Sake + Gummy Bears = Love?

I feel so lucky to have a new Guest Post on Simone Grant's amazing blog!  Go check it out here!

About last night...

I have about 5 posts which I've been struggling with that for whatever reason I just can't seem to finish (read: they suck)...and then last night the blogging gods decided to throw me a bone...

So I was working late last night (around 1am west coast time) when my phone rang.  It was a Chicago number, but it wasn't someone in my contacts.  A lot of times I let unknown numbers just go to voicemail, but at 3am Chicago time I figured this had to be good.  And it did not disappoint...

Me:  Hello?
[Unknown girl on the other end of the line...slurring a bit]:  Hey, it's Monica.
Me [Monica...Monica...do I know a Monica?]: Sorry, I missed that.  Who?
Her:  It's Monica.
Me [I'm pretty sure she said Monica...who the hell is Monica?!]:  Wait, one more time?
Her:  MONICA!  Oh come on...Jax?

Holy crap!  Monica Jackson?! (as always, not her real name).  Now this is going to be entertaining.  Here is my entire experience with Monica Jackson.  10 years ago, my best friend from college called me and said "Hey, I'm sending a girl who works for me to meet a couple potential clients at your company's conference.  Would you mind taking her to the dinner you're hosting the night before and introducing her to these guys?".  No problem.  So I picked Monica up at her hotel, took her to dinner, introduced her to the potential clients she wanted to meet, and then watched as she proceeded to get absolutely plastered...to the point where at one point towards the end of the night she turned to me and said:

"My marriage sucks."
"Huh?"
"I can't even remember the last time I had great sex."
"Ummm..."
"That's actually not true.  I cheated on him recently and it was amazing."
"You...uhhh..."
"I want to do it again.  Actually I need to do it again."
"I'm not sure I'm totally comfortable with this conversation."
"Oh what?  You've never cheated on someone?"
"Uh, no."
"Well it doesn't matter because this wouldn't be you cheating, it would be me cheating."
"Wait, what?!  How did I come into this?"
"What are you, an idiot?  We're talking about having sex here."
"Who's talking about having sex?  You and me?"
"Yes you and me.  Jesus.  Are we doing this or what?"
"Uh, no we are most definitely not doing this."
 "Is it because you're friends with my boss?"
"No, it has more to do with the fact that you're MARRIED."
"Yeah, but I'm not happy."
"Well then do something about it.  But if you want my opinion, handle your business before doing anything stupid.  Again."
"I don't want your opinion.  I want to have sex.  Are you serious?  We're not doing it?"
"No, we're not doing it."
"Your loss.  You mind taking me home?"

So we grabbed a taxi, I dropped her off at her hotel, and that is the last and only time I have ever had contact with Monica Jackson.  I had heard through my buddy (who is now one of her best friends, and whom I never told what she said) that she did get divorced not too long after I met her.  And she did add me as a Facebook friend a couple years ago.  But one dinner ten years ago is the total extent of our direct contact.  Not enough to get me to remember her by first name alone, but certainly memorable enough that when she mentioned her nickname, that night and that conversation in particular, came rushing back.  So back to last night...


