surPRISE!

Last month, I came up with the perfect way to celebrate the cute neighbor's upcoming birthday: throw him a surprise party. As soon as I got the idea, I went full-steam ahead with the plans. I think I might live to regret this.

First, I picked the theme: Neverland. Absolutely perfect. The cute neighbor just won't grow up (seriously, he looks like he's about 22. He's in his mid-30s. And he thinks farting is hilarious, and does it with alarming frequency.) There is also no shortage of costume ideas with Neverland.

I enlisted the help of two good friends of mine who have known the cute neighbor longer than I have and could give me guest list suggestions and could also help out with food (and thus expense). Last week, I sent out the invitations. I've been in a slight state of panic ever since. Here's why:

1. People don't fucking RSVP. Seriously, people, when you get an invitation, and an RSVP is required, please RSVP. Don't wait to see if something "better" shows up (and seriously, what is "better" than a surprise dress-up party featuring Things Wrapped in Bacon and a keg? Nothing, that's what!), if you can make it, say you're going to be there. If you can't, just say no. That's all. Even worse than not responding, is responding "maybe" and saying "I'll try to make it." That really doesn't help at all. I really can't throw a surprise party with a handful of people. Thus the panic.

2. Last night, the cute neighbor suddenly decided he should plan his own birthday outing for Saturday night (the night of the party). I reminded him I was making him dinner (the ruse to get him to my house for the party). He told me I could just do it on Sunday or Monday, closer to his actual birthday. OooooK. This could get tricky. Luckily, I've invited everyone he knows in this city, so everyone he would invite would have already gotten my invitation. I'm just going to tell everyone to play along, then create an emergency to get him to my house at the last minute. Namely, the cat got out, and I need his help to corrale him so my roommate doesn't kill me. It better work.

Between now and Saturday, I have a to-do list a mile long, on top of two jobs and trying to keep everything a secret. I think I might have a mild panic attack before Saturday.

A Single's Awareness Day treat

Happy SAD!  I have some things to share with you, see you don't need dinner/chocolates/teddy bear hearts, you have a Valentine's Day Pub Crawl to hear about.  I went.  I saw.  I crawled.  I got drunk boys to tell me things.  It was a lively day starting at 2 in the afternoon that ended with my friends and I crashing a Hahvarhd party at a museum full of breakables.  Yep, you're totally invested in hearing this story now, aren't ya?

Violet gave me a few tasks accomplish. I'm not one to step down from a challenge.  I didn't accomplish them all, I easily lose focus you see, but damnit I tried.

• Complete a mad libs with random strangers (then share it with us).  *Coming soon, I've lost it in my mess of a room.
• Acquire a condom from a stranger (not the machine in the bathroom).  When you ask strangers if they have condoms, they kind of get the wrong idea.  FAIL.
• Find a mullet (we'll be needing photographic evidence).  Send me to a hipster club I'll take my picture with at least 15 of them, send me on an organized pub crawl, a very non hipster scene and not one can be found.  FAIL.
• Have a bartender create a shot/drink just for you.  Yeah so bartenders dealing with hundreds of people aren't really into the whole shootin' the shit thing that normally leads to specially made drinks.  However, at around 3 in the afternoon I did convince the bartender to use the Whipped cream flavored vodka (their special and yes it did taste like whip cream) with orange juice.  Can you say creamsicle mixed drink? SCORE. 
• Find a person wearing pink panties.  I was wearing pink unmentionables which I normally wouldn't count but I was also wearing pink-heart-argyle socks (because me mother likes to send socks with Vday cards) to complete the ensemble.  Got to give me a point for style.  SCORE. 
• ...and a man with cartoons on his boxer shorts.  In a classic "I'll show you mine if you show me yours" move, I got a flash of Tazmanian Devil boxers.  But wait, it gets better.  Taz was wearing boxers too.  This blew my drunken mind.  SCORE.
• Acquire the autographs of the following:

