Quick explanation for me being ghost...
The last semester of law school was not as breezy as planned.
Then the family drama reared its ugly head, and I just nearly lost my mind. Not really, but a sista was stressed.
I went back and forth with what state bar to apply for and finally reached a decision less than 30 days from the deadline.
I'm not a last minute person, but I just didn't know what to do.
So I made up my mind, decided to do me and moved to New York.
Obviously, I wasn't posting during the summer because bar prep was kicking my ass.
But I'm back and will attempt to treat this blog and my wonderful subbies better than my last relationship. LMAO.
Sorry, that shit was funny to me.
Love you!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Deleting a Sexual Experience
My girlfriend just told me that her last sexual dud, and yes, people it was more like a dud and not an experience because dude was WACK, does not count.
I told her, umm…yes it does.
She politely BBM’d me with a talk to the hand smiley and said no it does not.
Ok.
If discounting her dud will assist in erasing the memory then cool, but you can’t discount the fact that dude’s dick penetrated your vagina.
I mean really.
So when your man has sex with another woman but doesn’t cum, or the orgasm wasn’t the toe clencher he hoped for, can he discount cheating on you and just erase the sexual experience?
Cuz shit, if he can then we are all fucked.
Now how you gone erase that?
What is sex?
But the definition of when a man inserts his penis into a woman’s vagina, may need to be changed to benefit the individual.
Take for example my close friend, who wants to discount her last sexual dud as sex because her expectations weren’t fulfilled.
With her mindset we can say it's not sex if you don’t cum, or don’t get paid, or don’t get to spend the night and cuddle…whatever expectations…or disillusions you may have.
We’ll allow individuals to create their own definition.
To me its complete bullshit. I mean sex is sex. Fucking is fucking even if the shit sucks. The act cannot be erased. It just can’t. (Not to mention, this opens the door for further male/female interaction bullshit).
When you have sex with someone, it involves risks.
STDs
AIDS….ouch.
Pregnancy.
Emotions.
An orgasm. Multiple orgasms.
Or nothing.
Not a damn thing but his ass busting a nut, dressing, and leaving your place without an explanation or apology for his failed attempt at pleasing a woman.
So with knowing that risks are involved, you can’t say well I did get syphilis from dude, so lets not count that time because it wasn’t what I expected.
No one having sex expects to catch A I Die Slow, or to get pregnant from a one night stand.
We hope dude can fuck.
We hope we cum once.
We pray we cum twice.
But when it doesn’t happen (or something else happens that we didn’t necessarily bargain for) its still SEX.
Bad sex is sex.
Sorry.
But to help the world out I’ll create a logical excuse….wait, I mean definition of what sex should be.
Sex is when a man inserts his penis into a woman and she has an orgasm.
NO?
It makes complete sense. Lets take the basic 1L concept of Contracts.
For a contract to exist there must be 1) an offer 2) acceptance and 3) consideration.
Anything else (minus the million of exceptions) is NOT a contract.
You might have negotiations, but you don’t have a contract.
Therefore, you might have penile insertion but without chick's orgasm there is NO sex.
Just sexual negotiations that clearly failed because dude can’t fuck.
Perfect!
Problem solved. Now I must recount my sexual partners because my new definition takes a few duds off the list.
Cha-ching!
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Pause
Delightful darlings, I will not be posting this week. I have a trial Monday and a competition this weekend.
Take care.
~Cesca
Take care.
~Cesca
Thursday, February 4, 2010
M-I-A..305..Dade County Stand Up!
I guess online dating is the new thing. Why hone your social skills when you can stalk people while masturbating at your computer desk.
I recently reactivated my online stalking account, and again have become victim to a vast SEA of online losers.
Maybe loser isn’t the best way to describe miaflman1 who writes (and so eloquently I must add):
There’s a lot going on in this message. Grammatically, I’m offended but what struck me as inappropriate was him stating that I LOOK like I have a nice ass but he’s not sure.
Exactly what does that mean? Like, is that a challenge? Am I supposed to meet him at Starbucks, go to his crib, and show him how nice my ass actually is?
And let us not forget, “i hope you dont wear bads lol”. As I said, grammatical errors aside, it’s just plain lazy to not capitalize “I”…and “dont”…like you have to work real hard to escape the apostrophe. Literally, I have to correctly spell the word then press delete then retype it in order to fuck it up. Maybe Apple strives to ensure its users don’t offend other online prey, but its quite obvious dude needs to upgrade his computer/phone/internet browser ASAmuthfuckin’P
So after getting over that, I’m like bads *blank stare*.
WTF?
