Wednesday, February 29, 2012

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. 
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?"
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 
****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,

Wednesday, February 22, 2012


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.

Sunday, February 19, 2012


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?

Monday, February 13, 2012


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:
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.

Friday, February 10, 2012

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)