The Apartment Hunt

Okay, it has been almost a year and my boyfriend and I are still looking to buy an apartment. And, I can’t be a full bitch because he’s buying the apartment and paying the maintenance so I only can say so much and give him the stink eye but I’m getting really sick of it. And, I hate when people give their significant others deadlines but I feel like I must with My Brit because I’m stressing and our broker probably hates us.

And, since we have been on our never ending apartment search, all I have been watching is HGTV and kinda now into Million Dollar Listing  and one of the apartments we are going to see on Sunday is listed by one of the guys from the show. Don’t get too excited, he’s probably like the higher up on the sale and our price range is no where near the wealthy clients on the show. Ours is like the maid’s apartment.

And, I don’t know if you guys know but NYC real estate is crazy. For instance, if the apartment is a winner there will be offers that day and you don’t even have a chance to think about. Sometimes, I wish I had those auction paddles and just start shouting a price.

Anyway, does anyone have any advice on how to light some fire under My Brit’s ass. One, I need to move out of my current place ASAP so there’s that. Two, a part of me feels that he’s not that serious about moving in together. And, he should be because obviously I am amazing and because he’s going to be 37 this year which means it’s time to be an adult and buy me a place and get me an engagement ring. He really needs to start spending some big money, preferably on me.

So, what I’m saying is in my head, there is a deadline date for June (I know that’s crazy soon but it will be the end of June). And, if and I am hoping that it doesn’t have to come to that, if it hits, then I’m going full bitch mode and shit will be changing.

So again, what do you all think I should do? And yes, I already thought about pretending to be pregnant to move this apartment hunt quicker so another suggestion please ;)

Email me with your suggestions, comments, or questions at


England Part 3

I am a horrible person, maybe more so than Trump because I haven’t posted in forever and I am truly sorry about that. So again, I will be posting more. My life has been crazy with visiting my sick grandparents in Florida to apartment shopping still (will discuss in future posts). Here is part 3 of my England trip:

After our day out, we went back to my Brit’s brother’s adorable cottage and watched the final matches of Wimbledon while drinking and cooking dinner. My Brit’s sister in-law is seriously an amazing cook, she makes things look simple and Instagram ready which is more than I can say about my cooking skills.

We had fish (because they know I don’t eat meat) and veggies, which the fish was nice and crispy and veggies tasted delicious with their spicy jam (don’t you notice how spice makes everything nice).  The children were less fond of the dinner and hardly ate, throwing a tantrum. My Brit’s parents are very judgement of how my Brit’s brother and sister in-law raise their children, with knowing looks and little comments.

Yes, the children are a little spoiled and rule the house. His parents raised his brother and him to be gentlemen and my Brit tells me how manner-strict they were and you can see a slight change in both men when around their parents. They sit up higher, please and thank you comes out every minute, and you can smell the respect from their bodies. I’m not hating, I admire it.  I hope if I ever have kids, my brats are old school British darlings that you picture could star in Oliver Twist.

Anyway, to finish my point, my Brit’s nephew did not want to finish his dinner or even eat 25% of his plate, his mother tried the punishment of “if you don’t finish your dinner you don’t get dessert” but the kid is smarter than that and soon he was having the first slice of homemade cake and large piece of Brie cheese. My Brit’s parents were not having that and making snide comments and when the kid just left the table without excusing himself or asking permission to do so, I think I saw steam come out of their ears.

After dinner, my Brit’s niece was showing me cartwheels and other tricks while the nephew was playing soccer. Soon they wanted everyone to participate and when the sister in-law shocked us all with a near perfect cartwheel, sadly I was up after her. My cartwheel was in-fact not a cartwheel but more like I was drunk (I did have some wine but not that much) and attempting a sex position. I was embarrassed but glad the American could make everyone laugh.