1. A firefighter.  Apparently firefighters are to good for pubcrawls.  FAIL.
2. Celebrity.  Benjamin Franklin. Huzzah!  Ok so it wasn't really him, but it was a guy dressed like him (it's Boston, this is what people do) who apparently is always dressed like him all over town, so he in himself is kind of a celebrity.  Double SCORE. 
3. A non-U.S. citizen.  My pool partner.  I don't know his name, nor where he was from but he was definitely not from here.  He was majoring in something ridiculous like nuclear particle physics and that's about the only thing I could understand him saying.  SCORE.
4. A Boston native.  Wicked pissah! SCORE.

• Acquire 5 phone numbers from attractive young men.  I got two.  With style.  The first one was written in sharpie on a slap-on bracelet.  It was snapped on my wrist as I walked by.  This is how I want to give out my number from now on.  The second was written on a Valentine, which had hearts and puppies on it.  I lost it but I remember it saying something about being a great teacher? 
• Give out your phone number at least once.  Totally wrote my number on a bar napkin.  Totally nonchalantly slid it over to him.  Totally haven't heard from him.  SCORE.  I also drunk text the SlapOn guy, he figured out I was Gretchen the nurse without me telling him.  I was impressed (FYI, I was Gretchen the nurse). 
• Get the sob story of someone who has just been dumped.  Nope.  But can I just say, there were a lot of unfriendly dudes out.  If you're unfriendly to cute girls at a pubcrawl, then what the hell are you doing at a pubcrawl??
• Sing a duet (there must be an audience) Didn't even try.  FAIL.
• Convince someone you are British (obviously don't show them this list).  Didn't convince anyone of this (lost focus) but did loudly speak in a, for lack of better terms, "British" accent while walking to the subway.  FAIL (because I don't think anyone knew it was supposed to be British). 
• Convince someone you are building a DNA machine.  The one thing I do not talk about when I am drunk (or hardly ever) is science.  Even greatly exaggerated science to sound cool.  FAIL.

Other fun things that happened:  SlapOn guy gave me a fake pearl necklace with a real rose on it.  I wore it (until I lost it, I think when Bernard was putting me in headlocks, trying to stop my "British" banter) but I also proved to everyone that it was in fact, a real rose, by rubbing it on their face.  That rose saw a lot of face.  Another guy asked me if I had plans for Valentine's Day and if I wanted to go to the Olive Garden with him tonight.  No, I said, I have yoga class. Sorry but when you live in a city with an entire neighborhood of good ass Italian restaurants, you say no to Olive Garden.   After a solid 7 hours of pubcrawling we decided we were too cool for such shenanigans and decided to hit a real party.  A real private party that is.  We were with a coworker who had been invited to a grad student reception at a Hahvahd museum (yeah I have cool friends).  We walked in like we owned the place, skipped the name tag table and went straight for the free wine and beer.  I was really into their appetizers, almost as much as I was into touching things I wasn't supposed to be touching.  It's amazing we didn't get kicked out.  

S.A.D. Mission: Impossible

Grayer is going out on a Valentine's Day (S.A.D.) pub crawl on Saturday, and in honor of the occasion, she asked me to make her a goal for the evening. With that, I had a pure stroke of genius, and offered to make her a SCAVENGER HUNT; a list of things to see and do for the evening. I think this is sure to become a tradition for future commercial holidays and vacations.

Grayer, here is your mission, if you choose to accept it...

• Complete a mad libs with random strangers (then share it with us)
• Acquire a condom from a stranger (not the machine in the bathroom)
• Find a mullet (we'll be needing photographic evidence)
• Have a bartender create a shot/drink just for you
• Find a person wearing pink panties
• ...and a man with cartoons on his boxer shorts
• Acquire the autographs of the following:

1. A firefighter
2. Celebrity (You won't be able to find Ben Affleck or Jennifer Garner. They're both here in Atlanta.)
3. A non-U.S. citizen
4. A Boston native

• Acquire 5 phone numbers from attractive young men
• Give out your phone number at least once
• Get the sob story of someone who has just been dumped
• Sing a duet (there must be an audience)
• Convince someone you are British (obviously don't show them this list)
• Convince someone you are building a DNA machine

And that should a good evening make.

