My Purse World

Is this for real? Designer bags at a fraction of the cost? This warrants further investigation!

If it’s authentic, I think I died and went to heaven! If it’s fake, who gives a shit!

An Aha! Moment in Dating

I’ve had a wicked craving for salt and booze so Sunday evening the 21 year old Starbucks boy from South Africa and I dined al fresco across the street at some substandard Mexican chain where the meal was just as uninspired as the crappy watered down margaritas. Conversely, the salsa had more personality than my date. It was the first time that I’d ever almost fallen asleep at dinner.

Here are a few things I learned about the young lad and his country -

• Vicious outbreaks of teen-age acne don’t cease when you’re 21.
• His birthday is in December. Another fucking Sagittarius for me. Yippee.
• He doesn’t “hate” black people but he wouldn’t look our black server in the eye.
• His friends from home are Nazis.
• He’s a substandard tipper.
• He was captain of his…badminton team.
• Apartheid was good for their country.
• His deodorant is cheap because it wasn’t working.
• He’s been stabbed.
• The South African military is considered the best in the world.
• Most South African women look like…sigh…Charlize Theron.

Here are a few things I learned about myself and from this experience -

• Accents that sound cool can turn grating.
• Look the other way when one is talking with melted cheese stuck between their lips.
• Offer to pay for half your meal so you’re never obligated. Unless he’s mad rich.
• Never eat Mexican on a first date.
• If he’s already burping loudly in front of you he won’t hesitate to let it slip out his rear.
• Stabbing someone’s tongue with a fork is a crime. Don’t let it go beyond quiet contemplation.
• Feigning food poisoning is not cruel.
• Dating someone 14 years your junior does not make you feel young. It makes you feel stupid.
• If his father gives him a ride there, he’ll expect a ride back.

Which is exactly what I did. Well, not quite - I did allow him to come up to my apartment where we drank wine and vodka and watched Requiem For A Dream. It was an uneventful evening until, in the middle of one of my favorite scenes, he jumped up.

“Do you have water?” he asked, looking flustered.

Annoyed, I pointed towards the fridge. “Cold and bottled.”

He objected. “Oh, no, no, I’m fine with tap water. Does the faucet in your bathroom work?”

I looked at him funny. “Um, yeah,” I laughed. “It -”

He ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. The water was running for a curious amount of time when he finally decided to emerge from his extended leave of absence and with him came the unsavory mixture of vanilla toilet spray and a putrid odor that, unfortunately, shot right up my nose. It smelled exactly like a bad version of the Mexican food we had just eaten. Repositioning himself on the floor in front of the couch, I recognized the familiar scent of the Old Man’s cologne, sun baked armpits, and the malodorous remnants of the mysterious activity that took place in the loo and that clung to his clothes like an albatross.

Finally, sick of being an unwitting witness to such loutish behavior, I blurted out that I had a boyfriend in the hopes that he would take great offense and storm out of my apartment.

“I must be honest,” I said nobly. “It’s only fair.”

He looked at me earnestly, his brain working in overtime. “It’s ok,” he finally offered. “But can I tell you something?”

Sure, I said.

“Oh, no, never mind. You’ll hate me for it.”

Please, go ahead, I insisted. I promise I won’t.

“Well, after we met, I slept with two women. At once. You know. A threesome.”

“Yes! I’m certainly aware of the definition!” I snapped. “Are you serious?”

Yes, he said giddily as he recounted how he succumbed to the advances of an older woman. And her roommate.

It wasn’t too long after that I dropped him off.

More Retail Therapy - Sky, Marc Jacobs

You didn’t think I actually drove straight home from the accessories department, right? Ok, like I’ll be eating canned tuna all month.

Looks and feels like a dream. Sky, my new favorite label. Surprisingly inexpensive, too!

Like habitués of a swinger’s club, anything goes with this colorful Marc Jacobs’ shirt. Tied, untied, buttons up, buttons down, loosely knotted, tightly knotted, you get the point…

There’s more but all of a sudden I feel depressed.  I feel empty inside, and so does my wallet.

