Is it annoying that I keep calling them boys even though they’re grown men?

In any case, I slept with the Dark Temptation again last night even though I remember saying before that the last time would be the last time.  For some reason when the opportunity for at least mediocre sex arises, I can’t seem to turn it down.

What r u doing tonight?
His way of basically asking Will you be in Echo Park so we can have sex?

I was gonna go to the shortstop!  oldies night.  but everyone was lame.
Well I was going to be in Echo Park but sadly no one would join me

I’ll hit it up if you go.  I’m in bed right now, but I’m down to get up if you wanna hit it.
I laughed out loud at this. 

haha you’re a fool.  but ive already gotten comfy at home.
I kind of wanted to end it at this point.  I was friggin tired and knew the right thing to do was to go to sleep.

Ok.  you going to bed?  Or are you looking to stay up?
Kind of annoyed that he was being so persistent.

i can stay up but not for tooo long
I like to be agreeable and positive

Alright.  Want me to drop by?

Sure

And the rest is history.  On a side note, before I begin my exposition on his large penis, I must comment on the sex.  Out of the four or five times we’ve slept together, this was definitely the most tender.  Not to say that he’s he’s usually some kind of rough caveman, but in it’s simplest terms, we were always just fucking.  Not a whole lot of kissing, not as much foreplay as I usually demand, but literally just fucking.

And fucking really isn’t that much fun.

But thank goodness he stepped it up this time around and brought new things to the table.  I was afraid I was going to be bored and fall asleep (because really I was amazingly tired) but he was top notch.

In any case, back to his penis.  During sex, he’d asked me at one point, “Are you alright?” to which I responded “Uh yes” (of course I’m alright, I’m having sex dammit).  Not long after that, he asked me, “How are you feeling?” to which I was tempted to respond “Not too bad, been better” due to the absurdity of the question. After all, I was making typical moaning sex noises underneath him, but instead I responded “I feel good, how do you feel?”

He usually likes to do these “check-ins” while we’re having sex, and I’ve gotten used to just going along with them.  Finally, after the climax, as we were lying side-by-side he asked, “Are you okay?  I know you were hurting for a little bit there.” 

Alright.  I know guys have this thing with their penises and wanting them to be large and in charge, and they just want to be the alpha male who makes women reach instant climaxes with their amazing colossal weiner.  But does it need to be affirmed that I was in pain in order for him to be satisfied with his performance? 

Granted, I’m young (only 21!), it’s tight, and yes, it does hurt a little going in.  But after that intitial entrance, it’s smooth sailing from there on out.  I am absolutely turned on when my partner is attentive and am impressed when he or she makes sure I’m in the moment. And if inflating your ego makes you hot, I am so down to blow smoke up your ass.  Please return the favor.  I’m just not really sure how saying “Ouch,you’re too big for me, and I’m actually in terrible pain while you’re getting off” is a turn on.

Regardless, the sex as great, and we may do it again in the future. And, oh yeah, he’s still with his girlfriend.

In other news, Mr. Postman texted me a “I want to remind you that I’m alive, but don’t really have anything to say, so I’ll just make this irrelevant comment” text today.  I wanted to see him on Halloween but he ignored my text so I’ve been a little sore towards him (what else is new?).  As a result, I wasn’t mean or bitchy in my texts, but did not offer an opportunity for us to see each other, which I’m sure he expected.  Frankly, I’m getting a little tired of that game.  He literally lives 15 minutes a way from me.  Why do we need to have a text message conversation when we could see each other in person?

Perhaps I am the only one on this earth who doesn’t text people just for the sake of texting people, but I doubt that.  It almost seems like he’s annoyed that when he texts me, I assume that means he wants to hang out.  Then I get annoyed when it turns out he doesn’t.

I’m not terribly concerned though.  I’ve gotten my bi-weekly dose of good sex, so I’m set for another two weeks.  He can be as coy and evasive as he would like.

There have been other boy-encounters that I’ve failed to blog about, but I’m sure that was filling enough.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Two great shoes.  Two great prices.  Only one can be bought.

“Jazee” by G by Guess

“Whitney” by Steve Madden

Both are 4.5″.  Both have approxiametly a 1.5″ platform.  Both are on sale for $39.99.  I love them both.

I’m leaning towards the Steve Madden’s though because they come in magenta.  The Guess shoes come in red, but I’m not a red shoe kind of girl.

Le Sigh.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Saturday evening, after awakening from a full day’s nap, I sat at my sewing machine and made myself a brand new skirt.

I based the pattern off of an American Apparel skirt I already have and love.  This one isn’t EXACTLY the same, but I love it still. 

After finishing my skirt I picked up D and went over to Echo Park, as usual.  As soon as we got to the front door of The Gold Room, I saw this dude, an Arrogant ArtCenter kid I met at The Gold Room last week.  I had already had two vodka cranberries (I know, ew, but a little triple sec and rose’s limejuice makes them more bearable), and had to pee like nobody’s business so I didnt’ stop to chat.  When I came out of the restroom, D was sitting with him and his friends so I was introduced to all of them.  There was one in the bunch, Transportation Kid, who is in the Transportation program with the Arrogant ArtCenter Kid.  I didn’t find him particularly intriguing or interesting at first, but I made conversation with him because he was the least annoying of the bunch and he made an effort to talk to me.  We proceeded through some witty dialogue while I proceeded through a couple of shots of tequila and beers.  Soon I found myself relatively drunk and ready to dance at the Short Stop. 

