sleepless blogger's confessions

Ok. So I can't sleep, which is weird, cause I'm actually tired.
I talked to boyfriend for a while, who eventually got pissed off with me I think and went to bed. Probably because I was feeling incredibly depressed about life and it just came out as kinda cranky. When I hung up with him, I texted my friend EE because she had an adventurous weekend I wanted to hear about. She got my text ("You awake? Too late to talk?") and was not only awake but just leaving the library, so she called back during her walk/ride/walk home. We had a great and hilarious conversation and were talking about life and love and the pursuit of happiness (ohmigod! Just like the cover of a Seventeen magazine!!) and she brought up an old memory of the days of yore, aka our fun and devious times at our beloved beloved (it needs two for emphasis) Smith College. This story involves my first foray into dating during Smith**and is in no way meant to piss off, get back at, or make bf feel bad sad or mad because I think he's pissed at me. actually, knowing me the way that he does (in more ways than one, that is) I hope he laughs when he reads this.



I was pretty celebate in college. This was for too many reasons I can even list here. Way too many. In high school, the boys were sooo lame (except David Kemp - actually I don't know if he was lame. He could have been, it's quite possible, but to me, his hotness cancelled out any possible lameness that could've lived inside of him. I used to go to my locker 2 or 3 times before homeroom just to see him walk by. Of course, he probably didn't notice, 1. because I too was lame and ugly and 2. I was so terrified and nervous when he walked by, or so close to giggling, I used to shove my head in my locker when he got close. Anyways, straying from POINT HERE!) Ok. Yeah, the boys were lame. So lame the boy I asked to the prom didn't say yes. He was like "um I don't want to go." I asked him in a room full of people. And it was a pity invite! All his friends were going but he wasn't, so I was like "yo, wanna go to prom?" He said he didn't want to. Everyone in the class was cool about it though, and gave me props for having the balls to ask. So I went alone, because goddammit I had a dress and it was hot and I was going to go and rock it. The next year, my friends and I voluntarily went alone. Why? The boys were that lame. When it came time to pick schools, it seemed like all my classmates wanted to do was find a place where they could drink and party and have wild orgies with boys. Ugh, I thought, I have been going to co-ed schools for 13 years now and have yet to find a boy that impresses me. I am not afraid of a women's college. Of course the fact that it was Smith and my teachers practically orgasmed on the spot when I talked about going there (probably so they could say they sent one of their students there) helped a lot. Plus Smith was awesome in general. Argh, but this post is about boys and not Smith. So yeah, I happily applied and was accepted to Smith, and I happily accepted them back and made plans for my boy-free college days.

Truthfully for the first two years I didn't think twice about boys really. I mean they were always around to feel you up at parties, so what did I really need them for? Nothing. Sex didn't mean that much to me (yeah I can't believe I actually typed that) and I was driven academically like my peers. Plus I had their straight and lesbian drama to deal with, and I could live vicariously through them. I didn't need my own relationship drama, I could sit in my living room and it would fall in my lap. GLORIOUS! The goods without the effort! Then I went to Kenya.

In Kenya I went to school with boys. Boys that sucked ass, let me tell you. They were the reason (with two exceptions, Marc was great and engaged, Harry was funny, obnoxious and taken, and his gf was with him on the trip) I went to an all-girl's school. They talked down to me, thought I was stupid and flighty. They thought they were all-knowing and brilliant, they were controlling and overbearing. Luckily the professors saw through them and I excelled. And then there were the Kenyan men. Wow. Wow. As one of the lame white boys said to one of the Kenyan staff "you put the white men to shame." Hells yeah baby. Sure the Kenyan staff just wanted a little slice of white lady ass, but I didn't care. I loved being tight enough with them to be flirtatious and silly. The guys on staff were so chill, not like the American boys. Yeah, they were slightly dirty, but after two years of no guy attention whatsoever, I was ok with it, plus they were hot! Nelly video hot! 50 cent rap video hot! And it was so much cooler to be friends with the staff than it was just to hang with the students. I let myself get close to a couple of the guys, and leaving was torture. There was never anything there for real, it's just that over time I had become close to men in ways I hadn't in high school or college, had a meaningful relationship, albeit not romantic. I learned the value of male companionship (I had a twisted view of the opposite sex I think) and leaving those guys was absolute heartbreak.

I returned to Smith for my senior year the following fall and wasn't exactly trolling for booty or anything but had found myself more interested in having a social life. Through certain activities I had a lot more male contact and welcomed it as a change of pace. One weekend, a girlfriend from Kenya invited me up to UNH for a Halloween party and her lumberjack competition. Sweeet I thought, partying with alcohol. Smith was super intense and residential situations at my house were overbearing and stressful. A party was just in order, plus I would get to see my bandamate from Kenya, a girl that I still miss immensely.

