The Virgin comes this close to cyber sex

#23 Never Have I Ever: Cyberchatted

Foreplay: It's a Tuesday night and I'm exhausted from work. My eyes are about to spiral out of their sockets from staring at a computer screen for hours on end. I'm snacking on dry kibbles of Cap'n Crunch as a substitute for dinner. I haven't done my D.V. task for the day yet -- hell, I haven't even peeled off my work attire yet. All I want to do is take a hot shower, catch up with friends via GChat for a couple hours, and then curl up with some Murakami.

"Have you ever read Murakami before?" Gemini asked, "THAT COULD BE YOUR BLOG!"

"Eh, too boring. I could do that to everything: 'never have I ever watched The Mummy before' or 'never have I ever read Family Circle Magazine.' That's the easy way out."

But you know what's not the easy way out? Subjecting yourself to a plethora of penises via webcam.

The Down and Dirty: Chatroulette is a social site that pairs up random strangers in webcam conversations. Either party may move onto the next stranger at any given time.

I'm both intrigued and intimidated by this concept. You get to watch and interact with someone at random from anywhere in the world -- but so do they. The idea of having your identify exposed to any Harry, Dick, and John makes me feel uncomfortably naked and vulnerable even when I'm staring at their penises.

An enabled webcam isn't necessary to participate but you're pretty much guaranteed to be "nexted" by lacking one. Dude, you get what you give. Also, there's such a weird power dynamic ruling over which one of you pushes the "next" button.

There are tons of off-shoot websites and online collections of chatroulette gems. Celebrities such as Michael Cera and Ashton Kutcher have allegedly been spotted. Needless to say, it's the latest rage these days and so I hopped on the cyber band wagon.

At 1am I logged on, enabled my camera, and waited for my first camera companion. A man with clear blue eyes popped up on the upper left hand corner.

Stranger: hi
Me: hello
Stranger: where are you from?
Me: the States
Me: you?
Stranger: france

At this, he grabbed his off-screen cigarette and took a light drag. I smiled and he returned the sentiment.

Stranger: you are very beautiful
Me: thank you
Stranger: show hot?????
Me: um. what?
Stranger: sorry, my english is not so good
Stranger: show sexy??

Your English is coming across loud and clear there, Pepe Le Pew. Next!

Blond girl in glasses. She nexts me without a bat of an eye.
Penis. In fact, a very small one. Next!
Dude in a visor who gives me a slimy smile and a thumbs up. Vomit. Next!
Two teenage girls in HelloGoodbye t-shirts. Their asymmetrical bangs are getting in the way of their heavily-lined eyes. They next me.
Another penis. From what I can see the guy is wearing a red sweater vest and nothing else. Next!
Disabled camera. Stranger: Tits? Next!

I finally stumbled upon Antonio, a rather dashing 23 year old from Sevilla, Spain who was spending St. Patrick's Day in Boston. He held a pleasant conversation without a single request to take my shirt off! Impressive! ...Oh man, standards have plummeted if that's what it takes to charm a girl online. My eyes felt like they were going to burst so I finally bid adieu. He hurriedly gave me his email address (which I didn't end up saving) and in exchange I sent him the link to my blog. [Antonio, if you're reading this: I hope you got around to partaking in an Irish Car Bomb today.]

The Afterglow: In the 15 minutes I was on chatroulette, I've gathered the following:

• Girls don't want to talk to other girls
• Guys are pretty smarmy. Generally, they think cyber chat = cyber sex
• You have a 25% chance of landing on a penis
• If you're lucky, you'll find a decent stranger who won't ask to see your genitals and really, that's all you can ask for on chatroulette

Initially, I was really nervous to actually have people SEE me but in all honesty, it's so much more addictive than I could have ever imagined. It's kind of like platonic speed dating... but on crack. And with more quirky costumes and genitals... so yeah, kind of like it's on crack.

Whiskey Sour even offered a chatroulette drinking game: Take a sip for every penis you see. Finish your drink if you see boobs.

Family Circle is definitely for sissies.

The Virgin is movin' on up

#22 Never Have I Ever: Received a promotion

Foreplay: Alright, this is sort of a cheating, masturbatory post but I'm just so infinitely giddy right now -- a complete 180 from where I began. I was pretty damn depressed after college when I found myself jobless and living at home.

I was an overachiever all throughout my academic years. I started working when I was 16 -- landing an amazing paid internship with one of the biggest record companies in America. From there on I continued to intern and work with renowned companies -- a huge film studio, a respected newspaper, a prestigious film academy. However, it never really got me anywhere that I wanted to be.

