some music needs air, roll down your window.

Recently Clever Girl Goes Blog posted a soundtrack to her life. Not that I think she was the first to think of such a thing (as I'm sure all of us music lovers have done so a trillion times) but kudos for posting. Got me thinking, and to be honest, streamlining my music obsession into one 13 track CD would be nearly impossible.

Keeping with the themes of my blog: sex, love and boys, I'll try to spit out a few songs that make me cry, cringe or vomit - those that reduce me to a god awful flashback of some[man] who has come and, regretfully (or not so regretfully) gone... from my life. So this is the start of my "God, why I am such a desperate, clueless, moron when it comes to sex, love and boys?" soundtrack.

Ugh, starting with:

Brian - the old guy who can't seem to grow out of his play-on-playa-homeboy-wannabe phase. The one who remains incredibly inarticulate and seemingly unintelligent - who also managed to break my heart... twice three, four, how many times? What a mistake.
Apologize by Timbaland: I must have changed my Myspace profile to feature this song 25 times during the two or three months (or 6 months, a year?) that I tried to convince myself I could walk away from our saga with the upper hand. I kept listening to this song thinking that I was over him, and he couldn't have me back, to quote the song... it was too late to apologize. Unfortunately once reality (or my best friend Lindsey) slapped me across the face I realized that he wasn't trying to apologize, or have me back... he didn't even want to talk to me.

Zach - the 3 year high school into college high school sweetheart. Should I even try to list all of "our songs?" Probably not.
I Will Always Love You by Whitney Houston: During one of our nasty, terribly heart breaking break ups (all my doing, god I was heartless) he sent me a CD. I was in college, he was still in high school. I received the CD in the mail and like an idiot, decided to open it between classes when I was checking my email in the computer lab. I put my headphones in the computer to spare the entire school from listening to what my desperate ex-boyfriend was sending me. Like an even bigger idiot, I put the headphones into the wrong hole and proceeded to get about 2 minutes into Whitney Houston belting out a terribly sappy song, before the kind soul next to me tapped my shoulder and asked if I could turn down my music... he was trying to write a paper.

Ryan - the dear, dear friend with whom I had a lovely emotional love affair with for 7 years which was then ruined by one sweaty make out session and two drunken fucks.
Blinded By the Light by Manfred Mann: For 7 years he and I texted, called, or left a blaring voice mail to inform the other that this song had just came on where ever we were. We danced like fools who were so high on life a dozen times, in a dozen different bars, in a number of different cities to this song. It started because on our first date at the beginning of those 7 years we watched Blow on his couch. This then became one of our "songs" and for no reason we just took to it. I probably should have read into the lyrics a bit more and taken "she was blinded by the light" as a sign that he was Bad News Bears...

More to come with David (the Hollywood movie star), Todd (the long distance soul mate), Ian (the cheating, head games, college boyfriend) and the list will continue...

For now I'm going to fancy myself with a little after work party at a bar downtown. How very posh of me... I don't even know how fancy is supposed to be used... and beers and a baseball game probably do not count as posh.

But whatever.

xoxo

sex changes everything, doesn't it?

So here we go, what should be a great weekend recap is... well, not. Sex seriously ruins everything. Everything and everyone. I hate it. True statement there... I haven't had sex and enjoyed it, really, actually enjoyed it in so long that it's pathetic. It's pathetic because I know better - I know that if I dislike having sex so much of the time, it probably means I shouldn't be sleeping with these people.

It ruined things with Ryan, that's for sure. We had so much going between the two of us... so many years of history. An awesome friendship. Mystery. Innocence. A secret emotion just between the two of us. SO MUCH that I wanted to hold onto, without RUINING it by sleeping together. Needless to say, we slept together. It doesn't matter that we were both wasted. It didn't matter that the next morning we were both terrified by what we had just done. Months before when we hooked up, it felt INCREDIBLE to not have sex... we had a night that was perfect. Perfect hooking up, perfect cuddling, perfect PDA and perfect time alone, literally rolling around in the bed, laughing like stupid little school children. The innocence that I felt, and that he even said he knew kept us together - well it was ruined by one stupid drunk night.

And the sex wasn't even good.

It was so not even good, that I slept with him again. Another night. Drunk. After we fought.

Logical? No, not at all.

Anywhoooooo, that put an end to whatever messed up, confusing, relationship we had going on. Sex changes things, whether it ruins things or perfects things, it changes things. And until I'm in a relationship that is ready to be quote unquote perfected, I'm putting my money on the fact that drunk sex with people who don't adore me... will... ruin things.

Where's this going? Friday night. Really drunk, obviously... as I was going out with Elena and Lauren and the three of us together have quite the habit of pregaming too hard, and going out too hard. A few bottles of wine, one power hour, three shots and a cab ride (during which we finished a water bottle full of vodka) later... I arrive at my new favorite bar - absolutely wasted.

I somehow manage to be shady the whole night (the word 'whole' is up for debate here, considering I left the bar at 12:50, but we'll get there in a second). My friends are all downstairs dancing, drinking and I'm sure having fun. What am I doing? I don't know... I really don't but they told me the next day that I was not with them. Your guess is as good as mine. However my inbox/outbox tells me that I continued to text Adam with whom I had texted for most of the evening... and around 12:30 I get a call. Adam's going back to his neck of the woods and not coming to the bar we are at after all. Shit, I had really wanted to meet up with him. Have no fear, he tells me to just catch a cab to his house.

