(some like it hot)

No one ever said

2008-08-05T22:32:00.001-04:00

No one ever said it was going to be this hard.

This is where I begin

2008-07-27T18:58:00.001-04:00

An excerpt:

This is where I begin; where my heart and lungs and vital organs are poured out onto the page in a sloppy mess. My meats, sweating in the heat on this white page, a visceral image to be sure. The edge of a break down, the end of a relationship, the beginning of sex. When sex gets involved, some tend to forget about life. Sex overcomes, the panting, sweating, moaning, slick bodies allow us to forget, if only for a moment the pains we endure. But I propose not to write about sex. No, its far too volatile a topic at the moment. Instead I write to you about raw unadulterated desire and passion, but not always in a sexual sense. I wake every morning feeling sick to my stomach. The nights are too often sleepless, my head spinning from thinking just a little too much. Most days I don't get out of bed unless I have to go to work. Only the thought of money can get me up. I have the urge to tattoo my body with symbols of significance, of which I feel I have none. The burn on my upper arm was no kitchen accident. I put a cigarette out on my skin, counted to five, heard and smelt my own flesh burning and popping under the shiny cherry. I didn't do it because I wanted to hurt myself. I'd like to think my intentions were more noble. I wanted to be able to remind myself of the pain inside. I wanted a visual, bodily dictionary of my depression. I didn't hurt myself on the outside in attempt to kill the thing within. Or maybe I've just convinced myself otherwise.

A pointless mission: I walked over the Williamsburg Bridge for no reason at all. The wind was whipping across the water, cooling the sun parched tarmac. I walked the length of the bridge , but as I reached the middle, I had a strange desire to jump. I imagined the cool air rushing up to meet me, the final breaths would be short and sweet. My body is exhausted from having to decide what to do on its own for over four hours. Waiting tables is mindless. It's an instinct game. But really having to choose what you want to do in a day, that's the tricky bit.

There's Always a First

2008-07-26T01:40:00.002-04:00

Believe it or not, I've never asked a girl out in my life. At least, not face to face. Well, tonight everything changed. I work with this girl whom I find quite attractive, to say the least, and today she happened to comment that she had a girl crush on one of our customers. Finally seeing my chance to investigate which team she played for, I teasingly asked if she simply had a girl crush or if she was actually into girls. She smiled, and said that she has always been attracted to women, but hasn't had a girlfriend for a long time. Got burned too badly last time around I guess, she said. I decided that I was going to ask her out by the end of the night. We happened to take the same train home, which I decided was the perfect place to ask her. As we neared her stop, I turned to face her and asked if she'd maybe want to go out some time. I chewed on my lip waiting for her answer. She told me that she couldn't, that she had a boyfriend (something she neglected to mention earlier), but that the feeling was mutual. She put her hand on my head and told me not to worry, that things wouldn't be awkward. And then she got off at her stop.

I guess that's not the worst outcome for the first time you ask a girl out. But honestly, it's frustrating that she's into me but has a boyfriend. Oh well. I guess I'll just have to wait and see what happens next.

Portfolio

2008-07-13T19:39:00.002-04:00

Pieces of my portfolio.

Kodachrome

2008-07-10T22:15:00.002-04:00

Everything looks like I'm seeing through an old Kodachrome camera. Blues bleed into greens and yellows and reds, starbursting across the window. I ride in an inbetween state, neither concious of the greenery that flies by the water stained window nor concerned with the happenings within the stale recycled air of the bus. The muddy streets of upper Manhattan have been replaced by the clear creeks of a more rural and pastoral landscape. With each glistening body of water we pass, the deeper my need to dive head long into their icy pools grows. I want the water to embrace me the way I long to be touched, the electric kiss of liquid covering every inch of my skin. I imagine the feeling, the way the water will taste as it hits my lips, the way it will smell when I finally surface, filling my lungs with ragged breaths. The singularity of the moment has begun to fade with the summer sun. Train tracks crisscross on an underpass, reminicent of an older time, their ties rusted and parched against the dark green.

You outta know

2008-07-07T14:36:00.004-04:00

Scala and Kolacny Brothers: A Belgian Girls Choir covering contemporary music. I think I wrote about them before. Can't recall.

Here is their version of Radiohead's Creep:

Or download a cover of Alanis Morisette's You Oughta Know here.

"Are you thinking of me when you fuck her?"

Dont ever

2008-07-05T18:55:00.002-04:00

Don't ever say I didn't warn you.

Ache

2008-07-03T01:02:00.003-04:00

Do you know the feeling of wanting someone so badly, that you physically ache? Its like a gnawing, a niggling thought that worms its way around your head, even during the most menial of activities.

It's that ache, that catches you between your ribcage and sternum, extending through diaphragm into pelvis. It prickles your skin and sends shivers down your back, and when you think that it can't get any more intense (read: worse), it does.

From my Modern Satire class:

