The Pep Talk

You may remember a while back, I was pursing a girl named Amber with high hopes I'd get (at the very least) a drunk, make-out sesh.

Having been with only one girl for six years, I missed out on opportunities to have drunken, make-out sessions with girls who I didn't have any interest in beyond the physical. These types of things usually happen during high school and, for the most part, college. It's like a twisted rite of passage. And I missed out.

Although I was pretty sure that Amber was as prime a candidate as any, I was ill-equipped to prepare for an evening under these circumstances. The only girl I had ever actively "planned" to make out with was my girlfriend; someone who wasn't just there to fulfill some physical need. Get my drift?

I found an old conversation between Leo and myself during the night I had Amber over for drinks. As almost all of my conversations with Leo about girls, I found it absolutely hilarious as well as insightful.

I think you might too.

Who says guys don't think about these things?

Listen to me, young grasshopper.

Leo: Whatever the signs, whatever the signals.... assume nothing. Treat her like... I wouldn't say a dude, but you know...
Leo: And don't forget to flirt. If you remember how.
So@24: Fuck you. I can flirt.
Leo: And I can fly.
So@24: Hang tight, I'm searching Google for a "suck it" emoticon.
Leo: Anyway. Small moves. Baby steps.
So@24: Uh huh.
Leo: Oh. And shampoo your crotch.
So@24: Fuck, man!
Leo: And clean your shit up before she comes over.
So@24: I'm heading to the store on my way home. What should I pick up? Rum?
Leo: It doesn't really matter--vodka or rum. Clear is better.
So@24: Chasers?
Leo: Vodka and Vanilla Coke are very effective clothing solvents
So@24: Vanilla Coke is risky.
Leo: Explain.
So@24: It's not an effective go-to. Some girls love it and some girls loathe it. I think I'm safe with Diet Coke.
Leo: Diet is safe. Libations check. You have a pre-funk playlist?
So@24: What?? For just me and her?
Leo: Absolutely. You have it playing when she comes in. Not loud, just background music.
So@24: Oh fuck me.
Leo: AND, most importantly, don't make it YOUR favorite pre-funk, make it her favorite. You're looking for crowd pleasers, not pop-punk.
So@24: Fuck you.
Leo: Maybe some shit that'll start a conversation. "You heard this/Who is this?" shit.
Leo: You need a second playlist though... This one is the tough one. You need a Naughty Business Mix.
So@24: No! This is where I draw the line. I'm not making a fucking "sexy" playlist. I can't do it. I just can't.
Leo: There's nothing more awkward than a silent, first make out.
So@24: It's cheesedick.
Leo: No man, it's not like... breathy-"Hang on, let me put on some music" shit. Unless shit goes down earlier in the evening, the make out isn't going to happen until later, perhaps even an hour or two AFTER you get home.
Leo: So you just put that shit on as background noise. Don't think of it as a "sex mix", think of it as a "chillax mix"
So@24: My curiosity is getting the best of me, what do you suggest?
Leo: Well, there's a fine line. Can't be too obvious (Manilow), but there's nothing worse than music that's too upbeat. Which you have a lot of.
Leo: When in doubt, go classic. Some slower Beatles. "Norwegian Wood" is a great example of a nice balance in vibe. Not too much percussion, but not "cheesedick" either.
So@24: What do you think I'm going to throw on? Fucking Sting's "Fields of Gold"?
Leo: ...
So@24: Fuck you.

One in Six...

I never thought I was going to hear from Amber again. Our last encounter wasn't anything particularly spectacular. The entire experience was like oatmeal. I mean, I never put up a fuss when breakfast was a bowl of oatmeal, but it will always be... well... just oatmeal.

I received a text message from her the following night. It was 11:00pm and she was reminding me that she still had my shorts and t-shirt that I let her borrow. Did I want to go over to her place and pick them up?

"All Signs Point to Yes", Magic 8 Ball.

During my drive, I kept getting phone calls from Amber.

Amber: Where aaaaaaaaaaare you?
So@24: You just called me 10 minutes ago. I'm on my way.
Amber: Well hurry up and Tokyo drift your ass over here, boy!

Well then. She was indeed drunk. Very drunk.

When I arrived at the steps of Amber's apartment, I could already hear the cacophony that always accompanies booze-fueled gatherings.

Amber and her friends gave me a warm welcome, but I immediately knew I was out of place. Their jokes were crass and juvenile, there was a drunk dude slumped over, completely passed out. In a word, the whole scene was trashy.

Amber presented me a shot of rum and a tall can of Monster energy drink.

"Play catch up," she smiled.

I was not going to argue with that. I was definitely an uncomfortable stranger in an even stranger land. This was solidified when the hooded drunkard suddenly popped up, grabbed the car keys and ran out the door. Amber's friend took off after him saying, "He's going to drive drunk again. I hate when he does this shit."

And then... we were alone.

