Ciao 4 Now

We only part to meet again. - John Gay

My Internet and cable bill is due on Friday and I can't pay it.

Guess how much money I have right now?


Yup. The last of my escort earnings cause I haven't seen any clients in a month.

A month.

To say I'm at a crossroads in my life is an understatement. I've no clue what to do, what can be done, or where my next dollar is going to come from, but I do know that I don't want to spend anymore time with strange men.

It's just too much to bear.

As much as it kills me to say it, I've Mr. Kamikaze to thank for my change of heart. Don't get me wrong - I was never cut out for this line of work - but being with him reminded me what it's like to be with someone I can truly connect with on a deeper level. It made being with other men I wasn't interested in that much harder. I turned down more calls than usual and suffered financially as a result. It's too bad he turned out to be such a disappointment - but given his track record - I was better off without him.

I don't know how much longer I'm going to have internet service, so I figure now is as good a time as any to put the kibosh on my blogging. It's eaten into too much of my time, and I feel like I need to make a fresh start, anyway. The Internet has exposed me to a lot of interesting things over the past 2-and-a-half years, and I'm proud of what I've amassed. I think my blogs serve as a snapshot of contemporary culture, and hopefully people will use them as a resource and source of inspiration.

I can never truly quit the web, so I imagine I'll pop up somewhere at sometime under a different name and I'm sure my voice will be familiar to those who've been hanging around here long enough. I'll always have an opinion and an eagerness to explore other peoples' exciting endeavours, so it wouldn't surprise me one bit if I became involved in creating a new, legitimate website focusing on all aspects of 21st century living.

Until then, I'll just have to cool my heels and pray for change in the right direction.

Ciao 4 now...


Psst - I'll be storing pics and links @ Uber Friendlee. It's not a blog, I swear!

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Penn Badgley & Chace Crawford

Andrea Casiraghi

Matteo Marzotto

Neko Case

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Front St. & Jarvis St.__[daily dose of imagery]

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by Rick McGrath__[Flickr.com]

Umbra__final fashion

by Rick McGrath

by Rick McGrath

48 Hour Magazine

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Final Roundup
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Having a Bawl

Why Women Cry: Because We're Pissed Off
I cry mainly out of frustration...and then get indignant about it, because the person on the other end gets self-important. It never solves anything!

Excellent point about gender conditioning here.

While women tend to cry when frustrated (you know, because angry isn't lady-like), men tend to get mad. An angry person who's (typically) bigger than you is intimidating at the core and has much more potential to influence the outcome of an argument than tears. After all, tears might play on our emotions, but anger and intimidation create fear. Has "Jonathan" considered that maybe his girlfriend starts crying during an argument because his anger is scaring her?

So if we assume that women cry during arguments to manipulate an argument, we must also assume that any time a man gets angry, he is doing so to scare his partner. This is a reductive and really sad way to look at complex relationships and emotions. But what else to expect from a column titled "The Trouble with Women"?

As a dude, let me say that I know very few men, if any, who are well-equipped to deal with/express their anger at all.

I, and most of the men I know, were brought up to repress our feelings b/c feelings and emotion "were for pussies".

Well let me tell you how well that has worked out ...

Sad? = Angry
Hurt? = Angry
Ashamed/Embarrassed? = Angry

In short, any non-happy emotion correlates to anger and anger alone.

One of these days I am gonna need a really expensive shrink.

Or I'll just drink until I have a heart attack.

When I got bitched out at work by a manager from another group and my manager for hurting someone's feelings (really, it was sarcasm and it wasn't even directed at him), I went out to my car, called my wife, and started bawling.

It isn't just a woman thing.

I think men are taught to channel anger into physical confrontation or to swallow it and take it out on someone else later.

What are women taught to do with their anger?



Web 3.0

Welcome to Web 3.0
As is so often the case, Joshua Errett has no idea what he's talking about. Apple's App Store isn't the anti-Internet: it's just another online store. It isn't elitist and it isn't policed, at least not in the totalitarian way Errett alludes to. All stores, whether online or bricks-and-mortar, decide what they will and will not sell, and can and do change their minds. Is that a problem?

