Disclaimer: This part of the travelogue doesn’t have much about the travel aspect. It’s about a moment during the trip that needs documenting. There’ll be more travel-related destination banter in the next one. So there you go.

The next day, I woke up in the Bronx with a pounding headache, lying next to a near comatose Italian* chef from Detroit. This man was NOT the DJ; this man was not who I was supposed to end up going home with. So what the hell happened?

I wish that I’d taken pictures that night, because my memory is not quite as sharp as I wish it were…

When Lisa and I got to the DJ’s gig, the first thing the DJ did was take us inside and make sure his bartender friend Neela took care of us. We sat at the bar and got comfortable with the plethora of shots that began making their way to the bar, into our hands, and down our throats. The DJ was in good form. He was always in good form. He’s one of those people who always maintain the perfect amount of positive energy. You know when people say “your smile could light up a room”? He’s one of those people you’d say that about. And boy did he like to keep those dark rooms bright.

Throughout the night, we saw the crowds come and go, mixed bags of yuppies and out-of-towners and aging hipsters and people just looking for a night cap. The DJ played on, and took cigarette breaks as often as possible, and then began taking dance breaks as often as possible; his tall, lanky self pulling Lisa and Neela and I out on to the dance floor, smiles aplenty. And the drinks, and the drinks, and the dancing and the drinks until my head was swimming and I wanted to grab him and kiss him and tell him that he still meant something to me, that he always had. The streets of Manhattan were quiet outside while the noise in my head was only muffled slightly by the alcohol.

The hours went on and the party did too. I would sneak over to the DJ while he worked sometimes, and I held his hand, and he squeezed his fingers in mine, and I would get sad because I knew that it might be years before I got to see him again, and how long would this go on? More drinks, more smokes. And then another man walked in, and this one knew the DJ well, so much so that he and the DJ began to dance. Then the DJ introduced us, flinging me into the strangers arms as he made his way back to the DJ booth. This is how I met Parker.

Parker hit me like a ton of bricks. That’s not the right way to say that. He didn’t hit me. But something about him hit me. He had another one of those smiles, though nowhere near as endearing as the DJ’s. But still, he had a good one, and I’ve always been a sucker for a nice smile. Parker was working overtime that night. The way he’d look at me. The way he’d do anything to force me to stare back into his eyes. And my god, did he lay it on thick. “Beautiful.” “Baby.” “Gorgeous.” I would tell him he really didn’t have to, but then he’d spew another “I’m not a player or anything, I’m being serious,” and i’d laugh it off because there really wasn’t anything else to say or do. Lisa began sitting out more dances, buying us more drinks. Parker kept on, and on and on. Until he’d invaded every inch of my personal space, and with his finger tips lifting my chin up, he kissed me. It hit me. Like a ton of confused, awkward bricks that have landed everywhere after an explosion. It was fantastic and awful and i’m pretty sure the only thing I said or thought for a good while afterward was, “Oh, fuck.”

The DJ saw everything. The DJ kept playing music. The DJ kept drinking and smoking. The DJ, the DJ. Hang the DJ, hang the DJ, hang the DJ…

I ran to him like some scared little girl, unsure of what to do next. The DJ was still my friend. I felt terrible about Parker, and worse about what I knew would happen next. I grabbed the DJ and asked him what he knew about Parker, what he thought.

“He’s a good guy.. I like him. You should go for it.”

…Alright, It’s been over 6 months since this incident. It’s taken 6 months for me to say all of these things and be (almost) okay with them. But I’ll tell you this: at that moment, it was one of the worst things I’d ever heard anyone say to me. Ever. It’s tough to admit when we’re wrong about something, and even tougher still to admit when things just don’t go your way. Because I know deep down I would’ve wanted there to be some kind of jealousy, or at least a sign to say “hey, maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” Nothing. Go for it. So let’s just say this: It fucking hurt.

Why didn’t he care? This plagued me to no end. He didn’t seem thrilled about the situation, but I couldn’t tell if he cared at all. At that point in our lives, we hadn’t been talking very much. For all I know, he was seeing someone. Maybe having an affair with Neela the married bartender. Maybe he had a girlfriend that he didn’t like to talk about. Maybe he’d just finally stopped feeling that chemistry that had existed between us for so long. I couldn’t be sure. When you’re plastered at 3am in the city that never sleeps, it’s hard to be sure about anything.

