Here's a bit of a departure from the normal humor and sex thoughts, but every now and then I like to change it up and prove I have a heart. Someone once told me I should learn to let my guard down and since we all know that's never going to happen in person, I figured I'd give it a shot in my writing.
I have to get in the shower in a few as I have this birthday shindig for my bestie's boyfriend, so I'll try to keep it short.
There have been many guys in my life. Many. Not just sexually, either (though many there too ha). There have been a lot of loves in my life. Some that were epic, some that were borderline stalker (Nick Schommer. No, just kidding. Sort of..). Some that were all made up in my head and some that meant more than I really understood at the time. I spent four years of my life trying to get over one guy. It was the longest four years of my life. And I swore I would never, ever let another guy fuck up my life like that, particularly because I had eventually learned it passes. It just took a long time. I refused to ever say "I'll never feel that way again" because I had said it once and was proven very wrong. I know that I will feel that way again. I have. But just not on the scope. Yet.
There is one athlete in my life that was on track to be the next four year heart breaker. But I pushed it so far away that I couldn't feel it. By that, I mean there was an almost immediate cut off. It took a lot to really pull it off, but I did everything to just create a life where he couldn't even exist. New friends. New job. New boyfriends. New hookups. New ambitions and goals. A new cell phone. I created a life where he honestly didn't exist in the least. Sometimes reminders were creep up, ironically always in the form of new dates who happened to move in the same circles and what not. But he didn't exist anymore. It was as if the time I had with him had never existed. A year of my life just disappeared. I didn't ever want to account for it.
I have done a really good job of getting past feelings there. There are three athletes I can thank to really pushing life forward for me there (NHLer, Soccer Kid). But I've had two days this week where I've been bombarded with thoughts about this guy and it's like I'm getting punished for trying to cheat the grieving process. Like when you try to shove everything in a closet instead of actually cleaning, and eventually the closet unhinges and that shit is more of a mess collectively than it was piece by piece. That's where I'm at right now. I spent a lot of my day, embarrassingly enough, thinking about what it was like to be in a situation like I was in with him. I mean, I've forgotten. It's hard for me to believe there was a point in my life I acted the way I did when I was with him, did and said the things I did. And it's not that I would ever, ever want him back in my life. I could probably have him in my life if I wanted - just not the way I had wanted way back when. There's a reason I never took on the roll of supportive friend. I didn't want him to have a place in my life. He had his place, and it didn't exist after shit ended and I wasn't in the mood to push my life around to figure out where I could put him. And that's the annoying part. If I had my choice - to take back the year or so I had with him, or actually have him back in my life, I'd go with the former. I don't know if that makes me a bad person or not. You're supposed to be grateful for every opportunity but that one left such a shitty taste in my mouth that I wonder how much better off I would have been if I had called the shots early on and ended it like I wanted to, or not started it at all. Not sent the e-mail, not made up the lie, not gone out for beers. I don't like the lingering effect this had on me. And I definitely don't like when it creeps up on me on some idle Saturday making me question shit. And as much as I've tried and at times succeeded and pretending this guy never existed, I am not fucking Harry Potter and I can't erase reality or change the past.
I think the biggest issue I have is the idea of not really knowing someone. You spend so much time with someone and you care so much about them, you ignore the shitty parts of them. Or the rumors. Or the moments where in your head you think "wow...that's a pretty dick thing to do" but ignore it because they treat you well at the time. And then it all changes. And they are not the person you thought anymore, and make it clear they may have never been. And then you over analyze and we all know that shit can fuck up an entire day. What ifs and all that BS. There is no what ifs here. It's more of "why didn't I"s. I'm wanting my time back - and not to replay it with him, but to change the fact that those moments ever happened.
Ugh. Annoyed. Alright. I have to shower, I smell like sliders and beer. Hopefully tonight will pull me out of this shit storm of emotions. I think I need to change my pill or something, I've been overly emotional as of late and it's not boding well for anyone. I need it to be next month. US Soccer's in town, Hoboken is on the map. Soccer booze and Jersey. Should be a disaster. February just isn't my month.
So I have a date tonight (always an entertaining time) and then I'm meeting my friend up for drinks at the bar I got sheisty at on Sunday (hopefully no readheaded Jappy bitches will be present this time).
Totally encourage anyone who's in the city to go to Wilfie and Nell on W 4th. I'll be there around 10, so if you're in town, swing by and say hi. Please don't shoot me before I get at least one beer in me, would really appreciate it.
So unfortunately the little bit of info I gave to the girl who was doing the article on Jersey Chasing for the Univ. of Tampa got cut...but the piece is still petty interesting, particularly to a seasoned vet like myself. Nothing better than looking back on college jersey chaers and saying YOU'RE DOING IT ALL WRONG.
Here's a question for the probably 10 loyal readers I have that would spend money on my books. Thoughts on Kindle editions and e-books? Because that's currently an option at the moment.
Obviously Kensington blows. Not in the mood to elaborate, just take my word. Still waiting to hear back from St. Martin's but am looking into publishing via Amazon with Kindle. Cheaper for you guys, easier for me. Plus, I can design my own cover which automatically makes me happy.
There are two other options I've been mulling over with my literary agent, and we'll get to those later, but for now I've been focusing on the e-book sitch.
Got an e-mail from Shannon today asking if I get upset when I see an athlete I've been involved with moves on. I'm going to assume this came from my random thoughts post on...whatever day it was this week, Monday? Regarding my former NHLer. Good question, Shannon.
Despite all the sex I love to have, and my constant ability to detach sex from love and sometimes even emotional feelings all together, I still am a girl. And, I'm on the pill, so I get extra moody sometimes where I cry for no reason other than I opened the milk container spout the wrong way and you'd swear I just lost my mother in a brutal 10 car pile up on the Belt Parkway. WE'VE ALL BEEN THERE. And sometimes, I get stuck on these stupid things called feelings. Including, but not limited to jealousy, sadness, missing someone (not a feeling but we'll pretend), bitterness, and all out fuck youness.
