Let's talk about sex baby...

A few days ago, a friend of mine posted a blog entry about the different levels of a "woman's sexual performance," and suggested that I write one for the fellas. You can read his post HERE.

I've always wanted to write a "male performance review," but never had the motivation to do so. After talking with some girlfriends about their most recent exploits, I have come to the tragic realization, that most of their sexual experiences, have been less than stellar. Let's be honest, people in their 20's are fucking a lot. We're fucking a lot, with strangers, with lovers, and significant others.

With all this fucking going on, we should be able to talk about it, right?

(DISCLAIMER: This is all based on MY sexual experience, and the things I like/don't. EVERY girl is different, and while I'm attempting to generalize my overall opinion, the bottom line is, it's still, MY OPINION. All vaginas are their own, unique, Rubik's Cube of magic... just because you unlock the combination to one, DOES NOT mean you've unlocked the combination to all.)

FOREPLAY:

Hands down, probably the most important part of the sexual experience for the ladies. Vagina's are like vintage cars. You have to warm up the engine for a solid 15 minutes before you take them out for a spin. Sure, sometimes you're late for work and you just want to get nailed before you leave the house. During those circumstances, it is perfectly acceptable to skip over most foreplay, and get right to the down to the dirt dirty. BUT when you have the time, foreplay is the key to setting the mood, getting your girl off, and having a satisfying experience.

There are THREE rules/requirements which must be incorporated into all foreplay, in order for it to be successful, and ultimately lead to sexy-times:

1) BE A GOOD KISSER! - For the love of god, how motherfucking hard is it for you guys NOT to stick your entire tongue in our mouths? What makes you think licking our tonsils is sexy? Boys boys boys... it's all about the lips. Kiss softly, part them slowly, and use  your tongue SPARINGLY. When things get hot and heavy, that is not, I repeat NOT a signal for you to switch into your alter ego; Captain McTongue Plunger. My throat is not clogged, and I do not appreciate the esophagus examination. Kissing can be magic. AND there is a theory floating around the inner female circles, that men who are good kissers, are also good in bed. In my experience, this has been true 95% of the time. I'm just sayin'...

2) BE CONFIDENT! - I can't express fully enough, what a HUGE turn-off it is when guys are shy and tentative. If you want to kiss me, grab me and kiss me. Don't wait for me to make the first move. Do NOT timidly saunter around the room. If you want me, show me. I do not have time to waste reading mixed signals because you don't have the balls to make a move. This doesn't mean that you need to be an asshole, but you do need to BE A MAN.  There have been countless occasions where I've been into a guy, and they were so nervous and flustered when it came down to the "make-out session," I was immediately turned off. I know girls can be scary, I'm scary, but if you want to be with me, or ANY girl that has flare/sass/fantastic verbal discourse, you're going to have to man up, and be aggressive.

3) TEASE ME! - Seriously guys, like 70% of a girls excitement factor, falls into the teasing arena. ALL woman want what they can't have. So, if you pretend that you're not going to give it to us, WE'RE GOING TO WANT IT MORE. Building anticipation, heightens the intensity of the experience, and the greater the intensity, the greater the orgasm. I know they say, "if you can make a girl laugh, your can make her do anything," but I think it's much more accurate to say, "if you can make a girl cum, you can make her do anything." It's true. Believe it. If you don't believe it, you've probably never made a girl cum before, and that, in itself, is tragic...

The other stuff that comes with foreplay is all about feeling out the situation. When you're in the heat of the moment, it's okay to "feel around," and figure out what your girl likes. Don't think about it too much, because the more you're in your head, the less you're in the moment, and foreplay is all about, "being in the moment."  

ORAL SEX:

Okay. This is pretty cut and dry. You're either good at this, or you're not. Since a lot of girls can ONLY get-off from oral sex, it is really IMPORTANT that you're good at this, or at least working on being good at this.

The BEST "oral sex instructional guide" I've ever read, was in VICE magazine. I can't write anything better about it, so I'm not going to try. 

HOW TO PROPERLY PERFORM CUNNILINGUS

HOW TO PROPERLY PERFORM FELLATIO  

happy reading.

SEXY-TIME:

Congrats! You've made it to the point of penetration! Don't you feel special? I'm going to break things down into levels now; where do you think you fail... er... I mean... uh fall... where do you "fall?"

Level 1 - I'll be laughing with my friends about this later.

The foreplay was obviously decent enough to get you to this point, but something got lost in translation from the time we stopped kissing to when you put the condom on. This is the kind of sex that you can't help but laugh about later. It's usually a guy who doesn't know what the definition of rhythm is, and has somehow, all of a sudden, forgotten the three most important rules: 1) BE A GOOD KISSER! 2) BE CONFIDENT! 3) TEASE ME! ... Things get real awkward, real quick and the guy either, 1) starts jack hammering like a bunny on meth, or  2) loses any sense of motion and things just get... "choppy." 