Jimmy Choo “Alex” Bag

Yesterday’s impulse buy.

I’m blaming this one on my mother.

I might have to take this back to Nordstrom’s. Even I can’t justify spending this sort of money on a purse! Although my birthday is not too far away…what should I do? It’s beautiful, it’s flashy, and it’s got that new car smell.

Like art, except it hangs on my arm.

Is It Wrong to Hate A Parent?

I’m stuck on the phone with my mother.

What a bitch. What a miserable human being. I wish she would just…disappear.

My brother owes me money and he’s kept my camcorder hostage for a month and she’s defending his bad behavior. She has also made this conversation about her.

Should I just tell her to go to hell?

Uncle F*ck

Some thing are just SO WRONG.

So wrong!

Seriously, NSFW, but you should know better anyway.

Donuts Have Feelings Too

Because you’ve got nothing better to do with your time. BTW, I thought my donut tasted curious this morning.  That’s what I get for slumming.  And anyway, I prefer my donuts dressed in drag.

What A Big Stack You Have

I hope those fliers go with those Muppet titties because it would suck to compete with that.  Looks a little like Miley Cyrus, don’t you think?

Now where can I pick up my copy?

Dad Grooms Daughter For Brothel Life

Get ready to say “Ewwww…”

From Jezebel -

I can finally be judgmental without risk of being hypocritical.  Be warned - it’s not graphic but it is disturbing nonetheless.

The Fragility of Life

A person I was well acquainted with killed themselves so I’m pretty bummed right now. What bothers me is  - if someone as tenacious as this person could end their life - what hope is there for fragile beings such as myself? I’m not clinically depressed but I tend to think and react in extremes and I never want this to be my fate.

I’m going to rearrange my closet and ponder this unfortunate scenario. I’m not feeling that optimistic about my own life so maybe if I clean I can take my mind off my own issues.

Birthday Party 2004

Steven Gaffney.

“LK” with DC socialite Kelly Ann Collins.

The talented Liz Croyden

LK and me.

Venice Beach in Autumn

Click to enlarge.

Childhood Explained in One Shot

The house in the South my father grew up in.

The Squirrel From Montezuma Natl Monument

I went to Arizona and all I came back with was this cool pic.

Here’s another shot. Click to enlarge.

Meatwad the Hustler

A little birdie told me that Wad used to - get this - sell gear! I’m assuming the big Russians he used to hang with were his source. Now he’s just a user but apparently his connection is no more so he’s asking my friend to hook him up - not that he can - he’s gone clean.

I should have known that every time the Wad poked fun at people who juiced, he was really talking about himself. Self loathing bastard.

Vette Vs Boxster

Somebody get this sweet little piece of machinery out of my head. I was obsessing over the Boxster until two teenage authorities on cars said, “Scratch that - everything you need is right below.

vs

Is there any question which is superior?

Used, of course. No way I’d pay for a brand new car unless I was absolutely sure I wouldn’t be in more debt.   There’s actually nothing wrong with my VW if you’re into beat up and old.  I also think I’d kill myself in anything above four cylinders.

Pewter is one of my favorite colors, too.

Married Men With Big Guns

Water everywhere, and not a drop to drink?

Let’s briefly review my current dating options:

• Black pro baseball player?
• Uncircumcised freakishly tall man? (Ooops, you weren’t supposed to know that. And neither was I).
• Barely legal Starbucks barista with mildly greasy complexion and fetching South African accent?

Well, add two more as of Saturday.

• 23 year old professional model
• Middle Eastern gangster and coke dealer with a record (I don’t mean music, either)

I have limited time and, I hate to admit, limited energy, so I’m going to use the process of elimination here. While I’d rather start with good looks and lack of it, none of them fall into that category so I’ll have to go with another quality of obvious importance - physique. #1 and #5 have amazing bodies, wow, you should see their biceps but…well, 5 is a thug who has been to jail three times but at least he’s single…if you don’t count being someone’s bitch behind bars.

