Sex and the Ivy

Quotables: Two Halves of a Whole

Filed under: Adia, Quotables — Elle February 28, 2007 @ 5:23 pm

Adia [on Facebook]: “Remember the time you wore pants? I don’t.”

Me [on Facebook]: “Remember the time you were sober? I don’t.”

Adia [at lunch]: “Between the two of us, we have one pair of pants and one liver.”

Party Log: Casino Night @ Mather

Filed under: Adia, Aidan, Drinking, Mather, Matt, Nate, Partying — Elle February 24, 2007 @ 12:21 pm

Reader Poll: Despite the pseudonyms, do you guys know who the boys and girls of this blog are? Just wondering about the visibility of recurring characters like Adia, Terra, and JB.


No better way to spend Friday night than consuming large amounts of your least favorite alcohol. Call it an acquired taste, I just never got into tequila — though it still trumps whiskey (which I’ve never attempted again after an unfortunate post-graduation incident).But I digress. Let’s start from the top. Met up around nine with my favorite gal pal who was then denied entrance to Casino Night, a Mather-only event, so we naturally decided to drink alone. After taking Aidan’s martini back to my newly cleaned room for a “power half-hour”, we decided it was time for Crashing Events We Don’t Belong At: Take 2.

Success! Casino Night for the two of us included a “How many chips can you fit in your bra?” game with Matt as well as girl-on-girl action via an arm-wrestling challenge (we were manipulated by sick, sick men). Adia urged me to eat before I drank so I ate a handful of grapes in hopes that they would ferment during digestion. Between my outfit (nonexistent) and her liver (also nonexistent), we pretty much knew this night could only end in nasty hangovers and regrettable hookups. Possibly with each other.

So maybe not. But thanks to Mather golf (different drinks at every hole, i.e. dorm room), we did manage to get nice and drunk and make new BFFs — with boys too, because guys are totally the best drinking buddies. I’ve determined since last night that group drinking is an uber form of co-dependency. Sometime between my third and fourth tequila shot, Aidan stopped pouring drinks, looked me in the eye, and asked, “Lena, are you at your limit?” — a legitimate question considering the last time I golfed. I glanced at everyone else present, including the petite, susceptible-to-suggestion Adia. A dismissive, sober “no” later, and I was on shot number six. I knew I was going somewhere good even if my liver disagreed. Impromptu dance party ensued, Adia disappeared (as she often does), I flirted shamelessly with ‘09 boys (never happens when sober), and Nate made a surprise appearance an hour too late to regulate my ass.

Somehow, I ended in my bedroom, said a somewhat drunk hello to Sue, and heated up rice because it was the closest food in proximity. Adia came over to pick up her shit, I chatted with Matt for a few moments, and my night ended quite uneventfully save for a drunk dial from Summer Guy at 5 a.m. (Um, time difference, much?) Today I woke up with nary a regret. Well, maybe a couple, considering the secrets I spilled in my drunken state. But I’m hoping my conversation partners were too inebriated themselves to remember.

In conclusion, Friday night is what every night should be like for the next month: Adia, alcohol, and abstinence.

Lent

Filed under: Philadelphia — Elle February 22, 2007 @ 3:56 am

Reader Poll: What are you giving up for Lent?

There’s no better time to embark on a self-improvement plan. Despite the show I’m producing in mid-March, I vow to work out regularly, stick to healthy food, stop dating assholes, and make great plans for Spring Break.

I’ve already gotten several inquiries about my Lent-imposed abstinence. I haven’t decided if I’m ruling out all sexual activitiy — but let me put it this way, I’m not really interested in any locally located penises anyway.

Also, I’m giving up mood swings. Therapy has been surprisingly effective in preventing depressive relapses. This weekend, I freaked out for the first time since December and wrote this spiel:

It’s Monday and I’m in Philadelphia. My luggage is checked at a hotel on 34th and 8th in Midtown Manhattan. My rationality is somewhere on Staten Island. If this weekend had gone as planned, I’d be back in Boston in time for dinner this evening. But I rarely act according to plan (even my own), so instead I’m sitting in a coffee shop by the Penn campus — several hours late for the Greyhound that’s supposed to take me back to New York. I fault my wanderlust and impulsiveness for this situation, but I’m pretty sure that a unhealthy dose of idealism also went into it.

Last night, I nearly came home a day early — the smart, reasonable thing to do. If I left the city by 8pm, I could have even arrived on campus in time to party with Adia. But as I was about to purchase e-tickets to Boston, I glanced at the Philadelphia page and on a whim, bought those instead. I reasoned that I would regret not coming here while already so close, that a month would be far too long to wait for my next visit.

I am almost certain that this will either be the second of many trips or the last. All-or-nothing thinking, my therapist would call it. I would argue that a place that makes me feel worse than Harvard is not too far removed from hell. But in all fairness, this sinking feeling in my stomach has been building since my Thursday night arrival to New York, so Penn is perhaps just a chance backdrop to an already-present melancholy.

There are two reasons why I’m at Penn and I’m beginning to think that both of them are ridiculously idiotic. Maybe I function under some sort of unique, convoluted moral system, because these seem to be reasons that are valid only to me. No one else in my position would view them as motivation to travel 100 miles in the opposite direction of their desired destination. Which leads me to wonder — for once — what in the world has gotten into me.

I can already feel my heart retreating. I can already feel regret — of a different sort than aforementioned — building. I am already anticipating the unsteady busride home, the all-encompassing numbness, and the daily dorm room static waiting for me in Cambridge.

