Choose your own Adventure

I went to a business meeting at last night in Pasadena. While the restaurant itself was beautiful, I had to chuckle upon entering the bathroom. It was quite a choose your own adventure sort of moment.

Excerpt from my yelp review of the place:
There was one odd thing about this place- the bathrooms. They are single occupancies. The women’s bathroom when you walk in has what I would assume would be a changing table, but it felt like an afterthought. It was more like a table that someone just put a white linen tablecloth over and said oh I’m sure this be smiled upon.

The toilet itself though is where it reminded me of a Halloween episode of the Simpsons. You know, that one where theres a lever that says to go down the crypt or the super fun happy slide.

It was a very deep toilet that atop had 2 buttons- push this for a small flush, push this for a large flush. Suddenly I am a toddler again. I did my business and pressed the small button. As I was about to leave I looked back and was compelled to push the large button. I noticed no difference in the flushes. But who knows… maybe there is something going on in there that I don’t know about. All I know was there were no secret doors to bring me to merriment visa vi of a super fun happy slide nor were there mercenaries to take me to my untimely grave nor did I melt away from picking the wrong grail.

Dear Cafe Bizou, I realize that you are trying hard to impress me, but that last move was just cheap.

supersize me

Dear psycholady from the UK

Dear psycholady from the UK,

I used to date your boyfriend years ago and we have remained friends.

He used to live in San Diego.

He asked me to go when he left.

For my own personal reasons, I didn’t.

It was hard on both of us when he got on that plane.  He was the best friend I had then.

But it was the best thing.

It was the right thing.

Things happen for a reason.

He wasn’t right for me.

I wasn’t right for him.

We taught eachother things about life.




How we didn’t want a lover to be.  How we could value and abhor sexism.

We both grew up since we were together.  We evolved.

Time passed.

New lovers.

New places lived.

New jobs.

And for awhile back, we were messaging each other quite a bit.  I still have the phone bill from the calls to and from the UK.  We talked so often that I put him on my 5 most called spots in order to save money.  I stayed in a few nights just to talk to him online and on webcam.

I was supposed to visit him next month there in Scotland.  Talks about the passport came back into play.  An ongoing talk 2 years in the making.

You don’t do that shit with people you don’t give a shit about.  There’s no reason for it.

Last I’d heard, he was very despondent due to a failed relationship. He loved this girl dearly.   But he let her go, for reasons I respect and can’t get into here.  For things that were discussed, I told him that I don’t think she deserved him.  He messaged me and we comforted eachother.  It was harmless talking and flirting.  We were two people who served a purpose for one another.

However, I haven’t talked to him in months.

You sent me an email yesterday asking me why I was messaging him recently.

It’s because he and I have been talking for years and I hadn’t heard from my friend in awhile.

He and I have a connection.  We are friends.  I don’t expect a picket fence from him.  It’s not what I want- not from him at least.

As a friend, all I’ve ever wanted was for him to be happy.  I told him- go back to this girl.  Be happy.  Don’t just walk away.  You have to fight for her.  Sometimes you have to give up things in order to get what you want.

I’m hoping that’s what he did.

However if you’re said girl he was pining over, there’s something you should know:

if you truly trust and love someone, perhaps it’s best to mind your own business and leave the situation be.  Did you find something incriminating of me in his inbox or in any of the messages I sent him?  To be frank, if there is anything that you would find, it’s dated.  Dated to times where he told me he was broken up with said girlfriend and he asked for what he received.  Dated to times when said girlfriend didn’t exist.

We’ve mutually talked ill of eachother.

It’s part of our relationship.

Considering you’re dating a sociopath, you should understand that.  It’s a twisted form of devotion.  Most people don’t get it.  And the ones that do have to admit they’re a bit fucked in the head in some ways.  Deviant culture.

If you’re conserned I’m after him though, why would I want to devote my energy and time into someone across the pond anyway?

If you knew anything about me, you would know that I had a couple of long distance relationships and have about given up on the notion of dating someone not local* minus 2 cities in CA which either I frequent or would frequent more often for the right person.

While a trip across the pond to see a friend and catch up sounds fabulous, with or without sex involved, I don’t need to do that.

And to be honest, the sex wasn’t outstanding quite frankly.  The chemistry just wasn’t there.

So the message received to my inbox… which I’m flattered that you investigated enough to find in the first place, was unnecessarry.

I can’t stand whistleblowers.  Specific whistleblowers that are strangers across the pond and not just digital space that think being rude is going to get information for them.

Stay in school lady.

