Okay so it's been a while

I have literally been swamped with work. Imagine a five-foot-two Asian girl underneath a disarray of stapled packets, velobound documents and notepads. Next to the disarray are the Asian girl's bosses asking where X, Y and Z are and when they'll be done, and tossing in another stapled packet onto the pile for good measure.

So now I am taking a moment out of my Saturday at work to post an entry on my neglected blog. Last night, had a date with a guy (date #2 with this guy). It's funny how "come over to watch a movie" universally means "come over and make out." He was a good kisser. Did not attempt to eat my face--always a good sign.

Have a semi-blind date with another guy tonight. I'm not too optimistic about this one, but we'll see. As with all first dates, my invariable hope is that it doesn't suck.

Okay, I've gotten my blog fix. Back to work.

Ethics of dating

I am happy that I get to polish off this crazy hectic traumatizing stroke-inducing workweek with a date tonight. It's this guy I met through a friend of a friend. I admit, I haven't fully resolved things with the Exfoliator. As I mused over this the other evening, I began to wonder and posed the following questions to my friend the Naysayer: What are the ethics of dating more than one guy at a time? And if things progress in each prospective relationship, i.e. physically, is that wrong?

His response (keep in mind he is a single 28-year-old male): "You can sleep with both guys if you want at the same time throughout the same period and it's all good."

I paused. "Are you being sarcastic?" I asked.

"No, I'm serious," he said.

"Seriously?" I asked.

"Look, if you don't define the relationship with either of the guys, then you are free to do whatever (or whomever) you want. You are committed to neither of the guys and neither of the guys are committed to you."

"Yeah, but isn't that ... icky?"

"I think morally and ethically, it's sound. But in your case, I don't think you're capable of that."

"Yeah," I agreed, "I don't think I am."

So I suppose I agree. If both Girl and Guy #1 have no binding agreement on the terms of their relationship, then Girl is free to date and do Guy #2. It's a free country. We have free will. And as long as people protect themselves (emotionally and physically), then it's all good. Be happy. Life's short.

I suppose, like the Naysayer intimated, I am incapable of being in the mindset to do that. Usually, I want to "be" with a guy if I really really like him. And it's difficult for me to really really like two guys at the same time.

Anyhow, none of this really matters because neither of the guys have made any indication of wanting to have sex with me. For all I know, next week I'll be blogging again about how there are "no guys out there" and then resort to online dating. If worse comes to worse, I can always find a sugar daddy.

Always there

The shit hit the fan big time this week. I admit I am prone to drama and neurosis, so when the shit hits the fan in my presence, and I mean a huge piece of shit hitting the fan hard, I freak out big time. The human body and mind are only capable of so much stress. And I think I reached that point this week.

At that point, I think I reverted to my 5-year-old self, bawled like a little girl, and literally called my mom. How funny is it, that when you think you're so independent and so strong and so together, that when the shit hits the fan and your friends are out of town, busy or at a loss, and you have no boyfriend to freak out to, you call your mom? And somehow, even though she has no idea what a motion or brief is and even though she can only speak in soft broken English, she is able to console me.

And it made me realize how important my mom is to me in my life. I don't talk to her every day, but just knowing she is always there for me is very comforting. How true it was when she said to me on the phone just last night: "I'm always here for you."

Workaholics

Things have been crazy with work. (Hence the lack of posts.) I am amazed by people who can do consecutive 14-hour days Sunday through Saturday and still maintain their sanity. How the heck do they do it? Out of all professions, it should be no surprise that smoking, alcoholism, heart attacks and suicide rates in the legal profession are among the highest of all professions.

And on that happy note, happy Monday!

Just a girl

I'm 28 years old. And still, to this day, whenever a guy likes me, as in like-likes me, I am incredibly flattered.

Despite years of experiencing leers from pervy old men, obscene pick-up lines, random gropes on public transportation, and encounters with guys who see all women as walking vaginas, I am still flattered.

