Be a Girl Scout; Be Prepared.

I'm a girl who likes to be ready for anything. I carry a big wallet (an embossed alligator 5 Euro flea market find from Firenze that can hold my passport,) and I make a point to always have condoms on me, because hey, you never know when the opportunity is going to present itself, if you will. In fact, at any one time, there are usually 5 condoms within close distance of my person. I told this to a guy I was sleeping with, and he seemed awed. "That's more than I have. That was my last one."

I'm highly optimistic.

Possibly even more useful than carrying protection, however, is carrying something for when you've passed to point of protection and now need to go on the offensive: Not Plan B, but a small packet of at least 2 painkillers and a few Band-Aids. Painkillers to soothe all your little roughnesses in life, and Band-Aids for everything from paper cuts at work to covering developing blisters from your cute yet painful flats. Truth be told, I always end up reaching for those two things more than the condoms.

Now, if only I could find a way to fit a shot of vodka in there for those times you need either liquid courage or a bracing moment, we'd be in business.

XOXO

The Little Things, AKA: Why Do Men Hate Mirrors?

I know I'm incredibly self-righteous and preach about the benefits of making an Overnight Kit, and just ever-so-recently made a comment about how it would be really smart to carry one whenever you leave your house, among other things. But as you should know by now, I only do what I tell other people they should be doing about .012% of the time. And it seems to me as if every time you shave, put on the good lingerie, and bring the damn thing, you never end up with a reason for needing to shave, wear the good lingerie, and bring the damn bag, because you find yourself walking through your front door at a respectable early-morning hour grumbling about how that was a shave completely wasted. In fact, I actually have a card somewhere that says exactly that-- "Was it worth shaving her legs for?"

So, how does a girl deal when she does not have the needed amenities?

Well, first, we hide in bed and bitch, and consider crawling out your

window and over the dumpsters and hightailing it out before you roommates clap eyes on us and start shrieking about "Swamp woman! Tia Dalma has come to exact her revenge! Calypso! We're all gonna diiiieeeee!"

Then, we get crafty. I don't understand why men have an aversion to mirrors that rivals that of vampires, but it seems like they do. In the morning, I need to look at my head before I walk out of ANY door, be it a bedroom door, or a front door. This goes double for when it's hot, I've been sweating, and I'm pretty sure something nested in my hair during the night, like possibly, your cat, or a cockroach. Although I have heard some pretty creative and far-out excuses for why mirrors are not a part of the decor-- "I usually have my webcam in here and use that,"-- most people DO have something on them that's of equal use: the shiny, reflective screen of your cell phone. Granted, anyone with a slab-like Smart Phone has an advantage, and yes, the screen is small, so you'll have to inspect your hair and face in sections, but it works in a pinch. And believe me, this is one case in which you're not being pinched-- you're being grabbed.

The other thing I've noticed is that toothpaste, or a tube that doesn't require two people and a steam roller to get any gel out, seems to be a rare find. So here's another quick fix that can be found in most non-prepared purses, anyway: Gum. Just, please, if you're going to kiss goodbye, remember it's still in your mouth before that poor guy finds himself wondering a half-hour later when he popped a stick of gum in his mouth.

The only other words of advice I can give you are these: Use toilet paper to remove any excess make-up from the night before while keeping what's still good and hasn't run like a man who just heard the word "love" on your face. What's making you look like Gene Simmons in full stage make-up is most probably your eyeliner, falsely-labeled-not-waterproof-or-at-least-sweatproof mascara, and lipstick. Just use that as a guideline to swipe around your eyes and mouth for when you're mirror-challenged.

And, get dressed as much as possible. I mean, yeah-- if you were wearing a skin-tight clubbing dress the night before, people are gonna notice you traipsing back home at 9 AM. (And dammit, I don't care how much your feet hurt-- put the damn heels on again; don't carry them!) Just hold your head high. Pretend it's Vegas where dressing like that in early morning hours is perfectly acceptable. If you originally dressed more understated, re-create the outfit to the best of your abilities, if you can still find all your clothing on the messy floor or in the black hole under the bed. Chances are, anyone other than your one-night roommate and their roommates who saw you in what you were wearing last night aren't going to be seeing you this morning, so pretend that it's a totally valid new outfit that you put on specially for today. This means putting all your jewelry back on, tucking in your shirt again, and unrolling your pant legs. Just do it. You won't look so much like "Oops, Annie Get Your Clothes On! I Know Where You Were And Weren't Expecting To Be Last Night!" to everyone who sees you. Instead, they'll probably just think-- "She looked so well put-together until I got closer and noticed her hair. Poor girl. Should I try to comfort her and tell her that the starting phases of dreadlocks are a bitch?"

