I Love Being Compared To Famous People

           So, before the big move north, I thought it would be best to bring my car in for a little doctor’s visit.  I think she needs to be tuned up and she definitely needs an oil change, so here we are!  She is sitting in the garage being poked and prodded, (I wish I was being poked and prodded, but whatever, it’s the car’s turn), and I am sitting down the road in a café sipping on this delicious peach, raspberry, blueberry, strawberry smoothie trying to think of something to blog about. 

            I order another delicious smoothie (Blueberry, banana, and mango) and am sitting at my table when the very cool, very chic owner of the place comes up to me and pops his hip with his hand and says, “you know, I don’t know if you have heard this before, but you look a lot like Marion Cotillard, you know, from Batman?”

            “Let me see what she looks like,” I say.  I pull her up on Google and it’s the girl I had been compared to before, I just never knew her name.

            “Definitely look like her!” he says.

            “I have heard that one before!”

            “She’s beautiful.”

            “Well, yes, she is.  Thank you?”

            I didn’t know if that was a compliment or his way of telling me he thought I was beautiful.  I don’t know, but I dig it.  She is a pretty lady and it’s the thousandth time I have heard that I look like her.  I am going to have to do more research on this when I am home I cant just pull her up right now and compare myself when he is standing behind me at the cash register.

            I have also heard I looked like Christina Ricci and Katy Perry.  He didn’t think I looked like them and he is stuck on Marion.  I can get into looking like her.  I think she’s lovely.  Not to mention it gives my readers a bit of a visual as to what I could possibly look like, right?!  Now they know something!

            When comparing me to someone famous, why couldn’t it be because I too, am rich and powerful and I can get out of DUI’s, and smuggle coke in my ass, and get to have mental breakdowns where I shave my head and beat people up with umbrellas.  Wouldn’t it be so much more fun if I could do something like that?  Damnit!  I need to be more adventurous.  Apparently I am not celebrity enough for myself.  I need to be a celebrity!  So we know what we have to do!? 

PROMOTE THIS BLOG!!!

Be good, little, readers and promote the shit out of this so I can act a fool and get you and your friends out of DUI’s and we can beat people up with umbrellas! 

I would love some feedback, and maybe even a blog idea.  So contact me at my amazing and inventive Gail account!  NakedNapper@gmail.com  I know, right, ingenious!  

What To Expect When You’re Not Expecting

            That’s a witty title isn’t it? 

            And how fitting it is!  I am not talking about babies and shit, clearly that ship has sailed.  I am talking about men in general.  I am talking about what to expect if you don’t actually expect anything to come from anything.  Ya know what I mean? 

            I have been thinking long and hard about a lot of things that have been going on in my life for the past few days and weeks and months.  Last night for instance I was talking to one of my good friends and we were chatting about whether or not we were ready to move on from our past relationships.  I want nothing more than to forget my past life (as I am calling it) and move on to something new.  But do I want that something new to be something complicated?  No!  Of course not.  I already did complicated.  I don’t want to do complicated again.  And I don’t want a long distance relationship of any kind. 

            I am starting to think of myself as the black widow that leaves my victims alive, they just like to move away from me and hurt me.  The boyfriend I had before The Ex moved to a new college, we wound up breaking up obviously.  But that breakup was not because of the distance thing, it was because he was a fucking scumbag who liked to hit people, and his inability to keep that small, Cheeto sized dick in his pants.  Then there is the Ex.  Who said we “grew apart” and I was an “introvert.”  Introvert my thinning, no-longer-that-fat-ass.  Fine, so here I am, alone again for the first time in 7, almost 8 years.  (That’s disgusting to me). 

            The thing with the Cousin is this; I don’t know what I want from him.  Other than the no sexy time until after Turducken.  I seem to have the ability to take a fuck buddy and turn him into a boyfriend sooner than later.  I can’t have a boyfriend that lives in the Bronx.  I live (or will be living, again) 40 minutes north of the Bronx, so I cant have that. 

