The Virgin

Things have been somewhat frustrating lately. I haven't had a fresh one-night stand in what seems like years. Friends, acquaintances, and strangers have expressed their disappointment in me. I don't blame them. Here are a few statements some of them have made to me in the past month:

"Damn, this weather is dryer than Dave Glenn's sex life."

"Step it up man."

"Man, I'm sorry, but after reading that last story, I am really disappointed in you. I want to read about fucking, not getting cockblocked. Come on man!"

"You know, I got this buddy of mine who is a big fan of yours. He is always asking me, 'When are we going to party with Dave Glenn? When's he going to be in town? I want to meet him.' But the last time I talked to him, I asked if he still wanted to party with you. And this was his reply: 'Yeah, I don't know. I guess it'd be cool to get a cup of coffee with him.'"

"Please start lying more. I'm looking for exciting reads, not letdowns."

Truth is, they're right. I'm not about to make any excuses. The cards have just been running bad lately. If you must know, I have had sex a few times over the past couple months. But it was with the same chick. If you can guess who she is, I'll give you a prize.

So speaking of dry spells, I thought I'd write up this story from freshman year in college.

There are two types of girls I don't trust: Girls that are horny and don't have sex, and girls that believe in pinky swears. Sadly, in college these were the only girls I was able to attract. This equated to silliness, unfulfilled boners, and long nights of masturbating in the fraternity computer room. I met Mary at a YMCA Youth and Government event in Sacramento in the middle of my senior year in high school. She approached me during a break in class with the line, "So do you understand anything about this lecture?" The class wasn't even a lecture; it was a discussion. That night she made me pinky swear that I'd call her. I should have known she was a virgin from the start.

I kept Mary's phone number but didn't call her until the summer before college. We hooked up at her place in San Diego. We hooked up again a month later. Both times she made it clear that she was a virgin and proud of it. Even blowjobs were a big step for her. She was bad at them anyway. When school started she visited my dorm a couple times. It was the same routine every time: She would come over wearing a skimpy little skirt with a puppy-dog look on her innocent Katie Holmes-ish face; then she would lay in my bed the moment she entered my room; then she refused to kiss me because she "wasn't that kind of girl," causing me to ignore her and chat on AIM; then 20 minutes later she'd beg me to come back to bed and hook up with her. I should have thrown her out for attempted celibacy. This was the same girl who dropped out of high school her senior year to get home-schooled because she got in a fight with her friends. She never would tell me what they fought about. They probably called her a poser, and she called them sluts. That's my guess.

As it turned out, she accused me of being too aggressive during those dorm room visitations. She called me sleazy for "expecting things to happen." I called her dumb for thinking such a thing. We stopped calling each other after that.

Months passed. As spring rolled around, I found myself in need of a date to our fraternity formal dance in San Diego. For whatever reason, I decided to call Mary first. Every guy secretly dreams about taking a girl's virginity. I guess I wanted to be "that guy" because it would have made me feel more masculine. I convinced her to come with the line, "Don't worry, I'm not expecting anything to happen." She ate it up. After getting her parents' permission, she agreed to go.

When I picked her up that Saturday afternoon, she was wearing a bright pink dress that was puffier than Cinderella's on the night of the ball. Her hair, makeup, and nails were all done up. She looked like an oversized Barbie doll. Her dad and milfy mom took pictures of us in her driveway, me in a tuxedo, her in a sextuple layered gown. Then it dawned on me. Home-schooled and socially deprived, Mary had missed out on the most hedonistic night of her high school career: senior prom. This was her shot at redemption. I think her parent's saw it that way too. We must have taken 20 pictures with six different poses. Sex was still a possibility.

After pictures were taken, we walked to my car. She wouldn't open her own door. After 25 seconds of standing there, she made me walk around to her side of the car to open her stupid door for her. She said, "Thank you." I said, "Your welcome," and I walked back to my side of the car and re-opened my door and got in. Whoever started the whole open-car-doors-to-be-chivalrous thing ought to be hung by their scrotum. Thanks. Because of you, lame girls are even lamer, and lame guys have more incentive act like frauds. The dream that was sex was lost the moment I slammed her door shut.

The "formal" was held at the Hilton Hotel in downtown San Diego. The night was broken down as follows:

5:30-7- Get ready

7-8:30- Pre-party in rooms

8:30-9:30- Dinner

9:30-9:32- Dance

9:32-12:00- Post-party in suite

12:00- Special activities

After the dinner and "dance," all 50 couples, with the exception of six or seven sappy love couples, headed up to the rooms to post party. One guy had a luxury suite on the top floor. During the two plus hours in that room, I tried several times to pawn off Mary to other girls. Babysitting her all night was beginning to become a pain in the ass. Her hopelessness rendered my efforts useless. I wanted to make fun of her with my friends, but every time I left her side I would look back and see her staring at the ground in borderline depression.

She didn't want any beer, so I attempted to make her some drinks. Ignorant and inexperienced, I brought over a tequila-coke. She grimaced and handed it back to me. I took a sip. I grimaced and poured it out. I must have put too much tequila in there. I made her the same drink with less tequila. She grimaced and handed it back to me. I took a sip. I grimaced and poured it out. I probably put too much tequila in again. I made her the same drink with even less tequila. She grimaced and handed it back to me. "It's the same shit. What the fuck are you making me?" she asked. I took a sip. Confused, I said, "I don't know." I stopped mixing tequila after that. I call myself a math teacher, but on that night my inductive reasoning skills were far from sharp. Tequila and Coke.

            I schmoozed some apple Pucker off some chick to satisfy Mary for the remainder of the party. Halfway through her Pucker, she called me over, quiet yet giddy. "Hey, so you know what I was thinking?" she asked.

"What?"

"I think we should go to a sex shop."

I tried to stay poised, but I immediately felt a mysterious growth in my pants. "Really? Do you know of any around here?"

"Yeah, there's one on F-Street. I've never been inside, but my friends used to tell me it's pretty good."

"Really? Well what do you want to get from there?" I took a large sip of my beer, engulfed in this unprecedented idea.

"I don't know. I was hoping you'd surprise me," she said. From the look in her eyes, and the unwavering tone in her voice, I could tell she had been planning this ever since I asked her to formal. She was hornier than I thought. I was intrigued.

