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CyberVixen

age:

	26

location:

	Seattle

looking for :

	successful fuck-ups

more about me:

	One of my favorite words is rowdy. I don't like it when people name their pets Diva.

6.711

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My Exit From the Ass Parade
12/29/2007 11:15:53 PM

Choosing the first couple of sentences for a post on a Blog-a-Log entry is sort of Hooksexup-racking, but particularly so when I know it’s going to sit up there for however long it takes for new bloggers to eventually fill up the page, thus removing my grinning vixeny face from the batch.

This should hardly come as a surprising announcement for those that have been following my (lack of) entries lately – my heart hasn’t been in it for awhile. After some debating, and trying to plow along with little success, I’ve decided to throw in my hat as CyberVixen. This is my last post.

I know my stay here has been brief, but it’s time for me to move on to other things. Such as anything that doesn’t involve writing about my love life on the internet.

I actually have had a lot of fun with it and have loved the attention, but it’s been a challenge fer shizzle. I think the hardest part was writing about boys when I really didn’t feel like it. Since there’s a theme here, I felt an obligation to stick to the theme, which made me sometimes write about details or events that weren’t even particularly significant to me. Sometimes I just want a break from boys, including writing about them, seeing them, or thinking about them.

So anyway – it’s time for me to retire this sweet blog o’ mine.

I thought it’d be nice to do a little recap of what we’ve been through together over the past few months. Here’s a list of the different boys that have entered and/or exited my life since I first started posting here.

1) The Good Doctor, who solved the mysteries of my vagina and dumped me. Apparently he had more important things to do, like save lives in hospitals and shit.*

2) The Goblin King, who I fooled around with while wearing day old panties.

3) Hemingway, the guy that sent me the email titled “Siddhartha can swallow my crank.”

4) Mr. A, who once told me it was cool to write about him on the internet, so long as I was describing how big his dick is. A real charmer, that one.

5) A Really Awful Guy whom I actually never nicknamed. He had My Country Tis of Thee as his ringtone.

6) Red, who was there to be a part of an anti-climactic collision of internet dating worlds. Because Michael Jackson is a person.

7) Pants Armstrong, who shared a bottle of wine with me at the arboretum and I haven’t seen since, which is a shame cause I actually thought he was smartsexycool, like a Justin Timberlake album. Maybe not.

8) First Boy, who actually got to go out with me and my best friend, 99.

9) And 10) Both briefly mentioned, but without nicknames or drama. 9 is the boy that had tater tots and wine with me when it snowed. 10 is the guy I work with that really likes the Smashing Pumpkins. (Like, ugh.)

(*My roommate gave me tickets to see The Nutcracker for Christmas and the Good Doctor ended up being my date. It was nice to see him again, until he told me he hopes he gets back together with his ex-girlfriend this summer because she’s the type of girl he’d like to settle down with. HINT: If you’re trying to have a nice night and not trying to hurt someone’s feelings and/or make them feel plain uncomfortable, it may be wise to not mention to a girl you broke up with because you didn’t want a relationship that you hope to get together with someone else because they’re relationship material. Thanks, dude. Go suck the Nutcracker’s dick, hmm?)

(I’m actually not really upset with him, just thought it was an unnecessary comment. I was already going to the ballet for fuck’s sake. Wasn’t really an awesome night. You could have just told me I looked nice and said goodnight. Geez. Maybe when you finish your residency, you can go spend a semester on Tact Island and learn some manners.)

I’m glad the list ends on ten, since ten is a nice, even, respectable number. Do any of y’all think of numbers as having personalities? I do. At least 1-10, maybe 20. They kind of have personalities beyond 20, but I have to kind of think about it. 1-10 just jump out at me like old friends though. Eight, for example, is just an overall good-natured friendly young man; he’s my boy. Seven is a sneaky female. Three is a mischievous young lad.

ANYWAY. Point is, I like ten. It’s a good number, although a little pompous.

And there concludes my Blog-A-Log history. It’s been real y’all, but it’s time for me to say goodnight.

