How You Doin’ Blondie?


Just Drifting Through
May 11, 2008, 8:55 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, Life Experiences, lust, Media, Music, Quotes, Random, random musings, sex, thoughts, Volvo | Tags: ,

“Where do all the porn stars go
When the lights go down?
I wonder where all the porn stars go
‘Cause when you need one, they are never aroundI think they moved out to the suburbs
And now they’re blonde, bland, middle-class Republican wives
They all have blonde, bland, middle-class Republican children
Blonde, bland, middle-class Republican lives

Where do all the porn stars go
When the lights go down?
I think I know where all the porn stars go
They all become Volvo-driving soccer moms”

 

Sometimes, though, there are such things as Volvo-driving porn stars. I substantiate this claim with the red Volvo S40 currently parked in my driveway.



Protected: Flying Solo
April 16, 2008, 1:50 am
Filed under: lust, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , ,

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So, To Summarize Thus Far…
April 14, 2008, 9:45 pm
Filed under: Life, love, lust, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , , , ,

“Somewhere, sometime, somehow, you lose something or see something lost.

If you are lucky, it was when you were young. If you are lucky, you saw your parents divorced. If you are lucky, your high school girlfriend died in a car crash. If you are lucky, you saw your little sister lose the use of her legs because your family couldn’t afford the right health care.

If you are unlucky, it will happen when you’re older. If you are unlucky, you will see your son lose his place at the college of his choice to a man richer then you, rich enough to donate some new lab equipment. If you are unlucky, your wife of thirty-seven years will develop bipolar disorder and have to be hospitalized after you come home from work and find she has opened her wrists with an electric meat carver. If you are unlucky, you will lose your job after twenty-two years of service and be too old to find another.

If you are unlucky, you will realize too late that the way you thought the world worked was just an illusion. If you are unlucky, you will become afraid too late.

But if you are lucky, you will become afraid when you are young, afraid of the unexpected changing of your life for the worse and not having enough power to set things back the way you wanted them to be.

And then, if you are lucky, you will pursue power from that day forth. You will lead armies into Gaul, you will take on a colony in a new world, you will acquire money, you will only maintain relationships where you have the upper hand, only stay in jobs that can eventually lead to you being the one in charge. And you will do this because if you are lucky, you will know that power means you don’t have to be afraid. Power means you can do what you want when you want to. Power means you can have what you want when you want it.

If you are lucky, you will do this because you will know it is really Power that is worth any sacrifice, that it is really Power without which you can’t live, that it is really Power without which you can only eat and breathe and sleep and sometimes not even that. You will do this because if you are lucky you will know that when we say we’d die for Liberty we’re really saying we’d die for Power.

Except that in the pursuit of Power one of the things you will have to sacrifice will be the ability to enjoy the thing you lost or saw lost.

So even if you reach that point where you aren’t afraid anymore, that point where you can relax, that point where you are free, that point you never reach, even if you reach that point, you will realize that you weren’t so lucky after all.”

Kelman, Nic. Girls. Boston: Little Brown. 2003.



My Kingdom For Which Search Engine This Guy Used
April 12, 2008, 4:19 pm
Filed under: Humor, lust, Query, sex | Tags: , , ,

I shit you not, this inquiry returned my blog:

“how do i make myself cum harder”

Seriously ya’ll, my kingdom.



Call Me Reverend Dimmesdale

It makes me slightly ill when I hear about the sexual affairs of married people. The cheating, the excuses, the understandings. It really does make me physically sick. And who am I to react like that? Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, right? Isn’t my current boyfriend married and the father of sweet little toddler? Don’t I rationalize it away by saying to myself, “It’s different, they have an understanding?” Don’t I judge others by their actions but myself by my intentions?

So why does it plunge me into such a state of utter despair to bear witness to the infidelity of others?

Because I still have a little bit of hope, that’s why. As jaded, hateful, and bitter as I am, there’s still a little tiny part of me that believes in the traditional family unit, wants the traditional family unit. There’s a part of me that dreams about finding a nice, decent, hard-working, down-to-earth, blue collar guy who thinks the sun rises and sets on me; of finding a man who sees me as the most beautiful woman in the world, and the woman he wants to mother his future children. There’s a part of me that cries sometimes, lamenting the loss of the sacred union and a love that weathers storms and the put-yourself-first mentality society promotes. There’s also a part that hates myself, really and truly hates myself, for the life I’ve made.