"Ok, I'll get something good." After I said this, she strategically changed the subject. I had to tell someone. I needed some ideas. I said I'd be right back and got up and walked over to Tele; he was always full of ideas.

"Dude, she wants to go to a sex shop," I said.

Tele began laughing hysterically, looking over my shoulder to see if she could see us. Out of sight, he began to speak freely. The idea of a dildo came up. The dildo idea seemed brilliant. After all, she was a virgin. She obviously wanted to get fucked, just not by a real life penis. She "wasn't like that."

            After telling a few other people, I took her by the hand and led her out of the room, down the elevator, into a cab, to the corner of F-Street.

F-street was home to a slew of hoodlums, laughing at us in our Ken and Barbie outfits. Our flamboyancy stood out like skittles in a toilet. Drunks jeered us as they passed us on the sidewalk. Guys across the street made it known that they noticed us. Even a group of guys in a cab slowed down to laugh at us.

"That's fucked up!"

"American Pie!!!"

Following the "American Pie" wisecrack, I heard an eruption of laughter, followed by repeated chants of the movie that was ironically paralleling my night.

"Hahahaha. American Pie!"

"Hahahahahahahahaha. American Pie!!!!"

We remained quiet the entire walk to the store. She had actually remained poised through all of the scoffing. It was me who was rattled. She stayed true to her word and had me go inside while she waited outside with the jugheads. Worried for her safety, I insisted she come in. She said that she felt more comfortable outside. Confused, I didn't argue with her and let her stick to her virginity.

I felt a wave of serenity wash over me as I entered the calm and resplendent shop. I regained my composure and began my search. First on my list: find a dildo. There was an entire aisle dedicated to dildos. Jackpot. I considered getting her the big daddy, but refrained because it cost over $50. Fuck that. And besides, somewhere in my mind, I believed that I would eventually fuck this girl. If that was the case, then I had to buy her a dildo smaller than my dick. I settled on a vibrating metallic pink-purple bullet-shaped dildo five inches long. It cost me $9.99. As I clutched the dildo in my hand, my imagination had suddenly drawn a blank. I had no clue what else to get. I was like the indecisive guy at the restaurant with the giant menu who always needed "more time." Young and clueless, I bought a couple packs of flavored sex lotion. One was strawberry; the other was blueberry. I walked up to the counter, paid, clutched my baggy, and exited.

Mary was standing against the wall, calm as ever. The jugheads had apparently subsided elsewhere. We found a cab and went back to the hotel.

Back in our room, Mary's eyes had a distinct flicker in them as she opened up the baggy. She was praying I would buy her a dildo. It was obvious. She had probably always been too much of a pussy to do it herself. She had manipulated me to perfection. She barely even took notice of the sex lotion. I opened up the dildo and we both got naked.

I didn't immediately use the dildo. I laid it on the bed to tease her. Instead, I poured the lotion on her pussy and went down on her. In addition to tasting like strawberry syrup mixed with malaria medicine, the lotion looked grossly similar to blood. Disgusted, I stopped going down on her. Apparently, the lotion also had a stinging side effect. Mary started laughing, then she nearly started crying and begged me to lick it all off. I did so fruitlessly. 

Then came dildo time. I wish I could describe the motions my hand made as I stuck that thing in and out of her. I felt like I was jerking another guy off. I asked her to do it, but she refused and said, "No, it's too weird." Oh my God. I continued to dildo her. The act transgressed from cool and new, to boring and lame, to irritating and crampy. She rotated in and out of pain and pleasure sporadically. The vibrating option was a huge disappointment. There were three levels: slow, medium, and full blast. I immediately started on the full blast level. But it was pathetic, maybe the energy of a vibrating cell phone.

She finally had enough of the dildo and we finished off the night, sexless. The ending was so disappointing. She wouldn't even wrap her lips around my cock. She just licked it like a blow pop. Using all my might, I was able to come. She promised I would warn her. I didn't warn her. The first squirt went up her left nostril. She half-sneezed-half-burped and then yelled, "Dave! What the fuck!? I told you to tell me!" I said, "Sorry," then I laid down. She ran to the bathroom to wash up.

When she came out of the bathroom she tried to argue with me about what a dick I was or something. Exhausted, I only said five more sentences to her before passing out.

After that weekend, I concluded I would never call her again. I was over trying for something that probably sucked anyway. I had no further interest in her. A week later I received a phone call from her. She started asking lame questions like how my classes were going, how my week was. Dumb. Then came the purpose of the phone call:

"So Dave, this dildo is all fucked up. How do you put it on full blast again?"

I explained to her how to twist the bottom and solved her problem. She asked me some follow up lame questions about summer plans and shit, but they were all obvious cover-up questions. She probably fucked that poor dildo silly for the next couple weeks, or months, or years.

I hope she's had sex by now. She'd probably be a lot cooler.

10:29 AM - 30 Comments - 39 Kudos - Add Comment

I’m the best, man. I did it.

Been off myspace for a while. But I'm back. Trying to get published is a pain in the ass. I can't even get an agent. If anyone knows any literary agents, send them my way. For now, I am going to hold off on "trying to get published" and start writing again.

Here is a recent one for you.

Before you read this, watch this youtube video (The WHOLE thing, only 4 mins; it's worth it). The video and its characters became a part of our Vegas experience.  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tKKxPtP6XjQ

Teaching is much more exciting when you are leaving for Vegas after school. At 2:37pm I turn off my classroom lights, air conditioning, and computer and jog to my car. I must beat traffic. The I-91 is backed up as usual, taking me an hour to trudge through 10 miles of road. I am anxious. I consider cutting through the yellow blockades onto fasttrack. Axe calls me. He is five minutes behind me. I do not take fast track. I only wrote that I "considered" it to sound tough. I wouldn't have done it.

I arrive at Jason's house. Axe arrives three minutes later. Three hours later we arrive in Vegas. They are ready to go out. I am not; I need a shower. I enjoy doing things at a 100% level. It's why I take hour-long naps on weekdays; so I can feel 100% while I'm awake. The same goes with showering before going out. We get a room at the Tropicana so I can fulfill my theories. I am called a fag immediately. I finish my shower. I am ready. I'm da bess mayne…I deed it. Baba and Kaygee pick us up 15 minutes after my shower. Axe, Jason, and I make bets on the drunk level of Kaygee (he had been drinking since 7 at a sleazy free-beer-rodeo bar or something; the time is currently 10pm). I tell everyone he will be finished by 11:30. Girlfriends have a way of bringing down their boyfriend's alcohol tolerance; Kaygee didn't stand a chance. We go to the Hopfbrahaus. It is disappointing, loaded with wannabe frat guys. Jason, broke and unemployed, takes snappers off everyone's beer. We slowly move away from him.

