The Hedonistic Pleasureseeker

hi, cum to Florida?… everyone else from Jersey is here?

- Some Guy

Never answer an online dating message in which your potential suitor spells come as “cum.”

“Look at us! This is where we ended our very first date, remember? I was brave enough to come to your house.” I laughed. “I actually trusted you.”

Scorpio laughed. “I haven’t been in this thing for years.” I was amazed we were able to get into the hammock without spilling the wine.

We settled in for a beautiful sunset over Scorpio’s lake. “So anyway, like I was saying I’m cutting down on my communications costs,” I said. “I’m getting rid of Verizon. They’re too expensive, plus they’re a bunch of spies. I hate them. I’ll spend the money I save on, well, I’ll spend it on gas, I guess.”

Scorpio took a sip of his wine. “I was thinking about getting rid of my land line too,” he said. “I don’t really need it.”

“I was thinking about getting a laptop. Maybe it will help me get out more. All I ever do is homework and blog. I have no life. I mean, at least with a laptop I could do my homework someplace interesting, like the beach or Starbucks or something. Maybe meet some new people for a change.”

“Uh huh.”

I sighed, and we rocked in silence for a moment. I knew it was a copout to blame my classes for my lack of a social life. I had stopped taking the Zoloft and was as painfully shy as I’d always been. The very thought of putting my dating profile online again exhausted me: I hated meeting complete strangers after work, after dark, at one watering hole after another after another after another. Unfortunately I knew it was the only way I’d ever meet anyone outside my present social circle, which was embarrassingly small, and mostly married.

“Maybe I just need to get out more.”

He didn’t say anything.

I almost regretted saying it. I was jealous of Scorpio: He was having another blast of a summer at his shore home, socializing with his new friends and dating other women, while I, too financially constrained to engage in any but the most mundane local activities, and too shy to put myself on display anyway, stayed at home with my nose in a book. My stolen moments with Scorpio during the week were the only sex life I’d had for over a year.

I backed things up a bit. “Maybe I’ll buy a Mac this time.” In a year or two. When I can afford it.

“Hm.”

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?

“What?”

I laughed. “You’re just laying there looking at my tits, aren’t you?”

He laughed. “Well you’re putting them in my face, what do you expect?”

I adjusted myself, settling into the crook of his arm, my head on his shoulder, trying not to rock the hammock and spill his wine. Here we were in the same hammock we rocked in on our first date. It’s as if we’ve gone full circle. Five years later and here we are.

“They’re beautiful. How can I not stare?”

I could just get up and go right now, and it would be almost . . . poetic.

“They’re like kryptonite to me, you know that, don’t you?”

But I’m so comfortable. I buried my nose into his armpit and breathed deeply.

He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”

He smells so good. Damn it.

It was getting dark, and the mosquitoes had made their appearance, but I didn’t say anything. We both took deep breaths and rocked. Finally he spoke up. “Want to go inside? I murmered an affirmative and swung my feet over the side of the hammock, then held his glass while he did the same. We took each other’s hands as we walked up the hill to his house.

Just one more time.

So many midpoints, so little patience. I’m half way through my summer classes: Midterm tests and papers are complete, and I’m gearing up final tests and papers. I will never take TWO summer classes at the same time again! By August I shall be free, but for now I don’t have much time for anything except homework.

Bunny didn’t get the summer job that she wanted, so she’s making money doing extra work around the house. It’s cut my own housework burden in half! Now if only I didn’t STILL have to scream at her to get her to do it.

I am half way to my weight goal. I’m enjoying my cardio very much these days. I love breaking a sweat because - and I know this probably seems weird - it gives me flashbacks of my nights at the burlesque. The dance bug may be biting me again soon, and I can’t wait until August to find out!

