THOUGHTS ON IRENE

I won't lie. I don't read the news and I don't watch the weather channel and frankly the closest I come to current news is reading the trending topics on twitter.

So imagine my surprise when two days ago my fajah and family are all sorts of freaked out about this chick named Irene coming to New York. They were all like "Oh no! Are you ready for Irene??" And I was all like "Yo.. I don't even know anyone named Irene!" But then after seeing the frantic mobs at the grocery store and the sudden demand for batteries and candles I realized there was a storm coming.

Plus it was a trending topic on twitter.

I looked into it and it turns out that the general consensus on Irene is that she's a bad ass mother fucker who ain't looking to take no prisoners.

So I went to the grocery store and bought a ton of soups and ramen and various non perishables. Then I bought a couple buckets, a fistful of candles and as much redbull as I could carry. Decided that instead of hauling a few heavy cases of water up my stairs with a recovering, but still gimpy, ankle that instead I'd fill up the many empty wine bottles that have been cluttering my counter top.

(I figure with that ingenious recycling and the avoidance of plastic bottles should gain me some points with mother nature.)

So I packed my fridge full of water (wine bottles, brita containers, various tupperwear... you name it, I've filled it with water!) And put aside bathroom water and dishes water and strategically placed my candles and lighters all over the house.

Pretty much I went GI Joe on my house and went into survival crazy girl mode. I spent all night getting ready. I double taped my windows and got all my shit in order.

And then I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And the whole day went by without anything happening. I went for a walk because I was so bored. It wasn't even raining! Since my deli was still open I went and got lunch and gossiped with the neighborhood hoodlums before heading home to dwell in my boredom. It finally started raining but it's not even that bad and it's not windy at all.

I'm going to be super pissed if I got all survivalist bitch for nothing.

Anyways, I'm hoping the storm picks up tomorrow so that I at least feel justified in my preparation and boredom rather than just annoyed. Fingers crossed this storm doesn't do too much damage but double fingers crossed that it starts being more interesting.

Because right now Irene just sucks a big bag of dicks for being such a teasing bitch.

I'm told the power grid is being shut down in the morning, which will suck for technology-using and cable-watching purposes but I'm not worried. I have books to read, paintings to finish and all of my vibrators are battery powered so I know I'll still be having fun sans electricity. (Don't worry I stocked up on batteries)

If the power's still on I'll probably update y'all tomorrow but if not... talk to you after the hurricane!
Be safe and happy.
xxKK

I DONT WANT TO GO INTO DETAILS....

...but MugWug will not be appearing on this blog again. Unfortunately he chose to pursue a course of action that makes being friends with him impossible. We've had issues for a long time but he was always my brother...

...until the day he let me lie on the floor for an hour with a potentially broken ankle.

That was the day he ceased to be my brother. But there was still hope that one day we'd manage to find our friendship again. But today he chose to make an irrevocable error in judgement and he has lost me as a friend forever. He's made it impossible for me to be his friend, family or business partner.

Goodbye MugWug.
It's horrible that you threw away 4 years of friendship but if you can do that to me then I don't want to know you anymore.

xxKK

GIMPY McGIMPSTER

So I went out the other night.

Shocking news, I know. 

But I went out. 

Candi's baby sister was in town so we clearly had to get her wasted. So we went out. And we got wasted and we needed to sing out our little drunken hearts so we went downstairs to sing some karaoke. And while I was up there crooning out a mediocre version of "Use Somebody" some dumbass guy decided to mop the floor. 

Mop the floor so that when I triumphantly pranced off stage in my 6 inch heels I slipped and fell all the way down. 

Oh yes. All the way. As in I was flat on my back.

And I felt a little twinge of pain that progressively got worse but the 9 drinks I'd had helped me numb that pain. Cut to an hour later, two more drinks and a shot of jager and I was teetering my way out the door. Went to Duane Reade, got snacks and trashy magazines, went back outside and made out with a random Irish man (much better looking than Samwise) then walked Candi to 10th ave to get a cab. Then went home.

Cut to the next morning when I wake up and try to get out of bed to get some much needed water and Boom. Blinding pain. 

