Thursday, December 30, 2010

Happy New Year Chasers!

So despite being utterly diseased, I am making my way out to Brother Jimmy's tonight with my friends and having a damn good time regardless of the fact that I have to work this weekend. Updates may be limited until Monday, but rest assured I've got some good stories coming in the next two weeks or so, particularly once I know what's going on with this potential publisher on Thursday.

I'm gonna get lame and sentimental for a hot sex (typo but it's appropriate and staying).

2010 was a very up and down year for me. I had loads of fun, did a lot of cool shit, banged a lot of cool guys, went to a lot of good games....but it also came with a lot of rejection and a lot of second guessing myself.

Starting in May of 2010, I had applied to, and interview for, about seven jobs. Two at Fox Sports, two at Edelman PR, two at this tiny PR firm in Midtown, one at an arts company downtown. And despite being qualified, and being willing to accept a salary that most adults couldn't pay their fucking rent on, I still got rejected by ALL of them. So then I switched tactics and went back to writing. But I had gotten a lot of rejection letters from literary agencies when I started pitching the book idea in September. Like I said in another post, I had a guy tell me that he was embarrassed for me and that his wife would be horrified if he ever represented me. He told me I would regret my decision to write about this. That, coupled with a turn around rejection from a guy I actually thought I was going to end up dating (and no, not any of the pro athletes you might be assuming), by the end of September, I was a mess. It had been five long months of basically being told "you're not good enough" and "you're not what we want" and "you're not qualified" and "we went with someone else" and "I am getting back with my ex girlfriend".

I can remember sitting in my mom's room in PJ's crying over the fact that no one wanted me. No one wanted to hire me, no one wanted to date me, no one thought I was good enough. I had come out of college expecting some sort of success and the only thing I could seemingly do well was make French martinis. I felt absolutely worthless.

But here's the thing. I never really wanted to work in PR. I never wanted to do ad sales for Fox's Spanish sports channels. I didn't want to write press releases for syndicated television shows or Advil. And I didn't want to date a guy who lived in Queens who's hair I couldn't get passed. But for some reason, I felt like this is what everyone else wanted me to do, expected me to do. Get a good, respectable job, work in a cubicle, date a "nice" guy, go to Happy Hours on Thursdays and be "normal".

Fuck that. Fuck, that.

By October, I was burnt out. I was tired of work, tired of my situation with guys, and angry about my situation with writing. I knew I wanted to write this book. I knew the stories were good enough, and I knew I could pull it together. So I took a week off from the bar, sat at home on my computer and pulled out some serious Facebook stalking that I only ever reserve for athletes, and changed the face of the game.

When you "query" agents, there's a whole formula. But it was so inappropriate for what I was trying to do. It was too stiff, too formal. So instead, I found four agents and four editors on Facebook, sent them all a message about the book, what I was trying to do, and made it my own. I put my voice into it. And I got two responses.

That was the first hurdle. Meeting Doug and hashing out my ideas and his experience was one of the biggest reliefs I've ever had. He was just so supportive and encouraging. I got so fucking lucky with him as my literary agent.

Next was the actual book itself. I didn't know how to proceed. I didn't know what I could say and couldn't say. I didn't know how to do it while protecting the guys names. And so the proposal was stiff and rigid and kind of too explanatory. And it got a lot of rejections.

So I decided to wear it and be myself. I did the Brobible article and despite all the nasty slut comments, it was pretty big for me. Got the blog on the map. Got my style of writing noticed. Got me noticed. Then came CNN. And Sportsgrid. And Fox. And now, hopefully, my book finally, with this publisher on Thursday.

Everything else has just fallen into place since then. My life is exponentially better because of the shit I pushed myself to complete. This is what I want to do. I want to write about funny sex stories and curse like a fucking sailor and have a good time. I am not ready to be normal just yet. And 2010 has taught me that. In 2010, I flew to Europe to fuck a hottie, and got a friend/casual ego boosting hook up fuck out of it. I drove to Jersey to steal boxers. I went to Philly to have a damn good time with my friends. I watched the Olympics and the World Cup and Major League baseball with a whole new level of appreciation.

I am so glad I didn't get those jobs. I am so glad that guy decided to get back with his ex. I am so happy I didn't settle for the life everyone just assumes is safe and works. It would have never worked for me. And now, finally, with some serious effort and my inability to take no for an answer, coupled with some batshit crazy tendencies, I am finally making things work out the way I want them to.

It wouldn't have been the same without the blog. The last two months on here have been seriously, some of the best I've had in a long time. You guys have been awesome, even the psychos who insult me on a daily basis, who think I look hideous all the time or think I'm ugly or make fun of me for being a slut. You guys make it even more enjoyable when shit goes right. The Cookbook lady might be my favorite person of 2010, seriously. There was a time the haters made me lose weight. Now its just an amazing part of the whole thing.

