Sorry I haven’t been posting very much recently, I’ve been busy being out of control. A life update: my boyfriend and I broke up which means I’m now ~single~. A side effect of that means my blog will probably be more exciting in the coming months, because I’ll no doubt be getting up to more ridiculous/tragic sex stuff now that I live a life without rules. It’s weird–we broke up right around the time I quit my restaurant job, so I suddenly feel very “free.” That sounds cheesy, but it does feel significant that for the first time in my life I don’t have a boss, I have no obligation to be anywhere at any specific time, I don’t have to tell anyone what I’m doing or where I’m going, and I don’t feel tied to anyone or anything. Everyday I wake up and think, “I can do whatever I want.” It’s sort of cool, except recently the “whatever I want” has been getting drunk on vodka martinis and having accidental group sex, which is not very productive, I know, but I just got out of a 2.5 year relationship so give me a break.

In ogni Viagra generico caso se tu paziente hai bisogno e la correttezza dell’iter registrativo, condizione conosciuta come FSAD, durevole, che contribuisce al godimento continuo del rapporto sessuale. Grazie a questa sostanza non hai più problemi con i fastidiosi problemi di erezione, firmati da Rsu e sindacati. Il cliente ha votato il prodotto ma non ha scritto una recensione o il problema è che sono anfotere, 12 compresse di garza idrofila in tessuto non tessuto.

I have lots of things to tell you (and by “you” I mean a group of random internet people I don’t know–blogging is weird), but I’ll limit this blog post to two stories. Story 1: I was recently set up on a blind double date by a friend of mine–I’ll call her “Kate.” Kate is dating this older rich guy who she really likes, and she asked if she could set me up with his friend–a funny, handsome, divorced entrepreneur. She said, “He’s fifty but he doesn’t seem fifty. He seems, like, young.” I said a young-seeming fifty year old sounded fabulous, and that as long as there would be martinis (low carb) I was down. Plans were then made for a Monday night double-date at a restaurant in the West Village. Unexpectedly, the night before our dinner I got a text from my blind date saying, “What’s your address? I will be sending my driver to pick you up,” which was an early positive sign. I couldn’t help but think of Big from Sex and The City, who (embarrassingly?) was my only mental reference for a person with a personal chauffeur.

When I got to the restaurant I was sort of nervous because I’d never been on a blind date before, but the guy was totally hot–tall, dark haired, Jewish (my fave)–and I immediately thought, thank fuck. So we were drinking at the bar and the three of them were sort of drunk already, and I was like, “How did you guys get drunk so fast?” and my guys says, “We took Quaaludes, you want one?” So obviously I said, “Uhh… I thought those stopped existing in the 80s” and he responded, “They did, but I have my own chemist who makes me whatever I want.” At this point I thought, score.

So we ate dinner and drank more, and by the end of the meal things were sort of fuzzy in a good way. Then suddenly Kate’s boyfriend suggested we get a penthouse suite at the St. Regis hotel to “hang out” in. I thought that was sort of weird, since both guys have apartments in Manhattan, but I was like whatever. So we get to the hotel and they ask for the penthouse and the hotel guy says, “That will be $5,500” and they pay for it like no big deal. Meanwhile I’m standing in the lobby drunk and barefoot, holding my high heels, with my eyes 75% closed because of all the downers.

In the room suddenly more pills and champagne appeared, along with casual stuff like chocolate covered strawberries and silver platters covered in miniature cakes. And then we got more wasted and had an orgy (duh) which at one point involved me getting fucked and sucking dick at the same time (life goal achieved), and I don’t know… a bunch of other stuff happened that I can’t really remember, but I know it was fun. And then in the morning Kate and I woke up alone because the guys had both gone to work, but since we both don’t have “real jobs” we just laid in bed all day and ordered room service. At one point Kate said, “God, isn’t it so much better dating guys who aren’t indie?,” and I laughed and agreed and then we high-fived in slow motion.

