The O Spot

Olivia's In the Moment Deal-Breakers

2008-06-16T07:41:00.000-07:00

After my experience with Harry from "Harry and the Hendersons"(remember that joint?), I thought I would just let you all know what can take (and has taken) some precious moments from "go" to "oh hell no".

In no particular order, things that get my dick soft:

1. your coke/whiskey dick (I get it. It happens the best of us, but then don't start crying about "this is the first time this has ever happened")

2. you going on and on about how many orgasms you're going to give me, only to provide too much lip service but not enough tongue service

3. a tattoo of a hand throwing up the peace sign filled in with an american flag

4. using your cold spit as lube

5. unauthorized use of bedroom accessories (ahem, the blue thunder vibe)

6. as a matter of fact, any unauthorized entrance into the treasure chest

7. tissue in the twat (see april 21st)

8. in appropriate placement of the fingernails (remember, keep them trim and neat)

9. an unannounced journey into the backyard (it's always polite to call ahead)

Can you think of anymore? Maybe if I put the word out, I can prevent all of us from being in these false-start situations again. I mean, c'mon, how many times can a girl fake being on her period in a month? (answer: as many times as i want to).

Carpet? Rug? Oh no chest hair

2008-06-13T13:52:00.000-07:00

Okay so i haven't blogged in perhaps forever. Just far too much has been going on in my life. A little break up here, what are we there, and some public sex in between.

BUT i hafta write to tell you this story.

SO the other night. I am bored and alone. Because alas, you try and juggle two and you are going to end up with one. But I was bored. And well, the red wine had me warm. So i think, who is one i haven't seen in a while: Salt and Pepper!

Okay S&P is a guy I met so long ago on the A train. We had shared jokes about the man on the train who was selling bootleg dvd's. Haha, joke, joke, and we exchanged numbers. I have dated him a few times. Which end in a peck on the cheek and me walking down a random street that is not mine. To date, he has picked me up or dropped me off on 4 different avenues- on none of which do I actually live.

Well tonight, I was going on on a limb. I decided we were going to "watch a movie." Now ever since I was 15, watch a movie has meant "have a booty call with a spend the night leave early bonus." I actually give him my address and instructions to pick up food as i have NOTHING in teh house. Seriously. Think Ethiopia in the 80s. I am wrong for that. I know. B'ygzabir, Ikerta!

By now, my doorman now I am a fuggin' hot one (fuggin h.o). In two weeks there have been 2 women and 1 man come late and leave early. It be's like that aiight!

So he comes over. We "watch" love in the time of Cholera. Good movie. (Why is that secretly the story of my life right now?)

I am "falling asleep" on his shoulder. He starts kissing my neck.

Pause--- aside solilquoy: kissing my neck is like pushign two buttons. One: the ON button. And Two: the and popping button.

Okay so it is on and popping. His kisses are amazing. My shirt comes off. His kisses are still amazing. On. Popping. And on and on.

He sits up.

Takes off his shirt.

And what the fu--?

This man is covered! covered! in hair!?
Covered.
His arm hair is long.
His chest hair is ubiquitous.

I was like geee-zuhs!
What is that?!
Oh my hair. But you see i cut it down.
How do you cut it!?, I cant even hide the astonishment on my face, nor close my jaw.
I buzz it. Just buzz it up with a buzzer.
Oh my.

Ladies and ladiesmen, it is really salt and pepper like his head hair. He cuts his chest hair like i cut my hair!

I am sorry. I just couldn't do it. I couldn't. It scratched. It itched. It hurt. It made me dry.

I didn't know how to tell him, I thought his body was gross. Am I wrong for pretending to be on my period and sleeping the rest of the night?

Tale of the Turnstile-Jumper

2008-05-02T08:48:00.000-07:00

The other night a random dude on Houston street offered my coworker and me each a rose (actually, he offered her a rose, and I was like, hel-lo!). He was super high and apparently thought it was a gesture that would make our day. I got rid of it because I don't need to explain to the man waiting for me at home why I'm walking in with a rose from a random guy.

I am not a big fan of roses. I find them cliche, not really romantic in the way romantic things should be. I think I've always felt this way, but there was an incident that really sealed the deal for me.

I referred to a guy in an earlier post who told me on the 8th date that he had a kid. So that guy. Let's call him Turnstile, for reasons I'll explain later. I met him playing pool with my BFF R. at a spot better left unnamed, but let's just mention that they had at that time a $1 margarita ladies night, and R. and I used to go there after, and then instead of, salsaerobics class.

Turnstile was a little younger than me, but fun to hangout with, up for anything (he enjoyed a good dinner at IHOP, something my last boyfriend would have found oh-so-lowbrow.) I was really not interested in a relationship, however. I was playing the field, had a sexy astrologer/lawyer/filmmaker on the roladex (he's a good story for another time), and I told him I didn't want anything exclusive.

Turnstile had a rough time with it, but at least pretended to agree. He said, "Oh I get it. My friend explained it. We're fuck-buddies!" I was like, "Well, if that makes it ok for you, you could say that...."

Anyway, Turnstile would not have passed the boyfriend test even if I were looking for one. He would spend hours talking about why pot should be legalized, and I'm like, dude, I'm with you, can we talk about something else? He also worked for a bank. That is usually a big no-no for me, because I'm all about the revolu', bitches. He was also having some problems at his job because they had run a background check on him, and had come up with a violation. He apparently had jumped a turnstile (thus the name), and instead of just getting the write-up from the cop, Turnstile ran.

So he had something incredibly dumbass on his record.

Turnstile liked to experiment, so he was always bringing over this or that special oil, and even a set of metal cock rings. I am a little more schooled in cock-rings now, and the metal kind are for pros only, my friends. Anyway, he was also getting a little territorial. He left said cockrings at my place, then the next time, a pair of boots. I didn't want to remind him that he was perhaps not my only caller.

