If I was a rich girl

I'm scared I'll miss the way we use to talk
And if its all forever lost dont wanna know
I'm scared that you're the one that got away
And i want you here with me
Tonight, will never come

There needs to be something there, doesn't there? There has to be some kind of 'click.' I'll never understand those people that don't marry for love, but for money. Those rich girls that are raised to only marry rich and that's all they really look for in a man. They'll put up with whatever the guy will throw at them just because they're loaded and they know they'll have his credit cards later on. Money and looks fall along the same lines, no? There are also guys/girls that will put up with all kinds of crap from a significant other just because they're really hot. Is the money really worth the heartache? Are the looks that important?

I was lucky when I grew up. We were not RICH, but very comfortable. I'd always get everything I wanted. Somehow my mom raised me down to earth and grounded, though. She also raised me to want love, not money. Love and not looks. I wouldn't say that I've been lucky in the love department, I have dated some real losers. But, I guess I've been lucky in that they've all been cute. At least to me. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, after all. None of them have had any money, though. I've never dated rich. I don't know that I'd get along with rich. With rich comes arrogance, materialism, and bad manners in general. No, thanks.

I'm still not dating rich, not even close, but he's adorable and we click. He pisses me off every other week, but I know he would never do anything intentionally to hurt me. He's sweet and spends most of his time helping everyone around him, even at the expense of himself. As annoying as it can get, it's nice to date someone that everyone seems to love/count on. We seem to be polar opposites in most aspects of our personalities, which causes some friction, but I guess in combination we make a good balance of too nice/too obnoxious. And, last but not least, we talk really well. We click. That's gotta count for more than looks and money.

American Idol Rejects

There's this man, who I assume is a fag, that frequents the Starbucks in Sunny Isles. He wears pink biker shorts, pink tank top, this awesome Chiquita Bananna hat with all kinds of flowers instead of fruits, and carries around a pink purse. Everytime I see him he makes me laugh. I'm never with anyone to make fun of him, so I just laugh to myself. I would totally make fun of him, though. He deserves it. Anyone that walks out of their house, or cardboard box, looking that ridiculous deserves it. I don't make fun of people who can't help themselves (deformities, mental disabilities, etc), but this guy can help himself. He just chooses to dress this way. So, I choose to make fun of him.

There's this big hoopla about the new season of American Idol and the fact that the judges are ridiculously mean to the contestants. They make fun of their appearances and whatnot.. What bullshit! First of all, America loves it. America loves looking at the t.v. and making fun of the people on it. Especially when they are making fools of themselves. In reality, if you saw any of these sad, pathetic souls walking down the street you would make fun of them, too. So, what difference does it make? Personally, my favorite is the girl in the commercials that is a little tubby, has long hair and a mustache and of course, she can't sing to save her life. That brings me to my second point: these people are volunteering for America to laugh at them. I think they're being paid to act like morons, but if they aren't, then they want to be ridiculed on national television.

Yes, we're made from all walks of life, blah blah blah... Yes, everyone is different, blah blah blah... Yes, you shouldn't make fun of others becuase of their differences, blah blah blah... Oh, get off your high horse, you bleeding-heart, tree-huggin' losers. It's sad. It's mean. It's fucking funny. That's what t.v. stations care about. Ratings. Humor. They depend on your couch-potato ass to give them more money. And how will they do this? By exploiting all the losers that want their 15 minutes of fame. If you're that desperate for some t.v. time, then deal with the consequences.

Call me mean. I never said I was nice.

Girlfriends

There's something to be said about girlfriends. Girlfriends can be catty, bitchy and competitive, but they can also be an ear to hear your whining, unwarented-yet-needed-advice and generally a fun companion when you have to run mindless errands. I had a lot of girlfriends when I was in high school. Considering I went to an all-girl school it was kind of inevitable, but things are way different now. Since I moved into Hell, FL I have surrounded myself with boys. Straight boys, gay boys, boys nonetheless. I keep telling myself it's because I don't have anything in common with any of the girls here and don't get along with them. I don't really know how true that is, but I will tell you one thing: I miss having girlfriends. Although one can say that having gay boys and girlfriends are the same thing, they really aren't. Yes, they're both fun to go shopping with, but you usually can't take the boys into the dressing room with you. Yes, you can talk about your romantic joys and sorrows with both, but gay boys are mostly whores, so the advice isn't the same.

My lack of girlfriends put me into a I NEED CHICK FRIENDS kick last week, so I actually put up a semi-personals ad on a website. I was surprised at the fact that I got quite a few responses from people claiming to be like me in that they weren't into the "Miami Scene" and just wanted someone to hang out with. Quite a few of these girls were from out of state and had just moved here less than a year ago and they all say the same thing: meeting people in Miami is close to impossible. I think young people here are just unfriendly. Unless you've been friends with someone since elementary school, or are part of their family, they don't bother. They don't need you. And, if you're not into the "party" scene it's even worse. At least with the drinking and drugging you can meet people while you're fucked up and may become friends with them. Apparently it's not so easy for us sober folks.

