Filed under: this and that | Tags: anastasia, kate winslet, leisha hailey, mandy moore, penelope cruz, relationships, scarlett johansson, sex, women
1. Scarlett Johansson and
2. Penelope Cruz (together)
The red lighting, the sexy hair tosseling, the swanky spanish music. I don’t even like chicks but I’m getting hot over here. You are too, admit it.
3. Kate Winslet
Mmm, damn. I’ll never let go either, Kate.
Her movies prove she likes to take her clothes off more than I do and I am absolutely down with that.
4. Mandy Moore
Good man, Andy.
She rocks the girl-next-door thing like nobody’s business, and who doesn’t want to take the girl-next-door and turn her into a filthy, dirty whore?
5. Leisha Hailey
Alexis wouldn’t let me post the hot, lesbian sex scenes with Leisha from the L Word, so feel free to youtube those on your own time. Leisha’s the only actual lesbian on this list. I figure I have the best shot with her and she’s sassy to boot. I like my women feisty.
-Anastasia Beam
Sitting on the small prop jet filled with mainly Hispanic men, I was finally on the last leg of my flight to South Padre Island. I was meeting my “friend” in Brownsville and we were going to have a mini-vacation/fuck fest on the island. After the longest day ever sitting at JFK waiting for mechanical errors to be fixed, followed by a missed connection in Houston, I was almost there. I started knocking back the bloody marys in NYC as not only was I nervous to see my former fling Mr. Texas, but I was stressed out with the incompetent people who worked at JFK. By the time I got to Houston, I was annoyed and tired so I had a margarita while waiting for a flight and tried to ditch the little Mexican man following me around. He was going to get his brother out of jail and he had taken a liking to my big boobs and blonde hair.
I decided on one last mini bottle of whiskey before landing. It wasn’t awkward actually seeing Texas, it had been two years, but we remained friends since college and started talking almost every day a few months after I moved to NYC. It was like we were long distance dating, without the phone sex. I wasn’t sure why I up and decided it would be a good idea to go visit him for Labor Day Weekend in Texas. It was a spur of the moment, drunken flight buying decision.
We got a dirty 30 – flashback to the good ole college days – and headed to South Padre Island to enjoy the last of the sunny day. The island had recently been completely devastated by Hurricane Dolly, so there weren’t many hotels left. After we unpacked, we started power drinking for a bit and catching up on old times. Swimsuits on, beers in hand, we hit the beach. It was beautiful, white sand, the warm ocean and beer. Life was great.
We walked to this bar on the beach to listen to live music and drink margaritas. Tequila to me was like a time bomb – can’t. get. clothes. off. fast. enough. Walking back to the hotel where I was inevitably going to play the no pants dance/game, Texas tackled me in the sand, somehow knocking my camera out of my hand, which began recording. Too bad it was dark… might have had a good show on our hands. He carried me into knee deep water and dropped me in. The drunk padded the landing. We didn’t have sex there, but I sure came out of that with sand in every crevice of my body, don’t worry he washed those out later.
When dirty – must shower. Hotel showers: not much room, no ledges, it was like rock climbing a fiberglass wall with no harness. Add soap and you have one slippery disaster. I like when having sex is a challenge. More satisfying – like I earned it.
Just as Hurricane Gustav was warming up, so was my sexperience with Texas. Sex and beer and the ocean, that was my South Padre Island experience. We even tried combining all three… not a good idea. Legs wrapped around his hips, back to the waves and trying not to swallow salt water, it was like trying to have sex in a car wash. Why would you ever attempt that? We had just started making out and apparently rough waters and my titilicious swimsuit gave Mr. Texas the urge to stick it to me. I was up for new things, but between the salt, the waves and the possibility of a shark biting my ass, sure didn’t make me horny. I gave it my best effort and after about 15 minutes of bouncing with the waves and have to re-insert, we gave up. Solid effort though. Salt water does NOT work as a lubricant. Think – sandpaper.
