Hey, You Wanna Blog?

Well, it IS a four-letter word. For shits and giggles, you can even replace the word "blog" with "fuck" in this post and see where it gets you. Just, you know, if you don't want to take this seriously.

About a week ago, I was chatting with a friend of mine who recently graduated in the same major that I'm going to be-- Professional Writing. We were discussing how newly-minted grads can get their writing out when he brought my blog up, asking me how I found enough time to write so much, citing the fact that I obviously loved doing so. It wasn't so much of a time commitment thing, I told him. I can knock a post off anywhere between 45 minutes and 2 hours, depending on the length and if the subject matter needs any researching. I'm a first-draft-is-the-best-draft and quick-editing sort of girl. It's more about just being eternally curious about things.

I started blogging back in high school. Between my short attention span, lack of interesting content, experience, life subject matter, and being in "too small of a space," it failed. Also paramount was probably also the fact that I still thought I was bound to be a Great American Fiction Novelist, a fact that I now get a really good laugh out of, being the queen of short, question-driven format. I got back into it last summer, when, unemployed and in an unhappy relationship, I figured it would give me something to do, and a way to make pocket change. (Never underestimate the power of quarters in a coin-op laundry apartment dweller's life.)

Lately, I've been getting a lot of great feedback from readers, either from people whom I consider excellent writers themselves telling me I've got a good thing going, or from relative newbies asking for blogging advice and how to keep up the song and dance routine and make it into something showy. I've been kicking the following spiel around for awhile, ever since a professor last year fall mentioned he may have a class he'd like me to talk about blogging to, and then, again last semester, when an online class I was taking for my major challenged us all to create and maintain a blog as an integral part of our soon-to-be profession. I was a little saddened, I'll admit, when the class didn't seem to grasp the idea of having a blog. Granted, mine was already well underway, and in fact, an email had to be sent to my professor explaining that for professionalism's sake, I would not be posting any of my non-content related class assignments on SATCG. But when it became clear that not many people in our class of 12 were embracing the blog, it flabbergasted me. I really don't get the recalcitrance that some writers have about blogging. I mean, I know they're not for everyone, and there will always be someone who likes getting rejection letters from The Atlantic and The New Yorker more than publishing the "easy way." But even Hank Moody deigned to blog, for chissake. It's just easy. It doesn't take itself too seriously. It's a great starting spot. A blog URL is a great thing for a writer to include on their business card to hand to potential editors or agents or publishers to visit and get an idea of what you do. Eventually, a blog even gives you material to ship off to publications. (My Sexual Anthropologist's Portfolio is an example of this, and maybe one of these days I'll actually realize the fact that I graduate in under a year and need a steady and reasonably well-paying job and start sending things out.)

That being said, the following are things that every blogger really needs to carefully consider before or during their blogging experience. I'm a big fan of doing things and doing things as best I can, and nearly one year into blogging at SATCG, with 47 followers, a total of nearly 20,000 page hits, and almost my first check from AdSense on its way, this is the best blogging advice I can give you:

-Before you start writing, ask yourself-- What are you passionate about? It doesn't have to be a topic you can discuss ad nauseum-- it just has to be something you can run with. Do you even like to write? Ask yourself what do you like to write about, and how do you like to write about it? Do you take a more scholastic tone naturally, or a more conversational one? Do you tend to form essays with theses and answers backed up by research, or does free-form poetry suit you more? Some people keep blog diaries. Some people have news blogs. You need to be sure you're writing something thematic in a way that you'll be able to call forth any time you want to.