BTW: JACK-HAMMERING IS NEVER OKAY. It's basically the equivalent of masturbating with a vagina... it does NOT feel good. I do NOT like it and I will NOT be seeing you again. Things usually turn so comical, I have, on occasion, retreated back into my mind and started making a check list of all the 'LOLZ' I will be regaling my friends with at brunch the next day. Tragically, many men qualify this experience as "good sex," and continue to call me for "dates." This blows my mind, and I don't know how to accurately get the message across, that you my friend, have officially been classified as: "the awkward sex guy I went home with last night." Congratulations, you FAIL.

Level 2 - So hot, but so stupid.

There is an intense attraction... You're super hot and I've been dreaming of licking things off your abs all night. Being such a stud creates an illusion of confidence and while you're definitely NOT "future-husband-material," you're still ridiculously attractive, and an awesome kisser to boot. At this point, everything's perfect and then, the guy talks. This guy is pretty dumb, but thus far, was hot enough to bypass most of my intellectual barriers. Unfortunately, upon realizing my stud horse might actually have an IQ equal to that of tanbark, I start to lose interest. The attraction is strong enough to keep the heat going, but knowing that I'm feeling things on an entirely different spectrum; makes the moment disconnected. Things feel a bit empty and ultimately meaningless. That's not to say meaningless sex can't, on occasion, be entertaining for your vagina, BUT, when you've had amazing, meaningFUL sex with someone else, the empty, anonymous sex loses its novelty real fast. There aren't too many tips I can offer here, other than: DON'T BE RETARDED.

Seriously, read a motherfucking book every once in a while bitch. And if you could please attempt to know something OTHER than assorted sports trivia, and UFC factoids, it would be much appreciated, k, thx.

Level 3 - You're pretty amazing.

The sex at this level, is what most of us search for and hopefully end up experiencing with the people we're really excited about fucking. This is the girl that makes you wash extra long in the shower before your sexy-time rendezvous. The whole experience is passionate, gratifying, and actually gets you thinking about a potential "relationship status change" on facebook. Ultimately, this person is someone you could fall in love with, and each time you fuck, the connection gets deeper... no pun intended. Your bodies move together completely in sync (aka - "NOT choppy") and when the post-coital moment is over, you still want to hang out with this chick, cause' she's pretty fucking cool. Congratulations, you've achieved something pretty spectacular... now don't fuck it up.

Level 4 - HOLY FUCKING SHIT, I'M SO IN LOVE WITH YOU,  MY BRAIN IS EXPLODING WITH ENDORPHINS.

This is what I like to call EPIC SEX. This is the kind of sex that leaves you weak in the knees hours after you've finished. This is the kind of sex that gets you hard just thinking about it. This is the kind of sex that happens ONLY when you're crazy in love with someone, and you both connect with each other in a way you've never connected with another human before. It's more than sex; it becomes a religious experience every time you touch. This is the kind of love that entire albums are dedicated to. This is the kind of connection that movies are made about. This is the sex that we all wish for, hope for, and long for in the deep dark reaches of our loins. If you're having sex like this, hold on tight, and don't fuck it up. If you DO manage to fuck it up, you might as well just kill yourself, because you're never going to get anything better than this... But you knew that already.

 So class, what have we learned today?

1) Be a good kisser. This is the key to everything. One kiss can make it or break it.

2) BE A MAN. Pussy-bitches need not apply... There is nothing that turns a woman off faster, then a guy who can't "throw down the gauntlet" in the bedroom.

3) Tease me... anticipation about fucking, is almost as exciting as the actual FUCKING.

4) Be good at eating vagina. If you're not good at, you better be working on it. If you're one of those guys who "doesn't go down on girls," you should probably just stay at home with your hand and a bottle of Jergens moisturizing lotion.

New words to live by ladies: If he doesn't go down on you, he doesn't get inside of you.

5) JACK-HAMMERING IS NEVER OKAY.  I am not your masturbatory aid, this is supposed to be a mutually gratifying experience. Learn how to use your dick BEFORE you go sticking it in living organisms.

6) The best sex happens when two people aren't just "attracted" to each other, but connected to each other as well. There's no simple way to do this, but just know, that when you do finally end up connecting, everything that comes in and out of that experience will be pretty fucking amazing. 

There are a lot of things I didn't cover here, so if you have something to add, feel free to chime in with your thoughts. I've enabled "anonymous" commenting, so you can bitch and moan about whatever part of this pissed you off, and I will have NO IDEA who you are... unless of course, you sign your name.

