Summer Thoughts

So apparently posting every month is my thing. Let's just go with it. Plus it's summertime so I will be around.

First things first: I graduated college! I officially have a Bachelor of the Arts degree in English. My family came to town and I wore a white dress and kissed my friends goodbye.

Goodness I have so much to tell you people!

1. Went to Puerto Rico for spring break in March and it was wonderful. So much better than Myrtle Beach, in that I did not get rip-roaring drunk and cause an embarrassing scene. But I lost my glasses in the ocean.

2. I got two tattoos (not while in Puerto Rico, God no). The first one was before the trip; it's on the back of my right shoulder and says "womanist." It took 15 minutes. Now the second one was a real bitch. It says, "I am the Dream and the Hope of the slave" broken down into three lines on the back of my left shoulder. This one HURT. Like, really. But the tattoo artist was so, so sexy. And smart and he had muscles and even though he was inflicting pain on my poor skin, the way he touched me was...whoo. Anyway. All the pain was worth it because my new art is wonderful. Well, until my mother found it.

3. Que and I had our first fight and it was all long text messages that admitted my feelings for him (me) and yelling over the phone (both of us) and pretending like it never happened the next day at work (him). The thing about us being so close is that we bicker so much that the issue never sticks. But when we had this real, nasty fight I was hoping to actually resolve it but he brushed it off so I did the same. Which was easier, I guess, to just resolve to not blow stuff out of proportion and, oh whatever. I was jealous and he was apathetic.

And then he got hurt. He hurt his back something terrible and I feel awful because he's leaving for a job in a whole 'nother state soon and there's just so much I want to say to him but I don't want to be a bother. To him, I really could be just a co-worker that was a good time in bed and made him laugh a lot. I'm afraid closure will probably not be an option on this one. But barring all that I am horny and going from regular nookie to none at all is NOT FAIR.

4. I started a new internship with another WNBA team. So far, it's pretty fun, but I vow, on my honor, that this will be my last unpaid position. I am sick of being a minion, or a fake-employee. I want a real job and subordinates.

Lastly, I need a library in Southern City, seeing as I'm relocating here. When I'm at home I spend half my summer trolling the aisles at the library less than a mile away from my house. The ones near my place here are awful. It's a travesty. How are kids going to become bookworms with facilities like these? Whenever I have to go to them I want to cry. Surely there have got to be better options. I will make that my project. Along with finding a new man to fool around with and inevitable develop unrequited feelings for!

In Which I Am Delusional

You don't want to hear about the mess I made of things with me and Que. He's still around but...that's a tale for another time. Maybe.

Not to keep harping on this but where is my man? Seriously, where is he? I have never had a boyfriend, never been on a date, never held somebody's hand as we walked down the street. What thee fuck. I mean I guess I haven't needed a man for the past 21 years but I sure as hell have wanted one. I'm used to not having one obviously but sometimes in the dark, quiet corners of the night I wonder where my love is. Every time I console myself into thinking I'll be fine on my own I get a glimmer of hope, a wisp of a man's attentions and he says all the right things and I think, holy shit, maybe I'm not doomed! But then he reveals his true colors and I sink back down again and the walls come back up.

I think I'm not attractive. Not ugly but literally not able to attract. Que says (in a judgy and kind of condescending tone of someone who's never had a problem meeting women) that it's my fault that I keep attracting guys who just want to have sex with me and I don't present the right package and I should flirt more because he always gets the girls that he wants by flirting with them. Is that in ANY way helpful to tell someone who's borderline socially retarded and introverted? That's about as useful as telling an anorexic "to just eat something already." But he succeeds in making me feel bad about myself because, well, he has a harem so it must be me, right? I just have to remember that he's attracted to a certain type of woman and I am certainly not her and dating advice is rarely general. I guess I just have to be patient--God hasn't seen fit to put a man in my life, apparently. Y'all know patience isn't my strong suit...and it especially kind of stings hearing Que say those things because it's him. He was supposed to be the one who wanted me back. He certainly acted like he did, in the beginning, anyway, even before the sex (and I use the term "sex" loosely, for the sake of brevity), but I guess it was all lip service or he's a really good actor. He's very good at avoiding the tough stuff. We will literally talk all the way to the point of:

Me: "I wouldn't mind being your girlfriend. All you have to do is ask." Him: "But would you cook sometimes?" Me: "I'll try." Him: *crickets*

And that will be that. What am I supposed to get from that conversation? And he'll be the one to bring it up! If I really didn't think that we would make an awesome team and have so much fun together then I'd leave it at that. But I think we would. And call me crazy but I think he knows it too.

Or maybe I am just delusional and like torture...

The Mistake I Wasn't Supposed to Make

You lot were right about the whole friends-with-benefits thing. It isn't just happy naked times. Somewhere along the lines I developed feelings for this young man. This isn't what I bargained for! I don't know if I am just transferring the lust into a different part of my brain that feels actual emotion, but, yeah. I want him all to myself, or at least acknowledge that it's not just physical. Because we were friends at first. And now we're lovers (how cliche). And now I'm past kicking him out in the light of day but find myself wanting to hang on a little longer. He's weird. He says he wants one girl. We drop "what if we were together as a couple" hints all the time. I want to hide my feelings but somehow make him confess his. Needless to say, THIS SUCKS. Somebody hold me...

What Happens After

My word.

The Que and I still have been rendezvous-ing all over the place. Well, all over my bed. We're no closer to anything resembling a real relationship, but at this point, we're using each other for our bodies, ha. It's quite liberating, actually. I think. Whatever we're doing is much better than any other flings I've had--if only for the fact that this one comes with nakedness and such. And no manipulative mind games. The whole "he has a whole lot of other women" trope is still here, though. But both (all four?) of my eyes are open, and his are too, so I'm praying we avoid any nasty collisions.

You know what sucks, though? When he rolls over and falls asleep afterward. I've been reading women's magazines for the better part of 10 years so I get that it's chemical ("a man thing" if you will) that I shouldn't take personally. But how come men get the "crash after orgasm" chemical and women get the simulated sensation of love/closeness towards the person from whence said orgasm came? Even if he is snoring. I try not to fret over it. I usually turn on "The Office" until my head mmmm, and my body mellow out. And um, there's not really any cuddling. Seriously, he sleeps like a log. That takes up a lot of space in what I previously thought was a big bed.

Is that healthy? I'd be interested to know what folks do after intercourse or intercourse-like activities. During the actual activities, though? I've got that covered. COVERED, IT IS.

A Numbers Game

"How many times did you come?"

He wanted to know. Truthfully, he'd lost count of how many times he felt her shudder, heard her scream.

"You came while we were first kissing, didn't you?" She nodded yes.

She'd straddled him as their mouths meshed, their tongues tangled. She squirmed in his arms as he suckled her neck just as she needed. He pressed harder and lashed his tongue firmer the way she begged him to. He didn't stop his quest, even when her limbs tightened around him in her first strained release.

That fire of hers smolders so close to the surface, he thought. Just kissing her neck can make her come.

He remembered almost erupting himself when she broke free to divest herself of her clothing: the tight shirt and tiny shorts that barely concealed her ass and the longest pair of legs he'd ever seen.

His eyes darkened as he pulled off her shorts, noticing the finery underneath.

"Stand up," he motioned, dragging her in front of him to stare at her magnificence. She turned slowly at his command. He gazed at chocolate-drop breasts resting enticingly in black lace, and when her back faced him, he reached out and filled his hands with her delectable ass, peeking out from matching panties.

He groaned as she mounted him once more, her flimsy lingerie the only barrier from his granite manhood. She whimpered, aroused by the sensation as he assaulted her throat again and began moving his mouth downward. Teasingly, she pulled off her bra slowly and deliberately. He wanted to ravage her on the spot. Tortured, he contented himself with feasting on her perfect breasts, one, then the other, attuned to her reaction to his attentions. Her moans grew louder, her body undulated harder and faster, and she arched into his mouth against the relentless tongue that coated her aching peaks.