            Can we go back to the not being alone for almost 8 fucking years?  Please, just deal with my rant for a moment; 8 FUCKING YEARS!  8 years!  Of having a constant boyfriend, of having someone other than a friend and a family member in my life.  8 years of shit.  6 of those 8 were great with the Ex, but now I am alone and I apparently am lost in learning about myself.  I don’t know how to do things by myself when it comes to relationship shit.  Meaning, I am a clinger, I like to be loved and I like when I am called and asked, simply, how was your day babe?  I don’t have that now, and that’s fine, but how can I find myself if I don’t know myself?  Ya know!?  Not to mention, I don’t have time to fucking find myself!  I am pushing 30 here and have zero children and my eggs are drying up as we speak, and I have zero love from men (boyfriend wise) in my life.  Where does that leave me?  I’ll answer my own question; being a black widow with no babies while being habitually single. 

            This is what I need; I need a night out at NYC’s finest firemen bar.  THAT’S what I need.  I know for a fact that I am not going to find a husband there, because lets be honest, most firemen are cheaters (Rescue Me anyone?  Anyone?  Love that show, love me some Tommy and Franco and Shawn) are they not?  If you happen to find a good one, good for you, but as of right now, I am going to go ahead and stick with my convoluted knowledge of firemen.  So, no, I am not going to this bar, where the local hotties who put out fires for a living unwind, to find a husband, I am going to simply have a look around, maybe find a one night stand man.  Again, this is a sex blog that has turned into my rantings about lack of children and what color my fucking socks are today!  I need something a little bit more juicy than telling you my daily plans and how I am “feeling” right?! 

            Feelings are SO not cool. 

            I am not expecting to find a man right away that is ready and willing to settle down and have babies with me.  I am not expecting anything to come of this Cousin thing.  (I need a name for him, because calling him “Cousin” is starting to make me feel like an inbred).  I am not expecting anything because that way I will be surprised and floored when I actually do find someone willing to deal with me for at least 18 years.  (When the kid moves out).  Back to the original plan of poking holes in condoms with the “Mr. right person” I just have to be the Black Widow and choose my victims…

Turducken

So, I have asked the cousin to come with me to our annual Turducken Feast hosted by Sav at her home.  Let me preface this in saying that every year my friends and I alllll get together and eat and drink and play games for our own Thanksgiving dinner.  Every year there is something awesome that occurs, and every year we can wait until the following Thanksgiving to do it again.  Why do we call it Turducken you ask?  Google a "Turducken" and you tell me whether or not you would want something so scrumptious and then we can talk about it.

Back to the story; I invited the cousin to come with me to this thing so I wouldn’t be the only one there without a goddamn date.  He agrees and its fine, whatever.

Going back to this past weekend:

Friday night was a good night; I hung out with my aunt and drank some wine and we chatted, as is the usual thing to do most every night.

But I was texting with the Cousin earlier in the day and he said he would give me a call later.  Now, I am not one to wait by the phone (thank god for cell phones; it makes the girls job of not waiting around that much harder! *Sarcasm* Instead of putting post its around the house that state "DONT YOU DARE CALL HIM FIRST!"  Or "STEP AWAY FROM THE PHONE WITH THE CURLY CORD, LOSER!" we are now saddled with having the phone on our hips and checking for a missed call or a text every 18 seconds.  It's pathetic isn’t it!?)

Does he call that night?  No.  Was I expecting him to?  Not really, but whatever.  Instead, I get a 4:30AM phone call from him.

"Hey!"

"You realize it's 4:30 right?"

"I'm druuuuunnnkk!"

"Your an idiot.  Why are you calling me at 4:30?"

"Maybe I was thinking about you."

What do people at 4:30 REALLY think about when they’re drunk and somehow awake?  Think about that one for a second.

"I hate you right now."

"WHY!?  And why are you mad at me on Facebook?"

"I don’t know.  I got into the wine and needed something to say."

"When are you coming home?"

