Spooning As A Human Pretzel

I never labeled myself as a heart breaker. In fact if I had to stamp myself with one word it would be: Independent. I've always been the kind of girl that marched to her own drummer, goes on solo dates with herself, was able to go to the ladies room by herself without her entourage following, speaks her mind, dresses for herself, and is just as happy single as she is in a relationship. It's something I've always been proud about. But recently when in a class at the college I attend, a group of classmates and I were giving each other tag lines. It got a bunch of laughs as we gave a tag to everyone in the circle..and then it was my turn. "Don't fall in love with her, she'll only break your heart." ...I didn't know whether to laugh or simply cry. Of course I laughed and brushed it off during class. But as I drove home, I began to think...am I really like that? Is that how the world sees me?

Now I know this blog I write doesn't help that opinion of me. But, it's the chance I take and this blog reveals my inner thoughts and experiences I've had. Those that are close to me know that I'm made up of various things...

As an independent girl I sometimes think a little different than the average chick a dee, but I don't think that qualifies me as necessarily a "heart breaker" Here's what I mean: This past weekend as I laid in bed next to this great guy, I realized "I'm an asshole." Let me explain...

As a lot of you know from reading my past blogs, I'm on a drought. Yes, it's still happening and no, I will not reveal how long it's been. With this drought happening, my friends, people at the radio station, and co-workers are wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Get it over and done with, this isn't healthy. You would think I have some kind of disease by the pity looks I receive. I realize it is by my own choice and to tell you the truth I'm not really sure what I'm waiting on. Not necessarily the knight in shining armour but I do know I'm not going to settle for the guy at the bar that smells of corn chips and unemployment either.

So, there I am at this local place that my close friends and I always hang out at. It's no glamorous place to say the least. It's a kind of Cheers bar, where everyone knows your name...and your panty line, if you make your way around...if you know what I mean. (No, I do not know this from personal experience.)

There's a bartender there who we'll call....Steve. Steve and I have known each other for almost a year, the flirtation has always been there but nothing to ever come of it. He's your typical shy guy, doesn't say too much in person but as soon as you leave he'll text you exactly what was going on in his head while you were there. This personally can get kind of annoying to me. Doing this once in awhile is fine. But all the time? Eh, it's a dryer upper. But, since he has this Mark Ruffalo cuteness about him I never really thought too much about it.

On this certain night, Steve had the night off and was drinking with his buddies. I was celebrating a smart decision I had made and was having a few beers with some of my friends. Now, I don't want to toot my own horn, but I'd like to think I'm just as fun when out and sober as I am when out with alcohol running in my veins...but let's really be honest with each other, alcohol adds a little bam to your personality. And not to sound Jersey Shore-ish but I can be "a blast in a glass" with a few gin and tonics in me.

The night was going good, Steve must have drank some courage that night because he said much more to me than the usual seven point five words and his hands began to find my hips. The invitation to hang out afterwards was stated many times. After a few Cupid Shuffle dances with the girls, watching my intoxicated friend dirty dance with some guy to Elton John's "Benny and The Jets", and 5 glasses of whatever later, it was last call.

Now, let me just state, I don't stick by one person when out, I'm pretty much a social butterfly and try to make my way and talk to everyone that catches my interest. Well, by doing this I lost sight of Steve. I went up to the other regular bartender, Charlie, that one of my good friends Sarah is seeing (aka sleeping with) and is a roommate of Steves and asked if he had left. He said "Yeah, but he went to the store to pick up some stuff and told me to tell you to make sure you come over with Sarah afterwards."

Sarah heard this statement from Charlie and let out one of those girl shrieks that irritates the hell out of me. She just knew deep down, my drought was going to end that night.

Steve? To cure my drought? It could work. Let the games begin...

