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To being young and foolish.




You are a silly hungry boy, go ahead have some cake, she will taste good and be sweet like me.................... she will rot your teeth.


Sunday, June 9, 2013

GETTING IT RIGHT AND GETTING IT TIGHT FOR THE SUMMER





GETTING IT RIGHT AND GETTING IT TIGHT FOR THE SUMMER.





Fitness, body-image, and self-esteem all go hand in hand.  I can’t even begin to go into how many times I have been called fat in my life. That word can really fuck a girl up. It’s one of those words that hits you deep. I ran track when I was younger and was thinner but still not skinny and I got called fat.  I played rugby and literally ran, and ran and ran and was in the best shape of my life and still was never skinny and was called fat.  Fuck that noise. I am not fat. I have fat on my body but I have seen a fat person and I am not it.  Here is the thing about growing up and being chubby, fat, thick, and rotund or round you can do 3 things;
1. Not give a fuck.
2. Hate yourself.
3. Lose Weight.

I chose to not give a fuck. Don’t get me wrong, I would love to be rail thin and just prance around half naked all the time, because that is exactly what I would do if I were skinny. I believe there is a reason I was never meant to be rail thin. I would not be the nice girl I am today who writes blogs about self acceptance, and being a good friend. I would be a man stealing, shit talking, skinny bitch that terrorized everyone around me.  That’s what’s buried deep down inside of me, underneath the curves, and confidence; an evil skinny bitch and I love her. I also love myself, but I love myself the most when I am working out  and trying to be a fit bitch.
I have so much respect for fit bitches, not skinny bitches, FIT bitches. I have respect for the girls that workout everyday and count every calorie. Being skinny is a fucking full-time job and those bitches put in work. Now the skinny bitches that eat whatever they want and but still get to prance around half naked with their bones rattling in the wind, those are the bitches I hate on. I will admit that I secretly wish that I could hear my bones rattle or fight to keep my feet on the ground so that gusts of wind don’t carry me away. I wasn’t meant to be skinny; I would be a snobby, mean bitch who just ran around half naked, sticking out my collar bones and just basking in my boniness. In order for me to be skinny I would literally have to watch everything that I ate and work out like a mad woman. I have done that and still never got as skinny as I wanted. To those of you who are thinking that I don’t want it bad enough, you are right. I don’t want it enough to let it consume my life.
I work out. I go through phases where I’m super healthy and I workout everyday and then I stop and then I start again and then I stop and so on.  You can call me chubby, fat or whatever but you will never call me obese! Hell No!  Working out and eating right is something we all have to do for our health mental and physical but most of all I don’t want to be too fat. I don’t want to be jiggling all over the goddamn place and sweating up a storm in the summer. I want to eat well for good skin and a body that looks good in a high waist two piece bathing suit, what some call a Fatkini. I need to work out and eat right for survival reasons as well.  When the impending zombie apocalypse does happen my ass is not going be the fat girl that gets eaten because she couldn’t run away from zombies. What if the world goes to shit and I find myself in some kind of hunger games situation? I’m already at a disadvantage because I don’t have weapons training but I should be able to at least make an attempt at running for my life and be strong enough to take someone down in hand to hand combat. What if I was on a ship and it began to sink and the only way to swim to safety was through a small hatch door and my ass couldn’t fit and I’m the fat girl drowning on the fucking ship, or I get out the hole but I don’t have the endurance to swim to shore or tread water till the coast guard comes because I’m fat and I’m tired?  That will not be me; I can’t lose my life to some impending doom or Diabetes. Missing toes and bitches that can’t breathe after they walk up the subway stairs are not sexy.
Sexy is as sexy does.  Although my body is not a perfect specimen,  I love it because it’s mine, it belongs to me, I need to take care of it. I believe that you need to get naked and look in the mirror and accept that some things will never change and that all the shit that makes you different makes you beautiful. I also believe that if you hate what you see when you look in the mirror then you should change it.  It’s that simple and that is so annoying. It’s annoying that it’s true, that it’s a fact. It’s a fact that if you want to lose 100 pounds, you can lose 100 pounds.  The problem with that is that losing 100 pounds is going to be a bitch, so start out by losing 20 and looking in the mirror and loving the body you see and then losing another 20 won’t be so hard. Every trainer, gym enthusiast and fit bitch that I know said the same thing about being skinny. Diet, exercise and dedication will give you a sexy ass body. If you want to be skinny you can be skinny, you just have to want it really bad. It’s true I don’t want it bad enough, never really have.  I have vodka to drink and boys to flirt with and a life to enjoy and the joy of skinniness doesn’t top those things in my book. What can I say? I am a work in progress.   I’m just a girl with this blog who loves to give advice about shit that she is nowhere near being an expert on; like relationships and weight loss.  I have never lost 100 pounds but if I did, I would be that mean, evil, fabulous, skinny bitch that God did not intend me to be and that would be amazing.
The pursuit of skinny can quickly take over your life and make you obsessed. I have a friend who lost a ridiculous amount of weight doing P90x and she says she will die trying to keep and maintain the weight loss because being skinny is delicious, more delicious than fried chicken or cake or even rice and beans. (According to her). Summertime is here and I don’t feel like I could stroll down a beach in a Fatkini with confidence so I have been on the pursuit of skinny for a couple of weeks now. Last night I had a dream that I ate all of these delicious cookies and then I had potato salad and then I ate fried chicken, it was like a nightmare.  I woke up so scared and thought about how many calories that would be on my fitness pal and freaked out. All I could think about was how much I would have to run to burn it off.  
Food should not give you nightmares; food should not drive a person this crazy. Trying to attain an unrealistic form of beauty is tiring, trust me I should know.   Kudos to those of us who are out there chasing the ultimate skinny girl dream and I hope you achieve it. I also hope that it makes you happy and not miserable; I hope that you don’t ever let it consume you.  I love my curves but if I am honest I couldn’t not love my curves if they made me as round as a beach ball, so I try not to let them get out of control. I don’t want be at a disadvantage if the world as we know it changes or a freak accident happens.  I could be put in a situation where I need to be able to, fight, run or swim for my life so occasionally I let this affect my food choices and decisions to bust out a little 30 min cardio here and there.  Working out and eating right gives you more energy and makes you feel great but I can’t say that I am 100% committed 24/7. This is your body, own it, love it, take care of it and fuck everybody else including me.  (Who the fuck am I?

