I Wish this was Fiction...

Please believe me when I say that in order to stay with me on this one, you're going to need to be sitting down, completely sober, and be within arms reach of some kind of writing utensil and graph paper. I literally can't believe this is my real life. Okay, so the neighbour catastrophe...just to recap:

1. I slept with my next door neighbour, (who has nothing to do with the following story).

2. I slept with my upstairs neighbour's best friend a few months ago.

3. I kissed my upstairs neighbour's brother/roommate a few weeks ago.

4. I hit on my upstairs neighbour and his OTHER friend, simultaneously, as if I'm Jenna James starring in a Peter North film, three weeks ago.

5. I slept with my upstairs neighbour two weeks ago.

Got that? Okay...so...let's talk about the "OTHER" friend from point 4. above. The only part of that night that made the cut to my blog was the e-mail I had to send the next morning apologizing to my upstairs neighbour for hitting on him and his friend at the same time, and kissing his brother the week before. Oops. In actuality, the entire night I was trying to seduce both of them, as if I don't have enough notches on my belt from this particular address. Luckily for me, I was so incredibly intoxicated, that one of them said something to me, just a single sentence, that offended my drunk-ass so much that I stormed out leaving them both blue-balled. What did they say you ask? I have no fucking clue. They probably said that Backstreet Boys aren't cool anymore or watermelon is NOT the best kind of fruit...who the fuck cares, whatever it was, storming out seemed to be dramatically appropriate. Luckily our friendship survived and a week later I hung out with, and banged, my upstairs neighbour. Lucky him. Which brings us to this week...

This week upstairs neighbour, his best friend, and his brother/roommate are away on vacation. I'm not gonna lie, the thought of them all sharing a king bed with me smashed somewhere in between is making it hard for me to focus. So they're away for the week and I get a message from...the OTHER friend, (the almost-threesome blue-baller), who just happens to be housesitting upstairs. He wants to hang out. That was Monday. I was drunk so ended up just not texting back. I know what you're thinking...why the HELL was I drunk on a Monday? Don't worry, I Tivo'd "Intervention," it's all good. Tuesday, another text. He wants to "hang out and be lazy" with me. Hmmm...sounds like he wants to bang. I tell him I just want to chill, but maybe next time. he texts again a couple hours later and asks if I still want to chill by myself. Yes, yes I do. Wednesday...he asks me what I'm up to...I'm watching a movie, and he gets the hint to leave me alone for the evening.

Alright. One of two things is going on here:

1. He has no idea that I slept with his friend who is away right now, which is plausible, because I abandoned them both in a possible BSB/watermelon frenzy the last time he saw me, and finds me incredibly sexy and desirable and can't believe his luck that he is alone in an apartment with me just mere feet away. Or

2. A public announcement has been made to all units in my apartment building that I will put out to anyone who looks like he may be under 30 and has all his teeth.

I'll assume it's number 1, because it helps me sleep at night thinking that I'm just THAT desirable to anyone within a 10-foot radius. And for the record, I have no attraction to friend #2, so his powers are useless against me. Unless I drink vodka...better get it out of the house just to be safe.

Yup, still got it.

Leave Your Socks at the Door

About a month ago I got an e-mail from a friend, asking if I was single because I would be "perfect" for her brother. I'm not so much into the whole set-up thing, but the idea that anyone thought there might be anything remotely resembling a "perfect" bone in my body was hard to pass up. I put it off for a while on account of the little child I was dating at the time, but I opened up the floor for conversation and added the guy to my Facebook. We chatted quite a bit and he asked me out several times, so finally we met last night. He was a nice guy. You know, nice, like lemonade or potato chips...they're good while you're enjoying them, but probably wouldn't miss them if there was some kind of lemon/potato catastrophe that wiped them out forever. We had a couple of drinks, exchanged witty banter, and somewhere along the way I started texting my upstairs neighbour. Don't ask how I managed to redeem myself after last week's antics, because to be honest, I myself am astounded at the elite level of awesomeness I seemingly possess as of late. I must be careful to use my powers wisely. Anyhoo, I planned to meet with upstairs neighbour after my date was over with Bachelor # 7,612. We ended the date with a hug, and off I went to sabotage any chance of a future with lemon/potato man.

