Tuesday, April 26, 2011

I Still Got It....But I Don't Think I Really Want It

Sorry for being MIA folks. But was a holiday weekend (so I was told) and I had some stuff to get done, so I figured most of you were either too busy praising Jesus and eating ham or matzoh to be reading anyway.

I often tell people I am way beyond my drinking years of rolling in at 5 or 6 in the morning and functioning the next next day. Like, it shocks me, there was a time where I would go out, drink my face off (doing shots of cheap liquor no less), dance, probably fall down a couple of times, go and order the biggest sandwich at Wawa, house it and go to bed at 530 and get up at like, 10 and go to class. I have NO idea how I survived doing it multiple times a week/month.

But I managed to pull it off last night, rolling my ass home at 6 this morning. I still got it!

Last night I got out of work early, and on Mondays I tend to try to hang with one of my besties who works in sports and is awesome. She also works with me at BV's and she is one of the reasons I've managed to not get fired. So last night was supposed to be a low key 9-11 "let's grab a glass of wine night".

Why I thought the W Times Square was the place to do this, I have no idea.

First off, the certain players from the Knicks were out and about. It was actually hilarious because the W Times Square has a lounge called "The Living Room". It is BEYOND touristy. Like, it's directly on 48th street and Broadway. So in this lounge you have me who just got off work, 65 year old tourists from Florida, and a table of men who play basketball and are collectively worth like, 40 mil. And gay French men, LOTS of gay French men there last night for some reason.

Anyway, instead o hanging their head in shame and bowing out of the NY drinking scene for a day or two, dudes were there picking up chicks whose outfits screamed "I might not be in this country legally". So that was a fun exchange to watch.

At the next table though were some baseballers. The ChiSox are in town playing the Yanks. So They were at a table and all of a sudden two women go over to them and sit down. My friend and I watch them for like, 5 minutes. They decide it's a fucking mother daughter tag team.

Now, I love my mom. She is super fucking cool and she's a MPLF (Mom people would like to fuck, I wouldn't want to fuck her). She's a hottie. But the idea of going and picking up baseball players, young ones no less, with my mom, makes me feel like I need to take a shower.

The mom of the two had on this trash tastic leopard print dress that reminded me of the dress that Amber rips off Cher in Clueless. Like, it had little cap sleeves and a ribbon thing around the waist. The other girl was like 6'1" with exceptionally too long brown hair. Hot body, if you go for Amazons (which I don't and personally I have my own feeling toward my happiness at 5'5"), face was fug. Tacky gold skirt, white shirt, weird dark brown wedge heels.

So I'm watching this exchange and one dude starts looking over at me and thinks I'm staring at him. Legit, I wasn't, because I'm bling and in a low lit room I can't see faces more than 10 feet from me. So both us us - me and this guy at the ChiSox table in the hoodie - get up and as he's coming back from the bathroom, he goes "Hey girl".

I can't. I'm like, a stickler for good introductions. "Hey girl" makes me think of "hey girl hey" and automatically I think you're a fucking weirdo.

He follows it with "my name is Aaron".

I'll give you three guesses as to what Aaron this is.

1. 2. 3.

Boone hits it hard, hits it deep, going back at the wall, SEE YA. A WALK OFF HOME RUN FOR AARON BOONE.

(For those of you who don't follow baseball at all (sad), Aaron Boone hit the 11th inning walk off homerun against Tim Wakefield in the 2003 ALCS where the Yankees came back and beat the Redsox which sent them to the World Series where they lost to the Marlins. But it was the single greatest thing I have ever witness in my life).

When I come to this realization and stop playing that game in my head, I shake his hand and proceed to tell him he gave me the best moment of my life, comparable only to my probably non existent wedding. He looked at me like I had ten heads, and then invited me over to his table. To which I responded "I'm sorry but I'm not sitting with the mother daughter tag team."

Also, Aaron Boone is married. And 38 or 39. Really?

Another player from the ChiSox invited us over as well, but when we decided to stay at the bar, both Aaron and other married dude went upstairs. Part of me wants to give them credit for not taking a woman with them, but then again I only saw as far as the elevator, so who the fuck knows. Eventually another player came over and started talking to us. I think he played 2nd base. I have to look him up. He was not married. He kind of looked like Eli Manning. And I kind of just was over it.

Five years ago, I'd have given them my number, my home address, my panties....last night I was just more fascinated by the old bitch and the tall one who I later described to Adam Dunn as "doggie style limited" (meaning you want to fuck her and look at anything but her face. I know, I'm real classy and nice). They actually thought that was funny. But seriously, I can't. Credit where due, everyone seemed to be wearing wedding rings. So that's more than I can say for some soccer players I've uh, chilled with in my life. It also reminded me how fucking easy it is though for these dudes to walk into any city, get a table and some bottles and some moms and daughters and you know, NOT care. Which is why I'm glad the baseball situation gave me up long ago.

But yeah, I don't know if I'm getting too old or too unimpressed. I sadly think it's a little bit of both. But I DID get to tell Aaron Boone he made the best night of my life. And then I got to go to cafeteria and devour mac and cheese spring rolls and monterey jack eggs. I am definitely getting old. I prefer drunk food to drunk possible sex with baseball players. GOD what have I become?

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Little update

Minor update - Finally registered Chasingthejersey.com. Instead of redesigning a whole new site and figuring out how to move all the shit on here over there, I just pointed the domain name to here.

So to make life easier for all, you can now just type in "www.chasingthejersey.com".

