Let’s Get It On Monday, Jan 25 2010 

Zzzz.  The act of sleeping consists of shut eye accompanied by relaxed heavy breathing.  Then how come people often refer to the verb when explaining their sexual endeavors?  If you say you slept with someone than you certainly did not get much rest.  Then again, raunchy phrases like, ‘rolled in the hay,’ ‘made whoopee,’ ‘got in the sack, ‘bumped uglies,’ ‘tapped,’ ‘banged,’ or ‘shagged,’ explain the deed in terms not as serious as making love.  Whether or not we choose to define sex as exact or not, the act is conveyed and carried out under different pretenses and understandings.

In my pre-teen years when I had no idea what sex truly was, I deemed the entire action as an, ‘it.’  Whatever it was, one would eventually, ‘do it.’  Listening to Marvin Gaye in his seductive deep voice beckoning, “Let’s get it on,” made me blush.  Could someone actually make love to me one day, baby?  What would it feel like and who would it be with were questions that raced through my innocent mind.

Unfortunately, I had a bad start to the world of loving relations with the opposite sex.  The time was second grade and the scene was on the rough and tough playground during recess.  A game of tag with my arch nemesis, Michael Smith*, was interrupted by his lips on my mouth.  Completely startled, I pushed him away from me and kicked him in the shin.  He cried and I was met by my disappointed mother in the principal’s office.  The end.

At fifteen, the idea of cooties began to wear off, and my curiosity began to make way for adventurous pastures.  This urge was for reasons beyond being horny.  I have never wanted to go bungee jumping, shoot a loaded gun, or take acid.  Sex was something I needed to try.  However there were obstacles.  My virginity was sacred and at stake.  You only get one first time.  It was not that I placed my virginal value on a pedestal, but that I wanted the right partner.  I wanted it to be real.

My first opportunity was an utter disaster, except I did not kick him in the shin.  Incandescent street lights glowed upon the romantic cul-de-sac where my afro headed boyfriend’s Volvo was parked.  As we fogged up the windows for the umpteenth time, I knew he was eventually going to ask for it.  Like a freaking psychic, he looked me in the eyes and asked me if I was ready.  I guess my deer in headlights reaction was enough prompt for him to whip out a condom.  My head was light, and my limbs were jello.  In complete fear and everything in slow motion, I caught my bearings and backed away in halt.  He nodded silently and reached for his clothes.  I give him credit for simmering down his raging hormones and being understanding.

While I was in this young and excited faze seeking the right sexual venture, Nancy was on a different scheme and pace.

You know what I think is bullshit? That Taylor Swift song “Fifteen”.

“Cause when you’re fifteen, somebody tells you they love you, you’re gonna believe them?”  If someone told me at age 15 they loved me I would have done one of a few things:

    · Said, “mom… I love you too”
    · Laughed
    · Written his name down in my journal where I put all of the boys who were unfortunate enough to fall for me

But in all seriousness I was about as far away as you could be mentally from accepting another person into my life emotionally, let alone sexually. Carly took romps in the backseats of cars on her Friday nights, I watched Disney movies with friends on mine.

There are a few memories about sexuality that will always be vivid in my mind. One was when I was reading a “Seventeen Magazine” and there was a column where a letter written in was about a 16 year old girl who was having sex with her boyfriend. I was HORRIFIED! Just imagine, a sixteen year old having S-E-X? It was hard to fathom at the time, and looking back on it isn’t that when a lot of girls first did it. Another thing I won’t forget is having one of those girly talks with middle school mean girls that you could pretend for the moment were your friend since she wore a lot of Limited Too clothes. I posed a question, “Sure you can imagine having sex but could you actually imagine who it would be with?” It seemed like she was comfortable with some mystery man doing the deed but I couldn’t say the same for myself.

Its not as though I haven’t devoted a fair amount of time thinking about this subject and why the thought of sex made me so uncomfortable. Though I do consider myself a Catholic… I think all those years of Jesus School kind of messed with my head. “THOU SHALT NOT COMMIT ADULTERY!!!” I’ll take the late night showing of The Lion King over fire and brimstone thankyouverymuch.

I guess that is what gave rise to the fact that I am a notorious tease/flirt. It became ok to suggest, to joke about, to relish the attention from the boys. It would stop there. Once I got the attention, the awkward comment, the invitation to Homecoming , it was all over. “You want me. I win.” Messed up right?

When I was 15 and girls like Carly would get so caught up with boys I would laugh at them and think they were brainless idiots. I considered myself so above that silly stuff, but ultimately I wonder who was the more mature person about it now. We all have to go through the baby steps to get into the real deal relationships and Carly has it down pat. Me? Im still reading Seventeen Magazine.

Nails on a chalkboard Monday, Jan 25 2010 

Pussies.  From their claws and their fangs to their mysterious prowl, I hate cats.  Who knew this fear would follow me to college?

In the beginning of my freshman year, I dated a macho man with a ‘closet grandma disorder.’  He and his three cats welcomed me to his territory.  Upon entering his apartment for the first time and stiffening like a board as cats purred around my legs like sharks circling a victim, I contemplated dealing with the felines to continue dating Catman.  After about two seconds of torture, I came up with a solution: next.

Call me shallow, but I do not withstand certain qualities and behaviors.  I am not saying that I expect a stepford companion, however there are intolerable pet peeves that drive me crazy.

