How You Doin’ Blondie?


The quickest way to a man’s heart…
June 23, 2008, 2:05 pm
Filed under: dating, Humor, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , , ,

…is with Chuck Norris’ fist.

But that won’t be necessary; I’m not particularly upset that he didn’t call.

Right.



Analyze This
June 15, 2008, 10:23 pm
Filed under: advice, dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , , ,

Mark and I went out on our third date on Friday night. At least, I think it was a date. Regardless, we spent time with each other for the third time since he made that first clear move by asking me for my phone number. So for all intents and purposes, it was a date. Although I think it was also one of those “tests” guys administer, like the “See if My Boys Like Her” test.

We spent the evening bar-hopping with the two men Mark has been friends with since childhood, and then we went for a drunken, late-night swim in one of said childhood friends’ pool. I’m pretty sure everything went well. I mean I was “one of the boys” in high school, I know how they think, it’s not hard to fit in with them. Add to that the fact that Mark’s friends’ are pretty cool guys, and I’m pretty sure everything went well.

So what I am obsessing over? Why, I’m so glad you asked.

At the end of the night Mark and I went back to his house, and we did what most inebriated, physically compatible people do. Still no home-runs, but definitely a solid triple.

Well actually, only one of us got to third base…the other one of us has only made it to first.

One of us was pleasured orally, for a long time.

After one of us came from said pleasure, one of us tried to return the favor, but was politely rebuffed with an, “I like to take things slow, it’s a trust issue. I just want to hold you right now.”

Guess who got politely rebuffed, folks?

Yes, that’s right, it was me, I was the one…I’ll give you a second to digest that.

Now do you see what I’m obsessing over? Never in my life have I had a man turn down a blow job…at least not without a hand job to stand in it’s place. Mark wanted NOTHING. He REALLY DID just hold me and gently kiss my face until we fell asleep.

So ever since Friday night, I’ve been obsessing over that incident. Did I do something wrong? Why didn’t he want me to touch him? He was completely naked, just like me, and the lights were out (which is another thing – I couldn’t see a mother fucking thing. I usually leave the lights on, but he turned every single damn one of them off), so what possible insecurity could there be left?

He can’t POSSIBLY be concerned about penis size, does he REALLY think I’m expecting Magic Johnson?

But if he’s not insecure, what is it? He certainly isn’t conservative…holy shit, or is he? He told me he was incredibly “Straight Edge” in high school – but we’ve never discussed anything like religion or faith. He swears, and he drinks, so how overtly moral can he be?

I can’t help but think, though, that I’ve done something wrong. We went out on Friday night, and I haven’t heard from him since. That fact in itself doesn’t necessarily alarm me, it was Father’s Day weekend, I do know he had plans to go to the shore. But there is a tiny part of me that is slightly concerned I’ve scared him off, or intimidated him in some way. He seemed just fine Saturday morning, but still…

Seriously guys, I need some input on this one. PLEASE.

 



Number of the Beast
June 10, 2008, 7:38 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

So he says to me, “Give me a call and maybe we can hang out this week, cook some steaks, have a few beers.”

So I called. Got the voicemail.

Of course.

I really get tired of waiting by the phone.



I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening…
June 7, 2008, 9:57 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, Pain, relationships | Tags: , , , , ,

…but this wasn’t it.

I am sorely tempted to just call Mark and cancel.

My heart is just not that into it.

The truth is, I’m angry.

I’m angry at myself, for the situations I put myself in.

I’m angry at the way I allow myself to be treated.

I’m angry that even cockroaches can have kids, yet I sit here with no children, no mate, my only company an aging, insolent, overweight dog.

I am angry that I always seem to find the greatest joys in my life a day late and a dollar mother fucking short.

I’m just angry.



To The Dogs [Update 8:57 PM Eastern Standard Time]
June 7, 2008, 8:57 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

Well, it wasn’t a phone call, it was a text, but it’ll do.

To be frank, I think he was probably under the assumption I was out of his league. There is a very real possibility he was scared shitless at the thought of calling me.

I can deal with that. As long as I got a date [sort of] out of the deal.

But now I have another problem,

what the fuck am I going to wear?



To The Dogs [Updated 5:10 PM Eastern Standard Time]
June 7, 2008, 5:10 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

 

 

He did not call.

 

 



To The Dogs [Updated 1:34 PM Eastern Standard Time]
June 7, 2008, 1:34 pm
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

Still no call from Mark.

He specifically suggested we get together Saturday afternoon.

Is 1:30 pm not “afternoon”?

Was I supposed to call him, maybe?



To The Dogs
June 7, 2008, 9:45 am
Filed under: dating, Life, Men, relationships | Tags: , , ,

I met a guy a couple nights ago, while I was out walking Cody.

Well, actually, I’d met him twice before, but he hadn’t made a “move” until this most recent encounter.