Does he mean bad or B.A.D.? I’m not so sure, and based on his disregard for spell check I’m questioning whether he’s asking me if I wear pads which is beyond inappropriate. Thank God I passed the fifth grade and can guess based on the context of his previous grammatical errors that he’s hoping I don’t wear big ass drawers. Again, *blank stare*.
Then the negro has the nerve to tell me I can’t handle anymore of his fucked up typing skills…oh wait, I mean handle his dick. No motherfucka I “may not can handle” what you have to offer because obviously you ain’t offering shit that I can understand. If you’re too lazy to read over your seductive message then I’m sure you fuck like a lazy piece of shit or probably can’t get your lazy dick hard!
WTF?
Is that how we do in Dade County? We challenge a woman’s skills, looks, and sexual experience in order to convince her that capitalization and commas are never important even though the only thing I can base your level of intellect on thus far (since hey buddy this is online) are your messages that I’m forced to copy and paste into Word, click spell check, and proceed from there.
My home girl told me to calm down. Dude was probably in a rush. He just types like he talks. I’m sure he’s better in person.
Is she blind? Dude obviously needs to revert back to person on person contact because typing his thoughts isn’t exactly his forte.
All I heard between her excuses was *womp womp womp* the dude fucks as fast and sloppy as he types. He eats pussy like he types, which means he’ll probably gnaw my clit off or worse be unable to find it.
So no more miaflman1, and as I always tell people to do when their existence is a complete census waste, “Kill Yourself”.
I recently reactivated my online stalking account, and again have become victim to a vast SEA of online losers.
Maybe loser isn’t the best way to describe miaflman1 who writes (and so eloquently I must add):
hmm so r u sexy and i hope u dont wear bads lol…yeah i put in work and im good at it when i do. i could go on and on but u may not can handle what i have to offer…so what time is ur curfew and when could u get away? u look like u may have a nice ass lol but hmmm dont know lmao
There’s a lot going on in this message. Grammatically, I’m offended but what struck me as inappropriate was him stating that I LOOK like I have a nice ass but he’s not sure.
Exactly what does that mean? Like, is that a challenge? Am I supposed to meet him at Starbucks, go to his crib, and show him how nice my ass actually is?
And let us not forget, “i hope you dont wear bads lol”. As I said, grammatical errors aside, it’s just plain lazy to not capitalize “I”…and “dont”…like you have to work real hard to escape the apostrophe. Literally, I have to correctly spell the word then press delete then retype it in order to fuck it up. Maybe Apple strives to ensure its users don’t offend other online prey, but its quite obvious dude needs to upgrade his computer/phone/internet browser ASAmuthfuckin’P
So after getting over that, I’m like bads *blank stare*.
WTF?
Does he mean bad or B.A.D.? I’m not so sure, and based on his disregard for spell check I’m questioning whether he’s asking me if I wear pads which is beyond inappropriate. Thank God I passed the fifth grade and can guess based on the context of his previous grammatical errors that he’s hoping I don’t wear big ass drawers. Again, *blank stare*.
Then the negro has the nerve to tell me I can’t handle anymore of his fucked up typing skills…oh wait, I mean handle his dick. No motherfucka I “may not can handle” what you have to offer because obviously you ain’t offering shit that I can understand. If you’re too lazy to read over your seductive message then I’m sure you fuck like a lazy piece of shit or probably can’t get your lazy dick hard!
WTF?
Is that how we do in Dade County? We challenge a woman’s skills, looks, and sexual experience in order to convince her that capitalization and commas are never important even though the only thing I can base your level of intellect on thus far (since hey buddy this is online) are your messages that I’m forced to copy and paste into Word, click spell check, and proceed from there.
My home girl told me to calm down. Dude was probably in a rush. He just types like he talks. I’m sure he’s better in person.
Is she blind? Dude obviously needs to revert back to person on person contact because typing his thoughts isn’t exactly his forte.
All I heard between her excuses was *womp womp womp* the dude fucks as fast and sloppy as he types. He eats pussy like he types, which means he’ll probably gnaw my clit off or worse be unable to find it.
So no more miaflman1, and as I always tell people to do when their existence is a complete census waste, “Kill Yourself”.
I'm In Miami Trick!
I’m not going to start posting pictures of Reggie Bush or anything, but for all y’all who don’t know…the Super Bowl is in MIAMI this weekend. Yay! Time to partay!
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
The Past Can Set You Free
From here on out, Wednesdays are all about What The Fuck...
It can be What The Fuck…is she wearing?
What The Fuck…is that smell?
What The Fuck…am I going to do with my life?
Or my favorite, What The Fuck…was I thinking?
