Dateless on New Year’s Eve

8am on a Saturday.  BP mini mart on Euclid and 14^th NW.  I parked and ran in to grab some Doritos for breakfast and on the line to pay, a guy asked me if I knew where 4^th and G Street were.  I love giving directions!  “Which quadrant? Northwest?  Diagonal that way.  The blocks are in a grid.”

“Man, they towed my car last night.  I’m just trying to get it back so I can get home to Virginia.”  He bought Newports, loafed around, and walked outside.  I paid for my chips and waited for him to walk away.  I didn’t want to be asked for a lift.  4^th and G was on my way, and I like helping people.  But there are plenty of stories of carjackings and violent crime in Columbia Heights and DC.   Was helping a guy out worth the risk of a robbery or carjacking.  Hell no!

I hurried to my car and as I backed out, I saw his flailing arms in my peripheral vision.  Kept my head turned the other way and sped off west lest I got caught at the red light at the intersection.

Not offering rides to complete strangers is pretty standard advice.  But I still felt compelled to rationalize my drive-off, and wonder if I would have done the same thing if the guy was white.  And maybe I would have.  I was probably instinctively engaging in civilian racial profiling.

But there were plenty of parts of the story that didn’t seem right.  He seemed a bit flustered, as if stranded in the middle of nowhere.  But 4^th and G was an easy cab ride away.  Two zones.  Less than $10.  He could afford a taxi.  He spent money on cigarettes.  And when he bought them, he pulled out a wad of cash to pay.

And since 4^th and G was really just a block out of my way, I swung by, because it didn’t seem like a likely place for an impound lot.  And it wasn’t.  On one corner was the National Building Museum.  Across from that was the Government Accountability Office.  No impound to be seen.  Wrong quadrant?  There’s just houses at that intersection in SE and SW.  Maybe around the NE hinterlands of Union Station, but I think it’s pretty residential there too.  Maybe I’ll have to investigate that.  Or maybe I avoided being the overly trusting victim of a carjacking this morning.

Can you date someone who you’re not culinarily compatable with?  That’s the question presented by Kate Murphy in the New York Times this week in I Love You, but You Love Meat.  Can vegetarians successfully date omnivores?  Can a kosher and non-kosher Jews mix?  Can a meat and potatoes guy coexist with a granola crunching vegan?

Parents have had to deal with a household of fickle eaters for sometime.  Your 8 year old will only eat hot dogs.  One month your 14 year old is a lacto-ovo vegetarian, then wont eat vegetables that have seeds, then eats chicken at a barbeque, then is a vegan.

I’m more interested in meals on dates or social dinners.  Because I value sharing, I’m an accomodater.  Even if I could go for beef, I’d rather split a tofu dish and a chicken dish with my “only-chicken” eating friends to be able to enjoy multiple dishes together.  But even though I love all foods, sharing has gotten easier and easier for me.  I respect vegan diets, so I don’t mind being pressed into eating less meat with a friend or significant other.  In deference of the laws of kashrut, I’m generally avoiding pork (but bring on the shellfish and cheeseburgers).

So there’s a lot of eaters I can make things work with.  But I’ve never tried to date a full on vegetarian…I’ve always been able to share at least chicken.  And I can’t see myself ever being able to date a strict kosher diner.  They can’t dine out practically anywhere!

I swung from a Shabbat gathering amongst many acquaintances to Chinese food with a couple of friends to loneliness last Friday night.  A girl I had on okay first date with had made plans to call each other in the evening and maybe meet up.  Unreliable.  And I got her voicemail.  Other friends I called were in for the night or out of town.  I slunk onto the bus heading for home.

Opportune time for a girl whose been chasing me for a couple of years to text me.  It was quite evident that she was infatuated with me for some time, which made me less interested in her.  When I finally gave in—after a night of partying in Dewey Beach—the girl whose bedroom we were ‘borrowing’ (unbeknownst to her) walked in just as clothes started coming off.  That was the end of that, for the night and going forward.  I just wasn’t that interested.  Eventually she moved on.  Then she moved away for a while.  She was back, we met for a couple of lunches, and she shared the saga of her ex-boyfriend and how she needed a rebound.  Her interest was obviously still there.  So when my phone buzzed with “Have found myself out in your nabe.  U around,” I told her not to go anywhere, headed home for a few shots, then out to meet up.

When I finally found her at the bar, she was flirting with some guy she had obviously not come with.  Eventually I walked away to stumble across a girl that I hadn’t come with.  A guy friend of hers who was seemingly trying to hit on her hadn’t captured her romantic interest.  But she and I had some chemistry.  And when he pulled out a, “What are you, Jewish?” and I replied with a “Yeah I am” in a wanna make something of it kind of tone, she was impressed and pleased to run into another MOT.