"I don’t know yet."

"I’m drunk."

"I know."

"I’m going to bed."

"OK.  Good night."

Short and sweet HAHA.

So the next morning I text him and ask him how he is feeling.

"I feel hung-over as shit, why do you ask?"

He doesn’t remember talking to me at all!  WTF?!  I feel very important at this moment in time.

"Um, oh, I don’t know.  Maybe the 4:30AM phone call I got from you."

"I talked to you?!  I must have been thinking about you.  How was our convo?"

"Woooow!  I feel special.  It was a short conversation"

"Oh, wait, I kind of remember now.  You told me you were mad at me"

"I told you I got into the wine"

"So you just get drunk and hate on me haha."

"Whatever bro, you get drunk and call me at 4:30"

"That’s cause I was having happy thoughts about you.  Not cause I was mad!"

"Nice cover!  You don’t even remember the conversation!"

So that was Saturday afternoon.  And that night we all went out for the UNC/Duke game to this sweet bar in Chapel Hill.  My family and some of their friends and the VERY large $4 Blue Moon Pumpkin ales were all getting along very well.  I had about 4 of those (no joke, they were probably 30oz glasses) and then switched to wine.  As if I needed to do that!  But I did cause I am awesome and apparently have a liver of steel.  (I wonder what my liver looks like in all seriousness, probably mushy and green; that’s how I picture it).

So I text him, "I am starting to drink.  Expect texts later."

"I have been drinking for hours!"

"Are you telling me that were going to have 4am phone calls?"

"I don’t know if I am going to last that long!"

"Guys should never say that to girls... just saying"

"HAHA I have no shame."

"I already knew that haha!"

I proceed to get drunk.  Not to the point that I don’t know my own name.  But to the point of no return and I talk a lot.  Wine makes me talk.  Which is not necessarily good.  But whatever.  So I get home with my aunt and continue the party.  We sit on the porch and open another bottle and proceed to drink until 2am maybe?  I don’t know.  She goes to bed and I am sitting out there smoking my last cigarette when my phone goes off.

"Been waiting to hear from you."

"I was just about to text you"

We go on to talk about phone sex and nudie pictures.  NONE OF WHICH HAPPENED!  Please, I dont need to send that shit out and about for the world to see.  Does he think I am an idiot!?  I might have been born at night, but it wasn’t last night and I have some shred of dignity!  (Although it's fringed and frayed).

We went to talk for another day and a half.. Some of it was definitely provocative and he wants to hang out when I get home.  So now, I was talking to Finny about this and I told her that he was coming to Turducken with me.  She said, "awesome!  Sexy time or no sexy time?"

"No sexy time until after Turducken is over!"

"Why?"

"What if he’s bad?  I don’t want to have to sit through a meal with him and all my friends and that weirdness"

"Well, things could be worse, I guess."

"Says the person getting laid every night.  I’m currently on the path

to re-virgination!"

"Ohhh that could be fun!"

"Or not."

"Well, fun for him."

"Ugh, I have to fucking shave."

I need input here!  I am right, right, when I say that there should be no sexy time until after Turducken (mid November) for the sake of saving face?  Right?  But I know myself!  I can’t hang out with a prospect and not experiment!  Damn!

To Do Or Not To Do, That Is The Question

            William Fucking Shakespeare.  Genius.

Here I am stuck in a place where I am, for the first time, utterly confused about men.  Wait, back up the bus, I am not confused about men I can break that one down in a heartbeat, but this one is throwing me for a loop.

So here I am having civil conversation with Thad’s cousin, talking about fun shit we have talked about for years.  And let me preface this by saying that I have known this person for quite some time.  Going on probably 6 years?  I just didn’t know he was Thad’s cousin when I met him, but it makes the story even better in the long run.  Duh, right.  I mean, why wouldn’t someone I know wind up being related to someone I am best friends with down the road?  Typical fashion.

Whatever.

