Vibrations of a Vixen

…stories from under the sheets…

How My Hamster Saved My Sex Life February 8, 2010

Filed under: rants,relationships,sex — vixations @ 12:30 pm

I never really made a set ‘list’ of things I always wanted in a man, but it has occurred to me that there are a few VERY important qualities/habits that I simply cannot tolerate. I refuse to sleep with/date a man who:

1. doesn’t drink

2. is addicted to cigarettes

3. has pants that are smaller than mine

4. can’t laugh at himself

Recently, I added another quality to the list. The quality is two-fold. And it involves my pet hamster.

Your what? Yes. I have a pet hamster.

I have a thing about pets. Whenever I move to a new city, I have to get something to take care of. Nothing crazy like a cat or a puppy. I usually get something easy, like a fish. That way if I forget about it, or go away for a few days, or someone pours beer in the tank, it won’t die (for the most part).

Moving to California was no different. The second I finished moving in, I went to Petco. I had every intention of buying a goldfish. Instead, I walked out, 30 minutes later, with a baby hamster, a wire cage, and all these stupid toys and treats for the thing. When I say ‘stupid toys’ I mean things like a purple piece of plastic that looks exactly like a miniature version of the carriage that Cinderella took to the ball. Most people think the hamster is weird, and in turn think I’m TOTALLY weird/crazy for keeping a small rodent in my room. Other people (like me) think she’s wicked cute and don’t mind having her around.

After a year and a half, I’ve noticed that it’s usually women, often accused of being pussies about everything, who like her the most. It’s the men, on the other hand, who actually shriek when I take her out of her cage. She is brown and furry and weighs less than a pound. Also her name is Pancake. Who’s the pussy now, bitches?

So there’s one part of fifth quality that I won’t tolerate in a man. It’s one thing if you get a little freaked out when you see my mini nugget made of fur, but it’s quite another if you refuse to touch her, and actually have to LEAVE THE ROOM whenever she’s out of her cage. Believe it or not, I have met men of this caliber of pussyness. And these men are not for me.

Here’s the other part: Rodents are nocturnal, so Pancake likes to do annoying things like run in her wheel, eat an entire bowl of food, and chew on her wire cage in the middle of the night. I, like most 20-somethings, have fought on the insomnia-battlefield, but for the most part I am able to stay asleep once I actually fall asleep, so the hamster’s nocturnal noises don’t usually bother me. Apparently, some guys are extremely bothered by it. Like the one who after spending the night in my room proclaimed that he just had THE WORST SLEEP HE’S EVER HAD IN HIS LIFE EVER AND THAT PANCAKE SHOULD DIE. Or the one who climbed over me in the middle of the night so he could be furthest away from her cage. Or the one who had to stare at her in her cage for 20 minutes, saying over and over, ‘YOU have a HAMSTER??’ Yes, idiot. I have a hamster. You’re looking at her. She’s not going anywhere.

Let me add that all these men were strangely shitty in bed. In different ways. One had a pencil dick. One couldn’t stay completely hard. One kissed like a dead fish. If asked, they might argue that their less-than-awesome bedroom skills have nothing to do with their hate/fear of rodents. I say there is a direct correlation. If you’re a light sleeper, you can’t sleep in my bed. If you are THAT afraid of rodents, you should probably jump off a cliff. And if you don’t get along with Pancake for whatever reason, you don’t get along with my vagina. The end.

Listening to: Best of Bootie 2009 Mashups

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Addiction: Round 2 January 12, 2010

Filed under: ramblings,relationships — vixations @ 1:01 pm

(Disclaimer: This is about as personal as it gets.)

I am concerned with my addiction. Yes, I know that addictions are always something to be concerned about. But I’m really good at blocking things out, especially when I’m worried about them. Like the gang bang. And the hot-tub-partner-swap. And the summer of 2005.

I am more concerned now, though, than ever. I assumed it was a crush. Okay, a crush with great sex. Okay, okay, a crush with great sex and great conversation. But after reading Jamie’s post on crushes, and actually thinking about this delicate anatomy, I am concerned that my crush is much more than that, and it totally freaks me out. Of course I hold my breath after texting him, counting the minutes before he texts me back. Of course I fantasize about what I would do to him if we were left alone locked away in a dark room. Of course I worry about any other girls crushing on him and figure out ways to make myself the best option he could possibly have. These are normal crushing behaviors that every girl has. These are the things that make crushing fun, and also obnoxious.

