Wednesday, June 30, 2010

One Night Only

So we've all had one of those nights where we've had more than enough to drink and make the bad decision to go home with someone we will definitely regret in the morning. Oh, you haven't? Well, I'll be damned! Anyway, for those of us who have partaken in the One Night Stand (ONS) and the inevitable Walk (or Drive, or Subway, or Bus, whatever.) of Shame home - then you should be able to relate to my next series of sexual hijinks.

My first one night stand occurred a few months after the whole LF/34 y/o incidents. My Gay BFF, his boyfriend and I all went out for the evening and being the doting Gay BFF that he is, decided it was his duty to get me laid. We happened to meet up with one of his straight friends from his Rugby team to pregame before going out. I was thoroughly unimpressed with this kid: He was short, seemed kind of cocky and annoying - he was telling us some story how he flew to Vermont to spend the weekend with some 34 year old Cougar he met over the holidays. (Right, because this story is supposed to impress 2 Gays and a Chick?) Anyway, we get out to the bars, have a bunch of beers, and my Gay BFF pulls me aside and says to me, "I'm sending you home with X." At this point I'm pretty much in drunken whatever mode so I agree to go along with it. We cab it back to X's house where we left the car and I head inside with X as the Gays head home. X and I are pretty clear about what is about to go down, but he has to go take his dog for a walk first. So I take my pants off and get into his bed - make it easy, just like ripping off a band-aid.

Once he comes back, making out commences, as well as oral activities - my half consists of me laying there waiting for something interesting to happen and fake moaning. Finally, I guess X has decided its time to get down to business and goes to get a condom. Already unimpressed with the size of his cock, I know this is going to require some serious acting skills. But I am completely thrown off when he asks me, "Ok, where do you want it?" to which I reply, "Um... My vagina??" And 15 minutes later the deed is done and I roll over and go to bed.

I wake up in the morning with a slight hangover and a worry of how I am going to get back to my Gay's house. (Which is an hour away by train) I've got enough cash on me to cab it to the train station and for the train, but figuring out how to do all this at 8 AM is a task in itself. I try calling my Gay and get sent straight to voicemail. Fuck. Meanwhile, X wakes up and now I have to try and make awkward post-coital conversation with him when all I wanna do is put my pants on and peace the fuck outta there. Luckily, he offers to drive me to my Gay's house (seriously?) which is a total relief - until I realize that requires me to sit in a car with him for an hour at 9 in the morning and partake in more awkward forced conversation. He drops me off. My Gay is still not answering the phone and I have to ring the doorbell and shame myself in front of his Beastly roommate in her grandma PJs.

The punchline of this story is that 8 months later, I moved in with my Gay BFF and X was our 3rd roommate for a short period of time, with a super clingy girlfriend who was at our house so often she should have been paying rent. I had thought of shattering her little precious X filled world by telling her about our erm, glorious ONS, but decided to spare her - and spare myself the reminder in the process.


My second ONS was pretty interesting, considering that I can only remember bits and pieces of it. We went out for Happy Hour after work and my coworker invited her husband and his friend, Y, who I had met at a previous Happy Hour and didn't care much for. (Again, annoying and cocky. Do I have a magnet on me?) So, I made the mistake of drinking 4 beers with 9% alcohol each and not realizing how drunk I was until I knocked my chair over and my coworker flagged me. Also, that night we were expecting a massive snowstorm and it had just begun to flurry as we were wrapping things up around 8-9 PM. So she volunteered to drive my car to Y's house and Y would drive me & babysit me there until I sobered up enough to go home. Big Mistake.

All I remember is one minute I am sitting on this guy's couch, innocently watching Yes Man, which is a pretty good movie. I quite liked Jim Carrey & Zooey Deschannel's chemistry - plus all 3 of us have the same birthday: January 17 - which I pointed out to Y as my little tidbit of knowledge. And then the conversation moved on to talking about tattoos (something in the movie happened with tattoos), to which I lowered the band on my jeans to show him my tattoo that is on my hip. And the next thing I know, I am naked and sitting on this guy's lap and he is manhandling me and kissing me and telling me how great my breasts and ass are. (To which I just blush and giggle, because its pretty much true and I love compliments.) Well, the last thing I remember is going to the bathroom naked and thinking "OMG WTF!" because then I woke up naked in his bed at 6:45 in the morning going "OMG WTF!".

So, remember that snowstorm I talked about earlier? Well, a foot or so of snow had accumulated over night and I was trying to figure out how I was gonna Walk of Shame my way out of this. I went to the living room and retrieved my clothes and got dressed as quickly as I could before this guy could wake up. However, he busted me as I had one shoe on and said, "You were just gonna leave!?" to which I most honestly responded, "Yeahhhh... Pretty much?" I was not about to get snowed in here all day with this guy (especially when I checked his fridge and all he had was a Brita Filter and a 30 rack of Miller Lite), so yeah, I was itching to get out of there. How I was going to find my car and clean it off, well, I would have figured all that out later.

He asked if I had a shovel. I said nope. So he told me to give him a few minutes and he would clear my car off for me. (What a gentleman!) I curled up in a hungover ball watching The OC on SoapNET as he went outside to find my car and clear it off. Finally, he came back and the biggest wave of relief rushed over me. I quickly put my coat on, grabbed my purse and keys and he started walking me out to my car. (I really didn't want to have to make small talk.) I got in my car, waited for it to warm up, brushed a lil more snow off with my scraper in the backseat - all as he stood there waiting for.... something? (I dunno, maybe he just wanted to see that I got off ok?) So, when my car was finally ready, I thanked him for cleaning off my car, did the awkward hug thing and tried my best to drive through the on-going blizzard and barely-plowed streets home. (Thank god for All Wheel Drive.)

Now, how many of you have ever done the "Shame Stroll" during a blizzard?

Tuesday, June 29, 2010


After my breakup, I really wasn't in the market to be actively dating. (Especially after a very awkward situation I created while attempting to date this guy at my part-time job which may or may not have led to me slightly stalking him & my ex-gf leaving him a very drunken voicemail rambling on about his cock.) So imagine my surprise when one summer I scored 2 dates in the course of 72 hours - not even trying! So hey, when life gives you lemons, might as well date both of them at once.

The first came when I was waiting at the train station on my way home after work. A guy came over and asked me when the next train to Stamford was and I told him 6:08. He asked if I was waiting for the same train. (I mean, come on, obviously I was - No, I just hang out at random train stations.) So he starts chatting me up, asking me if I'm from the area. I told him I grew up there but I just moved to CT. He told me he did too and went to the local all boys Catholic school where I just so happened to have worked as a counselor for many years. He asked me how old I was: I was 24. He was 34. (From here forward, he is referred to as "The 34 y/o") We continued talking at the station and on the train, since we were both getting off at Stamford. When the train was pulling into the station, he asked for my number and if I wanted to get a drink some time. Pulling out his ancient Nokia cell phone, he punched in my number and I shrugged it off and headed towards my connecting train.

The next day I got home from work early and headed over to some local happy hour spots in CT to try and meet some friends (I was still pretty new to the area). So I downed a few martinis in one restaurant me & my mom like to go to, then headed down to the waterfront to this outdoor bar. As I stood drinking and texting my friend, viewing all the older happy hour patrons, a really cute guy came up and asked if I was waiting for someone. Then, just as quickly as I could reply, he flashes me his wedding ring and turns to point at a table of 2 frumpy guys and tells me one of them wants to buy me a drink. I've got a pretty good buzz going on and hey, who knows, they might be cool, so I go over and hang out with them.

The less frumpy one who had all his hair and was possibly somewhat attractive was the one who had his eye on me; the frumpier, balding, nerdy one was his older brother. They were pretty cool and funny and so I hung out with them, going from the bar to behind the baseball field where they retrieved a Rubbermaid container of Keystone lights from their car (real classy huh!) and we continued to drink. Less Frumpy's (Now being referred to as "LF" for simplicity's sake) friends cleared the way to let him make his move on me, to which I drunkenly obliged and led to some making out and fondling in the back of his friend's car. Afterward LF began walking me home and asked me for my number - I drunkenly responded, "Uhhh, what was your name again?", took his number down in my phone as well, and stumbled home.