Friday, May 24, 2013

ANDY FROM THE OFFICE 2.0









                                                      ANDY FROM THE OFFICE 2.0








I lost my virginity freshman year of college. In fact, I was virtually untouched and believed that I was waiting for marriage right up until the first time I felt a penis inside of me. The weekend after I lost my virginity, I read an article in “Sister to Sister” magazine about how important it is for young women of color to treat their bodies with respect.  It said that our virtue is like a glass window and every time you sleep with a man you are letting him put his fingertips on your window. If you sleep with too many men you won’t be able to see out of your dirty window. I immediately looked around the hair salon I was in. Did of all of the Dominican women know that I had let somebody put their fingerprints on my window? I was worried because although I had only lost my virginity a week ago, I already knew that I liked sex. I liked it a lot.

Throughout the years the idea of having a dirty window has stuck with me. The sisters at “Sister to Sister” magazine had gotten to me. I am selective about who I have sex with, and very specific. For instance, if I am drunk and you are a small Jewish man, you have a pretty good chance. If you are an Irish man, with an accent or red hair or both you have a very good chance. Last but not least, if you are an African Businessman, you can basically take the VIP line to my vagina. I literally sleep with three types of men. It’s not something I can explain. “She” knows what “She” likes. I know it doesn’t sound like it, but I have been selective. These are the men I find myself attracted to and will most likely without fail make out with, but even then only a select few have actually gotten to put their fingerprints on my window.

Two years ago I’d had my heart broken by an African Businessman and was on a very self-righteous path. I was abstinent. One cold December night I was having diner and drinks in a wine bar where my friend Naomy worked. My friend Rachel and I sat at the bar while Naomy generously poured us glass after glass of delicious white wine. I was bragging about my re-virginity and how I was so focused, and so ready for the New Year, wailing on about how I was going to continue on my path of abstinence for another year. I was even planning to have a re-virginity party. It was going to be all girls and we would wear all white and get drunk and celebrate my re-virginity. But these vicious girls I called friends were telling me that my abstinence was not natural, that they would get me drunk at my re-virginity party and then find someone to take my re-virginity. Rachel was trying to make the point that having sex wasn’t my problem. She thought I wasn’t having enough sex. She thought that I was trying to hide behind my abstinence because I was just afraid of intimacy, which I had reserved for the African Businessman that had broken my heart. I associated sex, and damn good sex at that, with him. If I stopped having sex then I wouldn’t have to think of him or involve myself with anyone else. But what did she know? As one of my closest and oldest friends it was obvious to me that she didn’t know what she was talking about.