The story is this: I had plans with Turnstile, and had to tell Astrologer/Lawyer/Filmmaker that I would see him another night. I was bummed because Turnstile was already beginning to wear out his welcome.

So he calls me, says, "oh some friends of mine showed up in town and I'm just going to get a drink with them and then come up for dinner." I said, ok, no prob.

Turnstile calls again two hours later. "I'm still with these guys, I just haven't seen them for so long. Can I come over in a couple of hours?"

I told him I was feeling disrespected, because we had plans (I didn't tell him I turned down better plans to be with him). I said it was better if we just talked another day. Really, I was just feeling like I shouldn't be this hassled by someone I'm not that in to.

He was all, don't be that way, let me come over. And I was all, NO, let's talk another day.

Sure enough Turnstile shows up on my doorstep with a dozen roses. Gag me, people. I broke up with him then and there.

It took me a while to get rid of him, that night and in subsequent angry phone calls. I gave the roses to the super's wife, and I called Astrologer/Lawyer/Filmmaker to see if he was still free.....

Train shame, late for work..head nods!

2008-05-01T12:27:00.000-07:00

So last night I went out to eat with of a few of my crazy coworkers
Man I love them
They, shit, we totally rock as a team!
Sex education should be this sexy around the world.

But I write not to tell you about how I had perhaps one too many glasses of wine and told them too much about my fascination with small penises, about my favorite positions for orgasms, and how I can do it all night long with a girl but can't wait for the minimum 15 minutes with a dude to be over- yawn!

I am here to tell you the woes of morning sex!

So between the last 12 hours I learned that not only does morning sex make you late for work, embarass you on the train, it is also associated with the disease affliction: the violent head nodd.

I mean, the white wine made me feel warm. And I still get my way confused on the train. When we left the [Chain Italian Restaurant with O' so Good breadsticks and pasta]- my coworker literally had to point me in the direction of the right train. "O! Damn, how long you been here!? Take F to 34th, cross the platform, then go uptow..." I was already floating on my buzzed abyss.

When I come above ground, I see a text from favorite in the suitor crew #2-- Cupcakes! She is still doing work, but wants to see me, can I come through. (YOu know what? Drunken memory is failing me here. Perhaps I sent her the text saying I wanted to see her and could she take a break from work to see me!?). Either way next thing you know- I have visited all three of the other boroughs in one night. I find myself wayyy out in the Klyn trying to resist pulling this woman away from her work and into the bed with me.

I behaved.

Went to sleep. Thought, "Nice. I am actually going to get some sleep tonight."

Wrong! Middle of the night- or more like morning- she finishes her work. Comes to bed. Faced with a pivotal decision: to seduce her into the morning and give up on any hopes of sleeping any more or spooning next to her, keeping my pants on and sprightly skipping into work this morning. Well I chose, the sensual seduction! Of course.

Blah blah, pants come off, panties off and we do that thang. Mistake was- I dont even like morning sex. The bladder is full. Breathe is stanky. And you can't just lay up in the wet spot when done-- nooo you hafta get up and start your day all IjustOrgasmedAndCantWalkStraight tired.

Nonetheless I shoulda thought about that before the seduction.

My one mistake: falling back asleep after the seduction. Next thing you know the alarm is making some funky gobble-gobble-robot-squeek noise that I never hear, becuase I should be leaving the house right now. Worse yet, I am farr out in the Klyn- a good 45 minutes from work! Dagnabbit.

I rush. Put my clothes on (showered last night- touched up the important parts). Hurried her along to give me a ride to the train. And i was off. I got on the platform at the time that I usually am saying a sweet hello to the administrative assistant.

"Hopefully the train comes fast."

Wrong!

15 minutes later. I am still standing there. A train has jokes in the a.m.

Finally it comes.
I squeeze in.
Manuever my bag out from under the seated woman's wig and put it on the ground.
Situated now. I look to my left and see: my JumpOff. Well you know she is in the suitor crew (the short list of callers). But she rides the bench. Most of the time.

"Hey you!" I poke her
"What!?" she looks surprised. "Shouldn't you be coming from [the other borough]? What are you doing in the Kyln in the morning? Where're you coming from?"
Shit shit! That is right. Why am I coming from the Klyn even at this later hour in the morning?
(This is an embarassing moment, think fast!).
"It happens!"
(NOt so smooth a response).

Small talk small talk.
"What are you doing this weekend," she changes the subject from the cold.
"Hmm, I dont know" I really don't. But i already made plans with Cupcakes and [haven't blogged about her yet, cos she is cute but not that fly]. "I think I am going to..." I have no excuse, can only think how I won't be hanging out with BenchRider, "I am going to... oh! Dude! I meant ot tell you! The craziest thing happened this weekned.." Suckery. Not even a good way to change teh subject.

Slide into work this morning 1/2 hour late. Guess I will be staying 1/2 later tonight.
Which is totally not a problem.

Except right around 3:30 I started suffering from the violent head-nod. You know. When your eyes cross suddenly, you doze off and catch yourself. Only to snap your head back up so quick you suffer whip lash.

In and of itself, the violent head nod is not a problem. It got me through college. Hell, and most of grad school too. But ahh, I have no private doors at work. From my "cubicle" you can see clear to all sides of the room. Meaning, all sides and all my coworkers can see me doze-snap! in and out of a nodding abyss.

Lesson learned here folks? Morning sex. It does a body bad.

Oh baby you.... You got what I need....

2008-04-28T13:31:00.000-07:00

I want to share a story from a sad but entertaining chapter of my life. I had been pretty unceremoniously dumped by someone we just have to say was confused at the time, because he reappeared in my life later on.... That's a different story though.

At that time, well into my fabulous NYC life (goin' on 10 years in '08 biyatches!), I was single after a couple of years and ready to laissez les bons temps rouler as they say. I am sorry to say that this involved going to the same tired clubs I went to when I first came to the city for grad school (remember the lame club where they thought I was a 'ho? Well, like that, just one step up since this is NYC after all).

