Last night I looked up into the dark brooding sky and thought; I really want to play tonight.
Did I?
No.
Instead I watched 'Adult World' (because John Cusack, is in it, and I'm a huge fan.)
"SAT's don't mean shit. That's like believing in Scientology."
"But I'm 29 on craigslist."
And because I'm back in L.A, and because it's winter, and because I'm back in L.A., I just watch movies, study French, and do laundry in my spare time.
Devils Knot (about West Memphis 3)
The Rover
Transcendence
Thing is,
NYE and my bday are coming up. I really, really miss hosting good times. But unfortunately in the past two years they have not been good times. And if a couple breaks shit in a nice hotel room under my name, I'll be charged a million times more than face value, so...
There's a new rental coming out with Geoffrey Rush, called 'The Best Offer'.
There's a few guys I'm chatting with, I'm interested in, who seem interested in having some fun (seem), but I already know they're not real and only interested in naughty photos. But you know,
I've gotten to the point now, I mean, I'm only going to turn 29 two or three more times, so...
Might as well show off what I have.
Sunday, November 30, 2014
Thursday, November 27, 2014
Monday, November 24, 2014
Right now
Westwood, CA.
Where [edit] Hare Krishna's march the streets at 2pm. And anti Darren Wilson, verdict protesters march the streets by 8:30pm.
7 cop cars and a bus.
Nope. I think there were more cops for the [edit] Hare Krishna's.
My bad. [edit] Hare Krishna's.
Not to make light of the verdict or situation at hand but,
Westwood, CA?
Your biggest problem is running out of soy milk.
Where [edit] Hare Krishna's march the streets at 2pm. And anti Darren Wilson, verdict protesters march the streets by 8:30pm.
7 cop cars and a bus.
Nope. I think there were more cops for the [edit] Hare Krishna's.
My bad. [edit] Hare Krishna's.
Not to make light of the verdict or situation at hand but,
Westwood, CA?
Your biggest problem is running out of soy milk.
Sunday, November 23, 2014
Works every time!
If I write long emails regarding my scientific/Buddhist philosophies on sex, love, and human research studies, I lose them in minutes.
It's awesome.
"Carl Jung, once said... Hey where you going?"
You guys win
No one plays in the lifestyle anymore. Every man to message me is either contacting me to make adult content, and more recently, publishers, or from one reality/cable show or another.
The other day yet another guy, posing as a possible playmate interested in having some fun, revealed his network identity to me.
You guys win.
What do you want to know?
Please have your questions prepared when we meet Tuesday.
Thank you in advance.
Friday, November 21, 2014
Things I do with an injured toe
Standing. Walking. No problem. Most of the swelling has gone down. All good. Or so I thought.
But no
Not so much.
Running downstairs. Big. BIG problem. I almost took a header down the stairwell.
The bouncing pressure on the bottom of my big toe -- just wasn't having it. Resulting with my toe throbbing in pain all morning.
I put my foot up. Home bound, I went to my favorite last resort fountain of entertainment, CL.
The best part of CL is that every ad has "specifics" you MUST adhere to for a reply.
Type this.
Attach that.
Paragraph this.
Establish that.
And,
I think people misunderstand the intendment of a photograph. There is no need to describe your photo. It's a photo. It's self explanatory. That's the reasoning behind posting a photo in the first place. "See, look for yourself."
That would be like posting a picture of a white car for sale and writing underneath the picture, "This photo is a car. This car is white. We're selling this white car. This white car is for sale."
Fantastic.
Distinguish from the obvious.
We want to know how much mileage is on the car. If the car's been photoshopped. And if it has herpes.
Thing is,
You don't control the responses no matter how hard you try. Like women who are clearly older than me, calling me "ma'am".
Oooooh right. They mean "bitch". I forget these things in my old age.
In conclusion,
Is it weird walking into a massage parlor only to get your feet massaged. Friends say no. But for some reason I feel odd walking into a massage parlor just for my feet.
I'm going to post an ad on CL "looking for foot rub" no happy ending required. I've mastered that part all by myself. Twice last night.
I probably shouldn't put that part in the ad.
But no
Not so much.
Running downstairs. Big. BIG problem. I almost took a header down the stairwell.
The bouncing pressure on the bottom of my big toe -- just wasn't having it. Resulting with my toe throbbing in pain all morning.
I put my foot up. Home bound, I went to my favorite last resort fountain of entertainment, CL.
The best part of CL is that every ad has "specifics" you MUST adhere to for a reply.
Type this.
Attach that.
Paragraph this.
Establish that.
And,
I think people misunderstand the intendment of a photograph. There is no need to describe your photo. It's a photo. It's self explanatory. That's the reasoning behind posting a photo in the first place. "See, look for yourself."
That would be like posting a picture of a white car for sale and writing underneath the picture, "This photo is a car. This car is white. We're selling this white car. This white car is for sale."
Fantastic.
Distinguish from the obvious.
We want to know how much mileage is on the car. If the car's been photoshopped. And if it has herpes.
Thing is,
You don't control the responses no matter how hard you try. Like women who are clearly older than me, calling me "ma'am".
Oooooh right. They mean "bitch". I forget these things in my old age.
In conclusion,
Is it weird walking into a massage parlor only to get your feet massaged. Friends say no. But for some reason I feel odd walking into a massage parlor just for my feet.