Receding

“We are forever in the process of disappearing.” The phrase clatters through your head; the thoughts are too jumbled, they’re racing, horses on a dirt track, Aqueduct or Saratoga perhaps. And it’s Fusaichi Pegasus, along side Winloc’s Dr. Pete, they’re neck and neck, and it’s Fusaichi Pegasus by a nose. Their galloping only exacerbates the headache you’ve been held captive by since B block. Everyone’s mouth is moving but the only thing you hear is the galloping of hooves, marking their treacherous path inside your skull. You think about getting out of here sometimes, thumbing your way to the bus stop and leaving forever. A part of your brain tells you to leave, make yourself happy, get away from the plastic freshman in their Ugg boots and mini skirts, the cocky boys with their package insecurities. The other part complains about the inordinate amounts of money your parents have spent simply to send you to high school. You think this place is over-rated anyhow.
You wonder if narcolepsy is typical in seventeen-year-old girls. Papers get handed back with meaningless grades on them; you grimace and stuff them into your bag. The horses are back, win place or show, a trifecta, placing two dollar bets. You think you might have a gambling problem, or at the very least, a migraine. Class ends, and you wander aimlessly to the next. It’s the same thing all over, you’re slowly growing smaller until you feel you might disappear altogether. Back in your room, the phone beeps persistently, telling you to listen to your messages. Four from the Health Center, telling you to come get your dope. They don’t use those exact words, but that’s the basic gist of the message. Two from Mom and Dad. They’re worried about you, they say, call us back when you have a minute. You never have a minute. You never have a second. You’re disappearing and there’s no stopping you. One day you’ll just sink into the wood work and people would be none the wiser. You decide to call them back, if only to appease them, to make the phone stop ringing. The phone rings twice; someone picks up. It’s your father’s voice. “Hi Dad,” you sound hollow.
“You sound like shit.” Your father has always been blunt.
“Good to talk to you too Dad.”
“Mum and I have been worried about you. The Health Center’s called us twice in the last day…they said you haven’t been coming to take your meds.” You shrug your shoulders before remembering that he can’t see you.
“They don’t know what they’re doing over there, and I didn’t feel like being subjected to their asinine mind control anymore.” You hear your father make a dry coughing sort of noise.
“You and I both know they’re quacks, but they’re just doing their job.” You shrug again.
“Dad, I gotta go to class.” You can picture him standing in the kitchen, his palms pressed against the butcher-block counter.
“I’ll talk to you later sweetie, keep your chin up. You’re almost done.” The reassuring phrase no longer holds encouragement for you.
“Bye Daddy.” You hear him hang up, and the automated operator tells you that if you’d like to make a call, to please hang up and try again. You’ve tried trying again and you’re sick of it. An industrial sized bottle of aspirin sits looming on your dresser. You grab it, shake out a few pills and toss them into your mouth. They won’t do anything. They never do. The entire process has become more of a routine than a cure. Your futon looks terribly inviting right about now. You flop down onto it, arms spread, your face towards the ceiling. There is silence: no hooves, no cheering from the skybox, no frantic breathing of thoroughbreds being pushed too hard. “So this is what it feels like,” you think out loud. Silence is a foreign delicacy to you. The clarity is stunning, more pure than anything you’ve ever bought in a dark alley. You’re on your feet in an instant, methodically tossing clothes into a duffel. You grab the necessities: your laptop, camera, cell phone. The rest is superfluous.
The road is icy as you trudge away from the school. Cars come too close to you, nearly plowing you into a snow bank. Usually you would have flipped them the bird, but now it feels like too much effort. Besides, people in New Hampshire like their guns. You’ve got fifty dollars in your pocket. You’ve been disappearing now for years; it’s time to make the final push.

It's been over a month, and I'm responsible.

2008-07-01T21:02:00.002-04:00

Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

Shit got busy. Shit got crazy. Shit got poor.

But I'm back. (at least for now).

I figured I'd share some of my poetry...just for shits and giggles, since I'm not really in the mood to write about hot babes.

The Unassuming Night Watchman

I don’t think I can function
any more.

The clock is blinking
4:34 AM and even
the Cross County is silent,
save the sirens heading toward
Yonkers.

It is, at this point, that I have
reached a revelation;
Once you accept that life is
inherently difficult,
things be come relatively easy.

Who am I kidding?

Shit just gets harder
every day.

R Street NW

The air of the moist
Basement apartment:
Moldy, threatening.
We sat, facing off
Eyes locked in cold spheres,
Passionless, despite our reunion.

Your hand, resting on the painting:
Italian, beautiful…a gift.
The glass, smashed.

“Did you fuck her?”
You’re not screaming.
“Do you love her?”
Your hands are still
On the painting.

Sink water drips
Coldly into the clogged drain.
You were the one
Who disappeared
For two months.

“She came on to me,”
I murmured.
My words seemed stuck.
You know it’s not
The whole truth.

Groceries

She smiled compulsively
Showed her smirk,
Grinning like a sun lit bulb
24 watts of brilliance,
That saucy minx.

Trying to forget what she said
Was like trying to perform
Brain surgery with
A front end loader and a
Fork.

I squeezed honey
Out of that ridiculous bear
She bought.
It was more expensive,
Packaged in a cute little animal.

I can’t help
But think, that
Life has become
A little bit
disappointing.

Tender Fruits

My girl is
Firefly hair in sea-shine light:
Opalescent abalone palms,
Tongue of wilted rose petal
And legs of fine French cigarettes.

She is beer wine and whiskey mouth,
Pouting with lips like slices of dripping orange.
Her smile reminded me of Waterford crystal
And rain in November.

My girl
With her chest of flax and seed
Opening like a wounded harvest
To reveal cardiac splendor.

She lent herself to me,
The curve of her back
Like burnished marble,
White and lean.

My girl is
Sleeping in deep opium dreams
Her arms held like birch branches
In a drowsy salute.

Orgasms, Kitchenware

Sweaty kitchens
And hesitantly placed
Hands, grasping tits, ass.

We eye fucked
Our way to first base
Like enigmatic coeds,

Painfully arching against
The ancient refrigerator:
Ingesting. Inhaling.
Spitting back out.

It’s not fair
How I was already
In lust with her
From the start.

She was excruciatingly
Domestic in her
Seduction.

Morbidly so.
Antediluvian to the fullest extent.
I wanted to surrender
My vital organs
To her.

Touching her
Was a more exciting
Than basket weaving.

Let me know what you think!!

On Lesbians with Assholes for Fathers

2008-05-23T18:42:00.003-04:00

Let me begin by apologizing: It's been a while since I've blogged. The post-semester scuffle to pack and move to Brooklyn has been agonizing, and as we speak, I'm sitting waiting for my car to arrive to move the rest of my life off campus.

I've been spending a lot of time thinking about the topic of lesbians and their fathers. Don't ask me why. I have a fantastic Dad, who I get along with far better than I do my Mum, and who has been there for me every step of the way. I guess you could call me a Daddy's Girl. But in my experience, I have so many lesbian friends that have either absent fathers or fathers that are assholes. It's a curious phenomenon, which I have yet to fully comprehend. I'm a firm believer that being gay is something that is ingrained in your DNA; I choose the nature root as opposed to nurture. But why is it that so many lesbians have assholes for fathers? Or perhaps it's just that there are a lot of asshole fathers out there that have strong women for daughters. Who knows.

The topic is troubling to me; I have been fortunate enough to have a father that I get along with incredibly well. Some of my fondest memories of childhood involve my dad, and it really breaks my heart when people have bad dads.