What the fuck was I doing here?

Amber and I both took a few more shots and I found myself in the middle of a second make out session.

It got a little more heated this time, but again... my instinct was telling me that something was off here. And no, it was not a matter of me trying to force my mitts in places and her having to push me away. It was completely based off that feeling you get.

When she traced her finger along the waistband of my boxers shorts, I almost melted on the spot (let's go ahead throw that up there to the recently-growing list of "things I miss about girls").

But she stopped there.

My mind was racing. I know I've been out of the game for quite sometime now, but something wasn't adding up. With a pinch of frustration and a giant dollop of confusion, I rolled over and let the remaining rum in my system put me to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, I threw on my wrinkled jeans and wrapped my watch around my wrist. Like the night before, the conversation and atmosphere wasn't at all awkward or uncomfortable. As I was stepping over her giant mounds of clothes, I caught a glimpse of her creamsicle colored vibrator. "What the...? What is this girl's deal..."

I gave Amber a hug, thanked her for the drinks and was about to step out the door when she asked, "Could you take a seat?"

So@24: Uh... sure.
Amber: I just wanted to explain about the last couple of nights. I have a problem with intimacy because I was raped last year.




I instantly broke out into a cold sweat. My combined time of hanging out with Amber was less than 48 hours; I didn't know anything about her. I had absolutely NO idea what to say.

So@24: Hey, you don't need to explain anything to me. I had a good time.
Amber: I usually don't mention it. Guys just think I don't like them, but I didn't want you to think it was you.

I was completely caught off guard, I didn't know if what I said came off well or if I even said the right things. What are you supposed to say? I've never known anyone personally who has gone through such a traumatic experience.

My brain was going a mile a minute during my long drive home. This was something I naively never thought I would encounter when I reemerged in the dating world. Never even crossed my mind. Statistics show 1 in 6 women will be sexually assaulted in her lifetime. It's a very ugly reality, but... it happens more than people (including me) realize.

After a physical recovery, Amber is still a twentysomething woman who deserves to be able to date and have sex. And to have that taken away from her is incredibly sad.

As someone who has a lot of good girl friends, it's heavy stuff to think about, but all the more reason to acknowledge it.

Dating. Fuck. You have to be prepared for that occasional knuckle ball.

I Forgot How to Transition

Amber spotted my Shepard Fairey poster mounted on the wall.

"So, did you vote for Obama?"

I sensed the disdain in Amber's question and I didn't like it. I raised an eyebrow and pushed my tongue forcefully to the inside of my cheek.

"Why yes I did. Who did you vote for?" She had only been in my place for 10 minutes. This was already over before it begun.

Amber: Well, I actually didn't like either candidate.

So@24's Inner Monologue: Alright, time for the backup chute.

So@24: What did you think about Prop 8?
Amber: Oh it was a tragedy that it passed.

Whew. Alright. I can focus on that.

This exchange would prove to be perfect foreshadowing for rest of the evening. Me forcefully looking the other way about a variety of Amber's "quirks" and trying to zero in on the stuff that just "wasn't so bad".

This was to be expected, I knew that coming in.

Amber was not as bad as I had remembered her. Perhaps in those two years she matured a little bit. But she still has a long way to go.

We both had little to go off of so the main focus of conversation turned to an unspoken agreement of "well, let's take shots of alcohol and see where it takes us". This was just going to be physical. But we already knew that. Wink.

I invited my friend Jenny and her boyfriend Danny to join us. I knew ahead of time Amber and I would run out of things to bullshit about, so I needed the extra support. The restaurant we agreed to meet at was busy, so Danny came up with the great suggestion of heading back to Sexy Dojo and ordering in pizza.

As the tally of rum shots began to climb, so did my perspective of what Leo has been trying to tell me for the past few years. I was beginning to see through his lenses. I didn't really care what happened at the end of the night either way. If she wanted to stay over, great. If she didn't, well that was fine too. When you don't care either way, when nothing is really invested; your confidence level sky rockets.

So after Jenny and Danny leave and after about shot 8, I go in for the kiss and a make out session began.

However. I forgot how to transition.

Amber was wearing one of those dresses where the giant belt comes right up under her boobs. Her boobs were pouring out of the top like an opened can of Pop n' Fresh. It was actually quite beautiful. I almost wept.

I digress. The problem was, I forgot how you move from making out to... well, other things. Especially when the girl is wearing a dress with a giant, awkward belt. And, let's be serious, the dress is essentially just a giant piece of cloth. It's very difficult to maneuver.

When she was kissing my neck, I actually furrowed my brow and contorted my face trying to work out how I was going to solve this dilemma. I haven't had to solve a problem this difficult since my days of The Incredible Machine.

And like The Incredible Machine, when I couldn't get those fucking pulleys to work in my favor, I succumbed to my frustration and gave up. It came back to me (very quickly) what it is like to make out with someone and have to try and gauge their responses... to read into their ever action in order to figure out if they want to go further. You have to go with your gut and while we were having a good time drunkenly sucking face, I got the sense she was content with where we were at.

