Boy, does my head hurt this morning. I blame Darryl. My buddy came over last night with what I believe was the expressed intention of getting me drunk. Not necessarily to get down with me but more so to get me to talk. Darryl and I have known each other for many many years. In fact, we dated when I was a teenager. He wanted to hear all about my recent break-up so he sauced me up with the truth serum, put on some music and I let ‘er rip.

Of course this led me to think about all the losers, I mean men, I’ve dated. And how closely they each can be equated to a Paul Simon song. At least that’s what it seemed like last night.

My first kiss was in the 6th grade with a boy named Julio. I cornered him on the schoolyard (I kid you not) and had all my friends watch for proof…

There was the You’re Kind guy, it would’ve worked out but he liked to sleep with the window closed.

Then there was Gone at Last dude, he had bad luck following him around like black cloud. Or maybe it was me to end up with him, but either way he’s gone, at last.

And I can’t forget the most recent guy, aka- 50 Ways to Leave Your Lover, at the very least he should’ve listened to that song for 50 better ways to break up with me than the way he did it. I implore him to listen to it for any of his future endeavors…

(Then again, if my voodoo doll is working properly, he won’t have any future endeavors.)

Of course, every time I hear Still Crazy After All These Years I think of Darryl. And my pounding head still remembers what he told me last night, “what your ex did to you offends me as a man.” I love him.

This may be difficult for some of you, but imagine for a moment that us girls over here at GS are slacking at the moment. Perhaps we’re all draped about the heartshaped bed, maybe hungover, possibly snoring, hardly clothed. And then Meme’s voice pierces the muffled silence of gorgeous, scantily-clad, somewhat smelly girls in slumber…

“Is somebody gonna fucking post today, or what?!”

Inevitably, Jenna rises to the occassion, but not without stepping on Brandy’s arm and kicking Heather in the shin. It’s a mess, really. And the bottom line is that I have nothing original to say to you when I’m in this state. I could contemplate why I thought peach schnapps was a good idea, but where does that ever get anyone? Or maybe you want to know about my fondness for feeted pajamas. But, alas, another time.

Today, my friends, I’m putting it all on you. Just like Time.

Today’s post is all about YOU, because, well, I really want to get back under my covers before the spot gets cold. And because, maybe I’ve been neglecting you. Maybe you have something really important, or witty, or insulting to say. And just maybe you haven’t felt that the opportunity has yet arisen. Today, my friend, is that opportunity. Today is your turn to shine. Or, at least, do a bit of my job for me.

So let’s hear it. Write a post. Write a topic. Write a comment. Write what you are eating for lunch, and how it’s so delicious that you’re going to bring me some of it, too. Write whatever you want, readers. Today is all about you.

See? You can even borrow our bedroom mirror.

2006 was really truly the year that Heather Fink was single; for the entire year starting on just about the first of January. She’s only 25 years old, so even though she’s been in love (only?) 3 times in her life, she hasn’t been single for a full year since she was 17. And it’s been absolutely magnificent for her.

In this year she has had a real crush on 4 different men. 2 out of the 4 of these men she decided not to call ever again because she didn’t want to be burdened by wanting them any more. For 1 out of those 2 she kept her promise to herself never to call again, only because the other 1 of those 2 men is a parasitic bastard who won’t go away, and she finds his sting endearing, even comforting as she’s grown used to it by now. 3 out of the 4 of these men are people she considers her friends. 1 out of the 3 is still somewhat reliable for activities that go beyond friendship. 4 out of the 4 are still entirely enticing to Ms Fink. 1 out of the 4 is taken and so he is the one she wants the most. He and the parasitic bastard who doesn’t love her and never will.

In this year, Ms Fink has gone on dates with a handful of other men aside from these 4. She hates dates and rarely agrees to them. The idea of a date with someone she barely knows makes her sick to her stomach. She would rather start things off with the physical out of the way first, like a drunken hookup, than to be subjected to small talk or inane banter of any kind. That way the intimate messy cards have already been placed on the table.

A couple of times this year, she reconnected with an ex from a prior year.

A couple of times this year, she kissed someone who is supposed to be just her friend.

A couple of times this year, she cuddled with someone platonically.

For the first time in her life this year, she spent naked time with older men. But these men (2) were exceptionally young at heart. And hot. 1 of them was a movie star. But they just cuddled. Non platonically.

4 men in her personal life heard her cry this year. 1 is an ex. 1 is a friend who has kissed her. 1 is the one that is taken, and the other is the parasitic bastard.

Now it is December and she is not alone. But she is single as ever and she feels defined by the inherent freedom of her status. She feels appreciated by different sets of eyes and ears and cherishes the knowledge that none of them own her. She can’t remember why she might want a committed relationship as though such thoughts have long gone.

But she knows that she likes to be loved. Very much.
She’s more scared by the idea of loving.
She’s got too much to lose.

Welcome 2007. With cheerful, open arms, to your wild and certain uncertainty.

Our sister site, Dirtyspoke, is running a contest for Sex Blog of the Year. Head on over there and cast your votes.

I am in Georgia for Christmas. A week at my dad’s house with a full fridge, a car for me to drive outside, CABLE IN EVERY ROOM…..

And relatives who say hilariously inappropriate things to me.

I should preface this by saying that I am the odd one out in my family. First off, I have the voice of a white girl named Tiffany. Also, I had a lot of white friends growing up–I was usually the only black person in my classes so I made friends with the people I was around. My family has never understood my voice, my friends, my taste in music, my taste in clothes, and of course, they are completely taken aback by the fact that I usually date white guys. And not just any white guy but a type–I like them tall, lanky, with curly brown hair and glasses. It’s been that way since I fell in love with Nicholas Northcutt in second grade. I’ve dated all kinds of guys but if I am digging on someone, he probably has all of the aforementioned characteristics.

