Hiatus

I'm sorry this blog is going to get horribly boring since I am now seeing/dating (what is the difference)? A great guy and everything else in my life is going pretty peachy. Kind of an amazing change of pace. I'll be back when it gets nasty, which it always does.

When I see the girls my ex has been dating

Just Another Floozy Wannabe Bukowski

Under a pink blossom tree
amidst a fog
there were two holding hands
and a dog
taking a steaming piss
as the two kissed

- Tuesday March 20th 2012, after midnight

Gee Golly Whiz

Holly Molly can it be? Have I actually met a decent guy? One who takes me out on real dates picks me up and holds the door for me and want's to cook for me? Woah..someone pinch me. More soon...

I Tell You

If you can mae it here, you can make it anywhere

The Wicked Witch of Bushwick

Okay so I have switched gears. I'm still a complete mess, but at least now I'm a mess that's getting laid. I'm on a new agenda; it's called a fuckathalon. Here is one of the beautiful things about this city, as a woman, you can act like a total dude in the getting laid dept. and NO ONE can say SHIT about it. You are looking at the new queen of one-night stands. One of my one-night stands actually asked me for my number the other day (while giving me a ride lol) and I blatantly turned him down. In his own car.

Well shit I might as well go on and tell the story of my recent sexcapades. I'll start off with a quote from my best friends boyfriend "You have had sex with more people in my apt. Then I have", granted he was already dating my best friend when he moved into the apt so I’ll cut the kid some slack. 

Saturday:

Went to the ultimate dj dance party ever where it is pretty much mandatory to have sex on the dance floor. So obv. I pre-gamed at my friends apt. starting at say around 3 in the afternoon, for a party that we are going to at 11 pm...not too early, right? Now I decide that I'm going to get laid one way or the other tonight, so I text my friend, who is also my best friends boyfriend/ the dj at the dance party, asking him, I quote:

"Sooo what do you think the chances of me boning ***** are tonight?"(side note, this person I am speaking of is his roommate and my summer fuck buddy.)

"o but my friend **** really wants to fuck you. He's and awesome dude"

"well ok I could do that have I met him?"

"yea"

Short story from there, roommate is out of town and this other dude is dtf so I look him up on facebook because I don't remember him. Fuckable. Problem: homeboy lives in Shaolin...uh-hu. So I say to my friend no fucking way am I going back to Staten Island tonight to get laid. He responds with 

"bathroom?

****bed?" (Referring to roommate who I have previously fucked and was originally trying to fuck that night)

So there I am with a glass of wine in one hand, a j on one side of my mouth and the phone in the other hand trying to figure out if I morally give a fuck about fucking a random dude in my previous fuck buddies bed....answer is :No. So I tell him I'm down thanks for the offer. 

The rest of the night plays out pretty well, we get drunk, dance hard, go back to my friends house, he is staying with my best friend that night so the apt is empty and new dude and I get it on. Next morning, I'm trying to get out of there pronto however we need to give the keys back to my friend who is just two blocks down so we go to meet him and give him the keys. Then I say I'm gonna split. At which point I realize the L is down and I can't get the fuck out of Bushwick. One-night-stand buddy then suggests, let's all get breakfast together and then he can drive me to where I need to go. Annoyingly nice. Okay fine, thank god my friend is there because I would not have gone otherwise. After breakfast we get to his car start driving and he jokingly says something along the lines of having too many friends already otherwise he would ask me for my number. I grin painfully, then he follows up with, I'm just joking and looks’ at me like he is waiting for my number, and I simply pretend to not notice and look out the window awkwardly. This is what is called a douchebag move, and I’m proud ;)

Now let’s skip on over to Monday night.

Monday night the roommate/summer fuck buddy/now turned friend, has a record release party happening (he is a musician, surprise!), which I am invited to and go. Once there I run into my dj friend/bf’s boyfriend because it’s his roommate and he is obviously going go to his roommates record release party. Now I start contemplating, what if I slept with the musician tonight since he was out of town the other night?!? Is that too scandalous? Two different men over the course of three days?? I’m sure worse has happened, we are in New York, I’ll let my slut flag fly. I ask my friend what he thinks my chances are of sleeping with his roommate tonight and he, being the awesome homie (and now officially my ‘need to get laid’ agent) he is, does a little magic and comes back to me with two thumbs up (I’m sorry my friends are better then yours). Post record release party we are somewhere in LES at some underground bar where it just so happens that they are playing awesome music and we run into a whole bunch of other friends and continue on in a drunken happy state of dancing and PDA until we cab it back to Bushwick and I get me some sweet action. Morning comes around, and let me just say, they always say breakfast is the most important meal of the day for a reason. After that I put myself together in the speed of light and book it.