Next I was playing soccer and even kicked two goals (my Brit was the goalie and he was pissed), he’s a leo so everything is about him and he thinks he is like some god. Soon it became a game of us playing and ignoring the poor children, and dare I say I got turned on (I did’t have sex for like a week so anything would have made me wet at that point). When the children whined, we included them in the game and soon the fight between them started. It was late for them, and they were exhausted but didn’t want to sleep because the next day we were leaving and they would miss us. Insults were thrown, “loser” and “you can never play with my balls again”, meaning his soccer balls, you dirty pervs. It was entertaining, especially in their cute accents, and my Brit and I had to hide our laughs.

We said goodnight to everyone, and put the crying children to bed. It was sad to hear sniffles and moans of us leaving, but what’s sick is I enjoyed it because that meant I did well. We promised we would come back and I would keep in touch with the children, which I have.

As much as it was sad to see kids begging you not to leave, I couldn’t wait to go home to my dogs, my bed, and my writing. I was officially done with family time and ready to have sex with my man. Sorry, but I love sex and not ashamed to admit it. Anyway, that’s that. It was fun and eye opening because I think I just meant my future family. But, I had to go back to exercising and not eating everything that I wanted because my clothes were super tight on me.

At the airport, I made sure to indulge in every fatty thing I could and since we came home on a Saturday, that weekend I stayed indoors, on the couch, catching up on my shows, and eating more fat till Sunday at midnight when I turned into a pumpkin.

You know the drill, any questions or comments:


England Part 2

I love London. One, they speak English, and proper sexy English. Two, the guys are good-looking and the women really aren’t, so the competition is non-existent.  Three, it reminds me of Manhattan. And four, pretty much every book or movie I like is placed in London so it will forever have my heart. If I was to live anywhere else than Manhattan then it would be London.

I went to London with my mom years ago and did the normal tourist attractions. I had fun and was happy to be there with my mum (as the British would say) but a vacation with a parent is not the same as going with a lover. With a significant lover, every attraction looks different, every meal has a magically feeling, and every day has a sense of romance.

Going back the second time with my Brit didn’t seem like I was a tourist, but just returning home with my man. It was during Wimbledon and we just had lunches at pubs (doesn’t that sound a lot better than a bar), drank and cheered with the locals. We had dinner one night with my Brit’s friend and I felt like I was welcomed.  We walked around the city, and I listened to stories of my Brit’s past.  That trip, I felt closer to my man than I ever had.

We didn’t need to go sightseeing because I already saw everything with my mom and he’s from there so it was not needed. Instead, he took me to the local hangouts and I saw London from a different point of view.

If we didn’t have dinner out, my Brit’s sister in-law cooked delicious meals for us. Practically every night I read to my Brit’s nephew while he read to his niece before bed.

It wasn’t really a vacation, even though I didn’t have to work and ate a lot (as usual) but it did remind me of boot camp. I had to be on my best behavior because I knew I was being judged, by his family and friends… and maybe even him, to see how well I did with his home away from home. We woke up early and went to bed late. The kids still had school so before they left at around seven in the morning, they would storm in our room (because it was a no locked rooms home) and jumped on the bed, the very tiny bed which meant they were jumping on our backs and chests.

And, once you are jumped on, you are awake. So no sleeping late for me… and I freaking love sleep. So that was our routine every morning, getting jumped on, awake with aches from little feet and hands pounding on you, and going down to breakfast where your man makes you the most yummy toast and butter you have ever eaten.

I felt comfortable with the family but not super comfortable meaning I had to plan my bathroom time like I was figuring out a football play.  I made sure to go while everyone thought I was taking long showers and public bathrooms became my home away from home. And, my Brit had to know what was going down in those bathrooms because every time we went out, I paid the bathroom a visit, as if it was a tourist attraction.

I enjoyed his family so much that I was starting to picture a life there for my Brit and I, maybe because we did the “normal stuff” as well as “vacation stuff” meaning besides going out for meals and gorging on food and wine, we also dropped by the kids’ school for lunch to surprise them, take them to the movies, and like I said before, read to them every night.