The first time I met him I actually walked away from the experience thinking he must be gay, since I didn’t catch him looking at my tits even once.

Apparently, I was wrong.

A couple nights ago when we ran into each other, he walked me back to my house, asked me for my phone number, and suggested on Saturday we take the dogs over to Freedom Park, a dog run in a neighboring town. He said he’d give me a call to firm up plans.

I had assumed he’d probably call Friday night, but he didn’t. Now it’s Saturday morning, and I’m lying in bed next the phone wondering how this is going to play out.

I’ve given my number to guys before and they’ve never called, but that comes with the territory. Most men just want the number so that later on, when they’re out with their friends, if they can’t point to me and say, “I banged her”, they can at least point and say, “She gave me her number.”

But this guy, Mark, he seems different.

Fuck. I hate feeling like a pathetic loser, waiting by the phone.



Same Shit Different Day
May 29, 2008, 7:49 pm
Filed under: Humor, Life, love, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , ,

So S. has made his official return to relevancy in my life.

We ran into each other this morning, I was walking up to the train station to head into the city for the day, and he was driving to work. He stopped and asked me if I wanted a lift and of course I accepted. So the whole ride over we talked about the MOST boring shit in the world (of course) but the whole time I’m thinking “Ask him out, no wait for him to ask you out, drop him some hints, No just ask him out, ASK HIM OUT ASK HIM OUT ASK HIM OUT.” So I screwed up all my courage and said, “So, I see you got a new truck, what happened to the white Hummer?”

Yeah, balls of steel. That’s me.

So anyway, we finally pull up to the front of the station, and I turn to him and say, “Thanks for the lift,” but really all I wanted to do was kiss him. He smelled SO good, and his voice, oh that VOICE. I haven’t spoken to him in so long, anytime we see each other we just wave – so I’d forgotten how yummy that voice is…

I want him so bad it hurts. So what do I do?

On the one hand, we have the fact that he and I have been out together. Once. In October. 2007. And then – nothing. I got like 2 text messages, and then – nothing. He’s had all this time to make a move, and he hasn’t. So he’s obviously not that interested.

Which, to be totally honest, really does upset me. He was so much fun to hang out with, such a down to Earth guy. If only I knew what the fuck I did to turn him off. Sigh. I am NOT a happy camper.



The Bonfire of the Vanities
May 27, 2008, 3:23 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Men, Reality, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , ,

I went to lunch today with my friends, and I seriously thought it would never end. It was torturous. My friends are all beautiful and successful, but they can’t seem to cultivate a healthy relationship with a decent man to save their lives. Of course, I can’t either, but I know this, I’ve accepted this. They, on the other hand, insist on blaming their failed relationships on male incompetence.

 Well today I finally had it up to here. I decided I was sick and tired of listening to them sit around and complain about being single, and double standards, and how men just don’t understand, and all that “female empowerment” bullshit…So I decided to offer my humble advice and said;

“Look, guess what, ladies? Men are not that complicated. 99.9% of the time, you’re the one who fucks things up. So check this out:

 If you don’t want him to treat you like a slut, don’t sleep with him on the first date.

If you don’t want him to tell you your ass is big, don’t ask how you look in those hot shorts.

If you don’t want him to check out your hot friends, don’t invite us over. Or get uglier friends.

If you don’t want him to cheat on you, find out what the fuck it is he’s not getting from you, and give it to him.

And also, ladies, while I’m at it, those women’s magazines you read? Ditch ’em. Don’t believe the hype – you’re not as great as you think you are.”

Picture, if you will, a turd in the town well. That is how it went over. So fuck them. I like hanging out with the angry old men at my local dive bar more anyway…at least those guys don’t buy me drinks with fucking fruit in them.



I Was Reading “Men’s Health” In The Bathroom Today…
May 17, 2008, 2:25 pm
Filed under: Beauty, Hope, Life, love, Marraige, Men, relationships, sex | Tags: , , , , , , ,

…and I stumbled upon an article written by Hugh O’Neill entitled “The Hottest Sex Tip Ever: Don’t believe what you’ve heard. Your lifetime of great sex starts when you stroll down the aisle.” The article’s main focus was debunking common myths (and fears) that men have about marraige; “Myth 4: She Has To Have It All” is what made this post-worthy (though it could be argued, by citing numerous posts of mine, that I really don’t have very stringent guidelines for what makes it into a post and what doesn’t…but I digress…)

“Many a man balks at pulling the marraige trigger because he appraises a woman the way he’d size up an applaince and then decides she just doesn’t have all the features he’s looking for. Well, here are the answers to those questions tumbling around in your head. Yes, she’s pretty enough. Yes, she’s smart enough. Yes, she’s funny enough. Moreover, all those questions are irrelevant. It’s like asking if a car floats. Most often, your anxieties are less about her then about how others may view your choice of a partner. A woman doesn’t need great beauty or brains or wit to be a fabulous partner and a person very much worth loving throughout your life. Think of it this way: if she’s less then perfect, well, that’s just something else the two of you have in common. Everthing that’s beautiful is cracked, Leonard Cohen wrote, and that’s how the light gets in.”