A lot of people assume I am "upset" over the fact that Soccer Hottie has a girlfriend. I'm not. Never really have been, outside of maybe one time where I was a little uh...confused about some shit. But knowing him, it makes me not be jealous, but pity her in a way. It's nice to have a hot boyfriend. It's nice to have a boyfriend who is an athlete and has a slammin' body and has a fun personality. What it's not fun to have is a boyfriend who isn't faithful. I said it in the very beginning. I never wanted to date Soccer Hottie. I just like chilling with him and being naked with him. He is the ultimate friends with benefits, particularly because the whole "feelings for him" moment in our situation has long since come and gone. But dating him? No. I am not mad he "picked" this girl. He picked her for a few reasons and to be honest, I'm good with distance, but one international relationship is more than fine for me. I don't get upset that he's dating someone. But I get confused sometimes as to why (not specifically her...well...eh, not specifically her, but in general why he's all into being monogamous at the moment), if that counts?
NHLer was a different story. Right after the Brobible article came out, I defriended him on Facebook IMMEDIATELY because I was afraid people would go through my Facebook looking for his name. Since then, my only contact with him has been the seven minute drunk dial voice message I left him on Thanksgiving Eve (thank you Fore Loko), and my bothering his teammates at some point as well. But last Sunday while at Michelle's, who is still friends with him on FB, I looked at his profile. Now, I have known for a few months he's been dating someone. But seeing on on Facebook kind of sucked (that sounds so lame, the whole fact that seeing it on FACEBOOK sucked. I am a product of my generation). When he and I were hooking up, I wanted to date him for ALL the wrong reasons. And we like, tried to care about each other. And in some fucked up ways, we did. But never enough on either side. And now for him it looks a lot more natural, based on the pictures I saw. I mean, the kid is awkward as fuck. For him to make anything other than hockey look good, it means he's into it. And do I think the chick is pretty? Eh, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. But personally? Nothign stellar. She might have a fab personality though so I can't knock it. I don't know her. But with that one this week, yes, I have gone through a "wow, she got picked over me" moment or two. But then I remember it wa skind of a mutual inability to get our shit together, so I don't feel too jaded. She's Canadian also, so she probably understands his drunk accent way better than I ever did. "Did you just say horny grease fried robots?" "No, I said how many miles you got?" (he meant on my car. This was literally a conversation we once had).
As for others. The two exes in my life, no, I don't get jealous. I did a little bit for one, but the other I couldn't have been happier for, probably because I broke up with him. Baseballer met a nice girl a couple months after I was a bitch and broke up with him via e-mail (ther'es a reason for this that makes me not as big of a bitch, I swear), and now they are married and I am super happy he is happy. I can say that one honestly. As for the other one? I was obviously when I first found out I had been unceremoniously replaced, as most ex girlfriends are. But then I went through the typical "reasons I a better" list, as most ex girlfriends do, and I started banging hotter athletes and enjoying my life post-graduation. So there, you know, that shit is typical. If you;re going to sit there and say "I never got jealous when my ex who dumped me got a new girlfriend," you are LYING. LYING LIAR. it happens to the best of us. The best remeedy? Go fuck a hot soccer player or 4.
I try very very hard not to get jealous. I fail MISERABLY sometimes, but with athletes, I have come to terms with the way they are about dating, sex, relationships, hook ups and one night stands. God knows I've been with enough of them to at least grasp the retardation that these types of situations incur. So knowing what I know at this point makes it much easier for me to be like "eh, whatever" when a guy I had once banged or "dated" suddenly found a new piece to be all naked with. I also remind myself there are a lot more players on the field. One goes, here's a brand new one. Soccer has been SUPER great with that one ha. You can't take shit too seriously. YOu start speculating on why a guy - be he an athlete or a banker - chose the chubby red head over you (has yet to happen this way), you drive yourself insane. It happens to me sometimes, but I'd prefer ot put my psychotic energy toward something more lucrative, like stalking a new roster to find a replacement for said retarded athlete that picked a redhead over moi.
So no, Shannon, for the most part, I don't get upset when athletes move on and/or fuck around with other girls. As long as there is no title tied to us, then to me it isn't cheating and I just have to grow a set and learn to deal with the semi-shitty parts in order to enjoy the full spectrum of awesome I've come to love when it comes to banging around with athletes. I get sad sometimes when they move on and the good times end, but like I said, there are a million teams with a million players and it's not hard to replace these guys, or find better. It might sound shallow, but for me it's always been about having a good time, not finding the future father of my unborn (and probably non-existant for all eternity) babies. When I'm ready to settle down and be a girlfriend again, then maybe I'll get upset when a guy picks someone else. Til then? No thanks.
Hey, been lazy today and working on some rewrites and ideas. Will have some updates on the book situation tomorrow morning while I die a little bit at work, and some stuff about Carrie Underwood (thanks Court), some rumor mills regarding baseball, and some e-mails.
So as I mentioned, a writer from the University of Tampa e-mailed me to ask some questions for an article she's doing on Jersey Chasing. It'll be out on THursday and I'll link it up. The whole article obviously wasn't about me/the blog, so a lot of the answers I gave might not get in, but I thought they were good questions so I posted them for you guys to check out the full answers. Enjoy.
1.) How do you define a jersey chaser?
It really depends. To me, a jersey chaser is someone who enjoys being around, hooking up with and dating athletes. I would refer to myself as one because I tend to date and hook up with a lot of guys who play sports. I think a lot of people have the misconception that it has to do with money or fame, but for me it's just the type of guy I go for. I love sports and I happen to like guys who play them.
2.) What is it about athletes that makes them so appealing over other men?