I find that I am completely unable to bear weight, or any slight amount of pressure, on my right foot without blinding pain. So I, being my crafty little self, manage to use the many piles of crap around my bed to get onto the floor on my knees and I half crawl, half drag myself out of the bedroom. 

Mugwugs in the living room watching TV and I lay on the floor (because it hurts so bad that I literally can't go any further) and start crying and telling him I think I broke my ankle. 

He doesn't even get off the couch.

He looks at me. Lying on the floor in agony and actually laughs. Because he thinks it's so funny. After what felt to be an hour of me lying there I finally realized there was no chance in hell that he was going to get up and help me so I asked him to at least roll me my office chair. Managed to pull myself up into it with a substantial amount of pain and roll myself closer to him. 

He shrugs off my pain and starts watching a marathon of Locked Up Abroad. 

Which isn't even that good of a show. 

And he lets me sit there for 6 hours in agony until Siobhan can get off work and come get me to take me to the hospital. And it's not like he was ignorant of the pain. I can handle a lot of pain.. I have a lot of practice with all the injuries I've had and my fairly chronic joint pain. But I was in pain. I was so in pain that I was willing to go to the doctors. Now I am not someone who likes doctors. In fact I hate them. I would rather stay in bed with a 105 degree temperature than go to a doctor. I'd rather wait three days before going to a hospital to get my fractured wrist looked at. I'd rather take an advil than go see someone about the everyday pain I have. I don't like doctors. I don't like hospitals. I don't like them. 

So when I say that I need to go to the hospital it means it's serious. It means it's bad. It means I feel so horrible that I will put aside my extreme hatred of all things doctorly to get whatever's wrong fixed. 

It means I think I've broken my ankle. 

So I tell him I need to go and I need someone to take me (hint hint) and he doesn't move. Doesn't offer to help. Says he'd put me in a cab and let me go alone. 

Dear MugWug, if I can't get into a cab alone how the hell am I supposed to get out of it and into an ER alone?? Are you really this much of an uncaring fucktard of a human being? 

So I sit there. For six hours. In pain. 

He left to get lunch and gave so much lip when I asked him to pick me up something. I shouldn't be surprised. The boy wouldn't help me and my potentially broken ankle off the floor, why wouldn't he facilitate more pain through starvation? Clearly this is not someone who gives a shit about me. 

So the very wonderful, incredible, awesome, super powered Siobhan got off of work at 4:30 and came over. She helped me out the door, down the stairs, into a cab, out of a cab, into a wheelchair, into the ER and, even though she was cutting into her very sparse free time between her jobs, she sat with me for an hour and a half while the doctors took my stats and felt my leg and she kept my mind on things other than how much my ankle hurt. And even though she had to leave before I got discharged she waited until she knew I was okay, I was going to get crutches and until the last possible second. 

So I got x-rayed and poked and prodded and the doctors asked me all sorts of wonderfully awkward questions and then I got the results. 

No break but a very serious sprain with some torn ligaments. I was told that it was good that I came in since putting any pressure on it for the next 7 days would be detrimental and would stop it from healing properly. So I have to stay off the leg for 7 days. Then gentle and gradual increments of weight can be applied. And they gave me crutches, but anyone who's had crutches will tell you... they are not fun. So when I'm at home I use my office chair to get around. It's got wheels and goes quite speedily along so it's easier. Plus I can carry things in my arms while I roll around.

Pretty much I'm a genius. 

I'm saving the crutches for when I leave the apartment... which I haven't done yet because the stairs are really tricky and my foot is still too swollen to fit into any of my shoes. (except for my bright blue wilderness slippers which Siobahn and NP and vehemently told me they'd disown me if they ever caught me wearing them in public.) 

So I've been home. For 51 hours. And I still had people over for Sunday Family Dinner yesterday (even though it had to be delivery pizza instead of home cooked goodness) which was nice but now it's just me. Me and hours and hours of Grey's Anatomy. 

Oh.. and the asshole who couldn't help me off the floor. 

So it's really fun times. 

Really. Really. Fun times. 

xxKK

TIME TO DISH ABOUT TRYSTS WITH BILLY - aka THE BOY WHO BROKE MY VAGINA

As goes the way of my life and the way of my forgetful, lazy brain I had something to tell you several weeks ago and then I totally forgot/ ceased to be a decent blogger.