And can I please get some feedback on the phenomenon of how when you're ready for it, it never happens, but when you're all, "Jesus, I'm such a landscaping wreck, not even a Lowe's employee would want to rehab me, LOLZ!", you get hit out of nowhere like a freight train carrying a full load of "Don't You Feel Stupid Now?" Or am I alone and special-in-the-handicapped-way in that?

XOXO

...And For Halloween, I Was Ballsy.

Halloween Weekend '09 will be one for my record books for all the years of my life to come, AKA: until if/when I turn 75 and decide to off myself before I inevitably contract the familial genealogical jackpot of Alzheimer's, dementia, heart disease, and blindness, but keep on living into my 90s in a crippled, demented state. Why, you ask? Because, in the space of 24 hours' worth of time, I checked 3 Life Goals off of my list of To Be A Truly Interesting Person, You Must Accomplish These Colorful Things. I,

A.) Went to a frat party.
Actually, I went to a frat party with an list-only policy, and got in with the line that will resound in UVM's Sig Phi history forever. Some back-story: Lorelei, Madison, Amanda and I were all chilling at Amanda's apartment, trying to find a good party to go to and talking about how outrageously pissed-off one of Amanda's friends would be if she knew that Gypsy and I were...whatevering...(I still have no phrase for this, mainly because I have no clue WHAT we're doing,) because her friend has had a massive obsession with him since freshman year, when, speak of devils, I got a text from Gyp.

"Sig Phi," it said, meaning the frat up the street. I was wickedly pleased, because Gyp and I had been texting earlier, but had not made any concrete plans to see each other, though I totally wanted to end the night at his place. Not driving home. But this is my thinking: if his phone is always blowing up with girls saying, "Come here with me!" or "Where are you? I want to come!", I am not going to be another one say those things. Instead, I ask what's up. He usually tells me some plans. I say, "Oh, nice-- I'm going to ____, but maybe we'll run into each other while we're out." He says he'd like that. A few hours later, I usually get a text from him telling me he wants to see me and to come to ____. Genius. Manipulation without having to ask or grovel. I figured it out. Dating lessons learned. ANYWAY.

I say I'm down and ask if the other girls can come with. He drops the bomb that they're judging at the door. Of course. (Frats...sigh...) But we're all bangin' bitches, so we decide to pound a few drinks, and go onward and upward to Fratland. When we get there, we find a line about 15 deep being turned away from the door. "It's list-only," some cute, probably freshman, girls on the sidewalk tell us. "They're not letting anyone in."

Amanda, who has been to this frat before, bails at the sign of refusal. Madison, consummate wing-woman, stands by her. Lorelei and I want into that frat. I want me some Gypsy. Lorelei is down to roll with anything. We mount the marble steps, and I pull the front of my (previously altered to new boobalicious heights) witch costume down further to almost scandalous levels. (Hey, I know what I'm working with and how to increase my odds with fratboys.) I had a small purple star where Marilyn Monroe had a beauty mark. I am slightly tipsy. I feel bangin'. Nope. Denied. "Is your name on the list?" the frat douche asked.

"No," I told him, "but my boy's inside, and I have to meet up with him."

"What's his name?" Door Douche asked.

I told him.

"Nope, not on the list-- sorry."

I have never taken rejection well. Lorelei and I climb back down the stairs, and I'm already texting Gypsy a mile a minute, fingers flying. "They're not letting ANYONE in. I flashed major boob."

"Oh no! Flash harder?"

"Unhelpful. Can you pull me in?"

"They know me."