I'm going to post an ad on CL "looking for foot rub" no happy ending required. I've mastered that part all by myself. Twice last night.
I probably shouldn't put that part in the ad.
Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Break me down...
"How did you hurt your toe?"
Short answer : I tripped
It's not broken. I thought it was. Feet are funny. You can hit something really hard with your big toe (or trip) and the toe's fine, but encompassing the toe, the round joint-looking bone (the Sesamoid bone) on the under/side of the toe was not looking so good. It shifted. Turned color. And got much, much bigger.
Apparently injuring the Sesamoid bone isn't uncommon, especially among basketball players. Running. Jumping. Blocking. Extending the balls of your feet.
I'm going to tell people I injured my toe playing basketball.
Sure
Why not
Sounds believable.
When I hit my toe, my entire vocabulary got wiped out but one word - motherfuckingfuckfuckshitfuckfuckingfucker
It's a word.
Which
(After I tripped)
I repeated over and over,
And
Over and over.
My hand's been slammed in a car door (no broken bones) but I don't think I swore as much then as I did hitting my toe.
And I always say the most ridiculous things afterwards to gain composure, "Fuck this toe! I got nine more!"
It's just a toe, but in a relatable scenario, say when your toe makes contact with the leg of a coffee table, there's really no other pain quite like it at the time.
In this (particular) situation,
It was like -- stubbing my toe on the coffee table, 20 times in a row, within thirty seconds, with a fierce Bruce Willis-like vengeance. That's the only way I can describe it.
"Wussy"
Half wimp
Halffffff....
Short answer : I tripped
It's not broken. I thought it was. Feet are funny. You can hit something really hard with your big toe (or trip) and the toe's fine, but encompassing the toe, the round joint-looking bone (the Sesamoid bone) on the under/side of the toe was not looking so good. It shifted. Turned color. And got much, much bigger.
Apparently injuring the Sesamoid bone isn't uncommon, especially among basketball players. Running. Jumping. Blocking. Extending the balls of your feet.
I'm going to tell people I injured my toe playing basketball.
Sure
Why not
Sounds believable.
When I hit my toe, my entire vocabulary got wiped out but one word - motherfuckingfuckfuckshitfuckfuckingfucker
It's a word.
Which
(After I tripped)
I repeated over and over,
And
Over and over.
My hand's been slammed in a car door (no broken bones) but I don't think I swore as much then as I did hitting my toe.
And I always say the most ridiculous things afterwards to gain composure, "Fuck this toe! I got nine more!"
It's just a toe, but in a relatable scenario, say when your toe makes contact with the leg of a coffee table, there's really no other pain quite like it at the time.
In this (particular) situation,
It was like -- stubbing my toe on the coffee table, 20 times in a row, within thirty seconds, with a fierce Bruce Willis-like vengeance. That's the only way I can describe it.
"Wussy"
Half wimp
Halffffff....
F-bombs
I'm going to attempt to not say "fuck" all day today. It's my favorite curse word, how all my cursing begins, and I'm pretty creative with it. I said it like 200 times last Monday. Not an exaggeration. 80 times yesterday, but in my defense at least 40 of those fucks were when I busted my toe. Today I'm going to (try) not saying it at all.
"I'm not an asshole. I just don't give a fuck a lot."
Awesome.
"I'm not an asshole. I just don't give a fuck a lot."
Awesome.
Nightcrawler
Saw this movie yesterday -- after busting the big toe on my right foot.
Didn't know Bill Paxton, is also in this film. Haven't seen him in anything (or so I don't think) since Titanic. Love this guy.
I'm a Jake Gyllenhaal, fan. Great movie. But it was hard not focussing all your attention on Rene Russo, when she was in scene. She looks amazing in this film and she's 60.
Wait. She's 60?
Not in this movie. She looks mid 40's.
I liked the dark eye makeup, too. (Movie reference.)
I like it when it's done well. On older women. And not just random layered rings of gunk around the eyes. And only if the rest of her is equally quaffed. Though I find women (20-40) who wear little to no makeup far more sexy -- like the woman I was chatting with in the women's bathroom at the movie theater.
Anyway,
Awesome movie.
Didn't know Bill Paxton, is also in this film. Haven't seen him in anything (or so I don't think) since Titanic. Love this guy.
I'm a Jake Gyllenhaal, fan. Great movie. But it was hard not focussing all your attention on Rene Russo, when she was in scene. She looks amazing in this film and she's 60.
Wait. She's 60?
Not in this movie. She looks mid 40's.
I liked the dark eye makeup, too. (Movie reference.)
I like it when it's done well. On older women. And not just random layered rings of gunk around the eyes. And only if the rest of her is equally quaffed. Though I find women (20-40) who wear little to no makeup far more sexy -- like the woman I was chatting with in the women's bathroom at the movie theater.
Anyway,
Awesome movie.
Tuesday, November 18, 2014
EATING RAOUL for breakfast
Back in Los Angeles (for now) where I work And by "work" I mean where I make money, deal with with unstable dysfunctional friends and/or their unstable dysfunctional partners, and sift through the daily bullshit thicker than July smog.
Weather. Work. That keeps me coming back.
And,
I get to catch up on my movies, and wine tasting.
Enemy
Philomena
Kill Your Darlings
America
The invisible woman
The Lone Ranger
Maleficent
'America', was terrible. I shut it off after 10 minutes. It's pretty much a "white people suck" movie.
