“Do You Even Remember What My Name Is?”

Posted in alcohol, clothes, Corduroy, Denim, Sandals, Sex, Shirts/tops on September 25, 2008 by betoma

Today, the second in a II-part series.  When we last encountered Cecily, she was “scurrying away” from the scene of her tryst with her ex-boyfriend/boss.  Shortly thereafter, workplace relations between the two became very strained.  The fact that he refused to do the friends-after-the-breakup thing contributed to this problem.  If you’re someone’s boss, and you’re fucking them, it’s just not practical to claim you hate them too much to be friends.  The result was that she quit that job and went to work at a different ski resort.

Cecily  volunteers for a charity that raises money for disabled people; a few weeks after she started her new job, they held a beerfest at a casino in Tahoe to raise money for the Special Olympics.  She offered to help set up.   Actually, the charity offered to let her help set up; when she had volunteered at the beerfest the previous year, her task was pouring beer, and “I poured it all into my own mouth.”  Instead of telling her they didn’t want her near their beer ever again, the powers that be called her and said “do you want to help set up?”  As it turns out, this was a better gig, because she got done early and was free to “get liquored up” the rest of the night.

Cecily had met “Finn” working at her last ski resort, I think.  (I can’t keep track of all the ski resorts involved in this anecdote!  Cecily is an experienced woman with a lot of ski resorts in her past, and I doubt even she can remember them all.)   At the time, they had been dating other people, but now it seemed they were both single.  She ran into him, they got talking, and he asked if she wanted to go across the street to a concert.  It featured the guy who played harmonica for Blues Traveler.  Once she had spent enough time getting drunk, she agreed to this plan.

She was wearing camel-colored corduroy pants and a blue-green cotton shirt with short sleeves.  She describes them as normal casual wear, and says that “they were decent except for having beer spilled all over them.”  Also, she had on strappy leather sandals that were “filled with beer.”  By the way, I wish everybody would stop getting on my case about how the clothes on this site aren’t very seductive and how it’s “actually the booze” that gets people laid and whatever.  I don’t care!  This site is for entertainment purposes!  You’re supposed to draw your own conclusions.  Anyway, in this case Cecily was wearing both clothes and booze, so there you go.

Before leaving the concert, Cecily and Finn exchanged phone numbers.  He was very anxious that, in her alcohol-induced haze, she would fail to register his identity (“do you even remember what my name is?”), or be unable to operate her phone, so he made sure she entered it correctly.

Such enthusiasm seemed to imply he would call right away.  So why didn’t he?  Was he “just not that into her?”  Actually, he had a good reason.  He had lent his phone to his friend “Ash,” who took it to a party where a fight broke out.  During the melee, someone broke a bottle over Ash’s head, and he had to go to the hospital; he lost the phone in all the confusion.  (Shortly afterward, he got sent to jail for having too many DUIs.  Cecily says things like this are always happening to him.  I told her I need a CTGML story from this loveable rogue, and she said she would try to hook me up.)

Finn finally got his phone back, after Ash returned to the scene of the crime and dug it out of the cushions of some girl’s sofa.  He did this because he’s a loyal friend, and because Finn “threatened to kill him” if the phone wasn’t recovered.  Meanwhile, a week had passed.  Cecily was out drinking with friends one night, and decided to call Finn.  She didn’t think he was that interested, but they were his friends too, so inviting him to join them didn’t seem too high-pressure.

Instead, he said “I would like to take you on a date.”  They went on their date a few days later.  She wore dark jeans and a black baby-doll blouse.  He wanted to take her to a nice Spanish restaurant, but it was closed for renovations, so they wandered all over town looking for something else, finally settling on a dive-y Mexican place.  After their meal they went to her place and hooked up.  Her roommate at the time had a crush on her, and was unreasonably annoyed that she had done this, but you can’t stand in the way of true love!  Cecily and Finn remain a happy couple to this day.