-Who you target your blog to makes a huge difference. Sexandthecollegegirl.blogspot.com gets between 80 and 200 hits a day, depending on recent posting frequency, subject matter, and timing. It is mostly unadvertised, mainly relying on my friends and word-of-mouth to spread. I got really lucky early on and was featured on Smart, Pretty and Awkward by the incomparable Molly, which helped my readership exponentially. My friends have also gone above and beyond the call of duty, posting the blog to StumbleUpon and linking it to their own blogs. Obviously, a blog based around the premise of a Sex and the City-esque column is going to attract mostly young women, but I was surprised at the diversity of my readership. Some are from as far away as Australia, Japan, and the Netherlands. Others are from as close as Albany, NY, to across the U.S. Some follow for the fashion, some for the relationship advice, some for the straight-forward girl talk, some for the salacious gossip. I also have quite the contingency of male readers, and I think they're all perfect dolls and will make some woman very lucky, if they haven't already (there is a shout-out to my professors). The name probably gets me a few cheap hits, too, but I hope they maybe stay and read a post or two and learn something.

(My other creative-writing blog, Juxtaposition, mainly attracts stragglers, a few die-hard readers that I love to pieces, and my mother. Probably because posting there is sporadic at best, experimental by nature, and takes a real particular taste to handle.)

-Some people blog once a day. Some people blog or Tweet 5 times a day. Some once a week. Some once a month. I blog when I have something to say. It is my soapbox. The point is, you need to figure out what a realistic posting schedule is for you, and STICK TO IT. Realize that if you have readers, you have people that want to read new content, not what you posted two weeks ago. Or a month ago. People are needy. Readers are devoted and needy and can only re-read something so many times, even it's your most stunning material. If there is constantly nothing new, they're going to stop coming back. If there is something constantly new, as you know, curiosity killed the cat, but it also made the blog traffic numbers soar. That is how you build your readership and blog traffic-- by blogging frequently. In the most simple way I can put it, posting = success. Do know that frequency of posts means more interest, better site traffic, and more money.

Oh, did I say money?

-Most people are shocked to find out that I make money on my blog. Yes, it's percentages of cents for every visit and more for every clicked ad from Google AdSense, but it's money all the same. And I make it doing nothing other than what I love and what I want to write about, and just whoring out about an inch and a half by five inches of spare space on my page. Apparently, in the real world, this is the ideal gig for a writer. It may be baby-steps and just dollars and cents right now, but I'm told that this model of write and get paid is something like what we writers should inspire to in the bigger picture. Tim Brookes also has some great money-making ideas for your blog in his article, "Equally Worthless?", as well as some um, familiar subject matter and characters. And whatever your motives are coming here, you're supporting me, so thank you. When my blog dropped on campus and shit got hairy, other than the support of my friends, knowing that I was making some nice dough off of all the site traffic kept me going. And what do you know? Life's good now.

-Speaking of things getting a little crazy, how many of you would dare to blog about your friends? People on campus? Your boyfriend or girlfriend or the person you've been trying to wrangle into bed with you for the past month? For awhile after the Great Blogging Debacle of 2009, I was unsure of how, exactly, one goes about a sex and relationship blog without verbally lambasting people or naming very transparent nicknames. Then I grew up, got smart, and decided to try skipping intimate details in exchange for broad strokes of thought and pointed questions and posts based around things that were happening in my life. Though it was a massive learning experience, it made me a much better, and much more interesting and people-friendly, blogger. (Also, this is a huge mea culpa for that debacle right now.) How many of you would blog about hot button issues, the things that other people don't want to touch because of controversy? And I don't mean just politics or religion, here. I come under fire regularly from my own mother for blogging about "trashy" material. But like I tell her, excuse me, but I can't be the only one wondering why women seem to give and not receive oral as regularly as men do. There has to be SOMEONE else out there wondering the same thing that just doesn't have the guts to come straight out and ask about it.

-This brings up another huge issue to consider: Is your blog going to be private, or open? A private blog means that only the people you invite can view your content. An open blog means that the whole wide internet world can knock down your URL's door. For fellow writers, I really don't see what you could ever gain from having a private blog, when having an open one is the best way to get your writing published and out into the world for free, no agents or publications needed. Take chances. Defending yourself and your writing is one of the most fundamental things you can learn to do as a writer. Stephen Stills once said something that I think I have quoted on numerous occasions on this blog-- "There are three things men can do with women: love them, suffer for them, or turn them into literature." And as we're quasi-feminist here, I think women should be allowed to do the same.

