BANNED

My twitter account has been suspended due to suspected phishing.

The saddest thing is that this occured at a time when it was impossible for me to have done it--i was knee deep in cubicle farm drama.

I have submitted a request to research ticket (or whatever the fuck it's called).

:::sigh:::

Why he rocks my world

Random text message from The Naked Boy:

"...you'll see me sooner than you think..."

and when I told him I had company coming in from out of town, that it didn't matter but it was a girlfriend from back home, he responded with:

"It doesn't matter. We are our own thing. Have fun and I'll be back soon."

Yes, yes we are.

modern haiku

you moved in with her.
he's just an asshole shitstain.
fuck both of you jerks.

Hell's Kitchen

why on earth did they bring Robert back but not Ji?

relinquishing control

How many times does something have to occur before it can be referred to as being a habit?

How many times do we have to have incredibly passionate sex followed by cuddling and napping before it's more than just a booty call?

And is it really *just* a booty call when he says things like "I like you 'cause I can talk for hours and you pretend to listen" (I'm not pretending)?

I supposed I'll wait until the pain in my ass subsides before I begin to ponder these questions.

releasing the bitter

i've been releasing a lot of pent up bitterness on this blog of late.

i'm working to recenter myself not only with writing, but with yoga and a little mediation.

it must be working, 'cause i'm feeling the urge to write the long overdue "i got laid and i'm sharing jaw dropping details" entry. it's time i got back to what I do best:

talk about my sex life. it happens far less often than when i lived in FL, but i've only been in TX a coupla years, and for the first year or so i was working from home so i never met anyone. don't get me wrong, there are a few guys, but not like my hometown. i'd grown up there. the dudes *get* me, and i them. sex was easy and literally a phone call away to any one of a number of guys. generally really good sex.

out here, notsomuch. guys don't get that there are women that exist solely to have a good time. one night stands are not a dirty word (which usually leads to more than just one night), anal sex is a must, and the kinkier/dirtier the better.

but we do exist, and The Naked Boy is fortunate enough to understand that. at one point we were in bed spooning, his cock buried in my ass, one hand pulling my hair in the way that makes me squirt, while he bit my back. that led to one of many, many orgasms over the next several hours. for both of us.

sex is not awkward with him, not even the awkward moments. like the times when my legs all but give out from his pounding me from behind at just that right angle, but my thighs start to shake after 15 minutes of hardcore pounding--the kind that would cause me to squirt had enough to push his cock out of me. he is always very caring and concerned when i have to stop--mostly i just need to change positions and have a sip of water.

the breaks are not unusual for us, as we tend to fuck for hours. i'm his hideaway, he tells me, and i must be a good one 'cause even though he's not around often, when he is here he's here for hours and doesn't want to leave.

i could wax poetic about how our bodies contour each other's perfectly. i am completely comfortable with him. we have real conversations about stuff and like a lot of the same shit. but the reality is he's never in town for very long, so going out isn't a priority. it's at this point that i become his piece of ass (that his band is very well aware of, mind you) when he's here.

:::shrug:::

the sex is *that* fucking good that it's worth the randomness of it all.

that makes you a prostitute

I live out in the 'burbs. It's a long commute daily, but I make it because I have to (and 'cause I love my job). 10 months ago (give or take), I was asked by my then-manager if I could help a co-worker out until she got her car road worthy. I said sure. It was only going to be for a coupla months, right?

Up until Wednesday, I was still giving said co-worker a ride.

Lemme back up a sec--on Monday, I got an e-mail from her that said she was thinking about me on that day (the anniversary of the accident), and that I'm a strong woman and she's soooo thankful and appreciative that I give her a ride in to work. She also stated that she'd be getting her license.

Woo-fucking-hoo. I'm sure she's noticed the climate change in my car--I'm not thrilled with her these days, I'm tired of getting up early so I can pick her up and not be late. I'm tired of not getting home until after 7pm (have I mentioned 10 long months? Five days a week?) And I'm especially tired of carting around someone for whom I have absolutely zero respect.

So I was mildly excited to hear that she was finally getting her driver's license on Wednesday. I got a little more excited when she texted me to let me know she'd passed. Not once did she ask me for a ride on Thursday--not before she left for the day, not when she texted me later, not even at 5 am when she knows I'm up and it's still feasible for me to come get her. I certainly wasn't going to call or text her to ask if she needed a ride. I'm done with that shit--I'm not Morgan Freeman, and she ain't Miss Daisy, period.

I'm not gonna lie--I wasn't surprised when she texted me to ask what time I was going in. I was a little bent because she conveniently did it at a time when she knew I was likely on the road. In fact, I was almost at work when I was able to text her back to let her know I wasn't picking her up. Her response was 'oh, ok'.

She ignored me at work. Didn't say a single thing to me. Not a thank you for taking me to work for 10 months, I'm sorry I turned into a burden, nothing. Just flat out ignored me.

And I'm honestly fine with that. She's an asshole, plain and simple. Lied to me for months now about some shenanigans with a couple of co-workers (who are a couple), made herself out to be the victim when that was the farthest thing from the truth. She also uses men for what they can give her--she'll give up the pussy, but you *have* to give her something in return, be it a plane ticket to come see you, a new trashy tattoo, pay her bills, get her a cellphone, buy her clothing, etc.

