The Sheraton rooftop pool

After doing much research on the best place to spend a swelteringly hot weekday, I came up with The Sheraton.

Here are some of the facts:

1) I work 3-4 days a week and need somewhere cool to hang out on my days off.

2) I got sick of the reference library

3) The Four Seasons Hotel and the Radisson Hotel are the other venues that offer public assess to their outdoor rooftop pools.

4) The Four Seasons is $65.oo/day to enjoy and the Radisson doesn't open until June 15th (but will be $25.00/day)

5) The Sheraton is $28.00/day but also offers the public a summer pass ($400.00 for access from May-September 15th) which includes the use of the pool and 24 hour access to the gym.

6) The pool is roughly 1/3 indoor and 2/3 outdoors and is the perfect temperature.

7) There is a lane for swimming laps (I bought a swim cap, goggles, and racing suit)

8) There is a roof top bar that serves drinks

9) You can order room service if you forget to pack a lunch

10) For the men: I think a lot of strippers come here during the day to get tanned.

11) I've already made friends with pool regulars.

Dickametized

I thought I'd provide the definition of Dickametized as I often refer to it in my writing.

Dickametized: To have a sense that you are out of control of your behavior and to experience irrational thinking patterns based on the fact that you are having incredible sex. Physiologically this happens because when men and women, but most often women, have organs they release oxytocin--a bonding hormone. This is the same hormone that mothers release while breastfeeding their babies and it promotes mother-infant bonding. Men release oxytocin after sex but to a lesser degree. This makes them more "honest" post orgasm.

Sex for women is a double edged sword as having an orgasm is obviously extremely enjoyable, however, it makes you a victim to irrational thoughts and behaviors such as imagining your wedding with a man you just met, or deciding that texting him three times a day is a good idea even if he never replies in between.

The Russian

Somehow, over a wide glass of merlot, and a plateful of garlic-buttered shrimp, I agreed to a blind date. This wouldn’t be so surprising if I hadn’t been sharing the gourmet snack with my best friend’s parents. As they listened to me rambling on about my collection of failed relationships, sadness fell over them. They did what any helpful couple would do—they put their heads together and with much effort produced one name they could both agree on. “He will be perfect for you! Don’t you think honey? Wouldn’t she just love him?”

I was in shock. Somehow I had gotten his description backwards. I was imagining a 6’5” blond, built stranger with a Scottish accent. In the wake of my imaginary hero was a 5’7,” fair skinned, light haired, blue-eyed Russian, who was grinning from ear to ear. I took a moment to reframe the situation. I introduced myself pleasantly, all the while thinking: Don’t judge, he’s probably very interesting. Besides, I love meeting new people even if I’m not attracted to them physically.

He had a brisk walking pace so that I was always about half a sidewalk square behind him, allowing me hints into our “surprise date.” He was wearing linen shorts just above the knee and a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled. On his back was an oversized knapsack-- it’s contents spilling out of it’s unzipped top. I could see a baguette, a bottle of rose, a brown blanket, and what looked to me like finely sliced meats.

After half a bottle of Provence rose, and a few sips of rum he convinced me to continue drinking at a small little martini bar conveniently located half a block from his house. Two blueberry martinis and half a chocolate mousse later he led me to his home so that we could call a cab from his place. At the time this seemed legit, but in sober hindsight, I could have called a cab from anywhere.

He had won me over through his ability to tell phenomenal stories, coupled with the fact that he had done some master’s research developing hat-like contraptions that could read brain waves and translate them into words, enabling communication for patients suffering from the end stages of ALS (a fatal neurodegenerative disease). What can I say? I like nerds. However, when we stepped into his bedroom (he was giving me the tour) his TV screen was featuring the image of a wood-burning fireplace that even had crackling sound effects. It was hilarious. Furthermore, there was romantic music playing. Unless he had hidden a remote control in his pocket, he had planned that the evening would end in his room—to a fake fire and sensual sounds. Exit stage left, running all the way!