If you’d like to keep up with me, check in on GoCaseyGo.net. That blog has a small audience that mostly consists of my family and friends, but it still touches on my love life on occasion and you know, it’s still me, yo. So stop by and say hello. But don’t give me dating advice on that forum, or I’ll tell you to suck my crank.

If you have any questions about anything I’ve been ambiguous about, feel free to ask in the comments and I will do my best to satisfy your curiosity before I posse out of this joint.

It’s been real, y’all. I wish you all the best. May your future be filled with blowjobs, buttsex and rainbows!

Much lurve,
Casey

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12/11/2007 2:13:05 AM

Apparently I’m a lot better at being an asshole than I am at dating.

The farther I stray from writing about dildos and facials, the clearer my vision is of CyberVixen’s dwindling Blog-a-Log rating.

I can’t keep a secret from y’all, though. I lost interest in my own love life awhile ago and trying to write about it is about as fun as having that “Hey Bebe” song stuck in my head for FIVE DAYS.

(That happened to me over the summer. FIVE DAYS of “hey bebe… hey bebe, hey bebe. Hey bebe… hey bebe, hey bebe….” The song is actually “Ay Bay Bay” and if you’ve never heard it, DON’T youtube it to see what I’m talking about. Unless you’re really masochistic, in which case, I’d recommend trying to write about your love life on a blog for a few months. That way you can at least ruin a few relationships along the way, to really make sure it hurts.)

To be a good blogger though, here’s the update:

I’ve gone out on a few dates lately. I went out with the co-worker that likes the Smashing Pumpkins a few times and have avoided letting that progress beyond anything but pleasant chatter over a couple of beers. Most of his phone calls to me go unreturned and there’s at least a 24 hour delay in response to emails.

Here’s a question for the dudes that read this blog:

Do you prefer to be politely blown off or just told what’s what?

I think the quick response is to just be told what’s what. I should do this guy right and just let him know I’m not too interested, thus saving him from any wasted efforts, and saving my cell phone bill because CHRIST HE LEAVES LONG MESSAGES.

But, I dunno. Sometimes I actually prefer just to be blown off. Because, you know, I can take a hint. If you don’t return the two texts or the two phone calls that I left for you within a 6 hour time span, my guess is that you don’t want to talk to me.

I take a hint and back off and actually prefer that than actually having to hear someone say, “I think you’re a nice girl, BUT….”

I hate that line so so much.

So that’s where it stands with Smashing Pumpkins dude.

The other guy I’ve gone out with is actually a real sweetheart and he was my buddy when it snowed last weekend and I really sorta like him – but to be honest, it feels like friendship. And I hate to write about it because I don’t know if he’s reading this (Hi! Don’t hate me!) and I don’t actually know how he feels and who knows, maybe it could develop into something more, but I’m thinking not? and ARRGH, I don’t want to write about it on the internet.

Hey bebe, hey bebe hey bebe.

IT’S STUCK IN MY HEAD AGAIN.

So yeah, there’s that.

Although I could really use some sloppy kisses and groping and could probably even handle a walk of shame – it’s just not really what’s been on my mind lately.

You know what’s been on my mind? North Carolina.

And let’s just ignore the whole “North Carolina on my mind” reference. I won’t go there, I promise.

But it is. Because I’ll be back there in a little over a week for a little over a week and I can’t wait to hug my mama and see my best friends and get drunk with my daddy and snuggle with my doggy.

I’m actually not an asshole, by the way, but apparently everyone else is. The new website I launched with my friend 99 a couple of weeks ago has really taken off and I’m kind of addicted to it. I promise not to shamefully promote it all the time on this blog, but since it’s been a more successful part of my life lately that my dating adventures, I felt like bragging.

So, sorry I don’t have any dirty Vixeny gossip to report. If you have a problem with that, you can publicly call me an asshole if you like. I can take it.

PS: hey bebe

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Next: a plague of locusts.
12/5/2007 1:37:25 AM

A couple memories:

1) We could hear the wind picking up outside. Pieces of debris hit the windows, but not with enough consistency or power to inspire either of us to leave the pocket of warmth beneath the covers and within each other’s arms to look outside to see what the damage was. It felt like hours that we remained motionless, listening to the wind. He had told me only a couple of days before that he had no interest in seeing other girls. But he hadn’t called me his girlfriend yet and I felt like by removing myself from his bed on this morning, I’d be creating a distance between us that we wouldn’t be able to recover from.