He continued his feast even as she wailed his name in climax.

But he hadn't gotten his fill of her, he recalled, amazed. When would he?

She clutched at his broad shoulders, her cries softening into sighs. When she giggled into his neck, he broke free and eased her onto her back.

"Can I say that I'm nervous?" she asked timidly as he descended to his knees. He tossed her drawers to the floor.

"No."

With a smirk, he kissed her stomach. A soft protest died on her lips as he dipped his head to finally devour her as he wanted...

She would come again.

When Times Were Simpler

I can't wait to get away from you
Unsurprisingly you hate me too
We only communicate when we need to fight
But we are best friends...right?

You're too good at pretending you don't care
There's enough resentment in the air
Now you don't want me in the flat
When you’re home at night
But we're best friends right?

You’re Stephanie and I'm Paulette
You know what all my faces mean
And it's easy to smoke it up, forget
Everything that happened in between

Nicky’s right when he says I can't win
So I don't wanna tell you anything
I can't even think about
How you feel inside
But we are best friends, right?

I don't like the way you say my name
You're always looking for someone to blame
Now you want me to suffer just cause
You was born wide
But we are best friends right?

You’re Stephanie and I'm Paulette
You know what all my faces mean
And its easy to smoke it up, forget
Everything that happened in between

So I had love for you when I was 4
And there's no one I wanna smoke with more
Someday I'll buy the Rizla*, so you get the dro**
Cause we are best friends right, right, right, right?
Because we are best friends right?
Because we are best friends right?
"Best Friends" x Amy Winehouse

Some of you may know that my BFF? and I aren't seeing eye-to-eye anymore. Long-distance, plus different ideologies and priorities, I guess. I found her trying to shield me from life instead of supporting me when I chose to live it. Sex had always been a bone of contention with us--whenever I expressed any desire to do anything she would patronize and not listen to me, brushing off my concerns and just telling me to stay a virgin, even though she was sexually active. Ironically, in high school, she was the one who wanted to wait for marriage. When I finally had my first sexual experience, she was anything but happy for me, even though I was thrilled (and satisfied) at the outcome. That was a defining moment for me, it made me realize that we were no longer the inseparable, totally like-minded girls we'd been for the last two years of high school and first three years of college. I'm sad. I love her. But I know that we're in a different season of our lives right now. I will always appreciate our friendship, for six years she was the quintessential definition of what a best friend should be. Maybe I'm being dramatic with all of this rhetoric, but I feel like anything less would be an insult to our once ironclad bond. I wish her nothing but the happiness and love that she gave me during those beautiful years of our friendship.

Close Encounters of the First Kind

I'm afraid I'm not a sex-blogger like Amy or Vix, just have enough dirty thoughts and the occasional hookup to keep things interesting. So I won't be able to go into details about what happened when Que came over to my house one evening last week.

Did we do the full monty? No. Did I want to? HELL YES.

Before this I made a promise that before anything else happened, I would come clean about my lack of experience. Before we hooked up at the party it didn't matter that I had TOTALLY lied by omission about being a virgin, because my sexual status was none of his business as a random acquaintance. But as we began toying with the idea of a physical relationship I thought it wouldn't be fair to him, and he needed to know the whole deal.

I told him in the front seat of my car after work. It was kind of funny, actually. He asked if my confession was that I had a boyfriend or spent my holiday break in a series of sexual aerobics with various suitors. "Did you mess with any guys?" he asked. "No, quite the opposite, actually," I replied. He looked at me. "You messed with a GIRL?"

Le sigh. Life is not easy.

After all the hoops I jumped through to finally confess ("say everyone assumes you've been to Paris, but you haven't. You've seen a LOT of Parisian films and seem knowledgeable about the customs and stuff but you haven't technically been. Actually, you haven't done that much traveling in the first place") he was quite understanding. Disbelieving at first, but he agreed with my reasons for not telling him sooner.