Me:  Holy crap!  Jax!  What the hell are you doing calling at this hour?
Jax:  I miss you.
[Oh boy, this is gonna be good...]
Me [kinda laughing]:  Aw, that's sweet.  You sound like you've had a few cocktails this evening.
Jax:  Maybe.  But I'm serious, I miss you.  When was the last time I saw you?
Me:  You mean the only time?  It had to be what, ten years ago?
Jax:  Is that it?  Have we only hung out once?
Me:  Yup.
Jax:  But we had fun right?
Me:  Yeah, we had fun.  So what's going on with you these days?
Jax:  I miss you!  I'm serious.  I'm in Chicago.  I kind of chased a boy out here.
Me:  Oh that's good!  How's it going?
Jax:  Eh...
Me:  Well are you still with him?
Jax:  I don't know.  I guess.  Not really.  Why are we talking about this?
Me:  Ha!  Always complicated with you, huh Jax?
Jax:  It doesn't have to be.  If I was with the right guy it would be simple.  I should date someone like you.
Me:  You mean if you weren't married or dating someone else any time we talked? [maybe a little below the belt, but I meant it for a laugh, not to hurt]
Jax:  Hey!  Yeah, I guess you're right.  But I don't have to be dating this guy.  I could come out and visit you.
Me:  Yeah, that's probably not the best idea.  I'm not really doing a whole lot of dating these days anyway.
Her:  Well I have gotten hotter since last time I saw you.  A lot hotter.  You'd want me if you saw me.  Do you want me to send you pictures?
Me:  No, that's ok.  I believe you.  I'm sure you're really hot.  I just don't think it's a good idea.
Jax:  Why not?  Didn't you have fun that night we made out?
Me:  Ummm...we never made out.
Jax:  We didn't?  But you came back to my hotel right?
Me:  Yeah, I dropped you off in a cab outside.
Jax:  So we never made out?
Me:  Nope.
Jax:  Well if we had you would have liked it.  And I'm hotter now.  Did I tell you that?
Me:  Yeah, you told me that.
Jax:  Well I am.  And I always thought you were so fucking hot.  We would make hot babies.
Me:  Well, let's not start planning a family just yet.
Jax:  I'm serious.  We would make really hot babies.
Me:  I would imagine you're right, but I'll be honest...we're not going to be making any babies.
Jax:  Why not?  I mean, I don't want to make babies right now either.  Well, I do, but I'm not saying I'm in a hurry to be making babies.  But I can't wait forever.  Come on, we'd have such hot kids.
Me:  Are you asking me to have kids with you?
Jax:  No!  I mean, we're not getting any younger though.  Don't you want to start a family?
Me:  Yeah, I'd love to start a family at some point, but I'm not going to agree to it on the phone with you tonight.
Jax:  That's why I said I should come out there.
Me [trying to laugh this off]:  Look Jax, I appreciate the offer to make babies, but it's not gonna happen.  My suggestion is you have one more drink as a nightcap, and then sleep this one off.
Jax:  You think I'm saying this because I'm drunk?  I wish I was drunk.  I would say this if I was completely sober.  I've been in love with you ever since the first night we hooked up.
Me:  We never hooked up.  And what?!
Jax:  You know what I mean.
Me:  I'm pretty sure I don't.
Jax:  I don't mean I love you, but I have thought about you because you're single.
Me:  Well isn't that just the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me.
Jax:  Shut up.  Don't you want to find someone?
Me:  Yeah, of course I do.  But this...
Jax:  Well then what's the problem?  I told you I'm hotter now right?
Me:  Yes, you told me you were hotter.
Jax:  This is getting nowhere.  What the fuck.
[click]

...and that was the end of the phone call.  She hung up on me with a "What the fuck".  Awesome!

And then I got a call today while I was in a meeting and this is the voicemail I got, verbatim...


Hey.  It's Monica.  About last night...umm...look you don't have to call me back...actually I'd prefer if you didn't call me back...but umm...I'm not sure exactly what I said but...I kind of remember snippets...umm...did I say something about babies?...Jesus fuck...look, I'm really sorry about that...umm...anyway, just sorry...and...well I guess that's it...and...no need to call me back...sooo...this is fucking ridiculous...sorry...anyway...yeah...so that's it.

Ladies and gentlemen, Monica Jackson, the future mother of my babies :)

I want my cake back!

You can't have your cake and eat it too.

