Friday, February 15, 2013

Sweet Worship

I came across Persian Guy on Match.com months ago, shortly after I broke up with Olympian (just before Halloween) because of the theory that the best way to get over someone is to get under somebody else. Or some shit like that. And I'm determined to fuck that adage true.

The day after Persian Guy was supposed to come over to my house to cook me an authentic Persian dinner for our first date (but he cancelled due to a stomach bug), I realized that I was in no position to date anyone and called it quits across the board of my many dating contenders. A few thought it was a manipulative bitch of a move on my part, but it wasn't. I was broken, and the only person who could fix me was me. So I bailed on the dating scene. 

Since then, Persian Guy had been nothing but class, patience, and understanding: the classic Nice Guy. Even though my sexual assessment dubbed him "inexperienced," he was at the top of my To-Do list thanks to his endearing eagerness to please (i.e. eat me out for hours without expecting or even wanting anything in return, as against my nature as that may be) and my personal preference for 1) foreigners and 2) the tall, dark, and handsome type. 

Yada yada yada, we finally had our first date on Saturday. I was not expecting a lot, pretty much just a sexual play-thing to keep me subdued a few more weeks until I could find a better match to keep me occupied during my dating down-time that is the year 2013. 

Since this blog post is overdue, and I've been drinking so I'm likely to pass out at any moment, I will gloss over the PG-rated portion of the date with the following summary: Persian Guy was awesome, much to my delight and surprise. He was hilarious, witty, flirtatious, dorky, and undeniably fuckable. And not just because he had taken me to Fogo de Chao aka a Brazilian steakhouse aka an all-you-can-eat top-rate meat buffet upon seeing that my original steakhouse choice had a 45 minute wait and OH BY THE WAY he is rich. News to me. The older and broker I get, the more I likey me the tastefully quiet-but-rich guys, especially if they will be attending med school next year with the intention of curing cancer like Persian Guy. Also I'm 4-5 weeks into the Paleo diet so my only food requirement these days is "lots of meat, twice as many vegetables." 

The dinner portion of our evening was fantastic. Never a pause in conversation or a glance at the watch for an excuse to get the fuck out of there, go home, and watch Netflix in the comfort of my bed with two farting dogs. After two hours of eating many fine cuts of red meat, I invited Persian Guy back to my place to "watch a movie." 

Yeah. I think we watched a big fat three minutes of some 80s movie before shenanigans ensued. 

We hadn't kissed yet. I kept waiting for it to happen throughout the evening--perhaps when we were at his car, or in the car (where he had smoooooooth jazz playing the whole time), or after he'd given me a piggy-back ride from the restaurant to the car because my heel broke and it was rainy and I wanted an excuse for his hands to be wrapped underneath my thighs (for future reference: a bad and possibly ER-inducing idea if you've used two different kinds of lotion on your legs before your date), but... NADA. 

So we went back to my place. I put on a movie I knew we wouldn't watch on the DVD player, we sat on the couch, and at last we were kissing even though I have no idea who initiated it but who gives a crap because HOT TAMALES WE WERE MAKING OUT AND IT WAS HOT AT FUCK. 

I really must give Persian Guy credit, for all throughout the evening up until the kiss he had been a complete gentleman, in spite of my many efforts to discourage him from such behavior. I'd worn one of my favorite form-fitting miniskirts (knowing that he was an ass man), a form-fitting camisole top, a form-fitting sweater, and high, high heels. Poor bastard didn't stand a chance. 

His gentlemanly disposition broke the second I mounted him on my couch. 

At first I was gentle but eager, learning and adjusting to Persian Guy's style since I had expected him to be on the more traditional/conservative side. For all I knew, a girl climbing onto his lap might be reason enough for him to expect my father to show up at the door with two goats and a pig for my dowry in the morning.

I don't know what it is, but there is a compatibility to anything and everything sexual, something about being in sync, on the same wavelength as each other. Persian Guy and I had that all fucking night long, as if our bodies were made for each other. Chef is the last partner I've said that about--it's a large part of the reason I couldn't keep myself away from him even when he was being an undeserving jackhole, which was far too often for me to have an excuse otherwise. Same with The Russian, the previous fantastic fuck (with no logical reason, that is) on my sex roster.
We kissed. And kissed and kissed and kissed. In his accent, Persian Guy kept stopping to pant, "I did not expect this!" and then he'd continue sucking on my tongue. Eventually he grew bolder and started to wander: his mouth to my neck and bare shoulders, his hands up my bare thighs to my ass. I welcomed it all, grinding into him slowly, surely, hungrily, my hands wrapped around the back of his neck. 