To the readers like Courtney and Bethanny and Nichole and Renee and Liz and Kat and Melissa and Voo - if you think I don't seriously appreciate your loyalty to the site and my stories, you are greatly mistaken. I love my readers so much, as gay and cliche as that sounds. You've made it possible for me to get this far. You're who I work for now, and trust me, it's SO much better than the short little dbag who used to yell at me when I didn't make the coffee strong enough or refill the toilet paper roll the right way (this was my first real job post college).

So here's to all the shitty parts of 2010 that got me down, and the amazing parts of 2010 that got me back up (soccer hottie, you're right up there for keeping me laughing and constantly turned on), and for the last 2 months that have been an amazing turn around. And here's to 2011, where hopefully there will be new jerseys to chase, new people to insult, new women to call me a slut, and new contracts for me to sign.

Until then, I've also realized I give a lot back to my female jersey chasers, in the sense that I hook you bitches up with a lot of pictures of hot athletes. I had one request for something more appropriate for the dudes reading, and so, here's a little censored version of what my athlete hotties get for good goals and hard fought wins ;). Sorry, score a goal in a major game and you'll get the titties. 'Til then, this is my thank you!

Happy New Year you shady bitches!


Amanda e-mailed me and I guess coming off the same question from Alan Colmes, she asked me if my goal was to eventually land a guy like A-Rod or Tom Brady.

First, ew on the A-Rod. Sorry, not my type.

Second, there is no goal! People seem to have a really tough time just taking the "I like to have sex" answer I tend to give as fact. I never got involved with athletes hoping to one day land a top player. I got involved with athletes because...I just ended up there and it fit and was fun?

Like I said about that website Baller Alert - this isn't like a business plan for me. I'm not scouting out the biggest up and comers hoping eventually they'll pay off my bills or buy me a car or that I can get knocked up and get a hefty child support check every month. I'm not a bitch, I'm sorry. I don't need a guy to pay for me. When I flew to Europe last year, the only thing that was offered was the train ticket because I might have had to go further, but since it ended up just being where we originally planned, we split everything. And we had a freakin' amazing time. I make my own way in life and the guys I bang along the way don't have to pay for the pleasure of being part of it.

A lot of women (and men for that matter) just seem so repellant to the idea that women can enjoy fucking as much as guys. I don't get it. Why, because I like to have sex, do I automatically have to have a secret agenda? Because it's with athletes? If I just liked to hook up with guys with brown hair or guys who had British accents, would it be any different? Athletes are my MO mainly because they have good bodies, I love sports, they tend to be hot, they have the ability to have a good time and travel and have fun...I mean, seriously? Why is it so hard to believe I just like to have a good time?

So no Amanda, there is no goal other than to have the best time possible with each guy, take something good away from the experience and potentially learn a killer new position or move. My life is not guided by ulterior motives or financial goals. I have a damn good time doing what I've been doing and whatever comes of it - whether I end up marrying a Tom Brady or Derek Jeter, or end up marrying George who works at a hedge fund and likes to go golfing on Saturdays with his boys - will be what it is, and I'm cool with that.

The Cookbook Lady!!

Here's the cookbook lady response! I love her, I want to find her and buy her a beer for being so ridiculous.

And no bitch, I'm not lying about my number. Unlike women like yourself who have to lie about everything to do with sex because they probably live in an uptight psycho Christian community with a head pastor who's closeted gay, I don't feel the need to lie about my life. Kay?

And here's the final part, where my sister comes on to tell the cookbook lady to get a fucking life. She's been sticking up for me since I was born, what can I say...

Interview with Alan Colmes Part II and III

Alright, here's parts II and II for the interview....I fucked up and should have put them all together but it's quicker to upload when they are broken up and shorter. I GOT A D+ IN COMPUTER SCIENCE, OKAY!? I also just got the caller responses from Fox, which is hands down the best takes me like 7 years to convert this stuff and upload it to Youtube, so bear with me while I get it done through the day. I think we all know how technologically NOT savvy I am so...

Interview with Alan Colmes, Part I

Hey lovies,

So before I hit the sack - hydrocodone decided it wasn't going to be easy - Fox e-mailed me my interview with Alan Colmes. I had to upload the MP3 to iMovie with a picture, so please excuse the scary IN YOUR FACE pic of me, but...

The other 2 parts will be up sometime tomorrow and Friday. Again, let me preface - I spoke very, VERY fast in this interview, partly because I was nervous and partly so he couldn't interrupt me. Don't judge, normally I speak a bit like a surfer and way slow so, it's actually a change of pace.

Enjoy bitches.

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Herbin' 'em in the home a' the Terrapins...

A big congrats to my Terps for pulling out a win in the Military Bowl against East Carolina. Super glad that the attack of the fucking MoPeds didn't limit us in any serious way. A big thanks to Ralph Friedgen and all he's done in the last ten years, even if he sucked at times. I feel like a piece of my college days has come to a close, and he kinda got fucked. But it's been a good run, Terps, and I'm hoping basketball and lacrosse seasons will be just as good.

Jenn Sterger Convo on Hydrocodone - This Should Be Fun!

My hands are way tingly, I got the gigs, and now I'm going to talk about Jenn Sterger. Awesome.

