAY OFTEN. I'M NERVOUS, AND I WANT HIM TO REALLY LIKE ME.

"THAT'S FINE, BUT I WANT TO EAT YOU OUT A LITTLE BIT. IF YOU'RE NOT COMFORTABLE, NO PRESSURE." NOT COMFORTABLE? LADY HEAD? FOR FREE?

"WE'LL SEE."

I TEXT MY ON-GOING FLING, "HI. IS SHAVING MY VAGINA COMPLETELY PRE-PUBESCENT?"

"HI SHELBS. NO. THOUGH I DID HOOK UP WITH THIS ONE CHICK WHO HAD A LANDING STRIP AND IT WAS FUCKING HOT."

"THAT'S WHAT I HAVE RIGHT NOW BUT I'M NOT SURE. I DON'T KNOW WHAT MEN LIKE."

"HAHA." DAMMIT. WHY CAN'T ANYONE ASSIST HERE? IT'S LIKE I'M LOSING MY ORAL SEX VIRGINITY FOR THE FIRST TIME.

I'M ANTSY. I CAN'T WANT TO SEE HIM. I LEAVE WORK TWENTY MINUTES EARLY AND RUSH HOME AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT. EVERYONE IS IN MY WAY. 

I JUMP INTO THE SHOWER. I SHAVE (ALMOST) EVERYTHING. I SMELL LIKE ROSE-PEDALS. I DRY OFF SO QUICKLY ITS LIKE I'VE GONE THOUGH THE CAR WASH AND USED THE GIANT BLOW DRIERS. I DO MY MAKE-UP AND HE'S TEXTING ME THAT HE'S LEAVING WORK. HE'LL BE IN BUSHWICK IN THIRTY MINUTES.

I BRUSH MY TEETH. I DEBATE LINGERIE. I HAVE ON BLACK. I TAKE THEM OFF. HE'S SO INNOCENT I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD WEAR NUDE UNDERWEAR. SEEMS A LITTLE LESS RISQUE. I GET DRESSED. I WEAR HEELS. I WEAR A FURRY BLACK COAT. I PUT ON LIPSTICK. I LOOK CUTE. I PRACTICALLY SKIP TO JEFFERSON TO MEET HIM.

THE LINE IS TOO LONG. WE GO TO GET AREPAS INSTEAD. I DON'T CARE. I JUST WANT TO BE AROUND HIM. I ASK TO HOLD HIS HAND. HE PRESSES IT TO MINE AND OUR FINGERS FUMBLE. HE GOES TO CUP AND FOLD, I GO TO INTERLACE. WE LAUGH AND I BLUSH AND WE KEEP WALKING. WE SIT. WE ORDER FOOD. SILENT.

NOW HE'S MAD. HE'S MAD BECAUSE HE WAS TELLING A REALLY BORING SCIENCE FICTION STORY. MY DAD IS SUPER INTO SCIENCE FICTION AND THAT'S CUTE, I GET IT, BUT MY EXPERIENCE STARTS AT RIDDICK AND ENDS AT THE MATRIX. HE'S STILL GOING. THE WAITER BRINGS MY ALCOHOL AND DANIEL IS STILL TALKING ABOUT THIS FUCKING ALTERNATE UNIVERSE. I START ZONING OUT LIKE WHEN MY DAD TALKS ABOUT FINANCES. I'M REALLY FUCKING TRYING TO LISTEN, BUT ITS LIKE APPLESAUCE ENTERING MY EAR DRUMS. I START LISTENING TO THE SPANISH CONVERSATIONS AROUND ME, ADMIRING THE WAITRESSES PINK HAIR,

HE'S DONE. HE'S DONE TELLING THE FUCKING STORY THANK GOD. I JUMP INTO ANOTHER CONVERSATION - ANYTHING - SO THAT WE CAN MOVE ON. I BRING UP THE WRONG TOPIC. HE CALLS MY POINT OF VIEW "SELFISH" AND I'M TAKEN ABACK. I ALMOST PHYSICALLY TIP OUT OF MY CHAIR.

SELFISH? ABOUT SOME THINGS YES, BUT I HAPPEN TO BE THE MOST LOYAL HUMAN BEING IN NEW YORK. IF I LOVE SOMEONE, THERE IS NOTHING I WOULDN'T DO FOR THEM. SELFISH? WHO THE FUCK DOES HE THINK HE IS. AND I'M MAD.

I'M FUCKING PISSED. AND 2015 SHELBY WANTS TO STUFF HIS AREPA INTO HIS MOUTH TO SHUT HIM UP. I TAKE FIVE MINUTES. I BREATHE. I LET THE FRONT DOOR OPEN TWICE BEFORE I OPEN MY MOUTH.

"HEY, THAT WASN'T COOL. YOU HURT MY FEELINGS AND I THINK THAT'S RUDE." I TRY NOT TO EXPLODE. WE MOVE ON. THE CHECK COMES AND HE PAYS. WE LEAVE THE RESTAURANT, AND I'M REFILLED WITH THE ETERNAL HAPPINESS OF HAVING A CRUSH.

"WANNA GO GET DRINKS? OR DO YOU WANNA COME OVER?" I'M ALREADY WARNING MY ROOMMATE VIA TEXT MESSAGE AS I WAIT FOR HIS RESPONSE.

"ACTUALLY, I'M GOING TO GO HOME." SILENT.

I COCK MY HEAD. I SHAKE MY HEAD, "WHAT?"

"YEAH, I'M SORRY." SILENT.

"... DID I DO SOMETHING WRONG?"

"NO, I JUST FEEL LIKE THIS ISN'T GOING TO WORK OUT."

"????" I REACT

"YEAH I JUST FEEL LIKE... YOU'RE THE ONLY GIRL I'M SEEING AND YOU'RE THE ONLY GIRL I WANTED TO SEE. I'M SUPER ATTRACTED TO YOU, BUT I WANT THE GIRL I'M SEEING TO BE INTO THE SAME THINGS AS ME. SCIENCE FICTION, BOARD GAMES, THOSE ARE REALLY IMPORTANT TO ME."

I STAND VERY STILL. IF I STAND THIS STILL, WILL I DISAPPEAR LIKE DOBBY? CAN I SNAP MY FINGERS AND EVAPORATE IN ORDER TO COME BACK AND DROP CAKE ON HIS HEAD?

"OKAY, I'LL WALK YOU TO THE TRAIN."

"YEAH?" HE ASKS, SURPRISED.

"YEAH." SILENT. WE WALK. WE PASS MARIA HERNANDEZ PARK. SILENT. I BUILD UP THE COURAGE TO ATTEMPT TO DEFEND MYSELF.

"I DON'T THINK YOU GAVE ME MUCH OF A CHANCE, BUT I RESPECT YOUR DECISION. THE TRAIN IS A BLOCK THAT WAY, I'M THIS WAY," I POINT DOWN THE STREET, "SEE YA." I SAY QUIETLY, PATTING HIS TUMMY BEFORE WANDERING AWAY.

MY THROAT IS RAW. ITS RAW LIKE WHEN YOU WAKE UP FROM A HARD-CORE NAP AND ITS LIKE YOU'VE SLEPT IN THE DESERT WITH YOUR MOUTH OPEN FOR FORTY DAYS WITH JESUS. THAT'S HOW RAW MY THROAT IS, AND NOW THERE IS A KNOT IN THERE. THERE IS A KNOT IN THERE AND ITS CAUSING SALT WATER TO WANT TO DRIP OUT OF MY EYES. SALT WATER IS DRIPPING OUT OF MY EYES AND I PLOP DOWN ON MY COUCH.

"ARE YOU FINE?" MY STONED ROOMMATE CALLS FROM THE KITCHEN.

I CRY. I STRIP OUT OF MY COAT AND MY SHOES, DROP MY PURSE AND PEEL OFF MY SOCKS. I UN-DO THE TOP BUTTON ON MY JEANS.

"HE DUMPED ME!" I CRY.

"AW, SHELBY, THAT HAPPENS WHEN A GUY JUST ISN'T THAT INTO YOU."

"I THINK HE WAS INTO ME."

"YEAH, BUT MAYBE NOT."

"YEAH, I GUESS YOUR RIGHT." I PACK A BOWL, I SMOKE THE BOWL. I PACK IT AGAIN, I SMOKE IT AGAIN. I WRITE A PARAGRAPH, AND I SNIFFLE MYSELF TO BED.

ITS WEDNESDAY. I CRAVE CHIPOTLE. I'M WAITING IN LINE IN MY FAVORITE PINK JACKET. THIS JACKET COST A LOT OF MONEY AND I ALMOST THREATENED THIS WOMAN'S LIFE ON THE TRAIN THIS MORNING WHEN SHE SPILLED A DROP OF FUCKING GREEN FUCKING JUICE ON MY COAT. ANYWAYS.

I'M AT CHIPOTLE AND IN WALKS DANIEL. IN WALKS FUCKING DANIEL. AND HE SEES ME. AND HE PRETENDS HE DOESN'T SEE ME. AND HE HEADS TO THE BACK OF THE LINE. AND HE WAITS. AND HE AVOIDS ME. AND I LEAVE. I LEAVE AND I THINK ABOUT WHAT A SHITHEAD HE IS. HE WALKED INTO CHIPOTLE AND I FROZE. I FROZE. AND THEN TURNED AROUND BECAUSE I SMELLED HIM. HE WALKED IN AND IT SMELLED LIKE DANIEL. IT SMELLED LIKE AN OLD BOOK AND A WARM SWEATER. IT SMELLED LIKE DANIEL. IT SMELLED LIKE MY GRANDPAS CHINESE CHECKERS AND THE BLUE AMERICAN SPIRITS.    

A CRACK IN THE ICE

THE FOMO HAS HIT. IT HAS CRASHED INTO YOUR HEART LIKE A TODDLER KNOCKING OVER YOUR GAME OF JENGA.

YOU'RE AT THREE DIAMOND DOOR. YOUR HANDS ARE ANTSY, SO YOU ASK THE GIRL AT THE BARSTOOL NEXT TO YOU FOR A PEN. SHE DOESN'T EVEN BOTHER TURNING AROUND TO LOOK YOU IN THE FACE. SHE KEEPS HER UGLY HUNCHED BACK TO YOU AND SPITS OUT, "NO."

YOU STUMBLE BACK SLIGHTLY IN SURPRISE. THEN ANGER BOILS UP FROM YOUR CHEST TO YOUR MOUTH AND YOU SHOUT AT HER, ASKING WHAT THE FUCK HER PROBLEM COULD POSSIBLY BE. YOU RECEIVE NO ANSWER. YOU POUT ON YOUR STOOL, CROSSING YOUR ARMS. WHAT A FUCKING BITCH.

THE STOOL YOU ARE SITTING ON IS WORN AND IT CREAKS WHEN YOU MOVE. YOU TRY TO KEEP STILL. TIME SEEMS TO HAVE SLOWED DOWN - AND YET IT'S SPED UP AT THE SAME TIME. YOU TILT YOUR HEAD FROM SIDE TO SIDE, INSPECTING THE OTHER SUNDAY DAY-DRINKERS. EVERYONE IS IN DEEP CONVERSATION WITH SOMEONE ELSE. EVEN THE BITCH NEXT TO YOU. EVERYONE HAS SOMEONE. EVERYONE BUT YOU.

YOU THANK THE BARTENDER FOR THE DRINK AND WIPE YOUR WET HANDS ON YOUR JEANS. YOU REACH OVER THE CANDLE IN FRONT OF YOU AND WAVE YOUR HAND ABOVE IT, CRAVING THE SIMPLE JOY OF SOMETHING REACTING TO YOUR PRESENCE. IT BARELY FLICKERS.

YOU SIGN THE CHECK AND LEAVE A NICE TIP. YOU NOD AT THE BOUNCER ON YOUR WAY OUT. HE WISHES YOU A GOOD EVENING BEFORE THE HEAVY METAL DOOR SHUTS BEHIND YOU.

IT'S COLD OUTSIDE BUT YOU'RE NEAR JEFFERSON SO YOU STOP AT TONY'S FOR A PACK OF CIGARETTES. HE GIVES THEM TO YOU FOR EIGHT DOLLARS AND PASSES YOU A FREE LIGHTER. FOR YOU, PRETTY BABY. YOU LOOK UP FROM YOUR PURSE. DOESN'T HE RECOGNIZE YOU? YOU WERE HERE TWO WEEKS AGO AND HE GAVE YOU A PINK LIGHTER. WHY WOULD HE THINK YOU WANTED A GREEN ONE NOW? ISN'T HE LOSING MONEY JUST PASSING OUT LIGHTERS TO WOMEN HE CAN'T REMEMBER? THE BODEGA DOWN THE STREET SELLS CIGARETTES FOR THIRTEEN DOLLARS. HOW IS HE SURVIVING? YOU WANT TO KNOW THE ANSWER TO ALL OF THESE QUESTIONS, BUT HE'S ALREADY TURNED HIS BACK. YOU KEEP MOVING, AND THE CONVERSATION STAYS ON TOP OF THE FROZEN POND - ANOTHER SURFACE LEVEL INTERACTION.

