We have determined that I am prepared to pretend that I am a lesbian for $100 dollars; but people, it gets better.
This tale is another story of my former self’s means to financial end.
After 2 days, my LGBT honorarium was spent and I, again, needed quick cash. My former roommates girlfriend was telling me about a money making scheme someone in her class was doing; selling her underwear online. Now, I don’t wear underwear, I feel that women don’t need it, our “junk” is tucked away neatly; but if I can make money selling them online, I am sold.
I immediately devised a plan to create an underwear selling empire. I would create 3 “flavors”; hot, medium and mild, based on my love for chicken wings. And every pair of underwear came with a note; because I like to treat my peoples right.
Hot consisted of a pair of sexy underwear worn LOTS; we’re talking dirty panties. I wore them exercising, to sleep, everywhere. And the note was as XXX as I could muster; Hustler magazine style dirty. The retail price for this lovely package was $350 plus shipping and handling.
Medium was a semi-sensible pair, worn lightly; around the house, sleeping, you get the idea. The note would be considered NC-17, not R but not PG either; simply middle of the road, for those dabbling in the dirty underwear market. The retail price was $200 plus shipping and handling.
Mild was a pair of frilly lace panties, worn very lightly, maybe for an hour, just to get the scent. The letter was very coy, lots of “daddy” and “papa”, for the real sickos. I created this one to round out the “flavors”; in my opinion it was the dud of the 3. The retail price was $150 plus shipping and handling.
Truth be told, I thought the hot would sell like , for lack of a better word, hot cakes; but I only sold 1; I may have priced myself out of the XXX panty market. In any case $350 bucks for a dirty note and $2 dollar Zellers underwear, I’ll take it! I sold 2 mediums and again it was all net. And to my great surprise I sold 3 milds, all sent to Asia; apparently my panties are a sensation in the Orient.
I toyed with the idea of adding a photo of the underwear being worn, no face, just panty; but I decided that would be too much.
Why ever did you stop Bianca? You ask. Well, as easy as it is to wear underwear and pen a generic note; the logistics of sending a package to Asia and organize payment was a little more work than initially anticipated; so in true Bianca fashion, I quit.
Lately, however, I have been thinking it might be a great idea to start this enterprise again.
****Side note, this post is profanity free, SHOCKING.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Quest for Cash
I will do almost anything for money; the lengths which I have gone to make a quick buck are legendary. Hell, I have even sold my undergarments online, which, by the way, is very lucrative. Lately I have been racking my brain for ways to get back in the black; which is ironic because I am black, yet sooo in the red. One particular quest for cash is what I would call my finest hour.
This is that story.
I was living in Toronto, it was a Monday and I had absolutely no money for the weekend, when I saw a lucrative opportunity posted on the job search mainstay craigslist: “African Canadian lesbians needed for focus group, honorarium of $100 awarded”. Now I am not African (I’m Caribbean AND yes there is a difference) nor am I a lesbian, although I have thought about it after many a breakup. The question was could I fake being lesbian for an hour? What’s the worst that could happen, I thought; I mean they couldn’t make me lick pussy or anything, so I replied. Apparently over the phone I make a very convincing lady lover; and I was invited to participate.
Upon arrival I was greeted with a lovely assortment of pastries, sandwiches and Starbucks coffee; the LGBT really do it up royal. They corralled us into a room with a 2 way mirror and the “host”, who was a mixed race K.D Lang entered and she began by asking us all to describe ourselves; I hoped and prayed she would start on someone else; I needed something to go off of.
Girl 1: My name is (blank), I have been lgbt for my whole life, I have a girlfriend and I am completely out.
Girl 2: My name is (blank), I am still closeted to my family and I moved to TO to live openly as a lesbian.
ME: My name is Bianca, I am still closeted to my family, I, um, haven’t come out yet to my family. I used to date boys. Uh, that’s it.
Girl 4: (who I think was also fibbing for weekend money) my name is (blank) I’m out to everyone. **Seriously, that’s all she said; she could have at least tried to be convincing. I think everyone in the room sniffed her out in that second.
And for the record, the whole time they referred to themselves as LGBT, instead of lesbian; I’m not saying it for effect.
We were then handed some glossy sex pamphlets geared at safe sex. The forum was to discuss if the handouts were effective at reaching out to the “community”. They were tacky as fuck, lots of rainbows and big bold letters saying “STAY ALIVE, STAY SAFE”, even abstinent Christians would have scoffed. I decided my role, as the fake lesbian, was to play the devil’s advocate; which in this case was to tell the truth. I kept looking at the 2 way mirror and saying my responses which consisted mainly of “it’s really quite tacky”, “these pamphlets make me WANT to have unprotected sex” (which isn’t true at all but devil’s advocates say that kind of shit). Finally our K.D. came to our side of the mirror and instructed me to be natural AND to speak to the girls not the mirror. Little did she know that I am an only child and talking to mirrors, walls and the air is de rigueur.
After that I pretty much blanked out, I was thinking about what I would spend my honorarium on. Booze, for sure, an outfit for the weekend, cabs and maybe food; but truthfully food was last on my list re my former size 27 waist. An hour later, I think, they handed us our envelopes with the cash and the legit lezzies on the panel invited me to a community event, which I politely declined. I clicked my heels like Dorothy on the yellow brick road and went on my way.
To this day that is one of the easiest ways I have ever made money. Almost as easy as when I pretended to be a 2 pack a day smoker; but that’s another story for another day.
This is that story.
I was living in Toronto, it was a Monday and I had absolutely no money for the weekend, when I saw a lucrative opportunity posted on the job search mainstay craigslist: “African Canadian lesbians needed for focus group, honorarium of $100 awarded”. Now I am not African (I’m Caribbean AND yes there is a difference) nor am I a lesbian, although I have thought about it after many a breakup. The question was could I fake being lesbian for an hour? What’s the worst that could happen, I thought; I mean they couldn’t make me lick pussy or anything, so I replied. Apparently over the phone I make a very convincing lady lover; and I was invited to participate.
Upon arrival I was greeted with a lovely assortment of pastries, sandwiches and Starbucks coffee; the LGBT really do it up royal. They corralled us into a room with a 2 way mirror and the “host”, who was a mixed race K.D Lang entered and she began by asking us all to describe ourselves; I hoped and prayed she would start on someone else; I needed something to go off of.
Girl 1: My name is (blank), I have been lgbt for my whole life, I have a girlfriend and I am completely out.
Girl 2: My name is (blank), I am still closeted to my family and I moved to TO to live openly as a lesbian.
ME: My name is Bianca, I am still closeted to my family, I, um, haven’t come out yet to my family. I used to date boys. Uh, that’s it.
Girl 4: (who I think was also fibbing for weekend money) my name is (blank) I’m out to everyone. **Seriously, that’s all she said; she could have at least tried to be convincing. I think everyone in the room sniffed her out in that second.
And for the record, the whole time they referred to themselves as LGBT, instead of lesbian; I’m not saying it for effect.