The bottom line is, every girl is different, and the only way to figure out EXACTLY what she wants/needs/feels. is to ask her. I know it can be "awkward," or "embarrassing" to talk about sex, but if you're not "too embarrassed" to be fucking, then you shouldn't be "too embarrassed" to ask questions. This is your body, this is your heart; this isn't the 1950's, it's OKAY to tell people what you want, and what you don't.

Honestly. if you can't talk about sex with your partner, then you probably shouldn't be having sex in the first place.

love you meant it.

She ain't nothin' but a Gold Digger...

When I was 16, I convinced myself that all I wanted was a super hot rich husband, a big house, an unlimited monthly clothing allowance, and a fancy car. At 19, I decided that "love was all that mattered." I was desperately in love with my boyfriend, and would have been happy anywhere with him; including living in a cardboard box on the street... in theory of course. Now, at 25, it feels like the continuum has come full circle, and I find myself at a crossroad of the two extremes. Love isn't enough. It's enough for the immediate, passionate affair of the heart, but after the sweat from your forehead has dried, there has to be something else holding it together.

Lauren and I were talking the other day, and both started to whine, "where are the rich older men who want to take care of us?"

Seriously... where are they?

I am officially old enough to accept the fact that I'm not going to marry a super rich guy, who is also stunningly gorgeous, AND has an amazing personality... I'm not going to marry that guy, because "that guy" doesn't actually exist. And if he does, he's gay. Rich, stunning, intelligent, amazing guys are never straight.

Soooo... this really throws a wrench into my ultimate plan. The easiest qualification to throw out right off the bat, would obviously be "stunningly gorgeous." The 16-year-old version of me, would never of even fathomed letting a guy pushing 70 touch her. But the 25-year-old me is sitting at her laptop asking, how much money can I get for said "touching?"

Apparently the older version of myself is a money-grubbing hoe-bag...

But I digress...

I don't think I could ever actually be a "gold digger." While I would LOVE to have absolutely no responsibilities other than looking pretty, and shopping, I know that would get real old, real quick. Tragically, the motivation to accomplish things that are at least marginally meaningful, overpower all delusions of future trophy wife status.

DAMN YOU MORAL COMPASS!

I've been thinking a lot about whores lately, and have come to the realization that, ALL of us are participating in varying degrees of prostitution. Some girls date guys they're not that in to, simply because they buy them lots of presents, or make them feel "special." Some guys date girls they're not particularly excited about, simply because it's a warm body to lay next to and put their penis in. In return, these less than stellar examples of compassionate beings, give their 2nd choice lovers, their bodies, and a fake version of intimacy. All parties involved are using these temporary partners, to get something they want. In essence, selling themselves for physical and emotional compensation.

I've stayed in relationships longer than I should have, because the person I was with would dote on me, and make me feel like a better version of the girl I actually was. Knowing that I was no longer in love with them didn't see to matter to me. I was getting the attention that I wanted, and in return, I would give them my body, and a fake version of my love that they so desperatly wanted.

Sometimes I wonder how many of my friends are prostituting themselves in their relationships? I wonder who is faking the love, and who is giving up their body in return for "attention." I wonder how many of my friends are really "in love," or even know what that means.

Not to be completely cynical, but I can't help but believe on some level, that "whores" are the last honest relationship there is. I mean it's pretty straight forward; you give them money, they give you an orgasm, and a momentary connection to another human that fades as soon as the seamen dries on the inseam of your pants.

At least whores are up front about what they're doing, and why they're doing it. The rest of us however, we're sneaky sluts. Hiding behind these forced "relationships," just so we don't have to be alone. Inside our heads, we develop a "love point" tally, that keeps track of how much you give verses how much get. The points add up, and in the end we deem our failed relationships as having been "worth it," or "worthless." It always comes down to the scorecard...

But there will be a day, when you fall in love again... for the first time, or the fifth time, and all of this will sound like nonsense. You'll dream about their kisses, and convince yourself that it will be different this time... And maybe it will... For you, I hope it will.

The tally will always come back though, and you'll begin to ponder, yet again...

How much is your love worth?

 love you mean it.

... and now it seems light-years away.

Last thanksgiving, I got into an EPIC fight with my boyfriend at the time, who I will refer to in this story, as X. I guess it was "technically" the day after thanksgiving, because this "fight" happened at like 4 am. We went to my parents house early that Thursday for midday dinner, and around 6pm, we went to X's mother's boyfriend's family gathering. It was a day full of extreme consumption, mixed families and I remember being pretty happy when we finally crawled into bed. Completely stuffed, and relatively peaceful, I drifted off to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, X was restless, and kept getting up. This wasn't entirely uncommon. X frequently had trouble sleeping, due to being a Type A, overly anxious, basket case about 80% of the time.