Friday, April 22, 2011

Sacrifices for the Jersey

I was supposed to go to Triple A last weekend to visit a buddy, but shit got weird. As in, he is expecting more than he is going to get and since we allllll know I have a problem with saying "no", particularly when I'm drinking, I decided it was best to not go. It would be an Alex Hamilton round 2. I'm not interested in him as more than a friend, and I'm not going to fake it for the uniform. Neither of us deserve that shit. Been there, done that.

On that note, there's a story out there about how a Dallas reporter decided to comment on Colby Lewis missing his 4th start of the year to go be with his wife who was in labor. MLB changed their rules regarding paternity leave this year, which now grants a 24-72 hour leave when a player's wife is expecting a baby. Colby was the first player to make use of this rule, and already he's getting called out for it, and it reminds me horribly of why I never went back to dating baseball.

Jason (Richie?) Whitt, a columnist for the Dallas Observer said this:

"Imagine if Jason Witten missed a game to attend the birth of a child. It’s just, I dunno, weird. Wrong even. Departures? Totally get it because at a funeral you’re saying goodbye to someone for the last time. But an arrival is merely saying hello to someone you’ll see the rest of your life.”

Okay, first off, I love baseball as much as the next psycho Yankee fan. I bleed pinstripes. I will probably name my first son (that I will never have but if I do) Bernie. But this dude needs to like, get a fucking life outside of his fantasy team, because he is being ridiculous.

Weird? WRONG EVEN? WRONG for a man to be by his wife's side while she's fucking going through excruciating pain pushing something out of her vagina? I'm sorry, I thought people in Texas were super republican and like, conservative about family values. You'd rather a guy be on a mound with a team than by his wife's side during birth? At the end of the day - baseball is just a game. And for those guy's, it's a job. Men leave work when their wives go into labor. Lawyers. Bankers. Waiters. Managers. They take a day off when their wife goes into labor. Baseball is not more important than any of those other jobs. Family should always come first. It doesn't a lot of the times in baseball. And taking this other family moment away from a player and his wife is not fair. EXPECTING the guy to lose that moment is not fair either.

Look, I hate kids. I don't want them, I don't do babies, I don't do diapers or crying or drool or shit that looks like something served in an Indian restaurant. It isn't my thing. But I know what family is. And it saddens me that people like this dbag columnist, who probably has no concept of what players go through on a day to day basis and is WAY too invested in his fantasy team, expect baseball players to put this game before their actual family and lives. It isn't a fair standard to hold to them. It's not like he missed the game to go party and an alumni baseball event. You expect a man to choose a city of nameless fans who would trade him away at the first shot for a World Series over his wife and child? I'm sorry. I love baseball, but it's just a game. There will be other starts for him to pitch. Other teams for him to break records on. There is only one birth of that one child. That's his right as a husband and father to have that moment, regardless of what his job is.

Jason Whitt needs a life. I have a feeling he's probably gotten a lot of slack for that column, and if he hasn't, he should. When I read it I was vaguely reminded of the scene in *61 where the reporters are all bitching about Roger Maris because he won't give them an interview, so they go on saying he has the easiest life in the world and he OWES them something, when in reality dude was chain smoking like Lindsay Lohan when she runs out of blow and balding quicker than the Harvard asshole I went out with. People who AREN'T in those positions think it's really easy. It isn't. And the life you miss out on when you play baseball for a living can be tough. Yeah, it's nice to be Derek Jeter or A-Rod or Crawford or Werth. It's nice to have that money and to make it playing baseball. But the guys who are strugglign to break into the majors, who change teams yearly, who are never in a solid home for more than a month, who don't get to go home in the offseason because they go play in fall leagues and winter leagues, the stress of releases and injuries and the threats of trades....God, it's not a great part of life. I'm sorry. And for this columnist to believe that Lewis should have chosen the game over his family shows that it's not always easy to do the right thing in that game. It's not always easy to put family first where they belong. And in a lot of people's eyes, he SHOULDN'T have put family first. This is what these people expect from these guys. It's sad.

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

Let them do the talking...

So there's been a bunch of stuff going on this week, which, hopefully I'll be able to clue you guys in about soon. I didn't get a shot to put a post up today, and as I'm heading to work in a bit, I figured a couple of songs might just get my thoughts out there, probably better than I could doing a post. So enjoy your Wednesday list of what's on my mind musically.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Am I the only person...

Who hates Kimberly Jones? I'm sorry, for my Yankees fans, do you guys like her? I swear to God, I find her to be one of the most irritating people on earth. And also, her hair color is terrible. Who told her that goods? Seriously.

I appreciate that they are putting women on the field, and ones that don't look Jenn Sterger, but still, could we get someone a little bit less annoying, who actually opens her mouth and doesn't have a lisp? She's like Gretta Van Susteren and Sheryl Crow's love child. GOD. Terrible.

If anyone from YES is reading, I'm available, and I promise I won't curse, and I already have a good repertoire with four guys on that team. I've heard Jeter hates Jones too. I think we need to discuss a possible job change for me. Seriously. Get on it.

LAX Reps

I still remember taking this picture. It was at UVA, and we got killed 10-2 in 2005. God I'm old.

Since last week, I've gotten a weird number of e-mails regarding George Huguely, who is a former UVA laxer that just today was indicted in 6 charges that included first degree murder. Last year, he killed his on-again off-again girlfriend, Yeardley Love, who was also a senior player on the women's lacrosse team.

