Tuesday, December 2, 2008


baby's arm

My first time was much like what most girls have described their first time to be like, quick, painful and left with a “That’s it?” feeling. Since it was such a horrible experience, I did what all the rest of you did, I did it again and again and again and found out the second, third and fourth time around what all the hot, filthy, wild fuss was about. On top of the awkwardness of the first time, and too many pubes between the two of us, #1 was fucking HUNG, skinny white boys – may not look it, but they pack some serious fucking heat. It felt like I had lost my virginity to a telephone pole or the Jolly Green Giant or a 2x4. It wasn’t until seven hopeful candidates following #1 that I met his challenger and the current reigning champion.

This is the story of #9, who blasted me open like a gold mine.

#9 was a South African living in Australia. One of my best friend’s in life was studying abroad, so naturally I came to visit and check out the “local fare.” She was living in Brisbane, and took me to one of the downtown bars, The Family Circus. All I remember seeing across the room was a skin tight white thermal straining to contain some of the sexiest fucking bulging back muscles I’ve ever seen. My clit skips a beat, she approves. I've found my souvenir.

I mosey up to the bar to “order a drink,” touching my elbow to his, and miraculously conversation is struck. He was a blonde-haired, sparkly blue-eyed, accent-wielding, scuba-dive teaching South African hottie. Complete fuck material. I didn’t care what he said, I just cared that he said it with an accent… and had nice pecs. This guy was every fucking sexy foreigner stereotype imaginable (Scuba diving instructor, seriously?), which kicks ass for a horny American slut like me. His buddy is gay, and mine is dating an Australian who’s out of town, so they keep each other company. His friend is an older gentleman, rich and, without a doubt, man-crushing on his straight pal. He keeps the drinks coming, so he’s a-o.k. in my book – even if mine may be roofied. South Africa and I are vibing. Like brush-my-ass-across-his-cock-on-the-dance-floor vibing. I feel what can only be described as an elephant trunk. Needless to say, this shit was ON mothafuckas.

We close the joint down and I go with South Africa back to Richie Rich’s house somewhere in the Australian suburbs. (NOTE: Do not, I repeat DO NOT, be a 21 year-old IDIOT like me and go off with two men you don’t know in a foreign country while your friend goes home to sleep and has no idea where you are. This was pre-Natalee Holloway, but still highly retarded. Thank you for listening to this public service announcement.) Anyway, this time I managed to escape the danger that could possibly ensue after going home with two strange men and instead stumbled upon some of God’s most beautiful work.

Once we get to Richie Rich’s house – who is completely cross-eyed fucked up at this point – he gives me the complete tour of the premises, including the luxurious tool shed. It was a beautiful house for sure, but like four bedrooms beautiful, not fifteen and I had other things on my mind, very large things, probably the same things he had on his mind. We finally get to the guest bedroom, where South Africa is lounging on a massive Granddaddy of a California King bed; I mean the size of my apartment massive, and it’s covered with a gargantuan white down comforter and equally ridiculous white sheets with white pillows. It was like a cloud from heaven floating in the middle of the room with a big-dicked man resting on it waiting for me to come and sit on it (damn, that shit really was heaven). You practically had to squint to look at the bed straight on. South Africa is holding two glasses of wine and looks like some type of homo-erotic mattress ad. I close my eyes, readying myself for a frolic through dick heaven on a giant Serta cloud with Elephant Man when…

I am stopped by Richie Rich, who is making me feel the quality of the blanket while he proceeds to go into an extensive, life-draining Martha Stewartesque explanation of his custom-made bed with custom sheets and custom pillows. We’ve got a drunken gay man discussing home d├ęcor and possibly trying to cock block; we could be here ‘til morning. He tells us that his friend made and stained the bed out of the finest Australian Timber available, and that the sheets are four billion thread count, and blah, blah, blah. I mean he’s very sweet, but Niagra Falls is gushing between my legs because South Africa won’t stop giving me bedroom eyes, so it’s kind of hard to give a shit about Egyptian cotton. South Africa is over it too and escorts his friend to bed. He’s back not three seconds later sportin’ a boner the size of a Titan rocket. I hoped to God that Richie Rich didn’t help him try to launch it. He takes a flying leap into the bed and we attack each other like wild beasts. It felt like we rolled twelve times and still didn’t hit the edge of the bed. This guy was good. He had some crazy South African Tantric Shaka-zulu methods, and was puttin’ fingers and tongue in places that I didn’t know I had and that I didn’t know would feel so fucking awesome.

He suddenly springs up out of bed, and I prepare myself for the main presentation. I sit up anxiously awaiting the arrival of my soon to be new best friend. He drops his pants and I almost pass out. Those random white dots start to trickle in from the corner of my eyes – I’m seeing fucking stars. I hear angels singing. There it was in the flesh before my disbelieving eyes – the infamous baby’s arm holding an apple! It was glorious. I thought maybe he went to the kitchen when I blinked and grabbed a foot long sub for us to share. Like a magnet to steel, I gravitate to the magical flesh sword. I stand in awe, jaw agape. I think I felt a single tear roll down my cheek. I touched it like I was a little girl petting a pretty doggie for the first time. Poked it, is this real? Holy shit, this is real. I don’t even know where to start. For the first time EVER I doubt the abilities of my Whirlpool technique. In fact, I almost blacked out trying to deep throat and slightly ripped the corners of my mouth. There is something so fucking dirty hot about that I didn’t even care, I blew that shit like a meat whistle. Then it dawns on me, I look down at my little lady, who I realize will no longer be little after this. Fuck it. I was 21; I decide to take my chances. This bull, I needed to ride. I instantly start doing my Kegels, hoping to save the walls of my much needed tight vagina. This is the only one I get after all and one day I’ll be turning her back in used up, banged up, tore up and fucked up… but not anytime soon.

Cue the porn music, South Africa’s got me hanging from the fucking chandelier. At one point, he sticks his fingers in with the elephant tusk and in my ass – I start weighing the options of reconstructive surgery. Certain positions I can feel him poke my liver, he of course knows how to breathe and gyrate so the organ crushing stops and we can continue bangin’ it out. Men with big penises have quite the job ahead of them. I now knew why South Africa was so fucking swollen; he had to suspend himself in some of the most awkward fucking positions ever to avoid actually blasting me open. He was making Pilates look like a cake walk. At certain points, I couldn’t tell if I was in pain or complete ecstasy and the craziest part is that it was all fucking working for me. I was the wettest I’ve ever been, broken fire hydrant style. He had something going on at every fucking orifice of my body; playing me like a fucking tuba and I didn’t want it to end. Thanks to the alcohol or the sheer mass of his Donkey Dick it didn’t right away. When it finally did, I looked like I was dropped from a building, during a hurricane and hit every fucking awning on the way down. I slept happily ever after dreaming of dancing, singing schlongs raining down upon me.

