I guess when you’re in a shitty band, no one really cares

I think its kind of funny and super gross on how much of a music whore Sherri Dupree of eisley is.

I also don’t get. First off, their music pretty much sucks. Secondly, I can’t help but think of her as like another “star-fucker”- the kindof girl who seemingly goes out of her way to fuck musicians like she’s collecting fucking trophies.

I feel bad for Max Bemis for drinking her slut kool-aid. She should probably be sterilized. just saying.




I think there have been times in my life where I say something otherwise insignificant, only to have it interpreted with an entirely different effect.

After an excruciatingly disappointing visit consisting of almost interrogating questioning, I turned and looked at him from my seat on the edge of the bed and said with a quiet seriousness.

“I want you to hurt me”

He tells me this line evoked in him unexplainable feelings. good ones. He still brings it up.

So another longtime friend got engaged..

Sure, we don’t speak anymore, and I was told this through someone else. I’m still kindof confused though.

a fictional letter

the_royal_tenenbaums_387Dear daughter of the man I am dating,

Hi there! I know this is probably going to come off as a little weird, especially with the fact that we don’t actually know each other, you may not know I even exist (this is probably true), and I really don’t anything concrete about you. I do know that you are older than me by five or so years, as I am in my twenties and you in your thirties. I can only imagine how this might be for you, whether it is an issue or not, the mental image the situation might invoke must be weird to at least some extent. I just wanted to give you an accurate portrait of who I am and what I have with your father. Though I am not surprised to be involved with a man so much older than myself, as I have always inexplicably had a naturally easy rapport with men of a certain generation, I am surprised to be in this exact situation.

I am a girl who believes in doing the right thing for the purpose of putting good things out there and hoping that through some sort of perfect mathematical universe, they resonate and continue. I would never want to be somewhere I’m not wanted and in that sense- I guess what I am trying to say is that if my parents were not together and my father were with a woman younger than myself, I would be many things, but accepting probably wouldn’t be one of them. From the beginning, he has said you would only want him to be happy and you have a really open mind and heart.

Since I don’t actually know you, I really have no foundation for this other than what vague facts I have and my own feelings. For some reason I can’t help but feel like you would probably judge me, for the things I am and the things I am not; I don’t have a job that grants me complete independence, I didnt graduate college. I am a twenty-five year old girl dating a fifty-four year old man. No, I dont have a conflicted relationship whit my father. I have a conflicted relationship with my entire family, but thats another story. I have no financial interest in your father whatsoever. For one, he hasn’t offered me a single thing, and for two, I wouldn’t accept.

What I do want you to know is that I have an interest in your father that extends beyond anything material or tangible. The person he is invokes all kinds of things in me that I wasn’t aware existed. Having him in my life has woken up so much within me, that for a twenty five year old, is shocking. I feel like Ive been in a coma for the past few years of my life.

plenty of good parts

I dont understand why he wants to touch my stomach. Its not protrusive to any extent, and certainly doesn’t command any attention. I mean, sure I could should do a sit-up once in a while, but…..eh, it just doesn’t seem to be of the utmost importance for a girl who’s petite and thin anyway. Im not looking to be some bodybuilding stumpy chick. But I have plenty of great touchable assets that don’t include my mini gut.

For one, or two, my hip bones actually do protrude out pretty nicely, if youre into that sort of thing. But they do look nice along with the slender contours of my lower region; hips, tattoos, back dimples, etcetera. My arms, also quite slender, though healthily masculine.

the last time

thI make it to the fifteenth floor with a mixture of nerves stemming from my ambivalence. I don’t know how long we’ll have, but I know its far from anything sufficient. As I follow the descending numbers down the corridor, a housekeeping employee is just outside the door. She looks up at me.

“Can I “e-help” you miss?” She asks in a tone conveying certainty that I am in the wrong place.

I smile politely and proceed to his door with a slight tapping, as I can already hear him shuffling about in his room.

The door swings open and he sweeps me in with his large embrace, the door shutting heavy behind. I then get the all too familiar feeling at that exact moment that I am entirely and completely his. He sits down on the bed and takes me in, executing a 360 degree examination of the petite little body within my skintight jeans, black dolman button-down, and black wooden platform heels. He begins to kiss me in that overpowering way of his. He excuses himself for a moment, and I collapse on the bed, gazing up at the stone white ceiling.

When he returns moments later, he gets on the bed, and is suddenly on top of me.

“Are you okay?” He asks tenderly, though still every bit as masculinely intimidating.

I manage to nod while looking completely helpless, atop a feeling of internal comfort.