I hate you, husband who “works late”; I hate you, housewife with the “personal trainer”; I hate you, unhappily married man or woman, who thinks your time is better spent fulfilling your own desires then working on repairing and stabilizing the relationship, the commitment you’ve already made; I hate you so much it makes me angry, angry and sick to the point of vomiting.

But I hate myself even more.



So I’m channeling an adolescent male’s sense of humor, sue me
April 5, 2008, 9:27 pm
Filed under: Entertainment, fun, Life, lust, Men, Reflections, sex | Tags: , ,

 



To Catch A Pseudo-Predator

I overheard this man remark that Bob Saget’s HBO special was deplorable and tasteless, that he crossed far too many boundaries.

Please, Bob Saget wishes he was that opprobrious.

Saget’s special was sad; if you squinted your eyes and cocked your head to one angle, you could just barely make out the superimposed image of a man bailing water out of a rapidly sinking dingy.

I mean, talking about wanting to fuck your daughter’s underage friends? Really Bob? Admitting you lust after minors is so passe; do you not watch Dateline? 



Whore Redux

Today; “Search Engine Terms: define whore”.

Really?

It was vaguely amusing, now it’s just mildly insulting.

…Oh and honey? If you’re concerned enough to research the formal definition, you’ve probably already been immortalized by Joe Francis.



Somewhere Otis Redding and Lou Rawls are Weeping Quietly

I’m telling you, this urban demographic and their music industry, it’s a Grammy  goldmine! It’s a regular chart-topping factory! Especially with this character I’ve been hearing about lately, this “Fat Joe,” my he is quite the wordsmith. I stumbled upon another gem of his, this one entitled “Still Not A Player,” featuring Monsieur “Big Pun.”

Does this gentleman have a fan club? How might I gain membership?

 

 

And yes folks, he really did just say “I’m not a player, I just fuck a lot.”



Everybody Here

If I’m reading Michael Stipe correctly, I think the idea is that everybody has a burden they feel they have to carry, the trick is getting the fuck over it.

“No one remembers and nobody cares”

Preach it, brother Stipe

 



Ladies and Gentlemen, Poet Laureate Robert Sylvester Kelly:

    I heard a song the other day, and the lyrics in the opening chorus gave me pause. The name of the song [and I use the term very, very loosely] is “Make it Rain”; penned by Messrs. “Lil’ Wayne” and “Fat Joe,” featuring a guest appearance by R.Kelly. As a woman, I should be offended by the chauvinistic and frankly degrading lyrics Mr. Kelly is crooning; but as someone who considers themselves a novice at the game the big boys play, I was highly entertained by the song’s stark materialistic and animalistic overtures:

“I be drilling these chicks like Major Payne
When I make it rain, they be like ‘Kell… do it again’
From the club to the coupe, inside my gates
Up in my bedroom screaming each other’s name
They was perty perty, and I was flirty flirty
Lil’ dro, lil’ bub now they gettin’ dirty dirty
Don’t ask me what my name is, stupid bitch I’m famous
You gon’ make me aim this, leave your ass brainless
I’m tryin’ to stay R&B but these streets is a part of me
So don’t get it twisted
You see I order one bottle, then I talk with one model
Then I order more bottles, now I got more models
I’m from that city where them niggas don’t play me
I take a chick to my room like cave man
So ask your girlfriend my name, I bet she go
‘Skeet Skeet Skeet Skeet, Weatherman ’bout to make it rain!’”

 

I particularly enjoy the line wherein Robert raps incredulously, “Don’t ask me what my name is, stupid bitch I’m famous.” I simply must find an opportunity to use that line…perhaps during my tete-a-tete with Diane Sawyer when I’m identified as [insert powerful man’s name of your choice here]’s proverbial “side dish”…



Running Errands Is Depressing

I was walking out of the grocery store parking lot today, and this woman with a thick Scandinavian accent and an SUV full of family stopped and asked me for directions to a store on Rt. 70. I knew exactly where she wanted to go, and I knew exactly how to get her there, but I was concerned that she’d get turned around in this murderous Yankee traffic. I didn’t have anywhere to be, so I told her that I was going by where she wanted to go, and she could just follow me if she wanted to.

