V-Carded! An Twenty-something adult male's struggle with virginity and sexual frustration

I found one other amusing thing in my filebox that I’ve hadn’t seen in many years. Way back in Junior High School we had something go “viral” there well before the internet. Someone had typed up a dirty poem called “The Garden of Eden” and distributed copies of it all over the school, and got did it get around. If you remember a very early Simpsons episode where a photo of Homer with belly dancer got copied and distributed all over town, it was a lot like that.

The school faculty went nuts as they tried to find the source of the distribution and end it. But like media companies today who cry “cease and desist” over their content being shared on YouTube, the more you try and suppress something the more people are going to keep doing it. One day the entire school courtyard was completely littered with copies of these poems.

While tame today and probably shared on the internet, it was pretty freaking taboo stuff back as a 13 year old back in 1992. It goes…

Adam and Eve as everyone knows
Went in the garden without any clothes

And in the garden, there were two leaves
One was Adam’s, the other was Eve’s

And the story goes on, needless to say
The wind came along, and blew them away

At this sight, Adam did stare
To see Eve’s treasure, covered with hair

That wonderful sight that caught Eve’s eye
Was Adam’s thing, as it started to rise

Adam had his hand on Eve’s tender breast
As the other went down to feel the nest

The unexpected came to Eve by surprise
As she found Adam, wedged between her thighs

Suddenly, the head of this thing touched her hole
And filled with passion beyond control…

She spread her legs as far as she could
As it went in, it felt so good

Then he put her legs around his back
And his thing went farther into her crack

Back and forth, he made it slide
Until it got all juicy inside

By this time, it was splendid indeed,
For Adam was pumping with alarming speed

For years and years, they screwed and screwed
And now it’s time for me and you

So pull down your pants and lay in the grass
Because I’m in the mood for a piece of your ass!

In my next round of spring cleaning, I moved on to my upstairs office and started sorting through my file box. I then came across a printed sheet of paper which in itself was worthless, but it was what was “on” the paper that represented a complete waste of my hard earned dollars. The paper was a receipt for an improv class.

A few years ago before I even fully understood what introversion really was, I was still trying to figure out why I had trouble communicating with strangers. All the help crap said that taking improv classes would considerably help you with women, so that’s exactly what I did. The classes - offered through a theater and arts center - weren’t cheap: the entire course was nearly in the ballpark of three hundred dollars.

I had always heard that tired old advice to participate in activities to meet women, so I expected to walk in there and hit the mother lode. Instead I saw an awkward looking college kid, another guy (who spent some time in TV/radio) and a really frumpy and creepy looking red-haired woman in her forties. So much for that advice.

But it wasn’t completely worthless…a very pretty blond - probably one of the most attractive ones I had ever seen - walked in and sat down next to me silently. The gears started turning slowly in my head to think of something else to say other than a tired “hello.” But she saved me the trouble; in the corner of my eye I saw a smile light up in my direction.

“So when did you sign up for the class?”

Frankly, I was kind of taken aback, not just because she engaged *me* right out of the blue, but that perhaps that I was finally being given the right situation to work with. After answering with my characteristic few worded answers, the conversation was interrupted by the teacher who entered the class.

After introducing himself, he asked the class to do so in kind. The blond next to me answered that her husband and her were highly interested in acting and improv. Sigh…why am I not surprised?

Over the next few weeks we learned cute little theatrical games like “Zip-Zap-Zop” and whatnot. One particular thing I remembered of the blond was that she said that for Halloween, her husband was wearing a box around his pants and she would wear a box on her boob as “Boob in a Box.”

“Um…there’s already a female version and it’s called…”

“No, I find that term crude,” she replied. Uh…okay. (’Dick’ and ‘boob’ isn’t?)

The weeks passed and the entire improv thing kind of felt watered down after a while. For one, people didn’t always show up and the only two people who faithfully attended each of the twelve weeks was myself and one other guy. Now with a perfect attendance record you think I’d be at the top of the game, but I was really fucking horrible at improv. Could never think of anything witty or good to say out of the blue.

The teacher had issues with the staff at the center, and one time he spent a considerable amount of time talking about his issues with them. Another day, he spent an entire 30 minutes talking about Michael Moore’s documentary Sicko and how he planned to move his family to Canada. I’m serious.

During the final few weeks, the teacher had finally stormed off from the center and we finished classes with a substitute. Unfortunately this jarred up the curriculum as the substitute (understandably) didn’t have a good idea where everyone was.

So not only was that the end of my improv career, that was also a few hundred bucks that I’ll never see again.

Yep, I’m still alive here. As I said to a former work associate in a bar the other day when asked how I was holding up, “Surviving.” It’s what I do I’ve taken a break from the blog lately to handle other things and figured I’d hold out until I got some good news. Well, I did get a bit of good news and I’ll share that in a moment. But here’s what’s been going on the newsfront…

Outings

Not been going good, from my lake trip several weeks ago to subsequent bar / club / social outings, nothing has come of it. No matter how I try, I’m simply not wired at socializing, at least not in those kinds of scenarios.