On a completely different note, I am in love with a new band: Annie Lynch and the BeeKeepers. I saw them perform along with my good friend Johnny Nicholson at Galapagos Art Space in Williamsburg two nights ago and I've been listening to them ever since. Annie Lynch's voice is hauntingly beautiful, while she is accompanied by gorgeous cellist Alexandra Spalding. Co-song writer Mat Davison is a dream, playing the saw, clarinet, mandolin, banjo and guitar as well as singing. Their CD is available on iTunes and can be heard on their www.myspace.com/annielynch.

Hotel Chevalier

2008-05-15T00:10:00.002-04:00

If you've seen the Wes Andersen film The Darjeeling Limited, you may have heard about short film that prefaces The Darjeeling Limited, Hotel Chevalier.

I was going through my movie files on my computer and I found the short film and decided to watch it. There is something about Natalie Portman that I find so incredible enticing. It's not just her appearance, though she is absolutely stunning. The way she acts is impeccable, always a polished performance. Her language is strong and witty, her intonation rich. Whenever I watch one of her films, I am transfixed.

In Hotel Chevalier, Portman, despite her body covered in bruises, is as gorgeous as ever. I tried to find a youtube clip of the film but couldn't locate one. Hotel Chevalier is available for free download from the iTunes store.

Top Ten

2008-05-07T11:51:00.004-04:00

Another warm and sunny day here in NYC, and thank god for it! It's finals week, and that means staying up till ridiculous hours and tons of work.

I've decided to post my top ten list, which I wrote up in my art history class yesterday. They're in no particular order, but they do come with nifty little images for your viewing pleasure. I've posted about some of them before, but give me a break, they're more nice photos to oogle.

1. Olivia Wilde
2. Anne-Flore Marxer

3. Marion Cotillard

4. Keira Knightley

5. Lisa Edelstein

6. Alana Bunte
7. Amanda Peet8. Natalie Portman

9. Rachel Shelley

10. Gia Marie Carangi

The wind of heaven is that which blows between a horse's ears.

2008-05-05T11:24:00.006-04:00

Dorothy has written about her. Sports Illustrated has written about her. CNN has written about her. And now I will take my turn.

I am speaking about Eight Belles, the three year old gray filly that placed second in Saturday's Kentucky Derby and was euthanized shortly after. After crossing the finish line 4 3/4 lengths behind the winner Big Brown, she stumbled and collapsed on the track during cool down. She had suffered compound fractures in both front ankles and the track vet deemed her injuries so severe they couldn't even move her off the track.

Eight Belles was the first filly to run in the Derby since 1999, and made history earlier in the year as the first filly to win the Martha Washington Stakes.

As I sat in Binghampton, NY, in an Applebee's eating dinner with my crew team, I watched the 134th Derby unfold with excitement. The race was well fought, until Big Brown absolutely steamrolled the competition pulling away with Eight Belles following closely behind. It was a race not to be missed, until I looked up two minutes later to see the gray filly down on the track. In the world of horses, when an animal is down, nothing good can come of it. I stopped eating dinner and watched riveted as they announced that they were getting the equine ambulance. I envisioned a repeat of the Barbaro tragedy of last year, a seeming miraculous recovery quashed by an unexpected death almost a year later. Before I even knew the extent of Eight Belle's injuries, I was already crying.

I've been a horse woman my entire life, and the sight of a horse in pain brings tears to my eyes in a moment. I've witnessed my own horses having to be put down, my partners in competition injuring themselves irreparably striving for greatness. I myself have owned former race horses who have suffered injuries similar to Eight Belles. Fillies in the racing world are such a rarity because they aren't as big and therefore generally as strong as their male counterparts, but Eight Belles was an exception.

Even now, writing this post, tears are dripping down my face. Not just because a horse has died on the path to glory, or because her end was so tragically beautiful, but because she fought with such heart. Eight Belles fought so hard to catch up with Big Brown. Washington Post sports writer Sally Jenkins wrote, "She ran with the heart of a locomotive on champagne-glass ankles," a tragically apt and beautiful description. It is in my admiration and sheer respect that I cry.

Eight Belles was a descendant of Northern Dancer, one of the most successful sires of the 21st century, and Mr. Prospector, who sired winners to each of the Triple Crown races (Fusaichi Pegasus of the 2000 Derby, 1985 Preakness winner Tank's Prospect, and 1982 Belmont Stakes winner Conquistador Cielo). I have been fortunate enough to at one time own one of Mr. Prospector's descendants, Winlock's Dr. Pete (Merlin), a colt who had a great career ahead of him before he shattered both shin bones running at Suffolk Downs. He came to live with us after recovering with fourteen pins in each shin, and has gone on to have a very promising career in show jumping.

If there is one thing I know about race horses, it's that they love to run.
When I owned Merlin, I would take him out to a track near our house and just let him open up. I never saw the horse more happy than when we were at a full out gallop, coming around the inside turn, as if we ourselves were running the Derby. His ears would prick forward, his nostils would flare and we would be off like a shot, racing against the Secretariats, Man-O-Wars and Northern Dancers of our minds.

May Eight Belles find herself endless fields in which to gallop in horse heaven.

On Divorce

2008-05-01T11:52:00.002-04:00

I know I haven't posted in a while. It's finals week(s), give me a break.

I just spoke to my mom and found out that some very good family friends are getting divorced. I've known them my whole life and they're like second parents to me. My parents have been friends with them since college and I'm really beside myself with the news. It just feels like everyone I know that used to love each other is crumbling because of money issues. What really gets me is that my in my grandparents' group of friends, they've all been married over fifty years without a single divorce. There has been a death, but no divorces. It's really a sign of the times; fifty years ago, couples were in it for the long haul. They knew from the start that they were 100% going to live their lives together, and I fee like that sentiment has fallen by the wayside.

As many of you know, I personally think that marriage is a bullshit institution; I don't really see why people need to be married in the eyes of the law in order to love each other with all their hearts. That's part of my issue with the gay marriage struggle. I 100% believe that gays and lesbians should have complete equality in the eyes of the law and the social world, but fuck marriage. Why do we need to conform to heteronormative standards?

God this liberal arts bullshit is really getting to me.

