Filed under: douche baggery | Tags: alexis, eric dane, kissing, mcdreamy, men, new zealander, player, relationships, yacht
Read part one: Asshole of the year
I have done the walk of shame many-a-time… but the run of shame? Never happened before tonight.
Oh you cunning little New Zealander, you. How the hell did you convince me to stay?
I was not about to be left alone with the player New Zealander after his roommate went to bed, so I decided to go home. New Zealander had to escort me back up the dock to free me from the locked gate. We made small talk which was nice. After all, I was trying to be his “friend”.
He fidgeted with the lock, thus encouraging more conversation. By the time we got through the gate, our conversation had taken a deadly turn into personal sharing and emotional story time. It was no longer about work, weather, rainbows, and various topics acceptable to discuss with strangers in awkward social situations. He shifted the tone into loneliness, his Alaskan girlfriend, hopes and whimsical dreams. Shit. How did it get so far so fast? I was just trying to be pleasant.
Ten feet away from my car. I was ten feet away from freedom and almost released from the obligatorily numbing pleasantry exchange. But no, of course the conversation took a nose dive for the worse:
New Zealander: Yeah, this job can be lonely sometimes when you move around all the time
Me: If you are lonely, fix it. I don’t buy the whole shit theory that your job makes you lonely. If you miss your girlfriend who just went to Boston, go visit her. Okay. Well…have a good night. I’m sure everything will work out.
Attempt to exit stage left.
New Zealender cue tears.
Me (aside): Fuck me sideways. He’s crying? He’s fucking crying? I’m so fucking close to my car I could touch it and he’s CRYING? Damn this shit night will be longer than I had hoped.
He literally cried. Wept. Man, this player is fucking good because I fell for it. He cried! Everyone has a weakness and mine just happens to be tears. When I see eye ducts flowing freely with beads of saline and emotion, I want to fix it.
Tears streaming down his face, he started to explain his “situation.” He was lonely. He wasn’t sure he liked the job. He doesn’t want to work and travel all the time…sob.
I did my best to be a friend. And I thought I was doing a damn fine job. It was now 3:30 am and cold outside.
We sat outside talking at the gate until about 4am, when we decided to go sit on the warm little boat and finish our talking. By this time I was hooked. This “poor” guy was so broken. I actually, legitimately felt bad for him.
He grabbed a sweatshirt for me from the “big yacht” and then we went to go sit on the 30-footer, or small yacht. He laid out on the bed and I sat on a chair on the bed so we could finish talking. I prided myself on being JUST A FRIEND. I did not want to date or hook up with him in anyway, I still knew he was an asshole.
I kept thinking as I sat there “please don’t fall for me right now, please don’t fall for me right now.” I knew he would. I have some sort of a weird power with my eyes that when used properly I can totally seduce men with the blazing blues. (*note: New Zealander later told his roommate that my eyes were what made him do it.)
As he gazed into my eyes, he started saying shit. “You are an amazing person.” “This feels really right.” “You are very beautiful you know that.” To which I responded, “yeah I know I am thanks.”
I kept saying to him over and over “I will be a really good FRIEND to you.” It didn’t work.
Next thing I knew he was kissing me. I let it happen for a second and then pulled away thinking ‘please think this is a mistake and don’t do it again.’ I really wanted him to not kiss me. I knew I had no control over the situation. If he kissed me, I’d definitely kiss him. Why? Because kissing is my most favorite pastime and he’s hot. So I was just hoping he would have realized it was a mistake. But he didn’t.
He pulled me up to the bed where we continued making out until 6:30am!!! I totally KNEW BETTER! WTF. I totally fell for all his lines and I knew it was such a bad idea to do that. Good news is I didn’t sleep with him.
I do have to admit, it was super fun making out with the hot New Zealander. But what followed, was utter humiliation. At 6:30am I said it was time to go home so we got off the boat. Oh! Wait! Here is a fun side note: we weren’t supposed to be on that boat and his boss was awake now. Awesome. I was shuttled back onto the small boat to wait. We had to WAIT until the boss went to bed and stopped watching the cameras. New Zealander went onto the big yacht to watch his boss and communicate with me via phone as to when I could get off the boat. Talk about humiliation.