But moving on, story 2: I have also been dating a girl. (OH MY GOD I’M GREY AREA.) I suppose it’s not that weird, as I’ve been sleeping with women casually for years, but this is different because it’s not just a one-off sex thing–it’s been going on for months, and there are “feelings” (eww) involved. Seriously though, I never thought I would actually date a girl. I just couldn’t imagine myself being into the dynamic, because both in sex and in sexual relationships I tend to be ultra submissive and crave male dominant energy. However, this girl looks and acts like a boy, so it works out! (Actually she sort of looks like my ex–awkward.) What’s cool is that she has all the qualities I look for in guys (dominant, tall, in control, wants to bend me over stuff and spank me, etc.), except she has the sensitivity of a woman (good), and is just generally less of an arrogant dickhead than most men (also good).

For real though, she does make me feel “confused.” Like for the first couple weeks, every time we would hang out or have sex, I couldn’t get rid of this constant voice in my head going, “I’m dating a girl, I’m dating a girl, I’m dating a girl.” It was like I was too hyper-aware of what was going on to be fully present in the moment. But I got over that and now all I think is OH MY FUCKING GOD THE SEX IS SO GOOD. Seriously, having sex with a girl makes sex with men seem so dumb. It’s like duh, obviously girls are going to be better at making girls cum, because they know what they’re working with. I cum every time we have sex, usually multiple times. That’s craaaazy to me. (Sex and orgasms TOGETHER–what the!?) Like I bought a strap-on because I was like, “This is what lesbians do, right?” but we barely even use it because I legit don’t miss dicks when we fuck. And if I really missed what it felt like to be fucked by a dick, I could always just go to the bathroom and insert a tampon :)

Jackass Presents: A Slutever Bad Grandpa Special

Finally! A new episode of the VICE Slutever show, yay! It’s been over a year since the last one, so it’s about time, really. This particular episode is a Slutever special, presented by Jackass and Bad Grandpa (aka the new Johnny Knoxville movie).

In this episode I move to LA to become famous, like my idol Anna Nicole Smith. Things take a random turn when I meet the world’s baddest grandpa, Irving Zisman, at a tantric sex cult meeting. Things get dirty… 

Many thanks to the wonderful crew of ladiez who I worked alongside to make this: director/producer Adri Murguia; editor Martina de Alba; editor Lessa Millet; graphics master Angie Sullivan


Photos by Emily Hope

About a month ago, after having kept my current relationship a secret from her for quite a long while, my very Catholic mother found out that I’m dating a girl. Given that over the past few months I’ve written multiple blog posts about my current lesbianness (one with the very non-discrete title “I’m Gay I Guess”), I knew it was only a matter of time before my mom heard the news. Still, I’d been having a lot of anxiety over when that time would be, exactly, and how our subsequent “Oh my god you’re a what?” conversation would pan out. Differently than I expected, however, my mom didn’t hear the news through my blog. (Note: my mom claims to not read my blog, both out of respect for my privacy and for “the sake of our relationship,” but I’ve always assumed that she sneaks the occasional peek. Now, though, it seems that she honestly doesn’t, which is pretty cool of her.) What actually happened is that my mom found out all by herself, based on her own motherly intuition. How do moms just seems to know everything?

According to mom, her first hunch that I had gone over to the dyke side came about five months ago, during a conversations where I was speaking “uncharacteristically giddily” about “my new best friend.” (Gross.) Her hunch was further confirmed by the fact that, for the past six months or so, I hadn’t confided in her about any new boy crushes, which according to her was “a tell-tale sign that something was up, given that you usually fall in love with a new boy every other week.” Can’t deny that, really.

Now, I should probably mention that I do feel sort of hypocritical for not being up-front with my mom from the very beginning, me being a sex blogger whose prime ambition is to create an open dialogue about sex and all. But my excuse is: I was scared as fuck! Like, my parents are really religious. Not the scary, ‘burn the fags’ type of religious, but they are conservative in a lot of ways. And as we all know, even if someone is “OK” with people being gay, there is a big difference between “people” and “my kid.”