Touch it bring it pay it

2008-04-22T19:03:00.002-04:00

Forgive me father, for it has been a week since my last post.

I went home this weekend with Lauren for Passover, which was really nice. I got to see my grandparents and my family, including the dogs and horses, which was lovely.

The school year is wrapping up, which is incredibly exciting but it means I have a shit tonne of work, which includes a film I have yet to finish, a fifteen page memoir, and an art history paper including architectural designs. What a bitch.

News on the fashion front: Trends for Spring

According to Style.com, fitted blazers paired with cigarette pants are very in this spring, as noted in the Karl Lagerfeld and Helmut Lang collections. Also back is the hippie chic of yesteryear. Bright and popping colors are the signature of spring, the bolder the better (see the Ralph Lauren spring collection). Also in are floral prints and traditional tribal prints.

Get really for a killer spring fashion mavens, it looks like it's going to be a bold one.

In other news, last night saw the return of Gossip Girl for the first time since the writers strike. I have yet to see the episode, but I'm expecting some juicy UES gossip and
sexiness to go down. More on that when I've watched it.

I am the next Samantha Ronson.

2008-04-14T23:47:00.002-04:00

So according to a friend of mine, someone asked who I was today, and another person replied, "Oh, that's Samantha Ronson,". Boy did I get a kick out of that. Not only is Ronson one of my DJ heroes of sorts, she's an out gay lady in the entertainment world. Sure, she's been linked to LiLo, but she looks damn good in a fedora, and knows what the turntables are all about.

In other news, I had a killer shoot at Fast Ashley studios yesterday, and chilled on a couch where Giselle has been known to seat her oh so fine ass. Yea, I'm that creepy. Fast Ashley's biggest customer is Victoria Secret, and apparently when Giselle is on set, the girl waits for no one. When she wants to shoot, you better be ready, and when she says she's done, that's a wrap.

If you looked that good, people would do anything for you too.

I'd love to hear some feedback about what you, dear readers, think about this blog. Anything in particular you'd like to read about? Topics you'd like me to hash out for you? Just want to say hi? I'd love to hear from you.

Until next time,

Samantha Ronson (just kidding).

The Big G

2008-04-09T20:59:00.000-04:00

May I just mention, that Tom. Ford. Is. My. Hero.

Ok so I know this is old(er). Beat me with your Prada handbag already. But seriously, the man knows how to take sex and make it sexier. And then sell it to you. Brilliant.

Back to my meager meal of celery sticks (carrots have too many calories) and Diet Coke.

Ciao!

Velvet Pussy: It's A Woman's World, Wear Stilettos

2008-04-08T00:12:00.001-04:00

OurChart disappoints me, in many respects. First off, I find it depressing how many unattractive lesbians are on the site, and for that matter, the fact that none of the members seem to be femme or intelligent. For every beautiful girl I find, there are perhaps 20 wildly overweight dykes that kind of make me ashamed to be a lesbian. Don't get me wrong, I've met a few beautiful femme women on the site, but it got me thinking.

On all lesbian dating sites, femmes are outnumbered by butches 10 to 1. Ok, I admit that that's a made up number, but it's a rough estimate from my own personal experience. So what do you do when you're a gorgeous feminine woman who's looking for the same?? Your chances of finding someone up to snuff are so low on any dating sites it seems almost futile. Craigslist is full of AGs who are almost as bad as men, ghetto homos who think they're the next big rap star dyke, and crazy bitches who post photos of their junk.

What the world needs is a dating site for femmes who are interested in femmes. There, I said it. PS this shit is copywritten, so don't go trying to make a quick buck off my idea. The site would be similar to OurChart, but you could only join if you answered a fashion quiz and had your photo reviewed. The quiz would be something along the lines of:

1. Who is Tom Ford?
2. What is Karl Lagerfeld's signature outfit?
3. Name the two Holy Trinities
4. Where is New York Fashion Week held?
5. Who is the head designer at YSL?

Ok so test yourself and see if you pass muster. Here are the answers:

1. Former Gucci designer, perhaps one of the most influential designers of the last decade
2. Black suit, white shirt, black skinny tie and sunglasses
3. Naomi Campbell, Linda Evangelista and Christy Turlington OR Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik and Christian Louboutin
4. Bryant Park
5. Trick question. YSL is now owned by Gucci, and therefore Tom Ford was the head designer until 2004. The current designer is Stefano Pilati, who is less known than Ford.

5 out of 5? You can join my dating site. 4 out of 5? I have to see your picture first. Any less? No thanks.

Is discrimination based on fashion and looks bitchy? Yes, but when you're looking for a very specific thing, one can't be too picky.

PS: everybody needs a little Cindy in their lives.

Go See Go See

2008-04-04T12:39:00.000-04:00

Well it's finally Friday. Thank god we made it through the week (mostly) unscathed. Aside from waking up at the ass crack of dawn for crew practice, this week has been relatively benign. I received a comment on my last post, from a lovely person named Jessica, and I just wanted to give her and all the other (few) people who read my blog a big thank you. It's kind of nice to know that your humble little writings aren't going unnoticed.

I don't really have much to write about today, and I don't have much time, since I've got to jump on a train in 40 minutes for a go-see at an agency, so I figured I'd let you, dear readers, know a little bit about me.

As you may have deduced from the heading of my blog, I am what I like to call "a hot lesbian". Narcissist? Overly confident? I know. At least I can admit it. I am a college student, a DJ and a model. I plan on going into advertising and graphic design. My favorite Ben and Jerry's flavours are Chunky Monkey and New York Super Fudge Chunk mixed (despite the fact that I can't eat them anymore). I identify as femme in every way (right down from my skinny jeans and Tory Burch flats to my popped collar). Contrary to my personal wishes, I do not live on the UES, but I plan to in the future. The kind of girls I like are models, with a wicked sense of humour and a knack for witty repartee. I eat at least two hard boiled eggs a day. In fact, I'm eating one right now.

Questions? Comments? Post that shit.

Class dismissed.

Let's Get It On

2008-04-03T11:19:00.000-04:00

Hello Upper East Siders, Gossip Girl here...

Wait, wrong venue. Sorry guy.