A call around 8am told me to RUN! The boss had gone to the bathroom and I had to literally run down the dock. After sitting alone on the small boat for an hour and a half. I was pissed. I knew I’d never hear from New Zealander after that. I knew it was a bad idea. I don’t regret it, because it was fun. Plus New Zealander was quite attractive with his seducing accent, a strong jaw resembling Eric Dane’s and McDreamy eyes… But still, I would like a little revenge for having to do the run of shame.
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: birds and bees | Tags: alcohol, alexis, boyfriends, commitment, dating, kissing, men, relationships, sex
My passion.
I have an obsession with unavailable men, as Anastasia so lovingly pointed out yesterday in conversation.
Let’s do a play-by-play:
Alexis: Hey, I’m coming to visit you soon.
Anastasia: Awesome.
Alexis: So have you decided if you’re actually in a relationship with that girl?
Anastasia: Fuck if I tell you. You come and visit and if I’m in a relationship with her, you’ll make out with her and ruin my life.
God, It’s so true. Apparently I have a thing for unattainable goals (and by goals, I mean humans). It’s not on purpose. I just happen to fall for people in relationships. Something tells me it has to do with commitment and my utter fear of the word. Therefore, if I subconsciously seek unavailable men, commitment will never be an issue. Healthy, very healthy.
I’m not a bitch. It’s not something I seek to do; I just crush on spoken-for men. I never act on these crushes…well, except for on my birthday a few weeks ago.
I’ve been crushing on this dancer friend of mine, par for the course since I’m sure his girlfriend is lovely. I would have never done anything under any other circumstances.
The situation: my birthday, drunk, his arm around me. Logically, after a few shorts of tequila, I attempted to kiss him? The tequila pretty much erased my memory of the evening. The world may never know if this actually happened, but I have a strongly undeniable feeling that it did. I definitely shoulda called it a night before the shots started.
I’m not proud of my action but it made me think of the past and my history of crushes in relationships. The list is much longer than I expected. I don’t want to break up the relationships of these men but knowing their relationship makes it unrealistic for them to reciprocate feelings, therefore I wouldn’t have to worry about commitment. My innocent crushes remain innocent and avoid complication.
Complication only sparks when I make dumb ass mistakes.
Ah commitment. A seemingly easy task for most people. However, I cannot seem to take that leap. I won’t even commit to a date a week in advance. Too much may happen between Monday and Friday, I may like someone else, something better may come along… You just never know. Hence why most men don’t stick around for too long. They find the “hard-to-get” game that they think I’m playing, fun and quirky in the beginning. Until they realize I’m just never “available.”
I blame my commitment issues on my father. Isn’t that what most daughters do? My dad had quite a few girlfriends when I was growing up. I learned fast and young to never get attached. They always left. When he finally met one that stuck around for awhile, I was so taken aback by the possibility of someone staying around that I tried everything I could to drive her away. Including hiding under the bed when I first met her to crying and slamming my bedroom door when I found out they got engaged.
As I grow up I realize my petty fear of commitment is completely ridiculous and is something I need to get over fast if I ever hope to get married. In attempts to get over this fear, I still have not managed to rid myself of the desire of unavailable men or completely inappropriate men. Those who I do tend to date are ones that I would never have any sort of a future with… a.k.a a drug addict, someone who lives in Texas, a traveling yacht employee… etc.
To catch up on my latest failed dating adventures:
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: this and that | Tags: alcohol, ambiguity, anastasia, dating, feelings, friendship, relationships, sex, women
I hate that word. Answers are what I want. Yet, ambiguity is all I seem to get. Many shades of gray; never black or white. Meeting every potentially monumental life decision at a hypothetical fork in the road is frustrating. Downright tiring, even.
So, I seek facts in a vain attempt to piece the puzzle together. This is what I know:
- I want to smoke more than my lungs allow.