We were then handed some glossy sex pamphlets geared at safe sex. The forum was to discuss if the handouts were effective at reaching out to the “community”. They were tacky as fuck, lots of rainbows and big bold letters saying “STAY ALIVE, STAY SAFE”, even abstinent Christians would have scoffed. I decided my role, as the fake lesbian, was to play the devil’s advocate; which in this case was to tell the truth. I kept looking at the 2 way mirror and saying my responses which consisted mainly of “it’s really quite tacky”, “these pamphlets make me WANT to have unprotected sex” (which isn’t true at all but devil’s advocates say that kind of shit). Finally our K.D. came to our side of the mirror and instructed me to be natural AND to speak to the girls not the mirror. Little did she know that I am an only child and talking to mirrors, walls and the air is de rigueur.
After that I pretty much blanked out, I was thinking about what I would spend my honorarium on. Booze, for sure, an outfit for the weekend, cabs and maybe food; but truthfully food was last on my list re my former size 27 waist. An hour later, I think, they handed us our envelopes with the cash and the legit lezzies on the panel invited me to a community event, which I politely declined. I clicked my heels like Dorothy on the yellow brick road and went on my way.
To this day that is one of the easiest ways I have ever made money. Almost as easy as when I pretended to be a 2 pack a day smoker; but that’s another story for another day.
Why...
Hasn't anyone ever written a year by year guide to the 20's? It would be a best seller; it would out sell Harry Potter.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Why...
Do people say shut your hole?
There are so many. I mean, which one should I shut? My ass, my twat, my ear; there are so many holes other than my mouth.
It's like saying, "hurry up". How does one hurry upwards?
People say dumb shit...
There are so many. I mean, which one should I shut? My ass, my twat, my ear; there are so many holes other than my mouth.
It's like saying, "hurry up". How does one hurry upwards?
People say dumb shit...
Is it...
weird, if the first thing I do when I wake up in the morning, before I piss, shit or shower; is turn on the computer?
Monday, February 22, 2010
Ouch
Have you ever had someone say something to you that hurt so bad you felt like you could collapse?
I did.
It hurt.
I did.
It hurt.
24
Life happens fast doesn’t it? I was talking to a friend and he says “everyone is so focused on growing up, but it’s all happening a little too fast”; and I couldn’t agree more.
I too can be blamed for trying to expedite this milieu that dominates my life, this limbo; but, I mean, I am only 24. 24 is on the front end of the “mid twenties”, I still have at least 2 years of questionable behavior in me.
Being the tender age of 24 years, allows me to get completely hammered on Friday, only to wake up Saturday and woo on the radio, damaged beyond belief; a 24 year old shell bounces back remarkably fast.
I love 24.
At 24, I can quit jobs, and follow my dreams with little (moderate) consequence; the phrase “you only live once” comes to mind. These are the days for foolish, shake my head in bewilderment decisions; and you better fucking believe I am going to live it up. I am really great at bad decisions and thankfully I am still of a certain age to make them.
Thank god for 24.
I too can be blamed for trying to expedite this milieu that dominates my life, this limbo; but, I mean, I am only 24. 24 is on the front end of the “mid twenties”, I still have at least 2 years of questionable behavior in me.
Being the tender age of 24 years, allows me to get completely hammered on Friday, only to wake up Saturday and woo on the radio, damaged beyond belief; a 24 year old shell bounces back remarkably fast.
I love 24.
At 24, I can quit jobs, and follow my dreams with little (moderate) consequence; the phrase “you only live once” comes to mind. These are the days for foolish, shake my head in bewilderment decisions; and you better fucking believe I am going to live it up. I am really great at bad decisions and thankfully I am still of a certain age to make them.
Thank god for 24.
Friday, February 19, 2010
Shameless
This is as close to a shameless plug this page will ever see...
Saturday February 20th, Suzy and I will be djing on the radio, from 4pm to 6pm (Mountain Time). We are beyond fucking excited; and we would love for you to join us via the airwaves in Edmonton at 88.5FM or (lucky you!) online at cjsr.ualberta.ca (click). It will be an afternoon disco-rgasm for your ears; as every GirlsClub party is about lights, music and magic!
We hope you will join us and “WHOOOSH” all your good energy our way!
And if you live in Edmonton, we, GirlsClub , dbz & kgz , French Touch dj’s extraordinaire and artist Semi Vujcic of HausOfTriangles design, are masterminding a Party of epic proportions, Friday, at the Common . Yes, that Common, one of the coolest bars in Edmonton proper. Come early, stay late and for fuck sakes be ready to party.
And if that weren’t enough, we are djing at Edmonton's Saturday hot spot HALO with the ever talented DJ Junior Brown.
So here is the round up; Friday after work, shower, shave and shit (not necessarily in that order); and come down to the Common. Get drunk, dance, pass out (at home, they HATE it when you pass out in bars)
Wake up Saturday, hate yourself until about 3:45pm, turn your radio (or internet) to 88.5FM or cjsr.ualberta.ca and listen to GirlsClub in our radio debut, sip ginger ale and get ready for round 2 at HALO.
Ok? Good! See you this weekend!
Saturday February 20th, Suzy and I will be djing on the radio, from 4pm to 6pm (Mountain Time). We are beyond fucking excited; and we would love for you to join us via the airwaves in Edmonton at 88.5FM or (lucky you!) online at cjsr.ualberta.ca (click). It will be an afternoon disco-rgasm for your ears; as every GirlsClub party is about lights, music and magic!
We hope you will join us and “WHOOOSH” all your good energy our way!
And if you live in Edmonton, we, GirlsClub , dbz & kgz , French Touch dj’s extraordinaire and artist Semi Vujcic of HausOfTriangles design, are masterminding a Party of epic proportions, Friday, at the Common . Yes, that Common, one of the coolest bars in Edmonton proper. Come early, stay late and for fuck sakes be ready to party.
And if that weren’t enough, we are djing at Edmonton's Saturday hot spot HALO with the ever talented DJ Junior Brown.
So here is the round up; Friday after work, shower, shave and shit (not necessarily in that order); and come down to the Common. Get drunk, dance, pass out (at home, they HATE it when you pass out in bars)
Wake up Saturday, hate yourself until about 3:45pm, turn your radio (or internet) to 88.5FM or cjsr.ualberta.ca and listen to GirlsClub in our radio debut, sip ginger ale and get ready for round 2 at HALO.
Ok? Good! See you this weekend!
A letter to Upper Management
Dear Precise Park Link Edmonton
FUCK YOU. Not only do you own almost all the parking space allotted for Edmonton’s downtown core, you and the other parking assholes known as IMPARK; but you feel the need to continually jack people’s money, either by charging a small third world child to park for 30 minutes or eating money with your faulty machines.
Newsflash, I am on to you, those machines are programmed to steal money; you rat bastard thieves. And the number that we are supposed to call for “inquiries” leads nowhere; but you knew that already didn’t you?
Fuckers.
Would it kill you to have a FREE DAY every once in a while?