What I did know was that Parker seemed to have taken a liking to me. He wasn’t the DJ. The DJ was lost to me now. Parker was real, and his arms would wrap around me, and his lips would kiss me deep, and my head would spin. So I said fuck it.

“Parker wants me to go home with him,” I said to the DJ on our final cigarette break alone.

Parker was back inside, maybe talking to Lisa or Neela, maybe drinking more, I can’t be sure. I couldn’t care less at the time. He was a man I didn’t know and the man I did know was doing everything possible to crush all the feelings I’d harbored for him for the better part of a decade. He smiled and hugged me tight. I wished with every fiber of my being that I could read his thoughts, that he would tell me something that would reassure me that I wasn’t insane. That whatever that thing was that existed between us still did indeed exist. That this would not be the last night. That he cared in some way but didn’t know how to say it, just like every other time had been, when he’d act like everything was fine only to tell me months down the line how much I’d actually been wanted and missed. For fuck’s sake, anything.

“He’s a good guy. Like I said, you should go for it.”

I’m surprised, given how drunk I was, that I didn’t cry or yell or even get angry. Maybe I knew it was coming. I could hear tires driving over the slick streets blocks away. It had rained again, just like it’d rained every day that I was in NYC. I met his gaze and gave him the saddest false smile I’ve probably ever given anyone, and I let him go.

Parker was eager to get out of Manhattan. Lisa thought I was crazy to go home with a near-stranger, but I trusted the DJ. He wouldn’t send me off with a total nut job. At least, that’s what I figured. Parker bummed a final cigg from the DJ and I said goodbye to Lisa, Neela, and the infamous Mr. DJ. Parker and I walked/stumbled down the street, searching for a cab to hail. I could see his Squee tattoo on the back of his calve and figured he couldn’t be so bad if he was a Squee fan. I grabbed his hand and decided to go with it.

In case you're not familiar with Jhonen Vasquez's Squee...

A cab ride to the Bronx. My first time in that most avoided of boroughs (aside from Staten Island, although I’m not sure which one is avoided more – any native New Yorkers wanna take a stab at it?) And then we were inside the apartment, which was by far one of the most spacious NYC apartments i’ve ever been in.

“Just one of the perks of living in the Bronx,” said Parker, who actually absolutely hated New York City, and who had plans to move back to Detroit to open up a fine dining establishment someday.

Sigh. From there, you can guess what happened next. The sex was alright, but not terribly memorable, probably for numerous reasons (we were both too drunk, I was still hurt about the DJ, we’d only just met a few hours before, etc). I spent the next morning hydrating and smoking (his very low grade) grass while he snored away, sleeping off the hangover. I felt terribly awkward about not coming back to Tyler’s for the night. Not that I owed him explanations, but all my things were there and he’d been nice enough to let me stay with him for the duration of the trip. I tried to come up with different excuses as to why I hadn’t made it back to Manhattan. I tried to forget all about the DJ.

Parker had to get to work that afternoon, so we took the train back to Manhattan that afternoon. He got off two stops before I did.

“It was nice to meet you,” we both said, with the knowledge that we’d likely never speak again. I thought about how ridiculous life could be sometimes. So many years feeling one way about someone, regardless of time and distance, and now it was over. 6 months later, I still don’t know how I feel about all of it. Except maybe a little grateful.

The DJ and I discussed the matter about 2 months or so later. I told him how awkward the whole thing was, how strangely I felt about it. He was candid, telling me he just wanted me to be happy and have a good time. That he didn’t feel like he had any claim over me, and that he genuinely felt that Parker was a good guy, that he also wanted him to be happy and have a good time.

“I may be perpetually unavailable, but I’m not a bastard; you’re still a good friend, and I do care.”

…And that’s it, really. That’s the anti-climactic conclusion to the longest non-relationship i’ve ever had, all wrapped up in one New York City night. It feels strange to write about it now, but I couldn’t have written it any sooner. So much has happened since then that I’m able to be somewhat disconnected about the situation. The DJ and I have spoken very briefly online since, but for the most part he’s rarely around and it’s for the best.

By the end of the next day, I wanted nothing to do with anyone. Sometimes people need a night away from the world, to walk silently with ones’ thoughts and memories in a city of eight million people. Lonesome as can be. And that’s just what I did.

