MY YOUTH IS GONE

The Beginning Again

2009-06-22T21:36:00.003-04:00

I'm bad at finishing things. My best friend from college can tell you. My mother can tell you. When things have natural endings it's fine. School is over after four years. You can't continue to have sex with that Afghani boy you met in Germany because you are getting on a plane in 3 days. But when the ending is completely up to me, I get incredibly antsy and unsure. My aunt is always sure to point out this fact once a month. She thinks I have a penchant for getting into abusive relationships. She needs to get a life. I just turned 26 (oh god), and I'm pretty sure that women in my age group, in this city in particular, routinely screw, moveinwith, and marry fuck ups. There is no shame in that. Sex and the City says so. The real shame is in staying. In smiling when he insults your cooking, your body. Staying after you are pretty sure that he is cheating but you have no real proof. In procrastinating on that conversation about boundaries when he slaps your face a little to hard in bed.

That's where I am with this blog. I literally think about it everyday. Something stupid, funny, frustrating, or sad happens and I think I should be writing it somewhere, somewhere here. But I think about all the responsibility that comes with writing. About this same time last year I had a series of actual fights over content here. For awhile I contemplated ending it, but, like I said, I can't end things. Not even things I am ambivalent about an obsessed with at the same time.

Hello again dear reader. Let me catch you the fuck up. In April, I left my job. It was literally the best professional decision I have ever made because the environment was literally making me ill, but everything has a catch. UNEMPLOYMENT SUCKS. At first it was fun. I had nothing to do during the day. I watched cable television. I drank daily. But after the second month, I have begun to feel this acidic, acidic boredom. Drinking wasn't a high. I started a few affairs with people who I don't like, or who don't like me, or who suck in bed. About a week ago I turned 26 and with that came much introspection...and liquor. I realized I should use this time to do things that I haven't been able to do. Like blog consistently.

And anal.

A Dream Deferred

2009-02-16T16:46:00.002-05:00

The inauguration of Obama in conjunction with MLK Day really got be thinking about leading a purpose-driven life. Truth be told, ever since I graduated from grad school I have just been existing devoid of real friendship, artistic pursuits, and good sex. Yeah, I really miss sex. The last two weeks have been a haze. I took a medical leave at work because I was having a tough time with depression and anxiety. Aside from rest, the plan was to look for a new job and finally discover what I actually want to do with my life. The answer is utterly simple. My life has been about theater and comedy for as long as I can remember, but because of my over-achieving medical family I have opted for more traditional forms of education and employment. Now at the ripe old age of 25, I realize that it has all been a waste of time. But how do I fix it? It's clear I hate my job and need to get out. Do I look for a better (paying) job in my educated field? A part-time business job and some other part-time work? Or do I go balls to the wall waitressing and getting bit parts? It's the hardest decision I have ever made. But every decision has felt like that. UPENN or Princeton? Boy or vibrator? Reconcile with my mother or let that horrible bitch die alone? I have made the right ones so far, but the stakes have never been this high.

MLK Day

2009-01-19T10:41:00.000-05:00

Today I took a vacation day. If you know me, you know that this is pretty out of character. I pretty much never take a day off. Well, in 2008 I did take off a Thursday and Friday off as “mental health days” at my best friend’s behest because she believed employers became suspicious of just taking off one day in the middle of the week. I can’t lie; it’s hurting me a little. We only have 10 days off a year. We only observe 4 national holidays and it turns out I will have to work during two of them. Taking today off may mean that I can’t take off a day during my birthday or Rosa’s wedding. And yet, the thought of working is incomprehensible. I work for a foreign-born super-famous black medical professional. He doesn’t observe MLK Day. Some bullshit about MLK said it was a privilege to work and so we must work at every opportunity. It would have been better to tell the truth. “I will make $75,000 if I work that day instead of staying home.” Its like how I was denied a raise on the basis of leaving 45 minutes early on Christmas Eve (when I had been doing my and someone else’s job for 2.5 months). The truth is just like everything else in American culture, this holiday, this collective national memory, has been swept under the rug in favor for those old American gems of consumerism and selective memory. A floating holiday? You have to be fucking kidding me.

It begs the question of what I have been sweeping under my own personal rug. I try to think about my life and his memory and how to live life to the fullest every year at this time (when I remember. There were a couple of times in college when I had exams or something and totally forgot). It would be a lie to say that I am happy. I am unhappy. More than unhappy. I think I went into a career in public administration because I really wanted to do something with my life. To contribute to something, to some disenfranchised people. Blacks. Latinos. Gays. Those with HIV/AIDS. Artists. Instead, I spend my days massaging the ego of a person who does good work, but it’s becoming ever more apparent that I am not ever going to be a part of that good work. I push paper and read blogs and write emails and wait for 5:45 each day. I can’t live like that any longer. Clearly, not everyone can be an international icon of peace, a new brand of president, a local treasure. I just want to find treasure in myself and my own community. My self worth shouldn’t be tied in my employment, but as a (childless) adult, I realize that my work is all I have. And so to make up for the fact that the economy is in the shitter and I may never find a new job, I decided to work outside my work and to let that show for my heart and intentions. Blogging and writing plays doesn’t necessarily commemorate MLK Day in a meaningful way, but it’s 2009 and it means I’m committing to a more purpose-filled life. At the heart of it, isn’t that what MLK stood for most?

What We Get Into

2008-10-30T15:54:00.004-04:00

Best Friend and I spend an ungodly amount of hours trolling for sex. Like gay men in the 80's. We (well, she recently) identify a target. Notice said targets haunts. And then we sit at his favorite bar and wait. We wait with prepackaged witticisms. Sometimes people overhear us and laugh. Sigh, such is our life.

Best Friend and I sit in bar waiting for several hours

Me: [throwing up hands] Where is he?
Bartender: Who are you waiting for?
Me: Nobody
Best Friend: No one.
Bartender: Well, you're Nobody/No One should be here any minute

[2 hours elapse]

Me: Do you realize that we have been sitting here talking about nothing, waiting for this boy?
Me: We're practically Waiting for Godot
[Beat]
Best Friend: No. We're waiting for Goodick.

Celebrating 10 Years Too Late

2008-09-15T08:41:00.002-04:00

Most nerds are used to celebrating things late. First dates. First miniskirts. First frenchkisses. First fuck. But by 22, even the nerdiest of nerds seem to get all the romantic/sexual firsts down.

With the exception of me!

I would like to announce....my very first hickey!!!! I tried to get one of these in college so badly, but I couldn't bruise that easily. Well, this dude I see now did it with ease. I was excited...until I realized I had to go to work like this.

Here's to my next sexual first being more age appropriate.

**This is taken almost 72 hours after the incident. It was much worse before.

Catching the Bouquet

2008-09-02T10:46:00.002-04:00

Last week Best Friend and I attended a mutual friends wedding at our alma mater. It was all fun and games and merry foolishness...until I caught the bouquet. This made Best Friend laugh feverishly for two days while I hid my face in shame due to a fine ass Latino air pilot sliding a really small garter up my leg. I told another friend of all the peril.

Me: I caught the bouquet!
Her: Haha. Oh my goodness!
Me: I was mortified. The bride is so small. He kept trying to push her garter all the way up my leg and it wouldn't fit!
Her: Please. My garter will be the exact same size as one of my guest's belt.
Me: Sigh.

"Use Magnums and Lube Next Time"

2008-08-19T16:32:00.001-04:00

When it rains it pours, or at least that what it feels like to most people. Shortly after landing a part-time gig in retail, I scored a semi-pretigous, yet low-paying job in my field.I even got called back on some interviews for theater stuff. I started writing short stories again. Everything was good.

And then boys entered my life. Boys can mostly be counted as good; I know orgasms can. That doesn’t stop the fact that if you work 6 days a week and sometimes forget to shower.

That’s as witty as it gets folks. Yesterday I did a rain dance in the sun because I got my period. I anxiously await my period every single time I have sex especially when it’s with someone new. And with me, it’s pretty likely it’s with someone new. But this situation was bigger than some of the others. A condom broke. One that I was using with me and my coworker, who was my friend with benefits at the time. As a sexually active single woman New Yorker, condoms and citysearch.com are necessities. I tend to think of them as fail proof. I even have to admit I judge those 16 year old girls waddling pregnant on the subway. Humph. She should have used a condom. It never really occurs to be that they might have. And that, just like me, they are susceptible to drinking that 3rd beer (even though they’re 16), resulting in their vags become less like Waterworld and more like the Sahara. That’s what happened to me. 2/3 a bottle of wine, a large penis, and my inability to have enjoyable sex longer than 45 minutes apparently make a condom go boom.

Twice.

2008-07-31T10:52:00.002-04:00

I never really believe in horoscopes or any of that other bull shit, but it is true that I can change the way I feel at the drop of a hat. Some people might call this manic depression. For now, let’s stick with just being a Gemini.

The latest topic that plagues my mind with restless indecision is relationships. Yeah, a 20 something New Yorker is confused about relationships; it doesn’t sound that aberrant. Maybe I should give you the context rundown to help you understand how sex and I have such a fucked up relationship.

I am weary of dating someone like the Thug. Someone who has a lot of curb appeal, but nothing within the walls. Someone who still lives at home. Someone with no degree or some kids. But there comes a time where its hard to tell if you're being cautious and in tune with your needs or if you're just being a snob. So, I keep running down the stats of this new boy who I'm mildly infatuated by and this is what I come up with:

24 years old [younger is hardly ever good]
lives at home [at least he pays rent]
only has part-time job [still works about 32 hours a week]
hasn't had a gf since high school
weighs like 20 lbs. less than me [argh]

The stats are not outstanding. But the person is. He makes me smile. It's not serious and I don't have to think. He kissed in between my boobs. I think that says more about a person than a degree ever would.

The Worst Thing About Being Employed

2008-07-26T23:04:00.004-04:00

I don't come as often as I used to. When you are unemployed and you are looking for cheap ways to pass the time, masturbation is key. Also, we all know it helps with stress. My closest friends (and sometimes grandmother) can always tell I have had sex when I smile for a whole day and am kind for no reason. Why are so many marriages breaking up? If I had sex on tap, I would be quite pleasant, even if that meant paying bills, taking care of kids, and making mac and cheese (from scratch!). I guess most married ppl aren't fucking that often. Oy.

Now that I have 2 jobs, I don't have as much time to get myself off. Today has been a good day for my nether regions because this week I discovered PornHub was SOOOOO much better than YouPorn. I'm too poor to pay and too unimaginative to think shit up on my own.

However good I can make myself feel, however, is not a substitute for actual pounding.

My Body Hasn't Gotten Used to Working

2008-07-21T20:09:00.003-04:00

Be careful what you wish for. After all the long waiting and wishing and bitching and moaning, I have a job. I thought it would feel good. Feel great. But only parts of it do.

The One Thought I Had After The First Day of My Career

2008-07-16T22:23:00.002-04:00

On Monday I started a career in medical non-profit management. I had one singular thought as I sat talking to Best Friend during happy hour.

Me: From stint as a career woman, I have learned one very important lesson! [Pause] It's time for me to marry a rich man, have kids, and lay down.

Best Friend: You learned all this after just one day?

Me: Yup.

Happy Fourth of July

2008-07-04T11:34:00.001-04:00

Everyone have a happy holiday. But I just have to ask:

Would it have been SO bad if we were still owned by the British?

Peace.

My Thoughts On Abortion

2008-07-03T11:00:00.003-04:00

Everyone, the whole world, knows I am a feminist. I'm not a suffragist nor a bra burner so that puts me in the Third Wave category. In any ideology or political party, there is a spectrum of intensity and views based on shared values and norms. The thing I most identify with is the concept of choice. We fought to win the vote (for the sake of this argument, I'm not going to go into racial history and politics). We fought to go to work. We have that now.

You want to stay at home and raise kids? Go do it! You want to work and never have a child? Go do it! You want to marry a girl? Who cares!

My mother is the best feminist I have ever known. She hasn't worked for 22 years. She has been divorced for 10.

Everyone is free to make their own choice. Feminism has empowered us to make the decision that is best for us. I will work my entire life, I hope. I want kids someday. Husband? That's ok too...if there is a prenup.

As women of developed nations, we sit around squabbling about who is better than who because of their domestic choices. I have a secret. I make a mean chicken. If I had a man living with me, I would go down on him most days. We shouldn't spend our time caring about such frivolous topics. What should we be caring about?

We have the right to work, but we still get paid a whole hell of a lot less for doing the same job (with the same level of experience)
Women all over the world still do not have ability to work
....Or have a say over basic actions in their daily life
When women do not have the ability to work, they are forced to stay in unhealthy situations
Even in developed nations, domestic violence and rape are underreported and inadequately addressed
When women do not have the ability to work, they often participate in transactional sex to maintain their lifestyle
Transactional sex often leads to greater susceptibility to STDs, most notably AIDS

That's what I care about. I have spent most of my academic life studying histories, trends, and policies for women and people of color. For an EXCELLENT reference, check out City of Women by Christine Stansell.

But I digress. We all know the glaring omission in my list. Abortion.

Last week I had a procedure. After my regular Pap Smear, my OB-GYN Nurse Practitioner let me know that she found irregular cells on my cervix. I had to make another appointment called a colposcopy. The procedure consisted of painted my whooha with different types of acidic solutions then scraping the outside AND THEN THE INSIDE.

As I walked to a cab outside, I pretended not to notice the strong burning feeling. And then something occurred to me.

I could never have an abortion. The colposcopy left me physiologically, physically, and sexually scarred. Waiting to see if I had cervical cancer sucked. Getting the inside of your cervix scraped sucked. Not being able to take a bath or get boned for 2 weeks sucked.