McBride arrives. He is called a fag immediately. After Baba and Kaygee finish eating, we walk to the Hard Rock. We play craps. We win. I'm da bess mayne…I deed it. But then we lose. Miserably.

We lose Kaygee. Then we lose Baba. We theorize that Lela, Baba's girlfriend, kidnapped them both. We are angry at her. Girlfriends. The four of us leave Hard Rock, broke. Casino Royale isn't much better. We lose more. We don't even piss off any chicks. We are pathetic. Axe, McBride, and I go to the Tropicana 24-hour spa to cleanse our wounds. A hot timid Polish chick saunters over to our spa. She is nervous about getting undressed. I become creepy. I sense that she has a weak personality. Yes, creepiness has worked on chicks like this before. Trust me.

"How about this? Take off your clothes. We'll all turn the other way. And when you're finished we will not have seen your body because you will be in the water."

"If you get naked, we'll get naked."

"How about this? We'll jump in the pool. When we return we will expect that you have gotten undressed by then."

"I'm da bess mayne…I deed it."

"You do have a bathing suit underneath, right? Can we see?"

(I get out of the water and stand over her. She stares at my crotch, which has a chubby bunny) "How about this? Come in the pool with me. I'll get completely naked. You just have to go in your bathing suit."   

Despite being more hesitant than Chris Webber in crunch time, she actually takes her feet out of the water after I say the pool-naked idea and starts to stand up. But then Axe makes a face and a noise, and she puts her feet back in. Damn. Once upon a time, guys with girlfriends helped their sex-starved single friends get laid. Axe's noise interrupts her motion. I am doomed. I made my big move, and it didn't work out. Aggressive people aren't always successful. I am sleepy. I go to bed.

Saturday morning we rendezvous with Baba and Kaygee at the MGM pool before noon. McBride, Kaygee, and Jason debate an unsolved math problem: How to graph y = [[2x-1]]. The debate lasts 25 minutes. Vacationing from math, I depart the turbulent trio and look at chicks. A chubby bunny forms. McBride spends $100 on a bucket of 16 beers. We are thankful. Jason tells passing chicks on inner tubes that he "likes their eyebrows." He thinks it's clever. We think it's lame. So do the girls. Two chicks with tattoos stop and talk to us. One is blimpy; the other is cute. The cute one takes a liking to Axe. Jason rips off Blimpy's top "on accident." She gets angry. He still could have fucked her. He decides not to. We leave. I go to the room to take a nap. I have theories.

The nap is awesome. I'm da bess mayne…I deed it. I awake to the sound of Jason snoring and my cell phone ringing. McBride says I am the only person who has answered their phone. We agree to meet for sushi at 8:30. Miniature events happened. Here are a few in no particular order.

-Jason asks Kaygee if he's mad at him.

-Jason is drunk.

-Axe is drunk.

-Jason is looking to have serious conversations with people for at least 7 minutes. Demi, McBride's girlfriend, gets sucked into one. She almost never returns.

-Baba orders two seaweed salads, no sauce.

-Axe says things blotto-style.

-I imitate people.

-We are loud; people glance at us, irritated.

-Before we leave, Axe slaps Baba in the mouth.

-In retaliation Baba kicks Axe smack in the nuts.

-Axe laughs for the first ten seconds. Then pain sets in. Big time.

-Axe cringes for the next 15 minutes in agony. Baba feels no pity.

-I take a leak behind a dumpster.

-We leave, Axe cringing half the way to the strip.

Axe, McBride, and Jason have the reputation as being anti-clubs. Karaoke is agreed upon; we head to the Imperial Palace. McBride and I put in requests for songs. Jason lingers around people, hoping they'll buy him a beer. An hour later, Mcbride and I sing. He sings Digital Underground. He "once got busy in a Chuck E' Cheese bathroom." I sing The Cure. Bofa dem did good, but I give it to Envy, cuz he did Great. People call us fags. We leave.

When we get in the lobby, Kaygee yells at Jason. Jason finds Axe at the poker tables and asks to borrow money. Axe rejects him. Baba, Kaygee, Lela, and I head to New York New York to play blackjack. Then we pass out. 

Sunday around noon we rendezvous at the Tropicana pool and buy football drinks. None of us work the next day, but setting your mind to weekend mode is a tough thing to do on a Sunday. We make the adjustment. A hot 20-year-old blonde from Denver wades over to us and asks, "So are you guys going to finish those so we can play football." Her pick-up line was pre-meditated and lame. Whatever. We give her the benefit of the doubt. But then she cements her status as a shitbag with the following exchange:

Me: So where's your drink?

Her: I don't drink.

Me: Do you smoke?

Her: No, I play sports (she flexes her bicep; it is flabby and unimpressive)

Me: So what do you do back in Denver?

Her: I'm studying to be a P.E. teacher.

Me: Oh cool, well good thing you don't live in California. It's really tough to find a job out here right now.

Her: Huh?

Me: I'm a math teacher.

Her: Uh.

Me:   I    am    a    math    teacher    in    California.   There    aren't    many    jobs     open    right    now.

Her: So what does that have to do with me?

Holy crap.

Axe resists the urge to tell her to beat it, but instead gets out of the water to fake-sleep on the pool chair. The girl acts tough, like she isn't phased by rejection, and as she departs says, "Well peace out guys." She even gives us a reverse double peace sign as her back is turned. We miss out on her company.

Corky meets up with us an hour later. Financially liberal, he is only in town for the night. Jason calls him a fag for losing weight. Kaygee and Baba arrive shortly after. Hunger has set in. We hit up a rainbowish diner with a two-page menu written in large font. Options are limited. Corky tells stories about rich people spending money erratically. We listen, starry-eyed.

The gambling bug takes over. Corky takes out a girthy wad of 100s. We take out paltry wads of 5s and 20s and feel like Johnny Cash did before that guy who made fun of his gospel discovered him. Meager.  