“I Like Finding People Who Speak Japanese, and Making Out With Them”

Posted in alcohol, clothes, Dresses, Fashion, Holy Grail, Sex, Tank tops, Uncategorized, Underwear on September 22, 2008 by betoma

Today, something slightly different:  An intellectual romance about two people brought together by their passion for the sensual joys of their favorite subject.  A smutty intellectual romance.  This is what intellectuals should be like, but all too often, they’re not; all too often, their only extracurricular activities are thinking up insults about Sarah Palin and sending sarcastic Facebook messages to each other.  I KNOW YOU HEARD THAT, REPRESSED INTELLECTUALS.

“Rei” is a student at a well-known university in the southern United States.  It’s the “Harvard of the south,” but the south has many Harvards, so you still don’t know which.  She describes herself as a cute, short, nerdy girl with “birth-control derived boobs.”  Thus showered with gifts from God and pharmaceuticals, she nevertheless does not get to have a lot of sex “because I have this crazy-bad off-and-on relationship with someone whom I dated in high school, and he has been in Japan for the past year.”  Also, “I am quite in love with Japanese and biology and sexuality, and that love essentially amounts to an inordinate passion for subjects that I see as academic,” so she spends a lot of time studying.

However, last May she had some spare time during finals week, and decided to visit her friend at another college about an hour away.  On her first evening on campus, she and her friend went to somebody’s birthday party.  She was wearing a hot pink dress with braided straps from Urban Outfitters, layered over a J. Crew tank top with salmon and white stripes.  I couldn’t find a tank top with this color scheme for sale, so I just picked a different one that I liked.  Sometimes I use “editorial license” when selecting items to link to — DEAL WITH IT.
Lux hot pink dress

Lux hot pink dress

Striped tank top

Striped tank top

Also, she hadn’t brought any shoes except for Chucks, so she borrowed a pair of (very small) green flip-flops from her friend.  “I think I probably just wore big giant white cotton panties because I absolutely hate wearing underwear and wearing too-big stuff is the closest I can get to not wearing underwear without actually not wearing underwear (which, sure, I do fairly often, but not really when I’m wearing dresses).”  Fascinating!  I’ve never heard the case for large underwear made in quite this way, or in any other way.  Rei has a shoulder tattoo that says “幸せになる,” which means “to become happy” in Japanese; it was mostly covered by her clothes at this point in the evening.

Although Rei was “looking to score that night,” she thought success was unlikely.  Not only did she not know many of these people, but it turns out the school she was visiting considered itself involved in a rivalry with her school, which occasioned some hostile comments.  Meanwhile people at Rei’s school aren’t even aware that this rivalry exists, because “we are all so fixated on hating the hell out of UNC.”   What’s up with these feuds between abstract entities?  The other day my friend told me someone had insulted her because the Wisconsin town he comes from is the “enemy” of her Wisconsin town. It’s always the less cool and status-y member of the rivalry that actually cares about it, so if you think your town or team or whatever has an enemy, you should probably just drop it.

Rei was lucky enough to meet a young man who did not take part in this tragic prejudice against her school.  Her friend introduced her to “Valmont” because he speaks Japanese, and as she puts it, “when I am drunk, I want to speak Japanese. Not English. I really, really like Japanese, and speaking it, and finding people who speak Japanese, and finding people who like Japan, and then making out with them.”  She felt an immediate connection with Valmont (in addition to being a fine scholar, he “is a complete man-whore who likes to push sexual boundaries,” although this is a conclusion she drew later), but he left for some other party and didn’t return for a few hours.

When he got back Rei remembers “a very heated, intense conversation taking place as we leaned up against a wall and got close to each other so we could hear over the yelling and the music–all in Japanese. The boy had me slayed–he was talking about how good I was, how impressed he was, etc. We were both really excited to be speaking Japanese, and I was exciting to see how his long-sleeved shirt fit his torso.”  They got dragged into a game of beer pong (“he won and I may or may not have been belligerent and boisterous”), and then “we started leaning up against each other and making out in the kitchen. Eventually we just moved it out into the hallway and a couch, and then inside a darkened study room, where we took off each other’s clothes and rolled around on the floor.”