Now, out of the 7 responses I got there are 3 girls that I thought I may get along with. However, after the recent few emails this list has gotten smaller. One of the girls is OBSESSED with how much she just loooooves her boyfriend and how happy she is. Well, thanks. I'm happy for you, but I don't really need to hear it all the time. I don't want to be picky, but I can tell this is something that will get on my nerves. Girl number two is a bit trashy.. she's sarcastic and kind of obnoxious like me, but she's like 30 and still thinks she's a goth. That's just sad. Girl number three is still being evaluated, but I'll let you know how it goes.

As for the Miami school of thought in sticking with the people that have been there forever.. maybe they're right. Maybe there is something to be said for people that have known you for most of your life and have always been there. Through good moments, bad moments and everything in between.. they're there. That's pretty cool.

The Lilith Files

Lilith is a Mesopotamian goddess that became a night demon who was believed to harm male children. She was the boss lady off all incubi and succubi. There's much more to her story, but I won't get into it because it's not the real reason for this post. Quite a few of you know about my little stint as a dominatrix. For those of you that don't, about 5 or 6 years ago (I can't remember specific time frames) I trained to become a dominatrix. I was curious about the profession and found a place in Ft. Lauderdale online. Upon Joey's goading I wrote to them to ask about becoming a slave in their dungeon. They wrote back asking me to come in for an informal interview and asked for my pictures. I went in and met with Cassandra, who explained to me the ins and outs of the job and she asked if I would be interested in training as a potential dom. Really?? Cool! Just like porn stars and strippers have stage names, so Mistress Lilith was born.

This place was cool as hell. It had all the fantasy rooms you could possibly imagine, a Catherine Wheel (now you know where the band got the name), doctor's/surgical room, school classroom, cross-dressing room.. it even had a bed for people to sleep there overnight! You would pay an obscene amount of money to sleep in the dungeon with a mistress. The mistress slept on the bed and you slept in a cage underneath her. It would be bolted shut and there would be security there overnight, so it was safe, but it's still a little creepy. They also had what they called "houseboys." Each mistress had their own boy. Houseboys were men who volunteered to be slaves. They took time out of their own schedules to go there on a daily basis and do the mistress' bidding. The one houseboy I worked with was Hillary (who is not his real name, they were all given female names for humiliation). Hillary wasn't mine, he belonged to Cassandra. In exchange for occasional beatings and more humiliation he did whatever he was told. When I say WHATEVER, I mean WHATEVER. Hillary was the one houseboy that was there all the time. He cleaned up, even after "sessions" with other men who sprayed their spunk everywhere. He bought lunch for Cassandra, he picked up her dry cleaning. Anything. I think I need me one of those now!! Hillary was a very sweet, very timid older gentleman (probably about 50ish). When I started I was supposed to train with Hillary, who was very excited at the prospect. Poor Hillary's fantasy was killed when Cassandra met a young boy online (Chris), who we nicknamed Bunny. Bunny came in and ended up becoming my guinea pig. I whipped him, tied him up, clamped his nipples, etc. I was really into the Japanese Rope Bondage, so I practiced that most. Something about tying a man up completely and kind of cutting off the circulation to his nether regions was appealing. Sick, I know. Eventually Bunny and I ended up dating a bit. "Dating" is a strong word, really.. we just played around some.

But, I digress.. I could recount several stories about men paying ($200 for an hour session) for this treatment, but this post will end up being ridiculously long. So, I will give you one story that really stuck to me: There was a man that came in one day, who was a BIG fan of Cassandra's. She had spent the day in the highest stiletto boots I've ever seen and when he saw then he almost wet his pants right there. Apparently he liked "puppy play" and had a foot fetish. Puppy play is exactly what you're thinking. The man liked to be trained and treated like a puppy. She had him crawling around the floor, fetching things with his teeth, and spanking him EVERYWHERE with a plastic whipy-thing. Then, she brings out a bag of fresh fruit. What the fuck are you going to do with fresh fruit, I thought? Well.. she takes off her boots (which at this point must be STANK) and proceeds to smoosh all the fruit with her bare feet. The man is on his hands and knees panting like a real dog and practically drooling! When she finishes smooshing, she puts her toes in the air and he totally licks the fruit off her feet. I was too shocked to want to hurl. Ew!? This is appealing to people?? I don't get it!? I can kind of understand the humiliation, I can even KIND OF enderstand the puppy stuff, but dirty, sweaty, smelly feet? EWWWW. It doesn't end here, though. After all this treatment Cassandra decided that he was such a good boy that she was going to reward him. By urinating on him. Which is apparently not legal, since this isn't a "strip club" and they aren't supposed to see nudity. So, she blindfolds him, takes him into the bathroom (which had a shower), lays him down in the stall and pees on him. Can I say EEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWW again?? Dirty feet was gross, but urine?? How could that possibly turn you on?

I guess everyone has their fetish and you shouldn't judge, but I just don't get it. I understand (and like) the pain, I can understand (and like) the domination/submission, I cannot understand humiliation or filth. Dirty feet, urine, feces, blood, where does it end? Ew.