Sex and the Sniglets

Although I was too young to understand most of the Reagan/Gorbachev jokes, I still loved watching Not Necessarily the News as a child. For those of you who have never seen it, it was one part Daily Show, one part cracka-ass-cracka Dave Chapelle. One of the most famous bits on the show was a series of segments called Sniglets, in which Rich Hall would describe “any word that doesn’t appear in the dictionary, but should.” Here are some of my favorite examples (um, yes, I have two Sniglets books - it’s anyone’s guess how I get laid):

Napjerk - the sudden convulsion of the body just as one is about to doze off
Aeroma - the odor emanating from an exercise room after an aerobics workout
Spood - the flat wooden “spoon” that accompanies ice cream cups

After smoking a bowl not too long ago, I picked up these books and entertained myself for about 12 hours. And that got me thinking. Here now are some Sniglets of the adult variety. Please feel free to contribute your own suggestions.

Condamn - the small piece of the condom wrapper that your significant other notices on your bedroom floor (ps - you guys don’t use condoms)
The Morning After Pill - the girl who is a slut in bed at night but who refuses to be touched in the morning
Simax - the silent moment right before one has an orgasm
Awkwalk - the act of leaving a couple’s apartment after a threesome
Gayzation - the moment you realize someone you want to fuck is gay
Titslits - the annoying marks you find on your breasts after you take your bra off
Sexcuse - the last shot of the night that justifies the sex you really don’t really want to have
Forgottmen - the men women don’t factor in when their significant other asks them how many men they have slept with

Swallow for the Camera

This week’s issue of New York is dedicated to the young and uninsured. Now, ella knows a thing or two about insurance. After all, bitch broke her wrist (in three places) and both hips in the same year. So she has some advice for how to get around lack of medical coverage. And trust me (yeah, sorry I jump in and out of third person, it’s very Seinfeld-ian, I know), it works every time.

Click here for the NSFW secrets for avoiding (or, hell, ever even RECEIVING) a bill...

SECRET ONE

SECRET TWO


thanks to PD for, um, "capturing" these images.

An Excuse Ten Years in the Making

It came in the mail today. April 28, 2007 will be my ten year high school reunion.

FUCK.

This means I have just over one month to:

1. Lose 15 pounds.
2. Publish my first novel.
3. Stop biting my nails so I can have actual fingernails again (hey, I went to high school in the Bronx, where fabulous nails are a necessity).
4. Meet and marry my future husband.
5. Buy and furnish a home in Westchester County, New York.
6. Have 1.5 children.
7. Find the perfect outfit in which to show off my now-D cup breasts (they were Bs in high school, and, ok, sure, it’s an all girls school but that just makes everything all the more competitive).
8. Win an impressive award of some kind.
9. Sleep with a celebrity (because you always want to be able to tell THAT kind of story).
10. Re-remember everyone’s names in my graduating class.

Ok, in all seriousness I really just have one thing to do:
Come up with the perfect explanation for why I have accomplished none of the above.

The Happiest Place on Earth (to Have an Orgasm)

Several years ago, the fine men and women of the Walt Disney World corporation deemed ella worthy enough to intern at their Orlando resort. (Ok, they call it an “internship” but it’s really just a way for them to get wholesome - well, wholesome "looking" - kids to work their parks all summer. I fucking flipped burgers in an AC-free kitchen. At LottaWatta Lodge in Blizzard Beach to be exact.)

They put you up in a compound called Vista Way (nicknamed "Vista Lay" and named the second easiest place for a college kid to get laid next to Cancun by Playboy). And, as you may have inferred, ella moves fast. So she met a boy within her first week - a cute young Mark Harmon look-alike (oh, come on, he was HOT in the 80s - ever see Summer School?) named, ironically enough, Mark. He was a southern boy from Missouri - the complete opposite of any guido or jersey jew I knew from college. For some reason, he took a shinin’ to lil’ ol’ me and before you know it, we were like mountain goats in heat.

(Sidenote: Mark was only the second man I ever slept with. My first boyfriend, we'll call him IROC, was hung like a mule and sex was never very enjoyable for me. Mark, however, was hung like - oh, I dunno what's a fairly non-disparaging yet non-overly complementary animal to compare a cock too - a goat? Whatever, you get the picture. So for the first time in my life, I was LOVING sex. And doing it any time, anywhere I could.)

