Beautiful on the Inside

With a title like that, one might think I'm going to talk about someone's personality.

Actually I'm talking about vaginas.

I just spent the last 2 hours with some classmates learning how to do a female pelvic exam.

I inspected, palpated, checked out the cervix, did a rectal exam.

To you that means I stared at some pussy, fingered a chick... fingered her a$$ too.

It was very educational and rather attractive.

The female cervix is beautiful.

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The Morning (days, months, years) After

I've had my fair share of hook-ups, and I'll admit that I can't limit my number of partners to one hand... or two hands... or to the total number of distal appendages.

Too many people judge someone by the number of partners they've had. Either too few is bad or too many is bad. What constitutes a good number?

I could care less how many partners my significant other had, but sometimes I care about whom my partner has been with. I can't help but compare myself to those girls if I ever meet them.

Do guys do the same thing?

I bet they would if they knew WHO.

The other day RedSox and I headed to a late brunch at Trident Booksellers/Cafe after finally having our first late-morning together. As we browsed through the shelves while waiting for our table, somebody tapped me on the shoulder to say hi.

It was RunnerMan... a friend of a friend of a friend who, simply put, was a one-night stand. There was never any awkwardness, and even out with friends we joked fondly of our hook-up. We hadn't seen each other sober in a long time.

So while I'm standing with RedSox waiting for our table, RunnerMan comes over and starts chatting away. All the while, he is keeping intense eye contact with me. I tried to play it cool and introduced him to RedSox, but all the chit-chat happened as if RedSox wasn't around.

We briefly caught up. Thankfully his table was ready within minutes. I breathed a sigh of relief when he walked away, but I couldn't understand why I cared. Was I worried RedSox could tell we had been together, or was I worried about something else?

RunnerMan looked good. He let his hair grow out a bit. Mama LIKE!

I found him attractive. I didn't feel guilty at all... I think that was my problem.

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Magic Hat #9

RedSox took me to Joes American for dinner last week. I ordered a pinot noir (of course). He ordered a Sam Winter.

I don't know everything about wine, but I know more than the average population. I can distinguish among varietal, ingredients, flavors, etc. In addition to all of this, I'm pretty prideful on my knowledge of beer.

I brewed beer 3 times in college. I've spent 6 hours at Sunset Grill molesting their taps. Harpoon invites me to tastings once per month. I KNOW beer.

At Joes, RedSox made it clear that he knows more.

When our server brought our drinks, we said cheers and drank. I continued talking about my day in prison (not what you think. I'll clarify another time), but he didn't pay attention. He kept sniffing his beer, taking tiny sips and pondering. This is exactly what I do with a glass of wine when I'm trying to figure something out.

I paused my story and stared. You know that girl-stare where you're trying not to be pissed that your man isn't listening to you. He finally noticed and apologized, "I'm sorry, but this is NOT sam winter. I think it's Magic Hat #9. It's funny because I secretly wanted #9, but wasn't sure if they had it."

I took a sip. It was definitely NOT Sam Winter. I sniffed and sipped again. It was definitely NOT Magic Hat #9.

I haven't had Magic Hat #9 in a while, but I know I'm supposed to smell apricots. I didn't smell apricots, nor did I really taste anything.

RedSox was sure it was #9, so he grabbed our server and had him bring a taste of what came out of the Sam Winter tap and a taste of what came out of the Magic Hat #9 tap.

A few minutes later we had an array of beer in front of us. I definitely smelled apricots in one of the glasses, but it still didn't taste quite like #9. Our server said he tried them both and is sure that the one coming out of the Sam Winter tap smells like #9, but tastes water-ed down. As for the #9 tap, no one has any idea but RedSox is sure it's a pale ale of some sort.

We didn't discuss things further, but I'm still not convinced.

A few days later, Red Sox calls me. "I was right about the Sam Winter really being Magic Hat #9. You had me really thinking, but I just got back from Sunset and I'm sure I was right."

Fine... I was wrong.

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Expectations

Beans and I have been friends since childhood. Our families go to the same church, so we got to see each other almost every week. Unfortunately going to college and attending different churches kept our group apart. Friendships thinned to only seeing eachother on major religious holidays.

