Mr. Wonderful now known as Mr. Mixed Message Asshole

So I won't be ironing work shirts and giving pre-work blow jobs for a while, seriously, I've decided Mr. Wonderful is really Mr. Mixed Message Asshole and I've decided to ignore his calls and texts, which will probably make him want me more, or at least think that he does, and it will seem so sincere and I will want with all my heart to give him a (third) chance --- But, I won't. And I can be sure of it because, I've gone ahead and rekindled a sex affair friendship with an always adoring ex, who although can't be the one permanently, can definitely be the one that reminds me what it feels like to be with someone who actually likes me, is NOT completely head fucked or selfish, wants to see me happy, knows how to have a good time and loves to go down*. This ex has so many pros, but truth is, so many cons too. Though when it comes to being a friend, he's practically faultless, and always seems to step in and save me from myself by doing exactly what I need him to do, set the example for what a boy should treat a girl like and compared to him, poseurs crumble.

*Joe, that means provide oral sex.

PS. Vieques was amazing, I plan to go back, wish with all my heart I could have stayed --- Nothing but clear blue sea, sand and mofongo.

Too busy having fun to write

1. I like a boy (actually, 2...)
2. I'm going to the beach

will check in late next week so I can report on my tan lines and boyfriends.

5 dollar day

Today was a great day. Woke up beside a really cute boy I like, gave him a pre-work blowjob, ironed his shirt while he took a shower, dropped him off at the train, on my way back saw the hunched over homeless guy who usually hovers around Ave. A and Second, I consider him "my homeless guy," the one I feel compelled to pass a spare dollar to when I'm in a --- the world is kind and I am lucky mood. Today I gave him a five.

How do you say man hating bitter woman in French?

After just a few days in Paris I've realized that the whole french are assholes business is a huge fraud, directed at americans or maybe the whole world, just to keep tourist levels manageable. I went to France prepared to brush off a few totally rude frenchman without getting myself pissed off and regretting I'd flown 7 hours to get there, but that never came to pass. Except for a few weird moments, a taxi driver that barely stopped the car when I needed to get out, which I think was mostly a misscommunication, cause if he didn't speak english, how would he know stop here, and when the door was flung open by me, he didn't errupt into a merde or sacre bleu or you moron tourists are trying to kill yourselves by opening a door in a moving car, instead he accepted my friend's euro, albeit never fully stopping, but It was probably more of a I'll stop on a proper corner instead of the middle of a busy street vs. I refuse to stop, just jump out! Then there was the ticket guy at the theater who asked us if we were students, which seemed rude for a second, as if he were commenting on our age, making fun of us, but then in an instant realized he genuinely thought we were students and was asking if we had student id's so he could provide us a discounted ticket, not exactly barbaric behavior, and in afterthought really quite sweet.

In fact, I'll take it a step further and say at some point the french gathered up their assholes loaded them on a plane and sent them to NY and Miami where they live among us and seize every opportunity to piss one of us off. I've dated 2 frenchman in the U.S., both dicks, one thought I acted stupid around my friends, had no personal scent (whatever the fuck that means) and the other asked me what I did at the gym precisely at the moment I got up from my bed naked to get him a glass of water post our mediocre sex, I'll translate further, I think he had sized up my figure as not quite fit enough for him and was also accusing me of doing something other than go to the gym on the afternoons and evening I claimed to be working out.

Cest la vie --- Can't blame the french for me dating 2 total assholes. I could flood the internet and crash entire servers if I suddenly decided to type out every scenario where a guy did something rude or said something unkind to me. I doubt any guy I dated in NY would remain unmentioned, cause if I had to name a city that had assholes to spare, it would be this one.

Somebody's dreamgirl, that's me.

2 dates, 2 dilemmas.

Should I start a new, secret, nobody knows who I am blog and rant and rave that I have been on 2 craigslist derived blind dates, one of which was a nightmare, the other was kind of nice, with a guy who is somewhat promising? Crazier than thou, me, responded to 3 ads and met 2 men, a third I am considering and now I have new stories, the embarrassing kind, that might amuse strangers and make friends worry I have finally flipped my lid, not just me saying I'm crazy, but me really backing it up.