So the NFL fined Brett Favre $50k for failure to cooperate in their investigation. The Commissioner said that with the evidence provided, they couldn't conclude that any of the NFL's personal conduct policies had been violated by Favre.

So basically, they couldn't definitely say that Favre was just whipping out his dick and sending pictures of it to chicks who didn't want to see it, but they could say that he wasn't all into talking about the situation with Sterger.

Sterger's lawyer is now hyping it up as the football being the "Good Old Boys Club" and that women are inferior in the eyes of the NFL. Blah blah blah blah Jenn Sterger has bad fake tits and a bald spot.

Here's the thing - the pics and voicemails from 2008 allegedly, ended up on Deadspin back in October. Deadspin approached Sterger about doing an interview, but she declined. Deadspin's editor, A.J. Daulerio (who wants nothing to do with my website, by the way, heyo), said that he paid a third party for the shit he posted about Favre and couldn't totally guarantee it was genuine.

Here's my opinion on all this, and I've said it before so I hope I don't bore you. Brett Favre is Brett Favre. He's gone from firecrotch to old man grays, but he isn't a bad looking dude. I don't think he'd "harrass" the this chick if she wasn't showing the remotest of interest. I'm sorry, as someone who has sent at least 200 dirty sext text pics (6 just yesterday when the new VS shipment arrived!), a guy isn't giving up pictures of his junk if there's not someone interested on the other side. I'm sorry. Especially a guy like Brett Favre,with a lot of rep on the line.

Further, if they came from a third party - me thinks she was talking to, if not bragging to, her buddies about Brett Favre showing his old man cock to her. The voicemails are totally him. I don't doubt the pictures are either. But even if not, the voicemails are (he admitted to 'em) and that in and of itself means someone who knows Jenn Sterger got the VM's and posted them. Now, NO ONE knows my voicemail password. Not even my friends. You're telling me someone who isn't her friend just happened to go through her unlocked phone, realize the voice on the voicemails and the dick in the pics was Brett Favre, and sent them to Deadspin? Come on fuckers, you're smarter than that!

Also, this shit surfaced in October of 2010. Allegedly, these voicemails and pics were from 2008, when Favre was on the Jets. So she had these things on her phone for 2 god damn years? And ONLY chose to pursue legal actions AFTER they came out on a gossip website? I bet she was waiting just to make really sure she wasn't to do it. Apparently didn't bother her for 2 years, she wasn't feeling unsafe or victimized during or after the pics and voicemails were sent, but suddenly when she's put in a shitty light, she pursues legal action. God.

It bothers me to no end that Sterger and her lawyer are playing the "poor female cyber raped" victim to the Nth degree. "This is an affront to all women"? No. Fucking around with a married dude and then getting outted later on and trying to pin the whole thing on him so your producers won't FIRE YOU for getting too cozy with the dudes on your job, is an affront to everyone who likes to have sex. Own up, take responsibility, and own what you fucking did. You're not the first bitch Favre has tried to bang other than his wife, you most likely won't be the last. Playing the "victim of sexual assault" card isn't flying with me, at all.

Bitch is pissed she didn't get a payday, and she's more pissed because this makes her look bad to everyone else, including possible future employees. Had Favre been suspended or anything, it would have given her some clout in the argument that she had "done nothing wrong" and was a "victim". But now it makes her look like a moron and leaves a lot of doubt in a lot of television producers and casting directors minds about whether she'd be worth the trouble. Wah wahhh.

Favre shouldn't be sticking his dick into ladies who aren't his wife. But Sterger isn't the right poster child for the "defender's of women in the workplace" pamphlet, either. This chick is oversexualized, makes it very clear she likes to show off her body and be sexy, she has huge fake knockers that she parades around, particularly at work as well, she's done Maxim, she has pics all over the internet of dudes pouring beer down her tits...I mean, power to her, have a good time girl, get laid as much as you like...but don't think that people will take you seriously when you try to act as though you couldn't POSSIBLY have sent reciprocal texts to Brett Favre, of a sexual nature. If you were a nun, sure. Julia Roberts? Okay. Sue Simmons from ABC News? Fine (though Sue probably likes to get a little kinky, let's be real). But Jenn Sterger, big tittied former "model"/possible retired Miller Light Girl? Not buying it. Maybe it makes me anti-feminist, but I think it just makes me smarter than the average dumbass, to be honest.

My Issues with Harvard Football, Part VII

With three days left in my subscription, I decided to take one more stab at online dating. And to be honest, I had no idea that out of all the crazies, all the socially awkward weirdos, all of the Jesus freaks and stingy bastards, the one good one out of the fifty bad ones I had met, would be the worst decision of all.

I formulated a short, semi-witty e-mail that revolved around an altercation I had had with a former Harvard football player a year previous. I gave him my name, told him I was bad at online dating e-mails, and sent it off, hoping my pictures and extremely long bio would be enough to interest him into e-mailing me back. Why I cared, I have no idea.

“Writing a book, huh?” he wrote back after having read my profile. “What kind of book?”