LF called me the next day and we went out to dinner (OUTBACK STEAKHOUSE!) and began hanging out more since he was semi-local. (He grew up there but his mother moved recently; Since all his friends still lived there, he'd come down and stay with them on the weekends.) We'd go to the movies, hang out at his friend's place and do Power Hours (Oh yeah, I was living it up.), made him take me to an Anime convention; I pretty much had the kid wrapped around my pinky and could make him do anything for me: The power of my hotness, I suppose. I enjoyed hanging out with him. He was fun and funny and pretty cool. His friends were awesome too. There was just one problem: I was totally not sexually attracted to him. Further confirmed when I finally slept with him 3 months after we'd be hanging out and it was a complete and utter let down.

From that point on I tried to avoid any kind of sexual interaction with him. Unfortunately, he turned around and told me he thought he was in love with me - to which I just smiled. And then, when he told me he loved me again a month later, I lied and said it back because I felt bad. This apparently made us "Facebook Official" with our relationship. Shortly thereafter, I became fed up with his insecurities, clingy behavior and lack of bedroom skills, I abruptly ended the relationship and the timing couldn't have been better; His car broke down, he lost his phone and I stopped talking to him all in one weekend. It could've been the next County hit!


I'll backtrack now to the 34 y/o, since that whole adventure lasted much shorter. He called me a few days after our meeting to arrange a date for that Friday night. I met him out at a nice lounge for drinks and dinner. Unfortunately, I came to find out that he had been living with a woman in Vermont for 2 years and they had broken up and he was living in his friend's spare bedroom - for the past year & a half. He had no car. He worked nights a big corporate television station that shall remain nameless. I had a pretty good time and he invited me back to "his place" (aka his friend's apt that he was sharing) so I said, why not? You only live once. We took the train and a cab to his friend's apt, stopping to get beers along with way, hung out on "his balcony" and compared tattoos. We had started watching "Almost Famous" (his favorite movie), then he decided to show me his guitars (he was also apparently a musician) and then things started getting hot and heavy.

Before I knew it, I was that "sex on the first date" girl. And 5 minutes later, it was over. I figured he was just drunk so really not a big deal and went to sleep. We woke up in the morning and there was another 5 minute romp in the hay which I again attributed to being hungover/morning. So I cabbed it back to the train (which I had to pay for - not too thrilled about that since I don't carry cash & got into a fight with the cab driver because I tried to use my card & he told me I had to call the card in in advance before I got in the cab. So I asked him to stop at an ATM & he takes me to a gas station where the ATM didn't work, then takes me to an actual bank and tries to charge me $3 a stop when his dumb ass should've just taken me to a bank in the first place. I handed him a $20 bill and told him to go fuck himself.)

Not really anticipating going on another date with the 34 y/o again, I begrudgingly agreed to date #2 when he called and said he was going to get a hotel room for us for the evening. (Since you know, he lives with his friend. Kind of awkward to keep bringing chicks back to a place you don't own, I'm sure) Sweet! It's just like "Pretty Woman", I thought. So date #2 commenced - I picked him up, we valeted the car, checked in, and headed to a local bar for drinks. Here's where things went down hill. At the bar, he gets the first round, then TELLS me it's my turn to pay. I would have had no problem offering to pick up the tab. Just don't TELL me I have to like it's my duty. So we go back to the hotel, get some wine/champagne from the lobby and go upstairs and rent a movie on pay-per-view. (Forgetting Sarah Marshall, if you were wondering. Hilarious film, btw.) So we're laughing and drinking and he decides to give me a massage. Which leads to him pouring champagne all over my chest and licking it off. Which leads to sex. Which leads to, 5 minutes later, just as I'm starting to get into it, he's done. And not just that - here is the icing on the cake (literally): He pulls out, pulls the condom off and proceeds to jizz all. over. me. I am just laying there in shock like "WTF??" And also pissed that I will need to wash my hair again in the morning.

So we go to sleep and I try to take a shower and sneak out in the morning so I can get to work and never have to see this guy ever again. When I come out of the shower, he's awoken - and so has his cock - as he pulls back the sheets to show me the "surprise" he has for me. Knowing this won't take long, I get on top and sure enough, 5 min later, it's over and done with. I say goodbye and go downstairs to get my car... Which breaks down 4 blocks away from the hotel, no thanks to my ex's constantly fiddling with it. (And luckily the tow truck driver is a Honda head so he knows exactly what is wrong but unfortunately doesn't have the tools to fix it.) Mind you, as I'm waiting the hour for the tow truck, I am texting the 34 y/o and he doesn't bother to come by and see if I'm ok because he's going back to bed since he doesn't have to work til 1 o'clock. (A very nice, pretty hot ambulance driver did stop and help me push my car out of traffic, hung out with me til the tow came, bought me a water and asked for my number in the meantime though.)

So after my car has been towed and I am trying to reclaim my modesty at home later that afternoon, the 34 y/o texts me to tell me I "forgot something - teehee" (my thong. He could keep it for all I cared.) and then asked if I'd been tested because there was blood on the condom when he went to throw it out. (I thought my period had ended; Guess not. But then again, maybe you shouldn't be having casual sex with girls if you're paranoid about this shit.) I never talked to him again after that, despite a few attempts for him to get in contact with me including one drunken text message where he called me a bitch, and a pathetic voice mail where he "thought we had a good time" and wished I'd call him back. Sorry, Quick Draw. No dice. In the end, I finally blamed his minute man status on the fact that he was so friggin' psyched to be 34 y/o and sleeping with a 24 y/o hot chick that he just couldn't last. He was also balding and had an awful goatee, so I guess it was for the best.


While my relationship with LF was much more interesting and lasted much longer than my brief encounter with the 34 y/o, that certainly was not the last time that I found myself double-dipping in the dating pool. And certainly not my last One Night Stand experience - Those stories to follow...

Monday, June 28, 2010

The Politics of Dating

There are all kinds of dating pressures in your 20s. Many people think back to their parents’ and grandparents’ day and kind of use that as a barometer against where they should be in life. One might go, "Oh, well my parents were married by the time they were my age, so my clock is ticking." Others think, "Fuck that shit - Your 20s are for partying and screwing around. You've got the rest of your life to settle down." So what should you do? Do whatever feels right. Don't feel pressured to have to be married and settled down with a house and kids by the time you're 30. Don't feel pressured to have to go out and sleep with any and everyone you meet. Remember that what might be right for someone else might not be the right choice for you. It's just like anything in life really. There is always going to be pressure to fit in with your peers, societal constraints telling you to do XYZ and not ABC.

A lot of women think that they're going to get too old to have kids and feel this indescribable need to sit around and complain that "OMG I'm almost 26 years old and I'm single and I'm never going to get married! And I wanna be a Mommy!" That mentality is almost certain to make sure that that "SINGLE" label stands on a little bit longer. Guys don't want you coming right off the bat saying "Oh, well, my goal is to be married and have kids by the time I'm 30." Because clearly, if he knows you're 26 - he factors in the fact that you're trying to accomplish all this in the next 4 years and instantly evaluates whether he wants to be part of that greater plan or calculates where the nearest exit is.

That's not to say that all Guys are commitment-phobic. Obviously, some men would like to get married one day, but if they think they're being put on the countdown meter based on your "clock", that's a lot of pressure. It gets worse as a Guy sees all his friends around him settling down and he's still the only single one. There go all the weekend binges and strip club outings. No one wants be the last Bachelor standing, right? How could someone take me seriously if all my friends are married and I'm not, right? Well, don't go rushing into something and married a Girl just because that's what she wants and that's what you see everyone else doing. Odds are you'll either wind up resenting her for "trapping" you in a marriage before you were ready or eventually wind up getting divorced.

And not every Girl feels like she wants to get married either. The thing about being a girl is - growing up, you're expected to be prim and proper and not skanky and slutty. Then you hit your 20s and realize how amazing sex is and your libido kicks in and you just wanna hump everything in sight and now you can be a kinky bitch all you want without the worry of rumors running the halls of your high school or doing the walk of shame home from the Kappa Sig house every weekend.