We bought the family gifts as a thank you for letting us stay in their home for a week, a Jamie Oliver cook book and her favorite expensive jam for the sister in-law, which was a gift for the brother in-law because we made his wife happy, Hedwig stuffed animal from Harry Potter for the niece, and some Iron Man super toy for the nephew. I knew I was winning the family over, I mean I even got my Brit’s brother’s and sister in-law’s mobile numbers so we can text whenever.

The last day we were there, my Brit’s parents came in to see him and meet me. I was so nervous but when we came down for breakfast they welcomed me warm smiles and hugs. I was quiet during that meal, just wanting to gage the parents’ attitudes.

The parents wanted to take the family to lunch so I was panicking with what I was going to wear. I wanted to make a good impression and didn’t want to offend them in any way, especially with my big tits and fat ass. My Brit didn’t want that either because he knows how out of control my big tits can get, always wanting attention (greedy bastards) so he helped me pick out a midi skirt and top that covered the tits.

We went to a tourist attraction in the brother’s town, a mansion like home that was one of the queen’s. We had a nice lunch and walked around, talking, viewing, and shopping. We even all took pictures together… and I made it on their wall of family pictures!

But for some reason I felt uneasy around them, maybe because I want this relationship to work and know the influence of parents could wreck it. Plus, I know I am a smart lady but they seemed so intelligent and with my Long Island accent I didn’t want to say anything wrong or sound dumb. I mean they both were professors back in the day, so they could probably school me. Also, maybe because of those accents they just seem smarter too.

That’s all for this post. Will post part 3 shortly. You can email me with any questions or comments at


England Part 1

Dear Loves,

I am a piece of shit… and not the emoji smiling shit but a real stinker. I broke my promise to you. I said I was going to write more and I failed, instead I have been a lump just working, writing, and eating. But I have been working out and it’s so true with what Elle Woods said, “Exercise gives you endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don’t shoot their husbands, they just don’t.” I am a lot happier however, I do want to kill my boyfriend in regards to buying an apartment. I feel like I will be the next story of “Making A Murderer” because he’s driving me crazy, but that’s for another post.

This post is about my time in England with my Brit and welcoming him home and meeting his family.  Let’s start from the beginning… We took a short flight from Cork to London, which is what I love about Europe, you can travel pretty much anywhere by a short plane ride or train. Imagine, plane hopping from one beautiful country to the next.

It was late at night and we took a taxi from Heathrow to my Brit’s brother’s house outside of London. Because I was on vacation I decided to eat the famous sandwich from Marks and Spencer that my boyfriend has been bragging about. And, my sandwich was delicious, brie cheese with grape… a fatty’s delight.

So I was shoving the sandwich in my mouth to calm my nerves. I meant my Brit’s brother when he visited NYC (which by the way, he’s hot, sorry babe) but now I was meeting the brother’s wife and kids and then eventually my Brit’s parents.  Plus, we were staying at the brother’s house. Now, I can’t very uncomfortable staying at other people’s homes, to use the bathroom, get a drink of water, sleeping, etc. It’s odd but that’s me. I mean, does anybody get comfortable shitting in a stranger’s home?

The brother lives outside of London, kind of comparable to Westchester to Manhattan. He lives in an exclusive cottage community, about twelve cottages and everyone who lives there are family friendly and all are close. Like Pleasantville. There is even a farm in the back with horses and goats.

We arrive late at night and the brother and sister in-law are waiting up for us. I honestly thought the sister in-law was going to be a biotch but she seriously was the nicest person. Made me feel welcomed. And, the brother I already knew was kind too.

We ended up sharing a room, which everyone was cool about. Now, my mother would not be cool about this unless I had a ring on my finger. The cottage is smaller than I would imagine (they paid about a cool one million for it (US dollars I’m talking here, I’m not that British smart)). Anyway, our guest room was tiny but tightly fitted a queen bed and a large drawer, no TV and barely room for my large two luggage.

