Italian Escapades: My 18th Night of Mayhem in Italy, Gone Native in Carnevale, And Other Assorted Excitements

For my 18th night in Italy, I went to see The Wailers in concert, smoked Italian doobies, got caught up in a front-row mosh pit, touched 3 of The Wailers and got an autograph, ran across a 7 lane highway on the way home and was almost hit by a speeding moped, jumped some Jersey (Sicily? Do you think they would be called Sicily barriers over here? Is Sicily the Italian equivalent of New Jersey?) barriers, and coined the term "Unholy Cannoli." Just another day.

Robin and I got to Flog Auditorium (quite roughly the Italian version of Higher Ground-- same size, same atmosphere, but much more relaxed, in fact, non-acting, security,) an hour early, and stood in possibly the most miserable weather conditions I have ever waited for doors to open. And I waited outside for Busta to start in just a t-shirt last April in Vermont.) It was damp and drizzling. The trees dripped down on us. I went to go find a beer to find to improve my general disposition, and was greatly relieved when I got back to find that whelp, this being a Wailers concert, it was incredibly easy to score some weed. So score away. Also, once inside, our early arrival resulted in center-stage spots 1 person back from the stage. And this put us right inside the center of the cloud of smoke as the audience proceeded to hot-box the auditorium.

Second-hand smoke at concerts has got to be one of my favorite things. I love getting high on other people's time and money. So sue me.

If I had questioned it previously, I now know where I can find every Italian man I find attractive: At a Wailers concert. From dreadlocked, to hipster, to the young Italian Johnny Depp look-alike who was tripping on E and loved everyone and everything with a sort of infectious child-like humor that reminded me of the bastardized lovechild of Devendra Banhart and Russel Brand, who I spent the 3 hours of the concert pressed up against (3 hours well spent), it was a collectively attractive and fun crew. Until some of the drunk soccer boys and tripped-out electro-scene girls thought it would be a cute idea to start a mosh pit.

Now, there is a place and a time for a mosh pit. At an alternative or punk or metal show, yes. If you're seeing ICP or Sick Puppies or MOP. If you're under the age of 18. If you're a 185 pound man over six feet. But if you are a 125 pound woman under five-foot-four, mosh pits are not fun scenes. Losing my Gianni Depp in the melee, I locked myself to the jersey-clad back of the soccer boy in front of me, and shoved elbows back into the bodies that crushed up against me, fighting to keep standing. (First rule of mosh pits: DON'T FALL DOWN. Unless getting trampled seems like a good time to you.)

However, this mosh pit succeeded in pushing me even closer to the stage (literally back-humping this poor boy,) so that I was able to A.) touch the lead guitar, B.) Shake hands with the keyboardist, and C.) Get an autograph. So. I can't say that it wasn't a huge pain in the ass, overall.
Cabs were nonexistent from the concert, so Robin and I hiked the 2 miles back to our apartments. Thanks to the weed and the drinks, I couldn't feel my knees (long story short: years of horseback riding and jumping is not conducive to good cartilage in your knees, which is not conducive to all the walking I've been doing here, which results in massive amounts of pain and me hobbling like some of the black-clothed bubbies here), which came in handy for the sprint across the 7 lane highway in which a speeding moped nearly mowed me down, and again when we had to jump two lanes of concrete barriers to get across said highway to our street. Robin nearly drank from a dog's water fountain in the park. I had massive munchies and was trying to convince him that it was a good idea to go to the Secret Bakery to get "Unholy Cannoli" and "Debonair Eclairs." I thought it was HEE-LAR-IOUS at the time. The next morning when I woke up, very slowly and fuzzily and in lots of pain, I was really glad he put his foot down and said no.
Saturday morning found me waking up at the ass-crack of dawn at 5:15 (after going to sleep at 3:30 AM) to pack, have a quick wake n' bake session, and get on a bus at 6 AM for a weekend in Venice. I was able to buy gummybears, my favorite munchie food ever, at the rest stop, took pictures of the sunrise, and slept some more before walking up and stumbling onto a boat to Venice. It was also a good thing I slept through most of it because I have realized something: If I die while over here, it will not be from a kidnapping/rape/murder. It will be because of Italian drivers. Take a Boston driver. Make him snort copious amounts of speed. Perform a partial lobotomy. And then put him behind the wheel of a BUS. That, my friends, is terrifying. And I am living in a country full of them. Crossing streets and getting in cabs and buses and the such. I am literally playing Bussian Roulette.