When the wine bar closed, we went to an Irish pub next door. My friend Naomy is absolutely gorgeous, like exotic Brazilian model gorgeous, so when we walk into a bar with her men literally flock to us. When I met Andy from the Office 2.0, I was already tipsy from my many glasses of wine. Fine, I was already drunk. I had moved on to Vodka soda. He approached with a friend who was also wearing a suit, there they were, two unassuming white male professionals in their late twenties. He was tall, had dark hair and wasn’t my usual type but there was something about him that made me want to keep talking to him.

I was being a jerk and making fun of everything that came out of his mouth. He looked like a typical frat boy lawyer, and that’s because he was. He told me his name but I continued to call him Andy from the office 2.0. Even though he looked nothing like him, his demeanor and speech reminded me of the real Andy from the Office, who I should admit I have an unexplainable crush on. As the night went on, he continued buying my Vodka sodas and telling me about his college frat and where he went to law school. All that good stuff, I think I told him I lived in Astoria and that I was a singer. I was working under the assumption that I would never see this boy again and he seemed gullible enough to believe me.

I don’t know how dorky ass Andy from the office 2.0 did it, but he got me in bed—when I was just weeks away from reaching my one year of abstinence goal. As I lay there with him on top of me, I couldn’t help but think about how this was a waste of fingerprints on my window. But I decided I was going to have an open mind, shift my hips a bit and get into it. He was really trying and he did go down on me although I was not about to return the favor. As he was on top of me trying it to put it down on me, in my drunken state I thought it would be funny to try and fake an orgasm, to give myself something to do. I had never done that before. I began running my fingers through the hair on his back luxuriating in the furriness and whimpering. I wasn’t sure what I was going for with my fake orgasm, but I didn’t want to do a fake version of my real one. This guy was nice and funny and sarcastic and he was really trying so I decided to really put more effort into faking an orgasm. I threw in some heavy breathing and lingering kisses and then when he was about to come I began to shake a little bit and dig my fingers into his back moaning.

When I woke up, the sun was streaming through the huge bedroom window of his Lower east side loft. To say my hair looked a mess was an understatement. I rolled over and saw the complete set of Game of Thrones books and almost laughed out loud. This guy was great, I loved Game of Thrones and I loved a lot of the other Fantasy books I saw on his bookshelf. He laid there sleeping so peacefully. I looked at him and I thought to myself what it would be like if Andy from the Office 2.0 and I started to date. What would our hairy bi-racial children look like? Would his family like me? Would my parents like him? Would our friends get along? Then I remembered last night and my fake orgasm. I put my clothes on and went to the bathroom. 

I was trying to fix my hair, pinch my cheeks, wash out my mouth and swipe some mascara on when I saw the hair pins on the sink. Andy from the office 2.0 had a girlfriend or a girl who felt comfortable enough to leave her hair pins in his bathroom. I speak vagina, she was leaving those pins there as a warning to me, this is how we mark out territory. I took those hair pins fixed my hair and went back into the bedroom to grab my purse and phone. He was awake, smiling and asking if I wanted to grab coffee. I was pretty tempted but that’s when I saw the women’s Burberry rain boots in his closet. I don’t know what bothered me more; the fact that he had women’s rain boots, which I assumed belonged to the owner of the pins in my hair, or the fact that he dated the kind of girl who wears Burberry rain boots. I just smiled, said no and left. I walked out of that gorgeous apartment and away from Andy from the Office 2.0 and away from the potentially cute, chic, interracial family we could have had.

I had read that Sister to Sister article 5 years ago, and it made me feel kind of guilty about liking sex, so I took the idea of fingerprints on my window and forgot about the fact that I’m the only one who will actually ever know how many fingerprints on my window. And the more fingerprints I rack up doesn’t make me a foggy window hoe. I enjoy sex so I should be having it. I can’t base my sexual decisions on an article I read two years ago. I should base my sexual decisions on my head, my heart and my vagina. She knows what she wants.