But I’ll write about that later, because that night did take me to some unexpected places, including making my first friend from Amsterdam. For now though, it’s 5am and definitely quitting time. Quitting on the past, and quitting on tonight.

Here’s a song to keep you company that’s been helping me out while writing all this.

Part 9 in this series will be up soon!

*He was Italian and a chef, not a chef of strictly Italian cuisine. There’s a difference.

First, I should preface this with saying that not only is this a sexy song off PJ Harvey‘s album by the same name, but that this entire album exudes sex. Throughout, Ms. Harvey’s voice is heavy with a hunger that we’ve all felt at some point. Initially, I wanted to make the song of the day “The Garden“, which has all this imagery that’s both biblical and blasphemous. However, the simplicity, the honesty of “Is This Desire” is what made me go with it instead.

The song begins slowly, with PJ’s raspy vocals poking and prodding you awake. Nothing more than a little drum beat in the background, and then the guitar kicks in, gently pulling you in to the moment. I can feel the warmth coming up around me listening to it, the way my breathing goes in sync with the rising action of the song. It conjures up memories of morning sex, the kind where your body wakes up before you do. The sensation of the other person lying next to you, their skin pressed up against your own, hands slowly exploring, navigating passion. The chorus builds with every kiss shared, tongues and lips and cheeks and teeth, biting down on your lover’s lower lip. Mmph. Yeah, I can’t begin to explain the scenes going on in my head while I listen to this piece of audible seduction. Listen for yourself and you’ll see what I mean. And do yourself a favor, and get the whole album. PJ Harvey’s talent should be shared with and appreciated by the world.

Taken from the Neutral Milk Hotel official website.

If there’s one thing I love about meeting new people, it’s getting into new (or old) music. Last month, I met a pretty fantastic boy that was really in to Neutral Milk Hotel. NMH is one of those bands I had kind of put on the back burner. Not because they’re not an amazing band. in fact, Jeff Mangum’s voice and lyrics have been haunting me for years now. I first heard about them through WVUM 90.5 FM (the radio station that, funny enough, I wound up working for year later) and then later through my friend Hector who put a few NMH songs on a mix cd for me.

From then, i’d kind of forgotten about them until 2005, when I met a boy in California who absolutely loved them. During one of my trips to Los Angeles, he even tried to teach me how to play Two-Headed Boy on the guitar (I got a little of it but have forgotten since). But after I came back to Miami, and after that short-lived romance had ended, I stopped listening to them. Things didn’t work out with the boy and although I wouldn’t admit it in those days, enough time has passed to say that I was really heartbroken.But  It wasn’t their fault that things didn’t work out with that particular boy. The music is never responsible. It only serves as a reminder of things that might have been, things that once were, things that can’t be. And that’s alright. Because it’s making me realize something important.

See, I’ve spent about 3 hours now listening to this song on repeat, going over so many things in my head that might’ve mattered, that could matter, that probably shouldn’t. The great thing about listening to something over and over again is that eventually, the song means something completely different. It’s like when you say a word over and over again until it begins to deconstruct, decompose. It gets pulled apart, shredded, torn, and eventually it’s completely unrecognizable. The same is true for music. You can analyze a song to death, you can cherish it until it’s gone, you hold it close until you can’t remember why you were holding on in the first place.

And so it is with this particular song, Three Peaches, that I’ve gone through all of this, that’s seen me go through this, that continues to exist. I didn’t even bother to look up the words at first, but then I did, and of course it took on more meaning. But the more I listen to it, the less I want to cry and the more I want to be inspired, the more I want to do. It’s the kind of song that shackles you to the bottom of the ocean just long enough for you to find the key and rush back to the top. It resonates- because we’ve all felt that thing that sits in the back of Mangum’s throat. It’s the same thing that’s in the back of our minds and at the bottom of our bellies and hidden deep within the cavity of our chests, a harsh reality that simultaneously slaps you in the face and then cradles you until you’re okay again.

This song isn’t just a song. It means so much in its simplicity. So much emotion in each note. And to me, it means more than that. It means moments, it means history, it means everything i’ve felt for so few, on such rare occasion, when i’ve actually been capable, and it means a fresh start when it’s finally all behind me.

So listen. Just… listen. And if you hear it, if you know what i’m talking about, well.. then that’s all there is to it. That’s all I can say about that.