So, before I left the bar I did a routine that any girl would do to freshen up: pee, fix hair, powder nose, gloss the lips, fix the girls, spray a dab of perfume on the wrists, cleavage, and hair...jump up and down for some energy (yes, I do that. Don't you?) and head off to the desired destination.

As I rode with Sarah to Steve and Charlies place ( we rotate turns for DD) we discussed what was going to happen. And she asked if I shaved my legs. Uh, yeahhh! What does she think I'm a cave woman when I go out? Her response? "It just seems to be bad luck for girls when they shave the legs and who ha and are prepared." Well, shouldn't that mean you should ALWAYS be prepared then? Matching bra and panties, shaved legs and who ha...Come on now.

As we arrived at the house after our seven minute drive and stop at the gas station for some beer, there were a few other cars there. Mostly owned by a few of the regulars that always go to the "Cheer's Bar."

As we walked in, we all exchanged hellos and grabbed a beer. But there was no sight of Steve. I asked Charlie where he was and pointed to a bedroom and told me just to go in. "Whatever" I thought to myself. I was either going to just find him in his room, by himself, being anti-social or I was going to find him and someone else curing his anti-social status. I knocked on the door and I heard a "come in" As I walked in ,the lights were dimmed down low and he was laying on his bed watching the movie "Forgetting Sarah Marshall"

I asked if he was planning on coming out in the living room with the rest of us and he simply stated "No, I'm just going to hang out in here." I figured this was my cue to leave him alone and turned around to walk out of his bedroom, I stopped leaving when I heard "but you can stay and keep me some company."

I accompanied him on his bed as I layed and watched "Forgetting Sarah Marshall" for the forty-seventh time. I didn't pay attention much to the movie because the whole time I was thinking "Are you going to make a move or what?"

Now I'm definitely not too shy to make the move or to bring it up, I mean you're reading the girl's blog who the first time she ever kissed a boy, and he was talking about wanting to kiss me the whole time beforehand I looked over and said "So are we going to talk about it or are you going to actually kiss me?" But for once in my life, I would not like to be the controlling one in the situation, hoping someone would let me enjoy being a girl and take over for once. I was hoping Steve would be that one.

After the movie was FINALLY over, he turned off the lights. Okay, I thought to myself. Lets get this ball rolling...

fifteen minutes later...nothing.

twenty five minutes late...nothing.

I finally turned facing away from him, because I was getting kind of annoyed. If I just wanted to lay in bed, I would go home to my comfy bed and have my dog Gracie sleep in bed with me.

Dear Steve, There is a twenty three year old Blonde girl in your bed...

All of a sudden he made a move...So, he is alive, I thought to myself.

He got close to the back of my head and whispered "you looked absolutely beautiful tonight."

I was flattered, but really the "notebook" shit was the last thing I wanted at that moment.

He then began to spoon me. Yes, I said spoon me. I was hoping and praying there was a type of pre spoon in his world before sex and this is like some kind of warming up stance for him that they may do in this area where he lives. Kind of like a foreplay perhaps.

I may be the only girl I know that isn't a fan of spooning. I know, I am a rare breed. Like a fucking unicorn or a sober Hilton girl or something. I may not like it because I've never been intimate with someone that I loved. So, spooning always felt like a chore and I would count down the minutes till it seemed long enough that I could get up and leave without looking like a bitch.

This pre spooning went on for at least a full episode of "It's always Sunny in Philadelphia" I had to do something. So I turned around and faced him. Hello, I am here! Here are my glossed lips and my vagina and they are towards your direction..lets go!

Nothing.

Finally, my hair must have been in my face, he smoothly pushed my hair back and leaned in and kissed me...with no tongue.

Normally I would not be complaining. Some of my favorite kisses have been with no tongue. The old Hollywood kiss. Sometime, I prefer that. In fact, the majority of the time. But not when my vagina is aching after an odd number of months.

After we were done having our kiss, he literally intertwined his legs with mine in some pretzel manner, and wrapped his arms around me.

