Sunday, November 02, 2003

Men are funny... 

No, it's true! They can be absolutely hilarious sometimes. I don't think they mean to be, but there are times when it's all a girl can do to bite her tongue to avoid laughing.

(Warning: long ass entry ahead, with gratuitous references to my chestal endowments. If you're not into that, skip today's entry.)

I went to the big Halloween party last night, arriving around 10pm. FFDWG(FKaSarah) was going to join me when she finished her volunteer work with a workshop she helps out with frequently. She anticipated it to end around midnight. I had invited other friends, including CuteNerdBoy, but no one could make it. Which meant I had to spend a minimum of two hours with no one to really chat with.

It meant I had to mingle.


I'm not much of a mingler. The only time I seem to be able to really come alive in a large group is if I'm either onstage (which hasn't been for many years) or if I'm the hostess. Otherwise all bets are off.

I walked through the party, packed nearly wall to wall with people. I sought out and said hi to one of the hosts. He was someone I knew in high school, a guy that was a year ahead of me and part of our "tree group" (there were about ten of us that hung out around a tree near the multi-useless, er, I mean, purpose room). One of my first memories of him was a skit that he and another guy (I think it was BestFriend's first boyfriend) used to practice for the upcoming talent show (I started this high school at the beginning of the second semester of 10th grade). The skit was Monty Python's Parrot Sketch. He and the other guy were the ones that got me interested in Monty Python.

I hadn't seen PythonMan in nearly twenty years when he popped up at the last game night with his lovely wife. So I thought I'd stop by his big party. We chatted for a bit, though he was briefly mesmerized by my rather prominent cleavage, which he accidentally touched - his depth perception was a little off what with the alcohol and all, he only meant to point. That's what I choose to believe and I'm sticking to it. Besides, he did look a little honestly surprised. Pleased, but surprised.

(BTW, I was a wench. I'll post the one picture I have when I get to work. It's not a very flattering picture and manages to downplay my all-mighty boobage. That's quite a feat.)

Anyway, after a few minutes he asked me if I had yet seen the other host. I said no and PythonMan (um, that sounds rather pornographic, doesn't it?) told me to look for the guy in the tights and long feather. Not that I probably wouldn't recognize him. He was the other reason I was a little nervous about going to the party.

See, the other host was someone I dated for a month just before the summer of '85. I had met him at one of PythonMan's parties and by the end of the evening we were making out. He was my first really physical - I hesitate to use the word "relationship" because that word means more to me than a brief fling. So, okay, I'll use the word "fling". Because that's pretty much what it was. So, yeah, he was my first physical fling. For about a month the two of us fooled around quite a bit, though still being a nervous virgin I was unwilling to go "all the way". It ended when he went back home for the summer and sent me a letter saying he thought we were going too fast and maybe we should be friends for a little while, take things slowly when he returned. Then, when he got back to town, he somehow got the number of a friend of mine that he met through me and asked her out. Ah, the stupidity of youth.

Anyway. Summer'85Boy. The reason I was nervous was not because I had any old feelings that were being dredged up. Not because I thought it would be neato keen to get back together. It was because I had seen a recent picture of him where he looked almost exactly the way I remember him looking back in '85. Whereas I? Do not.

I'm quite a bit heavier than I was when I was 19. My face is definitely fuller (I used to have a jaw line that could cut glass, it was so square and well-defined). So I was a little self-conscious, wondering what would go through his mind when he saw me.

(Brief interruption: when CuteNerdBoy told me he couldn't make it, we exchanged a few e-mails and I confessed a certain amount of nervousness. I also told him the reason. He responded by saying, basically, I really didn't need to be too nervous, that I would be the envy of all and, if those present could not acknowledge my splendor in my smashing costume, then they were sad little people. A very sweet thought, I must say. My response:

"Thanks for your kind words about tonight. I happen to think you're absolutely correct about the narrow-minded Philistines, because I happen to know that I am splendid in every conceivable way (and I'm happy that you recognize that inescapable fact)."