-I cannot stress this enough: FOLLOW OTHER BLOGS. Start an RSS feed either here on Blogger, on Wordpress, on whatever you want to, but read other blogs with similar content to yours. Not only does this keep you in touch with what is going on and what has already been written on the subjects you're interested in, it's a great way to get "soft news" and to see what people want to know more about. I follow over 50 blogs. And blog etiquette says that if someone follows your blog, you should check theirs out, too, and if it doesn't seem like something totally outside of your interests, follow theirs. This is a great way to build a follower base, and I really wish more people would do this.

-Mesh your blog with your other writing endeavors and projects. This will make multi-tasking, or rather, re-using content, much easier. When I was writing for Moss on the Moon and the Champlain Current, some of what I published on hard copy worked great as an easy, pre-written filler post here, no extra work or writing necessary. I'd encourage you to pick up writing projects outside of your blog to supplement both your skills and your content bank-- if you're still in college, writing for your school newspaper or a campus publication is a great place to start. Also, never underestimate the ability for class content to be created of a similar theme to your blog. Last semester, I wrote two 8-page papers for Women in 20th Century Fiction on Penelope and Odysseus's relationship in the Odyssey, and a paper for Renaissance Theory of Love on what Renaissance philosopher's theories and modern women's magazines have in common in regards to views on love, got two As, and am probably going to do some editing to shorten and tighten them up and post them here. If you're already a young professional, find writing competitions in your area and try to make a quick buck while you're at it; see if projects at work could overlap with your blog.

I hope that something in there got stuck with you to chew over-- if not, I've totally failed my goal. In the meantime, if you have any other questions or noticed topics about blogging that weren't covered, drop me a line, and I'll do my best to fill in the holes. Ciao-ciao until next time.

...And hey, DO you want to blog?

XOXO

Get A Little Public.

So, this is going to be an interesting little (Aha...HAHAHA) post. I'm sorry for my lack of presence on the blog/in my apartment/in classes. I must have a new boy. Detrimental to sleep, seeing my roommates, and accomplishing things.

Operating along the lines of "better safe than sorry," this is a HUGE WELCOME to any men I know personally who happen to stumble upon my blog. Southern Charm, that's you-- though I told you after allowing you to follow me on Twitter to either NOT click the link to my blog, or to never tell me that you did-- so if you're reading this now, I suppose than you're going with the "hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil" route. Gypsy, you oh so adorable online creeper, this goes for you, too. (Ladies-- if you're a private person, steer clear of the Information Technology men. I'm pretty sure that when I ignored a "follow" request from Gypsy on Twitter and then sent him a Facebook message saying, "No, I'm sorry, but no-- you cannot follow me on Twitter," even though he said, "Fine, be as secretive as you want," he also cracked his Computer Digital Forensic major fingers and got down to business finding out why, exactly, I was being so squirrely. And as any of my Twitter followers know, I link my blog and new posts on my Twitter page. Hence why it's locked. Hence why I'm picky about who I let follow. But, I have the feeling that things like passwords and firewalls mean absolutely NOTHING to him. Oh, well.)

So, HELLO BOYS! This is my blog! Welcome to my huge embarrassment! And if you ever speak to me about it, I will deny, deny, deny till I am blue in the face, and then I will hit you over the head and hiss at you, "Alright, FINE, yes, I did say that about you in total and sincere honesty, now SHUT UP!"

Again, as Stephen Stills said, "There are three things men can do with women: love them, suffer for them, or turn them into literature." And I don't believe in being sexist, so I round the figures out by writing about you, guys.