For the record I am NEVER paying again and any ticket you leave on my dash, I will proceed to wipe my ass with. If I come across one of your minions writing a ticket in my direction, you better believe the “black” in me will come out to play. That’s right, I will assault the attendant; and they won’t be able to identify me, because we all look the same anyways; I bet that’s what you think. Because along with being complete fucking assholes, I bet your racists too; yes, I went there.
And don’t you for a second think that the “tow on next invoice” scares me. I invite you to suck a disease ravaged dick while being mauled by a pit bull; yes, you read correctly, I really hate you that much.
It is now war, I will waterlog your phone lines, your fax machines and your email accounts with hate mail, TONS OF IT; because I think you deserve it; and you should get what you deserve and NO, what you deserve is NOT the $35.00 you think I am going to pay; sometimes being an asshole is THE ONLY WAY to get shit done.
Precise Park Link Edmonton
10558 - 115th Street,
Edmonton, AB T5H 3K6
T. 780.428.0007 or 1.877.426.0007
F. 780.428.1457
Long story short, Precise Park Link, I think you suck; and your kids are probably ugly too.
FUCK YOU. Not only do you own almost all the parking space allotted for Edmonton’s downtown core, you and the other parking assholes known as IMPARK; but you feel the need to continually jack people’s money, either by charging a small third world child to park for 30 minutes or eating money with your faulty machines.
Newsflash, I am on to you, those machines are programmed to steal money; you rat bastard thieves. And the number that we are supposed to call for “inquiries” leads nowhere; but you knew that already didn’t you?
Fuckers.
Would it kill you to have a FREE DAY every once in a while?
For the record I am NEVER paying again and any ticket you leave on my dash, I will proceed to wipe my ass with. If I come across one of your minions writing a ticket in my direction, you better believe the “black” in me will come out to play. That’s right, I will assault the attendant; and they won’t be able to identify me, because we all look the same anyways; I bet that’s what you think. Because along with being complete fucking assholes, I bet your racists too; yes, I went there.
And don’t you for a second think that the “tow on next invoice” scares me. I invite you to suck a disease ravaged dick while being mauled by a pit bull; yes, you read correctly, I really hate you that much.
It is now war, I will waterlog your phone lines, your fax machines and your email accounts with hate mail, TONS OF IT; because I think you deserve it; and you should get what you deserve and NO, what you deserve is NOT the $35.00 you think I am going to pay; sometimes being an asshole is THE ONLY WAY to get shit done.
Precise Park Link Edmonton
10558 - 115th Street,
Edmonton, AB T5H 3K6
T. 780.428.0007 or 1.877.426.0007
F. 780.428.1457
Long story short, Precise Park Link, I think you suck; and your kids are probably ugly too.
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Lessons in Getting Real~#1
"F.O.M.O: Fear of Missing Out…”
Since I can remember I have had the worst case of F.O.M.O. known to man; it is characterized by a sour mood and stabbing pains in stomach. I have become rather adept at hiding my F.O.M.O from my friends, as it is rather unbecoming of a lady; but make no mistake it is alive and well and eating away at my insides.
Despite this fear, I have to get used to it. Considering I simply cannot be trusted to perform as a writer when recovering from my typical weekend antics means that missing out is about to be a part of my life. And in my continuing efforts to become (more) fiscally responsible, money spending has been scaled back; the result is the dreaded missing out. Even though I know that I need to get real and get my shit together, the transition has not been easy.
No matter how good it feels to wake up on a Saturday (and) or Sunday morning free of headache, nausea and guilt, ready to attack the weekend like a newlywed couple; I still love to go out, get ridiculous and wake up in the afternoon, smelling of stale alcohol and broken promises to myself. Despite the horrid visual, I have been known to miss that smell; case and point, this weekend. I stayed home all weekend, for the first time, going with my better judgment instead of against it, and sure as shit Sunday was full of stomach pains and, you guessed it, F.O.M.O. I had a total of 2 drinks Friday and Saturday, and I was nestled in bed by the hour of 1 am; I could barely believe it myself.
Although Sunday morning was filled with pangs of regret, upon opening my wallet to find money, the pangs subsided somewhat. And my life being a constant ebb and flow; this weekend’s low ebb of party is the perfect juxtaposition to next weekend’s heavy flow. She (yes the weekend is a she) is shaping up to be a weekend of old, the weekend life that I have come to love. We dj both Friday and Saturday night and drinks will surely be a flowing; so I will get to smell that sweet scent of disappointment once again.
Despite my kvetching I realize that a part of getting older is understanding the cost/benefit of my actions and making the adult decision. But I cannot tell you how hard it is to wake up to several text messages detailing how much I am missed at the party and the debauchery that is ensuing. Even though I know that I NEED my energy for writing and plotting my world dominance via the written word and not recovering from the weekend; sometimes all I WANT to do is hang out with my friends, eschewing the cause and effect pattern that is sure to take place. We just have so much fun together; it is not uncommon to have someone fall asleep completely only to wake up and rejoin the party, just because it is SO much fun.
Nonetheless, times are a changing (slightly).
I want to travel next year; truth be told I wanted to travel this year but that is NOT going to be the case. And I have no problem missing out knowing that sunnier and greener financial pastures are around the (very long and winding) corner. I still have lots of my twenties to enjoy; and quite frankly I don’t want to be penning this same piece 3 years from now, because I couldn’t get it together today. The thought of that gives me an even bigger stomach ache than weekend F.O.M.O. Plus, I have a feeling that there are many more lessons to come in the art getting real; so I had better get used to it.
Because this is only number 1.
Since I can remember I have had the worst case of F.O.M.O. known to man; it is characterized by a sour mood and stabbing pains in stomach. I have become rather adept at hiding my F.O.M.O from my friends, as it is rather unbecoming of a lady; but make no mistake it is alive and well and eating away at my insides.
Despite this fear, I have to get used to it. Considering I simply cannot be trusted to perform as a writer when recovering from my typical weekend antics means that missing out is about to be a part of my life. And in my continuing efforts to become (more) fiscally responsible, money spending has been scaled back; the result is the dreaded missing out. Even though I know that I need to get real and get my shit together, the transition has not been easy.
No matter how good it feels to wake up on a Saturday (and) or Sunday morning free of headache, nausea and guilt, ready to attack the weekend like a newlywed couple; I still love to go out, get ridiculous and wake up in the afternoon, smelling of stale alcohol and broken promises to myself. Despite the horrid visual, I have been known to miss that smell; case and point, this weekend. I stayed home all weekend, for the first time, going with my better judgment instead of against it, and sure as shit Sunday was full of stomach pains and, you guessed it, F.O.M.O. I had a total of 2 drinks Friday and Saturday, and I was nestled in bed by the hour of 1 am; I could barely believe it myself.
Although Sunday morning was filled with pangs of regret, upon opening my wallet to find money, the pangs subsided somewhat. And my life being a constant ebb and flow; this weekend’s low ebb of party is the perfect juxtaposition to next weekend’s heavy flow. She (yes the weekend is a she) is shaping up to be a weekend of old, the weekend life that I have come to love. We dj both Friday and Saturday night and drinks will surely be a flowing; so I will get to smell that sweet scent of disappointment once again.
