Soap Bloggera
(Yesterday's posting caused quite a furor over at Stephanie's Greek Tragedy site and here at my humble BlaggBlogg. Stephanie has since banned me from commenting on her blog and has taken down the post where I took her to task. There's now a big group hug going on where everyone over there is assuring Stephanie that she is indeed brilliant and the Mean Nasty Comment Critic is just jealous of her talents. After so much passionate hatred coming from her Manhattanite Wannabe Posse, saying that my attacks were unfair because Stephanie is "pouring her heart out" and "being honest and inspirational", I'm going to see if I can even begin to match the literary mastery of Stephanie's super-original blog.)
My Greek Tragedy
I'm walking down Valencia, around 1:30 last Saturday afternoon, when I'm overcome with a ravenous post-coital hunger. Having spent the previous evening wrapped up in the body of some Greek bartenderess I met at Suede, I decided that a falafel would be the perfect cuisine to rejuvenate my livelihood. Luckily, I'm nearby one of the best falafels this side of the Parthenon.
As I'm standing at the stand, contemplating whether I'd like an extra side of Tabouleh, I notice this really hot red-headed chick standing next to me, looking alternately hungry and confused. Ahh, she's never had a falafel before!
"Need any help?" I ask, smiling unnecessarily.
"Me? Oh, I was just...what's a falafel?" she asks, pronouncing "falafel" as "Foul-eh-fell". I can tell by her stupid purse with bubblegum designer logos plastered all over it that she must be one of those people who's primary diet consists of "sushi and stuff".
"Falafels are meatballs made of Garbanzo beans and chick peas", I retort.
"Oh, ok. What kind of car do you drive?"
"Me? A Jetta. Why?"
She stares at me thoughfully for a few moments, seeming to take inventory of my entire person, head to toe. Suddenly she flashes a big smile.
"You want to go see a movie?"
After a few moments of utter confusion, realization washes over me like a cold shower. This chick's a total slut. She's kind of hot, though - red curly hair, nice body, big smile. She clearly spends thousands of dollars to keep herself coiffed. I bet she's a freak in bed, too -- redheads always are. This might be fun.
"Sure, what movie?" I'm grinning at her now.
After we decide on "Bridget Jones 2" (she says she finds Bridget's stories "inspiring" to her work -- she's a blogger) we exchange numbers and plan on meeting up later that night around 7. That will give me just enough time to run home, read her entire blog archive, and find the "password to her panties".
"I'm Alex" I say, extending my hand.
"Sally, nice to meet you."
***
The movie sucked ass. Two hours of stupid jokes about being a cute but slightly overweight chick and how awkward and difficult that makes life. After spending hours reading Sally's self-indulgent, rambling blog about how hard dating is for a spoiled JAP in the Big City, I was really kind of just wanting to go home with a bottle of Scotch and a couple horse tranquilizers, but there was no way I was going to sit through that crap movie without trying to at least get a blowjob out of it. Or something.
While we were in the movie, Sally thought she saw a Rat scamper across the floor, so she screamed, disturbing the rest of the audience. Turns out it was just a box of Milk Duds. Then, in the big dramatic scene in the end where everything works out for Bridget, Sally's phone went off - it was one of her girlfriends calling to see how the date was going. Again, the audience was thrilled.
When we get back to my apartment, I pour some wine and turn on the stereo. Phil Collins. I love Phil Collins. We talk about how she's really working her way up at some advertising agency and how all the other women in the office are jealous of her success and blah blah blah. I tuned out after she said, "I think people can be smart AND beautiful".
After more yammering, we finally start hooking up on the sofa. I give her some soft, sensitive kisses and stroke her hair, cause I'm into foreplay or whatever. Finally, after several LONG minutes of making out like 8th graders, I go in for the kill, sliding my hand between her thighs. She breathes in quickly and immediately tenses up like I'm trying to give her a prostrate exam, then pulls away from me.
"I'm NOT going to have sex with you," she says, wiping her lips.
"Um, ok. What will you do?"
She looks at me a few moments, then smiles.
"Do you really like me?" she looks like a cute, lost puppy.
"Of course I do."
"How much?"
"A lot."
She sighs, leans into me and whispers, "Mouth or ass?"
"Ass."
***
So that happened. Anyway, we go out again a few days later and again she won't let me have vaginal sex with her. She blew me, then got Greek like we were in a Jenna Jamison movie, but still no straight up sex. I couldn't understand it.
"Why won't you let me have sex with you?" I ask as I'm quickly putting my clothes back on, trying to get the hell out of her apartment as fast as possible.
"Because...I'm a virgin."
I laugh, cause I thought she was kidding, but her expression tells me she's not.
"Ok, I got to go."