A hurricane was coming. My apartment was two miles from his. There were so many reasons I needed to get out of that bed that morning, but the reason I finally did still pisses me off to this day: I needed a tampon. He lived in an apartment with three other boys. No feminine supplies to be found. Finally, I made up an excuse about needing to go home; I wasn’t comfortable enough yet to mention having a period in front of this boy. I was 21-years-old. He told me he would call me later.

Hours later, I sat alone in my apartment, crocheting a scarf by candlelight. I wanted to brave the winds and drive the two miles back to his house, but he said he’d call me, and I didn’t have the courage to call him first.

I waited for the phone to ring. Within a week, the relationship was over.

2) I’d told him about a dream I had, a dream that the devil was trying to make a deal with me. Cans of Budweiser littered his coffee table, piled up beside overflowing ashtrays, sitting on top of sheets of music and Sports Illustrated magazines.

“Why would you dream something like that?” he asked.

“Why would you ask that question?”

It developed quickly into an argument, a revealing argument that climaxed with me shouting “JUST GIVE ME A FUCKING TISSUE” as I cried. I was standing in his closet when I shouted that. I don’t know why I was in his closet, but it reminds me now of how I’d hide in closets as a child when arguing with family members. Maybe the same stupid instinct had kicked in: hide from yelling in small, escapeless box.

We went to bed angry. It was snowing outside, the first snow of the winter. I left in the morning while he was still sleeping. I didn’t have an ice scraper and used my glove-less hands to try to remove the snow from my windshield, cussing and crying the whole time.

* * *

It snowed in Seattle on Saturday and flooded on Monday.

I’d gone out Friday night to see a crazy rock band from Tel Aviv. The show opened with them setting their drum kit on fire and I can’t lie: I kind of fell in love with them. Most fun night I’ve had in months, easy.

I woke up on Saturday with a hangover and ringing ears and completely shocked to see a heavy snow falling. Although I’d read the weather forecast and knew there was a chance for snow – having never experienced snow before Christmas in my life, it seemed kind of absurd and I didn’t really believe it would happen.

Inclement weather makes me feel lonely. In an empty apartment on Saturday morning, I ate ice cream for breakfast and watched the snowfall.

Later that day, I was in QFC with a boy, buying cheap wine and tater tots. The snow was lingering, but only visible in the glow of the streetlights.

Third date with this boy. He walked up hills of snow and ice to drink red wine and eat tater tots with me. We watched three of my favorite movies together: True Romance, Hedwig and the Angry Inch, and City of the Lost Children.

At 12:30, we said goodnight, hugged goodbye, and I sent him back out onto the slushy, dark sidewalks to make his trek back home.

Third date. Wine. Snow. Movies. Hug. Goodnight.

I wish I could create chemistry. I wish I could create connections. I wish I could make things happen and make things easy and nice for everyone.

It rained and rained and the snow melted into floods. Monday I was flooded out of my office. This morning the water subsided, but illness kept me from going into work.

Right now, the medicine is making me sleepy. One day, I’ll be funny again. One day I’ll be awake, and healthy, and happy. I need chemistry in my life. Tonight, I need sleep.

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Breakfast for Lunch
11/25/2007 4:32:53 PM

A couple of days ago, I was snuggled up in bed next to my best friend, 99, because we tend to act really gay together. We were just pillow-talking and I sleepily commented, “dating makes me really disappointed in humanity.”

I’ve avoided talking about my real-time dating experiences lately on the blog. I just don’t have the heart for it. I haven’t had any bad experiences, but just haven’t had that crazy date where the connection is immediate and solid and mind-blowing. I miss that connection. I want to meet a boy that makes me want to call my mom the next day and tell her all about him.

My mom and I are kind of like Lorelei and Rory Gilmore. Except we don’t eat as much junk food without our asses getting noticeably bigger and I’ve never been in a relationship with Milo Ventimiglia, which really is a shame.