After losing more money, we go to an outdoor bar somewhere on the strip. I begin talking to a cute blonde sitting alone. She is interested in me, but her breath stinks of cigarettes and poop. I get up and leave. The bar has little potential, so we head elsewhere.

Apparently, Corky is a "Diamond member" at Caesar's Palace. You attain diamond memberships by losing A LOT of money. Corky's losses are our gain. We get into club Pure essentially for free. The club is disappointing, the size of a backyard. Why anyone would ever spend more than five minutes waiting to enter perplexes me. I am better than them. I'm da bess mayne…I deed it.

McBride, bald, has made it a perpetual habit to head-butt people when he's drunk. McBride lowers his head and charges into Corky. Corky moves aside like a matador, sending McBride headfirst into the abdomen of a tall muscular black man. McBride's health becomes endangered, but in the end the black guy isn't a meathead. McBride regains control.

I begin talking to a hot 45-year-old. We make out after only five minutes of talking (I was too hammered to give you the dialogue. Sorry. It was nothing special. Your imagination of our conversation is probably 78% accurate).  I do remember her lips being very stiff. I have found that generally the older the woman, the stiffer the lips. I have deduced that lip rigidity can predict age in women like the lines in tree stumps. There should be a study. I would happily make out with the sample subjects and collect the data, as long as they are between the ages of 18 and 50; and they do not have mononucleosis, cold sores, or warts; and they are cute, of course. If you are female and would like to take part in this study, please contact me.

The 45-year-old and I agree to "party at her hotel." We leave Pure to find a cab. Just 75 steps out of the club, I hear shrieks. "Jessica! Jessica!! Jessica!!!" It is her friends. Fuck. I almost leave before they even arrive. I know it is over. I am convinced that the road to hell is lined with a never-ending tunnel of cockblockers, and they are laughing at me the entire way. I sure hope I make it to heaven.

I walk back to Pure to find my friends talking to some English broads. Nothing happens. We begin the trek back to the Tropicana.

We stop to eat at a Denny's on the way. We are loud. McBride asks the guy with cornrows at the front if we can sit the farthest away from everyone to reduce our chance at getting thrown out. The guy does not understand. He sits us in the middle of the restaurant. A douchebag and his girlfriend arrive wearing robes. Their recently had sex is radiating in their faces. They think they are cool. The douchebag offers to whip out his dick for us. His girlfriend asks him not to. It is probably small and shriveled. Corky enters tough guy mode, furiously fighting the urge to kick the shit out of the douche. We eat and leave, unsettled. The night ends an hour later, as does our weekend.

I'm da bess mayne…I deed it.

3:13 AM - 32 Comments - 42 Kudos - Add Comment

Vegas, Haphazardly

Note: Sorry I have not posted anything recently. I have been working on other things since I got back from Europe. This may be the last blog I post for a while. In the coming two months, I will be working to edit all of my stories so I can send them in for publishing. In all likelihood, it will be unsuccessful, but whatever. 0 for 1 is better than 0 for 0. I will continue to write, but I cannot promise I will post anything new for at least another month or two. Thank you for all of your support.

I can only be at my parents' house for so long before I begin to go crazy. I am convinced that time goes slower while I am there. Clocks tick louder, TV shows take longer, and giant novels beckon with a palpable whisper. It sucks. I love my parents, but sometimes to avoid a breakdown, I need to take a break and set myself free.     

Noon on a Friday. I ran away from my parents' house for the night to a familiar end, Las Vegas. The itch was so overwhelming that I made the 4-hour drive there for just the night. I had to return the next day for a family event, so the trip would be a short one, not even 24 hours. I met up with Axe, Baba, and McBride at the Hard Rock for a Julian Marley poolside concert around 5:30 in the afternoon. After a 20-minute wait in line, followed by a bearded bouncer making us pound our drinks, we walked into the pool area a little after 6.

The alcohol was free, but they only served this blueberry shit with cranberry or sprite. Apparently, the blueberry thing was "new." It wasn't too bad. Two hours into drinking blueberries, Baba and I realized we were hungry. We went back inside to eat, but when we were finished, the doors to the pool had closed, and the bouncers wouldn't let us back in. We missed the concert but we didn't care. Who the hell is "Julian Marley" anyway?

After nearly two hours of waiting for the concert to finish, Baba and I lost $100 playing craps and blackjack. Axe and McBride didn't come stumbling out of the concert until close to 11:30. Decisions had to be made. None of us were fans of $10 minimum tables, so we took a cab to Casino Royale, a miniature casino on the strip famous for $5 minimums and $1.50 drinks. It was a good idea.

Before we knew it, midnight was already upon us. Money was lost quickly in the first hour at Casino Royale. So much so, that I made a suggestion to Axe and McBride: "Alright fags, I think the window for us to hit on chicks is closing. I say we take a break from the tables, and hit on chicks." Axe, freshly broken up with his girlfriend, said, "Good idea." McBride, who is engaged, agreed. Baba was finished; he went back home.

The three of us walked the strip. Five minutes into our walk, we ran into a brunette from Texas. She claimed that she was 26, but looked 19. Her lower jaw was moving left and right in spurts that could only mean she was probably a cokehead. Her pupils were dilated, and she was much too jittery for comfort. She followed us into Bally's; probably hoping one of us had an 8-ball for her. Although she was hot, there was little chance she would fuck any of us unless we had coke. She "went to the bathroom," and when she came back she had a flashy bald Hispanic dude wearing large sunglasses walking with her. She had clearly accomplished her mission.

Soon after, I approached two lame 21-year-olds walking toward the escalator. McBride saw that I needed help and walked up to our group. Axe followed ten seconds later. These chicks were both sorority girls visiting for their friend's 21^st birthday. No one cockblocks each other like sorority girls do. Most sororities are one big jealous cult, fighting for each other's man. As suspected, I got so bored of listening to them talk that I departed the group to play a Texas Hold 'em table game I had never played before. They were that boring, or maybe I am just addicted to gambling. I lost $40 in two minutes and returned to the group. Three more of her friends had entered the circle. They were even lamer. One of them took off her shoe and told us that she had "lost her toe." She curled her feet up so we couldn't see. Axe, McBride, and I were fighting for views of this chick's apparent dismembered foot. After three minutes of suspense, she told us that she was joking and showed us her normal pedicured foot. We called her lame, and my previous judgment on these girls was validated. I left the group again to gamble, while Axe and McBride wasted their time on the sorority girls, thus becoming stupider.

