Kissing is the best part.
luxnightmare:
(Or, a rare glimpse into my heart.)
I think what I really learned from years of being slutty is that kissing is the best part.
Unless you’re getting into a relationship, there’s this inevitable sadness to all sexual encounters — even good sexual encounters, even the best sex — because it means the end of it all. The end of the flirtation, the moment of promise, the anticipation, and — in some cases, at least — the end of your acquaintance with that person. Suddenly this person, so full of promise, is just another name on your list of people you’ve fucked; another entry to the database of places you’ve been.
Kissing, on the other hand, extends the moment of anticipation, heightens the desire, keeps you wondering and guessing what, exactly, that moment of climax would be like. Kissing is the question, and fucking is the answer — and the answer is never as good as you hoped.
What I’m really trying to say, I guess, is that I long ago lost the desire to fuck every hot stranger who passes by, but I still really want to make out with people.
They are making great strides in the field of flesh colored adhesive bandages…
Therefore I believe it is acceptable to go on a date in the near future sans helmet. My primary concern in resuming the dating & mating game isn’t so much having
split my head open (refer to headline re: bandages) so much as the gym restrictions placed upon me the past two weeks. It’s one thing to have a hole in your head but quite another to lose muscle ratio to fat at an alarming rate . Bangs can only go so far and I have blatantly failed at eliminating desserts from my lifestyle.
Follow up from suitor below. He actually did prove Googlable. I think once I get my bangs restyled in two weeks this could be a go. I’m wild for condiment talk.
From: SUITOR
To: DATING DEVIANT
Date received: September 16, 2008
Subject:
I guess Google aptitude is also a safe distance from the frontal lobe? Anyway, I wouldn’t worry about the late-night monte cristo habit; I’ve read that swiss cheese and mayonnaise help the body heal faster. Although this was a long time ago, so I don’t remember whether they need to be eaten, or applied topically.
However many banks fail by the time your sabbatical ends, I’m pretty sure there will still be bars open. Feel free to get back in touch then.
FYI: Head injuries are the new “D cup”
In an attempt at productivity I decided to make the most of today’s hangover by embracing my quarter-life crisis with a vengeance and Googling immigration law and visa options that consist mainly of inconsistent acronyms. Eventually I tired of this and decided to log into Match, as I always do take pleasure in changing up at least two of the adjectives in the “About Me” section on a regular basis to “mix it up.” In response to my activity, suitor sent a follow up. Men do indeed dig a disaster!
Correspondence below:
From: SUITOR
To: DATING DEVIANT
Date received: September 14, 2008
Subject:
Wow. I’m always sorry to hear about head trauma, but it’s almost inspiring how little it seems to have affected your verbal abilities. (Almost.) And if your helmet does have space for the GPS unit, I guess that’s a silver lining.
Would your stitches keep you from getting a drink sometime this week?
-[SUITOR NAME]
From: DATING DEVIANT
To: SUITOR
Date sent: September 14, 2008
Subject:
[SUITOR NAME] is helpful, but not quite helpful enough in terms of Google.
Stitches are so last week. You know you can’t leave them in, in excess
of five days to attain aesthetic success? I learn something new every
day. Lucky for you, me and anyone else I ensnare in email chain fun,
my damage was in my frontal lobe whereas my ability to verbalize in
grades of awesome is located somewhere closer to the left.
I am still on my dating sabatical for another week or two. This is
down from my initial assessment of 6 months to one year, but I can be
dramatic. Not so much due to my impressive head injury or even apathy,
so much as I am not allowed to gym it for a few weeks still, yet
despite (or perhaps in spite of this) I still managed to find myself
sitting in the diner at 4:30 AM this morning ordering the Monte
Cristo. On fried challah bread. With fries. With a side of mayonnaise.
Oh and I totally ate the whole thing.
Perhaps drinks in a couple weeks. It may just be worth your while. If
you are a true head injury contender you’ll be pumped to hear I scored
pre-stitch photos off the doctor a few days ago. They come everywhere.
I’m about two steps from upgrading the discharge papers I have them
enclosed in to a plastic case with a calligraphy label.
He’s so so so just not into me
Seeing as I recently managed to split my forehead open and am sporting a way hot bandage until my custom helmet comes in and/or I get around to scheduling a revamp of my bangs with my stylist, I clearly haven’t logged into my Match account. Alas I do receive suitors via gmail. Example below. Why ever has he not written back? Baffling.
From: SUITOR
To: DATING DEVIANT
Date received: September 10, 2008
Subject:
Hi. I was at the beginning of a vacation when your wink came through. (I don’t recommend browsing through this site on a phone via a slow South American connection… the “reply back” button is very close to the “seek restraining order” button and it’s a little too easy to make a mistake. I solved this by giving up until I got back to the U.S.) Since it’s been a while, I’m just sending a quick hello to see if you’re still on the site.
So you always choose the wrong direction and have an I-win complex? That could lead to some unexpectedly long road trips.
From: DATING DEVIANT
To: SUITOR
Date sent: September 10, 2008
Subject:
Hey there,
I am taking a break from match, as I took a digger on third ave last week and got 60+ stitches of awesome on my forehead (I wanted an exact number for the story, alas the doctor lost count).
I am considering wearing a helmet when leaving the house from now on, and am looking into the possibilities of installing a GPS system within it. That should solve the direction sitch. As for my I-win complex, I am testing out the full-blown drama of my stitches story at the bar this weekend in a trial run, but I so bet that no one can top my glorious tale (in case it is not implied, I am not much interested in winning anything of relevancy, such as an Olympic gold medal, but I get super pumped along the lines of things like telling the best bar story and consuming my beer the quickest). Also probably noteworthy, I took my tumble sober.
Go 13
Name: Brian
Age: 28 (taking another stab at a youngin’)
Height: 6’0
Alcohol units consumed: Copious.
Time expended: 30 hours over the course of two days. Right?
I think this date is officially my last dip into the match.com pond, ending that experiment. It only took 13 dates to get it right, however it only took me 30 hours to screw it up. Alas, I am back to singledom sans the quest to date each and every viable NYC male in under an hour. Over it.
Randomly showing up is the new drunk dial
Nothing says Internet wack job quite like showing up at a virtual buddy’s home, unless of course you do it:
a. Wasted
b. at 3:45 AM
c. Bearing cheese fries (with condiments!)
…then it’s like wack job plus.
Hence my Saturday evening a few weeks ago. Not surprisingly my “mind if we wait on sex?” bit resulted in an absence of date four. Gotta love the virtual dating scene. It’s not my fault the dude doesn’t meet my 30 lb minimum weight discrepancy. I’d hate to break him, hence the hesitation.