I've been spending a bit of time out and about, as I alluded to, getting to know Gypsy. (Being in that apartment has just further affirmed my firm appreciation for Greece Lightning as well. What an easy-going, personable, chill person he is. Why did I forget to associate with him sophomore year?) It's going well-- I spent not last Saturday, but the Saturday night before that there with Emily (hence that blog post, car being towed, all that fun stuff); last Thursday night from 11 PM to 5 AM at their apartment; and last night from 10:30 PM to 1 AM. NOTHING HAS HAPPENED. I'M BEHAVING. In fact, I may have looked at him on Thursday night (a wee bit intoxicated, hence the sauciness and forwardness) and said, "I'm making you work for it."

His response? A solid "Ok."

Thursday night he actually texted me and asked me to come over. I wasn't doing anything, so I went over and was immediately introduced to two of his close friends. I'm not so used to this whole "meet the friends" thing. Most of the guys I date are in the frame of mind that introducing me to their buddies is not a good idea because A.) I am a huge flirt, or B.) they (rightly) don't see things working out with me for too much longer. I'm also not so used to the fact that he has obviously given them marching orders to be nice and interested, because one of them walked me to class the other day after running into me in the coffee shop, and another struck up random conversation at the bus stop. I love how "bros before hoes" mentality turns into "I like her, so you've gotta give a fuck about her, too" with guys. I feel like women are a whole lot more careless about these things. Your girls don't like the guy you're seeing? Ehhhh. Guess who's going to be seeing less of you around the TV on "Grey's Anatomy and Margarita Night"? It sucks, and it's so not right, but women are so much more likely to not listen to and ditch voices of reason and think below the belt for themselves and go forth and do douchebag dating and mating for the hell of it. Because we think it's ok. Truth. I said it.

The game plan Thursday night/Friday morning was to stay up all night and then walk to my 8 AM class on campus. Gypsy and I were in for the long haul, while Greece Lightning went to sleep not long after the friends (and the world's two sweetest but dumbest freshmen girls,) left. When Greece heard I was planning on staying, he furtively texted me. "Oh, so you're staying? Five bucks on where you think you're sleeping."

True, I HAD thought about it, but I'm being good, dammit, and there's nothing like someone calling my intentions into question to make me stand by them. So thanks, Greece, though Gyp might not feel the same. "Well," I texted back while Gypsy unknowingly and blissfully made PB&Js for us in the kitchen, "I assume this movie will be about two hours. I have to move my car at 6. And I guess I'm going to be napping in this chair between 6 and when I leave for my class at 8."

Greece Lightning circumvented my prudish logic and went right after the heart of the argument. "I think you should go for it. It's a pretty sure bet."

Well, thanks for the words of encouragement. And I'd love to be a fly on the wall of that apartment to hear what was said when it came up that I left at 5 AM, 2 hours after Greece went to bed, but no-- I stuck by my guns. I did not go after it. I. WILL. BE. GOOD. (Godammit.)

Gypsy moved seats from across the living room to next to me, and he and I stayed up, eating our PB&Js and half-watching a movie and talking to each other, doing the whole families/growing up/interests "getting to know you" talk. I learned a lot about him; he probably learned too much about me. It was basically the criteria you go over on a first date-- only we were sitting in stolen chairs in his apartment with our feet up on his "coffee table"-- a cable wire spool. In fact, how would I describe the decor of the apartment? Hmm. Stolen. Road signs and signs deck the walls. A pizza delivery car's roof light adorns the radiator. I love it. It's so "boy."

Though he offered again to have me spend the night, I thought about what Greece Lightning had said and decided to remove myself from the temptation. "Spindly sleeps over on it," Gypsy told me in a last-ditch attempt to have me make peace with the extra mattress. "Blowdryer Boy sleeps over on it. It's for friends who don't live nearby. It's not like we're trying to lure girls over to sleep on it." Nice, but I was more worried FOR him than ABOUT him.

So he walked me the three blocks to the place where I had (finally, after 20 minutes of driving around Fully Booked Parking, College Slum Central, Burlington,) found a spot. I gave him a ride back to his apartment. He said goodnight, got out, and then ducked his head back in. "Can I see you again this weekend? What are you up to?"