With this text, I turn Lorelei and my train around and march back up those steps. New Door Douche looks at me speculatively. I thrust my phone in his face, and decide it is go big, go for broke, or I'm going home. And with this sentiment, I utter the statement with quiet, resolute, emphatic power that I will always remember:

"My boy is in there. I NEED TO GET LAID TONIGHT. YOU NEED TO LET ME IN."

It had the effect of a Jedi mind-trick. Door Douche #2, who, in his defense, was quite cute and looked like a Kewpie Doll, blinked rapidly three times, and said in a loud voice so that everyone lined up behind us could hear, "I'm sorry, but you need to put your cell phone down. If you're not on the list, you can't get in." And then he leaned in and whispered, "Go in to my left. Go, go, go, go, go!" BINGO!

The best part is, as the door opened to admit people out and Lorelei and I in, Gypsy and Lorelei's friend who was also trying to pull us in were standing in the breezeway, arguing with fratboys to try and get us in. When they turned to look at us, inside Sig Phi, astounded, I was like, "Oh, yeah-- we got in on our own."

With that, Gypsy leads our little frat-crashing train down to the basement, where there's a pretty awesome dance floor going. It's packed, so steamy that my glasses fog up and my previously straight hair instantly curls, and my adorable witch hat gets hit by people packed in so much that finally I give up and stuff it into the plastic cauldron I was using as a purse. (Great idea, by the way. Feel free to use it in Halloween's Future.) Gypsy leads us through the mob to an open patch of dance floor, and promptly disappears. Vanishes. Poof-- gone. Lorelei and her boy start dancing together. Greece Lightning is dancing with an utterly adorable Mulatto girl who made me miss my best friend Nora, away herding sheep in New Zealand, something fierce. I lean in to ask Greece Lightning where his roommate went, and get as far as, "Hey, where's Gyp--" when a pair of hands latch onto my hips and I am bodily hauled up against someone else's body and I am being ground on. I panic for a second, thinking it's going to be Death by Overeager Fratboy, and look as far over my shoulder as I can to see who the grabber is. All I can see is orange-- AKA: Gypsy, in his NASA astronaut suit. This, I am good with. We dance for a song or two, and then-- POOF! He's gone again, in search of more beer. I'm fine alone, and am dancing with Lorelei and her boy when I notice orange across the packed dance floor and see Gypsy dancing with another girl. Ok-- whatever. Strangely, don't really care. A moment later, a male voice says, "Hey, let's dance," and before I can accept or decline the apparently non-optional invitation, I am being treated to a repeat of grabby-grind earlier, only this time, it is not Gypsy, and instead, a random fratboy. 3 songs and another random fratboy grind later, I look up, still glued to the pelvis with a fratboy, and see Gypsy standing in the doorway, staring at me. Not so pleased. Oops. But really-- you leave me alone in a frat, what do you expect? I'm cute, and I'm not gonna beat them away while you dance with other girls. If you play, I'm gonna play. Don't try and beat me at my own game.

I thank Random Dancing Partner Fratboy #2, separate our body parts, and head back upstairs with Lorelei & Co. to try and find Gypsy and peace. I look up and see Gypsy, a Slutty Bee wrapped around his front, carrying her down to the basement. Fuck that game. Apparently, we fight jealousy with jealousy, here. Greece Lightning heads off to round now VERY inebriated Gypsy up and out. Lorelei and I work out a plan, and by the time we get everyone together, she and her boy and DD head one way, and Gypsy, Greece Lightning and I split for their apartment, me in my purple and black striped stocking feet, heels in my hand.

10 minutes after we get back to the boy's apartment, me walking (unscathed) over broken glass and puddles in the streets, Gypsy gets a call and tells Greece and I that he has to get a girl. Greece looks from him to me with a pointed, "Are you completely stupid, man?! You're already got a girl here!" look. I blow it off. Whatever. I'll assess the situation when it gets here. No need blowing up about it first.

Come to find out, this was probably the smartest decision I made all night. A half-hour later, Gypsy comes back with one of the freshmen girls from the Thursday night previous. She was the one I liked more, and someone spiked her drink with either acid or roofies at a party. When she went back to her dorm, it caused a scene, and she needed someplace to lie low. Gypsy sobered up long enough to provide her with a safe place, but as neither he nor Greece Lightning do any form of drugs, it falls on me, the ex-stoner, to help her out.