Shifted back to the girl I’d come to see.  Hung with her and her friends for a while.  They were all debating whether to go back to someone’s house to smoke, but didn’t have a pipe.  Umm, get an apple, buy a Philly, I encouraged!  I was more into the girl I had just met that night (I’ll call her dentist girl) anyway!  No, they were leaving and my friend was staying.  Dentist girl was sitting alone in a corner.  Nobody puts dentist girl in a corner!  Returned to her for a bit, but when a drunken Bosnian started kissing her hand and telling her how she was so much better than his girlfriend and hogging the conversation, I stepped away to puke.  Back to my friend, who was starting to feel slighted and told me she was leaving and she had her coat on.

Umm.  Umm.  I stammered.  My expression was clearly pained.  “I don’t know what I should do,” I admitted.  “This is really awkward!”

“I think you know what to do,” she replied.

“What’s that?”  I thought she had picked up on the whole me hitting on someone else thing.  But her suggestion for moving forward and forgetting about the awkwardness was kissing her.  So I did and told her I just needed to say goodbye to someone—dentist girl who was around the bend in her corner.  I told the dentist I had to go, but not without her number.  But because she’d had too many guys not call her, poor thing, she insisted on getting mine and promised to call in a few days.  I leaned in to kiss her on the cheek goodbye, but the way she turned, she was going for my lips.  Ah well!  Call me!

One week later and I’m still waiting by my phone!  What gives?!  Perhaps it was the fact that I was trying to work two girls within 10 feet of each other?  But it seemed to work out okay.  And I had an eye over my shoulder.  I’m pretty sure the dentist didn’t see me leaving with anyone or kissing them by my car.

How I wanted to stay!  But I couldn’t dis the girl who had invited me out to go hookup with someone else!  It wasn’t a sympathy hookup.  I was somewhat interested.  But there was someone I was more interested in right under my nose.  It was a case of it not always being right to follow your heart’s desire.  But I thought I was gonna have a chance to have my cake and eat it too, until I didn’t get a call back.  Girls!

Struck up a conversation last night at a political event with a cute girl.  I knew a few people in the room.  She didn’t know any.  We hit it off.  She preferred to chat with me over listening to the speeches.  When I wanted to get closer to hear the speeches, she was eager to follow me around.  Smiles.  Arm taps.  Flirtatiousness.

As the night wore on, she started saying her goodbyes to me and my group and offered her hand to shake.  I sidestepped from the group to ask her out:

Me: [Chatter about a newly raved about Ethiopian place by her house, since we'd been talking injera earlier].

Her: I’ll have to check it out sometime. (Off-putting).

Me: Yeah.  Umm…do you want to check it out together?

Her: You mean…like on a date?

Me: Umm, yeah!

Her: Well, thanks, but I actually have a boyfriend.

Me: [Cool.  Bye. Parting pleasantries].

Though I was interested and slightly led on (she didn’t have to latch on), I didn’t feel misled or dissed.  No one likes rejection, but this isn’t really rejection.  So even though we weren’t going to go on an Ethiopian dinner date, why not exchange info (or promises to facebook each other) anyway?

Why not I asked myself, though my friend had already left the ballroom. Plenty of reasons.  I mean, knowing boyfriend is in the picture, what is the follow up supposed to be?  Go out platonically for drinks?  Add person to your mass distribution list?  Not much to do, so I didn’t even bother.

At risk of making this a ‘gross-out’ blog…tacking onto a previous ‘period’ post…

Another huge sexual turnoff?  Specks of residual toilet paper hanging on where it doesn’t belong.  It’s been a perilous month! 

As an extended happy hour progressed, two acquantances realized they didn’t really know each other and Book of Questions style queries ensued.  ”Would you rather have many acquantances or just a few close friends” soon evolved into “What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?” “Would you choose foreplay or intercourse if you could only choose one” (only asked of the girl, duh), etc.

Next question asked of the girl in the exchange, and passed down the table to everyone else, was “have you ever done it in the butt.”  I cringed, but mostly due to the terminology used.  I think mature people just say anal, people!  And the answers came back with “no’s” straight down the line.  Some terse and straightforward.  Some accompanied by grimaced expressions and fierce horizontal head shaking.  One girl, after seeminlgy saying “of course,” asked the question to be repeated a few times before issuing a firm, vehement denial.