There you are. A triathlon of fucking this past weekend.

Cuming soon with more scandals to this blog on an interwebz near you,

oxoxo 

MORE ON RELATIONSHITS

I just wanna know something. How do you have the balls to text a girl sporadically through the day and then drop a massive emo bomb on her at 2 am. Like where did you find the balls, get the fucking balls, to do this? Fucking Costcos? What the fuck was there a family size discount package? Because it takes some motherfucking balls to hand your bag of emotional shit to someone at 2 FUCKIN AM and then go MIA. Just when I had taken my nighty night pills. Well that shit didn't work. And to add to the fuckin shit show mother fucker dose not respond when I text back to whatever the fuck he said. So there I am with my finger up my ass for the next 5 hours watching the sun come up thinking why me god fucking damn it.


You wanna get really raunchy, sure I'll get really raunchy. Lets start off with the beginning.


A. I was stupid enough to text 'I miss you' and not get a response. what a fucking douchebag, you don't have to say it back but at least say something


B. Telling someone to drop the fucking subject and they passively keep ass fucking you about it


C. Oh and here is the best for the fuckin last. I have no shame so I'll fuckin admit to this. Trying to fucking jack yourself off but then your fuckin twisted little mind goes to that mushy little place of 'I miss him and am so insecure what if he is fucking another girl right now and what if he just stops loving me' and start fucking crying like your dog died while your hand is still down your pants. Fuck at least I never cried on top of a guy, just in the privacy of my own miserable existence. I swear to god this thing is going to be the fucking end of me and the beginning of a demon woman because there is very little of me that still has a shred of tolerance and humanity towards people and I'm two seconds away from thinking even my parents are out to get me.

RAW

So my slacking tends to be a result of SHIT GOIN DOWN. Oh and my friends did shit go down. So let me start from the very beginning.

Scene One, Act One:

Valentines day (shocker).

Three very good friends, two girls and a guy, having dinner at Pulino's. Good conversation, good food, good wine, good choice of place due to it’s lack of oogly eyed couples.

Scene Two, Act One:

Same three friends at The Jane Hotel Bar, still early on in the night so no club scene yet, still good convo, great drinks, feeling a little buzz.

Act Two:

Guy friend feels tired decides he should go to bed and call it a night (good fucking call, if only we had known).

Act Three:

Two girl friends remain, the night goes on, the music gets louder, the people get drunker, and shenanigans ensue all around.  Two girls keep drinking, a little bit of dancing, but mostly shit talking on the other girls and guys surrounding.

Act Four:

Two guys approach, the girls had observed one of the guys previously and had come to the conclusion that he was gay due to the fragile figure, unbuttoned plaid shirt, thick rim glasses, and exuberant dancing. Come to find that he and his friend are not gay, not bad looking up close, early 30’s which is a nice change from the 20 something year olds who can’t tell their elbow from their ass (unfortunately the girls came to find that even though they were technically over the maturity age stick of retarded behavior, they were still retards). Now these fools had the audacity to take up about 45 mins of the girls time, show interest in conversation and offer to buy drinks then leave to ‘go find their friend’ pfft. Now it just so happens that one of the girls was a few years younger than the other and still naively believed that they would come back while the other had been in the wretched New York scene for far to long to know that when a guy leaves you in a crowded club to “go find his friend” he has no intention of coming back if he hasn’t taken your number. On the other hand the older girls’ mistake was to think that she had the cat in the bag and boning would surly follow.

Now that is the biggest mistake of the night. Believing that boning will happen. Because it won’t, not if you think it will. Not even when it’s (literally) within your reach, the misfortune of things getting too soft (literally) too quickly is always a liability (will explain later on).

Act Five:

One girl finds some guy cute, the other urges her to go talk to him, however she is too shy, so her friend decides to take matters into her own hands and waves him over, says “hi my friend thinks your cute” and lets the two mingle.

Now get this, guy number two also claims after about 30 mins of taking up the girls time that he has to ‘go find his friend’. Alright Alright Alright. What the fuck is this? Dose every guy in this damn club have a friend named Waldo and they are trying to find him? Fuck. That. Shit.  The girls cut their losses no harm no foul keep dancing keep drinking.