So there were several making-out-in-the club incidents, there was some online dating (I'm not ashamed to admit it!), and there was some depressing music iPod playlist-making. But I digress...

On a typical night out with my bff R., we hit a club whose only claim to fame is that it played a major role in that Puffy gun incident some years back. I have no idea if this place still exists, but if it does, it will be playing the same tired rock en espanol and 80s salsa that it was playing then. My memory is fuzzy, but I believe at least one item of my ensemble that night was see-through.

So I did my thing, boogy-boogy, looking casual, get asked to dance a few times (one of the things I did not miss from the recently imploded relationship was that he didn't like me going to the clubs where strange guys would ask me to dance. Now I don't care so much, or rather I agree I don't want to dance with strange guys.)

I danced with this one guy who was pretty nice-looking for this place, pretty tall, too, not to be rude about the other patrons. He had very nice cafe con leche skin and an apparently good body (broad shoulders, yum). We danced, we talked. (I asked him his name he said "bla-bla-bla". He had 38 pants and very big...) I found out he worked in real estate (somehow that passed the litmus, though bankers and finance guys do not), and he had an artistic side.

And we sucked face.

Oh did we ever. We made out on a sofa in the club like we were 13. I have to say it was hot, and in this case I didn't mind the rub rub I was feeling on my thigh. When we came up for air, he offered me and R. a ride home. I said cool, but that's it my friend, no coming in (horrifying in retrospect, right? Getting in a car with a guy I just met, but you have to understand it was a long subway trip from the club to my apartment in the other Borough)

So we dropped off R. and chatted some more. I asked him if he had ever been married or had kids. You may think it is odd to cut to the chase like this, but I've had too many 8th-date "I want you to meet my 6 year-old daughter!" surprises.

"It's complicated," he said.

Oh yeah? Bla-bla-bla said he just got out of a relationship. They have a child together, but it's over, definitely over. Pretty much over. Definitely.

I told him ok, that's cool, but it better be over for real. We made out some more in his car. And I gave him my number.

Next day, I go to the gym, I'm feeling good. I'm thinking about this hot guy who is going to call me, and wondering how long I'm going to be able to wait to devour that man head to toe. I stop for my Sunday treat, a big toasted whole wheat bagel with tofu salmon spread. I think about breaking out the Hitachi magic wand (the cadillac of vibrators, people!) after breakfast in anticipation of what's in store.

I get home and there is a message on my answering machine (yes ladies, back in the day I only gave out my home number so I wouldn't have people stalking me on my cell).

"Hi, Olivia, this is ----, bla-bla-bla's wife. I found your number in his wallet, and I just thought you should know."

Oh, man. At this point I just had to laugh. What a dumbass.

And the dumbass called later that day (I knew he would, I'm telling you there was some crazy chemistry!). I decided to play it cool:

small talk small talk "what'd you do today" etc etc.
Bla-bla-bla: "So, you want to get together this week? I'd love to take you out."
Me: "Well, that could be a problem."
Bla-bla-bla:"Why is that?"
Me: "I got a phone call today. Do you have any idea who might have called me?"
Bla-bla-bla:"No. Who?"
Me: "A woman named -----. She says she's your wife."

Complete silence. Anyway, this fool said it wasn't true, they aren't together, not his wife, bla bla bla, just like his name. Why did she have access to his wallet then? uh uh uh....

Anyway, I cut him off. Too much drama in my life already at that point...

So please listen to the message that I send. Don't ever talk to man who says..... "It's complicated."

smell yo junk

2008-04-25T07:53:00.000-07:00

Ok, I've spent the last half an hour trying to figure out how to embed this video onto the blog to no avail. I'm going to blame it on the 18th century computers here in the office and not my lack of web savvy. When are we going to start funding and bailing out non-profits like we do financial corporations and airlines? Make them wait twenty minutes for videos on youtube to upload. I want to see some hedge fund dude sit as his computer for an hour waiting for pictures of celebrity plastic surgeries to download instead of making inputting important grant information. Just once.

...but back to the video.

So, I was doing a workshop about healthy relationships at high school a few weeks ago, and the subject of cheating came up. One girl made a point that both men and women cheat, but women do it better, so it's alright. Another girl said cheating is not cool, but she does it anyway, adopting the president's strategy of preemptive striking. She figures a guy's probably going to cheat on her, so she might as well do it first.

Then they mentioned a song called "Smell Yo Dick", where a girl suspects her man of cheating on her because he's coming home late, he's not answering his phone and her girl took pictures of him getting fresh with another woman (she uses more colorful language). Scandalous, but nothing new. That was the first and last time I heard of this song until the wonderful internet brought the video to my attention.

From an independent young lady named Riskay, I would like to present to you "Smell Yo Dick".

Periods are a Pain, Period.

2008-04-23T08:25:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting at my desk feeling like all hell has broken loose in my uterus. It's moving and doing somersaults like it's competing for gold in the Olympics and I am a lonely spectator forced to watch. I hate having my period, I truly, truly do. The irony is that I work in social service and am constantly bombarded with sex positive messages, woman's empowerment and blah blah. Which is all gravy except when that time o' the month rolls around and all I can think about it laying under the covers and reciting the words to 'Invictus' over and over until the cramps pass.

Really, WTF? Why ohhhh why do we woman have to suffer with this crap every month??? Right now as we speak I want to run down to the clinic and inject myself with or swallow every hormonal contraceptive available so I wont have to worry about this crap until I'm ready to worry about it. I know lots of women who have told me they think it's "unnatural" to not have a period due to getting on birth control....and to that I say a big resounding F U.

When it comes to dealing with cramps every month,fuck nature....its all about nurture over here.