After college, I floundered for a few months before moving out of my parents' house and going to work for what I thought was a company that aided indie filmmakers. In fact, it turned out to be an elaborate marketing scam. My boss skipping town and paying me in cash prompted me to quit within 3 months with no real Plan B.

While applying for at least 50 jobs a week, I ended up slaving away as a seasonal in retail -- the seventh circle of Hell that I never thought I'd return to after college.

The Down and Dirty: Back in November, I was chaperoning my 16 year old cousin to a JRock concert on the Sunset Strip. I just came from retail work, my feet were killing me, and all I wanted was a stiff drink but I had the whole role model thing going against me. After battling it out in the pit for 3 ear-bleeding songs, I headed up to the balcony for a less sweaty view.

While there, a tall stranger struck up a conversation with me. I mentioned an intense interest in film and made a reference to Skinny Puppy. He worked at a film company and loved industrial music -- the rest is history. Pfft, I wish.

He invited me to come in and work as a PA for his company. I slaved away for 2 days -- I mean real nose-to-the-grind-until-it's-bloody-cartilage. I worked 14 hours straight one day without a meal or break and had to cancel plans with a dear friend who was leaving town. But thereafter, they offered me a part time office bitch position that I jumped for.

I've been in that office bitch position since January and am pretty content. I go out of my way to be nice and take everything in stride. I smile even when I don't feel like it and so much as to say good morning to the festering pile of flesh also known as the IT guy (think Comic Book Guy from The Simpsons, and then stick half a dozen sandpaper enemas up his rectum; he's a real ray of sunshine). I offer my assistance anywhere it's needed and always with graciousness.

But last week the V.P. asked me to step into her office. She's small in stature but enormous in clout. She asked what I wanted to do in my life and after my short story, she offered me a promotion -- and with it a full-time position at the company -- that would move me into a more creative arena. I am no longer going to be the office bitch but in fact will be the artist area bitch! Hells yeah!

The Afterglow: Lessons to take away from this experience:

1. Unless he has a rape van off to the side and a roofie poised and ready to poison, it's perfectly fine to talk to strangers. Use common sense and street smarts. Don't follow him even if that trail of bite size Snickers looks mighty tempting.
2. Your 20s are for paying dues. I feel like most people in my generation feel self-entitled to a 9-5 but in this economy, simply being employed is a privilege. Work hard, work often, don't whine (unless they're asking for your first born or something).
   
3. Be kind. You have the rest of your career to be a jaded prick. Take this opportunity to stand out amongst your apathetic peers and do the job with a smile. And always ask for more work. Employers freakin' love taking advantage of naive indentured servants!
   

I'm just so humbled by the opportunities that have been afforded to me. I've only been at this job since January so I'm completely blown away by the fast track I'm on.

No matter how much I hated it, my stint in retail definitely motivated me to work hard because, hey, it could be worse. Sometimes you've got to go through Hell to appreciate what you have.

The Virgin says no to meat

#21 Never Have I Ever: Gone vegetarian for at least a week.

Foreplay: My diet is generally healthy. I never go grocery shopping while hungry lest I want to come home with four Toblerone bars and a pound of brie. I exclusively buy chicken or fish and only gorge on four-legged creatures outside my kitchen. I work through a pound of spinach a week, creatively injecting it into almost every meal (spinach brownies, anyone?). But the nutritional benefits of animal flesh obviously pale in comparison to fruits and vegetables.

Although I love cooking yellow curry chicken and lemon-pepper salmon and occasionally wolfing down carne asada quesadillas post bar crawls, I know I could be eating healthier. I pushed aside my hesitation about surviving on salads and I turned in my meat cleaver in exchange for pruning sheers for a week.

The Down and Dirty: I'm thoroughly convinced that vegetarianism is just another way of saying "I'm going to relentlessly stuff my face with carbs until I shit yeast" because that's exactly what I did.

Grocery shopping was by far the hardest part of vegetarianism. I didn't realize how expensive fresh fruits and vegetables were until I started piling up my shopping cart with them. How is it that soy chicken costs so much more than real chicken? It couldn't have even pecked my eye out at any point!

