i’m off to europe for like the eighth time this year. i am jetrosexual.

xoxoxo

i like it when emmie posts. Jane too. where are you girl?

i am vanity googling and posting more frequently than usual. partly i feel guilty for blogging so sporadically and partly i feel guilty because i know i am going to be blogging more sporadically again for a while… i hope ellie and jane can prop me up while i’m back across the pond. this is sort of a lot of traveling i think, more than usual…

also in looking at people who have graciously linked us (they call us their friends, their favorites, etc. and it makes me blush), many people mistake our name. we are not “the girls in the bag” or “girls in a bag” or “girls in the bag”. we are “girlsinthebag” – one word, one entity, indivisible, with bitchiness about injustice for all.

it is not said rudely but being the anal one around here it kind of tweaks me (in a bad way). i love that you have linked us and hope you can fix it when you get a chance.

(this also makes my vanity googling sessions a lot shorter since i only have to google “girlsinthebag” instead of “girls in the bag” and so on.)

okay lady, i love you, bye-bye!

i bought new underwear. mesh lace-trimmed hipsters (cute) in green, purple, and pink. also string bikinis, patriotic fourth-of-july ones with fireworks and one pair dotted with ladybugs. he noticed me unpacking them from the bag when i got back from old navy (aka the sexy lingerie emporium of the universe, right?) and asked when i was going to model them. i stared at him like he was daft (he is) and put them in my drawer.

later on he asked me again, after dinner.

me: i have a great idea – since there are six pair, why don’t i model one pair for you every day?
him: i have a better idea – why don’t you model all six pair tonight, then we will discuss which ones you will wear tomorrow. and tomorrow you can model the five remaining pair, and we will discuss which ones you will wear the next day. etc.
me: wait, are we seriously discussing planning to discuss underwear??
him: not really…
me: you are spectacularly weird…

if i can’t sleep unless he is in the bed, does that mean i really love him?

i found it on soul searching:

post secret

the bad news is that there are no plans for an archive…

so i get this e-mail from a client asking for some information. it was a polite, very well-written e-mail (which is unusual on both counts), and i responded in kind.

i told him that i did not have the information he wanted and apologized for that, but that i would do my best to get it from the people who do have it and let him know the outcome.

i got back a much less polite (but still well-written) e-mail that said the client didn’t WANT to contact the people who have the information, he wanted it from ME. after all, his contract is with ME and his business lines MY pockets and he can’t believe my refusal to help him get what he is entitled to.

i was kind of floored and i read it like eight times. then i read the e-mail i sent him, and then i asked my friend t. to read it too just in case i had monitor sickness or something. i really hate being rude in an e-mail and i wanted so badly to be rude, so i got his number from my rolodex and called him.

he is canadian, french canadian, and has a very condescending way of even answering his phone and saying his name. so i identified myself, and he said oh, you got zee e-mail i zent? and i said to him i didn’t tell you to call the people. and he said wot? and i said what i said was that *i* am going to call the people for you, and let you know what i find out. and he said ohhhhhhh i must have meezunderztood you, for my eenglish it’s not so good. and i said au contraire, francois, your english is fucking perfect.

*click*

there are all of these women in my life who are strong, smart, and beautiful. more so than i will ever be. and i respect them utterly.

they somehow seem to pair up with men who are narrow-minded self-absorbed pricks who can only be lived with if one pretends that they are totally invisible most of the time. as in

him: that’s just what we need, more gay teachers, teaching our kids to be fags!
her: i can’t believe peter jennings actually left the house in that tie.
me: helloooooooooo??! am i the only one who sees the rampant assholishness going on here??
her: that tie is so regis philbin.

when i was very much younger i used to deliberately pick fights with these men in order to show my intolerance of their intolerance. i mean why should i have to listen to this bullshit anyway? i didn’t fucking marry them.

now that i am older i try a little harder to bite my tongue for the sakes of their wives, who i really care about. i remind myself that it could be worse, i could be HER who has to live with HIM. and it is like divorce is not even an option for them now that they have been in it for so long. like the guy who gets done with his 25 year prison sentence and drops dead in a halfway house from anxiety or throws himself off a bridge from the pressure. it must be waaay better to live with a hateful jackass than to have to live on your own in an apartment somewhere in the city, right? wait a minute, he is such an ass that he even refuses to share his money with you… in fact you have a joint checking account with your daughter for god’s sake. use your golden parachute dammit! crack the nest egg and wrap up in the security blanket! kick his assholish ass to the curb, or pack your bags and don’t look back.

