Beginning Today: A Tell-All

Beginning today, I'm going to whip myself into religiously blogging my tell-all. And by tell-all, I mean spilling private details that will have people passing through gasping "T-M-I" after blushing their embarrassment for me. [A friend told me last night, as long as I claimed to be medicated, I can get away with just about anything.] Therefore, if it helps, I'll claim to be medicated.

Song I will be placing on repeat all day: "Violins" by Joey Cape, circa 2004.

Foods I will attempt not to eat by the buschel: McDonald's French Fries [So crisp, so salty, so cheap, and SO deliciously sinful.]

Tomorrow, I'm starting a Dr-driven diet complete with B12 injection & EKG. I'm hoping my heart doesn't burst out of my chest and splatter against the wall, though if it does, I'd like to think they'd put it on display as an art exhibit. [The wall, not my heart continously launching itself from my cadaver, though that would be a pretty interesting moving art display--gruesome, but a great addition to "Bodies" @ MOSI.] I've decided I'd like to lose 55 pounds by June of next year--that's approxiamently 4lbs a month for 12 months, which I don't think will be too much of a stretch. Though, the thought of spending $1700 in the next year on weightloss doesn't sound very appealing.

Love life is still up in the air. I'm still a "technical" virgin, on the minor technicallity that I've never had a male organ shoved in any region lower than my waist. [Try that on for size, Grandmother.] I've kissed a total of 2.5 guys in my life: The Stranger "M", My Friend "Harry" , and a brief liplock with Private Stalker, which I refer to as the .5 because it was like kissing a fish and I immedately gagged thereafter. And because I'm writing my tell-all, here's the scoop on why when I say I go for my all in everything, I mean I'm shooting for a gold medal in social fuckup.

Guy #1: The Stranger "M".

I had just moved to Orlando in fall of 2005 for college. I was a Midwestern-bred, naive freshman, complete with a strong need to fit-in and break out of my shell of insecurity. I had spent 4 years in high school trying to figure out life & the dramatics of being a teenager who was bright, but failed on application. And though my high school resume was long, I hadn't developed the confidence to take charge of my witty, flirtatious side. So needless to say, I'd never really flirted with a boy, none-the-less kissed one. One night it all caught up with me: the angst, the freedom, and probably the hormones.

I was talking on the phone while taking pleasure that I could finally smoke in public, when a boy on a skate board passed by. For some reason, I knew. I just knew that he was going to affect my life. And maybe at that point I chose him; I branded him as my victim. You see, I was in a funk--feeling dangerous, rebellious, like I had an itch and it was all I could do to keep myself from tearing my skin to shreds to scratch it. So I waited. And watched while he attempted to impress me with some type of Ollie-flip thing he had going with his board. The itch was crawling up my spine. I decided after awhile that I'd retire to my room before I acted on impulse and did something crazy. But alas, M was the perfect victim. Not only was he over confident, but he also knew when the cat got bored, it was time for the mouse to try and snatch the cheese.

So he approached and inquired to have one of my cigarettes, which I obliged and held out the pack to him. And that's when it happened. He took my lucky cigarette.

I knew at that point I was in trouble. You see, up until a few months ago, I religiously looked for signs. There was meaning behind everything from certain colored crayons to words randomly left on white boards. And the moment I realized he had taken the cigarette deemed as “lucky”--the first cigarette flipped upside down and saved for last--I knew everything was going to fall apart.

I oh-so-coolly pointed out he was about to make the mistake of lighting the wrong end, and he flubbed a little and showed the slightest embarrassment of his mistake. And that’s when it was sealed. I had decided I wasn’t going to let this go until I had run this train spiraling off a cliff. So I sat with him, attempted to skateboard, fell on my ass and skinned my elbow, and made a total fool out of myself, and yet, somehow, we ended up in the third floor common room of N103. It was late. I had basically stitched myself to his side, determined that this was going to go somewhere in the next 5 hours, and I’m sure he probably feebly attempted to get away from me, but I had already impaled him on my claws. So, there we were sitting in the common area when somehow we got on the topic of sex. And when I stated I never kissed a boy, he asked me if I wanted to try it out. And I took a moment before I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Why the hell not.”

So there we were, 2 obviously wrong-for-each-other young adults, on a couch in an unlocked common room with windows facing the public courtyard. We began by kissing and then he asked if I wanted to try and make out. I’m not sure where my dignity angel was that night, but I threw all my inhibitions in a blender and pressed “puree”. Not only did I have my first kiss and my first make out session, but I also gave my first blow job and had my first titty fuck. [OMG, that is the first time I’ve said that out loud in leman’s terms.] Did I mention I was a masochist? Because not only did I do all this the first night, but I repeated it the next night with M on the floor of the public laundry room unisex bathroom. [Ah, gross?]

For the first time in my life, I played the vixen slut, who handed out sexual favors to a stranger in 2 public places--and in the most degrading fashion. I mean he fucked my tits. He came all over my chest. It was like I was taking an advanced course without going through 101. And to save face, I’m not surprised if I failed the exam.

I knew I had to cut it off. It was unhealthy, it was just physical, and my emotions were going to get the best of me. So thankfully, the weekend came the next day and I had a trip to Tampa planned, so I left. And when I came back, I wanted to avoid him, but as karma would have it, I ran into him when I was leaving my building. I was so taken aback; I acted like I didn’t know him. We never really spoke again. [Save for, he borrowed my history notes, and I stole them back by getting his roommate to let me in his room. And then I was rude to him about it because, hello, I’m a girl and he was dealing with an emotional amateur, not a detached pro.] I found out later, from that same roommate that he was dating a girl during our hook up. And not just any girl—a girl with a reality TV show on MTV. Go fucking figure.