last-minute love affair

Taking a break from packing, cleaning, packing, cleaning.

Listening to this song nonstop:




It's pretty awesome.

So, because moving is stressful, I've been in an extreme form of pleasure-seeking as distraction. True to form, I've spent my final days in The NY being extremely lazy, boozing hard, and shacking up with a soon-to-be-24-year-old boy. My extreme-dating for a last-call love affair turned up 'meh's, so I gave up on it and then met this attractive Kid. I always said that 25 was my lower limit, but this isn't exactly dating, just fucking and talking about motorcycles.

It's exactly what I needed.

I'll be the first to admit that I have a somewhat tenuous relationship with sex and intimacy, and yes, I know the two are related. I always thought that I needed to be emotionally intimate with someone to really have good sex, but my experiences this past year have shown me two things: 1) intoxication is a pretty good substitute for emotional intimacy and 2) sex can often lead to intimacy. This second lesson I found somewhat surprising. I think I'm extremely dude-like in this respect, because I can totally identify with that postcoital period of feeling extremely open and being able to chat freely without the thought of sex looming overhead.

Sort of related: what's up with strangulation in sex? I guess I get it and I don't. It used to really freak me out, and I would put a stop to it if any guy tried to put his hands around my neck when we're fucking. It's kind of a weird situation that I don't really get--I mean, sort of, if there's nothing else to hold onto. But I totally let Kid choke me the other night, which was highly uncomfortable (as you can imagine) but I was comfortable enough with him to not freak out. I don't know, maybe my sexual tastes are changing. I can understand other forms of violence during sex, but the choking thing is mysterious to me, because there is a chance you could kill someone or pass out, and who wants to be fucking a dead girl? (Is necrophilia the attraction here? Shudder.)

In any case. The transition from intimacy-before-sex (and I'm not talking about high levels of intimacy here) to sex-leading-to-intimacy is a strange shift for me. It makes me feel like I've gotten extremely cynical to the point where I am past being protective of my body, but on the other hand it's very liberating. It leads to unexpected attachments. I guess if I think about it, if sex is something with which I have so many internal hangups, then getting those out of the way immediately helps to bridge the intimacy gap right quick. I know it's somewhat counterproductive for someone who fears being seen solely as a sex object, but sometimes I think that having sex right away will cure that. It's like, "Oh, I already had sex with her. Now do I want to keep doing it? Is she actually worth it?" And that's where the getting-to-know-you part comes in. Otherwise, if I postpone sex in the thought that we'll get to know each other first, I always find myself thinking that he's feigning interest just to get in my pants.

Is this a totally fucked up line of thinking?

recipe for a smackdown

I almost punched a bitch last night. We were standing in line outside of Artichoke Pizza in the East Village, and I was in a sparkling good mood. I'd consumed 5 glasses of tequila and a beautiful, chocolate-and-ricotta-filled pastry topped with strawberries, hand-delivered and unrequested from a man who works around the corner who apparently has a crush on me and has been trying to seduce me with food. (I should probably marry him.)

There was a chick in the pizza line offering a running whine-a-lot on the line and all the people silly enough to queue, when I made some totally innocuous remark. Pride wounded, she retreated into the safety of her all-Asian-male entourage and called me a fat and ugly bitch. Apparently, this was the wittiest thing she'd ever thought of and she liked the sound of it, because then she started "rapping" this line over and over again: "That bitch is fat and ugly!" and then squealing with laughter.

I was not amused.

I let this go on while we made our way into the restaurant, then decided to try and combat it with love. I went up to her and tried to make nice, but she was terrified of me (rightfully so--don't fuck with a girl who is being wooed by a tattooed man with pastries) and she retreated again. I told her buddies that she needed to shut the fuck up or I'd beat the crap out of her. Her boys apologized profusely and two of them actually stepped out of my way and said "Go for it--she's drunk and annoying." I think they were afraid of me, too.

It was Neighbor's last night in the city, and I didn't want it to be brawl-filled, so I told them to get her out of my face, and they pulled her outside. Then we were rewarded with delicious crab-topped, artichoke-filled, and arrabiata pizza. As we were making our way down the sidewalk, stupid bitch somehow made it within five yards of me and I gave her an extreme verbal punishing that was about to escalate into her face being rubbed in the sidewalk before Neighbor's Boyfriend rightfully talked me down, telling me that annihilating her would be as satisfactory as kicking a seven-year-old's ass. The confrontation was proof of this. When I stepped up to her she cowered again and was like, "I don't know what you're talking about!" How can you possible have a good fight with someone who won't even own their shit-talking? Weak sauce.