I took down my profile on The Stranger for a few weeks there. The week that I took it down, I’d gone out with one boy I met through the personal ads, I went out with a co-worker, and I met a boy at a party – a boy that was a perfect blend of fuck-up and success, which meant he won my heart immediately.

The date with the personal ads boy was fun, but hasn’t taken off into anything more than casual every-once-in-awhile dating.

The date with the co-worker was… ehh… kind of embarrassing? He told me one of his favorite bands is Smashing Pumpkins. I just don’t think that’s okay unless it’s 1993 and you’re 15 years old.

The boy at the party? Sigh. The party was actually a beer-tasting event on an early Saturday afternoon. My date with the co-worker was later that evening. I really didn’t want to leave to go out with the co-worker after I met this boy, but I’m not a cunt and don’t blow guys off, so I dutifully left for my date, after staying sober at a beer-tasting, and after turning down an invite to GET INTO A HOT TUB with a guy I wanted to marry.

Do you know how painful that was? To say, “Oh, no thanks, I think I’ll skip out on the hot tub. It’d be bad to go out on a date smelling like chlorine.” It was fucking painful.

If it sounds like I should have pursued this guy further – I did. I invited him over to Thanksgiving Dinner at my house, and he didn’t come, so I give up. If he’d noticed me, he would have at least responded to the invitation, and since that wasn’t the case, it’s time for CyberVix to move on.

It’s been almost two months since I’ve had any sort of play-play, and that means I’m starting to get a bit antsy. Last night I revised my personal ad on the Stranger and threw it back up there. Here it is. Who wouldn’t want to go out with me? Am not I adorable?

Yet even this morning, I perused through the personal ads, hoping to find someone that caught my eye… and frankly, I just found them all disappointing.

Am I just too picky? Here are a few things that turn me off in a personals ad:

· I don’t like reading life stories in a personals ad. If it’s too long, I don’t even read the bitch. I just move on.
· If it sounds like they wrote their ad with a thesaurus handy, I move on. I have a love/hate relationship with thesauruses, leaning towards the hate.
· If they post pictures of themselves with other girls, I’m immediately turned off.
· Similarly, pictures where other girls are obviously cropped out, I also frown upon. Although it sometimes makes me laugh. That one’s tricky.
· If they go on and on about recycling, bicycling, communing with nature, Mother Nature, and so on – I move on. I’m an eco-conscious person, but people that are all self-righteous about it get on my Hooksexups.
· Younger than 25 or older than 36: not my guy.
· Anyone that calls themselves an “eccentric individual,” is not my guy.
· Anyone that spells Capitol Hill, “Capital Hill,” is not my guy. If you’re not from Seattle and you misspell it, that’s cool. I’m not a spelling/grammar-nazi. But for fuck’s sake YOU LIVE HERE. This is like, your neighborhood. You should know how to spell the neighborhood you live in. I mean, fuck.

Okay, so anyway, that’s just a short list of my turn-offs.

CyberVixen’s current mood? Kinda cranky.

But I’m just going to keep trekking on. I’m not too worried about my love life at the moment. I’m much more caught up in my career, and the act of advancing it, and my friends and family, Christmas shopping, and so forth, than boys.

At the same time, I really could use some play.

When cranky and in need of play, there’s only one thing I can really do: eat breakfast for lunch. I’m about to hit up my favorite restaurant for hash browns on the Hill and am going to eat the hell out of them and probably wash them down with a couple of mimosas.

I think that will make this Sunday as fine a Sunday as ever. Who needs boys when you have hash browns?

Love,
CyberVixen

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A Festive Medley!
11/19/2007 1:20:36 PM

1) Let’s all get together and celebrate CyberVixen's vagina!

For those who haven’t kept up with my blog-a-log dating history, this particular numerical transaction is going to be a bumbling mess of nicknames and nonsense. But those who have kept up with it (and WOW, I’m proud of you because it’s a lot to keep up with) – you’ll understand how weird my Friday night was.