Despite my kvetching I realize that a part of getting older is understanding the cost/benefit of my actions and making the adult decision. But I cannot tell you how hard it is to wake up to several text messages detailing how much I am missed at the party and the debauchery that is ensuing. Even though I know that I NEED my energy for writing and plotting my world dominance via the written word and not recovering from the weekend; sometimes all I WANT to do is hang out with my friends, eschewing the cause and effect pattern that is sure to take place. We just have so much fun together; it is not uncommon to have someone fall asleep completely only to wake up and rejoin the party, just because it is SO much fun.
Nonetheless, times are a changing (slightly).
I want to travel next year; truth be told I wanted to travel this year but that is NOT going to be the case. And I have no problem missing out knowing that sunnier and greener financial pastures are around the (very long and winding) corner. I still have lots of my twenties to enjoy; and quite frankly I don’t want to be penning this same piece 3 years from now, because I couldn’t get it together today. The thought of that gives me an even bigger stomach ache than weekend F.O.M.O. Plus, I have a feeling that there are many more lessons to come in the art getting real; so I had better get used to it.
Because this is only number 1.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Valentine's Day
I personally feel that Valentine’s Day is one of the most ridiculous celebratory occasions; and not because I am single. It’s one of those “holidays” that the restaurants and card companies can’t wait to see come around. Stores become inundated with red hearts full of cheap chocolate and flower shops jack up their prices. This crimson observation is nothing more than money grab, a way to re energize the post holiday slump; they should call it Hallmark day.
All week my television was logged with Valentine’s Day propaganda, from Oprah to the women on the View; featuring ridiculous gifts to woo your loved one, like a lovers DNA kit; the only people who need those are those bitches on Maury. I know what would woo me, sex where I get to finish first, now that’s a Valentine’s Day!
God forbid singles want to go to a restaurant on Valentine’s Day; being a non coupled person in the room, is likened to being a leper; people stare with pity painted all over their faces. Not to mention the pressure that Valentine’s Day brings; the rules are often so blurred and undefined. If you start dating in January are you expected to go all out for Valentine’s Day? Or if you have been dating for years does it even matter anymore? In my opinion if there is a lapse in romance until February 14th then the relationship might need some review.
I can get behind the idea of Santa; a guy in a big red suit delivering gifts all across the land is not terribly believable, but during the holiday season I am known to get behind many a stupid farce; blame it on the eggnog. But cupid does NOT exist, a flying baby that strikes love with an arrow? Quite frankly if I saw a baby with a bow and arrow, I would call child services on the spot; what parent gives their baby a bow and arrow? And if the little fucker managed to get an arrow off into my ass, the last thing I would feel is love. Maybe I am jaded because it’s February and I don’t have a valentines or because my valentines days of past have consisted of no gift and no sex; or, even worse, shitty sex on belly full of shit wine and overpriced food; all of which makes for an unhappy Bianca.
This year I made myself a lovely valentine’s dessert and bought myself a card; and I planned on putting one finger in the air, all the while saying “take that cupid, you creepy flying baby”.
But then I spent the evening with my best girlfriend S.; we ate heart shaped pizza, listened to music, laughed, watched "Couples Retreat" and drank wine until we were good and jovial; and something happened.
I felt love.
And it dawned on me, in the non cheesiest way possible, that Valentine’s Day isn’t for lovers; it’s for love. Love in any way, shape or form; from man to woman or friend to friend. I had been so focused on the commercialization of this day, that I had forgotten that love is all around; and this is the day dedicated fully and completely to it. And through all the commercial bullshit, love reigns and LOVE IS BEAUTIFUL; and that is what Valentine’s Day is meant to represent.
Happy belated love day!
No… that wasn’t cheesy at all.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Recess
Truth be told, I have no idea what is going on with me, but I cannot seem to find any words to express how I feel. Every time I sit down to write something, I manage to come up with a clever title but as I start to write the body, I can’t. My brain is blank; I literally look up at ceiling, as if there are words painted up there or something. I was blaming the post weekend blahs, but it’s Wednesday and I am still experience a pseudo writer’s block. My mojo is waning and for what reason? I have no idea.
So in the name of preserving my image and to spare you anymore half assed posts; I am taking a break. Not a long one, just a day, to get my bearings back. I am taking today to get elbow deep into my new Photoshop book and cook something elaborate, in an effort to focus on something else other than why I cannot seem to write something inspired; or at the very least hilarious. Funny is what I do and I am having a hard time even managing that.
Hopefully tomorrow I will feel like there is something inside me that is worth sharing. But the way I feel, Friday appears to be a more realistic goal.
So in the name of preserving my image and to spare you anymore half assed posts; I am taking a break. Not a long one, just a day, to get my bearings back. I am taking today to get elbow deep into my new Photoshop book and cook something elaborate, in an effort to focus on something else other than why I cannot seem to write something inspired; or at the very least hilarious. Funny is what I do and I am having a hard time even managing that.
Hopefully tomorrow I will feel like there is something inside me that is worth sharing. But the way I feel, Friday appears to be a more realistic goal.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
65
I am exhausted; more exhausted than usual. I am used to the typical Saturday and Sunday hangover lethargy; but Monday, was ridiculous.
I woke up at my usual 8 am and brewed myself the first green tea of the day; but after struggling to keep my eyes open during “The View”, I had no choice but to go back to bed for another 40 minutes. After what felt like a 2 minute nap, I managed to drag my sorry ass out of bed, for the second time and write a passable post. I then downed ANOTHER green tea and readied myself for a noon spin class, that I would have skipped entirely, if I hadn’t eaten 3000 extra calories at Sundays Super Bowl indulgence. Of the 50 minute class I managed to last 35 minutes, 1 minute longer and I would have passed out; I was the annoying loud breather in the back of the class that everyone wishes would just give up and leave. After several annoying glances from the riders around me, I could tell my welcome was worn out; so I took my ass to steam room, where I fell asleep for I don’t even know how long. I personally hate being that person snoring anywhere, but naked and sprawled in my gyms steam room is what I would call next level.
Not only did the class exhaust me, it also left me with a splitting headache, which was made worse by falling asleep in a sweltering steam room. Immediately after I returned home I went back to bed, AGAIN; if I was getting laid, by this point I would surely have thought that I was pregnant; pregnant women take 2 naps in a day, not 24 year olds. I simply couldn’t move; and since I’ve given up coffee there was nothing to do but go back to bed. I hoped that my second nap of the day would finally allow me to get my shit together; it didn’t. So I made myself my 3rd green tea of the day and got ready to start my new job; I didn’t even have the energy to be nervous, I was just too fucking tired. And although my new job is super easy, it essentially consists of me bullshitting/motivating women for 3 hours and thirty minutes; on any other day I would have been on my A game, but yesterday was more than forced. I had to pretend that I gave a shit, and normally I can bullshit with the best of them, but in the state I was in I was hardly in the mood. Introductions can be difficult; but I forgot how hard it is to be impossibly charming when coming off a weekend bender. I was pretending to guzzle water just to be able to excuse myself and sit on the toilet; at the rate I was “peeing” they probably thought “poor new girl with diabetes.”