PS...
*Can someone please give me some Aleve??*

Thanks, I have enough friends

2008-04-23T07:13:00.000-07:00

Before I write this, let me just say that I'm not totally full of myself. Even though I get a lot of attention in the "other" borough, I have random girls hitting on me in bars, AND I'm about to get married, I don't think I'm better than everyone. Just some people.

I wanted to share the pics of some folks who have asked to be my friend through some "social networking" sites that shall remain unnamed. I'm amazed that random people keep contacting me even though my status says I'm in a relationship (though it's clearly complicated).

This is Tina. She is 22, and from Illinois.

Tina has no info whatsoever beyond age and residence on her profile, but she does have 90 friends. I've seen a few Tinas since I got linked in to these sites, but I'm still kind of baffled. Girl, you're not my type.

Now here's my type:

And if you believe that....

The man above goes by "Genghis Khan" on [unnamed social netowrking site]. He is in the military in the Phillipines, and has a whole album of "Phillipina beauties"! Plus, his relationship status is "it's complicated." Can we say several children out of wedlock with two or more of the aforementioned "beauties"? This really makes me want to be his friend. Honey, I don't think I'm your type.

I am Sofa King, We Todd Didd

2008-04-22T13:45:00.000-07:00

Well it is almost time to leave work. And I must admit, sometimes, I am such a dummy. Not only am I totally stressed about my upcoming wedding, completely glossing over the injustices of childhood loves, taking liberties with candles from [Big Box Store]- I am an absolute dummazz.

So two weeks ago, I officially broke up with girl- girlfriend that I have in [another small coastal city very far away from BrooklynHarlemQueens]. I am not a dummazz for breaking up with her. Well I guess it was a mutual agreement. But I am a dummazz for calling her back!

Argh. I couldn't help it. She- other than living 2000+ miles away, being totally in the closet, and often a little immature about how to handle both identity and relationships- is totally perfect. I couldn't help it. I oddly missed her so much. We hadn't talked in one week, and despite everything I ever learned in 8th grade telling me not to--- I called her. And next thing you know we are back to talking on the phone like normal (aka back in love- as "friends"). Today she told me about how her mom totally knows and she thinks it is only a matter of time that she comes out to her mom. And tells her what? I don't know.

But that is not even what makes me a dummazz. What makes me a dummazz is that all of this is going on while I have a totally, unsecret admirer here. Remember, the one who sent me cupcakes to work as a "retaliation" to my April fools jokes? Remember, the one who's car I was driving when I tapped into a bus (boom- skeeeraaaape!)? Remember, the one who came over and made me a bath of lavender oil, sea salt, sliced lemons and purple flowers after I had been drinking too much all weekend and claimed I couldn't go out because my "body was tired"?

But lemme explain myself, CupCakes knows about farawayinaCoastalCity. But CoastalCity doesn't know about the details of CupCakes.

Fine.

CostalCity knows basically nothing other than the existence of CupCakes.

Which still doesn't make me a dummazz.

What makes me a dummazz, is remember-duh- my lil' mission to be an h.o. Despite the whole getting married soon to a really awesome (and very well dressed) man this summer. I am trying to be a "free spirit." So I keep saying I don't want to be in a relationship, but totally making all the moves to be in a relationship.

Ahh, what is a girl to do. Really, I lie to myself and say, even if I wanted to be in a relationship- I couldn't be in a relationship with either CoastalCity or CupCakes. CoastalCity: despite being the woman of my dreams, she is totally not out (right now). And CupCakes: is already herself a freespirited artist... who, who.. well I have no good reason to not be in a relatio with her.

Aghh! Damn.
I used to debate, am I gay? Am I straight? Am I bi-

And, no I guess the answer is that, no I think I am just a lil h.o.

And for the record, the epithet on this posting title is so 80s and passé, I think the correct term is amorous attention deficit disorder. Geesh!

Betrayal of the Childhood Kind

2008-04-22T11:35:00.000-07:00

OK, so I'm the type of girl who has a very close knit circle of friends that I've known since our days in elementary school. Over the years, I'd lost touch with many of them but when I recently moved back to Brooklyn/Harlem/Queens I rekindled quite a few of these relationships with hazardous results. One person in particular became a main focus in my life. He and I share a sweet past.

1.) We each others first kiss. (@ age 11)
2.) We dated for like 4 years in elementary school. ( Which is hilarious...but when we both looked back on it, we realized that as young as we were that we were actually in love with each other.)
3.) Years later when I was in the middle of an engagement to someone else, who BTW I DID NOT marry (thank the Jesus), I randomly saw him at a party in another country.

Hmmmm.....that party was PACKED....at least 500 ppl were there and yet we bumped into each other as I'm clearly toting around my troll of a fiancee. Fate huh???

Well....fast forward to 2008 and we are no longer speaking nor are we friends. Turns out my childhood love turned into an asshole from another dimension. Now, when I came back to NYC we formed a really tight bond. I was told some really shisty info like how he cheated on his girlfriend all through college and never told her. (BTW, they still speak and he STILL hasn't told her)

But....I glossed over that.

Then he told me that he would take me to my alma mater for homecoming only to tell me that he had to work that weekend. Then when I call that SAME wkend, I was told that he was going to the strip club to celebrate with his boy who had a birthday. Hmmm...so no work huh??? Oh yea...then later on I find out that he went upstate to fuck some girl that he knows...wow what a friend.

*The following year, I recieved a phone call from him gloating that he was actually driving to my alma mater to enjoy the homecoming festivities.....what a fucking fucked up fucking asshole. For the first time in my life I actually wished that someone's car would careen off the side of the road and into the pit that leads to hell.*

But....I glossed over that....

(oh did I mention that at this point we had starting sleeping together??)

Oh wait...almost 4got....my bday rolls around and he's nowhere to be found. Called n called cuz I was worried and then he calls to tell me he's "going thru something' which is why I got the MIA treatment on my bday. Turns out that MIA is code for " I mighta got this girl pregnant.." Turns out the little ho wasnt pregnant.