The first person I ever met from online was an old friend from my days in the AOL chat room back in the late 1990′s. My friend (who i’ll refer to as Alec) and I used to discuss everything from Marilyn Manson to Kids in the Hall throughout a portion of our early adolescence. Then, in 2009 (or 2010?), after many years of random IMs and texts, Alec told me he was coming down to Miami with his girlfriend at the time. The perfect opportunity to meet finally presented itself! We made plans to meet up at the bar on my university’s campus for an afternoon drink. I told my boyfriend at the time about my plans, and he wasn’t too keen on the idea.

“How do you know this guy’s even real?” he asked, more paranoid than usual.

Now, I suppose that it’s true that one could potentially create such an elaborate lie spanning over a decade just to meet one random girl from South Florida. But the odds that the many profiles Alec had created on various social networks over the years, not to mention the phone conversations we had, were actually all falsely created, were slim to nil. On top of that, we would be meeting in a public place during the day time and I was letting people know where I would be. I didn’t doubt that Alec was who he said he was, but I do admit I did want to err on the side of caution.

And so came the afternoon that we would meet. I left class that day in a hurry and rushed over to Titanic for our meeting. It was probably one of the best first-meetings i’ve ever had with anyone. Alec turned out to be exactly who he’d said he was and then some. We continued to speak after our meeting, after he returned to Buffalo, and I even wound up spending an unforgettable time with him in Ohio last Summer – all thanks to the internet.

Not every encounter goes like this, of course. I tell a story about a guy (i’ll call him Richie) that I went out on two brief dates with who I also met via the internet. More specifically, we met via the popular internet dating site, OKCupid. Richie was a native New Yorker finishing his undergrad in town. He was a good looking guy and at the time I had just re-entered the dating scene (having been in a relationship for a good 4 years prior). Richie was the 2nd guy I agreed to meet from OKC. We made plans to meet near his Brickell apartment for dinner. He seemed like a nice enough guy, although a little negative in general. The first red flag came up during our dinner, and it was the kind of flag that should have informed me that this was not the guy for me. There was a table full of women next to us who were all speaking Spanish.

“Why do people need to speak Spanish in public? I mean, this is America,” Richie griped.

The statement was so ridiculous that I just didn’t really know how to react. I’d just met this guy, a guy who I found to be physically attractive, a guy who seemed to have genuinely good taste (according to his profile, anyway), and then this. I put my anthropologist hat on and attempted to see things from his point of view. Why shouldn’t people speak another language in public? I asked. I drank my wine fast as he went on about how he wasn’t racist, how he didn’t mind that people speak other languages, but that he was fed up being in a city where people spoke another language more than English. He went on about his frustrations about being unable to always communicate since he didn’t speak Spanish. He said he thought it was ridiculous how people didn’t make an effort to learn. He continued to spew narrow minded responses until I finished my meal, and I tried to put it into my head that he didn’t really mean it in a bad way. Oh, the things we’ll tell ourselves when we’re trying to hit it off with someone.

The rest of the night went alright. I wound up meeting him again on another night after work. From the minute we met up, he began to whine about being hungry and what a shit day he’d had and wanting to just find a good place for a beer. We walked by several places, each of which he’d say something negative about.

I made a suggestion to hit up Transit Lounge, but when we got there, they didn’t have anything he wanted on draft. He complained about this and so I suggested we go elsewhere. We wound up going to this burger joint of his choosing. And then, the conversation killer began:

“I don’t get why people like shows like Sex and the City. All it teaches is women to be whores. Most TV does.”

Sigh. Suffice to say, he went on trying to explain his position and I retorted with the societal double standards regarding sex had by men and women, but he wouldn’t hear it. Then, smiling as politely as possible, I turned to him and said,

“Thank you for the beer but I don’t think this will ever work. I’m going to finish this drink now and walk out and then we’ll never see each other again.”

And that was that. My first (and potentially only) negative experience meeting someone from the internet.

Since then, I’ve been lucky to meet some pretty awesome people. While I was traveling last year, I used CouchSurfing as one of my main means of meeting folks and finding housing throughout the country. Couchsurfing, for those who don’t know, is a website where travelers can meet up and make plans to meet or even arrange cost-free housing while on the road. The great thing about the site is that it allows others to leave reviews of their experience with you to keep things just a bit more legitimate. I first did this in Pittsburgh and then also got to do it again in St. Louis, Memphis, and New Orleans. I definitely plan to start being more active in the Miami CS community soon, and hopefully even using it again on future travels.