I can only imagine what it would be like if it was a baby. If I was in a bad position.

Along with choice comes responsibility. Realizing I don't ever want to be in the position to have an abortion (let's be clear-I would still do it in extreme emergencies) made me realize I need to change my habits. No more hooking up with guys I don't even like. I should look before I leap.

Figuring out I would never have an abortion came to a surprise for me. I still do believe that old white guys in Congress shouldn't decide what young women do with their bodies. I have the right to keep my baby if I want. And to not if I change my mind. And that's why feminism rocks.

The State of Brown Love

2008-06-24T11:44:00.005-04:00

Lately it has been hard to meet people. Needless to say, grad school is filled with all girls. Most black people in undergrad OR grad school are women. I always tell Best Friend that there are exactly 6 eligible, educated black men in America. One is gay, Two are ugly, and One is my brother. That leaves just 3. Ready, Set, Go! I kid, but this is just a mere exaggeration of the truth.

I have no problem dating white boys. I have dated like 10 of them. Best Friend dates them almost exclusively. On the outside, a person would say that she does this because she hates herself and has self-esteem issues. It's far more complicated than that. If you just take me and 3 of my friends at random (and in this case one of my friend's sister) you will find: rape, molestation, gang rape, child abandonment, cheating, children outside of marriage, physical/mental/verbal abuse and AIDS. Black and Latino men were the perpetrators in every case. All the aforementioned women went to an Ivy League school.

Such is the state of brown love. We have all recovered well considering. But last year I realized that I wanted a brown man. Someone who I didn't have to explain cultural nuances to. Someone who is better in bed (yet another generalization, but this is based on my experience). My new self-imposed rule led me to sexy black manville galore. Yay! But then...Boo! Did I mention what I found in sexy black manville? Kids, criminal records, grammatical errors, parental roommates, no credit, even less income, and chlamydia. Again, this has been my experience. Nevertheless, I have rejected the black uppermiddle class woman's mantra: Girl, there ain't no good black men out there! I forgive everything, but somehow I am losing faith.

As to what I should chant now- I have no clue. Perhaps the saddest part.

Type A Personality

2008-06-21T12:57:00.003-04:00

For years I have denied that I have a Type A personality. I do like things in order. I constantly complained to any roommate I ever had that she was too dirty. I like to have piles and make lists. Or at least I used to. During my second year at Princeton I realized that I just didn't give a shit. Well, I didn't give two shits. I loved my major and my friends. I realized I was not committed to being well-known or nice. I was not going to exercise obsessively. I refused to spend 15 hours a week studying chemistry. I stopped pre-med course. I took a deep breath and relaxed. I decided that I was different than all those other Princetonians. I showed my difference by participating in arts and wearing "ghetto" fashion. I wore an afro and a pink netting shirt over another equally ridiculous shirt. I trotted around on stilts.

As I sit here, I reminisce fondly. I am not Type A!

Then why have I planned out my entire dinner schedule for the week based on the free time allotted for the day? Oops.

The worst psychologist in the world can tell you that I obsess about the small things now because my world is filled with so much uncertainty. I like to take control. Part of me needs to be perfect. Not the Princeton version of perfect; my version of perfect. In this fantasy, I'm allowed to be overweight but only by so much. I MUST fully pursue creative outlets if I do not get a very high-status job (in the non-profit or government arena, of course). Obsessing over my peculiar watered-down version of perfection is worse than the pursuing the standard white corporate version.

So, I am not actually Type A. I am its sick chubby-black-girl-with-a-social-conscience derivative.

The question is (besides that generic bullshit) is why. I can't say that my first week of being quarter-century years old has been bad. I got a full-time job at the store I like to shop at most. On average, 2-3 people call me back for an interview. Just for the hell of it, I put out resumes for artistic jobs. One organization called me back! The cutest boy ever wants to have brunch.

And then the obsession starts. Will I forever work at a retail organization? Do I fully pursue writing and performing now that I have some steady employment? If so, do I pursue arts administration or directing? Why did my best guy friend from college text me and not say happy birthday? My doctor told me that my ovaries aren't working and that I have high cholesterol. Oh my god! Does that mean I am fat? What if I can't have kids? Fuck, I didn't even know I wanted to have kids for real. Does this boy know that he is cuter than me? Why is he trading down.? Am I good in bed? Will Best Friend resent me if I get employment quickly? What the fuck am I doing with my life?

And so it begins. I can't be alone with myself. I try to cover every minute with something, something that helps me calm down. It's not that hard now since my life is filled with doctor's appointments, interviews, and my job. Best Friend says I'm no longer allowed to say I'm unemployed. That makes me feel a little better. So does the gym. And eating local food. And getting off. And updating my closet. And ice lattes. And paying off bills.

A new list begins, but in a far more helpful direction. Until I learn better, this is how I cope.

It turns out I am Type A after all.

25 Candles

2008-06-14T18:31:00.005-04:00

I, Best Friend, was asked to write a little birthday tribute of 25 things you might not know about your favorite blogger. I was happy to oblige. Of course, it would have been impossible for her to make this list on her own. Number 12 attests to that fact.

1. She has a love for The Isley Brothers that knows no bounds. If they come on, she will begin to sway and sing along.
2. In college, she could be counted on to change her hair every few weeks. It would get cut or she would get braids. Some of these changes were caused by restlessness. But usually it was because she would want rip most fake hair out by the end of week two. I don't think I've every seen someone so vigorously pat their head in a futile attempt to stop the itching.
3. The easiest change for her to make, however, was always the color. She has dyed her hair almost every possible color. Red. Platinum Blonde. Black. Brown. All that's left is magenta.
4. When it comes to ice cream flavors, she is much less adventurous. Vanilla is all there is. No Butter Pecan. No Strawberry or Chocolate. Occasionally there is the brief venture into the foreign lands of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough or Cookies & Cream, but she always returns to the Vanilla.
5. Much like her hair and unlike her ice cream, her men have come in all different colors. Though she does have preferences from time to time (Café au Lait. Dark and Smooth. Pale and Lanky).
6. Though she has always loved him, her affection for Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers peaked during our sophomore year of college. It was helped along by his appearance in a Public Service Announcement during Black History Month. Apparently he thinks Black is Beautiful.
7. She may like men in every shade, bur she cannot stand hairy ones. Back hair. Chest hair. Ball hair. All can be deal breakers.
8. One of her life goals is to try every fish taco in this fair city. She can never turn one down when it shows up on a menu.
9. Ditto half chickens. Actually, it might be worse with the chickens…
10. She has a penchant for Malibu mixed with Pineapple Juice. I will ride her ass about this when we are out. So will a certain bartender.
11. In that vein, she can only take shots that are made to taste like juice. Lemon drops. Kamikazes. If she tries straight liquor, like vodka or tequila, it will end with it being sprayed out of her nose.
12. I remember everything. I will remember the number of times you bit into that sandwich three weeks ago. She, however, has memory lapses. They aren't senior moments. But boys that were mediocre at best. Embarrassing drunken stumbles. All will be wiped away as if they never happened. When I bring them up, she stares at me blankly.
13. As experiences leave, faces stay. She will never, ever forget a face.
14. Names to match faces, however, are a different story. I spent a good part of sophomore year whispering the names of her fellow clubs officers to her.
15. Apparently, she has a fear of tall furniture. It might have something to do with being a shade under 5' 2". Or a fear of things falling down and hitting on the head because she lives alone. Or a combination.
16. While helping her clean out her closet after she moved in the fall of 2006, I came across more fleece jackets than I knew it was possible for one person to own. Like an over the top episode of What Not to Wear, I was forced to physically remove one that made her resemble Barney from her hands and put it in the discard pile. She brings this up at least once every couple of months.
17. But Barney coats are not the only things I have had to wrestle from her. There was that time where I had to wrestle away that Apple Schnapps. Or the phone. Or the phone again. Friends don't let friends drunk dial. Remember that. It's a life lesson.
18. She hates Cool Ranch Doritos with a fiery passion. I didn't know someone could have so much emotion concerning a chip.
19. She has a thing for the procedural crime drama. Among her favorites are Law & Order, Law & Order: Special Victim Unit, CSI, The Closer and CSI: Miami.
20. She will plan evening activities around CSI: Miami Weekends. Not that I can really say anything about this as I told her once that if she called me in labor at the beginning of a new Office episode, I wouldn't leave until after it was over. Seriously, how far can labor progress in 30 minutes?
21. When she and I go out, people often mistake us for lesbians. Like All Of The Time. Interestingly, she is one of my few female friends to have never made out with a girl ever. People never believe this.
22. In college, whenever I was away from our two-room double, she would take over my bedroom, even though hers was bigger. I think this was because mine held heat better. She would turn up my thermostat all of the way and take naps in my bed. I would always return to a room 20 degrees higher than I had left it.
23. When inside her own house, she hates to wear clothes. This might explain the turning up of the thermostat when she would take over my room. Of course, this habit can lead to accidental viewings of someone cleaning their apartment wearing only an iPod and nothing else.
24. Loves the movie Pocahontas. So much so that when I got her the 10th anniversary edition DVD as a birthday gift in college, she screamed and jumped up and down. Her love for it is one of the few things I'm not allowed to make fun of.
25. She loves grommets on things. Shoes. Handbags. In college, she had a pair of Chinese Laundry stilettos with grommets all over them. She wore them everywhere. She ran in them away from weird men with metal fingers. But she can't do that anymore because, bitches, we is getting old.

Whitey Tech

2008-06-12T12:48:00.004-04:00

Elizabeth: Did you see that bus? It says "Borinque College." Isn't that a slightly negative slang term for Puerto Ricans?
Me: That's like having a "Coon College"
Best Friend: Or "Whitey Tech"
Me: Thats what we should call Princeton from now on!

What I Need

2008-06-09T19:14:00.004-04:00

My "kitchen" has been temporarily closed. It feels like 100 degrees here in NYC, and I can barely function. To my own credit, I managed to get a new NYS driver's license. I'm beginning to feel more and more like a New Yorker. A homeless man grabbed me and tried to kiss me on the train. I have had a one night stand. I have seen Spike Lee. Well, at least Best Friend did.

So, on this hotassatansballs NYC day and in light of my last post, I have decided to just leave the dudes alone for the next 2 weeks or so. The weather is making it convenient. I couldn't even imagine someone beside me. I have been stripped naked in front of my fan all day. It's too hot even to masturbate.

But a girl can dream.

I saw Alvin Ailey at BAM and saw this number performed by the beautiful Clifton Brown. This is the most beautiful man I have ever seen. Tall, strong, cafe au lait colored. I could eat him up. I don't care if he's gay. He can dance in the basement of my building while I sit on the washing machine.

Yeah, 2 weeks....

Changes and Stays the Same

2008-06-08T13:27:00.003-04:00

Like most people, the first time I had sex could be sweetly characterized by one word: disaster. I found the lives of my high school friends unfathomable- drinking and having sex in the basement. Growing up in a strict Seventh Day Adventist family made coffee, drinking at any age, and pork chops horrible vices. I wore slips and shawls and was never alone with a boy. Every once in a while my cousin D would smuggle the equivalent of a gin and tonic into my house; he would bring me a cheeseburger.

But you can't miss what you don't want. At 17 my mind was filled with visions of academic excellence and colored toenails. I only had a rudimentary understanding of what sex entailed. For a long time I thought I penis went inside and just stayed there. I wish someone had explained to me in sex ed that a dick goes in and out.

So by the time I got to college and all I had done was dry humped by on-again-off-again boyfriend of 1.5 years (ONCE!), some people were rightfully concerned. My mother's sister, Aunt A, said to me something like "You are overdeveloped intellectually but emotionally stunted. It's important to be well rounded." Aunt A was and is continuously known for her outrageous sexual antics. She gave me a series of small lectures designed to make me have more contact with boys. Her advice, social pressure, and my own hardening nipples began to convince me that I was on the sexual short bus. Years later (as in today), she would tell me not to date because I needed "to work on [my]self." I have no idea what that means; I'm already in therapy. Go figure.

Fast forward to Spring Break freshman year 2002. I visit my relatives in Baltimore, Maryland and I am quickly underwhelmed with the little of nothing I have to do. As I said before, I didn't have many dudes. I loved one but he was a Jesus Freak, worse than me, and was convinced that I was playing footsie all over town and that I was tempting him to engage in carnal lust. He still calls me every year to apologize and ask for my hand in marriage. I'm over it. During a little break in our non-relationship, I got involved with a guy across the street who was in love with this really stupid, squirrel-voiced girl I went to school with. He only wanted anal. I declined. Something similar happened with Robert, one year older than me, who kissed my neck like none other. It was the first time I got really excited. He turned out to have a fiancee and conveniently denied we had ever hung out.

Obviously, these people were not options. I had one more. At family gatherings, since about the age of 13, my cousin Jaz's first cousin spent 85% of his time staring and flirting with me. I was appropriately disgusted until he started filling out and other women were checking him out. I saw him at a picnic during Spring Break and for the first time I looked back when he stared into my eyes. I remember my one thought. "Might as well."

How romantic. He picked me up later that week several hours late. I'm sure we had plans that were scrapped because of his late arrival. What else was there to do? Go to his house, of course. The apartment itself was impressive. 2 floors, a very expensive little dog. I pretended not to notice that little roaches were crawling on the floor and the bed didn't have sheets. We watched MTV (back when MTV was good). Res was singing "They Say Vision." We kissed my face and my boobs. It wasn't bad. He undressed himself. I dropped my jaw. This was my first time. I was 5'1'' and 130 lbs. I didn't think I could handle 9 inches.