Guy 1 -
Super successful rich, semi famous jewish business guy,
the best thing about our date was his car. That happens a lot actually, a gross, arrogant guy with story upon story about himself, generally has a flashy sportscar, which I didn't think I was into, because I'm not exactly materialistic, but an expensive, fast, shiny car is quite the aphrodisiac, makes me want to throw on a bikini and pull a Tawny Kitaen sex with a car routine.

Guy 2 -
Walk on a cloud material, tall, beautiful blue eyes, sweet, funny, amazing white smile, smart, interesting and just happens to like my type. Yeah, I'm a type, short, well rounded bottom; I also appeal to glasses fetish guys with a quick switch from contacts to librarian specs. I wear heels, so I attract my fair share of shoe fellas too. And ofcourse there is a whole tribe of men who are attracted to unstable, loud mouthed, close to the brink, semi crazy, sassy, zany, edgy, whatever you prefer to call it, I like DSM-IV personally ---- There is a breed that is drawn to us, our mood swings, mania, highs, lows, sex addiction and phobias.

I have daddy issues, control issues, authority issues, the list goes on, and for some special guy, I'm a crazy bitch dreamgirl.

And, If I can't find him on Craigslist, he can't be found.

Not much longer now

The only reason I maintain this P.O.S. (piece of shit) blog is so that Missy R. can keep up with me, without actually having to call. The things I'll do for a friend...

Truth is I'm pretty much bored with it. It's not authentic, it's completely censored and I just don't want to share my whole fucking head with ex boyfriends and others who know who I am, but don't really know who I am. Get it? Yeah, I didn't think so.

I want to rant about how some of my friends suck, that they're selfish and I often imagine life without them around, not dead or anything, but not in my life. I have so many good and exciting things going on and you are not one of them. You use me and when I need you, you're never there, and you're not very funny or cool and hanging out with you has become a chore, SO;

that's it. I've made my decision, consider this my two weeks notice, I'm tying up loose ends, then I'm writing you off.

2 weeks and 2 worlds later

2/28/07, 9:00pm, I leave a message for the guy, who i don't exactly like, but am obsessing over because he's stopped calling me.
2/28/07, 9:45pm, The guy, that I left the message for, that I don't love, that I think should love me, but doesn't, calls back.
2/28/07, 10:53pm, The guy I am obsessing over, who is a dullard, is boring me on the phone, conversation is thin and going no where
2/28/07, 10:55pm, The girl (me), who was previously obsessing about a guy who wasn't into her, isn't into him either.
2/28/07, 10:56pm (I thank him for returning the call, and promptly say good bye)

So, I'm no longer into the guy who didn't deserve a shot, but got one anyway, then didn't realize how lucky he was, who should have made every conceivable effort to win me over, but didn't. Two weeks later I fully realize, he was lame, an accountant, lives in NJ, has borderline erection and ejaculation issues, can't get dirty into it or heavy hit, and in the end comes out dry. Oddly, he continues to text me, every few nights, not for booty, not for anything, except to say, how are ya?

Well, If you must know, I'm doing rather well; I'm out to dinner, shopping with a friend, having a drink, sleeping with a guy, watching a movie, telling a funny story, getting dressed to go to a party, that's how I am.

Truth is, I'm on the verge of a perfect spring. I gave notice at work today, that March 30th will be my last day at the "Co." After an hour long attempt, by the person I report to, to persuade me to stay, I point blank say, what's in it for me? What's the benefit for me? Why should I want to stay? I say to him, get me an offer, on paper that I can consider over the weekend, otherwise, we have nothing else to say. How much did I have in mind? I dropped the number, he dropped his jaw. That's what it would take to keep me here. My point exactly.

So now I tidy up my files, delegate my work, update Mr. Chief Legal Officer on the status of my projects and end another chapter. I feel like a ten year old, on a sunny fourth of July, my ice pop melting faster than I can eat it. Sugar water dripping down my arm, food coloring staining my shirt, me trying to get past the lemon to get to the blueberry without the entire pop falling off the stick. That's how I feel; that's how I am.

That. Is. How. I. Am.

2 weeks can make a world of difference, can lighten a load, change a path, find you laughing while you type alone in your apt., knowing that spring and sandals and a few days in Paris are only 2 more weeks away.

How I roll

Does 2 whole days of going to the gym and eating healthy count as being on a roll?