That’s the end of the story, except for some AIM chats they had later about their sexual fantasies “and the times we’ve been interrupted by policemen while having sex in cars.”  Rei is now studying abroad and won’t see this amazing man again.  She does have a theory about the incident, though.  She remembers Valmont pulling down the back of her dress so that he could see her tattoo better, and she says it’s intriguing to people because it is “incongruous” with her usually reserved personality.  She concludes that “a nerdy girl with a tattoo might have her ‘holy grail’ already inked on her skin.”  I don’t have a picture of hers, so here’s an unrelated one you might enjoy.

Chanel/Black Flag foot tattoos

Chanel/Black Flag foot tattoos

“I Slept With Him to Prove Him Wrong”

Posted in alcohol, Boots, clothes, Costumes, Fashion, Hosiery, Miniskirts, Sex on September 20, 2008 by betoma

Recently I spoke on the phone to my old friend “Cecily,” She told me a bunch of stuff about how she met her current boyfriend; it was pretty interesting, but I had to wonder if she had any scandalous trysts right before meeting this fellow.   It turns out she did.

Two years ago, Cecily was living in Tahoe and dating her boss at the ski resort where she worked.  He got mad at her about something or other, and broke up with her in a really assholish way.  He got all huffy and petulant, and refused to be friends, even though they worked together and would have to see each other every day.  Cecily apparently didn’t believe that the breakup was 100 percent for real, so she asked him if they were going to keep randomly hooking up all the time, as they had done before they started dating.  For some reason, this question irritated him:  He said “I’m never gonna sleep with you ever again!!”

A few months later, they found themselves at a Halloween party, totally drunk and irresistably inclined toward each other.  Cecily was dressed as a punk, in a fluorescent orange mohawk wig, plaid miniskirt, fishnet stockings and black boots.

Plaid miniskirt

Plaid miniskirt

Fishnets

Fishnets

Orange mohawk wig

Orange mohawk wig

He asked her “do you want to come home with me?”  She said yes, but clarifies that “I did it to prove him wrong.”  She envisioned herself waking up the next morning and rubbing it in his face (his lack of perspicacity, that is):  “So you’re not going to sleep with me ever again, huh?”  Hang on a second, though.  A few days have passed since I spoke to Cecily, and in the intervening time I realized something.  Simply by asking her to go home with him, Jack had already disproved his original statement that “I’m not gonna sleep with you ever again.”  If Cecily’s true goal was to prove him wrong, she did not have to fuck him; she could have achieved it just as effectively by doing nothing at all.  Never trust somebody when they tell you what their motives were.

In any case, her morning did not go the way she planned.  Jack had moved to a new house, and when she woke up there, “I didn’t really know where I was.”  She was still wearing the mohawk wig, which may have contributed to her discomfiture.  (Like all novelty punk wigs, it was of extremely high quality, or at least I assume that’s why it stayed on all night.)  Confused and disoriented, she didn’t really feel like berating Jack, and instead “I scurried away.”

The most upsetting part of the story is still to come, though.  I asked her what Jack’s costume was, and at first she thought he didn’t have one.  Then she remembered that he was wearing “these stupid Chinese embroidered pants.”  They were blue, with a dragon on them.  He had borrowed them from someone else, so they didn’t fit him very well.  At this point, I told Cecily I felt she should not have slept with this person.  She agrees with me:  “It was a terrible mistake.”

Chinese dragon pants; pretty hideous

Chinese dragon pants; pretty hideous, no?

“I Asked Him If I Could Eat Some of His Food”

Posted in clothes, Fashion, Outerwear, Sex on September 17, 2008 by betoma

Today I’m presenting you with another story about overcoats and outerwear to get you psyched for the cold weather to come.  That’s what I would claim, at least, if I was aiming for some sort of conceptual unity or overarching rationale between posts.  I do think cold-weather gear is foxier in its way than summer stuff; everyone has to stop wearing fugly nylon athletic shorts, and it’s just so refreshing.  Of course, “Minerva” would never wear such things in the first place; she’s a very a classy lady who got her B.A. at a well-known university in New Hampshire, but is now in graduate school.