There I am laying down in an unknown bed, wondering what time it is, and feeling like a damn Auntie Anne's Pretzel at the mall.

What did I do wrong in my previous life?

So, I soldiered it up and thought to myself this cant be it.

And then he reached for my hand and we locked fingers. I felt like he was a growth coming off my body, that's how smushed we were together.

This had to be the opening act. I thought to myself. I mean every main headliner has an opening band, this has to be the sucky opening band.

And then I heard the snoring...

Seriously? Seriously? I have been laying here with you for god knows how long and you want to sleep, spoon, snore in my ear, and act like Ryan Gosling from the Notebook. Grrrrrr.

Luckily, I had my phone in my pocket and texted Sarah in hopes that she fucked Charlie and was ready to go home.

1st text: Sarah.

2nd text: Sarahhhhhhh

3rd text: You so better be having sex

4th text: I'm going to smack you hard when I see you.

I must have fell asleep with snoring boy, because I woke up and looked at my phone and an hour had passed by.

No text from Sarah and I was still holding hands with Steve.

I began to look around his room without moving my body, I counted thirty seven movies, eight TV shows on DVD, and a big book of psychology on his shelf.

Dear Steve, You might want to see if there's a medical term in your Psych book for you having a man-gina and wanting to spoon all night.

I was over this whole being nice thing and was just about to move my body and risk going to jail by stealing Sarah's car when I realized "I'm an asshole"

Yep, to put it on the fricking table "Hotto is an asshole"

A lot of girls I'm friends with complain constantly on how their significant other never wants to cuddle, spoon, hold hands, and here I am knocking it and getting annoyed.

Then i realized those friends of mine aren't on a drought either.

So I am aloud to be an asshole. It is my right.

I moved my arms and legs out of this looped contraption he made with our bodies, grabbed my purse, walked out of Steve's room, and called Sarah.

Lucky for me she was ready to go.

On the way home, I told her what happened and she of course made every excuse in the book for him: Maybe he respects you. Maybe he wants a relationship. Maybe he was too drunk and knew he wouldn't be able to perform.

Or maybe Sarah, he's sporting a man-gina!

So, in closing if I could leave you with four last statements, they are this...

1.) I now know how a Auntie Anne Pretzel feels.

2.) I hate spooning now more than ever,

3.) If the theory is true, that shaving jinxes you...all of us should run around with hairy legs.

4.) Who ever said spooning leads to forking has never met Steve the bartender.

XoX

Hotto

Sex, Drugs, And Rock and Troll?! Part II

..."Miss Veronica, can you please accompany me to the back of the bus?" ...And so I did.

I wasn't an idiot, I had a slight clue on what the invitation was for but I told myself that there was enough people around that if I wasn't feeling it, the word "No" should be apparent to him. There were several bunks in the back, pill bottles galore, touched off with half empty liquor bottles decorating the counters. It wasn't anything quite as glamorous as I had pictured in my head when I thought about a rock star's tour bus. To put it plain and simple: it looked like a drug addicts bachelor pad on wheels.

There was a curtain separating the four bunks from a back room. As I gazed at my surroundings, he stepped in front of me and there was no more than two inches from my face to his. "Yesss?" I asked.

"I wanted to show you some stuff and thought we could hang and talk" he said.

"Oh goody!" I thought to myself. "I'm sure he's going to show me old family pictures of when he was a nobody and then we can talk about his favorite color and his ex porn star girlfriends." Ha! Yeah right, I was prepared to be shown some stuff...like Rob junior.

As Rob opened the curtain, there was a rather good size water bed, neatly made up with all the right amount of pillows, various framed photos on a nightstand and a...stuffed troll on the bed? Yes, I said a stuffed troll. The kind with the mega bed head and jewel at the belly button. I got a cringe but ignored it and planted my fish netted ass on his water bed.