I was so late getting up to UNH I missed the competition. Then my bandamate had to leave because her sister needed to go to the ER for an asthma attack. I was alone with my other friend who was totally distracted by her party planning. This sucks, I thought, I am gonna have to spend this whole party mingling, something I'm horrible at. I wanted to go home, but sucked it up and put on my costume, a pregnant white trash beauty queen costume (see pic, and keep in mind I had a blond wig to go with it). I knew that it was a potential conversation starter and hoped it would help me mingle successfully. It pretty much worked, though it was because everyone thought I was really pregnant. Boys let me go ahead of them to use the bathroom saying "oh my God, i'm so sorry I didn't even realize you were waiting go ahead" and when I laughed and said "no it's fake" one boy even rubbed my shoulder and said 'sweetie, you don't even have to be ashamed. In fact it's awesome that you've stayed in school while you go through this." rrrright. The party wasn't so fun though so I started drinking water to sober up and go home. Then I bumped into the boy (who out of respect for his privacy I shall call "bob"). Bob was like "oooh let me feel the baby!" He had a funny friend who called himself "the gasian" because he was gay and asian, and the pair of them made me laugh. We started to talk and had a lot in common. Bob and I were both from the GREAT STATE OF MASSACHUSETTS and just had stuff to talk about. Then we started dancing. I rapped all of Shoop and DMX's "Lose my Mind" (llllloooved it) and he was impressed by that. At one point he goes "you're cute" and I said "um. thanks so are you" and he turned his head in such a way I thought "oh crap, he's gonna kiss me." And did he ever, right in for the kill. After a while we were on the couch, where I removed the pregnant belly and a drunk guy on the next couch screamed "Oh SH*T that sh*t was FAKE!!!" (boys are so dumb sometimes). We made out on the couch all night and he told me his life story, how he had cancer, blah blah blah blah. I returned to Smith with stellar hickies. Stellar. Ask anyone. I felt triumphant.

So then bob was IM-ing me. I was like "hunh. guess he wants what I wouldn't give him at the party" (yup kissing only, I'm not that easy......though right now boyfriend is like "yeah you are b*tch). Long and short of it, I convince him to drive down to Smith on a whim. Score! I think. I ran to the shower and bathed and shaved and cleaned my room and put on a silky lacy bra and panty set. I am SEDUCTIVE! I thought. Woohoo.

Bob shows up and I'm all excited, except he like, jogs through my house trying not to look any girls in the eye, because we are witches and medusas and he might melt or turn to stone. He sits like a statue on my bed, terrified of me in my element. I wonder what he thinks I might do to him. Someone knocks on my door and he looks like he is going to fall on my floor and play possum. He turns on the Cosby show to relax. I lie on my bed and think "lame." So we finally start messing around. Bra and underwear are tossed on the floor, but not before he whispers "are those victoria's secrets?" I wanted to say "would you not touch them if they weren't?" but instead I indulge whatever fantasy is going on in his head and say "yes." We do the deed, which was short and unfortunate. See Bob was not a lightweight. I'm not either, I've got muscular thighs, but the boy felt like he was crushing me and when he tried to roll me over, he failed. Plus he just had no talent in that department. I mean, he was sweet, and he gave it great effort, and in my limited experience it was decent but all in all, I was glad when it was over so the boy would get off of me. So we lie in bed for a while and I say "I'm gonna shower, wanna come with me?" thinking ha ha, I will spice it up. He looks terrified and says "NO!!!" so I say, 'Fine, watch the Cosby's, be back in five." I swing my legs around and plant my right foot right on top of....my satin body by Victoria underwear. I go flying backwards, and as my head hurtles towards the bed, I throw my left leg high in the air in a sad attempt to gain my balance, and put my arms out to my sides. Right before all is lost, I feel Bob's hands in my armpits. Hot I think and wow, didn't think he had that kind of reaction time. When my mind stops turning and I realize that I am being supported by the armpits with one leg sliding on the ground and another in the air with my va-jay-jay open to the world, I say "you know what, I'll take that shower tomorrow." As I get up I realize that probably no one in the world could have just pulled that move off. No one. I am that special. Bob didn't laugh or make a joke out of it, instead he just asked me in a horrified voice if I was ok. And when I tried to laugh it off he just stared at me, as if I had ruined his sexual victory (ha ha yeah RIGHT) I wondered to myself if all future sexual encounters with this boy and any other boy at Smith will be that disastrous. Suffice it to say that he was the only sexual encounter at Smith and he was also that disastrous. We had a two month long and limited booty call and eventually he too succumbed to the similar lameness that so afflicted the high school boys that I could not see him anymore. Ever. And I once again resigned myself to celibacy.

Then true love reared its head. Boyfriend, I know sometimes I am really hard to deal with. I get sad and you don't know why and I get cranky and you don't know why and I can't tell you and I don't know why. Instead I just lash out or get defensive or push you away. But I know you care and I know you love me anyways, which is exactly why I love you. I can't tell you how many times during the typing of this memory I had wished that you had been the one I talked about above, because not only would you have given me great instead of mediocre loving, but you would've laughed at me when you caught me and pulled me back into bed with you and loved me up all over again. Or taken me to the shower, because you are just not the type of man that would turn down a shower with a naked girl!

Well, it's nearing 12:30 and that means that I have to get up in 5 hours, and if I don't sleep now I'll wake up cranky and make everything that's going wrong infinitely worse. I hope everyone who reads this can relate and laugh. EE, thanks for inspiring me to write it, Bob, wherever you are, thanks for being so bad that you could make me realize that boyfriend is that good. And I mean it in so many more ways than one.