I am so happy I sicken even myself.
Funny that, as all his amazing qualities are rolled up inside a body you'd never see gracing the cover of a superficial magazine, but I am blissfully, bubblingly falling in love with Kensington Boy.

We spent a wonderful weekend in and out of the bed (some of it on the floor actually, so as not to put the flatmate off her new boyfriend by excessivly noisy bedsprings), shopping, partying and generally being one of those aaaahhh bless! couples.

He came round on Saturday to help me look after the little boy I sometimes babysit, and we had tons of fun at the playground and frolicking in a "baby soup" at the pool- although by his own admission KB is neither sporty nor particularly fond of water!

He was great with the little one and seemed to genuinely enjoy himself. We went back to mine and had some food, then played and watched a kiddie programme until his mum came to pick him up.

KB and I were a bit tired and went to bed, but we didn't get much rest if you get my drift!
It felt quite naughty actually to be having sex when there was another couple in the flat, and in the early evening at that...

He took my jeans and knickers off and went down on my chlorine pussy for ages, then I returned the favour.
I love it when I can hear and feel him slapping into me, and he is not as gentle as he used to be...

We cuddled a bit after he deposited a large amount of sticky cum on my lower arm and belly, which we wiped off with a random towel (yeah, we weren't really prepared...), then we got dressed for a friend's party.

I drank cheap fizzy wine from a mini bottle and navigated whilst he drove, listening to Unknown FM and cracking jokes all the way.

The party was subdued but fun, one couple had brought their dog along and a French boy made a mean Mojito, but after I had fallen down the stairs in my fuck me boots and KB was nearly stoned from the passive smoking, we called it a night and drove back home.

I think we even got a little passionate again once I had taken my boots off (much to his regret... but there's always next time!)

Sunday morning was lovely, a long lazy wake-up fuck and more fun and conversation before our breakfast, followed by a shopping trip. What fun, he is as much of a bargain hunter as I am, with an eye for quality.

He dropped me home and I met up with a friend, then later on he joined me at the cinema before taking me back to his Belgravia bachelor pad.
As promised, he had made more chocolate mousse which we consumed on his sofa, clutching a champagne flute each and with him massaging my foot. Yes, I don't know how we found all those hands to do that either! We stayed up chatting and making love til 2am. I dressed up in his new trousers and a pink tie, keeping my underwear on, nothing else. On that occasion I discovered that my hip size matches his waist size, as he was able to get the trousers back off without unbuttoning them...

"I am still asleep", I told him in the morning, "and you have just climbed in through the window. Now you are trying to sublty seduce me before I wake up". He proceeded to subtly seduce me by running his fingers over my "amazing skin" and trailing them over the crease in my knickers before slipping them inside the material. (actually, no: I wasn't wearing any, that was the night before!) He just gently got me wet without touching me, then slowly dipped his finger into my pussy before twirling it around my clit and kissing my nipples whilst he touched himself.

I love it when he rubs his soppy, erect cock against my leg- on this occasion he went one stage further and rubbed it against my pussy too, kneeling between my legs whilst I still pretended to be asleep.
"The intruder wants to fuck you", he said, "don't you think you might wake up?" "I might," I replied, "or I may just think it's all an amazing dream..."

In any case, what a nice start to the week!

in KB's sheets in Belgravia, and made my way into his ensuite, still half asleep and wearing his size XL Ralph Lauren pyjamas.
I had heard the door shut behind him and assumed he'd gone into the lounge, but imagine my surprise when I came across him in the dark bathroom! Whether he'd had a shower in the darkness I may never know, but he'd tried to be considerate and not wake me up. Instead I was so shocked I screamed, and slipped on the wet floor.
He reacted in an instant and grabbed me by my lapels so I wouldn't fall over, then pulled me close into a hug to reassure me. Then I woke up properly, my nose pressed into his bathrobe which smelt of him and his shaving foam.

I was actually surprised to be this calm and happy. It was early, we'd gone to bed late and at one point the previous night I had been quite upset.

Now, girls, what do you think is worse: to potentially waste your time sleeping with younger men, or to then tell those younger men that in actual fact you shouldn't be sleeping with anyone who isn't looking for marriage and babies?

I did the latter.

Cringe!