The dream was the last good thing to come out of this. I woke in horror. As my eyes fought to adjust, I instantly could feel that something wasn’t quite right. My vision sharpens and I see a blood streak on my arm. What the --? I sit up in bed, the morning light barely peeking through the curtains, which are probably custom-made from the finest silkworms China has to offer. As my eyes continue to focus, I can now see that the room looks like a fucking murder scene. HOLY SHIT. I’m not on my fucking period. Not even close. My heart rate increases. The bed looks like someone came in and splash painted the fucking thing. It’s on the walls, the lamp, the rug, a little on the ceiling – were we flying at one point? This motherfucker really did bust open my liver, which no doubt was already highly weakened by my alcoholic tendencies. He cracked me open like a God forsaken egg, and what I thought was the approval of pussy juice was the assassination of my hymen, who I thought had been dead for years. This is not good, I wasn’t in danger before but I sure as shit was now. I mean Richie Rich spent twenty minutes alone on the delicate fabric of the pillow shams, which are now soiled with my vajayjay blood – sweet. Speaking of which…

My eyes go WIDE. I slowly peel the covers back, look down, check the oil and bring my hand back up to find it bloody. Like the kid in Stand By Me with the leech, I feel like I may lose consciousness. At the speed of a sloth I slowly rise out of bed and practically walk on my toenails to the bathroom, where I immediately turn into a contortionist and flip my leg over my head to assess this very severe situation. I can practically see out my mouth and everything still seems intact and in working order. I clean her up, she looks like she went 12 rounds with Rocky. She’s a little swollen, but the bleeding seems to have subsided so I’m pretty sure she’ll live to ride another cock. My liver on the other hand may be internally bleeding. I’ll need to deal with that later.

I exit the bathroom and look over at South Africa who was dropped from the same building and is breathing heavily still lost in the euphoria of REM sleep. He moves, I freeze and silently beg God to not let him wake up, and not just because I’m standing in the middle of the room butt ass naked watching him sleep. I need to figure this shit out. I consider waking him, it’s the right thing to do, and after all, he should be used to this shit, having a monster dick and all. That is until, he puts his arm over his face and I now see his hands are covered in blood. FUCK! Most guys I know aren’t all that stoked to be covered in some chicks vag blood. How both of us neglected to notice the God damn cunt massacre that took place here is a fucking mystery to me to this day. Panic starts to set in, I want to do the right thing, but I don’t want to die. I picture myself shackled in Richie Rich’s basement, threading new sheets on a spindle like Sleeping Beauty and shit. I decided Richie Rich was rich enough to replace the blanket, and pillows, and lamp, and, well, to redecorate the whole room.

All I need to do now is get the hell out of dodge without making a single peep, should be really fun in a house covered with hardwood floors. Luckily, the "three am slip out" is one of my specialties. I glide through the room like there are invisible laser beams waiting to detonate and seal off the room. South Africa moves a few times and I stop breathing altogether. I manage my shirt and underwear back on, and decide the pants and shoes can wait until I’m outside and about to break out this bitch. I make it into the hallway, yes! Richie Rich’s bedroom is between me and the front door, no! I then notice to the left of me is a door that leads out to the backyard. I take it.

A small path takes me along the side of the house to a walkway that has a gate at the end of it – my ultimate escape. I make my way as quickly and silently as possibly down this walkway where I pass a window that is, of course, Richie Rich’s bedroom. I peek in one-eyeball style, see him stir in bed and try not to shit my pants on the spot. The only thing worse than getting caught is getting caught trying to sneak out and take no responsibility for your actions… in your fuschia g-string. I wait under the window for what felt like thirteen days to make sure he wasn’t getting up or making anymore noise. All I needed was Richie Rich to stretch and gaze out his window to find me army crawling through his garden trying to get the fuck out of there. I make it to the gate, which hasn’t been used in ten years. The latch is covered and locked with a chain, fucking rad! I’m now way too scared to go back in through the house and get caught coming in from the backyard clenching my clothes. This is it. This has to happen. I throw my clothes over, back up a bit, get the tiniest running start on the gate and practically smash myself against it like a squished bug. Adrenaline pulls my half-naked, ass-up body over the gate and I land brown eye first in the wet dirt. Fucking nasty. I hope his neighbors were up for an early breakfast because they just got one hell of a show. Anyway, I’m on his porch in my underwear, begging that I don’t get discovered one second before I escape to freedom or in this manner, since I now look like I’ve shit myself. I dress Superman-style and start sprinting to the end of the block like Forrest Gump. I stop when I realize I’m in a foreign country, have no idea where I am, and need to catch a plane back to the states in three hours.

Like a bad movie and I mean bad movie, I check my phone and realize it’s about to run out of batteries. This was '01 when they beeped once and died on the second beep. Luckily, I was smart enough to get a cab number from my friend for this precise Walk of Shame moment. I dial and cross everything on my body I can. The guy answers and I immediately start shouting the surrounding street corners at him. He asks me to calm down and that’s when the phone dies – SHITTY! I look down all four streets around me, if you could pan up like a movie, I’m pretty sure you’d be able to see that the stretches of suburban houses went on for an infinity, like Death Valley. I do the only thing I can and start walking through the Brisbane streets at 6:30am in my four-inch heels looking like I just walked out of the eye of a hurricane. I come to a few random little stores tucked in between the houses, which don’t open until 8am or 9am, so I carry on, with mud in my ass and determination in my heart. After another half hour, and my near nervous breakdown of being lost in the streets of Brisbane as my plane flies overhead and leaves me, I see what looks like a cab at the very end of the street. I start hobbling toward the car in my stilts. I’m sure to the cabbie I looked like Quasimodo limping down the street, which can only explain his horrified expression as I throw myself in front of his cab. He locks the doors, as I’m trying to explain that I need him to call another cab to come and get me. I then notice the passenger in the backseat who is H-O-T! Of course, of course he is. He rolls down his window and asks if I’m okay, it’s painfully obvious what I’m doing in my heels on a random street at 7 in the morning so I go with it.

“I’m fine, I just rolled over and saw what I went home with last night and need to flush the image out of my eyes before it permanently sets.” He laughs. “Been there, I see.” I look at the cabbie who’s not amused and keeps revving the engine. I explain to Australian cab hottie (ACH), that my phone died before I could call my own cab and I need to get to the airport –

“That’s where I’m going...” He scans my Walk of Shame outfit. “... but I guess you aren’t exactly packed yet. Where are you headed?” This just keeps getting better and better, because I have no fucking clue. “Um, I have no fucking clue… see I’m on vacation and I don’t normally (lies all lies) do this kind of – “

He stops me with a Who are you kidding? look. He’s right, who am I kidding? The mud in my ass starts to itch and it’s all I can do to stop myself from doing the potty dance to scratch it. “Well I can’t just leave a girl in your condition (Condition? Drunk Walk of Shame whore condition?) out here in the street. I grew up here so I know the area very well, you can use my phone to call your friend and I’ll drop you off. “

I want to offer to kiss him, but since it looks like I kissed every Australian in the country last night I’m sure he’d pass, so I settle with a “ThankyouIloveyou” and jump in next to him reeking of booze and sex and mud and God knows what at this point. Cabbie takes off like he’s piloting a space shuttle. I think all the Australian cab drivers are retired Nascar stars because they drive at ludicrous speed and only use the brakes once you’ve arrived at your destination all the while blaring AC/DC. I didn’t mind because I got to keep sliding toward ACH, I can’t say the same for him. To top things off, ACH turns out to be the man of my dreams, except he’s going to visit his girlfriend in the states (which upon hearing I think to myself, yes! I have a chance, if only I were a home wrecker). In this lifetime he’ll have to simply be my ACH, my hero, my savior, and some of the best and longest-standing masturbation material I have to date. I mean he got out and opened my door when we got to my friend’s house and wouldn’t take a dime for the cab. I did one of those romantic comedy moves where I stood in the middle of the street and watched his cab disappear around the corner, hoping he’d stop and run back down the street into my waiting arms. Instead a car honks and I get out of the middle of the road.

