2000-09-26 | 04:08:42

couches are for sitting. not sleeping. i mean, i've taken plenty of naps curled up on my couch. and i do mean curled up. it's only five feet long. but for full-on, no-tweaked-neck-in-the-morning, deep sleep, you need a bed.

two guys have inquired as to the possibity of couch sleeping at my abode in recent weeks.

first it was an internet pally who was planning on visiting l.a. soon. he asked if he could bum some zzzz's on my divan instead of dishing out dead president's for some ramada action.

well, while having an out-of-town guest who i've never met sleeping on my couch sounds cool and bohemian in concept, reality is...he's a boy i only know in flatworld. i'd be a dumb girl to let a "virtual" stranger take up residence on my davenport, no matter how cute, witty and charming he types. bad idea jeans, man.*

he has been e-pouting ever since i said no. silly boy. it's nothing against him. just plain old common sense. a decision couched in wisdom, if you will.

so then, even more recently, a guy friend who i had hung out with one night asked me if he could crash on my couch (on the pretense that he had had too much to drink to drive home). i hesistated. he is very attractive. approaching hot. and we flirt like bandits.

i knew if he stayed over, there would be making out. see, the whole "sleeping on the couch" line sounds all innocent and cushioney, but i know there is an unspoken equation lying beneath:

couch = cooch

mkay? mkay.

oh sure, those boys will deny it, but it's true. i can hear them hollering their protestations now. it's like this, see: i'm not blaming them. it's huMAN nature to seek nookie. and it's flattering to possess such a desirable couch. but those fellars know what they're doing--: presumed livingroom furniture snoozing doubling as an entre into a mademoiselle's boudoir. 'cause you know the whole couch-to-bed move is gonna happen at some point in the wee hours.

"i can't sleep on that thing."

"my back is killing me now."

"it's lonely out there in the front room."

"can i climb in?"

"i thought we could just cuddle."

yep. another equation for ya:

cuddle = disarming olive branch leading to hopefully getting one's kit off.**

yep. there's a reason they're sometimes nicknamed loveseats, baby.

*which reminds me, i was reading someone's journal who made a "bad idea jeans" reference in one of their entries and i just about busted a gut that someone remembered that fake commercial from snl that spoofed the dockers spots' hip-to-calf tight shot on men's legs and butts as they talked about bad ideas, like: "so my brother-in-law is a recovering drug addict. he's moving here from haiti and needs a place to stay. sure, we have a newborn in the house, but it will be nice to have a built-in babysitter." bad idea. ahaha! i was going to send that journal writer e-props, but lost track of who wrote it. doh! (so if it was you, considered yourself propped, yo.)

**i learned that phrase from a british bloke in my office. a euphemism for sex. ain't it bloody charming?

***

a girlboy without malice
is a lonely thing. see what this smart and sassy, sushi-pj-wearing gal has to say about the person of her dreams.

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