But then there are the other things. The things that may not be normal. The middle-of-the-nights when I wake up before the sun, roll over seeking his arm to hold or cheek to kiss, and am surprised when he’s not there next to me. The days when I’m at the grocery store and I buy things that aren’t on my list because I know he likes them. The times when I find myself thinking for two, not just about where I want to go or what I want to do or who I want to be in ten years, but about what he might want too.

And then I bang my head against the wall for being so completely unselfish in the time of my life where I am actually allowed to and should be the most selfish ever. And I think about the real reason for these unselfish tendencies. Am I simply being unselfish because I am an unselfish person? Hell no. I am one of the most selfish people I know. Am I being unselfish because I am in love? Because I know exactly how he takes his coffee? Because even after an entire night of sitting at the same bar talking not to each other, but to other members of the opposite sex, we still end up entangled in each other’s arms at the end of the night? Because he’s the one person that knows how hold me and how to keep me asleep for an entire night and how to handle my crazy? Because I can’t live without him?

Holy effing balls. I hope not.

As much as my heart tells me I want all that, my head tells me over and over that I’m not ready for that. Usually, my solution is to just not think about it. Block it all out and let whatever happens happen. Days and weeks and months go by. We spend hours on top of hours together. Things are great. I stop worrying. But then it happens. He stops answering my texts and calls. I convince myself that I’ve failed. I cry. I send him an email asking what happened and what did I do and why are you treating me like this?? And he says because he can’t do it anymore. Because he’s becoming too attached. Because it’s too good and why did we have to meet so young?

And so my only logical solution to this is to keep busy. Think for only one, not two. Make time for other people. Don’t fall into the whirlwind of lips and hips and fingertips. Pray that I’ll find someone else to fill my thoughts and fantasies. Hope that person isn’t as crazy as I am and knows how to handle temptation and make decisions with the head, not with the heart (or genitals…). Don’t question whether or not that person exists. He does. And he’s praying for me (and you), too.

 

The Toothbrush Dilemma December 12, 2009

Filed under: dating,relationships — vixations @ 4:57 am

I usually called him when I was bored, but only after calling a few other people. He wasn’t that nice to me, and why would I hang out with someone who’s anything but sweet and genuine and smiley and has a big penis? Yea, I don’t know.

He usually called me when he wanted to go to a movie or when he wanted someone around to make fun of. We had that sexual chemistry from the start, but he was uncircumsized and I just have to say, for all you ladies who have never experienced that, it’s very different. Not necessarily bad, but nothing I was used to after having amazing sex for a year with a guy that I’m in love with.

Despite his fleshy penis, we decided to forego that condom after getting tested for STDs, and it started to get better.

One night after work, we went to dinner at Animal and actually listened to each other talk after a bottle and a half of wine. Then we stumbled back to his house, smoked a bowl, and had hands down the best sex we ever had.

Then I went home for a week and a half to celebrate Thanksgiving and spend time with all the boys I grew to love between middle school and now. He sent me a few playful texts telling me about stroking his cock and how good my wet pussy feels. I wish I had an ‘erotic texts’ folder in my phone where I could save all those fun conversations.

I texted him to tell him about the night I squirted, but didn’t tell him that I had any help.

Friday night he texted me late after work, and I didn’t respond for a few hours. ‘You cheating on me?’ he said.

Uhh, what?

‘You’re my wife now,’ he said.

‘I guess I missed the wedding.’

‘Wanna come over?’

Wtf is going on.

‘Yea, but I’m really tired.’

‘Me too. It was at Animal!’

‘What?’

‘The wedding!’

‘Oh. And then we consummated the marriage.’

‘Twice.’

Right.

I tried not to think anything of it. We met for lunch the next day, and after four mimosas he brought it up again.

‘So what were you doing last night?’

The truth is I was sleeping. But instead of telling him that, I didn’t say anything and looked out the window. I wanted to see how he would react. Why was he even asking me this? He doesn’t care about me.

‘I can tell that you’ve been with other people. I don’t want to have to worry about that. I just don’t do that.’

