Tag Archives: whiskey stilettos

South Africa Trip Part One

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Today marks the third day of an amazing trip to South Africa. After spending about 36 hours in transit, we finally arrived at Heathrow Airport, where we had an 8 hour layover. We spent the time eating breakfast at Giraffe’s, which seemed very fitting to our theme.

Jess tried to take a nap in the lounge, and I was stared down by a random woman as I snapped creepy photos of her sleeping.

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After she woke up, we lounged at Starbucks and then went to get vitamin bars since we knew once we arrived in Johannesburg, we had a 6 hour drive ahead of us to Kruger National Park.

Jess found elevensies and she was VERY excited.

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Once we landed we were picked up by the tour guide and began another long drive. At this point, we’re about 56 hours into transit. We stop for lunch and even though we both haven’t seen a bed in two days, we harass the shit out of each other.

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We arrive at the park and don’t even get a chance to check into our huts. No, we are immediately whisked off down the safari trail to discover wild animals, with our luggage in the back seat!

There are about 500 photos from the past three days alone that I have to forage through, so, in no particular order, here are some of my immediate favorites.

TwoWildDogs

We were ecstatic to see a pack of about 20 something wild dogs, just running alongside us for almost an hour, since we were told they are very rarely seen, and you can go 6 months without seeing a single one.

Elephant

We also saw a lot of elephants at extremely close range. We often had to pause to let them cross over to the watering hole.

AtRhinoEdge

This was at a ridge overlooking the valley where we saw hundreds of rhinos grazing. We later saw them much closer up as well!

SnarlingLionIt took us a while, but we finally found lions! We were scaring off their prey as they were currently on the hunt, and I think we started to piss them off.

LionstareThis guy and I, we had a moment. We stared at each other for nearly a minute, and in that minute, we became best friends. AND NOBODY CAN TELL ME OTHERWISE.

KettandLion

We also got our bff photo. Because we’re cool like that.

And now we’re on our way to go crocodile diving, shark diving, and sooo much more. Hurray! More photo spam to follow!

At Least She’s a Whore

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One of the first things people fall back on when they’re pissed off at me is the fact that I’ve been an escort. When I first told people I knew about it, there was a flood of varying reactions. Some people flat out told me it sickens them and they think I’m disgusting, that they’ve lost all respect for me. Some people begged me to find alternatives. Others stood by me and said they respect me for doing what it takes to pay my bills.

Truth be told, I almost prefer the people who were very in my face with their feelings about what I’ve had to do. I knew how they felt and that’s fine. What gets to me is when people say they support it, and then the moment they get pissed off at me, they turn around and say, “at least she had to suck dick for money” or “no matter how shitty I feel, at least I didn’t sink that low.” It’s pretty sad when the only thing that makes you feel better about your life is the fact that someone else is doing, in your eyes, much worse.

Last night I got an email from someone who has had a similar experience, except that she is emotionally much worse for wear, and that gets to me.

It gets to me that people have no problem taking her money to pay their bills, yet turn around and call her a whore, filthy, dirty, and disgusting. It happens all too often. She’s not the only one.

You want to call us a whore? Fine. I have absolutely no problem with someone who calls me a whore to my face, because I’m not going to sugarcoat what I’ve done, nor am I going to stop someone else who doesn’t want to sugarcoat it either. At the end of the day I have more respect for someone who can stand there and tell me how they feel about me to my face than I do for someone who hides their feelings until they’re too angry to hold it back.

People look at my life and a lot about me disgusts them. I’ve had people say I have no class, that I’m not a lady, that I have no right to have an opinion towards anyone or anything as I am on the bottom rung of society.

You know what? I’m not a lady, no. I look at people like Audrey Hepburn and I have to agree, I am not a lady, and I have no class. But if you have no problem sitting there and judging me like that, then you’re not a lady either, because a lady who has nothing nice to say about someone, keeps her mouth shut.

I stand by who I am. I look back on my life and see those moments where I had five hundred dollars to my name, was living in a hotel room, and had no idea what my next step was. I had options, most definitely. At any given point there are a dozen family members I could have called, and they would have taken me in, given me a place to stay, and helped me get back on my feet.

But that’s not who I am. What I did was not a last resort, but a solution that enabled me to do things my way. I am stubborn as hell, I’m not a quitter, and I do what I feel I have to in order to make things that I want happen.

I’m too calloused to be a lady. I’ve been through too much to worry about class. I’ve come too far to start caring about what other people think of me, or whether they respect me.  They feel that a person should be a role model, and someone that people can look up to.