#1 is black which freaks me out a bit…not that I don’t care for men of color, I find Africans such as Djimon Hounsou more attractive..which brings me to #3, a white African with shaggy hair and puppy dog eyes but he’s rather young…and how much is Starbucks paying him again? Who will be footing the bill on our dates? I hope his face doesn’t always look like I can fry chicken in it…wait - that means an excess of testosterone, right?

#4 hits on any thing that walks upright and something about him smacks of deliciously wrong Craig Kilborn douchebagedness.  Hooking up with him is as guilty a pleasure as secretly banging the sad fat chick next door or wolfing down a meat lovers pizza and vomiting it back up. He’s like the nagging hemorrhoid you don’t bring up in polite conversation.  Your closest friends will think he’s an asshole but then they’ve never had the pleasure of hitting the sack with him. Unless… they’re all female, which means they’ve all had the pleasure of hitting the sack with him. Plus he has an unlimited supply of flammable refreshments.  #5 might even be his dealer.

Which leaves #2. He’s secure, and successful, and SANE…which sounds positively boring. And to be stuck with his pig in a blanket!  Ok, that’s it. I’m not having any of them. Damn Bodyguard Boy! Why does he have to be married? He excites the hell out of me. Men with guns excite me. Men in a position to be shot excite me. Men with guns…big guns..they excite me!

Movies That Make You Feel Like Shit

I watched Atonement yesterday and I’m still sobbing. In fact I’m working on a second box of Kleenex. I can’t stop crying.  It cut through my steely heart and left me panting and desperate in similar fashion to Brad Pitt’s roaming hands in last night’s Ambien induced dream.  That ending…well, it had no right, no right to end like that, I say!  Brad, you mother fucker, finish what you started!

I hate the feel..of having feelings!

Spring Is On

And hormones are collectively buzzing in the air!! Asked out by three guys in less than twenty four hours. La de da de da…

First, a pro baseball player. Yes! Now I know when I describe a man as “breathtakingly gorgeous” none of ya’ll will believe me considering the last two trainwrecks - Tattoo Boy and Ice - with the latter’s mug portrayed in an unflattering light a few posts down. But this guy really is hot, super hot, like eight pack ab male model hot. He wants to drive all the way from Pittsburgh to hang out. The only thing is, he’s black and while I find him attractive, I don’t feel attracted to him. Must be the southern racist side of me, I don’t know. The whorish status seeking side (which seems to have reared its ugly hide as I’ve gotten older) likes the idea of going out with a pro athlete so maybe we’ll hook up for drinks. Not that I want his money or anything, I’m smitten purely with the idea. But then, maybe he just wants me for my body so we’ll call it even. By the way, why did I have to tell him I have a boyfriend? Never contemplate honesty while buzzed.

Today, between slumming with the plebes at TJ Maxx and Designer Shoe Warehouse (DSW), I stopped in Starbucks for a caffeine fix ala Cafe Americano. Still parched from last night’s Sour Apple Martinis, I stood before the counter, speechless and bewildered, while the 6′2 shaggy haired boy at the register with the sexy South African accent attempted to charm me with lame small talk. I can’t deny, I’d been eying him from the back of the line and thinking, Wow he’s so hot and wow he’s so young and wow is he even legal? but apparently the feeling was mutual. I think I held up the line for no more than five minutes when people started grumbling behind me and I could feel several pairs of eyes nastily boring holes through the back of my little blue halter top. The nerve! Does no one understand the art of patience anymore?

I’ve never been out with an Afrikaner so I gave him my number. So he’s 21. I’ve met men twice as old who had the same maturity level.

And then, a blast from the past! While checking emails a familiar address popped up and it was a guy I’d met at Safeway, standing right in line behind me. He had followed me out to my car, pretending he lost sight of his own wheels. I’m sure if he hadn’t panicked he would have come up with a better lie because this was a very tiny parking lot, even for a grocery store.