But anyway.

My family always has something to say and here’s some of what cracked me up during our Christmas festivities today.

My Aunt
My Aunt: “Girl, I have been watching this wedding thing on TLC and I am ready for if you want to marry a Jew.”

My other aunt (during dinner to my mom as if I wasn’t sitting across the table)

Aunt (whispering to my mom): “But really, Rose, why does she talk like that? Still?”
Mom: “I think it’s that fast life up in New York.”

Kailyn, my 5-year-old niece (while looking at my pictures)

Kailyn: “Why you like glasses so much? I don’t LIKE curly hair.”
Me: “Why not?”
Kailyn: “Cause I ain’t got it! And I want it Bran! I want it like the commercial for curls!!”

My Grandmother
Grandma: “So are you seeing anybody up in New York?”
Me: “Actually, there’s this guy I dig”
Grandma: “I”m not gonna even ask if he’s white but, Bran, I want you to know that I am better with that since I found Jesus. We all have to live together in heaven, baby.”

I hope everyone had a wonderful holiday!!

Here’s your present!

I know, I know. You’ve seen it already. But it’s Christmas, people! You should be in church, not looking at explicit videos.

Special Annoucement: Tonight Heather and Brandy will be performing their Sexytime Comedy Show at Mo Pitkin’s in NYC. And to top it all off, I will be going too! So that’s 3 girlspoke girls together in the same bar at the same time…it don’t get much better than that folks, looks like Christmas is coming early for all you horndogs out there. Be there!

I was reading on my favorite science site, Seed magazine, the other day an article about being ambidextrous. According to them “People who are comfortable writing with either hand have a higher prevalence of bisexuality, homosexuality, dyslexia, asthma and hyperactivity than people who strongly favor one hand.” Woah! That’s some crazy ass shit.

Here’s the thing. I’m a righty. I write right-handed. But that’s about it. Cause I was raised by lefties. So I do a number of things left-handed. Like I cut my meat left-handed. I play pool left-handed (and a mean game of pool I play.) I wear my watch on my right wrist. I even masturbate left-handed (I think).

But according to Seed Mag, “handedness, like sexual orientation, is not a choice.” It may not have been a choice for me be I was definitely conditioned into these behaviors by being surrounded by lefties. So this begs the question, could I be conditioned into anything? Like an alternate sexual orientation or breathing disorder? I could probably be conditioned into reading my words backwards and bouncing off the walls, cause that just sounds like fun (hope I didn’t offend any of our dyslexic or hyperactive readers). But I don’t see myself changing over to the ladies anytime soon (sorry guys). And forget about those inhaler thingys, gross.

I guess this just means that once again I have proven science WRONG.

I was thinking the other day about language. Specifically the mental processes that occur. For example when we read a book we hear the words being spoken in our mind, just as they are written. So how is it that when we use IM acronyms do we not hear them as they are written? Or what if we did? And what if those words became part of our spoken vernacular?

So instead of actually laughing at a joke you could just turn to the person and say…

(pronounced like doll)

Or what if you’re out drinking and you’ve gotta go to the bathroom real bad?

(pronounced like burb as in suburb)

Then more drinking ensues and you just wanna pass out at the party…

(pronounced like tit yell)

Let’s say you’ve got an opinion about a product, like say diet coke. Well, by all means express it…

(pronounced like I’m ho, not I’m A ho just I’m ho)

Then eventually I imagine we could turn it into more that one word soundbites and into full sentences…

(pronounced like…oh, forget it)

Prognosis: Not only is this plausible, it’s downright scary.

The holidays are coming and I want to propose a special challenge to those of you out there in the world in your warm homes, sitting smug, high and mighty atop your throne like couches, a beer in hand and loved one in the other, reading your fancy tv guide magazines, day dreaming about all the spiced puddings you will eat and the turkeys you will smoke in the privacy of your elephant like bedrooms. I ask that you break free from your hodge podge ways and rise above the cozy, familiar world you know, yes rise. Rise so high that you see your world anew and open your mind to thoughts that scarce enter your frontal lobes. And think. Think about those less fortunate, like Anderson Cooper who still hasn’t made it to network news, or Kevin Spacey who once did the movie, KPax. Think harder and squint your brains till you push out a thought about those who are no longer with us, such as Lynn Peters of Decatur Michigan who died of arm cancer yesterday who I am not sure even exists because I made her up. And now think harder … pose questions in your mind such as, “Why do I exist” “What can I do to be a better person?” and “What can I get Heather for Christmas?”

And then be grateful because in this moment of clarity I am able to transcribe my very wants this holiday season.

I’d really like a bunch of this hot sauce. You can never have enough and I always think to myself “Hmm, I wish I had this in my apartment. I would put it on everything, really, every single goddamn thing.”

I want these people reading my website. They are the ones that really get me and appreciate the finer qualities of my writing in the very way that I hope for as I sit, dilligently stroking my keyboard keys like they were my babies and I haven’t seen them in a long time since “the accident”.

I want anything from Agent Provocateur. My life would be so much better if my gennies were covered in something worth 300- 1000 dollars. Oh and if you buy me these pantsies, please buy me a mirror.

I would much like to wear them and stare at myself for hours. My crotch is my favorite thing in the whole world. To me it is more beautiful than a sunset or the miracle of life. I would place the mirror near the thousands of photographs I have taken and framed of my crotch which I have already hung on the walls of my bedroom so that I am surrounded by it’s endless love at all times.

And finally, I want you to promise me that you will never leave me. We were meant to be together like this mermaid and this centaur.

Happy Holidays. I hope you and your family don’t die or anything like that.

PS- Catch me and other girlspoker Brandy this Friday at 11pm in NYC- all the info is here: www.SexytimeComedy.com.