Phone Sex Aaron

...yeah this one's pretty good.

I met a boy online (and yes, it was after I started lying about my age).  When I first met Aaron, I was thrilled -- he was attractive, he was getting an advanced degree and he was within my age range... of course this was all before I realized he lived in the Bay Area.  Which as you may know is eight hours due north of San Diego.  ...so not incredibly conducive to a relationship....

However, we talked on the phone and we had  real chemistry -- and that is rare my friend...really, really rare....  Unfortunately, after our first fight about religion (which naturally, I won) the conversation turned to the old, "what are you wearing" and digressed from there.  Hence, Phone Sex Aaron he became. It would have been extremely easy to walk away from the situation considering: 1) Aaron lives eight hours due north (did I mention that?); 2) I had never met him; and 3) our relationship now consisted of phone sex and not much else. ...actually not anything else.

I did consider walking away numerous times.  Deleting his number, not answering the phone...  Why didn't I? Because Aaron...is kinda crazy.   And despite the fact that I'm a grown-up (well...kinda), there is still a part of me that likes the dangerous, rebel type.  Aaron's not quite that...he's more the crazy red-head from Wedding Crashers.   The second time we talked he told me he loved me (to which I -- being a romantic -- laughed and said, "um...no... you don't.")  Last month he asked me if I wanted to go to Vegas and elope.  I responded, "oh sure," ...and then he named a specific day.  That scared the hell of of me...but was also intriguing.  We would talk in explicit details about our wildest fantasies.  But in addition to the crazy, Aaron made me feel safe when discussing taboo subjects (like sex).  ...crazy, safe, and chemistry.  Yeah, despite the relationship's obvious limitations, I was digging this guy.

So Sunday morning when Aaron told me he had two whole days off from his latest medical rotation and asked if I want to come visit, I spontaneously said "sure."   Because, yeah -- I'm a little bat-shit crazy myself. And you know what goes well with phone sex?  Actual sex.  So I hopped in the Subaru and away I went.  For eight hours.  Due north.  ...And of course I got lost in Oakland (which I do not recommend).

 I arrived about 10:30 PM.  Aaron and I had been speaking for several months and had discussed our first meeting numerous times.  ...And this was not it.  Instead of passionate kisses and a clingy embrace, I got the "friend hug" - you know, the one arm over the shoulder, the other arm under.  I instantly wanted to touch him, to be close to him.  And he...not so much.  Not a touch of the arm, not a brush of the hair.  After all of the fantasies, the explicit sexual details about what we would do to one another, I expected nothing less than to have my clothes ripped off in the entry way of his home.  But here we were in the kitchen, with Aaron not touching me.  ...making polite conversation like I was his neighbor borrowing a cup of sugar rather than bat-shit crazy phone sex girl standing there in boots and a mini-skirt.   

At bedtime, the situation digressed even further.  Phone Sex Aaron was not into actual sex...which was kinda the opposite of what I had in mind.  ...like after all these months, we're gonna discuss the IMF?  And let this be a lesson to the masses (because apparently it was news to Aaron): when you have phone sex with a girl for months, and then invite her to drive for eight hours in order to spend 24 with you...well, she's probably going to have some expectations. I was not entirely sure what was going through the boy's mind, but it appeared now that he had me there, he didn't quite know what to do with me.  So he asked that we do ...nothing.  I laid wide awake most of the night, and in the morning I thought it might be helpful to explain why I was there...that I date other people and I don't have the heat or chemistry or energy - whatever - that I had with him.  And I wanted to explore it.  He told me to slow down.

Yet 30 minutes later Aaron does a 180.  Suddenly (very suddenly) we are in the heat of the moment and he has some super-kinky expectations that I am not ready for -- and I relay this to him.  Now I was the one asking to slow down.  And he was not having it -- he informed me of such when I went to kiss him. He continued to inform me he merely wanted to be friends.  (not sure what that friendship would be based upon?).  At this point I was sure Ashton Kutcher would pop out of somewhere.  But it got worse -- Aaron asked me to get dressed so we could go to breakfast because he had things to do the rest of the day.  ...he was supposed to be doing me the rest of the day...  I was pissed.  And confused.  And hurt.  So I got up, got my shit and drove home.  Eight hours.  At 8:30 in the morning. 16 hours in the car...for less than 10 hours with my man.

The entire situation leaves me wondering...what the fuck was that?  ...seriously...W.T.F....