Lo proves to not be the only problem. My intimate little half-hour tete-a-tete with Greece Lightning has put Gypsy's (surprisingly easily insecure) hackles up. They raise further when Greece offers to walk me to Amanda's apartment to collect my overnight bag I had (wisely, thank you, Amanda, for the suggestion,) left there since Gyp had just gone out to get Lo. By the time the boys decide it's bedtime at 4, Lo wants to sleep on the living room floor, and I say I'll sleep on the double-chair I've been sitting in, insisting that they don't need to pull out the mattress like Gyp and Greece are insisting they do, because, as I flippantly say, "I'm used to sleeping interesting places," Gyp fires back with, "I hear Greece's bed is a pretty interesting place."

Excuse me? I decide not to say anything and let him have his snit-fit. 10 minutes later, I get a text from him, asking if I'm going to make it. I say yeah, and ask for a pair of shorts to borrow, but he's already passed out. I walk down the hallway to his room, where he's left the door open "in case we need him", and wake him up. He searches for a clean pair, can't find any, and ends up removing the pair he's wearing. (Don't worry-- there were boxers involved under them.) "They're new," he assures me. "It's fine." Freshly shorted up, I make sure Lo is still alive, crawl into the double chair in the living room, and proceed to cat-nap from 4 AM to 8 AM.

Which leads us to B.) Did not sleep in my own bed.
I knew from the night of the 29th that I did NOT want to be in my own bed Halloween night, all comfy with Mr. Bodypillow like every other night. FUCK THAT. Give me a real man, real body, and someone else's bodyheat and call me happy. So, after Lo's ride came and got her at 9 AM, I stood in the living room for 20 minutes and debated with myself. Literally, stood there and listened to "Just Do It" Carissa berate Pussy Carissa. It went something like this.

"Just Do It" Carissa: "Now's your chance! Lo's gone! Greece is asleep! No one would know! It doesn't have to be awkward!"

Pussy Carissa: "Oh, dear god, no, I can't do it!"

"JDI"C: "Really? Are you that much of a pussy?"

PC: "Absolutely."

"JDI"C: "I thought you wanted this!"

PC: "I do!"

"JDI"C: "Well, get down there and do it, then! He's already feeling insecure about you and Greece, and after you accidentally shut him down at the dance Thursday after HE came over to YOU to dance with YOU 5 times, you really need to prove to him that you're just as into him! If not, you're going to get stuck so far in the dreaded Friend Zone that you will never, EVER be able to pull yourself out of there!"

PC: "Fuuuuuuuuuuck..."

I'm one of those people who need to send my body ahead on a "grabbing my balls and going for it" mission like this. FINALLY, I was half-way down the hallway before my brain caught up with my body, and the creaky floorboards sealed the deal, considering if Gyp heard them, he knew someone was up and moving toward him and his open door. (Open door policy, anyone?)

Gypsy was fast asleep, sprawled out on his bed, down comforter thrown over himself and limbs everywhere. "Gypsy," I said, knocking on the door frame.

"Yeah?" he asked, eyes fluttering open.

"Lo left-- her ride came and got her. She's fine," I told him, and then went for it, balls in! "I can't take those chairs anymore; they're killing my legs. Do you share well?"

He looked at me, blinked, and then what I was asking caught up with his sleep-addled mind. "Oh. Yeah. Here!" He fished another pillow out of somewhere, lifted up the comforter for me, and scooched over. "I'll take the wall," he said, meaning the fact that his bed rests against the sloped eaves of the attic apartment. "I don't want you to bump your head."

After crawling into bed with him, there was an extremely awkward 5 minutes of us lying back-to-back, not touching, while Pussy Carissa squealed, "I'M HERE, I'M HERE, I'M HERE!" and "Just Do It" Carissa went, "Yeah, but now what are you gonna do about it? This is thrilling, laying here like a couple who've been married for 20 years and hate each other."

The tension was palpable. Finally I said, "I forgot how the time change makes it lighter out earlier." Stunning. I know. But it was what I had to work with, and the sun pouring through his window was all I could think of.