Be still my heart. A man, planning ahead? I swoon.

"Umm, my parents are coming up for Parent's Weekend, but they know I have a life and are going to be gone after an early dinner. I don't know after that."

"Ok, I'll call you or you call me."

"Sure. Night!"

"Yeah-- you, too. Drive safe!"

About 20 minutes after I got home, at 5:55 AM, my cell rang. It was a text from Gypsy. "Make it home ok?"

Again, adorable, and I swoon. Repeat.

"Mmmph. Yeah. In bed. Trying to warm up and pass out."

"Same here! :-) Two comforters does well though."

Oh, the cute just about kills me.

We were supposed to meet up on Saturday after my parents left town after dinner, but he ended up being tanked by 8 PM and too inebriated to coherently explain to me where he was. ("Sami's" doesn't quite cut it. I need a street address here, people!) Oh well. I watched "The Goonies" for the second time in a week with Melissa and went to bed early. (The Goonies Said: "Booby traps?" "That's what I said-- booty traps!" Melissa Said: "Awww-- they're skipping!" I Said: "Stripping?!" M: "SKIPPING." C: "STRIPPING?" M: "NOOO-- SKIPPING!!!" I apparently hear what I want.)

Monday, one of my roommates came down really ill and her parents drove up from Jersey to bring her home. (No Swine Flu...no worries.) To give them time and get out of their way, I hopped around campus and Burlington all night, catching up with the lovely Miss Mercure and eating KKDs. I also texted Gypsy to ask if need be that I could crash on the infamous extra mattress. "I may not need it-- I may just apartment hop until I sneak back to my apartment after they all go to sleep. What time is a no-go for coming over to chill?"

"Whenever. I'll most likely be up late. And I'd wake up to let you in and set up the bed for you. Doesn't matter."

Can we just give him a medal already?

So, hmmm...Gypsy. He's intelligent, articulate, funny, sweet, and cute as all hell. Basically a five-year-old in a man's body. A bit of a drunkard and a player, yes, but the more he gets up and walks around the apartment, the more times I just want to sink my teeth into his ass. (Alli. You are so to blame for this. That, and that summer day We Shall Never Speak Of. Again. Ever. Starting Now.) He's certainly used to being an older brother and "protector" which I will admit I like as it makes me feel all taken care of inside and go girly. I am so used to taking care of myself that when other people do it for me, I just tend to...love it. Last night, he walked me to my car-- again, parked 3 motherfucking blocks away-- and as I beeped it open and threw my purse in, he craned to see over my shoulder. "No one's hiding out in your car?" he asked, looked for himself, and then, content that I wouldn't be mauled to death by Birdman, or another one of Burlington's vagrants in my own car, declined my offer to drive him home, saying, "Naw-- I'll walk back," and then put his arms around me. I nearly ate a shoulder full of red and black plaid flannel but composed myself long enough to do that awkward thick-winter-coats-between-us-like-fat-padding embrace.

Oho. We're onto hugging, now. I almost looked at him and said, "Man up and kiss me, already."

As Greece Lightning would say, I'm "a sure thing."

I've never really been the one pursued before. This hit home again when one of my friends was talking to Gypsy randomly two weeks ago and my name came up as someone they knew in common. "She's hot," Gypsy had said. Though I admit it, I may have grooved a bit when I heard this like someone had just told me I was getting a lifetime's free membership to the Victoria's Secret Vault Of All Things Sexy, I'm still kind of baffled. ("Baffled" is an EXCELLENT word for what I am, actually.) Usually, things go like this: either I, A.) meet you, decide I want you, and go after you with varying results, or B.) we meet, we like each other mutually right off the bat, and we fall into bed and a sort of quasi-relationship together. Usually, I don't give the guys that like ME the time of day-- I'm after the ones who I like: the hard-to-reach fruit on the Tree of Temptation. Things like the apple-pie guy who came from the Tree of Temptation liking me usually don't happen. I don't think I can say I've ever had to sit there, talking to a perfectly cute, perfectly nice guy before and think, "Hmmm, do I really like you? Would I sleep with you? Would I ever want to, GASP, date you? Be in a relationship with you? How do I REALLY feel about you? Could I see/let this thing happen?"