I forgot to tell you about Billy the Bartender. 

Now please note that this happened a few weeks before Samwise Gamgee (who, by the way, after refusing to leave my bed, making me give him my number and ringing my doorbell unannounced and insistently like a gentle stalker, has not called me) 

So Billy works with my good friend NP. She doesn't get nearly enough coverage on this blog because frankly she is way more responsible and level headed than the rest of us. She still gets hers but she does it with way less drama. Anywho. Went to visit NP at work and spot this bartender. 

Lets get one thing straight: I love bartenders. 

You can take a decent looking guy and I'll let him by me a drink but stick him behind the bar and I will do all sorts of shameless things to get his attention. I have had my breasts pushed up to my clavicle, spilt drinks in opportune areas, left my number on a napkin... all shameless shameless devices. Because I love bartenders. (Case Study: Main Squeeze. Total douche but I was all about him for quite some time) 

I also love tattoos. 

And men who have muscles. 

And who are cute.

Bonus points if they make me laugh. 

Well Billy has tattoos.

Billy has muscles.

And Billy is cute. Short but cute. 

(and who am I to judge short... I'm barely 5'2" and I need a full sized ladder to hang curtains) 

So clearly I saw him and I set my mark. 

Now usually I try to restrain myself with my friends coworker (sometimes it doesnt work so great but I do try) But with Billy I just went for it. It was the 4th of July so I pushed my boobies up in their american flag tank top and I batted my sparkle covered eyelashes at him and I ooh-ed and ahh-ed over his tattoos. To make a long... looooong wooing story short I ended up getting in a cab with him. 

We live in the same direction so we were going to "split the cab" 

And I was disappointed but hey, I had a vibrator waiting at home. No biggie.

But then he starts kissing me and kissing me good. And his beard is scratchy but not in that annoying Samwise Gamgee sort of way but in a sexy tattooed bartender sort of way. 

So he stops and asks me if I'm going home. 

I take that in and tell him NO. I am not. I am going to his house. 

Take that world! Kitty still has a few lady balls left. Sometimes I feel like all the bits of me that were badass and fun and ballsy fell out of me somewhere between the first class I failed and graduation. But there I was telling this smoking guy that No I was not going home I was going home with him. 

So we get in his house, we fool around. Theres a lot of touching and he's very... attentive. But then I'm like okay... ready for the main event! And he's like

"No." 

so I'm like... 

"No?..." 

"Yeah... my dick doesn't get hard when I'm drunk." 

Just like that. So cavalier. No shame. Just... my dick doesn't get hard. Like it's a totally okay fact. Most men would meet that fact with embarrassment or a sense of failure but this kid just dives back into his other means of satisfaction. Which was nice for a while. 

But then his beard started to really scratch my... more sensitive areas... so I make the executive decision that I'm drunk and have had enough so I'm leaving. 

But no... he wants to cuddle in bed and talk about our lives and where we are and what we want to do and his cats (did I mention the cats? They live under his bed and they smell like poo.) Honestly what is up with these men lately? I'm not prepared for men who have long conversations in bed and want to cuddle and sleep over. 

In the talks he very casually slips in that he's green card married, he wants to move to Aruba with his cats and he sometimes has sex with men. 

Now I'm not judging any of that information but it's a little heavy for a one night stand... And it's a little heavy for naked cuddling chit chat. And it's a little more information then I really wanted to know since... you know... it's.. well... awkward. 

Anyways, he did not feel the same way. He thought it was great that we were sharing our deep dark secrets and it gave him a second wind. 

A second very forceful wind. 

He was still unable to.. you know... but he went at it with other means and I was like okay.. but I'm sort of tired. But he still keeps going and then it gets like... a lot rougher. And I don't know if he's also partially deaf or if he thought my "OW"s were "Ohhhhh"s but I ended up having to fake a very loud orgasm (Sorry Billy's Roommates) to get him to stop. Then, pleased with himself, he asked me to sleep over. 

Okay... 

Or at least it was okay until I woke up the next morning: he seemed to have very little recollection of who I was and was covered in my glitter, I seemed to need to throw up and it was about 10 mins post wake up that I was redressed and excusing myself so I could throw up with grace and dignity in my own apartment. 