Well, we ended up going out to dinner and drinking ungodly amounts of alcohol. Honest to God, this was probably the first time I’d boozed it up that I couldn’t remember bits and pieces of the night. I think I was hungover for two days. Mind you, I weighed 115 back then, so you know it fucked me up good to mix wine and vodka and whatever else was in the liquor cabinet! Anyway, he’s an attractive, liberal sophisticate from San Francisco, but - well, he’s 6′6! I’m afraid my cut off point is 6′5 because for a short little girl such as myself, that’s like dating Andre the Giant! Plus, if I always have to wear six inch heels to match my man, it is going to kill my feet! I mean, let’s be real. 6′6? It’s like dating an overgrown weed!

Truth is, I’m not really excited about any of these prospects because my heart really is with the Old Man. But that doesn’t mean I can’t go out with #1 and admire his eight pack abs, or #2 and listen to his dreamy accent, or #3 and gaze up at his long, long legs.

Cameras At The Gym

More drama, more b.s.

Meatwad is talking about installing cameras all over the gym so he can monitor the employees from his cellphone. Yes, you heard that right.  From his cellphone.  Is that even possible?  This means he can watch over all of us on his off days.  What a voyeuristic freak!  I wonder if he will be able to zoom in on some young hottie opening and closing her thighs on the leg abductor machine?

Seriously, that is going to be the final straw.  I am not going to give this rancid cat any more money.

Big Mouth Strikes Again

Meatwad told a seventeen year old employee at the front desk of our gym that if I were to ever compete I’d have to lose a ton of weight because I was a “fat ass” and that I have “cottage cheese all over my thighs.”

Asshole.

My trainer told me that Meatwad has the best pair of tits he’s ever seen on a guy.

Three Six Zero

Today I broke my own record. 360 lbs of deep presses - three sets ten reps- fourth set three short of ten

This means I have to do it all over again next week before I’m allowed to advance to 370. THREE SHORT. Three! ARGHHHHH! By the way, this is a pic of my beloved leg press machine and the plates I used. And this is where the incorrigible gym manager “Meatwad” stood and yelled at me for…yelling.

[By the way somebody called somebody a "Meatwad" on some television program yesterday and I couldn't help but laugh my ass off...]

More Queen Adreena

Possibly the trippiest music video ever? I feel like the government just slipped me some acid. Amazon calls Taxidermy “distilled gothic terror of German impressionist cinema.” Like a freaking mini movie.

Jolene

Love this version by Queen Adreena.

Tattoo Boy, Coming to An Exotic Site Near You

Tattoo Boy called at six a.m. I ignored him of course.

He called again yesterday around a respectable time. He sounded terrified, desperate, numb. His voice croaked as he said hello.

“Are you ok?” I asked, genuinely concerned.

“No,” he sniffed. “I’m really fucked up.”

Tattoo Boy explained that he wrecked his new sports car. According to his version of the story, some inconsiderate asswipe cut him off at sixty mph and he skidded head on into some sort of structure.

You know, with his track record, it really comes as no surprise.

“I cracked my hip and two ribs and I tore the tendons in my left hand and wrist. I can’t feel my arm at all, my back is fucked up, and on top of it I had two surgeries, with another one coming up. I even had swelling in my brain.”

Even though he lied and told everyone at the gym that we slept together, and that he dumped me because my “quads were getting too big”, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Until:

“But don’t worry too much about me. I just wanted to let you know that by next week you’ll be able to see just how fucked up my car is by clicking on wrecked exotics dot com.”

That’s right, folks. WreckedExotics.com, where auto carnage dreams come true. Where Tattoo Boy can live vicariously through the stardom of his car.

Look for a 2006 Black Corvette.

What I Look Like…

On film?

In bed?

Dead.

Date with the Science Geek

All I will say is we had incredible chemistry. And he looked surprisingly fashionable in a coral linen top, unlike the other stiffs around us in drab business suits or golf shirts. The only thing is, he had a bit of b.o… according to him, he likes to go au naturale…pheromones, baby, pheromones!