It was aftera few songs dancing and two cigarettes on the smoking patio with the Transportation Kid thatI realized he was into me.  It only took him finally making a move and putting his hand on my knee for me to get it.  Once they closed the smoking deck on us, we sat on a couple of stools inside while D and the Arrogant ArtCenter kid were dancing.  Somehow, sitting and talking turned to flirting and kissing and I can say with relative confidence that he is one of, if not the best kisser I have ever kissed.  He’s a cute kid, but the way he used his lips was completely beyond my expectations. 

I suppose you can’t really judge how well someone will kiss based on their looks, but I suppose my more primitive instincts tell me I can.  Part of me things that maybe my enthrallment with his kissing might be due to Mr. Postman’s shortcomings when it comes to a tonsil tango.  But I’ve had others inbetween my encounters with him and they haven’t been nearly as good this.  We didn’t get into a full makeout session though.  I was hesitant about kissing him there at all.  The Echo Park bars are Mr Postman’s territory, and as long as we’re still hooking up, I feel as though it’s disrespectful to hook up with someone else in those places.  It’s my own version of morality I suppose.

After the bar closed I spent about an hour chatting with the two kids while D chatted up and then made out with some dude from Coachella (yes, he drove ALL THE WAY back to Coachella from the bar.  I didn’t even know that was an actual city).  Perhaps I would have invited the Transportation kid back to my place, but I was on the rag and also not particularly in the mood for sex.  I know – Z not in the mood for sex?! – yes it happens.  Plus, if he were bad in bed it would have tainted the superior quality of his kissing.

In any case, he has my number and has already texted me.  Sadly though, he goes to ArtCenter so the likelihood of me spending time with him soon is minimal.  He IS taking a light coursload this term, but still – ArtCenter kids are notorious for not having lives.  And me?  I have a short attention span.

But the true moral of the story is that the skirt I made is a success.  I will have to go get some different colored spandex-polyester blends and duplicate it.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

The flash screwed up the picture, but these are my new Steve Madden Senter’s.  I LOVE them.  The straps are a LITTLE loose because they made them to accomodate my fat-footed friends, but I’ll admit – my ankles are a tad narrower than most. 

I love how the purple pumps are sitting in the background feeling replaced and dejected.  But purple suede will always have a special place in my heart.

Hopefully tomorrow it won’t be wet so I can go out on the town in these babies.  And if it is wet…

too bad for my feet.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

PS This picture was taken with my new Fuji Instant Camera!  Woot!

Damn my camera and it’s stupid red light.  But, as you can see, I’m improving!  This dude in my class at the Animation Guild even complimented me today on how fast I’m improving.  I had been so frustrated all class trying to get the right shapes down, and it took his compliment for me to see how well I was doing compared to previous weeks. 

Slowly but surely I’ll get better.  I’m patient enough, so I’ll do it.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

Yes. 

Today I took The Virgin Mexican (who I’ve become really good friends with) to this art store up in Reseda.  Apparently this was the closest place that sold these special brushes he needed for his anal painting teacher.  Being the marvelous friend that I am, I chauffered him there and back.

As we dragged ass in traffic on the 101 back towards campus, this too-new red Mustang in the left lane begins revving it’s engine and pushing stupidly close to the car in front of it.  Now, clearly the Mustang wanted to move over.  But instead of using blinkers, or even just waiting for the enormous gap behind me, it made a scene and tried to bully me into stopping for it. 

Sorry, I’m just not that kind of driver.

So as I passed the Mustang, I hear the blonde little twit inside yell, “BITCH” right before she moved behind me.  And that’s fine with me.  I’m not really bothered by such insults.  They’re thrown around all the time, and at this point, “bitch” doesn’t mean much to me.  So the Mustang starts tailgating me and acting a fool, as if that’s supposed to effect my driving at all.  Remember, we were in bumper to bumper traffic.   If she had messed up and hit me it would be her ass.

She eventually moved over to the lane to my right.  As she passed, she leans out her window and yells

LEARN HOW TO DRIVE, NIGGER!

and gives a final bob of her head almost as if to say “That’s right, I said it.”

I could tell this girl was no older than me.  Her professionally bleached blonde hair and expensive ride clearly indicated she had money, and presumable, some kind of clout (at least her family).  And yet she’s running around calling people niggers? 

This isn’t the first time I’ve been called this vile name, but it was the first time it was directed at me personally and in such a violent way.  I was so shocked I couldn’t and didn’t say anything for a little while.  The Virgin Mexican, repeated in awe, “What a fucking bitch.  What a bitch.  I can’t believe that fucking bitch.”  Then he said he was really sorry I had to hear that, and apologized on behalf of the human race.