To be perfectly truthful, I think this confession had been brought on by a sudden dip in endorphins thanks to a missing orgasm, coupled with half a bottle of champagne. Yep, as trivial as that. This missing orgasm was a side effect of an extremely frustrating sexual maneuver which KB pulled off every few seconds to see if the blasted condom was still in place.

To think that such a wonderful, sweet and decent intelligent individual has a total obsession with condoms whilst the world's biggest bastards procreate like flies thanks to their emotional latex allergies!

In any case, it made me wonder whether at my age I should still be sleeping with guys who REALLY don't want kids. This isn't true of Kensington Boy either but he is far too conscientious (or sober) to attempt even a little bit of risky sex.

SOOO stuupid! I know, but my patience has worn thinner than any Durex and I'd rather get banged senseless (a week after I ovulate, no less!) and hunt for the condom later than stop-start every few seconds when I am this close...

TO BE CONTINUED

Actually, I don't want to continue this now. Suffice to say I rolled over and was sad, he was concerned and apologetic, then I cheered up and a nice day was had by all.
As for contraception worries? What contraception? Which worries? I know where I am in my cycle and we're both due for a check-up. Whenever he worries (just before he comes) I don't mind, because usually I come WAY before him (twice).

The wind seems to have blown in some random past boys, who have suddenly decided to get in touch without any provocation.

Flyboy/the Pilot phoned last night after a few brief emails back and forth since before Christmas, trying to nail me down for "that coffee". I didn't have his number stored anymore and confessed to him that I'd deleted him.
This seems to happen more often recently: A rapper I met in a club and the guy I tried to set my friend up with which backfired so badly in the summer were both suddenly keen on my digits again. So I guess if you want a guy to phone you, just delete his number!
We had a pleasant chat and will probably get together once he has done the pilot-college week he is currently on, if I can be bothered.

The other odd thing that happened was Nice Ex ringing me up out of the blue and asking for a reference.
"A reference?" I wondered, "what, like a sex reference for your new girlfriend?".
Instead it turned out that he has picked the ripe old age of 26 to start a "proper" job with the council (despite all his other talents!) and was stuck for a second reference as he's done so much travelling that his only UK employer for the past 3 years was too hacked off to give him one (or whatever).

Funnily enough, as well as sleeping, eating, travelling and decorating his room with him I had also worked with him in the past and was thus able (and eligible) to give him a glowing reference.

Is this still my bad conscience plaguing me I wonder? After all if I hadn't cheated on him and dumped him, would I feel inclined to go that extra mile, or was this just a minor favour for an old friend? In the end of the day, if he'd been more mature and realistic I wouldn't have done the things I did in the first place...

He has been on my mind a lot lately, every time I hear that Lily Allen song: Littlest Things...

Not that I'd have him back or anything, just being sentimental.

Also, the cyber stalker is back. Now here's something to be slightly more concerned about...

- yeah, my party!
A night which could have been a bit awkward turned out great, although Tall Boy got a bit drunk on Kensington's cocktails (so much for the man who "doesn't drink cocktails") and tried to persuade the flatmate to come out clubbing until the cows came home, although she stayed in regardless.

NDB brought me my fave choccies as a present and I am not sure if
1) he realised exactly what was going on between KB and Sienna
2) he was disappointed.

In any case, he got on great with another good friend of mine although I still haven't found out if they snogged or not.

Tall Boy had been such a flake I didn't really care what he thought and let KB hold my hand in front of him.

I think it was also rather obvious from the way KB acted like the host, fetching drinks and taking coats and so on... Oh how I love it when a man knows how to be a man! On the other hand I felt like telling him to just effing relax and let people get their own bloody drinks.

The good thing about getting your guests to take their shoes off, is that it ensures no awful spillages are left on the floor- and if there are any, they are being soaked up by their socks!

My concerns about just a handful of horny and moody boys showing up and moping around me were unjustified. Instead, Kensington was the only boy for quite some time in all-female company before Tall Boy, the new Dance Boy and the rest of them turned up, so I relaxed and just enjoyed everyone's company.

Leaving Tall Boy behind to drunkenly try and convince the flatmate of the benefits of clubbing after midnight, the rest of us set off down the road and played "I've never" with the drinks we'd taken along in plastic cups.

I confessed everything:
"I've never had sex this week"- I drank.
"I've never had sex on a yacht"- I drank more.
"I've never had sex in a club ("what kind of club?" I asked the laughing crowd)" - I drank again.