Guess I’m attracted to the stink!  Oh yeah, click below to see the cute little dress I bought just for the occasion…and yes, I used an anti-perspirant!

Another Asian Cousin’s Wedding

My mother invited me to what will be the third family wedding within the last twelve months. Her eldest brother’s daughter is getting married - he’s a manager at a fast food burger joint; the wise, quiet one who’s been working diligently on getting his PhD in electrical engineering. I wasn’t aware of the existence of offspring, except for the one child who was about to emigrate from Vietnam. Just eighteen years old, she broke up with boyfriend because she wanted to “focus more on her studies.” Enraged, he pulled a knife on her while they stood at the entrance of the gated community where her and her mother resided.

My aunt happened to be looking out the window when he slit her throat.

“Money talks, bullshit walks.” The boyfriend was never convicted.

Rumor has it my uncle - using that axiom to similar advantage - flew to Vietnam to “take care of business.”

I told my mother I would take a pass as I did the last wedding. The one before that, I brought a date - “Aston Martin” as I call him - and she accused him of playing with her bra strap while he had his arm draped over the back of her chair.

I’m not interested in suffering through another fabricated humiliation.

And speaking of embarrassing, we both wore almost the exact same fuschia dress.

So there is also a delicate wardrobe consideration.

Daniel Butler & Catherine Connolly on Cunt Hunt: US Attorneys Want To Finger Women

The national cunt hunt is on.

[I emerged from bed, disgusted, and wondering whether I should make like a Hollywood celebrity and threaten to give up my US citizenship. Not that it would garner much press but that's not the point.]

US Attorneys Daniel Butler and Catherine Connolly are aiming for a public fisting fingering of the Beltway Madam’s former employees and have asked Judge James Robertson to release the names of all 132 women.

From The Washington Post:

Robertson asked persecutor prosecutor Catherine Connelly. “Is there no limit to the collateral damage?”

Evidently not. Connelly said the names had to be released. “Unfortunately.”

If prostitution laws are in place in to keep “victimized” women from embarking on a path of destitution, have not the persecutors prosecutors taken into consideration that proffering names for public consumption compromises the safety and livelihood of all the women involved?

Meanwhile, the men are pretty much in the clear. It’s predicted that high powered clients such as US Senator David Victor and retired United States Naval Commander Harlan K. Ullman “appear likely to get a pass.”

Sen. David Vitter of Louisiana and other powerful men appear likely to get a pass. Less lucky: the 15 terrified women being hauled by prosecutors into court to recount in graphic detail their past work as prostitutes — and more than 100 other former prostitutes whose names prosecutors are trying to make public.

Wednesday, persecutors prosecutors forced a 63-year-old retired PhD — her name, like those of other witnesses, now a matter of public record — to testify about inducing orgasms in her client; the government’s lawyers had similar questions for a mother of three who worked briefly for the escort service nearly 15 years ago.

If you are a woman, you should be pissed. If you are a taxpayer, you should be pissed. If you have any semblance of a heart beating in your chest, you should be pissed. And you should be embarrassed. Not just for the witnesses. For our country. Read on. And weep.

Wednesday, Connelly was grilling the 63-year-old former escort. “Did you specifically discuss what happened when you went in the shower?” the persecutor prosecutor wanted to know.

The witness explained, “I was having sex.”

“What would happen if you were menstruating?” Connelly asked.

Stiletto’s prediction - ACQUITTAL.

Masturbation, Murder?

As a pro-choice person, if I am to believe, as my opponents do, that life is sacred from the moment of conception, shouldn’t men be discouraged from masturbating because ejaculate contains the possibility of life? Shouldn’t the indiscriminate disposal of sperm be nationally scrutinized and labeled just as immoral? What’s the difference between spilling the gunk from your junk and the morning after pill? Both deliberately prevent the implantation of a fertilized egg, yet there is barely an uproar over the opposite sex playing with their johnsons.

So, boys, abstinence seems to be the only choice, because I don’t think swallowing is a morally favorable alternative, either.