"It is not fair to me, my hands can feel your ass but I cannot see it!" he gasped, clutching me tighter. 

"It's not fair, you say?" I said teasingly, pulling my top off. "Does this help at all?" Persian Guy stared at my tits, contained by a black lace bra with pink accents. He buried his face in between them, his hands clawing at the clasp. Within seconds my bra disappeared. He gasped audibly when he saw my nipples are pierced, then covered my left breast with his mouth. 

My head fell back and I groaned. Not because that's what girls are supposed to do at this point in the story, but because Persian Guy's mouth on my body felt fucking awesome. His fingers dug into my ass my thighs my back and it took all of my will power not to let loose his hard cock and bury my pussy on it until both of us were screaming. 

At last,  I stood up, grinned at Persian Guy, turned around, and unzipped my miniskirt. I thought he was going to fucking CRY. Instantly his hands went to the top of my panties and pulled them down a little, just enough to reveal my little peekaboo tattoo and the top of my ass crack. He kissed me everywhere all over and then some. "Your panties, they are so sexy. I like these colors," he told me. "They look gorgeous on you."
I placed my hands over his and grinned at him. "I think it's time to go upstairs," I said to Persian Guy. 

He said nothing. His eyes said everything. I was damn near ready to melt already. 

At the base of the stairway, I turned the light on. Unbeknownst to Persian Guy, before our date I had placed the dimmer switch at exactly the right setting to accent my bootyliciousness without illuminating my cellulite. YES, SERIOUSLY. THIS IS HOW GIRLS WORK. I parted the curtains, grinned at Persian Guy, and started my slow, seductive ascent to the bedroom. With each step, my hips and ass rotated for maximum affect, my calves flexed, my hamstrings tightened--I was a walking goddess. 

Some women's bodies were made for plunging necklines or push-up bikinis or six-inch heels. Mine was made for walking up stairs wearing nothing but itty-bitty panties. 

Once I turned into the bedroom with Persian Guy speechless at my heel, I knew the night was only going to get better. I turned and fell onto the bed with a grin. He followed immediately, kissing my bare shoulders and breasts with the hunger of no man I'd seen in years. 

"It's not fair that I'm nearly naked and you still have all your clothes on," I said teasingly, reaching for his shirt.

"Why see me naked? I concentrate on your pleasure tonight," he answered, pulling at my panties. Ohhhh, how I love foreign guys because they actually talk like this. I managed to get his shirt off before giving in entirely. Persian Guy was a master at distraction, I'm happy to report.

"I want to taste you," he said as his body rose above mine on the bed, his smile wide with a grin. Oh sweet holy FUCK is there anything a girl loves to hear more than that. NO THERE ISN'T. 

I gave in happily. With my legs spread wide open for Persian Guy, he quickly proved himself to be no novice. I damn near fucking cried

What made Persian Guy so unforgettable as a lover? Sweet merciful christ, so many things:

His genuine eagerness, willingness, and determination to eat me out for as long as he wanted. He didn't give a fuck if he got off. It took me three attempts to blow Persian Guy before he conceded to a proper letting me give him head. AND I GIVE DAMN GOOD HEAD. But he didn't care. All he wanted was to be between my legs. For ages. My knees still go weak just from typing that. 

He couldn't--wouldn't--stop complimenting me. In English, his native tongue, in Italian, French, Spanish, even Latin (albeit poorly) once he saw my tattoo--he told me you're so beautiful, your ass is amazing, you're so gorgeous, I can't keep my hands off you, your pussy tastes so delicious, I want to bury my face in your ass. Sure, none of his exes had let him enjoy ass-play of any kind, whereas I consider that, just, well, normal, so when Persian Guy buried his tongue in my ass and I moaned, of course he lost his mind. Next his fingers explored and all I did was sigh happily and obviously he will never forget me not even on his deathbed, but so WHAT. That's not the point. He loved my ass, I loved him loving my ass. There's nothing but happiness there. 