    1. The technique to eating spaghetti and meatballs.  Men who cut their spaghetti rather than twirling their spoon are criminal.  Even the dog from, “The Lady and the Tramp,” understands this phenomenon.
    2. Pinky Rings and Ponytails.  Pinky rings are completely unnecessary and were obviously bought in a 25 cent machine.  Do not trust a man with a pinky ring.  Pony tails are for sock-hops and horses.
    3. The goo-goo ga-ga of a baby voice.  Unless his lungs are filled with helium, there is no excuse.
    4. If he wears a smaller pants size than me.  I do not want to know that I can kick his butt.  Find a nice spot somewhere between Peewee Herman and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
    5. The blue ribbon champion.  A guy who lists his every achievement and trophy won only leaves me to assume one thing: small penis.
    6. Driving a yellow car.  Normally at this age we are lucky to get a box on wheels, however a yellow car screams obnoxious.  Taxi driver, what’s my fare?
    7. One’s appreciation of the most delicious and mesmerizing spice: garlic.  If he doesn’t like garlic, he will never be able to share a meal with me.  I would starve.
    8. Leg shakers and pen chewers.  I am easily distracted by someone bobbing their leg up and down and lose track of the conversation.  Nervous habit verses where that pen has been before is an unsanitary balance.  Your mouth, not mine.
    9. Kindergarten etiquette.  A bow and a pinky up is unnecessary, however the simplicity of opening doors and using a napkin rather than a sleeve does not hurt.
    10. High maintenance.  Please do not take longer than me to get ready.

Nancy’s nit picks:

    1. Due to a traumatic sixth grade experience of slow dancing with a boy in need of stilts, height is of crucial importance.  He must be tall to go on this ride.
    2. If he pulls the, “I am really smart, but I just do not try,” line, than he may please remove himself from my presence.  Security?
    3. Youtube Kelly would agree with me that his shoes matter.  If I look down and see the white slip on’s that my grandmother does her water-walking in than he might as well stop trying.  The Adidas with the three white stripes down the side do not fly either.
    4. In good fun, I expect to be matched after I dish him out.  Curling up into the fetal position after a harmless joke simply declares him the weakest link, goodbye.
    5. Trying too hard to impress me and listing your stats like a pro athlete will only convince me that I will most likely find you taking my order in a Burger King.  And no, thank you, I do not want fries with that.

The Award Winning Pick-up Line Monday, Jan 25 2010 

While at a tailgate, I was approached by a tall, decent-looking guy bearing a smirk that revealed sneaky intentions. His overconfident introduction sent up red flags but did not prepare me for what he said after our brief name exchange.

“So, after the tailgate, do you want to go and have sex?”

Stunned and insulted, I hastily replied, “How about, ‘Ride with me upon my white stallion into the sunset where we will make sweet passionate love by the fire? Try that next time, jerk.’” I marched off in dismay and found my girlfriends for refreshing company.

What happened to the debonair and suave James Bond-esque one-liners that instantly made a girl swoon? At this point, I would settle for a knock-knock joke.

Of course I understand the gulping guts it takes for someone to approach the opposite sex. Rejection is terrifying, and confrontations mixed with the opposite sex are disastrous ingredients to stutter and mess up your words. I had a friend in high school who used to write down everything he was going to say before he called a girl. It is hard, which is why we should give each other more slack. Standards are natural, but so are nerves.

I base my judgment on actions rather than their jumbled words. Factors like how close he is standing to me and how comfortable his smile is matter. Most important is where his eyes are. Thankfully, I usually do not have to worry about guys staring at my double A cup, but I still want to meet a sincere gaze. Within this initial greeting is a test or an audition where one determines the potential of the other person.

Nancy uses her magnifying glass to inspect a guy differently.

Shoes. Maybe due to my gargantuan height and the fact that I shrink away from eye
contact with strangers, I am always looking down. Maybe you won’t notice when we meet but trust me, I just looked at your shoes, and I just gathered 70 percent of my first impression of you. Granted, the shoes are not the only important thing. The rest of the outfit will be important too, but the shoes are the pivot point from the rest that I will assume about you.

Before you call me shallow, I would like to point out the fact that I am a firm believer that what I see on the outside is a reflection of what you feel on the inside. Therefore, I am really just judging the person you are on the inside, you just don’t know it.

The first thing to notice is the brand of the shoes. I am weirdly good at looking at any piece of clothing and telling you what brand it is.

I literally could not go into the intricacies if I tried, but what I can say for sure is that I met a boy the first day of freshman year in high school and we immediately bonded over the drumsticks sticking out of my purse, and he was pretty cute too. I glanced down and took one look at his black, slip-on sneakers, and I knew we would never approach anything more than friends.

I am still close with Jason now and he still maintains that those were his “work shoes.” But it was over before it could ever start.

Another thing that I notice is how well he can take my shit. I am a bit — and I wish there was a better word for this — sassy. I like to kid around and kind of be a jerk, and if you can give it back to me with as much sarcasm then shoes aside, I’m yours.

There is no exact formula to establishing a relationship. Whether we become friends or lovers, we must understand that nobody is perfect. A happy medium of communication can be found somewhere between a shy blush and an on-demand “do me.”

If you don’t have anything charming to say, or the mojo of desire, then simply be yourself.

Hello world! Monday, Jan 25 2010 

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