Most of the e-mails have been in regards to whether or not I think it characterizes the basic culture of lacrosse. And I guess it definitely ties into the Duke thing. I'm not going to bring the Duke thing into it for multiple reasons, the biggest one being I really don't want unwanted texts or calls. But if you're interested in my opinions about the Duke lax situation from 2006, you can Google my name and Duke lacrosse and see the inordinate amount of articles and blogs I did in support of those guys. Long story short on Duke - no one raped anyone, those guys got fucked, and lacrosse got put on trial because of racial stereotypes. And yes, I'm aware, bitch is going to jail because she murdered someone. Am I surprised? Seriously?

As for UVA (why is it always the ACC?), look. I have spent a lot of time with laxers. In college and out of college. In college, I witnessed some shitty behavior. One guy I was semi seeing (and by that I mean banging on the reg at Maryland) was a really, really bad drunk. And we got into a fight one night where we ended up throwing beer bottles at me. Thankfully, he was drunk and there was a reason he was 3rd string, and none of them hit me. One of his teammates heard the situation and came out and stopped it.

That was the one and only time I ever had a problem with a lacrosse player. And his housemates/teammates has a serious talk with him the next day. I was the little sister they could pick on, but they knew better than to let that shit go on. And eventually he grew up, got sober, took me out to lunch in NYC and apologized profusely. Better late than never.

So when people say the culture of lacrosse is one of drunken entitlement...I can't really agree 100%. There are loads of preppy dbags who play lacrosse and think they're the shit because they play lacrosse. But it's not all of them. It really isn't. I am still super close with so many of the guys on Maryland's team from when I was in college. And since my Brobible excerpt went up with my post about maryland lax and loddies, a whole shlew of the current team have added me and e-mailed me on Facebook. In fact, I'm planning a trip down for their senior day in May. I am not the only one who has ever had a lacrosse team filled with makeshift big brothers. They are good guys. I'm even starting to fall in love with this year's team despite not knowing most of them. George Huguely is not the norm. And that was not my experience with lacrosse.

Don't get me wrong. They get drunk and rowdy. They pass out naked in random places. They take their cloths off and lay in bushes (GOD I really miss college). They get in fights sometimes and can be huge assholes when it comes to sex. But they're not all tragically bred to be violent assholes. I promise.

I remember once in my freshman year, Will, the dude with the penis that impaled me...well, he could be a huge asshole. And he was rich. And cocky. And he had that air of entitlement. But when I needed a flight to Europe when a family member was in the hospital and consequently died, Will was the first person to offer to help me. He actually offered to pay for the whole thing. Wanted to do anything he could to help.

My best friend Travis (seen here ignoring the fact that I had no idea how to style my bangs freshman year) is one of the best kids I know. I've known him since October of 2004 when I accused him of lying about being on the lacrosse team to get laid because I had no idea who he was or why he was talking to me at Bentley's. And since then, he's been one of my bests. He is one of the nicest, most considerate, hard working guys I know. He once carried me up 2 blocks when I had no shoes and it was snowing (don't ask why I had no shoes). And he would rather cut off his balls than ever hurt a girl, let alone hit one. Though he once allowed me to fall down a flight of stairs at lacrosse formal one year. Thanks Trav. And gravity.

One of the baby Terps (nickname to all the teams that came after my graduation), lost a parent this weekend to pancreatic cancer. Every laxer right now has a purple ribbon profile picture on Facebook. Guys from years ahead of me who never even played with him. Lacrosse teams are like second families. And more often than not, they are made up of good guys. Not perfect guys - but good ones.

So no. To all those who ask me if I think George Huguely is the norm for lacrosse, a s"ad example of the perfect son in public drunken dbag rich kid in private", no. I don't. He was one guy who didn't know when to stop and didn't know how to control himself. He had anger issues and drinking problems and yeah, he was an entitled dbag. And the idea of putting someone like that in the same category as the boys (now dirty old men for the most part ha) I spent the majority of my college career hanging out with seems horrendous. And I won't do it. I'm sorry.

Rae Carruth killed his pregnant girlfriend. Kobe Bryant raped a girl (sorry if you don't believe it. Rape might be a strong word. Forcebly fucked?). Yet we don't associate football or basketball with violence and pregnant lady killing. One guy in a game that promotes thousands is not representative of the sport as a whole. It was a terribly tragic situation. But I'll tell you one thing - something tells me if that was a "team of entitled brutal thugs", there would be no way that all of the pallbearers would have been members of that team. And they were.

Don't judge the sport by the bad rap it gets in the media. I've seen some of the shitty sides of it, but the good side outweighs the bad completely.

Monday, April 18, 2011

Grouchey McEyebrows wins again

Not only did David Beckham lose his $25 million lawsuit against InTouch Weekly for saying he banged this Bosnian prostitute with immaculate eyebrows that weighs 17 times as much as his wife (which means like, 160 lbs), but now to add insult to hooker story injury, Becks has been ordered by the court to pay InTouch Weekly's court fees. $300,000. Now do you see why I didn't want to get sued?!

The case was dismissed because Beck's team couldn't provide proof that InTouch wrote the story with malice. AKA they didn't write the story to specifically fuck him over. One reason I couldn't get sued either. Muwahaha.