Do I have a right to walk into a store and demand that they sell my product? Should I be able to install a Toyota part in my Honda?

It's clear that Errett hates Apple, like so many of the fanboys who litter tech blogs.

How Web 3.0 Will Work

5 Little Words

If I had the means, I'd say these 5 little words.

I'd say them as often as possible, to people who needed to hear them and would value them the most.

I'd say them to people who are:
kind and

I'd say them freely and without a sense of obligation.

I'd feel good about saying them.

I wouldn't expect anything in return for saying them, knowing these words wouldn't be taken for granted.

I'd wish others said these words more often.

I'd know that by saying these words, I was doing my part to enrichen and strengthen - not only my community - but society at large.

I'd say these words to bolster necessary social structures that are already strained to their limit or to create ones that don't even exist.

I'd say these words to prevent good people from falling through the cracks.

I'd hope that these words would be passed on from one beneficiary to another.

What are these words?









But that's just me.

I'm Not Me

Columbia University: The Best Place to Score Drugs in New York
I've had a prescription for adderall since I was 10. It's kind of sad, actually. I don't know who I am and I'm never sure whether it's me or the pills, and I'll probably never completely get off them because they're a part of who I am. That said, I abuse them like crazy. I'm on it right now actually, sitting in the library of a northeastern liberal arts college, heart pounding, high (if you will) with the kind of euphoria that drives me to achieve beyond any means of which I'd otherwise be capable. I've also been up for three straight days, haven't eaten anything since Saturday and am about to start a 20 page paper due Tuesday. And it'll be the best damn paper I've ever written. Then I'll rage with whatever I have leftover at post-exam parties. I prefer not to think about my health and sanity and chalk my ignorance up to the innocence of youth.

Snark Attack

What oil spill?
Those are the healing waters of BP's new spa retreat for asthmatic Tea Baggers. It also cures eczema and plantars wart, but may aggravate chronic acne and induce nausea in eco-conscious individuals.


Industrial Toll

Today's Headline


Are Teachers Turning Catholic to Get Jobs?



You're Hired

Prom king zombie costume

What NOT to Write in Your Cover Letter
A word to the wise - the following email incorporates everything you should not tell a potential future employer. Hopefully, everyone can learn from this person's mistakes! [...]

The Five People You Meet in [the] Hamptons

Samantha Harris
Deranged Dowager

Hold Your Ground

Ever been engaged in a heated, low down, dirty, rotten war of words with someone? I was, yesterday morning. It started at 3:15 am when - after a long series of exchanges - I texted back to this big, fat, old, ugly, mess of a man to "CHOKE on his 'Sorry'" (because it was insincere) and then "GOODBYE, M__". I thought that was the end of it - but oh no - a bully always has to have the last word, even when they don't have a leg to stand on. From that point on, our communication escalated into a one upmanship nightmare.

6 hours later, when I checked my messages, there was his putrid response, littered with insults and lies. Do you think I was going to let him get away with it? Hell naw! I fired back a volley of my own, and then off we went, careening down a mountain of shit through verbally-charged minefields. Pow! Bang! Kablowey! All the while, I held my own and wouldn't back down. I gave as good as I got, and then some. By the end, I made that sonofabitch my bitch and gave him something to think about the next time he decides to engage an opponent he grossly underestimates.

Yesterday, I learned something about myself: I don't suffer fools at all. When you're wrong, you're wrong, and I won't hesitate to tell you. Of course, me being 5'5", this type of engagement is only possible in a non-physical arena, such as texting. Even engaging an opponent over the phone is ineffectual if their voice's louder and resonates deeper than my own - they can easily shout me down, no problem. But when it comes to a war of words - ie. ideas and values distilled - I'm not intimidated because my convictions fortify me against their bullshit. No one can convince me I'm wrong when I know in the depths of my soul I'm not, no matter how old, loud, big or "successful" they are.