My favorite moment of the entire night was when Persian Guy openly worshipped my body. It was after Persian Guy had gotten me off with his mouth several times, but before we had really gotten to the good stuff: he laid naked on the bed between my legs as I perched above his body. I was hot and sweaty and happy from cumming repeatedly. Since it's Texas, it doesn't matter that it's technically winter, I had the air conditioning running and the ceiling fan blowing at full-speed. To fend off the beads of sweat building, I pulled my curls together and lifted them to the top of my head to let the gusts of air cool down my neck. With my eyes closed and my cheeks flushed, I felt Persian Guy's hands move up my thighs to my hips.

"You are so beautiful. I could look at you like this all day, like a statue in a museum. But you're better than a statue because you're here with me." His hands rubbed up and down my skin, his eyes up and down my entire body with nothing but complete desire. I blinked at him. 

OH MY FUCKING GOD. THERE ARE ACTUALLY GUYS WHO TALK LIKE THIS. 

I couldn't believe my ears. When it comes to beauty, I'm still stuck in the fifteen year-old bespectacled nerd-girl version of myself, so normally I'm deaf to compliments like this, on the rare occasion I actually hear them. As if he knew I doubted him, Persian Guy's hands wandered over and clenched my body as if he were afraid it would disappear within his clasp. 

Persian Guy... he looked at me in a manner that has raised the bar for all lovers for the rest of my life. His eyes were full of nothing short of awe. Never before have I felt like such a goddess. It was afuckingmazing. It was glorious, as if my body were made of clouds from the heavens and my gasps of pleasure came from Venus herself. His hands. Wow. His hands, they were everywhere and all over and inside and outside and caressing and grasping and... just.. wow. He looked at me with nothing but adoration--awe--desire--in his eyes.

THAT SHIT DOES NOT HAPPEN IN REAL LIFE. Or so I thought.

That's right. It got even better. He pulled me onto his face, and he ate me out so hard that I came and came and came, with only my hands grasping onto the headboard to keep me from collapsing. 

And then--and then, he fucked me. Like a dying man who's got five minutes left to live and he intends to make every thrust count. I opened my legs for it all. 

By that point, Persian Guy had eaten me out so much and fingered me so much that I was fucking HAPPY. And that, ladies and gentleman, is the perfect place to be for squirting. After two or three minutes, I started squirting every time his pelvis pounded into mine. Being a shameless braggart, I had already told him I'm a squirter (not that it's easy to keep such a secret when you have to break out a squirt-pad a few minutes into hooking up), so it shouldn't have been a surprise to Persian Guy, but it was anyway. When I get going, I tend to squirt with each thrust, and over a minute or two that is a LOT of squirting. Gushing, really. He exclaimed "it's so warm!" every time I did as he felt me spraying up against his torso. Sometimes when it ricocheted, I felt droplets entering my mouth. I gulped them down and kept on fucking with nothing but pleasure.

By the end of the evening, I was happy to say I had discovered Persian Guy had a mild fetish for pain. 
Every time I dug my nails into his neck while we made out, he shuddered. I liked having such an affect on him. When I bit his earlobe, I thought he was on the verge of dying. 

Eventually, Persian Guy left. After he had made me feel like a goddess on earth. He came twice during sex even though he eventually admitted that he'd cum four times that morning in anticipation of our date. There was nearly a third time when we were saying good-bye at the door, but I'd run out of condoms and I was enjoying being a bitch and bending over for him with nothing but booty shorts on. That's the first time I can say I literally thought a guy was going to cry from not being able to have sex. 

It's good to be Vix.

Friday, December 21, 2012

Last Minute Christmas Present Ideas

I'm sure many of you are last-minute Christmas shoppers, much like my own brother who is known for going shopping for all of us on the afternoon of Christmas Eve and somehow miraculously comes back with genuinely awesome gifts (enough of the time anyway), and since a couple of you Tweeted me @vixoen requesting suggestions, I thought I'd help anyone who is still looking for presents whether in town or online for siblings or a girl/boyfriend.