Taking a break from our fuck fest, Mr. Texas showed me around where he lived and worked. Ah a man in uniform… got me every time. Granted he just chased illegals, but hey, you have a gun and pepper spray, I’ll do a handstand upside down, sporting my new Victoria’s Secret lace lingerie for you anytime.
We drove to the border so I could see Mexico. I’ve been there before, just not to this part. Mr. Texas took a work call and I contemplated just how hard it would be for me to fulfill Anastasia’s suggestion to bring back some prescriptions from across the river. We had spent some time conspiring… how could I ditch Texas for an afternoon to waltz into Mexico and make some new friends? Hmm… to be honest I didn’t want one of Texas’ coworkers sneak attacking me in the field and handcuffing me, holding me to the ground and slowly unbuttoning… woah… sorry got distracted.
Anyways, cool town, cool tour… time to drink.
Two days in and two days left, Mr. Texas asked me to leave. What? Shocker. He blamed it on the looming hurricane, but I’m guessing it had something to do with the necklace next to his bathroom sink. Ms. Silver-Beaded-Heart had an owner that was coming home early to retrieve it. Didn’t see that coming. Whatever, he paid for the change in flight home and it gave me the opportunity to conspire with Anastasia just how much I would ruin his life in the future. At least I got tan and a free exfoliation of the punani.
Thanks Mr. Texas, go fuck yourself.
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: alcohol | Tags: alcohol, alexis, humor, men, relationships, women
- “Glad we talked, now I can fire my therapist and dump my girlfriend.”
- “Have you ever made out with a guy and then woke up the next morning and felt nothing but complete repulsion?” – After a random hookup this is what she asked me
- “I let my friend’s roommate go down on me while I was playing video games.” – No idea…
- “Fuck it, let’s do this shit.” – On sleeping with number three.
- “I worked from 7am to 6pm so you send me whatever fucking email you want to send me you fucking bitch.” – I have no idea why she said this to me, but I had told her I was going to email her quotes from her birthday drunkenness because she was funny. She did not agree and got very upset with me.
- “I’ve had a colossal amount of alcohol.”
- “Dude, he’s not random, his name is Patrick and he’s Irish. That’s all I needed to know.” – When I said congrats to making out with a random stranger.
- “I drank a pint of Guinness. It literally tasted like bacon.”
- “You know what I had? Not one, but two men tonight, and you know what? One had an iPhone so that’s even better” – birthday drunken hookups.
- “When he is done talking to that girl I am going to go fuck him. He is so attractive my loins are burning for him” – some hot guy she was lusting after at the bar.
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: douche baggery | Tags: alcohol, anastasia, humor, men, women
This is a fascinating story. It started ten years ago and I can’t figure out which part is worse: the offer I received or that i almost accepted.
I’ll call him creeper. Creeper came into my life at the tender age of 12. I met him through a small tennis circle and, admittedly, was intrigued by him. I had barely just discovered boys, let alone young men who could legally go off and fight a war. Looking back, I’m completely disgusted that I was semi attracted to this person. At the same time, I have to put the situation in context: I was 12 years old. I still felt uneasy talking to members of the opposite sex without my cootie shots. Jonathan Taylor Thomas was soooo dreamy. I was a naive, naive little girl and walked into a thousand of his traps but to be fair, creeper didn’t start laying the sexual harassment/statutory rape groundwork until I was a teen.
Fast forward to the age of 14. I knew I wanted boys and creeper knew I was curious. At first his actions were subtle. He was nice to me when I annoyed most of his friends. He would tell me how cute I was and went out of his way to buy me soda. Luckily for me the roofies craze did not take off until my high school years, so the possibility of my 14 year old body passed out and lifeless from the doctored grape sodas he passed me was minimal.
Overnight, everything changed. What was once innocent grape soda sharing and kindness, turned into “just suck the tip of my finger, see how it feels”. That’s right. This dude tried to get me to suck his finger. Because nothing is sexier to a 14 year old than sucking on a sweaty, soiled finger. Everyone knows that finger sucking is an instant orgasm.