Back to the grind kids. College is totally over rated. At the moment, I'm working to get some jobs in the city and I'm looking to get signed by an agency. So all that is really fun.

I apologize for not updating more; as many of you know, the life of a student is filled with ridiculous quantities of reading, games of beer pong, sleeping with gorgeous women (HAH! kidding. though I wish i wasn't), and other pointless tasks, leaving little time for blogging. But I will continue as best I can.

The L Word finished its 5th season with a bang, or rather, a balcony fuck, which I found utterly disappointing. I mean, who didn't see that one coming from a mile away? Seriously Mama Chaiken, can you give us a little plot twist every now and then?

Now that the L word is over until its next season, I have to resort to watching Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency, which is completely outrageous and hilarious. Janice is such a character, and it doesn't even really bother me that she's a bitch. She's just absolutely insane. On the bright side, a new Gossip Girl episode is set to air April 21, and it will be the first new episode since the writers stopped striking. That's so fetch.

Today's hot woman is Patricia Charbonneau of Desert Hearts fame. The film is widely considered the first mainstream lesbian film, and also stars Helen Shaver.

I adore Charbonneau's character, Cay Rivvers in the film. In a way, she's kind of my ideal woman.

Here is the love scene from the film:

And with that, I'm off to call my mother. Happy Thursday everyone

from the road

2008-03-16T16:47:00.000-04:00

Blogging from the road:

As I wound my way along the back roads of my hometown today, blasting the radio, the Indigo Girls Closer to Fine came on, I pumped up the radio and sang along. I laughed to myself, because I felt like such a dyke, blasting the Indigo Girls, singing along driving a Chevy truck. So gay. And then, I didn’t feel so bad because I was wearing 200 dollar Italian leather riding boots, designer jeans, a Burberry quilted jacket and had the collar on my oxford shirt popped. It’s moments like this when I laugh at the irony of my sexual orientation, and that of other fashion forward femmes like myself.

Femme to me is a very specific identity, particularly as a femme that is attracted to other femmes. The closest thing to religion for me is Vogue, and the Holy Trinity is Manolo Blahnik, Jimmy Choo and Christian Laboutin or Linda Evangelista, Naomi Campbell and Christy Turlington. I go to great pains for fashion: eyebrow and bikini waxes, the pain of the perfect pair of stilettos, and the hottest lingerie I can get my hands on. Janice Dickinson Modeling Agency is a guilty pleasure, and a large amount of my own personal funds are made modeling. The problems of being a gay woman who looks stereotypically straight are curious. The straight world treats us as if we were any other straight woman walking the streets of New York and the gay community thinks we’re straight, so where does that put us? How do we hit on women that look like us without the fear of getting shut down? These are some of the questions I’ve been grappling with in recent months. Lauren Blitzer’s book Same Sex in the City: So Your Prince Charming is Really a Cinderella is a really great guide book for entering the femme lesbian world, but I still feel that I need more. Maybe someone could come up with a dating site for femmes who love femmes? I don’t know…

Poetry in motion

2008-03-13T17:53:00.000-04:00

In the wars we never fought
the unspoken solitude
screaming with every little
fibre in my being.
As it was in the beginning is
now and shall be for ever
and ever
Amen.

Lips pursed you looked like
an oversized goldfish.
Touch me here.
She has taught me that
once one accepts that life
is inherently difficult,
things become relatively easy.

A Rant

2008-03-13T15:17:00.000-04:00

I have been called a lot of things for being gay, and I've been told my lifestyle was a bad one, but nothing has ever pissed me off more than an encounter with a very close friend recently.

This particular friend, who I won't name, and I have had what one would call intimate interactions aka we slept together (sort of) once. She considers herself bisexual, but she had a boyfriend at the time.

Several weeks after our encounter (which I was still regretting), she came to me and told me that she had slept with her ex girlfriend during a visit back home. She asked me if that made her a bad person, and I replied rather bluntly, that yea, in my book, it was wrong to cheat, particularly when you're in a long term, committed relationship.

She looked at me hurt for a second, and said, "Do you really think I'm a bad person?" and I replied again, yes, that I thought what she did was wrong.

It was at this point that things started to piss me off. She looked at me, and deadpan said, "Girls don't count."

I literally almost wound up and punched her. Girls don't count? In essence, she was telling me that my whole lifestyle, my whole entity and sexual orientation and sexual forays "didn't count". With three words she had told me that my entire existence, was in fact, not an existence.

I find it unbelievable that someone who claims to be bisexual and advocates themselves as someone in tune with the gay community could say something like that.

This was three weeks ago and I'm still fuming.

Apocalypse

2008-03-11T09:15:00.000-04:00

I have just found out via Dorothy Snarker that the L word has been renewed for its 6th and final season. It will be abbreviated to 8 episodes.

I seriously think I might cry. How am I going to live without the L word? It's been there for me through two girlfriends, countless nights alone, straight girl crushes, the whole 9 yards. And in 2009, it will all come to an end. Honestly, I'm contemplating not going to my class right now, for which I'm already 5 minutes late and still sitting in my pajamas.

The L Word, by the time it's finished, will have been the longest running lesbian television show in the history of TV. Sure, it's been crazy, sure some of the plot lines are ridiculous, but that's why we love it. I knew this day would come, but I didn't know so soon...

RIP The L Word 2004-2009 - You've made a world of difference for lesbians and questioning women everywhere

And just I thought it was over...

2008-03-11T01:24:00.000-04:00

Earlier this evening, I was speaking to my ex girlfriend online. We exchanged pleasantries, I asked her how the logo she had designed and I had converted into vector art went over in the meeting with her superiors. We talked about school (me) and work (her), laughed a little, played the random question game she loves so much (not really a game, but her asking very random questions out of the blue). And when it was time for her to head off to bed, I told her good night, don't let the bed bugs bite. She replied, "Don't let the beddy bugs bite," which is what she used to say to me every night before I went to sleep when we were together. And despite the fact that its been almost 8 months since we've been broken up, reading those words, which used to mean so much to me, I started to cry.

Mind you, the love that we once shared is long gone. After a year and a half, we called it quits in September. Like most breakups, it sucked. But I went out to dinner with her in late December and I can quite honestly say that my feelings for her were completely devoid of any sort of love, friendly or otherwise. It was an awkward encounter, which I wanted to end almost immediately. We had nothing to talk about, and dinner was filled with long and awkward pauses.