And that my friend, is what they call...closure

There's no judging on this blog, so hear me out.

Recently I've been having the strange urge to get back in touch with Fergus. I know this makes me sounds crazy but again, hear me out.

For those of you who don't know, Fergus is my ex-boyfriend. We met when Vi and I were living in Peru. Fergus and I had a very intense relationship. 2 months after we met I went travelling around South America for 6 weeks. I then went back to Peru, moved in with Fergus and stayed there for 5 more months. On our return to the UK he lived with his parents in Scotland and I was home in England. During this time I began to feel very differently about him and then we had a very awkward 6 weeks in India and Nepal. We broke up as soon as we got back.

After the break-up I began to feel the RAGE. I haven't seen him since. Through Facebook I found out that he is also now living in London. I had to delete him off Facebook. The rage has now dissipated, which is good. I'm now with the White Horse, which is really good so I shouldn't be giving Fergus a second thought right?

Here's the thing. I've been thinking that I should see him again. Obviously not see him in that was, but meet up to chat about things. It's not like I want to dissect our relationship or what went wrong but I feel like I'm missing a little closure. (Friends reference!)

What I find difficult to come to terms with is the fact that I went from being really in love with this guy, honestly thinking I would spend the rest of my life, to not wanting to be with him, to not want him to touch me, in a remarkably short period of time. And I still don't get this. Which irritates me. We shared a lot together and he was the first guy that I lived with and now we don't talk. The problem is that I'm one of these people that finds it difficult to let the past go, and I don't think I've completely let this go. Please understand, I have zero feelings for this guy. Zero.

Never mind. Judge away. I'm crazy.

All up in my bizness

"I have a disease. For which there is no known cure, that has been sexually transmitted to me. I cant even say it. H...I...R..P-E-E-S"   -Michael Scott


I have something to get off my chest.  No, it's not herpes, but it is HPV.  That's right, I have a... a....a STD.  Now before you get all Judge Judy on me, let me tell you a few things about human papillomavirus.  It's the most common STD, yet no one, not even my microbiologist friends, seems to know much about it at all.  Which is why I'm telling you all about it, partly because you need to know, but also because I don't want you to judge me.  See, this blog is fun and informative (and a judgement-free zone).   Check the facts:

•  There's around 200 types of HPV.  Some of them cause common warts.  Some cause genital warts.  I have one of the dozen "high risk" HPVs, that cause genital cancers, most commonly cervical.  Cancer causing types do not cause warts (Important factoid: I don't have warts!)
• It is believed that up to 80% of sexually active people will have sexually transmitted HPV at some point in their lives.  The majority of those people will fight off the infection without ever knowing they were infected. (Important factoid: Statistically speaking, 18 of our 23 followers, have had, do have or will have HPV).  
• A persistent infection of high-risk HPV can cause changes in cells that without treatment, can turn into invasive cancer.  A yearly Pap smear will find any abnormal cells well before that happens.  (Important factoid: Ladies, get your smears!)
• There is no "HPV test".   A Pap smear will find evidence of an infection months to years later. The time from active infection to clinically detectable disease make it difficult to determine which partner was the source of infection.
• Men have no symptoms (Important factoid: men are bastards) and the use of condoms does not fully protect against it.  The virus is transmitted via skin/mucous membrane, meaning it can be transmitting by the junk that isn't covered/protected with a condom.  (Important factoid: The only prevention is abstinence...)
• HPV vaccines only protect against two of the high-risk types, although they are the most common high-risk types.  

Now that you know some things, don't you judge me less?  I judge me less.  Now let me tell you my personal progression (because I apparently want to tell everyone about my vajayjay).