But.....I glossed over that too....

BUT...it happens AGAIN...only last year...this time though a baby was born and the mommy was pointing the finger right at said childhood love. After much support on my part fake daddy finally got a DNA test to prove it wasnt his...and it wasnt. ( Oh yea...still sleeping together at this point and was sleeping together at the same time fake daddy fucked real mommy at some random party)

Yea...u guessed it....I glossed over that too

Oh....lets also talk about the night I got a phone call from said childhood love at 3am telling me to help him retrieve his drunk ass daddy from another part of NYC. I was needed to drive his car while he drove his dad's back to their house. Didnt get home until 4:30am and had to get up for 5am to arrive in the BX for work @ 7am. Never complained about that either....NEVER!

Hmmm....glossing over this.....glossing over..eyebrow twichting....

And soo we finally arrive at the coup de grace.....New Years had rolled around and I feel like it's time for an overhaul. Our friendship had not been the same since we started sleeping together and I decided it was hightime to tell him this so that we can stop fucking and get back to the business of just being friends. During said convo....I reveal these thoughts and was promptly told ' I dont want to talk about this.' Hmmm...OK...so let's talk about something else. ' Matter fact, I dont want to talk to you anymore.'

QUE???

Yes, after 17 years of friendship I was not delegated the ' your feelings dont matter to me' role and told to kick rocks.

Sooo...feelings hurt and slightly mortified..I agree and keep it movin.

Alas, it gets better, 3 weeks after this horrible ordeal. My little bro,who is concerned about my new non friendship, asks me about it. At tht same time, childhood love logs onto AIM and at this I say to little bro. " Speaking of the devil, your friend is online." Little bro now wants to speak to childhood love and so I pass the blackberry over. After 5 mins of intense txting, my little bro begins to incessantly harass my soul about closing the conversation between him and CL. (Turns out he is from the Sidekick generation and is not yet mature enough to handle to sophisticatedness of the blackberry.) After 10 mins of lil bro vs. big sis fighting I finally rangle my BB out his young hands and read the convo...

(This is a direct copy and paste minus my little brother's comments...gotta love google talk/AIM)

Childhood Love: wassup son
8:55 PM beefing about what
8:59 PM whenever she gets into a mood she tries to make it seem that i just chill with her and check her exclusively for beats.
9:00 PM thats shit make me tight b/c a lot of times i dodnt even chill with Olivia b/c i know she sensitive and if i come over there most likely we'll end up beating . so i keep my distance for a reason. in addition a lot of times im leaving and she'll want me to sleep over and stay.. which leads to beats.
9:02 PM and when she feels a way about us having sex and i guess not being in a reationship she says thinsg like "the only im only interested in seeing her on her back" implying im some dog who's interested in nothing but beating... i dodnt need that drama
9:05 PM im tired of always being blamed ..even though we are both adults
9:07 PM ight read and delete
9:08 PM yeah i got it

Hmmm....so yea...he def just discussed, albeit insenstively and crudely, my sexual relationship with him to my little brother. What an insensitive dickhead. Then he follows that up with two horrendously false statements: One, that I wanted a relationship with him. ( WHO the fuck would want a relationship with an asshole like that??? The thought honestly never even crossed my mind with any seriousness attached to it) Two, that I would ask him to stay after he was 'leaving'. Hmmm....never happened...but since it's my word against his....I cant really debate it. But all in all,I can say that he's a certified asshole. If there was a real job for assholes, I think he would be stuck somewhere between middle asshole managament and CFO (Chief FuckedUp Officer)....you can decide.

-----Olivia-------

RIP Ms. Savage

2008-04-22T11:30:00.000-07:00

I would like to take a minute to pay my homage to Dan Savage's (the Village Voice's long-time sex columnist) mom who passed away last week. I am such a big fan of Dan. I've been reading crazy shit in his column since before I had any crazy shit to write about myself.

Dan's mom wrote some great guest columns, including one featured this week. I love her hilarious take on the guy with the amputee fetish. She seems very encouraging at first, suggesting he look for a job at a hospital or rehabilitation center, but then compares it to a pedophile working for the Boy Scouts! Sigh, oh mom.

Don't squeeze the charmin

2008-04-21T14:09:00.000-07:00

Okay this is an old story of one of my previous disaster "dates."
But I just can't hold it in any longer. And by it, I mean my lunch. I am swallowing my vomit as I rethink of this story. In fact, when it happened, I was like, that was so incredibly horrible, that I will never tell anyone.

I lied. I told everyone. It is one of those stories that so defies belief that it is like Ripleys.
So here it goes:

So way back when I first moved to NY, I was like, I just want to be a little h.o. I had just gotten out of a long, long azz relationship that didn't end bitterly but that left us both with some bitter hard feelings.

So here I was, in the heart of the apple. I had been doing nothing all winter but working out and working out. (Miss them days). So I took my fine self out on a rainy and cold night. There was a lounge that hosts a girl night only one night a month- the last Friday. And this so happened to be the last Friday- an opportunity one would miss for another month. So despite all reasons to stay at home, I decide- lemme go check it out. (Read: ignore the big forefinger and thumb placed squarely on my forehead as I go out to a lounge, eh-hem, ALONE!). Whatever, don some cute clothes and head out with the 0h so noble mission of being a little H.O.

The lounge is located in the Lower East Side- super cute and like vintage looking inside, whatever whatever. All the chics in there seemed so stuck up. Not the plastic kind, but the need some plastic kind. But I am just hating, there were a few in there that were down right beautiful. Untouchable.

All good, I have a good time. Clink some toasts with a few of the crazy boys that are in there cracking me up as they talk shit about everyone. "Is she pregnant? She knows she is wrong for coming out with her stomach looking like that?!?" She was just a little chubby.