Premature textjaculation

Premature textjaculation is when someone either a) responds to a text too rapidly; b) writes a text message, gets no reply, so texts again; or c) both of the above. Premature textjaculation happens most frequently between midnight and 3am. Premature texjaculators usually send an extra text in the hopes of bating the other person into replying, i.e., throwing something into the mix that they hope their crush can’t resist. For example,

Hey sexy (no response)

I’m lying naked in my bed (no response)

…Thinking about you… (no response)

The premature texjaculator should be aware that there are usually a number of good reasons why the other person is not returning his/her messages, which include but are not limited to the following:

- He/she lost their phone (wishful)

- He/she is having sex with someone else

- Generally disinterested or tired of being dickamatized (in my case)

When you don't get a response and continue to pepper the receiver with texts you are premature textjaculating. A perfect example is what happened to me this weekend. The messages started out as relatively innocuous, giving me regular updates on his activities throughout the day--similar to a news ticker on TV that runs across the bottom of the screen:

Went to the gym (no response)

Eating a "man"which (no response)

Now drinking alone to celebrate my completed home reno project...(no response).

Unfortunately his texts progressed to writing me intimate and tender messages that he would never say in person, for example:

You're hot, smart and remarkably successful for a young gal, don't ever forget that. Seriously. (no response).

What am I supposed to do? I thought that not responding would be a sure sign that I was uninterested in him as a friend or lover, however it only made things worse. I’m worried if I respond I will be giving him the wrong idea—that I want him to continue harassing me with his written word.

The email break-up

Please ladies, never email/text a man a break-up message especially if it’s your attempt at gaining back some control or the upper hand in a dwindling relationship. Men see right through the veiled attempt. Below is a message my friend sent me that he received from a girl he went on two dates with and never called again.

We need to chat…. Ok well I need to chat… Here is the crappy part…I think that we should just be friends and I feel like a complete a$$hole. BUT I think it is better that I address this now rather than later….when things could potentially be all complicated…not that they are not already. You like me too much…..and I will end up hurting you and that is not what I want to have happen. I have had a ton of fun hanging out with you…but I promise you it is better this way. If you still wanna be my buddy that is cool. If you need to some time away from me that is totally understandable…and I get it. But I hope that we can still hang out some times, and avoid all the weirdness and crap. I can’t date you. I am sorry. I feel like a complete douche sending this to you in an email, but I hate confrontation. If you wanna chat let me know, I will be home tonight.

p.s. My favorite part is the “$” instead of the “s”—Amazing. Perhaps she’s trying to dampen the blow of the insult by using symbols instead of letters?

That's what friends are for

I walk in the front door of the party and I am greeted by my long-time friend of ten years, Ross. He’s one of those people that you always want to kiss. He’s the type of guy who looks too long and touches your arm so that you feel an intense sexual chemistry, regardless of who you are. Anyway, he had saved me a pumpkin to carve so I got to work, diligently thinning out the front wall of the legume so that I could more accurately depict a detailed maple leaf (veins included). I was determined to win the pumpkin carve off.

As the night went on, and the pumpkin took shape, I was starting to plan my retreat. I had scheduled a meet up with a guy I’ve been seeing from out of town. Suddenly, I get a text from him that says, Hey sexy, at the Hotel, you coming to meet me? Just then it dawns on me, I didn’t even shave my legs. Shit. And I’m not the type of girl who can go a day or two without shaving. I rack my brain for ideas. Just then I see Ross. “Hey Ross, can I borrow a razor from you?” He ask why I need it and I tell him. He laughs a bit and replies, “Ya you can use my razor if I can shave your legs for you.” For me it was a no brainer—“Of course.”

So we sneak into the bathroom, I take my jeans off, wet my legs in the shower and produce a substantial lather for Ross. He starts with my right, astutely drawing attention to the fact that I have surprisingly hairy lower legs. As he moves to the left the sexual tension is palpable. There really is nothing quite like someone shaving your legs for you. It was my first time and it was glorious. With each upward stroke of the razor we would lock eyes for a few moments. It took every bit of will power for me not to kiss him. After carefully going over every inch of my legs, twice in some areas, they were done—so smooth.