She called me earlier in the week to see if I could hang out, so I made a girl-date for Friday evening. We met, got drinks, and really started catching up. She knows about my cousin's divorce, so we talked about the pressures of being an Indian woman.

All the mothers in our Indian clique love Beans the most. She respects her elders. She speaks our language very well. She still wears traditional clothing to church. She wanted to get married to an Indian guy, and she was trying to do it according the the standard Indian timeline... no later than 26 years old.

Last year Beans got engaged to an Indian guy. (Her mother started to set her up at 21). At 24, she met her match (on her own) and they were getting hitched. I never met the fiance, but Beans sent me a link to their wedding webpage. He looked hideous, but she was happy. Or so I assumed...

She asked me to take time off to come to her engagement party, but a week before the party she announced the wedding was off.

I was the last to hear for some reason, but I called her as any good friend would. I didn't care for details. I just wanted to make sure she was ok and wouldn't engage in any unhealthy behavior to cope.

A few supervised binge-drinking experiences were enough, and she moved on. That was pretty much the last I heard from her.

During our girl-date on Friday, she opened up about her life. She didn't really love the ex-fiance. She was only getting married to get her mother off her back, and to please the other mothers in our church. Beans felt like she was every FOB's last hope for cultural survival in America. The pressure was on her because I was dating every white man burnt by the sun, and the other girls were off doing their own thing too.

I had no idea Beans felt this way, but I assured her that living her life for anyone other than herself is the worst way to live. Trying to please our mothers was the reason my cousin J landed in an abusive relationship and is currently going through a painful divorce.

We discussed it all and concluded that it's never too late to live your own life, so I hope we all start doing that if we haven't already.

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The Holy Trinity

My mom gets upset when I don't tell her anything about my life, but often she's more disturbed when I do open up. Mom is very religious. At the end of the day, she is essentially Jesus' #1 fan.

I rarely talk to my parents about anything. I don't care for advice unless it's financial from dad. I only talk to mom when I need a prescription... although I should probably try to ride out my illnesses since I am now resistant to most antibiotics.

A couple of years ago my mom asked me about my dating. A regular Indian kid would have denied dating, but I chose to lay it all out minus internet dating. So I started talking about the current guys in my life. I think there were a couple of lawyers and a CEO. I told her about all the restaurants they took me to, the cars they drove, the money they made... everything any mother would drool over.

I kept her updated on my dating, and the guys would change. She could never keep track of my different mens and often asked "whatever happened to the lawyer?" "Which one?" was always my response.

I kept track of the men I dated. I kept track of the restaurants, the theaters, the movies, the sporting events, the travel, etc etc. I was in control of it all.

But then things started to get out of control. My harem grew. I had to buy a planner just to keep every guy straight. Men called me all the time. All of them kept fighting for my time, and I gave in to the point where I no longer honored the sabbath. I became incredibly stressed out.

Finally I had enough. I needed to take care of myself. I broke it off with all of the men in my life and made a sort-of new years resolution to never date more than three guys at a time.

A holy trinity of sorts... mom would be proud.

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He asked for it

Ducky (think Pretty in Pink) is having a hard time with dating. He meets a girl. They go out on a date. The night goes really well and then he asks her, "wanna go out again?" She says yes. The next day or so later he asks about the weekend. She can't and suggests the next week, but then cancels. Ultimately, there is no second date.

Ducky wants to know why this keeps happening to him, so he asks me to go out on a mock date with him and follow-up with complete honesty about the evening. I am not to spare his feelings or anything.

The other night we met for dinner at a new restaurant called Bouchee. After living in Paris for 3 months, I have yet had the opportunity to re-create my brasserie experiences.

Bouchee is probably the closest I'll get to Parisian dining, but only if one sits upstairs. I made a reservation for 7:30, but ducky called at 7 to say he was running late. I pulled out my mental notebook to start taking notes. I pushed the reservation back to 8pm and arrived on time. Ducky wasn't there.

Five cell phone attempts went straight to voicemail. I texted once. Notebook. I finally decided to let the polite hostess seat me. She took me upstairs and gave me a seat over-looking Newbury. Ducky finally called to ask what the address was. Notebook.

