Here’s to 2012.

Dear 2012

If you were a person, I’d punch you in the face. Because to be really honest, you were a complete asshole to me the entire time. Unfortunately, I’m the kind of person who loves contentious situations, so I put up with you and your shenanigans. I’m happy we’re breaking up. Granted, there’s a 50 % chance 2013 won’t be any better than you, but at least it’ll be a change. And change, good or bad, is sometimes just necessary.

Because I’m a Christian, I won’t tell you I wish for you to choke and die, but please know that if I were a more evil person that is exactly what would be in my black heart. I would make a voodoo doll out of you, and put you through some really horrible things, and then I’d send a Molotov cocktail through the window of your car. And your mother’s house. I will probably hate you just a little bit for the rest of my life, but I’m keeping the faith that 2013 and his friends will outshine you, out do you, just flat out be better to me than you ever were. I’m keeping hope alive, that some of the valuable things I learned despite your fuckery will lead to a healthy prosperous relationship with your replacement.

With that being said; good riddance. Don’t you dare grace my doorstep with your presence, or unicorn feces, again. And I’ll be wearing a hot pink dress to toast the death of you and all you stood for. Cheers, bitch.

Love Always,

Just Newbold.

*Raises wine glass*

The face that launched a thousand d***s

Whatever happened to asking, and then taking, a lady out on a nice date before asking them to suck you off? Is chivalry dead, or just when men look at me? I’m thinking about that Frankie-Fiasco, and its reminded me of why I haven’t been intimate or even wanted to be intimate with someone in 4 years. I’m loathe to say that he is not the only incident. I get propositioned all the time. Like I have “sexual outlet” or “willing whore” written across my kittenish face. It’s why I stopped giving out my phone number. Bartender earlier this year started off great, until he kept insisting I send him naked photos of myself – the same night he met me. Now Frankie trying to have sex with me in a public Park when he started off with lets go for a drink. WTF is going on??? Do I look desperate? Stupid? Naive? Can someone out there give me some insight, an answer?

All I’ve ever wanted was for someone to tell me they’re interested and then take me out to get to know me. A nice dinner, a Broadway show, a nightcap at a swanky cocktail bar. I’ve never been wooed before. I’d like for this to happen. And to have a decent conversation that doesn’t involve explaining to me what sexual position best suits your quivering member, or telling me how whack your ex was and how you hope I’m more open (and flexible) than she was. I don’t believe I’m asking for very much, but apparently the dating universe deems otherwise. *heavy sigh*

…I imagine I’ll be writing another blog similar to this in another 4  years. Smh.

May I have a chicken parm dinner, with a side of perv?

I’d love for this blog to be about the White, but potentially Hispanic, Rastafarian who sang Valerie on the 4 train with his cherry acoustic guitar, but that wasn’t the interesting part of my Wednesday evening.

The interesting part of my evening began when Frankie entered my life. It started with a simple “Hello, you’re quite beautiful and look like a five-star kind of woman”, and ended with me hanging up the phone regretting my decision to give out my phone number. But I don’t want to get ahead of myself. Allow for me to give you the literary reenactment of: When Gaily met Frankie…

As I ordered my chicken parm dinner to go, I heard an accented voice say “you are the most beautiful girl I’ve seen today.” I naturally assumed this statement was directed at me, as I was the ONLY woman currently in the restaurant. I replied with a smile and a polite “Thank you”, and went to wait at a table for my order. But the gentleman wasn’t done. “Beautiful, you single?” Since I don’t believe in untruths I replied with a simple yes. “Good. Lucky day for me.” I again smiled, and continued to wait, but not in silence. Soon, I heard “Hey Gorgeous”, and a piece of paper and pen were placed in front of me. This was apparently for my phone number. Surprisingly, I wrote it down. I think it was because I was channeling my inner Elvira and for some reason he reminded me of Tony Montana. Perhaps it was his…frankness. Whatever it was, I was amused. Especially as he continued to tell me, in front of other customers and the staff, how beautiful he found me and what a five-star lady I seemed to be. In his opinion, I was a class act and he wanted to take me out and show me a gentleman’s good time. He wanted to show me that right then, and would be leaving work shortly. I wondered out loud how this could be, and he explained his family owned the restaurant and he could do as he pleased…

Of course upon receiving my order I waved to everyone, wished them all a happy holidays and quickly exited the building. If “Tony” was serious, he would call me tomorrow. This girl waits for no man…3 blocks away my phone rang. It was “Tony”.  “Hey, it’s Frankie. Please don’t tell me you’re home already!” Once again, my honesty propelled me to give my correct location and not 10 minutes later, Frankie was beside me. Stroking my hand and thanking my gorgeous-beautiful-five-star-classy face for waiting for him. I thought to myself that although utterly ridiculous, he was very sweet and I allowed for him to walk with me and state his piece…

His piece went as follows:

–I needed to understand that he was a gentleman, and realize that I’ve never met anyone like him before. Because American Italian men are nothing like REAL Italian men, and only REAL Italian men know how to treat a lady such as myself. In and out of the bedroom.

–I needed to be someone who wasn’t at all shy because he’s a freaky man who’s traveled the world and he knows things that will make me very happy and very wet. And since he’s dating every kind of women he knows that his favorite flavor is chocolate and I needed to be okay with dating someone like him.

-He could tell that my favorite position was doggy style and that I probably liked being dominated and he could definitely do that for me. Why? Because he knew what he was doing with his cock AND his tongue and not to toot his own horn, but had amazing hands.