"I can shut the blinds," he said.

"No, that's ok-- I'm fine," I told him, truthfully, but he insisted.

"I've got to get some water, anyway. Want some?" he asked as he scrambled over my (still) (panicked) (corpse-like) (brainless) body to get out of bed.

He returned a few minutes later, resplendent in boxers and glasses (Ah! There goes my proclamation to Alli that I could never be with a guy with glasses because I don't find them attractive,) shut his (previously left open) door, dropped the blinds, and and sat in the middle of his room, staring at me in his bed while he drank. (Yes. It was slightly creepy.) "I really have to clean my room," he told me. "Actually, the whole apartment. Sorry."

"It's fine," I mumbled, hoping he'd get the hint that really, I just needed to be horizontal and asleep, not chatty and sexing it up. It's not just the fact that I'm really trying to hold and be good and make him actually take me out somewhere that is not a party or his apartment; it's also that fact that I know I am unapologetically loud, and seeing as Greece Lightning was in the other room, asleep, and one of my friends, I really didn't want to have to wake him up like that. I feel like he should at least have some sort of previous warning other than hearing me scream "Oh god!" from the other room.

So. Gypsy finishes his water, and crawls back into bed. Halfway over me, he drops, wraps his arms around me, and pulls me to him. "If we're going to share, we might as well share," he tells me. "How are you at sharing?"

"Excellent," I tell him, now spooning with him, his arm over my waist and his hand gripping the edge of the mattress, locking me against him. (Like I'd want to move?)

We napped, sometimes him rolling over, sometimes me. Sometimes we both woke up when the other moved and chat for a bit about things like him playing the harmonica, college, and high school before falling asleep again because we'd decided a full half-day of sleep seemed like a good idea.

At one point, I had migrated back to the edge of the bed like how I sleep at home. I was asleep until Gypsy said "Girl, back up!" in the most resolute, commanding voice I have ever heard him use, and wrapped both his arms around my waist, yanking me back to him, and put his head on top of mine. "Stop this 'edge' shit."

I could feel his stubble-- the perfect facial hair-- on my cheek and neck. I could also feel his warm breath on the back of my neck and in my ear. I tried tolerating it for a minute until I gave into the giggles that had been threatening to shake me since he settled into that position. "I'm sorry," I told him. "I only have one ticklish spot, and that's the back of my neck and ears. You really can't do that unless you want me to be hysterical."

He laughed, apologized, and repositioned. I swear I felt lower lip on the back of my neck. He moved his hand from my hip to around me to cup the elbow of the arm I had bent up to pillow my face. And then he blew into my ear. "Jerk," I squealed as he laughed and then pulled me tighter to him again.

"I'm sorry. I had to do it once." He rubbed his hand up my arm, across my back, and to my shoulder. I almost purred.

Stop the press. Gypsy is a cuddlebug? Personally, I'm fine with spooning-- I need to be touched if I'm going to be in the same bed as someone-- but really-- hard-core cuddling like this isn't my cup of tea if I'm trying to sleep, and I was. I'm one of those, "If I'm sleeping, please, either spoon me half-heartedly or put a hand on me, but not both, because you're distracting me," people.

I swear-- I am a girl.

So I spent Sunday morning from 9:30 to noon in Gypsy's bed, cuddling and napping. And yes-- if you've been keeping track, you're correct-- still no kiss. What is this gentlemanly shit? I swear, I'm going to have to make an engraved invitation to present him with next time.

Around noon, he texted Greece Lightning to see if he was up. He was, about to take a shower, and texted back. "Carissa's not in the living room, but her stuff's still here."

"She's with me," Gypsy texted back.

"OH," was Greece's response.

About 20 minutes later, he knocked on Gyspy's door. "G-morning, sunshine! The shower's open."

"Ok," Gyp yelled back, and then Greece, undoubtedly with a shit-eating grin that you could hear in his voice, said,

"Good morning, Carissa."

"Morning, Greece," I responded, squashing giggles. Gypsy and I stumbled out of his room-- him in his boxers, going straight to the bathroom-- and me, in his shorts, the shirt I was wearing after I changed out of my costume, and crazy hair, going to the living room to sit next to Greece and watch part of the movie we started the night before.