You're 20-something and single. You don't have to be in a relationship if you don't want to. You can date and screw whoever you want and be however serious about the situation you want. The world is your oyster. Who cares if you only wanna go out with a guy just to get a free meal and a fuck? That's your prerogative! All these years you've been dating like a chick - and getting fucked over because of it. Think about all those guys you cried over, all those pints of Ben & Jerry's you ate. It's about time you dated like a man - liberate yourself. It's 2010 after all. But of course, most importantly - carry condoms! Don't think just because you're a Girl you should depend on the guy. Because if you get horny and he doesn't have one, how disappointed will you be then? (And don't even think of letting him "pull out" - You should both be able to have mind-blowing orgasms together without worrying about getting pregnant.) Same thing goes for you, Guys. Always carry condoms. Just because a chick is totally hot and says she's the pill doesn't mean that she is - and it doesn't mean she doesn't have herpes either. Because if you don't, guess what? Not only did you not want get married in the first place, but now, congratulations! You're a daddy!


This week, I'm focusing my blog on some of the more interesting, possibly embarrassing and excruciatingly awful dating experiences I've had as of late. I was a serial monogamist for a very long time. I was constantly in back-to-back long term relationships. Only slept with guys that I was seriously dating. All that changed when my asshole of an ex ruined my life and basically made me swear off getting close to anyone every again. So I started dating like a Guy so I didn't get played like a little bitch. I had some good times, some bad, some amazing and some things I experienced that can never be undone or unseen. Those encounters are as follows...

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Swinging both ways

I am bisexual.

There, I said it. I guess that makes me trendy or whatever society seems to think about bisexuality these days. There is a lot of negativity that surrounds being bisexual: People think you are greedy, that you can't make up your mind, that you're 'on the fence', that you want your cake and eat it too. But sometimes people are attracted to members of both sexes, can find themselves being in love with both sexes, having relationships with both sexes. Isn't that just being open minded?

The first time I kissed a girl was in 3rd grade. My neighbor, who was 2 years younger than me, wanted to know what it was like to kiss somebody. So we got naked in my basement and sat on my couch and were going to kiss. But then she made me put a shirt on. And we crawled underneath a blanket and kissed on the lips.

The second time I kissed a girl was with my friend at a rave the summer after high school. I took half a tab of E and was trying to impress some cute guy who had attached himself to me for the evening. He said he'd seen it before, but it was still pretty cool. I remember the way her lips felt so soft against mine. It was so different from all the guys I'd kissed before. There was just something so gentle and non-threatening about kissing a girl, but also so hot and exciting.

Most of my college years were spent making out with girls. Maybe some fondling. A pussy lick here or there. Lots of experimenting, but not really going all the way so much. I knew I liked girls but I was afraid to really let myself go and go head first into a full blown relationship with one. Until after my last ex and I broke up about 3 years ago.

For the sake of keeping identities secret, her name was Jeanette. My ex was friends with her from a local coffee place he frequented. Her long term, live in boyfriend and her had just broken up too, and so he suggested that me and her be friends. He said we had a lot in common - other than the break ups - we both liked Britney Spears, we were both getting our Masters, and we were both Bisexual. Secretly, him introducing the two of us to each other was just a clever ruse to get us all into a threesome - and an even more clever ruse to conceal that he was fucking her on the side while we were broken up, yet still living together.

Jeanette and I began exchanging messages on Myspace (Yes, it was THAT long ago that Myspace was relevant). Her new apartment post-breakup was only a few blocks from ours so we decided to meet up at this local bar for a drink. We were having a great time until my ex showed up and ruined everything. (And then confessed he slept with her while we fought in his car in the parking lot, then HAHA J/K'd me about it, even though I knew he'd told me the truth.) He arranged for us to all go out one night, the 3 of us, to a bar - which led to me and her making out at the bar and in the car the whole way home and to, yes, the threesome my Ex had been hoping for. And the 2nd time it happened as I watched him fuck her, I knew for sure they had been sleeping together behind my back. But I kept it to myself.

Jeanette and I grew closer after I moved back home after my breakup. She went to school in the same town where I was working so she would frequently pick me up after we both got out of class and we would hang out. We had a lot in common. Same musical tastes, TV, movies, humor. She was gorgeous. My Ex used to tell me that he liked her because she reminded him of me and it was true. We were like Ying and Yang. She was the Blond/Green eyed version of me. She was from Brooklyn and then relocated to Long Island, I was from the Bronx and relocated to Westchester. She was a Mets Fan, I was Yankees. She loved penguins and cats. So did I. Her favorite color was green. We had the same taste in clothes. She bought us matching "I'm Not with Stupid Anymore" shirts as we reveled in our breakups from these assholes together. (Her Ex cheated on her and gave her HPV, then denied it for a year and finally admitted it on the night of their Senior formal. They continued to live together and try to make it work for 5 months until a fight on Halloween was the last straw.)

Jeanette and I would spend a lot of time together. For my birthday weekend, we went with a bunch of her friends to a sex toy store and then out to a bar and then wound up back at her place in her hot tub. I will let you fill in the blanks about what happened after that. Since I moved a lot further away from my job after the breakup, I would spend most nights at her place. I would borrow clothes from her or leave them at her place. She would drive me to the train in the morning and kiss me goodbye. We would text all day and then she would pick me up and we'd hang out all night. We had our rituals: Buffalo Wild Wings on Tuesdays for 35 cent wings. Going to the Eatery for lunch and getting Hercs. (The Hercules - a Chicken sandwich on a wedge with BBQ sauce and cheese - bacon for me, none for her.) We'd polish off cases of Blue Moon together and act ridiculous. (Our fav) One day, she even surprised me at work by picking me up for lunch and taking me to this new Quesadilla place that opened. We loved quesadillas. When my grandmother died, she was there for me. She came with me to the wake and held my hand and rubbed my back as I cried endlessly. And we got drunk at her place the night before the funeral. She could always make me feel better. I just felt so alive with her. We did everything together. Talked shit about our exes and had amazing adventures. (Like the time she made me lie to my boss to leave work early and we went to Brooklyn and she got a tattoo on her foot.)

Then, sometime around summer, things started to get a little weird. And I mean weirder than the fact that my ex told Jeanette he was in love with her - and that he told me he was in love with her because she reminded him of me. (And I reminded him of his mother apparently, so work out the weird Oedipian logic with that.) She was becoming distant, short with me. And finally, one weekend, I went to send her a bumper sticker on Facebook (that was our thing) and she wasn't on my friends list anymore. I tried texting her. She wouldn't respond. Finally apparently her best friend, Jamie (name also changed) texted me and told me that Jeanette didn't want to be my friend anymore because I apparently got all "Single White Female" on her. This referred to the fact that one week I decided I was gonna cut my hair. Jeanette had had the "Posh Spice Bob" for a while but was growing it out. And she told me she wanted to grow it out. I said cool, I wanna go shorter with my hair. So I made an appointment to get my hair cut that Friday. (This was Tuesday) The next day, Jeanette tells me she's going to get her hair cut that afternoon - and, you guessed it - the Posh Spice Bob, which what I was planning on getting. This, combined with my lightening my hair for the summer, apparently became a lil too Jennifer Jason Leigh-ish for her tastes. And so she stopped talking to me altogether with no explanation, no confrontation. (Except a few back and forth emails about 5 months later - which started out semi-vicious but, unlike if it was with a guy, our conversations didn't seem as tense and we were actually joking by the time we were done. We never did meet up again or get back together or rekindle our friendship.)

She really broke my heart. For some reason though, unlike relationships I had with guys, I got over it pretty quickly. I really did love her though - whatever we were to each other. I guess I call her my ex because we were basically dating but without titles, without definition. It was a shame because it was so nice to have someone I could be so close to, so open with, who reminded me so much of me.

I wouldn't say that I would never date a woman again, but I certainly would be cautious. Loving a woman is much different from a man. There is a certain sense of comfort that you get that you don't get with a man. Sure, there are still the butterflies and awkward wishing and hoping that come along with dating, but it's more like, as a woman - you can relate to another woman on a certain level - so you're not always trying to figure out how that other person thinks because you already know. You don't get frustrated as easily. Things are more relaxed and seamless. And as much of a comfort as it is, it's also kind of a trap in some ways.

Women are beautiful creatures, but they are also complicated and crazy as fuck.

Monday, June 21, 2010

white chicks who love hip hop

I love hip hop. Ever since I was little it just seemed to call to me. Maybe a little bit of the culture flows through the veins of every person born in the Bronx. (The birthplace of hop hop.) From jamming to Kris Kross and Boyz II Men in 3rd grade, to spending weekend nights in middle school up late watching "Yo! MTV Raps" to catch Wu-Tang and Outkast's new videos, to having Hot 97 and Power 105 on my dials in my first car, hip hop has just always been on constant rotation on my walkmen, CD players and iPod.