Minerva first met Sextus as a college sophomore in 2001, when a friend introduced them in the cafeteria.  He was sitting at a table eating a “huge meal”; she thought he was hot and wanted to flirt with him, “so I asked him if I could eat some of his food.”  He said no!   “I was devastated.”  During that first conversation, she “tried every trick” there was to get his attention, but none of it worked.  She found out later that he had a girlfriend at the time.

They ended up being sort of friends or acquaintances, and when she moved off campus the following year, they became neighbors as well.  The roles got reversed:  He was single, and he tried to holla at her by sending her a “neighborly” e-mail about the shared recycling bins behind the building or some nonsense like that.  This transparent attempt to get her attention didn’t work, because “I was taken.”  The same process may have repeated itself a few times, but in any case, they weren’t both single at the same time until 2003.

Minerva’s college holds a homecoming dance every October.  A what?  We didn’t have that type of thing at the place I went to for undergraduate; we had Drag Ball, Safer Sex Night, and an event called a “bike derby,” in which hundreds of people rode bicycles around in a circle on a big muddy field and tried (successfully) to knock each other over.  Different strokes for different folks, I suppose.  After the dance, Minerva and her friends went to a homecoming-related house party, and she spotted Sextus as soon as she walked in the door.  He saw her too, and they locked eyes.  They both “knew” their night of carnal passion had finally arrived.  (This is Minerva’s account, but she says he agrees with her.)

The carnal passion didn’t start right away, because both of them were involved in talking to friends, and stayed on opposite ends of the room for a long time.  When they finally did walk up to each other, Minverva thinks they said something inane like “wow, it’s taken us a long time to finally talk to each other.”  Literally five minutes after that, the party ended, and people started getting ready to head out to some bar.  Artemis was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but she bundled herself up in a long black peacoat, a scarf and white gloves.  Then they immediately started making out.

See, look how cute that is.  Anyway, having delayed their gratification long enough, they never made it out to that bar.  And they’re still a happy couple today!

“If I Had Grown a Man in a Lab, He Is What I Would Have Created”

Posted in alcohol, Boots, Cardigans, clothes, Denim, Fashion, Outerwear, Sex, Tank tops, Underwear on September 15, 2008 by betoma

UPDATE:  I saw Marilyn yesterday, and she was full of complaints about an affliction called “pash rash,” an unsightly facial skin irritation that results from making out with a stubble-y dude.  She seems to find it bitterly ironic that experiencing “passion” should have such a negative effect on one’s actual attractiveness.  It’s a classic life-art dichotomy — like in The Picture of Dorian Grey — where you can have intense experience or aesthetic perfection, but not both.  I can sympathize with her. I have unruly hair, and I need to put a lot of products on my skin to make it not greasy, plus my eyes get irritated if I don’t take out my contact lenses; if I go to sleep at someone else’s house, it’s fuckin’ chaos.

All of these are “luxury problems” rather than real problems, though.  By contrast, my e-mail correspondant “Claudette” says that she was celibate for over two years before the incident I’m about to relate.  Claudette is in her 20’s and was living in Delaware at the time.  She claims that “I am fat, frumpy, and plain.  I look like Ina Garten.  On a good day, if you’re feeling generous, I look like a zaftig Nigella Lawson without the sex appeal.”  I am reluctant to believe any of this.  I tend to think all my readers are beautiful, or at least above-average looking, like a drunk Lake Woebegone.  But you can picture her as plain if it makes her seem more relate-able to you.

She writes that “in January, I met a group of friends in Newark, N.J. for a basketball game.”  They were going out to the bars in Manhattan later, so she needed an outfit that was cute, walkable, and suited to a range of temperatures.  “I started with my beautiful Lucchese cowboy boots, a souvenir from a trip to Lake Tahoe, and worked backward from there.”