What else? I barely remember... Kensington Boy drank just after "I've never had sex with a man", but when I probed him about it after he said he'd just been thirsty- hahaha!

"I've never had sex for seven days in a row" prompted most of us to reflect silently in our heads for a few seconds. Then people said: "I don't remember!", "I am not sure" and I remarked: "wouldn't you get cystitis on about day five?" again to much hilarity. It's a good job my friends aren't easily offended!

For those of you who wonder, yes, "I've never" is mostly about sex and you can find out what others may or may not have done or confess all about yourself if you feel like getting drunk.

Cheers!

His hands on my thighs, my arse in the club, feeling for my suspender belt straps and stocking tops

His face cracking into a smile as I caress his cheeks with velvet gloves

His huge hand on the small of my back, penetrating me with warmth and possessing me

His gruff voice telling me I wouldn't have a choice but to screw him

His finger in my pussy, tongue on my clit, stubble around my labia

His breath, his smell (even smelt his pre-cum whilst he was still in his suit)

Him bending me over, me in nothing but seamed stockings and suspenders, him in dress shirt, black Armani trousers and braces

Him telling me that he'd force me if I resisted, and insisting he would

grasping my wrists and grabbing my hips

my hand on the floor, the other on my clit

his hands on my bare bottom, squeezing, pushing his cock inside

me wishing he'd forget about the condom

him pushing into me, rolling on the floor because of the creaky bed

Pounding me, hot breath in my ear

Putting the condom on with my mouth, him telling me he'd make me suck his cock all day

slight slap on bare bottom

carressing my thighs and stocking tops in the car

pushing up my skirt regardless of the bright traffic lights and stray cyclists

feeling his way inside my knickers whilst steering with one hand

wiping the sweat off my shoulders

coming, coming inside me

collapsing and holding me

telling me he thinks the world of me.

the world.

Still in his suit.

:D

It just stuck me that I haven't yet written anything smutty about my experience on New Year's eve, or rather the early hours of 2007.

As most of the population was blissfully sleeping off their hangover, (with the exception of my mum, who was fretfully passing the floorboards, waiting anxiously for my return) I found myself in bed with the most delightfully young and drunken boy.

We had met earlier that night at a mutual friend's slightly boring party full of couples and one lone single man who happened to be a smoker, cutting any social interaction between us as short as my breath became in his proximity.
I noticed the boy get closer to me outside, as we were greeting the new year with cheap champagne and fireworks, and it was obvious he was so drunk he would probably never remember my name for even five minutes.
But sweet and endearing all the same! Plus, he didn't smell like an ashtray.

In any case, we had some rather meaningless conversation and shortly after meeting him I found myself snogging him in the only halfways dark corner the room offered. Of course, all my friends saw us but of course nobody cared (least of all myself) because we were all so swept away on a wave of booze and romance.

My sister's boyfriend couldn't help commenting that this boy looked like my son, which prompted me to introduce him to sis's bf with the words: "This is A, he thinks you look around 12!" (I am sure he was at least twice that age). A blushed and laughed, happy that this boy was obviously too sweet and drunk to sock him (or me) in the gob.

Instead, we excused ourselves for more snogging.

At the club we found ourselves at later, I managed to swipe a bottle of Martini from behind the bar, dance so much I fell over and climb onto a table to dance with some gay guy and his fag hag, until the sweet boy and I decided it was time to get a cab home.

Since he didn't live far from my mum's we shared a cab to his. "Some friends want to come over too, let's have a nightcap" he suggested, but I was far from surprised when nobody else rocked up and we ended up snuggling and kissing on his parents' expensive leather sofa in full view of an impressive Christmas tree...

He poured me some wine which I didn't drink, and we retired up to his bedroom so he could "sleep off some of the alcohol before dropping me home"...

He, I and a hot-water-bottle snuggled up under his covers fully clothed and pretended to sleep.
I drifted off slightly when I felt his hands on me. Not an unpleasant sensation I must say, but altogether so innocently seductive and sweetly secretive I became incredibly turned on without giving an outward sign of consciousness.

Was this wrong of him, I wondered- after all I was drunk and tired, and he was starting to invade my privacy, my clothes, my naked skin, my body without my consent, yet I couldn't help but slick up, holding my breath and wishing he would continue.