Act Six:

(Now it gets juicy) The two girls are having a good time and the older one who tends to get ballsy when drunk goes up to yet another guy her friend thinks is cute; however he has been sitting across from them seemingly alone for a bit and seems to be lost in thought. So the girl decides to lighten the mood and without coming on too strongly she leans over and asks him ‘Why so serious?’ he looks up laughs and replies warmly with something along the lines of taking a break while his friends rage on. Okay so far so good, eliminate ‘sociopath who comes to clubs alone and sits alone staring into his drink while his ex is locked in the trunk of a car somewhere in Jersey’. So they start talking, he seems to be interested in both of their conversation and both girls find him interesting so they carry on in a friendly manner, go out for a smoke where they run into his friend (this one didn’t have where’s waldo syndrome) and the four of them chatter on and laugh. They decide to leave the club and switch location because that’s what you do in New York.

Scene Three, Act one:

New location: Hogs and Heifers. Bit of a change from the classy Jane but the group was classed out and needed a good old dirty bar with some beer and shots of whisky. This is where a bit of a plot twist happens. The friend that the girls had met outside seems to have taken quite a liking to the shy girl while the one they started speaking to initially takes a liking to the ballsy one who had really picked him up for her friend in truth. But whatever roll with the punches. The four are now in packs of two and I can only continue to tell you the story of the older ballsy girl (moi).

Now this quite, cute, funny, charming dude turns out to be a ‘bioengineer’, and is continuing his studies at Rutgers (EW). Turn off. Sorry I’m pretentious; if you are smart enough to be a bioengineer go to NYU or Colombia, not Rutgers. Also he had the whole blond blue eyed athlete/jock thing going on which s also not my type, I like ‘em a little (or a lot) rough around the edges, think, taxi driver De niro meets the stoner kid with the fro from the show Workaholics. Though whatever not like I’m gonna marry the guy, my friend is having a good time and if I decide to bail I know she will chicken out and go home as well. Plus drinks are on the boys. I just keep feeding the jukebox money and downing the beer. Now this smarty-pants has found out that I went to art school and seems to be developing a superiority complex because this ‘artist’ seems to have a smart mouth on her and he can’t quite keep up with her jargon. WaaWAAaaa. So thinking that the only way he is gonna prove his superior intellect that night is by starting a discourse with me on philosophy because it tends to be a good common ground between artists and scientists. Wrong move buddy, you just fucked yourself in the ass. And it looked like it hurt. So I basically wipe the floor with his ass while Tammy Wynette sang sweetly in the background. GET THIS. It seemed to turn the fucker on, the more I refuted the more he became intrigued (and handsy).

Scene Four, Act One:

The apt.

Everyone has taken to their own corners and its time to get busy…right? WORNG. Get this shit. ::Warning: sexcapades follow, not for the weak of heart::

Homeboy is deflated after a few minuets.

Oh you thought it stopped there, HA.

Homeboy was so fuckin tiny I missed the start of that process entirely.

There is more.

So he is embarrassed and I try to help the situation however the old fashioned hand is not quite working. Not entirely my fault. Imagine a grain of rice. Now imagine half of that, and now imagine trying to stroke it. Yyyeeeaaa.

So then homeboy says “I’ll get hard if you give me head”. Now ladies, how many times have we heard THAT before?

So guess what I did…

Not that it was even fucking worth it, I mean, we are talking about half a grain of rice, I really brought this upon myself.

So this seems to work. Next obstacle?  New condom. Great.

-       Do you have another one?

-       Uhh, fuck, no…do you?

-       What? No!

Eeeexxxcceeepptttt I remembered that I did…my friend is a DJ and was handing out these red condoms with the words ‘crying in your mouth’ written on the wrapper during one of his insane, debauchery and indecency packed DJ rages where it’s basically mandatory to have sex on the dance floor. How appropriate. So then he puts on the condom, notes ‘crying in your mouth?’ and is met with the reply ‘don’t worry about it’.

So there we are again and again I miss the first few minuets of the game. Top that off I hear ‘I can’t feel anything with this condom…’ YOU can’t feel anything? I didn’t realize we started! Flaccid red condom dick. Happy Valentines Day to me.

So guess what I do. Yes that’s right make another bad decision. Which didn’t really even matter because that thing was as sad, pathetic and deflated as a year old birthday balloon.

I repeated this story to my friend over dinner tonight and was met with the response of “that shit is golden, you need to blog more” so here it is. Also my friend decides to tweet “Eating butter and other types of fat, watching old people play jazz, listening to (GUESS WHO) tell sad sex stories. #Sundays” Now this dear friends twitter is hooked up to her facebook, and she is friends with my mother on facebook. Guess what one of the first few sentences out of my mothers mouth was speaking to me later today : “what are these sex stories you are telling??”

Now isn’t that just the perfect ending?