I waited a good 5 minutes. In the meantime I grilled my server on his knowledge of the wine list. He did everything a standard waiter should do: Give the bare details of the wines by glass, assuring me that all were excellent choices. I went for an alsacian reisling.

Ducky showed up at the table right as I ordered the wine. He was still in his work clothes. Frumpy khakis with a button down tucked in. Notebook. He sat down across from me, and the date began.

We started by getting to know eachother, talking about things we had in common etc etc... standard date stuff. He is a great conversationalist, very comfortable talking to me. I asked him about his dating for the past year. What kind of girl? What did you do? What did you talk about? How did the evenings end? What was the follow-up?

Half-way through the meal, I gave my report.

I told Ducky that he really doesn't do anything "wrong." Everything he told me sounded like things went well on the date, but unfortunately the girl was just not that into him. I gave him a little bit of advice, maybe a bit of a lesson in manners.

1. Show up on time... especially after you have set a NEW meeting time.

2. Dress up a bit. Show that you are excited to be on this date. Do not come in work clothes. Update your style.

3. Try not to put so much pressure on the date. Take it as a grain of salt. Whatever happens, happens. No expectations generally equals no worries.

4. If you decide you'd like to see the girl again, try ending the evening without asking "do you want to go out again?" That question puts a little pressure on us women, and most of us will say yes just to be polite. Instead tell us you had a great time and that you'll be in touch.

Ducky found some of my advice helpful, but some offensive. He took everything I said into consideration for his future dating, but I could sense that he really was not happy with some of my criticism. We parted with a cold vibe, but hey... He asked for it.

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One Hit Wonders

Saturday night I went to Troquet with my classmate and his boyfriend to have some great wine and conversation. It's rather difficult to get to know classmates, so it was nice to finally spend some time with RG. We discussed wines and restaurants, and we gossiped about classmates and professors.

The two guys were absolutely loving Troquet, surprised by how often they walked by and never went in. The restaurant is often missed with its small sign and its proximity to some of the wildest bars in Boston. The upstairs restaurant is usually busy, but the downstairs bar is often quiet, a perfect place to have conversation... a great spot for a date.

I was telling RG that Troquet is my one-hit wonder restaurant. I go quite often, but never with the same guy. The staff knows me all too well, and they most certainly find my dating quite entertaining.

Since I only go to Troquet one guy a time, it's no surprise that I hadn't taken any of my exes there... and I never thought in a million years I would ever run into one. But Saturday night, I did.

While lounging on the couch with the boys, a couple entering the restaurant caught my eye. A seemingly gorgeous black girl came in, followed by a slightly shorter but equally hot-looking white guy. I love inter-racial couples. As my eyes cames into focus, I excused myself from the boys and started frantically waving my hands at the couple calling them over.

It was Ex-Boyfriend... and his new girlfriend.

It's been almost 2 years since we had broken up. I broke up with him after I fell out of love. I tried to avoid him, but he insisted on being friends. Finally after a few months, I agreed. We hardly spent time together, but our friendship grew stronger, especially after Ex-BF started dating again.

I had heard wonderful things about his new girlfriend, and I was very excited to finally meet her. Ex- BF tried to stay cool, but he was visibly uncomfortable. I'm on my date with 2 gay men, and he's trying to have a romantic evening with his girlfriend.

(His girlfriend is beautiful and very sweet. We got along really well).

After they headed upstairs to eat, RG was dying to hear the gossip surrounding Ex-BF. I told him the truth. We had a great relationship for the most part. I think of him fondly, but I'm much happier not to be with him.

He most certainly wasn't a one-hit wonder, but I'm sure our chance meeting at Troquet will only be that one time.

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Foodie for FREE

If there is anyone who can find the best deal, I am she. My friends say I'm all about the FREE. If I can get something for free, I will. If I can get the best deal, I will. If all else fails... I'll use someone else's money.

Sometimes I can use someone else's money to get a good deal later. I didn't quite realize it until I logged onto to Opentable.com to see if I could make a reservation for dinner.