He sat down next to me and told me how he had noticed me back stage immediately.Well, duh! I would have noticed a blonde girl in a bright colored dress, drinking my bottled water and talking to my roadies too.

We continued on talking about life, love, dating and then that's when the bullshit began..."You're not like anyone I've ever met on the road, Veronica. I'm so tired of the stripper, porn star scene. They're so fake. I want something real." ...Yeah? Well, I wanted a fricking lemonade at that moment, but I knew his alcoholic ass wasn't going to have any. So, I guess we were both outta luck. First of all, I know I'm a degree of rad but really, he only met me maybe 2 hours prior. And what man on this planet gets tired of a stripper and porn star?

Still, I kept my mouth shut, giving him the benefit of the doubt and wanting to see where this was going to go. Hey, I wanted to be amused.

As he complimented my intelligence and my brain, (Yes he even said my brain was amazing and real?) his hand landed on my leg. ...Yep, because my intelligence is stored right in that area. I could tell he knew his anatomy well. This was no dummy I was dealing with.

It all of a sudden got silent. He bit his lip, gave me this intense look, and let out this moan/sigh. I think it was him trying to be sexy. But frankly, it looked like he was constipated. Maybe this has worked for his ex porn star girls who knew the word laxative well and weren't alarmed with this look. I, on the other hand. naturally started to giggle. Thus, making him get pissed, wondering what was so funny. I couldn't be cruel, so I told him his hand brushed up against my side and tickled me. (Hey, I never claimed to be totally smooth. But, he believed it.)

After my giggling session was over, he stood up and took off his tshirt, revealing a wife beater and various well done tattoos. ...Okay, so he was looking kind of hot, despite the trailer park wife beater look.

I turned my body around, looking at his various pictures he chose to have framed and there it was in sight...the troll.

I'm not sure if you know this or not. But, little people scare me. No really, they do. Some people are terrified of spiders, heights, commitment...for me? It's little people. Which I feel awful about because they can't help it. I can't even watch the munchkin part in the wizard of oz because I feel like I'm going to be sick. And trolls? Well, they remind me of little people.

So, I nonchalantly bump the troll off the bed so I didn't have to look at it anymore, thinking he wouldn't notice. ...Of course he did. He called it by some name and placed it back on the bed. I asked if it was from a relative or fan. His response? "No, I've just always liked trolls." ...What do you say to that?

This wasn't even an evil looking troll, it was one of the creepy, cute ones that were popular in the eighties and nineties. If you knew what rocker I was talking about, you would be surprised by this infatuation he has.

After the awkwardness died down from me pushing the troll off the bed, he leaned in for a kiss and smoothly laid me down oh his bed...right next to the fucking troll.

The kiss itself was great. It was everything a kiss on the back of a tour bus should be like...rough, hot, scratching, biting, pulling of the hair, ripping on my fishnets. It was indeed one of the best kisses I've had from someone. We had to stop in the midst of our heat session when his tour manager interrupted telling Rob there were many fans wanting his autograph outside the bus. He excused himself and promised he would be back ASAP. "Whatever" I thought to myself. It would give me time to fix my hair, pee, powder nose, and hide that fucking troll.

After awhile he came back on the bus and I had already moved the pillows to one side of the bed...over the troll of course. As he pushed me on the bed, guess where my head landed? None other than right next to that damn troll's head. I felt annoyed that my "brilliant" plan didn't work and I had to share space with the creepy stuffed doll or whatever the hell it was.

The rest of the story is for you to guess on what happened...Did we do it? Did I stop it? Was it simply PG-13 rated? Or did he try to include the troll in the equation? I'll never tell.

But I will say this, we still keep in contact occasionally through emails, though it's mostly him sending pics of his Rob junior (Why do men think women want to see a picture of their penis? It doesn't do anything for us.)

I wish I could reveal who this person is, I truly do. But, like I said...I don't kiss and tell...well, the name at least. But now, every time I hear him belting out a song, I think of trolls and laxatives.