As we were pulling up to her destination, she pulled up along the right side of my car and thanked me profusely for my kindness. I told her she was very welcome and as she pulled away everyone was waving and smiling, sincerely grateful for my help. It made me feel genuinely happy that I was able to help someone, even if it was with something small like directions to a shopping center.  In that fleeting instant, as the woman pulled away to make her turn while I remained stopped at the light, I felt like maybe everything isn’t as dire as I make it out to be. Maybe I’m capable of leading a normal life, maybe I could start over somewhere as Suzie Homemaker who bakes cookies for the neighbors and gives good directions to out-of-towners.

So I’m stopped at the red-light, and I’m thinking all of these things and watching the woman’s tail lights disappear through my lowered passenger side window, and I’m in an almost happy place. Then a shiny, big, Ford F-150 pulls up beside me carrying a cab-full of construction workers. I usually avoid eye contact in these types of situations, but I wasn’t on guard, and I accidentally locked eyes with the driver.

In an instant, every little daydream I’d been having about cute pink aprons and two car garages, his and her sinks and a loving, lasting marriage; evaporated. Every last one. Gone.

I looked into the eyes of that driver, and the eyes of his passengers, and I saw lust, greed, and hunger. And then I remembered who I am, what I do, and how lonely I am. I remembered that men don’t see me as mother, or someone that they could introduce to their mother, but as an object. An object of lust, greed, and hunger. Those 3 things have given me so, so much, but they’ve taken even more away.

It’s a bitch, grocery shopping.



The Irony Abounds

Sometimes I find the search engine queries that return my blog to be entertaining; “it’s only gay if balls touch”, “fuck you like I’m never going to see you again”, “you got a body like a devil”, “I’m untamed, I need a leash”, and one of my personal favorites “define whore.”

Today, a new winner: “liking and having sex with guys”. 

The two are not mutually exclusive, oh ponderous pilgrim. 



A Minor Drawback To Having Sex For A Living…
March 16, 2008, 10:32 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, love, lust, Men, Reflections, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , ,

If I answer a call from an unfamiliar number one more time to hear a breathy male voice say “Hi Suzie, how are YOU doing?” I just might scream. Or become a lesbian. Men are pigs, every last one of them. Nice guys? Fuck that. I used to be a nice girl, and you know what happened to me? Nice guys. Nice guys with soft voices and big hearts who said all the right things.

Fuck Men.



Question: Tell me what you think about this

After it’s all said and done, I’ve used them as much as they’ve used me.



You Got To Make That Money, Honey.

Another little fun discovery: the phrase  “assholes ‘men relationships’ ” returns my blog.

Why would you enter those words, in that order, into a search engine? What are you hoping to discover? That you’re not alone? That there are other women who think that the men they are engaged in relationships with believe their partners are assholes too?

Honey, that’s a given.

What you should have entered, instead of “assholes ‘men relationships'”, is “assholes ‘gifts he gives'”. Because all men are assholes, and all men know it. So it’s not about whether or not your man is an ass, it’s whether or not you make him pay for it. If he crushes your soul on a weekly basis and you’re not walking away with a minimum of 10,000 a month in un-taxable income, that relationship just isn’t working, sweetheart.



Familiarity Breeds Contempt
November 21, 2007, 12:24 am
Filed under: dating, Life, love, lust, Men, Reflections, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , ,

      “And when you were done, you actually felt a little guilty, even you. You looked at her (she looked right back, looked right into your eyes with your cock still inside her, with arms still around your shoulders, looked right into your eyes and shoved her hips forward and when you nearly collapsed because she did that, when your knees nearly gave out because you were so sensitive, she opened her mouth wide and laughed a hard, happy laugh, smiling and snarling all at once, all with her mouth open wide) you looked at her and thought, ‘This girl has a problem. This girl is addicted to sex. This girl likes fucking strange men and if she gets paid for it, so much the better.’ You looked at her and thought, ‘This girl was probably repeatedly molested when she was a child.'”

      “And that time and the last time, after you were done, again the guilt came back, the concern for her. Yes, concern. But then you put your hand on the bone of her hip, saw the curve of her ribs on her side beneath her right breast, saw the back of her knee, and you had to have her again. And every time you reach over to take her again, she laughs that laugh, that cold, hard, satisfied laugh.”