Another site I’ve used to meet people (as I said before) is OKCupid. Some people are still of the mindset that online dating is hokey, while others I know personally have made great friends and even found their spouses as a result. Still, there’s a definite stigma attached to it that seems to hold a lot of people back from doing it. When I tell my friends i’m going on another OKC date/hangout, they often tell me they wouldn’t have the nerve to meet someone from the internet. But I’m here to preach the gospel of meeting new people (not necessarily just for dating), regardless of the means. So here’s a few tips to help you get over your online-people-are-scary mentality:

Taken from PieComic.com

1. Do your research. First and foremost, make sure you’ve spoken to this person online at least a few times before meeting them. Especially at first. If you’ve found someone via an internet profile site, make sure to read everything on the page and check all the pictures. You can get a good sense of whether or not they’re just an internet troll or the real thing. I’d say most people are legit. Depending on the site, maybe you can get a good sense of what their interests are (note these for topics of conversation). If you’ve got their full name, you could always go the extra step and Google them. Some people might see this as excessive, but it’s always an option for the extra paranoid types. If they’re on a site like CS, read their references. You can even check on their references’ pages to make sure they’re on the up and up.

2. Pick the right scenario. Alright. You’ve exchanged a few e-mails or IMs, maybe even swapped numbers to text each other to make plans. Now it’s time to decide where you’re going and what you’re going to do. When first meeting someone, it’s always wise to pick a public location. Even if you’re meeting someone near their home, it’s probably best to meet them outside, on the street, before deciding where to go next. Bars and restaurants and cafes tend to be ideal of course. Plenty of people around coupled with some form of activity (I find that having a good beverage on hand is nice when meeting someone new. Coffee, wine, tea, beer, whatever. Gives you both something to do while stripping away the awkward layers that always come with first meetings.)

3. Take a few safety precautions. Meeting in public as I just said is definitely one. But another precaution I like to take is letting at least one other person know where i’m going to be. Before heading out, text an address and maybe the name of who you’re going to be with to one of your good friends. I don’t ever enter these situations with the mindset that something will go badly, but it doesn’t hurt to be safe, especially when you’re a single female.

5. Make sure you’re comfortable. The first time you meet someone you’ve only spoken to online might be incredibly nerve wracking. It gets easier the more often you do it, but sometimes the jitters might still appear. Be sure that you’re comfortable with the entire situation. If you have a bad feeling about meeting someone (something about their profile or your conversations felt off, or they want to meet someplace very secluded, etc), don’t do it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about these situations, it’s trust your gut. Never agree to anything you’re not completely cool with. This of course varies from person to person.

6. Have a good time! You and your hang out buddy/potential date are both probably thinking the same things. “I hope they’re cool/they aren’t crazy/they like me” are generally what we all think before meeting someone new. Don’t put too much pressure on the night. Go into it like you would going into any night palling around with your best friends. If it’s someone you met from a dating site, it’s probably still best not to approach it as a date. Instead, just see where the night takes you. Sometimes people hit it off, sometimes they don’t. The important thing is to just enjoy meeting and getting to know someone new. Ask them questions, make jokes, make suggestions, relax. Breathe. Meeting someone new is not the end all be all of your social life. The more relaxed you are going in to the situation, the more relaxed the other person will be, and the more likely it will be that you have an enjoyable time.

Have you met anyone recently from the internet? Was it good, bad, just plain ugly? I’d love to hear your stories. More on meeting online folks and the world of internet dating to come!

This is your brain on orgasm (Photo Credit: The Daily Beast)

Back in high school, I had a friend confess that she had never reached orgasm. She masturbated sometimes and had already had sex, but no matter what, she could never cum. Sometimes she would say, “I think I might have cum but I’m not sure,” to which I would always reply, “trust me. If you did, you would know it.”

It was true. About a year later, the same girl wound up in a new relationship and this time, those involuntary contractions finally kicked in. There was no question about it.

Now, before I go on – no, that girl was not me. I was fortunate enough to discover my first orgasm when I was maybe 10 or 11 years old. And when I did, I knew it was love.