When I was in the comfort of a committed relationship, I remember hearing stories from people saying "We just made out. Nothing else." I grabbed my sides and pointed at my friends, laughing at their misfortune. "How can you just make out?? We're not 7th graders. We're adults now. I just can't visualize a scenario where it just stops at making out? It's impossible."

I got a giant dose of my own medicine. Because I learned that it's very possible.

Again, I was fine with it. I didn't care either way. A makeout sesh was cool. We passed out like drunk kittens. She left in the morning without any awkward goodbyes.

I forgot how much I miss girl hair. The smell. And nothing beats running your fingers through it.

Good shit.

Sidestreets to the Danger Zone

I have a date on Friday.



I think?



One evening back in the early (darkest, most bitter) stages of my breakup, Leo and I threw a house party. At this particular shindig, I was taking shots of Jim Beam like there was no tomorrow. Jim and I still haven't made up since our big blow up from that night. Bastard.



I had met a girl there who happened to be a friend of a friend of a friend. Amber was relatively attractive, drank like a fish, but there was something particularly... "immature" about her. I was in a very dark place, so throughout the evening I pretended to listen to her as I took pull after obliterating from my pint o' whiskey. She was very nice and maybe I would have been more receptive to her if we had met at a different time.



At around 3 in the morning, I decided to pass out in bed. Amber followed me into the room and crawled under the covers with me. She kept going on and ON about how she hated living with her boyfriend ("There used to be so much passion! So much PASSION!") while I laid awake staring at the ceiling hoping that she had somehow miraculously gained powers of telepathy, would read my homicidal thoughts and leave me alone to wallow in my own depression.



That was two years ago. I haven't spoken or heard from her since that party.



In the back of my mind, I have always wondered what would have happened between her and I if I wasn't in that weird "immediately out of a six year relationship" stage. Over the weekend, I got to thinking about ol' Amber. Maybe it was time to be proactive and not be so picky. Maybe I do need to just "get laid" and bitch slap that fucking monkey off my back.



Impulsively, I text messaged Amber and to my surprise, she replied back. I had opened a dialogue with a girl who I can barely place a memory on due to a thick mental fog of Jim Beam. I discovered that she lives about an hour and a half away (not a quick trip) and is no longer living with her boyfriend or dating anyone.



After about 15 texts and a few emails back and forth, I asked if she wanted to grab a drink this Friday. She agreed.



I think the circumstances are pretty black and white here. I believe that Amber and I are on the same page. This was going to be a "hey, let's get completely smashed together and we don't really know each other and see what happens" Friday night.



I haven't ever had one of those.



Time to get insight from my best friend Leo.



Leo: After careful thought and reconsideration of certain themes on your blog, I've come to the conclusion.



1. You can't look for a girlfriend now

2. You need to have sex.



So@24: We're supposed to have drinks this Friday. It's been forever since I've done something like this.

Leo: You're GOLDEN! A few drinks, it's game on.

Leo: ...But seriously wear a condom. You don't want to jump into the LA River without a hazmat.

So@24: I don't remember ANYthing about her.

Leo: Here's the key. You're a condo owning baller making a little time out of your baller schedule to entertain this lass. You walk the walk, wear that confidence. It's all over.

So@24: And since I don't really care what happens anyway, this confidence thing will be a breeze.

Leo: ... I'm walking a real thin moral line here.

So@24: HAHAHAAHAHAH!

Leo: Basically, all I'm saying is, finding The Next One takes a lot of time and significant trial and error. We'd like to think it happens the way it does in The Notebook, but the truth of the matter is we try people out and see if they fit. You're basically seeing if Amber "fits".

Leo: That might be a bad way of putting it, but you see what I mean.

So@24: Well, what if I already know that she is NOT a fit?

Leo: Then you do it anyway to increase the size of the data pool. It's all in the name of science. At least that's what I tell myself. Besides, she could very well be fine with just having sex and that being that.

So@24: Maybe you're onto something...

Leo: I can safely say that for all women I've slept with recently, I knew that I was not interested in any of them. Sometimes I feel compelled to let them know it before (without being hurtful... "I don't think I have the time a relationship requires") and sometimes it's an unspoken agreement that we're both here to get each other off. But in every case, I'm settling in a way. Because I know these girls are not for me.

So@24: -scratches chin-

Leo: So. I think it's time for you to settle.

So@24: Oh fuck. Prof. Leo is making us buy TWO of his textbooks. I hate when they do that.

Leo: Dude. Residuals.

* * *

I guess the final moral question remains: If the opportunity presents itself, should I sleep with a relatively attractive girl (who may not be that bright) who I barely know with the slight chance that I'd get to feel her boobs? Discuss.



Leo's answer? See below.