Well, if we’re not in a relationship, then what does it matter what I’m doing with other people??

I told him about the guy I gave a blow job to over Thanksgiving, but I didn’t tell him about the Brazilian or the guy I’m in love with. He doesn’t need to know. Plus I made the Brazilian get tested and he’s clean (thank the lord… I wouldn’t want to have to explain any of that to a guy that I’m having unprotected sex with).

‘You can do whatever you want, but if you want to hook up with other people then I’m not going to hook up with you.’

I’m so confused. This whole time he was telling me he’s been in so many relationships and the last thing he wants is a relationship, but if we’re only dating each other and only sleeping with each other, then what does that make this?

That night, I got dressed up to go out to a birthday party in Hollywood. I looked hot, because, hey, you never know who you might meet. After a couple hours at the bar, I realized that I wasn’t trying to look hot for any of these boys. I was trying to look hot for him. I wanted him to think I looked pretty. And I wanted him to kiss me. I left the bar early and went to his place. We smoked a bowl, drank some Pinot, and I told him that if he didn’t want me to sleep with anyone else then I wouldn’t sleep with anyone else.

We spent the rest of the weekend at his place lounging, cooking, sleeping, watching movies, and doing other Sunday things. But after brushing my teeth with my finger three times in a row, I asked to use his toothbrush before bed.

‘Of course, babe, you know where it is.’

I went into the bathroom.

‘We’re going to need to get you a toothbrush to keep here.’

Fuck. What am I getting myself into???

 

Do You Have Five Bucks? November 23, 2009

Filed under: dating,relationships — vixations @ 11:27 pm
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I have a part time job at this restaurant where blonde 40-something women with fat lips and fake titties come in to spend their husbands’ money and talk about the new face cream they bought yesterday. The place gets clients like The Governator, Jamie Lee Curtis, and that skinny girl that was in Knocked Up and Funny People. Most of the time my plastered-on smile rewards me with good tips, but not much else.

One Saturday morning I made small talk with an older, scruffy guy who called the restaurant ten minutes after he left to get my phone number. After a few weeks of playful texting, he asked to take me out. A short ride in his brand new Audi left me a bit concerned, and by the time we got to the sushi restaurant on Abbott Kinney, I didn’t know how many glasses of wine it would take to make his brash nature tolerable. The second he got out of the car he started smoking a cigarette and blowing it in my face, not on purpose of course. As I learn the rules of dating, I also learn what I just cannot fucking handle at all, and cigarette smokers are number one on my no-no list. Great.

The hostess didn’t really want to seat us at a table without a reservation, but Mr. Pompous Asshole insisted we sit at a large table in the back. As soon as the menus were placed in front of us, he took the drink list down and put it at the end of the table. The hostess took it away, thinking we didn’t want drinks at all. Maybe he had a plan for what we were drinking? That’s romantic. Oops no, spoke too soon. He’s having scotch on the rocks. I’m having a LARGE glass of Cabernet please. Maybe two glasses. Also a glass of Pinot Grigio. Thank you very much.

Our conversation was lame and forced, but he kept laughing and talking with his hands and asking if pieces of my face were really there. ‘Are those your real eyelashes?? They’re incredible!’ and ‘You have really great lips,’ and ‘Why don’t you part your hair on this side?’ Yes, he actually touched my hair from across the table, insisting he was ‘an amazing hair dresser.’ I thought he worked in real estate.

And so we started to get drunk and he started making racist comments and spilling his bottled sparkling water all over me.

When the server asked if we’d like any dessert and ‘you can take half to go if you want,’ he brushed her off saying, ‘I don’t take things to go.’ Jeez. We finally finished, he paid the bill, and we went to get the car from the valet. ‘Oh, I don’t have any cash,’ he says. ‘Do you have five bucks?’

Umm, NO, I don’t have five bucks, and I wouldn’t give it to you even if I did because who parks valet knowing they don’t have any money to pay for it??? And we could have parked at the meter across the street for free but you are clearly too lazy to walk that far. So he paid for the valet in quarters. Five dollars worth of quarters. No tip of course.

Is this really what the dating scene has in store for me? Will I start to develop an alcohol problem as a result? At least times like these make for good stories. I will continue to date sleezy old racists if for no other reason than to have funny stories for you!