- Drinking more than my liver approves of is a nightly routine.
- My feelings have changed, they have gone from lovely, wish-the-best-for-a friend to do I have romantic feelings for said friend?
- I am female.
- Said friend is also female-of the lesbian sort.
The fact that my only desire is to smoke and drink myself into obliteration is a blatant sign that I’m lost right now.
So here I am: confused. I hate the word “confused” as much as I hate the word “ambiguous.”
Yes, I am confused. My relationship with my friend is ambiguous. The sooner I own up to these detestable words the sooner I will sort this out, hypothetically, right?
Here’s the thing: I pride myself on being an open-minded individual. I pride myself on seeking out unique traits and characteristics in friends and adopting them as my own. I would have never discovered martinis and Thai food otherwise. Ask Alexis, I’ve always said I wouldn’t rule out the chance of dating a woman if I thought, genuinely, the relationship would provide a chance for pure happiness. And I don’t understand those who disagree with this mentality.
But it’s so easy to preach accepting words when the prospect isn’t staring you in the face, waiting for you to make a decision one way or the other. I am staring down the barrel of a loaded shotgun, afraid to move in any direction for fear of accidentally setting off the trigger. Have you any idea what this feels like? I doubt it, and if so, offer guidance…please.
More facts are in order:
- I’ve never, ever, been attracted to a female the way I am now.
- And even since this “discovery,” I’ve never noticed a woman walking down the street and thought to myself “Nice titties, girl. Come home with me”
- This, I believe, is exclusively an attraction to the person while ignoring gender.
It’s one thing to be attracted to someone’s personality; to their sense of humor; to the way they handle adverse situations or their taste in music. It’s a completely different ballgame, for me at least, to be attracted to someone’s body; their touch; their sexuality.
I am attracted to her personality and sense of humor. We compliment each other well. While I don’t always agree with the way she handles those bigger-than-thou life situations, I enjoy listening to her and talking through them. Our conversations give me a sense of pride in her decisions while providing valuable learning opportunities. And, honestly, I couldn’t be more grateful. I understand that the last few sentences sound like an ill-thought cover letter, but they are honest.
But that word-confusion-rears it’s ugly little head here. If I’m going to be brutally honest (and I might as well; what better platform than here?) I do like her touch. Her hugs and back rubs improve lousy days and ease my troubled mind. But even in my most drunken state, I’ve never thought it would be mind blowing to sleep with her; or on the other hand, how horrid it would be. Identifying solely as a straight female up until this point has protected me. I’m wrapped tight in a blanket of indifference; of ambiguity.
How can I honestly say to myself that I wouldn’t like something if I’ve never tried it? That would limit life experiences and deny the opportunity of growing as a woman; as a human, even. I pity those who, so rigid in thoughts from either upbringing or ignorance, would begrudge opportunity for personal growth. I don’t want that, at all. I don’t want to ruin an opportunity that could open my eyes to a completely new mentality and view of life.
But, at the same time, I don’t want to involve a friend’s feelings when I’m not certain of the outcome. If my feelings; my thoughts; my emotions were the only thing at stake, I would jump, jump, jump. I would, without a moment’s thought of anyone’s opinion. It’s reckless, yes, but at the very least, this would result in part of me opening and closing quickly. Ambiguity would disappear as fast as my next drink or cigarette. At most, maybe, perhaps, possibly, I would discover a new piece of me that lay dormant for years, for whatever reason, and could adjust accordingly in future endeavors.
The last set of facts:
- She likes me.
- She’s interested in a romantic relationship… if I am.
We’ve had endless conversations that circle about our “situation”, resulting in both of us shaking our heads in our hands while saying with bated breath “I don’t know, I don’t know.” So, how can I honestly take that plunge knowing a friendship that’s important to me and feelings are at risk? How can I look myself in the mirror each morning knowing I’m playing with someone’s heart and emotions so carelessly and…ambiguously.