I saved my half of the exchange. I've been reading it over and over again, proud of my audacity. It's not easy standing up to an older man, especially when you've been raised in an environment that was dominated by your father. I never said a damn word that contradicted my father's, in his presence or elsewhere. He was omniscient to me, and it wasn't until I hit my twenties that I started to question his perspective. Naturally, that's when our relationship fell apart, as I believe is common between fathers and daughters. As long as females remain little girls - both mentally and physically - Daddy's a happy man. The imbalance of power allows him to feel heroic and superior. But as soon as we start to mature, experiment and take ownership of our existence, he feels left out and threatened. This, of course, is when it's time for us to pack our bags and leave home.

Unfortunately, most of us women never get over our father's influence, and his presence in our mindset is reflected in how we relate to other men - be they partners, authority figures, other relatives or offspring. It's like his stamp of approval/disapproval is evident in the eyes of the males we encounter, and we lose perspective of what and who we're truly dealing with. These men are not him, but it's difficult to make the distinction. His gaze haunts us, even when he's thousands of miles away. It's downright spooky. I have to say, a man has to be one helluva strong character himself to break through the bubble of a father's influence; weak men just don't stand a chance.

So...do you want to see my texts? I have to warn you - it ain't pretty. Mr. Ass Pustule said some really foul things that don't bear repeating, but I think you can fill in the blanks, anyway. I'll add a few words here and there to clarify things, but other than that, you're on your own.

Got your helmet on?

Ok, we're going in...

The set up: At 3:15 am, I told him to "CHOKE on his 'sorry'" and then "GOODBYE, M__". 6 hours later, he starts the insult ball rolling by calling me a phony and implying that I deserve to be in the financial trouble I'm in. Me:

I never liked you. You're one of the ugliest men I've ever met, both inside and out. I'm GLAD I don't have to see you again or let you touch me.


FYI: Guys like you will ALWAYS have to pay for it, one way or the other. Don't worry, I've ALREADY lost your number.

He insults my looks and tells me I'm a lousy lay. This couldn't possibly be further from the truth. (Backstory: He's complained numerous times in the past about his nutjob wife.)

LIES. ALL LIES. I know sour grapes when I see them, you pathetic monster. Good luck with your CRAZY ASS wife.

He says I've turned him off from prostitutes. What he doesn't know is that I think the profession is a crock of shit. He also says that I should suck his c--k. Fucking loser can't even spell out the word.

You're welcome. Too bad only RETARDS, CRACKHEADS & YOUR CRAZY ASS WIFE will suck your COCK.

At this point, he's starting to weaken. Was it the jab about his wife or his lack of sexual desireability? He tells me to leave him alone.

You're the one who contacted ME. I was done with you HOURS AGO.

He says he feels sorry for me.

Coming from you, that means NOTHING.

He insists that I'm the one who initiated this shitstorm.

NO. My last message to you at 3:15 am said GOODBYE, M__. You're the one with Alzheimers, crazy OLD man. NOT ME.

He calls me a cunt.

I have a beautiful CUNT & you will NEVER see it again. THANK GOD.

He says he's glad about that, as if he wasn't the one harassing me to date him over the past year-and-a-half. At this point I'm into all caps because I sense he's faltering and his jugular's exposed.


You'd think he'd back down, right? Walk away with what's left of his dignity intact? Uh uh - this fucker keeps coming back for more. His next insult's so lame I don't remember what it was.


Again he tells me to leave him alone, even though he's the one who can't stop responding.


He recycles more lame shit from before.


He tells me I'm no better than the shit clogging his ass. I'm officially bored with him and want to end it.


Is he done yet? No, not even close. He texts "Cunt" again. I fire back with something equally caustic that I know will set him off.