But rather than question what I cannot change, I want to try a different approach.  So allow me to channel Oprah (miss you already) and tell the universe (or cyberspace) what it is that I do want.  Well, (a) someone who wants to have sex with me; (b) someone capable of communicating like an adult.  That's not too much to ask -- so here's some too much --

1) I want a boy from the Midwest (like yours truly) -- one specifically from a state that begins in a vowel (so that's Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, or Iowa.  If that does not come to fruition, we'll expand to the tundra states of Wisconsin, Minnesota and Michigan -- but no U.P.ers.  I've had enough with bat-shit crazy.)  A farm boy-- like The Princess Bride.  Find me Wesley.   ...because with California men, I feel like I am through the looking glass, people.  2) While you're at it, find me Jim Halpert.   I want someone hilarious (nothing is funnier than a stapler in jello), who puts me and our relationship first -- before his mountain bike, baseball team, porn addiction, surfboard - fill in the blank here.  I'm done wasting time looking backwards.  And I'm also done with bat-shit crazy.  So this time I'm asking the universe...conspire in my favor....

Halloween

My birthday is July 31.  And I have lived thirty-some-odd years without realizing that in all likelihood, I was conceived on Halloween.  ...until today when a friend pointed it out.  And now that holiday is sooo ruined....

The Rapture

Because my mother was raised Southern Baptist, I have been hearing about the "End of Days" for quite some time.  So the recent hype about May 21 being the end of the world didn't really phase me.  But logistically, I do have some questions.  First and foremost:  if the Rapture is on Saturday, can I not pay the cable bill?  Can I stop training for this damn marathon to which I committed myself (and am vastly unprepared)?  ...honestly, I don't believe this is the end but it does beg the question, "what if it were?"  Of course the usual answers come to mind: stop working, surf, spend time with those I love, tell those I don't how I actually feel (and there are a couple of people I'm gunnin' for on that one)... but if there were some specifics to check off the list...

1) I'd call the guy to whom I lost my virginity and apologize...because I became one super-crazy bitch.  But in real life, you don't call your ex and say, "hey, I'm sorry I was crazy."  ...that makes you look more crazy.

2) Have sex with reckless abandon -- and when interviewing potential partners, my first question would be, "How big is your penis?"  Because I know my gender has said otherwise...but yes, it really does matter.

3) Drugs. Lots of drugs. On the beach.  In Costa Rica.

4) I would walk around the streets and start singing random showtunes, as though I was actually in a musical.  This was always my sister's dream, but since it's the end of the world I thought I would steal it from her.

5) I would go to the zoo and set all the animals free.  Don't get me wrong; I love the zoo.  Animals fascinate me (especially the naked mole rats...what the hell are those things?) and I appreciate those who study and care for them.  I appreciate the opportunity to observe them.  But when I do go to the zoo, I feel a little dirty.  Because I know it's wrong and I wouldn't want it to be me in those cages.

6) I would eat everything not nailed down.  To excess. ...especially fish tacos.

7) I would drive like speed racer.  I love driving fast! ... I'm always scared of getting a ticket (and I would probably feel guilty about the accidentally killing someone part, too).  But if Jesus comes on Saturday, what do I fucking care about a ticket?  ...I would see if I could get from here to LA in half an hour or less. 

8) I would go to Mexico -- that's playin' with fire, kids.  Ever since I landed in San Diego, I have been warned not to go to Mexico -- I'll be raped, beheaded, sold to the Russian mafia, forced to have sex with barnyard animals, what-have-you.  It's so taboo that I want to know what the big deal is.

9) Have a "Rapture Bar Crawl" and make t-shirts.  Oh wait...I am doing that.


...a perfect "Number 10" is not coming to mind.  Probably because I know this is not the end and we have a long way to go.  It does give me pause to look at the taboo things in life and wonder, "what if."  I probably won't eat more or drive faster.  But you might see me on a street corner near you (probably Saturday after bar crawl) bustin' out in showtunes.

Narnia

How is it every time I run through Balboa Park - no matter which path I take -- I end up on the golf course?  It's not statistically possible that this happen every single time...

Kiera Isabelle, the Urban Coonhound

Early in life, the majority of us are asked to select -- or sometimes dictated -- a team.  I'm a Cubs fan.  Notre Dame football.  And most importantly, I'm a dog person.  I grew up with dogs; which means that as an adult, I had no illusions about the amount of work involved in being a "puppy parent."

