I'm gonna give another nod to gabbyfox my blogger crush- hey Gabby I'm sorry for misspelling your name before I'm like LD and all that, and for ripping off things you've said twice, and now three times, I always cite, but you're like- in my dreams I am the slutty uneducated you- and, faced with the dilemma of do I want to be with you or do I want to BE you I opt for the former. truly. imitation is the most sincere form of... you get it.
but anyway. here i take inventory of men and stuff. cuz it seems like a good idea.
so i dunno i guess from like, new years on? I was
1- In Cabo with M, known him for years but, took me to Cabo, luxury everything, gave me money, paintings, flowers, wanted me to "be [his] girl" and "my girl would never have to work." SIGH. Blew him off, in Julian's office, during a session, via text, as J dictated, and I, verbatim, transcribed.
2- Hmmm does anyone else remember?? God, is this a list of people I've kissed or who've asked me out or people I've slept with only?? I'm gonna wing it...... Eamonn. The Homeless Professor. See Homeless Professor blog for details. Musician, professor, host of open mic where I performed regularly, attractive, and homeless.
3- Ummm, married obnoxious TV writer whose show just got canceled and who reads this blog. Dude. Your WIFE to whom you were supposedly estranged texted me pretending to be YOU. We just kissed though. Yeah you thought I was gonna let you in my apartment after you took me to a bar one night? Whaddya nuts?
4- Well, consistently, and an awesome person, it's just sex, pretty regularly, my f-buddy, P. And actually, we talk about serious stuff. We're there for each other and he helps me w/ rent. No. I am not a hooker, thanks. We were dating normally. And then all this stuff happened. And now he has a girlfriend, who I like a lot, but still wants to see me and he's smart and really funny and just has his shit together and helps pay my rent. SORRY PEOPLE. It's like, EVOLUTIONARY PSYCHOLOGY 101.
5- Ummm, oh. VampirefromRomania who I was in love with and ended being an ass. I forgot what everybody's fake name was if I even gave them one. I don't even know if I wrote about him. That was like a month ago. Well we first met in October at the club. I REALLY liked him. And then he went back to Transylvania. And I waited and waited. And when he came back I was overit. I'm very attracted to him, we relate, I trust him cuz he's a thug and a vampire, he gets my music, he can be a child, he's not good in bed, and it didn't happen this time. End of story.
*Edit- 8- DATERAPE NECRO GUY
6- Zillionaire M who I was seeing but never even really kissed. Blew him off recently. Apologized but still haven't gotten together again...
7- Seven, one, infinity. JD. Never touched. Had telepathicroomsex.
Sooooooo.. actually slept with three people this year. Soulcount: Three also, but a different three.
Showing posts with label bad dates. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bad dates. Show all posts
Friday, May 21, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
The Whore Store, Industry Parties, and Date Rape.
I wanted to go to work last night. I ran 7 miles. I went home. I'd gone shopping with Jo on Monday at the whorestore to get her a starter kit and myself some new stockings and shoes since my gorgeous glittering asphalt tufli were becoming a deathwish. And I ended up getting this new mesh top deal and some ridiculous sportshorts. I liked the look and the shoes fit like... well they fit like shoes, and I was all rearin' to go.
But I got invited to a fancy industry party with a fancy guy, and I figured it was in my best interest to go, though my blood was boiling more and more violently with every passing minute of getting ready, as I reali3ed I had nothing to wear and no money with which to buy anything to wear to this crap, and that I'd rather be working so I could earn the aforementioned.
So I'm at this fancy party in an old speakeasy, downing fancy Martinique rums, neat, that were costing my fancy date about 20 bucks a pop, and again, thanks to my hard-drinking lineage, feeling nothing but a bit tipsy after 8 or so generous pours in a matter of a couple of hours, talking to some famous British actor who looked like Hugh Laurie but who definitely wasn't Hugh Laurie, and whose number I have in my phone with only a first name so I can't even google him and figure out why he's famous, and I had to pretend I had any clue, but I didn't, because I live under a rock.
And then my fancy date was starting to get antsy, and said he wanted to leave, and then the group collectively decided to get some blow, and I said I don't do blow, so they whittled on down to pot, and I said I don't do drugs, so my date suggested Vicodin and Valium, and I said Okay fine, and before I know it the man whips out a proper mortar and pestle, and proceeds to crush up the pills. And I said I don't snort things. So he said okay take it orally it'll still hit you faster. So I poured it into my 16th Martinique rum and gu33led.
Next thing I know I'm asleep at his apartment. I vaguely recall giving a striptease without removing any of my (secondhand bargain basement strait-from-the-crate) clothes and making out with him, even though, I like him, but he wrote a damn horrendous song on the piano, and I'm not really all that attracted to him. And then as the bits and pieces came back to me I recalled him wanting to have sex and beginning to unbuckle his pants and then getting really annoyed because I passed out mid-fondle, and then, he puts on a condom and thrusts in for some terrible sex anyway. While I was half-conscious. And then told me, like it were just hilarious, that I fell asleep.
I wish I'd gone to work at the club. People there have fucking morals.
But I got invited to a fancy industry party with a fancy guy, and I figured it was in my best interest to go, though my blood was boiling more and more violently with every passing minute of getting ready, as I reali3ed I had nothing to wear and no money with which to buy anything to wear to this crap, and that I'd rather be working so I could earn the aforementioned.
So I'm at this fancy party in an old speakeasy, downing fancy Martinique rums, neat, that were costing my fancy date about 20 bucks a pop, and again, thanks to my hard-drinking lineage, feeling nothing but a bit tipsy after 8 or so generous pours in a matter of a couple of hours, talking to some famous British actor who looked like Hugh Laurie but who definitely wasn't Hugh Laurie, and whose number I have in my phone with only a first name so I can't even google him and figure out why he's famous, and I had to pretend I had any clue, but I didn't, because I live under a rock.
And then my fancy date was starting to get antsy, and said he wanted to leave, and then the group collectively decided to get some blow, and I said I don't do blow, so they whittled on down to pot, and I said I don't do drugs, so my date suggested Vicodin and Valium, and I said Okay fine, and before I know it the man whips out a proper mortar and pestle, and proceeds to crush up the pills. And I said I don't snort things. So he said okay take it orally it'll still hit you faster. So I poured it into my 16th Martinique rum and gu33led.
Next thing I know I'm asleep at his apartment. I vaguely recall giving a striptease without removing any of my (secondhand bargain basement strait-from-the-crate) clothes and making out with him, even though, I like him, but he wrote a damn horrendous song on the piano, and I'm not really all that attracted to him. And then as the bits and pieces came back to me I recalled him wanting to have sex and beginning to unbuckle his pants and then getting really annoyed because I passed out mid-fondle, and then, he puts on a condom and thrusts in for some terrible sex anyway. While I was half-conscious. And then told me, like it were just hilarious, that I fell asleep.
I wish I'd gone to work at the club. People there have fucking morals.
Monday, January 18, 2010
From the Notebook of Anna Magdelena Bach-- Asshats.
********************************************************************************************************Meh, I know there are a couple typos and more than a couple thinkos, but I still think it sings.
Oh god and this asshat's music. I seriously, I cannot even describe, cannot even begin to do it justice...
But I'm damn sure gonna try:
Ok, it was like... Cleveland from Family Guy singing, a song to Loretta, that Chris from Family Guy wrote, from an episode about Quagmire from Family Guy's lovelife. Self-produced, ahem, on some sorta magic TOOLZ so brilliantly it made me and my kangaroo keyboard and Bluetooth mic feel like f'in Jon Brion. UGH!
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