We all have those embarrassing sex stories, those elbow to the eye, granny panties, fell off the bed, and the hit my head on a head board stories. And if you don’t have one frankly I don’t think you’re doing sex right!

But these are usually personal. One person fell off the bed, one person burped in the others mouth, and so on.

So rather then telling about what I think is an embarrassing sex story that has happened to me, and believe me there are lots! I thought I’d try to think of what awkward, funny, disastrous sex moment I’ve had that would be the other persons most embarrassing….

Some time ago I was having sex (that’s sorta has to be in this story doesn’t it) and it was good, wonderful and every word you can think of to replace “great”.

Basically, we can say I was very much enjoying myself.

He was ontop and therefore I was below him (the classic missionary) and all of a sudden I feel this strange pressure building up in my lady parts. It was odd, different, not like any feeling I’ve felt like before.

I gave him a funny face as he continued with his ‘business’.

“ummm” my face kind of twisted.

“You ok you want me to stop” he stops but still ontop of me.

“Ummm…..No, but….something feels strange.”

“Bad strange or good strange?” he seemed concerned but obviously his blood wasn’t going to his brain at this moment.

“Kind of bad strange, it kind of hurts”

He backs up, and this pressure that had been building stops, kind of rushes out of me in a strange ‘I don’t know this feeling’ kind of way. And then I notice everything is all wet….

I sorta backup, sit up, and look down.

“Did you just?….Baby! I think you peed in me?!” I say as this look of shock and embarrassment comes over him, and he hides his head and rolls over.

And I of course can do nothing but start to laugh….

SIDEBAR: Apparently guys aren’t supposed to be able to urinate while having an erection, however, my Google searches have proved otherwise….and so has this personal experience.

FACT: I guess this means I’ve dabbled in water sports, although I didn’t ask too.

Here’s the thing I have been thinking about how I’ve been told on 3 occasions when I’ve meet a guy I’ve been seeing (involved with or dating) friends.

I’ve been told how great that guy is, how special he is, and how I better, in a sense, watch myself. I’ve been told that I need to understand how special and wonderful said guy is, and how I need to treat him well.

Now I get alittle thrown off because these are always the conversations I see people telling the guy who is dating the girl, at least that’s how it happens in the movies and on TV. It’s almost never people telling the girl to take care of the guy she is dating. Or is it?

Now most of the time when this happens I kind of want to say “Are you kidding me? You just meet me, but let me tell you something I am the real catch in this relationship.” Alas, I jus say, “ I know” and nod my head, or smile sweetly as I get told how great their guy friend is and how lucky I apparently am to be graced with his presence.

Here’s what gets me though. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend tell any guy I’ve ever brought around that I am a catch, or they need to treat me right. In fact, I pretty much am positive no friend has ever let a guy know that I am worthy of being treated well.

Maybe my friends assume that by the time I get around to introducing guys to them that I’ve already vented the bad ones out. Maybe they trust my judgment and what I’m doing.

But then again knowing my past judgment in relationships or men you would think my friends would let boys know that they should treat me well.

So question is do my friends just trust me that much? I find that hard to believe. Maybe no one really cares in a sense. They just assume I’ll pull myself back up at the end of the day, like I always do so why waste their time telling a guy I’m dating to treat me right and realize I’m special….but I think I’m worth that, just alittle bit, maybe.

Let’s face it we all find ourselves in situations with the opposite sex (and same sex) that are less than ideal.  The retched being picked up or should I say attempt at being picked up is always a circumstance I dread.  However, after years of practice I’ve found some interesting and straight up nasty ways of getting that man who has attached himself to me to leave.

SIDEBAR:  Those who know me are always shocked when I pull these out of the bag of tricks, because I’m always the nice one who will politely talk to the creepy boy and make a nice and descent exit, however, sometimes you can’t hold back.

6 Excuses I have used to get out of talking to a guy (or ways to get him to leave you alone!)

1.  When he asks you what kind of drink you want and insists he buys you one even after you’ve made it clear you don’t want one you come up with a disgusting drink concoction. This concoction should include two types of alcohol and orange soda if possible.  My personal favorite is Jamison, Greygoose, orange soda, and bitters.  When he asks if it’s good you say: “ No, but it gets me angry drunk, and that’s what I’m going for tonight!

2. Put a ring on it!  Yes girls do take rings off their other fingers turn them around and make them look like wedding rings so they can tell guys they are married. However, this doesn’t always work, but when you tell him you are married, make sure you say it’s to a woman.  Guys are fascinated by lesbians, but for some reason they get turned off by married lesbians.

