Tag Archives: Mr. Big X

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Meme’s And Tags Are For Suckers, I Guess I Can Suck It

5 Jan

The tagging and meme’s are to blogs as chain letters are to email.  Take that analogy, SAT professor.

Usually when someone decides that I’m worthy of a tag and/or meme, I pretend like I didn’t notice it or that I’m too busy and important to bother carrying on the tradition.  Recently, however, Acorn King tagged me and the concept is a good one.  The tag has evolved as each blogger has decided to give it their own spin.  When Father Muskrat had it, he changed it to 7 random acts by 7 random whores.  Acorn King decided that he’d change it to 3 embarrassing sex stories involving his friends.  Oh, and I decided to change the tag all over again.  Now it’s 3 stories that involve my exes making jack asses of themselves.

I’ve dragged my feet at getting the post up, but mainly because I was trying to come up with good stories to share.  You’re in luck, kids, I finally have the stories!!

Sleeping In The Wet Spot

My college boyfriend, Smalltown Boy, is now a professor at our alma mater.  I’m sure he would be more than delighted to know that I am sharing this story with you and the rest of the free world.  One night in the fall semester of our Senior year, Smalltown Boy and his roommates decided to throw a huge party-which they pretty much did every single weekend.  On this particular night, Smalltown Boy got butt wasted.  So wasted that I had to take him up to bed early.  After some unsuccessful attempts at groping me, Smalltown Boy passed out with his hand down my pants.  I quietly cursed him, removed his hands from Vageena Davis, and rolled over to my side of the bed and fell asleep.

A few hours later, Smalltown Boy woke me from a dead sleep by crawling on top of me.  I thought that he was trying to start things up again, and promptly told him to get off of me and let me sleep.  “I want to sleep on your side of the bed.  I need the window,” he told me.  “Bastard is going to get sick,” I thought, so I let him roll over me to get to the window.  As I made my way to his side, I suddenly felt it: a giant wet spot.  “Did we secretly have sex in the middle of the night and I just don’t remember?” I asked myself.  Nope, the wet spot was way too big for that.

I think you know where this is going.  That’s right, he peed in the bed and he wanted me to sleep in it.  Look, I’ve heard about sleeping in the wet spot before, but there’s no f’ing way that I was going to sleep in someone’s pee.  I got up, got dressed, andwalked home (thankfully, we lived on the same street about 3 houses apart).  The next day when he came to find me he looked awfully sheepish.  He pretended not to remember anything that had happened the night before.  Nice play, but I didn’t believe it for a second.

How to Make a Peen Turn Blue

In the two-some years that Un-boyfriend and I dated, we only went away on vacation one time.  One miserable time.  We took a week long trip to the beach.  I was so excited!!  In preparation for our trip, I went out and bought all sorts of accessories: gold circle coin condoms, flavored ones (not that I was going to stick them in my mouth), ribbed ones, and green ones.  As far as I was concerned, we were going to be spending the bulk of our time knocking boots.  Unfortunately, he seemed to have other plans…

The second we got to the hotel room, I started getting undressed, and he turned on the TV.  He completely ignored me for 2 hours because the NBA playoffs were on and he’s totally gay for the NBA.  No, really.   After 15 minutes of trying to “talk him” into turning off the TV, I ended up throwing a fit and then reading my book.

Blah, blah, boring details, it was finally time to hit it.  I chose the green condom for our first romp of the trip.  About 18 seconds into it (literally), he started saying, “Ouch, this hurts!”  Puzzled, I told him to shut up and keep going.  “NO!!  This really hurts!!  It feels like it’s ripping off my skin!!”  He climbed off the bed and went running into the bathroom with the green (glow in the dark) condom on his upstanding citizen.  We both cried: him like a baby and me from the hysterics I was in.

“It won’t come off!  I can’t get it off!  What did you give to me??”  I fell off the bed laughing.  “I’m losing sensation!  I think I might have to go to the hospital!”  More weeping from me as I got off the floor to try to help him.  He was buck naked in the bathroom, hunched over his Oscar Mayer weiner, trying to pull the condom from the tip.   The second I saw him standing in the bathroom trying to take the thing off, I lost it all over again.    “It’s not funny!  It’s turning blue!”  I swear I have never wept like that before.

Remember the Time We…

Mr. Big X and I loved going to New Orleans together.  The first time we went was about 6 months into the relationship: it was our Valentine’s gift to one another.  Bliss.  It was bliss.   Months later we broke up.  A year later, we got back together.  We were living in different cities at the time, and decided it would be romantic to meet up in New Orleans to rekindle the romance.  We booked the same hotel, and met at the airport.

The 2nd trip was just as great as the 1st one.  The hotel was beautiful, the food was delicious-as was the sex.  We spent the days walking around the French Quarter, and the evenings locked in our hotel room.  On our 4th night there, after a toss in the hay, we were laying in bed.    I was sure that I was laying in the arms that I would one day marry, and remember thinking that life couldn’t get any better than this.  “This reminds me so much of the last time we were here,” he said to me.  I asked him to expand.