So to start off, here is an excerpt from my diary (unedited) that really screams WHAT THE FUCK.
Yes, I know. You’re screaming at the monitor “What The Fuck!” But hey…sometimes it be like that. Don’t act like you ain’t never let someone hit it raw, hit it raw, or thought twice about not using a condom.
And the birth control stunt is so 90’s, so I’m sure my trick didn’t throw you off. The only thing thrown off by that shit was my damn cycle. After popping them pills, Flow came to visit for TWO damn weeks.
To me therapy is the attempted remediation of a problem, and writing in my diary is just that. It allows me the chance to remember my insane thoughts/desires, so I can later access the situation with a clear mind, heart, and non-throbbing clitoris.
This entry is in no way recent, but SOME of the feelings are still there. It’s so easy to forget what you wore last week, or why you and a friend got into a heated argument, or how head or heels, lost, and blinded you were over a guy.
You remember the crazy shit he did. The shit that pissed you off. Turned you on. Made you cry.
But it’s all to easy to forget the crazy shit you wanted to do with him. Vacations. Marriage. Babies. Unprotected Sex.
It’s like that cliché: How can you know where you’re going, if you don’t know where you came from?
So what I’m saying is, try to remember what you came from so you can either maintain or change and then eventually move on; otherwise your version of therapy doesn’t involve fixing the problem since you can’t remember what the fuck really happened. Its just you forgetting your mistakes and reliving them with another person.
It can be What The Fuck…is she wearing?
What The Fuck…is that smell?
What The Fuck…am I going to do with my life?
Or my favorite, What The Fuck…was I thinking?
So to start off, here is an excerpt from my diary (unedited) that really screams WHAT THE FUCK.
It started with a sex message last week. Something along the lines of I want your dick in my mouth. He responded. What man wouldn’t? I should’ve known that very instant that something was up. A man that can respond to sex messages within 10 minutes but ignores “I miss you” is NOT the man for me. But I continued to seduce him with my messages because I’m horny and need to get some dick! And since his DICK has been on the menu for 5 years, I feel its imperative to order and be served an infinite amount of *** DICK (no matter what the cost…).
So we made a sex date for this week.
Dude still wants to fuck me raw, and because I’m completely stupid and utterly in love and have no idea what I’m doing, I oblige his dick and desires by popping my last supply of birth control the moment my flow begins.
I vowed while with the ex to NEVER take that shit again, but with *** I’m open and willing to do anything. The problem is, why am I willing to put my life and health into his hands but I still don’t trust or believe everything he says. What kind of shit is that? I’m educated…book sense, common sense, and know well enough that having unprotected sex with a man who is consistently inconsistent is the worse thing I could ever do in my life, but I still want to.
So we made a sex date for this week.
Dude still wants to fuck me raw, and because I’m completely stupid and utterly in love and have no idea what I’m doing, I oblige his dick and desires by popping my last supply of birth control the moment my flow begins.
I vowed while with the ex to NEVER take that shit again, but with *** I’m open and willing to do anything. The problem is, why am I willing to put my life and health into his hands but I still don’t trust or believe everything he says. What kind of shit is that? I’m educated…book sense, common sense, and know well enough that having unprotected sex with a man who is consistently inconsistent is the worse thing I could ever do in my life, but I still want to.
*end scene*
Yes, I know. You’re screaming at the monitor “What The Fuck!” But hey…sometimes it be like that. Don’t act like you ain’t never let someone hit it raw, hit it raw, or thought twice about not using a condom.
And the birth control stunt is so 90’s, so I’m sure my trick didn’t throw you off. The only thing thrown off by that shit was my damn cycle. After popping them pills, Flow came to visit for TWO damn weeks.
To me therapy is the attempted remediation of a problem, and writing in my diary is just that. It allows me the chance to remember my insane thoughts/desires, so I can later access the situation with a clear mind, heart, and non-throbbing clitoris.
This entry is in no way recent, but SOME of the feelings are still there. It’s so easy to forget what you wore last week, or why you and a friend got into a heated argument, or how head or heels, lost, and blinded you were over a guy.
You remember the crazy shit he did. The shit that pissed you off. Turned you on. Made you cry.
But it’s all to easy to forget the crazy shit you wanted to do with him. Vacations. Marriage. Babies. Unprotected Sex.
It’s like that cliché: How can you know where you’re going, if you don’t know where you came from?
So what I’m saying is, try to remember what you came from so you can either maintain or change and then eventually move on; otherwise your version of therapy doesn’t involve fixing the problem since you can’t remember what the fuck really happened. Its just you forgetting your mistakes and reliving them with another person.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Yo Dramtical Ass
Debate.