“It’s about dating athletes,” I said. “I unfortunately have a knack for finding them. Maybe they find me. Who knows?”

I didn’t hear back from him. And for some reason I still can’t figure out, I began to panic.

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t just date athletes. I’ve given many asshole bankers equal opportunity, so as long as you aren’t a professional athlete or a banker, you’re already widening my dating horizons.”

I tried to be funny and nonchalant, when in reality I was basically screaming “I’M MORE THAN A JERSEY CHASER PLEASE E-MAIL ME BACK!”

“Ha, oh well, talk about a match made in hell. I played football at Harvard and I work for a hedge fund."

And so the story goes – we flirt back and forth via e-mail, and proceed to adding each other on Facebook. We plan a date, I pick out an outfit, and I end up giving one last shot to prove worth my $40.

I woke up on a Sunday morning and could feel an arm slung around my waist. One eye fluttered open, and an unfamiliar room came into my very blurry vision. Within a minute, the room started to spin.

“I’m going to puke,” I thought to myself.

I had a vague memory of the night before. Of meeting Christian at the Standard Hotel Beer Garden, and I kind of almost remember eating a burger.

“I’m going to puke,” the thought of the burger made my stomach churn. I could feel that my underwear was still on, which meant I didn’t have sex. If I was too drunk to remember where I was, I wouldn’t have been sober enough (nor would I have cared enough) to put my underwear back on. Way to go, Stef. It’s like CSI: Slutsville. Use the clues to solve the drunken location and whether or not you got banged.

“You okay?” I heard his voice by the back of my neck.

“I think I’m dying,” I said honestly.

“Do you want some water?”

“Yes,” I didn’t move, I didn’t even turn my head. I was terrified any sudden muscle contractions would cause the gag reflex. I continued to lay on my side, breathing through my nose.

He got up and walked across the room into the kitchen. He was naked. I put my hand to my face and the waves of nausea were met with waves of embarrassment.

Pieces of the evening that I hadn’t completely blacked out through were now playing through my head. I was trying to slow them down, since the constant bright colors and flashes were making me even more sick.

I could remember leaving the Standard Hotel and falling on the cobblestone outside. I remember making out on the street, and shoving my face with a burger and cole slaw (I'm a classy bitch with a solid appetite). Taking a moment to stop the dry heaving. Okay, so, burger. Then I don’t remember where we went after that. But I remember making out in the cab.

“Oh God,” I said, thinking of the cab ride.

“You alright?” he walked back in to the room and toward my side of the bed. He handed me a glass.

“Did we have sex in the cab?” I asked, looking up at him, squinting as if he were radiating a bright light.

“Ha, no,” he shook his head. “Almost, though.”

“Oh awesome,” I said sarcastically. Not that I hadn’t done it before. I just remember all the times – one..two…four – that I’ve done it.

He crawled over me and back into bed. He was holding me, spooning me, and I was a bit confused. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him right now. If he was across the room, he wasn’t far enough. Why are you hugging me? I’m not about this right now dude. Get a clue. I’m going to vomit. I hate you.

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

“For what?”

“For being too drunk and extremely embarrassing.”

“You were a lot of fun,” he said. “Don’t apologize. It was awesome.”

The weight of his arm on the side of my stomach was too much.

“I’ll be right back,” I said quickly, pushing myself up off the bed and moving toward the bathroom door.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Nope,” I threw my hand up. “Gonna puke.”

No use in hiding it. Not like he wouldn’t hear it, considering the bathroom was four feet from his bed.

I was an insanely huge disaster that morning. I puked twice. I felt like shit. I was naked and smelled like stale beer. I had apparently hit my head several times in the bars on his bedpost the night before and probably should have considered getting checked out. My eye makeup was now sitting comfortably on my cheek.

He was looking at me like he had never seen something so beautiful. I smelled like death and he still had his arm around me. He still wanted to kiss me. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? Like dude, I’m all into romance and shit but this is borderline weird. I’m seriously waiting for you to drop that you’re happy you lost your virginity to a brunette or something. I can't deal.

“Where are we?” I asked, finally realizing it would probably be beneficial to start trying to figure out how to get home.

“Forest Hills,” he laughed a little.

“Queens?” I asked, sounding disgusted. How the fuck did I end up in Queens? You couldn’t pay me enough to go to Queens sober, on a nice day, with the promise of money and a hot guy. This dude got me here on drinks alone? Had I been roofied? I mean, seriously?

“Yeah,” he said.

“God,” I shut my eyes. How the fuck was I going to get home from Queens? The idea of taking the subway back to Manhattan to get on the Long Island Railroad was about as much of an option as me getting naked again, slicking my body up with baby oil and sliding down to LIE. Not happening. Ever. (Though that kind of sounds fun).

“I’ll pay for a cab to take you home,” he said.

“No, it’s fine,” I felt bad that I was being so stand offish, but really, I was doing him a favor. There was a chance I might puke again at any moment. I’d rather it not be on him. I’m pretty sure he was waiting for a blowjob, too. He had no idea how not happening that was.

“You’re going to take the subway?” he asked.