You bet your sweet ass when I boarded my plane I scanned every last seat for a sign of ACH, this has to be destiny… or maybe I’m still drunk. I instead find my seat, which is at the end of a cramped exit aisle, and next to a 101 year-old couple who are unable to stand to let me in. Before we even take off the stewardess takes food orders and Grandma and Grandpa order a big ‘ol omelet, of which every other bite actually makes it into their mouth. Eggs and mothballs are one of nature's secret little scents that you don't often get the chance to partake in. I, of course, got the pleasure after a night of drinking and fucking. It should be illegal to serve eggs on a plane or any cramped space where there is no free running oxygen. My stomach instantly turns, and it takes me twenty minutes to crawl out of my space to get to the bathroom. I accept the egg/plane torture as my punishment for destroying Richie Rich’s guest bedroom and try, unsuccessfully, to fall asleep and dream of the baby’s arm for the next fourteen hours.

So you may be wondering, after a vagina massacre, narrowly escaping death at Richie’s house, a grueling trek through Australian Suburbia wasteland, a psycho cab ride, and the sickest I’ve ever been on a non-stop fourteen hour plane ride in my entire stinkin’ life, would I do it again? Hells –motherfuckin’ – yes! Cheers to big dicks.

The moral of THIS story: Kegels, girls, kegels – learn it, live it, love it.

Easy Lover

P.S. A Medical Note: Upon taxiing the runway at LAX I speed dial my gyno and tell her I sprung a leak. This was her diagnosis: "He basically poked your cervix causing internal bleeding, next time you come across such a large penis you need to communicate (like when he hit my liver aka cervix I should have said "slower" or "gentle"). While sex with a large penis is not impossible it requires responsibility and it's my responsibility to make sure I am lubricated and comfortable" (I picture myself being rammed up against the wall and one of the hanging pictures dropping as I scream "Harder, harder."). I just nod my head, "Oh yeah, that's totally what I did."

Moral #2: Don't let a big dick poke your cervix... even though that kinda seems like the point.

Tuesday, November 25, 2008

The Grinch Who Stole Christmas (If I dated him that long, he probably would've)

Okay here it goes...

I was dating this man for a few months. He was in commercial real estate, smart, kinda handsome, tall, and witty. I would have to say I saw signs of "grinchness" on our third date, but I decided to give it a chance, since his bitterness was never directed towards me. But jeeez this man really needed to watch "The Secret!" Too bad it wasn't out then or I would have bought him 5 copies...anyways.

Fast forward to the 4th month and quite a few grinch moves later, the turning point was as follows:

We decided to meet for breakfast on his side of town. Now the previous day, I had let my friend who was a stylist try out color on my bangs, and a few other random streaks throughout my hair. I didn't like the color, and he said he'd change it the following week when he was free. He didn't charge me for the services, so I figured I could wait a week. Ok, now keeping that in mind, let me continue.
I met Grincheepoophead at his place, since we decided to walk to a restaurant near his house. As I waited patiently for him, to come downstairs, I worried a little about my hair. He was conservative but hell, I was only going to have these FIRE ENGINE red streaks in my hair for a week right?


My goodness, I knew it was bad, but the man I'd been dating for almost 4 months could not even look at me. Well, he did, but nodded his head in disappointment everytime. This fucker had the nerve to tell me people wouldn't take me seriously. Excuse me, but I didn't think I'd be trying a murder case within the next couple of days! Hello! I said that my friend was just having fun. I told him I didn't like it and he would change it next week. You'd think no big deal right? NOT! Geez OK OK it didn't look great, but fuck get over it! He made it seem as if I said I loved it and was going to keep it like this forever and a day, but shit what IF I did like it?

So 10 minutes later of mumbles, grumbles and a lecture about hair color, we finally made it to the restaurant. As we sit down and start to have a normal conversation, he looks over my shoulder. His face was so broken I thought he saw someone regurgitate their food at the table behind me. Great, now what? I say to myself. I turn and see a man, a woman and a baby in the stroller next to the table. Hmmmm. What could have possibly put an even more GROUCHIER facial expression on Grincheepoophead?

I turned to him and asked "am I missing something here?" He said "Look...just look at her. How could a woman let herself go like that? I don't care if you had a baby...lose the weight." WTH? Wait....WHAT THE HELL? I turn to look at the family and zero'd in on the baby, yes the BABY in the stroller, not a 5 year old kid. And even if their child was 5, why is it his concern and why would it bring him down? We don't even know these people for goodness sake. Focus on my hair again...asswipe! Seriously, the baby looked about 3 MONTHS OLD! He then talks about how Madonna and Julia Roberts lost their weight quickly. Uh yeah, need I say more?

After that incident I have to admit, I punished myself for a few more weeks. At this point, I wished I knew "The Secret" but I didn't. You live and you learn.

The moral to THIS story: Never date anyone who doesn't love themselves, but if they're HOT, teach them the Law of Attraction.

That Girl

Thursday, November 20, 2008

Opportunity in the Land of the Lost

I've never been one to have a particular type of guy. I'm notorious for being all across the board. I have an order of 'preference' but rarely stick to it or even make it a determining factor in my dating life…so I guess I'm more of an opportunistic dater. If you're cute and the opportunity comes up for us to get together, I'm taking it.

Such was the case of Mr. Raptor. This guy hit me up online and we basically just traded emails. Since I was seeing someone at the time we never made plans to meet. He was very sweet, charming, funny and good looking. None the less, I was faithful to my man at the time and just kept it very cordial. Then, we spotted each other at a club one night and finally said hi face to face. Always the gentleman, he kept his respective distance so not to look too flirty. The bf didn't suspect anything but, there was nothing to suspect anyways.

Flash forward a year when the bf turned into the ex bf.

I ran into Mr. Raptor again at the same club. I informed him that I was free of all ties and surprisingly so was he. This guy was very handsome, had a killer smile, sweet charm, and great build. It was an obvious opportunity for me to step up and see what would happen between us so we planned on a dinner and drinks date a week later.
I showed up to his house a little bit nervous but all that washed away when he opened the door. God, he was just soo handsome! Had a great apartment and I learned he was a real estate developer, had sold his house to start his own business, and was working on a deal in Dallas and San Diego…$$$$$$!!!!!!! (I'm just saying)
We never actually made it to dinner; instead we got liquored up on his couch and engaged in some heavy back seat make out sessions.

We inevitably made our way to the bedroom and released a year of pent up emails and innuendos. Leaving out obvious details we laid next to each other, hot and sweaty. Still with his charming smile and even after sex, this guy was O SO HANDSOME! We showered together and he made us both a night cap. As I was about to get ready to go home, he grabs my hand and says I can stay the night. Turning to look at him in his bed, the blanket barley covering anything and revealing his perfect chest and abs…..who was I to say no!? This was a perfect opportunity for some all night cuddle sessions!(I am a hopeless romantic) So I climbed in bed with him, he cuddled with me till I fell asleep.

I wake up in the middle of the night to him kissing the back of my neck and obviously wanting more. So we do it again. This time, I cuddle him till he falls asleep. His chest is amazing!