Anyway, Becks is filing an appeal and still claims that the dates and times don't add up to when Ms. Nici claims she was being paid to play with his balls. My favorite bit is this:

“As is my custom when I arrive at a hotel on a road trip before a match, a massage therapist came to my hotel room within a few hours after I checked to in to give me a massage… I recall that the therapist did not leave my hotel room until the very early morning. My security team was with me before, during and after the massage. After the therapist left I went to sleep. I have reviewed the daily logs prepared by my security detail which confirm my recollections"

It sounds a little too official, but then again it is in a court document and Becks is British. But I feel like "recall" is a much looser word for "remember". Like, you say "recall" when you can vaguely remember something. Like "I recall she had brownish hair". Whereas if you actually meant it, you'd say "I know she had brown hair" or "I remember she had brown hair". Then he said the logs confirm his "recollections". It all sounds a little too indefinite to me.

Again, I wouldn't be surprised if Becks cheated on Vicky. I wouldn't be surprised if her baby (which at this point must be the size of a fucking almond because bitch is like 7 months pregnant and 100 lbs thinner than me) was a newage form of the Kobe Bryant "I'm sorry I kind of raped that chick" ring. These dudes cheat! I have stories galore about soccer, and just because Becks is famous doesn't mean he's not doing it too. Look at Wayne Rooney, Ashley Cole! They all don't give a shit. I think Becks gives a little bit more of a shit than those two, in the sense he's willing to put up the effort to fix the cheating issue as oppose to just divorce or continue to be a dick and ruin his career like Rooney (half truth), but he's David Fucking Beckham. You really think he has only used his penis on one woman for the last 12 years? Yeah, and Santa Clause is real too. Jesus Christ.

Ohhh to be famous in Provo

I happened to catch this story and thought it was hilarious. Jimmer Frederette, who plays basketball for BYU (the school that right before the NCAA tournament suspended Charlie Davis for having sex, good times), has been told to "take online classes" and not physically attend class at BYU as he is too famous and it's too much of a distraction to students when people are constantly asking him for his autograph. Apparently he can't go anywhere in Provo without being recognized.

Right. Who is this kid again? Did I sleep with him? No? Okay, who is he?

I mean, when I was at Maryland, Nik Caner-Medley got a lot of attention because he was a big drunken white kid who claimed "you can't beat me, I'm from Maryland" to a cop once (god I miss college). But he still managed to go to class...sometimes....or the bar, better example! DJ Strawberry (Darryl Strawberry's kid) managed to have a successful basketball career and a dad who we can't figure out if he's more famous for doing coke or playing for the Mets and still managed to not be "disruptive". I played beer pong with him a few times. What the fuck is up with Mormons? They were like a semi-Cinderella story for a hot second and then they lost. And yet their players are so incredibly recognizable and famous that the world is banging down their Mormon door for an autograph and constantly staring at them in class? It's a fucking NCAA basketball player, not Angelina Jolie for Christ sake! What is wrong with these people!? Oh, he was named NCAA player of the year and won a couple of NCAA awards....still, who is this guy? Like, maybe because I went to Maryland and we had some national attention all the time even though we sucked most of the time, I just don't get the NCAA hype. But seriously, if JJ fucking Reddick (I hate him still) could manage to go to class, something tells me this dude shouldn't really be having a problem.

Also, what the fuck kind of name is Jimmer?!

Friday, April 15, 2011

Hopkins Week

For those of you that don't go to Maryland (which I'm assuming is most), you don't know how big lacrosse is. Lacrosse at Maryland is pretty sweet, and this week they play rival Hopkins. This is a big game every year. Maryland Hopkins in my opinion is a bigger rivalry (in lacrosse) than Army/Navy. Huge game for Maryland, particularly with Hopkins current ranking. I would give anything, annnnything to be there tomorrow, but in lieu of my awesome forever manager presence, I'd just like to send a big GOOD LUCK to the baby Terps. I have only banged one Hopkins...two....Hopkins...players in my life. Maryland still gets the win there! :) GOOD LUCK BOYS!!!

Sidenote to all Assholes

Seriously, assholes - if you're gong to try to make the book look bad on Amazon via a shitty review, you should know that unless you actually buy the fucking book, Amazon makes it clear to everyone that reads it, that you DIDN'T BUY THE BOOK. Next to all reviewers who actually bought the book, it says "verified purchaser". Which means they bought the book via Amazon (the only fucking place you can buy it) and THEN reviewed the book after the bought it. The fact that all three bad reviews on there are NOT VERIFIED PURCHASERS says a lot. Take it for what it is - a disgruntled ex, a current girlfriend of a guy I fucked and wrote about, someone who doesn't like me, or someone who is pissed that I'm doing what I'm doing. If you're going to lie to try to make me look bad, at least spend the 2.99 to do it properly and make it look like you have a valid opinion as opposed to someone who is just extremely bitter about how I portrayed them/someone they are dating in the book. If you're not going to be honest, at least fake it well enough that it looks like you are being genuine.

Just wanted to make that very clear - the three people (which could be and probably are one person) that gave the book negative reviews, NONE OF THEM HAVE BOUGHT THE BOOK. Which means none of them have read it. So please don't take their opinions to heart. I'd rather you fucking Google nasty opinions of the book via some blog of someone who actually read the book than be turned off by assholes with no purpose other than to sit on Amazon and give me bad reviews. Seriously. You must be related to the printer inept person who left the note on the car. What a great collection of personalities. God.

The Worst Part of being a JC. And by JC, I don't mean Jesus Christ, though I'm pretty fucking close.

The last 7 days have put parts of my dating life into severe perspective. I have three situations, all of which are equally confusing, none of which will probably end with me being in a relationship.