Every girl has a preference. Some like guys with brown hair, some like guys who are really tall, some like guys with accents, I happen to like guys who play sports. I love sports, myself, so I definitely enjoying being o that level with a guy where I get to see the game in a different way. I find athletes to be fun, laid back and focused and I like the drive a lot of them show. Plus, take a look at any guy who plays soccer, for example. They have the most amazing bodies of any guy I've ever met.
3.) How do you handle the jersey chaser stereotype that all are considered outrageously promiscuous?
I've slept with maybe 25 or 26 guys my whole life. Half of them have been athletes. I graduated from college, I've been published, I was an editor at the paper in college, I have a job, I pay my bills, I have great friends and family, I've never done drugs, I have safe sex and I like to have a good time. That number doesn't change who I am. And if it were higher, it wouldn't change who I am. And if it were lower, it wouldn't change who I am or what I've done in m life. I think it's unfair that guys can do whatever the hell they like with their bodies and with however many women, but women are supposed to keep the number low, not talk about it, not joke about it, and not be a "slut". Promiscuous means having slept with a lot of people. If you consider 25 a lot, then yeah, maybe I am promiscuous. And I suppose that would be a stereotype of jersey chasers. But I don't think it's a bad one in my case. I think if you're safe and have a good time and really understand what you're doing and you're doing it for reasons that don't include money, fame, popularity, etc., there's no harm in enjoying your life.
4.) What was the motivation for starting your blog?
I wrote a book and my literary agent suggested I put a blog out there to get people interested. So I started the blog and clearly, no one really cared. I did an article for the website Brobible.com called "Ten Things I Learned from Sleeping with Professional Athletes as a Woman". It went viral really quick, and the blog blew up. In the beginning the blog was just to promote the book. But since the blog got popular, I've also really enjoyed the debate part of it. I've gone on some talk shows like Alan Colmes's radio show and people get very up in arms about the fact that I'm proud of my sex life and can find the humor in it. I like challenging the stereotype that all women who enjoy sex are sluts or whores or uneducated or unsafe. I'm not a feminist by any means, but the backlash I've gotten has made me want to do this even more because I think it's so ridiculous that a woman can't have a good time and find humor in her stories like guys like Tucker Max can. He wrote a book about his shameless sex life and people dubbed him a "genius". He's sold millions of copies. I write a book about my shameless sex life, and I'm a whore. Or a slut. Or an escort. Or a stripper. Or a cum dumpster. It's not fair and I refuse to cave to that idea.
5.) I tried talking to some girls around campus who were known to go for athletes, but all of them took offense to even being asked about it. What would you say about these kinds of girls?
I think I'm 25 and it took me a while to really get to a point where I could look back on every guy I've dated or slept with and put it all together and really see the link and the humor in it. Most women don't want to be known for who they sleep with. Those girls are young and reputations mean a lot to them right now. Not everyone is as open as I am about talking about sex, which is fine. I don't think every woman should have to go talking about their sex life if they don't want to. But I hope with the blog and the potential book, women like me who aren't ashamed of their "promiscuity" or their funny sex stories or their questions won't feel like they have to keep their thoughts to themselves for fear of being called a slut. Karen Owen (who wrote the Duke Fuck List) is a great girl. She is smart and talented and she graduated with her degree from Duke University. But people called her a slut and a whore and a jersey chaser and a "sad, lonely girl" all because she was joking about her sex life with her friends and it got out. What does that say to women? "You're not allowed to have a laugh about your own life because we'll label you a slut and ignore all of your other traits"? It's pathetic and unfair.
So I found a new bar in the village I really, really like. Decided to christen it by getting sloshed on Blue Point and nearly knocking a redheaded underage bitch with BRIGHT RED LIPSTICK out for spilling an entire pint of it (Blue POint, not bright red lipstick) on my silk top and laughing about it. Then I realized she had red hair and God's punishing her enough. No offense to my red headed readers. She had like that orangey red hair. And it actually might have been a wig, Michelle and I couldn't figure it out. I also kissed a guy from Alaska last night. Never even met a dude from Alaska, so that was a new thing for me. If you're ever in NYC and looking for a good like, kind of authentic village spot, try Wilfie and Nell on West 4th. Really really great atmosphere, outside of the red headed wig wearing bitches.
Anyway, a couple random thoughts. One, I got a good look at my former NHL flames new girlfriend last night. I was surprised and confused but it kind of got to me. Not super cute. Kind of weird looking, to be honest. Canadians, I swear. I don't get it. Kid is really cute and super talented and getting a lot of looks, and the chick is like...kinda plain jane. But to each their own, this is me being all "remember when I tried to have a relationship with you and it was super awkward on every level, yet now you manage to not be an alcoholic shady fuck with this chick"? Not jealousy; confusion.
And then I let something else eat at me regarding another athlete. It's stupid and there's a build up to something that might happen in terms of me like, being honest about shit (no, I'm not like pregnant with this guy's baby, don't go thinking crazy thoughts you psychos) with him which might be tough. And obviously I wrote a letter that may or may not get delivered along with a chapter from the book. A kind of laying it all out on the table situation, but I'm not expecting anything back. Seriously. You ever just need to get shit off your chest? I'm not used to getting attached to guys that I fuck around with in situations when it comes to sports. So this is a little weird for me and I'm having trouble navigating it. But writing it out helped and to be honest, I don't know another way to really tell him everything that, to me, needs to be said. I write. It's what I do. And while I'm still mulling over the option to just let shit go, it's been eating me up a bit in a weird way and I think it's a matter of getting it off my chest rather than having any expectations. I know, this is super vague but I'm still navigating it myself so I'm all bajiggity about it.
Next, there will be a little bit of a blurb about me in the University of Tampa's paper this Thursday (I know, big time ha). I'll link it up as soon as it's out, it's a piece on jersey chasing and the writer e-mailed me with some questions, so hopefully it'll give the blog a little bit of a campus following outside of Maryland.