It's been a long time since I've been so close to throwing down. Rage is a poisonous thing that I don't enjoy (although everyone tells me I'm great fun when I'm filled with it--go figure). I hate anyone who is provokes me enough to send me into a rage, because it takes a lot. I think the magical combination here is pastry-fueled confidence, tequila-enhanced recklessness, and a pathetic cunt chanting the refrain: That bitch is fat and ugly.

I hate going out on the weekends. If anyone gets in my face tonight, they're going to have to deal with leftover rage: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

move date posted

Due to lack of foresight, my plans of taking a 2o-hr train home on Sept. 6 have transformed into me renting a fucken automobile and driving home on Aug. 22, approximately 8 days away. Strangely enough, this hard move date is kind of comforting, and the idea of driving back to my parents' house with a car full of shit is soothing. Had you asked me a year ago what this kind of plan would have done to me, I would have probably kicked you in the face for even mentioning it. But somehow, moving back in with my folks and kicking it for a little while sounds like the greatest thing in the world right now.

I've completely been unable to take care of my life lately, even though I'm no longer in school and unemployed and on the dole. This means that all of my bills are past due and my shower has been unusable for a month. I'm sure there are more symptoms of my degenerating systems, but I can't think of any. I push these things out of my head; that's why they don't get taken care of. I like to blame not getting these things done on lack of internet all summer, but I know that's bullshit. I don't do it because I just don't fucking care.

I'm glad to be getting out of New York. I'm having a great time and I feel like something is about to happen. Realistically, I am going to get home and it's going to be suffocating that I'm going to hightail it out after three weeks, max. Who the hell knows where I'm going? Tell me how to get there. I'm listening.

restoring my blogging license

So, if you haven't heard my embarrassing story yet, the moral of the story is to (a) not be a jackalope and (b) not to post the correct names of anything you publish in an anonymous blog, because the interwebs are interconnected! It was enough to make me want to tear down the blog, considering now that several people have attached the blog to me, it feels like just a matter of time before my parents get online and read about the sordid details of my life. 

This is why I could never run for office. Among other things, yes. Shut the fuck up.

Anyhow, I'm tentatively picking up the blog again whenever I get Internet access, mostly just to keep on with the pre-trip planning. I've recently decided to not get on any airplanes, because planes are for people in a hurry, which I am decidedly not. So I was looking up overseas freight travel, where you can get on a cargo ship, only passage to Australia was something like $3,000. And, just like a cruise ship, you can get screwed more as a single person. What does the world have against the ugly? 

Next thing I know, I'm on this crazy site called FindACrew where all these dudes--because the site is predominantly older white men with boats, imagine that--are looking for people to sail somewhere with them. I guess sailing and/or boat ownership is mostly a guy's thing? It's a little creepy because a lot of the men specify that they're only looking for female crew members. Hey dude, how's that plan to create a floating harem working out for you? And there's just something a little scary about getting on a boat--where rules and laws and taxes don't apply--and going out into the middle of nowhere with someone you don't know. Ever since I saw the movie Donkey Punch I haven't really been able to look at boats--or boat people--in the same way. I guess it would be okay if there were a bunch of people on board. Otherwise it just sounds like the setup for a rape and homicide in international waters. 

I really can't tell when I'm just being paranoid. I wish I could just trust everyone. 

big deal

I'm on the Internet!

I have big news everyones, which is that I have my first assignment. Last week I pitched a story idea to a magazine and they accepted it, and today we worked out the details. It's a small assignment but I'm as excited as can be. Considering I've sent out less than 5 pitches in my entire magazine-writing career, this is very encouraging. I've been taking this great class that is encouraging me to tackle these kinds of things while teaching me the business side of the industry, which is exactly what I need. 

In other news, I am going on my fifth date of the week tonight. Yeah, I know. What the fuck am I doing dating when I'm about to leave town? I'll tell you what I'm doing: looking for the last great love affair to define my two-year stint in New York. I've also started drinking again, after a brief digression back into Moderationland. I love Detox Doc, because he basically called AA and NA people the extremists of the recovery world. Drinking is good for me, I just have to keep one hand on the wagon, two feet on the ground. 