As predicted, the girls ditched Axe and McBride to go spread their unintelligence to other unfortunate fools. Axe and McBride stood dumbfounded in their tracks, reminding me of Huey and Dewy, in serious search of Louie. I cashed in my chips and walked up to them, making things easier.

We suddenly realized that we were all hungry so we made our way back to the Casino Royale to eat at Subway. As McBride ordered sandwiches and Axe bought beers from the bar, I saw two decent looking blondes walk up to the other side of the bar. I approached the cuter of the two and started talking. I have heard theories that you are supposed to pay attention to the friend to make the other one jealous, but I don't waste my time on that bullshit. I only talk to the one I am interested in.

Me: Is that a belt?

Her: No, it's just part of the dress.

Me: Oh, then why is there a buckle on it?

Her: It's not a buckle. It's just the design.

Me: Oh. Where did you guys come from?

Her: We're staying at Excalibur. We just came from a club.

Other Girl: It's her birthday; you should buy her a drink. 

Me: It's your birthday? Happy birthday.

Her: Thanks.

Me: How old are you?

Her: 29.

I asked her a few more irrelevant but entertaining questions, until Axe crept his way into to the mix and began talking to the friend. McBride sensed his time was ending with his two single friends. He ate Axe's sandwich and vanished. I spent ten more minutes talking with my girl about our residency, jobs, ambitions, and favorite colors, until Axe brought up a story from the previous weekend, and asked for my input. Just like that, we had become a group of four instead of two groups of two.

Axe is something else. He is one of the few people I know of who has had sex with more women than me. He has three years of life experience on me, and definitely more experience hitting on chicks, thus more "game." With him now entering our social circle, I had no choice but to relinquish my role as the alpha male to him. I may be a good storywriter, but when it comes to story telling, my abilities pale in comparison to Axe's.

He took over, and I just stood there and watched. The funny thing about the situation was that my girl was interested in me. Her body was squared towards me, she laughed and smiled frequently, her legs were crossed slightly toward me, and her eyes remained consistently in contact with mine. Towards the end of our ten-minute one-on-one session, the questions were pouring out of her. Do you have a girlfriend? Do your students have a crush on you? Why are you still single? The works. But when Axe began his spiel, it didn't take long for her body to slowly switch positions. Before I even realized what had happened, both girls had become completely saturated in everything that came out of his mouth. I stood where I was, a raisin being ousted by a grape.

Axe continued to talk away, telling facially animated stories that made absolutely no sense, involving expressions like "I was like Oh shit!" and "I was like Daaaamn" and "Get the fuck off me!" and "Dude, fuck this broad, I'm outta here." I got sleepy and realized I had lost my girl. So I ceded both women to him, and put my head down on the bar nearly passing out. He looked at me and called me a "fag." I said, "Dude, let's get the fuck out of here." He agreed. The girls agreed. We headed back to the Excalibur.

When we walked toward the Casino Royale exit, Axe grabbed the hand of the friend, surprising all three of us. The connection and attraction I once had with my girl was interfered with, and it no longer felt right. We walked together up front, while they held hands behind us. Axe later reasoned that the only way of us both hooking up was if he hooked up with the friend. The friend and I obviously had no interest in each other, but at least the other one liked me (a long time ago).  

On the cab ride back to their room, I talked with my girl to try and rebuild some attraction. We discussed the benefits of drinking malt liquor. I found out that she liked Steel Reserve, a 40-ounce bottle of malt beer known to cause guaranteed headaches the following day. Little did she know that I had lived off Steel Reserve all through college. In fact, if you ask anyone what I drank at college parties, they will all tell you the same thing, "Steel Reserve." A $2 fade. You can't beat that. Me and this girl had a lot in common. She started smiling and laughing at me again, and I was pretty sure the night still had potential. Judging by the situation, Axe and I would have bet good money at that point that there would be some serious sex happening in their room the moment we arrived.

Axe and I had been drinking Bud Light all night long. Apparently, these girls had known this through telepathy and possibly even witchcraft. They conveniently had four cold unopened Bud Light bottles just waiting for us in their room. Axe and I high-fived each other and cracked one open. We were so excited that we cracked the other one open also, just so we could sip out of two beers at the same time. Disappointingly, we went on to "sandbag" all four beers.

Axe's girl laid in her bed and tried to fall asleep. This was against the rules. We woke her up and forced her to drink with us. She obeyed. Then she went to the bathroom. My girl and I were laying in bed, and I told Axe to "go help her in there." Axe was already at least 20 beers deep on the night, and he didn't understand. Even my girl recognized the situation, telling him, "Yeah, go in the bathroom." Axe sipped his beer, looked at the door, and waited in the room with us. The missed splice that just failed to take place was crucial. Very few girls are willing to hook-up with their friend in the room, but according to girls, the bathroom counts as "another room." Axe had been in a few orgies in his lifetime, and his alcohol-induced brain sent down a poor signal that said, "This is going to be one of those nights. It's orgy time."

My girl and I started making out on our bed. Then Axe's girl came out of the bathroom and went straight for the bed, turning on her side away from him. Axe took a risk. He wasn't wearing underwear and told the girls that he was either sleeping in his clothes or sleeping naked. The girls didn't object to him being naked, so he stripped down butt-naked, and put his sock over his cock. The sock stayed on at first, but then he said, "Alright, this thing is gonna fall off. I better get under the covers." He hopped in bed with the friend, and she freaked out. She hopped in our bed with us and was near tears.

"Ewwwww. Ewww, Eww. I just felt his cock, Oh my God, I felt it! I can't sleep there. Oh my God. Ewww. Eww." 

We told her to go back to her bed. She refused. I had enough, "Ok, he's putting his pants back on. Go back there." My girl said, "Yeah. Get out of here." Axe didn't put his pants on. Instead, he hopped in bed with us, still naked, nearly pushing me off the other side by way of physics. Finally, the two of them retreated to their bed. When she got back in bed, she said, "You're disgusting. I don't want you sleeping in this bed." Axe realized that this girl was no longer cool and he said, "Are you serious? Can we at least make out or something?" She said, "No! You're fucking gross." Axe said he was going for a walk. He put his clothes on and left.