And then comes the dawn, the time of day when the darkness gives way to the light and allows the flowers to bloom and the birds to sing. Outside dew drops are dripping, and the sun is warming the ground, releasing the sweet smell of morning. Inside I stir before Mr. Raptor and marvel at the fact that I'm still holding onto him. It was a perfect night and he is a perfect sleeper. I didn't hear him snore once and his body is so proportionate with mine that I didn't even break my hold on him once. I moved my hand over the V of his pelvic area, up along his abs to his chest and across to his shoulders, admiring the fine lines of his sculpted body. Feeling the way he felt at 3 in the morning, I went to kiss him good morning and noticed other fine lines on his face. His lips seemed to stretch down to his ears and, being in the vicinity of his ears, notices that the corner of his eyes seemed to be making their way down as well. HOW OLD WAS THIS GUY!?!!!! In all of our emails and in all the conversation that went on last night the subject of age never came up. He looked like he'd be in his mid 30's but his face looked much much older when he slept. Just then, as I was becoming more aware of the Jekyll and Hyde lying next to me, he began to yawn. His skinny lips opening slowing, pulling on the lines so that for one brief optical illusion it looked as if he had an elongated mouth. Sort of like a…raptor. Then I noticed his nose, kind of long and pointy like an eagle's nose and it hit me. His lips weren't the only things that were 'raptor' like. It was his whole face. The nose, the eyes, and the lips! Waking up next to this man every morning would be like waking up in Jurassic Park (enter theme song)!!!!!

Outside, the birds were chirping and the day was beginning a new. Dogs were being walked, kids rushed to school, offices stirring with phone calls and emails. Inside, I was waiting for my next opportunity. Suddenly it came; he woke fully, and got up to go to the bathroom. Now! I got up, clothed myself and sprinted for the door, just like in the movie! Feeling the burning of the dinosaurs eyes on the back of my head, I picked up the pace of my walk of shame…smiling that I had narrowly escaped being ripped apart by Mr. Raptor.

The moral of THIS story: When opportunity knocks a dinosaur may rear its ugly head.


Friday, November 14, 2008


Now as we all know there are many obstacles and grievances in the dating world: bad breath, examine-my-tonsils kissing, non-stop chattering, the Hyena laugh, obsessive cat lovers, non-cat lovers (for the cat lovers), 20 minute food orders (I want this, but not that, and I’m allergic to that, etc.), sewer pussy for guys, the Miata driver for girls, thigh pubes, in-laws, Teva-wearers of either sex (this is strictly L.A.), the “I’ll call you” guy who you never hear from, the too soon “I love you” girl, yellow teeth, fart jokesters – wow, I was only gonna name a few, so I’m pretty sure you catch my drift at this point.

The one thing that list has in common, however, is that most of the things I described can be fixed or worked on for the most part. There are, though, two dating woes that no matter how badly you want them to not be true, or how badly you pretend they aren’t that bad, they are simply fucking HORRIBLE and, without a question, deal-breakers. Drumroll please… okay, that’s good.

For the men it’s the Hotdog-Down-a-Hallway/Toothpick-in-a-Trashcan vagina, where no matter how many angles you try to take you just can’t hit a wall. And for the ladies, and what has scarred me on not one, but TWO occasions is, The Angry Inch aka Needle dick, Pencil dick, The Hitchhiker, Inch Worm, Baby Carrot, Bug-fucker, Millikan, Rooster-challenged, Baby Beef or just plain ‘ol Small Dick to name a few.

This is the story of #22 – The Angry Inch, which to date is one of my saddest victories.

After #21 broke things off with me, I was pretty bummed. #21 was someone I really liked, so I did what anyone would do, I went out and got shit-canned. Anyone who’s ever had a break-up knows that the break-up stink sends off some of the most powerful pheromones ever in the history of pheromones, so I knew I couldn’t lose. Those, of course, are my famous last words.

The Angry Inch had perfect teeth and an awesome smile. It was the only thing I could see perfectly through my Vodka goggles. And although he was shy, I could tell he was super sweet. His wingman was on point, buying shots, buying the entire bouquet of roses, from the lady who cruises the bars looking for drunks to buy her flowers, for him to give me (which they think I didn’t see), and flirtin’ up the other girls to slowly distract them away from us. My friends knew I was hurtin’ and despite my giving the signal that this wasn’t going to be the one, they promptly ditched us while I was in the bathroom. Rad. My wingbitches were fired on the spot.

His wingman left his electric bikes for the two of us to ride off into the night together, which we rode at 30mph’s - me with one eye open full blown BUIing - back to his house a block off the beach… are you sensing the pattern here with the wingman? Either he suffers from the same condition or just knows his buddy needs all the help he can get.

I’m barely through the front door when The Angry Inch mauls me like a bear. At this point, I could have been making out with a homeless man or maybe it really was a bear. I pretty much remember being mounted and dismounted, but everything in between is a toss up. However, I did wake up with that aching feeling that something was missing… you know, like a big rock solid veiny man cock.

Sidebar: This is not the first time I’ve tangoed with The Angry Inch. The first time was in college, it was #4. #4 was another drunken encounter – I’m learning a lot about myself here – and the experience was much like what I imagine rabbit sex must be like. I didn’t even feel it go in, but he started gyrating as if he were having an involuntary seizure, and then he was done before I could even get my pants off all the way. When he got up to get dressed is when I first saw it, in the moonlight, The Angry Inch, the little guy fighting so hard to be more than he’s ever capable of being. It looked like he was giving me a thumb’s up. I prayed it was the booze and that we’d never meet again, but I guess that’s why going to church is so important.

So that’s why when I woke, I knew he’d found me again. The Angry Inch used wingman’s Corvette to take me home, we exchanged numbers and I promptly went inside and scrubbed myself rape-style in the shower. At first The Angry Inch, tried to booty-call text me, to which I laughed and laughed at, the first rule in booty calling is that no one with inadequate size can participate in it. I, undoubtedly, cricketed his ass.

We ended up seeing each other out again. He turned up the charm, didn’t ride wingman’s coattails, and actually seemed like a pretty cool guy. I wasn’t ten Vodkas deep this time, so that helped, too. I agreed to go out with him and prayed to the penis Gods that this one wasn’t indeed compromised as I originally suspected. I was more nervous than with #1. I closed my eyes… pulled down the zipper… peeked… FUCK! There he was, The Angry Inch, smiling a tiny smile back at me. The experience wasn’t quite as horrible as with #4, but it wasn’t great either. I liked the guy though, so I decided to try out a smaller fit. He could eat the shit out of a pussy (often a sign of The Angry Inch host), so maybe this was doable. That was until Doggie Style was omitted from the position list because The Angry Inch had trouble reaching, and when he got squeamish about blow jobs I knew our three month tryst would soon be ending. Giving head is like breathing air for me so this was a red flag to say the least. Finally, after a date to the Zoo I knew my true calling. There must have been something in the water because every habitat we visited had a male specimen sportin’ his massive animal junk. Everywhere I turned I had balls swinging in my face. I’m drooling over Zebra cock, this is not good. I picture myself moonlighting on the weekends as one of the women in the Mexican Donkey shows, this is REALLY not good.

I politely had to end things with The Angry Inch, of course omitting the real reason. We hooked up a couple times after that, but my love of big throbbing man penis got the best of me and I had to turn him loose. I still really liked the guy, he was a keeper in nearly every sense, but bitch got needs and unfortunately they require more than good conversation and a killer smile. It was a moral dilemma that ended selfishly for me and although I still sometimes think about The Angry Inch I don’t miss his angry inch one bit.

The moral of THIS story: Test the water before you dive in, you may decide you’re not in the mood for a dip after all.

Easy Lover

Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Men in Power...Hot? Maybe Not...

My whole life I have had a thing for powerful men. My first crush was my gym teacher, Mr. Ozzie Wright. Men in power just always did it for me, so it was no surprise to most when I decided to date my boss.