I’m not a role model. I don’t visit my baby sister often because I don’t want her to imitate me. I would never recommend anyone else follow the path I’ve chosen, because while it is fast money, it is not easy money. It comes with an incredible emotional price tag.

I could have chosen a different route. I could have tried to be a lady. But at the end of the day, I remained true to who I am and made it work for me. People think that respect is all that matters. And in a way, it’s true. But you shouldn’t give a rat’s ass about the respect of others. You’re the one who has to respect yourself.

All those people passing judgment on you and the path you’ve chosen, they’re not the ones who have to lie in your bed, pay your bills, or wear your clothes. So why are you letting their voices live there?

People may feel better by saying “at least she’s a whore”, but I feel better by acknowledging that I never call myself a lady and am not about to start, with some whiskey on the rocks, and a “god damn things turned out great.”

Eggshells

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I grew up with a marine corp, tough lovin’, construction-hunting-fishing-and-muscles father. He never tolerated pity parties, but instead gave me gems like “it’ll get better when it quits hurtin’” and “it’ll heal before you get married”. He built our home with his own two hands, and I watched him get hurt a hundred times. He just doused it in peroxide, slapped a bandaid on it, and kept right on going, laying the bricks to our home.

He taught me that sometimes you get hurt in life. You just have to disinfect it, put a bandaid on it and keep building your path in life. Over the years, I’ve found my own methods of disinfecting wounds. I crack open a bottle of wine, fill a tumblr with some whiskey, watch shitty television, scream and cry, and then I move on. I have my own life to focus on, and my wounds are never going to heal if I keep picking at the scabs.

It’s a pretty straight forward mentality, and I grew up with a straight forward dad. He was always excruciatingly direct, and painfully honest. I mean literally painfully honest.

“If you keep stuffing your face with doritos, you’ll get a double chin.”
“I tried reading your manuscript, but after 80 pages I just gave up. I just couldn’t do it. Nobody talks like that. Your grammar is atrocious. You have a long road ahead of you.”

I was 14, it was my first novel, and I was crushed. But 8 years later, I showed him some of my newer work, and I heard something I never in my life thought I would hear. He said “wow. This is really good. I’m impressed.” A few months ago I told him I started my own business and he said “I’m proud of you”.

Holy fuck I had to work so hard for those words, and it was worth every single fucking tear. And I may have had years of pain and hurt in between, but even so I’ve come to see that I’ve developed my dad’s character. He stepped on eggshells for no one. PMSing wife, bitchy teen daughter? No such tolerance. He has always called out everyone on their attitude when he thought it was off, and as much as I hated him for it as a teen, I’ve come to respect it all that much more now.

I have a no bullshit tolerance policy, and I walk on eggshells for no one. I’m not going to sit on a couch and watch you rant about the stupidest fucking shit and hand you tissue after tissue for days on end. I’m not going to watch you wrap yourself in a cloak of self-pity and bitterness at the rest of the world just because they’ve seen more success than you have. I’m not going to let you sit there and blame your country, your parents, the economy, the government, and society for how much your life sucks now. I’m not going to watch you waste your energy on bitching about twenty seven scapegoats you’ve conjured, and not a single one of them is yourself. You made your bed, and you can either lie in it, or you can strip the fucking sheets and make it over. I’ll always be ready to help you remake it, but I’m not going to support you wasting your energy crying over it day after day.

A friendship is made of more than support and a shoulder to cry on. A friendship is made of tough love and brutal honesty, and if a friendship can’t handle some brutal honesty, then it’s not a real friendship. You should never have to walk on eggshells around a friend, or anyone else for that matter.

My mentality has cost me a lot of friendships in life, but looking at the people I have in my life right now, I know that the people I am friends with are people I can trust to give me a healthy bitch slap when they think I’m in the wrong, and a hug once I realize it, and a drink to help me solve it. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

The Significance of Blow Jobs

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I realize I’ve blogged about oral sex before, but I haven’t really dedicated much attention to actual blow jobs. I had a client one time who was about 49 years old, and told me that all he wanted was a blow job to completion. He paid for a full hour, but all he wanted was a full on blow job all the way.

Afterward he sat there for a while, completely motionless the entire time I was in the bathroom freshening up. Finally, he leans forward and says, “I cannot believe I’ve missed out on that all this time.”

