Sticky

keep out - beware of dog - danger

  • 15th September
    2014
  • 15
STICKY! My lady sex guru! I have a Q: have you ever taken Plan B? any side effects? I had to take it last weekend (situation: condom broke, I'm not currently on BC, I took it within 24 hours) but I'm just now noticing (very light) spotting. (My period's not due for another 12 days at least). Google searches say this is prob normal but just surveying *real* ladies to find out their experience?

Asked by: Anonymous

You’re supposed to start your period a day or so after taking Plan B and might feel normal period-like feelings like cramps, bloating, craving chocolate, etc. In my experience, my cycle gets a little weird for a few months then gets back to “normal”, whatever that is. Be sure to get an HIV test in a few month baby grrl. xoxo

  • 14th September
    2014
  • 14
  • 9th September
    2014
  • 09
I dated this guy for a month or so and he had the nerve to say I was the love of his life. I questioned him immediately, I said, we’ve never had a soul moment, “a soul moment?” He replied. Yeah, I said we’ve never had that time, that instance, that thing we’ve gone through to keep us closer, that thing that melds our hearts and minds and souls… He still didn’t get it. It saddens me to think that somewhere, someone is his lover and she will never feel that soul-connecting feeling because she unknowingly laid down with a superficial man. Don’t you wish your girlfriend was neurotic like me? #dontcha

I dated this guy for a month or so and he had the nerve to say I was the love of his life. I questioned him immediately, I said, we’ve never had a soul moment, “a soul moment?” He replied. Yeah, I said we’ve never had that time, that instance, that thing we’ve gone through to keep us closer, that thing that melds our hearts and minds and souls… He still didn’t get it. It saddens me to think that somewhere, someone is his lover and she will never feel that soul-connecting feeling because she unknowingly laid down with a superficial man. Don’t you wish your girlfriend was neurotic like me? #dontcha

  • 6th September
    2014
  • 06
  • 10th August
    2014
  • 10
Spent the better part of my late teens and early twenties matching my bras and underwear so 22 year old college assholes thought I was sexy, because sexy was what I saw in a Victoria’s Secret catalog or on a department store mannequin. Now I’m inching towards thirty and realize men who care about your underwear care less about taking care of what it’s covering. Lingerie takes practice, motivation, and money. If you’re doing it for anyone other than yourself, don’t bother. If you do it for you, take lots of pictures of yourself because damn honey you’ve never looked better 💋

Spent the better part of my late teens and early twenties matching my bras and underwear so 22 year old college assholes thought I was sexy, because sexy was what I saw in a Victoria’s Secret catalog or on a department store mannequin. Now I’m inching towards thirty and realize men who care about your underwear care less about taking care of what it’s covering. Lingerie takes practice, motivation, and money. If you’re doing it for anyone other than yourself, don’t bother. If you do it for you, take lots of pictures of yourself because damn honey you’ve never looked better 💋

  • 7th August
    2014
  • 07

I found a dive.

I didn’t have to think long before remembering the Kibitz Room was only three blocks away. Jimmy is bar tending. I don’t know Jimmy but everyone else seems to. “Thanks, Jimmy!” says this girl with a South African accent sitting next to me at the bar with her girlfriend as they flip through pages of Comso and Allure. It’s dark - so looking through fashion mags seems an odd choice to me.

Jimmy is wearing a green and red shirt that says “go buckets” or something and I have zero interest in what it means. Oh, he just said why to a Persian preppy guy ordering “silver tequila”. He’s from Boston and it’s a Boston thing?

A four-piece band plays in the background. “Jimmy!” shouts another patron. This one is a small white dude with a modern hair style wearing a ‘fancy’ Supreme shirt. Hair gel. Pale. Designer jeans. You know the type. 100% Melrose attire that just screams “I’m an EDM DJ”. He hands Jimmy a card and Jimmy is thankful.

"Sure man yeah I look forward to trying that yeah ok man thanks ok cool" that hyped up dialogue that occurs in loud dark bars. Oh, I just overheard. The card guy runs an after-hours things with games and booze and stuff. Jimmy is now explaining it to the cocktail waitress.

This crowd vibe doesn’t match the live music. Singing now is an older Liza Minnelli type and her band is rag tag at best. But man, the sound is nice. Almost too nice. Like I’m an extra in some movie about going out on a Summer night like Manhattan or LA Story or well, After Hours.

The white guy with the skinny on the happening after hours is back and I see now he has an ironic mustache. He’s talking to an older woman at the end of the bar. “Jimmy!” she yells.