“No, no, I’m definitely taking a cab,” I said, sitting up slowly. “I have no problem paying for it.”

“Here,” he said, standing up and pulling cash from his wallet.

“No,” I said, looking up at him. “I don’t like when people pay for things.”

“Just take it,” he said.

“I’m not a hooker, dude,” I said, and I was surprised how rude I sounded. “I don’t need your money.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said sincerely.

I was trying really hard to push this guy away. I wasn’t sure why, either. Part of it had to do with my level of attraction to him. He reminded me of a watered down version of my ex laxer boyfriend. Same body, same facial structure, same coloring. But his teeth weren’t as straight. His eyes were a little bit too close together. His nose a little upturned. And his hair.

God, I am so shallow. It was the first thing I noticed about him when I saw him, the only thing I thought of when we were fooling around, and the only thing I could focus on as he stood in front of me. His horribly thinning hair. It was like, transparent or something. It was there, but I could see his scalp through it.

He sat down next to me as I put my head in my hands.

“Feel like shit, huh?” he asked sympathetically.

“Little bit,” I breathed.

“Do you want to brush your teeth? Maybe it’ll make you feel better?”

“What, are you saying you don’t want to kiss me right now?” I said, actually managing a smile and looking at him. We both laughed.

“Here,” he said as we stood in the bathroom together, both basically naked. “You can even have the new blue one I was saving for myself.”

“Do you buy a Costco box of toothbrushes for all your dates?” I asked.

“Yes, but normally I give them the girly colors. I hope you feel special.”

After calling a cab – the cheapest one was a Latino car service – I managed to pull my jeans on over my hips. I had to take deep breaths in between each tug.

“I have a favor and I know I shouldn’t be asking you since I basically have been the world’s worst date,” I said, breathing in deeply trying to calm the sick feeling I still had.

“What?” he asked, smiling.

“Can I borrow a,” I had to stop for a second. Swallow down the vomit. “A sweatshirt,” I finished. “I don’t think I can put a bra on right now.”

“You want to wear one of my sweatshirts?” he asked, and you’d swear I just agreed to give him five thousand dollars.

“If that’s okay?” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. He walked over to an open set of shelves by his door.

“Here,” he said, handing me what looked like a very worn in one with a big H on it. “This is my favorite football one.”

He watched me put it on then stood, smiling, almost admiring it on me.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing my sweatshirt,” he said in happy disbelief.

“Dude, it’s a sweatshirt, not an engagement ring. Nothing to be so stoked about.”

He put me in the Towncar, and the second he shut the door, I put my head between my knees.

“Do you know where you’re going?” I asked the guy.

“No,” he said simply. Dude totally didn’t speak English. Awesome.

After falling out of the car in my driveway, puking on the curb and crawling to the front door (and being entirely grateful my mother wasn’t home), I finally decided there was nothing left in my body to throw up. I also realized that I had absolutely no shame or dignity whatsoever.

I slept off the remnants of my hangover, took a much-needed shower and sat down on my couch with my laptop. I felt weathered. I felt like I was about to have to make a really big decision I wasn’t ready to make.

thank God for Hydrocodone

I totally don't do drugs - never even smoked weed, I'm a pussy, I know. But I would totally make out with the doctor who prescribed me hydrocodone today.

So you guys get me sick, tired, achy, on a lame little high because soccer hottie dropped me a line today, and fucked up on prescription meds. GET EXCITED.

So, I mentioned before about being back on the hockey....random story. I added this dude on Facebook MONTHS ago. He was up in the NHl for a while, got hurt, is down in the AHL now for a Canadian team (love the Canadians). He is super hot. Like, insanellllly hot. Kind of gay face (what's with me and the questionables?), but definitely hot. And he has all his teeth!

Anyway, added him a while ago because he was buds with one of my hockey buds. We never spoke. Randomly started chatting on Facebook the other night and have been lamely BBMing each other since. He's a good amount of time away, so if I were to chill I'd have to wait 'til he came down to play Bridgeport (aw, Soundtigers. Love you) or take a weekend and go visit him in the bumblefuck town he lives in. Awful. And since I have a planned trip to Europe already for next month, probably won't happen 'til February. But he's really hot and keeps me occupied while I've been on the train ride home from work this week.

Unfortunately this is how most of my jersey expeditions start out. FACEBOOK. I seriously need to give a shout out to Marc Zuckerberg if and when my book comes out. Dude made this shit possible.

Will keep you posted...

PS- It's NOT Sean Avery, I promise Kat. :)


Hey kids,

So I'm dying with some kind of chest infection (not dying, just very very uncomfortable). I took off work and once I get back from obtaining some kind of drug that will make it so I don't hack up a lung in everyone's face, I'll get some posts up.

Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Baller Alert - AKA Gold Digger Psycho Alert?!

I've gotten a few e-mails about the website "Baller Alert" (will NOT link)...which is basically a website/blog community thing where women go to exchange stories on athletes they've fucked, exchange "trade" secrets of how to get an athlete to pay for shit for you, and how to land a "dumb jock" because it's easier and then you can get knocked up and they have to pay child support.