I did. It hurt like a bitch, but at the end I began to relax and feel a nice warmth rush over my body. Like a man, he finished by the time I was feeling good. That was it. (Well, for me it was. Back in college, I played his voicemails on speaker while me and Best Friend laughed uproariously) He drove me home really late. I didn't look my grandma in the face and went straight to bed.

I woke up and didn't think anything of it. I went into the basement, where it was cooler, to drink some tea and watch Jerry Springer (again, when it was good). I was met immediately with the wrath of God. "You came in late with that hoodlum. I know what you did. I found crust and blood in the seat of your panties."

WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT? Grandma, are you kidding me? You are sniffing my drawers looking for blood and cum? I died a little but kept my poker face. My mantra was the same then as it is today- Deny Until You Die.

In the next weeks, it never really occurred to me to fuck him again. We didn't have that much in common, and I quickly learned about his extensive juve record. The apartment we fucked in? It belonged to his girlfriend who was 8 years his senior....and pregnant. Ooops. But the biggest reason I didn't return is because I kept thinking "It has to get better than this!"

Turns out it didn't. Next week I turn 25. Thirteen sexual partners later and I can say that I came just once and felt consistently good only with The Thug. It's all a blur. People who invited me back but I didn't take them up on it because they were too small or completely inept. The unusual, denied requests. The inability to relax and get in touch with my body. The foreplay/head/nude photos/mutual masturbation/almost sex that ruined 3 of my most important male friendships.

I had sex about 10 days ago with a guy who called me incessantly and insisted on holding my hand and mandating I not see anyone. He declared he didn't do head or hand jobs or relationships. We talked for 5 days in a row, and he took me to dinner. I had 7 beers. On 2 separate occasions on the same day, he got it up for only 15 minutes. He was flabbergasted that didn't finish in this length of time. Needless to say, my refusal to have sex again with him led to wreckless insults in public.

I didn't care so much. But the thing that kept bothering me was the fact that it reminded me of all the follies that came before. Was I still fucking variations of the same guy since 18? Hadn't I learned something by now? I guess that's why I am so excited about turning 25. I hope it brings better money (of course), but also better decision making.

Which, by Zeus, better turn into better orgasms.

Melancholy Monday

2008-05-27T10:08:00.002-04:00

I'm a horrible loser. I like to keep things, often bad things, right under my jacket just so I don't have to figure out where to put it. But even that I can manage. I stare into space for 7 minutes in a row on days that things, good things- things that cared for me once, get up and disappear.

Lessons Learned, Probably Not

2008-05-23T22:10:00.005-04:00

One of my first thoughts after graduation was- great! you can post everyday now. I knew the opposite would be true. People tell me to chill out. You are smart. You have a master's. Someone will hire you; don't stress. I say ok. Then I hang up the phone.

Then 3 yogurts, 3 fish filets, 4 fruit cups, and 2 glasses of milk disappear within four hours.

I have gained 10 lbs. It looks alarming, but I am not alarmed. Finding any emotion lately has been hard. I have been doing my best at pretending to feel better. Today I went on a 3 hour walk. I hope that negates at least 2 fruit cups. Truthfully, if I stayed inside I would have slept or ate more.

I would have had to since I was hungover. I'm pretty sure I was drunk until 2 pm. Part of me is secretly proud. I closed the bar! I finally told fantasy bartender (he is tall and swims and has great hair and a tight ass and stuff) my name. I flirted with a boy without overthinking.

But sitting in the harsh light of internet anonymity, I am forced to look at myself and what I really think. This is the first week ever that I have been uncertain about the purpose of my life. If I drink too much, I allow myself to eat and sleep too much. If I need to sleep and eat all day, I can only get but so much accomplished. I can justify not trying. I can justify failing.

There is a time where self-reflection becomes perilous. Self-destructive behavior feels better when you don't know why you are doing it. In all fairness, I graduated exactly one week ago. I have been exhausted and antsy. I really need to have my clit massaged. It's ok that I only applied for 8 jobs. Most people would agree maybe. But when does my ijustgotoutofschool excuse get old? How long can I really justify buying cupcakes, books, and trinkets to improve my mood? When can I stop being drunkenly celebratory?

How long can the light get dimmer before I ask for help?

Isn't SJP Too Old To Be Doing This?

2008-05-19T23:13:00.002-04:00

Me: A critic said that the satc film was between porn and the golden girls
Best Friend: Well I love both!

To-Do List

2008-05-10T14:09:00.003-04:00

When Best Friend turned 25 this week, it got me thinking about my own bday almost one month away. I love resolutions. The idea of improving myself in a finite amount of time is alluring, no matter how ridiculous. Fact is, last year I got around to completing most of my list. I'm going for the same record, hoping my internet "community" will hold me accountable. :)

What To Do Before I Reach The Point When I Have a Decent Job and Stop Having Random Sex:

Get a job (duh!)
Make my apt look less like a dorm room
Clear up my acne
First tattoo!!
Get on top more often (yay reverse cowgirl!)
Start wearing heels again
Find a new fetish besides boob play
Sex with a person who is good for me
Dance class
Accrue expendable income
Get back to Germany
Try stand up sex (no clue???)
Be less depressed
Get back to the awesome cooking skills you had in college

Almost At the End

2008-05-09T22:42:00.002-04:00

It's the last stretch. I am close to never writing another paper again. I have one exam on Monday, the hardest one I will have in life, and I could give less than a damn. Today, after finishing my last paper, I had the lofty goals of taking a bath, cleaning my kitchen, and applying for five or so jobs.

I watched two episodes of CSI:MIAMI, one of What Not to Wear, and two of Forensic Files. I used my vibrator.

Also, I ate a filet o' fish. Life is simple. It has been so complicated as of late. Very sick family members. Finishing school. Looking for a job. Losing favorite guy friend. Apparently losing my 3rd favorite guy friend for some no apparent reason; he's not answering my calls or facebook messages.

But those are small things. I'm about to start a new career. I'm going to try out for dinner theater. I have nice legs. Someone should lick them. I miss my sister. Best Friend is old. I have a crush.

Warts and all, my life is simple. I am so lucky.

At This Moment

2008-05-02T23:56:00.000-04:00

I just wrote to my best guy friend from high school:

I'm so depressed. I really miss the days when things were simple. When I had people in my life that cared; when I had good friends. When Coldplay was playing in your car and I ate ice cream and didn't think.

Half Way Done

2008-04-30T18:44:00.002-04:00

At 10 pm. I will be finished with half of the classes left in my graduate career.

Yay!

Boo!

Econ problem set due Monday
20 page paper due Friday
Exam the Monday after that
Apt. has gone from messy to unsanitary
Did I mention that I didn't start any of this yet?
So I'm missing Best Friend's Bday party
But, I will still drink with her, which will begin in ecstasy
And end with me crying into my computer
I still don't have a job
My mother certainly will mention this (and the state of my apartment)
Before or after she yells at my dad, who wants to bring his wife
And they are coming very, very soon

Tell It Like It Is

2008-04-25T18:14:00.002-04:00

Me to Best Friend drunk on a bar stool last night:

ME: I hate wearing clothes. I wouldn't even wear underwear...if I didn't get turned on so easily.

Fatigue?

2008-04-18T12:05:00.001-04:00

Wednesday I showed up for an interview...that was scheduled Thursday.
Wednesday afternoon I showed up for a meeting...that was scheduled Thursday.
This morning I paid almost $4 for a iced latte...that I left on the counter.

I'll Give You a Dime If You Can Tell Who This Is

2008-04-15T10:33:00.005-04:00

Sidenote: This is a new hood music video made by someone I know.
Other Sidenote: I bought him that brown fitted cap.
Other Other Sidenote: I don't know what to say about this video, but his album drops this Friday. I'm kinda happy for him. This is DEF a step up.
Other Other Other Sidenote: The sidenote above makes me want to cry a little.
Other Other Other Other Sidenote: I am always shocked and amazed by my humanity and ability to forgive and not hold grudges, even when people are out of my life for good reasons.

YAY!

2008-04-14T13:28:00.002-04:00

Best Friend has an interview today. What if we get a job at the same time? That would rip a whole in the universe.

We have already been pretty (clothes AND hair) on the same day.

Sounds like the groove is coming back.

WHOA

2008-04-11T17:16:00.002-04:00

I used to send "confessions" into all kinds of sites. They never got published, with the exception of my mom being in jail.

Then truehookupconfessions posted a bastardization of my feelings the day when PRC threatened me with police action and an order or protection. Lots of people agreed.

A mutual friend told my best guy friend I was "delusional" for thinking we were more than just friends for a month. I have the texts and IMs to prove he's wrong, but I don't want to be petty.

Yay! The last one of these kinds of posts. I've been waiting for my romances to become "serious" or "meaningful" before I post about them. Something besides school, jobs, Best Friend, and loser for once. Cool.

Out With The Old, In With The New

2008-04-09T18:35:00.001-04:00

This is what real guy friends do for you when you're stressed on the grind. I'm smiling. Out with the old, in with the new.

Hmmm, You Tell Me What This Means....

2008-04-09T16:44:00.004-04:00

Going through my records, clearing my hard-drive, I found this IM from some random dude I used to holla at in late February. Cute.

HIM: I'm the ubermensch
ME: You would have to grow to be OVER anybody. haha
HIM: It's not about height
HIM: It's about genetics
HIM: Stronger than guys 2x my size
ME: I'm having a debate. What would you say is my cutest physical feature
HIM: Your chubby cheeks
ME: I hope this is not an ass joke
HIM: no
HIM: your face
HIM: cute cheeks

*****insults about my best friend's face*****

ME: I have so many guy friends who like to jump at chicks, and im not interested in most sexually, i always feel overlooked
ME: lol. CLEARLY the correct response is "[name] you are my friend. but when i first used to hang out with you, I thought you were a hot bitch and contemplated tearing that ass up"
HIM: I did
ME: Yeah, I believe that [disapproving face]
HIM: I did lol
ME: You should have said something outright
HIM: Well, I was out your house
HIM: What stopped you?
ME: You really wanna know?
HIM: Sure
ME: [insert girly diatribe about preserving friendships and not wanting to be a whore]
ME: Now you have to tell me why you didn't make a move on me
HIM: I put the bait out
HIM: U didnt take it

[random shit]

HIM: I don't send pictures to hardly anyone
HIM: take the bait
HIM: take the bait!
HIM: TAKE THE BAIT

Official Apology/Huh?

2008-04-09T11:06:00.005-04:00

Yeah, so yesterday was a little rough. I had most important interview to date. It was awesome.

Except less so because I had to take down one of my blog posts. According to some it was illegal, inflammatory, and constitutes slander. Truly, this was not the intention- particularly the illegal part. Most people who read this know me personally, know my heart. I planned to piss off someone for a day. I accomplished that goal. I get amused too easily. At some point, it gets out of hand with things that don't even involve me, but I will surely be blamed for...

Naturally, when you hurt someone's feelings (or do something illegal), you would want to patch it up. Yesterday I tried to do that, to some success I believe. I didn't feel amazing, just kind of dazed out and fatigued. I don't hold grudges; I usually don't take things to heart.

I guess that's why I was surprised when I got a call or some texts commenting on how I need help, my blog makes up shit that never happened, and some other mean things. I think I always get surprised when something mean is said to me. I never say mean things, which is why I guess I blow up after resenting a person for ages.

The last 2 weeks, I have learned a lot. I have also had 7 interviews in 10 days. 2 more people called today!

I have to take a break. With papers, job searching, family drama, dates, and the destruction of my best friends from last year, for the next few days, maybe weeks, this blog:
-might be deleted and restarted somewhere else by invitation only
-temporarily suspended
-become restricted based on the IP addresses from my sitemeter
-just take a nap

I'm leaning towards the nap. I'm in need of good friends, of positivity.

Into Nothingness

2008-04-07T21:16:00.002-04:00

Academically and personally.

I have something due everyday. Today is no exception. It's 9:17. Fuck.

Sidebar:

I don't like goodbyes without saying it. I never have. If you love a person, you should say goodbye in a heartfelt manner. My friendship with PRC disintegrated into nothingness this week. I had ordered him some Nazi money, his favorite thing, like a week before. I still wanted to give it to him. I miss him and loved him very much.

I asked John Henry to ask him to call me. He called me. It was not what I was expecting. There was yelling. And meanness. Apparently, he thinks I think we were in a relationship. I didn't quite get that. He was my friend. I asked for one month of friend sex out of desperation. He agreed. I just got the part where a good friend who says he wants to fuck you should tell you he's fucking someone else and originally had no plans to fuck you at all. He would have fucked me, and some other girl too. Probably raw. For the first time ever, I would let that happen. Hurts so much on both an emotional and biological level. He knows I'm crazy about STDs.

So it got nasty. I hadn't intended for that to happen. But when you yell or disrespect me, especially for a long time AND our friendship has no chance of reconciliation, I have no choice but to shit on you.

As is referenced in the amended post below.

I guess I should feel bad. But I just keep thinking about all the things he said to me. You brought this on yourself. You picked lust over love. I don't trust you. I don't owe you anything. It's over.

Truer words have never been spoken.

Which is why I can't explain being sad.