My friend can talk to whimever he wants to.

Be a good woman and let him be.

I don’t want him “that “way.  I just want to make sure he’s alright and hear about his life.  As long as he’s happy, I’m happy.  Even if it’s with some crazy “vindictive” (which he said you would be if/when you ever broke up) broad.  Because that’s what friends are for.  Because that’s what friends do.

“Bros” before hoes.

Deal with it.




This is not the first contact I’ve gotten via this blog about said guy.  There are comments in my moderation queue that were never posted that were just downright nasty.

That said, if I knew he didn’t love this girl dearly, I’d wish they were broken up permanently.  I really don’t like seeing my friend have to deal with that.

Douchebag of the week: Username Wig lady

I was walking back from S & W with my friend Jimmy and a random stranger stopped me and interrupted my conversation.  This in itself is not that douche-y.  I will admit I’ve done this a few times, albeit rare.

But what she stopped me to ask me was a bit rude for someone that I’d never met in my life…

“Did you dye your hair?”

“Excuse me, I don’t even know you…”

While Jimmy thinks she may have just mistook me for someone else.. I have to say.. regardless of who or who doesn’t know about my hair dying habits, it was rude.  Downright douchebaggery in fact.

Needless to say I’ll be buying some punch and fixing that.

Congrats random dog walker lady on being this weeks douchebag of the week.

Douchebag alert! Username: Durgie

Being a single woman in the greater Los Angeles area, I must say, like most every city, there is no shortage of complete and utter douchebags.  These douchebags give the male race (and the ones that date them) a bad name and thereby ruin it for everyone.

To be fair, there is a perfectly acceptable balance between douchebag and prince charming.  If a man is too nice for example, his chances of sleeping with me reduce drastically.

I didn’t used to know what I wanted.  I was a whiney baby.  But I since pulled my head out of my ass and realized exactly what that is.

I discussed it a bit in the blog “Emotional Masochism” but for those that didn’t catch that, here’s a rough recap:

For me, I’m looking for a very specific catch.

  • I want a man that’s not afraid to be a man.  That means- driven, passionate, goal oriented, and provider.  I do not care about how much money you make.  I tend to be drawn to artists just as I am successful people.  I have dated high on the food chain finance wise, as well as at the bottom.

John Lennon once said “All you need is love.”  And when done properly, he’s completely right.

  • I want someone that’s compassionate to my needs, but I also don’t want a doormat.  You have needs too and sometimes I’m a disrespectful bitch about them.  Make sure I remember that, but do it in a way that’s nonverbal or verbal when needed and in a way that I feel secure.
  • There is a fine line between emotional abuse and tough love.  I think every woman needs to learn where that line is for her and pass it along to her gent.  If he’s a gent, he will understand.  If he’s not, then proceed to walk all over him and let him know that he’s not.
  • I want someone who is going to be there when needed.  But I do not need a constant babysitter.  Babysitters are for girls, and I am a woman.  Granted, there are times when I’m also in need of a babysitter.  However that’s what female friends are for, and/or a therapist.  My problems aren’t your problems.  A real woman takes care of all of that for herself.


What is it that I want?

Control enough to lose control and yet still be all right.


But this is in regards to a recent email I was sent, by username Durgie.

I belong to quite a few websites and internet dating is the same as in every metropolitan area.  Quite frankly, there’s an epidemic of douchebags in the greater.. resident planet all of us hail from.  However if anyone from the Moon is reading this, I’d just like to mention that I’d love to taste moon cheese at some point.  I’m a conneseuir of cheeses and.. well I hear that is epic in nature.

Here are the letters exchanged between me and Mr “Durgie:”

Durgie [2.16.9, 9pm]:

boo* happy late valentines =) keep warm, and if not.. i have blankets ;D

Me [2.16.9, 11:06pm]:

LOL. happy commercially induced saccarin pocketbook drain day to you too 😛
& welcome to (name of the site)
Durgie [2.27.9, 1:30pm (apparently my work computer shows the future)]:
oh you know it!!! more of a reason for a guy to buy a girl chocolates to get laid!
Ok Mr.  At this point you are deemed pathetic as well as a loser and need to be told as such.  Prepare to be vaporized.
Me [2.27.9, a few minutes prior to transcribing this post, but showing at 3:30pm work computer time (i hope that means its beer thirty soon then)]:
Just because I have the aka of that on the net, does not mean that I’m into you.  If I am, I’ll let you know.
Otherwise, comments like yours are really just in poor taste.
It’s things like that that are probably why people like you don’t get laid that often.  Except in which case, that you live in LA.  There are plenty of dumb broads that will think those comments are flattering.
I am not one of them however.
That said:
Have a most splendid Friday.  Best of luck to you.  And please refrain from messages like the one below ever again, or I will block you.  Furthermore, just an FYI, that won’t work on about 85% of women, regardless of what location you happen to live in.  So unless you really want to be fucking that bunny rabbit as your avatar on here shows, you might want to remember that.
Kindest regards,
So there you have it.  Today’s douchebag of the week award goes to you Mr Durgie.
And now I have to go record some video for a project to be announced later this week.
Ciao and happy hunting ladies & gents.