Half of me wants to start dating again and half of me doesn’t. Andrew has been calling; he wants me to fly out to Hollyweird to see him again and has offered to cover all my expenses. I enjoy his company (in measured doses) and it seeing him would more than make up for my Summer Sex deficit, BUT. I’m really starting to wonder about the man: I think he may actually be a sex addict, and by that I mean more than the typical man: I mean NOT in a happy kind of way, but in an anxious and seeking relief via constant, rapid-release sex way. I’m anxious enough these days without adding THAT to my vibe. I want a man to DOUBLE my pleasure, not cut it in half!

Coming soon! Sweet Revenge in the form of an IMF led investigation of the Federal Reserve Bank.

If you’re not reading international newspapers in addition to your more mainstream local fare, I guarantee you have NO idea what’s going on in America. The United States doesn’t have reporters; it has court stenographers. We haven’t had a free press since World War II. To find out what’s really happening, you need to see what foreigners are saying about us, and then take heed.

WEST WING

The Shrinking Influence of the US Federal Reserve

By Gabor Steingart in Washington

Humiliation for Mr. Dollar: Ben Bernanke, the chairman of the United States Federal Reserve Bank, faces a general investigation by the International Monetary Fund. Just one more example of the Fed losing its power . . .

. . . For seven years, U.S. President George W. Bush refused to allow the IMF to conduct its assessment. Even now, he has only given the IMF board his consent under one important condition. The review can begin in Bush’s last year in office, but it may not be completed until he has left the White HOuse. This is bad news for the Fed Chairman.

(more)

If I were Ben Bernake I’d just step down now and let some other douchebag take the fall. Bernake didn’t start this quiet war on the American public. He joined late in the game and was given his orders, and he’s been a good soldier for the Reich. Unfortunately for him, however, he’ll be the one left holding the bag when the whole mess is documented and finally presented to the world.

“Words are all we have, really. We have thoughts, but thoughts are fluid. And then we assign a word to a thought, and then we’re stuck with a word for that thought, so be careful with words.”

- George Carlin

Sepinwall on TV: George Carlin, 1937-2008: A man of many words

by Alan Sepinwall/The Star-Ledger

Monday June 23, 2008, 2:36 PM

Twelve hours after comedian George Carlin died Sunday of heart failure in a Los Angeles hospital, a Google search of recently-updated pages to feature the phrases “George Carlin” and “passed away” drew more than 6,000 hits. If there’s an afterlife and Carlin is up there looking down at us, he’d be . . . well, first, he’d be surprised . . .

(more)

(I don’t have my pre-Zoloft body back yet, but I’m about half way there)

It’s been a rough few days for me, and I’m baffled.

I have Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD) and Premenstrual Dysphoria Disorder (PMDD), so one would think I’d be super upbeat and happy this week. It’s the height of summer, and I just got my period, so why do I just want to curl up into a little ball and cry? I don’t get it.

Or, maybe I do get it. I’m lonely, DUH. My schizoid tendencies, combined with a heavy college course load, make the Hedonistic Pleasureseeker a dull, dull, DULL girl. It’s summer and I have nobody to play with. My sex life is sporadic at best and my love life is nonexistent. By choice, mind you. By choice. I think. Maybe not. I’m confused.

I’ve put myself back on the Wellbutrin to kick my initiative in the pants. I REALLY don’t want to experience the adverse side effects of Zoloft again, and so long as I’m not thinking about offing myself I don’t believe I need to. There are other things I want to try first, such as aerobic exercise, and wake therapy, both of which have been proven to have a positive effect on mood.

I have so much school work that Wake Therapy is going to come in handy. It’s 4:00 am, so I might as begin now.

(A 2007 screen shot from Bear Stearn’s Rich Marin’s blog, cached and posted on the Dealbreaker)

“Operation Malicious Mortgage” Arrests 406 in Mortgage Fraud Scandal

Atlanta, GA 6/19/2008 11:22 PM GMT (TransWorldNews)

“Operation Malicious Mortgage”, a sting by the Justice Department, arrested and charged more than 400 people, including 50 the previous day, for mortgage fraud on Thursday.