Unfortunately by the time I was ready to meet up with Mr. out of town, he had fallen asleep in his hotel room and was unreachable via text or call. Shit! With legs this smooth I needed to put them to use. After carefully weighing the risks and benefits of my plan B, I decided to go for it. I made my way up to Ross and whispered in his ear, “Mr. fell asleep, and I just want to cuddle, can I stay over in your bed tonight? But I just want to spoon, no making out.”

I had rationalized that Ross probably deserved to test out his handy-work. He agreed even though we could both sense many sets of female eyes on him from across the room. Women were loitering around, hoping to be the last female standing and to be chosen by Ross for a night of passion. As he lay spooning me, most likely sexually frustrated, I drifted to sleep, legs curled up between his. Girls love Ross and as such me staying over ultimately resulted in a cock-block/blue balls combo--but isn’t that what friends are for? Thank you Ross!

Am I a bad kisser?

So it’s the end of the first date when both people are wondering if there is kiss potential. Both wondering, did we like each other? I was thinking that it had been an amazing date with a really nice guy. We had so much in common. Just as I’m thinking this he goes in for a hug but with his mouth open and tongue slightly extended past his lips. OMG! His eyes are already closed and he’s a foot away from my face. This is not what I was expecting. What should I do??

What I usually like in a first kiss is lips slightly parted with an eventual tongue touch. What I got was an open mouthed, hungry, tongue kiss. I didn’t even know where to put my mouth. His was so open that a normal kiss would have been impossible. So all I could do was kiss his lower lip, which resulted in his upper lip being pressed up against the side of my face.

It was probably the worst kiss I’ve ever had in my entire life (including elementary school) and has led me to question my ability to lock lips. I know it seems obvious that it was his fault but would an expert kisser have been better able to turn the situation—to transform a terrible kiss into a passionate symbiotic experience? After the kiss I got into my car and drove away. I made a left turn and pulled the car over. I immediately called my roommates and when no answer, I texted them. I needed confirmation that it wasn’t me. With no one to comfort me and ease my nerves I resorted to performing a series of air and hand kisses to review what I normally do. After a few minutes of passionately kissing the air and my left thumb and index finger I still wasn’t certain who was to blame. I always thought I was a good kisser, a self-proclaimed expert of sorts. This experience has really shaken me to the core.

The problem with sports bras

My least favorite thing about sports bras is their inability to hide workout nip-ons. Nip-ons are embarrassing 90% of the time, unless of course you are trying to have them in the hopes of appearing sexy (my mother uses this technique by hardly ever wearing a bra, hence her nick name is Tootsi Rolls). "Vanessa, men love nice big nipples-- make fun of me all you want but at least I don't look like a 10 year old boy when I'm not wearing a bra."--Thanks mom.

When you throw a sports bra on it's usually tight and your breasts get all mangled and pushed in opposite directions. Of course I never notice this till I'm doing shoulder presses in front of the mirror at the crowded gym and all of a sudden, unexpectedly there is a draft, or my arm brushes across my chest and there they are. If they were pointing forward and staring sexily back at me in the mirror it would be fine, unfortunately more often then not, they are going in completely opposite directions. One nipple is positioned in my sternum facing upwards whereas the other is pointing away from the mirror facing the guy to my right. It's quite humiliating.

In addition to making anyone's breasts appear horribly asymmetrical, sports bras also highlight every detail of your nipple. The tightness of the bra does not make up for the fact that it's a mere 3-4 layers thick. No one expects to be cold at the gym but when it does happen the consequences can be devastating.

Did you know that you can buy silicone circles that fit over your nipples and block them from poking out of your bra, shirt, etc. My friends and I have used these in the past when going bra-less to a party. Maybe I'll have to start wearing them to the gym?!