Finding the One

2008-04-05T10:34:00.003-04:00

Lately, I haven't thought about "finding the one" or getting married, despite the fact that Best Friend is mildly obsessed with these kinds of things. While having dinner with John Henry, PRC's best friend, he pointed out a few observations:

-I have never been in love
-All my dramatics cover up the fact that I am extremely detached
-There's something weird in the fact that I can only love my guy friends
-He suspects I might have loved PRC
-Maybe: Lil' Ho hooked up with PRC.... Just wanted to throw that it

And yet, I am surprisingly happy. Like I found a new man who makes my soul and clitoris feel good simultaneously. Guess what my new boo's name is?

A job.

Last week I had a million interviews. I didn't get any work done because an interview is like a first date, exhilarating and exhausting. What did I learn? I'm incredibly marketable to a variety of organizations, including:

-Government Finance
-Foundation Development
-PR Firms
-Hospital Administration
-Government Executive

Basically, this is like having sex with Old Money, an artist, a Latino, a blue collar worker, an academic, and a thug in the same week.

It's like finding the one.

I couldn't be more thrilled.

Miss 200

2008-04-02T12:41:00.004-04:00

Today is my 200th post.

I feel like this is the end of the road, but in a good way. There is almost exactly one month before I graduate. It's exciting to think that I will be 24 with an advanced degree. Based on my track record, I also think I will have a job in less than 2 months. Summer is always my favorite time of year. I LOVE dresses. Particularly when I am 20 lbs. thinner.

My thesis is a piece of shit. I do not pay attention in class. But who cares? Senioritis is a glorious thing. All I can think about is sex, and money, and sex, and tassles. It's a good time.

I'm usually not petty, but I will never be able to look at my blog until my last post is at the bottom or gone. I have never stooped that low. The fact remains is that I left my best guy friend in New York. Left because he was unkind. In the future I will look for a kinder, more positive nature in my friends, particularly my male ones. Today, I woke up refreshed. I haven't really thought about it. I have good memories. He's a nice guy.

After graduation and spending the $3,000 my dad is giving me for a new couch and new clothes, my mind turns immediately to my 25th birthday. It's going to be an extravaganza. Best Friend's and B's bdays will come right before mine. So, my liver will already be out of whack. That's no deterrent.

I haven't had a boyfriend in a long time. Captain Morgan fits the bill.

Tonight is the BAD Start to the Rest of the Week

2008-03-27T12:34:00.003-04:00

This week is Dine In Brooklyn, which means I have an excuse to eat food I cant afford for a much cheaper price and I can stop making spaghetti.

ME: so, tonight we have chez oskar and then olea?
or no?
BF: yes
ME: you have to walk me to the train, ima be drunk
ME: i have 5 interviews next week and counting
ME: and 10 pages to write
ME: and i need to clean my apartment
ME: and put up a craigslist ad requesting i get my pussy licked

Can you tell I'm stressed?

Someone Who Knows

2008-03-24T14:45:00.005-04:00

Best Friend know about job searching on the real. She spent 18 months doing it on her mamma's couch. Now, after being laid off and temping, she is doing it again. I have benefited from all this knowledge.

IM Conversation Exactly 8 minutes ago when I was freaking out about whether or not I would accept a potential job offer at a major health organization:

Me: but i think development experience and finance experience would help me become a better VP of an org. But what if I am not committed to the issue in genera? Do i specifically have to go into womens health or STDs or HIV? thoughts?
BF: I don't think that you have to go specifically into those fields. If anything, it's better to start with a broader health management background I think. If you start really narrow, it's hard to find wriggle room when it's time to leave
Me:youre obi-wan kenobi when it comes to this shit

A Little Jill Scott to Get You Through the Monday Blues

2008-03-23T22:45:00.001-04:00

BLOG VACAY

2008-03-16T19:25:00.001-04:00

Everything is due. I will see you on Wednesday. Try not to cry.

What a 50 YO Banger Looks Like

2008-03-14T16:27:00.003-04:00

This bitch hasn't had a facelift either. Black don't crack. Sadly, I think mine is beginning to crumble. Gotta get to the gym....

Yesterday My Lil Sis Saw Obama

2008-03-11T12:31:00.001-04:00

"i got out of school early AND i waited for over 2 hours AND i was at the front AND he shook my hand AND then he hugged me AND then HE KISSED MY CHEEK AND then, you know Pretty from I Love New York 2 AND he is so cute AND he was there too AND he gave me a hug and a kiss"

gotta love 15 year olds!

Best Friend Keeps It Reals

2008-03-09T13:50:00.003-04:00

So, Puerto Rican Cop stopped by the other day and it looks like we're going to fuck the hell out of each other in less than a month. The only problem is... I'm shy. Every time he tries to kiss me I start laughing. It feels awkward; he is my friend. His body is also perfect. I feel like he thinks he is trading down.

Best Friend, of course, thinks this is ridiculous.

Me: I'm horny. But I feel fat. PRC has no fat on his body.
Best Friend: He has a bit of a problem there. He's so obsessed. Like a girl
Me: Yeah. Well, it makes me feel like Mo'Nique
Me: Thug also had a perfect body, but he had one flaw and he kept telling me I was sexy
Me: PRC just stands there and his body is perfect
BF: But his face is not. Everyone has a thing. He also has chicken legs
Me: LOL!
Me: I like his face
BF: I know, but it is imperfect
Me: Yeah, it looks like a rat kinda. I see your point
BF: A lemur ;)

Michelle Obama is the HOTTEST Chick In the Game

2008-03-09T12:52:00.003-04:00

Best Friend: She's smart and funny and accomplished and doesn't take shit and has a really hot husband. She's basically everything we want to be in life.

If You Were Born Before 1987

2008-03-02T21:47:00.002-05:00

Best Friend: Then you would know Jenga was the SHIIIIIIIIT!

Get Your Mind Right

2008-02-28T20:05:00.007-05:00

I don't know if anyone else has this problem, but when I am facing real obstacles in life, I tend to obsess about meaningless situations and procrastinate on the real important shit. What might these important situations be, you ask. Well, I'm in a generous tell-all mood. Recently I have been sick. Like for a year. About 35% of the time (Best Friend would say more), when I eat something I cough so much that I throw it up. Sexy right? I cough nonstop. Last week I had the flu, but the cough has been a persistent problem. At first this was just a symptom of asthma. Then asthma and acid reflux. After several trips to the special lung doctor, there was the special diagnosis. WE DON'T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, BUT IT IS DEFINITELY SOMETHING. Thanks, asshole. And so I cough like every 7 minutes. I could possibly do this for the rest of my life. I firmly believe this has been preventing me from attempting to kiss and has given the wrong impression on the last two interviews. Which brings me to legitimate gripe #2. I aint got no fuckin job. I graduate in May. By all accounts I should have a strong job offer by Spring Break. Most people would tell me to chill out. But I can't because I am always successful and Type A and sometime suffer from anxiety, etc. etc. etc. The real reason I am afraid of not getting a decent job is the situation of my two best friends. Best Friend in particular. Best Friend is amazing (and not just because I love her). She has extensive knowledge in politics, fashion, and health policy. After graduation, she spent 1.5 years unemployed in her mother's cramped apartment. Her whole blog is about it. She is now temping. I usually refrain from making judgements about my friends, but all I keep thinking is how I would hate to be in her position and how her career is going down the toilet. And that's exactly where I will be in 3 months if I don't get past the interview stage. Argh! Don't even get me started on how I am so behind in school (due to the flu and general apathy) that I don't know if I will be able to finish the papers and midterms I have due during the next two weeks.

Needlessly, I am overwhelmed. The only reason I'm not on a bridge ledge right now is my awesome therapist. Shout out to Ms. Nadby!

Because my life is in shambles, (wait, did I mention that Thug called to ask me if I tested positive for chlamydia?) I have decide to think about frivolous shit all day. How much I weigh (I am now smaller than JHUD. I should change that picture. Maybe Tocarra? What do you think?). How clean my apartment is.

Boys.

I confess. It's been slow since Thug. He was the best sex I've ever had. He was also the craziest, dumbest motherfucker on the planet. I have just recuperated from the trauma as of 3 weeks ago. I don't know if I am ready for a boyfriend; I need to be on that career hustle. But I can tell you something- I am so horny I can't even think straight. So horny that I can't even masturbate. I don't care about cumming. I just want the weight, dominance, and dick of a man to revolutionize my whole being.

The bad part is that I just can't be banged. I have quickly learned that one night stands don't make me cum. They also make me feel like shit. I need a boyfriend or a friend to tackle my ass. Someone who will lay it down (in a nice yet naughty way), and then call me the next two days. But not after that unless it's just to see how I'm doing.

Enter Puerto Rican Cop. I KNOW, RIGHT. Look at previous posts on our history; I'm too lazy to link it. Previously I wrote him an open letter saying I missed him. He never saw it. I thought our friendship was over. I was devastated. Then I replaced him with my guy friend from high school who lives on my same street. Three weeks ago I had my housewarming. He found out from a friend of his. He called me explicitly to tell me his feelings were hurt. I let him come although I didn't want him to. He came. He was a jerk. Then I gave him his Christmas gifts. His eyes got teary. He said he missed me. He gave me a hug. Then he spent the rest of the night tickling me and looking into my eyes. It was cute and sexy at the same time. I know it's not just me because when it was over everyone thought there was something going on.

That was the last time I have seen him. I began to think it was an isolated incident. He calls me every once and again, but it's not the same. He doesn't call 3 times a day. He doesn't visit me at least once a week. He will never again say I love you.

He is the perfect candidate to fuck. Let's be clear. He has the best stomach I have ever seen. Although he is quite small, he has a domineering nature and all my friends know how I am down with the dominance, light BDSM, jizzing on my tits, dirty talk... You catch my drift. I happen to know he is into that. Also we had the recent exchange over IM:

Wow. It's too naughty to post.

I have been going out of my mind, hence the title of this post. If you fuck your friend, isn't he supposed to be nice to you? Especially if you send him naked picts and say you will do everything he wants. You would think this warrants calling or coming by immediately. Especially when he spent our whole entire friendship making innuendo, staring, taking his shirt off, and saying "really?" in a really breathy voice in response to ANYTHING.

That's not what I get. I get "nice" in response to my boob pict! I have great tits! I get whole days where he doesn't call. I get apathy and ambiguity.

WTF? This is HO treatment. I am stunned. More than stunned, I am disappointed. He was my friend. I have direct knowledge that he gave better treatment to someone he just fucked and didn't give a damn about. How can he do this to me? Even if you don't want to fuck, you have to be kind and explain your position. If he didn't want to see me naked, Iwould be fine. He just needs to tell me.

Or, at the very least, he needs to have the courtesy to delete those boob picts. You can't have your cake and eat it too.

Still Sick

2008-02-26T09:50:00.001-05:00

It is taking me a while to catch up after having the flu. I hope to be back soon!

Even WE Sometimes Like Blaxploitation Flicks

2008-02-18T21:25:00.003-05:00

Best Friend on Roscoe Jenkins:

I only liked Cedric the Entertainer, Monique, and Mike Epps, but those bitches would be funny in a room with white walls and no props.

Gotta Love Cedric the Entertainer!

Why I Love My Guy Friends

2008-02-17T15:50:00.002-05:00

"I was just listening to John Legend and thinking of you. Happy v. day"

That's the best text message ever to receive from a guy friend as your sitting in a bar with your best friend trying to ignore a drunk man in your face who is insisting he is 12 years younger than he actually is. It still has me smiling.

My boy friends are the best. That's just a sample.

Drunken Musings, Vday

2008-02-16T10:14:00.001-05:00

Me to Best Friend: Michelle Obama took the last good, attractive black man in America...and he's half...

Now I Can't Be A Classist

2008-02-05T14:25:00.000-05:00

I like nice things. This includes men, jewelry, shoes....

and apartments. My apartment is super nice, but my neighborhood, unfortunately is not so much. Technically, I am on the border of my old super-nice neighborhood, but this is how Wikipedia describes where I currently live:

The two significant reasons for this are the affordable housing stock consisting of handsome brownstone rowhouses located on quiet tree-lined streets and the marked decrease of crime in the neighborhood. The latter is at least partly attributable to the decline of the national Crack Epidemic which occurred in the late 1980s and through the 1990s, and also to improved policing methods which New York has used in the last decade.

In July 2005, the New York City Police Department designated the Fulton Street-Nostrand Avenue business district in Bedford-Stuyvesant as an "Impact Zone." or the most dangerous area in NYC. The Police Department has also ranked Bed-Stuy as two of the most violent neighborhoods in NYC besides Harlem. The designation directed significantly increased levels of police protection and resources to the area centered on the intersection of Fulton Street and Nostrand Avenue for a period of six months. It was renewed for another six-month period in December 2005. Since the designation of the Impact Zone in Bedford-Stuyvesant, crime within the district decreased 15% from the previous year.

Despite the improvements and increasing stability of the community, Bedford-Stuyvesant has continued to be stigmatized in some circles by a lingering public perception left from the rough times of the late 20th Century. In March 2005 a campaign was launched to supplant the "Bed-Stuy, Do-or-Die" image in the public consciousness with the more positive "Bed-Stuy, and Proud of It".

Let me just say it- I don't like living where poor people live. I have always thought of myself as upper middle class because of my upbringing and education. I have been hal-jokingly lamenting to Best Friend "I can't believe it. I am now officially working class."

To which she replied, "Technically, you aren't even working class. You don't have a job."

LOL. Sigh.

I Have THE Best Best Friend

2008-01-27T20:50:00.001-05:00

Best Friend finally let go (via IM) on what she had been holding in on me and Thug:

I think that sometimes you have trouble ending things and usually it isn't as much of an issue usually because no one has ever had violent tendencies until now. I only got really angry at you once, and that was the time he was going to come over to your apt and you said you knew you two were going to fight and that he would probably hit you, and I said to talk to him outside of the apartment, and you said no, that you were going to stay in the apartment even though you thought he was going to hit you or push you if you stayed there.