Monday, April 22, 2013

Wedding bells are ringing.....


 WEDDING BELLS ARE RINGING…….

 





Not for me and Channing Tatum ……  (sad face)

My best friend is getting married…….Oh shit.
I mean …… YAY! 

This nonsense has been happening to me all year. Every other day I get a new Facebook notification informing me that either a close friend or acquaintance of mine is not only getting married but also having babies and buying houses.  


So…. Yeah, my best friend is getting married and I am the maid of honor.
People are getting married, having babies and buying houses. While 95% of me is happy for the people around me, the other 5% just wants to know what the hell is going on? WHERE IS THE FIRE? Is the worlds population in trouble? Whats with the sudden need to settle down and procreate?

I am happy for the people my age who seem to have it together with their setting of goals and achieving them and their plans. I have a friend who said she wanted to get married immediately after her PHD and is now engaged and will finish her PHD this year. When she told me this a year ago she didn’t even have a boyfriend.  That’s fucking commitment and planning right there. I have another friend who said she wanted to date a professional athlete and a year later she had already dated 2. The moral of this story is not only that I am friends with gold diggers and future doctors, but that we can do anything we put our minds too, like marry up or down or just plain get married.

I always made the assumption that you fall in love and that makes you want to get married. I mean that’s what most of us thought when we were little while we were planning out our future weddings. You know you did it too!  The thing that I didn’t anticipate was how hard the love part was.  Maybe it’s just me, but the love part is the most complicated part. So while the 5% of me that doesn’t understand all of the engagements and babies that are popping up all around me I’m glad somebody may have figured it out.

The truth is that sometimes, and only sometimes, I like to get on a single girl, independent woman high horse. Sometimes I am not even sure I want to get married and sometimes I can be a snob about that. I like the idea of being single or just in a committed relationship and always being unattached, somehow always having the option to just ride my single girl independent woman high horse. 

I always say that I have these super high standards for love and marriage. It is very true. I grew up watching my grandmother and grandfather love each other until death literally. My grandmother passed away 6 months after my grandfather and it was no coincidence.  I feel like most girls close their eyes and they know, they know what their future husband might look like, they know what their future might be like and I have no fucking idea.  Not only do I have no idea, but the very thought of spending the rest of my life with someone else scares me.

 Marriage is like when you lose your identity and then you become one of those girls who constantly name drops her boyfriend except now you name drop your husband and you can’t tell the difference between your head and your ass without him. Marriage is like when you go to the movies alone to hide from your fat lazy husband and three fat lazy children that you had with your fat lazy husband but when you go in your purse to pay for your ticket you realize you ran for freedom without your wallet, marriage can be disappointing as fuck. 

I don’t mean to be a Debbie-downer. Yes, I can acknowledge that marriage can be both annoying and amazing. Marriage is having the shittiest day ever but coming home to bitch about it to the one person who actually might care. Marriage is tag teaming a car salesman on a good deal. Marriage is when my grandparents would drive anywhere and my grandmother would tell my grandpa where to go and how to drive even though she didn’t have a license. That’s what marriage really is. Marriage is my dad, complaining that my mom is making him watch Novelas in their room, and then asking a million questions about what’s going on in the show.  It’s rolling over and inhaling someone’s morning breath or falling asleep to the smell of their farts. That stuff is more intimate than any sexual position.

Speaking of sexual positions, let’s talk about the fact that I will have to have sex with one person for the rest of my life. I guess I could have an open marriage, but I’m too much of a jealous Latina bitch. If I love someone enough to marry them, I love them enough to cut them for cheating on me.


Wedding bells are ringing and I’m really confused; but in 2013, I vowed to mind my own business.  I’m going to keep my mouth shut and focus on not getting too drunk at my friend’s wedding in Mexico. I know an amazing girl who is going to marry an amazing guy in Mexico next year and their love is so real and so beautiful. Even though I’m broke, I’m going to be there on the beach.  No matter what, even if I have to swing on a pole to get there, I will get there. I will be on that beach sobbing with some kind of tequila cocktail in hand.

Wedding bells are ringing and my best friend is getting married and I am going to be her maid of honor and I am going to throw her the best fucking Bachelorette party ever. There are going be tigers and prostitutes involved and clothing will be optional.