It has been a very long time since I felt like a 65 year old in need of dialysis but the combination of 2 nights of boozing and the carbohydrate load of a Super Bowl champion aged me 4 decades. I haven’t been living the life of “health” for very long, but this weekend I didn’t just fall of the wagon, it fell on me and then I had to be taken to the hospital to have my punctured spleen removed.
I was really hoping that today I would wake up and be “normal” again; but I am still so exhausted; everything is depleted. My skin is dry, my head still hurts AND I am having a very hard time coming up with what I would deem great writing material.
So I am going back to bed.
I woke up at my usual 8 am and brewed myself the first green tea of the day; but after struggling to keep my eyes open during “The View”, I had no choice but to go back to bed for another 40 minutes. After what felt like a 2 minute nap, I managed to drag my sorry ass out of bed, for the second time and write a passable post. I then downed ANOTHER green tea and readied myself for a noon spin class, that I would have skipped entirely, if I hadn’t eaten 3000 extra calories at Sundays Super Bowl indulgence. Of the 50 minute class I managed to last 35 minutes, 1 minute longer and I would have passed out; I was the annoying loud breather in the back of the class that everyone wishes would just give up and leave. After several annoying glances from the riders around me, I could tell my welcome was worn out; so I took my ass to steam room, where I fell asleep for I don’t even know how long. I personally hate being that person snoring anywhere, but naked and sprawled in my gyms steam room is what I would call next level.
Not only did the class exhaust me, it also left me with a splitting headache, which was made worse by falling asleep in a sweltering steam room. Immediately after I returned home I went back to bed, AGAIN; if I was getting laid, by this point I would surely have thought that I was pregnant; pregnant women take 2 naps in a day, not 24 year olds. I simply couldn’t move; and since I’ve given up coffee there was nothing to do but go back to bed. I hoped that my second nap of the day would finally allow me to get my shit together; it didn’t. So I made myself my 3rd green tea of the day and got ready to start my new job; I didn’t even have the energy to be nervous, I was just too fucking tired. And although my new job is super easy, it essentially consists of me bullshitting/motivating women for 3 hours and thirty minutes; on any other day I would have been on my A game, but yesterday was more than forced. I had to pretend that I gave a shit, and normally I can bullshit with the best of them, but in the state I was in I was hardly in the mood. Introductions can be difficult; but I forgot how hard it is to be impossibly charming when coming off a weekend bender. I was pretending to guzzle water just to be able to excuse myself and sit on the toilet; at the rate I was “peeing” they probably thought “poor new girl with diabetes.”
It has been a very long time since I felt like a 65 year old in need of dialysis but the combination of 2 nights of boozing and the carbohydrate load of a Super Bowl champion aged me 4 decades. I haven’t been living the life of “health” for very long, but this weekend I didn’t just fall of the wagon, it fell on me and then I had to be taken to the hospital to have my punctured spleen removed.
I was really hoping that today I would wake up and be “normal” again; but I am still so exhausted; everything is depleted. My skin is dry, my head still hurts AND I am having a very hard time coming up with what I would deem great writing material.
So I am going back to bed.
Quote of the Day
"If you focus on results, you will never change. If you focus on change, you will get results."
Jack Dixon
Jack Dixon
Monday, February 8, 2010
Super Bowl
Partying makes it hard to write, it’s the key to busting up a creative groove. My social habits make it difficult to form a complete sentence, let alone write something worth reading. So what does any self respecting 24 year old do in a time of serious damaged-ness? I have no idea what self respecting people do, but I choose to party more.
Last night I went to a super bowl party; because my damaged mind said “I know what my body needs; 3000 calories of chips, dips, chili, dumplings, bread and booze!” I have never been to a Super bowl party, as I know nothing about football except those pants are tight and the majority of the men are tall drinks of smooth chocolate milk; but I now know that super bowl stands for super (huge) bowls of food.
I would definitely say that this would be considered a “starter” super bowl party; there were 2 men and 7 women, so there was lots of chick talk until something exciting happened; and lots of questions to the tune of “4 downs? Why four and not five?” and “so this is Eli Manning?" "No Bianca! This is PEYTON” (I heard that about 4 times). And lots of hair talk, 1 of the men and 6 of the women are hair stylists. In hindsight I wish there had been more cock at this party, I would have been little more demure with my food consumption. From the moment I stepped through the door I ate, and I did not stop; I couldn’t stop, I have a problem stopping when there is food in front me, no matter how full and distended my stomach happens to be. Not to mention that I was extremely hung-over and so long as something was going in, I could avoid anything coming out; teenagers puke, adults gorge to avoid the embarrassment, and I am a big girl now.
About the game, the saints won! Going into the game, I had no preference as to who I wanted to win. But as the game turned around after halftime and the Saints started to pull away; I instantly became the biggest Saints fan, I make no apologize for my fair weather fandom. Initially, I was disappointed as half time began, because I thought that Rihanna and Jay-Z were performing the half time show, turns out that they performed the pre game show, which I missed peeling my ass off the couch and getting my act together. The Who took the stage and to my surprise they were really really good; it was like one long CSI intro, I was waiting for Horatio Kane to jump out and say something obvious yet debonair ; he could say “I’m a less than handsome ginger” and make it look cool wearing those fucking glasses. I digress, the Who are old men, but those songs are legend; I found myself mouthing teenage wasteland wanting to reach for me lighter. I will most likely buy a greatest hit compilation in the near future.
4 hours later the game was over and I was too full to form complete sentences (the theme of the weekend) ;and, although my attention span is normally that of a 5 year old, I think I managed to stay relatively focused, thank god for food and hair talk.
Last night I went to a super bowl party; because my damaged mind said “I know what my body needs; 3000 calories of chips, dips, chili, dumplings, bread and booze!” I have never been to a Super bowl party, as I know nothing about football except those pants are tight and the majority of the men are tall drinks of smooth chocolate milk; but I now know that super bowl stands for super (huge) bowls of food.
I would definitely say that this would be considered a “starter” super bowl party; there were 2 men and 7 women, so there was lots of chick talk until something exciting happened; and lots of questions to the tune of “4 downs? Why four and not five?” and “so this is Eli Manning?" "No Bianca! This is PEYTON” (I heard that about 4 times). And lots of hair talk, 1 of the men and 6 of the women are hair stylists. In hindsight I wish there had been more cock at this party, I would have been little more demure with my food consumption. From the moment I stepped through the door I ate, and I did not stop; I couldn’t stop, I have a problem stopping when there is food in front me, no matter how full and distended my stomach happens to be. Not to mention that I was extremely hung-over and so long as something was going in, I could avoid anything coming out; teenagers puke, adults gorge to avoid the embarrassment, and I am a big girl now.