What the heck does that even mean?!  I mean, I have cake all the time, and as my waistline can attest, I eat the hell out of it.  Really, what's the point of having a cake if you're not going to eat it?  Anyway, I looked it up;  the first recording of it is from 1546 as "wolde you bothe eate your cake, and have your cake?"...huh huh...they were really crappy spellers back then...huh huh.  Wait, what the hell is this, some sort of etymology lesson?!  You're here to talk about sex and to make me laugh, now dance monkey!!  You're right.  Sorry about that.  Where were we?  Oh yeah, cake.  Anyway, the dumbed down version of that saying (for people like me) is, once you've eaten your cake, you no longer have it.  Well, after last week, I finally get it.  I had my cake (a really good girl friend) and I ate it too (we went down the friends with benefits road)...now it has all fallen apart, and I wish I just had my cake back.

So let's see, what happened....

Fucking Ashton Kutcher.  That's what happened.  Oh, and Natalie Portman, Justin Timberlake and Mila Kunis too.  All of them, dead to me now.  Maybe slightly less so for Justin Timberlake, because he gave us these (Dick in a box, Motherlover, The Golden Rule).  But those damn friends with benefits movies have made my life miserable recently, so if given the opportunity I'd punch them all right in the face.  Really Hollywood?  One wasn't good enough?  You had to make a second, just to hammer the point home that sometimes friends with benefits turn into more?  You have absolutely ruined the concept of friends with benefits.  Ruined it.

So here are the details.  A couple months ago, as I was wallowing in misery over the breakup with THE Ex (see ...priceless), I was out drinking with my friend Kelly.  Kelly and I have been friends for years, and we have shared many a laugh over that time about our respective dating lives.  But it has never been anything more than friends.  She's amazing, but she's just not my type.  And I'm not hers either.  She's a vegetarian who is disgusted by my affinity for red meat.  She voted for George W. Bush...twice.  I have his picture on my dartboard.  She thinks getting outside for some exercise means walking to the corner store for more cigarettes.  Great friends...terrible potential match.

Anyway, we were drinking, and at some point (whether it was prompted by some ad for one of those movies I don't remember), she made a proposal.  You've pretty much seen it in both movies.  It basically boils down to:

1)  We're never going to date
2)  I like hanging out with you
3)  I need to get laid
4)  Let's use each other for sex

All of that is from her.  Her idea.  Let me emphasize point #1, because she most definitely did.  WE ARE NEVER GOING TO DATE.  She said over and over again how she had no interest in dating me. And as time went by (read: we drank more), I started come around.  Friends with benefits you say?  Hmm..this could work...

Actually, I have never really thought it could work.  I have passed up a fair amount of casual sex in my life (see Cookies and Sex) because I just have no idea how to figure out when a girl just wants sex, and when she wants something more.  And unless I am somehow absolutely sure that the girl wants nothing more than sex, I have tended to err on the side of caution, not sleeping with someone whom I know I don't want to date because I don't want to chance hurting her feelings.  Yes, I know there are plenty of women out there who just want sex.  I'm just too stupid to be able to discern who those are, so for the most part I just stick to sex when I'm in a relationship.   But somehow this time she convinced me that it would be different;  that no one would develop stronger feelings and that we could keep it casual until one or the other ended up in a real relationship.  No strings attached?  Yes...we can do this...ok, I'm in!

And for the fourth time in as many posts...I'm an idiot.  There are always strings.

For about a month it was amazing.  The sex was spectacular;  adventurous, playful, passionate, fun.  She'd occasionally swing by on the way to work.  I'd often drop by her place after a night out.  And we both continued to date and tell each other our funnier stories.

And then, one night as we were out drinking, she said..."Soooo, why haven't you asked me out on a real date yet?"

And of course I tried to laugh it off..."Hahahaha.  Could you imagine what a disaster that would be."

Her: No, I'm serious.

Me:  But...no strings attached...use each other...

Her: So, you can have sex with me but you won't date me?

[Oh boy...this is really not going well]

Me:  I really thought we were on the same page here.  This was your idea.  You said you had no interest in dating me.

Her: Please don't be like every other guy out there.  I truly believed you were different...something special.