Case # 1. The first is the jersey. Currently, I have the prospect to date a baseball player. And he's good. Like, really good. Like, Rob Thomson all but assured me he'd get his big shot this year. I've known him for six years. In fact, I lived with him when I lived with my ex baseballer during the summer one year. He's super nice, would probably make a good boyfriend. He's looking to settle down. Problem? The attraction just isn't there. I don't know if it's because he's not my type, or simply because I've known him for too long (and witness a string of women he brought back to the apartment we lived in), but either way, I'm having flashbacks to my first baseball boyfriend, his former roommate. Which is not good.

Case # 2. The second is a guy I was, for all intent and purposes, "dating" for about 2 months in 2009. He was not an athlete. He worked at Barclays. He had a normal job, and a normal apartment on the East side. We did normal things, like go to dinner, watch movies, chill at parties, and try to hook our friends up with each other. And then we just...fizzled. And he moved to Cali. And I hadn't thought about him in months. And then I got a text from a number that wasn't in my phone last Thursday and it was him, asking me to hang out while he was in NYC. I partied with all his closest friends last week, all of whom I really like, spent an inordinate amount of money on tequila, then passed out basically naked with him on the couch of his old apartment. He went back to Cali on Sunday. And while the situation screams "booty call", there's more to it which is why there's confusion. I'm 25 and fucked a lot of guys, I know a booty call when I see one, okay? Don't doubt me bitches.

And next, there's the potential random. He's kind of good looking to me, but not drop dead. Good job, seems cool, laid back. Going on a possible dinner date tomorrow. But to me, he represents a blend of case # 1 and 2. He is not an athlete. He is normal (so I believe), and down to earth, with a normal job and a normal outlook on dating. No baggage, no games, no distance. But at the same time, I don't know if I'm super attracted to him. And I don't know if I like him just for the idea of him, which is where a bit of case # 1 comes in. Do I like him just because he DOESN'T wear a jersey?

I haven't seriously, seriously dated anyone in more than 2 years. I mean, throw NHLer in there, and I guess I "dated". And Barclay's guy totally counts. But I have been in love - seriously in love, like, that terrible emotion where you constantly worry that you're going to get dumped only because you like the guy so fucking much, twice in my life. First love Brian, and then Heath. Yes, despite all the hot athlete's I've fucked and met in my life, the fatty gets the L word. Embarrassing.

I remember what it felt like. Believe it or not. What it felt like to actually look forward to seeing someone, being with them, hanging with them. And my biggest fear is that I have become so non-chalant, so picky aesthetically, that that infamous 3rd love that Carrie Bradshaw spoke of quite often, will never happen. I don't know if it's me being a realist or a pessimist. My mom gave me a lecture about how I can be happy without getting married the other night, which leads me to believe she thinks I never will. And I'm starting to feel the same way.

I like a lot of guys. I bang around with a lot of guys. I have loved two guys in my life. In 25 years, 26 or so peens, 14 or so athletes, multiple countries, countless miles, numerous teams, and a shit load of jerseys, there have been two that truly mattered. And people are right. Shit clicks like a lightbulb. One second you're miserable and lonely, the next, you could get your leg blown off with a bottle rocket and you'd still be the luckiest person in the world. I remember that. But I'm worried I'm passed that.

Looks have become insanely important to me. Because I've had a guy that I've loved that I thought was insanely good looking and attractive. I crave the all American guy. And I think my mother is right - my standards might be too high. But can you blame me? Heath was a hottie. He may have been a fatty, but he was such an all American hottie. He was the kid every mother wants their daughter to bring home (until he breaks her heart and then my mother wanted to kill him). Dan Casey? The picture of bodily perfection. Sex personified. A lot of you may think I'm hideous or ugly or unattractive, but a lot of dudes didn't. And I got lucky. I found a lot of things that were attractive to me in guys I've been with. I'm having severe issues finding them again in something that sticks.

I thought Georgetown laxer had potential. He was the thinner, less laid back version of Heath. But it just fizzled out. I thought Harvard asshole could have been something, but I think that came after he fucked me over and it was more of a "want what you can't have" sitch. I loved Dan Casey's looks and personality, but I didn't love his life or his outlook on dating in general. I haven't found the combination of shit I want since Heath. And I'm starting to think I never will.

So here I'm left with three options that feel almost like a cop out. Sometimes I look at my friends who are in relationships. I might not think their sig. others are super attractive. But they seem to manage, so why can't I? Why can't I manage in a relationship that doesn't fit every standard? Why have I literally chosen to fuck around aimlessly (worth it all, trust me) with guys who I know won't lead to a relationship, instead of overlooking some shit and settling down?

It's because I remember what it felt like with Heath. And I can't imagine faking it. God, I've faked a LOT of things in my life, but usually it's to make someone else feel better or to just get sex over with. Constantly faking every single day? What's the point? I would rather have a string of hot, sexy, funny flings with athletes, than pretend I don't know what it's supposed to be like. Pretend that I don't notice something is missing. Believe it or not, I am fucking TERRIFIED of being alone. When my mom told me it was okay if I didn't get married, I burst into tears (I'm PMSing so seriously, I'm not that big of a pussy). I'm terrified of being alone, but I'm more terrified of caving and settling to not be.

Athletes keep me busy. Athletes keep my mind off of shit when I'm single. Athletes fill the random voids when I want to get laid or have a laugh or have a good time. Athletes fill for the moment what the relationship that I don't have would fill full time if it existed. And I'd rather have a little bit of it at a time, than settle for less than what I think it should be all the time.