And finally, if and when this book ever fucking gets published, I want Collin Egglesfield to play someone in the movie version. He's REALLY hot. He's in the movie adaptation of "Something Borrowed". I am actually going to start that book tonight, if only so I can go see the movie for Ginnifer Goodwin. Love her.
Home all day tomorrow, working on some rewrites. So more tomorrow.
I realize I haven't posted a baseball story in a LONG mother fucking time, so I thought I'd share one since it's getting to be that time of the year.
When I was dating my ex baseball, I had gone down to spring training to see him play. The Tampa Bay Rays were the opposing team, and as I waited for my dude to get dressed I happened to get the number of a guy on the Rays as they left the field. I'm a scumbag, I know, but I DID wait until we were broken up for a bit to make a move.
Anyway, my guy and I broke up for like, 4 weeks right after he got release. I ended up calling this dude and lo and behold, fucker was in Baltimore as he had gotten called up and they were playing the O's.
I mean, you've read this blog enough to know what the fuck my plan was. At the time, I was in college and I had an apartment, which was a huge helper. Also had my car. So I went to his game, he didn't get in at all, but it was still cool to be there and the game was decent. He decides to come back to my place, but isn't sure if he wants to stay over because he has to be back relatively early in Baltimore the next day for the 2nd game of the series. No problem, I don't have class tomorrow, I'll drive you back later tonight, I'm super generous. That drive it like, 45 minutes by the way.
So we go back to College Park, we get some food, chill, watched half of a movie then decided to go out. He wasn't drinking a lot, obviously. I proceed to get shitfaced because honestly, the conversation was really strained. Like, he was totally hot to look at, but pulling teeth is an understatement. A lot of staring at the TV's in Cornerstone.
I get a little wasted, we go back to my place, it's like 10:30, and we start fooling around. He's on top of me and I'm being all whatever - running my hands under his shirt, struggling with his fucking belt that took seven years to come off.
"Do you have condoms?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said, and I went to reach under my bed in the drawer I kept them.
"Grab two," he said.
Wow. Dude's uh, a little ambitious, huh?
"Okay," I said, pausing and looking at him, kind of smiling because I'm wasted and I think he's being overly sexual.
"I just, um," dude starts to squirm. "I finish really fast so I'm going to finish and then just switch the condoms and keep going."
Okay, seriously, even typing that out, like 5 years later, I cringe. I pause and htink "what the fuck?". So I can't even begin to imagine (or remember) my semi drunk thoughts at this comment. In fact, I'm surprised I wasn't rude and like "are you fucking serious? get off of me, I'm going to go make some eazy mac instead, take the bus back to baltimore" because I'm pretty sure that was what was going through my head at the time. Mmm, Eazy Mac, I haven't had that shit in forever....ANYWAY, despite my drunk "what the fuck is going on am I on candid camera did he really just say that" inner monologue, I comply and grab two condoms.
We pull our clothes off, and I throw my shirt on the floor and i look back at him as he is holding himself on top of me.
"OH MY GOD," I said, putting my hands to my mouth. "DID I DO THAT?"
Okay, normally I'm a little more um...subtle? Or I have a little bit more couth. But I was drunk and seriously, it was jarring.
Dude had these marks across his shoulders...like from his pecs to his shoulders. I don't know how to explain it other than like....it looked like a bear tried to dance with him...or like in Disney cartoon movies (think Pocohontas) when the Indian dudes had paint parkings on their chest in big lines and they were reddy/brown in color. This is what it looked like. And of course, my drunk ass assumed my bitten-to-the-nubs finger nails were capable of inflicting scar-like marks. Way to go, drunk mcgee.
"Oh, no," he looked down at himself. "I gained a lot of weight in college," he said. "And these are just stretch marks."
Okay, now, there are a few things that make me gag and will immediately make me want to clamp my legs shut during sex. One, smells. Bad smells I can't deal with. Two, anything that reminds me of pregnancy and babies. Stretch marks automatically make me think of a woman who is pregnant and using coco butter to get rid of those zig zag marks that people lie about and say are "beautiful". No. Not beautiful. Gross. Babies. Pregnancy. Big things coming out of your vagina. NOT A FUN STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS DURING SEX.
Okay, so now I'm holding two condoms, and my hand is still over my mouth, and I'm afraid to touch these things because I don't know if they will like, bleed or pop or if they are fucking contagious, so I put my hands on his waist, and he puts the condom on.
I'm pretty sure his dick, which was the size of my fucking thumb (I'm sorry TBR guy, but it's a good part of the story and no one knows who you are), so whether he actually got passed my thigh or not before cumming, I have no idea. It was like, 47 seconds in to him making the first thrust, and to be honest, I was staring at his stretch marks like, drunkenly mesmerized and terrified at the same time. So he may have gotten in, he may have not. But if he didn't, apparently my thigh felt good.
"I just gotta change," the sat up now, struggling to change the condom. I'm starting to sober up and I'm like, what the fuck am I doing right now?
"This is why doesn't have a girlfriend," he says, kind of laughing at himself as he struggled to put on the 2nd condom. I don't know if he's referring to his stamina issues or his small penis. Or both. I think my face was screwed up in a "is he talking about himself in the third person right now?" thought.
We had sex for like, 5 more minutes, I think. Didn't really feel much. I finally stopped because he was sweating and he started to smell bad. My sheets were like, torn off my bed, and he rolled over and passed out.
I was awake for FOUR, HOURS. FOUR. All the sheets were of fmy bed so I was laying on my foam thing, it was hot because the AC wasn't turned on yet in our apartment and he was sweating and he fucking STUNK, and he moved every 7 seconds and was taking up the whole bed so I was against the fucking wall. It was pissing rain outside, and finally at 4 in the morning, I tapped him on the shoulder.