So bizarre. I don't know how you serial daters do it.

I also like the way Gyp says my name. Usually, I pronounce it "CA-rissa," but there's this phenomenon that happens with Vermont boys, I've noticed. The soft Vermont accent turns it into "Crissa." Catholic Boy did it. My trainer's husband does it. Some of my native friends are guilty of it, too. But that's all very girly and neither here, nor there.

But god, he's opinionated and set in those opinions. I just want to shake him up a little and say, "Jesus Christ, open up your mind think about it from the other side for once!" Also, let me tell you one of the stupidest arguments in the world: "Well, I only do [dangerous things] when I'm alone. Because hey, if it goes wrong, it's just me." Yes, Gypsy, this is directed at you and your quote. But it's NEVER "just you." It's you, and your family, and your friends, and everyone else who would be left behind if you killed yourself in a moment of young adult male stupidity.

As someone whose life has been affected by far too many losses and far too many "stupid moments," let me tell you-- nothing sucks more than being someone left behind. So don't put the people you love in that position. Think. Texting while driving, or while on a motorcycle, is ridiculously dangerous. People react 18% slower to break, swerve, or speed up when texting on their cell phone. For every 6 seconds that a person spends texting while driving, roughly 4.6 of those seconds are not spent looking at the road. Nearly 25% of all wheeled accidents occur because of texting or talking while driving. Over 2,600 people per year die because of accidents related to dialling or texting on a cell phone while driving. Another 333,000 are injured. Yes-- I am guilty of occasionally texting while driving. I try not to-- driving a standard takes the two hands I already have. Pressing buttons at the same time is really pressing it for me.We all do at one time or another. But really-- we shouldn't. Don't become another statistic.

See? I can do a well-meaning public service announcement other than "use a condom!"

Now LISTEN.

XOXO

Girl About Town, Cont.

So, it's a lovely Saturday afternoon. You know-- Saturday afternoons in the summer, when there's tons of stuff to do, places to go, people to see, all sorts of free entertainment in downtown Burlington like art shows and waterfront festivals and free music, and it's finally stopped raining long enough for sunlight to be seen through the puffy white summer clouds. It's the kind of Saturday summer afternoon that makes couples rejoice and single girls believe in romance.

What am I doing while I should be frolicking in sunlight and trying to entice men with my tanned limbs and sun-kissed hair?

I'm going to go see "The Proposal" with Alli. That's right-- I'm going to go sit in a dark theater this afternoon with my roommate, split a large bag of buttery popcorn, and all for the price of a regular ticket because I am so cheap and so broke that I am literally cashing in my hoarded Susan B. Anthony coins my family used to give me on my birthday for gas and groceries. (And, the occasional movie, apparently.)

I have already exhausted all of my summer keep-busy/have-fun hobbies and events. In this past week alone, I have taken myself out for a bubble tea and chocolate reading date at Sapa, went to lunch at the Skinny Pancake and dinner at Asian Bistro in the same day, went with a friend to Yankee Tattoo as she got inked, went for a wander down by the waterfront with Madison, went to North Beach two days in a row with Alli, went to the gym twice (and it closes on the weekends or I'd be there again), spent my Thursday night playing beer pong and meeting new people at Justin's, went for an exploratory drive on 127, had an over 2-hour texting conversation with Perfect yesterday, and tomorrow am going back to Worcester to go swimming at the Pots.

I am running out of ideas to keep myself busy and (relatively) out of trouble, and there could not have been a worse time for this to happen. Why? Because Perfect is in town, less than four miles away. I am removing myself to a movie theater to try and resist the temptation to text or call Perfect and say something like, "So, I'm really, really bored and you're in town, so why don't we meet up because I have this blog that's kind of coming into it's own and unfortunately because of your decision a month ago (exactly today,) I no longer really have a love life, which is something I'd like to discuss with you, and I figure hey! A really awkward but needed "this is how I feel" conversation would really spice things up and give me something to write about you for the rest of the world online to see. Sound like fun?"

