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11-16-03 - -

Wow, I saw four guys in three days.

On Thursday, I am excited to talk about astrophysics with Nash, because I know something now from A Brief History In Time. Due to the amounts of microwave radiation after the big bang, �if the universe isn�t infinite, it damn might as well be.� I am impressed that he knows how to pronounce �quarks� (like corks). He sits and explains string theory to me. Some of the parallel universes are probably around eight meters away, but are separated in time. It occurs to me that talking about astrophysics is one of the sexiest things a guy can do, in my book, and that�s his major. I have enough knowledge to comprehend some of his dissection of the universe. I ask, �Do neutrinos have mass? Do you think the universe will recollapse on itself? What has Stephen Hawking said that he retracted?� He can answer my questions without missing a beat, and I feel all the smarter for understanding him. I say, �Sit next to me on the bed and tell me a story.� I work past the stories of speed, of a psycho ex-girlfriend, until I get him showing me pictures of him and big telescopes. I want to kiss him, but I don�t. In fact, part of the reason I want to get drunk is because I know that then I�ll have the courage. We finagle his roommates to going off to get us some White Zinfandel, a particular favorite of both of us. They are $3.99 and I ask for two bottles: one for tonight, and one for later. In the next 12 or so hours, I end up consuming both.

I speak the same way I do normally drink. Women don�t admit to masturbation, or casual sex, but they do both, and I enjoy both. His roommate Seth (who I keep calling Luke) is entirely sober but it doesn�t stop me from trying to make out with him. In any case, I end up kissing Nash a good bit and seem to be developing an obsession with touching his body. I kiss Jake to try and prove I am a better kisser than someone else, and openly admit my reasoning later, so that he hates me midway into the evening. I spend the majority of the evening trying to get Matt, who is utterly beautiful, to kiss me. He does not. I talk to Nash�s roommates about everything, but for the most part stay glued to Nash for the evening. I am making sure he enjoyed kissing me and enjoys the attention I am giving him. Nash says I am the most insecure drunk he knows. I keep forgetting his friend and roommates� names. I am so drunk that life seems like a constant waking up. Every five minutes or so I have a moment of true consciousness, a gift of lucidity, and then I am living on blurry fast forward. I alert them to this fact several times, and they don�t seem to understand.

We end up in Nash�s bed. He shows me his scars, and they match Bat�s perfectly -- the shoulders, the arms, occasionally the chest. We massage each other. He tells me he didn�t plan on this, and I know it must have all been my plan, then. He is very candid about the fact that this is escapism. No implied relationship. Sex occurs three times. I wholly appreciate Nash�s body. I remember telling Bat I loved his body recently. He said, �Wait till you have sex with an athlete.� I realize at once that it is not Bat�s body that is ideal, it�s Bat that was the ideal. Nash has a beautiful body, and in my drunkenness it reaches Greek God status. I spent the night in his bed, then after a shower and a bit of time reading moved on to Steve.

Steve was (just like Zoe) as boring as bath water. I could tell he tried to make a good impression (he made me spaghetti and poured me wine), but we just had no intellectual or emotional chemistry, despite the fact we have the same major. He ended up watching several hours of South Park with me, and when I became bored, switched to daytime TV. Being the type of pushover I am, I had Bat call me so I could pretend the call was my sick parents. At the end Steve tried to kiss me, but I rejected the kiss. Then Bat and I saw a musical performance and an avant-garde film, the first of which was fabulous and the second of which was pretentious mishmosh. Of course, Bat and Fish loved the film.

Things were very awkward with Bat. I was a stranger. He was more tickled by trivial occurrences than anything I said. Bat almost came when we were making out, then lost all sensitivity when it got to the main sexual act, even though it was his idea. At least one of us must be falling out of love. It doesn�t help that he is becoming an entire ne�er do well, not eating, not reading, not doing anything of use and drinking far too much. In the evening I felt sad and wished I were home. Neither of us said any of those mushy things we normally do. As Wolfe may have predicted, I had an empty feeling the next day and declined a mall and movie with my parents in order to have some quality time with myself. Then Noah called and picked me up at eight.

Noah is an exceedingly wholesome person. He bought me cake-batter flavored ice cream mixed with oreos. He taught me to play pool for the first time, kicked my ass in a heated match of air hockey, and outraced me by a hair on video games. We talked about politics and comedy. He laughed a lot at my jokes. Around two AM we watched a werewolf movie, and I fell asleep on the couch, where I spent the night. I can tell he is very interested, as well as inexperienced, based on his twelve-year-old style of goofy flirtatiousness. It was also very clear that although he used the term �hanging out�, this was a date. I was very nervous around him for some reason. I can�t tell if it�s because I�m disinterested, or, as I supsect, because when I�m not drunk I�m paranoid about physical intimacy. IN any case, Noah was a good talker, a good listener, and a generally fun person to be with. I can tell he�s been fairly lonely and was flattered that I had singled him out at the party. However, I almost feel like a bad girl around him. I cuss more, I seem to be more sexualized, I smoke. . .

 

 

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