"Hey," Greece said, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

"Hey, " I said, giving it right back to him.

But it's obvious that these boys are so used to one-night stands. After Gypsy got out, I popped into the bathroom to change, brush my (totally unfixable) hair, and fix my make-up. When I got out and handed his shorts back to Gypsy, he and Greece were in the process of leaving. Thanking my lucky stars I was already planning on leaving, I grabbed my stuff, said goodbye, and was half-way down the block before they both remembered manners and the fact I was not, in fact, a One Night Stand, and possibly, someone they wanted with them still. "We're going to Moe's for lunch!" Gypsy shouted at me, hanging out of Greece Lightning's truck window.

"I'm going home!" I shouted back. I was not foraying any more into public in the state I was in. But what I would have paid to be a fly on the wall to hear the conversation they had at that lunch.

And this Halloween story end with, C.) My first Walk of Shame, though thank god I had the foresight/wishful thinking to include a pair of jeans, longsleeve shirt, and flats in my overnight bag, so instead of a witch walking through Burlington at high noon from Isham to campus to get my car, it was a desheviled college girl doing a slightly more discreet WoS, but still with broomstick, witch's hat, and cauldron. I was honked at a few times, but I decided something: It's only a Walk of Shame if you feel shamefull. If not, it's a Walk of Hell, Yeah.

...This stellar weekend and events still did not stop me from completely ignoring Gypsy at dodgeball last night, even though he walked by the gym office about six times, where I was catching up with Elyse, who so pointedly said, "He's waiting for you to say 'hi', you know." Some things never change. I secretly think he likes it when I treat him bad/I kinda think he needs it. Totally. That is totally the way to get a guy: Pretend he is invisible.

Seeing as this is how I act, why do you people even listen to me? Really. Go find someone else who knows what they're doing better, like a steady girlfriend, or a Playboy Bunny, or the dog that always humps eveyone's leg. You'd be better off there. Trust me.

Hope your holiday was just as exciting!

XOXO

P.S-- The other cute/slightly creepy moment? When Gypsy mentioned seeing me in City Market Halloween morning. When I asked why he decided to be a creeper and not say hi, he responded with, "Well, I was checking out as you were walking in, and you seemed really content, so I didn't want to disturb you."

Ohhhh, it's true, and how cute. And thank god I wore my heeled boots!

"Good Girls Stay Home. Bad Girls Go Everywhere."

So, first off, let me apologize for the style of the last post-- I may have been a wee bit intoxicated, and unlike Jack Kerouac, apparently do not write either eloquently or coherently when alcohol is in my system.

So props to you if you got the drift of it. Long story short, it was a good night until my car was towed, but the Civvy is back in my possession, $72.50 later, and sprung from the impound lot, so life is good. By the way, if there was ever any question, an impound lot is basically jail for cars. It was one of the saddest sights of my life to see my sturdy little burgundy Civic behind the chain link fence with total wrecks and junkers. I can only imagine what may have happened to, all alone and in the cold overnight with the rust and mechanical failure of the other cars. After getting into it, I immediately caressed the steering wheel and stared apologizing profusely to it. "I'm so sorry, baby; you're so good to me, and I go and get you towed to car jail! You're not a bad car-- I'm just a bad owner!"

It may have been the closest to tearing up I've come in awhile. I take my cars seriously. It is basically my child.

Because I'm (becoming) a big girl, I've started to realize some things about preparedness and my social life. Or maybe that's a lie. Maybe when I saw the size of Gypsy's shower during one of my Drink n' Strip Jenga visits to the bathroom to remove under layers of clothing, I started to hyperventilate. Which turned into full-on panic-mode after my car went MIA and it looked like Emily and I may have been spending the night on the extra mattress and have to use said shower in the morning. It is basically a box that was placed in the narrow little bathroom that plumbing pipes were then put through. I have the "fit 5 people, no problem" Party Shower at home. Ok-- so "narrow" and "little" can practically describe Gypsy' and Greece Lightning's entire apartment, but I don't have to live there, so I don't care. Plus, they are boys who have apparently heard of two very important things: bleach, and cleaning. I was impressed. What terrified me was the thought of waking up in the morning, in a strange little apartment, and having to make due with yesterday's smeared make-up and bed head around a guy I would ideally love to find me attractive and keep me around. I'm pretty certain looking like a hobo is a deal-breaker. As I told Southern Charm, I don't just wake up looking like this.