My girl and I made out for a little. Then I sucked on her boobies. Then I fingered her underneath her pants. 4 o'clock shadow. Then I tried to get her pants off. She stopped me and said, "I can't do this with my friend in the room." I said, "But you're the birthday girl." She smiled and said, "It's just too weird." If only Axe had taken the splice.

Axe returned to the room and was miraculously allowed back in bed. Ten minutes later, he was finally able to make out with his chick. I continued to try and get my girl's pants off with no avail. Maybe it was for the better. Her hair smelled like cornflakes, and if she didn't take care of her hair, she probably didn't take care of her vagina. We all passed out, dry. I apologize to anyone expecting a "climax."

Four hours later, it was 11am. I had to hit the road; I was already late. I woke Axe up, only to have him complain. "Dude, can't you just lay down for another couple hours?" he whined. Assuming I would have to drive him 20 minutes to McBride's house, I demanded we leave now. He got out of bed, whined some more, got dressed, and we left. I just realized that my girl didn't even know my name and I didn't even know their names. I said, "Bye…girls," and we walked out. I had never even introduced myself. I rarely do.

On the walk to the elevator he said, "Dude, I tried like four times last night and got turned away, and I finally got to finger her and had her moaning." I said, "Sorry," and we got in the elevator, still drunk. My inductive reasoning told me that if she wouldn't fuck him when she was drunk, then there was no way she would have fucked him sober, in the daylight, with her friend in the next bed. I'm pretty sure I was right.

I drove him back to McBride's house, and began my 4-hour drive back home, nonstop. I felt horny and frustrated. Because I still felt it risky to be driving after the amount of alcohol consumption the previous night, I drove the speed limit the whole way home through the dry desert heat. Cars overtook me, sometimes throwing me looks. But whatever, I'll drive at my own pace.

11:16 AM - 60 Comments - 48 Kudos - Add Comment

Euro Trip: Florence-Lucerne-Paris

Part 1: London

Part 2: Amsterdam

Part 3: Munich-Austria-Venice

Part 4: Rome

Florence

Florence was being advertised as "the big night" because we and eight other tours were all going to the same nightclub. Punchline, BooBoo, and I walked the streets during the day. Punchline and I were looking for Mexican restaurants while BooBoo shopped. I ran into a chick I knew from college. We looked at each other and both said, "What the fuck?" simultaneously. We weren't friends (she hated me at one point because a few years back I dumped her sorority sister/roommate and she had to pick up the pieces by default), but when you randomly see someone in another country halfway around the world, you say what's up anyway.

Before going to the club, we all ate at an elegant Italian restaurant that served never-ending wine and champagne. Now if this were the big event for the night, I would have guzzled that shit like there was no tomorrow. But we were going to the club afterwards. I drank a little but I had to budget my alcohol. I had a long night ahead. I have some friends who are able to drink for ten hours straight and still feel great. People like this are outliers. They are truly blessed and I admire them. I can only drink for about six hours before I start to get cranky or sleepy. But at least I always know my limitations. My tour on the other hand, had no clue how to drink. They were drinking so much so fast that when we finally got to the club, they lasted about an hour. Around 1am, I looked around and could only find three of them left. My tour was gone. These idiots were probably the same people who went to Mexican restaurants and filled up on the chips and salsa, and left no room for the main entrée. Dumbasses.

This annoyed me. My field of work is mathematics, but I majored in economics. Some of the econ classes offered at my school were a bit outrageous: "Economics of Family," "Business Decisions," "Economics of Education." Those were actual classes offered by my University. But I think colleges and Universities should experiment with an "Economics of Alcohol" course. If they can't find any professors, I would gladly volunteer. I could at least be a discussion facilitator or something. We would get shitfaced in class and have discussions the following day of what went wrong. This would benefit the general public because girls wouldn't puke all over themselves by midnight, the guys would be able to stay out past 2am and have a better chance at hooking up, and the parties would go for much longer all over the globe, thus optimizing "fun" for the human race. It's a good idea.

The club reached its peak at 1am, which was right about the same time I realized my tour had long since crashed out. I was already 0 for 9 at this point, but I was feeling it. A half hour earlier, while dancing hazardously, a local idiot fell off a balcony and broke his leg. The ambulance came and took the idiot away. I moved on. On my 10^th attempt I approached a hot blonde Australian girl dancing at the edge of the dance floor by herself.

Me: Are you from California?

Her: No. Australia! Are YOU from California?

Me: How'd you know?

Her: I didn't know. Wait, yes I knew.

Me: What the? How old are you?

Her: 20.

Me: Uh oh. You're educated right?

Her: Yes, what makes you say that?

Me: The last Australian girl I talked to was a bumbling idiot (a lie).

Her: No, I'm smart. How old are you?

Me: 27. Is that too old for you?

Her: Nope. So what part of California are you from?

Me: Orange County area.

Her: Reeeealllyyy? Like the show?

Me: Yeah. So what do you do?

Her: I'm a student. I live in Brisbane. What do you do?

Me: I'm a math teacher

Her: Oh my God! I love math!

Right about then, her lurking cockblocking friend grabbed her arm and tried to yank her away. She resisted and told the cockblocker, "No I'm with this boy. He's cute, and he's from the OC, and he's a math teacher." The cockblocker gave me a skeptical look, told her, "Fine, do what you want," and then walked off into the shadows.

Immediately after this exchange, Hot Australian Girl pressed her body against mine and started kissing me. We made out for about 10 minutes until we reached an obstruction. Suddenly her cheeks puffed out and she pulled away from me. Oh shit. She was about to blow. See, another idiot who didn't know how to drink. I turned around and looked for the lurking cockblocker. As suspected, she was slithering in the shadows. I scurried over to her and said, "You're on. Your friend's about to puke." She instantly rushed over to her friend and led her to a corner. Once a girl pukes, I lose all interest in her no matter how hot she is. I moved on.

Fifteen minutes later, I found another cute Australian girl, and our dialogue was mysteriously the exact same as the one with Hot Australian Girl, except for the part just before we kissed.

Her: You OC boys all think you are so much better than Australians.

Me: Huh? No we don't.

Her: Prove it.