He did. I twisted and turned slightly, he must have known I was awake but he continued just as candidly as before. Was he afraid I would change my mind? Was his plan to push my lust so far there would be no way back? Did he think he could just carry on and I wouldn't wake up even if he fucked me?

I was deathly embarrassed at the state of my greying "natural"-coloured tummy tuck knickers and mis-matched bra, but as things progressed so slowly and it was thankfully dark I don't think he noticed.
He started to inch his fingers into my waistband and worked his way slowly into my moist pussy, where he began stroking my itching clit.

Fuck! I can't concentrate whilst my sexy work colleague is standing behind me rifling through the files! He just performed and accidental strip tease when he took off his jumper and the T-shirt came off with it. man!!! Doesn't make it easier for a girl to concentrate on "work"...
I moaned and moved myself into his hand and kissed him again. He kept stroking me achingly slowly, carressing my breasts, my thighs, my pussy and stomach whilst I writhed around between his sheets and hot water bottle.

He started whispering to me- did I enjoy it, did I want to do it?- which was strange, as it was my first time with a German or at least it had been a long time since my last Austrian.

I started to take my clothes off, careful to hide the embarrassing tights-and-knicker combo, whilst he inched himself closer to me. His body felt amazing, young, clean and hairless- strong, youthful and his cock was hard to bursting.

He went down on me but although I wanted to come so badly, I wanted him inside me at the time I did, so I held off until he slowly inched himself up on my body again, nearly sliding his dick into me in one motion (just how I like it...).

I got the distinct impression he just wanted to carry on and fuck me, but much as I wanted him to I made him go and fetch a condom.

He climbed down (yes, all this was taking place in a bed raised about 7ft off the ground!) and got it, then we got down to business. He felt great inside me and I came from his thrusting whilst touching my clit, pulling his bum and then balls closer to me with my other hand...

Immedieately afterwards, I felt slightly odd. We were both clearly still very drunk, it was 9am and I wanted to sneak in before my mum woke up (fat chance as I discovered!), so I put my clothes back on whilst he was in the bathroom and asked him to drive me home.

He urged me to be quiet whilst we tip-toed through the house so as not to wake his sister (God knows if she was even there), but once I got outside to his car I discovered my keys were missing.

We searched for them for a while but gave up. After all they might have stayed in the club or the taxi, so he drove me home in his little convertible (still drunk and worried he'd get pulled over).

Glancing at my phone I could tell I was in for a bit of a confrontation- my mum had been trying to reach me since 7:30am and in her last message she mentioned she was about to call the police, she was that worried...
A quick kiss outside my mum's house, and that was it.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

I have decided to publish some of my older posts from back in 2005 again, so my new friends can read them as well as people who have only just stumbled across this blog and wonder what it is all about.
Enjoy!

Last night, KB took me to his flat for the first time, more by coincidence really as we were hungry and sort of passing, and he said he'd tidied up since Sunday night.

Obviously it is in a prime location and charmingly furnished with messy books and other interesting paraphernalia everywhere, however what I was not prepared for were two pictures on his wall with some girl.

I knew who she was immediately, THE EX.
And I got that horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach like going down in the lift too fast, or falling off a cliff.

My hunger vanished and I wanted to go home, preferably now, preferably before I cried and preferably with my furniture which was still in his car magically flown into my living room.

I mean, I have known this boy for a little over six weeks and can stake absolutely no claim to the displays on his walls (or contents of his heart), but it really was a cruel twist of fate.

During the past 22 months I have tried my utmost not to feel this vulnerable again emotionally (I usually failed anyway, but not for lack of trying) and here it was, staring me in the face.

My big hang-up stems from the Bastard's Bitch obviously, whose ugly grinning face greeted me from the fridge, the bookcase and various other pictures dotted around his flat, all meaning "absolutely nothing" and re-appearing mysteriously every time I tried to get rid of them discreetly.
In any case, this only really started to bother me once the Bastard was getting more serious about "us" and I let myself think I was in a committed, exclusive and emotionally as well as physically faithful relationship.

I tried to stay cheerful whilst attempting to swallow the big knot in my throat, then asked after the other pictures. His brother, his dad, his mum, his nan, oh, and "me and my ex".
So it WAS her. Nice. Urgh!

His kisses made me prickle slightly and I ate the meal and drank his wine, making small-talk and trying to re-gain my appetite whilst her irritating mug stared down the back of my neck from the wall.