Did I hear the warning bells after a creepy 20 year old tried to get me to suck on his finger? Well, clearly. You’d have to be shit-for-brains-retarded to miss those signs. But apparently I developed a shameless need for male attention right along with my breasts.
The finger sucking turned into dirty comments about my panties and a quest to trade a six pack of beer for a blow job. High school hit and creeper went to college. I assume his finger-sucking attempts in college were brutally rebuked by sassy college girls. We fell out of touch and his feeble attempts were a distant memory.
The Facebook revolution struck and one lonely afternoon I get an email alerting me to creeper’s request for friendship. I found myself remembering my innocent grape soda days. I ignored the finger oral offer and replace it with mental images of hopscotch and jump roping in the park to the “Lollipop” by the chordettes (Lollipop lollipop Oh lolli lolli lolli Lollipop lollipop….. You know it and you can’t deny it). People change, right? He couldn’t still be that way, right? A quick facebook stalking session and I quickly learned he married his high school sweetheart. I assumed this character had grown up sufficiently and wouldn’t attempt to pull the same tricks. Friendship accepted. Anastasia Beam and Creeper are now friends.
Shortly after I accepted his friendship he contacted me via messages with pleasantries. He asked how I had been, what I majored in in college, and various other topics of conversation suitable for church. I was right! He had changed! Maybe marriage did one man very well!
And then he messaged me on aol instant messanger one evening and simultaneously destroyed my faith in men and the rehabilitation process. He started telling me how attractive I was when I was younger. Apparently I was quite beautiful yet completely unaware of my appeal. I know I’m smokin’ hot now, but when I was 14 I had unruly eyebrows, wore baggy clothing, played sports with the boys and had an ’80s-wave hair style held back by a baseball cap. And If that’s not a description of pure beauty, well I just don’t know what is.
I live in an over-priced city and at the time of my communication with creeper I had about two months of job security. So when he mentioned how expensive my town is and the millions he had inherited from his father, I sensed mischief was afoot. Naturally though, I was sporting my Tuesday night drunk and decided to entertain him.
Our conversation went as follows:
Creeper: Must be expensive for you there.
Me: yeah it is, but it’s not too bad.
Creeper: You know, I could help you out with a little money.
Me: Oh yeah?
Creeper: It won’t be free…
Me: Explain.
Creeper: You could clean my apartment in your underwear.
Me: I’m listening.
If there is one thing I like as much as alcohol it is cleaning, believe it or not. When I’m bored or when I feel like I have no control of a situation I clean and drink. Cleaning gives me instant satisfaction especially when I can’t get drunk fast enough. I absolutely believe I was supposed to be one of those 1950s housewives who cleans, drinks martinis and makes a shit ton of babies.
The greed in me came out and I pondered how much he would offer for a session of cleaning. Maybe $100? Could it be $500? Try $3,000. He offered me $3,000 to clean for him in my unmentionables. I countered with $4,000 since his wife would be a factor I might ultimately have to deal with.
Apparently he had the whole thing planned out well in advance. He informed me that I would visit him and he would take me to the nearest Vicki’s to buy all the dirty lingerie fit for cleaning. Then we would go back to his place and I would start scrubbing, presumably on my hands and knees.
It’s not that I don’t have any morals, I just find it very easy to ignore them if the price is right.
Part two to follow.
-Anastasia Beam
Legs in stirrups, lying back on the cold, rigid doctor bed with a polyester cloth covering the important parts… literally the most uncomfortable position to be in, unless you were getting railed by a Fabio-esque male figure. The annual trip to the ob-gyn was up among my least favorite things to do in the world. Especially since my doctor was not only my parent’s neighbor but would also hang out with my mom frequently. As if I wasn’t uncomfortable enough with her poking around in my personal areas, she would discuss dinner parties with my parents. If I could have had a bottle of whiskey under that gown, I’d of nursed that bottle like water in the desert. During this current visit I had come to the conclusion that I had to ask my doctor about my little “problem.” Up until this point, I had only discussed my issue with my college roommates. I couldn’t talk to my mom or dad… that would have been awkward. So I decided to talk to someone who was legally obligated to never discuss my appointments with my parents over fondue and expensive wine.