I was a little surprised.  Not at the fact that no one had, or at least would admit to, having gone down the dirt road.  It was the fact that though they weren’t offended by the question, their no’s conveyed shock that they, or anyone hetero, would possibly engage in such behavior.

After all, it’s been well noted over the last decade that anal is the new black–everybody’s doing it.  Well, roughly one third of Americans report to have anyway.  Five girls and five no’s, in that light, I guess isn’t that surprising, considering these were mostly conservative Republicans. 

Perhaps my recent adventures with the student, who was pretty, um, adventurous makes me think that everyone is doing it.

But assuming they were telling the truth (and they seemed pretty genuine–they were all conservative republicans),

Or more unsurprising evidence that democrats have better sex.

Warning:  Explicit Content

 There’s so much that can go wrong in a sexual encounter.  Too tired, stayed out too late, whiskey dick, can’t get it up, came too soon, not in the mood, mom is in the next room, didn’t come at the same time.  Am I leaving any good ones out?  But with an understanding partner, if something goes wrong, you can hopefully try again in a night or two.  One of the sexual benefits of a committed relationship is that there’s no constraining timeframes.

You may not have the luxury to try again the next time in a casual fling or a one-night stand.  And long-distance relationships?  If your fucking is limited to a weekend spent together now and then, you’ve got limited chances to do it right.  In the romance novel of your love life, pent-up passion translates into hot sex, every evening and waking morning.  Maybe one snuck in on Saturday after lunch for good measure!  All with multiple intense orgasams, please!  Sometimes that’ll happen in the real world.  But sometimes, you’re gonna run into some trouble.

I ran into some problems last weekend.  A meeting called for me to be in Miami on Sunday afternoon.  I flew in on Friday night to spend the weekend with [kinky intern girl, what did I call her in previous post].  We were to have two nights together.  But when we got home after dinner the first night, there was an announcement…Last call for additions to my list from paragraph 1.

Yes, gentle reader, time of the month was a pretty big one to leave out.  And it surely can be a pretty hefty buzz kill for the coital weekend reunion.  Now a period doesn’t necessarily rule things out, especially for a couple further along the significant other spectrum (but even still, might be skipped by many).  But the graphic intimacy of it does not befit casual coupling

Our Friday night was a resounding failure.  I responded to the period announcement (and misplaced apology) with an understanding “don’t worry about it” to which she replied with a suggestion of trying sex in the shower to avoid a mess.  Sure, we’ll give it a try!  Not so easy; it was small shower and water is an arousal-suppressant.  Makes guys soft.  Dries girls out.  And I must confess a lack of arousal on my part not only that night but the last night she was in DC.  She confessed to frequently masturbating about the first rough, kinky, glorious night we spent together.  I had too, but while her interest in me was palpable, I could never rekindle the erotic energy from that first time.  Some things just can’t be recreated and when you try, they’re apt to end, as the British would say, in a bloody mess.

Friday night didn’t work out.  And after sleeping till noon on Saturday, we were running late, she was quickly dressed, and we were out the door.  Upon returning home late that evening, our repore was diminished from having spent the full day together.  There’s no deep relationship here, so the time was too much.  And fatigue had set in.  But it was our last night, and after the last two attempts had faltered?  We were having sex, on the bed, period be damned!  Big mistake.  All was well until we tried to switch positions.  Turning her over revealed a puddle of blood on the white sheet beneath, and she shrieked in embarrassment.  I reassured her and told her it was okay.  Tried to continue, but I left a bloody handprint on the sheet as I grasped for it.  “Oh my god, it looks like someone was hacked up in here!,” she said.  “So gross.”  Accurate on all accounts.  We tried to persevere, but at that point her thighs were covered, the sheets made the place look like a crime scene, and whatever mood their had been was certainly shattered.

But the odor!  If the visual was unappealing (and it was), the smell was…not something I care to describe, or can really describe.  Indescribable.  Save for saying it was the most unerotic, repelling aroma ever.  I never cared for her scent to begin with.  So how could we ever have sex again with this scene imprinted in my mind and my nose.

Condoms provide great protection from standard sexual fluids.  But versus a heavy flow?  They latex barrier seems to hold up.  And theoretically, it’s the same thing as an EMT using gloves to treat a wounded patient.  But while safe sex should always be at the forefront of one’s sexual mind, it shouldn’t have to come into play here.

I grow soft.  Tears roll down her cheeks  She asks if it’s “her.”  I say not at all.  But it is.  It’s her, it’s the period, it’s the situation, it’s everything.  It’s a disaster!  We shower this time to clean off…sex is far from my mind.  And though I offer all of my reasurement and kisses to make her embarrassment going away, it’s clear that the moment and our time together has past.