XoX

hotto

Veronica Hart - Part I

In high school I was voted "Most Likely to Appear on Girls Gone Wild" to sow my wild oats, I guess. My mother was so proud. Well, I chose a degree of it...the rock and roll version:

I have many theories in life: 1.) All jocks kiss the same - Sloppy! Annnd they all practiced on themselves in the boys locker room to achieve this. 2.) Anyone who refers to themselves as the third person is not someone to be trusted. 3.) Always match your bra and panties - you never know when you're going to end up in the hospital. 4.) Dinosaurs never existed and Miss Piggy is probably a bitch in real life. and 5.) Keep a diary, just to remind your grand kids or whoever reads it when you're gone, that you too were a rad person at one time. But, most importantly make sure you live your life in a way that makes people want to read your diary. I have over 50 diaries that are in a drawer. The early ones consisting most of my amateur adventures: when my best friend and I were stranded at a strip club at 3am when we were newly eighteen, when I got into my first and only fight in the girls locker room, having my first kiss right next to a dumpster, or when I was convinced I had a chance with a senior when I was in eighth grade. (Hey! He was the one that would call me.) The most recent ones however, are mostly in the style of how I write these entries. I'm sure my future grandchildren are going to be wide eyed reading them. Oh, and PS if I die at a young age - I give permission for someone to come to my place and grab my diaries before my mother gets a hold of them. Thanks. :-)

Having this theory planted in my head about experiencing stuff to write about, I joined the Plastics. If you've ever seen the movie, Almost Famous, you'll have a slight idea on what we're about, just a little more modern. We're groupies to put it plain and simple. Ever go to a concert and look by the side of the stage and notice girls standing there singing along to all the songs? Ever see some girls walking around the venue with backstage passes around their neck? Girls with fishnets following the lead singer and bass guitarist on the tourbus? Yep, that's us.

I'm really going to try hard not to sound like I'm bragging when writing this entry about my experience with rock stars. I know I'm lucky and some people would give their left little toe to meet who I've met. So, without sounding big headed - here it goes:

I can't listen to the radio for very long while driving without hearing one of his songs on a station. I go and pick up some milk at Walmart and I hear his voice singing on the loud speaker. I see his face on the cover of a magazine by the register at Giant Eagle. Honestly? It drives me fucking insane. Because I knew him before he was THIS big.

Let me first off start by saying, I know what you're thinking..."What does she have that's so great that gets her backstage?" 2 simple answers: 1.) Confidence. 2.) Connections. I know I'm not a dime as the ghetto boys call it. I have my problem areas physically like all girls do. But, I don't let this show when walking in a venue. People can smell fear and low self esteem miles away. As corny as it sounds, I'm not "Hotto" anymore...I play a part. I talk, walk, and present myself in a totally different manner that some of my closest friends wouldn't even recognize me. Which is why as a plastic, we have different names other than our original ones. Veronica Hart. Yeah, that's me. Nice to meet you.

No one around the music industry knows me by my real name. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I go by Veronica, when someone is shouting it and I'm looking around for the girl and realize " Oh, it's me."

Okay, now back to the story...

I did my research before I planted my heels on the venue floor. I wasn't at all impressed with him to say the least. Rock star or no rock star, he was still a normal person and from the info I read about him - I would have probably ignored his existence if we met in the "real world." Still, I was ready for fun.

After the show, I was backstage hanging out by the green room, sipping on a bottled water, talking with a few roadies I had made friends with and that's when he walked over. I knew exactly who he was, though he looked slightly different from the pictures in magazines. He had sex eyes to say the least. You know the kind, slowly undressing you from top to bottom as he looks at you. ...I wasn't impressed. To prove this theory, I asked him if he was going to join the other roadies in taking the equipment back to the bus.