THE NEXT MORNING, YOU STOP AT DUNKIN DONUTS BEFORE WORK. THE GIRL HANDS YOU YOUR REGULAR ORDER BEFORE YOU EVEN FINISH GETTING YOUR WALLET OUT - MEDIUM ICED COFFEE, MILK AND SUGAR. SHE'S SWEETENED IT JUST RIGHT AND YOU LOVE HER FOR IT. WHAT'S HER NAME? YOU LEAVE THE COFFEE SHOP AND FUMBLE DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE SUBWAY. YOU HEAD DOWN TO THE MANHATTAN BOUND SIDE. YOU STAND NEXT TO THE SAME GUY EVERY SINGLE DAY. HE REMINDS YOU OF A BULL. HIS SHOES ARE TOO HEAVY FOR HIS FEET AND HE MAKES A LOT OF NOISE. HE DEFINITELY PICKS HIS NOSE. WHO IS HE? YOU TAKE THE LONG TRAIN INTO THE CITY, SEEING THE DOORMAN, THE FEDEX GUY, THE MAIL WOMAN, THE GUY FROM THE OFFICE AROUND THE CORNER. YOU SMILE AT THEM ALL. THE INTERACTION SKIDS THE SURFACE, BARELY PUNCTURING YOUR SOCIAL INTAKE FOR THE DAY. YOU SEE THESE PEOPLE LITERALLY EVERYDAY YET KNOW NOTHING ABOUT THEM. YOU HAVE ENDLESS OPPORTUNITIES TO SPEAK TO PEOPLE, BUT YOU DON'T. YOU'RE STUCK IN A UNIVERSE WHERE NO ONE HAS THE TIME OR INTEREST TO HAVE A DEEP CONVERSATION SO YOU KEEP MOVING FORWARD, STRIVING FOR SOMETHING MORE.

NEW YORK CITY IS ARGUABLY THE GLOBAL INFLUENTIAL CENTER OF ART, CULTURE, MEDIA, TECHNOLOGY, ENTERTAINMENT, FASHION, AND FINANCE. IT IS THE MOST POPULATED CITY IN THE UNITED STATES. THERE ARE ROUGHLY EIGHT MILLION, FOUR HUNDRED AND NINETY ONE THOUSAND, SEVENTY ONE PEOPLE IN NEW YORK CITY. "NEW YORK CITY" INCLUDES 5 BOROUGHS: THE BRONX, QUEENS, STATEN ISLAND (?), BROOKLYN, AND MANHATTAN - A TOTAL OF 304.6 SQUARE MILES. AS MANY AS EIGHT HUNDRED LANGUAGES ARE SPOKEN IN THIS CITY. AS MANY AS 56 MILLION TOURISTS WANDER THE STINKY STREETS EACH YEAR. NEW YORK CITY'S 5 BOROUGHS COME FACE TO FACE WHERE THE ATLANTIC OCEAN MEETS THE HUDSON RIVER WITH STATEN ISLAND BEING THE (ROTTEN) "CORE" OF THE "BIG APPLE".

YET - EVEN WITH ALL THESE PEOPLE AND JOB OPPORTUNITIES AND MONEY - IT IS ONE OF THE LONELIEST PLACES IN THE WORLD.

PUTTING YOURSELF OUT THERE AND LETTING OTHER HUMANS REJECT YOU IS TERRIFYING - TO PUT IT LIGHTLY. NOTHING HURTS MORE THAN BEING COMPLETELY YOURSELF AND HAVING SOMEONE ELSE SAY "NOPE, JUST NOT INTERESTED."

THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT HAS CAUSED MY DISTINCT PROBLEM OF OVER-SHARING. I OVER-SHARE IN ORDER TO FIND PEOPLE WHO WILL ACCEPT ME UNCONDITIONALLY. IF YOU CAN ACCEPT AND ENJOY ME WHEN I AM "TOO MUCH" THEN YOU CAN DEFINITELY APPRECIATE ME WHEN I'M JUST CHILLING.

SO FAR, THIS HAS WORKED QUITE GOOD. I CAN'T POSSIBLY IMAGINE BETTER FRIENDS THAN THE ONES I HAVE ACCUMULATED. SOMETIMES THEIR JAWS STILL DROP IN SHOCK AT THE STORIES THAT COME OUT OF MY MOUTH, BUT THEY USUALLY ASK FOR MORE DETAILS. I'M VERY THANKFUL FOR MY FRIENDS. THEY KEEP ME SANE. THEY KEEP ME INSANE. THE ONLY PROBLEM IS THAT I FEEL LIKE I AM MISSING OUT.

HOW DO I BALANCE MY HAPPINESS IN BEING ALONE WITH THE CRAVING I HAVE TO MEET SOMEONE NEW? HOW DO I ALLOW MYSELF TO OPEN UP ENOUGH TO SHOW MY TRUE SELF? IS IT POSSIBLE THAT I AM TOO CONTENT AND TOO HAPPY WITH MYSELF TO FIND SOMEONE ELSE WHO CHERISHES ME JUST AS MUCH? 

THE DRESSER THEORY

I HAVE A THEORY.

I HAVE A THEORY THAT HUMANS ARE LIKE DRESSERS.

IF YOU LOOK AT A PERSON HARD ENOUGH, THEY LOOK LIKE CERTAIN PARTS OF HISTORY, WHICH DIRECTLY RELATES TO MY LOVE OF FURNITURE DESIGN.

FOR EXAMPLE, MY DAD WOULD BE A REALLY RUSTIC DRESSER WITH DARK-STAINED WALNUT. HIS DRESSER WOULD HAVE ROUGH SANDING MARKS ACROSS THE TOP, LIKE AN UNFINISHED PROJECT. IT WOULD HAVE MULTI-COLORED PAINT DRIPS ON IT. IT WOULD BE SITTING ON A TARP SOMEWHERE IN A SUBURBAN GARAGE, WAITING TO BE RE-SANDED AND RE-PAINTED.

MY MOTHER WOULD BE ONE OF THOSE SOLID MAHOGANY DRESSERS FROM THE 1940'S WITH GOLD PULLS. THEY WEIGH APPROXIMATELY 500 POUNDS EMPTY.

I'D BE A WALNUT DRESSER LIKE MY FATHER. EXCEPT MY DRESSER WOULD BE LOW - MID-CENTURY MODERN. IT'D HAVE CARVED PULLS AND NO LOGICAL STORAGE.

TO EVERYONE I DON'T LIKE: YOU'RE FROM IKEA. YOU ALL LOOK THE DAMN SAME AND DON'T FUNCTION THE WAY YOU SHOULD. YOUR DRAWER PULLS ARE ALL KINDS OF FUCKED UP AND MY T SHIRTS GET STUCK BETWEEN THE DRAWERS. THE VENEER IS PEELING OFF AND I'VE ALREADY SCRATCHED THE TOP WITH MY KEY BY ACCIDENT. IN SHORT, YOU'RE CHEAPLY MADE. SORRY.

MALE DRESSERS AND FEMALE DRESSERS FUNCTION MUCH DIFFERENTLY.

LET'S SAY THAT EACH DRAWER REPRESENTS AN ASPECT OF LIFE. AS HUMANS WE HAVE FOUR DRAWERS: A CAREER DRAWER, A FRIENDSHIP DRAWER, AND RELATIONSHIP DRAWER, AND A FAMILY DRAWER.

US WOMEN LIKE TO PULL OUT A FEW DRAWERS AT A TIME. IN FACT, WE LEAVE THEM SAGGING OPEN WITH RED PANTIES HANGING OUT ALL SIDES. EVENTUALLY, WE DROP OTHER THINGS INTO THE DRAWERS. OTHER THINGS THAT DON'T BELONG THERE. OTHER THINGS LIKE LIGHTERS, RECEIPTS, BOWLS, UNUSED TAMPONS, LIPSTICK - ANYTHING THAT CLUTTERS COUNTERTOPS END UP MIXED BETWEEN ZARA AND URBAN OUTFITTERS. I HAVE LIPSTICK STAINS TO PROVE IT.

WOMEN ARE COMPLEX CREATURES. WE CAN PULL OUT THE FAMILY DRAWER, THE CAREER DRAWER, AND THE RELATIONSHIP AT THE SAME TIME. WE CAN JUGGLE THE DRAMA OF MULTIPLE DIFFERENT FACETS: CALLING MOM, EMAILING OUR BOSS, AND FIGHTING WITH OUR BOYFRIEND OVER WHAT'S FOR DINNER AT THE SAME TIME. I'D SAY, ON AVERAGE, ALL WOMEN LEAVE AT LEAST THREE DRAWERS OF LIFE PULLED OUT AT A TIME.

MEN, ON THE OTHER HAND, DON'T LEAVE DRAWERS OPEN. THEY CLOSE THEM. SOMETIMES THEY CLOSE THEM FORCEFULLY. THEY SHOVE THE DRAWERS CLOSED UNTIL ALL OF THEIR T SHIRTS ARE WRINKLED UP AND POKING OUT OF THE TOP.

MEN ONLY PULL OUT ONE DRAWER AT A TIME. THEY PULL OUT THE CAREER DRAWER AND ONLY FOCUS ON THAT ONE ASPECT OF LIFE. IT'S VIRTUALLY IMPOSSIBLE FOR THEM TO ALSO OPEN THE RELATIONSHIP DRAWER. EVER HEARD "I JUST REALLY NEED TO FOCUS ON MY JOB." OR "MAYBE ONCE I GET SETTLED AT WORK" OR "I'M JUST NOT AT A POINT IN MY LIFE WHERE I CAN MAKE YOU A PRIORITY". THIS IS BECAUSE THEIR DRAWER IS OPEN. THEN, THEY CAN COME HOME FROM WORK AND CLOSE THE CAREER DRAWER. SUDDENLY, THEY OPEN THE RELATIONSHIP DRAWER. NOTHING FROM THE CAREER DRAWER HAS SPILLED INTO THE RELATIONSHIP DRAWER. HE PROBABLY WON'T EVEN DISCUSS WORK. THE DRAWER WAS CLOSED. HE'S NOT STRESSED ABOUT WORK AND CAN DEVOTE 100% OF HIS ATTENTION TO HIS RIGHT HAND WRAPPED AROUND - WELL.

HE DECIDES TO GO HOME FOR THE WEEKEND. HE'S CLOSED THE OTHER DRAWERS AND SLIDES OUT THE FAMILY ONE. HE PLAYS CARDS WITH GRANDMA, TAKES SELFIES WITH HIS SISTERS, AND LOOK - YOUR TEXTS ARE IGNORED.

HE SAYS HE'S GOING OUT WITH "THE BOYS" - WHOEVER THOSE PEOPLE ARE - AND YOU MAY AS WELL JUST BOIL INTO STEAM BECAUSE FORGETTTTTT ABOUT RECEIVING ANY ATTENTION. HE'S GOT THE FRIENDSHIP DRAWER OPEN. HALF OF IT IS FILLED WITH A THICK YELLOW MANUAL THAT RESEMBLED A TELEPHONE BOOK CALLED "HOW TO BE A CONDESCENDING DICK IN ORDER TO LOOK NON-COMMITTED IN FRONT OF YOUR CHODE FRIENDS". I HAVEN'T PERSONALLY READ THE BOOK BUT I'VE SEEN IT, IT EXISTS.

I ASPIRE TO BE MORE LIKE A MAN DRESSER. IT'D BE SO GREAT TO OPEN ONE DRAWER AT A TIME. FOCUS AT WORK ONE HUNDRED PERCENT WITHOUT BEING DISTRACTED BY THE LOOMING CLOUD THAT IS THE DATE I HAVE TONIGHT. I'D LOVE TO GO HOME, CLOSE THE DRAWER, AND THEN OPEN THE DATE DRAWER. I SO DESPERATELY WISH I COULD FOCUS ON THIS CUTE BOY ACROSS FROM ME. HE HAS NICE HANDS. THEY'RE KIND OF ROUGH. ROUGH HANDS... SHIT. DID I SIGN THE SHOP DRAWINGS FROM THE CONTRACTOR? FUCK. OH HI RIGHT YEAH I'LL HAVE WINE. WINE... AH I DIDN'T RSVP TO MY FRIENDS WINE TASTING PARTY. DAMMIT.

OUR MINDS ARE CONSTANTLY WANDERING. IT'S VERY, VERY HARD FOR A WOMAN TO CLOSE ALL OF HER DRAWERS AND SOLELY ORGANIZE ONE DRAWER. ONCE A WOMAN STARTS ORGANIZING SUDDENLY THERE IS A GIANT TRASH BAG OF OLD T-SHIRTS GOING TO THE RESCUE MISSION. THREE MONTHS LATER WE ARE PISSED WE CAN'T FIND THAT BLACK KNIT SWEATER WITH THE ZIPPER. CHANCES ARE HE DOESN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT SWEATER YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT BECAUSE HE DOESN'T HAVE A PERSONAL FASHION DRAWER.

IF A DRESSER IS A REPRESENTATION OF A PERSON'S LIFESTYLE AND PERSONALITY, IT'S OBVIOUS TO SEE THAT SEXES HANDLE THINGS MUCH DIFFERENTLY. JUST LIKE A DRESSER ISN'T BROKEN IF ITS HARDWARE IS BROKEN - HUMANS AREN'T BROKEN BECAUSE OF THEIR FLAWS. LATELY, I'VE BEEN FEELING THAT I AM 'TOO MUCH'. THAT THERE ARE TOO MANY QUIRKY THINGS ABOUT ME TO BE ABLE TO FIND SOMEONE WHO LOVES ME ENTIRELY. THE ONLY THING I CAN SAY IS, TRY TO BE KIND. TRY TO LOVE PEOPLE EVEN IF THEIR DRAWERS ARE OVERFLOWING.