3. Pretend you are deaf.  This only works when you are alone, and not sitting with headphones on.  I have on more than one occasion pretended I couldn’t hear on the subway when some creepy man has started to talk to me. I also do a great ‘deaf speak’ of “ I can’t hear” with the sign language followed by a smile and a look away.  This should not be confused with not speaking English. Guys get turned on by the idea of you not speaking English, but no one wants to be the creep hitting on the deaf girl.

4.  When at a bar ask the guy if he came with any female friends. When he asks why, or says yes. Ask if he thinks they might have a tampon cause you’re bleeding through them like crazy. They run faster than Moses parted the red sea.

5.  Start to dry heave and excuse yourself. Only at a small house party gathering will you maybe encounter the guy who will follow you and want to hold your hair, otherwise they’re done with you. Starting to pick your nose also works very well, as long as you get right up in there.

6. When they ask for your number say it’s better if they give you theirs because you wont be availed for a while. Tell them your doctors says you shouldn’t be having sex until 5 days after this cycle of medication you’re on is finished.

Like most people I have my drink of choice. I’m a top-shelf gin and tonic girl, extra lime please. However, I love me a good (scratch that) great Mojito!

SIDEBAR: a Mojito is not supposed to be too sweet and when there isn’t a ton of sugar in them they are divine! I have been known to devour quite a few when the occasion arises.

So if you don’t know what a Mojito is that’s cool I’ll forgive you guys, all I will say is a major component is Mint. Yummy yummy crushed up mint.

Here is something I’ve always noticed and always commented on when out drinking Mojito.

I always get a stick! Now I’m sure getting a bit of stick attached to the mint steam has happened to lots of people. But this happens to me every single time. One drink after another, one bartender after another.

I always have this short piece of stick in my Mojito! Always!

Maybe it’s a sign of something. Maybe it’s Dionysus or some other drinking God alluding to facts unknown in life. Maybe my life has been one giant stick, or better yet maybe my dating life, my love life always seems wonderful, seems perfect, is much like a delicious Mojito but deep down inside is a shark little stick, a small flaw getting ready to pock me and bust the bubble.

And then again you never know. Cause about two months ago I went on a amazing first date, and in the spirit of being honest had about 5 (maybe 6) Mojito over dinner, and not one, NOT A ONE had a stick in them….

Hmmm… maybe it was a sign or something.

Almost 6 or 7 or even 8 years since I had even spoken or seen “first guy” he tracked me down at a job (aka he googled the hell out of me) called my work mid day and asked me to forgive him for how badly he had treated me.  I told him simple he didn’t have to ask me to forgive him because I already had.

Fact of the matter is I didn’t forgive him (well maybe I did) I just didn’t care anymore. I could careless. I spend most of our hour conversation in which he wanted to “catch up” wondering what type of 12 step program he was in, in which he needed my forgiveness.

FACT: I may have asked if he was in rehab.

SIDEBAR: This call from him also came a few months before he married wife number 2, so maybe that is how they were connected.

So my question of thought rolls around this…..is it better to say things regardless of your timing then to never say them at all?

Does letting out thought and feelings in regards to relationships better then bottling them up and waiting for hem to go away. And in that case do they ever really all go away.

A few months back I drunkenly told a guy I had cared deeply about that he broke my heart when he said he couldn’t be involved with me (after we had been involved) Did I mean it, yeah, but did I really mean it, I don’t think so.  (does that make sense?!)

It felt good to get it out there. To say “you hurt me, I’m over it, now lets be friends!” And great friends we are!

Last summer I had a good guy friend get married. This guy friend and I had started something once, but timing and location made it impossible. One of the “what if” relationships. We all have them, in fact, life is full of those “what if” moment.  (In fact that is a whole blog on it’s own)

This friend called me two days before he got married to tell me that exact thing.  “What if” and how he “wished we had been able to give it a shoot” with me.

So why is it when it comes to relationships, when it comes to matters of the heart do we close up when something is right in front of us, but later on we let out how hurt we are, what we regret, and ask for forgiveness?

I know it may seem odd to some but I truly have never had a guy I was interested in who I assumed was interested in me tell me I was/am beautiful.

Like I said in that old post. I get cute alot, and sexy, and pretty, and sweet, and sure the creepy men on the train have called me beautiful, but an actual boy say those actual words. Never has happened.

Well that is until the other night.

I heard someone say, “you’re really beautiful”.