A little Whitney lovin

RELATIONSHIT PART I FORGOT LETS JUST CALL IT VALENTINES DAY EDITION

OUCH. Holy fuck Ouch.
First vday im spending in 4 years alone. Well not completely alone I am going out with my dinner with my lovely cousin and probably getting drunk on too many bottles of wine and pulling one of these: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0D0zfB1l1x0.
I swear to god I'm never gonna love again. Done. Finito. Zip. Yet again I am left feeling like an idiot for putting myself out there and being left in the dust, this time the night before all hells day. I need to get the fuck out of this town.

On Men

And speaking of shit, constipation has always been a greater
fear to me than cancer. (We'll get back to Mad Jimmy. Listen, I told
you I write this way.) If I miss one day without shitting, I can't go
anywhere, do anything-I got so desperate when that happens that
often times I try to suck my own cock to unclog my system, to get
things going again. And if you've ever tried to suck your own cock
then you only know the terrible strain on the backbone, neckbone,
every muscle, everything. You stroke the thing up as long as it will
get then you really double up like some creature on a torture rack,
legs way over your head and locked around the bedrungs, your
asshole twitching like a dying sparrow in the frost, everything bent
together around your great beer belly, all your muscle sheathes
ripped to shit, and what hurts in that you don't miss by a foot or
two-you miss by an eighth of an inch-the end of your tongue
and the tip of your cock that close, but it might as well be an
eternity or forty miles. God, or whoever the hell, knew just what He
was doing when He put us together.
- Charles Bukowski
Tales Of Ordinary Madness (Nut Ward Just East Of Hollywood)

No Sleep Means Unpredictable Rants...

It may seem in my recent posts that I am fashion obsessed, fashion fanatic, fashion whore, what have you. Truth be told I am not. There are several parts to me recent strange behavior. Part one: as I mentioned before I’m going through some shit and refraining from substance abuse has caused me to credit card abuse. Part two, like all living creatures, man woman, cat, and dog, alike, I get caught up in shiny pretty things. Part three: I’m a Libra; I have a deep-rooted passion for beautiful things and find harmony when surrounded by beautiful things. This may make me vain I realize that. In the past I have surrounded myself with different types of beauty, weather it be art, music, dance, people, I always had some sort of beauty that I cling on to. Now this is not a rant about any of that, rather, the fact is that I was laying awake at night unable to sleep and thinking about my newfound love for luxury fashion. In particular I was thinking about Chanel and Alexander McQueen. I started to analyze why it was that I had a few niche designers that I had the utmost respect for. It is not because they are some of the highest level of luxury one can peruse but rather what they stand for. I bet many people don’t know this but the classic Chanel bag designed by Madam Coco herself was not to simply have a pretty thing for women to put their things in, but rather the first bag to provide a shoulder strap thus giving women the freedom to use both hands whereas before women used clutches limiting their range of movement. And that to me is in a nutshell what Chanel is about. Moving forward, creating statements through fashion in order to have an impact on social behavior. Perhaps not in a Nobel Prize winning sort of way, but important non the less. The house of Chanel creates pieces that are not only beautiful but contain very important elements as well. While maintaining the feminine mystique, 'femininity', and sexuality, there are the elements of androgyny, perhaps a bit of toughness, and a sexual appeal that needs to be able to suite the modern day woman. The clothing is allowing for the line to be blurred between feminine and masculine, while maintaining its provocative nature. Madame Coco wanted women to be allowed to be sexy, and also be practical. Now I’m sure looking at the runway shows one might think how are any of these clothes practical, well I do not believe it is the literal form of the clothing but rather the idea of the clothing that accomplish this. For me the philosophy speaks louder than the actual piece of fabric. For example, in the latest spring 2012 collection many references were made to the ocean, the slicked back hair with pearls, the fresh face 'out of the water' makeup, and the color schemes. The ocean is a very powerful reference, it is where life started, and the womb of life on earth one might even say, hence a symbol of femininity. The line itself of course had a few fun dresses and skimpy bikinis but must of the cuts were the trade mark boxy cut of Chanel, the classic Chanel jacket and dress pant, the tightly slicked back hair, all things that one might think to find in a men’s wear collection. However Chanel pairs this with elegance, beauty, femininity, and to my delight, a lack of fragility. These styling’s are not of delicate little sea creatures but of 'I am woman hear me roar', politely, that is. Chanel marries the two wonderfully, creating, almost even elbowing, a space for the female to maintain her sexual allure while also giving off an air of strength, not the damsel in distress, or 'girl in picnic outfit looking for single male, must like cats". And it is in this sense that I would argue that Chanel is indeed very pragmatic and one of the leaders in our world of change. 