So that begs the question. Why can't he acknowledge my splendor to the extent that his wariness evaporates completely? Oh wait. What is this entry titled? Men are funny. Too bad in this instance it's not funny-ha-ha. But I digress...)

I saw Summer'85Boy's tall lanky figure, made my way through the throng, tapped his shoulder and said, "Summer'85Boy? I'm a voice from your past."

He looked at me quizzically. He obviously didn't recognize me, but I think that was more due to the long red wig I was wearing (and the passage of eighteen years) than anything else.

"I'm Carol C[..]."

A look of shock washed over his face. "Oh my G-d!" he exclaimed, moving in for a light half hug. "It's been twenty years!" (I didn't correct him - though he should know that one never says something that makes a woman older than she is - especially if it would put her age at 39 when she's not quite there yet.)

We chatted for a minute, exchanging pleasantries, then I noticed he looked a little antsy. He was probably worrying that I'd be hanging over him all night (men can be surprisingly weird and ego-centric in that way - so many times I've wanted to tell them, "Dude, that was a while ago. I'm an adult, I'm not going to make a scene/glom onto you/stare at you longingly from across the room. Get over yourself."). Or maybe he thought I would be cramping his style, because later in the evening, as I was going back and forth to get drinks and or food, I noticed him chatting up a witch. A svelte witch.

(Okay, I still have issues about my body size. I'm working on it!)

Anyway, I told him I was off to mingle and said I'd see him later. And off I went to mingle.

In the back there was a pool and behind the pool, past a large hedge (or maybe it was a row of trees) there was more back-yard, containing a good band and a sizable crowd of people watching the band, some of whom were sitting around a fire pit. I stood near the fire pit for awhile, sipping on my beer, when I noticed two guys staring at me, then laughing, "Hey, it's the St. Pauli Girl!"

They sidled up to me, and the next thing I knew I was in a conversation with Toby and Phillip. They were very impressed with my display of décolletagé, so I flirted outrageously. I spoke with Toby more then Phillip, as we were talking movies and Phillip professed to know nothing about movies. Interspersed with the movie and music and sports talk, Toby peppered me with questions about my breasts. Did I have nicknames for them? How did I like them? What size were they?

I know some women would have been horribly offended and, if it were someone different who gave off a creepy vibe (as had a couple of the men who had leered at me that night), I probably would have been. Besides, if I didn't want the girls to be noticed, I wouldn't put them on display. As long as guys aren't too obnoxious, as long as they actually remember that my eyes and brain do not rest in my boobs and look me in the face most of the time, and as long as they show some restraint and don't go grabbing for them like a baby looking for a meal, I'm okay with a bit of ogling. I happen to possess naturally lovely breasts. I like to make the most of them.

At any rate, Toby seemed harmless enough. Not terribly bright, but still quite cute. I found it all very funny.

Finally I had to go back in to use the restroom. Toby said he'd stay right there. Okay then. I did intend on getting back to him, but on the way to the bathroom I ended up chatting with PythonMan (maybe I need to come up with another nickname for him) for a number of minutes, then I had to wait for the bathroom to open up (while I was waiting in line a very tall, very cute man said to me, "If you don't wear that everyday, you should." I assured him that I had worn it all day on Halloween, to which he replied, "Good for you!" And he went on his way.) It was a little while before I got back to the pit and by that time Toby was talking with another girl. *shrug* No biggie.

So back I went into the house. FFDWG(FKaSarah) showed up around 1am, I introduced her to PythonMan, showed her the party and the band and pointed out Summer'85Boy (who was chatting up another girl), then after about twenty minutes she left because she had to be back at the workshop at 8am.

Luckily I was feeling better about the evening. I was pretty sure I wouldn't be hooking up with anyone that night, but I was heartily amused by the reaction of the men around me, how they thought they were being so smooth when looking at or making references to my bodacious ta-tas.