      “When she leaves the next morning, sore, walking carefully, her pussy like a wound, you give her double what you agreed on. You do it because she was good, because she earned it, but also because you wanted to make her life better. Because you do feel sorry for her. But when she takes the money, she is not surprised that you have given her twice what she was supposed to get. She doesn’t even think you’ve made a mistake.”

Kelman, Nic. Girls. 1st ed. Boston: Little Brown, 2003.



Trophy Girlfriend 101
November 17, 2007, 7:50 pm
Filed under: Life, love, lust, Men, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , ,

“She gives you a ring or a bracelet that says ‘Peace,’ or, ‘Dream more.’ And you wear it. You wear it even though your friends see it and say, ‘What the hell is that?’ and, embaressed, because you know exactly how ridiculous it is, you say, ‘She gave it to me,’ and then they say ‘Oh,’ and leave it at that because now it makes it sense. Yes, you wear it all the time. But you know it will not work. That is what she is for.”

 

Kelman, Nic. Girls. 1st ed. Boston: Little Brown, 2003.



What A Rip Off

I only got enough money out of him to reimburse me for the cab ride and cover the emergency contraceptive I had to buy.

What part of “Sugar Daddy” did he not understand?

I hang on your arm, make you look good, act like you’re a sex god, you buy me things! This is not a difficult concept! Her name was Anna Nicole Smith, google her!



He said “I’d really like to take you to bed.”
November 9, 2007, 10:06 pm
Filed under: love, lust, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , ,

He really caught me off guard when he asked me how much he owed me. I was sitting on the edge of the bed, re-fastening the ankle strap on my stiletto’s (I kept them on as per his request, but they got a little jostled during doggie) and he was just watching me. Then he murmured “You’re incredible baby,” then when I leaned in to kiss him goodbye, he wedged a roll of 100’s into my cleavage. He thought I was hooker. He tried to pay me, like I was some sex-starved, money-hungry blonde bimbo. I was so insulted, I threw the roll in his face and stormed out.

Oh please, get real.

5,000 g’s babe. Tax-free. Degrade me all you want, honey.



It’s Only Gay if Balls Touch…
November 4, 2007, 9:34 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, love, lust, Men, Reflections, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , ,

I’ll be honest, I don’t particularly mind being involved in a love triangle involving me and two incredibly good-looking, very fuckable, firefighters. Of course, I use the term “love” very loosely, since I’m fairly sure this is more of a sex triangle than anything else (which again, with two firefighters, is not a horrible thing).

Do you remember that I told you S. admitted his original intent was to hook me up with his friend, Keith? Do you remember how I thought it was funny, even a little cute, that he decided to keep me for himself instead? Turns out it wasn’t that funny, because guess whose throwing his hat in the ring now? Yes, Keith. I’ve run into him a bunch of times during my nightly walk up to grab some dinner and this last time we ran into each other I made a parting remark that I’d probably see him tomorrow to which he replied, “Yeah, now that I know what time to show up.”

He and S. are very close friends, so this means one of two things:

1.) S. has given him the green-light and obviously has no intention of ever making a move and possibly even regrets the moves he did make

OR

2.) S. has filed me under the category of “girls men fuck” rather than “girls men bring home to mom” and has decided to share a little bit of the wealth with his best friend.

OR, a third option that really isn’t an option at all because it’s only feasible in my little fantasy world where I’m treated like a nice, decent girl:

3.) S. isn’t aware of this little development in mine and Keith’s relationship and once he becomes aware of it he will realize he needs to stop dragging his feet and MAKE A MOVE.

OR option 4.) which consists of me getting double teamed at the fire house 😉



If Only My Hand Could Buy Me Nice Things, I’d Give Up Men
October 30, 2007, 9:32 pm
Filed under: dating, games, Life, love, lust, Men, neighbor, Reflections, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , , , ,

We ran into each other today, he was running errands on his lunch break and I was heading to class. He stopped and made small talk, asked me if I was going to be selling my car because he saw me taking pictures of it yesterday. Then he said he had a meeting in an hour and really had to get going so he could finish running those errands. That’s what he did do, now here’s what he didn’t do:

He did not ask me out on date.

And the rest of my day was directly affected by it, EVEN AFTER I swore I wouldn’t care. Even as I type this, I’m still upset that I’ve been rejected/dismissed [again] and embarrassed that I keep opening myself up for it. I’m also a little disappointed in myself, because I think the reason he doesn’t want to get involved is because of the type of girl I appear to be. He’s very concerned with his son’s well-being, and I’ve come to the conclusion that he doesn’t want his son to hear people talking about that bimbo on Daddy’s arm.