I’m not sure I can do that. The only thing I’m certain of right now is that I don’t know what to do and I don’t know how to figure it out. No matter how much I write and talk about this, I’ll walk this road alone. And I’m terrified to take a step in the wrong direction. Ambiguity: I really do hate that word.
-Anastasia Beam
Filed under: douche baggery | Tags: alexis, boyfriends, dating, girlfriend, relationships, sex, sex-ting, tequila, women
I never wanted to become the “other woman.”
It all began very innocently.
Two drunk friends upping the stakes of a regular game of fooseball. If he won, I’d kiss him, if I won… well I don’t think I got anything out of it. Doesn’t matter anyways, I lost and had to kiss him. Innocent turned into PG 13 when one kiss turned into full make-out outside in the freezing Wisconsin winter air.
Ah, but how innocent kissing turned into fucking. At his parent’s house by the way. While his mom was home. It was magical. Especially since she came and watched TV with us later…
The post-sex awkwardness did not exist. I don’t live there, so we remained friends and parted ways. It was one of those post-sex-high-five then peace out situations, very unattached and unemotional. That is my favorite situation. Of course, now every time I go back to visit I have a fuck buddy.
The second time I had a vacation romp with my old friend was during a family wedding that I swung by his work and had a little fun. His work? A funeral home. Enough said.
We didn’t really keep in touch in between our wild sexual encounters, until one day when he out of the blue emailed me. Thus beginning our email/texting long distance sex game.
We were both young, single and bored. Why not send naked pictures and talk dirty?
I had never done the cyber sex thing so I was nervous. The first picture I sent was of my butt. Very PG 13. I kept it this way out of fear that he’d show our mutual friends or he’d send them to my father. All of which would be a bad situation. We continued on the PG 13 track for months, just emailing pictures, nothing too exciting. Plus he would always mention how much “fun” we had during my visits. To be honest, the sex wasn’t great, but I enjoy the concept of having vacation sex.
After a few months of our email affair, the emails ended. I heard through the grapevine he got a girlfriend. I was bored of the cyber sex anyways, so it was good for me. Plus my fear of them ending up on facebook kept me from wanting more.
One night however, after I had stumbled home from the bar at 5am NYC time, I got a text.
“How are you? I miss our fun.”
Huh, maybe he broke up with the chica.
In fact, no he hadn’t. He still wanted to do pictures. Turns out, after two months of dating the girl, he wanted more of my action. Something I wouldn’t have wanted to offer if I was sober. Three shots of tequila and two gin martinis said different. Alcohol = horny. And I was alone.
The filter I had the previous months flew out the window as did my morals. PG 13 turned to R. He could ask me to take a picture of anything and I did it. Of course he reciprocated. Once I sobered up, I freaked out about the girlfriend thing. He said he deleted the pictures and she’d never know. What a classy fella.
In my drunken/depression months of early 2008, this continued often. Sex-ting had become the only relationship that I had. I never wanted to be the other woman and I never actually slept with him again, but I still felt like we were cheating.
Now, more than a year later it hasn’t stopped. And he is now engaged. I’ve gotten him to stop for months by saying I didn’t want to do it anymore, but he is addicted I think. He will ask me if I want a picture, I will say no and he will send one anyways. I have so many penis pictures on my phone, it’s disturbing. I delete them when I remember. He doesn’t even send them at appropriate times, like 3am on a Saturday. Now they come when I’m having dinner with my parents, or eating breakfast on a Tuesday. It’s very strange. He has put me in the category of the “other” woman and I don’t know how to get out of it. And he’s ENGAGED!
He talks about wanting to fuck me when I come visit, I just don’t know how someone can be engaged, yet completely dishonest.
I don’t reciprocate anymore with the pictures or sex conversations, but when I get drunk… well lets just hope I don’t get that drunk again.
I really don’t find looking at penis pictures to be any sort of a turn on, so I am unsure as to why he keeps sending them!