Ha! I was right. He phones me - which of course - I ignore. I can't, however, resist listening to his message. He sounds tired - not irate like I expected - and tells me he won't let me drag him through the muck, as if I was the one who insulted him first, and then he crosses the line into bottomfeeder territory by intimating that my estrangement from my parents is a reflection of the kind of person I am. Well, sweet-Jesus-and-all-that's-holy, I really let him have it. (Backstory: he's mentioned before how much he spoils his kids - especially his son. If the young man - not child - so much as stumps his toe, Big Daddy Handout is on the next flight out before it's begun to swell.)










Check and mate.

I win.



Hey Life

What's the deal, here?

I'm still waiting for a sign things will be alright, but you give me nothing.

I'm running out of time and patience.

Am I going to be ok or not?

Your silence on the matter is not cool.

When will this torture end??

New Posts

My caption: Diary of a Kept Man

Aperlaï Shoes
Gunn's Faves
Baptiste Giabiconi
Crash Explained
Hormone D


Fucking Hypocrite

SWAT Team Raids House, Shoots Dog Over 'Small Amount of Marijuana'
Thank god they got rid of it. Kids in the house?
Thank god.

That's horse shit to expose children to that stuff.

"WTF what are you guys doing?" ---They are busting you for being an illegal drug user. Now sit down and take your PWN.

If you don't want to be harassed, don't break the law. Doesn't matter if YOU don't feel pot is illegal. Your country has determined it is, don't agree? Don't live there, or take it up with the courts/congressmen/etc.

missdelite: You don't have any vices, do you? And you don't know anyone close to you who does, right? And obviously, you've never been harassed by law enforcement officers or handed an unfair verdict in court or known someone who has, is this true?

How else to explain your blind faith in the judiciary process and your inability to see an abuse of power when it's right there before you? Just because someone - who believe me, has no vested interest in your wellbeing - makes a ruling, you believe they're doing it to protect your interests.

Bwahahaha! How precious! What kind of glass muthaf@kn house do you live in, anyway??

I'm willing to bet my left butt cheek you're married or related to one of the guys who helped come up with or who actively enforces these Draconian drug laws, and he's holed up in a seedy motel room in Amsterdam right now snorting coke out of a hooker's gash.

How lucky do you feel, you fucking hypocrite?

missdelite: And you know what's funny? Law enforcement wastes precious time, money and resources on these small-time crooks while the kingpins roam free and unmolested.

As long as police chiefs can hold press conferences boasting about their number of arrests, and politicians can line their pockets with more money from taxpayers to fight the "War on Drugs", eveybody's happy.

But what about the kid OD'ed in a derelict warehouse, lying in a pool of vomit and excrement with a needle stuck in his/her arm? Are they just collateral damage from whom everyone else profits?

American Gangster

Resolved: Inmates Make Tough Debaters


Cash is Trash

Picasso Sells for Record $106.5 Million
Even in terms of rich people economics this makes no sense to me. I love Picasso, don't get me wrong, but in todays buyers market I could probably buy a small island, a Gulfstream jet to transport me, and finance my supervillain-esque island compound for that price.

reply: Cash is trash.

Art can be sold overseas, is easily transported, and is untraceable. You can also claim it as assets on a balance sheet.

It's a better investment than something as louche as bouillon.

Art is always valuable as a vehicle for money laundering. Not that I think there's anything wrong with that from an ethical standpoint, it's just that's what it's for.

But in this case, when cubism goes out of fashion eventually, what's a billionaire to do? New art crazes are always happening, but they ain't making any more islands (if Dubai's real estate collapse goes as expected. Just bide your time...).

reply: Eh, eventually, the art market will fall apart, as it always does.

Buyers pick it up for "legacy" and to pad their egos. You're a pretty big pimp among rich people if you have a Picasso. How rich you are stops mattering so much at a certain point.

That's when you start buying art, bankrolling "grassroots" political machines, producing art, running philanthropies, etc.

When cubism stops being cool, you donate the paintings to a prominent museum.

It may also be a symptom of the stimulus boom. The smart money will dump cash when inflation is coming without many prospects for alternative investments.

I mean, it's a pretty fucking sweet deal when you can use ZIRP to buy Picassos for nothing. I'd do that deal many times over.