Lucchese cowboy boots

Lucchese cowboy boots

Here’s her list of what else she was wearing:

Red wool funnel-collar coat

Target giraffe-print cardigan {they don’t make these anymore, thanks to idiotic planned obsolescence}
Hot pink tank
Dark denim jeans


Hot pink lace bra


Hot pink cotton panties
Black cashmere socks {editor’s note: How are you supposed to wash cashmere socks?  Surely you don’t need to take them to the dry cleaner’s?  I just put mine in the washing machine, but I really feel guilty about it.}

When Claudette got dressed in the evening, she had no reason to think anyone would be scrutinizing her matching lingerie and rich-person socks.  “But when I arrived at the arena, by coincidence I was seated next to a spectacular-looking boy.  I mean, if I had grown a man in a lab, he is what I would have created.  He was thoughtful, funny, brainy, generous, arty, charming (he grew up in Louisiana, so he had that delicious Southern boy appeal) and so unbelievably hot that I thought, ‘There is no possible way I will be able to convince this boy to make out with me, so I guess I’ll just be myself.'”

They went to a bar in the Village called The Kettle of Fish, where ” I drank beer, I ate junk food, I told dirty jokes, I told him to give me all his quarters so I could play pinball, I said ‘watch this’ and stole a bottle of Cabernet from the bar, and at some point I realized he’d spent the whole night by my side.”

“At around midnight, I did something I’m not terribly proud of.  I turned to the group and whined, “You guys, I’m having too much fun to get the train back home.  Can I sleep on someone’s couch?”  Why not be proud of this brilliant line?  It’s like a more tactful version of “do you want to come up and see my etchings?”, and besides, it worked.

“He offered.  I accepted.  I did not sleep on the couch.” She didn’t even leave his apartment until the following afternoon!  She concludes her story by lamenting, “I miss that guy.”  Wait, what happened?  Why aren’t they engaged by now?  “I WISH we were engaged!”  It turns out they went on, like, two dates, but “after a two-hour phone conversation one night, I screwed up my courage and asked him if we could watch the Superbowl together, and I didn’t hear from him for three weeks.  Sad panda.”

Astonishingly, it seems this gentleman has some sort of emotional issues.  Claudette was left with pash rash and heartbreak, but she still has the hot boots, so maybe we will be hearing from her soon?

“My Friends Were Like, ‘Do You Want Us to Kick His Ass?'”

Posted in alcohol, clothes, Denim, Fashion, Outerwear, Sex, T-shirts on September 14, 2008 by betoma

{Important note:  I am posting this much later than I originally intended, because the I was afflicted with a hangover when I wrote it, and accidentally pressed “save” instead of “publish.”  Also, on a related note, the notes I took about the clothes that got someone laid are, in this case, very messy and difficult to read.  Bear with me, people. I’m not getting paid to write this website, and if you have a thing you do for free, you’re allowed to be drunk while doing it.}

Last night I talked to “Rich,” a foxy young man who lives in the American south. He told me that his most recent hookup took place one weekend when he was out with his cousins (one of whom is a “super-dyke,” apparently), and they went out to a “random gay club.” He was wearing a pair of vintage jeans, and a black vintage t-shirt with the word “greaser” and a picture of a motorcycle on the front. The back of the shirt says “50’s and 60’s night,” and the name of some bar — it’s a souvenir for some 50’s and 60’s dance night. He got both of these items at a local vintage clothing boutique. He was also wearing a navy blue jacket with fuzzy plush lining; I think these are called a “flight jacket” or a “fireman’s jacket.” He had mysteriously found it on the coat rack in a house he used to live in.

Blue jacket

Blue jacket

I cannot find a picture of this “greaser” shirt, but the basic concept here is that you can find something unique and special in vintage shops.  Rich is commited to this concept, and buys mostly used stuff. (I think that’s what he said, because there’s something in my notebook that might say “never new jeans,” but also might say something about “resin.”)

His hookup situation began at the bar when a guy walked up to him and said “hey, ‘greaser.'” Rich’s friends thought he meant it in a rude way, and they were like “do you want us to kick his ass?”, but Rich thought he was cute, so he said “no no, I want to talk to him.”  He was “DRUNK,” as my notes helpfully point out, and in this condition, “Saul” seemed to have many fine qualities (he’s Jewish, and a filmmaker!).  They exchanged numbers and agreed to hang out later.