I started fantasizing about our first "real" encounter as soon as I was sure that he wouldn't curse me out or run screaming from the car at the mere mention of an intact hymen. My biggest concern was that he would expect sex, and I was at least comforted (and proud of myself) that we had outlined the boundaries beforehand. But still, I couldn't help but wonder: what if it was bad? How awkward would that be? Do I have to shave everything? What if I laugh? What if oral sex was nowhere near all it's cracked up to be?

In short, yes, it's all it's cracked up to be. HOLY SHIT IS IT EVERYTHING IT'S CRACKED UP TO BE.

All my research on Parisian customs and sneaking Cosmopolitan magazines all those years was not done in vain. Cheesy as it sounds, I was anxiety-free during the blessed event, thanks to those sources.

Some things that I learned:

-I am loud.
-It is, indeed, okay to laugh in bed if something is funny.
-Black lace does not fail.
-Inducing a boner is extremely gratifying and does wonders for your confidence.
-Any time spent worrying about the attractiveness of your vagina is time wasted.
-He has already thought about you naked. You will never disappoint.
-Following directions yields good results. Giving directions yields great results.
-Porn is a wonderful appetizer. Do not forget to close laptop and put it safely on the floor after viewing, though.

I greatly, greatly anticipate an encore very soon.

Home Sweet Home

Hello, friends.

We're all aware that I de facto relocated to Southern State for college, and somewhere along the way I fell in love with this damn city. I had every intention of hightailing it back to the Midwest as soon as I walked across the stage (THIS MAY! ZOMG I'M ABOUT TO HAVE A BACHELOR'S DEGREE I STILL OWN A TEDDY BEAR AND HAVE YET TO FILE A TAX.) but like I said, the universe had other plans. So slowly and surely, I've been mentally preparing myself for a life with a 30331 zipcode for the time being, and rather enjoying it. And by "mentally preparing" I mean learning where the nearest Five Guys is and coming up with ways to convince my landlady to let me paint the walls, as opposed to, you know, finding a grad school program or studying for the GED or coming up with ideas on how to pay my own rent.

Priorities, I've got them. Avoidance issues, too.

My mother, predictably, is none too thrilled with her absentminded daughter fending for herself 700 miles away from her maternal, loving touch. My sisters either. Dad's okay with it, though, although he wouldn't turn me away (or, frankly, be surprised) if I showed up on our doorstep a year from now with nothing but a broken spirit and my iPod.

Barring the occurrence of some incredible, handsome Deux Ex Machina and I get married at my graduation party* or something, I'm guessing I'll be in a starter house of some kind for awhile by myself. Nothing excites me more than a place of my own that I can decorate and make my little sanctuary. It would be equal parts beach house, swanky loft, sports bar, and TAKE THAT, MOTHER.

*should I have it in Southern City or go back home? Dilemma!

There would be cheap posters on the walls, mismatched vintage furniture, and a refrigerator chock full of magnets and pictures. Every room would be painted, there would be framed pictures of neat stuff everywhere, candles. It would probably be a little cluttered, lip gloss would be in the kitchen, a collection of flip-flops by every door and mirrors everywhere. Mountains of books, CDs, and DVDs would stay perched on every shelf. Surround sound, duh. Maybe even a hamburger phone! I'd keep sweatshirts and cozy socks in the living room, and I'd have a big TV in my bedroom and an easy chair (the older the better) so I can watch The Office all day. Little Sister got me a Michael Jackson poster for Christmas, so that would have to go someplace prominent, obvs. Mismatched silverware, LOTS of wineglasses, with sunflowers or tulips at the table. All the lovely kitchen decor will distract from the fact that I cannot cook, see.