White people bitching about colored people. Colored people bitching about white people. You're all stupid. Wait. Did I put the apostrophe in the right place?
And,
Daniel Radcliffe. Respect. His Ginsberg, was brilliant. He made Ginsberg so much cooler than he deserves, but I love that actors still go above and beyond for their projects, like Theron, in 'Monster'.
And,
I liked 'The Lone Ranger'. Why didn't people like this movie?
Hence, therefore, and, too,
Whatever,
Fuck it
If you get a chance, read Jon Stewart's, Reddit. Love that guy. I don't always agree with his politics but he's brilliant. Stewart's Reddit, is the best I've read. Tied for second are the ex-Knight from Medieval Times, and the employee from the self proclaimed "ghetto McDonalds". Ha. Good times.
I was disappointed how terribly boring Rob Zombie's Reddit, was. Then again this is the guy who said the skate park next to his house in CT was too loud. And moved.
Too loud?
Tuesdays are my days off. It's the only designated day I keep for myself. Currently I'm doing laundry. Jealous? I know you are. Then I'm going to call on my long time angry dyke hairdresser to see if she's available for a cut.
Aaaaand then,
Probably see a movie. Nightcrawler, I'm sure.
Aaaaand then, hit a wine bar, I'm sure.
Once upon a time "magnum" meant something more to me than 1.5 liters if wine... but these days in Los Angeles... 1.5 liters of wine sounds fantastic to me.
There's an open bottle of Decoy, siting in front of me right now...
But I'm doing laundry.
I don't drink and launder anymore. Not since "the incident".
Oh,
And it's only 9:07am.
One day that won't matter anymore.
Weather. Work. That keeps me coming back.
And,
I get to catch up on my movies, and wine tasting.
Enemy
Philomena
Kill Your Darlings
America
The invisible woman
The Lone Ranger
Maleficent
'America', was terrible. I shut it off after 10 minutes. It's pretty much a "white people suck" movie.
White people bitching about colored people. Colored people bitching about white people. You're all stupid. Wait. Did I put the apostrophe in the right place?
And,
Daniel Radcliffe. Respect. His Ginsberg, was brilliant. He made Ginsberg so much cooler than he deserves, but I love that actors still go above and beyond for their projects, like Theron, in 'Monster'.
And,
I liked 'The Lone Ranger'. Why didn't people like this movie?
Hence, therefore, and, too,
Whatever,
Fuck it
If you get a chance, read Jon Stewart's, Reddit. Love that guy. I don't always agree with his politics but he's brilliant. Stewart's Reddit, is the best I've read. Tied for second are the ex-Knight from Medieval Times, and the employee from the self proclaimed "ghetto McDonalds". Ha. Good times.
I was disappointed how terribly boring Rob Zombie's Reddit, was. Then again this is the guy who said the skate park next to his house in CT was too loud. And moved.
Too loud?
Tuesdays are my days off. It's the only designated day I keep for myself. Currently I'm doing laundry. Jealous? I know you are. Then I'm going to call on my long time angry dyke hairdresser to see if she's available for a cut.
Aaaaand then,
Probably see a movie. Nightcrawler, I'm sure.
Aaaaand then, hit a wine bar, I'm sure.
Once upon a time "magnum" meant something more to me than 1.5 liters if wine... but these days in Los Angeles... 1.5 liters of wine sounds fantastic to me.
There's an open bottle of Decoy, siting in front of me right now...
But I'm doing laundry.
I don't drink and launder anymore. Not since "the incident".
Oh,
And it's only 9:07am.
One day that won't matter anymore.
Thursday, November 13, 2014
Kowalski's and Caribou - part VI
There's this woman I once knew, a woman I, in times gone, called a dear friend in our younger years. But no more. When this woman disappears from her home, after many nights in a row, her daughter emails me.
Her mom is a long time drug addict. Functioning, kind of. I severed ties with the mom over 10 years ago. But I just can't say no to her daughter who's been raised by her father since the court awarded him full time custody. Obviously.
There's a horrible thought that goes through my mind.
Why does this voluntarily toxic woman who, for all these years literally cares about no one, continue to live?
Why isn't she dead? Or rather how is she not dead?
Awful.
But,
I think it.
You wouldn't believe the places I've gone. Things I've seen. Looking for her mom. You wouldn't believe where I've found her. Maybe you would. You've seen movies. Depending on the director, films generally sum addict filth and vile rather accurately.
I let this woman who I (then) called my friend, stay with me once.
The 100th time I tried to help her get well for her daughter. I let her stay with me...
Once.
Resulting in the end of our friendship.
But,
Her daughter is ever faithful, ever loving, ever committed, ever devoted.
As long as we bring this woman home. Her daughter will take care of her mom. Not that her mom appreciates it.
And from her daughter,
And my dad's wife,
I ponder two things.
1. Sick is sick
2. Love is love
There is no lesser sick, or greater sick. Just sick.
There is no greater love, or lesser love. Just love.
No?
I once fell terribly in love. I was 20 years old. He was 30 years old and a raging alcoholic. But I loved him.
I love him still. A little.
He dumped me. I was devastated. According to him I didn't love him enough. It took many years to understand what that possibly meant. And he was right. I didn't love him enough.
