It’s funny to me that the types of guys most people would expect me to be into–tattooed, pierced or otherwise “alternative” (as much as I hate the term)–aren’t really my speed. I love them clean cut, presentable… simply put, give me a yuppie white boy any day and I’ll be pleased. While I wouldn’t say I have a particular age-group preference, I do admit having a severe weakness for babyface.

Once upon a time, I had a babyfaced boyfriend named Tim. Our relationship quickly fizzled into some weird sexually tense friendship, which has now faded in a half-hearted interest in each other’s exploits. I ran into Tim recently, out with his younger brother at a restaurant I frequent. Tim has always looked roughly 16 – he’s about 10 years older than that. He’s one of those guys I hear from on nights that will involve booze and (in his mind) a hopeful trip back to his place. I try not to revisit my roster too often, and since someone hadn’t been taking the hint lately I decided to see if I could agitate him enough not to call me.

Let me preface this by saying his now-slightly-older yet still delightfully younger brother is beginning looking like a well-oiled machine. I admit to blatantly trolling Tiny while talking to them at their table. I guess Tim took it personally that he busted me checking out his kid brother’s bulge, as I was informed we are “not on speaking terms”. Seriously, he was wearing a pair of jeans that allowed for a perfect outline of his goodies to be viewed by me without much effort. This is not my fault. (I was also really stoned at the time, which makes it harder to curb my naturally creepy tendencies.) It’s not like I actively pursued bringing home (NotSo)TinyTim, guys!

I’m betting at least another few months pass before I hear from Tim, though.

A while back I read the Vice Guide to Eating Pussy and while it was funny, I don’t think a guide is what men need. I’m sorry, but following directions is not always your strong suit. I’m so glad I’m not the only person that noticed this, because Lindsay Lewis has now covered “The 25 Hallmarks of Bad Cunnilingus”. Her list had me laughing so hard I was afraid I was going to pee my pants, I’m pretty sure most female readers will enjoy it. As for the men, well… some of you will probably realize you’ve been doing it wrong.

Of course no post is complete without me adding my two cents, so here they are:

- I remember once I had a guy drag his facial hair across my lady bits, and I didn’t even realize I’d kneed him in the ear until he was clutching his head and rolling on the floor. Really lads, it’s in your own best interest to either shave or at least not try to use your prickly chin to exfoliate my labia.

- I know you saw in it your favorite video, but tongue fucking is lame. I thought I was the only girl that wasn’t into it; it’s a good time to be wrong. Guess porno has led you boys astray yet again!

- Men with nails, you are cruel beasts. Nothing I tell you, nothing is worse than having your vagina raked. All hail the nail biters I say!

- Just a thought but guys… do you really not want to give a girl the heads-up before diving mouth (or pinkie) first towards those uncharted waters? Not that your enthusiasm isn’t appreciated or whatever.

- I sort of disagree about the courtesy wipe–if a girl won’t kiss you after you go down, you probably shouldn’t be giving her oral. Just don’t be surprised when she moves in for the kill shortly after you getting the best blowjob of your life, nah’mean?

- Who taught guys the lick-n-stick? Is that ingrained in you from birth–seriously I want to know. I know you keep lube around in case some girl begs you to give it to her greek style (you know, like that collection of movies I see hiding on your bookshelf) so quit being cheap and share the lub(e). And speaking of lube, please avoid anything heated, scented, or flavored. The alcohol content fucks up the pH levels of the twat, making all involved parties very sorry indeed.

- Let me do you a favor: if you don’t want to go down just say no. Nothing is worse than unenthusiastic oral, because you aren’t fooling anyone. Especially us, though sometimes we fool you by faking it to just move onto something else.

- Failure to respond to hints, taps, etc. Listen, if a girl tells you to stop, slow up, change your pace, or in any other way indicates that you’re doing it wrong and you don’t listen you’re clearly missing the point. Just give up while you’re ahead. (There’s a pun in there somewhere.)

- A serious note about queefing. “Etiquette: It didn’t happen, you didn’t hear it, and it is to be ignored completely and totally.”