"Hey, why don't I drive you back to Baltimore," I said.
"Are you sure?" he said, and I could tell he was awake too. Maybe he had stayed up thinking about that phenomenally TERRIBLE performance and was hoping he didn't play the same fucking way if he got in the game tomorrow, because I don't think you can just STOP midway through a fucking major league baseball game and be like "wait, hold on, let me just get another mitt". I'm starting to feel hung over and mildly nauseous regarding the stretch marks that are now very obvious and red. Please don't pop on my bed. Please don't start to bleed. I'll throw up.
"Sure," I said, sitting up and getting dressed in like, nine seconds. Ready to go?
I drove his ass back to his hotel. I gave him a peck on the cheek and drove home like a zombie. I literally had my face two inches from the steering wheel, because it's not like 5 in the morning and I'm hung over and tired as shit. I park in the parking lot and have to walk up a fucking hill and am getting like, washed away by a deluge of rain run off. And all I'm thinking it I'm going to fall, get washed away and drown in that fucking gutter down there and that will have been the last sex I've ever had. So I struggle my ass up this hill to make sure I don't die on behalf of this terrible sexcapade.
Needless to say, dude and I never spoke again. He no longer plays for the Rays, but I've seen him play against the Yankees before with his new team. I don't call him when he's in town (though I have great thought of it when he played the Yankees because I wanted tickets) and I think, he actually might have a girlfriend now. Poor, poor woman. Or, she has the smallest, shortest vagina known to mankind. I don't know.
So I was thinking today about how much fucking easier actresses and singers have it in the game of jersey chasing (bitches), and I came up with a list of women that I was surprised didn't have a record of jersey chasing in their fame riddled dated life.
Taylor Swift. Swifty annoys the fuck out of me. I actually liked her when I first heard her in like, 2007, and since then, I feel like she has become a fucking My Little Pony. Her songs to me are just fucking terrible. It's like she just writes her journal. Shit doen't even rhyme. Here, I could write a Taylor Swift song: We met at the dance and you held my hand and then I was past my curfew and my mom was so mad and she said I couldn't see you no more. And I said you don't understand, we're in love, parents don't get our lives, so we ran to the car and we drove on for miles and we found an old barn and we snuck on inside, and then we kissed for a while and you put your hand on my boob and I said no not 'til marriage and so you left all annoyed, and I cried. So I went home to mom and she said I told you so and I said you don't understand and she said what did you expect and I said I just want to be free.
TA DA. Put it to a twangy country background tune and you have a Taylor Swift song. Anyway, Swifty has dated some random dudes 0 One of the Jonas Brothers, Taylor Lautner, Jake Gyllenhal (where the fuck did that one come from) And Johnny Depp's ugly twin brother John Mayer. And now apparently she's having a blog of enchanting compliments with the dude from Owl City, the band that sings that annoying as fuck song Fireflies (I'm full of bitterness today, huh?). Not one jersey! Bitch has the prom curls and southern face (even though she's from PA) to attract any baseball player from the midwest and still she avoids them. Or they avoid her. I'm not sure. I'm not surprised that like 4/5s of the guys she's dated have had one gay rumor about them - Joe Jonas, Taylor Lautner, Jake Gylennhal, and I personally think the guy from Owl City looks like Stefon from SNL's Weekend Update, so I'll throw him in as well. And John Mayer has made out with Perez Hilton. So I mean, wtf? Swifty doesn't strike me as the type who likes sports anyway. I could see her being all "Can I bring my magical princess Pony set to the arena with me?" So maybe it's best if she sticks to the questionable 'Mos. Leave the athletes for me.
Megan Fox. Okay, polar opposite of Swifty. If I could have her body, I would. I once took pictures for an exboyfriend (I'm lame we already had this discussion though) and I modeled the pics after her FHM spread. Bitch is hot. I hate that tats though. But here is a girl who, while her acting skills are limited, is bangin and to me, kind of seems like a bad ass. I feel like she might have had a few calls from some athletes and for some reason she turned them down and then ended up marrying DAVID SILVER from Beverly Hills 90210. And not the new recent one of the CW. The old typical 90s one a la Shannon Doherty.
I find January Jones to be classically beautiful. Not a lot of people agree with me. Her acting skills are decent, and she's got a lot of clout in the industry. So I am kind of surprised she hasn't made a move on any big names in sports. Instead, she was caught in a semi-possible affair with BOBBY FLAY, from IRON CHEF. I mean, Jesus Christ. Fine, he's loaded, fine, he cooks well, but the man is a ginger chef. And he's MARRIED. I don't get it. If I looked like JJ and I had the ins she had, I'd be stalking Brandon Morrow like nothing else.
Miley Cyrus. Ugh, she's up there with Swift also. It pains me that she is as rich as she is. She also dated a Jonas brother, like Swifty. She looks like the love child of a crying pan and a chipmunk. Anyway, now that I'm done being mean (JUST KIDDING), Hannah Montana has had a couple of cute dudes come through. Most notably Liam Hemsworth, the guy that was in The Last Song with her. But unlike her Disney predecessor, Hillary Duff (the Duffster!), Miley has yet to go jersey. I personally hope she never does. As much as I rag on the Duffster, I think that bitch was grounded and she pulled her weight. Plus, Mike Comrie wasn't someone I was ever interested in, so, not a threat! Miley Cyrus has a shit ton of family baggage and personal baggage at only 18. I feel like she might be a turn off for younger players looking to get taken seriously. A-Rod can get hand fed food by Cameron Diaz because he's already gone through the ups and downs of his career. He already broke the records and took the steroids and got caught for said steroids and won a world series. So don't be surprised if you see him at a ballet or yoga class with CD soon, because now he doesn't have to worry about his career. But the youngin's? Who wants to have the Hannah Montana girl - who dresses like she's from Boonetown Florida right outside the Everglades off of I-17 - in the stands? She's too much tabloid fodder. And she's not even worth it looks wise. She brobably bangs like white trash though (she's 18, I can say it). Down home and dirty, her outfits scream "yee haw" in bed to me.
