Almost the Big Bang

My life is ridiculous. Doesn't everyone say that, though?

Last night was incredible. Incredible in the sense that i can hardly believe it.

Fact: I'm a 24 virgin. My sexual experience includes kissing some 4 men.

Last night I go on the second date with the Canadian. We go out to dinner in some fine dining resturaunt where dishes are served on rustic wooden boards. We got the vegetarian dish with wine. Afterward we went to a jazz cocnert (very good) and held hands.
How touching.
We're leaving and he says,
this might be forward of me but would you like to come up and see my place before I move out?
I say sure.
Fuck it, right? I'm so curious by this point as to what it is exactly the rest of my generation is up to.
We go upstairs. Dawdle around, get to his room. He looks at me and I think I'm going to skip that awkward moment-throw my purse on his bed-and proceed to kiss him.
And then we're topless, rolling around his bed-me with no previous experience-is working very hard to appear natural and confident.
I'd like to take your pants off-if that's alright
he says.

Yeah. He said that.

He does. And suddenly everything is out. One problem. He can't get er in. You know what. I'm not telling him I'm a virgin. I jsut want to see what happens. I guess a part of me has given up on everything because I am detached and jsut watching us roll around. Watching him go down...and come back up...and I'm going down...and come back up. And things I've never done before are quickly get checked off one by one. At 1am I leave. Not quite the Big Bang, but close.

Home. I can't get in. The door won't open. The doorknob is retarded. After 15 minutes I'm in. My new roomy with whom I signed a lease last Thursday informs me that she is moving to DC. Charming. I'm fucked. How am I going to find a new roommate?
We're chatting about this, I need a smoke. So we go outside so I can smoke. Afterward we're locked out of the apartment. I have keys but it's the doorknob. It won't fucking open. So I'm outside at 4am standing on handrails above a set of stairs tryign to get the window guards loose but they're stuck. We try the door again, after some 15 more minutes I get it open.

And then I get my period.

Ohmagawd, he'slikesupercute.

Jesus christ it's been a year. Well. That's awkward.I've complained in other arenas about inter-web pollution and look at me, littering words all over and forgetting about them.
So there's this guy-you're gonna love this. There's this guy with the face of Johnny Depp but long blond hair. Part of me wants to call him, Braveheart.
First time I saw him I thought-stoner. And then-I bet he does yoga, has a water canteen, and enjoys meditating in grassy hillsides while the deer and rabbits and other made-for-children Disney accessories dance around him.
Well I still think he's a stoner, no one is THAT chilled. I'm fairly chilled, but in an anal retentive kind of way. But the guy plays tennis and complains about this or that authors marxist-liberal innuendos and it's a bit of a double-take. Especially when the light hits him from behind accentuating his brilliant cheekbones...
I must find a way to seduce him.
I'm shit when it comes to relationships. Oh sure, I can play it cool and be less dorky-more witty but this usually works when I'm dating a guy I don't really like. Then after awhile I just stop giving as big a shit and the more sarcastic, serious side comes out. Then the guy feels emasculated because I'll mention something that he has no idea about or we'll play pool and I'll beat him and suddenly it's very obvious that I'm bored out of my mind. SO narcissistic, right?
But seriously, I am SHIT when it comes to attracting guys I'm actually into. I get really awkward. And then laugh too loudly. And then complain about something dumb because I have no idea what to say. So it's the same thing with this guy in my class.
But here's the clip that highschool girls tell their friends which is usually followed by squealing:
We're sitting in class. It's English. He lopes in and sits next to me. So of course I start playing with my thermos and drumming my hands because now I'm aware of him and the fact that I'm not doing anything and I need to find some way of attracting his attention. When I was a kid I was playing with my lunch box, just drumming away on it and I noticed the boy sitting near me was absolutely captivated. I kept drumming just to see how long he'd stay transfixed. 20 minutes and 4 ounces of slack-jawed saliva and lunch time was over. So it's a thing. I just have to play with something when I want attention. And I can't just sit there, no I need to play with my fucking thermos.
Well the teacher pairs us off to talk about cancer. We're sitting next to each other so we're partnered up. We have to write a list of things we think about when cancer comes to mind.
Parades.
Breasts.
Research fraud.
Bald people.
Bald children.
Laughter.
We're laughing.
Oh shit, we're really bad people.
Then the teacher comes over to hear what we wrote and we tell her our (revised) version and suddenly she gets crazy excited and says, "Oh my god. You two are like two peas in a pod. I just realized, you're so alike. You're going to be best friends by the end of the semester."
So after class we're putting on our coats and chatting but my coats on first and because I'm an idiot I say, "Well, I'll see you" and take off.
Shit. Part of me says there's still two months left to the semester and we're both sophomores. Another part of me thinks this is going to be one of those fucking "Hey"-"Oh hey, what's up?" relationships reserved for hallways.
I suppose I'll go work on my sock series comic strip then.