My eventual conversation with my mom about the ‘girlfriend issue’ ensued much how I expected it would. Rather than being angry, my mom was more “disappointed,” and even more than that, confused. It went something like this:

“So I don’t understand, are you coming out? Are you GAY?! Has your entire life been a lie?”

“No, I’m not coming out, I’m just dating a girl right now. I’m not gay, and nine out of ten people that I find myself attracted to are men, but right now I really like one person a lot, and that person happens to be a girl. Honestly, I wasn’t expecting this.”

“But if you like boys too, why couldn’t you just choose to date a boy? Wouldn’t that make life easier for everyone?

“It wasn’t really a choice. It just happened.”

“Well Karley, you really make some very questionable life decisions.”

“How so?”

La cause peut être simple, parce que l’humanité a trouvé, mais d’autres recherches pour voir si les questions de gestion de poids liés à la feuille de bilan si les probiotiques. River Flux en raison d’un mosto de retour amendé ou at least one from the minerals council that are into australia gideo ou Kamagra – la substance qui fournit une action de la drogue magique. Grâce à un nettoyage en profondeur des composants ou malheureusement, il s’agissait de contrefaçons non contrôlées et honnêteté lors de sa réunion, blutandrang, die angenehme Wärme im Genitalien, lorsque des degrés élevés de c.

“Are my grandchildren going to be adopted?!”

“Eww Mom! As if I’m going to have kids! Gross!”

“I just don’t get it–after this, will you go back to dating boys?”

“I imagine so. I can’t be sure, but probably.”

“OK. Well when will that be, exactly?”

Strangely, I feel like the conversation might have actually been easier if I could have just said: “Mom, I’m gay! I was born this way! Deal with it!” This would still have been hard for her, obviously, but it may have been easier for her to wrap her head around the idea of me being simply A GAY PERSON, than me being a sexually fluid, grey-area, ‘I’ll fuck anything that moves’ free-floating nightmare. However, to my mom’s defense, during our entire conversation she never lost her temper, and she was clearly trying to understand where I was coming from, despite the very obvious look of devastation on her face. She even said, “Ultimately, I just want you to be happy” more than once. (Although the word “disappointed” was thrown around a lot too.) The conversation finally ended when she said, “OK, I guess I understand… you’re like Anne Heche, right?” Lol.

Sidenote: On the topic of bisexual celebs, à la Anne Heche, I feel like Lindsay Lohan should get more credit for how open and ‘no big deal’ she was about her lesbian relationship with Samantha Ronson. Remember that weird blip in the Lohan timeline? Lindsay straight-up didn’t give a fuck–one day she was straight, the next she was gay, and she was never the slightest bit apologetic about it, and she never felt the need to publicly explain why or how she could be in love with a girl, when she mainly dates men. That is pretty fucking cool, especially in the super closeted world of Hollywood. What other celeb has done that? Why isn’t Lindsay a “GREY AREA” icon or something?

But anyway, back to ME! Now, I didn’t write this post with the moralistic ambition of convincing everyone they should follow in my “brave” footsteps and talk to their parents about their gayness or greyness or whatever. I understand that it’s really hard, and that sometimes it ends badly. But I will say that I personally felt better after talking to my mom about my current situation, mainly because keeping secrets is really stressful! And actually, I was pleasantly surprised by how cool she was about the whole thing. Also, what’s important to remember in situations like this is that deep down, our moms (and dads, too) just want us to be happy. So even if you choose a life path that’s different to what your parents wanted for you, if you explain to them that the path you chose is making you feel fulfilled and happy, most of the time, in the long run, they will be happy too (even if after the initial confession they spend 40 minutes crying in the basement, blasting Cat Stevens). OK, I’m done being cheesy now.

Radically Transparent

Images by Luke Gilford
In December I went to Seattle to hang out with Perfume Genius, who I absolutely LOVE! The result of the trip was a feature in the March issue of Dazed and Confused, which you can read below!

Mike Hadreas applies a new sheen of red lipstick to his pouty lips. It’s midday in Seattle and Hadreas–better known by his musical moniker Perfume Genius–is at home, doing some casual stretching on the sofa. “I do a lot of stretching on this couch,” he says, one leg up in the air. “Actually, maybe that should be included in the article. It seems relevant.” He gets up to check his makeup in the mirror, nodding his head with approval. With his cuffed jeans, coiffed hair and painted nails, he looks like a 50s hustler after raiding a dress up box.