Being an excellent attorney, my dog came into my life as a result of careful negotiations.  When my then in-the-process-of-moving-in boyfriend (who later became the husband and then the ex) first introduced the idea of adopting a dog,  I was vehemently opposed.  But I never have been attracted to idiots (OK, maybe once) and boyfriend (unfortunately for me) was also an excellent negotiator.  Our first live-in fight was a knock-down-drag-out over this ugly (I mean, REALLY mother-fuckin' ugly) chair that he wanted to bring into my condo.  I was sooo determined to keep that ugly-ass piece of furniture in his group house where it belonged, that when he said, "Fine.  Then I want a dog. " I responded, "OK."  And a puppy parent I became.

A month later I was in a barn outside of Richmond, Virginia picking out a six-week-old red-bone coon hound.  We were there at 8:30 AM (which means we left DC at 6:20 AM.  On a Sunday.), the very first to arrive.  We wanted a girl and all the female puppies were placed inside a kiddie swimming pool for our choosing.  Boyfriend let me pick out our puppy prodigy while he attended to paperwork.  As is always the case, someone peed in the pool.  So I picked the little dog farthest from the puddle (I saw this as a sign of intelligence -- smart creatures don't frolic in their own urine), and that is how Kiera (Kiera Isabelle with a hyphenated last name.  Because I'm a yuppie.) became mine. 

 I was studying for the bar exam at this point, and therefore home during the day.  Hence, I became the designated doggie caregiver.  The first couple of days involved sleep-deprivation, puddles, and holding Kiera's ears back so they didn't flop in her water bowl when she drank.  Being an urban coon hound in a loft condo had its challenges.  Coon hounds (as you may already know) are hunting dogs; they track scents, point in the direction of the prey, and even have webbing between their toes to swim through bodies of water while staying on the trail.  And as you may also know, very little hunting happens in a third floor walk-up.  The first time Kiera pointed and barked, it was at a FedEx truck.

Because hounds are hunters and expected to stay on the trail, they don't always follow commands.  At first, I thought Kiera was simply not a good listener. Turns out that Kiera (just like boyfriend) was far from stupid.  I swear sometimes, I could see her thinking.  A couple of times I gave her a command and she rolled her eyes at me (another time she actually flipped me off). But when Kiera wanted attention, it had to be RIGHT NOW.  When I was studying to take the bar exam, this was not a request I could consistently accommodate (especially when answering timed practice questions).  If I ignored her whines, howls, or more formal requests for attention, she would bark.  I would look at her.  She'd squat - and piss.  Right in from of me.  ...a vindictive pisser.  I spoke with my wise sister about this issue.  She explained to me that dogs always seek an alpha.  Boyfriend had been selected for that role.  "Well, what does she think I am then?" I asked.  My sister paused, and then whispered, "Girl... you just another dog."

The love affair between Kiera and boyfriend was mutual. He did not go anywhere without her -- and that included travel to far away states like Texas and Florida for family holidays.   Kiera reduced me to my weakest moment on one of these trips.  Not a lot of hotels welcome dogs.  And the ones that do, traditionally have not met my cleanliness standards.  Oprah I am not and we couldn't exactly afford the Ritz.  When returning to DC one Christmas, we stopped at a particularly nasty hotel in small town, SC.  I was not in the best frame of mind.  I was sad about leaving my family, and I was sad about the weather becoming colder as we continued to creep North.

Boyfriend knew this and promised me a lovely dinner.  He checked us into the hotel, and asked the clerk, what was the nicest restaurant in town?  She highly recommended the Cracker Barrel.  After dinner, we walked into our room which was caked in fur (Oprah so would not have tolerated this).  I pulled back the sheets and discovered human hair.  I wanted to leave, but instead I put on every article of clothing so that no skin could touch the sheets.  We crawled into bed and Kiera hopped in with us.   I was shaking like Rain Man over the human hair incident and debating sleeping in the car .  Boyfriend turned on a  JLo movie to calm me.  (HUGE JLo fan.  Always makes me feel better.)  The whole family was in bed watching television, when quite suddenly Kiera jumped up from her spot in the middle and hopped off the bed.

This was extremely odd behavior, even from my crazy coon hound.  I looked at her and called her as boyfriend exclaimed, "Oh god."  ...Kiera had apparently pissed in the bed.  Dogs pee when they smell another dog's urine.  Which she had apparently done.  In our hotel bed.  So with that knowledge, I put on my flip-flops, showered (with the shoes on) and drove us the fuck home.

Kiera now lives with her father.  I miss her everyday.  Despite the fact that I was never viewed as the alpha, Kiera constantly showed me unconditional love.  ...And I guess you never forget your first real love.