HIGH SCORE, SCORE HIGH

THE AMOUNT OF CASUAL SEX BEING ENGAGED IN HAS SKYROCKETED SINCE THE INVENTION OF TINDER. THE ABILITY TO MAKE BAD DECISIONS IS AT YOUR FINGER-TIPS. PEOPLE WHO IDENTIFY WITH HAVING A SEX ADDICTION HAS INCREASED BY 50% IN THE LAST TWO YEARS. THE NUMBER OF STD'S REPORTED IN AMERICA HAS RISEN 15% THIS PAST YEAR ALONE. WHEN YOU FEEL THE NEED FOR ATTENTION AND MILD HUMAN INTERACTION, ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS UNLOCK YOUR PHONE. (GROSS I'M SUCH A MILLENNIAL).

MY CONCLUSION TO THE AFOREMENTIONED FACTS IS THAT IT SEEMS  THAT MEN WANT TO PUT THEIR DICK IN ANYTHING - REGARDLESS OF THINGS LIKE:

BRAINS

STDS

MUTUAL ATTRACTION

GOOD CONVERSATION

INTELLECT

HUMOR

ETC.

I THINK I SPEAK FOR MOST OF THE FEMALE POPULATION WHEN I SAY THAT I HAVE NOT ONCE OPENED THE TINDER APP IN HOPES OF GETTING EASY SEX. I GENUINELY WANT TINDER TO PRESENT ME WITH ANOTHER INTROVERTED HOME-BODY SUCH AS MYSELF. I FIGURE I WON'T MEET ONE WHEN I GO OUT, BECAUSE WE BOTH WISH WE WERE AT HOME.

REGARDLESS OF MY INTENTIONS WITH TINDER, I HAVE ENDED UP HAVING SEX WITH A HANDFUL OF MATCHES.

I ONLY SWIPE WHEN I AM STONED. I USUALLY HAVE A BOWL OF FOOD BALANCED BETWEEN MY BOOBS. I'M ALSO ALWAYS WATCHING BAD REALITY TV. I BECOME SO ENGROSSED IN THE TV SHOW THAT I JUST START SWIPING ALL PEOPLE IN ONE DIRECTION WITHOUT NOTICING. IN JUXTAPOSITION, I FEEL LIKE MEN ONLY USE TINDER WHILE THEY ARE POOPING. 

AH MY FIRST TINDER ONE NIGHTER: I'LL CALL HIM JAK. MY FRIENDS AND I CALL HIM SAGGY BALL GUY. SBG IS A CREATIVE. HE'S A YOUNG, POOR, IMMATURE, AND EXTREME IN MINDSET - A DRAMA QUEEN. SBG ISN'T THE CUTEST HUMAN. HE HAS A BABY FACE AND WHEN HE GROWS OUT HIS ATTEMPT AT A BEARD IT RESEMBLES STRINGY PUBES :( . HE WEARS LOTS OF BEANIES - I THINK IT'S BECAUSE HE'S NERVOUS ABOUT HIS RECEDING HAIRLINE. POOR THING.

SBG IS TALENTED. EXTREMELY TALENTED. HE'S SMART AND INTELLECTUALLY DISTURBED - DARK - AND HAS A PRECISE VISION. HE ALSO HAS AN IRRESISTIBLE DOG - WHICH IS WHAT GOT ME BACK TO HIS APARTMENT.

THE SEX WAS FINE - A VANILLA CAKE SMUDGE ON A HANDWRITTEN ESSAY. HE PERFORMED LIKE MOST 24-YEAR-OLDS. HE DIDN'T GO DOWN ON ME FOR LONG ENOUGH SO I "ACCIDENTALLY" KNEED HIM IN THE BALLS WHILE SWITCHING POSITIONS. OOPS. ONCE RECOVERED, WE TRIED DOGGY.

THIS IS A TMI WARNING:
THE FOLLOWING CONTENT MAY BE TOO MUCH INFORMATION FOR THE EASILY DISTURBED:

SBG'S SAGGY BALLS SWUNG IN THE BREEZE. HAVE YOU EVER WORN A LONG FLOWY SHIRT AND HAVE IT GET WEDGED BETWEEN YOUR LEGS? SBG'S BALLS SWUNG BETWEEN MY LEGS LIKE THE ABANDONED END OF A JUMP ROPE. I COULD ALMOST HEAR THE WHIP THOUGH THE AIR, FOLLOWED BY AN UNPLEASANT BALL TAP TO THE FRONT OF MY VAGINA.

NO CUTE DOG IS WORTH THAT.

TINDER BOY NUMBER TWO I WANTED TO CUFF AND KEEP IN MY POCKET FOR ALL ETERNITY. HE'S STILL THE CUTEST, MOST PRECIOUS PIECE OF STRAWBERRY PIE I'VE LAID MY GREEDY EYES ON. WE MADE OUT IN MY FLORAL COVERED COLLEGE DORM BED IN MANHATTAN. HE KISSED WITH HIS MOUTH CLOSED, QUICK TIGHT KISSES THAT MADE ME THINK ABOUT PORN STARS BUTTHOLES. HE HALF-CAME IN HIS BLUE BOXERS. WE NEVER KISSED AGAIN. I USED TO THINK THE PROBLEM WAS ME, BUT I'VE REALIZED IF A TWENTY-TWO YEAR OLD IS STILL MAKING A MESS IN HIS PANTS I SHOULD LET HIM GO. 

TINDER BOY NUMBER THREE CHANGED THE WAY I HAVE SEX. THE FIRST TIME I MET HIM, DISAPPOINTMENT COVERED MY FACE. BY THE END OF THE NIGHT HE DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TO ASK ME TO GO HOME WITH HIM. SOME OF MY FAVORITE MEMORIES INVOLVE HIS CRAMPED L.E.S. APARTMENT. HE WAS TWENTY-EIGHT AND WOULD WIPE OFF MY DARK LIPSTICK WITH HIM THUMB, TELLING ME HE PREFERRED MY BARE LIPS. HE DIDN'T ORDER ME AROUND IN BED OR REQUEST BLOWJOBS. HE TOOK COMPLETE CONTROL, MOVING ME EXACTLY WHERE HE WANTED ME, COMPLIMENTING MY ENTIRE BODY BEFORE MAKING ME FORGET MY OWN NAME. EVENTUALLY, I BECAME FOR TOO MUCH FOR HIM. TOO MUCH FOR HIM IN THE WAY ADVENTUROUS WOMEN BECOME TOO MUCH FOR SYRACUSE. ASKING HIM FOR SEX ON HIS ROOFTOP MADE HIM HESITANT. THE FACT THAT I DIDN'T HAVE CURTAINS ON MY BROOKLYN THIRD-FLOOR BEDROOM WINDOWS MADE HIM FREEZE MID-BELT UNBUCKLING. I THOUGHT WE MATCHED IN PASSION AND IN CRAZY BUT IT TURNED OUT I WAS WRONG - HE EXPRESSED DESIRE FOR CRAZY BUT ACTUALLY WANTED GIRL-NEXT-DOOR, NEVER DYED THEIR HAIR, SOCCER MOM, TAKE ME HOME TO YOUR MOTHER IN THE SUBURBS TYPE GIRL. WHICH IS FINE, BUT ABSOLUTELY NOT ME. 

I SHOULD'VE KNOWN, HE ONLY CAME WHEN I CALLED HIM DADDY.

TINDER BOY NUMBER FOUR WAS FROM MY HOMETOWN. I KNEW HE EXISTED FROM SQUEEZING BY HIM AT PARTIES, BUT I NEVER REALLY CARED ABOUT GETTING TO KNOW HIM.  

HE TOOK ME TO GET WINE. I DRAGGED HIM TO PLAY CHINESE CHECKERS AT BOOBIE TRAP. I STOLE A LIGHTER THAT SAID FUCK YOU AND WE SMOKED MY BOWL ON THE WAY BACK TO MY APARTMENT. WE GOT IN A KARATE FIGHT IN MY KITCHEN AND I OFFERED HIM DRY SPAGHETTI.  

THE SEX WAS GREAT. I HONESTLY DON'T REMEMBER MOST OF IT, THOUGH I DO REMEMBER HIM ASKING TO GO DOWN ON ME AND ONLY ACTUALLY PARTAKING IN THE ACT FOR A MINUTE. I REMEMBER THINKING ABOUT WHAT LEVEL I WAS ON IN SUPER MARIO. THERE WAS THAT FIREBALL SPITTING TURTLE AND ME, RUNNING AROUND A GRAVITY-LESS SEE-THROUGH PLANET. IT TOOK ME A COUPLE MINUTES TO GET BACK IN THE SEX ZONE. HE HAD EARS LIKE AN ELF AND K-9S LIKE THIRTEEN YEAR OLD ME. THERE'S JUST SOMETHING ABOUT CUSE BOYS AND A 315 AREA CODE COMING UP IN MY TEXTS THAT REALLY GETS ME FEELING MUSHY ON THE INSIDE. 

 THIS BEING SAID, DON'T ENTER INTO A TINDER FLING WITHOUT REALIZING THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS GOOD MORNING, ONLY GOODNIGHT.  

PLEATHER

I FELL IN LOVE ON THE TRAIN. THE L TRAIN TO BROOKLYN, TO BE SPECIFIC, AT FIRST AVENUE AND FOURTEENTH STREET. 

I WAS BEING JUDGMENTAL, SCANNING THE CROWD AND PICKING OUT PLEATHER VERSUS LEATHER JACKETS. WHO WEARS BROWN LEATHER? AND THEN I SAW IT - A NAVY BLUE LEATHER JACKET WITH PERFORATED SHOULDERS AND LINEAR CHANNELED ELBOW PADS. I WAS INTRIGUED AND CONTINUED MY INVESTIGATION. 

A KNIT GREY AND WHITE BEANIE FROM ONLY NY - WORN AND WELL LOVED. LONG BROWN SLIGHTLY GREASY SHOULDER LENGTH HAIR. ROUND GLASSES FOGGED FROM THE COLD. LIGHT STUBBLE ON HIS CHEEKS AND CHIN. THIN LIPS, STRAIGHT TEETH, AN INFECTIOUS SMILE. 

MY HEART DROPPED. 

A HAND REACHED OUT FROM BEHIND ANOTHER PASSENGER. A GIRLS HAND, PERFECTLY MANICURED RED FINGERNAILS AND STACKED SILVER RINGS. SHE PLACED HER HAND DAINTILY ON HIS CHEST, FIDDLING WITH THE BUTTONS ON HIS JACKET. 

HOW OFTEN DO TWO SOULS CONNECT? HOW OFTEN IS THE ATTRACTION MUTUAL? 

I'VE KISSED ONLY ONE BOY WHO I WAS CONSIDERABLY ATTRACTED TO. HE ENDED UP BEING BORING AND LAZY, ARTISTICALLY CONCEITED AND WORE WRINKLY GAP BOXERS. I CAN OVERLOOK THE BOXERS, AN EASY FIX REALLY, BUT WHEN HE CAME IN HIS OWN PANTS WHEN WE WERE HOOKING UP, I KNEW HE WAS TOO PREMATURE FOR MY CURRENT STATE OF MIND.

I WONDER WHY MEN I'M ATTRACTED TO AREN'T ATTRACTED TO ME IN RETURN. I'M NOT SURE IF I'M ON THE BOARDER OF PRETTY AND UNUSUAL, OR JUST PRETTY UNUSUAL. 

MY DAD TELLS ME I'M THE MOST BEAUTIFUL GIRL IN THE UNIVERSE. HE SAYS I CAN HAVE ANY BOY MY HEART DESIRES. I HUMOR HIM BUT I DON'T ACTUALLY BELIEVE HIM. 

I WOULDN'T CALL MYSELF INSECURE. I AM VERY SECURE IN MYSELF, MY PERSONALITY, MY PROS AND CONS. I KNOW WHAT ABOUT ME IS HARD TO LOVE AND WHAT IS EASY TO LOVE. I DON'T FEEL UNEASY ABOUT MY RELATIONSHIP WITH MYSELF. I AM NOT NERVOUS ABOUT WHAT PEOPLE THINK OF MY PERSONALITY. THE LAST WORD I WOULD USE TO DESCRIBE MYSELF IS VULNERABLE. WHAT I AM INSECURE ABOUT IS PATHETIC REALLY. I'M INSECURE ABOUT MY PHYSICAL SELF, MY SOULS MAZDA MIATA. IT'S GOT A FLAT TIRE. AND SOME KEY MARKS ALONG THE DOORS.

REGARDLESS OF GENDER OR IDENTITY, WE ALL UNDERSTAND HOW HARD IT IS TO BE A GIRL. I'M NOT GOING TO GET INTO HOW SOCIETY EXPECTS WOMEN TO LOOK AND BEHAVE. WE ARE DROWNED IN THIS CONVERSATION. WHAT I AM GOING TO GET INTO IS ITS ETERNAL EFFECT ON MY SPONTANEITY, MY COURAGE, MY SELF CONFIDENCE, AND MOST IMPORTANTLY, MY RELATIONSHIPS. 