Some people rave that being social is a skill, but let’s be realistic, people are just as diverse at their skillsets as they are with personalities. When we end up being good at something, our egos naturally lead us to assume that what’s true for us must be true for others. We then condemn people when things don’t go as perfectly for them as our own experiences, perhaps only because our own paradigm and beliefs are threatened. God forbid that we are diverse and unique!

But that’s not what’s on my mind lately, it’s the fact that I haven’t been having a very good time going out alone and frankly - sick and tired of it. But I’ll address that in a separate entry. Speaking of which…

Friends

Haven’t seen much of them, all off doing their own thing. With one exception, Dennis Pitt and Hothead came over last weekend and we watched a movie. It was truly good to see them and I had a really good time with them.

As for The Friend, haven’t heard much out of him - too wrapped up in his girlfriend I guess. He said on the phone the other week that he wanted to catch up and would call me to have lunch later that week (suuuuuure you will) and I wasn’t shocked at all when the week came and gone with no phone call.

But one thing that he is doing lately that I’m finding annoying is that he’s using FaceBook as a surrogate for keeping up with people. However, he can’t stand being left in the dark when someone’s status perplexes him and THEN will phone up and ask “What did you mean by that status last week? And this? That status?” Fuck that, make an actual effort to keep your word to hang out with your friends and then I’ll satisfy your curiosity.

As for another acquaintance of mine whom I was hoping to get to know better, he landed himself in jail and I don’t think I’ll be hearing about him for a while. Ouch. As Lawrence said in Office Space, “Watch out for your cornhole, bud.”

Job Hunt

The job / employment hunt has been up and down. Seriously, why not just save yourself the trouble of applying for jobs online by just deleting your own application and sending yourself an automated “thanks-but-we-determined-you’re-not-right-for-the-job-despite-never-interviewing-you” email from HR? Online job searching has become like online dating: too mainstream and over saturated now to be worth the effort.

Which is why I prefer working through networks and word-of-mouth, my last two jobs were earned in this way. But that hasn’t been so great lately: I did interview with a place today, but damn, is it a step backwards. It took me ten years to get to where I was and it is incredibly disheartening to be back at this stage. On the other hand, I can’t forget that some people are having a hard time these days even scoring interviews in such trying times.

But I may just end up working contract for them which wouldn’t be bad: no obligations.

Speaking of which, there has been some dialog with my former company and a return might not be ruled out - and not necessarily in the same role as before - but I’ll only speak more on that when I see less talk and more action.

Entrepreneurship

So here I am, wondering if my career is as dead as this week’s celebrities. And suddenly out of the blue, here is where I did get some much needed momentum. For the last few weeks I’ve been working hard on selling a client on a business deal. I came up with a quote and while it wasn’t as high as I had thought it would be, it is still a lucrative number. But I honestly thought the client was going to balk at it.

But I’ll be damned, he accepted it! Now the ink isn’t on the paper just yet so I’m still holding my breath, but he said he wants to accept my services and start an ongoing relationship (more $$$). This is a great moral boost and is a big step in establishing my own business.

Most businesses would need directors, account executives, salesmen and developers to earn a client’s confidence in something like this….and I just did it ALL single-handedly. Big businesses can go have all the time-wasting meetings to decide on how to decide all they want. Meanwhile, I GET THE JOB DONE

Though she’s NEVER asked about or doted on any girlfriend prospects, I have often wondered what my mother thinks of her socially defective son who has never brought a young woman to the house to introduce to her. But what I do know is that no matter how undesirable a guy might be, their mothers see things through rose-colored glasses and will rationalize why their sons remain alone. My mother’s common excuse to other hens inquiring if I’m married yet: “He doesn’t need that in his life at this stage, I’m glad he doesn’t have a damned girl or baby tying him down like so many other guys.”

Now what’s truly amusing is how mothers also exaggerate their children’s looks as well, often comparing them to stars. One day as I came over to the house…

Mom: “Do you ever watch that show “Two and a Half Men? You look JUST like Charlie Sheen on that show!”

When I lost my job, cut my cable and hunted for shows on OTA television, I started watching Two and a Half Men reruns. I guess I kind of dress in “Charlie” shirts, have a somewhat similar haircut and comparably cocky at times, but no…I don’t see any resemblance at all.

But worse yet was one day I came over to the house and Mom had just finished the movie Gigli. “You know Ben Affleck? I just got done watching this movie and you…”

“Stop RIGHT there,” I demanded. Seriously, Gigli?!? Is being compared to a theatrical bomb the most flattering thing to say? (Although I sense the irony in it.) I also scoffed at the Ben Affleck comparison, I’ve seen him in a dozen things and there isn’t any comparison AT ALL. If there was, I wouldn’t be writing this blog. Seriously, Mom’s wearing her rose colored glasses again.