So far, so good. Whiskey is just as pleasant as I remember it.

fumb as duck

I took a leave of absence from Soberland, as Detox Doc likes to call it, and tried to go to a place called Moderationland. At first it worked, and then it didn't really work, and then I did some things that were not part of the plan, including cocaine and fucking a friend...something I have managed to not do up until now. Not god-awful or anything, but things continued to go a little haywire and my body just felt on a wreckage course. Still, I would have probably tried to continue my stay in Moderationland only I ended up on this funny date last night...

I haven't been on OkCupid in forever, and then I got a random message from a young guy that really said nothing. But, unlike the last OKC experience, we actually planned a date by the third email. We all know how unpicky I am, but I thought maybe I should actually try and glean some information about him before I met up with him, so I looked at his profile and saw that he didn't smoke, didn't drink, and didn't do drugs--which is pretty odd for a 25-year-old guy who lives in New York City, don'cha think. That's when a light went off in my head and I realized the last time I'd updated my profile, I was deep in the heart of Soberland. I hastily sent him a message, explaining the situation. And the next day, he replied quite charmingly that he had recently gotten out of rehab, and that he'd still be down to hang out, provided we didn't go to a bar.

I can now say that I've been invited, on a first date, to attend, as a second date, an NA meeting. And I can also now say that I've been extremely shamed into hearing the own denial in my voice, when I heard myself saying why I never stuck with the groups, and why I didn't like Soberland, and why I thought I could conquer Moderationland. I sat with this young guy who had just returned from a 60-mile bike ride and was just oozing goodwill and gaining strength with the knowledge of his own limitations while I am still pointlessly pushing on mine, seeing that they are still there, and telling myself I can overcome them by...overcoming them.

I think it was the first time I didn't finish a hamburger.

So, yeah. Moderation...not working. Not really. I can feel it, not working. I don't know why I thought I could moderate drinking, when I can't do it with anything else in my life. And, as a result of this very nice boy being very nice, I wouldn't let him touch me. I also don't know why I went out with him when I'm planning to leave the city in less than two months. I have shit to do, and I am behind schedule.

I am returning to Soberland. Not because it was such a great place to be, but because I am now too tall for Moderationland. Every time I stand up I hit my head in there.

throwing darts

I haven't been blogging lately because (a) I don't have Internet access at the moment, and (b) things are dull as shit.

In the midst of extreme boring-ness, I've taken a total scattershot approach to life lately, which means I've been trying to write, shoot photos, and get my life in order so I can tackle Secret Plan 500c, which is traveling the world come September in pursuit of whatever comes my way. It also means I've been experimenting with drinking like a ten-year-old. Erm...we can't really talk about it right now. 

Anyhow, Thursday night I took my first stab at plotting out my route. Here she is, taking no account of my budget or anything like that, of course not:

Sept. 15 - Oct. 15: The Mosquito Coast (Nicaragua) and Bonanza/Rosita
Oct. 15 - Nov. 15 : Uruguay or Northern Brazil or Mexico...you know...somewhere
stopover in SF
Nov. 15 - January-ish: Micronesia
(meet up with my folks in Sydney for a wedding Jan. 3, 2010?)
Jan - Feb. 15: The Australian Outback
Feb. 15 - March 15: Kerala, S. India
Mar 15 - Apr. 15: Tbilisi, Georgia
Apr. 15 - May 15: Switzerland - Paris (shout out to my buddies, rest)
May 15 - June 15: Djibouti
June 15 - July 15: S. Africa (meet up with Little Brother for the World Cup)
July 15- Aug. 15 : Dakar, Senegal

This is a pretty random list of locations, but I had to start with something so I could focus on...something.  Plans are subject to change and have already changed three times since plotting out this list. Or, want to join me on part of my journey? Let me know. Karim has signed up to go to Georgia with me. Karim has also got me re-thinking Zee Outback. But I just love the desert, you know. SAND. Who doesn't love sand?

Things are getting a bit desperate here on the not-doing-shit front. You'd think that having nothing to do in New York fucking City would be the best situation in the world, but throw in the broke factor, a perpetual guilt complex, lack of Internet, and sobriety, and it's not exactly the most winning-est combination. It's actually a recipe for wanting to join the military.