The advantages of "ex sex"

What's the world got against ex sex? I feel like it's very taboo -- the assumption is that it will only make life confusing. But I beg to differ: ex sex can be very healthy, very sweet, and completely unconfusing. Nothing like a little backslide to help a girl rev her engines for the racetrack!

So here are my top 10 reasons why ex sex is a good thing:

10. They already know that you don't always wear sexy underwear and your legs can be stubbly.
9. It can be very efficient: you already know exactly what to do, when. Badabing, badaboom. I'm all for efficiency. But at the same time, it can have an aura of suspense: Is he going to do that amazing thing he always did or is that only for relationships...oooh, ooh, yes...yes...YES!
8. It's comfortable, like putting on your favorite pair of socks, your oldest t-shirt, and your most comfortable underwear on all at the same time -- even if they have a few holes. Very sweet, too.
7. Likely he'll still respect you in the morning.
8. If you stay at his place, you get to snoop and see if there's evidence of other women. Chick shit in the bathroom? Bonus points for exes who can't find the condoms or need to break open a new box.
6. Force of habit: you'll already know where you're getting breakfast in the morning, so no confusion there. Same thing with the pre-bed and morning bathroom routine -- you'll already have one down: he knows you will fuss about for ten minutes before bed washing your face; you know he'll fuss around for ten minutes in the morning taking a dump.
5. You can fool yourself that he's the one who has gotten fat, not you.
4. He'll be grateful.
3. It feels faintly naughty without being really naughty.
2. It's easy.
1. It's easy, but you're not! Ex sex is never slutty! It's tough to be easy with a guy you've already screwed a kabillion times. It's sort of like magic!

I had accidental ex sex last weekend, and I have preplanned ex sex slated for this coming weekend. Yep, two different exes. And I don't feel slutty at all!

--Meg

Date #1: Snark free!

I did not find him at Zeitgeist, I did not find him online. I was set up on a completely random blind date (amazing what wonders can happen when you put the word out that you're on a manhunt), and what a nice fellow! Fancy that!

I don't have any snarking to do whatsoever.

Who am I?

Well, this is no fun...especially because I'm the LONE VOICE OUT HERE. I FEEL LIKE I AM ALONE BELLOWING INTO THE GRAND CANYON AFTER A NUCLEAR ATTACK AND ONLY THE CACTI CAN HEAR ME, AND THEY'RE SAYING, SHUT UP, WILL YOU? WE DON'T FUCKING CARE ABOUT YOUR STUPID DATES AND YOUR STUPID CHARDONNAY THEORIES AND YOUR NEW BRA WITH THE CHICKEN CUTLETS AND YOUR DAMNED OVARIES.

Girls, get with the program!

--Meg

p.s. I have done my due diligence circle backs. Tapas man is not to be found. Make out man has said I should drop him line if I'm in NYC. Hmm...trip to NYC planned for late July.

Must find Date #1 tonight

Going to Zeitgeist this afternoon and a party tonight. Gird your loins...

--Meg

Vrum vrum, we're revving our engines...

It's June 1.

By June 7, each of us (yes, there are three of us, I promise!) will have one date and report back.

In the meantime, readers (all two of you), we're sorting out the rules to DTT. Do we get to bank dates? (For example, let's say one of us has two dates in one week. Does that count then for two weeks?)

And what if we start seeing someone, are we off the hook? I vote no, because, hypothetically, let's say one of us does meet Mr. Right -- nothing's going to make him more Mr. Right than continuing to play the field for a few weeks after meeting him, eh?

Or so I've been told...

--Meg

Sometimes a girl just smells husband material

Really, this guy smelled awfully good. And not like some cologne, which I hate (flashback to 1984, sweaty southern boy reeking of Polo and pressing his unfortunate codpiece against a girl to the beat of Love is a Battlefield...ugh, I must take a bath now at the very thought!). No, this one just smelled like soap. More importantly, he smelled like a nice person.

The scene: A party at a friend's house in the Berkeley hills, lots of boozing and dancing and frolicking in general. A younger crowd. Suddenly this crew appeared, bringing with them some people from out of town, and suddenly I'm aware that this one man, who appeared to be around my age, was putting the moves on me on the dance floor.

Moi?

Are you guys putting something in my water? A couple of weeks ago the guy at the restaurant*, this weekend a guy at a party? And I'm in fact a bit tubby right now!

Hey, I think I figured it out, it's the SHOES. I was wearing the same shoes both nights! Men totally dig the Roman dominatrix shoes that are a tad Paris Hilton. Maybe they're my magic shoes...

But I digress. To make a short story shorter: I smooched him. In the garden overlooking the Bay. And he was very, very sweet. If my apartment didn't resemble Pig Pen's Temple of Doom and I didn't have an appointment at 8:30 the next morning, I just might have taken advantage of him.

But wait, he seemed to be husband material (smart, solid, thoughtful, smelled good), and never ever shag husband material within hours of meeting him.

Anyway, I'll keep you updated. I'm planning a circle back via email sometime this week.

*Note to self (henceforth NTS): Circle back to restaurant guy this week. Wear the other pair of smokin' shoes, the Spanish ones...

--Meg

When cultures collide over a beer...or four

Nice guy. Smart guy. Guy from another country that shall go nameless except to say it's African.

Nice smart African guy seems to really NEED four beers (he got the drink right, but did he need four?), while I had two glasses of wine. But I was willing to cut him some slack, hey, he'd just finished, and aced, he said, an exam. Then, when I returned from the restroom and settled into my seat, he said, "You have a nice body."

Oh, dear. Clearly someone would not have passed the exam in Intercultural Dating on American Soil 101.

Me [wincing]: "Um, uh, that's really kind of inappropriate."
Him: "What? I'm just giving you a compliment. Did I say something wrong?"
Me: "Um, well, I'm probably more uptight than most this, but it's sort of forward to comment on a woman's body when you barely know her."
Him: "Really?"

Really.

Tip for foreign guys dating on American soil: Save the body compliments until AFTER you've been intimate. We like hearing that you think we have a nice ass, a nice rack, or a cute inner elbow, but save it for the right moment, please. Maybe after making out for the first time rolling around in the grass, her hair is all a mess, you're turned on but keeping it in your pants, maybe you could get away with whispering it while nuzzling her neck. And definitely if you've just done the nasty and the sheets look like a tornado came through and you're still all hot and sweaty, and she's got a smile on her face, maybe then you could sigh, "You've got a nice body." But before that? Keep it to yourself.

And that's what my ass AND my rack have to say about that.

-- Meg

Hold onto your socks, I have a date tonight

In an hour. I'm not holding my breath on this one -- I think he's too young and possibly boring, but I promise to give DTT HQ a complete update. What will he order? I'll eat my clogs if he orders Chardonnay, I swear. And I think it's too soon for a teddy bear [well, in my book, it's ALWAYS too soon for a teddy bear].

At least I'm not hungover from Tuesday night anymore.

--Meg