The guy who I thought was Persian is actually Indian. I know this now because he just sat down next to me. He’s wearing an Indiana hat and is still sipping his “silver tequila”. He offers to buy me a drink. I decline. We agree we enjoy the music, strangely, maybe because it’s good or maybe because we’re getting older as we’re both 29 and aren’t keen to mixed drinks or hard music.

“Elevator music,” says silver tequila guy, “I’ve never hated it.” Me either I think to myself. Three tall white dudes with long hair and skater shirts walk into the bar and greet the bartender, unsurprisingly. It’s Wednesday night and this dive is alive. Liza starts singing “The Fool On The Hill” in the style of Sergio Mendes and Brazil 66.

“Hey Jimmy!” I yelled, “Can I get another scotch?”

  • 29th May
    2014
  • 29
Being a woman is an extreme sport and we’re our own referees. No time outs. No tie games. Just a gloves-off, no helmet ride through this life we’re trying to make a little bit beautiful for the few out there who love us for the right reasons.

Being a woman is an extreme sport and we’re our own referees. No time outs. No tie games. Just a gloves-off, no helmet ride through this life we’re trying to make a little bit beautiful for the few out there who love us for the right reasons.

  • 13th May
    2014
  • 13
Dry heat and strong winds mean summer has come early this drought-ridden year. Oh, LA. Where dreams come to starve themselves into a size 2. A city without a heart. Nothing is real but anything is possible. I was born here yet you wonder why I am the way I am, darling. Can’t you see I’m half a person and half a grand idea?

Dry heat and strong winds mean summer has come early this drought-ridden year. Oh, LA. Where dreams come to starve themselves into a size 2. A city without a heart. Nothing is real but anything is possible. I was born here yet you wonder why I am the way I am, darling. Can’t you see I’m half a person and half a grand idea?

  • 12th May
    2014
  • 12
  • 5th May
    2014
  • 05
There are parts of Los Angeles that you can only see by train. They’re the guts of the city, the dumps, the recycling centers, the power plants, the construction equipment, the behind the scenes. And this guy. This guy standing alone and shirtless in an empty lot doing I can’t guess what. The only other other thing in the lot aside from homeboy and his cart was an old office chair lifted a few feet off the ground. What a guy. A king of nothing in his barbed wire castle seated upon his very own iron throne.

There are parts of Los Angeles that you can only see by train. They’re the guts of the city, the dumps, the recycling centers, the power plants, the construction equipment, the behind the scenes. And this guy. This guy standing alone and shirtless in an empty lot doing I can’t guess what. The only other other thing in the lot aside from homeboy and his cart was an old office chair lifted a few feet off the ground. What a guy. A king of nothing in his barbed wire castle seated upon his very own iron throne.

  • 29th April
    2014
  • 29

Wind

Some call them Santa Anas. Others say it’s earthquake weather. On these unusually warm Los Angeles nights when the wind is stronger and more purposeful than usual, you sense danger approaching. Peril blows in from the restless desert in the form of newness, disruption, and uncertainty. Trouble is on the way and it’s coming in many forms. The neighbor’s friendly dog growling and snapping at you. Your lover’s white lie that you don’t catch until you’ve hung up the phone. The smell of the woman upstairs baking cookies. “In this heat?” You shake your head. Nothing makes sense.

You wipe the sweat from your brow and then suddenly the wind strikes the wet on your neck and a chill runs down your spine. You look down at the hand holding the lukewarm bottle of Coors and you watch as goose bumps grow on your arm and you shiver. “Burr.” 

Oh, the Santa Anas. The wind sings through tree branches and makes the curtains in your bedroom billow out like a pregnant belly then suck back in like an exposed rib cage. In and out, back and forth with a haunting howl that grows and fades, grows and fades. Then suddenly - stillness. Quiet. Like a warm wind traveling towards the ocean, nothing is as it should be and you’re scared because you’re sure the earth is about to shake under your feet. The fever won’t break, the climax has come and the dry heat returns so you to start to sweat all over again.

The wind that carried such danger through the night disappears with the sunrise and when morning comes, only blue skies remain. Clear skies. Too clear - blindingly so. The sky is a bright blue canvas stretching to eternity and it feels so fake that you pray for grey or clouds or anything to show you the sky is alive. You wince in the sunlight because there is only blue. Blue like a baby boy’s bedroom, blue like a cartoon swimming pool, blue like a Santorini rooftop or your Barbie doll’s eyes. All other colors are muted and bleached and you’re supposed to forget the fear of the night before. You wonder, what is real? “Today’s gonna be a real scorcher.”