- Alexis Patron
Filed under: this and that | Tags: alexis, boyfriends, dating, men, relationships, sex, sex-ting, women
I admit that I have wondered what it would be like to be the “other woman,” but never have done it, nor do I think I would. Well, I did “accidentally” make-out with my boss who had a girlfriend, but that was just a drunken time. I’ve never dated a married man. I just don’t think I could do that. The problem is, however, I’m pretty damn close to having an affair with a taken man. And I don’t know how I ended up there.
I read the following article yesterday and decided I should write about my “sex-ting” relationship I’ve been in for the last two years. Read this article and look forward to my story about how an innocent boob shot sent to a single man, turned into years of sex-ting with a now engaged man. Oh how does it happen…
- Alexis Patron
CNN – and the lessons they teach…
Thinking about being the ‘other woman?’
Like the David Letterman Debacle wasn’t bad enough, now we have the story of Steve Phillips, the ESPN analyst, who had an affair with a 22-year-old coworker.
Unfortunately for the 46-year-old sports dude and married father of four, his latest dalliance (and apparently there’ve been others before her) turned bunny boiler when he broke it off with her.
Brooke Hundley, the jilted junior, allegedly went ballistic; repeatedly emailing and calling Phillips’ long-suffering wife, tricking their 16-year-old son into an online flirtation, and then finally showing up at the family home, scaring the crap out of everyone.
Lucky for Hundley, the Phillips’s declined to press charges, but her reputation, both professionally and personally, is shot. (His too. He’s since been fired from ESPN and has entered a treatment facility.) Obviously, being some cad’s side action is always a sucker’s game, but if you’re going to do it, do it right.
Choose carefully
It’s bad enough that you’re “dating” a married guy, but when you start sleeping with someone who’s in a position of authority over you, you’re screwing yourself twice. Every good grade will be chalked up to your romance with the professor and every promotion, credited to time served on your back. Don’t kid yourself that nobody in your class or office knows, because people aren’t blind and you’re not that slick.
Don’t go home with him
Maybe he’s too cheap to pay for a hotel room, could be he secretly wants to get caught . . . then again, maybe he’s just a sociopath, but I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve heard about a marriage dude bringing his girlfriend back to the house he shares with his wife and kids — usually when everyone’s out of town, but not always. Letterman even took his mistress on vacation with his family! Whatever his motivation, resist. You’re already hurting this woman by having sex with her husband; at least have the decency to stay out of the bed they share.
Accept that you’re No. 2
Married guys will tell you a lot of things in their quest to bed you. That they haven’t slept with their [insert bitchy descriptor here] wives for [insert insanely long period of time here] and that they’re only staying together for the [kids/finances/etc.].
You need to know going in that you will always come second. (Or third. Or fourth.) Sure, you might get expensive gifts, but you’ll also be spending nearly every holiday by your lonesome, you’ll never meet his friends, and plans will be canceled on a moment’s notice if something more important (i.e., anything) comes up.
You’re not his first . . .
When an acquaintance of mine started an affair with a married coworker, she was furious when I suggested this might not be the first time he’d strayed during his very long marriage. She screamed that I was a cynic and that their love was a special flower they alone shared. (On the conference room floor.) Okay, she didn’t use the term “special flower,” but that was the gist.
A week later I got an embarrassed call back reporting that, contrary to what he’d told her, he’d been straying since his wedding day. A cheat and a liar — who would’ve guessed?!
…And probably won’t be his last
Most guys don’t leave their wives for the women they’re seeing on the side. Yes, I know — your grand passion is “different.” Snort. But what if he actually does splinter the family into bits and make a (semi) honest woman out of you? According to the Web site, “Beyond Affairs,” only 3 percent of men marry their affair partner and out of those, only 3 percent of those marriages last. And why would they? You’re committing to a relationship that was built on lies and deceit.
On second thought, maybe you want to rethink this whole “other woman” thing.