What befuddles me is that she's been prostituting herself around in this fashion for quite some time, yet she *never* once asked any of her men to fix her fucking car for her.

I'm done with being used. I wish I had been wise enough to nip this shit in the bud several months ago, but what matters now is that she's no longer riding with me. There are other co-workers living out this direction. Let her use them for a while.

apples and oranges

you hold the apples.

i hold the oranges.

neither fruit is particularly better than the other one; however, your apples merely bruise. You can cut out the bad part and move on. my oranges get moldy. i have to throw them out.

i lost my fruit, you still got to eat yours.

i'm not bitching about my loss of oranges; i'll find more. you mourn your apples even though you were able to salvage a good portion of them and enjoy their juicy goodness while it lasted. they were mostly rotten, yet you *still* got to enjoy the good parts.

*finally*

i so got laid yesterday.

for hours.

that time of year

do you have any idea how badly it hurts to hear the words "massive head and leg injuries" as the result of someone's death? a motorcyclist was killed in the early morning hours (by a drunk fucking driver, no less) today, he died from those injuries. that alone should have been enough to throw me into a tailspin, but it didn't.

i suppose that statement should make this my obligatory "I can't believe it's been 'x' number of years (7) since you died" post.

:::shrug:::

i miss him, i really do, but at some point things have to get easier. it's been baby steps over the last seven years, but i've made some amazing progress.

of course there's always the random thought that will reduce me to a mess of unapologetic tears. The kind where your whole body shakes, tears drip off of your nose and onto your lip, your nose sinuses congest and your eyes turn bright red. the kind of crying that is at once profoundly sad and extremely cathartic.

tonight it was this: he would have loved Austin.

MJ

Wow.

JHud is far more pregnant than I realized. She looks great.

Brooke Shields made me cry.

So did Paris.

and John Mayer got it soooo right. He was my generation's contribution to the celebration of Michael Jackson's life, and he did an amazing job. I don't care if you hate his music, that's your right, but his jam/jazz/instrumental version of MJ's "Human Nature" is undeniably brilliant:



:::sigh::: i could watch that man's fingers for hours.

asshole

i *know* he knows it's me.

why the fuck can't he leave well enough alone?

have i mentioned boys suck ass?

There are no words...

help me help you

i've been looking for a new template for this blog, but to no avail.

any suggestions? i like simplicity, clean lines, black...kind of suitable for a masochist, yes?

any suggestions?

dx: 302.83

Just because I'm a sexual masochist doesn't mean you can go around fucking with my head all willy nilly and shit. Stupid me, in an effort to get laid, broke my rule of 'you fucked me over, you're dead to me now' again.

Something has seriously gone wrong in my dating world since I moved out here. I'm turning into, as my friend Steve would say, a sexual camel. It's not for lack of trying. I admit I'm only half-assedly trying, but wouldn't you if you were in my situation? I used to have dudes banging down my door, hand over fist, because I'm a damned good lay, a masochist, submissive, and a filthy whore. I also happen to give 'amazing' head (and love doing it) *and* I take it up the ass.

I'm totally a catch.

So why is it that my sex life is for shit out here? Don't get me wrong, I've had some amazing sex since I've been out here (not counting text, cyber or phone) but can't seem to get it when *I* desire it.

Case in point: St. Louis, that weird stalkery dude? He apologized for getting all weird and stalkery, so I forgave him and we started chatting again. Earlier this week I thought we were making progress, and then I got the following series of texts from him:

Him: I have to be honest with u. As much as I would like to, I'm really intimadated [sic] with hooking up with someone just for kicks. I'm really sorry and you can call me a pussy or whatever but its not me. I would gladly treat you to a burger and a beer but that's all

Me: I don't know why u would be, but that's cool i' m not going to pressure you. (with regard to being intimidated)

Him: I'm sorry. Sometimes I think to myself, that's just not me and occasionally I think fuck it. I'm really sorry. I'm in a terrible mood and I just don't know

Me: :::Shrug::: i invited u over b/c u were in a shit mood. (because I'm not just about getting laid, asshole)

Him: And I appreciate that. Truly I do

Me: Whatever. You started all of this, not me. I told u to be sure. I'm not into games.

I don't expect to hear from him again. I did the ritual cellphone 'erase and delete' so I'm good to go.

Bring on the next asshole, I'm ready.

advice

if insanity is defined as doing the same thing over and over expecting different results (thanks, Einstein. No, really. look it up), then I won't continue to chase my tail.

doling out advice isn't my specialty; rather, crazy is.

i've been there, done that, written the book, gotten the t-shirt, lost the t-shirt, found it again, cut it up *and* made it fit properly, so when i do give out advice (always asked for, rarely volunteered), i expect that you (at the very fucking least), listen to what the fuck i'm saying. if you can save yourself the heartache and hardships i've dealt with simply by listening to me, then i've done my job.

if you don't want to heed my advice then don't fucking come to me with your problems, 'cause i can't help you.

and i won't/can't fix it for you.

shit or get off the pot, darlin', please, 'cause the fact that we're all tired of your shit is going to push you that much closer to the ledge.

One more, for my Rocker Boy

see? it can totally be done acoustically.

I <3 Michael K

hottest pick up line *ever*

"I want to smell our sex on your skin while we sleep"

--text msg from Houston