Dollface

So we're all together, the whole family. Mom and dad, Shaina and Uncle Mike who's a bit creepy, a hapless result of being a bachelor for too many years, and my brother and his girlfriend. This girlfriend scares the shit out of us. She's just so normal you know? Good grades, sweet demeanor, I mean she runs for gods sake. We don't run. My brother only started running when he joined the army. And I only started running because well, I wanted to see if I could. And I can, sort of. But not like this chick who runs marathons. Anyways we've set up the room downstairs for her and while she's lying down we negotiate amongst ourselves about the dolls my mom has hanging on the walls in there. There are a lot of dolls. And of course we have to comfort mom that she's not weird and scary but the dolls are.
And they are. They really are.
I mean the walls are covered in dolls, and the shelves, and some parts of the ceiling. Right? It's kinda weird and scary. And my brother's girlfriend has to sleep in there. So we're maybe just going to take them all down for the week.

Pointy Shoes and Late Nights

Ok, so for the past year, perhaps two you've had this urge to go out and do the things you hear people your age are doing. The bars, the music, the men, and all that jazz. And you reason with yourself, no it's so empty and it's just distraction, it's not really living. But nevertheless you have that quiet resentment that you aren't one of those people just going out. To be free and careless and not thinking for once.
So I've decided to screw resentment, if I'm so curious I ought to quite complaining and just pursue what I want. I went out. I went bar hopping with my friend. I danced with men, cute men who I'd never imagine would be interested in me. And then the French man named Alex who kept offering to buy you drinks and ragging on American boys with their red-neck round shoes and how a fancy French man knows to wear pointy shoes, etc. Who teaches you to dance with the whole sweep her back and stick his face in the nook of her neck dance. Yeah, it was like that.  And odd for someone as technically naive as I am. And I recall thinking this guy is seriously pissing me off. And I recall lying, "I have a boyfriend" so he might leave his drunken flirtations for another girl.
But thankfully another fellow comes along named Pierre, this one isn't French, who takes him outside and literally saves you. Thank God for Pierre. But I seriously need to learn how to tell a guy NO. For by that point of the night, who gives a shit that he paid for your drinks?
What's interesting though, is that despite all these pretty boys and fun flirtatious smiles, I really wish I were just home hanging out with that guy-friend of mine who likes to wear my butterfly wings and sing niggunim.
So it was a long night, full of stories similar to these and yeah the dead, empty feeling lingers but at least the resentment is gone.

Eeny-Meeny-Miny-Mo

So if you're not clear where you stand, what does that make you? Aside for uncertain...
There's faith in the bigger, greater things, that there is a G-d. That there is a purpose. That there is a reason hidden behind every subtle breeze that moves every bloody leaf and all that gorgeous stuff.
And then there's the cynicism, the skepticism, not even so much trying to point out flaws but just...realizing gradually that it doesn't add up.
That it boils down to whether or not you believe all the things you've been taught, and realizing that you love those facets of knowldge but you don't know if you can believe they're all true.
So where does that place you?
At an age to young to really know what's going on, with the humility to accept that yes, there might be more and an unwillingness to shut the door to something greater, what does that make you?
Because I have my doubts, and I don't feel guilt, but I doubt that I've really got it all figured out.

Purim Day

Comes after Purim night.
And this time we got out of the neighborhood, saw the crowds, saw the people. And you're in a smoke filled room with strobe lights, chassidish jews gone "off the path" and everyone is dancing and yelling and holy crap, Rabbi Nachman is playing so you're jumping around.
And then the guy you've kind of always liked really might be asexual, not gay but not exactly a fully-charged hormonal beast most dudes are, but hey that means you've just found yourself a new best friend.
But then that night you dream that your moshpia comes to save you, to pick you up from the random location you've found yourself in and it reminds you of that time, when you were a kid, you went to McDonalds for a birthday party and ordered a cheeseburger;
You got a cheeseburger? You know cheeseburgers aren't kosher!
Yes mommy, but I wanted to try it.
So it's the same ordeal, that nagging curiosity to see just what happens in those smoky rooms and the loud places full of laissez-fare carelessness. And it's not so much a temptation, but a curiosity. Just a curiosity.
In either case, here's some music:

CocoRosie and Absolut

Let's be a happy drunk, a cheap date with three shots of absolute, my gawd that was easy. Anyhoo it makes carrying the groceries that much a happier experience and the firesticks (cigarettes-I coined the term,  anonymous coined the term), the firesticks smell oh so fine and Iron and Wine is playing on Pandora and the lonely little compartments of New York become that much more romanticized. And then little thoughts float in your mind, you know the stuff like, does any of it really mean anything? Not the more technical things, let's say big picture. You know, Life the Universe and Everything. Maybe 42 really is it. (Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy reference people.)
Ok now CocoRosie is playing on Pandora. I really don't know how I feel about these chicks. I kept clicking "dislike" and yet pandora is persistant and I'm finding perhaps it's one of the acquired tastes. Tastes for a subdued, drunken state.
I'm going to go read up on Hobbes now. (That's hardly true, I'll likely sleep and read it tomorrow.)