"I have this silly rule", I told him as he wrapped me in his arms and kissed me again, "but may I have another piece of bread first?". He looked puzzled as he went to slice the bread, then let me eat it in silence. I could tell he was worried and he asked me if this rule had anything to do with (I forget what, but he wasn't on the right track), looking concerned at the prospect of never seeing me again or whatever it was he was worried about.

I sat across from him in an antique armchair (or did I say it when he put his arms around him? I seem to remember his eyes close to my face) and told him: "I don't sleep with boys in flats where there are still pictures of their ex on the wall".
He was genuinely shocked at having been so insensitive and I could feel my eyes well up, which I tried to mask with some wisecrack to diffuse the atmosphere. Something about his curtain rails or something...

He told me it didn't mean anything, he didn't notice them or hadn't gotten round to taking them down yet, almost exactly the same words as the Bastard. With one slight difference- he told me she would cross the street if she saw him now, whilst the Bastard maintained she was his best friend, much like a little sister and other such insincere drivel...

(this is not the same girl by the way)

In any case, Kensington Boy seemed genuinely worried about my emotional state (and the prospect of possibly never having sex with me again) but I told him not to worry too much and went to the loo.

After I came back out I noticed a card from the mantlepiece was missing (I didn't dare look for the photographs again), and shortly after I sat down again he showed me a small pile of ripped-up paper which he stuffed in the bin in a grand gesture.

Neurotic, moi?

I wouldn't have thought this was necessary, but although he had made his feelings clear and his bed looked inviting, I let him drive me home first before succumbing to his amazing hands and tongue again. As there are no photos up in my flat yet, I managed to clear my head enough to come three times (and throw him out just before 2am).

What would you say to someone who is falling for (and sleeping with!) someone who looks like a fat Hitler without the mustache!?
Indeed, those were my blasphemous thoughts when Kensington Boy rocked up at my place, driving his "ridiculously poncy" car (his words!), his bouncy hair brushed back and parted in the middle where it had dried after his morning shower...
Less than 12 hours later and after an exhausting trip to a large Scandinavian furniture store, I let his rotund form fuck my quivering body senseless, my head a mess of lust and emotions and my dripping pussy already satisfied from his quick but effective dive between my thighs earlier.

I am not exactly ashamed of him, but I am. Does that make sense? Much as I like him for all his qualities (not least for his ability to have me cream my knickers for three days straight before I finally get to fuck him), to other people we must look like a rather mis-matched pair. Since I am struck with some of the most judgemental friends on the planet, I am not looking forward to introducing him to them.
Not that I am the slimmest girl within Zones 1-2, but add my face, my height compared to his and his well-cut suits into the equation and I wonder if any innocent observer must think: "She is with him just for his money" (or whatever).
His weight and personal style also make him look about 10 years older than he really is, and what is really my toyboy could appear to the general public like some minted, middle-aged seducer of a girl in her early twenties (I am not, but again - appearances!).

Here a list to illustrate how ridiculous I am being:
THINGS I LIKE ABOUT HIM
-His ability to come to the rescue at any moment
-He genuinely cares about me
-His touch is electric
-He smells nice (and his kisses taste nice)
-His penchant for plying me with champagne in expensive restaurants
-He wears cashmere!
-His wit and irony
-He really listens and remembers everything I say
-He likes to surprise me with fun gifts (like books we talked about, an exotic vegetable I mentioned I liked...)
-His writing
-His voice and posh accent
-His ability to make me calm down and keep my cool
-His patience
-He loves small kids
-His sense of humour
-He is a true gent and always walks on the outside of the pavement, opens doors and puts me in taxis
-His presence makes me weak at the knees and wet between my thighs
-His sparkling eyes, their colour
-His (admittedly untested-but-hinted-at-when he held my hands in Quaglino's) massage ability
-The prospect that he would be a totally amazing boyfriend
-Apparently, he can cook
-Despite his young(ish) age he seems mature enough to want a committed relationship at some stage

WHAT I AM NOT SO KEEN ON
-About 2-4 stone (my best guesstimate)
-Um....
-Yeah...
-What else...
-His inability/unwillingness to wear T-Shirts?
-The fact that I am half a head taller than him in heels
-He doesn't dance or sing (he says)

So, really- how do I tell him to lose the weight?