I was still nervous that I made my Brit come to the bathroom with me to brush my teeth and wash my face. Thankfully, all the excitement tired me out and as soon as my head hit the pillow I passed out.

My Brit warned me about his niece and nephew, about how they have strong personalities, how they might pick on me for my accent and eating habits, and also how they will just storm in our room, jump on our bed, and wake us up… which is the real torture.

The bedroom doors did not have locks so while getting dressed or sleeping anyone could just walk in. So, they were kind enough not to wake us up while jumping on our chests the first morning. We walked down for breakfast in my family friendly pjs and met the rugrats.

They hugged me and wrote cute letters how they wished they were able to stay up to have welcomed us the night before. After breakfast with a million questions and yummy toast, the little boy asked me the most lovable thing any child has asked me, “Are you part of the family?” My boyfriend’s face turned red and I knew I won the family over in just a few short minutes. Bitch, where is my engagement ring?

Btw, news worthy info! In some lucky homes in England, they have this amazing contraption called an Aga

You can get one delivered anywhere and I want one. It will cost you about $14,000 but I think it’s worth it. It stays hot forever, it heats the room up perfectly, and the food comes out better, especially toast.

Anyway, that day it turns out to be the American holiday 4th of July, and my Brit’s brother tried to get me an American flag but surprisingly they were sold out so instead he got me a balloon. How kind! There was also a party in the cottage community, a child’s birthday party and we were kindly welcomed. Everyone wished me a Happy Independence Day and wanted to hear all about the American. Instead of feeling like a poor zoo animal, I felt special.  I made the kids’ friends and had a blast with cake and Pimm’s. It was the perfect warm Saturday afternoon.

That night, we had an adult dinner and cocktails. The kids were being watched by the 2nd part of the party, a camp out in the farm. We only had 30 minutes to get dressed. That’s like 5 minutes my time. I rushed, reapplied my makeup and threw anything on that didn’t make me look like a hog. I wore a mini sequin skirt, tank that showed the girls off, and a cobalt blue blazer (one of my favorite pieces of clothes I own). The sister in-law looked more formal with a dark blue dress that covered everything and low heels. I looked like the hoe American. But damn, it’s Saturday night and we were going out on the town. We had drinks at one hot spot and discussed children, since one couple has children and I’m sure they didn’t want to hear about the freedom of not having children. Then, we went to dinner at a very fancy restaurant, I mean white gloves and rehearsed serving skills. We had bottles of wine and ate small plates of delicious over-priced food.

And after a night of drinking, we couldn’t even get freaky because the house was small and we were being respectful. And, we were being so respectful that we didn’t have sex for the entire week in England. It was torture because sometimes a girl needs a pounding.

So, my posts about England will be sexless. Sorry, but it’s more painful for me than for you.

If you have any questions or comments please email me at



The second part of our Ireland trip was Cork, where the wedding was going to take place.  My Brit rented a tiny manual car and three hours later we arrived. The drive over was gorgeous with the green hills and farm life, plus had a blast singing with my boyfriend and discussing his friends I was about to meet. He had to drive because this lady only knows how to drive automatic.

We arrived at the adorable tiny town and I felt like I was in some Charles Dickens story. However, the same wasn’t for our hotel.  Our hotel was extremely child friendly, to the point that the hotel staff thought we had children of our own. The receptionist even charged him for day camp for our “child”.

Anyway, we got to our room to discover one single bed and one queen bed.  After moving the beds together to make one king, apparently I like to sleep in the middle of the bed, so I have been told, we went to dinner at the hotel’s restaurant. We got a table in the corner to hide from the room of screaming babies, children running wild, and parents looking miserable while downing drinks. Afterwards, we went to watch Jurassic Park in the tiny theater (the only theater in town).