The first time I went in was for the interview, our eyes locked and we both felt the vibe. His name was Derek Taylor. Derek had blonde hair, blue eyes and the most sexy, pouty, lips that made your mouth water. I don’t remember everything that was said in the interview, but I do remember calling a friend afterward and telling them, “If I get hired… I will be fucking my boss!” My friend didn’t think it was a good idea, but I assured her it would be fine. I figured, if we were both adults, what’s the worst that could happen?

Well, a few days went by and I received the good news that I was hired. YAY! My first day was torture. The attraction was sooo strong. I didn’t want to make the first move. So I did subtle things like brush pass him…VERY close, and then one day he asked to meet me for a drink. That first night we only got to know one another. I have to admit, I really didn’t pay much attention to what he said because I couldn’t take my eyes off those lips. We went out a few more times after that, and still nothing happened.

One day at work, Derek called me into his office and started yelling at me about not doing my job correctly. I start crying. I couldn’t believe he was yelling at me. He got up and closed the door behind us, then sat behind his desk. He began to rub on his genitals and then told me to come over. I slowly walked over to his desk and he handed me a tissue. He told me to bend over the desk and take my panties off. I wiped my tears away and did as he said. I was excited. We had sex right there on his desk. It was just like I pictured. It was everything I hoped it would be. He was so great, and I was so satisfied.

Later that night, when he and I were alone, I asked him about the yelling. He replied, “I have to be hard on you so no one will know you are my girlfriend.” Wow, we were together! I was happy but yet confused.

Derek and I were going strong through the holidays. We ended up taking the weekend off together to go meet his folks. That was great! They loved me, and I adored them. Nothing could go wrong.

Well, on the first of the year, the company sends a consultant named Maria to help the company be more productive in sales. She was kind of frumpy and had a really huge nose. Derek took a liking to her for some reason. He soon stopped hanging out with me, and eventually stopped calling me all together. I was so confused, but he refused to talk to me. I would see Maria and Derek in the hallways, laughing and flirting like I never existed. How could he! Soon enough, he began yelling at me in front of the staff and treating me like shit. I was purely humiliated. When I tried to confront him about it, he would just brush it off. Not long after, my work would come up missing. Things I knew I had worked on disappeared. My work was suffering. Derek decided that he should demote me. He took me to Human Resources, along with Maria, and told them all lies. These two had been setting me up. Human Resources took their word and I was demoted. I was ashamed and humiliated. Everyone knew by now that Derek and I were an item at one point. I was pretty much the laughing stock of the company. On that note, I quickly found a new job and left the company. Before I did, however, I sent a resignation letter to the owner on how Derek and I dated and how I was going to sue the company. I really wasn’t, but they fired Derek and that was good enough for me.

The moral of THIS story: Never shit where you eat!


Monday, November 10, 2008

Academy Award for biggest cock blocker goes to....

So i'm partying in Barcelona and i meet these 2 irish chicks, now they're both hot but one is giving me a little more attention than the other, she's a redhead, we'll call her Freckles, the other is a Blonde. We'll call her Blondie.

Ok so Freckles is about 5'4, totally Irished out, w/ the works, freckles, firecrotch, and a quick lip, her homechick is about 5'9, NIIIIIICE titties n' an ample ass, shes also got freckles and although shes not a talker she's definately in the mix.

So anyway we're all hanging out, and the girls are buying me drinks YES THEY'RE GETTING ME DRUNK. So we proceed to the dance floor where Freckles isn't giving me any play, i vibe up to her and shes got no warmth, so BAM i turn to Blondie, and WOOAAAH hollly shit, there's the mojo! Blondie takes advantage and starts grinding away, getting DOWN so i'm like FUUUUUCK. Anyway we're all dancing and getting crazy, and i start whispering into Blondies ear "hey lets
get out of here" ... she loves it and starts grabbing my ass and kissing me, SHIIT so now i'm really getting turned on, i say "seriously c'mon lets bounce" Que the whimpery voice "I can't leave Freckles" WTF!! Freckles is handling her business and cruising around the spot having a good time, ok, well she can come too.. "It's cool, she can roll" i say "really?" She asks "you gotta boy for her?" FUCK!! where is my homie when i need him. My friend Hawk went back home to Sweden and so now i'm here without a wingman... "well there's ignacio" i say... lol Let me take a moment to give you some background on Ignacio...

Ignacio is a softspoken Chilean dude, he's like 6'2, a little pudgy, has a beard like santa clause and you wouldn't expect it but is none the less a pimp, he gets mad play and i SWEAR TO GOD is everywhere at once... without fail, no matter where you are in Barcelona, you're likely to run into Ignacio, he is ALWAYS in the mix... Ignacio runs an illegal hostel, my semi-permanent residence in Barcelona. The owners of the building have the penthouse and the 2nd floor. Whenever their regular "legal" hostel fills up, they send the overflow to Ignacio, at which point he fills the 2nd
floor with tourists and never fills the penthouse because that's where he stays, unless you're a hot chick or paying him under the table like i was... So basically i had the pad to myself, Ignacio was always out and about cruising the town, and it was a big spot, several rooms, mad beds, rooftop patio, hooked up. Anyway.. back to the story.

So these chicks are dragging me out of the spot, and we're headed to my spot (SO I THINK) anyway we get out front of my pad and i get the whole "ok, we're going home, goodnite"
WHAT THE FUCK?!?! Not the plan.. Blondie knew my intentions, seriously she was reaching down my pants on the dance floor! I mean what am i supposed to think?? Now she's playing dumb and letting her friend run the situation?? - weak "awwwe what, come up have a beer, chill out its got a dope view" "You got a guy for me?" Freckles is doubtful...

"He's a pimp, he's got a beard, you'll love him"
"nooo i dont think so"
"shit, alright well have a good nite"

And i bounce, pretending like i'm going back to my pad - instead of going home i slip thru the back alley and startle a guy and a prostitute getting it on in the alley, OH SHIT lol! I look away so they can continue with their wholesome exchange - but then I am staring straight at another couple .. LOL!! i start busting up and keep walking.. So what the fuck!! It's still early, i left the spot to kickit with the girls at the pad, not to walk them to my place and get shuffled at the door! So i head back to the club, grab a few more drinks, have some fun, and eventually call it a nite. Next day I'm back out having a good time, and i run into the Irish girls again! They're way excited to see me and immediately buy me a drink, allright whats up! So que the dance floor, me and blondie are at it again, and she's practically raping me on the dance floor, i swear not once but three times she literally pulled johhny out of my pants and i had to pull her into a corner so other dancers wouldn't see wtf!!! "c'mon this is crazy lets go chill out at my spot" ..... "ok" she says, this time totally comitted.. NICE!

Freckles is hooking up with this random Spanish guy so thats all good, she says she'll be alright but shes going to say goodbye, so i wait. Seconds later her and her friend and the random guy come over "We're all going" she says .... great i'm thinking, what the hell. So we're all cruising down Las Ramblas and we get to my spot, suddenly Freckles keeps walking "Where u going??" "Oh we're going to -OUR- hotel" she says ...(Blondie looks confused) and then she walks up to me, winks and says "don't worry i'll give you two the room, i got your back" NICE!!! "Where are you two gonna kickit?" I ask, motioning to her random companion.."Oh there's a balcony" she says whispering "Don't worry i'm not into him like that i dont need the room" ... nice shes dope, so we cruise to the spot.