This is what you need to know about Venice: It is easily one of the most beautiful, unique, and creepily romantic places in the world. It is so old and seeped in popular lore that at night, when lights reflect on the moving water in the canals, you will believe without a doubt that you are in a Poe story. Especially if it happens to be Carnevale, and all of humanity is running around in masks and costumes in Italy's mashed-up version of Halloween, April Fool's Day, and prom. I bought a mask, and my roommate Raquel, Robin and I took to the streets at night to find a restaurant featured in Bon Appetit and get in on the fun. We ran into a desk of cards, a set of bowling pins, an army of walking garbage bags, sperm that I ran away from, and some attractive young Ghostbusters that had it all over Bill Murray and Dan Aykroyd. As soon as I heard the theme music coming from the boombox one of them was carrying, I was off and running toward them, camera flying behind me. They were young, charming, funny, friendly, sweet, and tolerated our photo shoot with them. In short, they are my new best friends. Almost everyone we met, excluding only the really drunk twenty-something men who only approached Raquel and I to ask if we were with Robin, as in, if he was our boyfriend, and walked away when we quickly repeated "Si" a few times (Robin was big pimpin' that night, fo' sho'-- male friends make the best joint bodyguards/decoys), was incredibly nice and friendly. More English is spoken there; less cigarettes smoked. Carnevale is basically one big, deliciously decadent and light-hearted romp. I was so glad I got to be there, and am definitely going back again at some point in my life. Actually, I would live in Venice for about a year, easily. I fell in love with it, even more than Florence.
My un-Valentine's Day was perfect. I tried to remember what I did last year-- I think a Girl's Dinner and then I went home, smoked straight to my face, and passed out early-- but it is one of those many Lost Memories. (This hints very strongly that smoking copious amounts of greenery was involved, even if dinner out was not.) This year, we were on tour boats to Murano and Burano and Venice for most of the day, and once we got to Venice, Robin, Raquel, Brian and I ran off to find calamari and a gondola ride. The gondola ride around sunset was easily one of the most un-romantic romantic things I have ever done in my life, (squeezing my gondolier's biceps included,) and as we took the tour boat back to the bus station (after almost missing it and being stranded in Venezia-- not the worst thing that could happen, in my opinion,) the sun set in rainbow hues with a blood-red, huge sun setting on the horizon. Blissful couples were unapparent. We took the bus back to Florence, and I crawled into bed with Pineapple Express, Baci chocolates, and more gummybears before passing out. In other words, unadulterated, Single Girl bliss.

Looking back, I find that I've been surprising myself numerous times. Probably one of my favorite things-- surprising myself. Usually, I am exceedingly hard to surprise. (See: Jaded. Cynical. Guarded.) Usually, I would die to be actually (positively) surprised. It just doesn't really happen for me. But there I was, finding myself surprised as I watched a hand-- my own hand-- reaching for the door of a cab last Thursday night. And like an out-of-body experience, leaning in, and asking the cabby in pidgeon English/Italian if he could take us to Flog Auditorium, and for how much. There I was, forefinger and thumb pinching a tight little jay as I inhaled while listening to "Everything's Gonna Be Alright." There I was, dancing with a room full of totally chill strangers and listening to the late, great Bob's songs in a cloud of haze. There I was, drunk on wine and life by 2:15 PM. There I was, in a gondola, looking up at the golden light on marble palazzos. There I was, flirting with a Ghostbuster holding a leafblower. There I was, eating some of the most delicious ravioli in a butternut squash sauce with sugared black truffle in a restaurant that Bon Appetit called "the best in Venice." There I was, flying by the seat of my pants, running from cars and mopeds and for trains and boats and buses, asking absolute Italian strangers for directions and tickets and ganja and photographs and phone numbers and recommendations. I'm living a charmed life, I know it, and I'm grateful for every moment of it.

I am finding that I am doing nearly everything I said I wouldn't do in Italy. And it's thrilling. The moment I stopped sweating it was the moment the world opened itself right up to me.