And I believed it.

And my heart fluttered like my heart has never fluttered before.

But yet, it’s still me so I am hesitant to believe anything from a guys mouth.

But for right now a guy makes me feel beautiful. It’s a new and exciting feeling.

And without sounding corny, it’s a beautiful feeling.

A good old friend of mine where skyping the other night and he referenced this post, where I talk about what things I wish a boyfriend would do/things I’ve never had a boyfriend do. And he went on about how I’ve had some pretty amazing guys do some pretty amazing and impressive things for me. So in a fashion of writing I love here is a list.

9 Amazing things about the guys I’ve dated.

1. Every guy I’ve ever been in a relationship with was self-sufficient and employed. (Believe me this is a nice thing)

2. I have not only a nice jewelry collection but also a very very impressive one. It’s very nice and very shinny.

3. I’ve had two award winning songs, and countless nominated songs (and even more regular ones) written about me. Now not all are good, but it’s the thought that counts right!

4. I have been taken on trips to amazing locations/place all over the world and meet amazing people.

5. I’ve always been with guys that love and appreciate food. This has satisfied me in many ways.

6. I believe every guy I have dated (except for ‘first guy’) has believed in me, my ideas, my goals, and my ideals.

7. I’ve dated boys who appreciate my humor. And most importantly they laugh at my jokes, and with me. Ok and alot of times at me!

8. They have put up with me. And although I’m told that is easy, I can’t stop thinking that it can’t be THAT easy.

9. Regardless of what I say they were all very special in their own ways. And I owe who I am right now to every single one of them…..and ME is pretty great!

SIDEBAR: This is also a story I’ve sat on for a while. I’ve struggled with on so many levels, but in the end putting it out there is always best, or not. But here we go *deep breath*

You, Me, and the Stump equals three! Part One and Two!

I had noticed Elevator-Hottie since I starting working in the building 5 months ago. Ok, I didn’t notice him I straight up stared and maybe drooled at him. This man was hot, and by hot I mean HAWT!

We always seemed to be stuck in the elevator together, most times alone no matter what time of the day.

I simply chalked this up to fate!

We had exchanged a few smiles back and forth (god he had great teeth) but other then that, he watched the elevator TV and I pretended to be doing something important on my phone while I checked out his hot ass in his nice suit!

I worked late that night and as I was leaving the office around 8pm, I clicked the down button.

The door opened and there stood his tall gorgeous frame. (If I were a guy I would’ve got an instant hard on)

He smiled. I quickly looked down at my phone.

Elevator-Hottie: Can I just say something?

I looked up, mouth open from shock and stared at his beautiful face. I did not say anything, I don’t think I even nodded, but may have turned bright red.

Elevator-Hottie: You’re gorgeous! I’d love to take you to dinner sometime, if you’d like and are available.

I keep staring, drool may or may not have fallen from my mouth.

“Ummmm…(What ever I said here was most definitely babble and I fear evening thinking about it. I’ve blocked it from my memory)”

Elevator-Hottie: Can I get your card?

“Umm…yeah…sure” I fumbled for a card.

Elevator-Hottie: “I always wondered what you did at ‘the magazine with boobies’……”

His voice trailed off as he got off the elevator. I was planted firmly in my place still in shock and awe from the fact he even talked to me. ME!?! Did he just ask me out? HE asked ME, (ME?!) out!?!

The elevator doors closed!

SIDEBAR: I am an idiot!

I press the button the doors open (as I am already on the first floor). I walk out he is gone and there is Tom my favorite of our night security desk guys. “Smooth, very smooth!” He says with a smile.

I blew it! I totally blew it! Oh well.

But I get a phone call that night, and it was Elevator-Hottie. Seriously, I was now staring to believe in this ‘fate’ stuff.

Our first date was to be an after work drink. Although in all honesty I didn’t go to work till the end of day cause I was picking out the perfect outfit, getting my hair just right, doing nails, and all the girl (yes sometimes I’m like that) stuff!

We had a seemingly perfect first date. We had great conversation, I didn’t get to drunk (a usual first date flaw on my part) we ended up grabbing dinner, all in all a great date. As we were saying our goodbyes he gave me a “had a great time” accompanied by a pat on the shoulder.

He hates me. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that third drink, maybe I talked to much, I probably swore to much, maybe it’s cause I made fun of him…..urg such is my life!

But he called me. And he kept calling me.