The next day we ate at the breakfast buffet and got lost driving to the BBQ of the groom’s vacation home. Finally arriving at the house, went to the beach to take in the beautiful view (however, it was windy and chilly) after eating and mingling at the BBQ. Later that night, we went to the local pub and drank with the groom (he’s my Brit’s friend). Got to hear lots of stories from my boyfriend’s friends about him so it was nice to see that side of him.

We made it an early night since we had to get up for the big day! And, I needed the time to make myself pretty and workout. We woke up to the screams of children, better than an alarm clock. Being the nice girlfriend that I am, to make our trip special (especially since the kids were kinda ruining the sexy mood), I let him shave me. Not shave my legs but shave my vajayjay. A first for both of us. He loved the idea of it but it’s actually scary. It became more of a chore for him than it being sexy. He was so worried about cutting me and even though I didn’t show it, I was worried too. After I took ver, we fooled around in the shower.

We arrived at the church looking fabulous, me in a long cobalt blue one shoulder gown, and him in his new light grey suit and blue tie. I felt confident until I saw that most women were wearing hats to the ceremony. I totally forgot about the hat tradition! You would think my Brit before would remind me but no, so I looked like the American douche.

The ceremony was super long and for some reason the priest introduced the bridal party as if it we were there to watch a play. Afterwards, we went to the reception which was located on top of a hill with views of the beach. They really were blessed with such a beautiful day. No rain and the sun was out, a rare occasion in Ireland. I had Pimm’s for the first time and felt like a proper Brit.

Nothing too exciting happened at the wedding reception. I got tipsy on champagne as usual, I danced till my feet hurt (as usual), I ate like the world was going to end (as usual), and I fell in love with my Brit more.  All his friends loved the cute American girl who my Brit was spending all his time with…. now where is my ring (j/k, kinda).

The only embarrassing thing was one of the guest (an American) took off his clothes and danced on the stage… thanks for representing us classy!

The next day we went to lunch with my Brit’s friends and walked along the beach with the wind in our hair and in nice warm comfy clothes. Can you believe people were in their bathing suits and in the water? My Brit told me that Ireland were used to weather like that and considered that warm!

Anyway our last day in Cork was nice and relaxing. We packed up, had dinner, and headed to the airport to head to our next destination, England!


You can email me if you have any questions or comments



This summer, I went to Ireland for the first time with my Brit. We had his friends wedding in Cork, but since I never traveled to the Guinness loving country, I wanted to go to Dublin. Even though my Brit has been there before and wasn’t really crazy about traveling there again, he went because he loves me.

For two weeks I was going to be away with my man, a first for us as a couple as well as a first for me with any boyfriend. We were traveling to Dublin, Cork, and England to visit his family. In this post, I will only be discussing Dublin.

We left on a Friday night, which means Thursday night for hours I was packing like a crazy lady while my dogs watched. Side note, my mom watched my dogs while I was away and sent me pictures everyday of them. Back to my post, I had no idea how to pack because 1) the weather was different than hot New York July heat, 2) I was meeting his family for the first time and didn’t want to look like the “stereotypically American hoe” but also not a prude,  and 3) I will be gone for 2 WEEKS! I had to pack different outfits for different occasions as well as a wedding. That means a gown, and special shoes, and jewelry.

So after almost having a nervous breakdown, I finished packing and had a restless sleep, fearing I forgot to pack something. Then in the morning, I had to bring my two large suitcases with me to work because I had to leave directly from the office to JFK airport.

All day I was working I kept thinking of what I forgot to pack and making myself more nervous. Plus, thinking of how I’m going to look unsexy while sleeping on the plane in front of my boyfriend. Remember, I’m trying to make him put a 3 carat ring on it. And of course, everyone needed something from me that day and actually had to stay later than any person should on a Friday night to finish my work.