At around 3:30am, I could hear him mumbling in the other room. Wondering what the hell he was doing, I got up, in hopes of coaxing him back to bed. He was in the office, putting his shoes on when I entered the room. I sat down on the couch and asked him what he was doing, and he proceeded to lose his mind right in front of me. My eyes were still blurry, and barely open, as a whirlwind of emotional re-verb, blew my eardrums out of this dimension. The flood gates of everything I had ever done wrong, came gushing into that cold room. I remember he told me I was selfish, and that I didn't care about anyone but myself. He said that I constantly took from everyone around me, and that I never gave anything back. Tears were streaming down his face, while he blubbered about how immature and silly I was. That nothing mattered to me, and he was sick of dealing with my selfishness. This went on for at least 45minutes, but that's the only part of the conversation I really remember.

I was calm in the beginning, and tried to reason with him in an attempt to understand what had triggered his lashing out. My attempts at a logical discussion seemed to only make him more upset. "You're always trying to be so rational! I can never win an argument with you," Mr. X screeched back at me. I remember almost laughing at how absolutely insane that sounded. Who would ever use "being rational" as an argument AGAINST someones credibility? The fact that it was 4am, started to sink down inside me hard, and my eyes were so very heavy, and so very tired. I started to cry out of sheer exhaustion. I didn't understand what I had done, but apparently it was all my fault.

Once we both calmed down, I learned that X was upset, because the day before thanksgiving, I said I was going to come over in the afternoon and make cookies. I ended up having to work later than I thought that day, and decided to finish some homework before I went to his house. I called, and told him my revised plan, and everything seemed fine. I guess it wasn't. Apparently, he was secretly mad at me for putting my job and school before him/thanksgiving cookies. This in turn, made me a selfish, immature, horrible human being.

After hearing all of this information, I screamed at him for being such a child and treating me this way. He yelled back, and left the house. I threw myself on the floor and cried until I didn't have any tears left. It wasn't about the fucking cookies, or even all the horrible things he said. It was the fact that this all came erupting out of nowhere, that it was almost as if he spent the early morning hours while I was sleeping, to conjure up some way to get angry with me, just to break me down. I felt so alone, and so helpless laying on the bedroom floor. I felt so sorry for myself and absolutely pathetic. I couldn't believe I let someone talk to me the way X did, and even worse was the fact that I was still so in love with him, I couldn't bring myself to even fathom a life without him.

I eventually pulled myself off the floor, went into the bathroom, and stared at myself in the mirror, for longer than I care to admit. I remember gawking at my face, and being unable to recognize myself; like I was the ghost of a complete stranger. The girl looking back at me was so sad, and so lost. She was no longer me, but rather a version of something awful I had become. I went back into the bedroom, got dressed, and drove to my friend Lauren's house.

Mr. X apologized the next day, and begged me to forgive him. I did, and things went back to the way they were for a few months longer. We broke up in the spring, about 4 months after that fight. It blows my mind to think about what a completely different person I was a year ago. I was convinced that I would crumble into pieces without Mr. X. And now, 365 days later, I can't even imagine being with X. I can barely understand how we ever fit together, or even loved each other. I feel like I'm light-years away from the girl I used to be.

I wonder now, so far from who I was then, if I ever really loved him? He never actually knew who I was. He never really saw me, like really truly saw me. It was always a game, an illusion, with slight of hands, and tricky wordplay. When he first told me he loved me, I knew he meant it, but I was still playing the game. I was still pretending, stuck in the distractions I had created to shield me from the frightening consequences of reality. In my heart, I want to believe that it was true, that I was actually in love, but something inside, tells me I wasn't. How can you be in love with someone who doesn't even know you?

A lot has happened in the last 365 days. So often, I feel like my life is at a stand still, as if I'm simply static on the screen. Thinking back on the last year, it's pretty obvious to me that my life has been anything but a stand still. I just don't know why it's so hard to feel the movement in the immediate present. Retrospect is a motherfucker. So smug in its ability to give meaning to the time that has passed.

Then again, if someone told me a year ago that my life would look like it does right now, I would have laughed at them, and retreated back to my emotionally abusive relationship... Time has a way of giving everything perspective, while simultaneously making a joke of the perspective you USED to have.

I wonder what this life is going to look like next year?

I can't say for certain, but I've got a feeling it's going to be pretty amazing...

love you mean it. 

Hey. I'm talking to you!