Did I love him enough to roll him out of his own vomit, quite possibly day after day, bathe him, feed him, clean his house, run his errands, and make attempt after attempt to see him get well? No. Absolutely not.
I loved him. Just not enough.
I see the way that woman's daughter loves her mom.
I see the way my dad's wife loves my dad.
Addicts. Drunks. HIV, Cancer. I'm not comparing any of these illnesses as equals, but if sick is sick, and love is love... can't ignore the care these people require is the same.
Whatever it may be, however it may happen, do you know anyone who will be there for you in true sickness?
Someone who will run all your errands, clean all your messes, care for you every hour, of every day. Alongside doing all the cooking, housekeeping, laundry, and they probably have a full time job also...
Because that's cancer.
My dad's wife is amazing. Truly. All the pills, physical routines, cleaning, cooking, doctors, chemo, charts, running to the pharmacist, taking care of the house, doctors, paying the bills, plus my dad is a daily insulin diabetic...
The only other person who would care for dad that way, is me. Or I would at least try. My dad's wife is amazing. Superhuman.
In conversation with my dad he asked what my goals were for 2015. I told him, "Paris. I don't know what I'll do after That." I said. "Maybe Egypt?"
To which my dad replied rather affectionately, "Go to Paris. Take it from there. Who knows, dear. You may never want to come back, or go anywhere else ever again."
"No, I'll come back." I assured my dad.
My dad just shook his head and said, "Go to Paris. You have to. You never know, dear. You might meet a wonderful man, fall madly in love. Paris is known for that! I want you to go to Paris. It's where you need to be."
It is where I need to be. Paris. Italy. Spain. I've always known. Since a little girl staring at pictures of renaissance sculptures and paintings, "I need to be where these were made. I want to go here."
Years ago,
My dad's wife tried to get me to read some books by this guy she saw on Oprah.
Oprah.
Right.
I didn't read the books.
So recently,
Once again,
My dad's wife gave me copies of this guy's books and CDs. His teachings are supposed to help you find inner strength.
I'm reading them.
If these books and CDs are what gets my dad's wife through the countless days and nights, loving my dad unconditionally, taking care of him, and his cancer, every hour, of every day, then I'm reading his books.
And,
Who knows,
I may also need the strength one day to get me through countless days and nights.
In Paris.
Her mom is a long time drug addict. Functioning, kind of. I severed ties with the mom over 10 years ago. But I just can't say no to her daughter who's been raised by her father since the court awarded him full time custody. Obviously.
There's a horrible thought that goes through my mind.
Why does this voluntarily toxic woman who, for all these years literally cares about no one, continue to live?
Why isn't she dead? Or rather how is she not dead?
Awful.
But,
I think it.
You wouldn't believe the places I've gone. Things I've seen. Looking for her mom. You wouldn't believe where I've found her. Maybe you would. You've seen movies. Depending on the director, films generally sum addict filth and vile rather accurately.
I let this woman who I (then) called my friend, stay with me once.
The 100th time I tried to help her get well for her daughter. I let her stay with me...
Once.
Resulting in the end of our friendship.
But,
Her daughter is ever faithful, ever loving, ever committed, ever devoted.
As long as we bring this woman home. Her daughter will take care of her mom. Not that her mom appreciates it.
And from her daughter,
And my dad's wife,
I ponder two things.
1. Sick is sick
2. Love is love
There is no lesser sick, or greater sick. Just sick.
There is no greater love, or lesser love. Just love.
No?
I once fell terribly in love. I was 20 years old. He was 30 years old and a raging alcoholic. But I loved him.
I love him still. A little.
He dumped me. I was devastated. According to him I didn't love him enough. It took many years to understand what that possibly meant. And he was right. I didn't love him enough.
Did I love him enough to roll him out of his own vomit, quite possibly day after day, bathe him, feed him, clean his house, run his errands, and make attempt after attempt to see him get well? No. Absolutely not.
I loved him. Just not enough.
I see the way that woman's daughter loves her mom.
I see the way my dad's wife loves my dad.
Addicts. Drunks. HIV, Cancer. I'm not comparing any of these illnesses as equals, but if sick is sick, and love is love... can't ignore the care these people require is the same.
Whatever it may be, however it may happen, do you know anyone who will be there for you in true sickness?
Someone who will run all your errands, clean all your messes, care for you every hour, of every day. Alongside doing all the cooking, housekeeping, laundry, and they probably have a full time job also...
Because that's cancer.
My dad's wife is amazing. Truly. All the pills, physical routines, cleaning, cooking, doctors, chemo, charts, running to the pharmacist, taking care of the house, doctors, paying the bills, plus my dad is a daily insulin diabetic...
The only other person who would care for dad that way, is me. Or I would at least try. My dad's wife is amazing. Superhuman.
In conversation with my dad he asked what my goals were for 2015. I told him, "Paris. I don't know what I'll do after That." I said. "Maybe Egypt?"
To which my dad replied rather affectionately, "Go to Paris. Take it from there. Who knows, dear. You may never want to come back, or go anywhere else ever again."
"No, I'll come back." I assured my dad.
My dad just shook his head and said, "Go to Paris. You have to. You never know, dear. You might meet a wonderful man, fall madly in love. Paris is known for that! I want you to go to Paris. It's where you need to be."
It is where I need to be. Paris. Italy. Spain. I've always known. Since a little girl staring at pictures of renaissance sculptures and paintings, "I need to be where these were made. I want to go here."