What Is This Black Baby Thinking?

2008-01-27T14:26:00.001-05:00

It's thinking the same thing we all are: Hillary, you might be a nice, smart lady, but all your shenanigans (racial baiting, having your husband think for you, ridiculousness) makes me want to puke.

She's Ridiculous!

2008-01-26T01:59:00.000-05:00

Best Friend, drunk at Moe's:

God, I miss Mase.

More on the night I fell in love with a NEW bartender later!

New Beginnings

2008-01-22T17:42:00.000-05:00

Today I felt good. For the first time in a long time, I woke up in a heated apartment. My new apartment is awesome. My block is wonderful. Cheap hair salons abound. I have 1 bedroom, all new fixtures and I still pay less than $1,200 including utilities. Also, today is my last first day of school. How exciting.

So why do I still feel like shit...

This is a day of firsts, but also a horrible day of last. The man who has been with me the longest, my glorious Pepe is gone. He has bought me happiness, a warm body in the bed, and a couple scratches. He will be sorely missed.

Druken Sentiments

2008-01-21T00:32:00.000-05:00

Me to Best Friend: I am tired of men with Asian fetishes. When will men learn to get down with the brown?

Drunken Musings

2008-01-20T11:22:00.000-05:00

Me: I loved Sin City!
Best Friend: The women in that movie had GREAT breasts. Vince's new agent on Entourage, Jamie King.
Me: But I think Jamie King should should stick to modeling, but I guess she had to quit when her boyfriend died.
Best Friend: Yeah, she was the queen of heroin chic. She shot it into her feet so you didn't see track marks.
Me: I'm sure Amy Winehouse does the same thing. Actually.... I think she shoots it into that gap in her mouth. That's why she won't get that shit fixed!

An Open Letter

2008-01-17T00:49:00.001-05:00

* There is no way I could feasibly catch up the whole world on the New Year. If you are smart (and I write more frequently) you will figure it out.

Lately, I have had a lot of anxiety due to moving down the street, getting ready for school, and being horny as hell. But that's not the reason I can't sleep. I can't sleep because I am going through an excruciating process, better known as losing a friend. This time it's Puerto Rican Cop. He will probably stop taking my calls soon, but I have to get everything off my chest. So, I'm going to pretend he is Britney Spears and I am Tori Spelling and write him an open letter.

Dear Kleinchen,
I cannot sleep because I talked to you about 2 hours ago and the words of our conversation have eternal lives of their own. I got the point. You can never forgive me. I picked Thug over you. We can't hang out because you have a girlfriend. I already knew you had a girlfriend. I can sense it. That's how connected we are and I haven't seen you for 2 months. I told Samantha you had a girl uneventfully over dinner about 6 days ago.

I have so many objections that it is impossible to list them all. The first one is obvious- I love you. You will mock me and say you never felt it (or something like that), but thats bullshit. I was there for you. When you were all alone. I suffered through canceled lunches and insults (in both Spanish and English). I was your nigga. I watched you make dirty comments about girls in the club. I've heard exctly 4 speeches about how you can "nut on demand." I listened to your rants about race without ever pointing out how your perception is heavily influenced by your proximity to whiteness. I had to listen to your horrible singing.

And I loved every minute of it. Today you admitted that I am irreplaceable and I loved you better than most people, certainly any other woman. So stop trippin! Did you ever watch Living Single? Gotta love the 90's. It's one of my favorite shows. We are Max and Kyle. (see from 5 minutes until the end) We habitually make fools out each other, but the bond is undeniable. You are my person.

Lately, you have been an asshole. You forgive me and then don't show up when I need you and then yell in my ear. Unacceptable. You have a lot of arrogance and righteous indignation. I think that is hilarious. You have shit on me repeatedly and I have still stood by you. Case in point- When I met you everyone told me you were a sociopath and a whore, my best friend and your best friend especially. I decided to give you a chance. You made a habit of treating my like your girl (we went on dates, you would say pretty things to me, say how great i was, blah blah blah) and just as soon as I thought something was going on, I would be treated with dealthly coldness. You would stand me up. You would be a jerk. We never had sex, so I guess that made us friends. But every time I was on the verge of starting something with someone, you would flip out. You asked me to not see anyone several times. I complied. I thought maybe we were going to build a sexual relationship after a strong friendship had been established. WRONG! It turns out you would keep my on hold, your emotional affair with the woman you really cared about while you got to fuck the whole world. You lied to me for months about 2 women I know about. It broke my heart. You began talking reckless and breaking plans. You left me in a shitty neighborhood alone at night in a minidress and heels. I ascertained that you didn't care about me. I realized I would always be last. I wasn't your best friend Justice and I didn't suck your dick. I would never be important. That was unacceptable because I gave you the best of me.

But I snapped out of it. I went out to get the opposite of you- Thug. Tall. Dark. Sexy. Stupid. I didn't have to think with him. He knew how to show love. He knew to fucking grab me and kiss me. It was exciting! But what I didn't know is that when a person loves you crazy, they can hate you crazy too. How could I have told you that my boyfriend was using me as a front to carry illegal firearms in his gym bag because he knew cops wouldn't stop him if we were together? There are a million stories like that. I was embarrassed. I was afraid. I didn't want you to judge me. I didn't even tell my best friend everything.

I sold you out. That was wrong. I was in a lose-lose situation. I think I took the right option, but I didn't know how it would affect you. I did not suspect you loved me the way I loved you. I see that now. I can't say I'm sorry enough.

You have a right to be upset. But you do not have the right to AGAIN yo-yo my feelings around. You said you would help me move. You totally fucked me. Be a man, do what you say you will do. Deal with confrontations in a real way. Don't break up with me over IM on New Year's. Even with all my faults, I talk to you with respect.

I never fight for any man. I never have to. I'm awesome. I'm smart. I'm funny. I am good in bed. But I am fighting for you because you are irreplaceable to me. No one makes me happy like you do. I really can't stand you most of the time, but you are my person. I know it. So you do. Fuck your friends. No girl will ever support our relationship and your best stopped calling me after two of my friends and myself turned him down for sex. Read between the lines? This is between just us. I see you in my dreams. I think about you all day. This notion that you can divorce me is ridiculous.

Get it together. You did the worst thing to me- you neglected a black woman's love. You lied to me for months. You created this culture about competing over who can treat who the worst. I stood by you. I set you up. I was not well. I did not pick lust over love. That's unfair. I heard Thug tell me how much I picked you over him everyday. About how I loved you more than him.

He was right.

You might not change your mind. I wish you well with your girlfriend. We both know that you will get bored in exactly 2.5 months after sex is no longer a novelty and you realized she doesn't understand at least 20% of what you say or your sense of humor. It's fucked up that our friendship is contingent upon you having a gf. You have been with her less than 2 weeks. And if I was only just a friend to you, we could coexist. But of course, the unspoken thing is that, even though you are a certified sociopath, you loved me more than any other chick (besides the one when you first got to America) and that will probably be true until you get married. I know it will be true for me. It's sad, but you're as good as it gets.

Get over it. Come back to me.

Or at least help me move.

Love,

Cupcake

New Year's Resolutions!

2007-12-28T13:33:00.001-05:00

Today is my first day back from holiday with the family in Mississippi. As usual, there was tons of family drama. Most of it centered around me. I don't have the emotional wherewithal to recount the stories but they involved plots, box cutters, Puerto Rican Cop, changing my phone number, and Thug. But now things are better. I am back in Brooklyn, armed with a new sense of self, a $200 Sephora gift certificate (Becca foundation and SJP's Lovely anyone?), OFFICIAL single status, a Michael Kors bag, and some extra cash.

So, I am looking ahead. It's been a rough year, but I got through it. I am one semester away from a degree, I've lost a couple of lbs., my friendships are stronger than ever, and I exited an abusive relationship. I should feel like a rock star. Instead, of course, I think about all the shit I have failed to do, not only in life, but on my daily to-do list. I need a passport, a New Years Eve dress, to clean my apartment, and write a play. And to make my New Year's Resolutions. Best Friend and I do this every year, laughing over wine. I have been such an emotional wreck lately that trying to do something extra seems unfathomable. Getting over that whole Thug situation, however, makes me hopeful about the future. If I'm Toni Braxton now, next year Ima make myself into Madonna!

If I can accomplish the following:

Realize that my body fucking rocks. It has marks and is bigger than I like, but the men I have been pulling lately definitely wouldn't do a crackwhore. I'm a dime and I need to recognize!
Get some new friends. I love my ladies and PRC, but I need to branch out. I tried to do this at school, but the complications really prevented that. I need more people in my world, although the old standbys are tried and true.
I SO need to let go and cum. I have been blaming my no-orgasm having on shitty ass lovers. That analysis was correct. After Thug, who had a supreme innate ability, I realized the problem lied within myself. I can't finish even with a good lover. With my pocket rocket, I cum in like 19 seconds. I need to get to the root of this.
A job must be procured by Valentines Day. I haven't really been busting my ass about this and I need to start. I don't want to have a master's degree and no job.
Go out on 3 dates with person who has an apartment, no children, no criminal record, and knows how to spell. Obviously, the opposite of Thug.
Be kinder to myself.

I Have No Idea What I Have Done During the Last 2 Weeks

2007-12-12T23:15:00.001-05:00

...except be an irresponsible blogger.

I guess I have done a bit more than that. I have successfully completed 4 classes, with my complete semester ending on Friday. I have 3 three-pagers to write on Haiti's health infrastructure, health NGOs, and some other global health bullshit. They are due by Friday at midnight. Out of 9, I have approximately .5 pages written.

The sad thing is that I have been unable to get stressed out about school because so many other things have happened. Stress usually makes me function optimally, or pushes me into destructive hypo-mania, let's toss a coin. I like to create diversions. Anything on TLC. Dancing in high heels. Masturbation.

Having an insane breakup was not on the list. I usually keep it together, but yesterday, at approximately 7 pm, I found myself bawling into my Beaujolais. I have had my share of abusive relationships. Rape. Psychotic fits. Yelling that you don't want a black baby. The list goes on. For some reason, however, Thug hurt me worse than all these combined. Maybe it's because I am old enough to spot red flags and avoid the accompanying men. Maybe I cared for him more than I have for anyone ever before. I managed to keep it together most of the day, but there is only so many times the person you shared your body with can call you a stupidwhitewhore before you have a total meltdown. Apparently, I ain't shit. Except, I am, because I cheat on him constantly with white men (not true). Additionally, I was informed that there are doctors (who by definition make me look like an idiot) who have better pussy and would love to be with him (definitely not true). Need I mention his illegitimate kids that he can't provide for. That he lives at home. The criminal record. The chlamydia. Getting 5 women preggers. The not knowing sexy is spelled with just one x. I sidetrack.

This has happened before. The abusive tirades. I let it go because the day before he attempted to kill himself. I learned what I always knew. He is unbalanced. He has a real problem with smart, successful women. He wants to tear me down. He is not the one. And yet all these realizations give me a sort of pity for him. Pity is not the friend of breakups. I have never been good at breakups, historically. Well, that is not entirely true. If I don't give a shit about you, kick rocks. But once you are in, you are in for life. Kind of like white privilege. The friend in me sympathizes. The woman in me wants to work out a irrevocable situation. I had to prove I was the bigger person. And so, I met him after work to say goodbye...and to give him his Christmas gift. He didn't like it. He treated me in a nasty manner. He was a jerk. I made the right decision. I felt relieved.

So, why can't let go. I just left him a message that said the following (according to the IM I just sent Best Friend):

I said that I was calling because I wanted to see how his meeting with the record label went (he is possibly about to sign a rap deal). I really hope he is successful and that i care about him. However, today his behavior was unacceptable. I understand that I showed up unannounced, but he has done it to me several times. Plus I sent a text saying I was coming. In addition, I gave a gift. A gift that took thought and money, approximately $75, that is in addition to the $125 gift I gave him 2 weeks ago. Just on those facts alone, I deserve someone who is kind, regardless of what is going on with him. I also said that his behavior yesterday was unacceptable and led to me crying in a bar. I can no longer deal with his hurtful behavior, but I really do care about him.

I am the queen of the high road, but I am beginning to learn that sometimes you need to cuss a bitch out and then block the number.

The real test is what happens tomorrow.

Rewarding Myself for Failure?

2007-11-27T20:05:00.001-05:00

This is what I did instead of study today. To date, it is the most I have ever spent on my feet!

How To Fuck A Snowman

2007-11-24T19:17:00.000-05:00

I went with Best Friend to Boston, her hometown, for Thanksgiving. It was cold. She loves the cold. I do not, as I grew up in Mississippi.

We are currently discussing if we should go out tonight:

ME: ok, but where?

BF: I don't know. it's cold as a bitch outside

ME: oh no, not you. miss i could fuck a snowman and enjoy it

BF: I don't think I could enjoy that, as I assume the most important part would start melting during the process, and I've had quite enough of shrinking dick syndrome

ME: WHOA!!!!!!!!!!

Winter Breakdown?

2007-11-18T20:22:00.001-05:00

I don't know if there is ever a good reason for being MIA on a living document about your life, except for when you feel like you haven't been living your life. I have been having an out of body existential crisis for about a month now.

There is no end in sight. It's 8 30pm on Sunday and I have a 5 page paper and a draft of a 12 page paper due at 4 30pm. I have about 3 pages of one and I haven't thought of the other. I'm promising, when this is done, an actual creative post and a full examination of why I got drunk last night, why my Best Friend can never seem to seal the deal, and why I have had about 18 panic attacks this afternoon because Thug accused me of cheating nonstop for 5 hours and told me we're done.