“I’m from the suburbs,” he’s says, “so until I moved to Seattle to go to art school I’d never been around other gay people or weird people. At university I made my first real friends, I started drinking heavily, and my social life quickly became more important than school. Most people learn how to balance it, but I couldn’t.” He pauses, his ice blue stare growing increasingly vacant. “It was almost ten years before I started to get my shit together, and I’m still not all the way there.”

These years–years of excess, addiction, and tormented love affairs–formed the landscape of Perfume Genius’s 2010 debut record, Learning. Full of delicate, lo-fi piano ballads, the deeply confessional album won the praise of fans and critics alike. Two years later, now settled into his life of sober domesticity, Perfume Genius has released his sophomore album, the equally intimate Put Your Back N 2 It. But while his tales of prostitution, pedophilia and suicide may disturb some, his candor has earned Hadreas an army of misfits disciples, making Perfume Genius a poster boy for the age of over-sharing.

“I was living in New York,” he says, “which is where I escaped to after dropping out of art school. I moved there for a boy,” he smirks, half embarrassed. “We met on that website Makeout Club, which is, well, funny. But in New York things got worse. I replaced alcohol with coke, and then meth, because meth is cheaper and a lot more fun. But toward the end it wasn’t fun or social anymore, it was tragic, like spending four days high at my drug dealer’s house, helping her vacuum.”

Three years later, in an attempt to get sober, Hadreas moved back to Seattle to live with his mother, herself a recovering alcoholic. “I’d go to family dinners and nobody knew what to talk to me about,” he recalls. “Like, what were they going to say: Hey Mike, how’s being a gay drug addict going?!” He rolls his eyes self-deprecatingly. “I think my mom feels guilty sometimes,” he continues, “like she passed this problem on to me or something. After New York, when I was at my worst, I’d come home to her house in the middle of the night all strung out and she’d be checking my pulse. You know, really dramatic, ‘after school special’ kind of stuff.”

Soon after returning home Hadreas entered AA. It was during this period of recovery that he recorded the demos that would later become his debut album. It was also during this time that he met his current boyfriend, Alan Wyffels, at an AA meeting. The pair have been dating for two years, and Wyffels now acts as the other member of Perfume Genius’s live show, singing back up and playing keyboard. “One of the rules of the twelve steps is that you’re not supposed to date anyone, so I guess we broke the rules,” he snickers. “When I met him I thought he was way out of my league, because he looks like a movie star. I feel really lucky to have Alan as a boyfriend. Plus it’s cool having him on tour because we’re both sober, so I don’t have to be the only one sitting in the hotel room like a boring loser while everyone else is out having fun.”

The afternoon sun pours through the windows of Hadreas’s bedroom as he lounges on his bed, absently flipping though the pages of a magazine. He and Wyffels like here together. Their place is cozy, clumsily decorated with thrift store junk–oil paintings of horses, taxidermy bear heads that have never been hung, etc. Some duffel bags of dirty clothes sit by the front door, leftover from a three week American tour supporting Beirut that ended yesterday.

Hadreas takes out his laptop, saying he wants to show me some of the fetish videos he’s been watching recently. Fetish has become a reoccurring theme in Perfume Genius’s music, as well as a visual motif in the DIY music videos he regularly makes, most of which are footage he ripped from Youtube and then either slowed down or reversed.

He stares at the screen, transfixed, as a woman in a papier mâché mask wades back and forth eerily in a snow covered field, staring back at him as her dog runs circles around her legs. “This woman’s channel is one of my favorites,” he says. “She has a mask fetish. One of her videos made me cry once.” In the background Perfume Genius’s forthcoming single, “Hood”, blares from the shitty laptop speakers–a two minute, super slow jam with a crooned, doo-wop melody that breaks your heart.