Years ago,
My dad's wife tried to get me to read some books by this guy she saw on Oprah.
Oprah.
Right.
I didn't read the books.
So recently,
Once again,
My dad's wife gave me copies of this guy's books and CDs. His teachings are supposed to help you find inner strength.
I'm reading them.
If these books and CDs are what gets my dad's wife through the countless days and nights, loving my dad unconditionally, taking care of him, and his cancer, every hour, of every day, then I'm reading his books.
And,
Who knows,
I may also need the strength one day to get me through countless days and nights.
In Paris.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Kowalski's and Caribou - part V
Caribou's, is the Starbucks of MN.
When meeting someone in MN for the first time, regardless of the weather, you meet at Caribou's.
On this particular morning it was 23 degrees out. I've got CA blood now, and even though Caribou's is directly across the street from my hotel - oh you betcha I wore hat and mittens.
The coffee house was busy. Like Starbucks on a Saturday morning in L.A.
In the short walk crossing the street from my hotel to Caribou's, my hands felt like they were frozen even inside the mittens.
In the warmth of Caubou's, I took one mitten off and it dropped to the ground. A very nice man picked up my mitten before I even noticed it dropped, and handed it back to me.
That was incredibly nice. I thanked him. Both he and the girl he was with were super friendly.
Very sweet.
And,
Very attractive.
Both of them.
I wanted to invite them out for a glass of wine.
I didn't of course.
For me, regarding couples, being nice, warm, friendly and sweet, means so much more to me than being "hot" or "fit" or "upscale". If you are the latter mentioned, that's just a bonus of amazing luck but never the initial attraction.
If you start off saying, "We're hot, fit, and sexy" it just translates into, "We're selfish, arrogant dicks. You don't want to meet us." And thanks to public forums, it's generally true.
You can't sell nice.
Kindness isn't meant to be sold.
The only way to meet couples is just by hanging out, but you can't really identify yourself, or each other, out in public this way either, so...
Once upon a time I did the online legwork meeting people. But with the growth of social networking, public forums, meeting people this way is such a turn off.
Oh yeah, right. I remember them. They wrote that disparaging rant about single girls, and then wonder why they can't find single girls.
Geniuses, I tell ya.
I rather travel 350 miles to hang out with people I really enjoy, than risk meeting "hot, fit, upscale" strangers within 5 miles of me who already sound like people I would never want in my house.
Receiving emails from swinger couples in Los Angeles, is a horror/freak show of arrogance, anger, and begging. And I all I can do is just open the emails, read them, and then,
Take some aspirin,
And,
Log off.
Today,
In about 6 hours I'll be having lunch... I don't know... Somewhere.
See you there?
Or,
Maybe,
One day,
At a wine bar, beach, Getty, Vegas, New York, Paris, on an airplane, or...
When meeting someone in MN for the first time, regardless of the weather, you meet at Caribou's.
On this particular morning it was 23 degrees out. I've got CA blood now, and even though Caribou's is directly across the street from my hotel - oh you betcha I wore hat and mittens.
The coffee house was busy. Like Starbucks on a Saturday morning in L.A.
In the short walk crossing the street from my hotel to Caribou's, my hands felt like they were frozen even inside the mittens.
In the warmth of Caubou's, I took one mitten off and it dropped to the ground. A very nice man picked up my mitten before I even noticed it dropped, and handed it back to me.
That was incredibly nice. I thanked him. Both he and the girl he was with were super friendly.
Very sweet.
And,
Very attractive.
Both of them.
I wanted to invite them out for a glass of wine.
I didn't of course.
For me, regarding couples, being nice, warm, friendly and sweet, means so much more to me than being "hot" or "fit" or "upscale". If you are the latter mentioned, that's just a bonus of amazing luck but never the initial attraction.
If you start off saying, "We're hot, fit, and sexy" it just translates into, "We're selfish, arrogant dicks. You don't want to meet us." And thanks to public forums, it's generally true.
You can't sell nice.
Kindness isn't meant to be sold.
The only way to meet couples is just by hanging out, but you can't really identify yourself, or each other, out in public this way either, so...
Once upon a time I did the online legwork meeting people. But with the growth of social networking, public forums, meeting people this way is such a turn off.
Oh yeah, right. I remember them. They wrote that disparaging rant about single girls, and then wonder why they can't find single girls.
Geniuses, I tell ya.
I rather travel 350 miles to hang out with people I really enjoy, than risk meeting "hot, fit, upscale" strangers within 5 miles of me who already sound like people I would never want in my house.
Receiving emails from swinger couples in Los Angeles, is a horror/freak show of arrogance, anger, and begging. And I all I can do is just open the emails, read them, and then,
Take some aspirin,
And,
Log off.
Today,
In about 6 hours I'll be having lunch... I don't know... Somewhere.
See you there?
Or,
Maybe,
One day,
At a wine bar, beach, Getty, Vegas, New York, Paris, on an airplane, or...
Monday, November 10, 2014
Kowalski's and Caribou - part IV
"She's reading Allen Ginsberg." the husband says nodding his head in my direction. "Ever read Allen Ginsberg?" he asked his wife.
"No! Of course not! Why the hell would I?!" she said belittling her husband.
In that era of writers, Ginsberg wrote boring rants about drugs and cops.