  • 17th April
    2014
  • 17

Love

It stings the way a lemon does when it touches the bloody cuticle you’ve been biting at. When paired with something usually lovely, usually fresh and inviting like a citrus fruit, that open piece of flesh that used to be a hang nail or a bit of extra skin that you couldn’t leave alone turns something you enjoy into something that hurts. That sting, that sharp pain makes you say “Ah!” out loud to yourself because no one is around to hear you. Relief only comes when you suck on your finger, tasting the ironlike sap mixed with sourness and through the pain you find calm, finally, until you realize you’re not done cooking, you’re not done squeezing the juice out of the lemon and maybe I should have waited to suck the pain out until I knew I was done perpetuating it you think to yourself. Dammit. 

  • 16th April
    2014
  • 16
One of the most beautiful, well put together women I’ve ever seen in person cut me off in her McLaren the other day. As I listened to John Mayer while shoving a Funyun in my mouth I realized I’m not living my best life - this bitch is. 

One of the most beautiful, well put together women I’ve ever seen in person cut me off in her McLaren the other day. As I listened to John Mayer while shoving a Funyun in my mouth I realized I’m not living my best life - this bitch is. 

  • 11th April
    2014
  • 11
I want to be very alone and very not alone almost simultaneously. I want to be committed and free at the same time. Sometimes I wanna bake the cake, eat the cake, and not share the cake and sometimes I’ve made the cake for someone else and no, that’s ok, I don’t want a bite it’s all yours!
  • 11th April
    2014
  • 11

Are we, the truly proactive and busy, highly productive due to our nature, or as a result of our personal necessity? Do we force ourselves out of bed at sunrise because we cannot wait to start the day, because we yearn to begin our tasks with passion and vigor, because we love our lives, what fills them, and the people with whom we interact? Or do we peel ourselves from the safety of our warm bed sheets and the comfort of our loved ones because we know if we don’t, this bed, these walls, the very bedclothes on our backs could all be lost? Are we driven out of bed by love or by fear? 

How do I balance my desire for an aloha lifestyle with my tendency to live in a perpetual boiler room where I am, and I admit this reluctantly, most at ease? I have no clue but I’m trying to figure it out.

Preparing to quit my full-time job is proving an enormous task. Paying two months’ rent in a single month in order to pay off my lease, not purchasing clothes or makeup, avoiding new furnishings for my lovely new apartment, and the most challenging - not participating in social activities with friends has not been easy. And I have four more months of this parred-down version of myself to get through! However, the light at the end of this bare-bones tunnel is so bright, so fresh, so possible to reach that I’m hardly bothered by material sacrifices. What does bother me is not being able to be a boss.

I’m a front the bill, pick up the tab, take you out when you’ve done something great or buy the good bottle when you’ve had a bad day kinda friend and to not be able to do those things has me feeling rather unsophisticated and inept. This results in a strange form of social anxiety which stems from a lack of independence. If I can’t pay, I won’t play. Best to just stay home and watch everything in my Netflix queue, right? 

I started working at quite a young age. Being financially independent has always been my “thing”, even before my friends were doing it, even before we all started hitting 30 had no choice but to do it, even before I really needed to do it. I was the teen with my own credit card who could buy the concert tickets, book the hotel rooms and start the tabs and mommy and daddy had nothing to do with it. Life was good because I was in charge. Lately I’ve had to give that up. 

I’ve never struggled with being responsible enough to pay my bills on time, but I have struggled with my ability to put money away. I am 28 years old and I’ve somehow avoided ever having to save for anything significant for an extended period of time. Right now I’m saving a ton of money (to me) in order to not work so much for a few months which is a surprisingly challenging first. The money is there, but it’s not. I can’t touch it because it’s spoken for. How queer to live in relative destitution (I’m being dramatic) while the balance in my bank account increases. And what a dangerous temptation!

So how do I do it? I have no idea. But I am trying a few things to help me out. I “lost” my debit card and don’t plan to replace it. I work with cash now, and only keep my daily budgeted amount with me so I don’t impulse buy a $7 smoothie or just “pop in” to the store to maybe pick up a bottle of wine. I’ve been cooking (ugh). Driving less. None of this is fun and no, none of it feels rewarding or empowering. I just feel lame.

But! Come August and through the end of 2014, I’ll be able to cook breakfast every morning and eat it in my underwear. I’ll be able to work, study, write, and bullshit on the internet from any location I desire. I’ll be able to do some much-needed traveling outside the state of California. And best of all… I won’t feel the pangs of stress in my gut telling me to get out of bed and get to work because I just won’t fucking need to. I’ll get up at dawn because I love my life, what fills it, and the people with whom I choose to interact. Boom.