Generic presents that you should absolutely avoid unless you need something RIGHT FUCKING NOW to give your great aunt or second cousin you know absolutely nothing about, in which case it's fine because what the hell else can you do
Bath salts, bubble bath, lotion, or pretty much anything from Bath & Body Works
Scented candle

My go-to awesome places to go shopping
Liquor store - at this time of year liquor stores of full of nice gift boxes of liquor, like Maker's Mark bourbon with two highball glasses.
thinkgeek.com - fun quirky tshirts and desk stuff, good for someone to have at their desks to play with
bustedtees.com - fun, quirky t-shirts. I personally own the Scrabble "Triple Nerd Score" and "What the Frak" t-shirts.
Half-Price Books, or any used bookstore - find a book that is perfect for the specific person you're shopping for. That does not necessarily mean they will like YOUR favorite books. Although if they've never read Harry Potter, I'd say the first book is a safe bet. Go hardback.

Gift ideas for most (some of which are more appropriate for a girl/boyfriend than your sister)
Craft beers - go to a liquor store and get several either local or Belgian beers, such as Duvel or Chimay. I also personally recommend Rogue.
Mix CD - cliche, yes, but still kind of awesome, especially if you know your music and can introduce them to some new stuff they'll like and would never otherwise hear on their own
Magazine subscription - New Yorker, Maxim, Wired, How it Works, Bust
Baked goods - see explanation below
Year subscription to Netflix or Hulu Plus. Especially if you're sick of giving out your password and finding all sorts of weird shit pop up in your queue.

Gifts for someone you are or hope to be sleeping with

A giant box of condoms
A giant box of novelty condoms
Vibrator or anything from an adult toy store
Perfume - can be very hit or miss, so get a small bottle or rollerball version. The ones I wear all the time are Hanae Mori (my favorite of ten years), Vanille Abricot by Comptoir Sud Pacifique, and the classic J'adore by Christian Dior. All three get me compliments by dates and friends alike.
Coupons for crazy kinky sex - yes, you SHOULD include things you normally find "icky" or "immoral." THOSE ARE THE FUNNEST THINGS TO DO


If you're broke
In my not-so-humble opinion, the key to finding an awesome gift for someone is to come up with something specific to them. The thought really does count more than the amount spent. The example I often give is when BF, my live-in boyfriend of years ago who helped me start OEN, bought me a $500 day at a fancy spa for my birthday. It was nice and everything, but NOT my thing. If he were willing to spend such an absurd amount of money on me, I would have preferred at the time that he put it toward buying me a laptop. Meanwhile, one of my dearest friends Barbie bought me a pair of Wonder Woman underwear which couldn't have cost more than $15. IT WAS AWESOME. One pair of super cute and Vix-appropriate cartoon superhero underwear was ten times better than a day at a spa, in my opinion. KNOW YOUR AUDIENCE.

Or BAKE something. Your brother loves chocolate? Bake him some pimped out chocolate chip cookies that will ruin all other chocolate chip cookies for him for life, such as chocolate chocolate chip cookies or what I call Triple Threat, peanut butter chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. My coworkers used to beg me to make these constantly.

Better yet, MAKE something. Since my barely-self-employed ass is broke during my slow season aka now, I'm making acrylic paintings for my parents and brother. All of them have gone on some amazing trips in the last year, so I asked each of them to pick out their favorite photo, and I'm painting it on a big canvas. Way cooler than enlarging a photo.

If you're not artsy, that's fine, what are your talents? If you have a great voice, sing them their favorite song. Cliche perhaps, but who gives a fuck? Even better, WRITE them a song, and then sing it. Or sing one of my jacked up Christmas songs here on the blog and make everyone laugh by being a huge ham while you sing it. Can't sing? Write a funny or moving story about something the two of you shared.

So what if you can't make or do anything or spend any money. My dad got me into "Star Trek" when I was young, and at Thanksgiving I was shocked to find he's never seen "Battlestar Galactica." Since he doesn't do the torrent thing, I downloaded all the episodes of BSG so I can burn them to a DVD for him to watch on his own since he doesn't have Netflix, Hulu Plus, or Amazon Prime. Same with my cousin who loves "Scrubs," and my mother who loves "New Girl." I would do "Mythbusters" for my brother, but they're already on Netflix.