THE AMOUNT OF TIMES DIFFERENT PARTICIPANTS OF THE MALE GENDER HAVE CALLED ME A BITCH IS DEFLATING. I UNDERSTAND SOME HUMANS DON'T HAVE VAST VOCABULARIES - 'BITCH' SEEMS TO DESCRIBE MY BEHAVIOR BEST WHEN MEN ARE PERPLEXED AND AT A LOSS FOR OTHER ADJECTIVES.  

WHAT DESPERATELY NEEDS CLARITY HERE IS THAT BEING RUDE IS A SHIELD. AN EFFECTIVE SHIELD WITH RAZOR SHARP EDGES. SOMETIMES I'M CAPABLE OF BEING MEAN. HOWEVER, NINE TIMES OUT OF TEN I DON'T REALIZE PEOPLE MAY SEE MY BEHAVIOR AS CRUEL. MY INTENTIONS ARE SIMPLE - I'M AIMING TO TAKE TENDER CARE OF MY WILTING FLOWER OF A SOUL. NOTHING MAKES ME MORE ANGRY THAN BEING CALLED A BITCH WHEN I AM ATTEMPTING TO TAKE CARE OF MYSELF. I AM MY NUMBER ONE PRIORITY.

SOMETIMES I SIT ON MY BED AND WRAP MYSELF IN A CAVE OF PINK BELGIAN LINEN. I HAVE TO REMIND MYSELF IN TIMES OF DESPAIR THAT I AM SO SO BRAVE. I REGARD MYSELF AS A HUMAN OUTSIDE OF MYSELF AND ANALYZE MY LIFE AS AN OUTSIDER. I'M REALLY PROUD OF MYSELF. I'M REALLY STRONG AND BRAVE AND DEFINITELY A BAD ASS LADY. I'M PROUD OF MYSELF FOR BEING OPTIMISTIC IN A WORLD OF TERRIBLE TRAGEDY AND PESSIMISM. I'M BRAVE FOR EXPOSING MYSELF TO THE POSSIBILITY OF LOVE AND EXTREME PAIN AFTER BEING HURT AND STOMPED ON REPEATEDLY. I'M A BAD ASS LADY FOR STICKING TO MY GUNS AND ALWAYS SAYING HOW I FEEL, NO MATTER THE IMPACT ON MY RELATIONSHIPS. I'M A BAD ASS LADY FOR BEING SEX POSITIVE AND A DEVELOPING AN IRON STRONG BOND WITH MY GENDER AND FEMINISM. I'M IN ENDLESS AWE OF MY ABILITY TO BE REALISTIC AND STILL FLY ABOVE THE GROUND WITH DREAMS. ME, I AM PRETTY DAMN IMPRESSIVE. 

SO WHY AM I SO UNSURE IF I DESERVE THE LOVE I CRAVE? 

IT IS SO IMPORTANT TO RAISE YOURSELF UP. IF YOU DON'T, WHO ELSE WILL? IT'S IMPORTANT TO BE YOUR OWN CLOSEST FRIEND. IF YOU CANNOT CONFIDE IN YOURSELF, WHO CAN YOU CONFIDE IN? IT'S IMPORTANT TO ENJOY YOUR OWN COMPANY, MASTER THE ART OF OBSERVATION, FIND YOUR TRIBE, AND BE INTENSE ABOUT YOUR LIFE AND THE TREATMENT YOU DESERVE.

PEOPLE MAY CALL YOU CRAZY. THERE WILL BE DAYS WHEN YOU FEEL LIKE NO ONE IN ALL OF CREATION CAN POSSIBLY BE ABLE TO KEEP UP WITH YOU. MAYBE THERE ISN'T. MAYBE YOU HAVE ALREADY FOUND YOUR SOUL MATE - YOURSELF - AND I HOPE TO GOD THAT YOU'RE ENOUGH FOR YOU.

I DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THINGS WITH SOULS UNEQUAL TO MINE. I DON'T HAVE TO MAKE TIME, EITHER.

TO COEXIST WITH MEDIOCRITY IS A WASTE.

QUARTER-LIFE CRISIS

YOU WAKE UP. THE DULL LIGHT COMING FROM YOUR WINDOW BLINDS YOU LIKE AN ONCOMING TRAIN. YOU'RE HUNGOVER. YOU REST YOUR HAND ON YOUR TUMMY. IT'S NOT HAPPY WITH YOU. ITS GURGLING AND FLIPPING UPSIDE DOWN. YOU SMACK YOUR LIPS TOGETHER. WATER.

YOU STEP ONTO THE HARDWOOD FLOOR AND STAGGER TO THE KITCHEN. YOU GUIDE YOURSELF ALONG THE HALLWAY WITH YOUR LEFT HAND GRIPPING THE WALL AS YOU GO. YOU RIP OPEN THE REFRIGERATOR DOOR AND SCRAMBLE FOR THE WATER PITCHER AS BILE MAKES ITS WAY UP YOUR THROAT.

YOUR HAND WRAPS AROUND THE COLD PITCHER. YOU DROP YOUR HEAD BACK AND DRAIN THE PITCHERS CONTENTS INTO YOUR DRY, DRY MOUTH.

VODKA HITS THE BACK OF YOUR THROAT. THIS IS NOT A WATER PITCHER. YOU PROJECTILE VOMIT ACROSS YOUR WHITE REFRIGERATOR.

THIS IS HOW IT FEELS TO BE AN ADULT.

THE QUARTER LIFE CRISIS. ITS REAL.

YOU WENT TO COLLEGE.

YOU SPENT ENDLESS HOURS IN THE LIBRARY, THE COMPUTER LAB, AND CLASSROOMS. YOU DRANK AWAY YOUR PAIN, SMOKED AWAY YOUR WORRIES. YOUR PARENTS PAID FOR YOUR DINNERS, YOUR LAUNDRY, AND YOUR HOUSING. YOU CHOSE YOUR FRIENDS WISELY. YOU ALL LIVED IN THE SAME BUILDING - JUST TWO FLOORS AWAY FOR MORAL SUPPORT.

YOU HAD A SCHEDULE. YOU WENT TO CLASS, YOU SNORED THROUGH LECTURES, YOU WENT TO BARS AT NIGHT. YOU WORE YOUR ROOMMATES PANTS WHEN YOU WERE OUT OF LAUNDRY. YOUR UNDERWEAR WAS COMFORTABLE BALLED UP IN THE CORNER OF YOUR DORM ROOM. YOUR DISHES WERE STACKED IN YOUR STAINLESS-STEEL SINK. YOUR BED WAS ALWAYS UN-MADE AND WELCOMING.

THEN YOU GRADUATED.

YOU DID THE CEREMONY. YOU SAID STRANGE GOODBYES. YOU WERE EXCITED TO BECOME A PART OF THE ADULT WORLD. WHAT A GREAT ADVENTURE!

AS IT TURNS OUT, THE ADULT WORLD IS A PIECE OF SHIT. IT IS PEE COVERED SNOW IN APRIL. IT IS MOLDY CHINESE FOOD FOR LUNCH. IT IS AN EIGHTY DOLLAR UBER FARE OVER THE BRIDGE HOME.

YOU HAVE TO PAY RENT. ITS OVER A THOUSAND DOLLARS A MONTH. NOT INCLUDING UTILITIES. YOUR BANK ACCOUNT IS DWINDLING BY THE SECOND. YOU EAT MORE RAMEN AS AN ADULT THAN YOU EVER DID IN COLLEGE. YOUR SEX LIFE IS NON-EXISTENT. YOU CAN'T AFFORD WEED. YOU CAN'T AFFORD WINE. YOU AREN'T THE HOTTEST NEW HIRE IN THE OFFICE. YOUR JOB IS NOT WHAT YOU THOUGHT IT'D BE. YOU'RE A GLORIFIED SLAVE. YOU WORK CONSTANTLY - SOMETIMES ALL NIGHT - FOR VERY LITTLE PAY. YOU SLEEP, WORK, EAT, SLEEP, WORK, REPEAT.

YOU'RE SINGLE. YOU'RE NOT MINGLING. YOUR FRIENDS ARE DOING ONLY SLIGHTLY BETTER THAN YOU. YOU'RE GAINING WEIGHT. YOUR CREATIVE PULSES ARE SIMMERING. YOU OWE EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING MONEY. YOU WANT TO GIVE THE HOMELESS MAN ON THE CORNER A DOLLAR - BUT YOU LITERALLY CANNOT AFFORD TO.

THIS IS NOT WHAT YOU ENVISIONED. YOU SAW WORK EVENTS, CUTE I.T. GUYS, HAPPY HOUR AFTER WORK. YOU SAW A NEW RELATIONSHIP, A NEW APARTMENT, A NEW START. INSTEAD YOU ARE SITTING ON THE TOILET AT WORK FOR A FEW EXTRA MINUTES OF PEACE.

YOU HAVE SETTLED ON YOUR LIFE'S PATH. YOU'VE CHOSEN A CAREER, A CITY, AND A LIFESTYLE. YOU ARE NOW - OFFICIALLY - AN ADULT.

THE QUARTER LIFE CRISIS LASTS - ON AVERAGE - TWO YEARS. IT SNEAKS UP ON YOU IN PHASES. THE FIRST PHASE, IN MY EXPERIENCE, IS CLAUSTROPHOBIA. YOU'RE LOCKED INTO A JOB YOU DON'T LOVE WITH PEOPLE WHO LIKE TO ABUSE THEIR POWER OVER YOU. PERHAPS YOU'RE STUCK IN A RELATIONSHIP THAT IS DEEMED FOR HELL. NONE-THE-LESS, YOU'RE TRAPPED BETWEEN A ROCK AND A HARD PLACE.

THEN, PHASE TWO COMES AROUND TO BITE YOUR ASS. YOU START TO FEEL ELATED, LIKE CHANGE IS POSSIBLE!! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING AROUND FOR?! YOU'RE SO YOUNG! SEIZE THE MOMENT! THIS IS WHEN YOU CONSIDER PACKING YOUR BELONGINGS INTO CARDBOARD BOXES. YOU FANTASIZE ABOUT BREAKING UP WITH YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER. YOU START GOOGLING THE BEST CITIES TO LIVE IN AS A TWENTY YEAR OLD. YOU CONSIDER STARTING YOUR OWN BUSINESS. YOU SUDDENLY FEEL THAT ALL OF YOUR PRIOR COMMITMENTS ARE BULLSHIT. THIS IS ALSO REFERRED TO AS THE "PETER PAN SYNDROME" OR THE INABILITY TO ACCEPT LIFE'S RESPONSIBILITIES - IN OTHER WORDS - REFUSING TO GROW UP. OUR GENERATION IS AMAZING IN THE SENSE THAT WE ARE ALL ABOUT SELF FULFILLMENT - WHO ARE WE? WHAT DO WE WANT? WHERE DO WE WANT TO BE?

PHASE THREE IS JUST FLAT OUT DEPRESSION. YOUR LIFE HAS GONE FROM SEMI-GLOSSY TO MATTE. YOU WATCH A LOT OF NETFLIX. YOU DO A LOT OF COMPLAINING. HOWEVER, YOU'RE ALSO NERVOUS AND INSECURE. YOU'RE NOT SURE HOW TO CONFESS THIS FEELING TO YOUR FAMILY AND FRIENDS. YOU CAN'T EXPLAIN THE FEELING THAT YOU ARE JUST WASTING YOUR LIFE ON MUNDANE DAILY ACTIVITIES.

THE MOST IMPORTANT PART OF PHASE THREE IS TO BUCK UP AND SHARE YOUR FEELINGS. TRUTH IS, EVERY TWENTY-SOMETHING IS WEARING THE SAME DAMN HOLEY SNEAKERS YOU ARE. WE ARE ALL SO VERY UNSURE OF OUR POSITIONS AND DIRECTION. BEING A HOT-HEADED, IMPULSIVE HUMAN MAKES THE QUARTER LIFE CRISIS MUCH HARDER. YOU HAVE TO REMIND YOURSELF NOT TO MAKE ANY RASH DECISIONS. THIS COULD RESULT IN YOUR DEMISE. THE EASIEST THING TO DO IS TO TAKE IT A DAY AT A TIME. ALTER THINGS SLOWLY, MAKE DECISIONS SLOWLY, MAKE PURCHASES SLOWLY. GAIN RESPONSIBILITY SLOWLY. IT'S A BORING SNAIL PROCESS BUT WE JUST SIMPLY CANNOT EXPECT IT ALL TO BE HANDED TO US IN A TIFFANY-BLUE BOX.

PHASE FOUR IS ACCEPTANCE - AS THE LAST PHASE ALWAYS IS. YOU ADJUST TO YOUR NEW LIFE IN THE ONLY WAY YOU CAN - BY LIVING IT. SOMETIMES THE EASIEST SOLUTION TO FIXING A PROBLEM IS NOT FIXING IT AT ALL. DOES THIS MAKE SENSE? I FEEL THAT LIFE ONLY GIVES US WHAT WE CAN HANDLE. IT MAY FEEL LIKE MOUNT EVEREST RIGHT OUT OF COLLEGE - BUT IMAGINE HAVING A HUSBAND - OR EVEN MORE TERRIFYING - A BABY.

RELATIONSHIPS BETWEEN HUMANS IS WHAT GETS US THROUGH LIFE. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THE PURPOSE OF THIS WORLD IS, AND IT FRUSTRATES ME ENDLESSLY THAT I HAVE TO DO LAME SHIT LIKE BUY TAMPONS AND WORK FOR A LIVING, BUT IT ALL BECOMES WORTH IT WHEN YOU GET TO EXPERIENCE LIFE ALONGSIDE TRULY FANTASTIC HUMAN BEINGS.