I woke up at 4 in the morning, exhausted but restless; my body’s payback from a night spent drinking my dinner. My cell phone sat next to the clock, reminding me to check the damage I had no doubt caused hours earlier. It wasn’t too bad: no “come fuck me” texts to near strangers, a few “I fucking love you so much” messages to college roommates, a ridiculously long phone heart-to-heart (of which I remember next to nothing) with Alexis. But as I scrolled down the display of dialed numbers, one stood out but didn’t surprise me: ex boyfriend.
Somewhere between the last gin and stumbling home, I called ex boyfriend. Luckily, he didn’t pick up. I rattled off a chain of swear words at the receiver as his recorded voice monotonously told me to leave a message, but somehow had my wits about me to hang up instead. Thank. God.
Before last week, my relationship with anxiety was pretty much non existent. The word was hardly part of my vocabulary. But lately I have been feeling sheer-terror-life-crisis-anxiety. I hate admitting it. The parasitic feeling that has taken over my chest and has caused me to halve my calories while doubling my drinking, is all because I have to see ex boyfriend at a wedding.
Despite previous jokes, the thought of seeing the face I used to know as well as my own makes me uneasy. I won’t be able to blissfully ignore feelings anymore. It’s constantly in the back of my mind. Every clock I see is counting down the minutes; every plan I make brings me one day closer to that dreaded wedding. I feel weak and constantly think I’m burdening my friends if I ever bring up the situation.
If I were to publish the story of my relationship with ex boyfriend, the book would be the size of the Harry Potter series with size eight font. The tragic part about our story is that it was never bad. Neither of us cheated. He never hit me. We got along well with each others family. We just couldn’t be in the same city when we needed to be, and the long distance got the best of us. Time and alcohol helped me move on. I thought he had as well, since he was seeing a new girl. We kept in touch enough to know what was going on in each other’s lives, but not enough to rub salt in healing wounds.
At my best friend’s wedding (by the way, weddings: the emotional chopping block for single females), ex boyfriend called me drunk and upset. He said he loved and missed me, and we drunkenly spilled our guts and reopened each wound that took so long to heal. I would be a liar if I said it didn’t feel good to hear it all but I should have known better.
He made promises he couldn’t keep and I believed them. I told him off, cut off all communication, but in the process I broke the promise I made to myself to never let myself be disappointed by him again.
But in the interest of civility at our friends upcoming wedding, we talked a handful of times in the last few months. Rarely do we discuss topics other than vague family updates and baseball rumors.
The mystery makes me anxious. I don’t know what to expect, which leaves room for my imagination to make many unwanted suggestions.
I can’t think of a better environment to be in when I see him. I will be surrounded by friends who love me and know me better than I know myself. They don’t want to see me hurt and will be strong when I can’t. Yet, I can’t shake the feeling like it’s bound to happen. This anticipation is like a nightmare I’m watching unfold in my head and I’m powerless. I just can’t wake myself up.
I’m going to avoid him, the history, the whole situation and make every effort to not get black-out drunk. For real.
-Anastasia Beam
No I never actually went to band camp but I did go on band retreats. And yes, I played the flute. I miss the simple days of band retreats and overnight basketball games. Especially since they were co-ed. There was always so much sexual tension; it had to be released somehow. Back then, you had to be sneaky, you couldn’t just go fucking in the back of the bus, you had to be way more clever than that.
My promiscuous ways began a long time ago. I have had many years to hone my skills.
Way back in the seemingly innocent days of basketball games and band retreats I was in this atrocious relationship. We broke up at least every few months, usually because I cheated on him. I have no idea why he decided every time to get back together with me. During the second through fourth month of our relationship, I was hooking up with my ex-boyfriend on the side. So when my boyfriend got wind of my indiscretion, we broke up. Obviously we would get back together shortly after the breakup.
I thought (and I think boyfriend hoped) that I learned my lesson and therefore would be a good girlfriend for a couple of months, which I was…
Until I went to Wisconsin.
I made out with three different men in the same night. Cue breakup. Apparently he just couldn’t get enough. We got back together. Another happy month passed.