I’ve come to this conclusion by process of elimination really, because I know that his failure to make a move isn’t that he isn’t attracted to me; that one night we went out together, he definitely tagged second base. He was also very quickly sliding into third but the only thing that got off was my shirt and my bra, and since dry sex doesn’t count, he officially only got to second base.

So I know he’s physically attracted to me. But I don’t think he expects or wants a connection beyond that. To his credit, he tried very hard not to seem incredulous when the conversation turned to my education, but I still felt the disbelief. He seemed uncomfortable talking with me about anything other than my experiences as a cheerleader.

But you know what the biggest red flag should’ve been? While were cuddling on the couch, he said that we were going to have to be “discreet” because he was very concerned with what his son might find out about. I immediately sat up and started putting my shirt back on while saying “Oh, so you’re only looking for a fuck buddy?” And there was a beat of silence, not a big beat, but a beat nonetheless, before he said “No, no, not at all,” and then started talking about how he really wanted to get to know me better.

With any other guy, I would have seen all the warning signs and ended things before they even started, but not with him. He wasn’t arrogant or cocksure, he even admitted to being surprised that I was interested in him at all [which was incredibly flattering], I thought he was different from all the others. I thought I had a shot at a relationship that didn’t involve a Sugar Daddy.

Guess not.



So Tell Me, Why Can’t This Be Love?
October 28, 2007, 3:33 pm
Filed under: dating, dirty, Life, love, lust, Men, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , , ,

Every time I’m out with a man I’m really attracted to, at around 1 o’clock in the morning I get incredibly, insatiably, horny. We could have had a perfectly nice, respectable evening but it doesn’t matter, at 1 o’clock I’m arching my back seductively and pretending I don’t notice the neckline of my shirt creeping lower and lower. At 1 o’clock my tone of voice changes subtly to something darker and sexier. At 1 o’clock I toss my hair and stretch like a cat, causing him to imagine me stretching the same way much later that morning, in his bed, naked. My favorite part is right before they break, when their erection is straining against their zippers and I’m frustrating them to no end because I’m pretending like I don’t notice it. I always smile to myself when the kiss finally comes, because it’s never slow and gentle like in those old black and white movies. Instead it’s always forceful and urgent, and their hands are everywhere.

The funniest part about it is, before they make a move to start seriously rounding some bases, they always do a quick test-grab. It’s always really quick, so if I’m not receptive they can pretend like it was an accident. When they do that I always have to make a conscious effort not to laugh, because after they realize I’m willing, all pretense of respectability and restraint is abandoned.

And that’s what makes me the horniest of all.

Why can’t this be love, indeed.



But Now That I Think About It…
October 26, 2007, 11:11 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, love, lust, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , , ,

…before I’d made that comment about her tits [or lack thereof], I should have asked where she got that t-shirt. Can you imagine how dirty the sex would be if he saw me in that? Mmmm…



I Like It Deep [and disgusting]
October 26, 2007, 9:06 pm
Filed under: dirty, Life, love, lust, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , , , ,

She was so obviously a poseur, it made me sick. Her t-shirt read “Beat me, bite me, whip me, fuck me, cum on my tits, then get the fuck out!” The way she was standing, her chest stuck out, hip cocked to one side, bored expression on her face; I could tell she wanted everyone in that Wawa to be shaken from their morning routine by disgust, rendered mute by the way she flaunted her self-hatred. Well I wasn’t disgusted, I was angry. I was angry that this barely-legal poseur was trying to insinuiate herself into a world she knows NOTHING about. This is MY niche, MY lot in life, I’M the one who has cornered the market on emotionally unstable trophy girlfriends, this is MY turf and I have the therapy bills to prove it. If she really thrived on being depreciated, defiled, corrupted, adulterated, truly objectified by men, then I’d have met her already. I would’ve seen her on the arm of one of my boyfriend’s friends, or a few stools down from me at the bar in the country club. No, this girl was a poseur, and it made me so angry I wanted to punch her heavily made-up eyes out.

Instead, I just stared at her until she made eye contact with me. Then  I pointedly glanced at her t-shirt and then back at her eyes before saying cooly, “What tits?” 

Score 1 for Blondie, still nonpareil.