After that, they dated for a couple of weeks, and I think lent each other some CDs or DVS or something.  Nevertheless, it failed to go anywhere; they lacked chemistry, and Rich wasn’t having a very interesting time. He says the ultimate result of their brief non-relationship was that “it made me realize I don’t like to date,” and that his successful relationships have started out as friendships that surprisingly turned romantic.

“She Actually Ripped the Dress Off Me”

Posted in alcohol, clothes, Dresses, Fashion, Holy Grail, Kneesocks, Miniskirts, Sex on September 10, 2008 by betoma

Just a note: I am going to post a new post soon, like tomorrow, but not right now.  Usually when I tell people I’m “really busy,” I’m lying to make them stop bothering me, but this week I actually have been really busy!  It is terribly unpleasant.

“Anaïs” is a biologist living in Manhattan. I know, NYC again, but that’s where today’s androgynous, polymorphously perverse singles are living. Anaïs the ex-girlfriend of one of the ladies I’ve already written about, as well as an old college friend of mine; I talked to her on the phone about her experiences wearing a certain H&M dress. She describes this item, which she got last summer, as a sort of “industrial jumper,” with a belt and pockets. Anaïs is more of a pants-wearer, but says the dress “has powers.” In fact, she’s had so many adventures in it that it qualifies for holy grail status. She obligingly sent in a picture of herself wearing it:

Anais models the dress

Industrial jumper

She first wore it to a party held by the Lesbian Sex Mafia on the gay, clothing-optional section of Queens’s Jacob Riis beach. I didn’t even know such a beach existed, but now I want to go. I wasn’t sure if they would allow in a person such as myself, but Anaïs says they do not screen out heterosexuals in any meaningful way, and that I could get in by claiming to have “a raging case of gaybies.” I think that’s what she said, at least; when I conducted this interview I had just woken up from a nap, plus I have bad hearing, so I had to keep yelling “WHAT?” at her. People find it really charming when I do this. After the Lesbian Sex Mafia beach thing, she and her friend went to a different party, and there they met two other gals and all four of them ended up all making out together.

The next time she wore the dress, she was in Austin, Texas for a music festival (Austin City Limits, I think). She and three other ladies were staying in a friend’s efficiency apartment. Not a lot of privacy, which was unfortunate, because one of the other guests was her hot ex-girlfriend “Leda.” A clever subterfuge was needed. Here’s what Anaïs came up with: “I can’t find my glasses! I think they’re in the bathroom! Leda, come to the bathroom with me and help me find them.”

Leda thought her dress was really hot, so they had sex with her in it. They spent about an hour in there “finding her glasses.” Anaïs can confirm that “they weren’t up my vagina.” They weren’t up her friend’s vagina, either. (Me: “Did you find any other stuff up there?”)

That afternoon, she went to visit “Cassandra,” another friend in town (“the kind of friends that sometimes sleep together”), and she loved the dress too! So much so that “she ripped it off me, so that the buttonholes were actually ripped,” and it had to be repaired afterward.

Anaïs hasn’t worn the dress that many times, but “it almost always led to sex, and very good sex.” Here’s another example. She met got asked out on a date by “Lawrence,” a guy she mat at a housewarming party, after she walked up to him and pointed out that they were both wearing western-style snap-up shirts. When they first met “I thought he was gay, but apparently not, or not entirely.”

This is why they're hot

How to look hot in a cowboy shirt

Cowboy shirts on sale, and less so.

Update: I thought she said they went to a gay bar on their date, which would have made the story more hilarious, but it was a regular old dive bar. She wore the amazing dress with a pair of black and brown-striped kneesocks, and it caused her to get hit on immediately by two dudes in an annoying, overly aggressive way. Lawrence was jealous that she was getting more attention than him. What do you suppose happened after they left the bar? That’s right: He asked her to keep the kneesocks on during sex. Human behavior has consistent, predictable rules! How reassuring.