I saw that I had accumulated over 5000 points, which means I have made enough reservations to earn a $50 restaurant gift certificate. Free meal!

I clicked on my profile to figure out how to redeem points and there was a list of my last 5 reservations. As I studied this list I felt amused because it pretty much acts as a date log. My last 5 reservation span over 5 months, and each one was a date with 5 different guys.


Olives with Redsox: I talk to him about restaurants all the time, and he keeps trying to find a place where I haven't yet dined. I chose Olives because he couldn't name a place I hadn't been. Best Ceasar salad in Boston.

Troquet with Indian Consultant: He wanted a sugar daddy relationship, but I found him incredibly boring. He doesn't drink either. I don't trust people who don't drink... especially when we're at my FAVORITE wine bar in the city.

Mortons with LV: He made it one step farther as a Sugar Daddy prospect, but I'm pretty sure that was a one shot deal. I appreciate the steak at Mortons... and the steak I had in Vegas.

Avila with Latrell: He was my older man. We dated for a few weeks, but the sex was awful. Avila is the sister restaurant to Davios, a place Latrell loves to get apres-work drinks. Same lay-out for both restaurants, but completely different cuisine. Way to work the twin thing.

Ruth Chris with a random CL date: A very nice guy, great conversationalist, but a serial dater... just like me. A One-date wonder who treated me to the best filet I've had in my life and my new favorite Pinot Noir (Laetitia Estate 2002).

Thanks to these 5 men, I accumulated 500 points on OpenTable. Their dime, my reward.

Now I'm going to use my $50 gift certificate to take out one of the fabulous chicks in my life.

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To fall in love

I read a New Year's Resolution the other day where a woman decided that she wanted to fall in love this year, and my initial reaction involved anger.

While some of you think it's cute, I immediately decided it was unrealistic and stupid. I thought if it happens, I will be really happy for her and I'll considering making it my New Year's resolution some year. But of course I would keep track to see if she stays in love first... because I'm sure she would trick herself into love just for wanting it so badly.

Maybe I was cynical because I've never been in love, but then I took a look at the world today with all the divorce, the casual hook-ups, the heartaches, the money spent on dating services, the time. I asked myself, "Do I even want to be in love?"


Two Days Later...

Yeah... I do.

As I thought about the resolution, I realized whether she finds love or not she will most certainly benefit from the effort.

By setting a timeline, she is forcing herself to take risks. In one year, she will approach men when normally she might have waited for them to talk to her first. She may ask a guy out on a date. She might be the first to move in for the kiss. She will open herself up to an incredibly dangerous world, and as a result will have the biggest and possibly best ride of her life.

So I wish her the best. I hope she follows through with this resolution. I want her to find love.

One day, I want to find love.

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6 weird things

I got this idea from the blogger Drink More Jack.

Six Weird Things (about me)

1. When I talk to myself, I generally speak with an accent. I usually go British or southern, but I've done French, Australian and Irish. Since I suck at sharing my feelings with others, it makes me feel like I'm talking to another Roxy.

2. When I was a kid, I found my dad's secret stash in his office. I slowly stole about $200 over a couple months. He found out, but never reprimanded (in fact congratulated) because he knows he woulda done the same thing. I still discreetly glance around his office hoping I'll find the new hiding place.

3. I can't eat a well-balanced, appropriate meal unless I am at a restaurant. Today for breakfast I ate cookie crisp and red meat sauce. For lunch, I had a hersheys chocolate bar and some leftover fried rice. I ate Cheesy Mac and chocolate covered espresso beans for dinner.

4. I purposefully avoid giving blood by travelling to restricted countries and maintaining a weight under 110 lbs. Sure I'll flux 5 lbs up and down, but it's always under when I know people might ask me to donate.

5. I think I have the coolest name in the whole damn world. Through google and facebook, the VERY FEW people with my last name who are NOT related to me have contacted me to high five "our" family name. I want those people to die.

6. I am jealous of porn stars. I love sex waaay too much for the average woman, but I can never climax with a partner. Porn stars seem to be able to do it at the drop of a hat. I am considering writing a letter to Jenna to request a how to book.

I would love to write a few more... maybe another time.

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