Finally free when I put my out-of-office on for my work emails, I left with my two massive luggage and got a taxi to the airport, while giving my office the finger. While being stuck in traffic, all I could think of was if this was going to be the trip that my Brit proposed to me. A part of me knew I was was reading too many chick-lit books so I had this huge fantasy of him on one knee with champagne and a picture perfect moment. The sane part of me (25% of me is sane), knew I was just meeting his family so he wouldn’t dare do anything without their approval.

I also was worried about my fat because I had to fit into my gown for the wedding which wasn’t for another week, so instead of eating to my stomach’s pleasure I had to be sort of good.

So my Brit and I met at the airport and all my worries disappeared. His kiss bolted me and I finally realized that I am going away with my hunky man. I’m going to have a blast and I need to stop worrying. So I took the stick out of my ass and became vacation me.  Which meant my fat ass went right to Shake Shack, got a chocolate shake, mushroom veggie burger, and fries. And of course, went to a bar and drank myself silly till I was convincing my boyfriend to join the Mile High Club.

Well, that plan sank quicker than the Titanic when I sat in my chair on the plane and fell right to sleep. I blame the wine, worry from earlier that day, and my fat meal. But being me, I had to wake up for the dinner they provided. Then, passed out again.

In Dublin, we stayed in two different hotels because The Schoolhouse hotel (where my boyfriend wanted to stay) was booked our first night so we stayed in the Gibson, a modern hotel in the Lower East part of Dublin (NYC language).

Since we were early checking in we were able to walk around and be tourist. When we were finally allowed to enter our room we took a nap, which lasted for 2 hours.

The hotel was a little too cold for my liking but it had one of the best bathrooms. The shower was the size of my apartment so you know my Brit pounded into me from behind while my tits were squeezed against the glass. A great way to start the trip. After we got our freak on, we went to a romantic dinner of Thai which was the only restaurant opened at 9:30 at night. The food was amazingballs and the atmosphere was perfect for just having been screwed.

Apparently in Dublin, lots of places close around the time New Yorkers start their nights haha. We ate dinner and headed to a couple of bars. The streets were crowded with drunk Irish men at 11:30. We drank and listened to live Irish bands. At 12:30 we had to make our trolley back to our hotel because they stop running at that time. Which was fine by us because after the flight, sight seeing, and fucking we were exhausted.

The next day we went to our new hotel across the city called The Schoolhouse Hotel, it was an adorable old schoolhouse converted into a hotel. It was in the location of how I would describe the Upper East Side (again New York language).

The hotel gave you a free breakfast buffet every morning and their restaurant was extremely popular with  the locals. But, that wasn’t the best part. The hotel let you rent movies for free. As much as you want. Including PORN.  And yes, we did watch a few movies and got our freak on thank you very much for asking. I mean, when one of the movie’s titles is “Splish Splash On My Teen Face” it’s basically begging you to watch it.

Anyway, I tasted fish pie which is not as yummy as it sounds haha. Since in Europe Shepard’s pie is pretty popular and I always wanted to taste it but since I don’t eat meat I couldn’t so I said if they ever made fish pie I would eat it. Well I did and I would never again haha. I did eat a lot of fish and chips and drink lots of Guinness. I am not a beer lady, I only drink it when I’m watching sports or at a dive bar. But, in Dublin all I drank was Guinness. It tastes completely different from the Guinness here. It’s lighter and I’m convinced they must put drugs in it.

Besides walking around and looking at all the sights, at night we went to dinners and lots of pubs. I became a little Irish in Dublin haha. Now, if I could only find the actor Domhnall Gleeson I would be all set. I do have a thing for those gingers.

We also went to the Guinness Factory, which my boyfriend was against because when he went last time he said it was boring. Going again, he said the second time was a lot better… I’ll take credit for that. We bought our first Christmas ornament there, learned how to properly drink a Guinness, and went to the famous rooftop to view the city of Dublin and have a free beer.

I would recommend everyone to at least go once but I wouldn’t go to Dublin again. It’s not like London or Paris or any city in Italy (at least for me). However, Dublin will always have a special place in my heart because it was the first stop for my Brit’s and mine vacation (our first big one).