The plan was for me and my bessie mate, 99, to stay in and eat pumpkin ice cream and watch Richard Pryor stand-up’s. Good plan, yeah? But round about 7:30, we got antsy. I’d been fighting a nasty cold for a number of days and got the idea in my head that a hot toddie would be the perfect beverage to nurse me back to health. Since hot toddies aren’t the sort of mixed drink I’d want to order from the regular dives I slum around in, we decided to hit up a more posh place: Bleu on Broadway. My friend Katherine once described Bleu as the sort of place you would have designed as a little girl. There are pretty twinkling lights everywhere, candles, velvet curtains between the tables – it’s a great little romantic hideaway and the mixed drink menu is generous and elaborate.

However, when we arrived at Bleu, the wait was half an hour to 45 minutes, just for a seat at the bar. Being of the impatient sort, 99 and I decided to wander down the Hill to Bleu’s sister restaurant – Chez Gaudy.

We walked into Chez Gaudy and the atmosphere was upbeat and friendly. En Vogue was playing over the speakers – Never Gonna Get It. It was like it was meant for us to be there. Early 90’s pop hits are mine and 99’s forte. We ordered our drinks and were happy.

About halfway into my drink, a herd of geeky hipsters walked into the bar. They all looked the same, but one of them was a little more familiar to me.

Pants. He walked past my table without seeing me – or pretending not to see me – and I mouthed to 99: “BOY-TOY!” That was my original nickname for him. 99 had never met him before and when she caught a glimpse of him, shrugged her shoulders and said: “He looks like every other boy in Seattle.”

He joined a crowded table and knowing that he was just a few feet away from me, I couldn’t really relax. At some point, he got up to go outside to smoke a cigarette, and I calmed down a bit and slurped on my drink.

Then, I looked up and at the bar was a tall Asian guy wearing a trench coat and a scarf. (That makes him sound like a tall gay looking Asian guy, doesn’t it? He’s not really fruity though.) We made eye contact: The Good Doctor.

Now this guy I hadn’t seen since July. July 23rd, actually. My birthday.

Instead of avoiding each other, he immediately headed over to give me a hug. We chatted for just a couple of minutes. He told me he’s moving to Asia in a couple of months. He was at Chez Gaudy to meet a friend – a non-descript girl sitting at the bar. He said it was nice to see me and he’d call me later that weekend. He rejoined his friend at the bar.

Running into two people in one tiny establishment that have discovered the mysteries of my vagina was too much for me to handle. We closed our tab and left before I'd even finished my toddie.

2) Just call me Snotface McGee. Or Cokehead McLeod. Whatever floats your boat.

The cold I’ve been suffering has been relentless. Some how or another, my nose has managed to be stuffy, runny, and extremely dry at the same time. My right nostril is like a snotty floodplain. My left nostril is the Sahara. After fleeing Chez Gaudy on Friday night, I made me way to the Crocodile Café to see The Whore Moans and The Cops play. About two songs into The Cops show, 99 and I decided to check out. I wanted to go home and eat ice cream and watch Richard Pryor stand-up's. I hit up the loo before leaving and whilst relieving my bladder – my nose started bleeding. I cussed and grabbed some toilet tissue and walked out of the stall saying, “99! Fuck! My nose is bleeding!”

I eyed the girls waiting in line and saw them looking at me as if I were Stevie Nicks during the middle of her coke heyday. I clutched my bloody tissues and walked proudly, and quickly, out of the restroom.

3) For the asshole in all of us

Saturday evening, 99 and I created a new website. It’s funny. Go check it out and contribute something:

Everyone Is An Asshole

4) Giving Thanks

I’m hosting a Thanksgiving Dinner on Thursday afternoon for my best buddies here in Seattle. The idea started as me making the turkey and dressing and having my friends bring other dishes. Now it’s evolved into an event. One of my good pals is making some homebrewed beer. The food is going to be redonk. I’m envisioning candles, pumpkins, and fall-colored streamers decorating my otherwise drab apartment.

What am I thankful for this year? I’m thankful I had the courage to move to Seattle. I’m thankful that I had a summer with lots of play-play. I’m thankful I have an incredibly awesome family to visit over Christmas. I’m thankful I’m not really a cokehead (although I am an asshole). I’m thankful that my cold is actually starting to go away, thus relieving my fears that I’m one of the unfortunate victims of the new killer cold going ‘round.

I’m thankful, I’m thankful, I’m thankful.

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