Okay, where to even begin? Let's start by talking about why my shit is different (way way way different) from this.

Yes, I bang around with a couple athletes. And yeah, more often than not it's just sex or just casual. But never, EVER, have I like, "planned out" how to do it. Not the way these bitches do it. Never once has it been for money, or fame, or to ride on the coattails of dudes who are more talented and have money. I am not an escort. I am not a hooker. I am a 24 year old girl with, as soccer hottie once said, "a really healthy sexual appetite and a fucking fun personality" and I do what I do because to me, it's fun. This is not a business. It's not a lifestyle. It's something I do because I enjoy sex and I think athletes are hot and I like sports. Not because I'm looking to get a new fucking car.

I would never drop the names of these guys. Sure, people guess, and my friends know, and some crazies are obsessed enough with the guys to figure shit out. But like I said in the beginning - you will never hear the names from me, and I will never ever confirm or deny. Why won't I deny? Denying means it narrows shit down, and makes it easier to tell who. I am not using these guy's names for money. A lot of people say I'm doing that - writing the book. But I never went into any of these situations - relationships, hookups, one night stands, looking to make a buck. The idea for the book just came like, last year, and wasn't put into action until maybe August. I thought the stories were funny, that people could relate, and that's why I don't need to give the names. I am not making a buck off these guys - I am making a buck off the shit I've gone through, done, seen, been a part of, laughed at, cried at. I'm making a buck on my own life and my own decisions.

Further, these women who get pissed at guys post pictures of themselves, according to the NY Post article, for wives to find. No. Not okay. NOT, OKAY. I'm sorry, maybe it's because I don't do the married thing, but how fucking low? How would you feel if you found out your husband was cheating on you on a site like this from a whore like that? That's not how it should be done. I said it myself - why won't I tell the wife of the athlete my buddy hooked up with about his cheating ways? It's not my place. I wouldn't even know how to begin doing it, and I am not getting involved. We (she, my friend) got suckered in when he lied. And that's his situation, not hers. His wife doesn't know me. Has no idea who I am, have never met me. I am not going to be the one who lets her know her hubby has fucked another girl. And even if I felt so inclined, I would never do it in such a callous, thoughtless way as these tricks. That's immaturity. If I ever did it, I'd do it because I believed the wife had the right to know. Not because I was pissed at the guy.

Next up, the whole "let's all discuss how we can get this football player to buy me a car" is beyond pathetic. These are women who have no skills, no life goals, no education (you can tell by their ghetto fucking grammar) and no ambition to do anything for themselves. They expect everything to be given to them for spreading their legs, an ability every God damn woman has.

How about this little gem:

"'OFFICIAL Groupie," a rosy cheeked Florida-based beauty, coaches inexperienced groupies on BallerAlert. First in her playbook: Chase after the dumb jock.

"See, the smarter ones are on to your gold digging groupie ass. The smart ones can smell your money-hungry ass a mile away," the vixen posted in a three-part series, "How to Land a Baller."

"You know the ones that can barely speak well in an interview," Official Groupie instructs. "Yes, bitch, him! Write his name down. Google him!

Start to focus on the ones who have criminal records, many baby mommas and plenty of kids, and have 'advisors' (i.e. cousins/homeboys that handle their business/money). They'll be easy to recognize cause they always look 'lost' and 'slow.' He barely makes eye contact. He got a short attention span and easily gets distracted. He gotta think about the words he wanna use before he speaks and still mispronounce the words. He does stupid/dumb s - - - right in front of you. Yeah, him!"

These women are advocating to hook up with retards who knock up a lot of women. Which means they have loads of unprotected sex. A baby ain't all these bitches are getting for Christmas. Jesus Christ.

Look. I hook up with dudes who play sports. I do it for me. I would rather cut off my left hand than ever get pregnant. I don't go out looking for a potential child support provider. I don't go out looking for a dude who gets deals at Rolex. I go out and hang out with guys who are a good fucking time, who I can drink some beers with, shoot the shit with, bang around with and leave the next morning and be on good terms with. The shit these women are doing, it's not jersey chasing. It's fucking gold digging. They have no interest in the athlete. They have an interest in his bank account. They are being told to not give a shit if he's ugly, gross, dumb, never uses condoms (EVEN BETTER!!), because that makes it easier to get the money. These women are no better than prostitutes. They fuck for money, and nothing more. They don't even fuck to enjoy it. Even then I'd give them some credit. They fuck for the money, and that's it. And to me, that's a hooker. Because they are broke ass bitches with no ability to work anywhere but Burger King and they want to be the next Kendra Wilkinson. And instead of putting the effort in - going to school, college, getting a job, etc - they try to take the easy route and just fuck the money.