20 minutes later upstairs neighbour came over. As he walked out the door of his place, his brother/roommate, (the one I kissed last week), asked him where he was going, and I was happy to hear he decided to keep the details vague by responding with "out." Hopefully his brother failed to notice that he left the apartment in his socks. I won't bore you with the details of how we ended up banging on the couch...twice. It was a good time. When he left, we decided that, purely for reasons of geographic convenience, we will continue our sexual relationship as frequently as needed to relieve stress and build cardiovascular strength. We also agreed to inform each other immediately, should either of us start to develop an emotional attachment to the other. That would most certainly be me since I'm the one with the expiration date on my ovaries, however I feel strong and very man-like these days, so it shouldn't be a problem. I can't see how this could possibly end badly...

Sharing Walls, Ceilings, and Saliva

I think it may be time to reinstate The Nice Girl Project. My ridiculous hijinks since parting ways with the minor are slightly out of control. Not to mention the fact that I can't seem to proceed any further than my own apartment building to play with boys. Earlier this week I got into an argument with the neighbour I slept with a few months ago and we aren't speaking. We share walls but don't speak. The argument was entirely sourced by his own freakazoidness, so I don't feel bad about that. However, I've been hanging out with my upstairs neighbour a bit lately, the one who shares my ceiling. The precise events of last night's events aren't important, however, they resulted in my having to send him the following e-mail for damage control:

"Hey,

About last night...I don't really know what you want from me or why you care what I want. I'm just having fun, I'm a huge flirt and love boys.

I don't know why I kissed your brother, that was weird. And last night I was attracted to both you and your buddy, what can I say. It was douchebaggery at its finest.

I shall venture out of our apartment building in search of my next love interest. Don't worry about replacing my beer, I'm never drinking again.

Sincere fucking love and all that shit"

Jesus Christ. Enough said.

Have a Nice Life, Pee-Wee

So the minor and I decided to go away together...nothing serious, we just wanted to be spontaneous and fun. I just experienced a mini windfall on account of a wise stock trade and I was dying to take a trip, so I even treated the little guy, assuming he hadn't received any New Years money and likely wouldn't be able to afford it otherwise. The first couple of days were great, but then the minor's true, selfish colors started to show and I was ultimately unimpressed. After a week of him whining and and pouting, it became very clear to me that my minor's Greek God stature had left him with a personality that offered little else. Clearly everything had been offered to him on a silver platter up until this point, and I'm far too experienced and well-aged to train this douchebag. I've done enough training, it's time for a real man who knows how to treat a lady...*ahem*, well, me. The final straw for me was finding out that he had come on the trip with $40 to his name...$40 that he advised me he needed desperately for groceries upon our return. Was this guy for realsies? He literally just assumed that I would be paying for everything? Like, everything?? Wow.

Over the course of the week it became crystal clear that we would not continue the relationship once we got home. So I found it entirely unnecessary that he approached me on our last night just before bedtime to tell me that he had lost interest in me and he didn't enjoy spending time with me. Ouch. I told him that I hope he had somewhere else to sleep that night, and he seemed utterly shocked. Has this guy even talked to a woman before? I kicked him out and went to bed. He came back and crawled into bed at 2am, and asked me if I wanted to have sex. Was this guy fucking kidding me? Um, NO. "Well can I go down on you then?" Oh ya for sure...I don't want your dick inside of me, but please, stick your face in my beautiful pussy. Fucking idiot. I should have said yes and peed all over his gorgeous, selfish face, but I'm so fucking nice I simply reiterated a more firm "NO."