XOXO

"Happiness often sneaks in through a door you didn't know you left open."- John Barrymore

Do you know when I feel sexiest? When I'm happy. It's a stupidly simple formula-- when you feel good, you feel good. People tend to discount it because of the fact it is so simple, which is probably one of the worst mistakes you can make. I'm having a good day today; I got my monstrous paper for one of my classes finished last night and handed it in; it was sunny, even though it was ass-numbingly cold out; I'm looking forward to going out and catching up with a friend later; I got paid and so am out of over-draw in my bank account; I've got a lot of other things going well and making me happy right now. What can I say? I'm a lucky girl. And the best part is, is that I know it. I'm not taking anything for granted at the moment; I'm just living moment-to-moment, like a particularly felicitous hitch-hiker.

Though it's nearly impossible to whip yourself into a good mood, I've found a few things that never fail to work for me:

- One of the things that makes me feel happiest is to grab a good cup of coffee, get my new monthly issues of Cosmopolitan and Glamour, and read, sip, and relax to some good music. Indulge yourself harmlessly like this. It's my once-a-month date with myself. Spend time for yourself, by yourself. Your time is precious. You give it to other people. Now give that same gift to yourself.

- Make a playlist of songs that make you crack a smile every time you hear them. Music is one of the greatest mood-elevators of all. Just hearing a familiar song from someone else's headphones makes me grin. Today, I passed a guy blasting Beck's "Girl," which is one of my all-time favorite songs, let alone one of the ringtones in my phone I love to hear go off.
Here are a few I love:
"I'll Be Your Man"- The Black Keys
"Mama's Room"- Under The Influence Of Giants
"Girl"- Beck
"Love You Madly"- Cake
"Who Knows"- Marion Black
"Do What You Want"- OK Go

- Around this time of year, I love going for chilly strolls downtown to see the lights and decorations. Church Street is beautiful. Check out your own metropolitan area-- the lights and people-watching are superb. Make up stories about passer-bys over coffee or tea or hot chocolate for some free amusement. Bringing a friend along to see who can come up with the most creative or crazy story tops it all off.

- Spend some time with animals. (And no, your wild guy friends don't count.) Possibly the best gift I've been given this year is the chance to take my friend's dog home again for the holidays since she's away. If you don't have pets, spend some time with the ones of friends who do have them. Petting something has been proven to lower stress and blood pressure and raise your oxytocin levels, the same "love chemical" that gets released during sex. (Weird, but since it feels good both times, we're not going to discuss it.) And yes, if you can't get your hands on an animal, I'm sure a friend wouldn't mind having their hair petted, or a guy being caressed.

- If you're going to sit around and stare at your phone while waiting for it to ring, you might as well make good use of that time and pick it up and call a friend or family. (This is what "call waiting" was invented for.) No more wasted time pining when you could be keeping up with another, usually more important, relationship, missy!

- Give a sincere compliment. It makes someone else's day, and you always feel like a superstar afterward.

- Cook, or (if you're one of those people who burn water), go out for, a meal with your friends to say goodbye before you all scatter for the holidays. Hosting friends always brings out the most of your hospitable, polite, generous talents.

- And, of course, a great guy is just the icing on the cake. Find a guy who dials, not just texts. A welcome phone call can make a difference to any day or night. (Yeah, you're doing it right, so thank you. Yes, you. I know you read this; don't think I don't. I'm hip to your groove, sir. But thanks for keeping the silence at your end of the deal, anyway. You get bonus points for that.)

Speaking of giving, the economy sucks right now, if you didn't get that memo, and people's wallets are slim. (Like you keep trying to keep your waistline. But that's much harder. Unfortunately.) My roommates and I went all-out with the Christmas gifts last year, but this year, we've decided to give each other a much less expensive, yet much more touching, gift: we've all agreed to give each other the love we have in our hearts for Christmas. It sounds like a cop-out, but when a friend looks at you and says, "I love you so much; what would I ever do without you?" it honestly feels like you've just been given the best gift in the entire world. And who doesn't want love?

For those of you who are looking for ideas for the hubby for the holidays, here they are, from one of the Current's own writing men! I absolutely adored this article, and was so happy when Sean agreed to write it:

"All He Wants For Christmas
By Sean Conrad
Special from the Champlain Current.