At first I didn't even miss meat. I was happy chowing down on margherita pizza, vegetarian chili, garlic-roasted veggie pasta, and other animal-friendly foods. It didn't really hit me until 3 days in. I arrived during lunch time for my teaching job at the high school and having been in such a rush that morning, I had only eaten a few spoonfuls of my Multigrain Cheerios. The aroma of mushy spaghetti noodles slathered with greasy bolognese sauce was so mouthwatering. Never in my life had I ever wanted substandard cafeteria food so much. A fellow teacher insisted we snag a free plate and I made no motion to tell her about my special diet. Thank goodness for my vegetarianism and my arteries, they ran out by the time we walked over.

That night I went to The Spot, a cozy shack of a vegetarian restaurant, and ordered an overwhelming plate of their tempeh enchiladas. Although tempeh has the texture of a potato, my meat craving was immediately satiated -- those were some of the best enchiladas I've ever had. Just the familiar flavor of enchilada sauce and cheese quelled my hankering for animal flesh.

It was smooth sailing from there on out. A funny result of shopping and cooking vegetarian is that I made myself eat healthier. I figured if I'm going to be eating tons of veggies, I might as well invest in some whole grain pasta and brown rice while I'm at it. I added as many vegetables as I could to every possible dish in a race to beat their impending expiration date.

The Afterglow: I've never thought so much about food before. Usually when I come home from work I'll defrost some chicken or salmon, pop brown rice into my rice cooker, and sauté some spinach. But this time I had to sit down and think about what veggies were going to go bad first, and what would fill me up.

Unfortunately, I don't feel any healthier or more energized that I did when I was an omnivore. Perhaps because I was already a relatively conscious eater who loved vegetables. I definitely need to calm it down with the carbohydrates -- fasho.

I don't miss meat too much. There were even times I even forgot I was a vegetarian until someone offered me a meat-laced bite to try. And ya know, I didn't have a single salad all week!

Vegetarianism -- no big deal. Next step: veganism. Goodbye, delicious cheese! Hello, bland tofu!

The Virgin meets a MANTHER

#20 Never Have I Ever: Gone a date with an [much] older man

Foreplay: Our society is so obsessed with gender roles and taboos in dating that the English language has 3 different terms for older women who pursue younger men. A puma is a late 20s to mid 30s woman. Cougar is from mid 30s to 40s. Arctic fox is for any woman past menopause.

But what about older men who date younger women? They’re so much more prevalent! Sugar daddy implies that he’s rich and silver fox is more common with the gay community. What about men who are middle class heterosexuals. Well, imagine my utter elation when I discovered the term manther:

The male version of a cougar; an older man who preys on younger women.

Would Blackjacket fit the criteria of a manter? According to the mathematical formula (x/2)+7=y where x represents your age, y yields the youngest age you can date that will be socially acceptable. I applied this formula to Blackjacket’s age and realized that I was a half year too young for his limit. By that right, our date was -- gasp! -- socially unacceptable. On a scale of Lolita to Woody Allen, I’d say we hit the Brangelina mark.

A bonafied manther!

The Down and Dirty: Alright, so I’ll be completely honest. Although I just knew Blackjacket was good looking, I didn’t quite remember certain aspects of him like, oh say, his face.

I made sure to arrive at the restaurant early and helped myself to a glass of red wine at the bar. I texted to let him know I was here and then busted out a book to occupy my attention -- ‘cause then he would have to get my attention when he arrives. And success! He spots me -- and he’s definitely not a troll! Double success!

Dinner conversation ambled along awkwardly as most do on first dates. He grew up in the South (which may explain his etiquette) but lived in New York for a stint. He pursued theater which is the most useless degree ever (his words, not mine). He’s currently a writer, actor, and stand-up comedian.

“Then why aren’t I laughing right now?” would’ve been my reply had I not been sober and in check of my verbal diarrhea.

Although the conversation ebbed and flowed without much trouble, I can’t say that there was anything special to it. I felt like I carried most of the discussion -- asking questions, commenting on current media, poorly attempting jokes during the occasional lulls. I don’t know if he was nervous and closed off or just one big unfunny snorefest . I didn’t feel like myself either; I was some excessively perky alter ego who spoke in a tinkling voice -- just to compensate for his lack of zeal.

While waiting in line at the improv theater, I reached into my purse in search of a mint but came out with the Magic Date Ball. At his amused curiosity, I explained how I let the toy become my own personal Rasputin for a day. He laughed but in that oh-my-god-you’re-actually-serious sort of way. Judgment aplenty!