Even though I think the overall gist of the paragraph was “it’s ok to settle” (which, once you reach a certain point and you’re that just-a-little-to-old-to-be-in-the-club guy, I guess it is), I really liked that Leonard Cohen quote; “Everything that’s beautiful is cracked, that’s how the light gets in.”

Weird, the places hope derive.



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April 16, 2008, 1:50 am
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Cheers
April 15, 2008, 10:53 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Men, relationships | Tags: , , , ,

There’s this bar I go to, where no body knows my name. Except for Mike, the guy that owns the place. Mike knows me, and my name, and he also knows that I mostly just want to be left alone. Mike sort of runs interference for me, serves as a “cock block”, if you will. He’s missing a few teeth and will never be accused of razor sharp wit but he’s an excellent conversationalist (he knows when to just be quiet), and he’s instinctively protective of me…have mercy on the poor guy who tries to send a drink or cheesy pick-up line my way.

I hate messing up a kitchen and dirtying dishes for one person, and I always feel like the world’s biggest loser when I realize I’m standing in front of a free-range oven fretting over the right temperature for a dish I’m whipping up for Cody…so I went to the bar for dinner tonight. The food there is atrocious, that fact really isn’t debatable. They even manage to mess up french fries, which one would assume to be a pretty fail-proof food. But I ordered a burger (really, really well done) and fries anyway and fell into my usual routine of alternating between staring into the brown glass of my beer bottle and staring at whatever game’s playing on the plasma screen. I was in the middle of trying to figure out what my approximate beer to buzz ratio was when Mike surprised me by cracking open a beer for himself and sitting next to me at the bar. I thought maybe he was just taking a break or something, but he swiveled to face me and I was surprised to find a look of concern on his face. It was a look of genuine concern too, the likes of which I can honestly say I’ve only ever witnessed once in this lifetime, and even then it was fleeting. So I straightened up a little and said, “What’s up, Mike?” He sighed a little bit, and I remember what he said next very, very clearly;

“Suzanne, my heart hurts a little bit for you, honey. You’re so young and so pretty, but your so damn lethal, darlin. I know we joke around and call you the Lone Ranger, but you can’t be like that forever. The way you sit here sometimes, if you didn’t look the way you do, I’d swear you were a 54 year old man with three ex-wives and alimony payments that are slowly killing him. At least you don’t smoke,” He offered one of those wry laughs and then took a swig from his beer. I really did not know what to say in response, and we just kind of sat there in silence for a few seconds while he looked into his beer bottle. Then he looked over at me again and continued;

“Look, sweetheart, just humor an old man, ok? All I want you to know is this: you gotta let something or someone in, you have to. No body can get through this shit alone, and it’ll just kill you if you try. I’m talking about finding a husband, or something. I know I come from a different generation where women didn’t do as much by themselves as they do now, but that’s not the point. I see you come roaring in here with a different set of wheels every week, I know you’ve done pretty damn good for yourself by yourself, but a person can’t be by themselves forever. And especially a sweetheart like you. Honey, you’re one tough cookie, but one of these days, you’re gonna find someone whose gonna be able to take what you dish out, and give a lot back. I just want you to be prepared, is all, because he’s out there. And it’s going to be a Battle Royal when he finally comes waltzing in.” He tipped his bottle towards mine in punctuation and then got up to tend the bar again.   

I left before my food came because Dr.Phil moments make me feel awkward. I’ve tried to fight it, but I always feel kind of uncomfortable when someone opens up like that. It’s not what he said that put me off, I’ve been playing the same fantasy over and over in my head ever since I hit puberty and I started reading those absurdly worded romance novels…I’ve always dreamt of finding that guy who thinks he’s as bad ass as I think I am, and we meet and we just melt each other and we live sometimes happily, sometimes angrily, but always together, forever and blah blah blah all that Lifetime movie bullshit. I want it, I do, I really do, but it’s just kind of weird when the guy who serves you beer and sometimes tells you off-color jokes articulates it to you.

The only reason I didn’t tell him to shut the fuck up is because 1.) I like his bar and 2.) I like him.

And 3.) I don’t know of any other bars I can go to and not run the risk of getting hit on by some Lamborghini-driving stud who fancies his genitals dipped in platinum.

…but seriously? “Battle Royal”? Who does he think is coming to claim me? Hacksaw Jim Duggan?



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.