THIS IS A CHALLENGE TO YOU, READERS (ARE YOU THERE?) AND TO ME. I HAVEN'T BEEN PROACTIVE ABOUT MUCH LATELY - MY BLOG, MY RELATIONSHIPS, MY FRIENDS, MY FAMILY. I AM TERRIFIED OF STEPPING OUT INTO THE UNKNOWN, LETTING MY CRAZY SHOW, EXPRESSING MY FEELINGS FOR BOYS. I DESPERATELY WISH FOR SOMEONE TO CONFESS THEIR LOVE TO ME, BUT THAT'S JUST NOT HOW IT WORKS.

I CHALLENGE YOU TO MAKE YOURSELF UNCOMFORTABLE. DO AND SAY THE THINGS THAT MAKE YOU ITCH UNDER YOUR SKIN. LIVE FEARLESSLY.

STRAIGHT AS A SLIGHTLY BENT ARROW

LET'S CALL HER MIRANDA. I WISH I COULD TELL YOU HER REAL NAME, BECAUSE IT'S JUST AS REPULSIVE AS HER PERSONALITY. IT'S LIKE HER PARENTS KNEW THEY WERE GOING TO BIRTH A RAGING BITCH AND NAMED HER ACCORDINGLY.
WE SAT NEAR EACH OTHER IN CHEMISTRY. SHE FELT COOL ENOUGH TO GOSSIP WITH THE 'POPULAR' KIDS - THOUGH I'M NOT SURE THEY FOUND HER COOL ENOUGH. HER FORM OF GOSSIP WAS CRUEL AND UNUSUAL PUT-DOWNS OF THE "LESSER" CROWD. I THOUGHT I WAS CLEAR OF HER BULLSHIT BECAUSE I WAS COMPLETELY OFF THE GRID IN TERMS OF POPULARITY. LIVING IN A CABIN WITH AN OUTHOUSE TYPE OF OFF THE GRID.

I WAS MISTAKEN.

MIRANDA TRIED ON BRIAN'S DARK BLACK THICK-FRAMED GLASSES.
"YOU LOOK LIKE A LESBIAN." HE SNORTED.
TAKEN ABACK AND INSULTED, SHE SHIFTED THE HATRED TOWARDS ME.
"NO I DON'T. IF I LOOKED LIKE A LESBIAN, I'D LOOK LIKE SHELBY."

IN HIGH SCHOOL I WAS NOT THE FIRE-CRACKING, SPITTER OF RUDE COMEBACKS THAT I AM KNOWN TO BE NOW. IN HIGH SCHOOL, MY HAIR WAS MY NATURAL BLOND. I DIDN'T OWN A LICK OF MAKEUP - I DIDN'T EVEN KNOW WHAT FOUNDATION WAS USED FOR. I PLAYED SOCCER AND TENNIS AND WEIGHED 118 POUNDS. I HAD 13% BODY FAT. I HAD NEVER TASTED ALCOHOL - LET ALONE BEEN DRUNK. I HAD NEVER BEEN AROUND DRUGS OR CIGARETTES. I SHOPPED AT THRIFT STORES AND ENVIED THE GIRLS WHO COULD AFFORD ABERCROMBIE (EW). I READ BOOKS AND PLAYED THE SIMS ON THE WEEKEND, DESIGNING MY DREAM HOUSES WITH ENDLESS BUDGETS. MY FAVORITE PASTIME WAS WATCHING MOVIES LIKE RIDDICK AND THE GODFATHER WITH MY DAD. UNFORTUNATELY, MY INNOCENCE MADE ME THE EASIEST TARGET FOR BULLIES.

MIRANDA AND HER STRINGY BOOGER HAIR WASN'T THE FIRST PERSON TO LABEL ME AS A LESBIAN IN HIGH SCHOOL. IN FACT, ALMOST DAILY, I WAS HERDED TO THE SIDE - TRIPPED BY THE WORDS 'DYKE' AND 'LIPSTICK LESBIAN'. I SPENT MOST OF MY DAYS DENYING THE RUMORS ABOUT ME AND MY BEST FRIEND. IT WAS EXHAUSTING. I LOST FRIENDS, BECAME A BACKGROUND SHADOW TO GUYS. I WASN'T ASKED TO MY JUNIOR PROM OR SENIOR BALL. I DIDN'T HAVE A BOYFRIEND FOR MANY YEARS. THIS RESULTED IN A HUGE LACK OF SEXUAL KNOWLEDGE AND COMFORT WITH MEN. I WAS BULLIED BY FORMER FRIENDS, PARENTS, AND TEAMMATES.MY GYM TEACHER, WHO IS STILL A HORRID FRIGID BITCH WITH A PERMANENT CAMEL TOE, ASKED MY SISTER IN FRONT OF HER ENTIRE SENIOR CLASS IF I WAS INTERESTED IN OTHER WOMEN.
MOST PEOPLE WHISPERED BEHIND MY BACK, POINTING AND LAUGHING. THE GIRLS BATHROOM WAS MY NIGHTMARE. I COULDN'T PEE WITHOUT HEARING "ISN'T SHE GAY??" "THAT'S SO FUCKING GROSS".
MY BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER AND HIS FRIENDS WOULD MOCK US AT OUR SLEEPOVERS - MAKING SCISSOR MOTIONS WITH THEIR FINGERS BEFORE WE WENT TO BED, ASKING IF THEY COULD WATCH. I WOULD GET TEXTS FROM BOYS IN MY GRADE ASKING FOR PICTURES OF MY BEST FRIEND AND I NAKED TOGETHER. MY OWN MOTHER USED TO REMIND ME DAILY ABOUT THE HELL WAITING FOR ME IF I WAS ENGAGING IN HOMOSEXUAL ACTS. THE CONSTANT JUDGMENT AND CRUELTY TORE ME APART INSIDE. I HAD ZERO SELF CONFIDENCE, AND ZERO HOPE FOR A BRIGHTER LIFE.

I NEVER CRIED, I NEVER COMPLAINED ABOUT THE CONSTANT BULLYING. BUT THE RUMORS AND HATRED HAD AN ETERNAL AFFECT ON MY MINDSET, MY ATTITUDE TOWARDS HUMANS, SEXUALITY, AND OPENNESS. IF I COULD GO BACK IN TIME I WOULD KISS MY BEST FRIEND ON THE LIPS IN THE HALLWAY AND TELL THE JERKS TO SHOVE ROUGH SANDPAPER UP THEIR ASSES.
IT TOOK ME A WHILE, MAYBE UNTIL AFTER I GRADUATED, TO REALIZE THAT I GREW UP IN THE MIDDLE OF A TURNOVER OF REACTIONS TO HOMOSEXUALITY. SYRACUSE IS NOT SMALL BY ANY MEANS, BUT MY TEENAGE YEARS WERE BLANKETED IN HOMOPHOBIC HATE.

THE TRUTH IS, YES, I HAD A HOMOSEXUAL RELATIONSHIP WITH ANOTHER GIRL FROM THE AGE OF SIXTEEN TO THE AGE OF EIGHTEEN. I ENDED THINGS WITH HER WHEN I LEFT FOR COLLEGE. IT WAS EXTREMELY PAINFUL BECAUSE I WAS HURTING MY BEST FRIEND'S FEELINGS - HOWEVER I KNEW MY TRUE SEXUAL IDENTITY AND I COULDN'T SACRIFICE MY HAPPINESS FOR HERS. DO I CONSIDER MYSELF GAY? ABSOLUTELY NOT. DO I CONSIDER MYSELF BISEXUAL? ALSO NO. I WOULD COMFORTABLY CALL MYSELF 70% STRAIGHT 30% GAY. THIS IS WHERE I FEEL COMFORTABLE LABELING MYSELF.
WE NEVER HAD SEX. WE NEVER SCISSORED. WE NEVER WENT DOWN ON EACH OTHER. WE NEVER USED DILDOS. THE FIRST TIME I SAW HER NAKED, I VOMITED UP THE NACHOS AND CHEESE I HAD EATEN DURING THE TITANIC EARLIER IN THE EVENING. SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL, BUT I DON'T LIKE WOMEN.
I WAS SIXTEEN AND MY BEST FRIEND HAD HOMOSEXUAL TENDENCIES. WHEN SHE PLOPPED THEM IN MY LAP, I ACCEPTED THEM BECAUSE I LOVED HER. LOVE IS LOVE IS LOVE. SOMETIMES THE BOUNDARIES BETWEEN ROMANTIC LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP LOVE CAN BE BLURRED. SOMETIMES WE CONFUSE OUR FEELINGS FOR EACH OTHER FOR SOMETHING THEY ARE NOT. THIS IS BECAUSE LOVE OF ANY KIND IS SO POWERFUL.

I EXPERIENCED MY LESBIAN "EXPERIMENTATION" VERY EARLY ON IN LIFE. MOST HUMANS DON'T GET THE PLEASURE OF MAKING OUT WITH THE SAME SEX UNTIL COLLEGE. FOR THESE EXPERIENCES I AM ETERNALLY THANKFUL. I AM NOT ASHAMED TO DISCUSS MY SEXUAL PREFERENCES. I AM VERY OPEN MINDED AND INTRIGUED BY OTHER WOMEN. IF MY GIRL-CRUSH FROM COLLEGE ASKED ME TO HOOK UP I'D DEFINITELY SAY YES - JUST SO THAT I COULD BRAG THAT I DID IT WITH A GODDESS.

IS IT POSSIBLE TO BE 100% STRAIGHT??? I DON'T THINK SO. I DO THINK THAT IT'S POSSIBLE TO BE BLINDED BY FEAR AND HATRED. I THINK IT'S POSSIBLE TO DENY, DENY, DENY. I THINK IT'S POSSIBLE TO BE SCARED. I THINK IT'S POSSIBLE TO NOT KNOW YOURSELF AND YOUR SEXUAL PREFERENCES WELL ENOUGH TO BE COMFORTABLE WITH SOLIDLY LABELING YOURSELF A MIXTURE SEXUAL PREFERENCES.

THAT BEING SAID, TO ALL THE ASSHOLES FROM HIGH SCHOOL THAT TORTURED ME DURING THE MOST CRUCIAL DAYS OF MY SEXUAL EXPLORATION: THANK YOU. THANK YOU FOR FORCING ME TO BE STRONG. THANK YOU FOR OPENING MY EYES TO THE HATRED THAT HOMOSEXUAL HUMANS FACE. THANK YOU FOR MAKING ME FEEL LIKE COMPLETE SHIT EVERY SINGLE DAY. IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU, I WOULDN'T BE ABLE TO WRITE SO CONFIDENTLY ON THESE TOPICS. IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU, I WOULDN'T BE SUCH A LOVING AND ACCEPTING HUMAN. IF IT WEREN'T FOR YOU, I MIGHT NOT BE THE GIRL MY FRIENDS COME TO FOR ADVICE.

IN CONCLUSION, FUCK YOU CLASS OF 2011. YOU SHOULD BE ASHAMED OF THE HATRED YOU SUBJECTED ME TO. I HOPE YOU HAVE LEARNED FROM YOUR ACTIONS. I HOPE FROM THIS DAY FORWARD THAT YOU TREAT EVERYONE YOU MEET WITH THE KINDNESS AND ACCEPTANCE THAT THEY DESERVE. 

PUMPKIN EATER

HE HAS A REVERSIBLE NAME. IT'S EITHER STEVEN PETERS OR PETER STEVENS. I HONESTLY CAN'T REMEMBER.

WE DATED WHEN I WAS FOURTEEN. I HAD BRACES WITH PINK RUBBER BANDS WRAPPED AROUND EACH METAL PIECE. I BARELY SPOKE. HE WAS (IS?) MORMON WITH A (SURPRISE SURPRISE) HUGE FAMILY. I DIDN'T (STILL DON'T) KNOW EXACTLY WHAT BEING MORMON ENTAILS. I DON'T WANT TO FIND OUT, EITHER.

HE WAS OLDER THAN ME BY TWO YEARS. HE HAD A POOL IN HIS BACKYARD AND A SHINY RED CONVERTIBLE IN ONE OF HIS FAMILY GARAGES. HIS FAMILY DOG WAS A HUSKY WITH MULTI-COLORED EYES. THEY KEPT IT TIED UP OUTSIDE.

I NEVER LOVED HIM. I WASN'T DELUSIONAL. IT WAS BARELY A CRUSH.

STEVEN/PETER CHEATED ON ME AND CONFESSED IT THROUGH TEARS AND DEEP GULPS OF AIR. IT WAS SLIGHTLY UPSETTING TO ME - SLIGHTLY UPSETTING IN THE SAME WAY THAT HAVING TO DO THE DISHES IS SLIGHTLY UPSETTING. AFTER A WHILE, I GOT IRRITATED BY HIS BLUBBERING AND TOLD HIM IT WAS OVER. I DUSTED OFF MY HANDS THE WAY YOU ATTEMPT TO GET CHALK DUST OFF OF YOUR HANDS. CLEAN START.

TURNS OUT KARMA KICKED STEVEN/PETER'S ASS QUITE HARD. HARD ENOUGH TO LEAVE A PERMANENT MARK. IT WAS ALL FUN AND SEX GAMES FOR THEM UNTIL SHE GREW A BABY BUMP. SHE WAS PREGNANT WITH HIS BABY AT SIXTEEN.