Anywhere was usually a bedroom, the living room, a shower, occasionally outside late at night on the side of our building. However one evening, we hit one out of the park by, literally, hittin’ it in the park…

One of the perks of this summer program is that you get to go to any Disney park for free on your days off. So one day, Mark and I ventured to Animal Kingdom (Disney’s “Africa in Orlando”) and spent the day going on rides, taking pictures, all that touristy bullshit. That night, we had dinner at the Rainforest Café, located inside the park.

Now, in order to get back to Vista Lay, one has to go "backstage" (as Disney calls it) to hitch a ride upon a private van. This means that for approximately an hour or so after the park has officially closed, the "interns" still have access to the grounds. How convenient…

We were on our way to the van when we noticed a huge boulder next to the "Circle of Life" attraction and without so much as a word exchanged between us, we knew what we had to do. Within less than 60 seconds, we were behind the rock, with my body pressed against it and him right behind me - going wilder than Mr. Toad could ever imagine. The rush was amazing especially because we knew that Disney has cameras everywhere - no inch is off sight limits.

It wasn't long before he finished (hey, I can't lie, I wasn't exactly in prime O position, but I sure was turned on enough for it to be satisfying) and we made our way back to the van.

So thank you, Walt. Thank you. For making this little girl’s dreams come true. Oh, and sorry about the "secret Mickey"* we left on the rock. We didn't have a condom.

*Disney World has HUNDREDS, if not thousands, of "secret Mickeys" for guests to find throughout the parks. They are Mickey Mouse-shaped designs placed on cement walkways, on rides, etc.

Black Snake Moan

I’ve always had a bit of a fetish for black men. It started with a major crush on Theo Huxtable (admittedly, one of the “whitest” black characters ever on TV), progressed into a weird thing with Arsenio Hall (I think it was the fingers) and eventually to classmates and dudes from my neighboring high school.

But let me backtrack a bit. I was an outcast for much of early grammar school - tossed aside because I was the “nerd” with glasses, stringy hair with bangs that would never tease high enough to be cool (this was the early 90s after all) and, of course, NO TITS (my how things change). As a result, most of my friends were the other kids rejected by the rich white assholes who populated my school - the nerds and the black and Puerto Rican kids (many of whom were nerds too - double torture whammy).

The first boy who ever tried to kiss me was black. (It was during this aforementioned time of teasing and torture.) I wanted to kiss him back but I was too petrified of kissing anyone in the entrance leading to a bowling alley with my mother about to pull up in the family heap-of-shit. However, this first form of sexual interest stuck with me and many of my early sexual fantasies were about him. But nothing ever happened between us in large part, I suspect, because it was a taboo at this particular school and I was too afraid to ever do anything to further distance myself from the cool pack.

Later I went to an all-girls catholic high school in the South Bronx - one of only 11 white girls in my graduating class - and remember going to dances at our “brother school” where I would literally try to get the attention of the black dudes dancing. I recall being one of the few white girls “freakin” on the dance floor - sometimes sandwiched between two guys at once - feeling hard-ons pressed against me for the first time (all while being watched by Priests, mind you). But the thing is, once the songs ended - I was left standing alone.

I remember asking one of my Puerto Rican friends in gym class one day why it was that the guys really had no interest in talking to me once the dances were over and she said, without hesitation: “Because you have no ass.” Now, what’s funny to me is that America only seemed to realize that women have asses about 5 years ago when J-Lo got popular. However, I grew up with the understanding that a big ass was a prize - something that was valued in the way that most other pubescent kids seem to admire breasts. It was a HUGE insult to tell a girl she had no ass (in fact it was the main “dis” thrown back and forth between the Puerto Rican and Dominican girls in my high school). So since that day I’ve always had issues about my (lack of) back.

(Side note: I am not stereotyping ass as something only minority men covet. NO WAY. Again, ever since J-Lo and, now, Jessica Biel, white dudes are even more ass-obsessed than black and Hispanic men, at least in my opinion.)

We can pretty much fast forward all my college years for this entry as I went to one of the whitest, jewiest (yum) universities in the country - Boston U. Of course there were black kids that went there - in fact, my college roommate for the first two years was black - but I swear there were hardly any black MEN. It was remarkably noticeable to me.

Post-college I finally got to live out my fantasy - now thrice over. The first was with a guy I met at a friend’s birthday who - and I swear to you - looked like Gary Coleman. He was also rather short and wore a very large hat that made him seem even tinier. It was weird because the next morning I was REALLY not attracted to him and, on top of it, he just wouldn’t leave. I think he finally did, but I guess he could very well be hiding out in my medicine cabinet for all I know.