–He hoped I liked 12 inch cock. And although informing him that my favorite size was actually 8 and a half, I would get use to him because foreplay would happen. It would happen a lot and it would be good. I would love it so much that I would not be able to live without him. He knows this because he is still friends with ALL of his ex’s. Because he believes that once he’s done sex to a woman, she’s to stay in his life. Because it is rude to pretend to not know a person once you’ve done sex to them for months or even years.

–Although he was only 5’8” my wearing 5 inch heels would be very sexy, especially if I were to dress up in the lingerie he planned to buy for me. Because he likes buying panties and bras for the women he’s doing sex to, and I need to be okay with having this attention and gifts lavished on me. It’s not at all crazy, and it’s what REAL Italian men do.

–If we were to have a three-some he really needed to know if I preferred another girl or another guy, because he was fine with both or whatever I wanted. But I had to be honest with him about it. Always.

–I also needed to be okay with sex toys in the bedroom because he liked to have a little adventure. Not that he needed the toys to make me feel good, but it would keep things interesting and fresh.

Here is where he took a breath and said that I was being rather quiet and I knew so much about him, and he knew nothing about me but my name, what I did for a living, and that I was okay dating outside of my race just like him. He still had no idea why I was single, if I wanted to remain single, or if I was ready to go on this amazing journey with him. And he wanted me to share with him, and trust him enough to maybe let him give me a sample of what he was offering right there in the Park we were walking through. In fact, if we could just sit on the bench for a minute and play around some, I would see what I was getting into and know that he’s a stand up gentleman. In fact, as he leaned in to kiss me, he was sure I would become rather smitten with him and want to tell him more about me. But…more of his piece went as follows:

 

–He could tell by the way I kissed him (readers, don’t judge me. It was a really nice kiss and also got more material for this blog), that I was definitely not a virgin and have much experience that he couldn’t wait to see.

–If I didn’t mind he would go pick up a bottle of whatever wine I wanted, and he could take me to my home and we didn’t have to have all the way sex. He would only put it in a little bit, and we could play around for a bit and he would go home so I wouldn’t feel pressured to be with him.

–I really needed to stop telling him I wasn’t going to have sex with him that night, because how would I feel if I was all over a guy, and his cock was almost inside me and he decided he didn’t want to have sex with me anymore? I would start to feel like I wasn’t pretty or my body wasn’t nice, and so I shouldn’t treat people the way I don’t want to be treated. Especially if I expected him to stick around and not talk to someone else instead of me.

–He couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just have sex with him at my apartment, since it was cold in the park and why it was necessary to wait until after a date the next day. And I was very old fashioned for the year 2012. He wasn’t sure how he ended up meeting a girl like me, because he’s never had to deal with this before but maybe after bringing over wine I’d feel better about him and how he plans to treat me special.

By this time, I’d tuned Frankie out because I was busy cursing myself mentally for allowing my compulsive nature to rear its ugly head, and contemplating a typical Newbold Exit. It was obvious he was trying to find out where I lived for stalking purposes, and I could tell this by his frequent asking of “Oh, so how much farther do you live? Oh yes, I know this area well because of an ex-girlfriend of mine.” Finally we reached my fake address. With assurances that he’d call me tomorrow to bring over my newly purchased lingerie, as long as I kept my promise to have sex with him, we parted ways. But before committing to his departure, he wondered if I had any photos of myself. “Do you have photos of yourself in your phone? Are they, you know, those kinds of photos? With panties and things? You can send them to my phone, so I can play with myself later.”  His disappointment was palpable as I informed him that no, I did not have those kinds of photos, don’t ever take those kinds of photos, and I won’t even be sending him photos of just my face. He was also disappointed when I gave him a hug without our bodies touching. I, however, soothed his pained heart by informing him that I have people in my neighborhood who watch me and I didn’t want any of them to know who he was yet. That these kinds of things take time for me to tell them so for now, we needed to pretend to just be “regular” friends. After congratulating me on my fast thinking, Frankie went to catch a bus home and called me immediately.

I have no idea what he said to me during the conversation as I walked to my real apartment building, all I know is he felt our first date had gone wonderfully and he couldn’t wait to have sex with me after work. I couldn’t wait to write this blog, and dodge his next few phone calls…which coincidentally began this morning at 9:00 am. Clearly I’ve found my new boyfriend. 2013, here I cum.

Date a girl who reads- sent from Janet to Maria.

 

“You should date a girl who reads.
Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.” 
― Rosemarie Urquico

 

An excerpt from I’m Not A Serial Killer, by Dan Wells

“The idea that I might be sociopathic was nothing new to me- I’d known for a long time that I didn’t connect with other people. I didn’t understand them, and they didn’t understand me, and whatever emotional language they spoke seemed beyond my capacity to learn. Antisocial personality disorder could not be officially diagnosed until you were eighteen years old- prior to that it was just ‘conduct disorder’. But let’s be honest: conduct disorder is just a nice way of telling parents their kids have antisocial personality disorder. I saw no reason to dance around the issue. I was a sociopath, and it was better to deal with it now.”

–John Wayne is the 15 year old protagonist, who sees a therapist because of his Serial Killer obsession. He also works in a mortuary with his mother and aunt, who allow for him to help with the bodies…also part of his obsession. This kid is hilarious. And blunt. And probably a serial killer. lol.