Perfect does not know about this blog. Nor does he know, (I think, I assume, I kind of hope,) that I write about him. I figure though, it's a casualty with dating a writer-- you have to assume it will happen. He knows what I do; he's read some of my articles I wrote for "Moss on the Moon." No one has supported this fact better than Stephen Stills of Crosby, Stills and Nash, who once stated: “There are three things men can do with women: love them, suffer for them, or turn them into literature.” I believe the same is true vice-versa the genders.

So instead of making further Bad Life Decisions, I'm going to a rom-com. I'll let you know how it was later.

Being a woman, though, and having a very active imagination paired with a memory like a steel trap for random facts, I remembered right after I signed on for this endeavor that Perfect and Baby Mix (AKA: the Best Friend since knee-high and training pants) usually like to go and catch a flick together on their weekends together. And we happen to share the same theater in common, compliments of living in the same town. (Baby Mix and I, that is.) Instantly, this makes me think about how awkward it would be to run into them in the (very, very slim; in fact, microscopic) chance we all decided to go see a show at the same time. But still, with most things in life, I apply the 50-50 Rule: despite all the chances, it all boils down to a 50% possibility-- they either may be there, or they won't be. I love the 50-50 Rule. It makes almost anything seem possible.

And then, right after the "What If They're There?" daydream comes the "What If They're There And Furtively Holding Hands?" daymare. Now, bromance is nothing to kid about, and no one loves a good bromance quite like I do. I am also the last person who should be ridiculing a close bond between two friends of the same sex, as I myself have been at the receiving end of lesbian rumors because of how close (and possibly, how explicit) Madison and I are together. I also, obviously, have nothing against gay people. However, I HAVE had an ex-boyfriend who ended up being secretly gay (guesses, people?), and I obviously really, really like Perfect, so this is something that would crush me. He and Baby Mix are so close and so secure in their masculinity that they joke around about being gay lovers all the time, but really, if I were to stumble upon the truth in Essex Outlets Cinema, I think I would die right there, on the cartoon move-reel carpet, spilled Nerds, Snow-Caps, crushed popcorn, and all.

Again-- the 50-50 Rule applies here: either they are, or they aren't. I am willing to stake the rest of my meager savings that they aren't, but still, it's something that makes me panic. Right up there with the possibility of being 40 and still single. Because my boyfriends turn out to be gay.

See? I'm such a total woman-- over-active imagination and the ability to turn worrying into a professional, full-contact sport. Now excuse me-- I have a dark and air-conditioned theater to remove myself to, far away from all the happy couples PDA-ing in the parks, and the temptation to either call Perfect or go for "a little drive". Pay no mind to me. In about twenty minutes, I will be replaying the "Sex With Mr. Perfect" movie-reel inside my head, and will be realizing that there is no possible way he is gay, or in love with Baby Mix any other way than really deep and abiding bro-love, like my Bitch-Hitches with Madison and Nora. Because a man who asks you if you like RECEIVING oral and obviously loves loving the snatch I don't think would be capable of the same enthusiasm for dick. Really. (By the way-- best oral of my life. Just needed to get that brag out there. Unfucking believeable. Oh yeah. Totally not gay.)

So enjoy the nice weather for me. And if you see a really massive, attractive guy with shaggy brown hair and a perfect toothy white smile lurking around with another really tall guy with long and wavy blonde hair, probably pulled back in a ponytail, who looks like Johnny Depp and Orlando Bloom miraculously copulated on the set of "Pirates of the Caribbean" and holding hands, please-- don't tell me. No, wait, scratch that-- tell me. No, better-- ask them who's the bottom. Morbid curiosity.

XOXO