The worst part of being a jersey chaser has been that it set my standards so high in certain parts of relationships, that I might never find a perfect combo of shit that I want to have a relationship with. Case # 1 2 and 3, all might make great boyfriends. But all of them are lacking in some way for me. And I don't mean that i'm so fucking spectacular that they don't live up to me. Heath wasn't perfect. He was fat, duh. But he had a ton of other flaws. But he was still everything I wanted at one time (not so much these days ha). I don't feel that way about the guys I just mentioned.

Maybe for now, despite the bullshit, I'll keep chasing the jersey. Maybe it'll get old, maybe it won't. But I don't think I'm ready to admit my mortality in the dating realm just yet. I'm not ready to settle so I'm not alone anymore.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Goings on

A little side note - I've gotten a lot of e-mails I plan on responding to. The last two nights have been surprisingly super busy at work and I'm also basically dying of the plague, so as soon as I stop drinking NyQuill like water, I promise to get to those.

Deep Thoughts aka I'm bored on a train

What is it that makes sex so much fun with athletes? I mean, in theory, it’s all the same shit. Same parts, same maneuvers, whatever. I’ve met guys who have been non-athletes that have been better looking, physically, than some of the athletes I’ve banged. So it’s not like athletes have this magic penis that feels better than most. I think it’s just a matter of wanting what you want.

I read this blog post recently somewhere – can’t remember the site – where someone was talking about how women are sexually confused. You have magazines talking about “taboo” sex positions that “everyone is trying”, and then you have everyone else in the known universe calling girls who dare try these things – let alone discuss their success or failure after – calling them sluts. There is no common middle ground. For me, I feel like athletes have been that middle ground.

I wrote in another post a while ago that sex with athletes tends to have this sense of urgency. Like, if you don’t have sex with that guy in five minutes, you’re entire body is going to implode. Outside of being drunken, the most common thing all the sex I’ve had with different athletes has shared, has been that sense of “I want it right now”. And that’s important in sex. Wanting it.

Sure, there have been times with athletes where I didn’t want to have sex. Alex the baseball player had to deal with that for like, two years. But there was a time, the first time I had sex with him (which I can surprisingly remember with complete clarity even though I puked the next morning), where I couldn’t fucking wait to rip his boxer(briefs ew) off. Dan Casey? I’m shocked, SHOCKED we made it up to the room. In fact, I don’t think we did. I think we started making out in the elevator. By the time we got up to the room, if we didn’t have sex, I think both of us would have died. It was always like that with Dan. Even the last time I was him when we were with all our friends. The whole night I sat next to him BBMing him about how badly I wanted to see him naked. And there were little movements where our hands touched and it made us cross our legs or arch our backs a little.

Sex should never been a chore. And I think that’s where I was going with that story about the blog where there’s no middle ground. Sex should be fun. And for me, athlete sex is almost always fun. It’s shameless, dirty, hot, funny. It’s like nothing can be said or done that will make it awkward or embarrassing. I’ve done everything with athletes. And I am always open and honest about what I like, what I want. So are they. Because it can be so momentary. Like, the first time I met Dan, it was supposed to be a one night stand. I don’t think either of us planned on hanging out again, let alone banging again. So there was this one solitary moment in some shady hotel in the middle of Bumblefuck Europe, where we could either say “fuck it, let’s do it all and have no shame” or we could have just fucked missionary, gotten off and gone on with our lives. Make it memorable. Sex should be shameless. Sex should be fun. It should be what you want it to be. Not what everyone else tells you it should be. Stop worrying about where it’s going and just concentrate on where you are at that very moment.

I’ve also always been able to laugh about sex stuff. Which makes it easier when things go wrong. Athletes seem to have that quality too. Laying there, naked, after, it can be awkward. I’ve never let it get to that point with athletes. Again, maybe it’s because there’s always been a possibility I will never see the guy again. But I just figure why am I going to be embarrassed? I just slept with the guy. I just told him I wanted to fuck me really hard. And suddenly I’m worried about saying the wrong thing? Please. Ladies, have a little confidence. Sex isn’t always clean and easy. There are noises and cramps (I know all about the cramps). There are mistakes and pains and wrong positions and movements that don’t end up right. Learn to go with it. Sex today has become so uptight. It’s supposed to be like this slow, romantic, perfect combination of two people in love blah blah blah. We’re human, alright? Fuck. Learn to go with the punches and you’ll learn to enjoy sex even when it’s embarrassing or not exactly perfect.

Every athlete I’ve ever been with has been open to trying random shit. And that’s been one of the best parts. That shit you read about in magazines? Make it rougher, harder, dirtier. And that’s what you get with athletes. I feel like the bankers and traders – you have to be in a relationship before you can ask for what you really want without worrying that you’ll be labeled a slut among the partners on his trading floor. I’ve never been with an athlete that’s thought of shit as slutty or gross. On the contrary, most athletes I’ve been watch enough porn to not be phased by the shady shit I’ve done.

Dan Casey once told me “it sucks, guys have it really easy. It doesn’t take a lot for sex to be good for a guy. But girls just have to deal with so many factors that can make sex bad”. Not if you talk it out. Know what you want and know what feels good. If you’re ashamed of something you’re doing naked, why are you naked to begin with? That’s what makes sex with athletes so fun – the no holds bar, rushed, crazy, sometimes drunken, unabashed sense of wanting and being wanted. People that think girls like me are just “an available vagina” (really?), don’t get it. So much more has always gone into my sex life than just penis meet vagina. And I’m not talking about deep feelings. I’m talking about the whole atmosphere of the situation. Like I said, rushed, unabashed, no holds bar, anything goes, hot, sweaty, rough, dirty, fuck me, take me, harder, now. Dan’s right. So much goes into it for me that I refuse to settle for “penis meet vagina” anymore. If you’re not bringing something new to the table, I’ll make you find something. And athletes have always managed to man up.