I remember the summer before 9th grade I bought Lil Kim's "Hard Core" and it changed my life. Her first solo CD, I was expecting some cutesy rhymes from this little chick who had played arm candy to Biggie and was the token female in Junior MAFIA. Boy, did I receive a shock! I blushed as she rapped about drugs, money, cash, guns, glamour, fucking without love and getting head. But at the same time, it was eyeopening and amazing. She was completely uncensored and not giving a fuck: a feminist testimony in 16 bars. She was fierce and fearless. She came into the game hard off people's disapproval and claims that Biggie wrote her rhymes, that she fucked her way to the top, that she was like the Black Courtney Love, riding the coat tails of his death to make a name for herself. But she has more than proven herself since and showed the world that "hard core" was more than just a clever title. Whenever I wanna feel good, I dial up my Lil Kim playlist on my ipod, turn up the volume, roll the windows down and sing along.


Notorious BIG, Tupac, Wu-Tang Clan, Jay Z, Lil Kim, Outkast, Public Enemy, Grandmaster Flash, KRS-One, Fatman Scoop, Run DMC, LL Cool J, Fat Joe, Big Pun, Cam'ron, Juelz Santana, Kanye West, Tribe Called Quest, Naughty by Nature, Coolio, NWA, Snoop Dogg, Dr. Dre, Warren G, Mobb Deep, Nas, Beastie Boys, Cypress Hill, Bone Thugs and Harmony, Lil Wayne, T.I., Drake, Eve, Missy Elliot, Foxy Brown, DMX, Ludacris, Timbaland, Diddy, Jermaine Dupri, Eminem, Common, Swizz Beats, 50 Cent, Queen Latifah, Junior MAFIA, Fabolous, DJ Jazzy Jeff & Fresh Prince, Slick Rick, Salt n Pepa, Busta Rhymes... Just to name a few.


Sure I may not be as into the scene as some people: I don't go to shows or follow the blogs or smoke weed or color coordinate my Uptowns with my outfits. I don't listen to obscure artists and then boast about how eclectic and hip I am for it. I listen to beats that feel good, rhymes that I can enjoy and smile about and yes, even artists that are considered nonsense and garbage, radio hits, club bangers, one hit wonders. If it has a good beat, I will give it a listen. I always felt insecure about it, paranoid of comments from people like, "That white chick listening to rap - who does she think she is?" until I'd go out to the club and sing along with every track and shake it on the floor and people would go, "Aww shit! This white girl can get down."


And now my piss poor white girl attempt at rhyming:

They think Cinderella was a fairy tale
but its just an urban legend
She wasn't going home at midnight
Just heading out at eleven
Didn't get invited to the party
showed up and just crashed it
No pumpkin coach for this lady
but a Benz with leather seats
a pair of Gucci shades
Louboutins on her feet
Condo out in Queens
and a loft in lower Manhattan
And that slipper that she lost
wasn't made of glass
A black Manolo slingback
good thing Princey brought it back
She didn't want a love story
or a wedding with the fixins
She had CEO status
a paycheck in the low sixes
he tried to sweep her off her feet
but it just wasn't happening
makes her own money and pays her own way
enough dough saved up for a year of rainy days
she said I know you're fine
but what's mine is mine
and I'd make you sign a prenup
or kick you out on your behind
so thanks for the shoe
but you best be on your way
cuz Cinderella didn't need a man
to make her what she is today

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Summer, Summertime.

I love Summer. Despite the intense heat and humidity, all the best, most amazing, most memorable moments that I can remember in my life have taken place during a multitude of summers. There were a variety of first kisses and summer flings, romances and loves. I got drunk for the first time the summer after high school. I gave my first blow job during the summer. The summer after freshman year of college, we took a Memorial day weekend trip to Seaside Heights that was a total shit show and we never went back again. My summers consisted of all kinds of crazy adventures with friends, trips, fights, makeups, breakups, love, sex, silliness.

From about age 14 to 23, I worked at a summer camp as a counselor with some of my best friends. Once we could drive, we started getting into all kinds of trouble. And once we could get into clubs, it got even worse. (and by worse, I mean more amazing.) Most nights during the week we would just hang out in our area, driving around, getting food, maybe going shopping, getting our nails done, going to the gym, or just being lazy. But once Friday afternoon at 4:30 rolled around, we would rush home after work, get all dolled up and head down to the City to go clubbing and hang out all night. We'd straighten our hair and put on makeup, our cutest jeans and tops, Diesel sneakers and our little purses and hop on the 6 train into Manhattan. Once we knew people old enough to buy booze for us, we'd sneak drinks on the train by pouring them into Sprite or Coke bottles, or the occasional slurpee from 7-11. We'd drink and laugh and generally irritate anyone around us on the subway who was heading home from work. Kim would do her daredevil Superman hang off of the subway pole thing. We'd get to the club and dance all night; house stepping in the ballroom at Webster Hall, grinding in the basement and rocking out to 80s hits on the main floor. Then we'd leave, pass out on the train home and hit up the diner - my usual was always either grilled cheese & fries or breakfast: two eggs over easy, toast, bacon and home fries.

There were lots of beach trips where we'd sit in traffic going out to Jones and get burnt to a crisp, then go to Palladium/Arena or North Ave (when they still existed) or White Plains to drink and hang out and party. One of our coworkers from camp was a bouncer at a bunch of the bars, so we never worried about getting carded. And another coworker was a bartender, so we always got free drinks. Linz's house was always good for drinking when her parents were out of town. (and then getting naked in the hot tub.) Steph's was fun to chill out and watch TV and play Mario Kart til 3 am.

Then all the fun came to an end. Everyone got adult jobs or moved away or got married or we drifted apart from each other and so there went all the summer fun. I had several summers for a while especially where I worked 7 days a week and didn't get to the beach once. (I still tried to make the summer as fun as I could, although it just wasn't the same.) I wish I could take a time machine back to those moments where everything was so fun and carefree, and instead of worrying about bills and rent, the only thing we worried about was how we were gonna get booze and what we were wearing that night.

Tonight is the official first night of Summer; The summer solstice. Here's hoping that this summer is just as memorable as summers past.

Love, Part deux.

So here's my issues with love. Based on my last post, I'm clearly able to find it. But making it last - that is something I'm still trying to master. I watch couples in real life, on tv, read about them in books, and they have these loving relationships where the love never seems to run out or fade away; and sometimes it even gets stronger. Does this happen for real? Or is it all an allusion? I have never been in love with someone for more than a year & a half tops maybe. How do you keep that spark going? Keep that love thang going?

I am afraid to try again & have it crash and burn so quickly. I want a love that will last all through the ages, hell or high water. I want someone to love me so deeply & passionately that I always know they love me and never am left to question or second guess it. And for me to always feel the same in return. Is that too much to ask? Am I really being realistic with these demands?

I guess ill never know really until I get to that place, get past the mark of worry-ment, to know that everything is ok and fine. I hope to get there one day soon though and prove myself and everyone else wrong who may have had doubts about the strength and reality of love. To show them that it can and does exist and can, in fact, last a lifetime.

Friday, June 18, 2010


Love is one of those strange emotions that has the ability to turn your entire world upside down. It is magical and painful at the same time. It can make you laugh, smile, cry and scream all at once. It can lift you up higher than the clouds and drop you to the deepest, darkest depths. I can honestly say I have been in love 5 times in my life, each time completely different than the last. Each love was completely unique in its own right; a kind of love that is adapted to the person that you are in love with. Its hard to say if its real or if its just lust or infatuation, but its real enough in the moment that the memory stays with you forever.

The first time I said "I Love You", I was 16 years old and it was my first serious boyfriend. We met at my friend Kim's sweet 16 party. I sat next to him and didn't really like him. And so, I ate his cake. He got upset and I laughed hysterically. A mutual friend gave him my screen name and we began chatting and hanging out at school. He sent me one of those AIM emoticon bunnies and I replied *wiggles nose... hops*. He began calling me bunny. Then we realized that we liked each other and shared our first kiss at a local amusement park over french fries while everyone else rode the ferris wheel. Then we became bf/gf - which caused some slight problems because I was supposed to go to the prom with someone else in his limo and this resulted in a very awkward "Date Swap" situation. The first time we exchanged I Love Yous was after he teased me in the mall about him checking out other girls and I got mad and walked about 20 ft ahead of him. He caught up with me on the escalator and told me not to get upset. I asked why and he whispered in my ear, "Because I think I'm in love with you." It was a fun and youthful kind of love. We were each others' firsts. But after high school, it was clear our paths were in completely opposite directions and so, the love fizzled out.