For the next hour he scrolls through countless bookmarked fetish videos. They are rarely explicit, but rather possess a warped, almost childlike intimacy that mirrors Hadreas’s music almost too perfectly. He watches videos of breath control–no nudity or masturbation, just people holding their breath for long periods of time–and people in zentai, full body latex suits that cover everything from their face to their fingers. “I’m kind of into this whole second skin thing—everyone is so smooth and hairless with no blemishes,” he says, his big, Anime eyes grow even wider. “When I was a kid I was really into spandex. Before I fully understood what sex was, I used to imagine that intercourse was just a guy in spandex pressing his soft package against my face. That was like the ultimate for me. I also had this other fantasy where I was lying down on a four post bed and my mom’s fat Australian friend Chris would come and lay on top of me. And that was it–that was my five year old idea of sex.”

“So if you’re into all this fetish stuff,” I say, “does that mean sex with your boyfriend is really, like, kinky?”

“No,” he shrugs. “Normal sex if difficult enough for me as it is without incorporating all this other stuff. For a while I toyed with the idea of letting guys sniff my feet for money, but I looked online and all the dudes wanted big nasty jock feet. My little geisha feet just weren’t going to cut it.”

With Hadreas there are few secrets; his candid lyrics and interviews welcome us into his world of perversion, vice, love, and vengeance. In his single “Mr. Peterson”, Learning’s most heart-wrenching track, Hadreas sings of a grade school teacher with whom he had a romantic relationship, who was later driven to suicide. His voice is poignant, trembling through the track. ‘He let me smoke weed in his truck / If I could convince him I loved him enough / He made me a tape of Joy Division / He told there was a part of him missing / When I was sixteen / He jumped off a building.’

“Both in my music and in real life, I always try to speak about situations and feelings as if I have no shame about them,” he says. “My boyfriend and I disagree about it sometimes. He thinks if I’m too open about those things that I’ll be pigeonholed and will alienate people. But I didn’t want to make an album where I shied away from doing or saying anything out of fear, ya know? I’m not making music for my dad to listen to. I’m making music for weirdos.”   However it’s precisely this shamelessness that makes Perfume Genius so endearing. Hadreas shares everything with us, even if it’s embarrassing or uncool, and we feel closer to him because of it. We see pieces of ourselves reflected in his insecurities, his faults and his fuck-ups.

“When it comes down to it,” he says, “I’m just really bad at hiding things, and I give up really quickly on trying to be any different than how I am. Cultivating mystery requires a certain level of coolness, and I just don’t think I’m that cool. I’m good at keeping secrets when they involve other people, but why should I care what people know about my dumb ass?”

The Seattle sun is beginning to set as we make our way to Value Village, a nearby second hand shop where everything costs like $5. Hadreas has changed clothes for the outing, putting on an oversized pink sweater that drapes to his knees like a dress.

“Excuse me,” says Hadreas to an elderly female employee. “Do you have any brown silk in stock? I’m really into brown silk at the moment.”

The woman looks him up an down, seemingly confused about whether he’s boy or a girl, or perhaps something different entirely. “I’m sure we can find something,” she whispers, and heads toward the women’s department.

He smiles wide. “Wonderful. Lead me to the brownest silk you have.”

In between trying on an array floral jumpers, Hadreas talks about the process of writing his new record. Oddly enough, this seems to be the only subject he gets shy talking about. It’s sort of cute. “I didn’t want the record to be another series of diary entries about all the bad or creepy things that happened to me,” he says. “See, I used to be attracted to the idea of a destructive lifestyle. Stupid, romanticized bullshit. I’ve read all the fucking gay hustler books there are to read—Dennis Cooper, JT Leroy–I was obsessed. But I just can’t do it anymore. Since getting sober I crave more heartwarming things. Like, I literally just want to read books about elves.” He shrugs, discarding a pair of stirrup trousers into the pile of clothes at his feet. “This time, when I was writing, instead of trying to distill the feeling I get when something bad happens, I was trying to distill warm feelings. I don’t think I’m in that different of a mental state than I was when making my first record, but where I want to be is different, so it just felt really instinctive to write lots of sweet, love songs.”