So here I am, my last few weeks in North Carolina (yes! I am moving home soon!) And I am chatting with this guy and its funny and its something new, and he doesn’t give me a fucking run around like typical guys do.  Which, I think, makes me appreciate him more.

Still, he is Thad’s cousin, which means I am going to have to see him out and about if Thad and Cheese have parties and whatnot.  Not to mention, I know this kid!  I mean, I know things about him that no potential ‘girlfriend’ would want to know!  Here is it…  not that I am saying I want him to be my boyfriend, I am just saying.

Do I blind faith leap off this precipice or do I not?  I know me well enough to know that if I were to hang out with him at his new place in the BX that I would most likely sleep with him on the first date and that would be that.  Either it would be good or it wont be good.  But there is the problem in being cousins with my BFFS!!  What if it’s bad?!  I can’t digest that one!

Haven’t I suffered enough!?

SHIT!

Here is what other half to the story; I tell Cheese and Thad that I have been having adult conversations with this person and right away they think it’s a wonderful idea for me to “hang out” with him and they’re basically planning my wedding.  Basically. 

To make matters even more weird, they told Thad’s mom!!  Who is best friends with the guys mom!  (Ergo, they are cousins.  You know how that works).  Her response was something along the lines of, “I knew it!  I saw them talking at the wedding and they seemed to have something.”  (Don’t quote that line, but it was something like that).

Do we know what that means?  It means that eventually she is going to make a phone call and talk to HIS mom about it!  I don’t know how I feel about this!  It kind of makes my stomach churn/I don’t know.

Do I let these fools play the matchmaking game or do I not?  Do I want to know what Thad’s mom says to his mom or do I not?  Do I want this whole thing to be something or do I not? 

Cheese thinks it’s a great move on my part.  So does Thad.  But I think that they have secretly felt like that for some time.  Wouldn’t life just be grand!? 

Dream World

            I had a dream the other night that I was supposed to be getting married.  You ever notice that when you’re having a shit dream you remember everything, yet when you’re having a great dream your so happy, but you cant remember anything when you wake up?  It was like one of those dreams.

            So anyways, there I am getting married.  I am following a crowd of people out of the bridal suite, and I am right behind The Ex.  For some reason I didn’t stop to think why he wasn’t where he was supposed to be, but whatever, it was a dream so I didn’t really think about it.  Then its time.  I am walking down the aisle and no one is there but my dad.  (Why he didn’t walk me down, I don’t know, but he didn’t).

            I get to the front where I am supposed to meet my future husband and my dad steps forward and just shakes his head at me.

            “Dad, where is he?  Is he coming?”

            “No, he isn’t.  But you can marry anyone here,” he answered sweeping the crowd as if he were Jesus Christ presiding over his people.

            Then I start to panic thinking how he could do this to me, and who leaves someone at the altar?!  Then I heard someone from the crowd say something to her friend along the lines of, “I can’t believe she didn’t know he wasn’t going to marry her.  I mean, didn’t she see him before and see how he was dressed?”  (Again, yes, I saw him, and I didn’t think about it too much.)

            It was then that I saw The Ex standing there looking at me without a hint of emotion.  I remember looking into his eyes and questioning him with a look.  He dropped his eyes to his shoes and kicked at something, just like he did in real life when he dumped me in a note.  And that’s when I went for his throat.  I jumped over the gabbing lady and her friend, and tried to kill him with my bare hands.

            Someone had to tackle me to the ground, but somehow I got out of it and ran back to the bridal suite where in spite I decided it would be a good idea to shit on the floor.  (In reality, if someone were to shit on the floor just to spite someone or something or some place, they would be thrown in a straight jacket and in a padded cell before you could say, “she really shit on the floor?!?!”).

            I woke up then when my phone rang, and thank god someone was calling.  I don’t know if my dream self could have handled much more of that dream honestly.  I don’t know why it was even in my head.  But I am going to break it down like this; yes, I was supposed to marry him, we talked about it a lot, but in the end, no.  It wasn’t going to happen ever.  He knew it.  I was the only one that was to be surprised with the news of my break-up. 