One of these drinks was bought for me by a woman who was not cute from far but definitly far from cute. She was not just not cute, but not my style- huge. And by huge I mean tall as hell! Like brushing 6 feet and towering over me. Few drinks, talk, where you from, okay cool. C ya round. Whatever.

Finally, I have had a good night and while no prospects for getting arse are on the horizon, I decide to roll out. Outside is Huge. Standing listening to her friends ramble her ear off about the expiring patents behind Vicodin, Viagra and all the other prescription drugs he has no business taking in the quantity he is taking.

"You're taking off?" She catches me at the door.
"I think so."
"You should come out with us, we are going to [someplace- not here]"
"Boy bar? I think not. I'm all good."
She takes me aside. Away from the smoking Rush Limbaugh-guy who has not even missed a beat. He is now moved on to how he likes girls and still stays gay.

"Yo, I just want to get to know you better. Lets hang out for a little while."
She reads my indecision.
(What am I indecisive about- no! no! no!)
"Come chill, we can talk, i don't live far from here...."
(Why am I still standing here?!)
She moves to the street.
Raises right hand in air.
She is still talking, "I have no intention of having sex- I just think you are really cool. Lets hang out... "
Taxi stops.
She gets in.
(Am I not listening to me say no? Guess not. I jump my happy ass right in the taxi behind her. But at this point, I am deluding myself into thinking that I will use this taxi to go home after we drop her off).

We drive the very short distance to her hella nice place on East Side. Big square ass buildings that are sooo not projects.
In her place- first thought is: shit, she's paid. Rooms are the size of, well, rooms. Her living room has a proper couch and a love seat! She has crown molding. This shit is the living.

Whatever, she proceeds to do just what she said she wanted to do: talk, talk, talk.
Her brother is artsy. She doesn't fit into the family. She is the black sheep. She loves her parents. She plays [a sport]. She has been playing for years. She got 'a talking to' at work. She recently fugged her best boy friend. She loves [a European city]. On and on. And on.

I mean this is interesting, but really? what the fugg am I doing here!?
Oh that is right, in hot pursuit of cunning linguists- perhaps that is why she is just a talking and a talking.

I cut it. Can't take it anymore. I say, "So what do you like..." with the Im-not-talking-about- gelato look in my eye. Blah blah, things get "heated" and she says, "go down on me."

(What?! You first?! Dammit! This is going to make for a long night. And after all that talk, it is already pretty late).

Okay. Fine. While i am as attracted to her as I would be a roach, I am like, it takes give to get. Fine.

The next few minutes or so were something of a blur. But they went something like this:
Breathe in deep.
Spread knees apart.
Locate the area.
Wait, something is not right.
Something is there...
Foreign object!?
Foriegn object looks like paper.
Remove what officially turns out to be a clod of TP that is the size of my pinky finger.

(No lie.
Dead azz.
A clod of toilet paper)

Gag.
Breathe.
Gag.

Look up.
She is oblivious.
Okay- um. How to get out of this mess?
"I am not feeling this. I- I-, I can't." I stutter.
Go to the bathroom.
Sit on toilet in shock.
(As I wipe, I am considering, how did that happen!?)
Who cares.
I gotta get outta here.

I come back from the bathroom. She is still on the bed.
My jeans are on the floor.
I grab my jeans, grab my shirt and dress as quickly as this little tight shit would let me.

"You are not leaving are you?"
"I- I- am."
"Where are you going?"
Silence
"But I don't have your number"
"Yes, yes, you do" (She doesn't).
By now I am dressed and applying puffy coat, gloves and scarf. Preparing for door.
"Kiss me goodnight"
I mean, I am not a callous ass. And she didn't know whe had TP in the vajayjay. We peck. I walk out.

I was somewhere between disgust, shame and what the fuggedness.

What is the lesson here folks. Your life is 90% what you make it. If your life sucks, chances are so do you. How does that relate- losers who go out alone, only end up losing

;( womp whomp whaaaa.....

Why I love ladybugs...

2008-04-21T12:03:00.001-07:00

Because I now love this store, I want to protect its identity.

But lets face it, if you find yourself there, it is probably because you are broke (or cheap) and want cute (or small) stuff in your place without looking like you are cute broke and small.

So I made a pilgrammage outside of the city to the 'burbs to where these big box blue/yellow discount furniture and home goods stores is. To date, there isn't one inside the city, but one is coming soon to Red Hook- yeah!

If you have ever been there (and I feel like 90% of blue-state Americans have been), then you know that this place is an experience in and of itself. Plus, I had to go on a Saturday. Recipe for overstimulation and suicide? Well almost. I at least went early.

Outside, I met the mascot of the store. A ladybug. I took a picture on my camera phone with me and the ladybug under the stores logo. How old am i? Thats right 25-35 and taking pictures with other people, a dude! a dude with a wak azz job of walking around this discount furniture spot dressed as a ladybug, taking pictures with we-todd's like me who are excited they just got a new (meaning different) place in the city. You know you are in trouble when you are at a store with a mascot.

Okay so showroom showroom showroom. Go to bathroom, get lost in childrens. Fight the urge to start crying because now im in discount furniture-ville, lost. Afraid I will become the ladybug and live here forever, when all of a sudden, I see closets and I am back on the yellow brick road again. By the time I get to the self-serve section where you pick out your big furniture, my cart is regurgitating all of the $5 crap I have stuffed in it. Hangers, tons of those, a mirror, a shoe thing, and more plastic/paper shit than money can buy.

I love the self-serve though because the big carts are like big skate boards. And I am like a big kid who so loves this store so much she almost slid her number to the ladybug the last time she passed him, or it, or whatever. I get my sleek "pine style" bookshelf and a $5 headboard and stack that junk onto the flat bed skateboard cart. I am now dragging two carts to the line when i see a sign.