Every time my mom visits she'll bury her head in her hands and say what is all this junk? What is that writing on the wall above your bed? When's the last time you vacuumed? And I will smile and just be like, it's my house and it's perfect. And then I will win her over with this fellow:

Describe to me your dream house! Virtual housewarming!

Where Do You Fall?

The Georgia Nicolson series by Louise Rennison is probably one of my favorite book series (behind Harry Potter, of course and duh). The first book is called Angus, Thongs, and Full-Frontal Snogging. I think I'm a little behind, but the books I do own have me in stitches. Again, it's probably the British dry-humor thing. Anyway, the plucky (is there any other kind?) heroine, Georgia, is a little boy-crazy and spends the majority of the series trying to wrangle, maintain, and enjoy the attention of Robbie, who she names the Sex God. I heart her. Of the hilarious lingo and phrases in the book, which I've used myself--"life and soul of the party," for example--the one I love is the "Snogging Scale," kind of a girl's take on rounding the bases. For laughs:

1) holding hands
2) arm around
3) good-night kiss
4) kiss lasting over three minutes without a breath
5) open-mouth kissing
6) tongues
6.5) ear snogging
7) upper body fondling--outdoors
8) upper body fondling--indoors (in bed)
9) below waist activity (b.w.a)
10) the full monty

We should do a psychological version of it, i.e., meeting the parents, spending the night, give him the last piece of cake, etc. But other than that, is the list accurate? Leave anything out? Anything out of order?

Huh. I have never strolled down the street hand-in-hand with a boy, but I sure have dabbled in the six and above territory. What does that mean? How tarty of me...

I Bet He's the Smitten One This Time

Coming home for holiday break came at the best and worst time. Best because it's Christmas and worst because I'm missing about five games with NBA team. Ugh, I can't even think about it because I'm so worried about making a good impression at this internship and it's really easy to fuck things up. So yeah, there's that.

But also, I can't help but think I dodged a bullet with Que (if you haven't guessed he's the one from the party). Before any of it happened, we had a very teasing relationship. Afterward, I resumed the teasing as usual, maybe a little more than usual to protect myself/not give anything away. On my last day, he sat in the passenger seat of my car and said that I act differently when it's just the two of us. It seemed like he was trying to get me to admit to feelings or something, but I was stressed and cranky and I couldn't be bothered to giving an inch.

"I'm going home to take a nap."

"Want me to come take a nap with you?"

I did, but I didn't know how to ask without feeling stupid. He said he'd call me after he got a haircut but he didn't.

One thing I've realized is that I have walls up when it comes to men, both inside and out.

First I think it's because I don't trust men romantically. When you hang around and work with guys as much as I do you see the cavalier attitude with which they treat women. Not to say that all guys are liars even though they ARE, but I definitely recognize the need for a thick skin.

Also, and a little more based off of my experience, it just takes me a long time to admit to having feelings because I'm always the one with the hopeless crush, the unrequited love. Friends would always make jokes about me being totally smitten and call me thirsty with a hint of desperate. And that takes a lot out of a girl, ya know? The affair with The Smoker left me kind of scarred as well, showed me the downside of giving too much, investing too much in a boy. Once bitten, right? So I need the guy to jump first. In Que's case (whether I have feelings for him or not other than lusty ones), I feel like he's trying to case the situation and see if I'm going to slip up and say "Uncle!" to the tune of "Yes I have feelings for you," or, probably more accurately "Yes I can't stop thinking about that night come over and let's make lurrrrrrvveeee." Aha! That's what triggered his frustration in the car, methinks, when I said if he came over there would be no actual, technical, fucking.

Because as he got out of the car he said, "You know the deal. You know I want you."

Color me perplexed. I almost yelled "What do you mean 'want'? You want to sleep with me? You want to really, like, date me because I have won you over with my glasses and humor and gossipy ways? WHAT?" But I didn't want to be that shrew who over-analyzes everything. Even though in this case I should have been.