We get into the hotel and they lead me up to this banquet hall (part of the hotel) with a huge balcony... Freckles says "i'm going to the common kitchen they have some free beers in there want one??" "Sure" i say and she disappears... Suddenly me and blondie are at it having some privacy finally, she pulls me out to the balcony and we're making out, she reaches down, free's Johnny & starts going down on me and i'm like hell yeah... overlooking the city, suddenly i look behind me and the beers there, OH SHIT BUT WHERE'S FRECKLES?? Blondie sees the beer and is like "oh no u think she saw us?" lol "probably i say".. so she takes me back to the room, and now Freckles wont open up!! Meanwhile you have to realize, i've been teased for 2 nites, and i'm talking, --TEASED-- this girl has gotten me crazy, i can barely think straight, and now Freckles is playing games...


She finally opens the door and is fully clothed... she giggles and closes it again and i'm like "alright they're getting it on, c'mon lets go somewhere else" and then the guy comes out, and Freckles is like "goodnite!" i'm looking at the guy and he looks at me as if to say "fuckin' tease" and i'm like shit i knew that from her... so she lets us in and then she wont leave! starts saying she is going to bed, so i take blondie out of there and into the hallway and we continue where we left off, shes driving me NUTS and then.. she says it:

"Ok thats enough"

"wha?" i mumble i'm not really listening...

"I'm a good Catholic girl" ............................................................................................................................. .......................................................................................................................................................................!!


She's totally putting on breaks now and getting herself together... u serious?????????????????hollllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyy shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit what kind of good Catholic girl rapes a guy on the dance floor and then blows him on the patio.. but only enough to get him crazy... and then pumps the breaks, from zero to tease in 1.2 seconds... what are u trying to do to me woman?? seriously?? this is cool?

WTF!!! So she pulls me into the room cuz Freckles unlocked it again, and then freckles goes off to the common kitchen again... not one to take no for an answer i lock the door and grab Blondie and take her to the bed, we start getting crazy again and then her friend starts knocking, we don't answer.. so now its on, things getting wild... and then she jumps up and unlocks the door... mid romp.... WTF??? her friend comes in and AGAIN i gotta pull myself together, i sit up, grab a pillow for a little decency and just look at the two of them in disbelief, they're milling around the room like it's tea time... now in a perfect world this is when the 3some would begin, but no, not the story, Freckles is hellbent on cockblocking and i've had enough, so i tell them thanks for the drinks, that they're cock teases, and i bounce.

WHAT THE FUCK... anyway true story craziest cock teases ever. - The cock knocker and the cock blocker from Ireland.

The moral of THIS story: If you're sewn at the knees, don't act like you're down to please because there's nothing more dishonest than a tease!!!

Rooster, Guest Blogger

Wednesday, November 5, 2008

Get Out of My Dreams (AND ONTO MY CAR)

It may be a result of growing up in L.A., but somewhere around age six I figured out that the whole Happily-Ever-After/Ride-Off-Into-The-Sunset bit was a crapshoot. Complete and utter. It’s not just the fact that there is no royalty in L.A., or that people no longer gallop around on horses, but that after the “ride into the sunset” there are mortgages, kids, mid-life crisis’ and then the indefinite possibility of the Big D.

So I decided to take a different approach to my dating life, and ride as many men into the sunset as I possibly can before I take that quintessential Fairy Tale ride with my Prince Charming. I realize this may tarnish my Fresh-as-a-Daisy Damsel image, but let’s face it most modern day Romeo’s have had their share of more than one Juliet. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a chick, I still dream of a Happy Ending, I’m just gonna have multiple Happy Endings along the way to the ultimate one. I mean when I use to play Barbie I didn’t act out her wedding with Ken, I acted out the Honeymoon. Then I’d act it out with G.I. Joe, He-Man and sometimes even Optimus Prime, fuck it, why not?

This is the story of #24 in my campaign to “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy.” Yes, I just quoted Big & Rich, and yes, I’m sorry. #24 is The Mechanic, and to date one of my all-time favorites.

I set my sights on Mechanic about a year and a half ago when some jackass backed into my ’66 Mustang. Mechanic rebuilds classic cars, so I was referred to his business. Seeing as Mechanics aren’t normally hot (unless they’re starring in Explosive Anal Penetration Part 7) I showed up fresh out of the gym and looking like complete Butt. He’s not the hottest, tallest or beefiest guy out there, but he oozed sex appeal more than the motor oil he was covered in. His blue/green eyes made me soil my underwear on the spot. He flirted, I flirted, and we… flirted. He may not have made my heart pitter-patter, but he certainly made another part of me pitter-patter.

You better believe when I came back I looked like I just walked off a modeling shoot. I thought for sure my digits would be in his phone and a date would be in the bag by the time I started up my car to leave. Nope. Nada. He sent me on my way with nothing but a smokin’ hot “I want to fuck you” smile. Okay. Roger that. No date. This was not going to be “The One,” but that didn’t mean we couldn’t have some fun. Yes, I did rhythm that.

CUT TO six months later, while borrowing my dad’s car I peel out of my garage going roughly 90 mph’s because I am once again inappropriately late for work. I rip the side mirror off. Call up Hot Mechanic. Boom. I’m standing next to him the very next day. Again, flirting, tension, lingering, and, drumroll please, a HUG but THAT’S IT! All I get. I thought I sent out the perfect mixture of I’m-into-you, but don’t-want-anything-serious vibes. From our first encounter, I had already eagle-eyed his ring finger, confirmed it was bare and had no tan line. Score. I chalked him up to being shy. I could learn to be a patient grasshopper.

Patient I was, when one year later, I’m finally back baby. I rammed my car up the asses of two others because I’m a lifelong Los Angeles commuter and had blacked out from severe road rage. This time, Mechanic wasn’t getting away. I could have given up, but what fun would that be?
He fixes my car, tells me to come pick it up at closing time. Time to close the deal is all I’m thinking about. This is a job for the black boot/mini skirt combo; I am coming from work after all. Of course, I ditch the hose and panties before I get there. I show up practically out of breath and ready to feed. He locks up the shop and then tells me he wants to show me a Camaro he’s rebuilding, which is locked up in one of the garage’s way in the back of the shop. As I’m admiring his custom paint job, slightly bent over, but not begging for it (at least not yet) he grabs me, spins me around, pulls my hair and starts wildly making out with me. Boo-ya! Finally, success. This shit is porn hot. In fact, I’ve seen a couple that start just like this. “No panties” gets ‘em every time. One condom later, (they’re not just for men’s wallets, ladies) he’s throwin’ me up against the car (relax, it’s his), then the wall, and garage. It’s dirty, nasty, sweaty and… fucking awesome! I’m in nothing but knee-high black boots, which at certain points are more like earrings. It’s 6:30pm on a Wednesday and I’m getting railed up against a beautiful car, by a beautiful man and all I can think is fuck the horse and fuck the sunset.

The Moral of THIS story: While waiting for Mr. Right, might as well fuck the shit out of Mr. Right Now. Also, patience grasshopper… patience.

Easy Lover

Monday, November 3, 2008

Will you be my Valentine...Wendy?

First off, girls need to say what they mean. ALWAYS. Let me repeat that ONE more time. Girls, women, females (just so we're clear) need to say what they mean. Guys are literal and they will rarely ever stray from that in a casual sense and in this particular sense, taking your girlfriend out on a date eventually becomes casual. So, with that being said:

On one particular Valentine's day, every single plan that I made for this special day fell through. So the night's events as they all fell over like dominos, became a joke by the end of the night. The perfect punchline to the joke is that we ended up eating at Wendy's. Honestly, it was a very charming dinner, lots of laughs. The worst Valentine' Day became the best Valentine's Day.