Huxley and Kerouac, wrote about sex, orgies, opening one's mind.
I normally don't read Ginsberg. I just happened to be reading him on this particular day.
The husband lowered his glasses to see which Ginsberg book I was reading. I normally would have just told him, but his wife was such a cunt I didn't dare attempt any literary conversation. According to his wife one of could end up pregnant. And I'm on the pill, so...
I mind my business. Let those two lovebirds work it out.
"I remember reading Ginsberg in college. I wonder if they're still teaching about him in political science?" the husband comments to no one in particular.
By the way. Yes. They are still teaching him in political science classes.
The wife was thoroughly annoyed her husband brought up Ginsberg, again.
"Who cares if they're still teaching him! Ginsberg. What is he, a Jew?" the wife intellectually contributes. And then she adds, "If you want to look at girls, at least look at pretty girls. Look at her. Now she's pretty. Look at her finger nails."
I imagine the wife has been belittling her husband for years. I also imagine he's been cheating on her for the duration of those years. Probably with a girl who reads. Christ, I hope so.
The husband flips open his laptop and ignores his wife. I bury my head into another boring chapter by Ginsberg.
The wife just sat there.
Quiet.
Alone.
"No! Of course not! Why the hell would I?!" she said belittling her husband.
In that era of writers, Ginsberg wrote boring rants about drugs and cops.
Huxley and Kerouac, wrote about sex, orgies, opening one's mind.
I normally don't read Ginsberg. I just happened to be reading him on this particular day.
The husband lowered his glasses to see which Ginsberg book I was reading. I normally would have just told him, but his wife was such a cunt I didn't dare attempt any literary conversation. According to his wife one of could end up pregnant. And I'm on the pill, so...
I mind my business. Let those two lovebirds work it out.
"I remember reading Ginsberg in college. I wonder if they're still teaching about him in political science?" the husband comments to no one in particular.
By the way. Yes. They are still teaching him in political science classes.
The wife was thoroughly annoyed her husband brought up Ginsberg, again.
"Who cares if they're still teaching him! Ginsberg. What is he, a Jew?" the wife intellectually contributes. And then she adds, "If you want to look at girls, at least look at pretty girls. Look at her. Now she's pretty. Look at her finger nails."
I imagine the wife has been belittling her husband for years. I also imagine he's been cheating on her for the duration of those years. Probably with a girl who reads. Christ, I hope so.
The husband flips open his laptop and ignores his wife. I bury my head into another boring chapter by Ginsberg.
The wife just sat there.
Quiet.
Alone.
Kowalski's and Caribou - part III
Some women look very sexy in clothes. They've got thick meaty hips, thighs, breasts, and wear tight clothes to hug their hourglass curvy frame. And if they have a pretty face with long thick curly dark hair, well that just seals the deal for me.
Because of how much flying I've done this year,
I've taken notice if this one particular Latin female flight attendant. I've been on a few of her flights now. She's unbelievably sexy.
On this last flight someone (quietly) stink-bombed her plane. She threw open the attendants curtain and stared into the unknown smelly vapor. She then marched down center isle of the plane in her high heel shoes, part gunslinger, part runway model, and tried to detect the origins if said stench basically by following her nose.
She disappeared into the back of the plane and minutes later the smell was gone.
She walked back down the isle, to everyone's curiosity how she got rid of the stinky odor so quickly, but only said, "That just won't do on my plane." and smiled.
Everyone laughed.
It wasn't funny. But when you're a smoking hot curvy Latin female flight attendant, who cares.
Because of how much flying I've done this year,
I've taken notice if this one particular Latin female flight attendant. I've been on a few of her flights now. She's unbelievably sexy.
On this last flight someone (quietly) stink-bombed her plane. She threw open the attendants curtain and stared into the unknown smelly vapor. She then marched down center isle of the plane in her high heel shoes, part gunslinger, part runway model, and tried to detect the origins if said stench basically by following her nose.
She disappeared into the back of the plane and minutes later the smell was gone.
She walked back down the isle, to everyone's curiosity how she got rid of the stinky odor so quickly, but only said, "That just won't do on my plane." and smiled.
Everyone laughed.
It wasn't funny. But when you're a smoking hot curvy Latin female flight attendant, who cares.
Kowalski's and Caribou - part II
Kowalski's has the best deli inside of a grocery store, ever. It's like 20 grandmas in a kitchen making the most fantastic holiday foods - but in a grocery store deli.
The Kowalski's by my dad's house has the nicest women working in the deli. I could have easily dropped $100 in fish, pastas, stuffings, seasoned vegetables, etc., and it would have amount to a ton of food because food cost is cheaper in MN than Los Angeles.
$15 gets you a beer, burger and fries in MN.
$15 in Los Angles, gets you...
Well I'm sure it gets you something.
The hotel I stay in by dad's house, layover many flight crews. I kept seeing pilots and airline attendants in the hallways and elevator.
"I love your luggage." one very pretty attendant said, flashing me her expensive smile.
"This girl knows how to pack." the other pretty attendant said, smiling, nodding in approval of my suitcase.
Keep talking like that ladies, and we're all going to miss our flights.