Lindsay Lohan. Lohan is from Long Island. Our soccer teams played each other when we were in 7th grade. It was a big to do to see the little red head who was in the Parent Trap. And now, she gives LI a worse reputation than Snooki does Jersey. However, in her hayday, bitch was a hottie, even for a ginge. Her list of relationships and hookups are weird as fuck, including Wilmer Valdarama (he was on that 70's show as Fez and now he does voice overs for the Bob the Builder cartoon. He's legit.) and Callum Best and Samantha Ronsen. She goes lezzy but not jersey? Eh, again, I think now, she has the same rep as Miley. No one wants to be associated with her or her crackhead mother. But at 18, 19 and early 20, she wasn't half bad, before the terrible busted weave and the meth face and the balloon lips. I'm surprised she didn't go for the big name sports player. I read an interview she gave once about how she loves baseball and loves the Mets. She strikes me as someone who would want to date like a Derek Jeter or an Arod though, and who totally believes she has the a-list name to get into that kind of social circle, when in reality, she has the same rep as a crack dealer these days. Poor Linds. She had such a shot, too...
Seriously, I'm so bad with subject titles. You should have seen the chapter names in my original proposal before my literary agent edited it. He was like "uh, 5 year olds are more creative".
Anyway, as an add in while I sit at work and chug 5 hour energy drinks and watch Glee (my life is seriously amazing), these are my top three sports related movies.
1.) 61*. Billy Crystal did every Yankee fan proud with this one. The casting was awesome, and the cinematography was perfect. I think it did a fabulous job of capturing 1960's New York Baseball. Also, it made me visually very happy that I was not a jersey chaser born in that era. Pointy unpadded bras and hip-emphasizing dresses would have made my life way harder. Also, my hair doesn't hold curls, so I would have been an outcast.
2.) Miracle. The fact that Disney made a movie about hockey and managed to make it great without even cursing is SHOCKING. Watching this movie, to me, is like watching a legit game. Also, every guy in this movie is hot, even the weirdo who plays Eruzzione. So I'll watch it and suddenly go stalk rosters and be like WHY DOESN'T EVERY HOCKEY PLAYER LOOK LIKE JACK O'CALLAHAN AND JIM CRAIG FROM MIRACLE? Also, I still fast forward when Ralph Cox gets cut.
3.) Bull Durham. Need I really explain this one?
4.) Remember the Titans. I partied a lot in Alexandria when I was in college. I love that place, it's adorable. And when I partied there it was as super southern as the movie makes it out to be, but then again it was based in the 70s so who knows. Ryan Goslings in it, which automatically makes it a win win for me.
5.) A League of Their Own. This one makes me wish I lived in the 40s. While I couldn't have pulled off the fashion retardation of the 1960's, I could have done the 1940's I think. Baseball was in its legitimate legend days then, too. Anyway, Tom Hanks is fucking amazing in this movie and I still cry when Betty Spaghetti finds out George won't be coming back from the Pacific to kill her for ruining her Jimmy Dugan baseball card.
Alright, so, now that I've dealt with my feelings on people who are too much of pussies to say shit to my face and instead choose to highlight their computer ineptitudes, let's talk soccer, shall we?
Okay, SO. Before soccer hottie and before soccer kid, there was another soccer player who was not American. Surprising as I hate most Europeans and their accents and their inability to tip. However,I did really like this dude, but shit didn't work out and I was pretty upset. Safe to say one of the few times in my life athlete chasing wasn't about sex alone. In fact, the situation was VERY similar to mine with soccer kid. I was pretty bummed it didn't work out, to be honest. I totally, TOTALLY could have done the European WAG thing at that point in my life.
Flash forward and this guy is getting married in August. I found out not too long ago. I had gotten over him for the most part so I wasn't like devastated. But dude is 24. And his fiance? 21. I mean, granted they're getting hitched in Europe, if it were here, she'd be JUST barely legal to drink at her own god damn wedding. At 21, I was still fucking around with NCAA athletes and feeling cool ordering "double baileys on the rocks" right after they took the big red UNDER 21 line off my license. Marriage? I'm almost 25 and the term terrifies me. But I don't order double baileys anymore, learned that lesson real fucking quick.
Anyway, I got an e-mail the other day about this guy. And his WAG. And I was just like, what the fuck? I mean don't get me wrong, it was hilarious. And part of me thinks it could be true but who the fuck knows.
The e-mail goes on to talk about how the WAG is like, the epitome of a dumb blonde. Girly, princessy, demanding and a tease. AKA my total fucking opposite, which I find awesome. Rumor has it these two only went on three dates prior to like, getting seriously involved. And girl is American. This random dude who is e-mailing me proceeds to tell me some gossip about how she dicked over his friend and how she once had to have a blowjob explained to her in high school (I AOL Searched that shit when I was 15, so I can't really knock her there. HEY, you gotta learn somehow, and I've had NO complaints since). That the draw of the WAG lifestyle is already starting to wear off because bitch is down home American and not cut out for the whole "blonde cheerleaders don't intimidate us" situation that other countries have over America.
And despite his, in my opinion, really good looks, dude was pretty awkward. Like, maybe I was a bit too forward (I think he even said that once), but the guy was just so....shy? Or no. Like...asexual. Not gay. Asexual. All he thought about was his career. Like, if my panties didn't have soccer balls on them, he just couldn't give a shit. So dude who's e-mailing me is telling me this was this kid's only option (which obviously made me feel reeeeeeally fucking great btw ha), because she was the only one dumb enough to put up with it.
