So here it is, Friday morning ... and I have not heard from the hard-hat-hottie. My anxiety? Through the roof now. In fact, truth be told, I've written the whole thing off already.
I know, I know--our reader Edwinna (among others) would tell me to take a chill pill, to get busy with the rest of my life. And if he calls, he calls; if he doesn't, so what? I know, sister, I know! But I've got so much work right now--a bunch of things I need to write before June 1. So I stay in to work--and then, instead of being productive, I spend half my night thinking about Hard-Hot Hottie. (Or Jonas Singer. Or the flavor of the month).
By the way ... speaking of Mr. Singer ... I did get an email from him today. Inviting me--and the 35 other people he sent it out to--to see the play he's been working on. (I mean, approximately 35 people ... not that I sat here with my finger on the screen counting or anything ... I swear ... ) My immediate reaction: I should go and support him, the sweetheart, and show him I care, that I support him. ... \
And then I was like: Maura, you raving lunatic! Did you just fall out of the cuckoo's nest and hit your head? This is the guy who dicked you around, told you he didn't RESPECT you ... and you want to show him you CARE?? You want to make sure to give him some POSITIVE REINFORCEMENT?!?! Honey, wipe the foam off your mouth, and DELETE that email immediately.
Now, I didn't throw it out just yet ... but I have decided there is absolutely NO WAY I should go.
Anyway, I have a theory about why Hard-hat Hottie hasn't called. As I mentioned yesterday, we had a TERRIBLE KISS. As soon as we got outside on the street, after the movie, Triple H was like, "Come 'ere." And as I took a step closer to him, he'd already started to tilt his head and his mouth was already open! Before we'd even touched lips! It was a little weird. I mean, I need to work up to a first kiss, and I hadn't seen that one coming. Much as I thought he was cute, I wasn't feeling the tingle in my vay-jingle at that exact moment. So I kept my mouth closed, trying to give him a hint. But he didn't seem to know what do do with that. And I didn't know what to do with him. We both stepped back. And then I was like, "You want to try that again?" So we did ... and the second time was almost an exact repeat of the first.
Perhaps this is why he hasn't called?
Also ... is it possible to have chemistry with someone who is a terrible kisser? I personally can't imagine it, myself. I can't see that I'd ever want to have sex with someone I didn't have fun kissing. BUT ... weirdly, the penultimate time we were "intimate," old Jonas Singer suddenly dropped a bomb on me: He told me he didn't like the way I smooched! I'd never, ever heard that from anyone before. I also, frankly, thought Jonas was a perfectly fine kisser ... and that he was hotter in bed than anyone I'd ever been with. And I knew that he, too, though we had mind-blowing sex; he'd said that more than once.
(Oh shoot ... excuse me for a second ... ahem ... I just have to ... uh ... uh .... UH! ... okay. phew. All that talk of Jonas Singer had me worked up. But I just used a clitoral-stimulating device, and now I feel better.)
So ... maybe guys can feel hot for girls they don't like kissing? But chicks can't? What do you think?
And should I perhaps pull a Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman" and avoid kissing entirely for a while?
One thing I know for sure: Triple H was the worst kisser I've come across since my first high-school "boyfriend," Richard K. Whom I loved ... boy, I had a mad, mad crush ... he was in Model United Nations and was friends with all the cool kids and had bright blue eyes and was brilliant ... and he liked me too! And then we kissed, behind my friend Kathleen's house one night when she had people over. And Buddha Almighty, it was terrifying! His tongue was like a serpent's, darting in and out of my mouth sinisterly.
But how can anyone improve at kissing? I've looked around a little, but--it comes as no surprise--there's not much surprising advice out there about how to get better. For instance, the site French Kissing Advice says:
"Everyone kisses differently. What your last girlfriend or boyfriend enjoyed might be not be so well received with another one. The trick is reading her or his body language and adapting."
The site also offers up some "advanced techniques" ... which are definitely going to be challenging for the average tenth-grader. For those of us who are legal to drink, however, maybe not so much.
If anyone has suggestions about how to become a better kisser, please let me know. In the meantime, I'll look into it myself. Oh, and Richard K.? If you're out there, I'd love to hear what you're up to! The last time we bumped into each other, at the bar on the Lower East Side, seems like about a kajillion years ago now ...
This just in, at 11:15 AM, from my friend Lion Alexander*:
"For the record, I think being told you have an athletic body is a far bigger compliment than being told you're thin. Many people who are described as 'thin; are actually waifishly unappealing. If you're athletic, though, you're necessarily fit and healthy--but NOT necessarily a steroidal Russian swimmer. Greek statues look athletic, like they could leap off their pedestals and win a Gold in synchronized screwing. Athletic is firm and sinewy and well proportioned, whereas thin might just be scrawny or frail."
Awesome! I love it! And I feel better about hearing I looked "athletic"... but I'd still rather be told I look thin.
*Porn-star name, natch.