Same Old, Same Old

2007-11-07T15:52:00.001-05:00

For the last few days, I have been awaking with this horrendous pain in my neck. Usually body aches and pains are synonymous with bad sleep. It's not uncommon for me to spend all night tossing and turning, thinking about everything I have done wrong since I last laid down or obsessing about Thug. The last week or so, despite the fact that my cheap ass landlord turns on the heat for only 20 minutes 3 times a day, I have slept like an overweight baby. Like many southern black people, I often think physical ailments correspond with emotional/mental/spiritual ones. For instance, when Thug suggested that I should start sleeping with Puerto Rican Cop and he would see his former flame (and we could still sleep with each other), I lost my ability to swallow. For 4 hours. I couldn't stop coughing. The connection between my body and my mind has me now wondering about my current ailment. Of course, I slept on my pillow wrong or something like that. But when its 4 pm and you are even too melancholy to watch Oprah, your mind begins to wander.

Maybe neck pain means I should spend more time devoted to my brain, ie. doing homework.

Did I mention Oprah is on?

Life Ain't A Track Meet, It's a Marathon

2007-11-04T16:15:00.001-05:00

Today is one of my favorite days in NYC. I heart New Year's and the 4th of July, but the ING New York City marathon is right up there. I get to wake up early (well, around 10 am), look out my window and see hot pieces of ass pass me by for 2.5 hours. I get to cheer for people I don't know and yell at those dumb ass fuckers that cross the street while people are running. All around, its a good day.

Good days make me happy because I haven't been having them as of late. My search for a job has stalled as has much of my personal growth because I have been demoralized by depression and a flailing relationship. I haven't even paid enough attention to being a student, the biggest part of my identity since 1988. That's why I haven't been posting. Even I can't post "I don't feel like taking a shower and Thug keeps accusing me of cheating" more than 5 times.

But there is something about seeing hundreds of people, most in the prime of their lives, but still hundreds who are disabled, aged, or severely overweight accomplish something monumental. The biggest rewards in life don't come from finishing small tasks. I don't feel like a queen because I made myself breakfast. So, although I feel like shit right now, I have to remember that it will be all over soon. I will a successful woman, with a job that pays her bills, with a man who loves her very much. In the meantime, I guess I should treat myself like a queen for making breakfast.

Drowning

2007-10-21T12:37:00.001-04:00

The last 10 days my life has been an assortment of panic attacks of varying severity. Whenever that happens, I find it particularly hard to shower or eat properly, let alone blog. There are so many thoughts swimming around in my head that I can only process them in one way: lists!

1. I was offered a job I didn't take because the salary was too low and the work too clerical. I have since convinced myself that no one will ever hire me and I will be broke forever.
2. I am broke right now.
3. In a fit of rage and confusion, I quit my part-time job. I will now have to take out a loan because all internships are in place already.
4. I have the attention span of a gold fish and as a result have been turning in shitty work late at school.
5. Thug has been driving me up the wall. He didn't call me for almost 2 days. There is drama with him, his brother, and the police.
6. Yesterday Thug announced that he got another HIV test, exactly 2 months after the one I made him get. Either he still thinks I'm cheating on him or he has exposed himself to someone other than me and suspects he's sick. Either situation is bad. Insert obsessive thoughts.
7. If I don't find a way to calm down soon, I don't know what's going to happen to me.
8. There are like 23 more items to this list that I just don't have the energy to type.

Thug Might Be My Boyfriend, But Best Friend Is My Husband

2007-10-10T18:07:00.002-04:00

Best Friend commenting on my thinking about having a baby with Thug in a fantasy world where he was smart and financially stable:

I'm not disagreeing with you, you see, I'm just disagreeing with that little crazy lady inside your head.

Don't Expect Posts on Monday

2007-10-09T12:46:00.000-04:00

I Love New York is back, biatch!!!

Here is a bootleg recap of last night. It has to be bootleg because VH1 has this shit on lock.

The Way I Am

2007-10-06T00:12:00.001-04:00

Today was the best day in a long time. The job was the job so what can I say? My boss begged me to stay after I turned in my resignation letter. I reluctantly agreed. I had never felt so low. It's like staying in that abusive relationship because your dude is rich or has a really good dick. My job is working with neither.

So, I called Best Friend. I was in desperate need of feeling better, but she had the same idea of hanging out at the same spot. I desperately needed a shake up. So we headed to the Lower East Side, my previous favorite neighborhood until I had to avoid a man I hooked up who lived there. While waiting for Best Friend to get of the train, I got 2 pairs of shoes for $30. I fell 3 times on the silver platforms, let's hope the green clogs will be luckier.

Best Friend and I headed to a Asian tapas bar on Rivington and left with a $45 bill that included 4 drinks and 3 tapas dishes. Not bad, you say. You would be right. But you weren't paying and you aren't broke. So was my mood.

We left the tapas bar and headed back to our old haunts of Moe's and Olea in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn. Moe's was cool. I was on my third drink, when 2 men in their forties decided I was the woman I wanted to take home. Usually I am honored that a man wants to buy me a drink. When a man insists said drink is a shot of Petron, I have to refuse. Shots come through my nose; don;t tell anyone.

As I sat in the chair being serviced by Thomas the bartender, I had a real drunken look at my life. I was happy. I was in really nice shoes, with a person I loved, eating food. Life doesn't get much better. But on some level, some indescribable level, I was sad. Today Thug is with his daughter, so I couldn't see him all weekend. I saw him earlier today; it didn't go well. We love each other but still don't trust that the other person is being faithful. This wouldn't be a big deal except we have been having unprotected sex. The unprotected sex led to me having to take the morning after pill, which led to me bleeding all day when my period is not here. Happy Times. That's all I could think about when I realized that my life was good.

I'm a smart hot bitch who should learn to ignore the small stuff.

If only writing it would make it true.

Is being preggers by a man who you love but barely know who has a horrible job and lives at home small stuff? Only time will tell.

I Don't Know If I Should Laugh or Cry at This Thought That Popped Into My Head

2007-10-04T15:02:00.000-04:00

Random thought, as I sat gazing outside:
You are the personification of a red velvet cupcake.

Update

2007-09-26T15:50:00.001-04:00

Last night was one of the most interesting nights in my life. After sitting down with Thug and setting down certain "norms of behavior" for our relationship, we both got a bit pissy, and then silent.

Then we made up, and I got the best sex of my life.

Successful

2007-09-25T15:26:00.001-04:00

I'm not used to failure. I got good grades in school, finished college on time, and am getting better grades at graduate school, competing with students 5 years my senior. Academic achievement isn't the only way to measure success, but it's what's most important to my family, to me. Because I'm so "successful" in my professional life, it irks me endlessly when other sections of my life are in disarray. My physique is a great example. In the Ivy League, I was definitely considered "fat" although I was not overweight. When I graduated school, I still got a lot of attention, but I signed up for a gym membership because, at a size 8 and roughly 144 lbs., I was greatly discontent. Speed forward 2 years and, due to a myriad of factors, add about 20 lbs.* There is never a 5 minute stretch that goes by that I don't berate myself for looking unsuccessful, unattractive, homely. Fat. I weigh 165 today. Four months ago I weighed 182. It doesn't matter to my mind's eye; it still sees Mo'Nique in the mirror. On a good day Queen Latifah.

But even my weight doesn't weigh me down mentally like the thought of being unsuccessful in love. If I was honest with myself, I would be able to admit that things with Thug (turns out I've been fucking misspelling his name, which is actually not his name, but whatever) are not working. He hid that he possibly has a one month old daughter (we have been dating 6 weeks), I haven't seen him in 9 days, 2 days ago he showed up to my apartment unannounced (I was with Best Friend), and this morning I awoke to a belligerent voicemail accusing me of being unfaithful. My grandmother, mother, and father are not fans. Showing up unannounced (possibly to see if I was cheating), scares Best Friend, his biggest fan previously.

And yet, for the life of me, I can't let go. Already, at 24, I am tired of the endless revolving door of sexual partners that is NYC dating for a young, heterosexual female. I've been there, done that. It's over. I also want to think that I know how to pick out a rotten apple. This man lavished me with lots of attention. I scrutinized him for days. I even took him to get an HIV test.

When grandma asked me why I'm still holding on, there was a long pause. No sound came out, but my mouth was agape. Certainly part of it is that I care for this person and think he can solve his behavior after I really tell him it's unacceptable. But the larger, more horrific realization is that being in a relationship makes me feel better about myself, not matter how shitty it is. Being with a man makes me feel, for lack of a better word, successful.

Sadly, the fact that I have devoted my life as a champion for women's issues/rights and yet my consciousness is stuck in the 18th century makes me feel the most unsuccessful of all.

*I am still a hot bitch, don't get it twisted. Whenever I obsess accidentilly out loud, I have been yelled out by Best Friend and several others. I am no where near the size of Queen Latifah or Mo'Nique. I am, however, bigger than America Ferrera is now. :) Just clearing the air...

Problems

2007-09-23T19:42:00.001-04:00

Thug and I might be breaking up.

The fact that I can even type that sentence and believe it makes me unable to write anything else.

The Search

2007-09-19T13:42:00.000-04:00

The last 4 days I have been freaking out for a variety of reasons. The whole family and now Puerto Rican Cop (more on that later) have to constantly tell me how stupid I am for dating someone who isn't my caliber. Throw in a fat reference and I freak out so much that I barely have enough space for a far more important freak out...

In less than 6 months I will have to find a job.

For most people, 6 months is an adequate amount of time to come up with and execute a strategy designed for landing a decent job. In the mind of someone who has only ever been a student and whose best friend was horribly unemployed for 10 months, this thought brings about an emotional twister.

Every September in the Ivy League, consulting groups converged on the campus, begging us to be their slaves for the nice price of $65,000 including a nice signing bonus. Because I am halfway member of the real world, I have to look these firms up myself and get all my apps in before the end of September.

Holy shit. It's September 19th.

I haven't written one letter. Hell, I haven't even cleaned my apartment or bought an interview suit. Or read everything for this week's classes, not to mention last week's. But these thoughts are nothing in compared to the others regarding location, selling out, leaving my boyfriend, paying off my credit cards, buying a care, etc. Whenever I begin to make a tiny bit of a plan, they swarm into my head like flying monkeys, making me unable to do anything except watch tv or sleep. I didn't even make it to Best Friend's house to cook dinner last night.

I'll try to come up with a generic cover letter tonight, but I'll probably end up watching CSI: New York.

Sigh.

The Next Day

2007-09-14T14:01:00.000-04:00

I'm glowing. "The talk" went fine. We are still together. The sex was much better too. My vagina is pleased thanks to lots of lube and him slowing down. Life couldn't better.

A Little Too Much?

2007-09-13T15:55:00.001-04:00

True to form, I began having freakouts exactly 2 weeks into my current relationship.

"Something's not right!" I exclaim to Best Friend over IM, the phone, and in person. After relentlessly asking for advice (although BF has never had a bf), she gives me a good answer that is both true and placating at the same time. Her take is that Kenyada is genuine and really cares about me, but we come from very different worlds. This might be insurmountable.

Very different worlds indeed. He's John Smith and I am Pocahontas. Kenyada grew up in the ghetto, has a 4 year-old daughter, didn't go to college, and dreams of being a rapper. He doesn't understand the concept of having a checking account and, oh yeah, he got locked up for 2 years when he was 16. Very different from my spoiledlittlerichgirl childhood in suburban Mississippi with its private schools, nice cars, and supereducated parents.

I worry. I worry that he still loves guns or will never be able to take me to a restaurant or that his baby's momma will find out who I am and try to hunt me down. Yes, I have a problem with daydreaming. My worries are 1/10th the size of my grandmother's.

I'm just not sure I can hold someone's past against them, especially when they make me feel regal.

My other best friend, Borough, had a different take. She wrote me an email today that was laced with both worry and wisdom:

i have to be honest and tell u that i dont think u 2 are the right match. it's just my gut feeling based mainly on the fact that he does not seem to have too much going for him. he is nice to u and that is good, but there are lots of nice guys. that's just my opinion. i dont mean to hurt u, i swear. im just telling u what i think. i mean, would have dated a white guy in kenyada's situation? i dont think u would. i think ur putting a lot of value on the fact that he's black. and not all black men have kids and criminal records and no education. is this someone who is really on ur level? like i said, there are lots of nice people. its hard to find someone, but that doesnt mean u should settle. im not saying u need to date someone who makes 6 figures. but if u think he is doing illegal activities, i think there's a problem. if he's lying to u about it, its even worse.

Truer words have never been spoken. Am I a reverse racist??? If Kenyada was white, I would have left him in a minute. But the truth is that I am just a little tired of dating the standard white guy who, in my experience, shares more of a background with me but lacks a magical emotional something. Kenyada has something magical but it plagues me that I could date a guy who really can't point out the direct object in a simple sentence.

What? I love grammar.

Such big issues take a while to sort out, but by the time you figured them out you're already in the quagmire of a relationship, so invested that you feel stuck. That's why I have to tell Kenyada all my concerns and sufficiently freak him out tonight. It won't end well, but it's how I have to do things. I'm me. I'm neurotic. I really care about him. He really needs to get his shit together, because I can kinda see a future with him. That's why this difficult conversation has to be had in the first place.

Ok, breathe.

What Best Friend Had to Say About the Last Post

2007-09-09T23:59:00.000-04:00

"I think the lube and extended foreplay are your best options. and calming down. but that's hard when you see a large blunt object heading towards your lady parts."