Now McQueen of the other hand, is almost the opposite in terms if philosophy. Let me make a comparison, if Chanel is the da Vinci of fashion, McQueen is the Picasso, or even the Dali. McQueen’s line is not necessarily about a social stance, but rather an aesthetic undertaking. The pieces themselves are statements of aesthetics. They are not pretty; no they are shocking, disturbingly beautiful. They are like thought bubbles on the philosophy of aesthetics come to life. With out ugly there is no beauty, with out chaos we would not know order, and these are the works of McQueen. One might look at the headpieces and say, but you have put a woman’s head in a cage, what is that supposed to mean? That I fear would be a very narrow minded attempt to analyze the mind of this genius. These lines of clothing dose not exist in our world, but refer to a different time space capsule. Like Dali’s paintings the clothing are somewhere between a nightmare and wonderful fantasy, something one is tempted to delve into, but would have (literally) no idea how to get out of. These clothes do not exist for the change of here and now but for some other realm, perhaps the future, perhaps the past, perhaps something that has no end or beginning and simply is. I am not trying to claim that these are futuristic pieces that one would wear in the year 5670, though one could interpret it that way, which is not my approach. I believe that the clothes exist in a different magnitude then of what one just puts on their body, they are a range of philosophies that man has been battling with since the beginning of time.

Both designers are timeless in different ways, Chanel because it will always be at the forefront of fashion breaking old rules in order to create new ones and then breaking those in a never ending cycle, McQueen because the work is referencing something very raw and instinctual, ideas that have been troubling philosophers, artists, and all people alike since humanity, the question of what is beauty. His work is thought provoking, and questioning; once one answer is reveled another pops up. It is timeless. 

I Have A Good Excuse

See there was this insane sale at bluefly and it was 70% off and I just could not say no to it. On the same note I read my daily horiscope today and it said :

See it's not even really my fault. Mercury is 90∘ to Venus and shit. Throws things off. I can't control the stars, if they want me to buy shit then I'll buy shit. Damn. 

If It Ain't

Prada then it's nada. I did mention I was going through a psychotic phase hence all of the over the top shoe shopping....Hey at lest I'm not hitting the bottle, strapping the belt around my arm or smoking my brains into a liquid formula, only just digging myself into a financial hole that will be my resting place. At least I'll be very fashionably dead.

MY WAY

gettin what I want when I want it since 87'

LOVE THIS BITCH

I know she is supposed to be overrated and whatever but this song gets me every damn time. Lana Del Rey you fine ass bitch

BE MINE!!!!

 If there was ever a time to believe in god the time is now. Fuck the apocalypse, fuck the tsunami, fuck the world ending. I be praying on my hands and knees for theses babies. I'm not the kinda gal who waits for anything, cept' you Christian. I digress, put me on your wait list with the rest of your hoes. But I'll be damned if any of them love you like I will...

Ever Notice

How there is are always all of these crime fighting fictional heroes? They always catch the thief/con-man/murderer/rapist/ evil ghost/ other strange fictional evil people like a penguin, BUT, what about all em' hoes?? Who in the world is gettin rid of em' hoes??? I really gotta know. Like there needs to be a designated 'hoe buster', someone needs to be the designated hoe catcher. I don't care if this hero swoops down on his bat wings, casts a spiders net and then sucks their soul into something that looks like a coffee canister, SOMEONE needs to bust these hoes because I have had it UP TO HERE. I cannot, I repeat, cannot take take this shit anymore. It's like they are ruining everything that those hairy legged bush browed feminists fought for. They didn't fight for social/political equality so that the entry level alt/coupon statues at Walmert Lauren Conrad women (and mind you these women are merely slutty-raging hormones-teens stuck in the body of a sub-par intellect with a matching sub-par education over the age of 21 posing as adults) can just strut around with their soup kitchen of a hoo-haa hanging around town. No ma'm. Just because society deems it as 'normal' for a man to hoe around does not mean it is okay! And in no shape or form does it make woman more liberated to do the same! Two wrongs don't make a right. Now don't get me wrong I'm no saint and I have had my promiscuous relations here and there but their comes an age when it's time to cut the shit. All I'm saying is, do yourself a favor, and don't be that girl.
I mean, whatever happened to sex drugs n' rock n' roll?
now we just have AIDS crack and techno

My new babys are on their way!!!

Dolce & Gabbana

Glazed Leather Lace-Up Oxfords

- though I wen't with the black instead, can't wait for these babies to be on my feetsies!!!