I hate my exes. Mostly because I’m not even sure I can call them my exes. You see, in the world of the eternally single, you rack up a lot of blurry relationships with people. We go on dates, but we’re not dating. We’re dating, but we’re not together. We’re together, but he’s not my boyfriend. We make out every Tuesday, Thursday, and third Friday of the month, but that’s it.

It’s bad enough when it’s occurring, but when the sordid, undefinable tryst ends…you don’t even know how to bitch about them! Man, that “guy who I used to sometimes make out with (and one time I think we went on a date, but it was only kind of a date because we didn’t refer to it as one)… really sucks.” God. It takes up more effort than the half assed relationship ever did.

The worst of it followed me out this week. Earlier in the summer, I had become interested in (obsessed with) a cute, smart, funny dude I had met while I was out. I gave him my number, and we ended up hanging out (making out) a few times. I started to get frustrated when I realized the extent of our hanging out was us making out, so I finally grew a metaphorical pair and told the horny jerk off. And of course with my luck, two days after I stand up for myself by acting like a crazy bitch, I run into him while I’m out with friends. And I thought Chicago was supposed to be a LARGE city…do I need to move to Hong Kong? Read More »

So, you met a hottie out on the town. Against your better judgment (because you can imagine what your mom would say if she knew what you were doing), you went home with him. And it was fun. Really fun. Your clothes are strewn around the room and if you weren’t so exhausted from the marathon romp session, you would be a bit more worried about where the hell your underwear was at the moment.

You pass out as the sun begins to peek its way out from behind the tapestry haphazardly hung over the window, the gent’s arm wrapped around your waist.

Then you wake up. You turn over the boy has his back to you. He’s snoring. You run to the bathroom to pee, trying not to wake him up, but hoping at the same time that you do. After all, it’s sorta awkward; you can’t just leave without him getting up. That would be weird.

You come back into the bed (after searching frantically in the bathroom for some mouthwash/gum and fixing your hair/makeup so you still look fresh) and he stirs. You make a joke about how tired you are and throw yourself into the bed. Random conversation ensues and most likely includes discussion of hangovers, how much you drank last night and how that water you chugged before bed was just divine.

And then….what? You know what you want to do. You want to have morning sex. Who doesn’t? Morning sex is the best way to start the day. (Some people think Wheaties is the breakfast of champions, but you and this boy both know the truth.) It is pretty much a given at this point, but neither of you really know how to broach the subject, mostly because you are both sober now and things are slightly awkward.

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I was rudely awoken this morning at the ripe hour of 6:45 to the sounds of passionate sex being had above me. This was after falling asleep to the sounds of wild passionate sex being had above me. And right now, as I type this, they are going at it again; this time in the living room above me.

I think I am starting to go crazy!

Not that I haven’t experienced this phenomenon before; I did live with 8 girls in an old house during college. The walls were paper thin and I could hear everything from giggles to bed springs to even the slightest breath. But those were my friends. I had no problem marching up the stairs, gently knocking on the door and reminding said roommate that not everyone needs to know how “good that feels.”

I don’t know the dude who lives upstairs. In fact, until I heard two male voices moaning in the throes of sex last night, I had no idea that he was gay. And it is not like that makes a difference for me at all; I don’t want to hear anyone – gay or straight – screaming “F*$! ME” at 6:45 on a Sunday morning. Nor do I care how either of the parties “likes it” or where their next fornication location is going to be. (Yes, I did hear one boy throw out the idea of “taking this to the shower.”) But my point is that I barely know my upstairs neighbor, making it virtually impossible for me to broach this touchy subject with him. Read More »

Sometimes I run into people I just don’t want to see. And I usually avoid (at all costs) the opportunity to shmooze for one of two reasons:

1. I don’t like them. I don’t care to hear about their life after high school and I don’t care to hear about it now. Besides I’m almost always way too tired to put on my overly-friendly-pretend-to-care fake voice anyway.

2. I do like them. So much so, I want to impress them. Perhaps said person is cute… and at the moment I’m totally not.

I had myself a case number two the other day in yoga class. Nothing like seeing the “cute-younger- guy who I last saw four years ago and made a fool of myself in front of” while doing a Down Dog, not to mention sweating like Ross Gellar after he tried pivoting that couch. (You all know what episode I am talking about…Pivot!)

Clearly I hoped to have seen “cute guy” at a time when I looked hot — even a half-nice appearance would’ve sufficed. But nooo; the man upstairs likes to put me in awkward situations. Guess I should have taken my mom’s advice….

Due to this unfortunate incident, I’ve come to a realization: when I bump into people I don’t particularly want to see or vice-versa, there is usually an unspoken routine that we all partake in to avoid eye-contact/be recognized.

The Head Down and turn move: you avert your eyes or turn your head in the opposite direction and make it seem as though you are looking at someone else or are extremely engaged in something else. Read More »