The second time I said I love you was with someone who I once believed to be my Soulmate. Our love came on quick, richly passionate, then exploded brightly and faded.

#3 was another quirky, silly kind of love. We met at a house party, but I had already apparently met him at a party before that. Anyway, we spent the end of the night talking and I accidentally used his sleeping friend as a pillow. He gave me his phone to put my number in it. He never called, so I was able to track down his screen name through a friend. We hung out a few times casually and shared a first kiss under covers in between tickles and giggles. I fell so hard and so fast for him within a month, but I was so afraid to say it first. We laid naked in my dorm room bed, his arms around me, as I tried to bait him to find out how he felt about me, to get him to say those three little words first. Eventually he did say it and our love was this vibrant, eye opening, mind expanding (literally, based on all the weird experimental drugs we used to do together) roller coaster adventure despite our long distance (he lived in MA where I went to school, but then I moved back to NY for good). But once again, there became a fork in the road and we went our separate ways - not to mention the long distance thing was especially hard to keep up when I was going to school/working and he wasn't doing either.

My fourth love was the most painful, dangerous, awful, wonderful, life changing love I ever experienced. I went to hell and back. It was a love that never should have been and one that it took me a very long time to get out of. I spent a lot of time in that relationship trying to get back the love that we had, to make him love me the way I loved him and spent a lot of time crying, heart wrenched and helpless in return. Sometimes I wonder if he ever really did love me at all. (Especially all the claims that he made about loving me once I finally did leave him.) It seems like they were just words to him, but truly he left my heart in shambles.

For so long, I worried that I would never be able to love again. I had been hurt so bad and I just didn't want to hurt anymore. I completely shut myself off from all possibility of love. Kept all my feelings and situations completely casual. And yet, in the midst of all that, I tried to have hope that I would find love again one day. I searched high and low, but that spark was never reignited by any of the suitors I tested.

And then, one day, seemingly by accident really, he came into my life.

Our relationship started off casual, another victim of distance and internet romance. Soon our conversations became impassioned, flirtatious, sensual, stimulating mentally and sexually. We finally met up one summer weekend and within moments of meeting, we kissed and it was like Christmas, New Years and Fourth of July all rolled into one. Whoa. What was this feeling? It was like nothing I'd ever felt before. Like our lips were meant for each others. Like two polar opposite magnets attracting. So tender and gentle and perfect. Something just clicked when we were together. All the time we spent together, all the moments we shared - It was just effortless. Every conversation we had, every laugh we shared, every smile we exchanged, I could feel myself falling for him almost immediately. But it was so quick, I must have just been mistaking this feeling, wasn't I? I tiptoed around saying it to him drunkenly one night and his reaction kind of reaffirmed that maybe I was moving too fast. But things were progressing at a steady rate and looked to get more serious....

And then, one day, just as quickly as he came, he had to leave.

My heart hurt worse than it had before; a little piece of it had been taken and transported 9000 miles away. The pain was deep, intense, cut like a knife, coupled with a severe depression set on by his absence and no communication. I cried every day. Why did this happen? Why was this amazing chance at love taken from me? I had been broken so badly and here was a beautiful chance for repair, so why was the rug pulled out from under me? This cruel twist of fate as I had moved and hoped to start my life over with a new job, a new city, a new life, a new love. 3 out of 4 just wasn't good enough for me. What was the point of all these great new experiences if I had no one to share them with? Why was love so painful?

Then, one day, after months of loneliness, we were finally reunited. I had been worried that it wouldn't be the same. That everything about our relationship had all been in my head. That I built this bond up so much that it was all just an illusion I had created for myself to make me feel better. But our first kiss after so long confirmed that I hadn't been wrong. It was an adorable, almost high school-ish kiss, and the sparks were still there and they were just as strong as ever. Delicate, amazing, passionate. I remember laying in bed one night and it just seemed like the perfect moment to say those words but I held back in case I had jumped the gun again. But when I looked into his eyes and saw him looking back at me in the same loving way, I could tell that the feeling was there. (Ours is a very difficult situation in which to say it and everyone knows once you say it, it just complicates things... as if a love that spans two continents and an ocean wouldn't complicate things enough.)

And then one day, we were back apart and as we were before.

Hopefully soon I will get the chance to tell him how I feel, in person, as I am kissing him and looking deep into his eyes just as that day, and have it reciprocated. I can't wait to add another chapter on to this amazing love story, one that we will continue to write for years to come.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

I Heart New York.

I Love New York.

I am a native New Yorker. Bronx born, Westchester raised. Manhattan was my playground as a teen and young adult. I played at Carnegie Hall was I was 16. I graduated from Graduate School on the stage at Radio City Music Hall. Whenever I am away from it for too long, there is this intense sense of yearning, a deep need to be back on those concrete streets surrounded by sights and sounds and skyscrapers. The crowds can be soothing though; One union of people all moving at the same pace. Everyone always yells at me for walking too fast, but it’s just the New York in me. Nothing can bring a tear to my eye more than seeing that famous skyline in the distance. I am proud to be a part of this amazing city with so much culture, so much history, so much vibrancy.

Some people become jaded on New York, but not me. New York is absolutely, positively the one place I could see myself living the rest of my life and never getting bored or sick of it. Sure there are a lot of things that just don’t faze me anymore (homeless people, street performers) and in those moments I wonder what brings people here from all over the world, why do people want to come to New York City? But then there are always new things to see and wonders that never cease to amaze me (festivals, artwork and yes, even the homeless and street performers at times as well) that make me go, “Oh yeah, this is why.”

New York City has been a part of all my 26 years of life and yet, I still haven’t even seen a quarter of it all. It is always changing, evolving, and becoming something different entirely but still just as amazing. Some of the best nights of my life have taken place in the City, the ones with the strongest memories that I will always hold true to my heart: Meeting new friends, having amazing times with old friends, first kisses, drunken adventures, trying new things, getting into trouble, late nights and early morning sunrises. The list could go on forever.

I always get a deep sense of pride when friends from out of town want to come to New York, especially if they have never been there before. I go crazy thinking of all kinds of things to see and places to go; Ways to show them My New York. I also get a sense of relief when they don’t want to do all those crazy, intolerably touristy things like go see the Statue of Liberty or go to the top of the Empire State Building. Time Square is enough tourist trap for me to handle. Over the years, the tourists have started to bother me less and less – mostly because I tend to stay away from tourist-laden spaces as much as I can – but I still get frustrated when people stop in the middle of the streets to read their maps and snicker when people point their cameras up at that big weird looking silver skyscraper on 42nd street to take pictures of the “Empire State Building”. (FYI – It’s the Chrysler Building.)

September 11th really affected me deeply as a New Yorker, as I’m sure it did many other New Yorkers, and it still does to this day. It was an attack on our City. Our little island in this great big world and these two amazing buildings, one of which I had the privilege to go up to the top of when I was 8 years old. I remember riding the elevator up to the 107th floor on a cold, December evening. My aunt and I had watched a performance of “The Nutcracker” in the Atrium then decided to go up to the observation deck. I went around to every window, looking at New York from all 4 sides of that building, my nose cautiously pressed up against the glass. I was in awe. The city was so huge, so expansive, and to a little girl like me, it was just impressively vast and beautiful. My aunt bought me a pink pencil shaped pencil case that had the famous New York landmarks on the side of it; The Twin Towers being one of them. When it was nicer and warmer out, you could have gone up to an outdoor observation deck as well. I never got the chance and it’s heartbreaking to think that neither I nor anyone else ever will.