A Rose By Any Other Name…
April 14, 2008, 12:19 am
Filed under: Life, Men, Reflections, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , ,

Went to a strip club with my friend the other day, and when I stepped outside for some fresh air, I noticed some prick had parked his Dodge Viper right in front, in the fire lane. He wasn’t anywhere in sight, and obviously thought his car was too precious to park in the spaces reserved for us mere mortals. So I just kind of stood there and stared at the car, fuming silently. My friend was standing next to me, having a cigarette, and is apparently clairvoyant because he reached over and rubbed my shoulder while saying, “Calm down baby, just relax, don’t say anything,” (obviously his wife has made him sit through Steel Magnolias, he knows how Southern girls are). I quelled the urge to point out that the Viper parked by the curb wasn’t worth as much as any of my automobiles, and I turned to walk back inside. My path was immediately blocked, however, by a man striding brusquely through the doors wearing an outfit he purposely bought a size too small so as to showcase his physique. I took one look at the guy, and his tribal arm band tattoo, and I leaned in and whispered in my friend’s ear, “All the tea in China, that’s his Viper.” My friend rolled his eyes, kissed my mouth gently, and then shushed me; but we both turned to watch where this guy went. Sure as shootin’, Slab Bulkhead swaggered right on down to that Viper and threw a pack of cigarettes through the open sunroof. I groaned loudly and my friend pinched my ass and said “Shhh baby, watch this.” As Butch Deadlift is making his way back into the club, my friend does one of those cool, aloof, guy-nods in the direction of the Viper and says “That your ride, man?” (A  question which elicited the mother of  all eye-rolls from me, which went largely unnoticed as Splint Chesthair had obviously already made the incorrect assumption that I was one of the dancers and thus unworthy of legitimate conversation). Stump Beefknob then stopped, and without any hesitation or trepidation at all, of any kind whatsoever, replied, “Nah man, that’s my mom’s. I drive an XJ-8.”

Then he went back inside.

I waited for my friend to finish his cigarette and then we followed suit. Later in the evening, we got to talking about Dirk Hardpeck and I realized my initial irritation had been replaced with a sort of reluctant respect. The guy might have been a douche-bag, but he had the stones to admit his was driving his mother’s car. I don’t know many guys whose precious ego could sustain that kind of blow – and Gristle McThornbody made the omission in such a nonchalant, almost dismissive manner.

As obnoxious to the core as I’m sure he is; big ups to Blast Thickneck for being a momma’s boy and owning it. You go on now and do your thing, Brick Steelflex.



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: , ,

 



I Really Don’t Like The Fit Of This Shoe…

Harken back, if ye will, to the days of old when I was kind of half-assed chasing my single neighbor, S…it turns out, things might not have been as dead as I thought they were. I was at the local dive bar with another guy, and we were canoodling (does that word sounds as stupid as I think it does?), and who should walk in and sit on the other side of the bar, but S. himself. I saw him out of the corner of my eye, so I turned to wave or something, but he wouldn’t look up or acknowledge me. So I figured ok, cool, guess I “didn’t see him”. So my guy and I carry on, but I can feel S. just boring holes into me with his stare. Eventually we left, and for some inexplicable reason, I felt like I’d done something really underhanded to S…I dismissed the feeling, until today. Saw S. three times today, in the span of about an hour. I waved and tried to make eye contact all 3 times, he ignored me. The second time I saw him, he was driving past my house while I was sitting on the porch. He waved at the neighbor walking past on the sidewalk, but he didn’t wave at me. He didn’t even turn his head in my direction. The third time I saw him, he was less then 20 yards away from me, watching his dog urinate on a tree. I waved, but he “didn’t see me”. He ignored me. Completely.

Fuck. I’m being taught a lesson.

I feel like an asshole.



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.”



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. 



Prince Charming In Repose

picdec19-006.jpg            me_and_cody.jpg

There he is, ladies and gentlemen, the only man who has ever loved me unconditionally.



Once Upon A Time, There Lived A Princess
March 16, 2008, 10:56 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Men, random musings, Reflections, relationships, sex, thoughts | Tags: , , , ,

I’m sorry, what I meant to say is: a minor drawback to having sex for a living is that you develop (in a startling brief amount of time) a powerful resentment towards men. You lose your whimsical giggle to a harsh snarl. You lose your fucking soul to the brand new Mercedes you just bought yourself. Bitter? Oh, just a little.

 Where’s Prince Charming? I waited for him, I did. I sat in my tower, braiding my hair, dreaming of a better life. Every so often I’d think I saw him, riding by on his noble steed, and I’d tell myself that he just winked at me, just sent me the silent message that he’ll be back for me later. But he never came, and I got fucking tired of waiting.

And you know what? My Mercedes SL55 AMG with 400 horsepower fucks Prince Charming’s one noble steed in the ass.

But even the hardest, most jaded girls wish they had someone to hold them at night.