But anyone that’s ever cum knows that it’s not always as easy as it was the first time you did. With those overly sensitive days of adolescence behind me, I’ve come to realize a few things about the business of getting off:

It’s not the end of the world if you don’t. It really isn’t. When my friend was experiencing “orgasm-block,” I wondered why it was she still masturbated or had sex in the first place. “It still feels good,” she would say, and eventually it made sense. In those days, it didn’t matter if it took me 2 minutes or 2 hours; if I was masturbating, I was definitely going to get off. But sex was different. My first few partners were never able to help me reach orgasm. It wasn’t because I wasn’t into them and it wasn’t because I didn’t know how to on my own. It just wouldn’t happen. In retrospect, it could be in part because I was much more reserved about sex in those days (more vanilla missionary, not too much foreplay, etc). It could also be due to the fact that my youthful partners were also quite inexperienced (one was a virgin and the others may as well have been) and just as reserved. These are things that a younger version of myself was fine with overlooking. Again, none of them could make me cum so it began to feel commonplace. Plus, I’ve always been of the mindset that it’s more about the journey than the destination. Depending on your partner and how good the sex is, it might not even matter (this is RARE, but has been known to happen). While this is all well and good, I would never complain about reaching orgasm with a partner today, and to be honest, unless the sex is near perfect in other respects, it’s not likely I’ll be sticking around a partner that can’t help me cum for very long.

Everyone gets off differently. Like I said before, orgasms with partners used to be as elusive to me as confirmed Big Foot sightings (still waiting on those). Over time, I became open to all kinds of sexual positions, but getting off continued to be a mystery. One day though, I decided that if they couldn’t get me off, I might as well try it on my own. And so I discovered the key to getting me off was via clitoral stimulation. Suddenly, it all made sense. I could have sex AND get off at the same time! Why didn’t I learn this sooner? Considering the fact that you rarely see women pleasuring themselves to orgasm in movie sex scenes or even in most standard straight porn, it made sense that it didn’t dawn on me earlier. Not to mention how little orgasms are discussed in general (positive discussions about orgasms in sex ed? Definitely not the standard here.) I spent so many years wondering if something was just “wrong” with me that I never realized the answer was right at my own fingertips. Now, this doesn’t mean that this is the key for every woman, but it very often does help, especially if she’s unable to reach an orgasm vaginally (which is a much rarer occurrence than most realize). And once you begin to realize the different things that help you orgasm, the more frequently you’ll be able to do so, and the better a lover you’ll be since this awareness will bring with it more confidence and the ability to let your partners know what they can do to get you off. It’s a win/win situation!

Your mind can be your best friend of your worst enemy when it comes to cumming. There are so many factors involved when it comes to reaching orgasm. Stress levels, depression, performance anxiety – these things can certainly cause a person, female OR male, to lose their ability to orgasm. I’ve been on both sides of this spectrum, and it can become incredibly frustrating for both you and your partner. However, it’s always important to understand that in these scenarios, no one is at fault, and how you proceed from there can really make or break a person. No one likes to hear discouraging comments from their partner, regardless of whether they’re your spouse, friend with benefits, or a random booty call. “Wow, you take too long,” is not a flattering response to your lover’s inability to climax when you want them, and chances are that this kind of attitude will lead to the death of your sexual romps with said partner. Rolling over and falling asleep or fleeing the scene of the crime once you’ve cum, leaving your partner alone in their frustration, is also not an appropriate response. You always want to make sure you do everything possible to help your partner cum (in which case, you’re only allowed to leave the room if they think it’ll actually help – but then there’s a good chance you won’t be invited back in). There are a million different ways to get someone off, or to at least help them get off. And if it still doesn’t happen, just make sure they’re the ones to call it quits or else you might fall victim to a series of faked orgasms, created specifically to avoid complaints from lazy lovers the world over.

(I’ll definitely be writing more on this later.)

There’s just so much ground to cover when it comes to the wonders of climaxing. But in the end, there’s only one thing you really need to know: It’s (probably) the best thing you’ll ever feel. Ever. I know earlier I said it doesn’t matter if it doesn’t happen. And this is true, so long as the opportunity to cum exists in the future. Sexual activity of any kind can be seriously appreciated even without orgasm, but there is nothing in this world like those few seconds of pure ecstasy*.

If you’ve never had the good fortune to cum, well, first, why are you reading this!? Get off your computer, find a little privacy (or don’t, if that’s your thing), and get to working on yourself! Or if you’re lucky enough to have someone that can help you out, get to them now and spend a few hours, days, weeks exploring each other until you’re finally able to. After all, there’s nothing like the ego-boost that comes with getting someone else off, and if you have a partner that’s just too lazy to realize that, move on to someone better (even if that someone better happens to be made of silicone and batteries).

