Vibrations of a Vixen

…stories from under the sheets…

If it weren’t for me, there would be no you. February 14, 2010

Filed under: love — vixations @ 2:18 pm

I couldn’t sleep last night. I was on my left side. I was on my back. I rolled over to my stomach. I put my pillow on the other end of the bed and tried being upside down.

I was battling with the tick tick ticking of the societal clock. The MAKE A LOT OF MONEY! GET MARRIED! HAVE KIDS! dilemma. Suddenly, my girl-radar went off. The alarm inside my brain went WAKE THE FUCK UP. It’s Valentine’s Day!

Of course. The one day of the year where society forces us to do one of two things:

A. Celebrate our love for and with our significant other.

B. Wallow in the sorrow of being lonely, cold, and worthless.

Those of us who fall into category B are generally caught up in all the things we don’t have. Sometimes, we’re not in love, but feel like we should be because seemingly everyone else is. Sometimes, we are in love, and the one we love isn’t in love with us back. Sometimes we are in love with the one who loves us back but are too scared to leap into the vortex of emotion. We’re too scared to feel heartbreak. To this, I ask when did this day become a big love-fest for those who are in romantic relationships and an even bigger FML-fest for those who aren’t? Why are we so stuck on all the things we are missing in our lives? We choose our attitude. We choose our happiness. We choose to focus on the people we DO love, even if they are not ‘significant others.’ I have a billion significant others. They are my family. My friends. My roommate’s puppy. I say, they are all significant. To me. And the ‘one’ that I’m missing only exists because I make him exist in my mind. If I didn’t fantasize about the tall, funny, spontaneous, awkward, intelligent goof-ball that I will *someday* fall in love with, he wouldn’t be real. In fact, he’s not real. Not yet. And there’s no reason to fucking worry about him so much.

Today, I woke up at 8:30 am to a glass of pink champagne. I woke up to a hug, a Hallmark card, and a big fatty breakfast. With bacon. Lots of bacon. I woke up to the blasting anthem of our friend Brandy to Live Hard, but Love Harder.

I woke up remembering that there is nothing in this world that is better than love. But there are things that come close. Like pink champagne. And bacon.

 

Addiction: (n) December 20, 2009

Filed under: love,sex — vixations @ 12:23 am

“The state of being enslaved to a habit or practice or to something that is psychologically or physically habit-forming, as narcotics, to such an extent that its cessation causes severe trauma.”

I love this definition, mostly because I love the word ‘enslaved,’ mostly because that’s exactly what I am.

It’s interesting that addiction is always associated with drugs, and I understand that it’s because drugs are actually physically addictive, but I believe there are many other things out there equally addictive that don’t involve putting something into your vein or up your nose, but rather in your vagina.

There is such a thing as sexual addiction, and I know that because I saw the movie ‘Choke.’ Just kidding. There’s really a Sex Addicts Anonymous club out there, and people really use it. I personally don’t see why anyone would join, unless they’re not getting enough sex to fuel their addiction, in which case they probably want to meet people in their Sex Addicts club to have sex with.

I, on the other hand, don’t have a problem getting what I want, in more ways than one. I want to be clear on this: there’s a difference between working hard to get what you really want, and being spoiled. I am lucky enough to have been blessed with a mix of both because I have a great work ethic and I’m an only child. I also happen to have an attractive mother, so boys generally don’t have a problem with sleeping with me.

The boy I’m addicted to is the boy I’m in love with, who is also one of my soul mates (there are definitely more than one). To me, addiction is when you continue to do something or be somewhere or put something in your mouth even when you know how bad it is for you. You tell yourself before the day begins that you are not going to have anything to do with your addiction, but as soon as the thought crosses your mind later that day, you justify it and you convince yourself that it’s no big deal, and that THIS TIME you’re not just using your addiction to get your fix.

I say that boys ‘generally’ don’t have a problem with sleeping with me because there’s one in particular who does. It’s the one I’m in love with. And the reason he has a problem with it is because he’s addicted too. The second he texts me, my heart jumps. The minute we touch, our bodies get hot with desire.

No, this isn’t a trashy romance novel. It’s just the truth.

When he’s inside me, it’s hands down the best feeling in the entire world. It’s even better than drinking peppermint hot chocolate by the fire or sipping red wine with fancy cheese or getting a massage at the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean. Okay, I’ve never experienced that last one, but I’m pretty sure his penis feels better than that. The only thing that’s better than him inside me, is him inside me after smoking a joint.

And that’s exactly what we do, and it’s exactly what fuels our addiction.

There’s the other part too, the part where we talk to each other about everything and share the same dreams and are in love with the same things. But at our age, the sex is more important than words because neither of us wants to think about how insanely awesome we would be if we ever actually got together, or the day we realize that we really can’t live without one another.

We’ve been through a lot together, from his painful breakup with a girl, to my annoying breakdown on the ride to Coachella. We’ve had sex in the hot tub, the car outside of LAX, the floor of his bathroom, and the stairwell of my apartment, to name a few. He wrote me a song about that time with the stairs and the Flip camera and the security camera, but never shared it with me until last night. He’s bad at exposing his true feelings, so he uses lyrics to get them across to me. And I don’t have a problem with it.

I also don’t have a problem going to bed at 3am and waking up with him at 5:30am when he has to leave for work. Because I’m addicted. And you can’t fight the addiction.

 

The Truth About Being Skinny December 3, 2009

Filed under: love,sex — vixations @ 5:21 am

Living in Los Angeles comes with its perks (warm weather, beach, sexy men) and its pitfalls (Hollywood, celebrity drama, being far away from home), but one thing I was not expecting after living in New York City is the immense pressure to be thin. I assumed that after living in the fashion capital of America and seeing the emaciated models walking around all the time (freezing their asses off because they have 0% body fat), I would have definitely felt like throwing up everything I ate. Fortunately (or unfortunately?), I love food way too much to see it all mashed up in the toilet.

Coming to L.A., however, has made me want to be thin more than ever. The difference between skinny people in New York and skinny people in L.A. is that the skinny people in New York don’t TALK about being skinny. They just don’t eat and drink like two vodka sodas and end up on the ground somewhere. In L.A., everyone is talking about what they didn’t eat last night, and hold the bread on that sandwich, and vodka on the rocks please because I need to lose 5 pounds by Friday for that premiere I’m going to with the lyricist for Justin Timberlake. When I show up at a club in Hollywood (approximately once every six months), I literally want to cry in the bathroom. And last time I went to Playhouse, I actually did.

After about three tears, I realized that I didn’t want my ass to look like a 12 year old boy’s. I realized that WANTED to have to wear a bra because my boobs are more than just mosquito bites. And I want men to have something more than bones to grab on to when they do me from behind. And I want to be able to indulge in booze and fried food.

The truth is, I want to lose 8 pounds. And I want my arms to not jiggle when I raise them in the air. And I want my thighs not to touch. And I want to be toned and lean and comfortable being on top with my shirt off.

But the real truth is, I want to be more than a pretty, skinny, petty Hollywood bitch. I want a man to be attracted to me for my charm and my lips, not my designer clothes that fall off my body because I have no shape. I want a man to drown in my curves and to kiss every inch of my soft skin after a dinner of fine wine, a bite of everything on the menu, and a chocolately, warm, gooey dessert.

Since my genes won’t allow me to eat what I want and NOT work out for at least an hour a day, I’ll have to settle for my 5′ 7″ 143 pound frame. Or I’ll have to find someone to have sex with me for an hour each night since I HATE the gym. Takers?