About the game, the saints won! Going into the game, I had no preference as to who I wanted to win. But as the game turned around after halftime and the Saints started to pull away; I instantly became the biggest Saints fan, I make no apologize for my fair weather fandom. Initially, I was disappointed as half time began, because I thought that Rihanna and Jay-Z were performing the half time show, turns out that they performed the pre game show, which I missed peeling my ass off the couch and getting my act together. The Who took the stage and to my surprise they were really really good; it was like one long CSI intro, I was waiting for Horatio Kane to jump out and say something obvious yet debonair ; he could say “I’m a less than handsome ginger” and make it look cool wearing those fucking glasses. I digress, the Who are old men, but those songs are legend; I found myself mouthing teenage wasteland wanting to reach for me lighter. I will most likely buy a greatest hit compilation in the near future.
4 hours later the game was over and I was too full to form complete sentences (the theme of the weekend) ;and, although my attention span is normally that of a 5 year old, I think I managed to stay relatively focused, thank god for food and hair talk.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Drunk Text
I have no idea what to write. Writing every day is proving to be very tough, sometimes the ideas run dry. I have found myself trying to drum up excitement, just so I have something to write about here. In reality I use this canvas as a place to talk about my feelings, but some days I am numb; operating on auto pilot and going through the day in a haze. The other day’s life hands me golden material.
The last few days I have been rather dreary and not humorous in the slightest. I tend to be very good at putting on a good show and making it appear as though everything is all good; but that’s the auto pilot at work.
I read some blogs out there and they are filled with sickeningly sweet optimism; “I am blessed” “life is tender” blah blah blah; life isn’t fucking like that. I have a hard time believing that people can always be that “optimistic”. Life can be so shitty and when it gets shitty, I don’t sit there and say “well, I am so blessed, sitting in awe” or whatever the fuck those people say; instead I cuss and kick the air like a 2 year old at chucky cheese because that is reality. In the last 6 months, on more occasions than I can count on two hands, I have cussed and kicked the air, screaming profanity at the imaginary manifestation of my distress. Am I a shitty blogger because I don’t look at life through those annoying rose colored glasses?
I have had to delete a few bloggers, who shall forever remain nameless, from my twitter account, as I couldn’t handle the, all too frequent, annoying and naively optimistic tweets; they were water logging my home page with bullshit. I mean, don’t tweet that you have a headache and cookies will fix it. Cookies won’t fix shit, taking an aspiring and telling your kids to shut the fuck up will fix it; but I can’t tweet that, I am new to blog community, so I have to play nice.
Keep in mind that I am low on material and I am being nitpicky but there is some shit that frustrates me beyond belief, like that rose colored glasses shit; especially when my mood is less than sunny. I think it's just fine to accept that sometimes life is just shitty and it’s rather endearing to be honest about it; instead of being sickeningly sweet and offensively optimistic. Like who really believes that bullshit anyways?
***This is the writers’ equivalent of a drunken text. I am posting this because I am either still drunk and eschewed the editing process or I read this over in the morning and thought the realness I felt while writing merited some publicity.
The last few days I have been rather dreary and not humorous in the slightest. I tend to be very good at putting on a good show and making it appear as though everything is all good; but that’s the auto pilot at work.
I read some blogs out there and they are filled with sickeningly sweet optimism; “I am blessed” “life is tender” blah blah blah; life isn’t fucking like that. I have a hard time believing that people can always be that “optimistic”. Life can be so shitty and when it gets shitty, I don’t sit there and say “well, I am so blessed, sitting in awe” or whatever the fuck those people say; instead I cuss and kick the air like a 2 year old at chucky cheese because that is reality. In the last 6 months, on more occasions than I can count on two hands, I have cussed and kicked the air, screaming profanity at the imaginary manifestation of my distress. Am I a shitty blogger because I don’t look at life through those annoying rose colored glasses?
I have had to delete a few bloggers, who shall forever remain nameless, from my twitter account, as I couldn’t handle the, all too frequent, annoying and naively optimistic tweets; they were water logging my home page with bullshit. I mean, don’t tweet that you have a headache and cookies will fix it. Cookies won’t fix shit, taking an aspiring and telling your kids to shut the fuck up will fix it; but I can’t tweet that, I am new to blog community, so I have to play nice.
Keep in mind that I am low on material and I am being nitpicky but there is some shit that frustrates me beyond belief, like that rose colored glasses shit; especially when my mood is less than sunny. I think it's just fine to accept that sometimes life is just shitty and it’s rather endearing to be honest about it; instead of being sickeningly sweet and offensively optimistic. Like who really believes that bullshit anyways?
***This is the writers’ equivalent of a drunken text. I am posting this because I am either still drunk and eschewed the editing process or I read this over in the morning and thought the realness I felt while writing merited some publicity.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Slow
At my age saying that I wish life would slow down, sounds absolutely ludicrous. At 24 I should be buzzing around like bee (pun intended) and quipping whenever I have the chance “I’ll sleep when I am dead”. But all I want is to slow down and quiet the voices inside my head that say I am not doing enough . Those stupid fucking voices also happen to be my personal bankers and lately their voices have hit a fever pitch.
So yesterday I got another job, 2 days before my, self imposed, deadline of Friday; and my interview skills again shone like the northern star. Hired on the spot, in and out in 22 minutes (I checked the clock). And I have to say that I am excited to have a job that every 2 weeks I can be assured that there will be some money deposited into my bank account; at least now my bankers will shut the fuck up, or at least pipe down for a little bit.
But now there is another voice that is starting to speak up, and this one is getting louder, way faster than the others. It’s almost a scream. This voice is speaking, or rather screaming, to my sanity; 3 JOBS BIANCA, SOMETHING HAS GOT TO GIVE!!! I must be careful what I say, as I have learned the hard way that writing about work has the potential to bite me in the ass; and in fact it already has; but I will say that I feel change on the horizon.
My head is cloudy with voices pulling me in various directions; I know what I have to do, but doing it, is the tough part. In the past I would withdraw and do the asshole thing; but I am 24 now and that shit is not cute, nor is it as funny as it once was. You better believe pulling no shows at 20 is hilarious, but at 24 it’s just sad. If I had my way, I would sell all my belonging, all $100 dollars worth, pack my bags, hit the road and start anew. But that shit is cowardly and so unrealistic; and I am trying to shake my, hard earned, asshole persona.
Life is happening so fast, I am changing, people are changing around me and I am overwhelmed with feelings and voices, running rampant through my body and mind respectively. I know I promised I would be funny today, but the sun hasn’t been out in days and the voices love dreary days, that’s when they speak the loudest. Do I sound crazy? Yes and maybe I am, and that is my problem. Maybe I’m manic and this is a low; or maybe I have seasonal affected disorder? I looked on WebMD and my symptoms match. Perhaps I just need a drink to drown the voices in rouge. Or maybe, just maybe, I need to shut the fuck up; but truth be told, I have never been very good at shutting up. Maybe that where the voices get it from?