1. MEXICAN GUY AT THE GYM TALKING ON YOUR CELL PHONE WHILE DOING BICEP CURLS IN FRONT OF THE MIRROR - Seriously? Do you think you look sexy talking on your circa 2001 flip phone? Are you convinced my vagina is going to fall open with lustful pangs because you own, and can operate electronic devices? FYI, you look like a motherfucking douchebag, and no one gives a shit that you have a cell phone. If you want to talk to your goddamn friends, or whatever phone sex service you have a monthly subscription, go outside and use your phone there. It's beyond annoying listening to the garbage spilling out of your mouth. No one gives a shit, you are rude, and have a small penis.

2. MIDDLE-AGED WOMAN WHO IS HOLDING UP THE LINE AT THE MOVIE THEATER - WTF lady? Okay, I'm sorry your husband no longer wants to listen to the verbal drainage dribbling out of your mouth, but neither does the 17-year old cashier at the AMC. If you don't know what movie you want to see, GET OUT OF LINE UNTIL YOU FUCKING FIGURE IT OUT! Seriously, it is NOT okay to stand at the ticket booth for TEN MINUTES, asking questions about ALL the movies playing that day. This is what moviefone.com and google are for. Please get out of the line, and figure out what movie you want to see BEFORE you get to the theater.

3. ATTENTION ALL DUDES WEARING shit like this, or even worse, THIS! These are NOT, I repeat, NOT okay fashion choices. Here is a shopping tip for all you studs struggling to find balance in the fashion continuum - If it sparkles, has glitter, extensive cursive squiggles, and/or metallic lettering, LEAVE IT AT THE STORE! Shit like that only occasionally looks good on super buff black dudes. Since it is highly unlikely that you are a super buff black dude reading this right now, we're just going to go ahead and say that the shirts mentioned above, are NEVER okay. The "LA trash douchebag" style, isn't a trend, it's a disease... save yourself before it's too late. REMEMBER, after you purchase your first Ed Hardy muscle tee, it's just a sleigh ride down into the complicated world of hair-straighteners and eye-liner... do you really want to be that guy?

4. GIRLS STOP BEING SUCH BITCHES! - Okay, I know that it gets really annoying when you're trying to run errands, and random construction workers are yelling sexually explicit puns about "nailing you hard," but come on, lose the sour puss face. How about, instead of looking like you just drank rancid milk and pooped yourself at the same time, you yell something equally sexually explicit, AND insane back? Like, "Oh ya, you know how I like it! Hard AND rusty!" Or, "That's right you big stud horse! I want you to nail me to the bulldozer, and fuck me like the reincarnation of Jesus!" ... I have yet to try the last one, but I feel that it most definitely falls under the "insane" category, therefore meeting half of the aforementioned qualifications.

5. 43 YEAR OLD CONSTRUCTION DUDE YELLING SEXUAL INNUENDOS AT YOUNG GIRLS - Seriously? Has this method of getting vagina EVER worked for you? Do you really think the 17 year old high-school seniors you're propositioning for "sexy-times," are actually turned on by your meth face, and orange safety vest? I think it's pretty obvious you've made some poor "life-choices," but come on dude, leave the underage poon alone. Go find someone your own age to bone at a sex addicts anonymous meeting. You can both compare 'juvie' stories, and why it was "all dads fault," while smoking copious amounts of amphetamines.... just please don't get anyone preggers. Wrap that shit up bitch.  

6. STOP TRYING TO BE SO GODDAMN COOL - This applies to basically everyone, myself included. Anyone who even remotely breaches on said "cool-factor," is a total dork. I have never met anyone whom I thought was super awesome, who wasn't also a complete and total beavis. The concept of "cool," relies really heavily on the idea that people are by nature, smooth, perfect, calm, non-spastic entities. This is BULLSHIT. People are messy, clumsy, uncoordinated, skin sacks full of organs. It's time we embrace the fact that we're all train-wrecks crashing into to different stations. No one is "better" than anyone else. It doesn't matter what music you like, or art you enjoy, or recreational activities you participate in... you are a dumbass... we are ALL dumbasses. No matter how "cool" you think something you do, or have, or know, is, there will ALWAYS be someone, somewhere, making fun of you/it/them. Let's just get over ourselves and enjoy the fact that everybody is an awkward superdork in their own way...

While we're at it, lets also try and figure out a way to make "Slip'n-Slide" an actual sport, AND get it in the Olympics.

love you meant it.

So... I had this insane dream last night.

Lauren (my best friend/roomie) and I are living in this house in Berkeley, and she decides to have a crazy party without telling me. I wake up from a nap, and go into the living room, where I find a bunch of people I don't know. I'm kind of excited because I don't know what's happening. I see some people I think I know, and start mingling. The party gets bigger and bigger, and before I know it, Lauren is dancing on the dining room table, swinging a rope around in the air.