BEING MORMON, THEY KEPT THE KID. THAT MAKES HIM 24 NOW, WITH AN EIGHT YEAR OLD SON AND A MESSY DIVORCE.

CHEATER NUMBER TWO WAS LESS INTERESTING BUT MUCH CUTER. I DATED HIM IN HIGH SCHOOL. HIS FRIENDS SAID I WAS HOT THE WAY A SURFER CHICK IS HOT. I'M NOT SURE WHAT THIS MEANS. HEWAS A YEAR YOUNGER THAN ME, WHICH MADE ME FEEL LIKE A COUGAR, EVEN BACK THEN.

WE SPENT THE MAJORITY OF OUR RELATIONSHIP MAKING OUT ON HIS BASEMENT COUCH. HIS DAD WOULD COME DOWN AND CHECK ON US TO MAKE SURE WE WEREN'T IN EACH OTHER'S PANTS. NO, WE WERE USUALLY DEAD SILENT, MUNCHING POPCORN AND WATCHING 007 IN THE DARK.

NEITHER OF US TALKED MUCH. I DIDN'T TALK BECAUSE I WAS SHY. HE DIDN'T TALK BECAUSE HE WAS USUALLY TOO STONED.

MY BEST FRIEND USED TO PICK HIM UP FOR SCHOOL IN HER CAR. I CAUGHT THEM MAKING OUT IN THE SCHOOL PARKING LOT BEFORE HOMEROOM.

IT WASN'T LOVE. IT WAS BARELY A CRUSH. WE BROKE UP. HE CALLED HER WET VAGINA "PUSSY JUICE" AND I THREW UP IN MY FRONT LAWN.

UNBEKNOWNST TO ME, I WAS CHEATER NUMBER THREE. I MET A BOY MY FRESHMAN YEAR OF COLLEGE AT ORIENTATION. MY OPENER WAS, "ARE YOU GAY?".

I USED TO DRINK FOUR LOKO IN MY DORM ROOM WITH MY BEST FRIEND. WE USUALLY GOT TOO DRUNK AND ENDEDUP STUMBLING DOWN THE FOURTH FLOOR HALLWAY. EVERYONE KNEW THE STRAIGHT BOYS LIVED ON THE FOURTH FLOOR OF THE COED DORM BUILDING.

SOMEHOW THIS KID AND I WOULD HAVE MAKE OUT SESSIONS ON HIS TWIN SIZED BED. AT ONE POINT MID-MAKE OUT HIS GIRLFRIEND FROM CONNECTICUT CALLED. I HAD NO IDEA HE HAD A GIRLFRIEND, BUT KARMA STILL KICKED MY ASS HARD. I GAVE HIM A BLOWJOB AND RAN OUT OF THE ROOM BECAUSE HIS PUBES WERE SO UNTIDY THEY WERE BASICALLY FLOSSING MY TEETH. I TOLD MY BEST FRIENDS ABOUT THE INCIDENT AND NOW WE ONLY REFER TO THE KID AS "BUSH-BUSH". I'M STILL NOT SURE WHAT HIS REAL NAME IS. I SEE HIM ON THE NYC STREETS SOMETIMES AND BUSH-BUSH IS THE ONLY THING THAT COMES TO MIND.

CHEATER NUMBER FOUR IS TOO USELESS TO MENTION. 

I GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL WITH CHEATER NUMBER FIVE. HE MESSAGED ME ON TWITTER (OH MODERN ROMANCE) AND INITIATED A CONVERSATION THAT MADE ME LAUGH. I DECIDED IT WOULD BE OKAY TO LET THE GUY TEXT ME, SO I GAVE HIM MY PHONE NUMBER.

HE WAS NONSTOP FOR THREE DAYS. "WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE BOOK? WHAT WOULD YOU DO ON YOUR DREAM DAY OFF FROM WORK? YOUR HAIR IS SO CUTE CUT SHORT LIKE THAT. WHY ARE YOU SO ATTRACTIVE? I DON'T WANT TO MENTION SEX BECAUSE I DON'T WANT YOU TO THINK I'M A CREEP. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE TYPE OF SEX? ROUGH SEX?"

IF I DIDN'T ANSWER HIS TEXTS WITHIN TEN MINUTES HE WOULD DOUBLE-TEXT ME WITH "HELLO??". GOOD GOD, LIKE THE ONLY THING I HAVE TO DO IN LIFE IS ENTERTAIN THIS CHILD.

I WAS ON INSTAGRAM WHEN I REALIZED I WASN'T FOLLOWING HIS ACCOUNT. I REQUESTED HIM. HE IGNORED IT. HE TOLD ME HE DIDN'T LIKE SOCIAL MEDIA, AND SINCE I DIDN'T FOLLOW HIM BEFORE I SHOULDN'T CARE ABOUT FOLLOWING HIM NOW. HIS FUCK-BOY MENTALITY LED ME TO STALKING LIKE THE CIA PROFESSIONAL I AM CAPABLE OF BEING. NO MORE THAN TWO MINUTES AND THREE CLICKS IN DID I FIND THAT HE HAD A GIRLFRIEND WHO HE'S BEEN WITH FOR QUITE SOME TIME.

I ASKED HIM ABOUT HER. HE RESPONDED, "WE HAVE HAD A LONG DISTANCE THING FOR A WHILE NOW. I THINK I'M GOING TO END IT BECAUSE I'M UNHAPPY."

DISGUSTED BY HIS THOUGHT PROCESS - THAT USING ME TO DETERMINE IF HIS RELATIONSHIP WAS HOT ENOUGH FOR HIM - I CALLED HIM OUT ON BEING A HORRIBLE HUMAN. HE PROCEEDED TO BLOCK ME ON FACEBOOK, SNAPCHAT, INSTAGRAM, TWITTER, AND GOD ONLY KNOWS WHAT OTHER SOCIAL MEDIA. HE'S SHITTING HIS PANTS IN FEAR, DAILY, THAT I'M GOING TO SEND THE SCREENSHOTS OF HIS BAD BEHAVIOR TO HIS OBLIVIOUS GIRLFRIEND. I'LL KEEP HIM ON THE TOILET WITH NO TOILET PAPER.

CHEATING MAKES NO SENSE TO ME. IF YOU'RE CONSIDERING THE IDEA OF BEING WITH SOMEONE ELSE, YOU SHOULDN'T BE IN A RELATIONSHIP AT ALL. IT'S ONE THING TO BE IN A MUTUALLY "OPEN" RELATIONSHIP. IT'S COMPLETELY DIFFERENT TO RUIN YOUR SIGNIFICANT OTHER'S TRUST IN RELATIONSHIPS - PERHAPS FOREVER - BECAUSE YOU COULDN'T GROW THE (LADY)BALLS TO END THE RELATIONSHIP.

HONESTY IS ALWAYS THE MOST IMPORTANT. IF YOU CHEATED AND REGRET IT, ADMIT IT. OTHERWISE JUST LEAVE AND DON'T COME BACK.

PERHAPS WORSE THAN BEING CHEATED ON IS BEING THE 'OTHER PERSON'. IT SENDS THE MESSAGE THAT WE AREN'T WORTH ANY TYPE OF COMMITMENT, JUST A FUN ONE-NIGHTER. BEING THE OTHER PERSON AUTOMATICALLY ENSNARES US INTO A WEB OF DRAMA THAT WE DIDN'T ASK FOR.

DO YOURSELF AND EVERYONE ELSE A FAVOR AND EITHER BE LOYAL OR STAY SINGLE. 

WOOHOO

WHEN I WAS YOUNG - LOWER DOUBLE DIGITS - I TRIED TO FIND PORN ON THE INTERNET.

THE CLOSEST TO SEX I EVER CAME WAS MAKING MY SIMS WOOHOO. I KNOW YOU KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT. THE FIRST SIMS GAME WOULD BLUR OUT THE BED WHILE THE SIMS JUMPED UNDER THE COVERS FOR A MINUTE OR TWO. FLOWERS OR HEARTS WOULD EXPLODE FROM THE BED AND - JUST LIKE THAT - THE SEX WAS COMPLETE.

I WAS FASCINATED TO SAY THE LEAST. NEWER VERSIONS OF THE SIMS CAME OUT AND SUDDENLY IT WAS POSSIBLE TO WOOHOO IN CARS, IN DRESSING ROOMS, AND IN HAY BAILS. I WAS A WOOHOO FANATIC! MY FAVORITE SIM, DON, WOULD WOOHOO ANYTHING THAT WALKED. HE GOT CAUGHT BY THE MAID - WHO HE ALSO SLEPT WITH - WHEN SHE STOPPED BY TO CLEAN THE CLOGGED TOILET.

DURING MY FIRST PORN SEARCH, I TRIED - REALLY TRIED - TO BE DISCRETE ABOUT IT. I GOOGLE-SEARCHED "WEENIE" AND CAME UP WITH LOTS OF HOT DOG COLORING PAGES AND DACHSHUND DOGS. I TRIED AGAIN TO FIND A PENIS WITHOUT ACTUALLY SEARCHING THE WORD 'PENIS' WITH NO LUCK. HOW CLOSE TO PORN DID I THINK GOOGLE IMAGES WAS GOING TO GET ME?

I GAVE UP ON GOOGLE WHEN I DISCOVERED ROMANCE NOVELS. THIS WAS MY PORN FOR MANY LONG, FRUSTRATING YEARS. PEOPLE MAKE ACTUAL MONEY WRITING OUT SEX SCENES. I FOUND MY FAVORITE SEX WRITER - LORI FOSTER - WHO HAD SOME KIND OF FETISH FOR UFC (MMA?) FIGHTERS AND DOMESTIC ABUSE VICTIMS. I DIDN'T CARE ABOUT THE BACK STORY, I JUST SKIPPED TO THE DIRTY SEX SCENES. THERE ARE ACTUAL CREASES IN THE SPINES OF MY ROMANCE BOOKS AT EACH SEX SCENE. EASY FLIP-SEARCH. THIS IS MY VERSION OF A CUM RAG - A CREASED SPINE.

THESE BOOKS GOT ME OFF FOR YEARS. UNTIL I DISCOVERED TUMBLR PORN BLOGS. THIS WAS GREAT!! NO CREEPY "REDTUBE" URL'S IN MY COMPUTERS HISTORY - JUST GOOD OLD FASHIONED TUMBLR.

I HAD MY FAVORITE BLOGS THAT POSTED FULL LENGTH VIDEOS. IF YOU'VE EVER WATCHED PORN, YOU KNOW THE SEARCH FOR A SOLID PORN TO GET OFF TO IS A LOT LONGER OF A PROCESS THAN THE ACTUAL ACT OF MASTURBATING. A PORN COULD BE GREAT QUALITY BUT I WAS ALWAYS THROWN OFF BY THE GREASY HAIRED ACTRESSES, THE HUGE HOOP EARRINGS, THE KNEE HIGH SOCKS. IT TOOK ME SOME SIGNIFICANT TIME TO CURATE MY PORN LIBRARY WITH ACTUAL QUALITY PORN THAT TURNED ME ON.

THE SEX INDUSTRY DOES PORN VERY WRONG. I'M REPULSED TO KNOW THAT MEN ACTUALLY CUM TO THIS MATERIAL. THE CUM SHOTS TO THE FACE WITH THICK GOBS OF DRIPPING JIZZ EVERYWHERE MAKES ME NEED TO VOMIT. THE FAKE CIRCULAR NON-MOVING BOOBS. THE FAKE MOANS. THE ZOOM-INS TO THE WOMAN'S FACE DURING SEX RUINS MY MOOD COMPLETELY. WHO IS SHE? SHE'S NOT ENJOYING THIS! I'M NOT ENJOYING THIS! WHO ENJOYS THIS!

THERE ARE A SURPLUS OF PORN GENRES TO CHOSE FROM. TEEN PORNOGRAPHY. VIRGIN GANG BANGS. RAPE FETISHES. PUBLIC HUMILIATION. BUTT STUFF. INTERRACIAL. OUTDOORS. THREESOMES. ORGIES. CAMEL TOES. PURPOSEFUL IMPREGNATION. PREGNANT WOMEN. FOOT FETISHES. GIRL ON GIRL. GUY ON GUY. FEMALE DOMINATION. GIANT BOOBS. BDSM. FACE SITTING. SPANKING. CUM SHOTS. CRYING. SQUIRTING. MILKING. GOLDEN SHOWERS. CREAM PIES. FISTING. JERK OFF INSTRUCTION. EVEN INCEST PORNOGRAPHY. THREESOMES WITH PARENTS AND CHILDREN. SEX BETWEEN SIBLINGS. I WANT TO VOMIT (THERE'S A PORN FOR THAT TOO, CALLED EMETOPILIA).

RECENTLY, THE SEX INDUSTRY HAS TRIED TO CREATE "FEMALE FRIENDLY" OR "SEX POSITIVE" PORN. WHAT IS "FEMALE FRIENDLY"??? SHOULDN'T ALL PORN GET BOTH SEXES OFF? WHY ARE THERE TOO DIFFERENT CATEGORIES? ARE YOU TELLING ME MEN ONLY CUM TO THIS NASTY, LOW QUALITY BULLSHIT??

