The Dateable Dork

Happy New Year, everyone!  I hope you all went to some fantastic parties and had some amazingly hot monkey sex last night.  : )

I don’t know about you, but I am VERY glad to ring in the new year and get 2008 over with already.  What a disaster!  Shall we take a walk down memory lane and assess the havoc that I’ve managed to wreak in the past year?  Shall we remember all the bad dates and bad sex and other associated drama that came and went in the past 12 months?  Shall we hide our eyes in horror as we revisit these terrifyingly awful stories?  Yes, I think we must.  Kids, please keep your arms and legs inside the tram, as these men have been known to bite.  Ouch.

The beginning of 2008 actually started off pretty well and shaped up to be arguably the best few months of the entire year.  I had just met New Year’s Lips, a tall and well-built young man who redefined the term “hot monkey sex” to include arguably the most amazing sex of my entire life.  Yes, New Year’s Lips, you should be quite honored to receive such a title.  I look back on those headboard-breaking nights with much drooling and lightheadedness.  Swoon.  We kissed at midnight on New Year’s Eve, we went to all sorts of parties and nice restaurants, I tended to him after his knee surgery, and yes, I even met The Mom.  Wow.  But something wasn’t quite right, or rather, that undefinable spark was somewhat lacking, and things just kind of fizzled out.  Bummer.  But never fear!  New Year’s Lips unknowingly gave me something to remember him by… a wonderful little STD that made all that great sex just THAT much harder to forget.  Geez, what a fucking disaster.

If that weren’t bad enough, remember one day when the new male prospect randomly called me up for an oh-so-scandalous booty call… WHILE I was still with New Year’s Lips?  And remember how this led to a few wine-soaked hookups that weren’t really all that good?  Actually, they were pretty disappointing.  Again, what a bummer.  Oh well, lesson learned.  The new male prospect is NOT a toy and should be handled with caution.  Ahem.

And speaking of toys… I managed to arrange a sweet little fuck-buddy situation for myself in the spring… none other than the infamous Hot Marine.  Neither one of us was dating anyone, and we both were looking for something fun and casual, so our little arrangement worked out very well.  For a while there, we were sleeping together every other weekend, which was, dare I say it, really fucking nice.  He was, and always will be, one of the hottest guys I’ve ever met, and I still can’t believe I managed to lure him into my trap/bed.  [Insert evil laugh.]  But sadly, there is always that same little problem with Hot Marine – his magical disappearing act, which he never fails to pull at the most unexpected moments.  Thankfully, I’ve been a strong DD, and I haven’t contacted him since mid-August.  Not surprisingly, as soon as I stopped contacting him, I never heard from him again.  Jerk.

Around May and June, as the flowers were blooming and the spring air was getting nice and warm, I decided to re-visit the online dating dumpster in which I had unearthed all the previous men of 2008.  I was hopeful.  It was cute.  I managed to scrape up three eligible bachelors, each of which was actually pretty cute and had their shit together.  Not bad for the dumpster, actually.  Sadly, none of them worked out.  Bachelor #1 never called me back (aww, how sad).  Bachelor #2 was a little strange; I’m still not quite sure what was wrong with him, but he gave me the creeps.  And finally, Bachelor #3 (aka Abercrombie dork) was quite the little frat-boy hottie, and although both of us knew it wasn’t going anywhere, we did manage to have a little fun.  We went out a few times and slept together a few times, the last of which was a porn-filled sextacular that, quite frankly, I don’t even want to talk about anymore.  It was fun, but it was also a little pathetic and depressing.  Ewww.  Enough said.

After all this drama, I needed a little break.  I took the summer off from dating, focusing instead on enjoying the warm weather, running, playing tennis, going to be beach, etc.  It was a much-needed vacation from dating drama.  And besides, I wasn’t exactly available for dating anyway, considering that I “discovered” New Year’s Lips’ little “present” in early July.  After much cursing, screaming, and a few lessons learned (condoms don’t protect against everything), I really put my medical insurance into action.  The next few months included countless visits to the gyno, two hospital stays, many prescriptions, and a new-found respect for the intricacies of the female genitalia.  Again, what a disaster! 

Just when things finally started looking up, I met The Editor.  I cannot bear to rewrite this story because, to be honest, I feel absolutely horrible about the whole thing.  Suffice it to say that this turned out to be, by far, the biggest disaster of the year (and probably of my entire dating career).

After the dust settled, I found myself feeling pretty depressed and not wanting to touch the dating scene with a 10-foot pole.  Hence the lack of dating drama on the blog these days.  I guess I’ll be ready to get back on the horse one of these days, but for now, I’m content to sit on the sidelines and keep my little world disasater-free for a while.  It’s a new year, and all I want to do is avoid tragedy.  Simple enough, right?  Right.  : )

To summarize the past year:
- Number of Plan B pills frantically consumed = 1
- Number of mother-fucking STDs caught = 1
- Number of times I was dumped in a raging, flesh-eating ball of flames = 1
- Do I really need to go on???  I think that’s more than enough for one year.

I hope this new year brings all of you good fortune, success, and lots of blog-worthy sex.  Here’s hoping that 2009 is a hell of a lot better than 2008.  Good riddance!