Good evening, ladies. I’m sure that right now you’re asking yourself, “What am I going to get my boyfriend for Christmas?!” or one of the other myriad of gift-giving occasions this December. Well, there are plenty of options for different types of guys, as well as for all of your price ranges.
If you’re already stumped, you’ve probably considered gift cards. Does your guyfriend snowboard? Chances are he has a pass for his favorite slope, but does that slope offer gift cards for the ski lodge? Not needing to worry about having cash for a hot chocolate after flying down a cold mountain would put a smile on anyone’s face.

While unbelievably corny, a coupon book of favors can go a long way. And no, I don’t just mean sexual favors. One for going with him to Gilbane when he gets his car; one for sitting through an entire hockey game without asking how much longer it will be; one for a back rub; one for allowing him to burp whenever he wants for an entire day without being glared at. These are just a few examples. Barnes and Noble sells a few coupon books, but I would suggest writing some of your own— go crazy with it!

A good fallback for a college male these days would be a video game, but don’t just go out and buy him Barbie Horse Adventure; he might not appreciate it as much as you hope. I would also shy away from the ‘hot’ new games, like Modern Warfare 2, Assassin’s Creed 2, Uncharted 2, and for consistency’s sake, Left 4 Dead 2. Go back a few months into the release schedule and think about Turtles in Time Re-Shelled, Battlefield 1943, Infamous, Batman, and Borderlands; just don’t forget to make sure he doesn’t already have it!

Last, I must digress. Take him out on a date. Don’t go for anything exceptionally fancy or proper, just a nice relaxing evening at his favorite restaurant on your tab. I would advise against a ‘new’ restaurant, since there should be no worrying about whether or not the menu has something desirable. Even if you usually split checks or take turns paying, this would take all of the pressure off of him, and give him a chance to just think about how lucky he is to be eating out.

What’s that you say? This list is too short? Well the problem is, you think you don’t know what to get him, but he’s been telling you for a year! “My car’s sound system sucks!”, “I wish my hard drive was bigger”, “Your mom looked really hot in that”, “My keyboard’s keys keep falling off”, “This jacket can’t keep the cold out”, and so on and so forth. Some items you can’t get outright, and might not know exactly what to get, but a gift card to one of those places where he wants to get something really expensive would give him the chance to finally make one of those upgrades. I know you’ve been listening, so go forth and conquer. And if all else fails, get naked."

See, wasn't that good? I have such a great staff...(insert bragging here.)

As I'm a writer, I've always been a big fan of the slightly personal. Some of the best things I've ever given people were written. Write something down for someone, if you're good with words. A poem or a letter can last forever, and guaranteed, it won't just be thrown away. ISpys in the Seven Days newspaper between couples are always fun, touching while not overly sickeningly sweet, and like an inside joke or secret. Plus, they're relatively cheap.

Lastly, on a slightly more shallow, yet still practical note, when you look good, you feel good. It can be remarkably hard to look cute in the winter, the time of year to bundle and layer. If you're of the mindset that looking like a yeti's wife or an Eskimo's cousin isn't the hottest deal, I've got some tips for you from the frozen tundra that is Vermont. (For the geographically challenged, we're located in the north-east, in New England. In other words, it's cold. REAL cold.)

- I love wearing oversize men's sweaters with skinny jeans and boots. (Generally, my tall Uggs-- they may be ugly as all hell, but they are the warmest things I have ever worn, and you can't get me out of them in the winter.) Warm, functional, and cute.

- Plaid, flannel, men's clothing, and gender-neutral clothing are all big right now. To make sure you don't spend your day feeling frumpy, lazy, or awkwardly butch or gender-confused, accessorize with girly pieces! I love big cocktail rings, bangle bracelets, and blinged-out headbands. In fact, I'm wearing all three today.

- The snowbunny look I love: Bright sweater-dresses over black or gray leggings. You can belt them for that tiny-waisted, hourglass shape.

- Long graphic tees over leggings with a cardigan in a fun color is a great way to layer and keep warm.

- If you can afford it, cashmere is the best, most snuggly, luxurious, warm thing you can give yourself. A sweater will keep you so comfortable you'll never want to get out of it. Lord knows I've slept in mine during a few cold nights. Look for some deals on cashmere after Christmas time; that's usually the best time to buy. Buying cashmere/something else combinations is usually cheaper, but just as nice, as well.