• Over the summer I had an abnormal Pap smear on my yearly visit.  Apparently protocol is to come back in a year.
• A couple months later, however, I had some major bleeding during sex.  I'm not just talking residue, I'm talking blood spattered sheets (yeah, that wasn't embarassing or anything).  I immediately called the doctor and then freaked the fuck out (this may have had something to do with the book I was reading, about aggressive cervical cancer).  There was crying involved.
• A month later I have a colposcopy.  As my gyno kept saying "I'm going to stain your cervix, then peer into you vagina to scrape the cells."  She seriously kept saying "peer into your vagina." Emphasis on the "peer".  
• She said the cells didn't look bad at all, whilst "peering".  Have you ever laughed with a speculum in your vag?  It's a weird feeling.  I like my gyno, she makes me laugh while all up in my business.  
• A couple weeks later she calls to schedule a biopsy.  Son of a bitch.  Turns out to be a superficial precancerous lesion.  What scary words those are. I may have cried.  
• I learn that the more they have to deteriorate the cervix, the harder it can be to have a full term pregnancy.  I may have cried some more, while wallowing to Brandi Carlile.  
• Violet convinces me to finally tell our mother.  (I had been avoiding due to the whole bleeding during sex/STD thing).  I call her and immediately start crying.  What is it about mothers, they make you cry without saying a word.
• My type of aggressive biopsy required sedation (thank the good Lord!), an outpatient surgery.  Such things require a person to take you home from the hospital.  I cried again.  I don't have a person here, why couldn't I just get in a cab?  
• I made a wallowing playlist.  I played it.  I wallowed.  
• I found a person, my friend Mary, who of course would take me but I was afraid to ask because she'd have to leave work to come get me.  She's so great she insisted on going with me and sat with me pre-op. 
• I had the option of being alert, but I said no, no, knock me the fuck out.  As a posse followed my bed into the operating room I was kind of concerned that the number of people who have ever seen my whoha was about to jump up exponentially.  The Valium helped that.  
• I woke up wearing disposable underwear, a giant pad and killer cramps.  I was offered Percocet.  I took it, there was no need to be brave.  
• After the cramps subsided, I honestly felt fine, just wicked tired.  The worst part of it all wasn't the "no sex for 3 weeks" (hello, I'm single, I can do that in my sleep!), it was the "no tampons (or diva cup)" rule.  Want to feel like a sixth grader? Wear pads.  What an awful period that was.  
• I'm still waiting for the pathologist reports, if all is well I'll just have to get Pap smears a couple times a year (my gyno has the most intimate relationship with my lady parts right now).  

I told this all to my friend 8-year-Lisa and she just keeps dwelling on the HPV part.  "It's not about the HPV, the problem now are the cells, not the HPV.  I have an STD, get over it."  But really she is the 20% of the population that will never get HPV.  She's been with one guy that has only ever been with her.  She's safe.  She may also be confused because she's under the impression that I'm waaaaay more innocent then I am.  No, I don't know who gave me HPV, nor do I know who I've given it to since.  I'm not going to make phone calls to  every guy I've slept with to tell them I have it.  Besides that being the single most uncomfortable experience ever, what's the point? They can't do anything about it.  If condoms don't help, what the hell am I supposed to do, just not have sex?  This is what I get for being the slut of the blog, but if I'm going to be punished for sluttiness, I wish I was a hella more slutty.  

Playlist: Let's Get It On

There is a Glee marathon on tv today, which means I could spend the entire day never leaving the house, but I have a Superbowl party to bake/clean for, so that won't be happening. It did give me the opportunity though to see The Power of Madonna episode, and I was so inspired by the Like a Virgin number that I suggested to the cute neighbor that we incorporate musical numbers into foreplay more often. Not sure why I use the phrase "more often" there, as we have never incorporated a choreographed musical number into foreplay. But we should. The response he gave me was that of utter bafflement, since he was unaware that I was watching a glee marathon. Plus, he is tone deaf and dances like Finn on a really good day.