Me:  This isn't fair.  Deep down I think even you know we're not right together.  We've joked about it plenty of times in the past.  You can't all the sudden drop this on me.

Her:  I'm sure it's not fair, but you should have known that when you slept with me, it meant something more.  I know that you don't sleep around, and so I assumed that it would mean something more for you too.

Me:  I'm so sorry.  I love hanging out with you, but we're not right for each other.  I think the world of you, and I love what we have, but I don't want to date you.

Her:  Well then you're an asshole.

And with that, she was gone.  That was last week, and she hasn't answered my calls or returned my texts.  I'm sad.  I have hurt someone I care about, and it's possible I've lost a really good friend.  I truly hope not.

One thing I do know for sure.  That saying is absolutely true; you can't have your cake and eat it too.  I tried it, and now I have indigestion.  I want my cake back!

The eHarmony Shuffle

"Your profile brought a smile to my face!"

Other than an actual email that's my favorite message to get on eHarmony.  I always feel like Sally Field getting her Oscar..."You like me. You really like me!".  [Since my friends aren't here to do it, I will now punch myself in the face for comparing myself to Sally Field.]  Ok, I'm back.  Anyway, it means that all my hard work trying to craft a genuine, entertaining profile that stands out from the crowd has paid off.  Unless it just means that she was laughing at my profile picture, in which case WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?!?!  WE ALL CAN'T BE GEORGE FRIGGIN CLOONEY YOU KNOW?  AND ANYWAY, LOOKS AREN'T EVERYTHING!  I MIGHT JUST HAPPEN TO HAVE A CAPTIVATING PERSONALITY WHICH MORE THAN MAKES UP FOR ANY SO CALLED "SHORTCOMINGS" IN THE LOOKS DEPARTMENT!  [I Don't, but for all she knows I might].  Whatever, let's not worry about the reason...she's got a smile on her face and that's good enough for me.

So when I got one of those messages a couple months back from "Melissa from San Francisco" (name changed to protect the not so innocent), I was excited to dive into her profile and see what she's all about.  And all of three seconds later Melissa from San Francisco had a one way ticket to the Archive folder.  Before you say I rushed to judgement, in my defense, I have two, and only two, hard and fast rules when it comes to online dating:

#1 - No profile picture, no reply.  I get it, I'm shallow.  Probably no more so than most people though.  Look, I'm not looking to date a super model.  But there has to at least be some level of attraction there.  So don't make me go through the process of getting to know you via email etc., only to find out later I'm not attracted to you.  At that point, if I cut things off, you're going to know the reason is based on looks and you're not going to like it.  And then I'm an asshole.  Nope.  I'm not going to get myself into that situation.  Put a profile picture up like the rest of us, or don't expect a reply from me.

#2 - The minimum number of specific facts about you in your profile in order to generate at least some interest on my part is one.  One.  That's it.  Anything above zero and at least it's a start on the way to getting to know you.  Just give me something.  One tiny little nugget...you have tattoo of Donald Trump?  Huh...that guy's a douchebag but I'd like to hear that story.  You have a pathological need to steal the alarm clock from any hotel room you stay in?  A bit odd, but at least you won't be late for a date.  Whatever...it doesn't have to be funny, it doesn't have to be odd, it just has to be you.  But if you're not going to take the time to come up with one thing about you which doesn't apply to every other person out there, what's the point of having a profile at all?

So that's it.  Those are the only two rules.  Melissa's profile was a #2 Special.  Her entire profile was comprised of lame, generic answers which left me no closer to knowing her than when I started:

The one thing I am most passionate about:  Life!
The most important thing I am looking for in a person is:  Too many to name.
What do you do in your leisure time?:  Let's figure that out together! ;)
The things I can't live without:
Water ;)
Air ;)
Food ;) [um, you can stop the winking, I get it]

I can't remember if I gave each of these answers its own 'wah wahhh' or if I politely waited for her to finish the entire profile before giving it a collective 'wahhhh wahhhhh.'  Anyway, I guess it took me a little longer than three seconds to get through her profile with all the wah wahhhing, but suffice it to say I didn't spend much time on it, and I decided not to reply to Melissa.