- Get thee some cute flannel pajamas for around the house, dorm, or apartment!

- Always remember: "Of all the things you wear, your expression is the most important."- Janet Lane. Spread the happy.

- Lastly, not a clothing item to keep you warm, but an important fashion note: girl's jeans are tight. Bulges in pockets from cell phones are so unsightly. I like to keep mine in my boot. Roll up and fold your jeans to tuck them into your boots, and keep your phone in the little pocket that your pant legs make so you don't lose it under your foot when walking. Plus, it's always surprising when it goes off and people watch you reach into your boot; it's novel.

That's it for now, loves. I hope I gave you something to chew over, whether it's a way to be happier, a good new song, or the solution to Christmas presents you've been stressing over. In the spirit of the day and upcoming holidays, and because I'll be busy with exams for awhile, I want to thank each and every one of you for reading. EACH and EVERY one of you, whether you are a long-time reader, someone who just stumbled upon this blog, or if you're having a good laugh at my expense-- you all keep me going. For those of you who comment, motivate me, compliment me, stretch me and press me to grow, challenge me, or believe in me, I thank you thousand-fold. And that's one of the best things you could ever give me.

XOXO

All My Single Ladies.

All my single ladies-- this is for you.


You're tired of being strong. You're tired of cooking dinners for one and cold, lonely nights spent hugging a body pillow and having to break open the pickle jar yourself and kill your own house- and apartment-invading spiders.

You feel, at times, like your train is never going to come in.

You watch your friends in relationships and want to execute a graceful mix of bawling and vomiting.

You really, really, really just need to get laid.

It is time, my friend, for you to face your fears and get back on that horse. Get out and meet people. Sitting at home on your ass in your favorite (ratty) pair of college sweatpants is not going to find you a man. Mr. Right is not just going to pop through your door one day, sent on a mission from God, asking, saying, "Oh, hey-- there you are! I've been looking for you! Are you still single?" No, little lady-- he is not. So dust yourself off, put on your party clothes, and go do something social. Outside of your apartment. Outside, even, of your apartment building. Possibly, outside of work and campus.

This is a good time to mention it's time for you to tackle another big-girl goal: going to a restaurant or movie solo. Yes. So scary. I too know that feeling of "Oh my god, she is totally judging me right now. She totally thinks I am a huge, single freak who no one loves," when you tell a maitre-de you want a table for one. But believe me, neither the maitre-de, nor the other people eating in the restaurant, nor the guy behind the ticket counter at the movie theater really care about your single status so much. It's you that cares. Only you. So time to start pretending that you don't care.

Believe me-- no one knows how you feel better than I do. I was (and still am, until Perfect decides to finally make an honest woman out of me,) the quintessential Single Girl. I did what I wanted when I wanted, drank too much, smoked too much, flirted too much, spent too much money, went out too much when I should have been home sleeping-- oh, wait-- I still do all of that. Some Single Girls can never break their solo habit. For some of us, it has become so ingrained and a part of us that without that Single Girl life, we feel lost. When I'm not in a relationship, I always manage to convince myself that I hate commitment, and would be the World's Worst Girlfriend. It's not until I'm back in a relationship that I realize that so many of my Single Girl qualities actually make me a killer girlfriend-- my independence; my sense of fun, spontaneity, and adventure; my desire for sex; my cooking skills; and my shopping skills, because it's more fun to dress your man than it even is to dress yourself.

But. And there is your big, hairy "but."

Maybe right now just isn't your time to be in relationship. Maybe, instead, you're going to have to focus on yourself, and your other, non-sexual relationships. Maybe now, while you don't have a man, is the best time for you to reconnect with your friends and family. It's almost October. It's getting chilly at night and is the perfect time to take some hot hard cider, grab your best girls, and hit a haunted mansion or corn maze and make some of your own, totally girly fun. Do the things that you can't do when you're in a relationship, and you'll find that when you're keeping busy and having a good time, you don't have the time to spend brooding alone about how you're single and want a man.

This isn't to say that when you're shrieking your head off being chased by a volunteer firefighter dressed up in a werewolf costume in a haunted corn maze, that you won't find yourself wishing that there was some guy whose hand you could be squeezing right now as he acts all manly and "protects" you, but...