In my heart, seeing that sign felt just like seeing the pearly gates of heaven. What could be better than more shit you can afford but probably don't need then, the following:

SELF-CHECKOUT

I turned to my cousin and her fiancée (as you know, im blind). "Does that say self-checkout? Why would they..? How could they?"

Well this is public domain, so you have to use your imagination to complete the story.

But if you are thinking, "No you didn't."
You are wrong.

If you are thinking, "Ah hell no! You did NOT."
You are right.

Of course I gave the ladybug my number. Holler!

Just a question..?

2008-04-21T09:30:00.000-07:00

Just a question, you say?
I think not.

So in my typical fashion of drinking too damned much on the weekends , I went out this weekend. And drank too damned much. It is as if the ethanol the government is touting as a fuel alternative is going to jeopardize my supply of dranky-drank and therefore I need to drink up quick before it is all gone. Gulp, gulp- shoot.

Okay admittedly, I messed up. And that is how I ended up messed up. Here is where the mess began: Sushi- with 2 glasses of wine. Bar- double patron straight up. Club- 2 more mojitos. Dancing- 2 rambling idiots. Notice how mistakes seem to come in pairs. Well damn.

So sushi doesn't absorb liquor very well and makes for gross tequila burps. And who told me to go drink some damn Patron anyway? (Well actually I know the answer to that question, but we haven't been out since I crashed her car into a bus-- read on! Thats another post entirely).

So the question came from one of the two rambling idiots. We finally ended at some random Latin Club in butt-the-bumble part of where NY meets CT. Why? Free passes that's why? All this to save a 10 dollar cover?

It was the kind of club where there is a tacky beach scene mural painted on one wall. There was only one bathroom and literally 1/2 of the club's women were posted against that wall- doing the igottapeenow dance.

I danced with someone named, "Cuernavaca, Morelos, Mexico" because that is what he said when I asked him where he was from. Already too many details. He was the kind of dancer that likes to get really close and rub his flacid member across your thigh- to show you what? I don't know. Well i don't like the feeling of flacid members. Not on my thigh, not on my butt, not even on my toe. So I held him at the hip (a wonderful trick when dancing to any Latin music, with the feelmypoker kinda partner). Kept him at least 1/2 arms length away. Spin spin, two step and hold the hip!

To break this dance set, I "suddenly" have to pee. Why does CuernavacaMorelosMexico follow me to the bathroom!? At the now 1/2 mile line, he stands with me. He asks me where do I live? Now, while I *really* live in BrooklynHarlemQueens, I tell him I live in Stamford- shit why not? (Remember hip holding is also a conversation technique- keep him at least 1/2 arms length away from knowing shit about me.).

Okay so here is where the convo gets interesting. It was in Spanish, and now that I am sober I remember not all of it... but I translate it here fore you to follow:

CMM: So how much do yo make a night?
ME: Like in what do i work?
CMM: I mean how much do you charge for a night?
ME: (nothing, just the WTF!? expression on my face)
CMM: How much do they pay you!?
ME: You have me mistaken, I am not working. I am not a working woman- not like that. Yo no me vendo-- I do not sell myself
CMM: (uncomfortable laugh). Oooh, no. Excuse me, it was just a question. I didn't mean any offense by it
ME: Just a question? You didn't ask me What do i do, you asked how much do they pay me? What kind of question is that?
CMM: No, I am sorry, I didnt mean any offense. (Walks away).

Now! First thing you might be wondering, as was I, I must admit.
What was I wearing!? (Which is fugged up on both of us- because no! it doesn't matter what i was wearing. ) But still I had on a wife beater with a scoop-next t-shirt over it, some skinny jeans, and slouch cowboy boots.

Okay, fine. And no bra.

But still i don't think you could see anything jiggling under my shirts. Shit as small as I am you can hardly see shit jiggling when my shirt is off.

Whatever.

The answer to the question, CMM, your just a question- is that no, I am not a hooker.

Well not tonight anyway. I give that shit away for free- all during the week! The weekends are my days off. DUH!

In-Law DRAMA

2008-04-21T09:21:00.000-07:00

The other night I asked the question, "Why can't anything be easy?" and I commented that looking back over the past 7 months of my engagement is like looking back at a big cloud of stress. Don’t get me wrong- it’s also been wonderful! I don’t mean to sound like a spoiled, braty bride. There’s nothing more wonderful than dreaming and planning for the rest of your life with the person you love. Nevertheless, intricately entwined in all of the fun and romance is the process of blending families. DRAMA is the perfect word to describe my future in-laws.

Here’s a brief rundown of the family I am joining:

Mother-in-law: An adorable, spunky, super friendly and animated Dominicana. She loves me to death, which is a good thing; however, she is co-dependent on her adult children, my fiancé in particular (he’s the oldest). She is demanding of their time. She still makes them call to let her know that they have arrived home safely- even when home is only 20 minutes away. I routinely remind my fiancé that this in fact has nothing to do with making sure he is safe but has everything to do with control and attention. She has nothing else in her life but her children and is afraid to make her life about anything else. She will be a suegra and a half!

Sister-in-law: Unreasonable, irresponsible, selfish, rude, no social skills, does not say “thank you” or show appreciation for any of the kind things we do for her. Refuses to help her mother financially even though she has the means. Did I mention she’s stripper? No judgment here. Just trying to emphasize how she clearly has the means to contribute. Hello- getting paid under-the-table, in cash, no taxes… ummmm, yeah, she probably makes more $$ than all of us put together!! Despite all of this, I continue to kill her with genuine kindness. I feel like there has to be a human being under all of this and I would love to get to know this person.

Brother-in-law: No complaints! Totally sweet, awesome personality, excellent social skills and a genuine, good-hearted person. I adore him!