It mostly just made me really sad.  Once someone calls your a racial slur, it never goes away from you, and you can’t help but wonder when you meet someone, “Is that what they’re thinking?  Do they think I’m a nigger?”. 

Before you think I’m crazy and believe every white person is racist, slow you’re roll.  Unfortunately for intelligent white people who don’t live blissfully ignorant of the big world around them, there are people like this girl running around and thwarting all progression of racial relations.  That girl may not have ever met a black person in her life, but I bet you she has.  I bet you she shook their hand.  Maybe she even has one little black friend that she hangs out with in group settings.  And each time they say or do something disagreeable for her, I bet she thinks, “Fucking nigger.”

And that just makes me sick. 

So I can’t help but wonder how many people I know in my life are like that.  I call them an acquaintance.  I think he or she is pretty cool.  Maybe I even wish we’d hang out more.  And really their a piece of shit.

What made matters worse this afternoon was that as we got off the 101, I stop at the light at the end of the ramp and guess who is in front of me. 

That’s right.  That blonde bimbo.

I had to ride next to her for the next 20 or so blocks before we got to campus.  And I knew based on her Missouri plates – she goes to USC.  Why else would she be riding around South Central? And the idea that I will share an alma mater with this girl is one of the most disheartening parts of this story.  This bitch is probably riding back to her sorority house to study for comm or broadcast journalism or some other major with special accommodations for airheads before running to a frat party and letting her boyfriend’s best friend jerk off on her chest.  I had to ride alongside this waste of life that weaseled her way into my school and I didn’t say a word.

Not a peep.

All I wanted to do was lean out the window and yell, “How many times did you have to suck your daddy’s dick before he bought you that car, cunt?!”  I wanted to find some trick way to get her to total her car.  I wanted to elbow her in her pretty front teeth and smash those huge sunglasses that kept me from ever being able to recognize her on campus.  But I didn’t do anything.  I was just really sad.

In the end, I wish she hadn’t affected me.  She accomplished her goal.  My feelings got hurt.  But if I should meet a bleached blonde bimbo from Missouri, I’ll ask her if she drives a red Mustang.  If the answer is yes, I’ll be sure to tell her how disgusting she is.  How she is the biggest waste of money her parents ever invested in, and the fact that an idiot as ignorant as her could manage to get any kind of degree is a testament to what a failure the US education system has become.

The End.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

What the hell was Free People thinking when they turned this ice dancer’s costume into streetwear?

Clearly a mistake.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

felt like someone knew something about you, and based on that something wanted to use you as a means to some end?

And am I being really vague and confusing right now?

Well, I try.

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

I’m actually getting better! If you can believe it – in spite of these crappy pictures.

 10 Minute Pose

5 Minute Pose

 10 Minute Pose

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes

You know when you anticipate a tense moment approaching, and you’ve planned out your speech – the pauses, the climax – and you’re just waiting for the moment to come?  I know you know.  I know you probably even practiced intonation.

Well I’ve been thinking about the moment I saw my ex-boyfriend again. 

Hey Z! Whats up?

Hey.

So what’s going on with the music for your animation?  I have some stuff you might want to listen to.

I wouldn’t worry about that anymore if I were you.

Huh?

I can’t really think of anything I’d rather do less than have to talk to you or listen to your fucking stupid jokes.  You are a piece of shit.

….

Actually, I’d rather not burn to death. 

That was the plan.  But of course, in this dream sequence I knew he was calling or I saw him from a distance and would have enough time to compose myself and do a quick rehearsal in my head.  Unfortunately,  when I saw him riding his bike towards me as I headed to the grocery store, all I had time for was, “SHIT”

Hey Z!

Hey

How are you?

I’m great, How Are you?

Are you alright?  Why are you talking so soft?

Hm

You sound like you were either crying or your sick.

Yes, I was just crying.

Pause

Sigh.  No I wasn’t crying.  (At this point the situation just began to get comical for me so I started doing a lot of that annoying laughing-because-I-can’t-express-my-anger-and-the-situation-is-so-stupid thing that I do.)

Oh, So hey!

Hey.

Whats going on right now, you look sad. (Looks down sheepishly)

laugh – god I want to punch you

You’re just pretending to be happy.

Haaa okay

Alright, well I’ll talk to you later Z

Bye.

Why it comes more naturally for me to supress my anger and express it only through making it obvious that I’m enduring your presence for the moment than to just say I AM MAD AT YOU – I don’t know.  But I guess it’s a curse I will forced to live with.  I get that he at least recognizes that he was a piece of shit.  And that he upset me.  But that means pretty little when he won’t apologize for it.  That would require him acknowledging the fact that he made out with one of my closest friends right in front of me.

I guess somehow him pressing the my “looking sad” (even though I probably just didn’t look happy, as I usually am, to see him) was supposed to be enough of an apology to me.  Kind of like when he made a joke about the whole thing the night it happened.  Guess that only works in Idiotland.

But, what can you do. 

With Alotta Love,

zee zee cakes