That time will come, too. If you work for it. If you really do your best and make yourself the best person you can be and aren't afraid to go out there and take charge and ask for it. (Use any in-class or work group or partner assignments to practice your flirting techniques and being outgoing and aggressive. It's great time because you're forced to work with these guys you don't know that well, and a little harmless flirting never hurt anybody. Plus, getting group work done and dating is scarily similar-- you want to be just pushy enough to get something accomplished, but still be sweet enough that these people want to stay in touch and work with you again because they like you. It's like cold-calling someone. Same basic principals-- you're trying to be as nice and polite and winning and charming as possible. You don't want to get dumped or hung up on. See? Ta-da! Brilliant.)

You, lady, on your own, as a single, solitary unit, are far stronger than any other man or couple. You are a lean, mean, self-sufficient machine. So who cares if the random dude you met at the bar never called you? It doesn't mean you're unlovable. You know what, I love you. I fucking love you for how strong you are, and how optimistic, and at the same time, how fragile you can be. I love you for your hopes and your dreams and for what you deserve. I, a perfect stranger to you, maybe, love you for the fact that you're going through the same exact thing I am right now, and that means that I am not alone, and in fact, you are not alone either.

Excuse me if this isn't so Perfect themed, or happy-relationship-centric. I am a bit "egggggh" about relationships and him at the moment. No biggies-- just lots of little things adding up that are making me think. So I'm trying to steer clear of any big, forward-thinking Perfect posts at the moment. Hope you understand.

XOXO

The (Boxer) Briefs

Because I am not, as some might assume, always plagued with romantic drama or spewing forth column after column (those things take work and hours and dedication and actually a topic or event to happen, you know), occasionally, to keep you readers in writing, I’ll be posting short(er) entries like this one with a “this is where I’ve been, this is what I’ve been doing, and this is what’s up” theme. There are always multiple things I can address, just not all of them in a longer format, so this is ideal. These sort of girl-about-town entries will be a mish-mash of either comments, quotes, short reviews on events, people, places, movies, books, etc; wish-lists, or just some social commentary. They’ll all be tagged under a “Girl About Town” file, too, so look for that.

Last night, I spent a Girl’s Night (plus Travis) at my favorite couples’ apartment. Some, (ok, I’ll be blunt, MOST) couples render me either squeamish, bored or murderous with their PDAs and sickeningly cute and happy togetherness. For a (newly) single girl, it’s like pouring salt and alcohol into an open wound and then sticking your fingers (or tongues) into it. The other night, one of the few exes I’ve remained friends with stopped by with his (non-fuctioningly stoned) girlfriend. As they cuddled on the floor in the living room, I fired off a text to my friend Madison. “They just kissed,” it said. “Someone is going to die and my sense of self-preservation is very great so I don’t think it’s going to be me. If anyone asks you, it totally wasn’t a premeditated double-homicide.”

Barring the couples that make me want to choke to death on my own vomit rather than witness yet another of their grope-fests while sitting awkwardly beside me, I actually have a few that I like. Emily and Travis (he’s going to be so pleased I’m writing about him—here’s your love, XOXO!) are one such couple. They’ve been together for over two and a half years, and have progressed past the point of the just-new and romantic to the sort of nonchalant closeness that can really only be achieved after you’ve lived together with someone for an extended period of time and share the same bathroom. Case in point: last night, after Emily made a gentle dig at Travis, he mimed jacking off and ejaculating at her. She laughed and mimed throwing it back at him. I mean, really. I love this. It’s perfect. This sort of playful sense of “you’re such an idiot but I love you anyway” is what I aspire to, one day.

My roommate, close friend, and part-time semi-personal chef Alli whipped up chocolate-covered strawberries and home-made hot cocoa for all of us (yes, this is the life I lead. I am blessed,) as we caught up over Anthony Bourdain’s “No Reservations". (If there was ever any question, I am totally and utterly besotted with that man. In fact, while watching him eat a mouth-wateringly good-looking sandwich in Brazil, I commented, “I could totally screw Bourdain and eat that sandwich at the same time. Totally. And you know what? He’s probably into shit like that.”) While Travis went to watch what will remain an un-named TV show in the bedroom, Emily, Alli and I all sat in the living room watching (irony,) “He’s Just Not That Into You” and discussing the sort of things women talk about while together: sex, men, porn, food, relationships, marriage (or lack thereof—both Alli and I are of the same school of “I want to live in sin with you forever and ever and ever rather than go through the white dress and pomp and circumstance and legal proceeding” thought), and other things. Here are the general findings of the night:

Sex and “Awkward Firsts”: The first time you have sex with someone is always the worst. You have no idea how the other person jives, what turns them on, or the little things they either like or can’t stand. I always have a problem figuring out how much noise my current partner can tolerate. (It’s a delicate balance, as I am almost unapologetically loud. Legs loved it, but with the much quieter Mr. Perfect I wondered if it was a little bit much.) And then you have to figure out if the person you’re with is a Listener or a Watcher. (A Listener gets off on sound and speech—aka moaning, panting, yelling, screaming and dirty-talk. A Watcher prefers to watch the act of sex and penetration. Most Watchers unsurprisingly have a pretty well-founded porn habit. When I asked Cait how Perfect spends his free time and she responded with “He likes to swim or bike; he spends time with his sister or his best friend who lives right by him; he has high-speed internet-”, I cut her off because that right there answered my question about some of his habits and explained a lot.) You break the moment during foreplay or sex (if you even succeeded in creating a moment,) to give warning notes and asinine information. You effectively sabotage yourself with your nerves. You destroy the very essence that is truly amazing great sex. And for what do you give these warnings about ticklish spots or apologize in advance for anything that either may or may not happen? So that you might hopefully end up having truly great, amazing sex. It’s basically shooting yourself in the foot. Or, more specifically, in the dick or vagina. The only way to really get to know how someone has sex or what they like is to keep having sex with them—something that I’m trying to figure out how to approach after my uncharacteristically nervous first time with Perfect that left me feeling as if I didn’t perform to my high standard and we have since decided to try “just being friends.” To my knowledge and experience, friends don’t shack up and there was no “with benefits” added to the end of that statement, so I have to figure something out. Plotting time is now.

Men, and How To Pick One Up: We came up with this jewel while discussing the heart- and panty-breakingly attractive waiter at a downtown restaurant. Alli started the conversation, and I tried jumping in when Emily cut me off, saying, “Wait! You have to hold your tongue!”

“I can barely hold my legs closed!” I protested, but it was worth it when after Alli came up with the pick-up line of “I just want to know what your mouth feels like. Is that ok? Can we do that?” I was able to come back with a “Possibly your penis in my vagina, too. Is that still ok? Does that sound good?”

Also discussed, Madison’s new boss at her summer job: a twenty-something all-American football-body type guy with the almost buzzed hair and bright blue eyes that bring to mind an apple-pie Marine or man in uniform. His nickname? Juicy McHotHot Boss. Oh yes. That’s one man that gives me office-sex thoughts, which is no mean feat seeing as I’m a journalist to try to escape the cubicle and be able to do my job from somewhere much more comfortable and private—namely, on my bed, in my underwear and a men’s t-shirt, like right now.

Porn, or Girl Porn 101: Some women hate porn. Some women love porn and will watch exactly what the guys watch. Some women have never watched porn. Some women have watched enough porn to get either sick of it or casual about it, because let’s face it—when it comes down to it, it’s just two people having sex. You can do that on your own time. I fall into that last category, but I recently stumbled across the equation for good porn for the every-day woman: foreign porn + a little bit of a plot + hot foreign men + 5 minutes’ worth of oral sex for the woman in it - a half-hour blow-job scene - anal sex or weird fetishes- ridiculous amounts of cum = good porn. “Field of Dreams” and “Cutting It Up In The Kitchen” come highly recommended. Granted, you can’t understand a word they say, but do you really need to?