Mr. Big X: Don’t you remember?  It was that night that we went to [insert restaurant night here].
Me: What restaurant?  I don’t remember that.
Mr. Big X: How can you not remember!!  We had that bottle of wine and that really funny waiter!
Me: Nope, no recollection.
Mr. Big X: The day we went to the aquarium?
Me: Um…no.
Mr. Big X: Come on!  You loved that place.  You had that martini with the candy in it.
Me: I’ve never had a martini with a candy in it.
Mr. Big X: Of course you have!
Me: No.  I have not.  I would remember if I had had one of those.  I think you’re confusing me with someone else.
Mr. Big X: NO!!  It was you!
Me: No, it was not.  Oh, and I hate to tell you, but I’ve never been to the aquarium here.
Mr. Big X: Are you sure?
Me: Yeah, I think I’d remember spending the day with a bunch of fish and then having some candy martini.
Mr. Big X:  I thought it was you…

For about an hour he tried to convince me that I was totally wrong.  Until it all came spilling out.  Such a gentlemen.  Mr. Big X had confused me with his last girlfriend.  Who he had just happened to also take to New Orleans.  And stayed with in the very same room.  Man, was it fun trying to see him dig himself out of that hole.  Such a wonder that it didn’t turn out…

As I mentioned at the beginning of this post, I’m not one for tagging, but I’m dying to know what Pistols would have to share with the world.  Do with this as you will.  Write about 7 whores a whoring, 3 embarrassing sex stories involving your friends, or 3 stories in which you illustrate how your exes were jack asses.  Or do something different.  Get all Nike up on it (ie: just do it).

Pistols, don’t say I never gave you anything.

Dating Do’s & Don’ts

6 Nov

 At 34, I have been on more first dates than I care to count. Sure some of them were fantastic, like the one with Mr. Big X. We went out on his friend’s sailboat for the whole day. The weather was gorgeous, there was plenty of chemistry, loads of flirting, and a kiss at the end of the date that still makes my knees buckle when I think about it. Or the first date with Hairy McBacksweat. There was plenty of beer, tons of good food, and more than enough bad judgementjudgment to last me a lifetime. NevermindNever mind that I was still dating Mr. Big X at the time, or that I had consumed my weight in beer that day-which led up to 6 months of poor choices on my part. But the beer was free and I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if that gift horse carries the gift of “the relationship that you’ll regret.”

Then we have the bad ones. The ones that still give me terrible nightmares-the kind where I wake up sweating and thinking to myself, “thank God it was just a bad, bad dream.” Then I’m too scared to go back to sleep for fear that I’ll end up back in the dream with some random jerk rubbing my thigh. One of those that still haunts me is the tragic date with Lazy Eye. I had been using a dating service and they were convinced that we were a “perfect match.” If only I had known that their idea of a “perfect match” actually translated into, “you have absolutely nothing in common and we’re just setting the 2 of you up together so we can laugh at you behind your desperate single backs.”

Lazy Eye suffered from a lack of listening skills, and had less personality than a dead dog rotting in the sunshine. I spent the night answering questions that he had just asked me 5 minutes prior, and then correcting him when he made up his own answers. He would ask me questions over and over again, and then pull things out of his ass. An example:

  • Lazy Eye: So, what do your mom and dad do?
  • Me: My mother is a doctor, and my dad is a naval officer in Hawaii. What about yours?
  • Lazy Eye: Wow! That’s really interesting. My dad is dead and I haven’t spoken to my mother in about 15 years.
  • Me: Oh.
  • Lazy Eye: How does your mom like working in Washington DC?
  • Me: Pardon?
  • Lazy Eye: You said she worked for the Mexican Embassy, right?
  • Me: Um…no. She’s a doctor. She’s Mexican, but she doesn’t work for the embassy.
  • Lazy Eye: Oh, sorry. How long has your dad been a photographer?

Umm, what? Where on god’s green earth did he get that from?? The date pretty much continued straight down the road to nowhere. But I tried. I kept on answering his questions, and trying to help him be less nervous. I smiled. I cracked jokes.

When someone ends up on a bad date, they immediately blame the other person. In my case, I know it’s absolutleyabsolutely their fault-never mine. I do all the right things on the first date. No, seriously, I mean it, stop laughing. In my book, here’s why my date would not like me: because we have zero chemistry, because I’m more rubenesque (or robust, chunky, fleshy, curvy…take your pick) than he would like, because I respectfully disagree with his opinion that his paying the bill will lead to a tawdry romp in the backseat of his car, or because we have nothing in common. I will never be the person on a date that doesn’t hold up her end of the conversation, that doesn’t make the false move to pay the bill. That’s just not my style. I believe that what I put into the date, is what I’ll get out of it. How can I expect someone to have a good conversation with me if I only supply one word responses and never ask questions in return?