I envy people on meds; the voices in their heads are sedated.
So yesterday I got another job, 2 days before my, self imposed, deadline of Friday; and my interview skills again shone like the northern star. Hired on the spot, in and out in 22 minutes (I checked the clock). And I have to say that I am excited to have a job that every 2 weeks I can be assured that there will be some money deposited into my bank account; at least now my bankers will shut the fuck up, or at least pipe down for a little bit.
But now there is another voice that is starting to speak up, and this one is getting louder, way faster than the others. It’s almost a scream. This voice is speaking, or rather screaming, to my sanity; 3 JOBS BIANCA, SOMETHING HAS GOT TO GIVE!!! I must be careful what I say, as I have learned the hard way that writing about work has the potential to bite me in the ass; and in fact it already has; but I will say that I feel change on the horizon.
My head is cloudy with voices pulling me in various directions; I know what I have to do, but doing it, is the tough part. In the past I would withdraw and do the asshole thing; but I am 24 now and that shit is not cute, nor is it as funny as it once was. You better believe pulling no shows at 20 is hilarious, but at 24 it’s just sad. If I had my way, I would sell all my belonging, all $100 dollars worth, pack my bags, hit the road and start anew. But that shit is cowardly and so unrealistic; and I am trying to shake my, hard earned, asshole persona.
Life is happening so fast, I am changing, people are changing around me and I am overwhelmed with feelings and voices, running rampant through my body and mind respectively. I know I promised I would be funny today, but the sun hasn’t been out in days and the voices love dreary days, that’s when they speak the loudest. Do I sound crazy? Yes and maybe I am, and that is my problem. Maybe I’m manic and this is a low; or maybe I have seasonal affected disorder? I looked on WebMD and my symptoms match. Perhaps I just need a drink to drown the voices in rouge. Or maybe, just maybe, I need to shut the fuck up; but truth be told, I have never been very good at shutting up. Maybe that where the voices get it from?
I envy people on meds; the voices in their heads are sedated.
Quote of the Day
“There is only one success - to spend your life in your own way."
Christopher Morley
Christopher Morley
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
365/ twenty-eight
Last night's dinner salad. It was washed down with (lots of) wine; it's all about balance!
Reconciliation
Sometimes reconciliation is a silent affair; devoid of the pageantry and the ceremony of “the apology”. That is the case here. I wanted the ceremonious apology for myself with all its sacrifice and grandeur and I was willing to hold out for it; I am legend at holding out for it. I like to pretend that I am some sort of toughie, able to hold a grudge for as long as need be; but alas I am not, I’m just a girl who wants, rather NEEDS her friend back. I longed for the status quo of what our friendship meant to me; text messages filled with useless shit talk NOT silence. I have no idea what so many things mean, in regards to life (oh to be 24); but I DO know how high I value my friendships.
I have always been rather adept at the art of fighting; I can hold off on the apology for days, months even, forcing my “adversary” to back down and admit defeat. In battle concession is not an option, but as I get older I realize how foolish it is to not speak to someone based on a petty disagreement. I suppose it is my age showing. I wish I had some sort of humorous quip wrought with profanity to reinforce my point but I don’t, it’s too early to be witty. All I have today is the lesson that a grudge against a friend is useless and life is way too fucking short. All these big lessons; WOW, I must be a big girl.
I have very little to say today, last night was spent catching up and quietly reconciling; a night of old friends reconnecting, and forgiveness taking its course. As sappy as that is, and so unlike me, it is my reality today. I promise to be funny again tomorrow...
Fuck I really am getting old.
I have always been rather adept at the art of fighting; I can hold off on the apology for days, months even, forcing my “adversary” to back down and admit defeat. In battle concession is not an option, but as I get older I realize how foolish it is to not speak to someone based on a petty disagreement. I suppose it is my age showing. I wish I had some sort of humorous quip wrought with profanity to reinforce my point but I don’t, it’s too early to be witty. All I have today is the lesson that a grudge against a friend is useless and life is way too fucking short. All these big lessons; WOW, I must be a big girl.
I have very little to say today, last night was spent catching up and quietly reconciling; a night of old friends reconnecting, and forgiveness taking its course. As sappy as that is, and so unlike me, it is my reality today. I promise to be funny again tomorrow...
Fuck I really am getting old.
Monday, February 1, 2010
365/ twenty-seven
Spaghetti and Tomato sauce with onion (care of the Smitten Kitchen)...I cannot say enough how delicious AND easy this recipe is. If I were you, I would make it.
Quote of the Day
"You know you are on the road to success if you would do your job, and not be paid for it."
Oprah Winfrey
Oprah Winfrey
Singlehood
It is official; I am the ONLY single person in my immediate group of friends. Slowly I started to see them drop like flies from singlehood, one by one going to the other side. Some fell fast, like a jumper on the 28th floor; and, some have slowly descended into coupledom. Nonetheless, I am solo, in more ways than one.
I always had Christopher, my gay husband (just like Jill Zarin’s, but way WAY better) and we spent most of our free time together; but now my partner in singledom, has found himself a mate. I am tearing up thinking about our old life (I kid). Although I really like his new man; he has taken my companion away and I am mourning his loss.
So what is a single girl to do in a group of friends that happens to be all couples? I have no idea. I could go to one of those singles mixers, but the clientele is most likely on an hour break from their “Dungeons and Dragons” game; then there is E-Harmony but when I think of E-Harmony I think of desperate women whose eggs are months away from being down syndrome babies, and I have a good 10 years before I’m there. And when I think of plenty of fish, I think of STD’s, don’t ask me why, I just do. I am beginning to think that I have good guy repellent seeping from pores as I tend to only attract sickos, perverts or handicaps; seriously handicap people love me, perhaps I appear as though I have limited brain function, that is my best guess as to why.
The fact that I haven’t been laid in what feels like forever is compounding the problem. If I was getting some play maybe I wouldn’t be so ravenous. The other day I was at the gym and the sexiest man was lifting weights right outside of my spin class, and I found myself white knuckling the bike fantasizing about all the things I would do to his sweaty body; I felt sorry for the girl next to me, as I let out some inappropriately timed moans, I blame the bike seat. All is not lost though, as I am becoming a master of the ménage-a-un; and the saying is true, practice does make perfect! I mean, I could go out and find someone to fuck, but I gave up sex on the first (or fifth) date; in my experience it’s always shitty sex and my acting skills are better used getting out of parking tickets rather than faking orgasms. Plus, I’m over that awkward after casual sex exchange, what do I say? “Thanks for nothing”, “OUCH my back you, fucking jack hammering idiot” or “why are you still here, the sun is coming up”...
I have been channeling my sexual tension into super intense workouts; nothing gets my body moving more than thinking about sweaty, disgusting, porno sex; but the classy kind of porn. I maintain that most porn’s are completely unrealistic, no female ACTUALLY enjoys getting a fist up her pussy. Any woman that can make that look pleasurable deserves a fucking Academy Award.