If you're lazy
Gift cards are your friend. You can buy them anywhere these days, including the grocery store. I recommend Best Buy, Target, Home Depot (for new home-owner, for example) Amazon.com, even Etsy.com offer gift cards now.

If' you're really lazy
Put a bunch of cash in a card. If you're going to be this lazy, you have to put in a lot more money than you would if you had gone to the trouble to buy a gift card. Bonus points if you dress it up by doing origami with a fifty dollar bill or if you give them a bajillion singles and make a joke in the card about how you know where they'll be spending their evening and you thought you'd spare them the trouble of getting change.

I hope this was helpful. If you have some gift suggestions for fellow readers that I didn't think of, then please, by all means, post them in the comments. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good fuck!
xoxo Vix

Thursday, December 20, 2012

"Have a Slutty Smutty Christmas"

This bastardized Christmas song is dedicated to all my slutastic readers. May every day be a slutty, smutty one. 

Have a slutty smutty Christmas
It’s the best time of the year
I don’t know if you'll go ho
but have a pint of beer
Have a slutty smutty Christmas
And when you strut down the street
Say Hello to guys you'll blow
Get yourself some meat
WHOA-OH, the booby show
There for all to see
Somebody lusts for you
Kiss him once (then me!)
Have a slutty smutty Christmas
And in case you didn’t hear
You're so nutty
Have a slutty smutty Christmas this year

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

Putting the XXX in Xmas Songs: "O Cum, All Ye Grateful"

Back in the olden days of OEN, I wrote dirty and satirical words to beloved Christmas songs because I'm an asshole like that. I keep meaning to dig through my archives and post some of them, but until then, there are plenty of others I have yet to bastardize with my dirty old man Santa ways. Hope there aren't too many easily offended Bible-humping readers out there. If so, kindly go fuck yourself on aforementioned "Good Book" and let me know how many times it made you gasp in pleasure. As for my beloved perverts, enjoy!

O cum, all ye grateful
Joyful and triumphant!
O cum ye, o cum ye to orga-a-sm
Cum and eat some pussy
Born the lord of vixens

O cum, let us adore her
O cum, let us explore her
O cum, let us implore her
Cunt is queen

God of god
Moan of moans
Lo, it's heaven when she spreads her legs
Very god,
Beholden, not besmirched

Groan, hoards of lovers
Moan in exultation
Lust, all ye citizens of heaven inside!
Glory to cunt
It's the sweetest

Yea, queen, we greet thee
Spread this happy evening
Pussy, to thee orgasm given
Feast of the heathens
Now in flesh she's cumming!

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Faith

Each relationship, and each subsequent break-up, each near-miss of a promising future, it makes it that much harder to stay hopeful that I'm going to meet that amazing guy who will make all of this fucking bullshit be worth it. I'm sick of dating, of boyfriends and first dates and wondering if this time, maybe this time, the guy in front of me will be The One. I'm sick of all this fucking nonsense. I'm ready for my next boyfriend to be my last.

And then I go through another fucking break-up.

How do I stay hopeful when time after time, a different wonderful boyfriend has fallen out of love with me? They still fancy me of course, and say and do most of the right things, but I feel it. Something changed in them. In us. It's damn near soul-shattering. Again, and again. Fuck staying hopeful, how do you stay whole?

Right now, it looks so much easier to give up. Give in. Date the next generic nice guy who asks me out and is stable and looks good naked and can overlook my many flaws if I blow him often enough. Because I'm not sure how many more tries I have left in me.

I've never been a god or religion kind of person, but love? Love I could have faith in. I've seen how wonderful just the inklings of love can be. Sure it wavers and sometimes on really dark days, I wonder if that cold-hearted bitch of an exterior I used to put on as a protective shell has finally seeped inside and become real. There have been times over the last couple years when I wished it would happen, or have willed it to happen. Fuck 'em and dump 'em. It came easily enough to me, as long as I didn't let myself think about it too hard. Or at all.

And then, inevitably [queue the music], someone or something always reminds me about the power of love. Not the Hollywood bullshit that makes audiences of two hundred cry at once, but the quiet and far less glamorous kind of love that has roots so deep it can penetrate years and miles apart, and yet have two people always so in sync that it makes me believe soul mates are real.