I moaned that whenever things go well (or I get spoiled), it all goes up in a puff of smoke. KB asked me: "would you rather just be spoiled for a short time then, or not at all?"
The classic difficult question to answer and I wasn't sure what to say. Still, a little spoiling is better than none at all.

He has been soo helpful with my move, a real rock and such fun to be around. He makes me feel springy and happy even after weeks as a worried insomniac/ with sweat dripping down my cheeks (both sets) and sneezing from 5 years of dust.

In any case, I worry that just as I am getting used to him and his various uses (as well as his attractive eyes, voice and wit) it may all disappear again just as quickly as it arrived (just like with the Bastard, the Aristocrat, the Pilot, Cashmere... whoever).

I guess that when one person is done spoiling you, you need to have a back-up in place or the world would be a sad place indeed.

I got my revenge to his odd question a bit later when I asked him: "So, would you rather be dumped at the start, or after a short and debauched affair?"

He picked the affair (with option to a follow-up friendship). It's an ego thing he said.

Things I recently heard that probably mean just that:
-"So, I suppose I better give you my card then... Oh, I don't have my card. Well, do you want my email address then? Have you got a pen? Ok, here you go"
(On the back of a Nero's stamp card. I joked: "Does that mean the 6th shag is free then?") haha.

-"If I find your keys, I will drop them through your letterbox" (after dropping me off at my mum's. No: "so, what's your surname then?" or: "can I have your number in case your keys turn up at my house")

Oh well...

Tall Boy:
Unless he is the author of that cryptic postcard, no chance I guess. NEXT!

The Pilot:
Wants to meet up "for a coffee". He might just think I have come into some money (why oh why did I put him on "that" email list?) and can help him with his 60,000 pilot license, or maybe he misses the casual sex? I am curious... (after all, before BBP he was the most handsome man I had in 2005. Also I enjoyed flying his plane!) Then again, I may just stand him up. Now there's a thought...

Rugby Boy:
Is he lonely in his 4 bedroom house in the arse end of nowhere? Does he need a girl who can beat him at pool in his new conservatory?
Will nobody else shag him on his leather suite and spend hours on the karaoke machine? Has he stopped drinking and realised that I may no longer be depressed? Doesn't he know anyone else who enjoys musicals? Have his parents put the pressure on him to produce an heir to their mansion? The mind boggles... (I met him last January and haven't seen him since March or so)

Mr Red:
Skinter than ever but I really enjoyed our swim and pizza together after we had the "just friends" chat. A truly kind soul despite his stalker tendencies. Maybe I could set him up with someone...?

Kensington Boy:
The only person who would put him in my love life is probably the person who cast Jack Black in "The Holiday".
Oops, that's mean. And maybe he will lose some weight? Let's face it, even if JB were skinny he would still have a face only his mother (and Janet Hirshenson) could love...
Despite his looks, I enjoy his sparkling wit, eyes and wallet (in that order). No, wallet sounds too crude. I enjoyed his sparkling car he took me to the airport in and in which he will pick me up again tomorrow. I have also become addicted to his intelligent, self-deprecating emails and brilliant writing and I could get used to his reassuring presence, interesting conversation and chauffeuring skills...

-Don't get drunk
-Don't forget to text her that you are alive if it's past 5am, even on New Year's eve
-Try not to lose your house keys
-When she greets you, near-hysterical because she has been up since 7am pacing the floor, ringing both your mobiles and eager for an explanation of your whereabouts, try to act sympathetically.
-Also try to act sober
-Be vague about how many people were at the house you ended up at
-Give the name of the person who dropped you off in his convertible at 9:30 am as if he's been part of your group of friends for ages
-Pretend he was sober
-Say you lost your house keys in the club, not at a guy's house whose number you don't even have
-Try not to laugh at your mum when she tells you she was about to call the police to report you missing (reporting a missing person at 9am on New Year's day might have provoked a similar response from the cops, but still...)
-Attempt to cure early-onset cystitis from your rampant sex-with-a-stranger by drinking baking soda in water
-Drink it quickly so your mum doesn't ask you why you are drinking her baking soda
-Resist calling Information for the guy's number so you can tell him you found your keys (they were at the club after all)
-Pretend to your sister's boyfriend that you thought your guy was older than 24
-Happy new year!

to all of you!!!

xxx