And all these dating shows are making me nervous. Last night I was watching “Tough Love” and there was a 39 year old woman whose title was “Miss Lone Ranger “ who was the E-Harmony woman I was talking about, jaded, wrinkled and single; with old eggs stinking of sulfur from her loins. Scary.
So it would seem that I need to stop watching dating shows and continue working out but keep the sex fantasies to a minimum. The "Month of Me" couldn’t have come at a better time; because there is only me, and no one else.
I always had Christopher, my gay husband (just like Jill Zarin’s, but way WAY better) and we spent most of our free time together; but now my partner in singledom, has found himself a mate. I am tearing up thinking about our old life (I kid). Although I really like his new man; he has taken my companion away and I am mourning his loss.
So what is a single girl to do in a group of friends that happens to be all couples? I have no idea. I could go to one of those singles mixers, but the clientele is most likely on an hour break from their “Dungeons and Dragons” game; then there is E-Harmony but when I think of E-Harmony I think of desperate women whose eggs are months away from being down syndrome babies, and I have a good 10 years before I’m there. And when I think of plenty of fish, I think of STD’s, don’t ask me why, I just do. I am beginning to think that I have good guy repellent seeping from pores as I tend to only attract sickos, perverts or handicaps; seriously handicap people love me, perhaps I appear as though I have limited brain function, that is my best guess as to why.
The fact that I haven’t been laid in what feels like forever is compounding the problem. If I was getting some play maybe I wouldn’t be so ravenous. The other day I was at the gym and the sexiest man was lifting weights right outside of my spin class, and I found myself white knuckling the bike fantasizing about all the things I would do to his sweaty body; I felt sorry for the girl next to me, as I let out some inappropriately timed moans, I blame the bike seat. All is not lost though, as I am becoming a master of the ménage-a-un; and the saying is true, practice does make perfect! I mean, I could go out and find someone to fuck, but I gave up sex on the first (or fifth) date; in my experience it’s always shitty sex and my acting skills are better used getting out of parking tickets rather than faking orgasms. Plus, I’m over that awkward after casual sex exchange, what do I say? “Thanks for nothing”, “OUCH my back you, fucking jack hammering idiot” or “why are you still here, the sun is coming up”...
I have been channeling my sexual tension into super intense workouts; nothing gets my body moving more than thinking about sweaty, disgusting, porno sex; but the classy kind of porn. I maintain that most porn’s are completely unrealistic, no female ACTUALLY enjoys getting a fist up her pussy. Any woman that can make that look pleasurable deserves a fucking Academy Award.
And all these dating shows are making me nervous. Last night I was watching “Tough Love” and there was a 39 year old woman whose title was “Miss Lone Ranger “ who was the E-Harmony woman I was talking about, jaded, wrinkled and single; with old eggs stinking of sulfur from her loins. Scary.
So it would seem that I need to stop watching dating shows and continue working out but keep the sex fantasies to a minimum. The "Month of Me" couldn’t have come at a better time; because there is only me, and no one else.
Confession Monday
It is Feb 1. This is when resolutions start to fall by the wayside, the gyms start to clear out, depression starts to set in etc. And although I would like to think that I am immune, I am not. There are clouds over the city and my mood is even less sunny. This weekend was full of realizations, the biggest being that I can’t and won’t always get what I want; that skinny bitch Mick Jagger was right.
Allow me to explain; for months I have been pining for this one man. He is dreamy, beyond dreamy if you can imagine. The moment I saw him, I thought “FUCK ME, literally, can you please fuck me”, if I had balls I would have asked him to, but I’m a chicken shit so I just tried saying it with my eyes; he didn’t get the message. For months it has been little flirty visits here and there and text messages that go nowhere. A few weeks back, I made what I thought was HUGE progress; but it turns out it was nothing, a fucking tease. So after months of wasted time, emotional energy and money (don’t ask) I AM GIVING UP on him. This weekend it hit me like a ton of bricks “this isn’t going anywhere, it just isn’t meant to be”. This was a hard one to take as I am an only child and I usually get whatever I want.
For weeks (months) my friends, being the great friends that they are, told me to wait it out, if it is meant to be it will happen, all things in due time blah, blah, blah. And for the first time I finally get it. I don’t think it is meant to be and the only thing that will happen with time is that I will get over him. What else am I going to do? I could wait for him to realize that I am amazing but he is a man so I doubt that will happen anytime soon.
I had a really enjoyable weekend with the exception of being rather bummed about the whole “man” thing. Saturday was spent partying with my comrades and I spent my Sunday in solitude, baking and liking my wounds. The alone time was nice to decompress and come to terms with the fact that I must move on. Men, relationships and love are a complete fucking mystery; I actually have no idea how to navigate the romantic world. Unless of course a successful love life consists on losers, cheaters and idiots; because if that’s the case I should be a role model to all twenty-some things on the prowl.
So for the time being I am giving up on love and relationships, they confuse me and life is confusing me enough already as it is. I barely know who or what the hell I am or doing and figuring that out should be number 1 on my list. And now it is. February is the month of me and I think it is going to be a great one! Madonna said it best, “if it’s bitter at the start, then it’s sweeter in the end”.
This isn’t really a confession, but I had to get it off my chest.
Allow me to explain; for months I have been pining for this one man. He is dreamy, beyond dreamy if you can imagine. The moment I saw him, I thought “FUCK ME, literally, can you please fuck me”, if I had balls I would have asked him to, but I’m a chicken shit so I just tried saying it with my eyes; he didn’t get the message. For months it has been little flirty visits here and there and text messages that go nowhere. A few weeks back, I made what I thought was HUGE progress; but it turns out it was nothing, a fucking tease. So after months of wasted time, emotional energy and money (don’t ask) I AM GIVING UP on him. This weekend it hit me like a ton of bricks “this isn’t going anywhere, it just isn’t meant to be”. This was a hard one to take as I am an only child and I usually get whatever I want.
For weeks (months) my friends, being the great friends that they are, told me to wait it out, if it is meant to be it will happen, all things in due time blah, blah, blah. And for the first time I finally get it. I don’t think it is meant to be and the only thing that will happen with time is that I will get over him. What else am I going to do? I could wait for him to realize that I am amazing but he is a man so I doubt that will happen anytime soon.
I had a really enjoyable weekend with the exception of being rather bummed about the whole “man” thing. Saturday was spent partying with my comrades and I spent my Sunday in solitude, baking and liking my wounds. The alone time was nice to decompress and come to terms with the fact that I must move on. Men, relationships and love are a complete fucking mystery; I actually have no idea how to navigate the romantic world. Unless of course a successful love life consists on losers, cheaters and idiots; because if that’s the case I should be a role model to all twenty-some things on the prowl.
So for the time being I am giving up on love and relationships, they confuse me and life is confusing me enough already as it is. I barely know who or what the hell I am or doing and figuring that out should be number 1 on my list. And now it is. February is the month of me and I think it is going to be a great one! Madonna said it best, “if it’s bitter at the start, then it’s sweeter in the end”.
This isn’t really a confession, but I had to get it off my chest.
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