The tale of the smuggled bacon

This right here is the culprit of today’s mystery. Much of which, was not eaten by yours truly- as I gave most of it away to friends that didn’t have anything for breakfast.

A friend of mine, to remain nameless as to retain her identity, helped me to smuggle this delectable treat. But smuggling bacon and other breakfast tasties is a very delicate feat. You must be very careful. You must keep your guard up.

You must.. be sure you carry some Pepto Bismal.

I only ate 2 pieces of the bacon and half of the bisquit shown here. However that was enough to result in not one but two trips to tinkletown but not for the tinkle.

My tummy hurt. There is only one bathroom up here on my floor for the girls. Working with boys and it not being out in the public atmosphere, I couldn’t just walk into the Men’s bathroom and dump off the jobs.

Instead I had to perfect a very specific dance style. I call it the gopher. Go-fer- the nearest restroom you can. It’s kind of like Frogger actually. You have to dodge all the people walking by in the hallways and entry ways. In hopes that you will get to that which is coveted at the end of the level…

the glory that is the toilet. The glory that will be released from your bowels as you finally get there.. to the nearest available john that you have to hover over.. because women are just as bad about dumping their jobs as men.

I’m completely serious.

I’ve had to go in many a mens restroom in a dive bar to find not only that the line was shorter.. but the men had cleaner restrooms. Thank you Jesus for the metro age.

That was my day yesterday. However despite it all, I will never give up on this second profession of mine. Bacon smuggler has a nice ring to it I think… even if there are a few consequences to be had. Sacrifices must be made.. in the name of zod. Bacon!

Sidenote: I was the only one who got sick from said breakfast food. The other two people were not effected at all. God I love my life!

i think my neighbor may be on meth

About, oh 2 weeks or so before I moved out here I went to Hollywood with my friend Vieve and her boyfriend. She wanted to steal me a few hours so I could meet a friend of hers- a fellow writer type. Needless to say, him and I hit it off.

(What’s with me and writers? Is that narcissistic?)

I’d told him I was planning on moving to San Diego. But when that changed and I ended up a few miles away, we made plans to eventually go out.

Last night, it finally happened.

No, not “it- it” but we had a good time.

He was late. Happy hour with his boss.

“Please don’t kill me.”

I’d eaten a little while prior to him coming out. I’m hypoglycemic and had a bad bout of it earlier. Food and nicotine… he was safe.

He apologized emphatically when he arrived. Decided to grab some sushi. At which point we had some of the worst service we’d ever had. The busboy got us a table. We waited and waited for our server. When she eventually came, she took forever getting us things. Then, when the food came- we were given some other table’s. I’ve eaten a lot of sushi on dates before. But, fuck if that was the most sushi I’ve seen for 2 people that wasn’t nigri rolls.

There’s a bar not far from me called Saints and Sinners. My roommate had recommended it. It’s a bit rockabilly and hipster. Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I’ll have to bring the dark horse there someday.

We chatted about friends, work, fashion, and sang along. Bohemian Rhapsody light show anyone? A couple of white Russians and some vodka tonic later, my bladder decided that I needed to go home. I have this thing about restrooms in bars.. and it was close enough to my place anyway.

I jetted inside and then came back to sit in the car a bit more. The lights outside my apartment are annoyingly bright. We were parked in front of the garage talking and making out.

One of my neighbors came outside about 2am or so. She went into her car, then popped the hood and started messing around. What the fuck she was doing I have no idea. But who the hell fixes their car that late at night on a weekday? She didn’t drive out to go anywhere. Just fixed whatever she was going to and walked back upstairs.

My date and I just laughed. I saw someone on the third floor now watching. I didn’t care. It was a hell of a lot less weird than what we’d just seen.

Summation: That ranks up there in my odd makeout stories now. I guess it makes sense for LA though… I wonder if the next one will be like that.