The next black man I slept with was a bouncer at some bar in the LES. We flirted all night by calling each other “cracka” and “fitty” (you can guess who called whom what). We had sex in the DJ booth after the bar closed (a stupid risk that ella took and would never, ever do again with ANY bouncer) and then again at my apartment. He had a body from HELL - with a 6-pack that literally rippled across the tip of my tongue. However the most memorable part of the evening/early morning was when I tripped over his bulletproof vest on my way to the bathroom. I made the most of the situation by putting it on and getting back into bed.

The third brotha in my trifecta of lust is an accomplished writer who - in many respects (primarily education) is whiter than me. It was the first time I ever felt like I was “dating” a black man but, as most things do, it ended up going nowhere.

What’s ironic about this musing is that black men have never given me much grief over my small(ish) ass. It’s white men - mostly italian and jewish men - who seem to have opinions about it.

In fact, black men tend to notice my face, compliment me on my eyes and smile. In many ways, I think they see me more. And that’s exactly why I keep looking for them.

Miami By The Numbers

I just flew in from Miami and boy are my arms (and tits) tired and sunburned. And, shit, does it suck to be home. After spending three days in absolute luxury (seriously, a Ritz-Carlton Club Level Suite with an ocean view makes me want to stop being a bad girl so I can go to heaven, a place which I’m pretty sure is just a step below a Ritz-Carlton ), I am back to the cold weather and yellow snow-lined streets of New York City. I’m too depressed to write anything of much substance, so here is a quick look at my weekend, USA Today “Snapshot” style:

Glasses of Champagne Consumed by my “Number One Gay” and I: 33

Number of Naked Titties I saw on the Beach: 8 (including mine)

Cost per Night for our Deluxe Slice of Heaven in the Sky: $1500

Cigarettes I Had: just 1! (given to me by nasty rich Italian business man by the pool last night - but I admit it, I would have fucked him)

Level of SPF I Applied: 29

Level of SPF I Should Have Applied: 40 or Higher (my breasts are on FIRE)

Number of Times I was Called “Mami”: 3

People we Swore were Celebrities at First Glance: 4

People who Probably Thought I was Kelly Clarkson: 9

Number of Men I Caught Looking at my Boobs: 12

Number of Women I Caught Glaring at my Boobs with Disdain: 6

Number of Men I Wanted to Have Sex With: 4

Number of Women I Wanted to Have Sex With: 3 (the girls were pretty nasty down there surprisingly)

Ratio of Adults to Spring Breakers: 2:78

Number of Orgasms I Had: (almost) 1 (the showers at the Ritz-Carlton Spa had jets at every conceivable level - including clit - but knowing there were Midwestern housewives mere feet away killed my mood)

Times I Ordered Rack of Lamb: Twice (little known fact about ella - she LOVES rack of lamb but only orders it when she knows it’s going to be good…and it was)

Minutes in my Aromatherapy Massage: 50

Glasses of SoCo on the Rocks Consumed: 6 (little known fact about ella - she LOVES her Southern Comfort)

Number of Times I Offered my “Number One Gay” Head as a Thank You for This Trip: 7

Number of Times He Took Me Up on It: 7 (just kidding….his loss)

Number of Times I Puked: 0 (ella can hold her booze, people)

Number of Times I Made “Number One Gay” Check my Blog for Comments: Twice

Number of Times I Asked “Number One Gay” to Check Gawker to See if I Won a Gold Star: 5 (and won one I did, bitches!)

Number of Times I Said “There are too many fucking kids in the pool”: 22

Minutes I Spent Thinking About Getting Laid: 2,978

Number of Orgasms I Had on Wednesday Night (Thank You, Steve) so I Wouldn’t Think About Trying to Find Ass in Miami: 4

How Much I Love My “Number One Gay” for This Trip and Every Minute I Have Known/Know Him: Infinity

Bienvenido a Miami

Miss me...

xoxox,
ella

You've Stolen a Piece of My Heart (seriously, i'm pressing charges)

After much debate, I think I have FINALLY found the dating website that I’ve been searching for.

Seeing as I tend to be somewhat of a jealous, possessive type, I’ve always wanted to meet a man who I can keep my eye on. Someone I can keep track of at all times; someone who I know isn’t going to bail on me (or, in this case, make bail).

That is why I have chosen to log onto ThePamperedPrisoner.com. Unfortunately, they don’t allow you to copy and paste photos but I invite you to visit their catalog of eligible bachelors (and bachelorettes!) to check out the fresh meat I’m talking about. (ps - when you get there, scroll all the way down, that's where the personals are)

Here are two of the suitors I’m considering:

Bachelor #1
Tim
He’s currently serving a life sentence in Ontario. He has a ton of interests – from needlepoint (he says it’s great during lockdowns) to riding motorcycles (not sure he has time to do that anymore ;-( He recently filed an appeal though, so my fingers are crossed.