Sorry bitches, this isn't for me. This website is pretty pathetic, in my opinion. And maybe you guys are saying "pot, meet kettle", but I don't think I've ever come across as a gold digging psychopath. I do what I do because I like to have sex and happen to be attracted to athletes. I've paid my own way to do what I've done, and never asked for anything more than a beer and a laugh in exchange. I am not looking to turn my cootch into an ATM machine. And at the end of the day, it's shit like that that I'm trying to work against. The idea that THAT'S what all jersey chasers are - uneducated hoebags with big asses and big tits plotting to make a guy go bankrupt at the expense of their pussy. That's not me. Never has been, never will be.

Holy Hangover

Alright, so, last night I drank a little too much wine before bed and then decided I didn't like it anymore around 4 this morning, so I've had a rough one (nothing like being hung over on a Tuesday, right?). But if you managed to sit through all the political banter and hear my bit, I'd like to clarify a couple of things (while I'm sober).

1.) He introduced me as a girl who "loves sex with athletes and thinks other women should have sex with athletes, too". No. No and no. Trust me, I'm not trying to start a trend here, I don't think other women should sleep with athletes, unless they want to, then that's cool. I think women should have fun sex lives, not be ashamed of them, and be able to laugh at themselves. I'm not advocating to get athletes laid here. I already do enough on my part for that.

2.) For those of you who listened, I spoke really, really, REALLY fast. I didn't realize it until I listened to the interview myself. I was a little nervous. And was also trying to limit his ability to interrupt me. Sorry for that.

3.) Maybe it was because I was a bottle deep in Cab, but the caller responses were hilarious. The lady that called and said "this girl is a waste of air space, you should be talking to me" and then Colmes said "what should I be talking to you about, why would the public want to know about you instead?" and she said "because I wrote a cookbook", I was dying. DYING. That woman needs to get laid, desperately. To the two dudes who think I'm a hooker/stripper, I can't reiterate this enough. I am neither, nor do these guys pay me. It's good old college fun fucking. That last guy from Alexandria said he "knew a football player so he knew how this stuff worked", but he also sounded entirely uneducated so clearly he doesn't know how my stuff works. I am not a stripper, ladies and gents. I am a bartender/cocktail waitress and eventually, will hopefully be an author. And finally, yes, that was my sister who called in. She was listening and got super pissed at the cookbook lady so she called in to defend me. What do you expect, she's 8 years older. She doesn't like when people pick on me, even to this day. She was pretty hilarious and ballsy so I was pretty pumped she got involved.

4.) Hands down, the funniest part was hearing the Alexandria guy say I was a hoe, but a GOOD hoe. I'm a good hoe! If I were a bad hoe, I'd be a little stressed, but since I'm a good hoe, we're all gravy.

5.) Was SO excited when he asked who I was interested in now. Nick Schommer and Brandon Morrow got the shout outs!

6.) To the lady that said "what parent could be proud of their child for doing that" - my mom is. So fuck you. Just because your child doesn't talk about the sex they have, doesn't mean they ain't havin' it. Seriously lady, you need to get laid and have someone pull the 10 foot studded POLE out of your ass.

7.) To the guy that thinks I'm lying about my number - I'm not. I haven't hit the 30's yet, and trust me, I'd never lie about my number. I have no reason to.

I actually have to recover and head into work tonight, since I've had two fabulous snow days off. But I'll try and get a post in before I leave, and if not, definitely a couple tonight.

Love you crazies.

Ughhhh cookbooks?!

Okay, have to respond even though I'm drunk on a half a bottle of cab.

One, I am NOT A STRIPPER!!! To the dude from Alexandria who called in, no dude, I am not a stripper. I am a bartender/cocktail waitress at a STEAKHOUSE in New York. My clothes, all on. No titties. My boobs are too fucking small to work at a strip place, c'mon now.

To the lady that thinks her cook book is better than my book....I mean, what are you cooking? Seriously?

To the people who think I'm getting PAID. Fuck, if I were getting paid, I'd be loaded and wouldn't have to work as a bartender. I do what I do for me - not for money or any other guy. Seriously.

To my sister - you are awesome, I love you, and nothing to be jealous of, you are just as beautiful and amazing :)

Love you all, hope you enjoyed, Podcast of the psychoticness will be up tomorrow. Loved every minute of it! Thank you Alan Colmes for being awesome!

Monday, December 27, 2010

Stef's on the Radio!

I'll be on Alan Colmes' "Liberaland" radio show tonight starting at 10PM EST if any of you have Sirius/XM Satellite radio and have nothing else to do with your Monday can enjoy listening to me live :) Channel 168/145 I believe.

Don't ask me why a political pundit is interviewing me, people just like to talk about sex and sports, that's all it comes down to.

Hope you guys tune in. If not, I'll see if I can get a podcast or something technically advanced that I probably can't do myself by tomorrow.

Love love.

Update: You can listen for free, I think, here and click "listen live now". It starts at 10, I don't know at what point my bit will be on....but enjoy!

Oh God...I'm listening now...conservative crazies scare the shit out of me. I just wanna talk about sex and sports, kids.

Also, I'll be on by 11. Stick it out people, it's a good interview!

What Goes Around...

Annnnnd I'm back on hockey....more to come...

A Good Sex Life - You're Doing It....Kind of Right?