When I get home, I am staggered by how deluded people can really be. This girl will let a random stranger she picked up a Falafel stand penetrate nearly every oraface of her body, but she still goes to sleep at night feeling classy and dignified. When I read her stupid, inane musings about "how wonderful" our encounters were on her blog the next day, it's just too much to bear.
I decide to send her an e-mail, short and to the point.
"Great having my cock in your ass. If you want Greek again, I'll see you at the falafel stand."
I'm walking down Valencia, around 1:30 last Saturday afternoon, when I'm overcome with a ravenous post-coital hunger. Having spent the previous evening wrapped up in the body of some Greek bartenderess I met at Suede, I decided that a falafel would be the perfect cuisine to rejuvenate my livelihood. Luckily, I'm nearby one of the best falafels this side of the Parthenon.
As I'm standing at the stand, contemplating whether I'd like an extra side of Tabouleh, I notice this really hot red-headed chick standing next to me, looking alternately hungry and confused. Ahh, she's never had a falafel before!
"Need any help?" I ask, smiling unnecessarily.
"Me? Oh, I was just...what's a falafel?" she asks, pronouncing "falafel" as "Foul-eh-fell". I can tell by her stupid purse with bubblegum designer logos plastered all over it that she must be one of those people who's primary diet consists of "sushi and stuff".
"Falafels are meatballs made of Garbanzo beans and chick peas", I retort.
"Oh, ok. What kind of car do you drive?"
"Me? A Jetta. Why?"
She stares at me thoughfully for a few moments, seeming to take inventory of my entire person, head to toe. Suddenly she flashes a big smile.
"You want to go see a movie?"
After a few moments of utter confusion, realization washes over me like a cold shower. This chick's a total slut. She's kind of hot, though - red curly hair, nice body, big smile. She clearly spends thousands of dollars to keep herself coiffed. I bet she's a freak in bed, too -- redheads always are. This might be fun.
"Sure, what movie?" I'm grinning at her now.
After we decide on "Bridget Jones 2" (she says she finds Bridget's stories "inspiring" to her work -- she's a blogger) we exchange numbers and plan on meeting up later that night around 7. That will give me just enough time to run home, read her entire blog archive, and find the "password to her panties".
"I'm Alex" I say, extending my hand.
"Sally, nice to meet you."
The movie sucked ass. Two hours of stupid jokes about being a cute but slightly overweight chick and how awkward and difficult that makes life. After spending hours reading Sally's self-indulgent, rambling blog about how hard dating is for a spoiled JAP in the Big City, I was really kind of just wanting to go home with a bottle of Scotch and a couple horse tranquilizers, but there was no way I was going to sit through that crap movie without trying to at least get a blowjob out of it. Or something.
While we were in the movie, Sally thought she saw a Rat scamper across the floor, so she screamed, disturbing the rest of the audience. Turns out it was just a box of Milk Duds. Then, in the big dramatic scene in the end where everything works out for Bridget, Sally's phone went off - it was one of her girlfriends calling to see how the date was going. Again, the audience was thrilled.
When we get back to my apartment, I pour some wine and turn on the stereo. Phil Collins. I love Phil Collins. We talk about how she's really working her way up at some advertising agency and how all the other women in the office are jealous of her success and blah blah blah. I tuned out after she said, "I think people can be smart AND beautiful".
After more yammering, we finally start hooking up on the sofa. I give her some soft, sensitive kisses and stroke her hair, cause I'm into foreplay or whatever. Finally, after several LONG minutes of making out like 8th graders, I go in for the kill, sliding my hand between her thighs. She breathes in quickly and immediately tenses up like I'm trying to give her a prostrate exam, then pulls away from me.
"I'm NOT going to have sex with you," she says, wiping her lips.
"Um, ok. What will you do?"
She looks at me a few moments, then smiles.
"Do you really like me?" she looks like a cute, lost puppy.
"Of course I do."
"How much?"
"A lot."
She sighs, leans into me and whispers, "Mouth or ass?"
"Ass."
So that happened. Anyway, we go out again a few days later and again she won't let me have vaginal sex with her. She blew me, then got Greek like we were in a Jenna Jamison movie, but still no straight up sex. I couldn't understand it.
"Why won't you let me have sex with you?" I ask as I'm quickly putting my clothes back on, trying to get the hell out of her apartment as fast as possible.
"Because...I'm a virgin."
I laugh, cause I thought she was kidding, but her expression tells me she's not.
"Ok, I got to go."
When I get home, I am staggered by how deluded people can really be. This girl will let a random stranger she picked up a Falafel stand penetrate nearly every oraface of her body, but she still goes to sleep at night feeling classy and dignified. When I read her stupid, inane musings about "how wonderful" our encounters were on her blog the next day, it's just too much to bear.
I decide to send her an e-mail, short and to the point.
"Great having my cock in your ass. If you want Greek again, I'll see you at the falafel stand."
posted by Alex Blagg | 12/08/2004
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