I go outside for a minute, and start yelling at these people for parking in the neighbors bushes. They tell me to "fuck off," so I shout back, "keep walking motherfuckers, I'm going to break all the windows on your car while you're gone." They continue to walk up the street, one of the guys flips me off, so I take a bat, which was conveniently laying on the sidewalk, and bust the shit out of their car.

On the front porch of our house, two guys from the party start fighting, I jump in the middle of them, and try to break it up. I'm holding one of the guys back, and am strong enough to push him back inside, as the other guy leaves the party. The guy I pushed back inside, keeps trying to get back on the porch, so I start kissing him. He stops wanting to fight, and keeps kissing me. After a few minutes, I notice my mouth is glowing, and the guy I'm kissing looks like he's about to pass out. I go outside, and start running up to random dudes, kissing them, and then watching as they fall down, completely sedated.

Meanwhile, down the street, a gang of gun toting break-dancers (no, i'm not kidding), are calling my name. I think I know them, so I run towards them. I can hear Lauren telling me not to go, but I just assume she's wasted, and doesn't know what she's talking about. The gang starts this insane break-dancing routine all around me, and then, all of a sudden, everything goes dark. I can't see a thing, but I feel someone grab me, and put there hand over my mouth, with a gun to my head.

The next thing I remember, is being in this giant auditorium with the break-dancing gang. They force me to take an "anti-gravity pill," which makes you weightless, and gives you the physical control of a beach ball. I start floating, and the gang begins this martial arts, ninja-like routine, where they kick my weightless body around the room. It doesn't hurt, but I have no control over how fast, or how much I'm spinning.

There's a loud boom sound, and the lights in the room begin to make a crackling noise. The gang disappears, and I see a white horizon line in front of me. I'm still floating in the center of the room, when there's another loud boom, and all the light around me, turns into these fractal combination's; my whole body starts shaking uncontrollably. The shaking turns into an earthquake, and the building falls to pieces around me. From my elevated position in midair, I look out into the distance, and as far as I can see, the whole city has been destroyed. There are no more buildings, no more people, total nothingness. There's another loud boom, and the sky goes dark, Everything is black. I feel something pull me from my shoulders, and while I still can't see anything, I feel a cool breeze on my face.

I have somehow been transported to the future, and I'm sitting at a metal table, across from a very large robot. The robot tells me there has been an invisible energy force killing humans everyday when the sun sets. My mouth starts glowing again, and when I begin to speak, colors starts falling out of it. I'm embarrassed by this, but the robot tells me not to be, because that is why he brought me here. I don't understand, so he explains that the energy force that's killing people, sent a message to him, saying that he will reveal himself, but only to me.

The robot says that the colors will kill him, and I'm the only one who can help. I'm really afraid at this point, but I agree to meet with the energy force. The robot gives me a map, and leaves. The colors are still spilling out of my mouth, and they get all over the map. The robot has disappeared, and  I start wandering the streets, hoping the energy force will find me. Everything in this world is metallic. The sky is metallic, the streets are metallic, and here I am, spilling colors out of my mouth, leaving a trail wherever I go. I see no people, only metal boxes and objects I can't identify. I walk into an open door on the side of the street. Inside, it's just a room. a dark room, with a chair, and a clock on the wall. I look around, and the door closes behind me. The room is very cold, so cold, it hurts my lungs to breathe deeply. I hear whispers, but can't make out where they're coming from. All of a sudden, there is another loud boom, and the floor falls out from under me. I don't fall with it though. I'm walking on the air where it used to be. I look down, and can see all the way to the center of the earth. the heat from the core warms the room, and I'm no longer struggling to breath deeply. The four walls around the room, fall backwards, like cardboard cutouts. I realize that I'm in a dollhouse that just collapsed. I start growing bigger and bigger, until I'm sitting on the table, on top of the broken dollhouse, in a library. I walk around the library, and realize I'm the only one there. I start to get scared, and just want to leave. I find the exit, but everything outside is so dark, I have no idea where I am.

I start crying, and buckets of colors spill out of my eyes and mouth. I end up swimming in a pool full of colors. I dive down deep because I can breathe underwater, and I see the robot, I swim after him trying to get his attention, but he's a broken, dead robot now. I continue swimming and realize that underneath me, there is a giant LCD screen, playing a video called "history of earth." It's going much too fast to make out everything that's happening, but dates from the future start flashing over the screen, attached to horrible events that have yet to take place. The screen goes blank, and the water starts swirling around me like I'm going down a drain. I see faces in front of me smile, and then frown. I can't control my body anymore, and I fall into a tube tunnel that pushes me so fast, my eyes burn from the pressure.