Any yet, tonight, when she told me not to let the beddy bugs bite, I felt tears rolling down my face. I didn't flat out bawl, or anything, but I certainly cried.

Strange the way our lives work, isn't it?

Sorry for such a somber post, but I thought it warranted a place on here.

What is sexy?

2008-03-06T17:53:00.000-05:00

There are some things that are so simple and yet so sexy to me.

1. The feeling of cool sheets against your naked body. Not the cold feeling of winter, but the soft cool feeling of the arrival of spring as you slip between the sheets.

2. The back of a woman, soft curves of the spine and muscle of her sleeping body, the sharp jut of shoulder blades and the gentle curve of her neck. Running my fingers along the fine bones of her neck, counting each vertebra, feeling their delicate tenacity under my fingertips.

3. Hipbones that stick out just enough, collarbones, strong jaw lines and straight white teeth.

4. The smell of ozone in the spring and the sun beginning to warm for summer.

5. A girl that can pull off a great pair of skinny jeans

6. Pompadors and sunglasses

7. The Holy Trinity: Manolo, Jimmy and Christian OR Linda Evangelista, Naomi Campbell (even if she's nuts) and Christy Turlington

8. Marc Jacobs. Period.

9. Handcuffs, but only in bed, not in the back of a cop cruiser.

10. Playing rough: getting pinned, then topping her, pressing against walls, throwing her onto the bed, and vice versa.

11. Fucking in unlikely places:
- kitchens (X)
- showers (X)
- bathroom stalls (X)
- cars (X)
- classrooms
- airplanes
- etc.

12. Sexy lesbians in short dresses and vintage furs

13. Cooking and cleaning in lingerie

14. cK anything. The Calvin Klein Choice line of undies are my faves.

Sudden (Or Not So Sudden) Realizations

2008-03-06T14:07:00.000-05:00

So I've come to realize, since starting this blog around Christmas time, that blogging is hard. No, hard is the wrong word, and that phrase makes me sound like an idiot. Rather, blogging is time consuming. Also, I've come to understand that writing about bangin babes all the time gets a bit tiresome. Not that I don't think of hot women a lot, but I feel like my blog should have a little more substance than the superficial musings of yours truly.

As a complete aside, I am eating Heinz vegetarian baked beans cold out of the can. Just thought you all should know.

But I digress.

In any case, my revelation of sorts has come from my discovery of This Girl Called Automatic Win

Pretty stellar stuff; insightful, witty, and at times, downright hilarious. That includes her vlog, which made me nearly piss myself while I sat babysitting my art installation earlier today.

So, my friends, (some like it hot) aka Spank My Blog takes a turn. No worries, all sexy woman business will continue as normal, there will just be smatterings of my random juicy tidbits, friendly dialog and pithy repartee mixed in with the bunch. Like a margarita. That was a terribly joke. I apologize.

Time for my nap, being chronically ill will take the spunk right outta ya.

You know what I think of when I think of the word spunky? Punky Brewster. People used to tell me I looked like her when I was a little kid. I mean, who wouldn't? Freckles, shoulder length brown hair, shit eating grin? The only thing was that my teeth were straighter than hers. Damn right they were.
Similarity? Maybe. You'll have to let me know.

And seriously, I'm going to nap now.

Les petite mortes

2008-02-26T12:49:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning I was awoken by a startling noise. At approximately 12 noon, the emphatic moaning of one of my housemates could be heard through closed doors, from across my apartment. One could simply dismiss this incident as a one time occurrence and congratulate the girl for getting her rocks off, but I will do neither of these things. Why? Because this girl has more sex than anyone I know, and at a volume that could shatter glass. Honestly, I really don't enjoy getting up to get some food from the kitchen at 2 am while pulling an all nighter working on some art history paper only to hear the porn star groans of my housemate coming from across the apartment. Seriously, it's like being stuck in a really bad porn.

In any case, the racket created across my apartment inspired me to consider images of orgasm. I had also just watched Paris Je T'aime, during which I fell in love with Natalie Portman all over again.

Because seriously, what's more beautiful than hearing her make that little noise and watching her face of delight?

I thought this one was pretty good as well.

Anyhow, I'm off to finish writing a paper about Christ's penis in Italian Renaissance art. Ew.

No, I'm going for a Buttahara

2008-02-18T11:51:00.000-05:00

I know Stick It came out a few years back, but there's something about that film that I really love. It could be that I think gymnastics are pretty sweet, but really, I think that my main interest in the movie is its star, Missy Peregrym. To star in Stick It, Missy trained 8 hours a day for six months. Apparently her hard work paid off. The girl has a body of steel!

Something about Missy just screams gay to me. It could be the sports bras, but I don't know, my sort of fucked gaydar goes off whenever I see her.

I also think she has a killer smile. Makes me weak in the knees...

In fact, Missy kinda reminds me of a girl I know...

Any guesses as to who?

Just Slutz.

2008-02-13T17:19:00.000-05:00

Justin: Let's do Kegel exercises together!!
Kathryn: Justin, you don't have a vagina.
Lenna: Wait, what's that?
Justin: Just because don't have a vagina doesn't mean I can't do em! We have like...penis muscles! Like, I'm bouncing my penis right now.

God that's terrifying.

Roll me a Emily Blunt.

2008-02-12T21:21:00.000-05:00

Ok, so I know that my titles have been lackluster recently. But forgive me, I'm still sick. Yes. Still sick. I'm beginning to think that there's something seriously wrong with me.

In any case, it's Tuesday, and I thought that I might devote today's post to English beauty Emily Blunt.

I must say, I've found Blunt terribly sexy since she starred in My Summer of Love, but her loveliness was recently called back to my attention by Alana, who finds her absolutely dreamy. I agree.
Anyhow, more beautiful women to come soon. Promise.

One parting shot, from the wise lips of Sarah: "My cooter is on fire" (imitating a hillybilly dyke).

Let's get Wilde.