It’s that simple.

*Alright, there might be something that comes close, but we’ll save that for another discussion.

I’d never been much a poet. I’m still not much of a poet. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love it as a creative outlet. During one of my many “change of majors” moments in college, I seriously considered becoming a Creative Writing major with a concentration in poetry. But it didn’t happen and here I am at 4am again wondering about the possibilities to be found in poetry.

So instead of over-analyzing all of this to death, I began to write some poems today. Truth be told, they weren’t anything i’d want to brag about. 2 simple poems, non-rhyming, crude. Still, this is the creative proses. I get that.

So here’s my attempt to get back into the poetic swing of things.

1. Haiku of the Day – Round 2. I tweet more than is probably healthy. I get that this makes me a geek and/or any other potentially negative label in the eyes of some, but I happen to enjoy it. As such, I know that doing my haikus on there makes it much more likely that i’ll stick to the project than on any other medium. If you haven’t already begin following me on Twitter, feel free to do so @PrisKillingly. Maybe i’ll even write you a haiku if you request it!

2. A presentation of my favorite pieces of the month on March 1st. Aside from the haikus (which i’ll have to also keep in a separate word doc so it doesn’t get sucked in to oblivion), i’ll be writing more in my notebooks, revising a little bit each time. My biggest issues have to do with being able to edit and revise my work without killing the essence of the original point. 5 poems doesn’t sound like much, but to write 5 really fantastic poems takes time, i’d imagine. Unless of course you’re just that lucky. Regardless, in order to keep myself legitimate on this project, i’m going to need to really be on the ball about this. I’ll attempt to make a few updates here and there with some works in progress in the meantime.

I’m really looking forward to challenging myself again. I spent the first month of the year in a bit of limbo, trying to decide what to do with myself without actually doing much (good times aside, of course). I want to shift my focus back to my work now that we’re in February. I have plans for a few other projects, but would rather not overwhelm either of us.

For now, here’s a poem by Allen Ginsberg to get the creative juices flowing…

Those Two

That tree said
I don’t like that white car under me,
it smells gasoline
That other tree next to it said
O you’re always complaining
you’re a neurotic
you can see by the way you’re bent over.

Photo Credit: www.oxherdingpath.com

You lose perspective. You get tired of waiting. You get fed up with being understanding. You don’t want to understand. You want to yell. You want people to get the fuck out of their beds and out of their sound sleep, rip them away from those nice dreams about that trip to Thailand they never want on or maybe just a dream about a really good sandwich. You take another drag, a heavy one, a deep one, and you think to yourself, “When the fuck did I become a smoker again?”

I’m not angry. I’m not upset. But it’s late, my friends. I don’t even know if that’s even relevant. Late. It could be early. It could be very early. Just the beginning, perhaps. But it doesn’t matter, because the point is, regardless of how you feel, no matter how good things get, there are always things to hate.

I know some people have a distaste for the word hate.

“Oooh, hate? I wouldn’t say that… That’s such a strong word.”

But if you’ve ever loved anything, anything at all, your friends, your family, your pet, your house, your computer, your ability to stand upright, the taste of a good slice of pizza, the way you’ll always find a star in the sky if you look long enough… then you must understand that it is just as valid, just as easy to hate something.

And I do.

I hate several things. They become more apparent in the late night. And especially apparent when you’ve been in your head for too long. So here, in short list form, are all the things I hate right now. At least, the ones that are nagging and eating away at me and keeping me from any sort of sleep.

- Insecurities. We all have them. Who really likes these?

- Noticing pain on other people’s faces. Especially when there’s nothing you can do to really help them.

- Being tired. Sometimes it would be nice to have some real energy. Sure, I could live a healthier lifestyle that might grant me more energy, but this usually eats into the things I deem as fun. And so, i’ll continue to be tired.

- Barely getting by. This might be resolved soon, at least temporarily, but sometimes I wonder if it’s worth what you have to do in order to stay afloat.

- Getting nagged. Especially by people who you’re not even close to. My mother, well, she can nag me til the end of times. But getting nagged by people with ulterior motives just makes me want to punch things. Mostly their faces. Need to get away from these situations.