But apparently Melissa wasn't done yet.  About a week later I got a message, "You have received an eHarmony mail request from Melissa."  Ok, I might not feel the need to reply to every wink or icebreaker, but if someone actually takes the time to email me, I'm going to reply, every time.  So I accepted her request, and went to see what she had to say.  And here is her entire email:


Subject:  Hey!

That's it.  That's the whole email.

What the hell is that?!  Ok fine, it's pretty much the equivalent of a wink.  But if you're not going to put anything in your profile, and I haven't responded to your initial icebreaker, at least say something in your email.  But, like I said, if you send an actual email I'm going to reply, so I sent a nice response thanking her for taking the time to "write" me (I didn't put it in quotes when I wrote her of course), but that I didn't think we were a match and wishing her luck in her search.  And that was that.  Or so I thought.

Let's fast forward a month, when I get an eHarmony email from "Kelly from Palo Alto" (name once again changed, but this time to protect the "really kind person willing to go out on a limb for a friend"...it's a real thing, look it up).  Her email was sweet and her profile was fun and unique...I may have even LOL'ed, as the kids say these days...but unfortunately, for a couple reasons I didn't think we were a match and so I emailed her back to that effect and thanked her for reaching out.  And almost immediately I got an email back from her:

"Thanks for your email!  I actually wasn't really sure if we were a match either, but I liked your profile so much that I thought it was at least worth a shot.  Anyway, I have a kind of crazy idea.  I have a friend who I think you would really like.  She is absolutely gorgeous inside and out;  smart as a whip, sassy and funny, an amazing athlete, and probably the kindest person I know.  I really think you two would hit it off.  Whaddya say...want to take a chance?"

I have had this kind of thing happen a few times now, and every time I am amazed at how thoughtful women are to their friends.  Guys just don't do that.  Whether it's our egos' inability to handle rejection gracefully or just a more self-centered approach to dating than women have, I've never done this or even heard of a guy doing this for another guy.  Anyway, I think it's such a nice gesture that I have said yes every time a girl has offered to do this.  No more information needed.  No picture required.  I'm in.

And so I told her to run my profile by her friend first (I might not have needed any further information, but I'm happy to let her friend do some recon before agreeing to this), and if she's up for it, to pass along her friend's number and I'd give her a call (side note: while as a general rule I don't take dating advice from my mom, this one did stick: "Don't be one of those assholes who asks a girl out by text message.  I don't even text and I know that's stupid.").  Anyway, I got a note the next day from Kelly saying, "I showed your profile to my friend and she loved it! Here's her number...I hope you guys hit it off!"  And so there I was a week later, sitting at the bar waiting for my date, when in walks...friggin Melissa from San Francisco!  WHAT...THE...FUCK?!?!?  REALLY?!  Can someone please tell me how the hell that happened??

Actually I know how that happened.  Kelly showed Melissa my profile, and Melissa didn't say anything.  No "oh, I sent him an icebreaker and didn't hear back."  No "I sent him a one word email and he thought we weren't a match."  Nothing.  She wanted the date and so she didn't say anything and she took it.  A part of me says good for her.  But a bigger part of me says DON'T DO THAT!  And if you do do that, at least acknowledge it at the beginning of the date, make a joke about it, and let's have a fun night.  Of course, she didn't acknowledge it, and not wanting to make her feel bad, I didn't bring it up either.  And once I'm actually on a date, I'm going to do everything I can to make it fun, so rather than put her on the spot I just went along with it.