Where is Betty Dobson When You Need Her?

2007-09-09T23:15:00.001-04:00

Usually when a single woman finds blood on her toilet paper, it's a joyous occasion. All during college, when I was deathly afraid of getting preggers, bloody tissue was the tell-tale sign that my EPT stick was, in fact, correct.

Today, however, when I saw my ass wipe was streaked with pink, I was not as happy. That's probably because my vag has the equivalent of a black eye.

Having sex for the first time with someone you think you could love is also another joyous occasion in a single NYC gal's life. Again, for me, a miss.

Perhaps that's because my man, the glorious Thug, has a 9 inch dick that curves to the left. Did I mention that he weighs 220 lbs., all muscle, and can push like a locomotive.

I swear, it was like losing my virginity again. Except this time, far less pleasurable. The sad part is usually when sex isn't the best, I can blame the man for preejaculation, too much hair, not beng able to find my clit, etc. I could go on for hours. None of this applies here. By all accounts, Thug is amazing in bed. But having mediocre sex twice in the past year sadly has made 24's chacha a little lazy. I wasn't prepared. At all.

And so I am here obsessing, as usual, on my blog. Am I just generically bad in my bed? How many times do I have to be bludgeoned to death before this feels good? Etc.

I looked to Betty Dobson's website for answers. There were none.

Hopefully, all will be well on Friday, our next date. Of course I'm calling in the wine, advil, and lube as pinch hitters.

I desperately need a home run.

Whatta Man, Whatta Mighty Good Man

2007-09-06T20:02:00.000-04:00

I am not Stephanie Klein. I wish I had such talent...or beautiful red hair.

I cannot write whole 3 page blog posts about how I meet someone, the glances across the room, the feeling of the first thrust. I'm not that mushy.

But I am just as excited.

Don't worry readers; more details are coming. But for the meantime, all I can do is prance around in the mirror and sing.

The Cute Brown Twentysomething has a boyfriend.

...who just stood her up for the first time. I hope history isn't repeating itself.

The New Beginning

2007-08-30T21:38:00.000-04:00

I am never good at firsts. I don't remember my first day of kindergarten, but I am pretty sure, if the kid I was is at all similar to the woman I am today, that I held on close and closed my eyes, just waiting to go back home. Losing my virginity was a similar story.

But, alas, today I suddenly got excited. About starting school. I find that odd because I am not really starting school; I am starting the end of school. That thought terrifies me because it comes with certain responsibilities. Like finding a job. And paying my own rent.

All day, however, I have been totally stoked about the possibilities school has in store. I am looking forward to the library and reading and gaining 8 lbs because it's cold and I'd rather sit on the train (the long way home) or in the library rather than get off my ass.

Under further investigation, I realized my motives weren't so noble. I'm excited about going back to school because it helps me avoid all other types of shit. Sorry Mom, I've gotta study. Yeah, I had a great time with you last night; too bad I'm swamped with school. Cleaning isn't as important as the quest for knowledge. You don't have to brush your teeth if you aren't going to talk in class.

Ok, I made that last one up.

This Can't Be My Life

2007-08-28T09:48:00.000-04:00

I am sitting in my apartment, wearing the same thing I had on yesterday, pissed off as hell. For the 2nd night in a row, I have been so exhausted that I have fallen asleep at 9 45pm, only to wake up at 4:30am and stay up and shuffle around until 6:30 when my mind can shut off again. Presently at 9:51, my body feels like I have only slept the 6:30-9:15 part. Fuck.

I have a job interview today. I was really excited about my 2 new job prospects this week (Best Friend has had no such luck) until I realized yesterday on the D train, riddled with Jamaican and Dominican men who wanted to marry me, my commute to the Bronx would be 1.25 hours each way. During winter. Fuck.

I came to the realization that as a health care professional who likes to study stds and black and Hispanic people, I will be sentences to working in the worst neighborhoods of NYC, possibly the world. The projects of Sao Paolo, Brazil anyone? Fuck.

There is one highlight of the day. I have a new male obsession. Things obviously are over between Puerto Rican Cop. He was a sociopath, but I could deal with that (don't ask). I couldn't, however, deal with him dropping me off at a subway in a shady part of Brooklyn in a tiny outfit, when he said he would drive me home. Oh well. My new thishasnoshotinhell obsession is a Jewish 30ish Israeli bartender. He invited himself to Best Friend's "Come Get Laid...Off" party at Slainte. I think he is interested in me, but I can't tell. Best Friend has a great pair of legs. Fuck.

This Can't Be My Life.

I Can't Sleep

2007-08-22T02:19:00.000-04:00

The title says it all. It is 2:15 am and I am nowhere near getting some shut eye. I have tried everything I can think of. TV. Reading Sandra Cisneros. Obsessive cleaning (it's not cool when you find 6 month old bills or a bag of cat of shit thats at least a week old). Tomorrow holds and early day and that doesn't seem to matter to my brain. I just made coffee. I am no longer trying to fight. Ani DiFranco and Snow Patrol and a lit candle all create a mood. A mood that would be better used trying to discover why I can't sleep.

I'm thinking.

I've got nothing.

Seasonal Anxiety Disorder?

2007-08-19T15:45:00.000-04:00

It seems that I have an existential crisis everytime the seasons begin to change. Colds, mood swings, thinking about my career, boy freaks outs. 2 days ago I put on a jacket for the first time in months; I knew it was high time for a meltdown. The problem with meltdowns is that after injecting emotional liquidity into my personal stock exchange, which I never really expect to help, I wait for everything to plummet. Instead everything just sits. The apprehension kills me. I was just given a raise at work, but the personal politics make it virtually impossible to enjoy any 7 minutes in a row. The practical part of me says you can't quit one job until you have another. The other half of me, during my meltdown this weekend, wrote a very grammatically correct resignation letter. I hate being unable to determine which one should win. The fact remains that this is small fries. Yeah, I need money, and I like to do stuff that I like, but obsessing about my current situation prevents me from really examining the fact that I graduate in less than a year and have no idea what I'm going to do.

I have no idea what I want. It changes all the time. Manhattan. Brooklyn. Professor. AIDS activist. sex with Puerto Rican Cop. Friendship. A relationship, with someone else.

The options jog around my head, making me panicy, dizzy, unable to live authentically. The results are feeling like my life is in shambles, even when nothing is technically wrong. My apartment looks like New Orleans. I can't put together a decent outfit. My idea of fun is watching cable on Best Friend's floor.

This is definitely no way to live.

Sicko

2007-08-14T21:43:00.000-04:00

I will be back in action, pretending to lead an interesting life, just as soon as I stop hacking up my lungs due to asthma and bronchitis.

Mental Health Day

2007-08-08T15:39:00.000-04:00

I often fantasize about staying home from work. This is often more than a fantasy until I realize it is 9:45 and I should get to work before 11 so I can make enough money to buy at least one fish taco a week...

Today my wish came true. When I was watching The Jeffersons at 2:30 this morning, I knew I couldn't make it to work at 9. Apparently God heard me. I really love my city, but its inevitable that every July or August the heat will get the best of the infrastructure and some breaker, subway, will explode and make everyone's life hell. Today, there was no way I could get to work. Best Friend had to walk all the way from Brooklyn in some nice clothes. I sat on my ass, naked in front of the fan. My initial thoughts were that I could get a whole slew of shit down: going to the gym, cooking, cleaning, downloading porn, etc.

15 minutes ago, I showered. I still haven't managed to put on pants. But I have managed to eat very well due to my Grandparents care package.

Maybe I can get something done after my second nap.

Even if it is just downloading porn.

Adjustment

2007-08-03T08:41:00.000-04:00

There comes a time when everyone finds themselves inevitably without friends. I was prepared for that when I left high school. My grandad, a surprising spry 73 year old, told me he finally realized how old he is because all his friends are heading to the other side.

I, however, was not prepared to feel like the elderly at the ripe old age of 24. New York felt oddly safe to me 2 years ago, a friendship and resource cacoon. As my friends turn 24 or 25, find life partners, finally decide on a career, become disgusted with NYC rent prices, I find myself closing in on myself. I get a glimpse of what my life will be like in its last moments. I am alone in a tiny ass apartment with my cat Pepe Tito. Pepe, of course, will be dead long before then.

I now the future holds bright things for me. I started writing poetry again, something I have left dormant for about 1.5 years. Even with my raise, I am looking for new employment options. I get my masters in 10 months. Blah blah blah. But without someone to share it with, take you out for cocktails, tell you your man is shit, what is it all worth?

Worst Case Scenario

2007-08-02T06:53:00.000-04:00

Finally becoming an advocate for myself, I told my boss I wanted a transfer and that I was currently looking for a job outside out our agency as well.

What did she do?????

She gave me a raise!

For some reason, this feels like the worst case scenario.

9 Crimes

2007-07-29T18:59:00.000-04:00

After vacations with a time difference of 2 hours or more, it typically takes your body about 2 days to get over it. I have been finding out that it takes your my mind much more. My trip to Southern California was amazing. I got a chance to catch up with my dad's sister, one of the only siblings he talks to, and her hilarious husband. The perfect vacation always encompasses nothing and that's what I got exactly. 11 episodes of CSI, 2 Robin Williams movies, Pinkberry, fried chicken, and incessant arguing with my uncle. I can't believe there is a black man in America who loves Ann Coulter, the Iraq War, FEMA's response to Katrina, the Republican party, and racial profiling.

I had a mini heart attack. Gladly, an old college friend rescued me before that could happen. The last 2 days in Cali were spent in a hot tub, drinking, and feeling awkward about having feelings about a friend who had a girlfriend. Luckily, I made it out in time before I did anything stupid. Insert Damien Rice song here.

Nothing puts your life in prospective like a vacation. As I sat at my desk doing something that I hate, I became increasingly indignant. Out of 3 interns, I was the only one who didn't receive an offer of full-time employment. One other intern is far less qualified than me. They told me this outright. At 3 30pm I bounced in a huff. All I could think about was how carefree I was only 2 days before.

My last year of school starts in one month. It could officially be my last year in this glorious city. I squandered my most favorite part of the year, but I have a way to make it back in the next 30 days. Best Friend is going to attend to have her FIRST DATE EVER before September 1st.

Happiness doesn't just come to you; you have to work for it. My 30 day challenge includes:

-going to the gym. I really can't complain about my fat ass if I do nothing to make it smaller

-finding a new fucking job. I fully recognize that my unhappiness stems mostly from this

-going out with someone who is not a pervert, megalomaniac, or unkind

-cutting off the liquor. That's going to be a hard one...

-and making my apartment look like its a place a non-homeless person would like to live

I can't make any promises, but all I can do is try. That's a whole lot more than I have been doing as of late...

Vacay

2007-07-16T17:40:00.000-04:00

Today I did virtually nothing. I suppose that I should say yesterday since it is almost 2 am and I cannot sleep due to the elaborately rich French meal I had at L'Ecole, the French Culinary Institute's restaurant. Lil Bits, my college roommate, is headed to med school in TN so we all had to celebrate. 3 glasses of wine, a fillet of bass, chicken broth and dumplings, a breaded lambchop, and more on a stomach that was already ill= tossing and turning. I swear it's a good thing I work only part-time because every 3 weeks, I need a mental health day. In my defense, I have been quite sick since Friday but I definitely needed the money as I will be out of town in southern Cali for a week starting Wednesday. Don't expect a post, a post that I will remember writing.

On my day off, I seemed to accomplish nothing, other than watching my 2 tv boyfriends Dr. Phil and Judge Mathis. I also did a lot of naked dancing. I never wear clothes inside my house. It's too damn hot. And I'm too damn sexy. Well, I try to tell myself, but it's not working. I have been hyperventilating ever since I saw pictures of myself at a good friends wedding and I realized that S. Cali= THIN, BLONDE, SWIMSUIT.

I might need a xanax to finish this post. In the last week, I have gotten innumerable cat calls. Sadly none have been absent of "healthy," "thick," or "phat." Every time I hear it, it makes me feel like shit. My self-esteem has also been trampled on since I decided that the reason Hot PR Cop is being a douche is because I am a size 12. He is 155 lbs. soaking wet. And Hot. He could do better. Did I mention I am going to Cali in tomorrow?

Dios Mio.

Food Stamps

2007-07-14T12:36:00.000-04:00

It's no secret that part of being a young and fabulous female in NYC is having no money. For some illogical reason, Carrie Bradshaw became more endearing after I learned she had only $700 in her bank account, although she was clearing wearing a $1,487.24 outfit.

Since going back to school and working part time in a job that pays shit but looks nice on my resume, I have constantly been in a pickle. How do I have fun and feel pretty and not go broke? During the school year, I didn't have much of a problem. I don't like going out when it's cold and BF moved to Brooklyn in December and was more than willing to comp all my meals. The summer has been decidedly more complicated. With no school and my tolerance for my job running thin, I was drinking everyday for about a month (my bday was also during this time). Before long I was looking at a nearly empty bank account, an empty fridge, and calling in the pinch hitter: my dad.

Last week, I started my campaign to stop being broke. Debt and black women have a bad relationship nationally; I can't fall into the trap. It's truly hard for me to spend like a poor person although I am quite poor. Then I started talking about finances my cubicle mate/favorite coworker RO. Jewish in every way, RO gave me a series of suggestions that she said really helped her live on the cheap. She looks fabulous, goes out on like 3 dates a week, and never pays more than $20 for ANYTHING. Through her tutelage, I gave myself a number of rules.