Like an idiot, I do. I don't have any cash in my wallet. He tells me he'll meet the cab outside and pay for my cab. Does this make me a prostitute? Or just make him a nice guy? The answer is yet to be determined. However considering the fact that before I got in the cab I stopped at an ATM and took out $60 because a tiny, itsy bit of me didn't trust that he would meet me outside and pay leads me to think he may not be such a nice guy after all. Damn it, trust your instincts. No, no, no... I think he is a nice guy? He's always been so sweet.

Okay so my cab gets lost, we eventually make it. Adam does in fact meet us outside, pays the cab driver for my fare (or my services... kidding of course) and we go hang out inside.

Hanging out turns to making out and hooking up and the next thing I know (but don't fully remember) we're naked at at that point where we're going to start having sex.

Before I continue.. Adam and I used to hook up pretty regularly, but if you notice in my first post... he's not a notch on my belt. For all the times we hooked up we never had sex! And he never even came close to trying. Which made our relationship have that same dreaded, waiting to be ruined, "innocence." Adam was always the fun hook up, the really sweet guy who would just hang out, like really just hang out and hook up, make out and cuddle. UGH if only I could preserve that in a glass jar (unfortunately glass jars can break right?) So when I realize all of a sudden (okay I need to stop talking like I'm a victim here, I know I was pulling his hips closer to mine, I was there too...) that we're having sex (and it's actually enjoyable)...

here it comes...

I push him enough away from me and...

start crying?

Yea, I don't know why. I don't know where it came from, perhaps the few bottles of wine, one power hour, three shots and a cab ride during which we finished a water bottle full of vodka had something to do with it... but I cried! IDIOT. Poor kid had no idea what just happened. If only I could have snapped out of my drunkness just for one second to tell him calm down, don't worry, I'm just wasted.. and hey that was feeling pretty damn good. Unfortunately that didn't happen and I just continued sobbing quietly to myself, leaving him utterly confused and probably wishing he hadn't dropped $25 on this head case's cab (yeah, that's me I'm referring to.)

I end up calling or texting Elena, she picks me up, drives us home.

The end.

Hellooooo damage control the next morning. But in situations like this, I almost always just make it worse. Maybe I should have let it be.. not brought it up, left Adam to be confused and just got on with life knowing damn well that he now completely and entirely knows of my basket case-ness. Ehhh, see I still think he's such the perfect guy. He even managed to say some pretty sweet, perfect things the night before amidst my sobs and snotty nose.

So I text him. Try and make up for the night before with a hint of "ooooh man, I feel like such an idiot.. I'm so sorry for calling you a fucking asshole?" (Oh yea, on my way out I may have dropped the you're such a fucking asshole line before I slammed the door.) Truth is - he is the farthest thing from an asshole. He didn't pressure me, he didn't force anything and yes I'm sure I was asking probably begging for everything. That's not the point. In response to my text he even apologizes (for WHAT Adam?!!! I was just wasted, I'm the idiot here who should be apologizing). I think I'm in the clear after a few texts back and forth so I give him the "Can we try meeting up again sometime soon? Preferably not when I'm so wasted" text and his response?

Ladies and gents, the reason why sex in fact ruins everything... He says back, via text message the morning after:

"Yea, sure."

Man does he sound enthusiastic.
Not.

just a number?

I have exactly 13 minutes before my meeting with the company's accountant. Ugh, (uuuuggh even worse! the 'ugh' groan reminds me of Ryan P, inside jokes making getting over someone hard) anyways! Who enjoys meeting with accountants? I hate numbers, I hate math - even though I'm really good at it, if we're going to keep with this honest trend - math even used to be my favorite subject in school... don't quite know when I started hating numbers and money and math so much. Perhaps it was when I was old enough to realize that I'll never have as much money as I want and watching my bank account dwindle away after my shopping and coffee and bar habit.. well that's not as fun as my 9th grade math class, now is it?

Okay, so since this is my first day with the blog, I've wanted to post like, well constantly. I should jump on this eagerness, it's sure to fade within a week but alas I've waiting until, now 10 minutes before a meeting to write. So I'll keep it to something quick and easy. Ha, easy... interesting. My number? I can't even tell you right now I'm literally going to have to think about it. Awhile ago I told myself I'd stop counting. Not because it's so many people, just because. I mean, why should we have to walk around (in heels, at night, in a bar) with this magical number attached to our name (and perhaps body) as if anyone else ought to be able to judge me for it?

Okay, I'm avoiding the issue... let me count thy waaays, or people. Jon, Luke, Zach, Andrew, Jamie, Brandon, Will, Todd, Brian, David, Matt, Lucas. I'm forgetting people. Who am I forgetting? And isn't it terrible that I could forget someone I've slept with? Brendan. Hahah, I just realized the part of my life I was leaving out. Awww, how could I.. jackass... Ian. UGH! Lucas (the first) OH god, it's really coming to me now... Ryan. SIXTEEN? OH MY GOD. I haven't said that number before... well ladies and gents, I said I was going to be honest, and that's honest.

I've called myself a slut before, a whore, a homewrecker (unfortunately true)... AAH!!!! SEVENTEEN! I forgot about Tommy. Aah, the ultimate one night stand. The ultimate absolutely wish it never happened, one night stand. Whore. Ugh...