Monday, gym. Tuesday, gym. Wednesday, intermix warehouse sale. Seriously, shopping can be a workout; I broke a sweat. (After combing the racks, I tried on 5 dresses and found a black one that fit perfectly. I was ok with the size 8, but wished it were a 6. I'll most likely cut the size tag out. It looks great on and there's no reason to taint the dress with a size note. I also got a yellow pair of Havianas)

I am so fucking ready to wear flip flops on a lazy sunday on Ave. B, me vacillating between having brunch or a fresh juice, not a smoothie, no yogurt, just fruit squeezed into juice, followed by a quick wander around my neighborhood. It's March and flip flop and wandering season are only 90 days away.

I'm rambling -
avoiding mentioning that I broke down and called the guy I thought I liked, but don't. The same guy who I thought was trying to be my boyfriend, but isn't. I'm pretty annoyed that he hasn't called me since last week. Last I heard from him was a lame text on Saturday night, while I was at a party with T. Who incidentally noticed I texted back at midnight and was not pleased. I called him tonight, on his cell at 8:30pm, he didn't pick up and I left an uninspired message. You know the script, hi, it's VES, not important, just calling to say hi, I'd been meaning to email you, but I've been busy at work and haven't heard from you. Hope you aren't working too hard. (*END*)

It's as if calling a dullard has some how made me dull. It would be best if he didn't call back and I didn't end up going out for another dinner, another night of better than mediocre, but nothing to blog about, sex. I need a few weeks off.

***

One last thing:
MISSY, You said you would call, but didn't. You are a girlfriend, not some guy I used to work with, who I bumped into at a party, who I had sex and dinner with. YOU, I actually expect to call me.

Crying over spilled beer

Should I begin by thanking T for spilling beer on my pillow cushion covers and rug? Technically, I was the one who knocked the bottle off the table – But, the beer was his, and I only knocked it down because of a sudden awkward move I made trying to escape his kiss and snuggle grip. The spill was T’s fault, not mine.

T and I are in 2 different places about “us.” “Us” being a former couple, who dated, lived together, and then broke up. We didn’t work that way. We work as friends. T is interesting and creative and a talker and thinker and smart. Our time together is really comfortable, just as time spent with a good friend should be. Since I broke up with Stephen we’ve had sex a few times, which has been nice and helpful and convenient but makes me feel like the woman whom he put a down payment on an engagement ring for but never gave her because she broke up with him before he could even ask. That woman had a narrow escape, and maybe a month delay would have forced her (me) to have to say, No, I don’t want to marry you. I don’t love you that way. Loosen your grip, please; I need to go.




Should I thank T? This time yes, because it was the thought of stale beer scented cushions that got me to the Laundromat at 9:30am on a Saturday. The cushions look better, brighter and smell flower petal fresh. Which reminds me, I guess I should also thank T for leaving my fridge slightly open (all night). I discovered my warm fridge when I returned to my apartment, victorious from the Laundromat. Another push in the direction of cleaning something that needed cleaning, but not perhaps that very second. I tossed out bottles of stuff that long needed to go. It’s not wise to keep things past their shelf life, even if the cool fridge gives the impression it’s safe to use that ginger dressing you purchased sometime back in 2003, it’s not. Although seemingly harmless, there are items on every shelf that if used, will have consequences.

Thanks.

desert-dry and craving

I want to drink life - fast, furious, head back, bottle upright, so that it pours out of both sides of my mouth, spills onto my blouse.

That would quench my thirst, at least for a day.

Lately

I've been working longer hours for smaller rewards. Six months into my not new anymore job and I find the fact that I've been delegated harder work, that I'm not exactly qualified to do, more stressful than exhilarating. It feels like - if I knew the kind of stuff they are expecting me to do wouldn't I be working somewhere else making double the money? My resume never mentioned finance or accounting and somehow I'm doing things that require some knowledge and skill in both those areas.

Other stuff that falls under the category of lately:
I might like a boy and he's trying to be my boyfriend, sort of.
I've been spending way too much comfortable time with a former serious beau and I need to remember all the things about the time we dated that led us to not work out.
I have 3 weddings to attend this year and I need to get into I'm not married at 35 because I don't want to be, not because I'm not gorgeous, shape.