The tunnel shoots me out into space, and I'm once again weightless in the sky. The stars that are closest to me, are very tiny, and I can hold them in my hand. They wink at me, and whistle when I touch them. Somewhere behind me, there is a loud bellowing voice that says, "You can't be here." I try to turn around and look at who said that, but the tiny stars in front of me swirl around my face, giggling and winking at me, and say, "you have to go now... goodnight." There is a big flash of light, like a camera going off right in my face, and then I wake up.

No, I did not take acid before bed last night.

My roommate said maybe space Jesus was trying to contact me...

I'm not convinced that's true, but I'm also not ruling it out as an option.

love you mean it.

I'm not ready.

Ready or not; there are moments in all our lives when we come face to face with everything that scares us; like a mirror reflecting all the imperfections of every decision we’ve ever made.


In my limited experience on this planet, I have learned that, "I'm not ready," is more often than not, code for, "I don't want to do that." My number one break-up line is "I'm not ready for a serious relationship." I realize that I'm calling myself out here, but "I'm not ready," is fucking bullshit. It's not that "I'm not ready for a serious relationship," it's that "I don't want to be in a serious relationship... with you."

"I'm not ready" is sugar-coating on the bitter pill of truth. No one wants to hear, "I don't want to be with you." So instead of telling the truth, we fluff it up, stretch it out, and massage it until the bullshit comes oozing out, and the whole nasty mess is right there in front of us.

There are only 3 circumstances where "I'm not ready" is an applicable and legitimate excuse,

1) Circumstances where a learned skill is needed in order to complete the task at hand. For example: Driving a motorcycle - Kind of important that you're "ready" BEFORE you take this on.

2) Physical appearance - I frequently utter the phrase "I'm not ready," to appease friends who are wondering how it's humanly possible to actually spend the amount of time I do, finding and putting on my pants.

3) Any and all forms of standardized tests - No one is ever ready for these, and saying "I'm not ready" before you put your pencil to that unforgiving scantron, is totally normal procedure.

Other than the above list of legit excuses, "I'm not ready" almost always means, "I just don't want to."

When you want something, when you really really want something, all the silly excuses tend to fall to the waste side. Ready or not, the things in life that we really, truly long for, are above the "I'm not ready" bullshit.

If you think about it, when was the last time you were ready for anything?

EXAMPLES:

Leaving the womb - Totally wasn't ready for that. In fact, I'm still recovering from the trauma of that event.

Learning how/where babies come from - At 8-years old, I was appalled, and actually refused to believe "sex" was how babies were made, until 7th grade. Definitely wasn't ready for that information.

First REAL crush - Lucas Austin... I was a 6th grader with the mental poise a freshman would have envied. He was an 8th grader with the intellectual prowess of tree moss. This might be where my attraction to older men started, but I digress... To accurately profess my love, I made Lucas a bouquet of paper flowers from my Pretty Petals flower making activity kit. I thought this was the "pimp" thing to do. I thought I was a genius, expressing my feelings so creatively. I was wrong. No one told me that this was the worse possible way to get a boy to like you. No one told me that boys were only interested in pizza and boobies. Since I had neither, Lucas and I didn't really work out. He went to high-school the next year, and I kicked 7th grades ass. I threw away the stupid paper flower activity kit, but not before I used all the scented paper to make my own paper flower boutique, which I very dramatically ripped to pieces in front of a stuffed animal audience. I was definitely NOT ready for the reality of junior-high lust.

Getting my drivers license - Those who have driven with me, might say that I'm STILL "not ready" to operate a motor vehicle, To you I say, imagine how AMAZING my driving abilities were when I was first learning! Within 2 months of getting my license, I managed to lock myself out of the car 5 times. One of those times, the car was still on. Ya, I locked myself out of a running car. I don't know how it happened, but it was further proof that I was most certainly NOT ready for the epic responsibility of driving around several tons of metal, resting next to tank full of flammable liquid.

In fact, it's shocking to most people that I haven't accidentally blown myself up; in a car, or with the help of other explosives/precarious circumstances involving flames.

Most recent example:

Graduating College - Hello real world, I'm not ready to make friends with you just yet. I still have a lot of fucking up to do. Would you mind coming back next year?

I wasn't ready for any of these things, and minus leaving the womb, and learning how babies are made, I wanted all of them. I wanted to make a grand gesture that exposed my 6th grade love, regardless of whether or not is was the lamest idea ever. I wanted to get my drivers license, even though I was terrified of totaling a car (which I actually did end up doing many months later, there was a trolley car involved, and I don't like talking about it because it's painfully embarrassing, so I'll have to save that story for another blog). And last but not least, I wanted to graduate college, even though it was ridiculously fucking hard, and adapting to the real world after being in school for what seems like forever, isn't exactly a cake walk.