Anyway, this got me thinking of the need for a "Let's Get it On" playlist. A little mood music to get the libido flowing. And possibly add a little choreography to spice it up.

Let's Get it On- Marvin Gaye
Naughty Girl- Beyonce
Wicked Game- Chris Isaak
Bad Things- Jace Everett
Leisure Suite- Feist
Fuck Me Pumps- Amy Winehouse
Again & Again- The Bird and the Bee
The Mating Game- Bitter:Sweet
Touch a Touch a Touch a Touch Me- Glee/Rocky Horror Picture Show

What have I forgotten?

The one with Lisa's thunder

I just visited my good friend and former roommate/colleague, 8-year-Lisa, this past weekend.  Like we do every time we see each other anymore, we A) get drunk and bake irrationally and 2) discuss her Loser of a boyfriend and their seemingly dead-end relationship. I've written about them a couple times over the past couple of years.  They've now been together for 9 years, living together for 6 months and my opinion of them hasn't changed.  They love each other, they don't like each other.

I finally voiced some concerns about them this weekend. (For example, when I ask what the two of them like to do for fun together, she literally had no answer.  That's what I call a concern).   While she considered each one of them, she did not falter in her "In it to win it" mentality.  That girl wants a ring.  For as long as I've known her she's wanted a ring.  However, in the past 3 years she's gone from making up excuses for him not proposing, to trying to be a strong feminist who doesn't need a wedding to prove her self worth.   When she said this I reminded her of a certain Valentine's Day when she pretended she did not care about Valentine's Day and I ended up having to cheer her up after she did not get anything for Valentine's day.  Pretending to not need a marriage would have the same crushing disappointment.  Yes, she wants to get married.  Yes, she wants him to stand up and say "I want to be with you for the rest of my life."   When she finally admitted that, we came to the conclusion that it was time to have yet another talk about their future.  So when I left on Sunday morning, she planned to bring it up soon.

I got a call from her last night.  Here's basically how the first 5 minutes of the conversation went:
8yL: Grayer!  This is the call!  I'm engaged!!! (In a very shrill voice).
G:  No you're not.
This goes back and forth several times.
G: So what are you actually calling me for anyways? (Not to be a bitch, but it was my bedtime).
8yL: I'm En-Gaaaaaged!
And then I believe her (In my defense, her family didn't believe her either).  Here's how shit went down.  Lisa brought up their future and the prospect of marriage.  The Loser said he had been thinking about it.  Discussion continued and climaxed when he said something to the degree of, "So, ya wanna?"  She told him he wasn't doing it right, but by the end of it they were agreed upon one thing, they were engaged.  No ring.  No romance.  No proposal, just a rational discussion.  It's like a fairy tale, isn't it?

I don't mean to be a bad friend.  I'm happy for her, in a if you're happy, I'm happy, sort of way.  When he does get around to getting her a ring, I highly suggested they go pick it out together.  It will be something fun they can do together, and more importantly, he's notorious for buying her hideous jewelry. 

But enough about her, let's focus on what this means for me.  Aside from speculating if I'll be part of the wedding party, or if I will get to help plan a possible fall New England wedding (I have great non-career related aspirations to be a wedding planner), I'm having some weird thoughts.  This is my first close friend to get engaged, and although I'm happy for her and truly do not envy her for it (who would really?) I'm being weird about it.  It's as if Monica and Chandler just got engaged and my first thought is to sleep with Ross.  Seriously.  I had a dream about my ex-boyfriend last night (I haven't talked to him in over a year but today I realized is his birthday, weird!).  I kept thinking about Jonny Fucking Damon all day.  I've been really tempted to text Conrad all night (luckily I forgot my phone at work) and I was just Facebook stalking my ex-Imaginary Boyfriend and his seemingly perfect/skinny/pretty girlfriend.  Ugh.  What is wrong with me?!