More than Friends

There haven't been that many times in my life that I've made the transition from good friend to more than friend. When I was younger (and worshipped Dawson's Creek - oh, how I miss the old Katie Holmes...), it seemed like the ideal situation and I always hoped that I would eventually end up with one of the guys that I deemed to be a close friend.

Now that I am older (and smarter), I am aware that it's usually (not always) the females who make the decisions about who goes into the friend zone and who is hooking-up material. And therefore, when I meet a guy and have spent a little time with him, I usually make a snap judgement on which pile he goes into, and there he stays. It's been the case for Finance Boy and St. Paddy's Day Boy, and I usually let them know this by asking them for advice on boys.

Guys, on the other hand, rarely put girls in the friend zone (I mean, unless there is something glaringly wrong with her). It took me a loooong time to figure this out, but most guys will still agree to have sex with an attractive girl period. Regardless of whether they're friends or not, regardless of whether it's a good or bad idea, regardless of pretty much anything.

Thus, the very few times that I have decided to take a guy out of the friend zone, I've had to be the one to initiate it, since MOST (sober) guys are smart enough not to make unwelcome advances on their female friends. I think in the majority of male/female platonic relationships, it is the females that dictate the terms of how it's going to be. Which is precisely why I have been pushing some of my girlfriends to make moves on guys they are interested in but think they're "just friends".

For these same reasons, I also think it's harder for girls to adjust to the transition from friends to more. Once I've put someone in the friend zone and spent a good deal of time with him platonically, it's pretty difficult for me to mentally adjust to the idea of seeing him in a sexual light. Which FINALLY explains why things were so awkward between Joey and Dawson in season two.

Guy Psyche

I won't claim it's the most mature move on my part, but I was pulling a He's Just Not That Into You typical guy stunt and hoping that by disappearing and silence on my end, Client Boy would realize that I was no longer interested in wasting my time with him.

But the big flaw in my plan was that someone as narcissistic as Client Boy never takes a subtle hint, and would never EVER accept that maybe I am rejecting him. That is how I came to receive a series of successive strange text messages starting from last week and continuing nightly until last night. See below:

Tuesday Night, 10PM: Feel like sucking some cock?

Wednesday Night, 11PM: Boo

Thursday Night, 11PM: What's are you doin?

Thursday Night, 11:10PM (after no response to the previous text message): So the answer is being a bitch?

Friday Night, 12AM: Why don't you come see me real quick?

Saturday Night, 2AM: What are you up to?

Now, one would think since I didn't respond to ANY of these texts, he would've gotten the point, and would cease and desist. But I feel like by ignoring him I am somehow feeding the beast and now they are going to come stronger and more frequently than ever.

Which means I might have to just suck it up and tell him to back off, which is probably the grown-up, mature thing to do. But something tells me that he would not respond to it in a grown-up, mature manner...

Picking Up Chicks

So the other night I went out with my platonic guy pal, L, and he took me to his local bar, making a point of telling me that a really hot blonde bartender that he likes works there. I promised not to stifle his game.

It turns out the bartender IS really hot, a tall, blonde, perfect Polish girl who I will fully admit to having a major girl-crush on. L and I were sitting at the bar, sneakily checking her out when she came over and I asked her where her earrings were from. We started chatting and she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh my gosh, you are so gorgeous! You must have boys trying to get your number all the time!" to which I responded, "No YOU are so gorgeous! Look at you!"

Well, needless to say, she was my immediate new BFF and we totally hit it off, much to L's chagrin. I even made a point of going to the bathroom so they could have a moment together without me third-wheeling. When I came back, he looked at me grumpily and said, "I think she's more into you than she is into me. She told me that she thinks you're really pretty."

All I could really do at that point was laugh. As we were leaving, though, she stopped us and looked really disappointed we were taking off. I exchanged phone numbers with her and we made plans to hang out on Monday night, her night off.

Walking out of the bar, L just shook his head at me, and I told him he was obviously invited to hang out with us on Monday to which he responded, "I have had a crush on her for months, and you just walk in and get her phone number. You are the best wingwoman ever."

The moral of the story is I am apparently awesome at picking up really hot blonde Polish girls and I think there is career potential there. Let me know if you'd be interested in my services!

Sex Siren Status?

So my friend D was updating me on recent celebrity gossip (soooorrrry I've been too busy writing a novel to read TMZ in a while, ok?) and we got to discussing the Sienna Miller / Balthazar Getty affair.

Now, I'm not judging, and the last thing I'm going to do is devote a blog post to what a sleezeball Getty is and how Sienna Miller is a hypocrite for ruining a relationship when her own was destroyed by a nanny. No, no, what I am riled up about is how Sienna Miller always manages to bag all these hotties. Jude Law, Orlando Bloom, Leo DiCaprio, Hayden Christensen, Josh Hartnett, and now Balthazar Getty. How is that fair?!?!