2008-02-07T17:45:00.000-05:00

So this semester, I'm taking an experimental film class and last night I had a brilliant idea. I decided to contact Tao Ruspoli, founder of LAFCO (Los Angeles Filmmakers Co Op) and asked him if he personally, or LAFCO as a collective were looking for an intern for this summer. He emailed me back within two hours and let me know that if I contacted him closer to the summer and he was working on a project I could help with, he'd love to have me. Now, not only does that mean that I could be spending my summer in LA making films (which would be amazing in it's
right), but I would be working with Tao. Why is this so exciting? Because Tao is married to Olivia Wilde, who starred as lesbian Alex Kelly on The OC and currently plays (bisexual?) Dr. Thirteen on House MD. Not only do I love House (as you may well know) but I also adore Olivia Wilde. I think she's absolutely gorgeous, thus my posting on her today.

In any case, let's bring out the photos, shall we?

We can pray that Dr. Thirteen plays ball (softball perhaps) with Dr. Cuddy or even Cameron?

Tao Ruspoli lists himself on Facebook as interested in men and women, and I can only hope for my sake that his wife has similar interests (like men and women).

Birkin, like a birkin bag...Oh Hermes...

2008-01-26T19:09:00.000-05:00

So it looks like I'm back! Still feeling slightly off, but I guess that's to be expected. Next week, I get to look forward to a whole battery of blood tests to put the pin on the virus that's been jumping around in my system for almost a month now.

If you have ever watched Sex in the City, or know anything about fashion, you will know of the Birkin Bag, by Hermes. This iconic piece of craftwork is named after Jane Birkin, British 60's model and singer.

Birkin stared in the controversial film Blowup, and also sang with her husband, Serge Gainsbourg in his song Je t'aime...moi, non plus. Serge and Jane's daughter is actress Charlotte Gainsbourg.

Now, I know that Jane Birkin is older than my own mother at this point, and that she's starting to look old, but ya know what? She was damn sexy when she was twenty years old, and that's how I like to think of her.

It's girls like Jane (back in the day) that I love: pouty lips, perfect little tits, long hair and eyes that could swallow you whole. Why aren't there any gay girls in New York City that look like that?!? If you're out there, get in contact with me.

Speaking of gay girls in the NYofC, I have yet to find anyone who measures up to my personal yardstick. I know there are some beautiful lesbians out there, but goddamnnit, where are they? The only women that seem to populate Craigslist are creepy as hell, I refuse to pay for a dating site, and I can't get a group of friends together to go to a bar because not enough of my gay friends have IDs. Dilemma dilemma.

On the bright side, my housemates and I are playing Beruit (that's beer pong to the rest of you heathens) tonight, so I suppose I can drown my sorrows in Coors Light or whatever we have.

Cheers mates!

On the road

2008-01-24T11:18:00.000-05:00

Quick update from the road, kids, and by road, I mean the library. I'm headed over to the hospital for a kidney ultrasound (fun!) but don't worry, in a day or so you should have more beautiful women coming your way!

Oy Vey (as they say)

2008-01-22T16:32:00.000-05:00

Apologies for the lack of posts (if anyone reads this besides Lucy), I've been rather ill. Spent the night in the ER on Sunday, followed by a battery of tests shortly thereafter, and just as before, the docs still don't seem to know what's going on with me. Seems my family possesses the ability for medical anomalies (or my dad and I anyhow).

So, I'm going to go back to watching House, but I'll leave you with a photo of the lovely Marion Cotillard.
Ciao mes amis, and wish me luck on getting more needles poked into me!

Hey Miss DJ, put a record on

2008-01-19T15:52:00.000-05:00

If you buy into scandals, today's little lady was rumoured to have done the deed with LiLo and sued the press after they wrote that the coke found on LiLo during her DUI arrest (which one? I don't know...) was actually hers.

If you guessed Samantha Ronson, then you're correct! Oh? You have no idea who she is? Oh well.

Ronson is the twin of fashion designer Charlotte Ronson and younger sister of international DJ Mark Ronson, who has recently collaborated with the likes of Amy Winehouse and Lilly Allen.

Samantha is a (pretty much) out lesbian DJ, who I think is pretty damn cute. Although her MySpace page leaves much to be desired (bad English is so not sexy), I think the sight of Ronson behind the turntables is certainly nice on the eyes.

Not only is she a celebrity DJ, but Ronson wrote the song Built This Way, which was used in the film Mean Girls.

I must admit, as a DJ myself, I find other female DJs to be really attractive. There's nothing like a girl who knows how to beat match. And a girl who knows how to scratch? Let me tell ya, it takes some really good finger and hand control to scratch well...

Ronson is also a sneakerhead and has an incredible collection of Nike Dunks, AF1s, Bapes and other crazy sexy kicks.

Jennifer Beals MY OH MY

2008-01-17T11:22:00.000-05:00

On the topic of dreams (see Lucy's blog) I had the most intense dream last night involving an undying love for L Word star Jennifer Beals!

What's interesting to me is that although I find Jennifer extremely attractive, she's not on the tippity top of my L Word loves list.

In any case, I dreamed that I was somehow on the set of the L word, where I met stunning Mrs. Beals, and we hit it off right quick. Eventually, we got down to the dirty, only to be interrupted by her husband, who was at first upset (rightly so!) and then told me that he could tell what pleasure his wife derived from our relationship and that he would kindly bow out. What a gent! Only in dreams my friends, only in dreams. At this point, Jennifer is a bit upset, I mean, he is her husband after all, and tells me that even though she is head over heels in love with me, she has to be with him. Well pish.

And so, instead of fighting for my lady, I decided to retreat. And then something changes my mind. So I rush back to her office or trailer or whatever, aided by an elderly woman (ok, not elderly, older), and she's not there. Dammit, I think, I've missed her! But no, the object of my affection opens the door and gives me one of those Grade A smiles that could just make you melt. You know the one, no teeth, the corner of her mouth...I tried to find a photo, but to no avail.

And with that, she kisses me and tells me she can't live without me, and we get into her mini van and drive away into the sunset.

Ah, what a lovely dream it was...shame it wasn't real.

One last entry before I sleep

2008-01-14T23:41:00.000-05:00

This entry is brought to you by the letter P. Why P you may ask? Why not! No no, actually, because P begins the name of this evening's Norwegian beauty, Pia Tjelta.