1. I can only go out twice a week. Ladies nights and happy hour specials are a must.
2. Never pay more than $8 for a drink.
3. Buy liquor in bulk.
4. Only hit up free or VERY reduced tickets for theater, operas, ballet. Craigslist always has tickets on the cheap.
5. Buy frozen veggies, lentils, rice, and potatoes to stretch a buck. It's better than cheap junk food.
6. I can only get my hair done at the Dominican salons.
7. Forever21 and Conway are hotspot. I won't need to wear this shit in 5 years, so it's ok that it's cheap as long as it's wearable.

I started thinking about where I was wasting the most money, the resounding answer was food and drink and credit card debt. I realized that I buy food out because there is consistently nothing in my fridge. Buying food is expensive and preparing it is time-intensive, so I often just say "fuck it" and eat down the street. Then I wonder how I've spent $200 in a week, just on dinners.

RO had a simple suggestion. We were both going to apply for food stamps. I had a mini crisis. I am poor, super duper poor. But I also graduated from an Ivy League school. Weren't food stamps for the really disadvantaged? Couldn't I just keep calling my dad for more money? RO talked some sense into me. I have been working for the government for exactly no perks. I pay my taxes and am a productive member of society. This will last for max a year.

And so today for the first time, I will be shopping with food stamps. I still feel kind of ashamed, but not nearly as bad as when I had to call my retired grandparents for money for food. I need an all-around perspective change. If I am getting assistance, I shouldn't be spending my money recklessly on cosmos.

Unless it's on Friday and they are half off.

Oh My God!!!!

2007-07-10T22:15:00.000-04:00

So far, I am not impressed with 24. Within one month of entering my mid-twenties, I have found a bevy of stretch marks AND...

A GREY HAIR!

I promptly plucked it out, along with 5 other surrounding hairs.

I either need a new job (less stress), to get a man, or to rewind the clock.

Sigh.

2007-07-09T18:08:00.000-04:00

For the 4th of July, the majority of Americans waxed and waned monotonously about the vast luxuries of modern American independence. Sometimes these points have merits but during said diatribes I listen to the Bon Jovi elevator music in my head while certain comments visually appear, usually highlighted in lime green. When a sloshed coed, holding some BBQ chicken and a watermelon martini sets in on a "patriotic" speech, I usually wonder:

But if we were owned by the British just a little bit longer, wouldn't slavery and the whole never-ending inherently American racial intolerance be a little bit different, a little more bearable? AND I wonder if Iraqis feel about Americans the way the Americans felt about the British 231 years ago? If so, hasn't American independence gone awry?

Those are just some of my favorites.

And yet, I am filled with my own little version of wide-eyed appreciation for my nation, my government, even my president (cough!) Why?

I spent last Friday on Rikers Island.

Interning/working for a city agency, I have gotten to experience a lot, including procrastination, paperwork, broken supplies, and bureaucracy. I have also been able to procure some pretty fucking cool field trips. My supervisor was thrilled when I wanted to tour various NYC facilities, attempting to learn all about city government. My father often works for free in prisons, and BF was very concerned about female inmate health care needs in college. Me? I was certainly curious about that aspect, but far more excited to see a wall of shanks (I heard it exists as a trophy for prison guards), and to analyze if the portrayals on Law and Order: SVU and Oz were accurate.

Time restraints and security regulations prevented me from seeing everything I wanted (no shank wall!), but what I did see was eye-opening. Apparently the women and juvenile facilities are far worse than the men's and, because I have always been interested in women's health, we checked out the women's facilities first. Every jail (and there are multiple jails at Rikers) has 2 health care clinics: general and mental. As I entered the women's health care facility, I was struck by floods of thoughts. It wasn't as bad as I expected. No overpowering smells of blood, stool, or urine. Well, a little urine. There are tons of pregnant female prisoners. They have surprisingly good health care outcomes for a jail. The nurses there feel a strong bond to the patients and the facility. Most people, they are quick to point out, are technically innocent, as they are awaiting trail. Rikers is a jail, not a prison.

Those thoughts happened simultaneously, but 2 really, really stuck out.

I didn't think I saw one white person in a clinic full of detainees. Also, I didn't see anyone there who I didn't think was mentally ill.

"Where is the general health clinic?" I asked my guide, the Nurse Supervisor.

"You're in it now. Mental health is locked behind that door."

I was stunned and conflicted at once. How do you reconcile the fact that you are surrounded by (alleged) thieves, murderers, and substance abusers even though it's OBVIOUS that these people didn't get a fair shake at life? How do we fix the system? If there is no racial profiling in NYPD, why aren't there ANY white people in here?

The question flood arose again. And in the midst of being overswept, I felt oddly safe. Exiting the sadness, illness, and barbed wire, I couldn't help but feel a certain affinity for the country I so often criticize. A country where even the worst class of people has basic human rights. A country where, despite all its downfalls, if you follow the basic rules, your opportunities are limitless.

Perhaps I could say the same for England. I don't know. I don't live there. I live here, in America. Where a chubby black woman can be overeducated and successful, even if underpaid. And people are so free that they can drunkly spew foreign policy suggestions while eating a Popsicle under fireworks, even when they have no idea what the fuck they are talking about.

In my eyes, that's a misdemeanor.

I Don't Know What I Want

2007-06-29T02:32:00.000-04:00

Big Blue Collar just left my apartment in one frustrated heap. After promising to take me back into the city from my housesitting gig, he reneged because I didn't want to have sex. Obviously I am up and pissed and listening to old school 1995 Monica joints, but I also am filled with an odd sense of pride. I didn't settle for boring sex with someone I used to be with just for the sake of relieving horniness. This is a new high. I guess if one earns sex, he would have. He took care of my cat Pepe for 4 days while I was housesitting and said sexy things to me. Unfortunately, I am a different person. Flattery and complacency don't equal sharing the most important part of myself, even if you have had it before. I spend my days fantasizing about Puerto Rican Cop (PRC) and the fact that he STRAIGHT UP REJECTED ME by not returning my text message normally would drive me into the arms of my sloppy seconds.

But not this time.

I'm growing up.

Oh My God

2007-06-25T23:40:00.000-04:00

You might not believe this, but I totally forgot I had a blog. One might ask how I forgot since I read a minimum of 6 blogs a day. Answer? Life has happened. Ever since my birthday I have been held by a whirlwind of drinking and dancing and weddings and men. I cannot make up for being a naughty blog mistress, but I can only promise to try to make it up to you this summer. I promise, and I truly do mean promise, that one boy will dump me, I will have 2 new friends, a new job and possibly a new apartment before September 1st. In other words, try to forgive me and keep reading.

In the mean time (sp? I'm drunk and too lazy to look it up), I will give you the highlights that I will expound upon.

1. My ex boyfriend Big Blue Collor wants me back.

2. I was the fattest bridesmaid ever in a wedding. The best wedding ever. I will post my toast eventually. Then I got on a scale and found out that I am not actually as fat as I think.

3. I have a date with a girl.

4. I am in love with a Puerto Rican cop who most certainly has (a) venereal disease.

5. My College Best Friend's depression is bringing me down.

6. I need to find a decent job.

7. My goal for the year is to send off TEN good poems to magazines.

8. My goal for life is to write for Conan O'Brien.

9. I broke my vibrator. This is the 3rd one. Suggestions?

10. I really, really need to get laid.

22 is Actually The Last Good Bday AKA I Will Never Get Laid Again

2007-06-17T12:03:00.000-04:00

It's funny how I never have the urge to write when my life is going badly. One would think that writing is cathartic, mainly because it's true. The problem with the Blogsphere is your private shame because instantaneously realized, making your everyday life even more hurtful. Well if you overthink everything like I do.

My problem is that I literally have about 87 different thoughts, each one thinking it is the most important thing in the world, running around in my head concurrently. I could write about how my birthday party sucked, how I think my best friend and I are diverging, the wedding I have to be in in 6 days and how I regained the weight I lost.

How I finally felt something with someone who I am pretty sure was feeling the same and fucked it up in 3 days.

Just typing that makes me want to cry.

The Cute Brown 20something

2007-06-15T01:28:00.000-04:00

My blog is one year old! I thought my 24th birthday was suck, but I was quite impressed. Not with what anyone did for me, but what I did for myself.

I will write more when I am not drunk or thinking about the trip I took to MS. Peace!

When It Rains It Pours

2007-06-06T17:44:00.000-04:00

It has been said repeatedly that I like to whore around during the summer. By this time already, I would have made out with 3 guys and slept with one. More than likely the one I slept with would have been a rerun, but that still counts!

Anyway, I have not had such a fun season because I have been lacking in confidence. The last 2 months have witnessed me losing 17 lbs. but have also witnessed me gaining stretchmarks on my arms, calves, thighs, and ass. Not sexy...if you aren't married or 38 or the mother of twins. Add to that the fact that I have been generally frazzled with my family and work situations. My financial state has also prevented me from partying as hard as I would like to.*

But I feel the tides aturnin'. For one, a man totally turned 360 degrees while watching me walk TOWARDS (usually I get checked out from behind) the new bakery that officially has THE BEST CUPCAKES EVER (take it from me, the previous Magnolia Bakery Freak AND they are gluten, egg, and sugar free!) I thought it was a mishap. Me? You're looking at me? It was enough to put a pep in my step, particularly since he was cute and seemingly employed.

When I got in later that evening, I met a neighborhood friend for drinks. She had been going through a rough breakup with Best Friend's fantasy Hot Bartender and needed some emotional support. Since I was late, she had replaced me with a very well-groomed gentleman who worked for GUCCI....women's accessories. Again, I was befuddled with he began stroking my back and then gave me his card. Turns out he is straight. And Mexican. The best making out (and fingering) I have ever had has come from Mexicans. *daydreamsforabit* I am not usually a girl who calls, but I might have to, at least twice, so when I ask for a discount on these I won't seem shallow.

Of course I am going back to the scene where I found Hot LES Guy and I will call GUCCI guy, but none of that will resolve itself quickly enough for me to quench my 6 month dry spell. I don't even think I need to get laid, but if I do not go out on a date soon I will die.

Only one solution. Go through the old book of castoffs. Tall Jerk didn't respond the last time I said hello and is still tripping off the fact that he thinks I am a hooker and aborted his child (long story), so I reached out to Big Blue Collar with the following note:

This is 23. You may not remember me; we went out last year. I live in Brooklyn. I thought about you yesterday and just decided to write and say hello. I hope all is well with you and if you are up for a friendly chat, you can reach me at this number.

I wasn't expecting much, maybe a friendly note telling me he had a hot Puerto Rican girlfriend who refused to let him have girls as friends. Hey it has happened before...

I got this as a reply:

I may not remember you? Of course I remember you, I still think about you till this day. I still think about you and that lovely body of your's, sorry. But, yeah, I will call you, I would love to do something with you someday. Take care, Big Blue Collar

After taking time to adjust from reading the 2 grammatical errors, I realized that "the message behind the message" was I'd like to buy you a beer and have you, in turn, suck my cock. Hmmm. I don't know if I am cool with that. I am more comfortable with Hey, let me buy you a beer and 4 course meal on 5 different occasions this summer and expect nothing in return except for your joyous company at the movies, which I will (OF COURSE!) pay for or even better Let me buy you a drink and then go down on you and expect no favors in return.

I feel like I just opened the lid of Pandora's Box. Secretly, I am so glad to have even just a little drama in light of this boring office job and the minutia of my everyday life. With any luck, I will procure 3 dates in one week, starting the summer of whoredom just 3 weeks off schedule.

When it rains, it pours. Here's hoping!

*Sidenote: it takes money to get laid: highlights, GOOD razors, those first 2 drinks, a gym membership, a sturdy diaphragm, 14 new Forever 21 tops (I will graduate to Cache when I turn 30), etc.

Demolition and Disappointment

2007-06-03T18:19:00.001-04:00

Just as every Sunday, today I had high hopes for what I could do with the last day before I go back to my often insufferable job. There was, of course, cleaning my apartment, depositing some money, ordering my groceries from Fresh Direct , and writing a blog post or starting a short story or poem. I managed to clean for an hour and a half after which I lost all momentum due to the heat and mild depression. About 3 days ago the worst episode in my parents 10 year divorce saga took place. My mother has consistently disregarded a child visitation order for my sister and, as a result, received 60 days. My dad got custody of my little sister, a fact that his new 4kidsby3differentmen wife is none too thrilled about. I have to go pick up the pieces and understandably had a mini meltdown.

It was a hard weekend intensified by the fact that my best friend was a total selfish shit, making me realize that she will always have a soft spot in my heart but, because we are going in different directions, she is probably my College Best Friend and not my Best Friend.

Life changes. I just wish the pace would slow down.

Dooced

2007-06-01T15:57:00.000-04:00

I am not one to live life out on the edge. I use condoms (when do I have sex? haha!). I drink about 1 drink every 50 minutes in a bar. I even refuse to wear white, so what I am doing now seems particularly scandalous.

I am blogging at work.

After the ridiculous hiatus I took from writing at least 3 times a week, I totally realized that the only way I could get anything to you readers (or reader since the looong unexplained break) is to sit here on my job and hash out whatever is in this crazy head of mine. Luckily for me I do almost nothing for a living. Others might rejoice in that fact while I find it excruciating. Unluckily for me, I get emails regularly explaining that because I work for the government nothing is private. Since my blog is about nothing except for privates, beer, and hating my job *all objectionable material* I will probably end up like Heather B. Armstrong (click the link) who got fired from her job for writing about work. Heather has the cutest kid I have ever seen and no job thanks to how much her blog makes.

I take back my statement about ending up like her.