Get home, Vom, so much advil and more vomming. But then I realize that while the advil has made my hangover headache go away it has done nothing for the throbbing coming from my lady parts. Then I make the mistake of trying to pee.

So much pain. I didn't know that someone could manually break a vagina until Billy broke my vagina. I literally laid on my couch with an icepack strapped to my crotch for 2 days. I could barely walk and it was very uncomfortable. But hey... in hindsight it was funny. When I picture myself, begging MugWug to go buy me Jamba Juice with an icepack strapped to my vj with ace bandages I have to laugh. It was a pathetic and ridiculous sight. And it was a pathetic and ridiculous night. 

So thank you Billy, for giving me a great story and trying your very best to make me happy but I think what would make me happier is to find a tattooed bartender who wasn't green card married, wasn't moving away in a month, preferably didn't occasionally have sex with men (because I don't like the competition, not because I have an issue with bisexuality.. or any sexuality) and who wanted to wake up to me every morning.. not just the hungover ones. Who wanted to go on dates and get to know me and won't break my vagina. 

And who doesn't have cats. 

One Kat is all a relationship can handle. 

xxKK

INTO THE FIRES OF MORDOR

So as my life goes as soon as I start complaining on the interwebs about how I'm lacking in a particular area of life BOOM interweb jesus decides to fix it for me. Which then makes me look very hypocritical and flaky but whatever. So in my typically ironic life as soon as I'd finished typing about my boring sexless life I got laid.

Me and Shiv were out and it was a fairly quiet night but we were hanging with this Irish boy (very very adorable and cute but I'll let Shiv name him since... well... that comes later in the story)

Anyways we're hanging out with the boy at our favorite late night Karaoke spot, singing a little Britney, drinking a bit of Magners. The usual. And I pop off to the bathroom and come back to a very very cozy looking Shiv and boy.

So I detour to the bar where I am stopped by another Irish man. This one is shorter in both height and attractivity (yes I know that's not a real word) than Shiv's but he's Irish and I'm a sucker for an accent. He asks if he can buy me a drink. Clearly I'd just bought myself one so.. no. Then we talk about my two friends who are now sucking face on the dance floor.

Then I signed out my tab (since it was 4am and the bar was closing) and leave. Shiv and boy come with. As does other Irish man. Lets call him... Sam.

So I say goodnight to Shiv and boy and start to head home before Sam pulls me aside. We kiss a bit and he invites himself home. Now I hadn't had enough to drink to be slutty enough to go without some convincing but when he made it clear he wasn't leaving I was like, eh, what the hell. Might as well.

So I take him home. And the entire three block walk from the bar to my house he complains about how far it is and every third of a block he, quite roughly, pulls me aside and starts to kiss me.

See... usually a little force would be a turn on but like... it was a bit much. And a little annoying. And frankly a little more forceful that I would like. To the point that I started to regret the decision before I'd even gotten him home.

So just as a precaution in case he tried to murder me post sex I texted Siobhan he was a potential killer so she should maybe call the cops if she didn't hear from me in a few hours and told Sam that I had two roommates who would be home at any moment (total lie. only have MugWug and he was in Cali for the weekend) so he better be nice and quiet (and please not kill me)

Anyways I get him into my house and I was sort of expecting something great... like.. he was so freaking pushy on the street I expected him to be controlling and manly and sexy in bed but... no. He was decent but he was not well endowed and not much of anything. Like don't make me think you might be a killer if you cant even get me off.

Okay that sounds bad. Like I might have my priorities a little screwed up. But hey.. I'm just saying follow through!

Anyways the kissing was bad, the sex was meh but everything else was nice. He had the accent and he didn't care that my room looks like a laundry bomb went off in it and he was quite happy to make up for his sexual shortcomings with a little manual labor, which I appreciated. And he was adventurous. Like I haven't ever had sex in my own NY apartment before and with Sam I had sex all over my apartment. I definitely made up for two years of sexless habitats.