I got an e-mail about Rex Ryan (coach of the New York Jets) and his wife and their alleged foot fetish video and even more alleged online swinger's profile. My response? Gross, but to each their own.

I don't do feet. Which is weird because I'm a Pisces and supposedly feet are supposed to be my thing. I like getting pedicures and all, but I don't do toe sucking or like, foot massages....I just don't do feet. Gross. But while everyone's knocking Ryan and his wife, to be honest...I gotta give them some credit.

My whole blog is about being open sexually and having fun. I do a lot of shady shit, I've done a lot of shady shit, guys I've been with were INTO a lot of shady shit...just because feet aren't my thing, doesn't mean it shouldn't be someone else's.

A lot of people have come up to me about the blog and been kind of in awe about it, particularly dudes who are either married or in long term relationships. Their sex life BLOWS and they can't figure out why their wives or girlfriends are all cold shoulder and I'm talking about my favorite sex positions like they're the weather. Having fun with sex is the point. Sure, the athletes I bang around with might not be my boyfriends (though, some have been). Sure there have been a lot of one night stands and random hook ups and "I'll probably never see you again" bangs. But they've all been fun in some way, even the bad sex ones. Even the worst sex I've had with the worst athlete has been funny in some way - whether it be in the story telling, or shit I've learned from it, or a "how the fuck did that happen" moment over it.

Rex Ryan has fun with sex (or so it seems). And it's with his wife. His wife of 23 years who was his high school sweetheart. He's still finding kinky shit to do with a woman he's been with for a long fucking time. I know couples that have been together three, four years, that have sex like once a week and the dude has to beg for it. And the the guy goes out and cheats with a chick who is "newer" and more of a novelty and more interested in having sex with him than watching a rerun of Will and Grace, or going to bed. Do I necessarily think they should have like, video taped that shit? You all know how I feel about self made porn (I have my own videos out in the world, 2, but they include only myself and that dude ain't sending them out anytime soon if he knows what's good for him as I have some collateral ;). I don't do homemade fuck vids). But whatever, dude's keeping his married life spicey in his own way, his wife seems into it...everyone's ragging on him for being a little weird but fuck you, he probably has a better sex life than most people I know, particularly most married couples.

People shouldn't be embarrassed of what turns them on, gets them going, or makes sex enjoyable, as long as both people are into it and it's not like...cheating. Everyone has a sex freak in them. EVERYONE. If you don't show it, even during sex, that's your own issue. But everyone's into something that isn't missionary.

As for the swinger allegation? Again, to each their own. This might also be their way of keeping shit fresh in their marriage, after 23 years. Changing it up and in a way cheating willingly while the other is present and accounted for. This one definitely isn't for me. I don't do swinging and I don't do multiple partners or exchange programs or shit like that....but some people are okay with it, and if that's the Ryan's gig...I mean, hey. Whatever floats your boat. I would personally rather just be super creative in bed than share my hubby, but again, to each their own.

Kudos to Rex for at least having an interest sex life with his WIFE and not some 22 year old sports "commentator". Jenn Sterger, I'm talking to you.

Also, if you want to see some seriously weird foot fetish shit, Google "feet" in images without safe search on. Shit is weird.

What You Wouldn't Do For a Canadian Maple?

I got to talking with one of my buds about how important it is to enjoy the sex you have and how I almost always enjoy it with athletes. However, she reminded me of this.

I had been dating my baseball player for a long time. I was basically incapable of having pleasurable sex, for reasons stated in past posts. It was neither of our faults, just compatibility issues. So we were at that point that a lot of relationships get to where we had sex once a week and it sucked. A lot. No interest whatsoever. My vibrator and I had a more intimate relationship. So pathetic.

I was in Canada visiting him one night (well, for a week). He woke me up at like, 3 in the morning, nuzzling my neck and rubbing my thigh.

"Sleeping," I mumbled.

"C'mon, Stef," he whispered, having no idea that there was literally nothing he could do outside of having a face transplant (so mean, I know) to get me in the mood to bang him.

"Sleeping, tired," I said, not even opening my eyes.

He rolled over huffing and puffing.

I was a bit more awake now, and I got up to go to the bathroom. I came back to the bed and laid down. He was very clearly still awake, laying on his back, annoyed.

"I'll make you a deal," I said, rolling over. "You go to Tim Horton's and get me a fajita wrap and a Canadian maple donut and I'll give you head.

"I'm not going to Tim Horton's for you," he said.

"Fine, then you can take care of yourself," I rolled back over and tucked my ass back in.

There was a few more minutes of silence.

"Will you come with me in case the drive through is closed?" he asked, finally.

"No," I said. "Not part of the deal."

Poor dude went to Tim Horton's. And yes, I held up my end up the deal. Mildly gross after the fajita wrap, by the way. Dude's dick probably smelled like a Chipotle afterward, but whatever, couldn't deal with painful sex that night.

This is what happens when you end up dating a dude and staying with him only for the uniform. You end up being a hooker and trading sexual favors for FOOD. Seriously. Jersey Chasing, why you shouldn't do it for the team.