But after Mom’s comment, I took a close look at the Gigli poster online and dropped my jaw. To the left, the Gigli poster and culprit in question. To the right, excerpts of my commonly worn leather sports jacket and brown stripped shirt…

That bastard ripped me off, even right down to my (unpictured) hair! Son of a bitch! I don’t care if the movie five years earlier, minor, minor technicality, I assure you. But sure, even though Affleck got to finish all over J-Lo’s big booty, I take pride in knowing I made far more on last week’s unemployment check than Gigli did it’s entire theatrical run.

I’ve always struggled with my weight most of my life. If you’re newer to my blog, here’s my condensed history. I was an overweight, fat kid in high school and college. Up until about seven years ago, I weighed nearly 300lbs. After putting in some incredible - albeit on and off - effort, I got down to a record 185lbs. Unfortunately I went back up about 30 lbs until my high school reunion started looming, then I was determined to get back down to 185 (preferably lower).

It was then that I rationalized a purchase on a $200 Bodybugg. You might have seen these devices strapped on the arms of the contestants on The Biggest Loser. They’re also sold at 24 Hour Fitness (not surprisingly, a sponsor of the show).

The Bodybugg is a device that you strap around your arm and wear all the time, and I MEAN, all the time. It takes several different measurements and readings throughout the day, such as heat dissipation, movement, etc (but not heart rate). Bodybugg primarily determines how many calories you are burning and how much more activity you need to do in order to meet your daily goals.

You upload and view your data through the online website via USB cable or the crappy wireless receiver that tends to fail unless you literally stick it up to the device (which defeats the purpose anyway). The online details are interesting: you can see on a chart where your activity spiked when you were running back and forth between your desk and your boss’s office, or how many calories you burned across the parking lot in the morning. Since the device can’t tell what calories you’re eating, the website wants you to log all your food. While I am mindful of food labels, I find recording food a complete bitch and got flack from my personal trainer about this, but fuck it…it’s annoying.

Now comes the weaknesses of the device. The first is that the BodyBugg isn’t nearly as useful unless you buy the optional $99 watch that syncs up with the device and gives you instant numbers. It also beeps when you meet activity goals.

Second, ideally you have to wear this all the time. You could just wear it to exercise, but you won’t get an entirely accurate reading that way. The device can detect when you take it off (such as to shower or sleep) and the online program will question what you were doing while “off duty” and estimate accordingly.

Now comes my biggest gripe about the device: the online system is a subscription program. Meaning if you cancel your subscription, your Bodybugg is nearly worthless (more on this later). Three months are included with the price of the device, but the fees after that is about ten bucks a month.

I faithfully wore my BodyBugg through the three months and got down to 180lbs.  But following my class reunion, I got distracted with my sexual experiences and my depressive period, so my fitness plans were put on hold for a while. More delays came via my job loss, distracting side projects and general procrastination.

While I am the second lightest/thinnest person of my group of close friends (The Friend is the first), I still carry a bit of gut at 36-37 inches and some noticeable leftover flab, which isn’t doing me any favors attracting women. So out came the Bodybugg, blowing the dust off of it.

Even though the subscription had long expired and I couldn’t log into the site, the watch still worked and took readings from the device. So I simply used it at the gym to count how many calories I was burning and if I needed to pick up the pace. Only this time I had failed to replace the battery in my BodyBugg and the unit reset itself … requiring to be set up through the online program again. Pissed but not wanting to throw a few hundred away, I begrudgingly paid the $10 in order to restore the device (with plans to cancel the program before the month is up).

Don’t get me wrong: the Bodybugg is a great device and fitness companion and is far better than the cheapie pedometers and very inaccurate calorie counters on gym equpiment. But what makes it a regrettable purchase is the damned subscription program. For a $200 device ($300 with watch), this is crap. While I am using it today, if I had the opportunity to buy it again, I probably would pass.

What we go through to lose weight…ain’t it a bitch?

I’ve been distracted lately from both the blog and my email for two reasons. The first is simply that I’m working on scoring a client, a job that potentially could be worth up to five figures. This would be a BIG step towards earning some rep and credibility on my own as a businessman, and thus making owning my own business closer to reality.

The second is that I was gone for the weekend for my annual outing at the lake resort. Once again, it did not go well and it’s leaving me wondering if it’s not only time to retire from nightclubs at my age, but stop going out (and on trips) by myself. But I’ll cover that in time when I have a moment to write.

In the meanwhile, I got another “I Bought This Crap?” item - originally intended for next week - coming up in place of my absense, so look out for that soon.

The Friend: “So my ex-wife is being a cunt lately…”

Me: “How does that differ from any other time? What’d she do now?”

(The Friend explains that she is demanding more money for child support, nevermind he already pays the agreed upon amount faithfully including *EXTRA* for daycare. On top of this, she receives even more support from the father of her other child. She threatens she will call her lawyer if he does not send more.)