Seeing everything all spelled out like this makes me think, eh, it was a one TWO time thing and we're better off being friends/coworkers/partners in crime. Who maybe fool around occasionally? NO. But damn it's been a long time since I've had some nookie...I mean, once I get back maybe we could...NO. Right?

Of course...

The thoughts have rolled in...

They made out in a freezing parking lot, his bold hands cupping her ass, her shoulders nestled against his chest, underneath his coat.

"What are we going to do?" she sighed against his neck. "It doesn't matter. You don't want me. I'm fraught with issues..."

"I don't care." He teasingly, urgently thrust his hardness against her clothes softness and watched her eyes flutter. "I can't wait to fuck you..."

We're not going to sleep together (well, not technically, I suppose. We'll see...). Tomorrow I leave Southern state for holiday break. Uncomplicated is key. He has a harem of women. I'm waiting until I get in a real relationship.

But my bed still smells of him...

The Party

She took the cup out of his hand and tipped up his drooping chin, her eyes twinkling with liquor-tinged mirth.

"Come on," she whispered, magically audible over the pulsing music. "You can have the spare bedroom."

He nodded, his heavy-lidded eyes barely focused on her...

a minute later

"Technically we're in bed together," she giggled, her knees almost touching his reclined chest. His hand snaked lazily up her back, and she didn't mind.

a minute later

"We're fine, we're just talking, see you in a second."

She closed the door on her inquiring friend and scampered back to the bed. After barely a pause, she slid a knee over his hard waist, her position granting his hands rein under a soft shirt and over silky thighs and warm stomach. She enjoyed the perch, feeling his barely-contained lust pulsate beneath her. But with awakening lust came a twinge of conscience.

"We work together," she sighed, trying to detract his hands. He stopped her, reclining and linking her fingers in his. His supine position urged her to grind her hips lazily against him. Loving his pained expression and his tortured grip tightening, she giggled again as she mimicked the act of love.

Veiled with the heady power of seduction, she sought to tempt him even more. She wanted to know; sweetly demanded him to tell her how he thought about her, how she made him feel, how badly he wanted her right here, right now...

"I watch those legs..." "You're so fucking sexy..." "Come here..."

His words alone sent hot waves of sensation coursing through her body, even though the back of her mind forbade her to give in. He rose up to kiss her, but she pushed him back down.

"We can't. Oh, we can't..." He broke away from her desire-loosened grip and finally overpowered her. Her supple neck beckoned his hungry mouth, and he answered it greedily.

She whimpered his name, defeated, her legs anchoring around his torso as desire wound her core tighter and tighter.

Her reaction aroused, but didn't surprise him. He'd always suspected a fire smoldering under her sophisticated charm, and he wanted nothing more than to stroke that fire into explosion. Emboldened, he nuzzled out of his way the delicate necklace lying between her breasts and inhaled her sweetness, almost tasting her accelerating heartbeat.

"Oh, my God," she murmured. Murmurs became gasps as his mouth moved closer to the tight bud...

Someone knocked on the bedroom door, the sound ripping through the silence like a fist busting through glass.

Running her hands through her mussed hair, she took a deep breath. "Ye--yes?"

a minute later

She locked the front door of her house after the last of the party guests, then tiptoed through the house and back upstairs into the spare room's bright lights. Walking over to him, she tugged at his shirt, beckoning him to her own dimly-lit bedroom.

"Come on..."

I'm Coming

Metaphorically speaking.

Finals week is upon me, and I'm afraid fun and smutty writing will have to take a backseat to the many, many pages of academic writing that must be completed.

But my intended smut will be worth it! Well, I hope. I've never (intentionally) written a post like the one I want to write. Partly because I wouldn't have much to write about (dry spell. Well, dry life), my private nature, and the idea of writing about dirty times scaring/embarrassing me a little. So we'll see, shall we? I'll probably enjoy it because that would mean I'd have to recount every delicious detail of what happened. For the sake of the writing of course. The wondering and the afterthoughts and the need for advice will probably follow (you know me), but first we'll focus on the good...