"FEMALE FRIENDLY" PORN HAPPENS TO ALSO MEAN BORING AS SHIT. THERE IS MUSIC - LIKE STRANGE SLOW, CLASSICAL MUSIC. THE ACTORS ARE BOTH ATTRACTIVE YOUNG ADULTS. THE SEX IS "PASSIONATE" AND MOSTLY MISSIONARY. SHE "CUMS" WHILE HE DOES AND THAT IS IT - BORING AS SHIT. THEY DON'T SWITCH POSITIONS, THEY DON'T GET ROUGH, THEY DON'T DO ANYTHING. IS THIS WHAT THE PORN INDUSTRY THINKS WE WANT TO SEE? I'M FUCKING LIVID!!!! THIS IS NOT QUALITY SEX EITHER!!!!

IT'S A SCIENTIFIC FACT THAT 'STRAIGHT' WOMEN WATCH MORE LESBIAN PORN THAN STRAIGHT PORN. THIS IS BECAUSE WOMEN ARE SEXIER, MORE INTIMATE, IN BED. THERE ARE SOME GREAT LESBIAN PORNS OUT THERE THAT I HAVE NO ISSUE GETTING OFF TO. PORN QUALITY DEPENDS ON THE VIBE BETWEEN THE PARTICIPANTS. WEIRD THINGS CAN BE HAPPENING SEXUALLY AND I'LL STILL BE SUPER INTO IT IF I CAN SEE THAT THE PARTICIPANTS ARE SUPER INTO IT.

I ENJOY ASKING GUYS I'M SEEING TO SEND ME THEIR FAVORITE PORN CLIPS. THIS ALWAYS MAKES THINGS INTERESTING. I'VE RECEIVED THREESOMES, INTERRACIAL THREESOMES, JERK OFF INSTRUCTIONS - YOU NAME IT. IT'S A PASSIVE AGGRESSIVE WAY FOR MEN TO TELL ME WHAT THEY WANT WITHOUT ACTUALLY ASKING FOR IT. SOMETIMES IT PISSES ME OFF, BECAUSE HELL NO, YOU WON'T BE CUMMING ON MY BEAUTIFUL, ACNE CLEAN, SCRUMPTIOUS SMELLING FACE. NO. NOT HAPPENING. IF YOU WANT TO CUM IN MY BUTT HOLE, THOUGH, WE MIGHT BE ABLE TO ARRANGE THAT.

IT'S GIVE AND TAKE.

CHOCOLATE SAUCE

 "What's your favorite book?" I ask over dinner.

"I don't read." He answers, indifferent.

"What do you mean?" I ask, stunned and hugely disappointed.

"I don't read. I don't have time." He shrugs his shoulders, like this response is acceptable.

"You don't read." I repeat.

"I don't have time." He replies, "Besides, I think my life is exciting enough. I don't feel the need to be 'transported into another universe.'" He states mockingly, bending his fat stupid fingers like quotation marks.

At this point my ears plug up and time moves in slow motion and all I can see is him drooling in his sleep and his clumsy attempts of jerking off above a porcelain toilet, his o face like Shrek running from the fire breathing dragon. Peasant.

"You don't feel the need to be transported." I've taken to repeating his stupid antics in hopes that this suffices for conversation.

"I have an exciting life."

He obviously wants me to ask about it. I don't. I am silent. I contemplate running out of the restaurant. My legs feel covered in fire ants. I think of Harry Potter and Hogwarts, Miranda July's magical worlds of disproportionate love, David Sedaris and his love of weed and human skeletons. I am lost in the mountains of suffering with Sarah Hall. I'm in desert, barefooted, reviewing blueprints for the glass castle with Jeanette Walls. I am suffocating. He doesn't read.

One of the most important things in life is leaving home. It wasn't until I was on my own in New York City that I was able to fall into myself - find peace with myself. Four years later, I can say with confidence, that I am my own best friend. It's impossible for any human to say that they know me better than I know myself. Get me high, and I'll confess that I find myself quite cool and endlessly entertaining. Who wouldn't want to be friends with me?

The most important part of knowing yourself is knowing what - and who - doesn't work for you - and being strong enough to accept that.  At twenty two, I am very comfortable with the words 'yes' and 'no'. I can say both without feeling any need to explain. I'd rather be alone, possibly forever, than be in a vague, cloudy, upsetting relationship. I am able to accept casual sex, breakups, endings of friendships, beginnings of new friendships, and rejection with ease.

Girls I graduated high school with are getting married. I'm seeing solid rocks on skinny fingers, poofy white dresses and cliche kisses in front of barns. How can you possibly know that this guy is for you when you cannot possibly know yourself fully? Have you ever been single? Poor? Outside of Syracuse? Lost? Depressed? Abroad?

They (who are they??) say that opposites attract. Opposites doesn't mean the negation of your values, as attraction doesn't equal a healthy relationship. I'm attracted to Jeremy Meeks - this doesn't mean that we should date and have babies (though they would be angelic, I must admit).

It is almost a cruel joke from the universe, testing you to see if you are able to acknowledge what you want versus what you need.

Most girls make lists - mental or physical - of traits our dream men must have. Straight teeth, taller than me, dark hair... Blah blah. When it comes down to it, however, the most important traits are what you have in common. He loves to read. He loves animals. He respects women. He wouldn't mind adopting kids compared to birthing them. He wants to live abroad. He's thrilled by adventures. He likes roller coasters.

While relationships only work with healthy compromise, you are the person you have to live with for the rest of your life. It's totally okay and valid to not be with someone because of something small. It's much better than asking them to change themselves for your benefit. He doesn't read? Someone else loves the magical world of Harry Potter as much as you do. You can definitely dress up as Luna and Neville for Halloween. Obviously I'm not saying that every small detail are deal breakers - they might not be - but it's okay and valid if they are. You do not need to explain yourself for what works and doesn't work for you. He doesn't get along with his mother? It's okay if that doesn't work for you (after all, how he treats his mother is a direct reflection of how much he respects women). He's vegan? Bye. He's allergic to pizza? Totally valid to never speak to him again.

I cannot stress how endlessly important it is to know yourself before you commit to someone else - to love yourself before you love someone else. How can you expect someone to love you if you don't love yourself? Once you know yourself you will know who can properly love you because you are worth a strong passionate love. He may not be cool with how you squirt chocolate sauce directly out of the bottle at 10am when you're craving something sweet. That's fine! And also you're awesome. Drink the whole bottle, girlfriend. My dream man will be standing next to me, hand extended, waiting for his turn at the chocolate sauce.

WHO CUMS FIRST

YOU ARE LAYING IN HIS BED. ITS COMFORTABLE. HIS MOTHER PROBABLY BOUGHT HIM THIS PILLOWTOP MATTRESS PAD. YOU CAN'T REALLY SEE HIM PUTTING THAT KIND OF MONEY INTO ANYTHING.

HIS ROOM IS STARK - A SPACE YOU'D IMAGINE PATRICK BATEMAN FROM AMERICAN PSYCHO WOULD RESIDE IN. SOMETHING MAKES YOU FEEL UNEASY, LIKE MAYBE THERE IS A SAW IN THE IKEA WARDROBE, OR THAT HE COULD BE A PSYCHOPATH. WHY? BECAUSE HE DIDN'T EAT YOUR PUSSY.

THE ONLY VALID REASONS FOR NOT GOING DOWN ON A LADY ARE AS FOLLOWS:

1. YOU'RE OVER 50% ATTRACTED TO MALES.

2. SHE'S ON HER PERIOD.

3. YOU'RE A PSYCHOPATH.

PSYCHOPATHS DON'T CARE ABOUT THEIR PARTNERS AS THEY ARE INCAPABLE OF SUCH EMOTION. WHILE I COULD BE CONSIDERED IGNORANT AND INSENSITIVE TO SOCIOPATHS/PSYCHOPATHS (THE TERMS ARE USED SYNONYMOUSLY, I RESEARCHED IT BY READING "CONFESSIONS OF A SOCIOPATH BY M.E. THOMAS - A SOLID THOUGHT PROVOKING READ, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND) I DON'T THINK A TRUE PSYCHOPATH WOULD GIVE A FUCK ABOUT MY OBSERVATION BASED ON SOLID FACTS.

FEMALE ORIENTED MAGAZINES TRY TO IDENTIFY A SOLID REASON AS TO WHY HE ISN'T KISSING YOUR VAGINA. COSMOPOLITAN SUGGESTS BANNING BLOWJOBS FROM THE BEDROOM UNTIL HE DECIDES EATING YOU OUT MIGHT BE WORTH THE RETURN ON INVESTMENT. LOVEPANKY (A SEX ADVISE WEBSITE) EXCUSES THE MALE GENDER BY SAYING, "ONE BAD EXPERIENCE FOLLOWED BY MANY MORE MAY HAVE BLINDSIDED YOUR SECRET GARDEN FROM HIS SEXUAL VIEW."

I'D LIKE TO KNOW WHAT BAD EXPERIENCE? IF YOU'RE SLEEPING WITH SOMEONE WHO IS DIRTY, OR SMELLS, THAT IS YOUR OWN FAULT. YOU SHOULDN'T BE TAKING PAST EXPERIENCES OUT ON YOUR CURRENT LADY. SLEEPING WITH A PIG IS ONE THING, BASING YOUR NEW SEX LIFE OFF OF THE PIG IS ANOTHER. THAT'S LIKE HAVING FOOD POISONING AND THEN CUTTING SEAFOOD OUT OF YOUR LIFE ENTIRELY - IT JUST MAKES NO SENSE.

LOVEPANKY, COSMO, AND MY PREVIOUS 'FLING' SAY IT'S SIMPLE: ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS ASK. THIS, ALSO QUITE SIMPLY, INFURIATES ME.

WHY SHOULD I HAVE TO ASK FOR SEXUAL GRATIFICATION? DO YOU HONESTLY THINK YOUR MEDIOCRE, AVERAGE SIZED, AVERAGE GIRTH PENIS IS GOING TO TAKE CARE OF AN ORGASM FOR ME? WHAT HAPPENED TO FOREPLAY? JUST LIKE SOME MEN CAN'T GET IT UP FROM ONLY MAKING OUT, SOME WOMEN CAN'T GET WET WITHOUT FOREPLAY. PLEASE DON'T GO TRYING TO SLIDE DOWN A DRY WATERSLIDE,  YOU MIGHT END UP WITH RUG BURN.

"WHEN YOU FORCE HIM, IT WILL FEEL LIKE A CHORE." NOT ONLY SHOULD NO ASPECT OF A SEXUAL RELATIONSHIP EVER BE FORCED, BUT WHY WOULD GETTING YOUR PARTNER OFF EVER FEEL LIKE A CHORE? IF IT'S A CHORE, WHY ARE YOU HOOKING UP? I'D RATHER MASTURBATE AND MOP MY KITCHEN FLOOR THAN SLEEP WITH A GUY WHO FELT LIKE CLEANING THE STOVE.

"KEEP IT FRAGRANT AND WEAR ENTICING LINGERIE" EXCUSE ME, WHAT? I'M SUPPOSED TO WEAR ENTICING PANTIES BUT ITS FINE AND DANDY FOR YOU TO SHOW UP IN YOUR WRINKLY BOXERS YOUR MOM BOUGHT YOU IN THE TENTH GRADE SMELLING LIKE YOU SWEAT ALL DAY AT THE GYM? I DON'T THINK SO. I'LL GO AROUND PANTIELESS AS MUCH AS I DAMN PLEASE AND YOU'RE GONNA LIKE IT. NO ONE WANTS A DUDE WHO ISN'T THRILLED BY THE IDEA OF EATING YOUR VAGINA.

"DON'T MAKE HIM DROWN DOWN THERE" ????? WHAT????? I'M SORRY WHAT???? I WILL SUFFOCATE YOU DOWN THERE, I DON'T CARE. I AM SUPPOSED TO SUCK YOUR UGLY PENIS AND SWALLOW YOUR FAST-FOOD NASTY-ASS SPUNK BUT YOU'RE WORRIED ABOUT ME DROWNING YOU???? ARE YOU INSANE? IF I BLESS YOU ENOUGH TO SQUIRT WHILE YOU'RE DOWN THERE YOU DAMN WELL SHOULD ENJOY YOUR SUDDEN DEATH BY DROWNING.

"DON'T BE SELFISH. BE SURE TO THANK HIM FOR IT." I WISH I COULD BURN COSMOPOLITAN TO THE GROUND. WHAT KIND OF BULLSHIT ADVISE IS THIS? "LET HIM KNOW YOU ENJOYED IT" HONEY, YOU'RE NOT DONE UNTIL I CUM. THEN YOU WILL KNOW I ENJOYED IT.

WHEN DID WE BECOME A WORLD OF WOMEN LESS SATISFIED? WHY IS IT EVER OKAY FOR US TO GO DOWN ON YOU AND HAVE SEX WITH YOU AND BE LEFT UNSATISFIED? IT IS CRUCIAL FOR BOTH PARTNERS IN ANY SEXUAL RELATIONSHIP TO BE MUTUALLY SATISFIED - OTHERWISE WHY DON'T YOU JUST MASTURBATE? ITS MUCH FASTER AND EASIER, AND MUCH LESS DRAMATIC.

