Sluttiness thy name is Fen

Vi once blogged about how she and I wish that we could be sluttier. Well, I can't speak for Vi (and she does now have an Actual Boyfriend) but I have just had a very slutty weekend.

Saturday night I went to a Spanish themed fancy dress party (little tip: stick a flower in your hair and you're Spanish). I got talking to a guy who seemed relatively nice and mature. Then the lethal punch I was drinking kicked in (red wine, white wine, gin, paint thinner, arsenic and some fruit juice) and I may have indulged in a little bit of PDA. My friend was driving me home and this guy somehow convinced me that it would be a really good idea if he came with me. I blame the punch. Thankfully, although I brought him home with me, a few of my morals kicked in so it wasn't a complete, total mistake. The next morning he left, without asking for my number. Which wasn't really a bad thing as his maturity level dropped quite considerably once we were back at mine. After he left, those darn morals kicked in again and I didn't feel great about myself. Still, it's nothing that an 8 mile run, shower and the thought that he had a heck of a journey home because the underground line closest to me wasn't working couldn't fix.

Then, Sunday evening I had plans to meet up with a guy from work who had recently moved to my area of London. We know each other more through the work softball team then actually working together - just to clarify. I had said a few weeks earlier when he mentioned that he was moving near me that I would take him for a few drinks in the non-dodgy pubs I frequent(I live in kind of a dodgy area). I didn't actually think that he would take me up on it, I was just really offering to be nice. However, lo and behold he emailed me and asked when we were having our non-dodgy pub tour. Fast forward to last night and me and the White Horse* met up and only made it to one pub...for 5 hours. I have never talked to a guy for that amount of time before, and I really like talking.

I had wondered if anything was going to happen between us, because when you first get to know a guy there's always seems to be the thought that something might happen until there is clarification either way. Towards the end of the evening I got the distinct impression that something was going to happen. To summarise: I left his at 2 this afternoon, my morals went out the window and I was reminded about how good pistachio ice cream can be. Oh, and I got to do the walk of shame. Good times.

Now, if you are all keeping up with my love life - and if you're not, why not? You are probably coming to the realisation that this is the second guy from work I have got involved with. Probably not the wisest decision I've ever made. I am totally going to behave myself from now on. Seriously.

And that was my slutty weekend.

So Grayer, look out. You may have competition for being the biggest slut of the blog. And if I don't manage to take that award, I am definitely the biggest slut of my office. We all have to be something in life.

* I need to clarify that he doesn't have the name the White Horse because he is my knight in shining armour but because we went to a pub called the White Horse, and he just so happens to have the same name as Vi's Dark Horse. Vi and I really are that in sync.

All in the Family

Grayer's last post reminded me of a conversation I had with Fenella last weekend. Fen and I had discussed before our desire to be sluttier than we actually are, and months later, she had come up with a way that she is, indeed, a slut. Turns out, when it comes to Fen's immediate family, she is quite slutty. Everyone else in her family took to the first boyfriend/girlfriend they ever had. But Fen? She's playing the field. Total slut.

To which I said, "Well, you've got one on me. I can't even be the Slut of my family because of my sister [Grayer]."

And what did Grayer do? She went out on Friday night and proved me right.

So Congratulations Fen and Grayer for being the sluts of your respective families, and you Grayer, for being the biggest slut of this blog.

Slut Boot Camp

Over the weekend, Fenella and I were discussing one thing we would both like to change about ourselves: We wish we could be sluttier.

I won't speak entirely for Fen, but my frustration is not in my singleton status, so much as knowing that had I been willing, I could have had quite a bit of sex last year. But no, I have standards. Damn you, mom and dad and my moral upbringing!

These standards came back to bite me in the ass during my "I shaved my legs for this" declaration to the Dark Horse, (who by the way I have clearly scared off, as I haven't heard from him in a few weeks) insisting I was down for a hook-up even though we weren't together, and he responded with a confused look and a "but that's not who you are." Ok, so maybe that's not who I am, but it is certainly who I want to be. Help me out here. Throw me a bone.

You're probably wondering why on earth anyone would want to be sluttier when there are some people out there who turn to self-sabotage (not shaving their legs, for example) to stop from sleeping with random people. It's really quite simple. Being a prude will not get you laid. And sometimes, that is all you need.

Unfortunately, when the Dark Horse had asked me about sex, I told him I preferred to wait until an actual commitment. That's because I was actually interested in being in an actual commitment with him, and any dating expert (including the Millionaire Matchmaker) will tell you to wait for that. But now? I'm only human, for crying out loud!

So the question is, how do I channel my inner slut? I was fortunate enough to meet an incredibly hot Spanish doctor last weekend. Yes, that's right. Incredibly hot. Spanish. Doctor. It sounds like one of the romance novels I used to shelve at the library. He's only in town for two months. This is the perfect opportunity to work on my sluttiness! I have absolutely nothing to lose! "The Rules" don't apply as he is a. European and b. temporary. So please send me your sluttish vibes so that I may get the action I deserve.