He resumes the passionate kissing session from moments earlier while cradling me beneath his massive body.

Just as abrupt as it begun, he stops and withdraws. Though still on top just much further away, he looks at me with nothing but seriousness in his face and body language.

“You’ve been smoking” He concludes.

The truth remained that I had in fact smoked a cigarette on my way there, and was aware that I would have to own up to it eventually.

“Yes. I had one on the way here. I’m sorry. I was just so anxious and restless, I couldn’t help it.”

He pulls a chair over and sits down.

“Stand up.” He commands me firmly.

I obey and stand up.

“take your pants off” He then tells me.

With a look as though Ive been betrayed, my expression then turns to terror, as I protest with squealing whines of no, I can’t.

He then begins to unbuckle my belt and pulls my denim down my thighs, to reveal my entire butt. As he bends me over his knees, I begin to protest again. He pulls my charcoal lace panties into an effective “wedgie” to expose my buttocks. I continue to protest. Until he grabs hold firmly. He begins quick, hard slaps alternating buttocks. I feel the shock of whats actually happening far more than the swats themselves.

“How many was that?” He asks, after who the fuck knows how many.

“I didn’t count” I say quietly, much to my own surprise.

“I’m going to start again. Im going to ask you how many”

He begins again, alternating in no specific pattern. He stops and asks how many.

“six” I reply.

He continues, only to stop again, and once again ask how many.


He keeps going until twenty.

He tells me to sit down on the bed.

“I didn’t say you could pull your pants up. Leave them like that.”

So I sit on the bed, with my belt hanging loose, skinny jeans hanging around my thighs, panties hiked up, shirt unbuttoned.

bracelets!I want someone who can be with me even at my worst.

I want someone who will do things even when I don’t need it.

I want someone with X-ray vision who can always see through walls.

I want someone who wants for all my light and dark.

I want someone who doesn’t allow me to be anything less than my best self.

I want someone who wants to hears everything want to say

How I ended up

tumblr_m3bux9utBo1r68x0io1_500Rhett lives in a city out of state, but comes to town for business frequently. In the beginning, he would meet me for lunch (which could be anywhere from 11am to 2pm) at one of the several “dark, wooden bar” establishments frequented by the the droves of professionally attired businessmen, in all their dress shirted glory.

When were together, I can’t help but internally laugh at the obvious juxtaposition we are. There’s me. Skinny jeans, black patent leather doc martens, and a plaid halter-dress shirt. Very “tailored-tomboy”.  I pretty much look like the rebellious teenage daughter of a interestingly permissive hedge fund exec. And then he grabs my perfect little ass, ever so subtly.

Like the fact that while he is nearly three decades older than me, he is also over a foot taller, and weighs like three times what I do. He is this huge businessman and I am this 95 pound 25 year old.

As someone who enjoys observing others’ body language, this relationship seems to evoke responses from others around us.   While there is a hint of a dominant submissive tone to our relationship, it is mostly the disapproval I see from women around his age, confusion from men and women closer to my age, and envy from men all over the age spectrum. Sometimes we pass a group of businessmen and its pretty obvious the way they look at me, then him and sort of grin.

Im either the worst millennial ever, or an idiot.


Apparently Im one of 3 people who actually prefer using the phone for exactly that purpose. and the other two are probably old ladies.

I have had some really great and irreplaceable phone conversations. A few at the top; one particular friend, who would call me from different cities at the most interesting moments, as well as a consistent scheduled call every sunday whilst locked up somewhere. I was always delighted to receive that 25 minute sunday call like clockwork. I used to muse that maybe he was allotted twenty minutes, and would use fifteen on me and then five for somebody else. another time, I had a conversation with a musician I had met shortly before moving eight hours away. The day after I moved, he and his band and my friends all went to a kick ass party, from which he called me at around 9. We spent the evening on the phone, even as he left the party, drove home, then interacted with his brother briefly. Our conversation continued until it came time for him to wake up his brother and take him to school. that was around 6am. That was cool.

I hate texting, I don’t have a Facebook, I have no idea how use instagram or twitter or why everything has a hashtag in front of it.

1 percent?


For a “millenial” (despite the fact that Im beginning to loathe that term), I am a pretty ineffective one. Ive never used Facebook, I have no idea how to make the top sites on my macbookpro permanent, and I have yet to learn what the fuck is with the hashtags in front of words. I know more about marc maron than taylor swift. and don’t even ask me about current music, as the previous sentence sums up the extent of my knowledge in that category. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely have (and in my opinion far more valuable) knowledge, experiences and familiarity with things (that don’t suck).