I want to be with someone who makes me glow with love, and I want to do the same for him. Keep in mind I'm not saying this with the never- or little-broken hearted of a know-nothing twenty year old. I'm thirty-two. I've been there, done him, lived with him, been engaged to him, and left him. And I've been left to go try yet again.

It's just... I have so much love in my heart, and I want to give it to someone. All of it. I want to knock him over sideways with the sheer force of how much warmth I have stored up inside me. Sometimes I expect it to burst out of my body because there's so damn much inside me, I can't contain it anymore. Then other times, like these last few days or weeks, I'm shaken by the fear that I will never find someone to give all this love I have in my heart, and it will slowly extinguish itself.

Last night, crying myself to sleep in the most utterly cliche of cliche ways, I listened to the sappy and sweet song "All Your Life" by The Band Perry, and I sent all the warm-fuzzies I have in my heart out into the world with the silly little hope that some amazing guy senses it feels me is warmed by the glow of our future love, and he smiles.

I just hope we find each other before I lose faith that it will happen one day.

Sunday, November 11, 2012

Whiskey Love

[Originally written October 2011, with some editing today. Inspired by a tweet that became the first sentence of this piece.]


3 a.m. Whiskey in a glass, face in my hands.

I'm here again. I've been here a lot lately. Fuck.

I look up at the ceiling through my fingers. I feel the weight of my inner demons pressing against me. It's okay, chica, this part never lasts long. Just wait it out.

My dog whimpers at me. I look down where she leans her head against my calve. How the fuck does she stay in such an awkward position. More whimpering. I look at her. She looks back. Her whimpers turn more pitiful.

"Not now," I tell her. I don't recognize my voice; it sounds mean and hollow. Maybe that's what I sound like these days.

I stare at the brick wall. It says nothing back. Cunt.

The notebook before me has nothing but a few marked out sentences, each one more violently crossed out than the one before. Last time, whatever the vile sentence was, I scratched it out so viciously that I felt the pen going through the sheets below, already tainting my future writing. Thanks, bitch. Didn't need the help.

I sigh. I must have sighed loudly because it wakes up my other dog.

My hand reaches for the glass of whiskey next to me, an action as reflexive and easy as breathing. First the cool condensation on my fingertips the glass pressed between my lips, my head falling back to drink it all down leaving my neck exposed as if to a lover a beast and that's what this, is isn't it, it's a living breathing life-sucking thing devouring me even though I'm the one drinking it down glass after glass.

Whiskey chill enters and runs down my throat, sending back up in its place a hair-pulling burn. For an instant just an instant it feels as if my entire body is on fire.

It feels like sex.

No. No. Not like sex. It feels like fucking.

Spilling pooling staggering wet sweaty mindfuck oblivion fucking is what it feels like. Each time I pour another hearty gulp of alcohol down into my mouth splashing over my tongue like jizz like pussy juice like fucking I feel it pulling me down with it like a whirlpool.

The highball glass so cool in my hand then like fire the whiskey shoots down my throat blowing me wide  open like a gun to my head a cock to my pussy a gasp to my center it's focusing me then spreading all over every part of me like a dream I never want to leave.

I crave it. The intense fiery focus then the warm comfort of nothingness yet simultaneous everythingness spreading all over me down to every nerve in my fingertips and every thought in my head. It's that moment when I'm just body no mind no heart that I wish I could live a thousand years in. I would I have cut my wrists to feel that way a little bit longer. Please. All I need is a little longer to feel everything and nothing at the same time. To feel my version of happiness. But it doesn't work that way. And why the fuck should it.

So I keep drinking. I keep fucking. Always chasing that low high, that glorious place where all feels right, because this maybe I think is where I was born to be.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Blog Status

I've gotten a few emails and tweets regarding the status of my original blog at www.theovereducatednympho.com. So here we go:

Why did it disappear? The company who was privately hosting my blog went out of business without telling me because the person who had set up our agreement had left a year earlier. Christ, it's like "Gossip Girl" meets "The I.T. Crowd."

Did you lose everything?? No, I have multiple wordpress backups from the original blog, minus the most recent posts before it disappeared into the blog blackhole. Even if those don't work, I have all the best posts saved on my computer. Meanwhile I'm looking for a cheap webhosting service that doesn't break my nearly broke bank account.