Once I was done with my spicy chicken sandwich and her with her grilled chicken, she leaned over to me and said "we should do this every year." So, me being a GUY and a fan of Wendy's, the following year I took her to Wendy's out of nostalgia and by her request of the year prior. So you want to know how the date went?

YOU GUESSED IT! She got PISSED and made me take her home.

I thought I was in for an easy and inexpensive date, but it turned out that it was full of tears and a near break up. I was just doing what she said! I repeat, she leaned over to me and said "we should do this every year." Two words from her that night a year earlier could have saved her from a failed holiday, the following year, and those words "JUST KIDDING."

If she would have said those words she would have earned herself a candle lit dinner and a meal that I would have no choice but to put on my credit card.

The moral of THIS story: SAY WHAT YOU MEAN

Uncle The Monster, Guest Blogger

Saturday, November 1, 2008

Laugh until I cry

When you think of the perfect guy, you almost always think of someone who makes you feel special. A guy who can walk into a room full of attractive people and still hold you on a pedestal. He's tall, dark and handsome, and in my case, Mr. Chuckles or "Chuck", also had an AMAZING body of muscles. His arms were the size of my head and they were very sexily decorated with tattoos. I met this guy online, where else do people in L.A meet each other?

Our first date was at Chuck's house. We ordered pizza and watched episodes of Prison Break. The conversation was good, he was confident in his words, and as the night progressed, he pulled me to him and just held me all night. It felt like a fairy tale, I was wrapped up in the most amazing embrace. His heart beat was so soothing and his touch was like butter. We talked during the show, and learned about each other's likes and dis-likes. Basic first date conversation. It was awesome, so we scheduled another date.

Second date was out for dinner. Food was good. I had a glass of wine and he had water. When we were done, we decided again, to watch Prison Break. I looked forward to more of those muscle covered arms. This time I stayed the night. We didn't have sex, but we did sleep naked. I marveled as he undressed and slipped under the covers with me. His body was straight out of a Men's Fitness magazine and as he got in the bed, in one fool swoop, he wrapped his arm around me and in an instant I was next to his bare chest. Warm, soft, and S E X Y!!!!!! Needless to say, I M E L T E D! I slept like a baby that night, and every night I spent there since.

Our dates progressed well and after about a month we had done a lot of kissing, hugging, touching, humping and LAUGHING.

The thing about laughter. It comes in all shapes and sounds. Each one is unique, and each one is special in the ears of loved ones.

Chuck had a very unique laugh. His laugh could be compared to Cyrano De Bergerac's nose. It...stood out. It protruded from his mouth like an oversized.....thing. I didn't really discover his full laugh until we went to the movies. I mean, we had joked around before and traded a few "chuckles" but I was never REALLY funny around him. He caught my jokes, but I guess didn't find them tooooo funny. Well, needless to say, the movie really did him in. Or the previews I should say. We went to go see No Country for Old Men, so whatever previews would have been in that movie were what we saw. I think it may have been Forgetting Sarah Marshall or something. But, whatever....that's irrelevant.

Chuck had a piercing laugh. Somewhere between a hyena and nails on chalk board. The INSTANT I heard it I sank into my seat. "How could this be!? OMG NO! Now everyone is staring at us!" Every thought went through my head. All I could do was to PRAY TO THE GODS that this was the only comedy preview. "Please All Mighty Dating Gods....Dead babies, dead babies, dead babies!!!!!!!!!!!" But alas....the dating gods had a sense of humor. His laughter continued through the preview, heads turned, my hat got lower, and I drank the entire large soda to cover my face. Throughout the movie all I could only think of was how I would continue seeing the amazing guy. If I could see past his horrendous laugh and see the man that was behind it. I finally concluded that I was not so shallow. It was a laugh after all. I wasn't fucking his laugh, or kissing it, or being held by it. No, I was a much bigger person than that!

Or so I thought.

Flash forward to dinner, or to another movie night at his place, or to phone conversations! I don't know what it was, or how I never heard it before. But suddenly, hyenas were EVERYWHERE! Haunting me. I would lay in bed at night, think of him and how wonderful I felt around him, and then I'd hear AAAAAAaaaaaaaHHaaHHHhaaa! wwwwwwwaaaAWSHHHH!...and shit the bed.
After much soul searching, I realized this boys and girls:

Laughter comes in all shapes and sounds. Each one is unique, and each one is special in the ears of loved ones.

But Mr.Chuckles laugh...was NOT special to me. I found myself NOT wanting to be funny to avoid the ear ache...and nightmares. And well...I can't live like that. Being forced to be unfunny so that I wouldn't hear the inevitable laughter. Shit, I'll find someone whose laugh makes me smile instead of cringe. And so...the search continues.




The moral of THIS story: A laugh, although it may brighten your day, or make your soul shine...should sound like church bells on a breezy summer morning. Not like a fire truck at 4a.m.


Thursday, October 30, 2008

Static Cling

I'm going to call this boy BOUNCE because that's what I did after our first date.

He was handsome, not my type, but sparked my curiousity nonetheless. I don't usually like the pretty boys but shit, why not, give it a try. And TRY I did. It started off slow and nice. Bounce was charming, witty, sweet...how could this be? I asked myself as the days slowly dragged before our first date. He's good looking. He owned property, had a dog, was attentive, listened to and remembered everything I said. SCORE!!!

The date could be described as uh....hmmmmm...a downward spiral into a stack of hay, covering 4000 needles.

I met him at his place since it was near the restaurant he said he'd take me to. Now people, never go to a strangers place without giving the address, name and number to 4 of your best friends, like I did. So moving on. He wanted to show me his place that he just remodeled along with his dog.

DS#1 - That stands for downward spiral btw....So he gives me a warm bear hug, it was like we've known eachother for years! He shows me around his one bedroom condo and offers me a seat on his Pottery Barn sofa...We talk a bit, things are going well then he decides to put his arm around my shoulder...Peter Brady in the movie arm around shoulder style...I'm going with the flow, but suddenly the flow of his hand lands on my right boob and ends with a squeeze! :( I said it felt like we knew eachother for years, I didn't say we KNEW eachother for years.... WTF???

As you can imagine I'm pissing in my pants right now. But in order to preserve my life... I suggest we go to the restaurant. Bounce at this point thinks he's my boyfriend? So he doesn't feel my vibe has completely changed...He's probably thinking I was just on my period or something.

DS#2 - The restaurant. Saddle Ranch on Sunset. Need I say more?

DS#3 - We are sitting accross from eachother. He is looking at me as if I was Angelina Jolie or Rachel McAdams...I mean I'm super cute (so my mom says) but not f'in HOT. A cute waiter comes to our table and asks if it's our first time at this restaurant. It's not, unfortunately....but Bounce proceeds to tell the waiter, "no, but it's our first date." The waiter, who was my "type" by the way, saw my pain and it seemed as if he wanted to rescue me, which would have been HOT, like in those old western movies, then we could ride into the fake sunset on that big fat mechanical bull...Uh, errr, wait losing track...Sorry, where was I? Oh yea, he told the waiter it was our first date, and added "and hopefully not our last." Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Now, there's a reason WHY men love bitches....And why us women, love assholes. Jus' sayin'! At least on the first date that is. Well, not complete assholes, but you get my drift tho', and if you don't kiss my butt.