I leaned in and kissed her. Tell an Aussie girl you're from Orange County and they will hook up with you. I guarantee it. We made out for the next 20 minutes. Mid-make-out I looked off to the side and saw the lurking cockblocker tapping Hot Australian Girl on the shoulder and pointing at me. Hot Australian Girl was slouched over another friend's shoulder, either asleep or dead. I smiled at the cockblocker, and made out with my new friend some more.

The big problem with this girl was she was only 19. She was another one of those inexperienced I'm-not-sure-if-one-night-stands-are-ethical girls. You have to make decisions for them if you ever expect to get anywhere. It went like this:

Her: Well all you boys are the same; you just want sex.

Me: Look, we're in Italy, we're on vacation, we're gonna go back to your place and I'm gonna fuck your brains out. Sound good?

Her: …Ok let me get my key.

She went off to look for her roommate but couldn't find her. She refused to go back to my place so this was all terrible news. They only had one damn key and everything depended on her fucking roommate. I hate having my destiny put in the hands of someone else. When I was 20, I sat in the back of a Sea-Do, while my boisterous driver-friend tried to show off. The steering locked, we crashed, and I went flying into the rocks and broke my collarbone. Since that day, I have a pet peeve of instances when I'm not in control of my well-being. So if I wasn't going to get laid because of an independent variable, I was going to go bonkers. To make matters worse, this chick wanted to dance to a Madonna remix.

About 20 minutes later, the last three people on my tour were leaving the club and I had to make a decision:

1)      Stick around and dance to the shitty music with my beer-goggled cute Australian girl assuming that she was serious about fucking, and her phantom roommate actually did exist.

2)      Leave with my tour-mates, split the cab fare, and save 18 Euros.

I chose option 2. Here's why:

a)      She was only 19.

b)     She probably sucked at sex.

c)      I didn't want to dance to the shit they were playing.

d)     She did.

e)      She refused to come home with me, which meant her sex drive and sense of adventure was disappointingly low.

f)       Our bus was leaving for Switzerland in a little over three hours.

I cut my losses and went back home with the only other three people on my tour that didn't need a special class in Economics.

Lucerne

I was expecting big things for our one night in Switzerland. Unfortunately, we were there on a Wednesday night and bars only get packed on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Some of us went out (Punchline and BooBoo not included as usual) but the bars were all empty. My luck with the days of the week was awful on my tour.

On a side note, Switzerland is by far the most beautiful country I've ever been to. Everything is so clean. The people. The air. The streets. The rivers. Just walking through Lucerne felt like I was walking through a fantasyland. And of all the European countries I have been to, I saw the highest percentage of attractive women in Switzerland. I could write for pages about the beauty of Lucerne, but I'm not going to. It stays with me.

Paris

I've never understood why so many American girls are obsessed with Paris. It's not that elegant. While its symmetry is impressive, its unnecessary high prices and hectic overcrowding left me more irritated than awestruck. Perhaps this was because I had already been there 12 years ago with my parents. Or perhaps it was because I was averaging less than five hours of sleep a night. Or perhaps I was just being a pussy. Whatever it was, we had two nights there and I had a decision to make: 1) Party both nights at a 60% energy level, or 2) Stay in the first night and party the second night at a 100% level. I decided to stay in and save up for the final night.

During the day, Punchline, BooBoo, and I went to some museums and then Punchline and I watched BooBoo shop. While on the famous "Avenue des Champs Elysees," we walked into a Louis Vuitton store because BooBoo wanted to buy a purse. It made me seasick. The place was swarming with idiots. The place sold fucking purses for over 1000 Euro. I understand that their purses are "antiques" and "last a long time" and can even be considered "hand-me-downs," but to pay that much money for a fucking purse is beyond insane; it's out of this world. If I were ever in a relationship with a girl who spent that much money on a purse, first I would tell her I don't love her anymore, then I would break up with her, then I would steal her purse in the middle of the night, and then I would sell it on ebay to another foolish woman who deserves a similar punishment. Children are starving in Africa and East Asia and all these chicks care about is a fucking make-up and Q-tip holder. Please excuse me while I take a massive dump.

I've been on four of these tours and the final night has always been the best night. Everyone hooks up with their secret crush, and there is a general disregard for alcohol consumption and ethics. We went to a bar/club called "O'Sullivan's," arriving a little past midnight. Now if there was one thing that disappointed me more than anything, it was Punchline and BooBoo staying in and having a "couples night." Give me a fucking break. If I ever pass on the biggest party-night of a two-week vacation so I can sit in a hotel and have sex AGAIN with my girlfriend, please feel free to neuter me in the middle of the night and throw me out the window. 

At the club, I tried hitting on some locals, but communication was near impossible. It felt like I was explaining calculus to a 4^th grader, and vice versa. My aspirations of having dirty sex with a European girl had fizzled out with a whimper. Luckily, Avril was all over me. She bought me a shot of tequila and a beer to chase it with, and then grabbed me by the hand and danced with me. She ditched me twice mid-dance to grind with a random black dude. So the third time she found me by the bar and pulled me onto the dance floor I said, "Wait a minute. I dunno, you keep on ditching me for that black guy." She laughed and said, "He's just a great dancer. But this time I want an American guy with brown spiky hair." I followed her out to the floor and moments later we started making out. She told me, "You can't tell anyone about this except for Punchline and BooBoo. I can't believe I am doing this. You're just too fucking hot." But I would have to settle for just a make-out session. She had a boyfriend back in South Africa and she made it clear to me without using words that nothing more would ever happen between us. I understood, but a year from now I would bet good money that they aren't together.

The next morning, I arrived at the airport four hours early and waited at my gate. Going back home is a completely different feeling than leaving home. I missed my friends and family. I missed the Internet. I missed Mexican food. I missed masturbating. I missed comfort. But I've found that the best memories in my life have all come away from what's comfortable.

Right now I am sitting down in my familiar black cushioned chair. The air conditioning is on. My stomach is full. Two of my closest friends are downstairs. I am comfortable. For now.

Florence.

Palazzo Vecchio, Florence. Perseus holding Medusa's head.

Just outside Lucerne.

Lucerne. This pic is currently my computer background.

Arc de Triomphe, Paris. The last pic I took before my battery died.

1:26 AM - 40 Comments - 66 Kudos - Add Comment

Euro Trip: Rome

(one more left)

Part 1: London

Part 2: Amsterdam

Part 3: Munich-Austria-Venice

Despite being sloshed from Venice, I still planned on going out when we arrived at our hotel in Rome. I went to the front of the bus and made an announcement on the microphone:

"Anyone who wants to party tonight, meet in the lobby at 10pm."

