"So you're a comedian," he said. "Tell me something funny."

"Okay. The great thing about being an alcoholic is that when you're bored at a party, you can leave without saying good-bye, and people just think you blacked out."

"Are you an alcoholic?" he asked me.

"That's not really the point," I responded. "And I don't like the word 'alcoholic.' I like to think of myself as an advanced drinker."

"I'm confused," he said. It was pretty obvious that THUNDER spent a lot of his time being confused, so I switched the conversation back to his career.

There is only so much actor talk one person can take, and I had reached my limit. We needed to wrap this little chitchat up now. I excused myself to the bathroom, hoping that would give him some time to finish his beer, and we could move on to the action. In the restroom, I met two girls who were making fun of a guy one of them was talking to. Evidently, he had a pretty bad lisp. I told them that was nothing-if they really wanted to see funny, they should come and listen to THUNDER for a minute. "I'm not even sure this guy can read," I said and relayed the story of how we had met.

They got excited at the idea of meeting him, and the three of us all went back to the table together.

I made the introductions, explaining to THUNDER that I had run into some friends. They looked at each other and giggled. It was clear they were taken with his beauty. Who wasn't? Then one of the girls whispered to me, "Does he talk?"

I said, "Yes, he talks, he's not a chimp."

"Ask him a question," she persisted.

That's too mean, I thought. "What should I ask him?" I said with clenched teeth.

"Ask him how to spell something," she shot back.

That crossed the line. I started to feel bad about mistreating THUNDER. Flashbacks of being harassed in high school by older girls flooded my conscience. I had never wanted to be mean like that to someone, and now here I was acting just as bad. Possibly even worse, since I was technically an adult and should know better. And, at some point, he was going to catch on. He was a little slow, but he wasn't out and out brain-dead.

So we bid our adieus and jetted back to his pad. I told him I wanted to see his head shots.

Twenty minutes later I'm airborne and getting the bottom knocked out of me. This guy wasn't so stupid after all. He really knew his way around a woman. It was crazy, rough stuff. I couldn't get enough of him. He was flipping me around, pinning me this way and that. His skin was soft and he had a back you could just hold on to for dear life. His arms were solid muscle and he had this beautiful, perfect ass. Of course I had seen this all before when he was on stage, but now I was living out every girl and gay guy's fantasy. Soft lips too. Really good soft lips. I love men.

There's something truly wonderful about a man who knows how to take a woman. I thought maybe it was love. I even slept over. I knew I would be back for more. Who cares if he didn't know how to multiply? This guy was some sort of sign from God.

THUNDER and I started seeing each other on a regular basis. We got into the pattern of skipping the formalities of cocktails altogether, and I would just come over. The sex was amazing every time. I even enjoyed sleeping next to him. It felt like sleeping next to a rhinoceros. His body was so big, I felt petite next to him. I wanted to show him off to my friends, but I didn't want him to speak. I was torn.

I called him while he was driving back from Vegas one Sunday. He didn't seem happy to hear from me. I sensed something was wrong and that I would not be getting any action that night. He told me he was exhausted from driving and didn't know if he would be up for one of my visits. What? Too tired? I understood our Cirque du Soleil act required some stamina, but I felt it was well worth it. Then he laid it on me. He had met someone else whom he thought he wanted to get serious with.

"A girl?" I asked.

"Yes," he said. "You're a really great girl and we've been having a blast, but I think we both know that this is not something that's going any farther. I just don't see myself getting serious with you."

Oh, my God. I couldn't believe I was getting dumped by THUNDER. I couldn't believe I was getting dumped by someone whose real name I didn't even know. My time in heaven was up, and I was being told I wasn't the marrying kind by someone who undresses for a living. Was it because I wasn't flexible enough? Not serious enough? We were seeing each other at least two times a week. How much more serious could we get?

"Are you there?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's okay. I understand," I lied. "So, is there any way I could still just see you tonight?" I asked.

Silence.

"Good-bye, Chelsea. I wish you well." He hung up. Well, onward and upward. It's not that I hadn't had my heart broken before, but this was the first time I heard my little beaver cry a little. Talk about sad. She didn't leave the house for days.

A SMALL PENIS on a little boy is not a big deal. However, if that boy continues to grow and his penis does not, it turns into a very big deal. I feel terrible for men who have small penises. What are they supposed to do? I guess they could have penile enlargements, but are people really doing that? I hope so.

I had a brief summer fling with a small-penis person once. My only excuse is that he was a lot of fun to hang out with-and I was barely twenty. I didn't know at that point that it was okay to leave a guy in the lurch. I definitely did know that it wasn't okay to talk to him about his tiny penis. "By the way, will you let me know when you're inside me?" Plus, this guy was right after my black phase where I never came across a penis smaller than a baby's arm. I thought maybe it was the price I had to pay for going back to the white man.

Cut to five years later at a club called 217 in Santa Monica, and a little Ecstasy. 217 is a dance club, and in order for me to go to 217 and do what everyone else was doing, I had to take drugs. I like my Ecstasy in small quantities, and then I like it again in about an hour or so-in more small quantities. I don't like to overdose. Call me old-fashioned.

We were all in the mood for a wild night. Ivory had just broken up with her architect boyfriend from Holland. Ivory hadn't dated a guy without an accent since high school. Lydia was reeling from a terrible breakup with a man who'd treated her like shit for close to two years. I had seen him on plenty of occasions out at bars, where he would not only hit on her friends but then tell her about it. She thought he just needed to grow up. The guy was thirty-five, which in L.A. years is twenty-five, and it didn't look like he was going to get his act together now or later. The worst thing about him, though, was his terrible breath.

After their first date, Lydia had called me and said, "I really liked him, except he had smelly breath. So we went back to my place…"

"I'm sorry…?" I asked her.

"So we went back to my place…"

"Hold on a second. After you realized he had bad breath, you went back to your place?"

"Well…" She paused.

"Well, nothing!" I told her. " Listen, Lydia, halitosis is not the beginning of a relationship, it's the end of one. That's not something you can work through. Unless you have access to a tongue scraper that I don't know about."

Ivory and I had taken to calling him AB. Ass Breath. Long before the breakup, Lydia started using that nickname too.

Ivory, good old Lydia, and I were flying high on our three tabs of Ecstasy. Thirty minutes after we got to the club, Lydia disappeared and Ivory and I were dancing. I saw a cutie watching me from the bar. My favorite are white, dark-haired men with decent footwear and he definitely fit the description. He was probably wondering who gave me the right to dance, but he seemed amused. So did the rest of the onlookers. I jumped down from the little dance stage with a scissor kick, onto the main floor, and made my way over toward him. Know that if I'm dancing on a platform, what little inhibitions I have, have completely left the building.