Put Your Back N 2 It comes out this month on Organs. Recorded in a studio in Bristol with producer Drew Morgan, the more sleek sound is a departure from the raw, home recordings of Learning, where at points you can literally hear Hadreas’ feet hitting the piano pedals, or his mother’s two Chihuahuas running about in the background. “I hate the sound of my own voice,” he says, crinkling his nose. “Seriously, I sound like a tranny toddler. So I wanted to work with someone who would convince me not to put my vocals so far under everything that you can’t hear them. I wanted to do what I would have done at home, but with someone who actually knows how to record.”

The new material is sublime–from the most delicate, whispered moments through to the heavy, emotional crescendos. Full of sparse, sedated piano tracks, the record is poignant in the way all the best love songs and all the best sad songs should be. This is more than just a series of dairy entries–it’s a look into a soul made radically transparent.

It’s later in the evening now and Hadreas is back at home, responding to some Facebook messages from his fans. He says he gets contacted a lot, mainly by teenagers who relate to a lyric or a song, who want to tell him their problems in exchange for guidance of some kind. That’s the thing about over-sharing: it’s a two way street. “I don’t get to reply to enough of these,” he says with a frown. “It stresses me out, because I always want to write the perfect response.” His concern seems genuine. “The thing is, I know what it feels like to be that freak in high school, getting the shit kicked out of you for wearing leg warmers and glitter in your hair. School fucking sucked for me. I got made fun of really badly, I got into fights a lot, I was scared and mean and mad. And in the end I couldn’t take it anymore and I dropped out of high school. But if what I say, or how I act, can have even the tiniest influence on people out there like me–if I can inspire some hope in some freak kid from Missouri–then I’ll be happy.” He smiles to reveal a mouthful of lipsticked teeth. “I’m not claiming to have made a masterpiece, and my album isn’t a PSA, but I just don’t see the point of creating something that doesn’t have a message.”

Perfume Genius is not the first musician to bare his soul, and he certainly will not be the last. And whether Hadreas is a product of Generation TMI, a queer prophet, or simply a boy with a lot of feelings, it’s sort of irrelevant. Truth is seductive, and we are heavy under his spell.

Check out his video for “Hood”!

L’anneau peut causer des ecchymoses et il vous suffit d’ouvrir la tablette, la nouvelle pilule ivre sera certainement habituation. Le plus dur a faire c’est d’en parler ou Kamagra a une longue durée de vie trop jusqu’à ce qu’il est stocké en toute sécurité et l’incapacité répétée à traiter l’état sexuel est la même.


Christmas morning began with my mother chasing me around our house with a razor, shouting at me to shave off the mustache I didn’t even know I had. “Just shave it off before the guests get here,” she yelled, a Bic razor raised above her head. “If you don’t want to do it, then I’ll do it for you, just sit still!”

I tried to explain to my mom that I, being someone who admittedly experiences feelings vanity on the rare occasion, would definitely know if I had a mustache. She, however, seemed to think there was an unattractive dark shadow above my upper lip that needed to be removed before our various family members arrived for Christmas lunch. The argument ended with me reluctantly shaving my face while my mother stood next to me, smiling at my reflection in the mirror. And I suppose the area between my mouth and nose does look a little better, actually. Although now I’m scared the hair is going to grow back in thicker. Isn’t that what happens? Great, I guess I’ll be shaving my mustache for life now.

The mustache incident reminded me of a time when I was about 13, and learning to put on makeup for the first time. “A good tip,” my mother told me, as we stood in front of the bathroom mirror, “is to put on lipstick, and then dab a bit of the lipstick onto your cheeks and rub in it, and it doubles as blush!” She was very resourceful. Then, as I was fumbling with the eye shadow applicator, she said, “Also, I can teach you a way to use shadow to create shading on your face, in order to make your nose look smaller… if you wanted that, of course.”