My commentary aside, I was super stoked to see this girl covered all the bases–I hope she blogs again soon. This time maybe about hilarious anal “don’ts”, because we all know those yield the greatest possible LOL-factor.

On an unrelated note, this video is like kiddie porn. Skip directly to 2:18 if you want to get straight to the good stuff. *thumbs up*

Oh, as for what I said…

Like when I’m prowling outside high schools all “hey boys I can buy liquor! …and I have my driver’s license!”

Maybe you just had to be there.

“I ain’t sayin that it’s right, but we often pay the price–cause a woman’s life is love, a man’s love is life.”

I miss knowing boys and girls that would kiss & dance but not have to go home together. I miss jumping on trampolines at 4am, trying quiet our laughter so we didn’t wake up my parents. I miss having people call me with an idea for a last-minute adventure in mind. I miss a lot of these types of people… why is it that growing up means we quit doing all the youthful things I loved?

And whatever happened to the boys that wanted to hold my hand? I’m sure you guys are still out there, that you still love punk rock and girls in wifebeaters. But it seems like you all decided that in order for people to take you seriously you needed to grow up and get over all the silly things that made you so much more fun to hang out with. Growing up doesn’t mean we have to grow old!

I’m thinking about young love again, let’s blame it on the rain and move on please.

I’m making them scrape all that black paint off the steps out front so this looks like an office instead of a fucking Armenian nightclub.

Apparently some of you (like Jimmy James) like to check my blog outside of your home environment, which wouldn’t be a big deal except I keep leaving photos of my T&A lying around. Sorry I’m such a glamazon/internet hussy, boys.

Speaking of my favorite little gnome ever, we are going to have Pinkberry tonight. It will not involve whiskey, unlike the night the photo below was taken and I attempted to fight strangers on Cahuenga. I like to live dangerous, guys.

With every boy I meet I know we are both going to try to find in each other what we used to find in someone else. I will never be like the one that got away, because I am still here fixating on you instead of running headlong in the opposite direction while daring you to chase after me. And you? You will never be like the first boy I let my heart swell for because we both know shortly thereafter is when it burst.

So you know what? I can’t even pretend to mourn the loss of anyone that has treated me poorly, intentionally gone out of their way to behave badly, or otherwise done anything which has wronged me. You deserve your solitude, your memories, your angst–you deserve a lot of things, but I am not one of them.

I have no qualm with saying goodbye to anyone incapable of reciprocating sincerity and loyalty. May you eventually find someone willing to make the attempt to fix you (because I can’t) or put up with your behavior (because I won’t). <3

All I want is someone willing to find something new for both of us to make our place in. Or at least some good dick to hold me over in the meantime.

I’m notorious for never checking my voicemail. So upon cleaning out the 14 voicemails I’ve accumulated in the past week and a half, one happened to be from an ex. It went a little something like this:

Hi! How are you? I wish you still lived here so we could drink a lot of Guinness and chainsmoke. I am calling to tell you things, like the fact that without you I probably I wouldn’t have the taste in women that I do. You know, tattooed and fucking nuts!

Because I haven’t done a whole lot of fucking lately, I went out and bought two porn dvd’s for $80. Why couldn’t I be like a normal guy and go pick up movies that are buy one, get one $9.99? Oh wait, because I dated you and you forever warped my taste in women.

I just recently bought a computer and iPod, I feel like I turned into a capitalist. And I’m going to blame all of this solely on you so I don’t have to accept any responsibility in the fact that I am becoming a grown-up and need to possess grown-up things.

Oh, and I picked up a copy of one of Stoya’s movies… I fucking hate you so much right now. I remember when you shot with her but I didn’t realize she is so fucking hot. I am filled with jealousy.

Let me get this straight… in a three minute voicemail I have been blamed for making my ex favoring hot tattooed girls, spending too much on porn featuring aforementioned tattooed/alt. girls, him turning into a “capitalist” because of buying a computer, and he is pissed that I got to touch Stoya’s goodies and he didn’t. All things considered, I think that’s a pretty impressive list of charges.

Obviously, my work here is done.