So now they're getting married. And I'm just like....are you serious? You've barely been together a year. A YEAR. You're not old enough to RENT A FUCKING CAR FROM ENTERPRIZE and you're committing yourself to marriage? I mean, this guy is good looking. Or at least I think he is, and I think I have decent taste (so says my hottie rosters, feel free to disagree). He has been a well known name in Europe for about 4 years now. And he's kind of just going into an upswing. The opportunities in front of him in terms of who he'll meet, where he'll go, how he'll grow up, are endless. And he's settling. For a high school/college sweetheart. Who went to a college that my sister (God love her but she was the worst student known to mankind and I think she just skipped her SATs all together) got a scholarship to. Why do I feel like...I dunno, this is a bad idea?
I look at certain marriages of all athletes - not just soccer, but hockey and football, etc. Take the Landon Donovans. And the Wayne Rooneys. And the Kobe Bryants. And explain to me why they lock themselves in just when they are taking off? Remember the big name athlete I mentioned a few posts ago, that banged around with my friend and then we found out he was a married dad? Married young, college sweethearts. These guys, they feel security with these girls and then they hit a point in their lives where they have to separate high school from reality. I'm sorry, I loved loved loved my ex, Brian, but at this point in my life, would I HONESTLY want to be dating someone I found attractive at 17? I liked pooka shell necklaces and I wore button down shirts and denim skirts at 17. My judgement wasn't all together perfect. You grow up. You change. And I'm not even remotely famous. If I suddenly became a uge star tomorrow and had the opportunity to bang a guy like Alexander Pettyfer (just came a little in my pants at the idea of it) or Chase Crawford or Tom Brady (eh) or NICK SCHOMMER (it's been a while since he got a shoutout), would I want to be strapped down to a guy who I liked in high school? Fuck no. Yeah, maybe every girl doesn't have their best intentions. Maybe you gotta weed through the 100 of hottie bitches throwing themselves at you because of your name, game, bank account or fame. But I would put money on the fact that there will be one girl in the 100 you meet, that isn't in it for the money. That is on level with you professionally, personally, and honestly, physically.
I don't get it. I don't get when someone has so much opportunity when it comes to relationships and attraction and love, laying ahead of them, they anchor their shit down. "Maybe they really love them". You know what? If it was a dude in Down Home Bumblefuck Idaho, who graduated from DHB State University in Idaho, and moved back to their little town and got a job at the local bank, then yeah, I'd buy the love shit. But opportunity and the lives these guys lead, change things. And to blow those chances just seems stupid to me. And I know a lot of athletes - a LOT of athletes - who'd agree with me. Who have cheated. And who will cheat again. Who will end up getting divorced. Because they settled too soon for someone they loved before they became the name and the player.
It's sad, really. But I did find this e-mail extremely extremely hilarious and was petty pumped to get an inside glimpse of this dude's relationship, seeing as I only knew what she looked liked. Getting a possible look into her personality (and the fact that we are night and day in that sense) was entertaining to me. As were the stories.
So I originally posted this last night, then deleted it because my mom was all "just ignore it". But after a lot of thought today, I'm going to address it. If this is terribly confusing for you and you don't get it, it's because you're a good, normal person with a life who doesn't lurk in train stations stalking people.
You want to fuck with me? Be my fucking guest you piece of shit coward. You want to fuck with my mother? Dude, pray she doesn't catch you because she's worse than me. And if you plan on fucking with either of us again, here are some tips:
1.) Get a fucking printer that works. That shit looked like you printed it out on a 1982 demo printer. I could have WRITTEN THAT SHIT more coherently. God, I will fucking leave directions to the Best Buy in Westbury on the windshield the next time you want to anonymously leave shit on my mother's car. I was embarrassed for you. Seriously, if you're going to stalk and harass someone, at least get with technology. Buy a goddamn ink cartridge! Maybe some Adobe, Photoshop? Even ransom note cut out letters. Your stalker note resembled a seismograph chart.
2.) You accomplished nothing. You thought you blew up my spot with my mom? Like my mom didn't know I was PUBLISHING A BOOK? You fucking retard, my mother has lived with me for 25 years. She's normal, she doesn't pretend her daughter is an innocent virgin. The only thing you did was give that poor fucking decrepit printer of yours a heart attack. I'm sorry you wasted the LAST DROP OF INK on this piece of shit "letter". What are you, in the movie Heathers?! Mean Girls? Fucking pathetic.
3.) I park at Mineola. So since you are someone who clearly has enough time on their hands to stalk and lurk in a Long Island train station parking lot, I'm sure you have more than enough time to stalk MY car in a parking garage. You have no life. Do you realize you will be able to look back on that moment in your life and say "I stalked someone in a train station parking lot, anonymously"? Like, I'm sorry, I've done some fucked up shit in my life, but nothing that would even size up to how pathetic that is. Even the GC cop I called about it was like "wait...someone left something on your car in the train station?" Like, the POLICE were embarrassed for your lack of a life. They probably wouldn't even arrest you if they knew who you were because they'd pity the fact that you're a fucking retarded loser.