I THINK THAT ORAL SEX IS MORE INTIMATE IN MANY WAYS THAN ACTUAL SEXUAL PENETRATION. IT'S ABOUT PLEASING THE OTHER PERSON, IT'S ABOUT ONE-ON-ONE CONTACT WITH THE OTHER PERSON COMPLETELY VULNERABLE. ALL ATTENTION IS ON YOU - IT CAN BE A LOT OF PRESSURE. I UNDERSTAND THAT ORAL SEX CAN BE SCARY. HOWEVER - IF HE'S NOT GOING DOWN ON YOU, YOU DEFINITELY DO NOT HAVE TO GO DOWN ON HIM. KEEP THE SCORES LEVEL, THIS ACT SHOULD BE NEUTRAL LIKE CANADA.

I CAN'T EVEN ENTERTAIN THE THOUGHT OF BEING WITH SOMEONE WHO DOESN'T ENJOY CUNNALINGUS. I DON'T WANT A GUY I HAVE TO REMIND THAT MY VAJ HASN'T BEEN LICKED IN A WHILE. FOR THE MOST PART, I HAVEN'T HAD AN ISSUE. MEN HAVE BEEN MORE THAN HAPPY TO BE BLESSED BY MY VAGINA IN AND ON THEIR FACE. THIS IS GREAT! MOST MEN SEEM TO THAT KNOW SEX IS MUTUAL.

AS A FEMALE, I CAN SAY THAT THE LAST THING A WOMAN NEEDS IS TO FEEL SELF-CONSCIOUS ABOUT HER KITTY CAT. YOUR AVOIDANCE OF THE V IS A REALLY PERTURBING ONE. DON'T BE THIS GUY. BE THE GUY WHO CAN'T GET ENOUGH, TEASES US, STAYS DOWN THERE LONG ENOUGH FOR US TO CUM, MAYBE EVEN A SECOND TIME.

WE ARE ALL SEXUAL BEINGS. LOVE, LUST, FRIENDSHIP - WHATEVER - WE LIKE SEX.

HERE IS A COSMO ARTICLE I WHOLEHEARTEDLY SUPPORT, "NICKI MINAJ WANTS ALL WOMEN TO DEMAND MORE ORGASMS".

GIRL, ME TOO. IF MY MAN IS GOING TO CUM EVERY TIME - AND HE DOES - I EXPECT THE SAME FOR ME.

WE ARE EQUAL.

“I DEMAND THAT I CLIMAX. I THINK WOMEN SHOULD DEMAND THAT. I HAVE A FRIEND WHO’S NEVER HAD AN ORGASM IN HER LIFE. IN HER LIFE! THAT HURTS MY HEART. IT’S CUCKOO TO ME. I’M A PLEASER, BUT IT’S FIFTY-FIFTY.”

— NICKI MINAJ

BOBBY

I FELL IN CHILDHOOD LOVE WITH A BOBBY ONCE. WE WERE AT A CHRISTIAN SUMMER CAMP AND HE SPENT PRAYER TIME SNEAKING OFF AND DIGGING FOR WORMS. I USED TO SHADOW HIM AND HIS MAROON SHIRT, TRYING TO CONVINCE HIM TO EAT THEM. THE LAST DAY OF CAMP HE SLUNG HIS ELEVEN-YEAR-OLD ARM OVER MY TEN-YEAR-OLD SHOULDER DURING OUR GROUP PICTURE - MAROON ON BLONDE.

I LIKE A BOBBY NOW. WE WENT TO BOOBIE TRAP AND DRANK WHISKEY AND BEER, COLORING PAGES OF NAKED LADIES WITH CRAYOLA CRAYONS. WE SMOKED CIGARETTES AND SHOT BUFFALOES WITH GREEN AND ORANGE RIFLES AND KISSED LIKE TEENAGERS. WE TOOK SELFIES IN THOSE PAINTED PLYWOOD THINGS YOU STICK YOUR HEAD THROUGH AND GOT TIPSY AND GAVE PIGGY-BACK RIDES. WE AGREED ON JUSTIN BIEBER AND NOTTING HILL AND HOW IT FEELS TO BE A TAURUS. WHEN IT CAME TIME TO LEAVE THE BAR WE BOTH AGREED - LETS GO HOME TOGETHER.

MY BUILDING IS IN BUSHWICK, BROOKLYN. THERE IS A BARBER SHOP DOWN THE STREET THAT IS OPEN TWENTY-FOUR HOURS AND I'M PRETTY SURE IT'S A DRUG FRONT. MEN HANG OUT OF THE OPEN WINDOWS SMOKING AND THERE ARE ALWAYS AT LEAST FOUR MEN STANDING AROUND OUTSIDE. THE STREETS ARE ALWAYS FULL OF PARKED CARS ON BOTH SIDES BUT MEN (I'M ASSUMING MEN BECAUSE WOMEN DON'T DO THIS SHIT) DOUBLE PARK THE CARS, OPEN THEIR VAN DOORS, AND BLAST - I MEAN BLAST - RAP MUSIC THAT MAKES MY EARS BLEED (THERE IS ACTUALLY SOMEONE DOING IT OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW, AT 1:22PM ON A SUNDAY). FROM MY BEDROOM ON THE THIRD FLOOR MY BED SHAKES AND THE WINDOW PANES RUMBLE. AT PRECISELY 7:30AM EVERY MORNING, THE YOUNG BOY UPSTAIRS SCREAMS FOR ATTENTION. IT REMINDS ME OF THAT YOUTUBE VIDEO OF THAT GROUNDHOG VOICEOVER YELLING "HELEN!"  HE SCREAMS "MOM!!!!! MOMMY!!!!! MOM!!!! MOMMMMYYY!!!" FOR FIVE MINUTES IN TWENTY MINUTE INTERVALS. I'M PRETTY SURE THE STAIRCASES ARE GOING TO JUST TUMBLE DOWN. THE FRONT DOOR TO OUR BUILDING DOESN'T EVEN LOCK, ANY PERSON ON THE STREET CAN JUST WALK RIGHT INTO OUR BUILDING AND (HOPEFULLY!!!) TAKE THE THREE MATTRESSES LINING THE WALLS THAT MAKE IT IMPOSSIBLE TO GRACEFULLY REACH THE THIRD FLOOR.

I MARCHED HIM UP THE ANIMAL HAIR (I HOPE?) COVERED STAIRS TO 3R AND OPENED THE BIG METAL DOOR.

"IT'S CUTE!!" HE SAYS, FOLLOWING ME TO MY BEDROOM. WE HAVE HARDWOOD FLOORS AND SIX WINDOWS, TWO BEDROOMS AND A BRIGHT CABINET- FILLED KITCHEN. THE BATHROOM IS TRIPPY WITH BLACK AND WHITE CERAMIC TILE LINING MOST SURFACES. WE MOVED IN TWO WEEKS AGO AND IT'S BEEN A DREAM - UNTIL THE CEILING IN THE BATHROOM STARTED TO LEAK. GEORGE, OUR SUPER, PROCEEDED TO RIP OUT THE BATHROOM CEILING AND LEAVE THE GAPING HOLE OVER THE TOILET AS WELL AS PARTICLE BOARD REMNANTS EVERYWHERE. I INVITED MY CUTE, FIRST-TIME GUEST TO PLEASE, AND SORRY, USE THE BATHROOM.

AFTER HE MET ME BACK IN MY ROOM, I SAID I NEEDED TO PEE. THIS IS THE MOMENT WHEN I WONDERED IF I SHOULD SHAVE MY VAGINA OR NOT. I KIND OF LIKED HAVING HAIR, IT WAS BLOND AND SOMETIMES CURLY AND I THINK IT'S PRETTY CUTE. I HAVE EXPERIENCED BOTH SIDES OF THE FENCE - SOME MEN WANT PERFECTLY SHAVED HAIRLESS CATS, SOME MEN FIND THAT TERRIFYING AND PRE-PUBESCENT AND PREFER AT LEAST A LANDING STRIP. HERE'S A RULE OF THUMB: IF YOU'RE SEEING A GUY UNDER TWENTY EIGHT, SHAVE COMPLETELY. OVER 28? A LITTLE HAIR IS PREFERRED. OVER 35? DON'T STRESS IT, LET YOUR FREAK FLAG FLY.

BOBBY IS 28. I STOOD ON THE FENCE AND DECIDED I SHOULD JUST SHAVE IT WHILE HE WAITED IN MY BEDROOM (I HAVE THIS AMAZING AVEENO SHAVING CREAM THAT IS MORE LIKE LOTION AND MAKES THE WHOLE EXPERIENCE LIKE GOING TO A SPA I HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT). I ALSO TOOK SOME TIME TO BE PISSED ABOUT THE CEILING HOLE AND SHEETROCK ON MY PREVIOUSLY SPOTLESS BATHROOM TILE.

I WENT BACK TO MY ROOM AND CHOSE TO IGNORE THE FACT THAT I DON'T YET OWN CURTAINS. ANYONE ACROSS THE STREET WOULD BE SEEING MY ENTIRE NAKED BODY TONIGHT, IT WAS FINE. WE MADE OUT. IT WAS GREAT. YOU KNOW - BACK WHEN YOU WERE A VIRGIN - WHEN YOU JUST USED TO MAKE OUT WITH GUYS FOR LIKE HOURS? NOTHING BUT KISSING FOR A REALLY LONG TIME AND YOU JUST GOT TO FEEL EVERY MOMENT IN ITS FULL SENSUALITY? THIS STOPS HAPPENING AFTER YOU LOSE YOUR VIRGINITY,  MEN KIND OF KISS YOU FOR A WHILE AND THEN MOVE ON TO AUSTRALIAN KISSING (DOWN UNDER... GET IT?) WE MADE OUT FOR WHAT FELT LIKE FORTY MINUTES. HE'S A GREAT KISSER, MAYBE EVEN ONE OF MY FAVORITE KISSERS. HE GOT ME NAKED AND I WAS READY FOR THIS TO BE AMAZING UNTIL ... HE COULDN'T GET HARD.

I WAS INSTANTLY MORTIFIED. I IMMEDIATELY WONDERED IF ALL MY PREVIOUS SEXUAL ENCOUNTERS HAD BEEN A LIE. WAS I TOO FAT? WAS MY NOT HAVING WORN MAKEUP TERRIFYING? DID HE EVEN FIND ME ATTRACTIVE? DID MY BREATH SMELL? WAS I A BAD KISSER? MY MIND RAN A MILE A MINUTE WHILE I WENT DOWN ON HIM. NOTHING. TWENTY MINUTES. NOTHING. FIVE MINUTES LATER. NOTHING. WE WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF ARGUING BECAUSE I HAD GIVEN UP WHEN I HEARD A KNOCK ON MY BEDROOM DOOR.

"SHELBY? IT'S ME. I'M LOCKED OUT OF MY ROOM."

MY ROOMMATE AND VERY CLOSE FRIEND FROM COLLEGE HAD GONE OUT DRINKING WITH HER GIRLFRIENDS. I KNOW WHEN SHE'S DRUNK BECAUSE HER VOICE CHANGES, SHE TALKS SLOWER, MAKES LESS EYE CONTACT, AND OVERALL IS THE PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION OF "HAZY".

I PUT ON CLOTHES AND LEFT BOBBY NAKED AND FLACCID ON MY BED. I WALKED ACROSS THE LIVING ROOM TO HER DOOR AND SURE ENOUGH, THE SUPER HAD LOCKED HER DOOR FROM THE INSIDE AND SHUT IT.

"OKAY, WE HAVE LIKE SIXTEEN KEYS HERE, LETS TRY THEM ALL." I SAID.

"SHELBY, I HAVE AN EVENT AT WORK TOMORROW!! I CAN'T BE LOCKED OUT OF MY ROOM!" SHE PANICKED.

"DON'T WORRY, WE WILL FIGURE IT OUT."

WE DIDN'T FIGURE IT OUT. NONE OF THE KEYS - BRASS, SILVER, BLACK, LONG, CIRCULAR, HEAVY - WORKED ON HER BEDROOM DOOR. I PULLED OUT OUR DINING ROOM CHAIR, REACHING FOR THE TOP OF THE DOOR FRAME WHERE I KEPT MY BEDROOM KEY AS A CHILD. NOTHING. MY ROOMMATE STARTED TO PANIC WHILE I CALLED THE SUPER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. I WAS LIVID AND READY TO RIP HIS HEAD OFF BUT HE NEVER ANSWERED.

WE DECIDED TO TRY TO BREAK IN. WE CALLED FOR BOBBY. HE CAME OUT OF MY ROOM WEARING MY RALPH LAUREN PJ PANTS INSIDE OUT, POCKETS DANGLING BY HIS SIDES. I COULDN'T STOP LAUGHING. HE TRIED TO GET IN WITH A CREDIT CARD. NOTHING. HE TRIED A BOBBY PIN. NOTHING. WE TRIED TO RIP THE DOORKNOB OUT. NOTHING. THEN, OUT OF THE CORNER OF MY EYE, I SEE MY ROOMMATE WINDING UP. SHE QUICKLY KICKS HER GREY ZARA BOOT THROUGH THE DOOR AND CAUSES A FIST-SIZED HOLE. BOBBY RECOVERS FROM SHOCK AND THEN REACHED HIS HAND THROUGH THE DOOR - WHICH FOR SOME REASON REMINDED ME OF CHILD BIRTH AND MADE ME REALIZE I COULD NOT HAVE SEX WITH THIS GUY TONIGHT - AND UNLOCKED THE DOOR FROM THE INSIDE.

NOW I HAD ZERO SEX DRIVE, A BROKEN CEILING, A HOLEY DOOR, AND A FLACCID CRUSH.

I LOVE FIRST DATES.