So I have put together the most clever little kit that would make a sexually active Girl Scout proud. I call it the "Quick And Easy Overnight Bag." ("Quick and easy" describes the effort it took to put it together-- not, as some might think, the morality of the maker.) Here's what it consists of:

- A small clutch or bag to hold all the contents, in a fun, girly pattern. It should be small enough to slip into a medium-sized purse. (I used one of the bags that they give you at Clinque when you get the little freebie make-up kits for spending over X,Y, a truly horrifying amount of dollars, on Clinque products. It has white and silver zebra stripes and is roughly half the size of your standard shoe box.)

- An extra pair of underwear. I don't know about you, but I hate wearing yesterday's undies, especially if I have been, um, in and out of them. I put a pair of no-show seamless ones in my kit, so that no matter what you wear, you will be covered and VPL-free. (That's "Visible Panty Lines," for those of you who don't know, and they are horrendous and awful and make my best gay friend cry.)

- Small, airline-sized containers of shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel. You don't want to use whatever guy's all-in-one shampoo/conditioner/body wash, trust me.

- A toothbrush. He'll thank you, and you can probably use his toothpaste.

- A washcloth. I have to wash my face every night, to get make-up off so I don't wake up looking like a raccoon's hot trash girlfriend.

- A mini make-up kit, (you could even use the original make-up that came in the bag you're using if you're doing what I did). Mine contains a mini lip gloss, mini foundation powder and blush, a mini mascara tube, a very short eyeliner pencil, a small tube of skin cream, Q-tips (which I love and think are a totally necessary implement for removing and/or correcting eye make-up), two hair ties, a bobby pin, two cough drops, a sample-size bottle of perfume, and a few tissues. (Men don't seem to believe in tissues. I need them.)

- A box of mints. Fresh breath is always appreciated. And sexy.

- Two condoms. Always be prepared.

- An extra package of my birth control, so if I stay past the time I normally take it at home, I don't have to put it off and play Russian Roulette with my baby-prevention methods.

This is on top of what normally is in your purse, and for me, this includes my full make-up kit, cell phone, Moleskin notebook, camera, cigarettes and lighter, emergency "Is It Really That Time Of The Month?" tampons, water bottle, and a small brush. Remember, if you're staying overnight at a guy's place, he probably, (unless he happens to be Blowdryer Boy,) does not have the hair-care things that you use every morning, such as a blow dryer and a hair straightener, or an extra towel for your hair. (If he does-- worry about who's prettier, you, or him?) At home, play around with some hair styles that are flattering if you're like me and your naturally air-dried hairstyle isn't so stellar. (I like to put my hair up in a bun after a vigorous towel-dry and let it get curly from where the hair ties scrunch it. When I let it down, I have some nice waves and curls.) If you don't carry a brush with you normally, remember to throw one in. Ditto for a cell-phone charger, or remember to shut your phone off while you sleep to conserve its battery if needed. I also can't/refuse to/feel physically ill if I sleep in jeans, so I normally ask a guy for an extra pair of his shorts or a CLEAN pair of his boxers to sleep in. Most of the time, they are willing to provide you so you can be both comfortable and cute in their clothing.

The goal is not to "mark your territory" by bringing all your beauty supplies and clothing and stashing them around a guy's apartment-- the goal is to come in, use your little magic bag to transform yourself into something the next morning he isn't terrified of and is slightly in awe of how easily and breezily you accomplished it with one small bag, and then to leave with everything you came with. Comfortable for you, and comfortable for him.

(Sometimes I even leave with one of their pilfered shirts, but that's just me, and I just have a men's shirt collection to wear around the apartment on weekend mornings.)

I'll be back soon. I must update y'all on the Saturday Saga and why treating a man like he is invisible is sure to win his heart! (Yeah, riiight.) Until then, go forth and sleep over in style!

XOXO