The Friend: “So I call MY lawyer…” (making “bloop-bleep-bloop-bloop” phone dialing noise)

Ex-Wife (after receiving call/threat from his lawyer): “Uh…I wasn’t ‘really’ going to call my lawyer, I can’t believe you did that!”

The Friend: “You threatened ME. I won’t stand for that.”

Me: “Good for you!”

The Friend: “But that wasn’t the end of it…”

(The Friend’s ex has been spending money on trips to the south to see a guy - something the court should hear involving her additional money request, BTW. She wants to move down there to be near him and says she’s going to take the kids with her. She “generously” insists she will let his son stay with him every seven weeks and during summer.)

The Friend: “Bloop-bleep-bloop-bloop….”

(Lawyer explains in a nutshell that unless there is a major amount of family down there (boyfriends don’t count), she can’t take him anywhere but under 50 miles away. If she does, then The Friend would be required more custodial time, nearly 90-100%. By insisting that the meager custody time she’s proposing is “good enough” for him, the courts would likely consider the same amount “good enough” for her, too. In layman’s terms? She’s an idiot and would be fucking herself right out of custodial time.)

The Friend: “To have my son nearly 100% of the time? Hell, yeah!”

What a headache. Anyway, if you know anyone who still doubts the need to test a relationship out at least a few years before signing a contract, then please feel free to print this story out and staple it to their forehead.

I’ve always loved video games and owned all the systems, even well into my adult years. People love to ridicule video games for being mindless time wasters, but I feel that is incredibly hypocritical considering entertainment in general - from television, movies and fictional books - isn’t practical other than the sole purpose of recreational amusement. But other than maybe Dance Dance Revolution, video games have never done anything to improve health and fitness, being a couch potato’s sport.

Enter the Nintendo Wii. It’s motion controls encourage you to get off the couch and get involved with the game. Oh, the overblown expectations before it came out. Swinging a katana in Red Steel. Hoping Punch Out! was revived using the controllers to punch. Would the Wii Remote make mouse/keyboard controls in first person shooters obsolete? And the very thought of taking control of a light saber in a Star Wars game…orgasmic.

The morning of the Wii’s launch came, and I decided to wait in line overnight. What, you think I had anything better to do like getting laid? I remember finally getting through the line into the Best Buy and encountering an incredibly cute female employee overseeing the line. Two of the nerds ahead of me where trying to impress her by explaining how the new Zelda Wii game was a port originally intended for the Gamecube. She smiled, nodded and said “Oh!” with faked enthusiasm (and a hint of “I don’t get paid enough for this” in her eyes).

I got my system and for a while, it was fun. All my friends wanted to come over and play. People in my office got excited when they were actually able to locate a Wii in the stores. But after the newness wore off and the system got put through it’s paces, the honeymoon was over and the system’s shortcomings became terribly apparent.

The motion control isn’t as intelligent as you think. In Wii Sports you can do the full motions of swinging a tennis racket, but in reality you can simply flick your wrist and knock the ball out of the court. Red Steel was clumsy, only detecting flicks in a few directions and interpreted them with fixed sword motions in-game. (Note: They’re now putting out a controller add-on to enhance motion control, but too little, too late.) Games like Mario Kart ended up controlling far more accurately with the traditional controller. And don’t even get me started on “waggle.”

As for the games, once you’ve played all the same Mario and Zelda staples you’ve been playing over every Nintendo generation, you look to third party developers for other offerings…only they know where their buying audience is and you’ll be playing your Castlevanias, Resident Evils, Metal Gear Solids and Grand Theft Autos on other systems. Attempts to experiment with mature games on Nintendo’s systems have been met with disappointing sales: great examples include Madworld for Wii, Eternal Darkness for Gamecube and GTA: Chinatown Wars for DS.

Not surprising considering the majority of Nintendo’s audience is young. As such, the shelves are filled with rushed shovelware crap targeted towards children and unsuspecting parents. I made an entire spoof about this many months ago, so go see this entry if you want a better explanation and humorous take on the issue.

Nintendo has always been dragged into future technologies kicking and screaming, as demonstrated with CD/disc media (N64), online gaming (Gamecube) and finally high definition (Wii). Big N apologetics argue that high def would kick up the system prices and force them to sell at a loss (common practice with consoles), but the omission has shortened the Wii’s lifespan as a result. How soon will we see a Wii 2 in the ten year PS3/360 lifespan? Besides, a high-def XBox 360 with HDMI can currently be had for $50 cheaper than the Wii today.

I understand that the Wii is the market leader and prints money for Nintendo. I also understand why the Wii is geared towards a more casual audience: Nintendo tried to play Sony and Microsoft’s game during the Gamecube era and lost for it. But casual gamers buy less games and I bet there are a ton of systems out there with a layer of dust on top of it - Wii Sports still inserted into it. People I talked to who got caught in the hype have admitted that the novelty wore off and haven’t touched their systems in many months.

So yeah, despite some decent games I am ultimately disappointed with this purchase. My Wii sat up in my upstairs office closet completely disconnected for months until I finally ended up selling the damned thing on eBay - unfortunately well after the high demand which was dumb on my part.