You might be wondering where the title of this post comes from. Mordor and sex? Since when are the Lord of the Rings a sexual thing? (Well... when Legolas or Aragon are speaking or on screen it was pretty sexual for me but I have a thing for glorious manlocks and men who fight with swords on horseback.)
Okay.. enough of the side track.
In the middle of my (mediocre) bang I couldn't help but equate my irish lover to a hobbit. He was sweet but short and skinny and irish and seemed a little clueless about what he wanted. But he wasn't as cute as Merry or as funny as Pippin. He definitely wasn't the main event like Frodo so I guess he was like... Sam. Samwise Gamgee.
Sweet but annoying. Not the hottest. Not the ugliest either. Just... Sam.

Anyways, in the morning (and yes he was still here in the morning) we did a little more making out and he gave me some glorious back rubs* but then he like... wouldn't leave. Like at all. He was glued to my side. And I was like.. wow. You really are Samwise Gamgee. What next? Am I going to run away from you in a boat but have to go back because you almost drown trying to swim after me when you can't swim?? Are you going to start stalking me and claim Gandolf told you to watch over me? Am I going to start wanting to hang out with Gollum instead of you?

Like give a girl a break.  I need a little space here, stranger!

No man should ever overstay his welcome and I would have been perfectly happy if he'd left the night before. But he lives in the Shire, I mean, Queens. So that would have been a long trek from Hell's Kitchen so I was fine for him to spend the night. But then get up and leave in the morning. Or get up, have sex again and then leave.

DONT stay in my bed until 2:30pm when I literally have told you I need to go somewhere for an HOUR. Have some dignity man. Pick up those little hairy hobbit balls, that have clearly fallen off, and get out of my bed!

Anyways. Sam was annoying. He made me give him my number before he left so I might have to dodge some phone calls but I doubt he'll make a repeat appearance. Especially since he gave me stubble burn. His stubble was so hard and rough and he kept rubbing his face on mine like a deranged cat so I literally have a rash on my face from him.**

Thanks for the memories, Sam, but I think I'll be jumping into the fires of Mordor before I let you talk me into taking you home again. Oh and thanks for not turning out to be a killer.

Yours,
Kitty.


*which gain him mad points because I can forgive a lot for a good back rub. Back rubs are orgasms for your skin.
** However, skin orgasms are quickly counteracted by skin rashes and stubble burn. So I retake those mad points and give them back to myself. Because I'm awesome and clearly deserve them. Meow.

IN COMPLETELY UNRELATED NEWS...

I just got the most amazing Mac n Cheese delivered to me. I fucking love this city.

CONVERSATIONS WITH THE ENEMY

So a while back PBA missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime...

By which I mean having sex with me.

But c'est la vie. Life goes on. Sexless and boring but it goes on.

Anyways when he blew off in NYC to run around and be boring with other people I decided it was the last  straw. After I realized that for the one millionth time he would NOT be following through on his promises of great sex and days spent in beds with handcuffs and soft sheets and lovely lovely dirty things, after that I decided that it was time to cut off PBA. No more Mr. I-really-would-love-to-see-you-and-do-dirty-things-to-you-but-WHOOPS-too-lazy-or-stupid-or-"busy"- to-actually-see-you-and-do-dirty-things

Sorry. That was an over use of the dash.

But seriously. For YEARS now he and I have been talking and talking and talking and I am tired of talking so I cut him off. No more sexy skype sessions, no more empty promises. No More.

So why did I just spend an hour talking to him on facebook? After months of being wary and careful and staying off of the skype when drunk and horny he pops up on facebook chat.

"hey sexy"

Oh no. Oh no... in two words I went from getting on with my own life to being sucked right back in.

Sucked back into sexy talk and promises of what we're gonna get up to when he stops over in NY on his way to LA. How we're gonna tear it up next summer all sexy and wonderful.

Now before you go and get all "you're an idiot Kitty!" just know that I let him make all the plans. I didn't agree to any of them and I didnt add to any of them. I just didn't say no either... And you don't have to tell me I'm an idiot. I already know.

So now we've had one conversation which could either lead to more... and that might be bad. Or it could lead to no more... which could also be bad because I might get all girly and emotional about him not talking to me.

I hate when that happens.

Anyways. I have been holding on to so many stories to tell you guys because I'm lazy and stupid. But I thought I'd get on and rant a bit about PBA. More stories later. If I can stop being lazy and stupid.

xxKK