I don’t get it, I don’t think I will ever get it. I will just be minding my own business and looking for the perfect LBD to wear to all these damn weddings, trying to keep it classy, and getting a handle on my drinking during these momentous occasions. 

Thursday, March 7, 2013

Women are not funny


I was riding the train on my way to my internship at The Peoples Improv Theatre on a Saturday night. I work in the theatre/bar once a week in order to earn credits to take discounted classes.  I ran into a familiar face, a guy that I see frequently at improv jams at The Pit and The Magnet. I would just like to say that although I love improv and sketch comedy that doesn't mean that I am funny.  I am fully aware of that. 

Let’s call this guy "Pony Tail." We were both going the same way and began having a conversation, talking about classes and jams. I mentioned that I really wanted to put together an all female Improv team. He chuckled, tucked his hair behind his ear and said, "I don't think women are funny" and I said, "Suck a dick." 

I didn't even think about it. Before I knew it, the words rushed out of my mouth, it was my gut reaction.

When people say something ignorant or foolish that makes me angry, I tell them to suck a dick, not because sucking dick is a negative or shameful act. It is absolutely fine in the privacy of a bedroom or behind a closed door. But if you only have dumb ignorant shit to say, as far as I'm concerned, you can stick a penis in your mouth. I feel this way about males and females, gay or straight. Who's dick? I don't know! 

It shouldn't be hard to find one willing and ready. As far as I was concerned, Ponytail could have dropped down on his knees and started performing fellaccio on any of the N train passengers.

 

Who am I to say what's funny and what's not funny? Would it have been funny for me to demonstrate how as a woman I could have easily done a routine about his ombre hair and his pony tail? Yes.  I am talking about an "I live in my moms basement, play video games and love anime ponytail" It would have been hilarious.

Three of the most successful people to come out of SNL in the past 10 years have been women. Kristen Wig, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler. The other note worthy person would be Jimmy Fallon who is notably very in touch with his feminine side. Women are not funny? I could go on to name every funny woman out there "doing it" right now. I could bring up all of the new sitcoms starring women popping up on every major network. I could draft out a poised, well informed argument and prove that women are funny, but I won’t and I didn't. I just told him to suck a dick and he laughed. Wait, what? I thought women weren't funny? I guess we aren't because I wasn't joking ........

 

Tuesday, February 26, 2013

I need to mind my own damn business before, I trurn into my into my mother!




I spent a great deal of my childhood in a Dominican hair salon called Cecelia's and watching novelas on TV. For those of you who don't know what a novela is: it is a Spanish language soap opera with 100% more backstabbing, secret love and all out scandal than your average American soap. A Dominican hair salon isn't just a place you go and get your hair washed and straightened for $20.00. It is a place that you can go to be transformed and get advice, almost as if the hair dressers are priests and the women are the congregation confessing sins and seeking guidance.

 I grew up going to the salon every Saturday and was exposed to the talk of dramatic Hispanic women and watching dramatic Hispanic television shows. I appreciate growing up under the influence of my mother, Cecelia and her employees. Many of the lessons they taught me have helped shaped the person I am today. I grew up listening to women gossip about their friends, their husbands, sisters and their friends’ husbands and their sisters’ husbands. I know how to keep my hair, my nails, my body and also, how to keep or lose a man. I also know the signs of when your man is cheating on you. Most of my life I thought these things were common knowledge.

I learned the most about being a woman on Saturdays from my mother, her best friend Cecelia, and her employees. I grew up hearing about sex lies and scandal so you can imagine my delight when I began to see it happening right before my very eyes. I know that this is wrong in so many ways but I am watching two married people have an affair and its delicious. Check your judgment at the door! I am actress working a boring temp job and this juicy piece of drama falls right into my lap, what do you expect from me?

I love love and romance. I also love drama and am often accused of encouraging it in my friends lives for my own amusement. This is different though it’s not something I am fantasizing for my own entertainment. This shit is real. The love birds in question are around the same age, in their early thirties and both married. These are not the kind of people I imagine having an affair. Two seemingly quite and normal people. They try to be discrete but it’s going to take a little bit more than leaving separately for "lunch" to fool me.