4.) I don't know who you are. I have a couple of fabulous guesses, but the main guess is that you fall into three sterotypes of this fucking town:
a.) The creepy, overweight mother of some lacrosse or soccer star I've banged and blogged about. You wear Lily pulitzer, thinking the bright colors and psychotic patters hide the 76 extra pounds of TIRE ROLL around your gut. You would probably have sex with yours son if it were legal. Here's a clue - if you managed to figure out who your son is on this blog when names aren't used, it says a lot about the fact that you can pin point your kid's own Dbaggy behavior. And guess what? Fucking me didn't make them that way. The penny loafers and bowl cut youe xposed them to as a child probably did. You probably have daughters too. Daughters you assume are less "slutty" than I am. Nah. I went to high school with your daughters, or girls like your daughters. They have had 2 abortions, had to take that infamous "5th year" at college via Nassau Community College because they partied too hard and had a drug addiction. Probably coke. Your kids drive drunk and are genuinely huge assholes that will become overweight in the near future, just like you.
b.) Someone I went to high school with? I mean, if this is the case, I'm thrilled. If it's a guy, you probably are balding and still wear cargo pants from old navy like you did when we were in 6th grade. You are barely 5'8" and I wouldn't hook up with you right now no matter how fucking "popular" you were in high school. As for the ladies? Yah, we went to a high school where you didn't have to be hot to be "popular". Sucks that the real world ain't as forgiving when it comes to acne, obesity, bad hair and genuinely whiney voices, right? Get the fuck over yourself. I'm sorry you gained 400 lbs in college. I'm sorry the only people who will bang you are the guys we have known since 2nd grade. I'm sorry you've gotten knocked up at least once, probably BY the guy we've known since we were in 2nd grade. Because you went into the world out of high school and couldn't find ONE PERSON who would have you. One person outside your "social circle" to fuck. So you came crawling back to this town and banged a guy you've known for 15 years. Totally respectable. But guess what? I'm still skinnier than you.
c.) Angry town wives. This is debatable, but I'll throw them in for good measure. Look lady - I'm sorry you're overweight. I'm sorry your husband would rather ive you an unlimited expense card to waste at Vera Bradley and Lily Pulitzer than be naked with you for 10 minutes. I'm sorry you're husband is probably cheating on you, and picking up the 21 year old interns he's cheating on you with, in my bar, in my presence. But seroiusly, if you spent more time trying to lose weight and find one ounce of self respect, instead of wasting your time and money on getting the perfect maniucre or hair color, maybe you wouldn't be so fucking miserable. Guess what? NO GUY IS LOOKING AT HOW PRETTY YOUR FINGER NAILS ARE. But that back fat that hangs over your bra? Kind of noticeabe. I'm sorry your sex life sucks. I'm sorry you have to focus on mine just because a.) I have one and b.) I enjoy it. But go buy a poolboy Join Jenny Craig. Do something with your life other than judge me. Just remember - I didn't choose to not go to college, marry rich, and then choose a Mercedes and a lifestyle over fidelity and dignity. I'm sorry the last job you probably had was at the Tastee Freeze in 1967, and that you have no discernible life skills so you HAVE to stay with your cheating asshole of a husband because if you don't, you'l be homeless. You made your bed. Lay in it. And stop fucking around with the one I have, because mine is comfy and I like it.
5.) Slut? SLUT? You have to be fucking kidding me. Did you feel witty? Clever? What, though it'd really hurt me down to my core? "Oh God, this anonymous person who lurks in train station parking lots thinks I'm a SLUT. They're RIGHT! How did I not see it before?!" Give me a fucking break. It's very clear your vocabulary is limited to the 5th grade, and that's insulting to a lot of 11 year olds. You couldn't hurt me if you tried. Calling me a slut is like calling someone dumb. it holds no weight, no water, nothing. Go buya fucking thesaurus and get a new insult, because not only did you waste your fucking time, but your printer hates you for using the last ounce of life it had in order to execute the lamest and most unoriginal "insult" known to mankind. Original and witty insult FAIL.
6.) The fact that you did this shit anonymously says everything that needs to be said about you. You call me a slut? Well fuck you. I put my name and face to EVERY opinion I have. I am proud of EVERYTHING I have done, said, written, and fucked. My life is amazing and that's why I am willing to share it with people. You? You were fucking CREEPING in a parking lot and anonymously put something on a car. Even Meter Maids leave their god damn shield number n the ticket when they put on on your windshield! You are more of a fucking pussy than a METER MAID!!!! You don't believe in your opinions enough to say them out loud to anyone, particularly the person you're attempting to insult. You're a fucking coward with no balls. You have a problem with me? Think I'm a slut? Totally fine. But man up and say it to my face, don't leave a cryptic note (and it was cryptic because it was ghetto, not because you're smart. I know people in Hempstead with enough money to print something out in color. Seriously, go to Kinkos, it's like 11 cents a copy you cheap son of a bitch) and think you got away with something. Your opinion is uneducated, unfounded, and based entirely out of jealousy. And the only reason you are too chicken shit to say it to my face, or even my mother's is because you are either a fat dirty slob of a woman and you know we'd tear you to shreds based on your looks alone, let alone your education, personality and life, or because the whole thing is based out of jealousy. Jealous I'm attractive, jealous I'm in shape, jealous I'm educated and have a shit load more opportunities at my door than you or your kid does. You're fucking pathetic. And rest assured, if I EVER find out who the fuck you are, I am taking out a five page spread in the GC News detailing how big of a fucking loser you are. With color pictures, a concept that seems to evade you.
Seriously, kiss my fucking skinny ass you piece of shit. You think you embarrassed me or my mother? My mom goes "I was just happy it wasn't a parking ticket. I couldn't even read it it was so blurry". That's what you accomplished - my mother and I feeling sorry for your lack of computer skills and your general lack of a life. So congrats. Thanks for the fan mail. No fucking sweat off my back. I'm not going away. The blog? Not going away. The book? Not going away, come hell or high water. So take your pathetic anonymous opinions and your mildly creepy and psychotic illegal behavior and go fuck yourself. Thanks a mil.
PS - for those of you who seriously doubt ANYONE could be so pathetic as to harass someone in a train station parking lot - here is the note. The top reads "You MUST be very proud of the SLUT you have raised!!". They copied two posts I did - one on Eliza Kruger and Mark Sanchez and the other about O Faces. They bolded two lines - "I just fuck a lot and drink, totally cool" and "Thoughts on O Faces? (I'm so happy my mother doesn't read the blog ha)". Yeah, really making a statement. I got a fucking D+ in computer science in college and this makes me look like I graduated with my BS in computer technology and development. Mother of God.