The show was entertaining. We laughed accordingly. I may have snorted at one point. Usually after, I head straight to Birds with my companion(s) in tow for a nightcap but I recalled his sobriety the night we met and his lack of alcohol during dinner. It’d be a lost cause and wasted boozin’.

Just shy of 3 hours into our date, we decided to call it a night and he asked to walk me home. Maybe he got more comfortable or maybe it was because time was running out, but our conversation took an upbeat turn as we sauntered down the street. I argued that The Knife’s live version of “Heartbeats” was better than Jose Gonzalez’s cover. He made fun of my love of The Smiths and Depeche Mode.

When we reached my apartment complex, we talked for a while more as I stood on the steps. Finally, he announced the standard, “I had a great time. We should do it again,” tag line. I struggled to keep my eyes from rolling but politely agreed.

And then he reached in for a hug. Or what I thought was a hug. Until his face was like RIGHT THERE but it was already too late -- my face was aiming for the welcoming crook of his neck and he ended up planting a kiss on my cheek. In my embarrassed haste, I pulled back from his shoulder and brushed my lips against his stubble like a sloppy Italian mother.

It was a mess. I’ve never kissed on a first date before and didn’t expect to this time judging from the lukewarm interaction. We parted ways after saying goodbye, he to his car parked a mile away and me scampering to my door all the while stifling a groan.

The Afterglow: Okay, it wasn’t outright awful but I was probably expecting too much -- like, when you say you’re a comedian, I expect to laugh. Yeah, definitely set the bars too high there, buddy.

I'm left feeling somewhat unfulfilled after the date. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't bad -- it just wasn't anything special either. I didn't come away thinking he was a great conversationalist or appreciating his humor. I didn't even get a blog-worthy make out session out of it! He's 31 -- there should be NO room for error when you have a decade of practice on me!

There really isn’t much of a difference between going out with a 31 year old than a 21 year old as far as I can tell. I mean, your average 21 year old would probably know what Yelp is and wouldn’t proclaim that they’re past prime for Coachella. Who knows if age factored into his unnecessary stoicism. I’ve met some rather depressing 20-somethings in my life.

Every now and then I would wonder, “What kind of 31 year old is okay dating a 22 year old?” But then again -- age is just a number (until it can get your ass put in the slammer).

Who knows if he was serious about going out again. To be quite honest, I wouldn’t be too upset if I never heard from him after this. Sure, he was total eye candy but my brain is pretty pissed off at the lack of stimulation right now. If he wants to see me again, he’s more than welcomed to contact me.

Otherwise, I’ll release him back to the wild and hunt me down another manther.

P.S. Manther is now officially injected into my everyday vocabulary. I may have to start non sequitur discussions just to throw out that word.

The Virgin is a smooth operator

#19 Never Have I Ever: Asked a guy out on a date

Foreplay: If you haven't gotten the memo already, I'm a coward. A chicken, a scaredy cat, a dastardly recreant -- you name it and I'll meekly nod and peep, "Can I have more, sir?"

I'm so terrified of rejection and criticism that I'd rather not try at all. I tremble just thinking about being in the spotlight or in front of an audience. I have such severe secondhand embarrassment that I've walked out of the room while watching Friends on multiple occasions.

The Down and Dirty: I fretted all day just thinking about texting Blackjacket. Eventually I consulted a tribal council of 3 male coworkers on the perfect message. But first, they had to reassure me that yes, he was interested; and yes, I should make a move; and yes, you might as well call me Jacque Lacan by the way was over analyzing the situation.

So before leaving the office to go grocery shopping, I sent one sentence referencing our prior Oscar conversation. Less than 10 minutes later he sent a cheerful reply and question.

Now, I probably shouldn't have even been reading my texts while driving in the first place so I thought it better to reply when I parked. But with it being Hollywood and all, I didn't get to the grocery store that was 2 miles down the street until 20 minutes later. I sent a riposte. Nothing. Oh no... self doubt started to set in.

It'd been 45 minutes since my last text and I decided it was now or never. I sent a message asking him to a show at the Upright Citizens Brigade. And waited. FOR 14 HOURS. Do you know what kind of aneurysm that gives a girl?!

I kept checking my phone for some sort of response -- whether it was high-five inducing or a flat out rejection. One hour passed. Then two. Four... It was now almost 1:00am and I highly doubted I'd get anything. Sigh.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't totally bummed out. Perhaps this was just karma coming to bite me in the ass for all the times I've ignored text messages from blitzed encounters from the night before and labeled them in my phone as "So-and-so - IGNORE" or "What'shisface - DO NOT ANSWER".