Now, you've probably never heard of Pia, since she doesn't really do any work outside of Norway, but I happen to have some very close Norwegian friends who think she's all that and a bag of chips.

Pia is a single mum, who acts on both the silver screen and stage. She hails from Stavanger, which is on the southwest coast of Norway, and was one of the first places I ever traveled (a wee 4 months old!)

And with that, my friends, I bid thee adieu. Sov godt mine venner, og drøm av vakkere kvinner!

On a snowy day: a tribute to Kate Moss and Cocaine

2008-01-14T13:47:00.001-05:00

Oh Kate, dear dear Kate. First you were the ultimate of waif chic, then you were attached to Pete Dougherty, which led to you being a coked out mess. Where have you gone Kate Moss? You made a line for Top Shop and then disappeared! Come out come out wherever you are! No need to play Anne Frank today!

So is heroin chic back in or what? In my book, it never went out.

We salute you, Kate Moss! Despite your crack habit and your turd of an ex boyfriend, you've somehow redeemed yourself!

There's not much else that can be said of dear Miss Moss, other than for having popped out a child, she still manages to look pretty damn sexy.

I've always loved Amber Valetta's adverts for David Yurman, but I think Kate does a darn good job as well.

Oh Kate Moss. We can only hope that you stay sober in the future.

Keira Knightley: too skinny? Or just skinny enough?

2008-01-12T18:10:00.000-05:00

Many would argue with me over the topic of Keira Knightley, saying she's too skinny, her bones point out everywhere, she's got the body of a twelve year old boy etc etc (and how would you know what a twelve year old boy's body looks like HMMM Sarah??) In any case, I have had a long time relationship with the ravishing Miss Knightley, and although she does look rather thin these days (particularly on the red carpet), I really don't have an issue with it. Now of course, this is not to say that I condone eating disorders, because I certainly don't. I just think that Keira Knightley is one of those terribly lucky women who are naturally very thin.

Now, the reason I'm posting about Keira is A) because I neglected to write about her in my last entry and she certainly sits on my top hottest EVER list, and B) because I've had a love affair with the girl ever since the limited release of Bend it like Beckham in the US. Who could forget her kick-ass girl power, her tremendous soccer skills, and those lovely Addidas sports bras?

I sure as hell never forgot them. The curious thing about Keira, which might correspond to my slight obsession with her, is that my "girl crush" on her eventually led me to realize my Sapphic tendencies. Perhaps that's why she holds such a fond place in my heart.

And now little Keira has graduated from playing pirate and soccer to a role which truly blew me away. If you have not seen Atonement, please, go see it now. I must admit, I rather enjoy period films, as well as oggling Keira onscreen, but there is something about this film that really touched me. And yes, if you must know, I cried.

From a lesbian standpoint, the best parts of the film are when Keira climbs out of a fountain soaking wet, and you can see completely through her thin summer shift, and the absolutely delightful green silk dress she wears to dinner shortly before everything seems to go awry. Oh yes, and the scene where they fuck in the library is pretty terrific as well.

Oh yes, and for you film types, Atonement contains a 5 1/2 minute tracking shot of the beaches at Dunkirk, featuring over 1,000 extras, which was shot just once. Pretty damn impressive!

Ah, perfection. And she likes baby elephants! Kudos for Miss Knightley.

On a completely different note (one which doesn't involve beautiful women), I got new snowboarding pants today, and I can only say that they look HOT! They're the Helly Hansen Vega in Angora, just baggy enough to hang off my hips. Pair that with my Arctryx jacket, and it's a match made in heaven. (note that my jacket is a little bit darker than this one)
Ok ok one final, parting shot. And just FYI, this is the image that currently graces my background.

Kiss Kiss

2007-11-24T01:10:00.001-05:00

Kiss Kiss
Originally uploaded by stalman

found on flicker

2007-11-24T00:49:00.001-05:00

cartrip
Originally uploaded by alison_went

couldn't help but post?!

The Beginning

2007-11-24T00:34:00.000-05:00

Welcome welcome welcome my dear friends. Let the hotties begin!

I thought I'd begin my first post by reeling off a list of current favorites: lets begin with my current girlfriend, Serena Van der Woodsen. What's that you say? She's not a real person? Oh bother...

In any case, Blake Lively is one of my new favorites. Something about that smile totally gets me, and I just want to take her to Bergdorf's and buy her something pretty. Pish. If only I could afford something there! I suppose we'll just have to go to Saks...

Ya know, someone really should have a word with the writers of Gossip Girl; I bet you a dollar that their ratings would skyrocket if only Blair and Serena would confess their secret love for each other, followed by some on-screen sex worthy of The L Word.

Speaking of The L Word, who caught the Season 5 premier last Sunday evening? It was a lesbian event not to be missed! Of course, due to my devastating lack of Showtime, I had to wait a few days to view the episode. Because you know, a lesbian's not a real lesbian unless she has a Showtime subscription (guess I fail on that front).

So, Season 5! We get a glimpse of Tasha's impeccable ass toward the end, which just about made my night. Hats off to you, Rose Rollins, for having such a praise-worthy derrière! Also returning to the show was resident artist Jodi Lerner, who's putting the sexy back in sign language. I mean, come on, the woman obviously knows how to use her hands!

And of course, who could ever forget the hypnotic green jumpsuit Jodi rocked in the fourth season, the one that Bette so aggressively ripped off, before they went to town on Jodi's sculpture? Now that's pure sex.

Aslo featured in Sunday night's episode was a strip search of Helena. Shit that girl has a tight body!Basically, Helena is perfect: tight fucking body, an accent that's sexy as hell, and cash to boot. Well, I guess the cash bit isn't as true anymore, but who doesn't love a muscled broad in a prison outfit! Hands up all around!

So I've been sick the last couple days, and that has afforded me WAY too much time to watch House MD. But really, I think that's ok, if for only one reason: Dr. Cuddy aka Lisa Edelstein. Honestly, what's not to love?? The woman RUNS a hospital, bosses the King of Bossy around, holds a medical degree and still manages to look hot as hell!

Looks like she knows how to have fun too!

And with that, my friends, I need to go make myself a grilled cheese sandwich. With some naked girls in the middle. Mmm. Girls and cheese.