            So that was my dream.  Now back to reality, I learned through Facebook that our dog died 3 days ago and no one thought it would be nice to let me know.  I don’t even know what happened to him.  How does someone not let someone know when something like this happens?!  I mean, he had no problem contacting me when he feels like the lowly piece of shit he is, as if he is apologetic or something, but he can’t fucking tell me the dog died?!  Come on, bro!  That spine you had at the funeral is shrinking isn’t it?  Either that or your balls have been sucked into your body and you don’t think it’s prudent for me to know about the fucking dog. 

            And it was even more awesome when my friends are all commenting and shit on his comments about the Dude on Facebook.  I’m not sitting here saying don’t be friends with him; they can be friends with whomever they so desire.  But, recognize this; he wasn’t there.  He wasn’t a part of the group, why appease him?  Bla, whatever. 

            The frustration I felt today about the Dude (the dog) was apparent at work when I couldn’t stand to be around any men.  Honestly, men are scummy.  Again, I will reinstate that they are good for nothing but sperm.  Ergo, single mom in the making right fucking here! 

            Thank you for reading my rant, but it needed to get off my chest. 

            (I need the rants to stop, and the sex to start.  At least that’s funny and interesting)

Replacing Sex With Food

            I haven’t seen a penis in over a month.  I think I said that in a previous post, but I think it’s serious enough to reinstate it!  ONE (plus weeks) WHOLE MONTH!  Could you imagine?!

            I heard somewhere once that if you don’t have sex for an elongated period of time, it’s like becoming a virgin again.  (Minus the whole “barrier” thing).  So I guess I am on the road to chastity.  I might as well get a frigging chastity belt and live my life shitting in my iron underwear.  Terrible.  Terrible. 

            Aside from not meeting any men and working like a slave, I have taken up eating at midnight as a filler for lack of dick.  It dawned on me last night as I was lying in my bed wishing my vibrator worked and doing the whole, “wait 10 minutes” thing so avoid eating, that I have to either eat or screw.  (I will say 2 things right now… 1.  I did NOT eat anything last night because I HAVE to stop eating at odd hours due to getting fat, and 2.  Let me explain about the ten-minute rule.  If you are hungry at a bad time, you know, like eating 28 minutes after you finished dinner, wait ten more minutes and see if you are still hungry.  However, after another ten minutes if you are STILL hungry, wait another ten minutes.  THEN!  After another ten, just fucking give up and eat something because you have ZERO self control!)

            Unfortunately for me, I am not screwing anyone at the moment because there is no potential here, and there is no one I am interested in.  I know, I know, I shouldn’t be so picky about having sex with randos, but I am!  I mean, I DO write a sex blog, which means I should be banging people left and right, but I don’t think I want to have hick sex.  Sorry, us Yanks have SOME standards. 

            Screw writing a sex blog, I should write a food blog.  After all, I know more about food at the moment than I do about sex because IM NOT HAVING ANY!!

            Wanna know something pathetic?  Last night while I was laying here thinking about lack of penis, and broken vibrators, I googled Sex Toy stores in this town.  Lo, there are none!!  I then googled the surrounding areas and again, I can’t find one!  But here it is… If I were to find one could I bring myself to walk in, buy a big old vibrator, and walk out with any dignity?  I wonder if the distributors judge those who buy sex toys.  Why work in such a place if you’re going to judge?!  Please, if I worked in a place like that I would be experimenting with most of the toys and lubes and fun-ness and I would promote the shit out of it!

            Cookies, pasta, chicken, veggies, and English muffins are a few of the things that I like to eat in the middle of the night.  Oh!  And cheese quesadillas.  I should just replace my food repertoire with wine or some other kind of supplement that will knock my ass out so I don’t eat everything in sight. 

            Long story short, I NEED PENIS!!  P IN THE V…. ASAP!  (HAHA!  That rhymed).