Anyway, all of this is just a lead up to get you to the punch line, a quote from her that very nearly got me to spit take my drink right in her face.  I was telling Melissa how nice I thought it was that Kelly had been willing to go out of her way to help a friend, and that some of the people I have come across doing the whole online dating thing have been really amazing.  And her reply was:

"I don't know how you guys do that.  I would never sign up for an online dating site.  I just can't get rid of the idea that online dating is for losers."

Ha!  Well, in at least one case I know of, you got that right.  Losers indeed.

...priceless

If you want the Cliff Notes version of this post here it is:  I'm an idiot.  But then again, most of my posts could be summed up that way, so for those of you whose tolerance for stupidity goes beyond three words, here's the rest.

I went drinking with my ex-girlfriend last week.  Sorry, I went drinking with THE ex-girlfriend last week.

Since I've blogged all of one time I guess I should give you the quick "Yes mom I'm still single" relationship rundown:

In the last 10 years I've had:
Eleventy million first dates...
...6 amazing girlfriends...
...4 of whom wanted to get married...
...1 who I thought I was in love with until I got a little perspective (and by perspective I mean I found out she was cheating on me of course)
...and THE ex-girlfriend.

I'll go into more detail about THE ex in another post, but suffice it to say she had my number.  Everything about her just did it for me.  Well, other than the fact that the feelings weren't mutual.  Minor detail.

Anyway, we broke up a few months ago and to set the stage for the story here are those three months on fast forward:

Day 0: We broke up (amicably...it's not like she did anything wrong, she just wasn't in love with me...but I was still a wreck)
Day 1: She sends me an email..."Hey!  Hope you're having a great day :)  I slept sooooo well last night." [ugh]
Day 1: Me: You gotta leave me alone for a bit. We can be friends at some point, but just give me a little time.
Day 6: Her: Enough time?
Day 6: Me: No.
Day 15: Her: Enough time?
Day 15: Me: No.
Day 30: Her: Enough time?
Day 30: Me: No.
Day 45: Her: Enough time?
Day 45: Me: No.
Day 60: Her: Enough time?
Day 60: Me: I give up. Sure.

And so there I was last week driving to pick up a friend to see another buddy's band play when THE ex's number comes up on my phone.

Her: I need to blow off some steam.  Want to get a drink?
Me: Going to see a buddy's band play.  Do you wa...
Her: I'm in!

The next five hours are now somewhat of a blur, but here's a timeline of what I remember:
Beer
THE ex arrives [DAMN!  She looks good...you know, for a friend]
Beer
Buddy's band plays.  More beers.
New bar with THE ex and my friend.
Jello shots [Wait, bars still have jello shots?!]
Beers
Friend get into debate with bartender about what city is a better place for a gay man, New York or San Francisco. [How they got on this I don't know since neither of them are gay]
Tequila shots
Beers
THE ex grinding on me on the dance floor [you know, in a friend kind of way]
Jagermeister shots
Beers
THE ex claims she knows how to box...I say no way and call her soft...followed by her throwing a barrage of punches...followed by me laughing and saying I had underestimated her softness....more punches...more laughing...more punches...and back to the tequila shots
Oh, and more beers.
Smackin' THE ex's ass on the dance floor...followed by her jumping on my back for a piggy back ride and biting my ear as I carry her back to the bar...for more tequila shots of course.
And finally they kick us out of there around 2am. [Which also put an end to my friend's marathon better gay city debate with the bartender]

So now at this point I have 3 options for where to stay tonight (since I'm obviously not driving home):
1) Cab across the city back to my place.  Requires another cab back in the morning and so I rule it out.
2) Walk two blocks to my friend's place and crash on his couch.  Clearly the smart decision.  Easy to grab the car in the morning, and guarantees I don't do anything completely idiotic.
3) Walk one block back to THE ex's place and crash on her couch.  Dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb, dumb,dumb, dumb,dumb, dumb....and of course the option I choose.

So we get back to her place and I lie down on the couch while she gets ready for bed.  Then she comes out of the bathroom in some sexy little outfit, and as she's crawling into bed she says, "Are you gonna sleep on the couch or are you gonna come in the comfy bed with me?"