The operation initiative involves 144 cases and 406 defendants across the country, according to the Department of Justice report Thursday.

“Operation Malicious Mortgage”, a three-month sting operation relating to cases of mortgage fraud, helped to arrest 406 people who collectively cost victims an estimated $1 billion.

Brokers threatened by run on shadow bank system

Regulators eye $10 trillion market that boomed outside traditional banking

By Alistair Barr, MarketWatch

Last update: 6:29 p.m. EDT June 19, 2008

Comments: 17

SAN FRANCISCO (MarketWatch) — A network of lenders, brokers and opaque financing vehicles outside traditional banking that ballooned during the bull market now is under siege as regulators threaten a crackdown on the so-called shadow banking system.

UBS Helped Clients Hide $20 Billion, Birkenfeld Says (Update1)

By David Voreacos and Carlyn Kolker

June 19 (Bloomberg) — The private banking unit of UBS AG, the Swiss bank, engaged in a variety of schemes to help wealthy U.S. clients conceal $20 billion in assets and evade income tax laws, an ex-banker said today in pleading guilty to conspiracy.

Bradley Birkenfeld, 43, and his UBS colleagues helped wealthy Americans hide money by telling them to put cash and jewelry in Swiss safety deposit boxes, buy artwork and jewels using offshore accounts, and set up accounts in the names of others, he admitted in federal court in Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

Birkenfeld is helping a Justice Department probe of Zurich- based UBS, and said the practices he described are common among his former colleagues. Birkenfeld said UBS helped wealthy Americans evade taxes even after signing a 2001 agreement that required it to identify account holders and their income to U.S. tax authorities. He said many clients refused to disclose their assets because it would defeat the purpose of banking with UBS - - evading taxes.

Ex-Bear Stearns Fund Managers Indicted for Fraud (Update4)

By Patricia Hurtado and Thom Weidlich

June 19 (Bloomberg) — Former Bear Stearns Cos. hedge fund managers Ralph Cioffi and Matthew Tannin were indicted for mail fraud and conspiracy in the first prosecution stemming from a federal investigation of last year’s mortgage-market collapse.

The two men were charged with misleading investors about the health of two Bear Stearns hedge funds whose implosion ignited the subprime mortgage crisis. Cioffi was also charged with insider trading in the indictment, which cites a series of e-mails between the two men. They both face as much as 20 years in prison if convicted of conspiracy, and Cioffi faces an additional 20-year term if found guilty of insider trading.

(Kitty likes her meat RAWR!)

I used to hate to cook. Just thinking about cooking made me feel tired and depressed; even when I was a stay-at-home mom I couldn’t bring myself to do more than the minimum.

“What’s for dinner?” My ex would say.

“I dunno, whatcha making?”

I had a mental block against cooking because I always had the feeling my mother hated it. I don’t know if it’s true; it just seemed such a repetitive chore. Same with my hardworking grandmothers who spend their whole lives in their kitchens and their gardens: By the time they cleaned up from one meal it was time to start the next. Had I lived a life like theirs I think I might have stuck my head in an oven set to “broil.”

(Kittyprint prep bowls found at a kitchen outlet)

But outdoor cooking is different, right? It’s fun, like camping. Believe it or not I went to survivalist school as a kid; in Minnesota this is what they call a “school trip.” I’m glad I did it: I can start a fire in the rain using only one match (hint: use birch bark).

Also, my first long-term boyfriend, whom I’ll call Tipi Guy, taught me how to catch and scale fish. He was a Norwegian lumberjack who wanted to be a Lakota native in the worst way, and through our work on the local reservations I learned how to cook “Indian style,” which in the 1980’s meant frybread with canned blueberries, grilled walleye, and wild rice soup.