When political risk is high, it's also a great time to dump your cash reserves into easily smuggled assets.

Remind me to hire you as my accountant and general financial adviser when I attain my empire. You seem like you'd keep a cool head and manage to get me a sweet deal when the revolution overthrows my totalitarian regime. In all seriousness though, your perspective on art as an investment for the super-rich is really intriguing and has educated me as to why these people think a Picasso may be worth 0.1Bn dollars. It makes total sense in the same way that any other stable alternative to cash does.

reply: Accounting, you'd have to find someone else. General financial advisor, sure.

But I'd loooooove to have a Canadian work visa, at least for a time. Canada is the atheist Saudi Arabia with plenty of mines to boot.

A lot to love about the culture, at least.

Sotheby's Preview Work of Tamara de Lempicka


10 Career Don'ts

Fashion Design

10 Career Don'ts: Or How NOT to Get a Career in Fashion
3. Don’t roll your eyes. Or if you do, roll with them toward the exit sign and then head out the door. [...]

Before They Were Socialites - Part 3
Who is the babyfaced girl on the left who doesn't look like she could hurt a fly?

Grant Achatz
Design Moment
2010 MET Gala
Facebook Famewhore
Why Don't You?


Today's OMG

Ukrainian Parliament

OMG I found my next wallpaper.

Greenaid Seed Bombs

+Like Broadway, But Illegal
+Jeff Stark and 'The Sweet Cheat'

Tik Tok Parody
Ke$ha Diss

Cover Girl
Michelle Trachtenberg
Vodka Cock
Hookup App


I'm Scared

You'd think a purse that looks like a gaping vagina would be full of money, don't you?

Hey, guys - guess who's officially a squatter? Me! I didn't pay my rent on Friday cause I don't have it. Guess who sucks (figuratively) at being an escort? I do!


There's no personal fulfillment in trying to satisfy someone you don't care about. I don't care how many Happy Hooker stories you read. Belle de Jour and Diary of a London Call Girl can kiss my ass. I've become enlightened to the ways of privileged white female prostitutes, and they're playing in a whole other ball game than the rest of us. Apparently, white skin = better, even though I've left behind men with a smile on their face who'd beg to differ.


Unfortunately, I've no marketable skills. If I did, do you think I'd be doing what I do? I didn't choose my line of work - I fell into it out of necessity. And if you think I'm going to work three minimum wage jobs to pay the bills, then think again. I'd like to think there's more to life than slave labour, and I've more to offer the world than shiny toilets and a pleasant phone manner. I wasn't built to wipe some old guy's ass while he looks down my top and drools on my shoe. I'd rather hop on a bus with my last few bucks and ride to the middle of nowhere, curl up in a field and wait for the vermin to gnaw me to death.


I'd like to take this opportunity to thank my Dad for telling my Mom, when I was in high school, that I didn't need a summer job cause my time would be better spent taking art classes and writing book reports. Those summers I spent struggling through "Pilgrim's Progress" and "The Prince and the Pauper" really didn't pay off. Those water colours I dabbled in aren't worth the cost of the supplies it took to make them. The summers I spent volunteering (my idea) at the Canadian National Institute for the Blind, Women's College and Sunnybrook hospitals, looked great on my resume, but never put a dime in my pocket in terms of helping me to garner future employment.


And thanks, Dad, for pushing me to do pre-med at university even though I had no natural affinity for physics and chemistry and no desire to be a doctor. The ensuing disillusionment that settled in after dropping out, deepened my psychological development while forcing me to question my identity. If I wasn't going to be a doctor healing sick African babies (his dream, not mine), then who the fuck am I??


And so here I am, destitute. My "busines", such as it was, never recovered from the dive it took when the markets crashed over a year-and-a-half ago. I'm like one of those small businesses that did just okay enough to survive before the recession, that's now cleared out, boarded up and a hollow landmark to someone else's livelihood. Funny, I've yet to see one media report about what happens to those people after they've finally thrown in the towel. I guess those kinds of stories don't sell rags or increase pageviews. But how the rich are sacrificing by cutting back junior's hockey practices from three times a week to two? Now that's a story! Run with it!