When I was 19 years old I nanny/babysat a flight attendant's boy. The boy was like 8 or 10 years old. Maybe a little older. I forget now. Brilliant kid. Piano player. His mom was a total pervert. In a good way though. She was always asking me if I wanted to sleep over and have a girls night in. She was always hitting on my dates when they picked my up from her house. One night I got sexy at her place for a date, and she came home with one of her stud pilot boyfriends and showed me off to him. "Isn't she pretty!" she exclaimed spinning me around in front of him. Her pilot stud agreed while staring at my dress. She was a very attractive stunning woman. If I knew then what I know now...
Missed opportunities.
But now every time I see a sexy flight attendant I think of her.
And speaking of flight attendants...
The Kowalski's by my dad's house has the nicest women working in the deli. I could have easily dropped $100 in fish, pastas, stuffings, seasoned vegetables, etc., and it would have amount to a ton of food because food cost is cheaper in MN than Los Angeles.
$15 gets you a beer, burger and fries in MN.
$15 in Los Angles, gets you...
Well I'm sure it gets you something.
The hotel I stay in by dad's house, layover many flight crews. I kept seeing pilots and airline attendants in the hallways and elevator.
"I love your luggage." one very pretty attendant said, flashing me her expensive smile.
"This girl knows how to pack." the other pretty attendant said, smiling, nodding in approval of my suitcase.
Keep talking like that ladies, and we're all going to miss our flights.
When I was 19 years old I nanny/babysat a flight attendant's boy. The boy was like 8 or 10 years old. Maybe a little older. I forget now. Brilliant kid. Piano player. His mom was a total pervert. In a good way though. She was always asking me if I wanted to sleep over and have a girls night in. She was always hitting on my dates when they picked my up from her house. One night I got sexy at her place for a date, and she came home with one of her stud pilot boyfriends and showed me off to him. "Isn't she pretty!" she exclaimed spinning me around in front of him. Her pilot stud agreed while staring at my dress. She was a very attractive stunning woman. If I knew then what I know now...
Missed opportunities.
But now every time I see a sexy flight attendant I think of her.
And speaking of flight attendants...
Kowalski's and Caribou - part I
"Excuse me, is anyone sitting in this chair?" I ask the woman standing next to the empty bar stool.
"It'll cost ya $25!" she snorts in a thick MN accent, giving me the elbow to let me know she was only kidding. "I'm just trying to make some extra money!" she snorts again, giving me the elbow one more time.
I had a response to that but I kept it to myself.
Even her snorting laugh had a MN accent.
Some midwesterners are truly interesting creatures. They'll keep trying and trying for a response to their humor like their chilly little noses depends on it. Anywhere else in the country, "Excuse me, is anyone using this chair?" and the reply would simply be yes, no, or go fuck yourself. Conversation over.
But not in MN
"Glad to see the cold isn't keeping people from going out." she says stating the obvious.
Options: Go out, drink beer. Stay home, drink beer. Only you don't get laid staying home.
"A few more of these (lifts her glass) and I'm going to wish I stayed home." she snorts again giving me the elbow one more time.
That would make both of us.
This had potential to go on all night.
I just grabbed the chair. Fuck it.
Thank you Clay @RayJ's for being (that) awesome.
Phoenix Airport.
Oh my fucking god. Christ. Jesus.
An hour on the tarmac waiting for a gate. Once inside the airport everyone with access to an intercom system used it all at the same time, talking over each other nonstop. And another hour on the tarmac waiting to take off.
But,
I rather deal with your ridiculous airport than the MN bullet I just missed being the 5 degree temp at night.
Yes. 5 degrees. You read correctly.
Lewis Black, has a bit about MN winter weather along the lines of, "I couldn't keep a single thought in my head the entire time I was there. You know, I really need to... fuck it's cold!!"
I miss winter sometimes. Just not the crazy that goes with it.
"It'll cost ya $25!" she snorts in a thick MN accent, giving me the elbow to let me know she was only kidding. "I'm just trying to make some extra money!" she snorts again, giving me the elbow one more time.
I had a response to that but I kept it to myself.
Even her snorting laugh had a MN accent.
Some midwesterners are truly interesting creatures. They'll keep trying and trying for a response to their humor like their chilly little noses depends on it. Anywhere else in the country, "Excuse me, is anyone using this chair?" and the reply would simply be yes, no, or go fuck yourself. Conversation over.
But not in MN
"Glad to see the cold isn't keeping people from going out." she says stating the obvious.
Options: Go out, drink beer. Stay home, drink beer. Only you don't get laid staying home.
"A few more of these (lifts her glass) and I'm going to wish I stayed home." she snorts again giving me the elbow one more time.
That would make both of us.
This had potential to go on all night.
I just grabbed the chair. Fuck it.
Thank you Clay @RayJ's for being (that) awesome.
Phoenix Airport.
Oh my fucking god. Christ. Jesus.
An hour on the tarmac waiting for a gate. Once inside the airport everyone with access to an intercom system used it all at the same time, talking over each other nonstop. And another hour on the tarmac waiting to take off.
But,
I rather deal with your ridiculous airport than the MN bullet I just missed being the 5 degree temp at night.
Yes. 5 degrees. You read correctly.
Lewis Black, has a bit about MN winter weather along the lines of, "I couldn't keep a single thought in my head the entire time I was there. You know, I really need to... fuck it's cold!!"
I miss winter sometimes. Just not the crazy that goes with it.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
We meet again
Back in September, I wrote a blog titled 'Whole Lot of Pork' where I mention a guy I met and was interested in.
