My kind of bitch

I think my problem is that I always hook up with these sweet girls. Like, too sweet. I love them, but eventually I need something...harder.

I would be fine if a sweet girl could just get down and dirty with me after dark or whatever. It's not like I can't roll with a nice girl. I love nice girls. They just have to know how to get naaaaasty when the time comes. Ones that will slap me around a little. Whisper the dirtiest things imaginable into my ear through clenched teeth. Hit me. Do it again. Oh, you wanna play rough? That kind of thing. Physical.

I was spoiled by a certain college girlfriend. The sweetest, kindest, most beautiful soul imaginable. But behind closed doors, she was one of the dirtiest fuck-bunnies I've ever been so incredibly fortunate to get with.

So I know those women are out there. I've known others over the years. I'm starting to think it's time I find one of my very own.

Thinking I might be ready to start thinking about "the future." I mean, I want to have a family. I want to have an awesome wife that never ceases to amaze me and inspires me to do monumental and important things with my life.

These pansy-ass nice girls I've been dating out here just have not been bringing it. At all.

I do feel like I know more and more women that fit the bill. I see them around. I SEE them. And I dream. I dream of what could be!

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My ex-ex-girlfriend is freaking me out right now.

We're friends now. We've gone to brunch even. It's all good.

I was pretty fucking drunk when I texted her about brunch. Hell, I was still AT brunch. I finally found a place with bottomless champagne for brunch in this town. And that kind of used to be our jam. When things were good (and we were - I still can't believe it - LIVING together), we'd wake up on a Sunday morning and fuck. Then we'd go to brunch at this one place and drink lots of champagne, since that was the deal. Then we'd come back to the apt and fuck again, before falling asleep for the rest of the afternoon. At some point we'd wake up and figure out what was for dinner. We'd get really fucking stoned and then eat something delicious for dinner while watching HBO. We'd generally fuck again before turning in. If we were too high/stoned/full, we'd usually make up for it by jerking each other off before getting ready for work. I used to love that. I would be a little lube on her clit and just stroke it e v e r so gently. She would come like gangbusters after about 5 minutes of that. She made the BEST noises when she would come. Yeah, I miss that. And wow, she was amazing her her hands. She would slather them in lube and go to work. I get rock-hard just thinking about it.

When Sundays were no longer about fucking and eating, I knew the relationship was over.

Anyway, we're trying to connect for brunch. And then she hits me out of nowhere with an email that's like "I have some news I want to tell you in person." Ooooh shit.

This could mean ANYTHING. I wonder if she's moving? Something is up. And it's making me kind of nervous! I don't know why though. I'm weird.

Whatever. We'll hook up early, eat, drink and she'll tell me whatever she has to tell me. And then I'm going to Santa Monica to go this one pool party. Cuz I got it like that. Ha.

She's got the look

Breakfast of Champions*

My Kinda Bitch (for reals though)

Just so fucking cute

and you always gotta stop and smell the cuteness. yummy stuff.

Spirits

So I was absently doing a line of cocaine earlier with the funky sounds of Parliament playing in the background when the sensation gripped me like a hand around my throat. The spirit of my brother lives in me.

OK, was that dramatic or what? I guess that was the idea.

My idea of spirits has changed dramatically over the years. Thanks to my mother’s intense fascination with the occult, I had a pretty terrifying view of spirits as a kid. Like straight horror movie action.

Now, I see spirits as intense impressions. The more impressionable a person is on you in the life, the more apt they are to “haunt” you in death. I believe the human mind retains the impressions (aka psychic energy) to the point that they see ghosts, have visitations, etc.

Tonight as I was walking to 7-11, smoking a joint in route to purchase beer, chips and ice cream, I had to laugh. This is exactly what my brother did every night of his life for years.

When I was still a kid, there was a point where my bro lived at home. He was much older than considered appropriate to be doing so. In his defense, he was never shown how to live on his own. I should know—they never taught me anything about self-reliance either. Sure, my parents made it happen for us financially and otherwise, but the whole ‘lead by example’ model doesn’t really work, people. You just end up with kids totally unable to live on their own. And that really sucks for the kid.

But while my brother was living at home in the basement (of course), every night he would get terrifically stoned and walk to the corner store for all sorts of munchies. Hostess chocolate cupcakes with ice-cold milk were always a favorite. Then he would go back into the basement, smoke more weed, eat and listen to crazy records like Parliament and Funkadelic.


My brother was also crazy. I’m pretty sure he was bi-polar. The guy had mad issues. He put the fear of God into my mother, who immediately shipped my off to private schools deep in the suburbs when the time came. The die had been cast; I was NOT going to turn out like my brother.

I was always fascinated and kind of scared of him. When he was up, he was the coolest guy in the world. But when he was down, he became the meanest bastard on the planet.

I didn’t even know what weed was back then. But his room in the basement always reeked of it. When he was stoned, he would let me come down and hang out. He’d play music or we’d watch TV (“Saturday Night Live” was one he would always watch together. Back when it was the best show on TV. Man, those were such amazing times).

Over the years I became a totally sheltered nerd, and he hated it. A lot.

An already long story short, I find it very interesting that I’m basically re-enacting that era of his life. Like to a freaking T. As I roll yet another joint, and finish off this bag of BBQ potato chips. Oh, and turn up the volume on “Funk or Walk,” the 1978 debut from Brides of Funkenstein.

Somewhere, my brother is loving all of this right now. And marveling at the exemplary quality of the marijuana I smoke. He’s gotta be impressed.

Writing, writing...

Everyday.

Initially the idea was to write for an hour a day, every day, Monday through Friday. I quickly realized that wasn't going to work. But what has worked is just to write until I've gotten down what I need to get down at any given moment. It makes sense to me, anyway.

This new approach has kind of unlocked a different kind of creativity, which is really exciting. An entire chapter (a really useful one that added another dimension to the story) just materialized out of nowhere yesterday. I'm hoping for more experiences like that one--but I'm not banking on it.

I imagine this process will be a continually evolving one, which is fine. In the meantime I'm going to keep on writing this thing until it's (dare I say the word? OK, I'll just whisper it...) f i n i s h e d .

Still haven't found what I'm looking for

LIfe is just a fantasy

She is known by many names, one of which is Jane. She is just the sweetest little angel. But I'm not quite sure that she realizes it yet. I try to remind her as often as possible. It's not easy, as she's far away (Philadelphia), making ends meet in strip clubs around town. She's done some topless (and really) funny stuff on this one new porn website. Well, funny and hot. But Jane just does it for me. And not just in that skin on skin friction kind of way. She's like the girl I want to hang out on the couch with watching bad cable TV and drinking tea and smoking pot and eating toast in footie pajamas with the nubby foot-bottoms on them and everything. I want to play songs for her and let her pick the ones that make her want to make out and then put them all on a CD for a soundtrack for kissing parties. I know I want I want I WANT. But I just WANT to be loved. Is that so wrong?