And ---
Saturday I bought the cutest pair of Gucci platform sandals, yes, went into Neiman's with snow encrusted boots but left with a box of "little orphan annie, the sun will come out tomorrow" confidence. Spring beckons and before too long I'll be sporting perfectly polished toes from perfectly adorable footwear. My last mani pedi was a shade of May flowers (pink) that seemed a bit premature to the manicurist but has given me the best, days are getting longer feeling, you could imagine. The sun sets tonight at 5:35pm in Manhattan. Which makes the entire city the perfect backdrop for my date (with the boy I might like). Face it, we all look better in dim lighting and if he's on the fence about how pretty he thinks I am, a dimly lit city will definitely push him in the direction of she's beautiful rather than she's not as pretty as she needs to be in order for me to want to date her. Not that I'm even sure if I want to date him, but I'd rather be the one saying no thanks, perhaps friends.



One last thing, work is a four day week. Hooray!

I write Haiku

You should see my blog
short sweet sporadic entries no one ever reads

Bride of Kong blathers on

I decided to keep the blog up and running and yet somehow can't seem to stand up and report --- feel like the entire world has suddenly turned back on and I am amazed at how much I missed out on last year. Great sex is great but great life is amazing. Had the yummiest shrimp curry at a chicish indian place in tribeca, munched on thai on first ave., sipped a hot chocolate on a beautiful and clear night in New York in front of a cafe waiting for a boy who never showed up - yes, stood up, but not even bothered, did i mention that I hadn't had a cup of cocoa in over a year and had forgotten how sweet and satisfying holding a warm cup on a cool night can be? The world is king kong and I am the tiny woman in it's obsessive grip. I worked hard last week and really contributed to the success of the company where I work. Will higher ups care? Nah. Will friends and lovers and strangers ever know how thoughtful and kind I really am and that Gorilla Life Kong has made this woman a bit wary about leaving herself at risk? I had sex with a virtual stranger last week and felt no shame or anxiety afterwards. I bought the cutest cashmere scarf and it has kept me warm and I love to wrap it around my super cute neck which connects my head to my body.

And finally, before I forget, I got a booty text during daylight hours from a boy asking if I would be available later that (friday) night for an hour.

People make me laugh -- but I make myself cackle, guffaw, roar.

Fuck Fight Type - and blather!!

Letter re: New lap top, new year, second attempt at blogging

Dear faithful reader,

Two things:
I have a new laptop and broke up with my boyfriend ("S")-

This means no more excuses about why I haven't had time to write. Keep in mind I really was busy this past year having nearly non-stop and possibly the best sex of my life with "S." Whenever we got close to realizing we had zero or less in common we'd skip to the bedroom scene where not having stuff in common doesn't exist and definitely doesn't matter. On the bedroom side of my studio apartment, the lights are always dim, incense and candles burn endlessly, kisses are conversation, so if parts fit and fires burn, no one need worry where the non-relationship is going. Numbing yourself with sex takes time and energy, and that, combined with my constant computer issues just made it not possible to blog. You should also know that I was attempting to blog on my 7 year old dinosaur-mac, which is no easy task. At least 5 or so times, I wrote stuff that exposed the creepiest, scariest, most vulnerable pieces of me in a paragraph or two, only to have my desktop freeze up and freak out, which spared me the humiliation of having others know a bunch of fucked up stuff about me.

In the end, it worked out. I resolved to start a blog last December and did just that, even if it was sporadic, thin at at times, and perhaps read only by a handful. I'll claim any victory I can.

Resolve, rinse, repeat.

VES

PS. If I made my time with S sound sad or bad --- that wasn't my intention at all, I thoroughly enjoyed our year together, and if I had a chance to go back in time, knowing then what I know now, I would choose to know him again. How could I resist Stephen, his kisses, his beautiful white straight teeth framed by his perfectly red lips, his piercing laugh, his guitar riffs --- so much passion buried inside that simple man. I will miss aspects of him for a long time, if not forever.

Michael says my handwriting hasn't changed since I was 16

After a surprisingly rational discussion, S and I have agreed it is time to move on. Apparently he wasn’t getting what he needed from the relationship either.

Feel a light pressure was lifted and then immediately replaced by a new weight.

More than my handwriting hasn’t changed – Never satisfied, still fickle and kind of a gypsy, after all these years.