People agreed. I went to my room, took a half-hour nap, got ready, and arrived in the lobby to find 20 people dressed up and ready to go. Punchline and BooBoo were back in full-fledged relationship mode, so they stayed in. BooBoo had actually moved into our room. Usually, I would consider this bad news. But considering this meant that Rooney wouldn't be around as much, this was a good thing. Anyway, we took cabs to a square of bars called "Campo de Fiori." It was a Sunday night so the bars were relatively shitty. Only alcoholics and a handful of tourists circulated in and out of the few bars in the square.

Subsequently, someone in our group was handed a flyer to a nightclub a few blocks away. A dive bar in Idaho would have been more packed than the bars we were at, so we gave the flyer a shot. Conveniently, another tour was at the club. Inconveniently, all of the girls on that tour had bird-like features. I consumed beer after beer and partied with the guys on my tour. These two almost-cute Canadian chicks on my tour kept trying to get me to dance with them. I refused every time. But I was drunk and had visions of a threesome, so after a dance we headed to the couch where I tried to see if anything was there. Talking to them was a tedious chore. They were both teachers, which made them lame. I have yet to meet a female schoolteacher that is fun to party with. These two were probably dykes, and said, "Bless you," every time I sneezed, and then looked at me expecting me to thank them. To top this off, they referred to bathrooms as "washrooms." It was hopeless.

If manners were up to me, farts would be acknowledged with a "Bless you," and sneezes would be ignored.

I directed my attention elsewhere and sat on the couches with the group. The hot 22-year-old Korean girl sat down next to me and asked if I wanted to do a shot. I agreed, and she bought us both tequila shots. Supposedly the tequila was Jose Cuervo, but I'm pretty sure the bartenders just emptied out the bottle and poured some cheap shit in. It was the worst tequila I've ever had. We sat back down on the couch and talked a little longer. I tried to kiss her but she pulled away and said, "I don't do PDA." I said, "fine," took her by the hand, led her to the bathroom, shut the door to the stall, and started making out with her. This was obviously too dangerous for her and she insisted it was a bad idea after only 30 seconds. Instead, the two of us took a cab back to the hotel where we found her drunk roommate passed out on the bed, slurring words in her sleep. If she wasn't the type to hook up in a private bathroom, there was no way she'd hook up with her roommate in the room.

Punchline and BooBoo were either fucking or sleeping, so I couldn't take her to my room. I had to find somewhere, so we went back to the elevator. On the wall of buttons there was a "-1" level. It sounded devious so I pushed that button and down we went. The elevator doors opened and left us in a dark room with chairs and tables pushed to the walls. It must have been some kind of banquet room. It didn't matter. We went over to a couch in the corner where I tried to make things happen.

I tried to get her top off. She said, "I'm not that kind of girl."

Maybe I was being too aggressive. I went slower. I tried to get her top off again. She said, "Hey, what did I say?"

I fingered her over her pants. It was acceptable.

I gave her the shocker over her pants. It was acceptable.

I tried to take her pants off. She said, "I'm not that kind of girl."

Maybe I was being too aggressive. I went slower and kissed her more passionately. I tried to get her pants off again. She said, "Hey, what did I say?"

This was lame. I felt like I was hooking up with a girl from a video game who was programmed to never get naked, and say the same two lines over and over. If it was a glitch, I wasn't fixing it. I zipped up and told her we should get to bed.

The next morning, I had two options: 1) Sleep in and take a cab into town later, or 2) Wake up, eat breakfast, be hungover, and catch the bus to the center of Rome. Had it not been for Punchline waking me up, I probably would have slept in, not taken a cab into town, and wasted my day. Instead, I saw all of Rome at the expense of feeling like shit. The weather was blistering, I had swamp ass, extreme chaffage, and we had to walk everywhere. We toured Vatican City, saw ruins, and went in the Coliseum. Walking through the Coliseum was the most overwhelming part of my trip. Just imagining the events that took place there gave me chills.

Just before crashing out, Punchline, BooBoo, and I walked to a Chinese restaurant for dinner. Being away from southern California for a couple weeks made me realize how addicted I am to both Asian food and Mexican food. While finding an Asian restaurant in Europe is quite simple, finding a Mexican restaurant is near impossible. If anyone knows of any, please email me.

Part 5: Florence-Lucerne-Paris

Ruins, just outside the Coliseum

My favorite

11:01 AM - 46 Comments - 64 Kudos - Add Comment

Euro Trip: Munich-Austria-Venice

Part 1: London

Part 2: Amsterdam

Rhine Valley

Nothing happened. Go there only if you like "views" more than people.

Munich

When we arrived in Munich, our entire tour took a bike tour through the city. We rode past monuments and rode through Englischer Garten, the central park in Munich (larger than Central Park in New York). We stopped at an oriental looking beer joint in the middle of the park and drank liters of Heineken. When it started raining, our tour guide gave everyone plastic raincoats. I didn't put one on, figuring this would be my only chance to ride through Munich in the rain. It was beautiful.

That night we went to the most famous beer hall in the world called Hofbrauhaus. It was table after table of people downing liters of Heineken. The only problem was that it closed around midnight. Afterwards, a bunch of us gathered and headed to the club district. It was a Thursday so there weren't many people out. Avril and I ditched the group and bar hopped. Another girl on the tour tagged along as well. But she was so fat that I involuntarily made an explosion noise with my mouth.

After a disappointing attempt at clubbing, we headed back to the hotel. There were post parties in four different rooms. But they were all lame so I headed back to my room. While walking through the hallway, I heard a voice. "Dave!" It was Rooney.

            "Oh. Hey," I said.

            "So, Punchline and BooBoo are in your room, so I think you are supposed to sleep in my room."

            "What? Uh. Ok."

I entered the room, laid in bed, and she got on top of me. We fucked again. I know. I am dumb.

Austria

The only shitty thing about our tour was the little time we had to relax. We would drive for hours, eat dinner, and party only to wake up at 6:45am and start driving for hours again. The drive from Germany to Austria was long and painful. We drove down the Tyrol and a bunch of us went white-water rafting for an hour.

To my displeasure, BooBoo and Rooney had evolved into