Long-Awaited

This one's dedicated to my darling Amy, (whose HNT is SOO much better than mine but it's ok)



"Her sister's dark/but she is/sho'nuff pretty/Her skirt is short/but Lord/Her legs are sturdy" ("Living for the City," Stevie Wonder)
Can y'all guess which one's me? Haha, a happy HNT. In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for my legs ;-)

Purple Rain

I think I may be in love.
Yes. Love may be the word. Speechless. I think I will, thanks.

My Ipod is making a mockery of me, with all its free space and such! I spent all weekend putting new songs on Itunes, and it's barely 1/30 full. I heart it though.

I'm slowly making my way back to blogging. I get some free time soon (Thanksgiving, huzzah!) which I will do my best to fill with telling y'all about my couch-sitting, nail-polishing, homework-avoiding, basketball-watching adventures. Also, a HNT to get back into your good graces. I'm sure you can't wait.

Wet Wednesday/Half-Naked Thursday

Typical. I come back after being away just to fill your minds with smut. Well, let's get on with it then.

I had recommended Usher's "Trading Places" video for the hotness factor, and two years later, I have a replacement. Or at least, an addition to the queue.

Trey Songz's video for "I Invented Sex" is, simply put, a whole lotta WIN. It makes me want to do bad, bad things. That's why I like it. Enjoy.



FYI: My 21st birthday is finally around the corner! On which I will be doing...nothing. I have to work. So at least I'll be at a basketball game, which, truth be told, is what I'd have wanted to do anyway. The chances of that happening, since none of my friends like basketball, would have been slim to none, but alas, dreams do come true.

Backstage Escapades

Hey kids.

I finally have a new comp, but I've been busy as hell so my updates still might be few and far between. Don't abandon me. I feel like good stuff is right around the corner and you won't want to have to jump back and re-read little tidbits when the juicy stuff starts, right? Right.

Note: I feel like my words are boring already! I haven't written in awhile so bear with me.

I started my internship with NBA team, and it's...different than the WNBA, that's for sure. Besides the players being men, I mean. Everything's a little more high-paced, a little more secure, a little more intense. But the food is better.

There is another intern, we'll call him Que (because he is one). We get along pretty well, sometimes he's a little slooooooww-moving for my taste but he's cool.

Know what I look forward to, nay, relish? GROUPIES. Yes, the stuff Billie Jeans are made of! The team had a fan event today, actually, open to the public, and yes, there were a few in the bunch. This one girl had her boobs out distracting everyone from her fug face and a long weave; I noticed her quietly flirting with one of the guys. I saw them out of my peripheral vision, and my gossip radar kicked into high gear, honey. She was spittin' game and he was reciprocating, and yes, contact info was exchanged. This woman wrote down her contact info for everything: I'm talking address, email, phone numbers...I witnessed a proverbial groupie exchange with mine own four eyes. Now, I'm sure the players don't follow through on every number that they get, but still. These people are thirsty, Lord.

You know what I did the first chance I got. Scampered over to Que and spilled all the tea.*

*Tea: Noun. Means gossip, news, or current situation (Girl, what's your tea? or I got some tea you won't believe!)

This all leads me to another point (y'all know I have an issue about everything). I don't condone desperation or outright gold-digging, and a lot of the time I can't believe players fall for this stuff (well, they're just looking for a good time. It's the girls who want more). But still, watching players or guys in general fall over these pretty yet fake women eventually takes a toll on the old ego. Not saying I expected anything (I'm in this business because I like sports, not because I'm looking for a husband, obvs) but it's just...weird...like you're invisible. I can't explain it without sounding like I want something from these guys, but...hmm...those girls make regular girls like me look frumpy and fug. There, I said it.

I HAVE ISSUES I KNOW. They don't cover this in the internship handbook because it's so taboo and I don't want to ask because players' "love lives" are unspoken and very few peoples' business. Plus, most of the workers are middle-aged white men. I'd like to find someone, a young attractive black female who works in sports. I have questions.