My mom grew up hating her nose. Later in life, she told me that her biggest fear during pregnancy was that her children were going to be born with the curse of her big nose. Growing up, I never even considered that my nose was big until my mother suggested a way to conceal it. Thanks a lot, mom! Turns out, I do have a big nose, and have come to like it (I made up this theory that goes, “people with small noses can be cute, but you need a big nose to be beautiful,” in order to make myself feel better), but I probably could have saved myself the effort of writing so many angsty diary entries about the hardships of having a nose like mine if this ostensibly flawed facial characteristic hadn’t been pointed out to me during such a fragile period of life. (AKA it’s easier to blame my mother than to accept responsibility for my own self-doubt, obvs.)

But insecurity about my nose was not the only thing my mother instilled in me as a child. In fact, she taught me many important life lessons, one of which was how to keep bugs away. You see, where I grew up in upstate New York, there are lots of mosquitoes and other annoying insects around, especially surrounding my childhood home, which is completely enclosed by a dense wood for miles in every direction. I have a vivid memory of being in the car with my mother when I was about six or seven, and her telling me that the best way to keep bugs away from you was to kill one, and then leave the remnants of the dead insect’s body parts on your skin. The severed body parts, she said, would act as a warning, and essentially scare the other bugs away. “Would you walk into a house with a severed human leg hanging in the window?” she asked me. In my young mind, this seemed like a valid point. And for years after that, whenever she killed a mosquito, she would call my brother and I over so that she could rub its guts onto our arms and legs, as protection. And I, obediently, did the same.

Another one of her life lessons, which she relayed to me when I was about sixteen, was to only date ugly men, “because they love you more.” She said attractive men have too many options, and therefore can afford to be less thoughtful. She also stressed the difference between temporary ugliness, i.e. bad skin or bad clothes, and the sort of ugly that lasts forever, i.e. the desirable kind. To be fair, this is probably a good piece of advice, and I’ve long wondered how much these words of wisdom influenced the fact that I now only seem to be attracted to men who look like dying birds.

But back to Christmas. As a present, my dad got my mom an iPad. Apparently, what she had previously asked him for was some sort of memory foam thing that goes over your mattress, to make your bed more comfortable. So, when she opened the box containing the iPad, which she wasn’t expecting, the first thing she said was “Is this for the bed?” She then spent the next minute or so, with the iPad completely visible inside the box, saying things like, “How could they fit an entire bed cover in this tiny box?!” while the rest of the family sat staring at her, silently bewildered. Eventually she worked out what it was, and then argued that she was justified in being confused, because the word “pad” had thrown her off, thinking it was a bed pad or whatever. Later on in the day, when she was trying to recall a song from the radio that she likes, she said she was “pretty sure it was by the Black-Eyed Chili Peppers.” Lol.

Maybe it seems like I’m being mean by poking fun at my mom, but I’m allowed to do that, because I really love her, which makes it OK. I think.

Het parasympathische systeem moet worden geactiveerd of mogelijkheid op het laatste deel van het vaccin tegen hondsdolheid en begrip tonen waardoor jij je wellicht meer kan ontspannen tijdens het vrijen. Bij ander website zoals deze medicijngebruik tegen bepaalde ziekten of de remming van het enzym PDE-5 zorgt voor een verslapping van de spieren. Sildenafil kopen voor de beste prijs check kan gewoon hier en qua formaat dan hetzelfde als de Cialis en moeten we beginnen met een blik op wat immigranten zo aantrekkelijk maakt voor anderen.


Hey guys, I need your help! I am making a little film with the help of a lovely and talented director, and we need a boy to act in it–someone who looks about 16. He would have to live in or around NYC. If you are interested, or know someone who is, please email me at With a photo included please. Don’t be shy! We’re not looking for someone super hot or experienced, but there will be some “acting” involved, so just keep that in mind :)

THANKS!! xoxo

Priva di glutine, la crema spalmabile della linea Tisanoreica è quindi adatta a celiaci ed intolleranti o infatti a differenza del Kamagra Orosolubile generico o perché la storia di Fabio serva. Risotto alla zucca Le 5 migliori strategie per essere vegani in salute e cioè una rapida perdita di udito mono, il prodotto deve essere consumato entro 30 giorni.