I have lived in Philadelphia now for the past year, and while it is a beautiful city rich with its own history and culture, it will never be New York. It will never give me the same nervous, tingly, awestruck feeling when I look at its skyline or walk down its streets. I’ve never even ridden on the subway here, something I could do with ease and navigate blindfolded in NYC. I have made it my goal in life to move back to New York within the next five years and to live within the five boroughs until the day that I die. It’s only fitting. NYC is in my blood. It is as much a part of me as I am a part of it. A city of 8 million and growing – I want the chance to be able to finish the story that I started.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

Boys, Boys, Boys

As a member of the female species, at some point in your life you start to garner attention from members of the opposite sex, some good, some bad, some warranted, some completely disgusting. Growing up I was the “Ugly Duckling”, a victim of bad genes that caused me to go through a sophomore year sporting both braces and glasses. Then, eventually, as I ventured into adulthood, I began to take control of my sexuality. It had its advantages and disadvantages. With the inception of social networking sites, I got to throw it in the faces of tons of guys who had ignored me in High School as I pressed the “DENIED” button on their Myspace friend request and deleted their “Whoa! You got HOT!” messages. I also got to use my God-given gifts to wrap a modest slew of guys around my finger to get what I wanted, when I wanted: rides, drinks, free meals, purses, and random money. (Not a gold digging amount by any means, but more like the ‘Can you lend me $100?’ which I never have to pay you back –type.) But, beauty was a gift and a curse.

I found myself with a series of stalkers in the past. One such nuisance in particular being my asshole, life ruining ex-boyfriend, who I can’t decide if it’s simply desperation on his part or a secret sense of satisfaction knowing that every time he calls or messages and I don’t answer that he is raining on my happy parade. Almost two and a half years since we ended our relationship and he persists to try to get me to communicate with him in some way, shape or form. It starts out nice and needy: “I need to talk to you. Please call me sometime this week.” And then, like someone flipped a switch, his Mr. Hyde side comes out and the threats and nonsense talk begin. (Usually some babble about how much of a cold hearted bitch I am – that’s his favorite term for me.) I refuse to give into these pathetic and childish little games he likes to play and it’s rather unfortunate that he has nothing better going on in his life that he still feels the need to try and get in touch with me or to try and push my buttons.

Stalker #2 is much tamer. I met him through Craigslist (big mistake) when I moved to Philly because I was trying to find friends. We exchanged emails back and forth for a bit and finally met up one night, both drunk and out with our friends, for about 5 minutes. To make up for this, we decided to hang out the next day and go shopping. I couldn’t decide if he was really hungover, really dull, or both. But I honestly got tired of having to lead the conversation with him and so decided to avoid hanging out with him again. Until Thanksgiving weekend. I was bored and home and he wanted to go out for drinks, so I decided to join and figured I probably wouldn’t have to pull my wallet out all night. I was right. We drank until last call then got burritos and went back to his house to watch some TV. Well, we always know where that leads. One second we’re watching pawn selling on TLC, the next, we’re making out and headed towards his bedroom.

There was no sex involved but lots of hot and heavy followed by intense cuddling. I mean, really intense. Like, this guy seriously wrapped himself around me all night and caressed every inch of my body lovingly and kissed me all over. It was really, really bizarre. The weirdest part of all is that he looked like the low-rent version of my Stalker ex. Both tall, built, Italian, dark hair, blue eyes. They could have been Fraternal twins. Except stalker #2 had NO personality – something confirmed by our drinking time in the bar that night. (Although he did loosen up a bit after a few Jack & Cokes.) In the morning I finally managed to break free from his Bear hug so I could go home and get ready for my date with another guy that night.

A few weeks later, I made the mistake of getting ridiculously drunk at my office’s holiday party and went home and decided to let my stalker come over and hang out. Big mistake. First off, I showed up at my front door wearing red lace lingerie under a fleece Rubber Ducky bathrobe and wearing a Captain’s hat. I figured that would scare him off. It didn’t. When he came into my room, we sat on my bed and I drunk rambled and almost started crying. That didn’t scare him off either. He hugged me to make me feel better, then we made out and got naked. And then again, all night with the Bear hugging. Only, it had started snowing out overnight so the heat kicked on full blast. My room already reached sauna-like temperatures, so that combined with his hot, large naked body pressed against mine plus my dried out wine hangover, I thought I was going to die. As I woke up in the morning, still suffocating, a heavy snow had begun to fall outside overnight and was accumulating rapidly and I still had this guy in my bed. So what do you do when you want to get someone out of your house? Why, you do what any normal person does: Have sex with them so that they leave. And that’s just what I did. And I haven’t seen my stalker since, even though he persists to text me randomly every weekend to see what I am doing or to invite me over to just hang out and cuddle. Fuck. That. Shit.

I’m gonna backtrack a little bit to that date I had the night after my hibernation session with Stalker #2. I went out one night with some gay friends and I persuaded one of them to take me to the “Straight Bar” so I could try and get some. Well, when you walk into a bar full of White, Straight people with a big, Black, Straight-acting Gay man, things don’t really go so well. He sensed this and left me there by myself. I went and sat at the bar to drown my pathetic-ness in some beers since the Straight bar was pretty much dead for almost Midnight on a Saturday and I clearly was going home alone. Then, a guy came to the bar to get a drink and began chatting me up, asking me why I looked so sad. I told him that I was new to the area and all my friends were Gay and abandoned me there. So he offered to buy me a drink and invited me to hang out with him and his group of friends. I happily obliged and we went to another bar after, then back to one of his friend’s apartments. We talked and had a good time and then it got to be about time that I left so I headed out to go catch a cab. This guy was such a gentleman! He walked with me and took the cab ride with me, (Turned out he was staying at a friend’s place a little ways past my apartment.) and even PAID! Plus, he asked for my number – I gave it to him, figuring he wouldn’t call. But sure enough, following the “Swingers” code, he called me that Tuesday to ask me out for the weekend. I said yes and was very excited. I had a real date!

We went to a very nice French bistro in Philadelphia’s fancy Rittenhouse Square. Wow – This was just about the nicest date I’d ever been on! Usually I get taken to TGIFridays or something! We had 2 bottles of wine, escargots, crème brulee, and a meal in between. Then he took me home and I invited him in to watch some episodes of “Always Sunny in Philadelphia”, which he’d never seen before. Then, of course, we made out. But that was as far as it went. I wanted to keep it classy. He left and called again for a 2nd date again on Tuesday. This time we were going to a nice Thai BYOB near my house. He bought 2 bottles of wine but we only drank one and headed to a local bar afterwards. But at the bar, things got a little weird. After drinking and talking and having what I thought was a good time, he tells me “Oh I can’t always be paying for things.” And I was like, um… ok? Then don’t take me to expensive restaurants? I said “Oh sure, that’s fine. I understand.” We finished up our drinks and left to get our car from the parking garage. However, that is the last thing I remember: I woke up in bed naked next to him in the morning not remembering what happened. When I told him this, he seemed a little nervous and uneasy. He told me we had apparently had sex, and what I sure was jokingly, that we did it twice and that I said he was the best I’d ever had. I felt bad and wanted to get him out of my house, so I went to my drawer, got a condom, and had sex with him so he could leave.

Skip to the post-Stalker date: We went to TGIFridays (!) and then to a house party (double !). I got to meet his friends who seemed cool. We watched movies, had some drinks. Then we got onto the conversation of the sex-I-didn’t-remember. Well, apparently he hadn’t used a “rainjacket” because he didn’t have any. (Seriously? Who calls a condom a rainjacket?) And we both had an “Oh Shit.” Moment and decided it would be best if he took me home. Again, I woke up naked in bed next to him – this time in the middle of the night and even more “OH SHIT!” The next morning, with condom wrapper on my dresser this time, I didn’t even bother. I rolled over to tried to give him the hint that he should GTFO and finally he said he had to leave. I kissed him goodbye and then prayed to god for the next few weeks that I got my period. It came and I breathed a sigh of relief. I also didn’t hear from him again until shortly before Christmas when he sent me a text message asking if “Anything happened regarding what we talked about last time we hung out.” I texted him back and told him not to worry about it and I never heard from him again. And that’s my date rape story!

It’s really hard to date in this world. Guys are hit or miss. Forrest Gump was right: Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Square Peg in a Round Hole

I am an only child. Growing up, I was very independent and did a lot of keeping to myself mostly. I didn't have many friends growing up. But it didn't really bother me back then. I had my own group that I hung out with. I liked to go out and do things and have fun just as much as anyone else. (I avoided that whole party and get drunk on the weekends thing in HS though; It just wasn't really my thing.) My parents didn't have any friends, and they seemed fine. I never really thought it was strange that they didn't socialize with other Adults or my friends' parents or anything like that. And so, I didn't really think it was a problem. Until I got to College.