So fair thee well Wii…out of my closet and out of my life. At least your gimmick was good for a funny Alec Baldwin sketch. And for what it’s worth, I still got a lot more use out of you than the other “Wii” I own.

We’re all guilty: we’re consumers who buy frivolously. We see something interesting at the store or online, make a justification for why we need this in our lives and how it will improve things. We buy it on impulse and spend entirely too much on it, then get it home and use it for a little while.

A few months pass and said purchase goes untouched, eventually banished to some basement or corner of the house where it’s forgotten all about. More time goes by until spring cleaning, when we eventually come across that purchase with a layer of dust caked over it. And THAT’S when you shake your head, curse that you can’t get your money back and admit “I bought this crap?”

When my place went through spring cleaning last month, I came across a load of crap that I either regretted purchasing, or never got as much worth out of it as I should have. Some of it I was able to sell on eBay and get some of my money back. Other stuff, I’m stuck with.

Over the summer I’ll be featuring shameful crap that I bought, and my delightful commentary on WHY I got it, why it ended up being crap to me and what I did with it. The next post I make will feature my first official item.

In the meanwhile, what crap have you bought?

I have a Costco membership, but I don’t go shopping there a whole lot: when I stop in it’s for the frozen yogurt, smoothies and hot dogs in the food court.

A good while back, I was standing in line waiting for a hot dog when I took notice of a slender, long-haired brunette cashier in the distance. I only saw the backside of her, but that was all that I needed: long-haired brunettes are my poison. But I wasn’t shopping, so that’s all she wrote. Cute cashiers at stores tend to turn over quickly anyway: one moment they’re there and the next one they’re not.

So many months later to the present day, I was at the membership desk trading in my yearly American Express rebate check for cash (yes, you can do that!). Imagine my surprise as I looked over to see the backside of “Costco Girl,” working as diligently as I remembered. I happened to be dressed quite sharp (earlier meeting with client), so I figured that THIS time I had to talk to her. Only problem was that I had done my grocery shopping the previous night, so finding something useful to buy in order to get in line was going to prove difficult.

I walked past a bulk box of Kleenex, but I might as well have taken a bulk package of Lubriderm hand lotion up there, too. I had milk already… the frozen dinners didn’t agree with my diet… angus burger patties were too fattening… I then settled on a bulk package of turkey burgers. But in order to eat a burger, I was going to need buns. So I bought a bulk of buns (“I’ll freeze em,” I thought) and headed up to the checkouts.

The rule in department stores is that whenever you try and jump into a line with a beautiful cashier, the cow in the next lane over starts yelling “Sir! Sir! I can take you over here!” and completely thwarts your interaction. If that happened this time, the only place that cashier was going was a one way trip down the conveyor belt and I would be turning the “lane open” light off for them. But that didn’t happen and I finally got to see Costco Girl’s face for the first time.

It was a little different than I expected, and she was a little older than I had guessed as well. But it was all fine with me, that put her in my age range and I still very much liked what I saw. Very chirpy, friendly personality, and while her hands were fluttering around busily, I am pretty sure her left hand was completely naked of a wedding ring. Time to throw my mack down, stud.

“Hi, how are you today?”

“Oh, fine.” (…)

“I need your membership card.”

“Here you go.” (hands her my Costco American Express card) (…)

“Do you need stamps today?”

“Uh, no.” (…)

“Are you paying cash or you want it all on the card?”

(gesturing towards AmEx card she’s already holding) (…)

(swipes card, hands it back) “Thank you, have a wonderful day!”

“You too.” (…)

Wooooooow. Gooooood jerb, Virgin. You really scored points with her, there. You also forgot to take one thing into consideration: your complete inability to small talk.

Believe me: I’ve tried many, many times - as people often suggest - to try practicing on cashiers and make small talk. Either I can never come up anything remotely interesting (beyond the weather) and can’t remember scripts I read, or when I do think of something I’m met with indifference and unenthusiasm. As a career man, I’ve always been a guy who skips the superfluous and gets straight to the point. Which unfortunately is the opposite of flirting, if you really think about it.

Yes folks, it’s going to take a freaking miracle or a bulk package worth of personality to make something happen in the next 84 days.

On top of that, I’ll be eating turkey burgers for at least the next 83.

It was a long, boring ride. My female companion had the steering wheel while I was dozing off in the passenger’s seat, lulled by the rumbling of the road and the repetitive farmland. While in my trance, my mind started to dwell. And then those started to turn into very sexy thoughts.

I looked over lecherously at my female companion. The way she looked, the way her breasts were jiggling from the uneven bumps in the road…I wanted her and wanted her NOW. As I gazed upon her with desire in my eyes, her attention was finally caught.

“What?”

“We’ve been driving quite a while and I bet you’re as bored as I am…so what do you say about us pulling off the road for a few minutes, hop in the backseat and have a little fun?”