Readers: What’s your oddest makeout story? I want to know.

things you never want to see in a public restroom

“Do you have to take your camera in the bathroom? Are you going to take pictures? Seriously, you should never take pictures in there…”

Sure, Dan was just joking. I laughed. We all did. And I went to the restroom.

And then I saw this:

restroom 1

Nautical theme gone.. too over the top for me. You could actually see through that little window. Someone was in there before I was.. I could see her face. Suddenly, my urethra had stage fright. I waited it for it to get empty before I went, then had to come back to the table to grab my camera again.

“You assholes jinxed me. I’ll be right back…”

So, yeah.. the last thing I want is to see that ever again. No one is going to watch me wrangling a.. or ___. Fuck a bunch of that.

Obsessive much?

Today’s off topic rant is brought to you by kids who don’t shower and parents that want to get their kid in the AP so badly they will succumb to a publicity stunt.

Ok so you love your team. You love that one specific player. Let’s show your undying adoration for said player by wearing their jersey for 4 years solid! Dear the parent of this 12 year old kid, whiskey tango foxtrot? Seriously.

I was logging in to check my family email account when I saw this story. Horray for more traffic for that!

There’s a difference between a “Linus blanket” that wearing a fucking shirt for that long. It’s obsessive. It’s cult worthy. It’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s a scream for attention. I know I’m not the only one thinking it’s stupid. I’m just bitch enough to say it.

From a journalistic standpoint, and from a parent’s standpoint, it’s a bit disgusting in some ways. There’s a big difference between supporting your kids’ dependency on something that gives them comfort than letting them wear the same damn shirt for 4 years. The line is way back there. It screams publicity stunt. Hell even after a couple of years it’s in the same boat. The joke is only funny for so long. Then you just have to roll your eyes and be parent enough to say “um, no.”

Parental intervention seems to be either too much or not enough these days.

Wow I sound like a square now. I’m going to go look in the mirror just to make sure it’s my face looking back and not my mother’s. That whole thing about becoming your parents when you get older.. to some extent, it’s totally true. Scary. I need to go work out now or something.

Oh and the absolute worst part of this story is that of all teams.. of all players.. it had to have been a Brett Favre jersey. Eww Green Bay cheesers. Gag me.

There’s only one thing that can fully encompass the feeling I have about that… here goes:

Go Bears!

Selective Fetishist confessional

It’s actually quite ironic that I’d just recently taken some pictures with the word “fetish,”

fetishistwhen I got pinged asking about one particular peculiar one. I seem to attract a wide variety of freaks and geeks. It’s wonderful, and yet a headache at the same time.

Which of course, I tumblr’d that whole convo here:

Here’s the jist of last night’s/this morning’s /raise eyebrow event.

My friend Steve asked me my feelings on furries. Furries. Did I mention.. furries? If you don’t know about this fetish, let me enlighten you with a reading from the book of Urban Dictionary:

Furry-In the broadest definition, someone who finds the idea of anthropomorphic (humanlike) animals, in art, fiction, cartoons, costume, or other media, to be an appealing one. … Furries can range from people who enjoy portraying anthropomorphic animals in art; people who enjoy imagining what a future, past or alternative world might be like if humans were replaced with or accompanied by anthropomorphic animals; and people who like wearing costume tails, ears and/or animal mascot costumes, to those who feel spiritual connections to animals or to the animal form; and people who find the concept of anthropomorphic animals enjoyable in a sexual way. (Amongst many, many other things.)

I can deal with most things. In fact, most fetishes barely make me blink. I have to admit, it’s pretty hilarious when I hear about a friend who doesn’t know what 2girls1cup is. I’m the asshole that sends them there, and to lemonparty and tubgirl.

This is not the first time this has happened to me. I’ve been the confessional to a few closet fetishists. I’m a favorite among couples to invite into their bedrooms. I’ve been asked to cyber, and participate in text dom’ing. Hell, I’ve even considered dom’ing. I won’t though.

I would like to consider myself a bit of a fetishist. There’s a lot about the fetish world that appeals to me. A big portion of it is a turn on. (Great, now that I’ve said that I’m going to get even more spam!)

Heels. Cuffs. Voyeuristic tendancies. PDA. Rough___. 50s cliches. etc,etc.

I keep alot of the details to myself and between lovers. It’s honestly not everyone’s business. Much of it, is pretty obvious to those who pay attention. I censor myself selectively. Seems suiting that I’d be the same about my fetishes.

However, if you’re feeling particularly honest, I’ll be your confessional. Just please, erm, try to keep it clean? Well, and not terribly bizzare… or else I may have to blog about you.