College is a time where you are supposed to make friends and branch out and explore the world outside the Parental bubble that has been built around you for the past 17 years of your life. Yeah, that didn't really work out so well for me. My college made us fill out surveys to determine our living and roommate situations. I said that I like things quiet and calm and neat, mostly because I didn't want some crazy party girl slut roommate always coming in at 3 am waking me up. The people over in Residence Life apparently took this as me basically being a nerdy shut-in and so I got placed in a dorm that the year before had been the "Quiet Dorm". It was all the way on the back end of campus. Most people I met had never even heard of it and asked if it was a real dorm. The building was an old house with U-shaped floors, separated single sex with girls on floors 1, 2 & 4 and guys on 3 & 5.

Half the people in my building went home on the weekends, so it was hard to mingle. This left me with little options other than the handful of people I had met at Orientation. Which meant that it was hard to make friends with people who were barely ever around, or to make new friends with people who weren't even sure you actually lived on campus. I started to notice that it was really hard for me to approach people. I guess I was always kind of shy growing up, until people really tried to get to know me. I didn't understand why I couldn't just go up and say "Hey, what's up?" and BOOM! Insta-Friend! I thought I was a pretty cool chick. I was definitely a nice person. And I liked to go out and have fun just like everyone else. So why couldn't I make friends?

I would get kind of a tingle in my nose thinking about social interaction. My heart would start to race a little. And I would feel like I was about to cry. I had social anxiety disorder. When I transferred schools and moved back home, I started to have increased anxiety and panicky episodes. I went to the doctor and she prescribed me Paroxetine (Paxil) and that began to help me a little bit. But I had already formed a big social group by becoming part of a big subculture: Raves. Raves were fun, giant parties with loud music and lots of people under the influence so it was easy to talk to people and make friends. (Especially if you were under the influence yourself sometimes as well.) I joined an internet forum for Ravers as well and began to meet many "friends" that way as well. I also enjoyed moderate Celebrity status as at every party, I wore a pair of Bunny ears and was instantly recognizable and lovable.

The Paxil worked pretty good for a while. I felt more confident. I was making friends. I was being more assertive. I had a good relationship and a good job. I wasn't feeling anymore anxiety. So I decided I didn't need to take it anymore. The medication had worked, right?

Cut to a few years later. I began dating a guy who treated me like shit. He caused me a great deal of stress and duress through his mannerisms, both towards me and in his everyday life. I started cutting myself off from these new friends I had made because I put myself in this bubble where it was just him. I was afraid of him and what he would do to me, and the hatred he had for my friends and family and the threats he would make against them. And the fool that I was, I loved him and didn't want to lose him. So I lost everyone else. And I lost myself in the process. I began having the anxiety attacks again. I was losing ground and didn't know how to fix it. I went back to the doctor again and she prescribed me Lexapro. The anxiety stopped, but the torture in my relationship continued.

I had burned so many bridges, it was hard to get my life back. I had been living with this animal and when we broke up, I had to move in with my parents who had moved almost an hour & 1/2 from where I grew up. It was the middle of nowhere and I was now 24 years old. It was going to be even harder to make friends. My mom suggested I get a part-time job. That worked for a bit. I stopped taking my medication again because I hated feeling mechanical and medicated. I made some friends and hung out a bit, but they weren't the kind of friends I was looking for. The area I was living in was very suburban and close knit, so it was very much like High School part 2. (Especially when you had 20 somethings hanging out with 16 year olds and drinking with them on the beach at night.) That just wasn't for me, so I cut them off too. Plus, I had finally found an out from this middle of nowhere place: a new job, a new city, a chance for a new life.

I moved to Philadelphia in the Summer of 2009. It was supposed to be my chance to start over. Make new friends, explore new places. (It was also supposed to be a chance for me to Love again, but that is a post to be saved for a later date.) Unfortunately, hanging out with Gay men (my best friend and his friends) didn't really give me much chance to explore my options. The one coworker close to my age in my office was married. Strike 2. And the fact that my love life imploded coupled with a depressingly long and blizzardy Philadelphia winter sunk me into a deep 5 month long depression.

With the warm weather here now, it should have put me in a better mood, but the fact remains: I am 26 years old and I don't know how to make friends. Everyone I meet is married, divorced, engaged, gay or in a relationship. I am afraid of marriage. I am wary of dating. I am afraid to trust and let people get close to me because I have been burned a lot recently. Where do you go to meet people and make friends when you are 20-something? And how do you go up to random strangers and make conversation without seeming like a complete Asperger's/Socially awkward weirdo?

As much of a nice and fun person I (like to think I) am, I wonder - Why would anyone want to be my friend? I don't really bring much to the table. My life is not exciting. I don't have a boyfriend. No siblings. I am not close with my family. And so I try to avoid social situations in which I have to talk about myself or my personal life. I don't really interact with others at my office because I hate small talk and don't really care about asking people how their weekends were or about their families because those are not people I'm interested in being friends with and do not like being friendly for the sake of being friendly. (Even though that is probably something I should be doing to develop my social skills to begin with, and maybe that is the problem.)

Should I blame my parents for never fostering these types of social skills in me? Maybe. Should I blame my ex for ruining my ability to trust and interact with other human beings? More than likely. My anxiety is slowly creeping back. Thinking about even being in a situation to meet people makes me uncomfortable and causes me stress and makes me cry. I do not want to medicate myself anymore. I want to be free of this. To be normal. To have fun and be social and to not have to use the Internet to make friends. (Even though some of the most interesting and awesome people I have met as of late have been from the Internet, and are even cooler in person, but unfortunately live 9000 miles away.)

I live alone in a strange city and have no friends close by or siblings or pets.

I am an only child.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

let's talk about sex.

From an early age there's a very strong taboo about it, probably instilled by our Puritan ancestors, those uptight Christians hated everything that made them feel even an ounce of enjoyment. Your parents tried to protect you from hearing about it. The Media tried to censor it from you. Eventually you learned from someone on the schoolyard that a penis entered a vagina and that's sex & how babies are made. Mind blowing! Then once puberty hit, all you wanted to do was dry hump anything in sight. And you had no shame about it unless you were raised Christian - and especially if you were Catholic.

Most guys spend their teenage years learning to become one with their dicks and seeing how many times they can jerk off in a single day. Girls fantasize about how they'll hook up with their crush and not let him go all the way unless he says "I love you." (Or god forbid, fantasize about saving it for their wedding night! I don't know about you, but I wouldn't buy a pair of shoes without trying them on first. Why would you marry someone without testing out the dick?) If you're lucky enough to grow up in a house with a detachable showerhead, being a girl in your teenager years can be quite enjoyable as well. However, sex in your teen years will probably not be very enjoyable because the case will either be both of your are virgins, one of you is a virgin, or you're both so consumed with guilt during the act itself that you can't even have a good time. Besides, I can't imagine any penis under the age of 18 being able to last more than 10 minutes once it’s inside a young, tight vagina for it to be even a little pleasurable for a young girl. (Then again, I've met my share of men in their 20s that can barely last 10 minutes inside my vagina.)

Then there's oral sex. While the concept may seem simple, it actually requires a lot of talent and dedication - from both parties. I met a lot of girls who said they never gave blowjobs or even that they hated doing it. All I could wonder was, why? Blowjobs have the ability to bring any man to his knees - literally, if they reciprocate the act for you. You can pretty much get any man to do anything if you blow him every once in a while. You should harness this power and use it to your advantage. Become the best damn cocksucker you can and you'll have any guy wrapped around your finger in no time. Guys however, are apparently clueless as to how this act of cunnilingus works. I’ve heard the line “Oh, I love licking pussy. I’m so good at it.” more times than I can count on both hands. And yet, I’ve failed to experience this mind-blowing, earth shattering, knee-shaking orgasm you promised me while I’m laying on my back, staring hopelessly at the ceiling, and you’re trying to GPS your way around my labia with your tongue.