Post-prodding, my doctor and I discussed not only sexual partners, but also methods of birth control. After a 25lb weight gain during the last time I tried birth control pills, I was now strictly a top hat client. She moved on to the “do you have any questions” portion of the appointment.
“I can’t orgasm. I haven’t had one, at least I don’t think I have, I mean I should know right? Like, I totally enjoy sex and I’ve finagled a bit down there, but I just don’t know what to do, I want to climax, so…”
Buhwhew… got it out. But that wasn’t the awkward part. Listening to the lady that had roast beef at my house two nights before, discuss my different “options” for orgasm was like standing naked during your brother’s Confirmation at your grandmother’s house.
Well as it turned out, I’m not abnormal. Many women can’t especially during intercourse. So my next best bet was self exploration, oral, toys… a new project.
Running into my doctor at my parent’s New Year’s Eve party was awkward a few days later, but I was three brandy old fashions in, so life was better.
I took my doctor’s advice back to college, where my roommates were shocked I actually asked my doctor. By this time, I was no longer embarrassed of my situation and began speaking openly about it. Granted I never discussed this with any of my lovers, as I truly enjoyed and still enjoy sex. To be honest I still haven’t mastered the skills of faking it, plus I feel like it is a slap in the face to my partner so I give it a solid effort and call it a night.
Around Easter time, my coworkers at the bar I worked at had joined in on Operation Orgasm with me and they decided it was time for me to try the self exploration route again. Honestly I’m not a big fan, I lose interest quickly. To me, masturbation is like going to the dentist, something I should do, but don’t really have the desire to do it, then you do it and its just clumsy and time consuming.
On Easter morning, my coworker invited me over to play mimosa pong. It was too early to play beer pong so we went for the mimosas. I brought over champagne and we proceeded to play all afternoon until we got the bright idea to embark on my first porn buying experience, in an effort to achieve climax.
My friend’s boyfriend drove us to the porn shop, where she helped me pick out some porn, “beginner’s porn” if you will and a pink sparkly dildo. That was by far one my most unpleasant experiences, at least it was sugar coated with champagne.
A few failed attempts at masturbation, I shelved that idea.
I find the porn entertaining, kind of funny.
The next on the doctor’s list… oral. Man I hate that. I do not like having a man’s face up in my business, I’d so much rather prefer to have sex. There was this one failed attempt that I think I got close. We were in my friend’s dorm room, sadly his roommate was sleeping next to us… oops and we started to hook up. He set his Staind CD to repeat so as we listened to “Zoe Jane” over and over again, he went to town. Now, I do have to say that was fun, but after awhile it was like, damn this song gets old.
Idea – shelved.
Back to sex. For the most part, I just have sex… not regularly, I’m no slut, but I’ve slept with my share of men.It sure is a good time, I don’t have much experience on positions, but I’ve had sex in some interesting places, the ocean, the shower, truck bed on a mountain, water bed, a funeral home – your basics. But still no orgasm. Most of the time I really have a great time, but my most recent sexual experience was up there with taking a long road trip – exhilarating in the beginning, but as it droned on it became a bit monotonous. It was just a little long and it came to the point where I was just like… come on, get it over with, I can only ooh ahh so much before I want to just uncork the bottle and then call it a night.
Twenty four years old, multiple men, one dildo, two vibrators, cheap porn… no orgasm.
Project will continue but for tonight, Jack Daniels and I are going to call it a night.
Homework: have orgasm.
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: birds and bees | Tags: alcohol, anastasia, humor, men, orgasm, women
I can have orgasms with men and by myself. Have yet to try with women. When that happens, I’ll post.
I’ve been told this is what sex is like with Alexis.
-Anastasia Beam
“Tylenol PM, meet Anastasia. Anastasia, Tylenol PM.