I think sometimes my fiancé cannot comprehend why I get so upset by his family’s drama. He does not understand why I am so vexed by the things his sister does or does NOT do, or his mom's tantrums and lack of independence, etc. I think he must often say to himself, "Why does she get so upset by these people-- we rarely see them and SHE doesn't have to deal with them- I do!

It is because I want so badly to have what he has in my family.

My family is so warm and welcoming and easy to get along with. He felt at home and part of the family from day one. He has said, "We can be good friends," about more than one of my family members. When he walked through the door on Thanksgiving Day, my aunt who he had never met before, ran right up to him, hugged him and said, "Welcome to the family!" I feel like that's the reception he’s received from everyone in some way, shape or form.

I wish I could say I'd feel comfortable enough to spend a week alone with his mom like he did with my parents while on business in their city. I wish I could say, "We can be good friends," in reference to his sister. I wish I could talk in my "normal" voice while conversing with his mom on the phone, but I just don't feel comfortable enough. Instead I use my “answering the phone at work” voice.

There is obviously more going on here than I could ever explain in a blog or two. Family systems function or dis-function for many reasons. Hello- you would think with my social service background I would be able to make sense of all of this. The truth is, I can make sense of it all. I can understand why they are who they are. Dealing and accepting is a whole other story....

All of this frustration comes from a good place. It's all because I care so much and wish I could feel the closeness with his family that he feels so naturally with mine. But sometimes I feel like his own family members do not feel the closeness with one another, that he already feels with my parents. Such is life, I know, but it feels hurtful sometimes.

So, my question is: How do I find peace with all of this? My new family is what it is. They are not going to change. I have to find Zen with them otherwise I will waste life getting angry over what I cannot fix. Any thoughts?

Springtime in New York

2008-04-18T08:07:00.000-07:00

Today I broke out the skirt. I shaved my legs after months of the winter woolies, and avoided showing off my less-than-pedicured toes by wearing a pair of new wedge sandals ($20 at the Co-Pilot store closing - score!) that hide the horror within beautifully.

I LOVE spring in New York, maybe not quite as much as summer, but the anticipation of what's to come is part of what makes these months so sweet. But, I LOVE spring, because people start looking extra good on the street, especially in this fab neighborhood around where I work. The first warmish day, and I mean 55, the jackets come off, the skirts come out, and I'm seeing some nice bicep and chest action on some good-looking men... wait wasn't he in that Calvin Klein underwear ad? Anyway, a day like today, when it may hit 80 (hello!), there will be much to drool over.

The only downside is that this is a two-way street, and not an even one. In all modesty, I'm good looking, but in all honesty, I don't think it matters much. Especially in the neighborhood I live in, far from the chicness of this other nameless work neighborhood, as soon as my winter coat is put away, I get a lot of attention, most of it unwanted. Mostly the usual "God bless you" or "Beautiful" or "Dios te bendiga mami" or sometimes more forward, like "Are you married?" (question: in my case with a bf for 7 years, happily living in sin, that wouldn't be enough to keep you from making your move?). Someone once told me on the street "Damn girl, you should be on Baywatch!" Well, I'm no Pam Anderson (and my back thanks me for it), but he gets points for creativity.

I usually just keep walking, and if it's said with the right inflection, I might even be flattered. But the other day I was walking to the train from my house, and this man stuck his head out of a deli window and said, "Smile, honey, it'll make your morning better!" I turned around and told him where he could stick it.

The worst thing is that everyone no the street heard it, and probably think I'm just bitter and unpleasant, and every time they see me will say, there goes that girl with the filthy mouth. But who is he to tell me to smile? It's so inherently sexist to tell a woman how she should feel and how she should be expressing herself outwardly. I'll smile when I have something to smile about!

Like a cute guy on the street.... Or Pinkberry...

Old Man Talking.....

2008-04-17T08:41:00.000-07:00

Interesting developments have arisen here @ the 'O' Spot. First off, I met a dude named...well 'O'. Very cute and very sweet. At 30, he's probably the oldest man I've ever dated. Buttttttt he's sprung already after less than a week....very endearing but sprung. Not sure how I feel about that. Clearly, what women in here right frame of mind would complain about a sexy ass man being all attentive and well....nice???!!! Hmmm...I think I need a reality check....dont want to mess this up ya know??? But at the same time I'm not really trying to get into something too serious. All I want is to go out with different people and enjoy my life and at the same time be in a monogamous sexual relationship. Is that too much to ask??? Geez.......

Anyways, there's this old ass man that I met on the street. Being that I am between the age of 25 and 35, old for me is clearly 40. ;)

Not only that but he talks like he is getting paid for every damn word he utters AKA he talks a whole effin lot. Sooo...to be polite I gave him my business card as I'm hardly ever at my desk so he can feel free to leave me many a voicemail with no reply.... :) However, he did refer to me as a 'glamour girl' of which I surely am. So, he gets a gold star for that ANDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD he stated that Broadway plays would be part of the deal. I HEART Broadway plays but I do not want to spend them sitting in the dark next to an old ass man who talks me to fuckin death. It would be ghetto to randomly yell out 'Shut the fuck up!!!' in the middle of Act 2, Scene 3....soooo no dates for us....

<--------Older Men Are Scary....see???

In the end, all I REALLY need is a man who knows how to keep his fucking trap shut, work his way around my vajayjay AND not call and harass me because he has his own damn life. Hmmm....what else could a girl ask for???

Finally...

2008-04-16T10:33:00.000-07:00

I have been talking about doing this forever.

Really, with my life I could be a writer for Sex and the City and make it so much more interesting. So finally, here it is. All my isht and my drama. From my the crazy callers who leave 2 minute messages on my phone without realizing- I will *never* call back; the crazies on the train who just won't stop singing or moaning or making whatever horrendous noise they are making standing over me; my crazy friends getting married (don't they know marriage is for suggers!); and now planning for my own wedding is driving me crazy. On and on.

My life is a drama. And now it is all here.