And then I was on a four hour trip back from a basketball game. It was nice and dark on the bus when my friend John decided to come and sit next to me. Of course we all had blankets on the bus. Danger. What were our chaperones/coaches thinking?? Allowing boys and girls on a bus to sit together with blankets? You might as well just ask us to hook up.
John knew I had a boyfriend but he was persistent. I don’t even know how it happened so quickly but before I knew it his head was under the blanket and his fingers were inside of me. Try pulling that off mid conversation with another teammate. I have no idea how no one knew what was going on. After a while he asked me to return the favor. Hell no. I wasn’t doing that on a bus.
I’m selfish.
I wasn’t proud of this situation, but don’t worry, boyfriend dumped me. I thought he finally had gotten the picture. Nope. He wanted to date again after a few weeks. I finally ended that relationship when I found out he had cheated on me. What a dreadfully unhealthy relationship that was!
-Alexis Patron
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: anastasia, humor, nudie pics, relationships
A friend of mine gives me hope that all men aren’t complete shits*. He’s tech savvy, politically driven, smart and we share one thing in common: neither of us can have enough sex. Ever. I’ve known him for over five years and it’s amazing we have never slept together. It’s only appropriate that I call him Marquis de Sade since every conversation we have eventually circles back to fucking, masturbating, porn or something else wildly inappropriate.
Mr. de Sade gives me hope because of his current situation. He’s in a relationship with a woman he absolutely adores and outside the bedroom is completely compatible with. Their problem lies in that she needs less sex to maintain a happy relationship, and in that they clash. De Sade has not cheated on her, and while it’s only natural to assume the thought has crossed his mind, I doubt he would actually go through with it.
And while my friend the de Sade has given me so much optimism about relationships and honesty, my shameless blogmate, Ms. Patron, managed to shatter all my hope in relationships.
Two facts about Alexis: She has giant knockers and SHE HAS GIANT KNOCKERS. I mean huge. My mind is blown when she is in NYC and somehow cars don’t crash into pedestrians and buildings due to careless oogling looks from male drivers. God has given her a gift, a gift she is bound to share with the world.
Alexis started small by doing what every woman with a digital camera does at least once: she photographed her enormous cans. I’m skeptical when she tells me she started taking pictures for a soldier friend of hers overseas. Personally, I think she loves basking in the glory of how large her breasts are but I have not yet been able to get her to admit it. Nonetheless, Alexis started sending pictures to her favorite soldier, another solid example of my tax dollars hard at work.
Like any leader mad with power, Alexis could not be stopped. One picture turned into dozens. The started out fairly PG-13 and gradually developed into pictures that would make Jenna Jameson blush. While I have not seen any of these picture (and I thank the good lord every day), I have been entrusted with the details of each photo shoot fully. My personal favorite picture would have to be tits covered in whipped cream, taken with a camera phone, and sent to her flavor of the month with the line “come over and fuck me”. And he did go over and fuck her.
Tech-savvy Marquis de Sade and I spent a whole afternoon lamenting our dry spells via google chat. No work was done that afternoon, and after our conversation I felt I had to go out and fuck the first person who smiled at me, male or female.
With an incessant need to fix every problem in my friends’ lives, a light bulb went on in my head. I played mediator in my two friends’ combined interest. Alexis could help the de Sade, and in return the de Sade would most definitely stroke Alexis’ ego electronically. I called up Alexis and asked her if she still had the bust shots. I was not surprised when she started laughing and responded yes in a tone that alerted me that I should have known better. I told her to forward the pictures to my friend, and to my surprise, with no hesitation what so ever she agreed. Almost immediately she had forwarded tit pictures to my friend at work with the subject line “Hello, Sailor!”. In fact, she was so enthusiastic about it she informed me that she took suggestions.
Needless to say, the de Sade had several suggestions (my favorite: wife beater, no bra, cold water, come summer my computer will be littered with shots of myself like this).
I could have sat back in amazement of my good deed. I could have been happy to help brighten two friends’ days. Instead, since I’m a selfish son of a bitch, I started bartering for movies on the internet. Marquis and I debated the worth of Alexis’ breast shots. One picture got me my first movie (Revolutionary Road), two pictures got me my second movie (The Reader). If I can convince Alexis to take pussy shots, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to get a plethora of illegally copied movies on the internet.