The look he gave me was priceless, it was as if I told him I was going to kill him and his dog later that day with a spatula. "...Umm, I I I'm the lead singer." he stuttered. "Oh, really? Huh. Well lead singer, I'm Veronica. Does the lead singer have a name?" I asked. He stood there for what seemed like forever, his mouth still wide open in disbelief and guess what? I wasn't going to wait for his response. My time is too precious to wait on stuttering Stanley to give me an answer. So I grabbed my purse and walked away. As I walked away to go outside by the bus, he shouted his name...though I already knew it. :p We'll call him "Rob"...Ha! Did you actually think I was going to give you his real name?! Silly, reader!

I was already on the tour bus before Mister Diva "I'm the lead singer" Rob graced us with his presence. His band members and tour manager were talking shit about Rob, warning me about him as they did several lines and the bus became fog like from all the smoke from the weed. And there he walked on the bus, belting out one of his tunes he had sang earlier that night, like he was some music god. I sat there unamused and drank my bud lite.

He grabbed a joint as he made his way to the back of the bus, turned and pointed at me. Some girls might have gotten excited that Mister Big Deal Rob pointed at them...not me. I looked at him like he was on more than just weed and said "yeah? Did we forget my name already?"

"Miss Veronica, can you please accompany me on the back of the bus?"

...And so I did.

(to be continued)

XoX

Hotto

She's a man eater...

"I always tell the girls, never take it seriously, if ya never take it serioouly, ya never get hurt, ya never get hurt, ya always have fun..." - Penny Lane (Almost Famous)

I act like the dude in the majority of my relationships, flings, and hookups I have. This may change once I find a "real" man but so far its how its always been. I like to leave right after the sex happens. No making breakfast, no awkward talks afterwords - just a simple "I had fun" or high five (okay, I'm exaggerating on the high five part, though I think I want to now.) and go back to my own comfy bed. I don't like the clinginess, constantly answering to someone about where I'm going and worry about what they might think...Yeah, I'm that kind of girl. It's a love/hate kind of thing. Psychologically one might say I do this so I never get hurt in the end. And that's probably right, Dr. Phil. But, right now it's just what happens. They don't call me a man eater for no reason.

I realize this is bad advertising by putting it out on the table that I'm like this. But, this is the kind of blog I want to write. Truth. Non sugar coated. The nitty gritty. In your face. It's who I am as a person. And right now being 23 years old and single, having fun is on my top 5 priorities. But, there's more to me than walking around with an imaginary dick between my legs. (Okay, that sounded bad.) Honestly there is more to me. I mean...I'm a good citizen. I don't litter on the highway, I score high in Scrabble matches, I cant pass a flower without taking time to smell it, and I rap Jay-Z songs in the shower. So, I'm not completely horrible. Bare with me.

The point I'm trying to get at is by having this way of life there are only certain men that I'm compatible with in this department that understand this way of living...1.) Charlie Sheen and 2.) Rock stars. Since I'm no goddess and winning isn't everything to me- I went with the second route.

Question the stories I'm about to tell you - I have the backstage passes to prove it, the photos, the rip in a pair of fishnets, the emails and texts, the guitar picks...

However, lets get one thing straight before I continue on...I'm a plastic. You can look it up. It's a group of ladies who join together because of one similar interest: the music. It's like a music sorority. I guess you could say we're "groupies" for musicians. But, lets get one thing straight ladies and gentlemen: I have never slept, sucked, stroked, or kissed ANYONE to get backstage. Believe me or not. I know what kind of girl I am and I'm not that. Those kind of girls are what the plastics call: starfuckers. They don't know the name of the guys in the band, the songs they sing...they see dollar signs and want bragging rights.

The next couple blogs will consist of my experiences backstage, how I got into this, the back of the tour buses, the off the wall requests from guys you hear on the radio, the wrinkly dick photos, the strippers, the kisses...But all to a certain extent. My lips may not be totally sealed - but they're not fucking wide open either. :-)

XoX
hotto