It’s nice to meet you, Mr. PM, (I assume ‘medicine’ is grammatically male).
May I call you PM?”
This is a brief summation of the conversations I had with a bottle of Tylenol PM every night after a few glasses of wine.
Reflecting on my decision to self medicate, I now realize if I had read WebMD’s article entitled “5 Surprising Reasons You’re Gaining Weight”, I may have decided on the bottle of wine as sleep aid of choice. Instead, however, I chose the antihistamine laden cocktail of Tylenol PM and wine to rest my head every night. Cue the fifteen pound weight gain, excessive alcoholism, random hook ups with less than desirable men, multiple pity parties and twelve absolutely pathetic months in which I put my liver through the unfortunate task of filtering my bad decisions.
It would be unfair of me to blame this period of boundless alcoholism in my life on my breakup with the ex boyfriend. I will, however, blame it on a combination of the breakup, my first experiences with the “real world”, a miserable job (filled with intriguing but batshit insane coworkers), and sheer boredom that lead to my part-time job of hitting the sauce frequently.
We are barely into the second month of 2009 and I have to say this month has been a complete shit show for me. Alexis and I were on the phone the other day pondering what my next moves will be. So far, for 2009, I have the following (potentially self destructive) actions under my belt: temporary alcoholism, temporary anorexia due to alcoholism, complete lack of exercise, total irresponsible fiscal spending and finally I went out and got a tattoo pretty much on a whim. I’ve sort of been a little slutty, too. Wonder what February and the rest of 2009 hold for me.
And so we begin our journey into my debauchery and embarrassment. I say “we” and “our” because by the end of this you’ll be like family, won’t you?
With a foggy head and glazed over eyes I stumbled off the Q train. I must have passed out. The train had stopped, why had it stopped? Slowly taking one step at a time onto the cement platform as if a quick step would knock me on my ass, I looked down at my soiled black pants. I didn’t know when I threw up on them, but hoped that no one else had seen it, that would have been unfortunate. Blinking heavily as if that would help release the pain from my head, I stared at the blurry sign that said Manhattan. I was on the wrong platform. I needed the Q to Brooklyn. I walked to the end of the platform in slow motion so as to not disturb the gin and tequila dancing about in my stomach and brain. All signs said Manhattan. Minutes later, covered in alcohol and McDonalds, I carried myself over to the nearest police officer to ask him how to get to Brooklyn. I asked him why all trains went to Manhattan.
“You are at the end of the line, this is Coney Island.”
Like a three year old being told that Sparky just died, I stared at Mr. Officer.
At four in the morning the trains run about every half hour. Awaiting the next train, I bent over the trash can for a good ten minutes trying to relieve the astronomical pain from my body. I couldn’t stand up. I had passed out, I must have, that is why I had missed my stop and ended up at the end of the line. Barely conscious I tried to figure out if I could make it home before my 37-year-old roommate got up for work. I didn’t want her to see me like this. As I started to gain senses back the first was an overwhelming sent of urine. I couldn’t believe I had lost all bladder control in my “state.”
I had become a shit show.
This was my first night passing out on the train home. Many nights were to ensue. What lead to excessive amounts of alcohol? Who knew, there were so many reasons, so many things that happened during my year in New York City, all of which lead to my alcoholism. This night, it was because of my crazy bitch of a boss, not only had I had many shots of tequila at work, but I went out with my coworker after. I don’t remember if I made out with any strangers that night, which wasn’t uncommon for me to do, but what I do remember was that at the end of the night, covered in my own puke and urine, I was at the end of the line. I shoulda called it a night, that is for sure.
As Anastasia had told me many “mornings” that she tried to wake me up at 1pm, I was a waste case shit show for a good eight months. Jobs, men, money, the city, sex… all resulted with me ass up with an empty bottle of liquor and a massive headache. Even though I had become an alcoholic, I sure had a great time and it made for some great stories! Keep posted, hilarity will ensue!