If there's a man alive who is not going to choose option B in that situation I don't know him.  But whoever he is, he's a stronger man than I.  I was across that room so fast it would make your head spin...or I guess that could have been the tequila.  Anyway, I crawl into bed with her, we're snuggling up, still joking around and laughing...and then I kiss her.

"WHOA!!  Where is THAT coming from???", she says as she recoils.  Uhhh...but the grinding...and...umm...ear...biting...and...you said comfy bed...and...umm...I thought...

"Hee hee", she giggles.  "It's ok, I'm sure the booze just got the best of you.  Let's just call it a night."

Uh, yeah that's what it was.  It was the booze.  Ugh.  Like I said, I'm an idiot.

And to top things off, just when I couldn't feel any dumber, I went out to my car in the morning only to find it had been towed.  Stupid street cleaning.

Final tally, in the words of MasterCard...

Street cleaning violation...$65
Towing fee...$365
Unpaid parking tickets...$120
Taking a beating from your ex-girlfriend, both emotionally and physically, and having the bruises to prove it...

...priceless.

Cookies and Sex

Since this is my first blog post, I guess I should start with a disclaimer:  much to my friends' dismay (and now to yours if you're reading this) my stories almost never end up with me having sex with a random girl.  This one is no exception, so feel free to stop reading now.

Anyway, on to the story.  I was at a wedding last weekend, where I met a girl I will refer to as "cookies and sex" (C&S).  It all started at the rehearsal dinner, where I sat at a table with nine girls;  I've had this happen before (for some reason I've been the lone single guy at a bunch of weddings), and normally the prospect of being surrounded by nine women and free booze is amazing.  Unfortunately this table was the exception to that rule.  C&S was sitting right next to me, and seemed to take an immediate interest in my unique combination of self-deprecation, borderline intoxication, and recent push towards obesity...you never know what's going to turn a girl on these days.  Anyway, over the course of the evening those nine girls probably threw down about fifteen bottles of wine, and maybe due to the wine, or maybe due to the fact that stories about cookies are just that interesting, they all went Pavlov's dogs on me when I told them that earlier in the day I had eaten lunch at this great little sandwich place, and that along with my sandwich I had ordered a little slice of heaven in the form of a mini oatmeal butterscotch cookie. That cookie was so good in fact, that on my way out the door I picked up a bag of 6 more to have sitting in the hotel room for the rest of the weekend. So I've got 9 salivating girls at my table and only 6 cookies to go around...ok 4 cookies...did you really expect me not to eat a couple right when I got home from lunch?  My calculator says the answer is .44 cookies each, but these girls only do Machiavellian mathematics, and it quickly becomes very clear that there will be no splitting of the cookies.  Even if it requires a Thunderdome style fight to the death (9 girls enter, 1 girl leaves...with cookies), someone is getting all 4.  All I know is, now that I've mentioned the cookies, I'm not getting to eat any more of them (read: my weekend is ruined).

So it's off to a local pub after the rehearsal dinner for a couple more drinks, and C&S is insistent that I walk her back to the hotel. Now, I like to fancy myself a gentleman, and under normal circumstances I would have been happy to walk her the mere one block back to the hotel and get her safely home. But as it was only about 10:30, and she didn't seem like she had been overserved (yet), I sniffed out an early run at the cookie stash and convinced her to stay for a while longer. But I'll be honest...at this point I'm starting to get the impression that cookies aren't the only thing on her mind.  And while I'm willing to part with the cookies, I am most definitely not willing to part with my chastity for this girl.  Ok fine, I don't have any chastity to part with, but I'm still not sleeping with her.  So I start to work on extricating myself from the situation by getting her another chaperone home...to no avail.