Now Elevator-Hottie was everything you’d want in a man, especially in a Manhattan man. Tall, unbelievable handsome, very well educated, good family, owned his own apartment with a park view (and not stand on the toilet  in the bathroom tilt your head kind of view, we’re talking a view!) He had great job, and he even a summer house.

Date number 12 rolls around and the most action I’ve gotten is a peck on the lips and a pat on the back hug. And a few flower arrangements sent to my office.

I mean come on, a girl cant wait forever. In my dating world 12 dates is pretty much an engagement! So you better pony up! I was so confused by the situation, and never been in one like this before. Plus, I like sex so I was alittle upset on that front too.

I was also struggling with him because as perfect on paper as he may have been. He really didn’t make me laugh. OK, I shouldn’t say that he was funny he would make any normal girl laugh alot. But I need and want a guy who makes me spit out my drink, maybe pee my pants just alittle bit laugh! (It’s a requirement)

My friends all pushed me towards the ‘perfect on paper’ and said to ignore the other details.

Oh right, I’m forgetting that one other detail. You see for all his great perfect on paper points, there’s one little thing he didn’t have.

One quality mister-perfect-elevator-hottie-on-paper was missing.

Actually, it was more of an appendage then a quality. You see Elevator-Hottie was missing his left leg below the knee. He had a prosthetic, no leg, a whatever you want to call it………There was no leg!

So I rationalized his lack of physical contact as a shyness of his stump.

Maybe it was all scared up and nasty! Maybe it was shaped funny. Maybe he was scared I’d want to lick it during foreplay.

All I knew was if he didn’t take my pants off on this our 14th date, it’s over.

Leg or no leg : Over!

I get a Text message: Instead, why don’t you come over and we’ll order in and watch a movie.

Thank you Jesus! Come over and watch a movie IS and has always been code for come over and have sex!

But now I was terrified. I frantically spent hours googling sex with one legged men, and so on. These results turned up nothing but scary porn, and creepy craigslist ads.

This was it. You see if the sex is amazing, I guess I can get over the lack of gut hurting laugher. Plus, I was starting to really like him. NowI was more nervous then excited.

I show up at his apartment. I walk in the door and he jumps me. Wow! Like throws me against the wall, jumps me.

Where did this guy come from?

Lips are intertwined, arms are throwing and ripping off clothes. This one legged Hottie was on a mission! And his mission was me!

We take this action into the bedroom. We’re doing it, and we’re doing it. Oh and we’re doing it! And it was really great. And did I mention the view of the park from the bedroom!? The whole thing was hot and amazing!

I’m in the moment. Really in the moment, and then he decides he wants to take a trip…downtown !

And as I lay there with my eyes closed enjoying his downtown adventure I hear a soft whisper in my ear.

“She’s good isn’t she.”

I look over. I look down. I look over. I look down. I look…I look DOWN!

And there between my legs is this mass of grey hair.

I jump back! So fast and hard I hit the headboard and the back of my head started to bleed.

There at the foot of the bed is this …..Old Lady.

Now not just old, we’re talking tales from the crept, old lady boobs to her knees, fucking Old Lady OLD!

As I’m picking up my stuff I’m speechless. More shocked then when he asked me out in the elevator. I kept looking at him and his perfect body his mouth was moving, something about it being ok, how he wants me to stay. I kept looking at her with her really not perfect body saying something about how he was right I am really pretty.

And I couldn’t say anything. Maybe it was just the surprise of it, maybe it was the feeling that I was pretty much just violated by an old woman, or maybe it’s because I hit my head so hard I was pretty sure I was dying of a brain bleed. I was shaking and in shock, and just wanting to leave.

As I ran out in my jacket, one shoe and holding everything else I came in with. I walked into the bar across the street asked where the bathroom was and said I was coming back for shots!

As I put my clothes on I held back tears. I don’t know why exactly, but I had never wanted to be more loved and cherished by a man then in that moment. It sounds odd I know, but all I could think was why couldn’t I meet a nice guy, why does every guy I meet need to be an asshole douchebag or a freak. Why won’t anyone ever just love me. What was wrong with me?

Because just when you think someone is perfect on paper you realize their grandmother is doing the book keeping from inside the closet, or under the bed, or wherever one hides a walking swinger of a corpse!

My favorite moments of this trip besides some nice sun therapy and the spa would have to be my late night phone calls with Mr. Popular while sitting on the balcony.

Mr. Popular and I had been chatting/texting/IMing for months, and had had a few in person adventures!

I got home to NYC red and ready to hand in my paper. I also was thinking somewhat dreamy thoughts of Mr. Popular. This was one of the only time I can remember of where I actually really contemplated us as a “couple” and in a real “relationship”.