So far I know for sure they are definitely having lunch together. The guy dropped a receipt for his lunch for two people definitely drank 3 glasses of wine. Yeah..... I read the receipt, looked at the date and what they ordered. (I am fully aware that this sounds a tad unhealthy)

They began leaving separately, but this week they left together twice. The woman always comes back with purple lips from red wine and always looks a little buzzed. It is when she returns that she is more chatty than her usual quiet self. During one of our post "lunch" conversations she even admitted that she didn't like being married. She said that it was hard and a constant struggle. (BOOM, MOTHERFUCKERS) That's practically a confession.

I wonder where they go? How did this start? Why did it start? Are they in love?

Everyday I sit at my receptionist desk in the front of the office just hoping to catch a glance at the two love birds. Looking for clues in their speech but the past two days have been the most rewarding. One night we were the last three at the office. I got up to go wash my mug and there they were sitting on the couch in the conference room giggling with each other. I couldn't tell if they were holding hands but I bet they were. The guy is very quiet and he never really talks to me but when I'm around him I turn on the charm. Yesterday I saw him go into the kitchen and quickly grabbed my mug and walked in behind him. As I was washing the mug, he noticed that I was using her mug. I take advantage of this opportunity and begin to chat him up. I find out that his wife went to college in the same town that I did. Then I remember again that they have spouses. Do they suspect anything? Does his wife wash his clothes, does she find receipts, does she smell another woman on her man? Will she show up to work to curse the other woman out? Will she slap him across the face and throw her ring at him? Does she have a private eye following them?

Following them..... Is that crazy? Go to lunch when they take lunch and maybe follow them to see if they go to the same place?

Wait.....What...... I am sitting at my desk answering the phone and reapplying my mascara and I look into my little hand held mirror and these thoughts run through my head and you know who I see staring back at me? I see Sandra Lopez, my mother.

Are these nosy thoughts my own or are they a result of the novellas, Dominican women and my mothers influence on me? The trick to not becoming your mother is to recognize that it might happen and try and take preventative measures. I can’t stop going to the Dominican salon they are the only ones that can get this hair right, but I can stop watching novellas and making up my own personal ones. I can stop enjoying watching two married people have an affair and imagining what would happen if people find out. No, it’s too late, now I have begun investigating and I know too much.

My gift and my curse is my penchant for creating drama, I take way too much delight in it. I am known in my circle of friends for whenever I get schemes in my head, its getting pretty bad, I can literally see my mother looking back at me in the mirror.

The last thing I fucking need is to slowly turn into my mother even though I have the sneaking suspicion that it might happen anyway. I have decided to mind my own damn business before I

1.) Get caught up in their business and not pay attention to my own romantic situation.

 2.) Catch a stray bullet or stab wound from one of their disgruntled spouses or

3.) Turn into my crazy ass dramatic mother.




Thursday, February 21, 2013

"Just Friends"

 
 

I met my friend Rachel freshman year of college. We didn’t meet at a party or in class. No, we met in a single of the only all girls dormitory at Ithaca College. I wasn’t wearing pants.  She was visiting my Neighbor/Friend Alexis. I lived in an all-girls Dorm because my 17 year old self was scared to live with boys. What I didn’t realize was that the other girls in my dorm were quiet music students who did not like my loud music or my penchant for walking around pants less. They co-existed in this dorm living in a nun-like community while I and the 3 friends I did have in T1 did the exact opposite.  I walked into Alexis's room one day in a t-shirt, no bra and underwear. I immediately liked the short, skinny, curly haired red-head with freckles. She peeked out at me through her copper bangs and I fell in love. There it is, evidence that we choose our friends based purely on attraction, this is a fact, no serious studies or psychological testing needed. I have no articles to reference either.

 Think about it. Look at your friends, your core group and wonder if there is a common factor whether it be physical, emotional or even just shared experiences, lifestyles and zip codes. I have to admit I liked Rachel even more because of what she was wearing. I could tell she was from New York City like me. All of these things made her appealing to me as a friend. If I can be attracted to my girlfriends, what exactly stops me from being attracted to my guy friends?  

Does the physical even matter? I know for a fact you can admire and be attracted to someone in a platonic manner because they have appealing personality traits, or you share something in common; when you admit that a physical attraction can begin or grow out of a friendship, things can feel confusing. How do you keep it platonic? The reason I ask is this: although I have many platonic relationships with men, I can’t seem to help but wonder about the one friend that I did end up dating. I wonder was the attraction something that grew over time or were we destined to date from the beginning?