If you have any questions or comments, you can email me at


Baby Arm

No, I’m not talking about a cute child’s chubby arm, I am talking about a man’s dick. A very large dick. For some odd reason, it looks like a baby arm. If you have ever seen one, you know what I’m talking about. Why am I mentioning this fact you ask? Before my Brit, I started working at the company I am with now. I was fresh faced and full of hope and promise. Single and having fun dating.  I was feeling and looking good, making some real good money, and actually enjoying my job.

Of course, it had to crash like the Titanic. Like any normal hormonal woman, I had work crushes but didn’t act on them because I was in the adult world with a real job. Then after about several months of working there, I received a work IM from one of my co-workers. It was a guy who I spoke a total of like three words to. At the company Holiday party, I asked him where Lily was, because he looked like Marshall from “How I Met Your Mother”. Then days after the party, he IMs me, flirting.

Not going to lie, I was into it. I was alone and he was really cute. After the day of talking, he asks me what he and a black guy have in common. Not knowing where he was going with that question, I asked him what he meant. He told me that they both have big dicks. And, that’s how I started sexting with Baby Arm.

We exchanged numbers and that night I received my first dick pic from him. It scared me because of the size and bluntness.  I thought I was going to go blind or my phone would break from loss of memory. And, sorry, but I had to send my friends the picture. I think I heard their screams from my apartment.

I have many stories about this Baby Arm so keep reading. If you have any questions or need advice you can write to me

Bombs Away

So if you have ever been in a relationship, an only child, or just shit shy then you understand my pain. I am all three and let me tell you something, it’s stressful. You have to stalk bathrooms out, time your bathroom session well, and pray you can be quick and smell-free.

Wait, what is bombing you ask? Bombing is referred to when you shit or fart. Everyone has done it and has been a victim of these bombs. Example, you are at a bar and maybe you are buying a drink or dancing and you are just minding your own business when boom, a strong smell hits your nose and makes your eyes water. That’s a fart bomb. And, the people that drop these bombs will walk away, making you look like the bomber. And, that’s not a cute look for anyone.

Another example is when you destroy the bathroom after let’s say eating Taco Bell. Still don’t know what I’m talking about? Here’s a video to show you:

Now you get it? Why am I bringing this up you ask? Well, as you know I am moving in with my Brit. So, when we spend the night at each other’s places I stress over when I can bomb my/his bathroom but now I will have to worry about it EVERYDAY. So, while looking at apartments, I would love to get a two bedroom so I can have a bomb bathroom.  A bomb bathroom, the one where you know you can destroy it to your ass’s pleasure and not worry about your lover. Right now, I’m going in public places and at work, which is not fun because I think everyone knows now.

It would also be nice to not have to pretend I’m showering longer than necessary when I’m really bombing. Also, not to wait for work would be super nice too. It’s so much work to bomb in the office. I stalk our 2nd floor bathroom since not a lot of people are on that floor, go in, drop as fast as I can, and bounce out of there before anyone knows it me. I feel like I need a mic to drop when I’m done.

I’m writing this because I know other people understand my struggle and I want them to know it’s okay. We will make it through together. And, when we do get a place, I will let you know if I get my bomb bathroom.

Any questions or comments please write to me


Moving On Up

So it’s time in a relationship that my Brit and I are talking about moving in together, and not just moving in but buying something. Being old (almost 31!) and him older, we struggled to decide if we should buy a house or an apartment in NYC. The Brit wants kids while I have never been in love with giving up my freedom to be a slave to some little shits. But, I love my man so I will pop out some babies for him, plus I will be allowed to eat as much as I want for 9 months and him be a slave to me… looking at this as a bonus.