Tired and Sick

I made a lot of money tonight. But at the expense of not being able to breathe out of my nose still, and feeling my the sole of my foot is being rubbed with a cheese grater. And I must have watched the trailer to "Something Borrowed" 37 times on the way home because Collin Egglesfield is insanely, insanely hot. Not fun. I have a couple of posts that will be up tomorrow afternoon. Deal fuckers.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Would you hit it?

I get a few e-mails on the reg from some puck bunnies at UM-D. Not my UMD. Univ. of Minn. Duluth. Lots of hockey up there. When I think Minnesota, I think the original Might Ducks movie. All hockey.

Anyway, the UM-D Bulldogs beat Michigan in the coveted NCAA Hockey Championship 3-2 in overtime over the weekend. Now while I don't doubt that the UM-D team already gets a lot of ass for their hockey skills (and because half the team is CANADIAN, DUH), I have to wonder. Ladies, are you still going to hit the knock off Eminems?

Just throwing it out there, that was (supposed to be) my hair color on Halloween when I was Rainbow Brite (slutty version, obv).

But I'll tell you one thing. Dudes I WOULD hit, regardless of their Jersey style hair dye job? Mike Montgomery, Mike Connolly and Scott Kishel. I don't care if you dyed your curtains to match your pubes (name the movie). I'd go there.

Question of the Day

I thought this one was pretty funny:

"Why didn't you ask why the actor dude had puppets on his couch?"

Part of me knew why he had them, and the other part of me thought there was no legitimate answer he could give me that would make me not want to leave his house, so it was better just to ignore them. I was determined to get that story. Plus, I don't think I could have asked him why he had the puppets with a straight face. And that dude definitely gets insulted easily. He was on the verge of kicking me out as it was.

The Best Things in Life

I got an e-mail tonight from Laura asking me what the best part of all of this has been. Part of me thinks by 'all of this' she means the blog and the book. But I'm going to read it a little bit differently.

People read my shit and see my pictures and interviews and they say nasty shit. Whore. Slut. Lacrosstitute (not an insult anymore). Cum Dumpster, tramp. You name it, I've heard it. But I don't give a shit. Because there have been so many moments in the last six years that I wouldn't trade for anything.

My college life? It wouldn't have been anything without lacrosse. Those boys were everything to me. That part in my book, about playing loddies with them was one of the greatest college moments I had. One of the guys on the current team e-mailed me the other day to tell me they still play it. But you know what? That team, that 2005 ACC Championship team, those were my boys. I loved all of them. I loved spending nights with them at Bentley's, or the house on Dickinson. I loved Christmas formals and being the most unprofessional manager ever because I cheered from the table. I loved the fights I got in with them, and the clothes I stole from them. The walks of shame. God, you have no idea the laughs I had over those kids. With those kids. About those kids. Being part of that team, to me, was special. The friendships I got out of that team and their typical laxer attitude? Amazing.

Soccer? If I could relive one moment with any soccer guy, it would be sitting in the shady room in Weehawken New Jersey with Dan Casey and his roommate, Dom, and my two best friends. Drinking warm beer, cheap white wine, and talking about boob jobs and trying to figure out why there was honey in the room (ps that's a terrible pic of me, I'm well aware thanks). With his arm around me, reliving the epic fails of my trip to visit him in Europe to everyone, laughing, constantly saying we were going to go home in ten minutes. Five hours later, we were singing Katy Perry and laughing about Dan's boxers. I said it in the book. That night, I looked at Dan and realized how much fun I always had with him. He was so easy to be around, that even sitting in a makeshift training room surrounded by Gatorade and beef jerky until five in the morning was an amazing time. I might spend the rest of my life trying to find a guy who can make something like that as memorable as Dan did.

Hockey? God, I was drunk with Mac so often it's hard to remember why I kept it up. But he was so none emotional, that I thought I'd never break into him. I'd never get beyond the drunken "what the fuck is he saying" sex. Until Christmas. When we spent Christmas Eve together in a shady hotel (everything revolves around shady hotels, I swear). And talked about our family. And lives. And I contemplated stealing his jersey that was on the couch. Just kidding. Sort of. Not really. Being with Mac was like scaling a really really really fucking tall brick wall. I never ever thought I'd get to a point with him. And then I got to it and I realized how worth it all the shit had been. He was a really, really good guy. He reminded me that sometimes you gotta earn the trust.

What can I say about Virginia lax? I loved Heath. I remember sitting outside out apartment one morning at like, 5am after we had gotten home from a bar. We had broken up the day before, but gotten back together. We were in a park on the West Side, sitting on a bench, facing each other. And all we did was remember the funny shit we had been through that made us love each other. Heath made me feel like I had something that was worth something to other people. And I still remember the night he broke up with me. Like it was yesterday. My mom said it was the most devastated she had ever seen me. And I look back at how far I've come from that night, and who I've become and how strong I became...I don't know if I would have been here if it hadn't happened. I busted my ass to prove myself without him. He will always, always have a place in my heart. But I've learned that that doesn't mean he always has to control it. I learned how to manage what memories I was willing to keep and which ones I didn't want to keep. I learned how to let the pain go without caving in to what someone else wanted or expected. I learned to say no.