i wonder if they are the amazing women they are because of the bullshit they have chosen to tolerate from the men in their lives (their fathers and sons too, hello…) i am nice to the wives and i show them respect like mama taught me. but sometimes my tongue bleeds from so much biting and i scream at them why don’t they understand that they are smart and sexy and strong and beautiful and that they could find two hundred other men to treat them more nicely. or even that they could be happy on their own which they pretty much are, since their dick husbands don’t give them snuggling or listening or emotional support or orgasms or happy suppers together anyway. and in the meantime they are alone AND they have to listen to bullshit all the time. i mean what gives? they always look at me like they know what i’m saying is true but then they just call me sweet and assure me they are not all those things and that they really are doing just fine.

and then a month later dick does something spectacularly prickish and they call me crying.

who cares about the girls.

http://www.fox21.com/Global/story.asp?S=3456745

the urge to smoke is killing me. i’ve had it for the last two weeks. no four weeks. i smoked a million cigarettes the week before. my mom and i kept sneaking off behind the house. as tho everyone couldnt tell we were smoking. but as long as they couldnt see us… so the theory goes… it never even happened.

what a let down. i was looking at the sex classes in the catalog thinking, “hmmm, i could take one of these”. but then the second to last one, “how to seduce people with your voice”, is taught by his ex-girlfriend. lame. then i felt all lame and intimidated. i can’t dirty talk. nor can i talk in a seductive way. it just makes me feel stupid. or course he is the same way. he is so shy he can barely even talk about sex. however i wonder if he misses this ex from like 10 years ago who must have a very sexy voice. fuck her. i have met her actaully now that i think about it. she was sexy but OLD. its actually kind of hard not to be sexy when you’re in a skin tight cherry red vinyl jumpsuit and stiletto heels with a fake beauty mark.

not only can i not talk sexy. but i cant act sexy either. i can dress sexy unless i am feeling fat. which i have been lately. i gained like 10 pounds recently. there is no way i would put on any of my mini skirts. no fucking way.

there was this night where i was pushed so utterly beyond my endurance. i’ve always beena a wimp. wanting to go home early, not go out at all or take less drugs or whatever. okay, not always. but often it woiuld be clear that i was the one who wanted to make sure we were all in control or safe or whatever. but this night i was just utterly beat. it was hot and muggy. and i HATE that. i get very red and sweaty. and just miaserable. so there was that. and i kept drinking beer way too much beer. and then he wouldnt shut up about himself. i mean fuck. i felt shitty even thinking this and lost all perspective. but we were in a strange country and someone elses house. we dont speak the language and he starts talking about drugs, telling dirty jokes and talking about himself and all the cool things he does. so i’m like, okay, i’ve heard all this shit before. other people haven’t so maybe its okay. but the jokes and the drug talk were not okay. just so in appropriate. but then who am i to know what the fuck is appropriate? but it sure seemed to me that we should attempt to talk to these nice people about themselves. find about about them and their country. instead we were just loud, red, drunk, sweaty inappropriate americans. omg. i wanted to yell at him so much. just scream at him to shut up. instead i just felt more and more like i was going to pass out or cry. i tried to ignore him and turn to the person next to me to talk to her about what music she likes. but lets face it. i suck at small talk and never mind small talk with someone who speaks a different language.

the next day i still wanted to talk to him about what had happened. but wtf? could i be any bitchier and more nitpicky? i should not be telling an adult male how to act. he can figure it out on his own right?

i have no idea. i hope i figure out how to do this well tho. i have to make sure i curb my tongue. i’m here to support him not be bitchy and tell him what to do or contradict him all the time.

there are just some people that i hate on sight. yep. i see them hove into view and i make an immediate snap judgement of loathing.

this woman is between 39 and 55. it’s hard to tell. her body is square, she’s had some kids and her body has turned squat and solid. her hair is frosted and its in that weird helmet lady shape. that shape that appears nowhere in nature. hair should not ever be that shape. ever. it seems like every strand is molded perfectly into shape and probably you imagine that she takes this hair heklmet off at night and places it carefully in a vacuum sealed box that she keeps either in a vault or just under her bed. and int he morning she gets it out and puts it on her bald head and molds it down into her forehead with some kind of putty. she also wears glasses and too much blusher.
she is often falsely jovial, extrememly catty and cries easily. a fragile dumptruck. a hurt and pained probably martyerd american icon. her children do not call her anymore.
i loathe her on sight. she glances at my tattoos and hates me too.

you know who you are… i didn’t forget.

in updating our blogroll (you’re welcome) i stumbled across at least THREE bloggers who are or in have recently been to amsterdam. fuck! meeting sex bloggers for drinks in the red light district is a once-in-a-lifetime thing!