She looked astonished. “Are you serious? No way, it’s broad daylight! People will be able to see us!”

“That’s right…isn’t that part of the excitement?” But she still refused and just kept driving. Fuck that, I wasn’t giving this up.

“Well, if you’re saaaay you’re not up for it, then I think I’m going to sit right here…just, talk to you…tease you a little bit.” In my opinion, the best place to stimulate a woman is…her mind. While I couldn’t get into her pants for the moment, short of earplugs there wasn’t a damned thing she could do to stop me from getting into her head.

I unlatched my seatbelt and moved closer to her, carefully taking in her scent. I kissed her neck, gently running my hand across her tummy underneath her shirt and eventually moving down to massage her inner thighs. With a low voice, I started to talk into her ear very suggestively. That I knew how distracting this must be for her. How she was a little liar and I knew how badly she wanted this. How relaxing it would feel for her pull the car over, just give in and let me take control. The pleasure she would receive as I slowly penetrated her right there on the roadside.

After a few sighs, she had enough: the ride suddenly got incredibly bumpy as the car came to an instant emergency stop. I climbed right over the armrest into the backseat and made myself comfortable. She followed in kind over the armrest, giving an innocent, concerned look at the traffic passing by, and started to take down her jeans revealing her panties.

I smiled, accused her of being a dirty little pervert for thinking this up, then ordered her to climb onto my lap…

“Hey dude, wake up; we’re in Birmingham. Need directions from your iPhone thingy.”

I groggily rose my head propped up against my seatbelt and looked over quite disgustedly at Hothead, pissed that he woke me up from my road nap. More specifically, I was disgusted by my overactive imagination which starts to act up like that when I haven’t had sexual release in many days.

Looks like the real person being teased all along was “me.” Good thing I’m not a sleepwalker or talk in my sleep either, because THAT could have been really embarrassing.

Panama City:

Lots of women - more than first meets the eye - but like most vacation spots the majority are young’uns, 18-22ish (I’m generally seeking 24-32ish). More likely to be found on MySpace instead of MyPlace. Regardless, because my activities were wedding-related, I didn’t get to go to a lot of party spots where they would be around. A restaurant we went to was full of cute women, but as always, sitting next to a douchebag. I still had a good time in the city, though.

Wedding:

Dennis Pitt’s wedding took place on the beach and was a very nice affair. I honestly need to get my ass out to the beach more often. (Any female takers?) Before you ask, the majority of people and family were much older (50ish and up), so there were no women to meet. Save for one…the cute, down-to-earth photographer who caught my eye. But then I caught her wedding ring in her left hand.

I’m seriously, seriously getting tired of that shit. Just for ONCE can they NOT be taken already? Just because the bride gets a ring doesn’t mean that every other woman has to have one already, too.

Dippin’ Dots

Oh god, The Friend and I looooove these. It’s so gimmicky as it’s just regular ice cream, but what a gimmick! We went nuts when we spotted standalone stores in the city; around here the only place you can get them is out of vending machines at the mall, movies and rec centers.

After the wedding rehearsal dinner, we left Hothead in the car as the rest of us stopped at a Dippin’ Dots. It was everything I could have hoped for and more: did you know you can mix Dippin’ Dots and do half and half flavors? Did you know they got more flavors than the vending machines, like Birthday Cake and Peanut Butter?

Did you know I don’t get out enough?

Scooters:

I was on a roll this weekend with my off-color comments. Amongst other things, one of the more colorful things I suggested had to do with the retarded little scooters / vehicles that you could rent (that I wouldn’t be caught dead on). “If I had one of those things, I’d totally ride it around wearing one of those helmets and a strap-on,” I said.

Most of my comments gelled with The Friend’s girlfriend, who continued to snort and laugh at everything I said. Who said I can’t make girls laugh?

Waverunners:

Now THESE you don’t have to talk me into. You haven’t rode a waverunner until you’ve tried the ocean. The Friend and his girlfriend rented a two person waverunner, and because he had to be careful of her he wasn’t able to get too crazy on it.

But as for myself, anything went. I was hitting the waves at full speed and making decent air. Then came the big one. It must have been the wake from the passing yacht that blended with the already huge ocean waves, but suddenly I dipped down low and up came a huge wall of water that I started riding up.

“Shhhhhiiiiittttttttttttt………“

To say I caught air is an understatement. Time seemed to freeze as I was completely airborne and high off the water. Then came the decent and a huge THUD as I hit the water, miraculously not thrown from the waverunner. But the impact hurt like a muthafucka and I was sore for about three days following.

But GOD was it SO worth it.

Joyride:

The wedding reception ended very early, as most of the attendees weren’t spring chickens and turned in early. Hothead had drank like a madman and was semi-passed out. The Friend and girl turned in early to catch a flight early in the morning (and probably fuck first). Which left me. I escaped unnoticed with the rental car and took a joyride around Panama City. I considered going to Club La Vela, only I wasn’t dressed for the clubs and reviews on the iPhone said it was a $20 cover for a tourist-trap cockfest. Fuck that. Knowing that I had to be getting back to wake up early the next morning, I ended up at - where else - Dippin’ Dots.