I am an unremarkable, neurotic girl with a fair number of boy issues. A guy who meets me and knows this and still manages to like me boggles my mind (so thinks the insecure high schooler inside of me). Then the cynical side of me kicks in and wonders what's wrong with him to like me.

Like I said. Fair number of boy issues.

Is it in his kiss?

Can you really judge a guy by his kiss? A guy once told me you can tell how passionate someone is by the way she kisses. If her kiss is limp and lifeless, then he ends it right then and there. And as Samantha from Sex and the City said about bad kissers: "[D]ump him, a bad kisser is non-negotiable." Further: "if his tongue is just going to lay there, what do you think his dick is going to do?"

So really, are kissing skills a proxy of "other" skills? I surveyed the repertoire of guys I've encountered. The guys who were good were decent kissers. Yet there are some guys who were good kissers but were bad. I suppose the guys who were bad kissers were not that good. Okay so it all seems kind of random, at least in my experience.

Anyway, the reason I bring this all up is because recently, I kissed a guy. It was mixed. On the one hand, it felt very passionate and hot and also sweet and reverent. On the other hand, I sometimes felt like he was trying to eat my head.

No seriously, eat my head. Not my face. My head.

I think his incisors made contact with my external right cheek. And his teeth scraped against my gums and my tongue. I may not be the goddess of kissing, but I'm pretty sure that exfoliating my face and gums is NOT a good indication of a good kiss.

Am I wrong?

So -- the question that Charlotte from S&tC brings up is: Would you dump a guy over a bad kiss? Is it something you can "work on"? How do you tell a guy, "Could you please not bite my face? Thank you." So Charlotte tried to teach her Bad Kisser how to kiss better by cooing to him, "I really like it when you kiss my lips like this" and so on. In the end though, he strayed from her instructions so horribly, that when he got up to the point of gnawing on her chin, she finally pushed him away and yelled at him, "Stop it!" Then she told him he was a bad kisser and quite literally walked away from him, never to see him again.

Harsh, I know. But seriously, kissing is important to me. I love kissing, and a good kiss can be just as hot as good sex. It's a necessary component of foreplay, and if the kiss ain't good, then the physical relationship is not going to ascend to Level 2.

Is that superficial? Am I being too harsh? I don't know. All I know is that kissing is not supposed to be painful. If a guy is flossing my teeth, I can't help but NOT be turned on. But I suppose I will give the Exfoliator another chance. If, however, he ends up gnawing on my chin, it's over.

Only as old as you feel

I am usually unaware of my age. If asked what age I feel right now, I'd probably say 24-25-ish rather than 28. Sometimes however, a certain sequence of events--other than hearing one's mother call her a spinster or relatives demanding to know why one has not married yet--will remind a gal that she's not in her early or mid twenties, that she is in fact in her late twenties.

Friday night, I went to two different bars. Got drunk. Went to a dance club, pounded a few more drinks, and danced my ass off. Realized--after about 10 years of experience with alcohol, some of which included nights of bowing down to the porcelain god--that I had reached the Limit and subsequently drank lots of water.

Saturday, slightly hungover, I attended a professional event with an open bar. Then went to another bar and then a dance club and danced my ass off. Got drunk. Unfortunately, I realized my Limit a little too late, and a visit to the porcelain god was in order.

Today is Sunday. As I groggily popped in my Extra Strength Tylenol caplets and forced water down my throat, it hit me: I'm too old for this shit.

I am not 20 years old. I am not in college. I am not of that mind and body and state where I can get piss-ass drunk two nights in a row, dance nonstop for five straight hours until 3 AM and bounce right back the next day on three hours of sleep and be totally normal. I don't even feel normal when I'm sober.

Granted, I had fun. I love meeting new people. I love dancing to music while buzzing happily. I love going out. So aside from the nausea, headaches, vomiting and hangovers, I had fun.

Just a new note to self: reserve the piss-ass-debauchery to only one night a week.