 First, I have to tell you a little bit about the dude that broke my heart. I mean shattered it into a million pieces. Homeboy was the worst.  He continued to come in and out of my life just as I was sewing my shit back together. The back and forth/on and off of our relationship always lead to me lying in bed, crying, listening to sad love songs by Sia, Adele, and Ani Difranco.  I wonder if our preceding friendship is the reason I was so hurt. Were we even friends to begin with? Was it a mutual attraction that just took a long time for us to realize? This makes me just wonder if men and women can really be just friends. To be honest I have some guy friends that if I turn my head to the side, squint one eye and look really hard, I could imagine making out with them or dating them.

 
My reality is that if I truly like someone or am attracted to them I can barely look them in the eye much less fuck around with them the way that I do with my guy friends. I literally become a stuttering mess when I am around guys I like.  I get really nervous. My relationships with my bros are completely different, there’s no filter.  I complain about penises, my period, shaving, waxing, sex , life...I drink with them, act a fool around them and truly think of them as equals.

 

Here is a good example of what the attraction between friends can mean….

 I once got wasted and made out with one of my male friends and to be honest I don’t even remember it.  I’m told it was very steamy. I think we fell into a kitchen, it was public and it was embarrassing. In the morning when I learned about our indiscretion session, I was grossed out. I love him but I don’t want him.  It was never a big deal just something dumb we did when drunk. This is the guy friend that my family loves, my girlfriends love, people in general adore this kid’s intelligence, charm and ambition. This is definitely the kind of guy in theory that I should probably be in love with. I can totally see why other girls fall for him and when I squint my eye and turn my head to the left I can see it. He is smart, educated, raised well, generous, open minded, ambitious and very cute. Unfortunately, except for that one drunken night (I had been going through a dry spell, I probably would have made out with anyone!) I have never once wanted more than friendship from him. That is my dude, my bro for life and it ends there.

I have some hot guy friends. I mean, like really hot ones. I have a male model/actor friend who has been featured in countless national campaigns and again there is nothing sexual there. The other was just in a feature film and while they are both very hot ( They may or may not be the two guys in the picture above, both single and ready to mingle) I would never be sexual with either.  I was raised with a bunch of male cousins and am used to being one of the guys. It’s easy for me to see them as my equals. Friendships with men come natural to me, we just have a lot in common. So much so that recently I was asking a guy friend (One of of those handsome bastards in the above picture) for advice regarding my current romantic situation and he had to remind me to stop acting like a guy and be a little bit more feminine (which I totally resented). I wasn’t listening or being attentive to the other person needs and I was being selfish. Do those traits sound familiar?

The  thing that still bugs me is the question of my relationship with my ex-boyfriend. Were we destined to fall for each other? Was our friendship based on attraction from the very beginning? I can’t really pinpoint the shift from friends to dating. I think sometimes think that the breakup affected me so deeply because I felt betrayed by one of my best friends. It killed me because I was hurting and I couldn’t even cry to my best friend. I know I am not alone in that feeling because I have discussed with a friend who was in the same position and we both couldn’t answer whether or not the attraction came before or after. I will say that when I first met my ex - boyfriend I was totally not into him and I should have known better because he didn’t treat his previous girlfriend that well. I would lecture him about treating her better but what can I say? Love is deaf, dumb, and blind sometimes. 

 
I have been searching for the answer to all of my questions and have become almost neurotic in my pursuit of answers. Listen people; I do serious research for this blog. I ask my friends who are a variety of genders, ethnicity's, and from all walks of life (I never really understood that saying, its creepy, like zombies come from a walk of death do they count? ) I get drunk and talk about this blog to strangers in bars and ask them about my topics. People have such strong yet varying opinions but the one consistent thing I heard was.

 "People befriend people they find attractive either on a physical or emotional level."
 

The guy friend that I mentioned earlier in this, the one everyone adores, I didn’t even like him when I met him. So what does that mean? What does this all mean? Why are we even here? What does this mean? I’m fucking confused!  (What else is new?)