Bottom line; "I'm not ready," is an excuse. Plain and simple. It's an excuse not to tell the truth. Because when "I'm not ready" is involved, the truth isn't that we're "not ready," it's that we "don't want to."

So, for the sake of being honest, I'm going to take this opportunity to divulge what I really meant, when I said I "wasn't ready."

"I'm not ready for a serious relationship." = "I don't want to be in a serious relationship... with you."

"I'm not ready to get married." = "I don't want to marry... you."

"I'm not ready to move in together." = "I don't want to live... with you."

"I'm not ready to say 'i love you.'" = "I'm just not in love... with you."

"I'm not ready to have sex." = "I don't want to have sex... with you."

I could go on, but I think I've exposed enough open wounds for one evening.

I feel like it's pretty safe to say that none of us are ever ready for any of the things that happen in life. Hell, if I could, I would totally vote to go back to the womb. The womb was cozy... warm... and connected to an endless food source. Since retreating back to the bubble of my formation, isn't exactly tangible without copious amounts of hallucinogens, I guess I'll have to settle for reality, or a version there of. I would say that "I'm not ready to become one with reality," but we all know what I mean to say, is "I don't want to become one with reality."

I think the hardest part about being human, is finding out that everyone else is human too; proving that, underneath the shells we define ourselves by, we’re all the same, completely vulnerable, unnervingly fragile, and likely to bleed to death when stabbed in a major artery.

I might not be "ready" for reality just yet, but regardless, I'm running full speed ahead into my future. I'm going to get lost, I'm going to misplace my compass, I'm going to try and fail, I'm going win, lose, laugh and cry, all the way into my coffin.

The first-aid kit is packed.

I'm ready to trip and fall into the abyss.

Skinned knees welcome.

Bring it Universe.

Hit me with your best shot.

love you mean it. 

Moving SUUUUUUCKS...

Moving sucks. Really really sucks. I had forgotten how much it sucked, because I haven't had to move in about 3 years. Now that I remember how badly it sucks, I have decided to stay where I am forever, or set all my stuff on fire when I have to leave. The whole "lighting things on fire" solution, might seem bit "drastic," but it would also be an ultimate resolution. Then again, I'm a mild commitment-phobe, and setting things on fire, is a decision you need to be committed to.

Anywayzzz...

I moved out of my apartment this past weekend, and while it did suck (see above), it was also quite liberating. I'm going to miss my neighborhood, and the people around there. I'm going to miss my roommates, and our late night chats/1am bar runs, aka: "Hey it's a random Tuesday night, lets grab a quick beer before it's last call!"

It feels so surreal that it's all over. This place has been my home through a smorgasbord of amazing nights, crazy bullshit, insane roommates, new best friends, relationships ending, new love sprouting, a hundred tears, and a million laughs.  I realize that it's not like I can't visit my friends, or go to the same cafés I used to frequent, but things have officially changed. No matter how much I want to feel otherwise, everything is different now. It might seem silly to have such an epic attachment to a building that's 80 years-old, and hasn't been renovated since the Reagan administration (mmm... asbestos), but it was my home, and it meant something to me.

It's so strange when you catch yourself growing up. I still feel like a kid in my head. A little girl, dreaming of what she wants to be when she grows up.

*News Flash Bridgette* - This is "grown-up," and there are no second chances, no do-overs, and no way to "take back" the years that have slipped away. It's full-steam ahead; now or never little girl.

I feel so small, so often, that when I actually witness myself doing grown-up things, or "taking responsibility," I'm always completely enthralled by my new found competence. But after that moment passes, I get a little uneasy, and start to feel this desperate ache in my belly for a "grown-up" to check and make sure I did everything right.

I don't know about you guys, but I feel like I was ill-prepared to enter 'adult-hood.' Sure, I knew it was coming, but I most definitely did NOT receive the handbook on "how not to fail at life." I can't decide if the realization that you might not being "doing life" correctly, and then accepting that fact, is, ultimately what defines the actuality of truly being, "an adult?'

I'm pretty sure it's a crap-shoot either way. 

I have decided that life, is simply a game of Russian roulette. Some of us are playing with revolvers, and some of us are playing with machine guns. I, on the other hand, am still having trouble turning the safety off.

I've almost got it though...  

A few more steps, and the gun will be cocked. 

Barrel to my temple. 

Ready. Aim. Fire.

love you mean it.