Unfortunately, this is not an isolated incident. I remember a guy I had been friends with benefits with for a while, and the first time we hooked up. He leaned over the bed afterward and handed me a trash can, motioning that I could spit into it. I asked him what on earth he was doing. His facial expression was one of pure shock as he realized that I had simply swallowed it.

In other conversations I’ve had with men, it has become evident that they are not accustomed to a girl letting them cum in their mouths, much less swallowing it.
Now, I understand there are all sorts of hygiene concerns when it comes to casual sex. But what I don’t understand, for the life of me, are women who are in serious relationships, or married, and don’t swallow.

Don’t get me wrong; if you’ve never done it and you’re afraid to try, I’m not judging you. There’s a very thin line between not understanding and judging someone, but I sincerely don’t judge you; I just can’t understand it.

I just imagine a boyfriend going down on me and then immediately getting up afterward with a sour expression on his face to go brush his tongue off. It would make me feel horrible, completely kill the mood, and make me scared to death that maybe I had some unnatural odor.

That is the exact same thing that a LOT of guys feel when you stand there with that sour expression on your face, spewing their cum everywhere like you just licked an ashtray.

If you can’t bring yourself to swallow your boyfriend/fiance/husband’s cum, maybe you can come up with sexy alternatives? If you’ve never had a facial or a pearl necklace, you should seriously try it. A lot of people have asked me about my baby skin even though I drink as much as I do and smoke socially, and it’s a little awkward to explain that it’s because I habitually get facials.

Awkward though it may be, it’s true. Cum makes your skin baby soft and smooth, helps you avoid cancer, cures and prevents colds, and here’s another fun fact for aspiring mom-to-be’s: habitually swallowing your husband’s cum actually reduces your chances of morning sickness, as morning sickness is most commonly caused by your body’s reaction to the unknown DNA growing inside you. If your body is already familiar with his DNA, it is less likely to attempt to reject it. [EDIT: DISCLAIMER: I'm not a doctor. You want a source and facts, call your doctor. Don't be that girl from the State Farm commercial.]

I know some women will never enjoy giving blow jobs and swallowing anymore than I will ever enjoy anal sex, but you shouldn’t knock it before you try it.

Hypocrisy on Facebook

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Facebook is a swirling vortex of passive aggressive behavior. I don’t think I’d be far off if I said that around 98% of all Facebook users have sat seething in front of their newsfeed over a status they are positive is about them but can’t prove and hence can’t straight up respond to. Instead, they sit and attempt to think up a quote, lyric, or sarcastic bit that they can post as a status, hoping that the person sees it and starts seething as well.

One person writes, “you’re so vain, you probably think this status is about you” so the next person writes “I fucking hate when people post song lyrics as a status”. People invest so much time and effort in writing a scathing status about someone hoping it will make them feel bad while simultaneously avoiding getting called out.

Some people take a slightly less passive approach, and simply post “Seriously, stop posting photos of your baby. No one gives a shit”, when what they really mean is “I wish that one bitch I hate so much yet am still friends with for inexplicable reasons would just stfu already”, so when their momma friends comment on it apologizing or feeling insulted, they can say “ohh, not you! I loove your baby!”

Now, I can’t say I’m not entertained by the flurry of contradicting posts and comments that dance around the edge of pure hatred, but sometimes I wish more people would say what they mean to the person they’re talking about. For one, it’d be a lot more entertaining to watch it unfold. and for another, they’d probably find they have a lot more time on their hands once they stop spending an hour Googling a scathing quote by some dead philosopher that they can take out of context.

Occasionally people I’ve been friends with for a long time will pick up Facebook habits that just annoy the shit out of me. It annoys me to no fucking end when they repost the same link three times because their Twitter feeds to their profile and they posted it on their page, and then AGAIN on their profile five hours later, by sharing it FROM their page, for example. Or when they post a photo to Facebook through Instagram and then AGAIN, to their Facebook  but this time through twitter, five minutes later. Point blank, I don’t want to see your exact same photo in seven different ways. You like it so much then make it your profile photo for a month until you get the number of likes and comments that give you the validation you so desperately crave.

I, as a Facebook user, have a choice here. I can message them and ask them to for the love of god please control their auto feeds and link sharing. But I can also just block them from my newsfeed so their double and triple posting stops popping up.

Lately, I’ve taken up the latter and my feed has gotten so much more boring I’m going to have to take up dart throwing at whisky bottles to fill up the empty space. Facebook is one of the most hypocritical and passive aggressive slutfests on the internet, but then again, that’s probably why we’re on it in the first place.