I think that you can be attracted to someone and not have romantic feelings. It’s the way that people look, dress, and their attitudes that attract them to one another. The people you are attracted too are a reflection of yourself. Our friends are a result of our circumstances, our looks, our attitudes about life. Models don’t hang out with construction workers and that’s no coincidence. We are attracted to our male friends because deep down they are reflection of us and sometimes even a good romantic match in theory. Some of our guy friends may be "Perfect" for us. The truth is that deep down we know when there is an honest and raw attraction or sometimes it develops overnight. In the case of my ex-boyfriend it snuck up on me and knocked me off my feet. That was my first relationship and I made plenty of mistakes, but being his friend wasn’t one of them. I think of a lot of my guy friends as my babies, children I have to guide. I love them and want the best for them.  I can see why a lot of girls want to bone them but I will never make that mistake again.
 

I will also never bone my friend Rachel…… or at least I don’t think I will. If I did, we would be the chicest, interracial couple New York city has ever seen! (I’m tempted)

 

Monday, February 11, 2013

"Doing it" and "Doing you"




 About 2 weeks ago I had one of those New York City nights I will be talking about probably for the rest of my life. There is something magical about New York City. I honestly never know whats going to happen to me or where I will wake up in the morning. The magic isn't just in this city but in the people that inhabit it. They always say its not the place its the people but not here, In NYC the people make the place. In NYC your dreams can literally come to fruition, change, or just plain fucking die. The point I am trying to make is that, I live in one of the most magical places in the world (Fuck Disney world)

I woke up one saturday morning all nice and cozy, cuddled up to my new romantic  "Situation". It felt so good to be snuggled up and warm, I didn't even the mind the sound of his snoring. I could have stayed snuggeled up forever but I had things to do.

 My bestie Lily was in town and I had 24 hours to enjoy her and get as weird as possible.

 Our night started of at The PIT NYC. We then went to a Goth club downtown called Drum where we watched a man in his 40's be submissive to what looked like a very fierce asian lady boy. He licked her stilettos and acted was her human foot rest as we watched with absolutely no shame. Unfortunately we had to leave just as she was collaring him.


Are you guys friends with a "cool ass bitch"? You know who I'm talking about. That friend that just always knows whats up, where to go get you in for free,where the hottest and most exclusive parties are. That friend that you wake up next to in the moring wearing each others clothes, with your hand in a bag of chips. That bitch that has you out until 4 in the morning on a Tuesday night in a hot tub, drinking champagne. That's my friend Soraya, that girl should write a book about not giving a fuck and just "doing it"!

Soraya is the reason I watched my first real life dominant submissive exchange and also why, Lily nd I ended up at Electric room drinking for free until 4 in the morning. Next thing I know I'm in a car on the way to an after hours spot in Brooklyn. This is all happening at 5 in the morning by the way. I spend 3 hours in some warehouse party in brooklyn dancing my face off with my out of town friend. We are in love and we are on fire and nobody can say shit to us. This little girl and I are fucking magic, walking around dancing and truly just living for that moment. We are fucking "doing it" Do we look fly? Why yes we do! Do we give a fuck? No, mam we do not. The party is over and walk outside at 8:30 in the morning to a beautiful January winter day  and are about to go home when a guys asks uf is we want to go to an after party at a loft. It's 8:30 in the morning..... we look at each other and hop in the cab.

 We then went to a loft and watched these boys do an insane amount of coke and talk our ears off.  I listend to this boy brag about his SAT score (he was 27)  and how he basically brought dub step to America  for 40 minutes. I loved it, another guy tried to explain to me that he and I were on the same level and wanted me to know that he voted for Obama ( he was white) and that he and I could have a future together. We left at 10:30 and all slept in Soraya's bed.That was one of the best nights of my life and I once lost a shoe in India. (Shit got cray)


" While it is important to live up to your full potential it is also important not to waste these amazing years worrying about the future" Wise words from My friend Catherine who is on her way to becoming the baddest female lawyer Chicago has ever seen. She is law school and about to get married but she still sees the importance of "doing you" We have so much shit to worry about in the present we have to be careful not to worry too much about the future and live our lives. Some girls are currently looking for husbands and super focused on their futures to the point where they are not even enjoying themselves. This is your life and you HAVE TO ENJOY IT.  It feels so good to just fucking let loose. Don't feel bad about being wild and living for yourself because next thing you know your going be married with a child and have some serious shit to deal with. You should be able to look back on your life be like "God damn I was fucking "doing it" back in the day".

We need to be "doing it" so hard that we get addicted and need to go to support meetings for people who have done to fucking much.

So if you need help or advice on how to "do it" the right way  I will see you at BDTM  (Bitches Doing To Much) meetings.