At the airport in the morning the check-in attendant was clicking away on his computer, frantically trying to find us seats together. "Oh no, sir, we most certainly DO NOT need to sit together" I offered. He asked if I was sure...hells YES. So I handed my ex-God his boarding pass, his seat was 10 rows in front of mine, and I shooed him away, explaining that I didn't see any need for us to stay together from that point. Off he went. Good dog. I strolled around the airport leisurely and grabbed a couple of snacks and a Gatorade for the plane. It briefly occurred to me that the ex-God didn't have any money for food or water, he'd have to wait 3 hours for the crappy plane food...*chuckle*. When we boarded the plane I didn't even turn my head in his direction. I was most delighted to find out that any food offered was for purchase, and there was no free meal at all...*double chuckle*. I ordered a Thai chicken wrap and polished that off...I needed something to wash down the snacks I'd enjoyed earlier. When we landed back at home it would have been 9 hours since he ate or drank anything last. I whizzed through customs and my bag was the third one to drop onto the carousel. Awesome. I noticed the douchebag in my peripheral vision waiting for his luggage, looking slightly pale and weak from lack of electrolytes. I grabbed my luggage, popped the handle, and wheeled the fuck outta there without so much as a glance at my most recent drunken mistake. I hope it didn't take him long to panhandle enough Benjamin Franklins to bus home that night.

Needless to say we haven't spoken since. He did attempt one last pathetic apology after the fact...a text message the next day apologizing for the way he'd acted all week...

Delete.

There's a Cougar Loose in the Frat House

I have been suspiciously quiet for the past two months, I know. I'm not sure if it was out of respect for the guy I was dating or utter embarrassment that I was actually dating him. Yup, you guessed it, Mr. Christmas Money made it to the second round. In fact, he made it to the semi-finals, and I decided in a sudden attack of insanity to take him on a trip to Cabo with me. He most certainly did NOT advance to the finals.

Let's re-wind. he lives a couple of hours away from me, so after our aprés-Christmas rendezvous, we ended up seeing each other about every 2 weeks. It was nice, he was sweet and fun and built like a Greek God. He paid lots of attention to me and was so incredibly grateful for every little thing I did...like say, pay my own rent all by myself, or not have my cell phone cut-off...you know, the little things that your friends just don't think is that impressive anymore. So every couple of weeks he would trek here to see me and we did 32 year-old things. We'd go for dinner, watch hockey games, go to pubs, have copious amounts of Greek God sex, you know, mature, high brow things that I like to do. About 6 weeks into the relationship he said it would mean a lot to him if I came to stay with him for a weekend at his place. Cute right? Sure, but not so much if you knew he lived with 5 other guys. Fuck. But whatever, I'm such a fucking softie I agree to this ridiculous idea on account of 4 of his roommates would be out of town.

I get to his place and we immediately go to his bedroom to re-acquaint ourselves after 2 weeks of missing each other. I'm trying my hardest to ignore the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling as we're in the throws of passion. Is this actually happening? I had those when I was maybe 8. I couldn't stop checking out the room...baseball jerseys pinned to the wall, pennants from random teams everywhere, curtains that weren't long enough to actually block the light, no flat sheet on the bed, was this guy CRAZY!??! Nope, he's 20. But he's sooo hot, what a conundrum. I go to take a shower...the shower smells like, well...it smells like 5 guys share it. It's the quickest shower I've ever managed to take...we're talking Guinness Record shit here. I get out and grab the least damp towel on the broken rack and get the hell outta there. Jesus. The rest of the evening was spent hanging out with his friends, watching people play Xbox, drinking tepid beer and eating out of styrofoam containers in a house that didn't contain a single spoon. There may or may not have been a burping contest that I won...that's not important. The point is, I should have realized then that I was in some kind of time warp and I am way beyond anything that could be considered a rational relationship. But I didn't. Instead I remained smitten with his attentiveness and physical beauty. However, I absolutely couldn't stay in this frat house for the entire weekend. It wasn't the glow-in-the-dark stars, the jerseys, the pennants, or even the moldy towel situation that got to me...the next morning we found a Cadbury Mini Egg in the bed that had become nothing more than chocolate paint and candy shell debris all over our bodies in the night. That was it, I'd hit my breaking point for the level of discomfort I'm willing to put up with. I was in desperate need of my grown-up life, so I had my way with him one more time, kissed him on the cheek, and advised him the next time we saw each other would be a little different. I invited him to Cabo the next weekend...

To Be Continued...