In other news, summer weather calls for shorter hemlines on sundresses and afternoon plans. My favorite ways for a single girl to keep busy? The Self-Date. Dress up cute, but casual and comfortable, and go take yourself out someplace. (I, yet again, proved to myself that I am not a cheap date the last time I went out for tea and the latest issue of Cosmopolitan and ended up spending over thirty dollars on new novels in Borders.) Here are some of my favorite ideas for spending some quality you-time:

- Find a local tea house or coffee house that has a casual and relaxed atmosphere with couches or armchairs that encourage staying for awhile. Bring a book or magazine and treat yourself to a beverage while you read and relax. Dobra Tea in downtown Burlington has a great dark interior that suits brooding types and heavy thought, while the Vietnamese Sapa around the corner is brighter, more sunny and feminine, and serves not only bubble tea but some of the largest and best chocolate truffles I have ever had, in flavors like champagne, raspberry, crème de menthe, and espresso. Total cost should be somewhere around ten dollars if you bring your own reading material—more if you buy a new magazine for the occasion like I tend to. Also, some books I've read lately and highly reccommend: "The Wilde Women" by Paula Wall (blissfully snarky and sexy), "The Last Summer (Of You & Me)" by Ann Brashares (of "Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants" fame and possibly the best book I've ever read), "The Jewel Box" by Anna Davis (Carrie Bradshaw does the 1920s and London), "Girls In Trucks" by Katie Crouch, "Eat, Love, Pray" by Elizabeth Gilbert, "The Moonflower Vine" by Jetta Carleton (lost classic, but goodie), "The Buenos Aires Broken Hearts Club" by Jessica Morrison, "All This Heavenly Glory" by Elizabeth Crane, and "How To Teach Filthy Rich Girls" by Zoey Dean (of "The A-List" fame).

- Go to the beach and get some sun! Now is the time for free tanning and bikinis! I’m a fan of working out the night before I hit the beach and eating a light breakfast that morning for maximum teeny bikini confidence—freshly worked-out muscle is visibly firmer. Bonus is that most beaches around Burlington are free if you just walk in. (At North Beach, park in Burlington High School’s parking lot if school’s not in session. I’ve even done it sometimes when it is. Shhh!)

- A veritable marathon of good new movies are out—I haven’t heard one person who’s seen it say one bad thing yet about “The Hangover” and “The Proposal” with Ryan Reynolds looks downright yummy if only for him. “The Ugly Truth” with Gerard Butler and the always effervescently lovely Katherine Heigal is coming out soon—a definite must-see. For one ticket, some either chocolatey or buttery snacks and a slushie, you should have yourself a fun time for about twenty dollars.

- Go for a drive, if you have the wheels. Small towns in New England are so charming to drive through. (Hint: if you’re in the Burlington area and planning a short road-trip like this, fill up your tank at the Cumberland Farms or Shell station on Riverside Ave. Gas there is the cheapest in the area that I’ve been able to find.)

- Have a Girl Night. My personal favorite is to hole up either in my room or on the couch with a few episodes of Sex and the City, a few pieces of expensive and good chocolate (Lake Champlain, Lindt, or the cheaper but just as rich and creamy Dove), and a beauty regime. As a true native Vermont girl, I like to mix the natural and the classy—I’m fond of Burt’s Bees: their Milk and Honey lotion, Dr. Burt’s Acne Stick (just as good as the prescription goop I was paying $90 a bottle for), Almond Milk Beeswax hand cream—also good for chapped elbows and knees and heels—, Rosewater and Glycerin Toner, Shea Butter Décolleté Crème—does wonders for firming up the delicate skin—, Marshmallow Vanishing Crème—so refreshing!—and the Evening Primrose Overnight Crème. (That makes the skin on my face so soft and smooth the next day I can barely keep my fingers from caressing it-- potentially awkward!)

Oh, and the title? For those gentlemen of you in the know, boxer-briefs are the way to go. They do for men what the Miracle Bra does for women—puts everything where it should be, makes it look visibly firmer and tighter and bigger, and says, “Hey—look at me. I’m hot stuff.” I’m particular to men in variations in black or dark colors and smooth or silky fabric, myself. While I know that they’re not for every man, I actually suggest doing what Legs used to do (yes, I’m telling you that something he did was right): on the mornings that you wake up and life feels really normal, wear your beloved boxers. If you wake up and feel like today’s a good day and something exciting or special is going to happen, whip out the boxer-briefs.

And if you’re a die-hard boxer man—solids, stripes, and tasteful plaids are the way to go. (Actually, I love a man in plaids.) Please, overwhelming patterns of things like hotdogs, crabs, surfing pigs, or bananas (if you don’t believe me, go to ae.com and look at the men’s boxer selection), are absolutely either crass or juvenile. If I were to undress a man and find “party pickles” on his boxers, that would be my cue to walk out the door. Just saying.

Until next time,

XOXO.