Argue.
Bitch.
Moan.
Complain.
Women do it all the damn time.
My favorite line is: nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit.
Love it! Nothing like beating a black man down when he’s already low from a hard day working for the man, riiight?
I think women argue about nothing because the usual relationship conversation is too monotonous. Discussing our day at work/school and planning our usual movie/dinner weekend date is BORING. Necessary but *snooze*.
So to add some spice to the relationship we take the discussion about being busy with work/school to mean he’s cheating and next thing you know chick is shouting: nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit!
When asked why women argue about stupid shit or shit that doesn’t even exist, a friend admitted that she does it because she likes a little DRAMA in her relationship.
Personally, I do it because I like to be in control, and the moment I feel like I’m not wearing the pants I freak and start screaming: nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit! Plus, what better way to establish the dominant/subservient roles in a relationship than by making your partner feel insecure with his manhood, duh!
Problem is, grown ass men with careers know they are the shit, and will never be anything less…so telling them otherwise doesn’t really add “good” drama to the relationship. It just proves that you’re not as “grown” as you claim to be.
It seems the only time “nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit!” is appropriate is when the dude is truly a complete loser and worth being cut from your team (even if he didn’t cheat).
I’m trying to get my friend to understand that her dude isn’t a punk. That all this good drama is going to run him into the arms of a woman who will silently deal with her insecurities and let a man be a man (even if he ain't shit half the time).
So for 2010, no more drama.
Argue.
Bitch.
Moan.
Complain.
Women do it all the damn time.
My favorite line is: nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit.
Love it! Nothing like beating a black man down when he’s already low from a hard day working for the man, riiight?
I think women argue about nothing because the usual relationship conversation is too monotonous. Discussing our day at work/school and planning our usual movie/dinner weekend date is BORING. Necessary but *snooze*.
So to add some spice to the relationship we take the discussion about being busy with work/school to mean he’s cheating and next thing you know chick is shouting: nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit!
When asked why women argue about stupid shit or shit that doesn’t even exist, a friend admitted that she does it because she likes a little DRAMA in her relationship.
Personally, I do it because I like to be in control, and the moment I feel like I’m not wearing the pants I freak and start screaming: nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit! Plus, what better way to establish the dominant/subservient roles in a relationship than by making your partner feel insecure with his manhood, duh!
Problem is, grown ass men with careers know they are the shit, and will never be anything less…so telling them otherwise doesn’t really add “good” drama to the relationship. It just proves that you’re not as “grown” as you claim to be.
It seems the only time “nigga you ain’t shit, and you ain’t neva gone be shit!” is appropriate is when the dude is truly a complete loser and worth being cut from your team (even if he didn’t cheat).
I’m trying to get my friend to understand that her dude isn’t a punk. That all this good drama is going to run him into the arms of a woman who will silently deal with her insecurities and let a man be a man (even if he ain't shit half the time).
So for 2010, no more drama.
I'm Horny
I’m on a sexual roller coaster. Like, one week I want to fuck almost every dark skin man in sight. Next week, I’m like “Naw, I’m straight”.
But today…tonight…at this very moment…
I WANNA FUCK!
Night!
But today…tonight…at this very moment…
I WANNA FUCK!
Night!
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Time To Celebrate Me!
Even though February is the shortest month of the year, to me it’s the BEST month of the year…why you ask?
Well HELLO!! My birthday is on the 22nd! This year truly marks a turning point. I’ll be 25 with a J.D., in April I’ll be moving relocating somewhere and taking someone's bar exam, starting my career, paying (more life deferring) my student loans, and becoming even more fabulous than I already am.
Here’s a peek into my schedule:
Sade returns: 9th
Valentine’s Day: 14th
Trial Time: 15th
25th birthday: 22nd
DC Conference: 23-25th
ATL Freakum Dress Weekend: 26-27th (its more like the Flying Biscuit Weekend… my roommate and I are more excited about eating there than clubbing on Spring Street…damn, I love that city and them cheese grits!)
Well HELLO!! My birthday is on the 22nd! This year truly marks a turning point. I’ll be 25 with a J.D., in April I’ll be moving relocating somewhere and taking someone's bar exam, starting my career, paying (more life deferring) my student loans, and becoming even more fabulous than I already am.
Here’s a peek into my schedule:
Sade returns: 9th
Valentine’s Day: 14th
Trial Time: 15th
25th birthday: 22nd
DC Conference: 23-25th
ATL Freakum Dress Weekend: 26-27th (its more like the Flying Biscuit Weekend… my roommate and I are more excited about eating there than clubbing on Spring Street…damn, I love that city and them cheese grits!)
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