(Marinated London Broil)

Tipi-guy hated that I loved my meat rare, and by rare I mean RAW. Once I spent almost fifty dollars on two antelope steaks and ate mine with my bare hands before he even lit the campfire. I got really bad marks on that day. Submissive “native wife” was a job I didn’t want and failed the interview for anyway, especially after the flyfishing “incident” that I won’t go into. Suffice it to say he married the girl who didn’t try to kill him.

That was the last time I cooked on a regular basis. Bunny got her dietary variety from living in three places: Mine, her father’s and her grandmother’s. It’s a good thing because otherwise Bunny’s idea of cooking would be instant oatmeal.

But I digress! I fired up a grill tonight for the first time in five years! Usually I leave the grilling to whatever manly man crosses my threshold. I tried to light my gas grill once on my own and I practically blew up the neighborhood because I left the lid on when I pushed the ignition. I got rid of that menace in favor of a little Coleman charcoal grill (a gift from my stepfather). It sat around for over a year gathering dust. But looky! My first try, with a London Broil I’d been marinating in a red pepper rub for two days. I didn’t time it or anything and it STILL turned out perfect. I paired it with a mess of greens pulled right out of my garden. Mmmm yummy

Laydees! The next time you summon the energy to drive into the city and offer yourself up as a consumable item to a man who does his tail shopping online, try this:

Adopt the regulation drag by wearing a clingy-yet-modest knit dress, high heels and long hair, full makeup, perfume, the works. Try not to calculate the ROI on all this effort; just treat it like the state lottery in that you know you’re frittering your life away one dollar, one thought, one calorie at a time but maybe . . . maybe . . . you may hit an emotional or physical jackpot someday.

Hey. It could happen.

On your way to meet Mr. Maybe, be sure to totter past a construction site or the local salt lick. Smile at the whistles and the “Hey! Miss! Hey! Hey!” That way, should your date turn out to be a total bore you at least know that hey, you still “got it.” The day wasn’t a total waste of makeup. You won’t break even by a long shot, energetically speaking, but you’ll need that little ego boost during the long ride home.

God Speaks With the Voice of My Lover

He felt safer as an idea
Green Man, Smiling Pan
An abstract thought in times of freeze and thaw

But now He faces me
Adonis ablaze
United in love-death
Blood spilling, torn to pieces
Setting fire to my world.

- HPS 1998

Lovely Livvy at English Courtesan tagged me for another meme a few weeks ago: The Six Word Memoir. It took me a day or two to think things through: What short phrase could distill my life’s meaning into a tidy little package? What a daunting task! I decided to take a long weekend to think about it. My whole life. Six Words. Okay.

Intent is like an onion: Just keep peeling away at the dry layers and eventually you’ll find a seemingly endless supply of soft, slippery translucent films of sweet and sour meaning. My relationships mirror my spiritual understandings, and fluctuating relationships (especially with men) follow the seasons: Springtime for blossoming and/or rekindling (Ace of Wands), Summer for ecstasy (The Lovers), Autumn for the Apocalypse or Awakening (The Tower), Winter for yearning, grief and/or hibernation/stasis (Five of Cups or the Hermit). My entire adult life is about ricocheting painfully between the excesses of intimacy and estrangement.

(Four Seasons, One Tree)

Finally, while on the road to visit Jen in Massachusetts the phrase just “popped:” Awaiting the Return of the King. This was my six word memoir, the story of my life on SO many levels. My spiritual, sexual, romantic and social lives are deeply consistent: Passive, steadfast and patient, I still lie in wait (adorably of course), yearning for the return of that which I once had whether it be a person, a feeling or a level of understanding. It sounds pretty lame; I mean, what a way to romanticize what is probably nothing more than Seasonal Affective Disorder! Why don’t I take a more aggressive stance and grab - ahem - life - by the balls?

Well, here’s the interesting part: I’m never disappointed with the results. They always return, whether I want them by then or not. I actually call a few of my old lovers “Boomerang Men.” Perhaps the answer is not to medicate my way through my personal winters, but to just roll with them and wait for Springtime.