So think about this the next time you find yourself on a first date: what makes you a good dater? If you have trouble answering that question, here are a few tips for you:

Do:

  • Have a series of open ended questions that you can ask to get your date talking.
  • What do you like to do for fun?
  • What travel plans do you have for the winter/summer?
  • What sports do you enjoy?
  • Would you rather be thrown down the stairs into a giant vat of rotting jellyfish or listen to the latest Rascal Flatts album? Why?
  • Answer questions with more than just one word. If you’re asked, “Do you like to fish?” and the answer is yes, tell them what you like about it. If the answer is no, ask them what they like about it and what their other hobbies are.
  • For the love of God, smile!! No one wants to be out with someone that’s dead inside. Even if you’re not having a great time, smile, and start thinking about what you can do to change the way things are going.
  • This one might get me in trouble, but I don’t really care. Men, be prepared to pick up the bill. Ladies, be prepared to offer to pay for your share. Men, you should reject this faux offer from the ladies. Ladies, you should insist on leaving the tip, or buying a round of drinks. Men, it’s up to you what you do with that offer.
  • Keep things light hearted. There’s no need to tell your date all about your upbringing as a latchkey kid and how you feel your mother didn’t hold you enough when you were an infant.

Don’t:

  • Dress like a slob or a hooker. Gentlemen, that means no t-shirts or sneakers for you. Ladies, that means that you should not be showing off your tramp stamp or your nipple rings. Think about the first impression you want to make. If that’s that you’re a guy who still lets mom do his laundry and can’t be bothered to learn how to match his socks to his pants, or that you’re the type of girl that gives it away in exchange for a drink and a few nice words, by all means….
  • Fire up the grill and start quizzing your date on how many sexual partners they’ve had, how their last relationship ended, why they’re not married, or why the marriage ended. If they want to share that, they’ll tell you.
  • Tell him that your clock is ticking and you plan on having a baby immediately if not sooner. This will cause him to break out into a sweat and run to the bathroom, never to return.
  • Mention that you have some bold ideas for a wedding, and that you think her first name sounds so melodic with your last name. Again, this will cause your date to sweat, and maybe even weep a little bit.

What are some things you do to make sure that you’re a good dater?

Another Prime Example of Un-boyfriend’s Uselessness

30 Aug

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Un-boyfriend is useless.  Several months ago, I had a minor emotional outburst and posted about Mr. Big X returning to the area from Chicago.  Un-boyfriend and I had been broken up for a few months before I started dating Mr. Big X.  They knew each other, and were civil to one another.

As it turns out, he happens to be working in the same building as Un-boyfriend.  How about that for a coincidence??  When I found out that they would be working in the same building, I was sure that Un-boyfriend would provide me with some scoop about Mr. Big X.  He would regale me with stories about how Mr. Big X had a receding hairline, an extra chin, and a pot belly.  I was looking forward to hearing all about it.

They had their first run in about 2 months ago.  Un-boyfriend saw Mr. Big X from across the gym.  They did not speak to one another, and he could not provide me with a physical description of how Mr. Big X had lost his once hot looks.  Nothing.  Not. One. Damned. Thing.  Since then, I hear that they ride in the elevator together and they pretend not to know one another.

Until today.  Below is the email exchange highlighting the interaction between Un-boyfriend and Mr. Big X:

  • UB: I just talked to your boy for the first time.
  • CS: How’d that go for you?
  • UB: Super. He said, “Hey Un-boyfriend, how are you?” I said, “Good Mr. Big X, how are you doing?” To which he replied, “Good.”

He clearly missed the memo where he’s supposed to get me all the dirt on Mr. Big X so that I can revel in the fact that his life went to shit after he dumped me on New Year’s.  That’s right, on New Year’s.  Nice guy.

You Left Without Saying Goodbye

15 Mar

You left without saying goodbye. We haven’t talked for 2 years, but we both knew where the other one was. Now I hear you’re leaving there and coming here for a different job with a different company. Why can’t you just stay there? Why must you come back here after all this time, after all these years. This is where I live-where we loved each other. But you chose to leave me here, and go there.

When I heard you were leaving this time, I felt such a deep sadness. Though it’s been years since things ended between us, there was some comfort in knowing where you were, and that in certain respects, we were still linked. With you leaving your job, it almost feels as if you’re leaving me all over again. Yet it’s been so long, and I wish it didn’t bother me anymore-that I could just forgot you and move on. Why does it still hurt so much? After all this time, why do I feel that pang in my chest and this lump in my throat as I write this?

We owe each other nothing. We said our goodbyes many years ago. I still think about you, all the time. I compare you to every man that I meet. They never compare to you-not ever. But why would I want them to? You were cruel to me. You broke my heart, you shattered it into a million pieces. I wept for you, and when I leave here today to go home, I’ll weep for you again.

I ache for you. I want to see you, but I don’t. We were terrible to each other: I cheated, you lied, then you left me here. Now you’ve left again. And yet you left without saying goodbye.

Goodbye. Have a nice life. It was nice knowing you. I’ll never see you again. Not ever. I’ll miss you.