On to bar #2 where I begin to realize that I have severely underestimated her level of intoxication.  Now I feel bad for not recognizing this before and feel obligated to walk her home, which she has continued to insist upon. So I tell the guys I'm hanging out with I'll be back in 5 minutes, which is met by great skepticism.  And C&S and I leave the bar. We're walking home...well, I'm walking, she's doing a cross between stumbling and trying to  show me the achy breaky heart dance (she wanted to show off her new cowboy boots)...and she says, "I nunno wha you're thingin...I jus wan your cookies....an may' some sex...bu more I jus wanna cookies...ok an' sex".  Fortunately, even she saw the humor in all this.  That didn't stop her from continuing to press the issue though.

We got back to the hotel and I told her to come up and get the cookies and then I'd get her to bed (hers not mine). So we go into my hotel room, and after I give her the bag of cookies, I tell her to hold on one second before walking her back to her room so I can make a quick bathroom stop and also grab her a couple advil and a glass of water. As I'm in the bathroom, I hear from out in the bedroom this really loud mechanical whooshing sound, and immediately is hits me...oh crap!...there's a whirlpool tub out in my bedroom! (Yeah, that's how I roll...I got the pimp suite at the Motel 6)  So I'm thinking, please don't be naked and in the tub already! Please, please!! (Yes, I've got a cute girl in my hotel room and I'm praying that I don't walk out and find her naked...you know the proverbial angel on one shoulder and the devil on the other, both whispering in your ear?...well I listen to that stupid angel way too often...anyway, we can discuss this in another post).  But when I leave the bathroom, advil and water in hand, she's nowhere to be found. Hello? Hello? And from out by the front door (which she apparently was locking) I hear, "whydju turna wa'r off? Don' you wan take a batha me? Why don' you wan' take a batha me? We cou' get clean an' dirty adda same time [Insert evil drunken hiccup-filled laugh here].  Come oooooon. Just take a batha me." Ummm...as appealing as that sounds, I think I'm going to have to pass this time.  Advil...water...ok, let's get you to bed.

Down the hall we go, past the front desk and past the indoor pool, which is completely surrounded by floor to ceiling windows. "Ooooooh", she says like a little kid seeing something shiny, "we should ha' sex inna pool. I's like a fisheses tank. We should defin'y ha' sex inna fishes tank pool an' people can watch." Uhhh...what's your room number again? Finally up to her room and outside her door, where there must have been some kind of explosion in her purse, because every single thing in her purse hit the floor, except for her room key, which she managed to hold onto and let herself in. Not wanting to leave her credit cards, id, and other general junk scattered across the floor outside her room, I gather it all up and bring it in to her. And of course her response is, "soooo I see you deci' da come in. I knew you'd come aroun'. Why don' you jus lie down for a li'l bi' (trying to push me onto the bed). Just lie down (pushing). Ser'sly, it'll feel so gooda jus' lie dowwwwn (more pushing)."  I was joking (somewhat) about the obesity before, but at 200lbs she's not having a whole lot of luck with the pushing. That newton guy was no fool...there's a lot of inertia there. She eventually realized this and decided to change tactics. She had on a cute little cocktail dress which tied around the neck, and she took a step back, and with a drunken leer, reached around the back of her neck to untie the dress. Seeing quickly where this was going I got up, walked over to her and reached behind her neck. She of course is excited that I am finally in the game, as evidenced by the "mmmmm" as I reach for the tie in her dress. Much to her dismay, I stepped back again not 10 seconds later. "Huh?".  "Wha'ever, I ca' do i' my selfs."  And when she reached back again to untie her dress, only to find that I had tied it in a double knot, the gig was finally up.  I gave her a hug goodnight (which she not-so-gracefully tried to turn into losing her tongue in my ear), and walked back down the hallway towards my room to the sound of her standing outside her room yelling, "come onnnnn, let's jus' go downa ha' sex inna fishes tank!"

And that my friends is the story of cookies and sex...or more accurately, how I ended up with neither of them.