The Hammer Falleth + Ego Boost of the Week.

So it finally came, a phone call from my mom or dad regarding a situation most would not discuss in polite company. It was my dad who fell upon the unseemly scene: "I found a couple of used condoms in the back of your truck."

Yup.

The last time I was home and visiting friends and family and had access to my vehicle, I fell into an opportunity to use condoms and the only viable venue happened to be under the canopy in the back of my pickup truck. Not totally proud to be reduced to trying to wet-hump a bird on the side of a public street, not totally embarrassed about it either though. However, what is embarrassing is forgetting to clean up the evidence before heading out-of-state back to school, thus leaving your truck in the sole possession of your parents, who happen to be caring enough to occasionally wash and do maintenance on the truck.

Some part of me knew it was only a matter of time before they fell upon the rubs. It has been a year though, so I thought maybe I could slide by until the next time I visited, whereupon I could finally clean up the shit and avoid the potentially awkward phone call. Nope. Not so much. I'm glad it was my Dad though, he can appreciate the humor in the situation. My mother probably would have wanted to know the name and phone number of the girl in case I some day disappear and she can have the number of someone I might be associating with for an evening. She's a worrier like that.

In a somewhat related story, a friend of mine let me crash at her place last Friday, and nothing really happened besides drunkenly passing out whilst cuddling and watching The Sweetest Thing. It was pleasant. The next day was an all-day street-festival bender which involved meeting up with this bird's friend. So we're going along, beer-in-cup in hand, when my friend releases a line that simultaneously makes me look a bit scummy and makes my head more difficult to get through doors: "So, should I be offended that you've hooked up with half of law school and you didn't make a move on me last night?" Okay, so I tried playing it down verbally, you know, that whole "modesty" deal, but it was tough as shit to wipe the smile off my face.

Sexin'!

"I got this icebox where my heart used to be." ~ Omari I. Grandberry

So it has been roughly 10.5 months since the last time I had sex. A 'dry-spell' would be polite.

I don't want to sound too pathetic. It's not that I haven't been without opportunity. But I do believe I've swung back toward my ole pre-'05 ways and am now affected with the idea that sex needs to be more than just fucking. If I wanted to be fucking, I could be fucking. I have officially had a relapse into concerns about "trust" and "emotional investment." Yea, I know, I feel weak just saying it.

Lately, I get drunk and maybe I end up necking with a bird. Maybe she plays with my junk, maybe she doesn't. But all the times it has gotten to the point where I get asked whether I "have a condom" or not, even if I do, I find a way of deflecting the idea and passing out. Passing out is easy when you only ever fool around with birds while well over the legal limit.

I'm seriously thinking about pushing it the extra 1.5 months to make it one year. It wouldn't be too hard as it would only involve, barring unforeseen circumstances, not having sex with the birds I'm pretty sure I could have had sex with a long time ago if I had gone along with the standard script. I think I could pull that off. Of course, if some lovely lady came into my life, adjustments would have to be considered and compromises would likely have to be made. In other words, if the right bird came along, I'd be fucking like a rabbit.

The irony of the dry-spell is that I still hear rumors about the girls I've supposedly had sex with. I partially feel like a douche even having to address such shit, but I figure it's better than ignoring it and running the risk of anyone thinking I'm telling anyone about the sex I'm not having with anyone. Yea. And as the rumors continue to spread, I look less and less credible. "Hi. My name is ____ and I'm a make out slut." Since when does a kiss mean fucking? Did I miss that memo?