DS#4 - In the middle of the dinner. He bought me a rose from one of those ladies who go around selling overpriced flowers they bought for a discounted price at the flowermart in downtown LA. Ok, first off, unless it's my birthday or valentines day, don't buy a rose. Please. In fact, unless you know I am in total LIKE or LOVE with you, don't but me a rose. After dinner, I suddenly felt sick, and said I had to wash my hair or wake up early. Something reeeeaally important. I forget.

DS#5 - The next day he text me hello. At this point I was so over it but was thinking...Let me take a couple of days to sit on it. I mean I've never dated someone soooooo in to it on the first date and really suuuuper mushy before, I might as well try it on to see if it fits right? (I just threw up in my mouth, ugh sorry) Anyways...I text him back thank you for dinner and said my parents were coming up in the morning, because we had a funeral to go to that day. This is true. I would NOT lie about that. So he text ok, have a good rest of the day and asked that I call him when I was free. That day after work, he text asking to see me. I said I was actually on my way to my to my tattoo artist and probably wouldn't be able to see him until my parents left town, the next day. He said ok. A couple of hours later, he text, how is the tattoo going? (ya'll feel #5 here in full effect right?) I said, um it is going as it should be, leave me the fuck alone...well I left that last part out. An hour later he asked if he could see me after I was finished...BUT HE DON'T HEAR ME THO'!!! And I didn't answer him.

DS#6 - The next day I received a good morning text. I responded accordingly. Lunch time comes around and he asks when will we see each other again. OK, at this point, I'm thinking... I'm at a funeral, well, no, I'm not thinking that, I actually AM AT A FUNERAL. Are you seriously asking me out right now? Really are you? For REAL??? I decided not to answer until my parents left town the next morning.

Well people. If any of you watched the movie "Swingers" take notes on the character Mike played by John Favreau you will know where #6 is heading.

He continues to text me throughout the day of the funeral. After 5 unanswered messages, he finally writes "Look if you aren't into this, just tell me now so we don't waste eachother's time." WTF????

I decided to call him at this point and say... "I've been with family all day at a FUNERAL! Please do not text or call me ever again. BTW have you watched the movie Swingers? Well you're acting like Mike, please watch and learn." Yes, I did go there.

The End.

Oh and he text the next day and asked if we could "still" be friends. Were we ever?? I then threw up in my mouth.

The moral of THIS story : Take things slow...NO boob grabbing on the first date!

That Girl

Wednesday, October 29, 2008

My First Date With an Actor

People always ask me about the dating scene in LA. Moving here from New York you do notice a difference. Men in LA are privileged to have at their disposal the most beautiful women in the world. I know this because a guy told me this on our first date:

His name was Bryan (real name withheld). Bryan was tall dark and handsome and had a smile that could melt your panties right off. Bryan was from Georgia. He moved here from his Hometown to pursue his music career, but ended up being more known for his budding acting career. We met at a restaurant opening: He pulled up and I immediately thought, I had to have him. I waited all night until he returned to pick up his car…. just so I could see him again. I saw his car pull around and then I hurried over and pushed the valet out of the way and opened his door. He said,“ I like that dress.” Bingo! The door was opened! After that, we exchanged friendly banter that ended up with me giving him my number. 1st date: We decided to meet at a restaurant in the Valley. I had NO idea this place was super casual. So I showed up wearing peep toe pumps, and a dress. He showed up wearing sweat pants and a tee shirt. I felt awkward… but yet sexy. As soon as we sat down he started grilling me like a George Forman Grill. Where are you from? How old are you? What was your last relationship like? I got soo tense. My last relationship sucked! Why was he asking me this sooo soon??? I decided to be honest and tell him the truth, the whole ugly truth. As I told him the story…. He played with his blackberry. I thought it was rather rude. He obviously thought it was okay. After he showed me his complete lack of interest, I started to feel foolish. I mean, he didn’t bother to dress up for the date. Then he asks me all these questions and just ignores me!

Maybe I needed to shift the attention. So, I asked him about his dating experience in LA. And that’s when he said “LA, has the most beautiful women here. But I am looking for someone with substance.”
He then went on to tell me a few of the movies he has been in, and ask if I had seen them. He grilled me some more and I answered all his questions with complete honesty. He yawned (yes, he yawned) and I quickly said, “Lets get you home.”

The night ended with him saying, “We should do this again.” And him giving me a quick kiss on the cheek. I got hopeful. Maybe he didn’t find me boring. Or could he be giving me the old Hollywood brush off. Well, it’s been a few months now. While I have not heard from him, I have seen him on TMZ…… coming from dinner…. with a scantily clad woman. Yea, she had substance. Two big ones sticking out of her dress!!

The Moral of THIS story: When you date an actor in LA, you need to have substance.


Monday, October 27, 2008

The first and last date kinda guy.

Ok, so let me tell you about this boy I met online. Myspace, or Friendster, I forget. It was a while back. It started out with cute, silly emails. Then not so witty chats but I had nothing going on at that point in my life, so wth. Then ultimately, he popped the big question. "Wanna grab dinner sometime?" Since he was a friend of a friend, 1) I didn't want to be a bitch, 2) A free meal, why not. This was my first online experience, might as well be with someone that knows someone, just in case I suddenly disappear and show up lifeless on Venice beach with seaweed, sand and seagull droppings all over me. So let's call him BoyWonder.

He was cute and nice as far as I could tell. Short, not a turn off by any means, just not a plus. Not particularly outgoing, but beggars can't be choosers! From the emails we had been exchanging, he seemed as if he had his shit together, and made me giggle, not laugh, here and there.

So the date... I decided to meet BoyWonder on his side of town, at a little restaurant he chose. It looked inexpensive, I mean reeeeally inexpensive. But you can't blame him right? Blind date. I could be crazy, fat, or ugly. Anyways it looked inexpensive. It was probably a B rating but I didn't notice. The food was delish AND inexpensive.

CUT TO: The end of the meal, where we ask for....you guessed it! The check. THE CHECK!!! So the waitress hands BoyWonder the check. He examined it, pulled out a... wait, I can't quite see it... oh, yup, there it is....a TEN dollar bill ladies and gentlemen! Now I'm thinking in my head... wait my meal was $6.95 plus tax....and his order was a super-sized version of what I had. Hmmmm -- And no, we weren't at McDonald's.

BoyWonder, then hands the check to ME. I was like "OH Heeeeell no!" -- In my head. So I hesitantly, take THE CHECK, and stare at it in amazement. It's total is about 17 bucks. Yes seventeen. 17. One. Seven. Seven plus ten. 7+10... and some change. Ok, ok... more than $17....Sheeesh.

I slowly opened up my purse. Looked up at him, for a sign, any sign that would save this date, ANYTHING. Nothing. I then proceeded to pull out my wallet. Again, I shifted my eyes in his direction for maybe a "HALT! I got it!" Nothing. I opened my wallet. Glanced over at him in one last gleam of hope he'd pay for the $17 and some change bill. But, no effort was made on his part. Then in defeat, I pulled out a $10 and handed it to the waitress with the bill and his $10.

At that point, I had nothing to say, I was speechless. I think I was in shock more than annoyed. He wanted to get coffee or desert after that. I suddenly felt sick, and said I had to wash my hair or wake up early. Something reeeeaally important. I forget.

Now I hear you muh fuckers saying "maybe he didn't like you that's why he didn't pay, bitch..." Well suckas...he asked me out for another date, and 'til this day...4 years later... he still hits me up every 3 - 4 months, no fail...asking to go out... BOOM!

The moral of THIS story: If you ask for the date...YOU need to pay for the date.

That Girl