Bachelor #2
“Wu”
He’s looking for a plump girl (yippee! Order me some fries with that shake). He’s also due out in 2023 (ella will still be fertile!) Oh, and he may or may not be a member of the Wu Tang Clan – this is still to be determined.

Still skeptical?? Well, just like Match.com and eHarmony.com, ThePamperedPrisoner has pages of success stories including prison-wedding photos (never underestimate the sex appeal of a groom in orange; seriously, it’s the new black).

Wish me luck!

I'm Sorry...So Sorry

To My Baker’s Dozen of Readers -

When it rains, it pours. And when it pours, ella is too wet to blog.

It’s been quite an eventful few days.

I am proud to announce that I will NOT be hitting the three-month mark as I finally, FINALLY got laid last week.

Perhaps even better than that, however, I am happy to report that I had one of the best spankings of my life this past weekend too (a fond fetish of mine, albeit one I only indulge in when the proper suitor presents himself. And present himself, he has. Look for my upcoming “Spank You Very Much” posting.)

I also found a bikini to properly cage “the girls” for my upcoming trip to Miami this Friday. They do hang out of their cells quite a bit, but unplanned indecent exposure will be avoided. (But never fear, planned indecent exposure is certain to occur.)

Please know though that I’ve been thinking of each and every one of you - with every thrust, spank and nip tuck.

love,
Ella

Modern Times

It’s strange how we communicate in this day and age. Unapologetically impersonal, hastily expressive, hurtfully informative. Here’s what I mean:

1. I found out my ex (who swore he would NEVER get married) was, indeed, getting married via a Friendster email from his old high school friend.

2. I have been “dumped” twice via email and once via text message.

3. I learned that another ex - who told me he was going to move out here to marry me sometime in the next few years - has a girlfriend through the “In a Relationship” checkmark on Myspace.

4. I’ve read rants about my personality on blogs.

5. I caught a recent romantic interest cruising for sex on Craigslist. Yes, girls, I set up a fake post and he replied. I felt ingenious at the time and then just sick and hurt.

6. I’ve been “blocked” on Instant Messenger with little to no explanation.

7. I’ve been strung along via three-word emails.

8. I’ve been asked to dinner via posts on my blog (while this doesn’t bother me, the fact that he won’t just email me directly via the address listed in my profile does…hahah).

9. I’ve been stalked and threatened on the Nerve.com personals.

10. I was subjected to a “love email” an ex wrote to his then-girlfriend when he indirectly forwarded it to me.

Now, I know I am not the only one to suffer through shit like this. I remember reading something when I was younger about how Sly Stallone dumped his ex via fax. I guess it’s all part of the culture and I am certainly guilty of indulging/abusing its privileges. But just once, I wish a man would be a man and - at the very least - pick up the fucking phone.

Baby, It's F*cking Cold Outside

It was 15 degrees when I left my warm bed this morning. 15 degrees.

A girl in my office came in with frozen eyelashes.

And although this hot chocolate is hitting some spots, there really aren't many things that can warm up every inch of you. Except one: a photo of Magnum P.I.

So soak it up. It's like the sun.

R.I.P.

PURPLE, Little (2006-2007) - Beloved plaything, confidant and giver of pleasure on February 17, 2007 in the East Village, New York City, of causes unknown. Born in 2006 in Toys in Babeland, New York City. Lover of adventure, cave exploration and AA batteries. Leaves behind ellagood, his faithful (er, steady) companion. In lieu of flowers, the grieving ask that you make a monetary donation to the Tired Fingers Fund. Private services were held last weekend where the following eulogy was delivered:

Dear L.P. ('lil purple),

I didn't think you would be taken from me so soon. You first entered my life from behind, but quickly (and after extensive boiling) became so much more. Sure, we had our ups and downs, our ins and outs, but you were always at home waiting for me, ready to give me your all. Occasionally I (and others) tossed you aside but you always forgave me, as if nothing had ever happened. You never let me down - even when others did - and always let me have control.

I will never forget the night you left me. Tried as I did to revive you - with emergency flashlight, remote control and even fire detector batteries - it was all in vain. You were gone. I won't lie and say that there will never be others like you, but I know you would want me to go on. However I will never forget you. Never forget your happy hum and cheery red light - the one that never signaled no, but rather always said yes. Thank you old friend. Thank you.

Love,
ella