I don’t know what I’m complaining about. As depressed I was getting into Philadelphia, things didn’t turn out nearly as badly as I expected. And since coming home, I have seen nearly all my best friends at college in the past 48 hours. Life is good.

Recap: NY to Mardi Gras at the Kong

Filed under: Adia, New York, Partying, Philadelphia, RKB, Sam — Elle February 21, 2007 @ 3:05 am

Reunited tonight with my favorite gal, Adia (not pictured — she doesn’t like cameras). Hurricanes, midnight snacks, and hot alums! Yay …

New York was both ridiculously great and ridiculously bad … all about the company.

* Thursday night, I checked into the New Yorker and spent the late night wandering Times Square with a Harvard ‘08er who held me steady in my ridiculous stiletto boots. Lessons learned: McDonald’s and porn are an unbeatable combo.

* On Friday, Sam came to the city and we found a cute hotel on 50th. Met up with his friends, had sushi for dinner, and made him order me embarassingly girly drinks. Spent a good portion of the evening observing and making fun of the other people (namely, the reeking-of-desperate men) at the bar in the W Hotel.

* Saturday was spent in Staten Island … which prompted JB to ask, “Why the hell did you decide to go to Jersey?”

* I devoted Sunday to a tour of the Whitney Museum, alongside the lovely Rachel Kramer Bussel. Among the exhibits were a single blinding light and a piano shattered to pieces with accompanying video tape of its destruction. Needless to say, I didn’t “get” it.

* Sunday night, I ended up in Philadelphia, where I stayed until Monday afternoon. Long story.

And now I’m home. For at least three weeks. I think. For the time being, I’ll have to rein in my wanderlust.

In other news, it’s officially Ash Wednesday and I’m giving up sex for Lent. Penance and all, you know? Or maybe I’m just waiting for someone worth it …

Single

Filed under: Dating/Relationships, Kyle, Nate, Peter, Sam, Summer Guy, Valentine's Day — Elle February 15, 2007 @ 4:31 am

Single ain’t so bad on Valentine’s. In the past 24 hours, I’ve traded “I love you’s” with Summer Guy, walked out of a lecture to talk to Sam, and exchanged greetings with a New Yorker I plan on seeing this weekend. I met two boys for the first time (separately, both for coffee), received messages from readers (thanks!), and also managed to piss off Peter via text message. No small feat considering the wonderful timing.

I think it’s fantastic that every guy who remotely gives a shit about me is currently at least 200 miles from Boston.

It’s been a quiet day. Save for my meeting at the Agassiz (I’m producing a show there, can you believe it?) I didn’t do anything terribly productive. I’m sure the weather’s to blame. For dinner, Nate (see left, in better weather) and I went to Tanjore where I ordered Aloo Mutter and lamented my lack of flowers. But what’s really sad is my lack of sex.

I haven’t had sex in a week and a half. I expect to break out into a rash at any second. I suppose I could make a phone call to a local hookup if I really wanted to (and trust me, Valentine’s is the day to do it) but I’m utterly disappointed with the hos in this area code. Then again, pretty much every guy on my current roster — Bostonian or not — has some major failing (be it commitmentphobia or Republicanism).

Just about the only person who doesn’t continually frustrate me is Kyle and that’s probably because my expectations for him are exceedingly low. I was telling my roommates last night that Kyle’s unabashed sleaziness is infinitely better than the shit I encounter from guys like Mark who disappear and reappear at whim or guys like Summer Guy who admit they love me in the same breath they deny our romantic possibility. Kyle may be no saint but at least I know exactly what to expect — nothing.

I think the real cause of my frustrations is the fact that I’ve been playing around with the same five guys since mid November/early December. Like my black leather boots, they’re a season old. But unlike my boots, they don’t complement me better as the winter goes on. If anything, things have stagnated. And by “things,” I mean everything — sex, relationships, conversations, etc. It is February 15 and it might as well be 2006 again. I’m just bored and not even in a self-indulgent, “I have a short attention span, so interest me” kind of way. I’m bored from desperately wanting passion and ending up with excuses about distance and lack of time and youth and bullshit.

I’m tired of bullshit.

Maggie, JB, and I discussed the boundaries of monogamy last night. Both vehemently disagreed that a sexually open relationship could work. But honestly, I see such a clear separation between my physical and emotional needs. The latter can easily be fulfilled at long-distance. The former — though something I’m certainly willing to compromise — obviously necessitates regular interaction. Though I’m quite fond of Summer Guy, I don’t particularly care if he dates or sleeps with other women. It doesn’t make me love him less. The one thing we’re missing is a relationship label, and even then, I can’t tell you if that would dramatically alter the way we relate to one another or my feelings toward physical intimacy with other people. Sex doesn’t mean a damn thing.

I am almost convinced that Sam is this happy medium between all the madness. He’s not in Boston, but close enough for visits. The distance makes him attentive in a conveniently non-intrusive way. He’s older (which I prefer) but a student (which is easy to relate to). Sex is great, even orgasmic. And the big one: he’s emotionally available — almost unbelievably so. Just about his only flaw is his fiscal conservatism, and I’m sure I can fix that with time.

So why am I second-guessing his motives all the time? Probably because I’m more used to 20-something boys than I am 20-something men.

We’ll see what the four-day trip away brings. New York tomorrow night. Philly this weekend if I’m feeling spontaneous. See you Monday, Harvard.

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