All that aside, though, this is a great gig. Fun, and Que and I have become adept at finagling free stuff. It's an art.

Fall is Here!

I love me some autumn. My birthday is in November, along with homecoming, trips to the cider mill, changing leaves, and best of all, the following:

Naps-nothing better than coming in from the cold, bundling up in sweatpants and furry socks, fixing a snacky-snack, and falling asleep in front of the TV, mid-afternoon. Absolutely nothing. The fact that I'm super-busy come fall and rarely have time to do this make it even sweeter.

Sports-Playoff baseball is actually the only kind I watch (Go Dodgers), but the NBA is my first love. Followed by college football, que claro. After around Halloween, there's pretty much always a game of either persuasion. And if I wake up kinda late, and I can just turn on the TV and let the lull of the Florida Gators or LA Lakers rouse my into consciousness. Like watching by osmosis.

Fall fashion-Ugg boots! Peacoats! Scarves! Flannel shirts! Layers of lovely clothes make me happy and keep me nice and toasty. Yummm and hot chocolate.

TV shows-a lot of my fall happiness rests on what's on TV, it seems. Alls I know is that the return of Gossip Girl, Grey's Anatomy, the Office and One Tree Hill (if it stops being dumb) equals a whole lotta WIN.

Cuddling-what better way to watch aforementioned TV and ward off said cold than with some good old fashioned body heat? It is a fact that men are warmer because they have more muscle mass which raises body temperature. I'm just trying to cut down on my heat bill, is all I'm saying.

Plus, fall backwards--more sleep! Amen.

Spotted

Speak of the fineness and he doth appear.

Walking to class and him and his brother were walking on the other side of the grass median. He was just strolling around, being beautiful.

So what did I say? Um, that would be nothing. Unless fidgeting with my sleeve and flipping my hair counts as speech. Secretly I don't think he actually noticed me--he was also messing with his phone.

Maybe if it had been just him I would have said something (no idea what!) But yeah. Just to give you an idea of the psychoses I'm dealing with when it comes to him/cute boys in general. Not pretty. Eek I'm embarrassing myself! Le sigh despite not having any interaction though, I can't complain...but not for long I'm gonna have to move my arse soon...

Jacked

For ONCE, it's not my fault. I have, for ONCE, a good reason not to blog. If there was ever a time to use the "this can't be life" tag, this would be it.

I was robbed. Um, twice.

The first time, someone kicked open my door and stole just about everything a) valuable, 2) sentimental, 3) that makes my life convenient and manageable. These things include Blackberry Curve (the second one I've lost for those counting at home), my LAPTOP, car keys, purse (the 2nd best knockoff I ownded) wallet, backpack (I had to buy a new Spanish book) and downstairs stuff.

They left my TV and DVD player, though.

And get this, this past weekend, someone broke into Cali Girl's trunk while we were at a club and stole our purses. Including the purple bag my mom bought me from NYC (Chinatown--the best knockoff I owned) and my new debit card and spare car key that I'd just gotten--to replace THE ONES STOLEN THE FIRST FUCKING TIME AROUND.

This shit is for the birds. I'm okay, I guess, past being scared and onto irritated. Because who gets robbed twice? Oh, yeah, the first time, I was in the house, sleeping way late, while degenerate asshole burglars cleaned me out. Basically, a something (work with me here) told me to stay under the covers, perfectly still. Yes, I think it was my instinct/gut/God trying to save my arse from something worse than losing all my stuff.

Let's not talk about it. Although I have to say what pisses me off way more than I thought was that my makeup bag was in my bag. Not only do you want my money but you want me to look busted in the process? The nerve.

When I get a new comp I shall update yall more about the happier stuff, like my new internship with an NBA team, my cousin's wedding, and my current crush. Stay tuned for that last one. I need all forces at the ready 'cause he is, to put it mildly, A VISION. A spectacle of football player, big-noseosity, and LUST.