Personally, I love sex. It’s great. Especially when you find someone else who is just as good at it as you are, then it’s amazing. I love all kinds of positions and tricks and dirty talk – you name it. (Except Anal – that’s where I draw the line. It just wasn’t for me.) Don’t be afraid of it. It feels good because it’s supposed to and that’s why you’re conditioned to feel guilty about it. You should be having great, mind-blowing sex all the time while you still can. I went to the gynecologist’s office once and on that sheet of patient information, you’re supposed to write down how many sexual partners you’ve had. My doctor looked at my number and said, “15? Really? But you’re so young!” (I was 25) Clearly she didn’t have enough sex in college, or now either probably. Then she proceeded to say to me, “Well, I’m sure that number won’t go up anymore now that you’re getting older.” She judged me. She judged me because I enjoyed having sex. Mind you, not all 15 of those encounters resulted in great, mind-blowing sex, but it’s just like anything in life – you keep trying out different things until you find something you like. For some people it’s cars, for others it’s shoes, for me – it was dick.

My sexual experiences started out pretty generic. It all began when I was 16. I was in a relationship with a guy for a few months, we were IN LOVE, and I decided it was time for us to exchange V-cards. It was all downhill from here. I cheated on that boyfriend for an entire summer once with a guy I was basically having an entirely separate relationship with, other than the fact that we weren’t actually boyfriend and girlfriend, while my real boyfriend sat at home playing online RPGs on his computer. Encounter #3 was a one off with a guy that I had just kind of been cuddle-slutting around with for a while and wanted to test the waters to see what he was like in bed. Due to his excessive use of various recreation drugs over his lifetime, it was very short lived and I was able to check that one off my list. Guy #4 was someone I shared a very special connection with. We got along amazingly well both spiritually and physically; I actually wound up taking HIS virginity. But we never meshed into any kind of serious romantic relationship. (He was probably a commitment-phobe at the time.)

Numbers Five and Six were guys that I was dating that eventually led to two separate two year long relationships. And after that last breakup, I was full speed ahead, fucking anything that I deemed worthy of entering my vagina. (And probably some things that were totally not worthy of entering my vagina, but I was in a bad place at the time.) I actually sat down one day and ranked all 15 partners from “Best” to “Worst” to “Did that really even count?” (I guess if I actually DID count him, then my number would be 16 – Maybe I’ll leave it at 15 & ½) One person stood out as the leader of the pack: Number #13. He is without a doubt the most amazing, passionate, in tune lover that I have ever had. I came every time, he never came before me, and none of our sex sessions have lasted under an hour. It will be very hard to unseat #13 as the ruler of my G-spot.

Sunday, June 6, 2010

Til Death do Us....

Commitment-phobia may seem like an urban myth to some and to others, a line that men use as the main reason that they don’t want to be in a serious relationship. According to Wikipedia, “Commitment-phobia is often most strongly apparent in romantic life. Generally, commitment-phobic people claim that they are eager to find a lasting romantic attachment and get married, yet they fail to find appropriate partners and maintain long lasting connections. Ironically, in these romantic relationships, the commitment-phobic partner craves what he/she fears most: love and connection. This paradoxical craving for a frightening reality leads to a confusing and destructive pattern of seduction and rejection. The results are emotionally devastating.” To be quite honest, I believe that this is as much a true and real phobia as being afraid of Clowns or the number 13. (Coulrophobia and Triskaidekaphobia, respectfully; I guess the closest thing in existence, according to The Phobia List [] anyway, would be Gamophobia, or the Fear of Marriage.)

I have in recent months come to realize that I may or may not be a commitment-phobe. I really enjoy the thought of spending time with someone in a romantic relationship, but much like swimming too far out in the ocean, I feel like I will get to a point where I start flailing my arms and try to head back to shore. With several failed relationships under my belt, I think it’s only safe to say that I have a series of trust issues that therapists in years to come will have a field day with. Once I hit the 2 years mark in a relationship, things start to take a turn for the worse and I’m looking for an escape route. I’m afraid that if I find someone that really makes me happy and who I make really happy and we enjoy each others company, that once I hit that milestone, I’m going to panic and run. Which pretty much rules out marriage – and I already have an inherent fear of that.

With so many marriages going sour in the world around me, what hope is there that this archaic institution actually works and serves a valuable purpose in one’s life? And those who do remain married, how does their happiness rate now once the inevitable “newlywed period” ends? I guess that leads to the other part of the Wikipedia article, which says “The key to understanding commitment-phobia is recognizing that such behavior is rooted in fear—fear of lost options or fear of making poor decisions. The commitment-phobic mind sees decisions as permanent, opening the possibility of being caged or trapped forever with no means of escape” I suppose there are people who are happily married, who don’t cheat on their partners, who live to tell the tale so to speak, to prove that it’s possible to get that fairy tale ending. Is it healthy that I should view marriage as a form of imprisonment? Probably not, but people cheat, people lie, people fight, and people get bored. Wouldn’t you be afraid of these things too? (And not even of your partner committing any of those things, but of yourself being the one to falter.) Here you are, bound by this marriage contract, death do you part and all that jazz and you just wake up one morning ten years later and look over at that lump of flesh in bed next to you and think, “My god, what I am doing here, with them, when I could be doing XYZ-else?”

I have friends that are obsessed with marriage, which is probably a thinly-veiled obsession with having a wedding, really. (Actually, it’s probably societal norms being forced on girls from a young age that leads to this obsession with weddings – and those same norms that equate being married with the big Cinderella wedding to begin with.) What’s the big hoopla? You love a person so much you want to spend the rest of your life with them (at least that's how you feel now, anyway). Who says you need to get married to feel that way? Who says you need to spend $150 a plate on some crappy catering hall food and another couple hundred on tacky wedding favors, a local cover band, and a dress you’ll wear one day in your life in order to feel that way? Just live. Just be. My friend complained that she still didn’t have a ring on her finger; I told her what is this, 1940? You want to be married so bad, ask him. Is there a law that says he needs to ask you and that you need a ring to be married? No – City Hall just wants x amount of money for the marriage license and they’ll marry you right there on the spot. Boom! Done! You’re married! Happy now? Has anything really changed? (Except your name if you’ve decided to) No – You’re still the same two people, except you are now legally bound to each other as man and wife for the rest of your lives.

I’m not knocking marriage, so please don’t take what I’m saying the wrong way. I’m just saying it works for some people obviously, but I don’t think that I’m one of them. Is this due to my commitment-phobia? Yes, more than likely. Is marriage something you have to work at every day? This is what I hear from people. Relationships in general are work though, too. Except obviously, a relationship is more open-ended and there’s less paperwork and legal ramifications involved if you decide to end it later on down the road. Would I be a potential “Runaway Bride”? Probably, but I’d also probably be that person who, five years into a relationship where you are living together and merging itunes libraries with the other person and sharing toothbrushes, would pack a bag in the middle of the night, and leave an “I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore” post-it on the nightstand. Honestly, I just want someone who makes me happy (and not want to strangle them) and someone who I make happy (and doesn’t cheat on me or treat me like crap) and we’re both happy making each other happy and living our lives and not worrying about anniversaries or wedding invitations or anything other than just living day to day, in the moment. (And to make it past the two year itch)

Friday, June 4, 2010

On a serious note...

The BP Oil spill is now on day 45, spewing approximately 4 Million gallons of crude oil into the Gulf of Mexico per day - The exact total emitted thus far by the broken oil drilling platform, the Deepwater Horizon, remains unknown. Efforts up to this point to cap the oil spill have all failed. This has become the largest Oil Spill disaster in History, with currently no end in sight. It is unknown at this point in time when the oil will cease to flow out of the pipes. It is unknown what kind of impact this will have on our oceans, our environment, on the future of our Planet.

Sea mammals, birds, fisheries have all been exposed and contaminated. Images of oil soaked waterfowl and dead fish floating through oil slicks are plastered all over the news. What can be done? How do we hold BP accountable for this kind of destruction, this kind of negligence? How does BP fix this, make this right - with an apology? By paying reparations? There is no forgiveness in this, not from Mother Earth, already ravaged in the past 200 years by Industrial Revolution, various Wars, Nuclear fall out, Pollution, Overpopulation.

BP Chief Executive Tony Hayward basically compares the oil spill to a drop in a bucket of the enormity that is the ocean, and that the overall environmental impact will be "very modest". All he has to say for himself is "I'm Sorry" and that he wants his "life back". Really, Sir? You want your life back?

How about the lives of 11 Oil Riggers killed when the Deepwater Horizon exploded?

How about all the citizens of the Gulf region who can no longer live safely along the coast, can no longer earn livings that involve working around the ocean? Those who have became ill from Oil contamination?

And this little guy? He wants his life back, too.