Next morning, The Friend cursed me for going to Dippin’ Dots and not inviting him (he was asleep anyway) or bringing him back some.

HE had sex. *I* had DIPPIN’ DOTS. I win.

That evening, we were to meet Dennis Pitt and family at a restaurant for a rehearsal as well as food out. Leaving the hotel was a caravan comprised of 1.) myself, Hothead, The Friend and girlfriend, 2.) Dennis Pitt’s parents and family, and 3.) Desperate Groom and his fiancee. Everyone was following Dennis Pitt’s family, but unfortunately Dennis Pitt didn’t give everyone precise directions beforehand so the parents ended up getting lost.

Which was just fine to me, for we were driving around Panama City itself and I finally saw where all the action was. Huge hotels. People on retarded little scooter cars. Colorful buildings everywhere with shops comprised of both novelties/souvenirs and sex toys. Dippin’ Dots standalone stores (which tickled The Friend and I pink). And girls, girls, girls. Only I wasn’t seeing a whole lot yet that were actually without a douchebag walking alongside, but I’ll save that for later.

Now let me tell you about Hothead. I don’t know HOW it’s triggered, but for years, Hothead has always had a thing where he gets into the pissiest mood for some reason. If he’s driving, he’ll start to get major road rage. He becomes real silent and gruff. If he doesn’t directly get his way, he’ll start to pout. It really fucking pisses me off because it brings the rest of the group’s mood down…and if you’re going to be that way, why not just go home? Anyway, the rest of us appropriately refer to it as “his mood.”

Back to the Panama City drive, you guessed it: he started his road rage driving and cursing how he was getting really pissed off that no one knew where they were going. Big flippin’ deal, it happens! I looked back at The Friend in the back seat and we gave each other our disgusted glance which silently acknowledges “Here he goes again.” We tried switching to iPhone GPS and leading the rest of the party, but Google Maps - being Google Maps - lead us to the wrong spot. Which didn’t help Hothead’s mood any; he suddenly did a U-turn and suddenly left both Dennis Pitt’s family and Desperate Groom in the dust, claiming he “didn’t give a shit.”

“Dude, that was the wedding party…that seriously wasn’t cool,” I replied.

Hothead finally relinquished the driver’s seat to The Friend and we managed to find the restaurant right down the road from where stupid Google said it was. Hothead remained in his funk the rest of the night.

The next morning when we went out for lunch, he was fine: but no more than TEN MINUTES into the drive got pissy AGAIN. Perhaps because we didn’t know where to go (how would we as tourists?) and suggested to drive towards the City where everything is and look around. As soon as the three of us spotted Reggae J’s and started suggesting the place to one another, Hothead apparently got pissed with the notion that he was going to have to turn around. He did a SHARP turn into Calypso’s Restaurant instead and said this was where we were going.

Later on when The Friend and I had some privacy, I uncharacteristically blew up. “Dude, I am SO fucking tired of this bullshit of his. There isn’t much we could do not to bring him as it’s a wedding, but his ass isn’t fucking going on our next trip if he is just going to be like this.” The Friend agreed and couldn’t believe he was like that after a mere ten minutes of driving.

One thing that rubs me wrong about the PUA thing is the belief that you have to cut off your old “AFC” friends and surround yourself with “community guys.” That’s cult-like, cold and will absolutely turn right back on you when you’re eventually alone and your ass is completely friendless. Hothead will always be my friend no matter what. But in a situation like this, I don’t believe I’m out of line when I say I’m not inclined to make any effort to be around him if he can’t get his temper under control.

Our group - comprised of myself, The Friend, his new girlfriend and another friend (whom I will lazily nickname “Hothead” for reasons you’ll soon find out) - left the midwest around 9PM. It was a long overnight drive through the south through strangely named small towns and an unfamiliar chain of furniture stores with quite possibly the worst name imaginable, but we arrived in Panama City Beach by about noon the next day.

At the hotel, our group met with the groom (nicknamed “Dennis Pitt” based on an inside joke that I won’t go into) and his bride-to-be, who informed us that check-in wasn’t until 3PM. Oh darn it, I “guess” we had no choice but to go enjoy the beach located just across the street…

It has been about six years since I’ve seen the ocean and it never ceases to amaze me. An endless sea of blue that goes beyond the void. With The Friend’s girlfriend remaining on the beach, Hothead, The Friend and I jumped into the ocean and went out as far as we safely could. While the salt water is a bit of a bitch when it goes in your nose/throat, it was a lot of fun trying to jump into the waves and seeing how far they knocked us over. Stingrays swam right by us, and a sea of birds started to divebomb a school of fish nearby. This is simply stuff you don’t see back home.