- Advertisements on YouTube. But that’s no surprise.

- People who won’t help themselves. Because you know they can and just won’t and how that stupid saying about getting a horse to water but not being able to make them drink is pretty damn true.

- The inability to move on. From what? Oh, take your pick.

- Mosquitoes. I do live in Florida, afterall.

- Timing. I am nothing if not a master at bad timing. Not for everything, but mostly when it counts. Or when I feel like it should count. Or when I just really want something. Is what it is.

- Whining. You’d think i’d stop doing it, but sometimes I also love the things I hate.

- Sitting still. Why am I not on the road again? Please, someone, tell me before I attempt the hitch away.

- The unknown. This is another love/hate. Think we’ve all been there, yes? For example, right now, it is unknown whether I will actually post this, and then it is also unknown how long it will be before I take it down, if at all. It’s unknown whether or not i’ll get any sleep tonight. It’s unknown where i’ll be in a few months’ time. It’s unknown if anything I can think of right now will possibly ever work out. It’s unknown how i’ll feel about everything most of the time.

- Distance. From the good things, anyway.

- Not sleeping. See: Being tired.

- Running out of the things you like. The last sip of ginger ale. The last cotton swab in the box. The last episode of your favorite show. The last bit of toilet paper. Empty lighters. Empty gas tanks. Feeling empty.

There are more things, i’m sure, but what good is it to continue blathering on about them? Here’s a good fuck you to all those things.

FUUUUUUUU.

At the very least, it’s all very therapeutic. Tomorrow (today?) is another day (today?). Don’t think i’ll bother to watch the sunrise this time around, but i’ll leave you with a song I found on one of my high school mix CDs recently that I was once obsessed with.

What keeps you up at night? Be honest. I’m obviously not about to crack the ol’ judgement whip on anyone. Yet.

Photo Credit: http://deadmanmusings.blogspot.com

I just spent the last few hours writing an article about Paris, a city i’ve never had the good fortune to visit (but now really, really want to). As a result, I have instantly been hit with a good dose of romantic thought. I know I don’t really talk much about romance on here, but I do recognize that it can be sexy from time to time. Unlike my last (S)SOTD, this is not a hot, bump-n-grind, get freaky with the handcuffs kind of song. But it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s not sexy either. The thing about sexy is that it can be all kinds of things. And because i’ve been listening to Edith Piaf all night in order to summon the muses for my writing, I finally discovered this song:

Upon first listen, I didn’t think it anything exceptional. But then I started really listening. And then I looked up the lyrics. My French, well, c’est horrible at the moment, so I did ask Google Translate to help me out a bit. Piecing it’s rough translation with my own translation, the song took on a whole new meaning. And then it seemed like the perfect predecessor to the kind of sex that comes with longing, the kind that happens when you finally see someone again after days or weeks or months or years. The kind where the instant your eyes meet, it’s like time never passed, and the chemistry overwhelms you as your mouths reach out, inhaling the scent of the one you missed so much. The kind where you kiss frantically for fear that it might all be a dream as you both fall in to bed, clutching at those last remaining articles of clothing. And the chorus hits and the goosebumps spread throughout your bodies as you take pause to smile at how perfect the moment it, how good your bodies can feel to one another.

Goddamn am I romantic at 3am… Maybe it’s the delirium setting in. Regardless, this is a damn good song and one that could be used for more “special occasion” sexy times. I’ll have to be sure to throw it on a playlist for the day I find the great shag of my life somewhere in the streets of Paris. It’s gotta happen sometime, right?

The Amazing Edith Piaf

Anyway, lyrics can be found below in French (do your own damn translation). Enjoy!

Le jour où tu m’as rencontrée
Etait un jour triste à mourir
Et je traînais dans mes pensées
Un ennui à n’en plus finir
Mais il a suffi que tu viennes
Pour que j’oublie toutes mes peines

{Refrain:}
C’est merveilleux
Quand on est tous les deux
Le bonheur nous surveille
C’est merveilleux
Quand on est amoureux
Les beaux jours se réveillent
C’est merveilleux
La vie est peinte en bleu
A grands coups de soleil
Puisque je t’aime et que tu m’aimes
C’est merveilleux

Nous passerons toute la vie
A chanter un si grand amour
Pour une chanson si jolie
La vie n’a pas assez de jours
Nous en ferons une harmonie
Qui ne sera jamais finie

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