How You Doin’ Blondie?


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.



The Proverbial Question
April 11, 2008, 2:10 pm
Filed under: Life, love, Questions, Reality, Reflections, thoughts

How do you throw in the towel in a battle with yourself? This isn’t a rhetorical question, I’m not waxing poetic – I genuinely do not know the answer to this question.

Do you sell all your possessions? Do you give the green light to that over-zealous Realtor whose been circling overhead ever since you had that property appraisal done?

Do you give your brother perhaps the greatest gift he’ll ever receive, the black 2007 Chevrolet Corvette Z06 some guy you vaguely remember bequeathed to you in his will? Do you lie when he asks where you got it from? Do you have it garaged until he comes back from Iraq?

Do you sell your G-Class to that hip-hop star down the street who really has no apparent source of income aside from polishing his neck jewelry, but has been lavishing praise upon your monstrosity of an SUV ever since you got it?

Do you finally buy that Ducati Supersport 1000DS you’ve been lusting after for years but never quite had the balls to buy? Do you buy a sidecar for your 80lb best friend/dog? Does the sidecar detract from the coolness of the Ducati? Do you even care at this point?

Do you sell, sell, sell, like it’s a fucking swap meet because the sight of all these THINGS just makes you fucking sick?

What do you do with all the money? Do you buy a Kevlar blanket and new body armor for every single last fucking soldier in your brother’s unit? Do you throw money hand over fist at the non-profit organization, Soldiers’ Angels, you’ve been a member of ever since that fucking horrible day your brother came home with that jar head haircut? Do cry at night because you miss your brother so, so much, and you love him so, so much and you feel like the most selfish, spoiled whore in the world for sleeping on silk sheets while he’s picking sand out of his teeth and dodging mortar attacks?

Do you toy with the idea of enlisting yourself? What would you do with Cody? Who would take care of him? What about those neighbors of yours, the elderly couple who bake things for him? You think they’d keep him while you’re gone?

What if you die? Will it be worth it? Will it mean you’ve at least done something, stood for something, been something other then a fucking wealthy, pretty, waste of space?

Are all these questions things that you’ve very seriously considered? Very, very seriously considered? Are you just about ready to throw in the towel?

Yes, yes you are.



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.



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

 



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. 



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.



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.



Child’s Play

Sometimes I make up these little stories, these mundane little stories about boring little couples, and I’ll pretend they’re about me. I pretend that I’m one half of one of those little couples, and I pepper all my conversations with “we” or “my boyfriend and I”. If it’s a stranger or someone new that I’m talking to, I really go for the gusto. I make up a whole pretend-life for my companion, complete with two middle names and irksome but adorable personality quirks.

Pretending doesn’t hurt.



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.



Life Choices in A Minor…Take It Away, Elton

When I started out on my own, I never experienced that pivotal “fork in the road” moment that so many people talk about. Never really had to make any big do-or-die commitment. There was just an exception here, an aquiescence there, and now here I am. Tricky bastard, indifference.

Goodbye Norma Jean
Though I never knew you at all
You had the grace to hold yourself
While those around you crawled
They crawled out of the woodwork
And they whispered into your brain
They set you on the treadmill
And they made you change your name

And it seems to me you lived your life
Like a candle in the wind
Never knowing who to cling to
When the rain set in
And I would have liked to have known you
But I was just a kid
Your candle burned out long before
Your legend ever did

Loneliness was tough
The toughest role you ever played
Hollywood created a superstar
And pain was the price you paid
Even when you died
Oh the press still hounded you
All the papers had to say
Was that Marilyn was found in the nude

Goodbye Norma Jean
From the young man in the 22nd row
Who sees you as something as more than sexual
More than just our Marilyn Monroe
 

 

 



We All Live In A Yellow Submarine

I suspect that unemployment played a significant role in the creation of this music video…BUT, be that as it may;

the music is genuis. Take a bow Paul & John.



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.



Ill-equipped to Act, Indeed
November 19, 2007, 11:26 am
Filed under: Life, Music, Reflections, relationships, thoughts | Tags: , , , , , ,

It’s funny that a free on-line forum has done more for me in the area of introspection than almost a decade of expensive, time-consuming therapy.

Living on a lighted stage
Approaches the unreal
For those who think and feel
In touch with some reality
Beyond the gilded cage

Cast in this unlikely role
Ill-equipped to act
With insufficient tact
One must put up barriers
To keep oneself intact

Living in the limelight
The universal dream
For those who wish to seem
Those who wish to be
Must put aside the alienation
Get on with the fascination
The real relation
The underlying theme

Living in a fish eye lens
Caught in the camera eye
I have no heart to lie
I can’t pretend a stranger
Is a long-awaited friend

All the world’s indeed a stage
And we are merely players
Performers and portrayers
Each another’s audience
Outside the gilded cage.

 



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!



That Train Is Never Late
November 14, 2007, 5:01 pm
Filed under: Electra Complex, Life, Psychoanlysis, Reflections, relationships, thoughts | Tags: , , , ,

Today he led me back to his office and when we were settled, he leaned towards me and said very somberly, “We have to talk.” He told me that he’s come to the realization that there’s nothing he can do for me. He said professionally, medically, ethically; he knows there’s something wrong, something he should weed out and fix. But personally, when he analyzes me on a purely human to human level, he doesn’t see much point or probability in change. He told me that, quite simply, he just go to me too late. He said that I know I make unhealthy decisions, and that what throws him is that I know why I make them too. He said I really do his job for him, and he said that it’s for that reason that I had probably already drawn the conclusion he was about to make. He said I was more then welcome to continue with our sessions, but he couldn’t let me go on unless he was sure I knew it was an exercise in futility.

His seriousness was so charming, I didn’t tell him he’s just another notch on my belt.



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 😉



I Honestly Don’t Know How Else To Put This
November 4, 2007, 8:37 pm
Filed under: Electra Complex, Life, love, Music, music video, Reflections, relationships, thoughts | Tags: , , ,


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.



Damn That Beach In Greece

Sometimes I can hear a song so clearly in my head that I can actually hear the artist taking a breath on the downbeat. When I found myself staring at S. washing his car and began to feel that familiar, pathetic, need to have a man’s attention, I imagined this song queuing up in the background.

One Two Three Four
Tell me that you love me more
Sleepless long nights
That is what my youth was for

Old teenage hopes are alive at your door
Left you with nothing but they want some more

Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, You know who you are

Sweetheart bitterheart now I can tell you apart
Cosy and cold, put the horse before the cart

Those teenage hopes who have tears in their eyes
Too scared to own up to one little lie

Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are

One, two, three, four, five, six, nine, or ten
Money can’t buy you back the love that you had then
One, two, three, four, five, six, nine, or ten
Money can’t buy you back the love that you had then

Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are
Oh, you’re changing your heart
Oh, you know who you are
Oh, who you are

For the teenage boys
They’re breaking your heart
For the teenage boys
They’re breaking your heart