(I have to say, though there were other women wearing low-cut tops, I definitely had the best boobie spillage there. Only one other woman came close and she was otherwise dressed very skanky. Me, I was a class act all the way, baby. As a wench the only skin that was exposed - aside from the ankles, hands and face - was, yes, the tops of my breasts.)

A guy in a mime mask felt compelled to make obnoxious French-sounding noises whenever I crossed his path and quite a few men looked at the cleavage, then looked at me with a smile I recognize all too well, the "I'm really a debonair guy, my, what lovely breasts you have, how are they, uh, you doing tonight?" smile. Then they'd nod at me, as casual as you please, and say hi. I'd say hi right back and just continue moving on. Some of the guys were actually pretty cute, but most of them I didn't find attractive at all.

Then, when I rested against a wall in the living room for a moment, a nice-looking young guy with long dark hair and a goatee (or is it VanDyke?) beard, dressed in a tuxedo minus the tie, walked up to me and started chatting me up. Frederico thought he was being very charming, telling me about being a professional percussionist and a full blooded Italian born and raised in Italy but in L.A since he was 12 (he was almost 30) and how I was so attractive but I must get men telling me that all the time and how none of the other men at the party could probably talk to me without staring at my breasts all night long, but he was used to big breasts because he grew up in Italy so he could look me in the eye when talking to me (he usually did, I'll give him credit for that) and older women are so much more attractive than younger women and he was a Capricorn with a Scorpio rising so he was very sensual and, oh, by the way, he had also studied massage therapy so he knew how to touch a woman, all while making little noises as if he were enjoying a particularly choice piece of fillet mignon as he moved closer and closer to me and -

It wasn't a monologue, exactly, as I did contribute to the conversation a little. And I definitely flirted. I'll admit, the attention was very nice and got me a little, well, excited. It was good to know that I could go to a party which wasn't all about large women and the men who love them (I've been to a couple of those - hello, meat markets) and still have nice looking, not too scummy men wanting to jump my bones. That, if I wanted to, all I had to do was take Toby or Frederico by the hand into a bedroom and fuck like bunnies. And I so could have.

*sigh* It's almost a shame that that's not what I'm looking for right now.

Still, Frederico was really all too funny. How he thought he was just so suave, when he was painfully obvious. I wondered how many women fell for his little act and how many of them were intelligent, fairly confident women like myself. I don't deny that once upon a time I probably would have gone to bed with him, all the while seeing right through him but being way too horny to care. Nowadays, not so much. Maybe because, despite all the misgivings I write here, all the questioning and soul searching, I am pretty confident that I'm a hell of a woman and I deserve only the best

Frederico? Not what I'd call the best.

Finally I excused myself, saying I had to leave because I had to work the next day (which is true, I'll be leaving for work soon). I sought out PythonMan, but found Summer'85Boy first and said my good-byes, thanking him for the party. He suggested that maybe another twenty years shouldn't pass before we saw each other again, then he told me about a New Years party he was throwing. Another half-hug, then I was on my way. I found PythonMan and thanked him, telling him that we'd probably be doing another game night soon, which he said would be good because he had so much fun at the last one, then I mentioned that Summer'85Boy told me about the New Years party and PythonMan said I should show up for that one.

On the way out the door I ran into Toby and said good-bye. He looked a little stricken, but smiled and said good-bye right back, shaking my hand. As I left I noticed Frederico chatting up another woman. I walked to the Mustang (which seemed to be parked in BumFuck, Montana) with a jaunt in my step, a smile on my face and my keys in my hand. I got home around 2am.

It was a good night after all.

One last thing - never, ever underestimate the power of the extreme cleavage. 'Cause damn! Sometimes it can make men really, really funny.

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Carol/Female/36-40. Lives in United States/California/Los Angeles/San Fernando Valley, speaks English. Spends 40% of daytime online. Uses a Normal (56k) connection.
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