I’ve got some homework to do if I want to get the next Judd Apatow film before it hits theaters.
-Anastasia Beam
*Apologies to any man readers. I’m writing this after an apocalyptic fight with one of your kind.
Filed under: birds and bees | Tags: alexis, he's just not that into you, relationships
You all know the book, “He’s Just Not That Into You.” Well I’d like to share a little about what I am thinking in most relationships. Women sometimes are portrayed as whiney, easily attached and they completely fall apart when the man leaves. I am not most women.
I can relate very easily to this book. When I don’t call you: I’m just not that into you. When I don’t fuck you: I’m just not that into you. It’s very simple. I think and act like a man in a relationship, which makes it very difficult for me to find a man to date. I don’t play games, but I sure do envy a woman who can because they hold all the cards. Women have this very intriguing quality which allows them to mind fuck the shit out of any man. I somehow got the short end of the stick and didn’t wind up with that gene.
Fascinatingly, enough men believe I play games. They just can’t read me. They want to know what I am thinking, why I’m not calling, what games I am playing, where my head is at, how I’m feeling, where I think it is going. SHIT, just STOP already. I mean wow. It’s very straightforward if I tell you what I am feeling. I’M REALLY NOT LYING. If I say I don’t want to date you. I really don’t want to date you. It isn’t some silly play in my book of games to get you to chase after me and woo me. I just don’t want to date you. It’s very hard to get this fact portrayed to prospective suitors in my life.
Why doesn't he love me? Girrl!! He DOES love you. Call him. Right now.
I mean shit. I’m sure it is hard to believe that I am not like most women. I’m not going to have sex with you and then cry when you don’t call me back. Trust me. I know it’s hard to accept. As Anastasia has discussed before, we believe we lack that little chemical oxytocin that attaches us to men post-sex.
I am in fact the opposite of most women. Once I have sex with a man I loose interest faster than a bullet out of a gun. As soon as the hangover clears I’m over it. I like to conquer. I even keep a list of men that I have made out with. Some days I just feel like adding someone to the list so I set out with that goal for the evening. I go after what I want and I lose interest if it becomes too available. I realize it is a bit messed up but I am wired very different. I like the chase. My dad calls it the cat and mouse complex. I have been doing it forever. If the mouse just laid on it’s back and said come get me, where is the fun in that? I need a little hunt.
Maybe I’d be better off dating a woman. Women play mind games, they like to be pursued and I like to chase. Interesting concept. Granted I do love me some male fornication, so I don’t think I could go cold turkey, but I often wonder.
I have a very close friend who is just the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. Yet she has trouble with men because she falls in love too quickly. I am her “go to.” The one she always asks why the men are doing what they are doing. My answer “he’s just not that into you.” Yes it is harsh, but I don’t want her to get hurt. She is way too wonderful. But when she tells me her stories I just know the man is trying to run away faster than a cheetah.
I know this because it is what I do. The last time a man told me he loved me after sex; I hit the mayday panic button and got rid of him. Another time one of my regular make out friends started talking relationship shit with me. We’d make out for a bit and then we’d have to talk for an hour. It was painful. All those feelings and shit, I couldn’t take it. This went on forever and all I wanted was a good kissing session. He didn’t want to date necessarily, just continue what we were doing but it was getting way too close for me. So I hooked up with his twin brother.
I understand that it was a little harsh but that is how I roll. I have been a “heartbreaker” since I developed boobs and I just don’t know how to change it, except to throw out this warning: I’m just not that into you. If I do like you, I will call, I will hang out with you, I will tell you how I feel and all that crap. It has been a very long time since I’ve actually liked a guy beyond the chase so it doesn’t look good for the near future, but when it happens you’ll know.
Until then, no need to get wrapped up in the mind games and such. Think like a man, and then you’ll understand me.
-Alexis Patron