The next day I went about my morning before work as usual, determined to push this ego-wrecking experience behind me, when suddenly -- beep-beep -- a text! Apparently his phone had died the night before while out but yes, he'd love to catch a show! My deflated ego had huffed and puffed and grew to Grinch-heart proportions; I asked if he'd like to grab dinner beforehand. Of course! He'd call me later tonight.

Um. Come again? ...Call...?! What ever happened to the comfortable safety net of text messaging we had going on?! What about that?!

But you know... maybe it's because he's from an older generation or because he's a gentleman, but I was actually alarmingly charmed that he'd rather call to set up our date rather than text. Absolutely pee-a-little-in-my-pants petrified, but charmed nonetheless.

That night he called as he said he would. The conversation went as well as any awkward date arrangement could go. But uh... perhaps my memory is lacking but I guess I didn't realize how much... rustic... he sounded before.

The Afterglow: I would love to say that I'm so super confident now that I have it in mind to march into a room in crusty sweatpants and demand a drink from the most eligible bachelor there. But unfortunately (or fortunately considering that scenario), my self-esteem is still humbly low for the most part.

While settling on a restaurant, I felt the need to blurt out that I was vegetarian this week -- for my blog. He paused and then chuckled. I continued to ramble about being vegan the week after -- also for my blog. He laughed less enthusiastically. I'm seriously praying that he thinks I'm cute and quirky rather than full-fledged bat-shit insane because dude, that's a really thin line.

I'm still a coward but now I'm a coward with a date! So hah!

The Virgin grows a ball

#18 Never Have I Ever: Let a Magic 8 Ball make my decisions

Foreplay: I wasn't expecting to do this particular D.V. task today but it was apparent when I found myself badgering Whiskey Sour about Blackjacket.

I had texted Blackjacket a noncommittal message the day after thanking him for helping me cross something off my list, not expecting a response. But less than 5 minutes later he answered: Of course! We'll have to work on some other things on that list. Dude, he used an exclamation point! Just like this one! My god, just look at it!

I responded with something aggressively witty. He dorkily LOLed. The conversation eventually died off soon after he suggested we get together another time to discuss the Oscars. But OMG!

I told myself I'd hold out until Wednesday to contact him again but I've never been one for patience. And if I was going to concede, I might as well go all in and ask him out, right? I incessantly pestered Whiskey Sour all morning. Is it too soon to text him today? What time should I do it? What's a good date idea? Oh god, am I putting too much thought behind this? Will he think I'm crazy?!

"Alright," Whiskey Sour sighed, "Now I understand why guys do the asking. Girls are way too analytical."

The Down and Dirty: In my time of need, I turned to the Magic 8 Ball. Alright, so it isn't an official Magic 8 Ball if you want to get technical about it.

I'm sort of embarrassed to use it, not because I'm letting a toy make my decisions, but because it's a Magic Date Ball. I'm not even fucking kidding. It's pink with "Date Ball" swirled across the top and comes equipped with valley-girl accented answers. It'll do only because I found it at work and am not willing to shell out money for this experiment.

As I gave it a hearty shake, I asked the appropriately named Date Ball, "Should I ask Blackjacket out today?"

It coyly responded with: I'm cool with that! ♥

Yes, with heart and all. Oh Jesus. It was like asking for words of wisdom from a Hooter's waitress. Maybe trusting a pink ball filled with glitter wasn't the best idea after all.

But then my coworker asked what I was doing shaking the ball so violently. I explained and he said I shouldn't base my life off of an inanimate object. I reminded him that he was the one who inspired this D.V. task.

"Why did I do that?" he asked while giving the ball a good rattle.

"That wasn't a yes or no question."

"I know. I just wanted to show you how -- Whoa!" I peered into the dark abyss of answers: No question! ♥

"Dude! It knew that wasn't a question! This Magic 8 Ball is omnipotent!"

For the rest of the day I got it to perkily answer a medley of questions such as: Is 6:24 a good time to text Blackjacket [sidebar: I'm neurotic with numbers, ok!]? (♥ It's lookin' good!) Should I eat these chips? (Sounds good to me! ♥) Should I go for a run after work? (Yeah, right!)

Man, this ball is good.


The Afterglow: This was actually a really fun experiment. It helped take a load of my mind and showed me that I tend to over-analyze most situations -- or just that I feel more confident making decisions when I can blame something/someone else. But I'll go with the more mature answer in this case.