My friends. The laughs and tears I have shared with the friends I've made over the last few years have been irreplaceable. We all have friends, we all have moments that no one else understands. Secrets and stories that will forever bond us together to certain people. Mine are no different. I wouldn't have met them or been part of their lives had some of these athletes not come and gone. When I think back to half of the shit I've done with my friends in the name of some fucking athlete peen, I have to wonder....how are we still alive?

This is my life. This was my life. Maybe I'm egotistical, but parts of it have been so good and so unique, all I've ever wanted to do was share it with people. Make people laugh the way these moments have made me laugh. When I look back over the last seven years, the best parts of everything have been with athletes. Or about athletes. These stories, the shit that makes up the blog and the book - those have been the best parts. Getting the chance to live that shit and then put it down in writing. That's been the best part. Living my life the way I've been living it, and never having to explain it to anyone. There's been a million dues I've paid to do the things I've done, bang the guys I've banged, love the guys I've loved, and it wasn't always easy or fun. But it always ended up being that after. This life, it's well worth it. It might not be for you, but it was well worth all the bullshit.

Sunday, April 10, 2011


A lot of people are saying they wish they could buy the book if the had an iphone or Kindle....you can literally buy the book on anything. Just download the Kindle app (it's free and takes like 7 seconds). You can download it to anything - your PC, Mac, iphone, itouch, ipad, Android, Blackberry. Anything basically.

Here's the link.

Download the app and buy the book on Amazon. Downloads right to the App.

Seriously, buy the fuckin book. Otherwise I'll have to be a stripper to make ends meet (this is a joke, it's so fucking sad that I have to outright state that) and WE ALL KNOW what a terrible stripper I am...

A Question I've Been Putting Off

Apparently the blog and book have gotten a lot of mention on some college sites, and a lot of people have been searching shit about me and Tucker Max. I have mentioned in a few places that Tucker Max doesn't like me. And I've gotten a ton of e-mails asking why.

I opted to never really mention Tucker Max on the blog. For multiple reasons. One, I was actually kind of scared of coming into his radar. Not that I think I'm like, sooo special, I don't mean it like that. I mean, he had some dick things to say about Karen Owen and the Duke Fuck List. The last thing I really wanted to do before I started shit with the blog was get on his blog as a "sad little cum dumpster". I thought it would ruin my chances of having any credibility. So I opted to not go near him if I could avoid it.

Early on in the blog, when I was still going anonymous, I came to the conclusion that I was eventually going to have to 'come out' for this to work. When I did, or like, right before I did, I sent Tucker an e-mail.

Biggest mistake I made in the whole creation of this blog.

I don't know what I was expecting. Like, maybe I thought Tucker Max wasn't as big of a dick as he portrays himself to be. Maybe I thought he'd have a little bit of sympathy for what I was going through. Maybe he'd think I was hot. I don't know. Regardless, when he didn't reply to the first e-mail, I sent him a second one that was a little bit uh...more firm. I basically was like hey asshole, stop acting like you're so fucking busy and please help a bitch out. I basically told him my situation, and asked him how he got over the stigma of possibly fucking up 7 years of school on a whim. I was putting a lot at risk typing my name to this blog. Like, the chances of me ever getting a "real job" are probably slim to none. So I was scared. And dude had done a lot. Univ. of Chicago, not an easy school to get into. Duke Law? Not an easy law program to get into. I thought maybe he could give me some advice on like, "just going for it".

Here's the thing. Tucker Max? Not a fucking motivational speaker. Needless to say, I give him credit for actually e-mailing me back. But I will tell you this - I did NOT read the whole e-mail. I read the first three lines, and the last line. I then popped two Xanax and swore to God if I could avoid him for the rest of my life, I would.

The e-mail opened with this:

"I don't feel sorry for you. You brought this all on your self by trying to cheat the system. I have absolutely no sympathy for you whatsoever. Fuck off."

The e-mail ended with this:

"Im sorry you're having a hard time, but if you want to talk, get a fucking therapist and stop e-mailing me".

It's actually cocky for me to say "Tucker Max hates me". Dude doesn't hate me. He doesn't give a shit enough about me to hate me. Just like I don't give a shit enough about him to hate him. But if I give him credit for anything, he's the reason I put my name out there. He was right. I was trying to cheat the system. If I was going to promote this shit, I needed to be proud of it and not hide my face.

I read I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell. Didn't read Assholes Finish First. Tucker Max had a good idea, stuck it out, told traditional publishers to fuck off and got his way. I can't not give him credit for it. I only hope to be half as lucky.

On the same token, to me, Tucker Max is like Lady Gaga. Always in character. I've heard loads of stories about him from literary industry people. Clearly, I've fucked a lot of assholes. But none like what I've heard about him. I just feel like it's very hard to be that big of a dick for that long. Again, always in character, because it's the character that sells his book.

So that's my Tucker Max situation. I really, really fucking hope he continues to ignore my existence because I'm so not in the mood to end up on his website, for ANY reason, but...I thought I should address it. I am not looking to be the "female Tucker Max", though a lot of people say I am. I write similar stories, but they aren't the same. I think he'd be happy to distinguish himself from me, just like I'm thrilled to distinguish myself from him. We both trade in sex and humor. That's about it.

And finally, to answer the question - would I fuck Tucker Max? I've fucked worse looking guys (actor with the puppets). But he ain't on my list of hopefuls any time soon. Just like I'm sure I'm not on his either.