Which reminds me of a story. I went to New Orleans with a group of witches in 1998 and we did the typically witchy New Orleans things: The graveyards, the voodoo museums, the midnight ghost tours. The highlight of that long weekend was a visit with Voodoo queen Mambo Miriam. So much wisdom wrapped up in that tiny turban.

We chatted about Mistress Erzulie, the Goddess of Love, Passion and Jealousy, Motherhood and Beauty. Erzulie can be thought of as a mashup of the Goddess Venus/Aphrodite and Virgin/Mother Mary. Erzulie was Mambo Miriam’s favorite among the Lwa, and she told us the story of her late third husband, a sorcerer, medicine man and legendary wanderer. “The Goddess Erzulie is constant, but the Gods who worship her are not. Meh: They come and go, but Erzulie is patient.” There was a metaphysical rubber band between her and her third and last husband: He wandered off sometimes, but he always came back. “When I was young it bothered me. I was so jealous! But . . .” she shrugged, “I got used to it, and then I came to know Mistress Erzulie. She is very wise.”

She stopped, cocked her head and took another tack. “Or, you could think of men like planets, and women like the sun. It feels like they go away . . . but they’re just . . . they just go round and around. Sometimes you look to the sky and it looks like they’re even going backwards.” She chuckled a little. “Once he went away for a year and I didn’t even care. I knew he’d be back.” For some reason she decided to look directly at me. “That’s how you tell when a man loves you: He keeps coming around. That’s how you know.” She leaned over toward me and whispered, “Don’t worry; you can have more than one.” Then she winked, and everybody laughed.

Now THAT’s an umbrella!

It’s going to be one of those cold rainy weekends. Call me a little odd but I kind of like rainy weekends; they inspire relaxation in a way that sunny weekends never do for me.

The forecast calls for rain? Really? Neato! I think I’ll just sleep in. Maybe I’ll read a book later. Maybe I’ll call back that New York matchmaker about the guy who wants to meet me.

Meh. Maybe not.

Mr. Pregnant is funny!

OK, he wasn’t really stupid, he was . . . Oh nevermind the man was dumb. Maybe “uncurious” or “ignorant” are better adjectives. Whatever; it was the most awkward, uncomfortable and boring 30 minutes I’ve spent so far this year.

I shall now retire to my bed with my three cats. And I shall sleep until noon. Yeah.

A man has this ritual he goes through when he’s trying to hook up again with an old girlfriend. He’s like a dog that way, sniffing up her shorts trying to pick up the smell of availability before making a move. The line he drops is always the same: “Soooooo . . . you seeing anyone?”Every old boyfriend of mine has tried once he realized he’d taken me for granted. Very few have succeeded, especially since now I know all the signs and cut him off at the pass, unless, of course, I want to give it a shot.

While blogging late at night a pop up box with an instant message appeared on my screen. It was Andrew: “Are you there?”

We hadn’t chatted in a while, so I typed back “Hello! How are things?”

“Can I call you?”

“OK.” This would be interesting. He’d been emailing me more often than usual.

The phone rang almost immediately. “Hello Angelface.”

“Well hello, Angelface.” We call each other Angelface.

“I miss my Angelface,” he pouted.

Andrew is Israeli and English isn’t his first language. Our conversations tend to be short and a little disjointed, but overall we seem to do all right. As for visuals he’s on the shorter side, wiry with long grey hair, very artsy and Californian. I don’t think the man even owns a suit, so unfortunately my fancy dresses and stiletto heels are wasted on him.

These days Andrew is having both his home and his studio outfitted with enough solar panels to get 100% of his electricity and heat from the sun. In addition to his Save the Animals hobby he’s apparently plunged headfirst into Save the Environment, because his companies just sponsored a big eco-something convention and got to drive the model car from the “Who Killed the Electric Car?” movie. His intensity regarding these subjects is perfectly OK with me, except I can’t say anything about my furs, and I can’t really eat meat when I visit because it upsets him. He’s in the production side of show business, owns a few companies and hugely successful but for a CEO he’s awfully sensitive.