Problem being I didn’t think he felt the same way at all. I was pretty convinced we had moved into the ever wonderful “friendship” zone. He treated me like a ‘girlfriend’ but just never touched me like one….or at least how I assumed all guys touch their girlfriends.

I was getting ready to go to bed early, as I get tired from plane rides, and I get a phone call.

Mr. Popular is in my hood and right up the street. He wants to come over and see me. Holy shit balls!

We talked laughed and joked around for hours into the night. Just lying on my bed talking. Only times he got off the bed was to take a smoke break. His smoke breaks consited of him at my window, stradling my ratiator so he was half out the window and half inside the bedroom.

As the hours flew by I became more and more convinced we dove deeper into the “friend zone” and pretty soon the sun was close to coming up.

SIDEBAR: I was pretty cool with friend zone, but starting to question his sexuality at this point. What guy lies in bed for hours with a girl and doesn’t try anything?

We were laying talking laughing and then all of a sudden he leans in and kissed me.

There it was! Wow!

“Did you just kiss me?”

He kissed me again!

And then he stopped stared in my eyes and jumped up!

“I have to go!”

He bolted, ran, left quicker then Kiefer Sutherland throws back a shot of whiskey.

And I went to bed with the sun coming up feeling rejected: Sad, lonely, and rejected.

Until I awoke to find I had company in bed with me.

There were feathers and bird poo all over as pigeons had flown in and taken up residence in my room through his open “smoke break” window.

Maybe first kiss birds really do appear. And maybe sometimes in the form of gross dirty New York City pigeons!

SIDEBAR: I love my stuff, and my junk but it’s just “junk” and it has had a great life with me, and will make someone else very happy, and stylish “to-boot”

As I’ve been in awe of my collection of things I have noticed something very different than in any other move I have ever made.  I don’t have any relationship outcasts. No boy leftovers, no guy junk, or man tokens.

Last time I went “home home” my closet was still filled with boy leftovers: teddybears, pictures, and all sorts of crap. And it seems like every time I have moved I have had lots of guy-junk to purge from my life, and this time: nothing.

Ok, that is a lie. I have three things.

I have a pile of CD’s from “bandboy”s band. Some are even unopened and by some I pretty much mean all of them.  I count this as one thing, although it’s more like 8 things. I don’t know why I have them, why I even keep them, and why on earth I’ve moved them to different apartments (even a different country).  Although, when he mailed me the latest CD I had a nice little pile to add it to.

And I have two shirts.

Now I know what you are thinking, that I must be one of those girls who takes things from guys. You know the ones who take sweatshirts and t-shirts: the girl who collects t-shirts from guys to sleep in.

FACT:  I’d rather not sleep in a t-shirt.

But thing is I don’t really do that. Why would I want someone’s dirty clothes when I have my own perfectly clean (and even dirty) clothes? But I sat the other night staring at two: a hoddie and a sweater.  Such ‘girl’ things to take from guys I know, right.

But the fact is, I didn’t really take them. I kept them.  I didn’t let them go when everything else went.  Last time I really sat down and cleaned out my life’s ‘junk’ I did it for two. It was mine, and it was his, and I cleaned out and flushed so much away.

Just like my giveaway pile now, I got ride of so much that was drenched in memories.

Now it sounds strange but I can recall memories with everything I have, unless I really have no clue where it came from. I know where “we” have been together: my stuff and me.

I remember the time I got my heel stuck in a sidewalk grate and walked almost a block without a shoe(the pretty black with purple top Prada ones). Or the green and pink Jacob solder bag I trekked allover France. Everything has a memory, a place, and a story.

And then I have these two shirts. I have no idea why I kept these shirts. It is a plain grey cotton sweater that even though I have grown in size I still swim in it, and a black (but really looks navy) hoodie with nothing on it, warnout cuffs and missing drawstring.

I have no memories attached to these items. I have no idea where they were purchased, or even when they were worn. Yet, these were the two things I decided would help me remember someone: the person who owned them.

Sometimes it isn’t “things” that we remember.  We remember an experience, a feeling, and even a sensation.

I remember France, and that trip, and the friends I was with, how much I laughed, and all the things we did. The bag didn’t give me that. I remember the great night out I had with an amazing friend when I happen to lose my shoe.

It’s never been about the shoes, the bags, the coats, and even the glasses.

And then…

I remember a boy that I loved, not the clothes that he owned.