My Amazing Summer Fling with an Honest Nymphomaniac

January 30, 2015
Day 275
-5.6, 64,395 (+7554)

It was April or May of 2001 when we started talking, and he wouldn't send me his picture.  I'd been dating enough by this point to feel both alarmed and intrigued about this at the same time.  Still, our online chats were really nice, and when we spoke on the phone, he sounded incredibly sexy.  He promised me he was good looking, but the other ones say the same thing, so I really didn't know.  What made this even crazier was that he was living on Shelter Island for the summer (large island between Long Island's north and south forks out east).

He wanted me to rent a room out there so we could meet and spend a day and night together.  What a ludicrous idea!!!

So anyway, I rented the room, a private cottage on the hotel's property, and drove out east once the day arrived.  A ferry ride for my car and me later, I was inside the cottage and on the phone to tell him he could come anytime. 

His car pulled up, and I did my best to breathe.  I would just keep the door locked and politely tell him to go away if he ended up being the liar I feared he could be.  His door opened up and he stepped out, and I finally saw him.  Cute?  Attractive?  Handsome?  No, none of these words would really work.  This guy was hot, like super hot.  Like crazy hot.  He smiled at me and I welcomed him inside, closing and locking the door behind me.

I'm not going to give you the steamy details of what soon transpired, but I will say it all began the way any good date should: with conversation and time.  He got close to me on the couch after a few minutes, and we looked at some old pictures in a photo album I'd brought--I thought it might be a helpful ice breaker, and it was.

There's an important part of the story though I've yet to share, and it may color your opinion of him, me, or both of us very quickly.  He told me before we even started talking much online that he was just looking for a summer fling.  He promised me in fact that he wanted something fun and friendly, but only for the summer, and then he'd be an asshole and disappear.  He actually said this.  And I?  I agreed.  His honesty was extremely refreshing, and I genuinely appreciated it.

He was also, it turns out, a nymphomaniac (a person exhibiting unusual or excessive indulgence in sexual activity).  I did not hate this about him.

We had an amazing day and night together, grabbed some food at a nice restaurant on the north fork, and it was just the most perfect, hot date you can imagine.  I didn't think it could be beat, but then we met again a few weeks later, this time for a long weekend, and the pattern repeated, and if possible, with even greater intensity.  Hair pulling, scratching, waking me up in the middle of the night--it was all so admittedly crazy, yet genuinely amazing. 

This second weekend was also around the pride parade in Manhattan, where--I kid you not--people were asking to have their picture taken with him, and a professional photographer across the street from us came over and gave him his modeling card, asking him to contact him sometime.  I'm not making any of this up, and have my own photos from that day, though I'd never share them publicly.

As promised though, he disappeared.  We spoke on the phone once more after that second weekend, and he was just as sweet and loving with me as always--we even said I love you to each other several times over the course of our friendship--but then he was the asshole he promised to be, and completely disappeared.  I mourned the loss, and felt very sad about it, but to this day, I do still appreciate his honesty about the situation, and I'm glad I met him.  I knew it was just a fling, so I had no right to push him for more, but I'll never forget that amazing summer fling back in 2001.

The top 5 joys of being a redhead

My sister and me, circa 19whenwewereyounger

June 27, 2014
Day 58

Growing up as a redhead wasn't easy.  I didn't like feeling different, for starters.  For every teacher or parent who gushed over my "beautiful red hair", there was a kid nearby to call me carrot top instead.  I wanted desperately to just fit in with my classmates, to look like they did, to not stand out in any way, shape, or form!  But the older I got, the more I began to appreciate my ginger super-powers.  They're unique to my fellow redheads, but as you'll see from this list, there's a lot to love about us!

It's hard to nail everything in just five small points, so I've done my best to narrow them down to more esoteric categories, under which more could always be said:

The top 5 joys of being a redhead:

1) We are rare. 
Unless you're living in Ireland, or a really, really Irish town, you probably didn't have more than two or three redheads in any class of 100 or so growing up.  We're not as rare as twins, or, you know, Mets World Series appearances, but you'll only see us show up every once in a while down at the local baptismal font.

2) We are intriguing.
Because we're so rare, we're also intriguing.  People don't see redheads often, so they look at us a little longer when they first meet us.  We watch their eyes move up to our hair with intrigue, and sometimes attraction.  We don't see it in everyone, but there are some people who seem to positively gravitate toward us (and we're okay with that!).

3) We are collectible.
And because we're rare and intriguing, we are, for some, a creature worthy of collection.  Lots of men especially (straight and gay alike) seem to have a thing for redheads.  And though some just want to know if our carpets match our curtains, most appreciate all facets of our redheadedness, from our freckles to our smiles, and even to our Irish backgrounds too (when applicable).

4) Our passion is unmatched.
Though parts of us do match, we are, by and large, a very unmatched people.  There's just something about us that, well, fires people up.  Ginger girls especially are known for their fiery personalities or tempers, and it drives a lot of people crazy, for good and bad.  But whether we're angry or joyful, sad or pensive, we have a particular passion about us that's unmatched, and always burning.

5) We see the world differently.
Finally, we are the product of our species, and as such, it creates for us a different world view.  Being born a ginger means being born into a world of experiences as I've described above.  We are born into rarity, born into intrigue, born into a world filled with collectors, and in all of this, we know we are unmatched.  Because of all this, we can't help but see the world differently, just as the world clearly sees us differently.

Of course, we are not, despite the louder cries of our egos, better than anyone else because of the mere color of our hair, but we are no less proud of it anyway.  We are redheads.  We are rare, intriguing, unmatched, collectible creatures who see the world differently.   

We burn easier, not just on the outside, but from within as well, and you know what?  We're damn proud of it, too!  I don't know if the red curtains will ever close on our species, but I know the fires we've lit in this world will continue to burn brightly until the end of time!