“We have fun together yes? We did lots of things together: Spago, Rodeo Drive, Venice Beach, Malibu, the Grammy’s . . . ?”

I smiled. What a time that was. “It was all wonderful; I always have a good time when I’m out there.” I kind of knew where this conversation was going, but I thought he’d found a girlfriend so . . . Okay I’d ask. “Are you still dating that . . . woman you were seeing last time we emailed?”

“I ended it with her. She was mean to my birds.”

“Oh no, that’s awful.”

“She was always telling me I don’t spend enough money. You know, to look good. Suits and things, my hair . . . I tell her I don’t like spending money on those things. She wanted me to buy all new cars. You know, be like the other men. Show off and stuff. But I like my cars. She was pain in my ass.”

Andrew has twelve cars in storage, all vintage, and he likes tinkering with them. That, and designing/decorating his company offices because he’s really good at it. He’s spent millions on those projects so cheap he is not. “Aw, that’s too bad; I’m sorry that didn’t turn out. It was probably for the best.”

“You’re not a pain in the ass. We had good times, yes?”

OK now I knew for sure where this conversation was going.

“So . . . you seeing anybody?”

(Part of a series by Evilada at deviantART)

“I wonder why men can get serious at all. They have this delicate, long thing hanging outside their bodies, which goes up and down by its own free will. If I were a man I would always be laughing at myself.”

- Yoko Ono

The Wonderjock? I suppose I shouldn’t be so baffled about this new trend as the “Wonderbra” has been around for what seems like forever. Still, I am baffled about the whole point of these underwear. The “huge balls” profile is just as likely to unnerve or intimidate a woman as attract her, so sack-enhancing panties probably aren’t much of a chick magnet, unless the women in question are already interested.

To me it almost seems as if men would be more likely to show these off for each other, which is fine for gays, but . . . but honestly straight dudes: If you’re so competitive about your sac that you feel the need to display it so other men can see what a big dick you’ve got . . . well maybe you’re not as straight as you think you are. Seriously: Maybe you need to think about switching teams.

Then again, maybe I’m just baffled because if a strange man with an enormous bulge approached me in public I’d feel taken aback, even frightened a little. Maybe other women would be impressed enough put him on the right side of a make-or-break decision, but it’s just not the kind of thing I want to catch myself staring at, especially if the man is a stranger. I might even go so far as to exit the scene to get away from him.

But I’d peek first.

New Wondercup undies give men a boost

Wednesday Nov 1 21:01 AEDT

Penis envy will take on a new meaning with the release of the men’s equivalent to the Wonderbra.

Australian underwear company AussieBum has released its Patriot range of undies for men wanting to make their package look bigger.

“It basically lifts, separates and extends,” said aussieBum founder Sean Ashby.

“This design uses all of the natural assets of the person, whether they be big, small or indifferent.”

The underwear features a ‘wondercup’, a pouch used to “separate and stop squashing”.

The range was launched last week and already the company has sold more than 50,000 pairs in Australia and overseas.

Ashby said the design had attracted a lot of interest in the United States and Europe.

Locally, the design will feature in a major advertising campaign, including a billboard on Sydney’s busy arterial highway Parramatta Road.

“We know that the billboard is going to cause a bit of attention and controversy,” said Ashby.

The marketing campaign features the slogan: “The new wondercup technology in these attention-grabbing, all-cotton Patriot briefs will have you seriously looking bigger and feeling amazing.”

AussieBum is manufactured in Australia with the business run completely out of the company’s headquarters in the inner-west Sydney suburb of Leichhardt.

The brand is sold in some of the biggest department stores in the world including Selfridges and KaDeWe and is distributed to more than 70 countries via internet sales.

In Australia, AussieBum is sold mostly over the internet with the exception of one store in Byron Bay.