But there was something else I wasn’t seeing - where the HELL were all the cute women? This WAS the famous Panama City Beach, right? From the time we stopped for lunch to the entire time we were at the beach, the only women I spotted were retirees and burned out prunes who got too much sun throughout their lives. However I remembered it was Friday afternoon and even people in Panama City had school and jobs, so I decided to give it a “wait and see” attitude.

In addition, the area on Front Beach Road that we were located at seemed to be a bunch of small houses, shacks and gift stores. Whenever I saw photos of beach towns in Florida, I remembered the long strips and magnificent skyscraper hotels. Fortunately for me, I wasn’t seeing the entire Panama City…yet. Next time, the wedding dinner / rehearsal along with why Hothead earns his nickname.

Looking back, it’s been a long road. Since I started this blog, I think I have learned a lot and understand myself far better…the very reason for writing it in the first place. Though hardly the first (or last) of it’s type, this blog originated with an interesting premise: what would it be like for a guy in the twilight of his twenties to lose his virginity? Just HOW would it happen? While sexual frustration obviously goes along with the territory of a professional virgin, perhaps what I really wanted all along was someone to simply look at me in “that way” for once.

While my time eventually came and I lost my virginity, I eventually had to acknowledge it for what it was - a favor, nothing more. That it was my virginity that got me laid and NOT my sex appeal. All I had to do was simply view the bottom line and ask the following question: would it have happened if I hadn’t been a virgin? While difficult, I accepted the truth in that answer and moved forward. For the next time that it did happen naturally, it would be absolutely legitimate.

Then there was another consideration: the blog. There is a term called “jumped the shark” which describes a TV show that has reached it’s peak and is now declining into ridiculous, out-of-the-ordinary storylines. It’s certainly arguable that this blog has jumped the shark and likely should have ended after the dirty deed was done, as many of my old regulars are now long gone - having had their curiosities satisfied.

However, I saw it a different way: while I may have had sex, I was still a virgin with many “firsts” ahead of him. I had yet to attract a stranger or be flirted with. I had yet to have my own kinky sexual adventures with someone who legitimately wanted to be with me. Perhaps I would have a string of bad dates, and you know what they say: a bad date still makes a good story. And last but not least, how would someone my age take to having his first girlfriend this late in life? The insight, challenges and frustrations of being a good boyfriend? With too many potential and interesting avenues ahead, I continued writing.

Unfortunately, that little counter up in the top corner of the side column there continues to rack up numbers. It is almost coming up to a year since I was deflowered. My twenties are just about up and it seems like the good women I encounter are already all taken. My friends have drifted away (in a sense) and have settled down, thus my social outings are very limited (and I’m sick and tired of going to places by myself). To sum it up folks, yep…nothing is happening and it isn’t going to get any easier from here as the odometer on my age turns over another decade.

I admit I am quite distracted with business and my job situation at the moment and there are certainly things I could be doing better. But at the same time, humans are very diverse individuals with different talents and skills. One person might be absolutely awful at cooking no matter how hard they practice or try, and yet they may turn around and find they have the hands for carpentry. I might be introverted and will never be a social artist or ladies man, but I am highly intuitive and can deal with people one-on-one in a business manner. I am what I am and while I may not be a head-turner, I AM an excellent bread-earner (though not so much right at this moment, haha.)

But be that as it may, it doesn’t make for a lot of material for exciting sexual stories. As I mentioned, many old regulars have come and gone and activity has been sparse lately. I really don’t blame it/them: this *IS* a sexually oriented / dating blog at the very core and my virginity has long been lost, nullifying the main appeal. Without that or any frequent/followup scenarios, one can only talk about sexual frustration for so long before you’re repeating the same things over and over again and veering off into unrelated directions (can we say friends, business and unemployment stories?). And THAT is the very definition of jumping the shark, my friends. (Hey, at least I haven’t had “A very special” posts or introduce a child character that miraculously ages seven years the next season.)

But let’s shake it up and make things interesting once again. The summer is just beginning and while my situation may not be optimal at the time and money is tight, I still have my summer plans, travels and good opportunities ahead of me over the next three months. When this summer is over, it will be the end of my twenties and nearly one year to the date that I had sex the first time (and I’ve heard it claimed, if you don’t have sex in a year you become a virgin again).

Sounds like as good of a deadline to me as any. If I can’t make anything happen by September 1st, then I will retire this blog.

There are a few stipulations to this: no favors, no pity sex, no escorts. However I pull it off, it has to be legitimate attraction going from meeting a stranger right into intimacy in the bedroom. Although this is vague, it also has to lead to a recurring situation. For example, if something happened once and didn’t happen again for eight more years, then I would still have nothing to write about long-term.

So with that said folks, it’s the beginning of the end. The chips are on the table; all or nothing. Rebirth or oblivion, however you want to call it. For now, it will be business as usual and I have a mouthful to blog about in the week ahead. I just got back from Panama City Beach, Florida and while nothing sexual happened, there are still a lot of stories from the beach that I can’t wait to share.