Why is it still gone? Because I got depressed, frustrated, and lazy. One of the many gripes my latest ex-boyfriend had with me was that I never got the blog back up in spite of his weekly pleas to do so.

And it STILL isn't up because...? The pain-in-the-ass factor. Ask me again when I've proven I can function for more than three days without booze or sex without going all bat-shit crazy.

What's the deal with this new blog? This blog hosted on blogspot is meant to be temporary until I can finally reinstate the old blog at the old site, at which time I will incorporate all posts from this one as well so they can all be in one place. At least that's the plan. I may need to hire an intern to figure it all out for me, in which case I will happily buy his illegal ass bottom-shelf liquor in exchange for his services.

Where do we go from here? Since many new readers discovered me on Twitter (heh, or as I like to call it, Twatter), after the old blog went down, I thought it would be nice to include old posts from my archives on here for a taste of the old Vix. If you have requests for particular favorites of yours, then by all means, please post them in the comments.

Lastly, thank you to all my readers and followers for having stayed with me through so many ups and downs and WTFs over the years. I love all of you madly, minus the creepers. Unless you want to buy a pair of my worn panties in exchange for a mortgage payment, which I am totally fine with.

xoxo
Vix

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

The Fairy Tale of the Girl Who Said Fuck This Shit

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Vix. She was kind of totally awesome. So many miles she traveled and fascinating characters she met, who always recalled her dressed as the friendly neighborhood vixen in a short skirt and high heels. People from all over the world gathered in the magical land of the blogosphere every morning to hear her stories of adventure, brazen behavior, and unlady-like dalliances. Ohhh how she adored sharing her tales! Everyone laughed and smiled and tinkled themselves in delight. Afterward they would ask Vix questions and share their own stories with each other, many becoming friends over time, for they all understood what it meant to be among such kind hearts.

Over time, the girl named Vix slowly told fewer and fewer stories, for she was very sad, and she had grown to fear the sound of her own voice. Why? asked the very people who had been enjoying her tales for years. We don't understand! We miss hearing your stories! Vix heard these familiar voices, but all she could do was shake her head in silence.

What no one could understand, including Vix herself, was that she had stories she didn't want to speak of, because as soon as the words left her mouth, she would have to see them reflecting back at her in the faces of all her friends around her. It had been some time since she could look at her own face in the mirror, it had become full of sadness and hatred where it once showed joy. She did not know what to say, or why she couldn't say it.

And so the girl went to hide in a cave far away, where she thought no one would be able to find her. Vix decided she would stay here in the darkness until she could come back out into the world with a smile on her face and love in her heart.

She stayed there a long time, growing sadder and sadder, and quieter and quieter until it had been months since she had heard a breath pass her own lips. It were as if she had never talked at all. She began to wonder if her memories of being a story-teller had been something she imagined. A few times, a friend as if by magic was able to find her buried in this unknown cave, and beg her to come out. Each time, she pleaded silently with her wet eyes to leave her be.

And so she sat alone in the cave for a very long time.

Then one day Vix woke up inside the dark cave with stirrings coming from deep inside her. She knew it, as surely as the rain falls and the snow melts, she knew deep down inside that her return was inevitable. But Vix also knew it was important to wait as long as it took for the stirrings deep inside her to be so strong that she no longer felt anything else, neither hunger nor thirst nor fear.

She continued for some time to stay safely hidden in the cave, but now she began to test her voice. At first a mere whisper scratched her throat and left her silent again for days, but she couldn't keep herself from trying. Over time Vix's voice grew lovely and strong, as she had hoped all along it would. It was only then, she realized she had been scared to hope before.

At last the stirrings deep inside filling her entire body, the girl took a deep breath, said FUCK THIS SHIT, and left the shadows of her cave.

And that is how a girl named Vix returned to her perch in the magical land of the blogosphere, bursting with more stories than she ever had before. When she sat on her favorite rock, long worn smooth from the many hours she once resided there, Vix felt the warmth of the sun on her cheek spread across her face. She could not help but smile, for she had a story to share.

************
It is so, so very good to be back.
xoxo Vix

November 6, 2012, 10:25 pm, Dallas, TX