So if we have kids, then it makes sense to look for a house outside in NYC, since my Brit is not a millionaire times thirty and not buying a townhouse. You get more for the buck and better schools. But, I’m not sure I’m ready (and will ever be) to move outside the best city in the world.  And, I can’t see myself yet driving a SUV and taking care of a house.

However, we went and looked at some houses and I did start to fall in love with the idea of becoming a home owner. The houses we saw were gorgeous and spacious… some with pools! I started picturing myself becoming Martha freaking Stewart with the cooking and making clothes for our children while rocking heels.

Then I woke up and realized that you have to commute everyday to the city for work and to live. Plus, the LIRR sucks balls (that’s the train we would take back and forth from Long Island to the city). And, we were looking in Long Island because that’s where I grew up (hence my horrible accent).   Check out the video to hear it.

We were going to check out Westchester (the trains are supposed to be better) but then we were like why buy a house now? We are not married nor have any kids and we freaky love the city as if it was our child. Why leave it? We can have kids in the city till they start school or if my Brit makes more $$$ then we can send them to private school with all the other douchebags.

We checked out more apartments this past Sunday and I fell in love with such a cozy apartment. The price is amazing balls, the maintenance won’t kill us, everything is up to date, exposed brick, doorman, pet friendly, and two bedrooms! The second bedroom is a little small but that will be a guest room turned into a nursery. We can save with this place for a future bigger place wherever/whenever that might be.  Click on the link to see the place.

The only negatives are I wish there was more closet space (always need more of that) and one bathroom! Let’s talk about the bathroom situation in the next post because that’s a whole story.

If it was up to me, that place would be mine already but the Brit is paying for it sooooo it’s ultimately his decision. I’m trying to convince him to buy the place, even bragging him with blow jobs but he’s “smart” and likes to think about something till his head hurts. He’s in finance so I guess he knows more about investments while my investments are my clothes.

Is this not a nice place? Am I being too much? Email me with your comments or questions





No More Cottage Cheese Please

So I’m a little ashamed to admit I like eating cottage cheese. I feel healthy when I eat a little bit of it. Why you ask I mention cottage cheese? Not for the taste. Yes, I’m going to be that gross and say the look of it. And, why am I commenting on the look of it you ask? Because last year I got a YEAST INFECTION. I feel even more ashamed to admit that.

First, your lady part is itchy. Not like when your pubic hair grows but more like you want to sit at home all day and just scratch. It also burns and you feel the evil flames from the inside. So I sat on my toilet bowl, spread my legs, and looked at myself in a hand mirror. I felt like I was in a horror movie… cottage cheese everywhere. And the smell, I felt like I couldn’t wash enough.

I ran to the gyno and with one look she told me I had the infamous yeast infection. I was so grossed out. I thought only dirty women or whores get this.

So with my hooded covered head faced down in embarrassment, I went to the store to buy a cure. I spent some big bucks on the “quickest” fix for my yucky problem. For the cure, you stick an egg shaped cream into your lady part and wait. If you thought you burned and itched and smelled before, you were wrong. You have to wear a period pad because your underwear will be a mess. And, no sexy time… not like you would be in the mood. All I wanted to do was lie in bed in sweats and eat my depression away.

Finally, after my expensive “quick” cure (it took five days, “quick” my ass), I felt like a normal human being.  And, my love for cottage cheese went out the door. I saw enough of the lumpy texture for a week. I could have scooped out all of my cottage cheese and served it for breakfast for a family of four.

With my FBI stalking/research talent you know I looked up the reasons God did this to me. Apparently, if you have dirty underwear, rough sex, and eat too much yogurt you could catch this infection. Also, you could be just prone to having them… which I think is God’s cruelest punishment. So let’s pray it’s just my boyfriend pounding into me too hard. And, so far I haven’t had anymore so I think we are in the clear.

I also read that some women take a tampon, cover it in yogurt, and stick it in them to cure themselves. One, I like my yogurt only in my mouth and two, I don’t use tampons…. but that’s for another blog post.

If you have any questions, comments, or want some advice