Since that blog I've been back to that particular pub (where I met him) approx 4 times but have not seen him since.
A month later,
Before I left Los Angeles (I'm presently in MN),
Friends and I went to a bar in the valley not far from the pub, aaaaaand guess who was tending bar? That guy.
I'm terrible at small talk. Feels like an interview. I hate being interviewed. Plus he's working. It's different making small talk when one of you is working.
We swap a few one liners, the bartender and me. I.E. We're both from the Midwest, we both like hockey, etc,. The Kings have become one of the best teams in the league (even though Detroit and Pittsburgh are still hurdles, etc.) This goes on for a while. And my friends are eyeballing the aforementioned volley of sentence swapping between me and the bartender and they're clearly getting annoyed. An entire month had past since the last time I saw this guy around and here we were talking about winters in the Midwest.
We're salesmen. If you live in Los Angeles, you're a salesman. If you're good at your job, it means you know how to pitch your product to those you want to sell it to. I rarely ever give my personal life much thought. It's not a product. Its not a priority. Not for about 7 years since I last considered dating someone regularly, which resulted in that guy and I having sex a few times and then never speaking to each other again.
"Your friends tell me you're leaving for MN." The bartender says to me. Total bartender talk. I know. I've done it.
Yeah but I'm coming back. I mean, I'm not moving back to MN. I mean, I'm going back to MN to be with family. l'll be back mid November. Back in Los Angeles, I mean.
Smooth.
Since that blog I've been back to that particular pub (where I met him) approx 4 times but have not seen him since.
A month later,
Before I left Los Angeles (I'm presently in MN),
Friends and I went to a bar in the valley not far from the pub, aaaaaand guess who was tending bar? That guy.
I'm terrible at small talk. Feels like an interview. I hate being interviewed. Plus he's working. It's different making small talk when one of you is working.
We swap a few one liners, the bartender and me. I.E. We're both from the Midwest, we both like hockey, etc,. The Kings have become one of the best teams in the league (even though Detroit and Pittsburgh are still hurdles, etc.) This goes on for a while. And my friends are eyeballing the aforementioned volley of sentence swapping between me and the bartender and they're clearly getting annoyed. An entire month had past since the last time I saw this guy around and here we were talking about winters in the Midwest.
We're salesmen. If you live in Los Angeles, you're a salesman. If you're good at your job, it means you know how to pitch your product to those you want to sell it to. I rarely ever give my personal life much thought. It's not a product. Its not a priority. Not for about 7 years since I last considered dating someone regularly, which resulted in that guy and I having sex a few times and then never speaking to each other again.
"Your friends tell me you're leaving for MN." The bartender says to me. Total bartender talk. I know. I've done it.
Yeah but I'm coming back. I mean, I'm not moving back to MN. I mean, I'm going back to MN to be with family. l'll be back mid November. Back in Los Angeles, I mean.
Smooth.
Sunday, November 2, 2014
Daniel Radcliffe
I'm really liking this guy. His interviews are amazing. He's well spoken, witty, sharp, fast, articulate, and he can rap the Blackalicious Alphabet Aerobics, which isn't easy for white guys, or so I hear.
YouTube it.
YouTube it.
The married woman
My friend is involved with a married woman.
She is still married. Recently separated. No divorce papers in sight.
My friend is too busy getting laid to see all the bad choices he's making.
She has keys to his house, keys to his car, access to his bank account, and now she is trying to get him to go into business with her.
Bad! All of it.
We all have "that one friend" involved with someone who is just bad for them. Up until now that someone was a different guy my friend and I shook our heads over. Now it's my friend but he's too blind to see it.
When my friend's girlfriend gets him to commit financially into helping her with her business, she'll take him for everything, and move on, or go back to her husband. I watched her cry over her husband when she mentioned him to me in private.
My friend won't listen to reason. He won't hear it. He's enchanted when she says, "I'm just a little girl. Take care of me!"
She typed up a list of rules he must follow.
She stalks him if he does anything without her.
She stalks the people he's with.
If she doesn't see his car where he says he will be, she screams at him.
And all she has to say is, "I'm just a little girl, take care if me!"
Never mind she's a married, mid thirty-something year old woman.
Don't tell me fantasy isn't better than reality.
Reality sucks.
Just ask my friend.
She is still married. Recently separated. No divorce papers in sight.
My friend is too busy getting laid to see all the bad choices he's making.
She has keys to his house, keys to his car, access to his bank account, and now she is trying to get him to go into business with her.
Bad! All of it.
We all have "that one friend" involved with someone who is just bad for them. Up until now that someone was a different guy my friend and I shook our heads over. Now it's my friend but he's too blind to see it.
When my friend's girlfriend gets him to commit financially into helping her with her business, she'll take him for everything, and move on, or go back to her husband. I watched her cry over her husband when she mentioned him to me in private.
My friend won't listen to reason. He won't hear it. He's enchanted when she says, "I'm just a little girl. Take care of me!"
She typed up a list of rules he must follow.
She stalks him if he does anything without her.
She stalks the people he's with.
If she doesn't see his car where he says he will be, she screams at him.
And all she has to say is, "I'm just a little girl, take care if me!"
Never mind she's a married, mid thirty-something year old woman.
Don't tell me fantasy isn't better than reality.
Reality sucks.
Just ask my friend.