Sienna is a pretty girl, no one's denying that. She has a great body, blonde hair, and style sense that any girl would kill for. But that does not translate to "make hot men fall at their knees." So what's that je ne sais quoi that she's got?

D and I decided that she comes across as a sex siren. And that's the extra something that sets her apart from the rest of the pretty blondes out there. Now, how does one go about being a sex siren?

I wandered into Barnes and Noble and asked if they had any books on how to be a sex siren, "Sex Sirens for Dummies," if you will, and they just looked at me blankly. So it looks like it's going to take a little more work for me to crack that mystery. How does one go from just being the girl-next-door type to the sex-siren type?

Opening Up the Ex-Files

Once upon a time in the magical land of Westchester, two teenagers met in history class, became friends, went through a series of ups and downs, and eventually fell in love.

Before you go vomiting in your mouth, don't worry, this is not going to be THAT kind of story. In fact, it's quite the opposite. She went off to college, they cheated on each other repeatedly, and had a heinous, ugly breakup. Awesome, huh?

But eventually, they both got over it, and D and I remain friends to this very day. He is the only ex-boyfriend I am on such good terms with that I've met his girlfriends since.

I am really really bad at maintaining friendships with exes. In my mind, if you were too stupid to lose me in the first place, you don't really deserve to have me in your life. Also, I have a tendency to date assholes (surprise, surprise), so most of them were not worth being friends with in the first place.

D is the one exception, mostly because he is one of the nicest people in the world, and therefore it makes it kind of hard for me to justify calling him a jerk and never speaking to him again. I mean he's such a nice guy that even my mom likes him and my sister leaves messages on his Facebook wall (ridiculous, right?)

Plus, D and I broke up almost ten years ago, so everything that happened between us is so far in the past there are no more hurt feelings. He just moved to Texas to pursue a teaching career, so we caught up over lunch before he left, and it was great to see him. Which makes me wonder if I was being short-sighted in writing off my other exes so quickly...

Nah.

Baby Mama Drama

So this past weekend, I had a brilliant idea. I was discussing with my fried K how we would like to have children someday even if we don't get married, and how we will go about doing so. She plans on having a friend donate his seed to the cause, but I came up with a far more awesome scenario.

Say you want to have a baby but absolutely do not want to know who the father is, and don't want the child to be able to figure out who the father is either. How would you go about doing so, other than getting a bunch of guys to squirt into a large bucket and turkey basting it?

Ooooh that's right, you would have a sex romp to get knocked up!

Picture this: it's the week of ovulation and you have a massive week of nonstop sex with so many guys that paternity testing would be far too difficult and expensive.

Obviously, there are a few kinks to work out. All the guys have to be the same ethnicity and roughly the same coloring. Avoiding STDs would be a good idea. And as my friend R pointed out, at some point having all that nonstop sex would be exhausting (and possibly painful).

This could be a very lengthy process, that involves years of planning and research and questionnaires and paperwork, but I'm seeing so many options: reality TV show, memoir, multiple visits to Oprah (or at the very least Maury). Come on folks, dream with me here.

For some reason, the people I have shared my idea with are not too enthusiastic and told me it sounds all kinds of ridiculous (no way!). Nevertheless, I'm keeping the option out there for Operation: Sex Romp Baby (what do we think of the name?).

As my friend K pointed out, as we formulated this plan, "Wow, this is going to be one messed up kid."

Guys in Other Cities

Now if there's one thing we New Yorkers love to do, it's to complain about living in the city: the weather, the noise, the construction, the rent, the homeless people, the subway fare increases, you get the point.

And of course, one of my favorite past times is complaining about how utterly psychotic Manhattan guys are.

However, after spending a good amount of time in some other Eastern American cities in the past couple months (Atlanta, Philadelphia, Boston), I have come to realize that I am truly lucky in the vast amounts of good-looking men I get to admire every single day, just by riding the subway or walking down the street.

My girlfriends and I have discussed that there isn't one day that goes by that we don't see a really attractive man. For me, there's rarely a day where I don't see a hot guy and eye-bang him.

I'm not exaggerating when I say there was not one fuckable man in all of Boston the entire week that I was there, out and about exploring the city. And I'm not just saying this because half of them were drunk and/or wearing some sort of Red Sox paraphernalia. I am saying this because they were all trolls. Sorry Bostonites, it's true.

So now when I find myself complaining about living in Manhattan, all I have to do is think about the creatures that Boston claims are their datable inhabitants, shudder, and then thank my lucky stars that I don't live there.