Needless to say, if things don't turn around for me in a dramatic way over the next few days, I'm out on my ass. I don't know where I'll end up, cause I'm too scared to think that far ahead. (Liar - it's all I've been thinking about for months now.) I hope I can continue to stay where I am, and get out of the business in a way that doesn't turn my life upside down, but I have to say at this point, it looks like it's going to take a fucking miracle. I'm supposed to meet someone tomorrow night who's well-connected and could possibly open some doors for me, but he's not exactly reliable.


Oh, and one more thing?


Modern Hooker

What does it take, to make it as a fake?

Injected to avoid feeling rejected.

WHCD 2010: The Red Carpet
missdelite: That's it. If I ever see Kim Kardashian in a Hollywood movie, I'm going to shoot myself. At least Simpson and Bieber can sing, fer chrissakes.

Pop Quiz! Kim Kardashian is famous because:
a)golden shower sex tape
b)daddy's Bruce Jenner
c)face + tit + butt surgeries = Tinseltown "pretty"
d)she's servicing every dessicated studio exec from New York to L.A.
e)she's a modern Al Qaeda Mata Hari
f)the world's a sad, muthaf@kn place where only the crass survive
g)all of the above

If you chose g) then ding ding! We have a winner! Now go cry yourself to sleep and pray that she's such a bitch in real life, her make up artist snaps and stabs her in the butt with a MAC lip pencil, causing her to drown in a pool of her own saline solution. Horndogs around the world will mourn her loss for 2.2 seconds before they move on to the next bimbo in a tight dress. It's the circle of life 2010 celebrity style! Aren't you glad you came along for the ride??

Spring @ ModCloth

Mini Cardboard Mounted Bison__$11.99


Ice Invaders ice tray__$9.99

The Cindy dress__$67.99

Dress Like an Egyptian__$72.99

Industrious dress__$119.99

Wool You Be Mine bolero__$64.99


Bark Reynolds fetch toy__$12.99

Hello, Gorgeous pocket mirror__$6.99

Safety Misinformation passport wallet__sold out ($22.99)

Vintage Ella evening bag__sold out ($39.99)


For the diehard Conan fan
Robo Coco

Best Dressed
With Regretsy
Porn's Prettiest

How Dare She?

Halle Berry is Single and Other Exciting News for Guys
I doubt Gabriel Aubry will have trouble finding another woman who is both younger and more beautiful than Halle Berry. One who will hopefully have fewer "issues" than Halle.

Also, Halle Berry has had two husbands who cheated on her, a boyfriend who beat the hell out of her and now a baby-daddy who has left her. They all leave HER!! Not a good track record. Obviously, beauty is not everything. Maybe Halle has nothing else to offer the men who come into her life; perhaps she has too much baggage; perhaps she is a boring lump of insecurity. Men get tired of that shit, no matter how beautiful the woman is.

So, yeah, Halle will find another man (if she wants one) but will things turn out any better for her? Will she be happy again? I don't think so. Halle fucking Berry is not a happy woman.

missdelite: *sniffff*

I can smell the resentment from here.

You know that itch you can't scratch? It's actually caused by bathrobe crumbs worming their way into every orifice of your being. Soon you'll be nothing but a pile of Cheeto dust and cat hair moistened by the tears of your lost youth. A forensic team will sift through your moldy remains and conclude that death was caused by the rupture of a jealousy-induced ulcer that slowly over the years ate away at you from the inside out.

After hearing about your terrible fate, Jon Stewart will launch into a tirade on his show about the rise in deaths by Gossip Exhaustion. Word will reach Halle Berry and she'll offer to scatter your ashes from the deck of her 200 ft yacht parked in Port de Saint Tropez while her hunky assistant in the tightest shorts imaginable gently cradles her Oscar and looks on in admiration. His aviators will reflect the flashes of paparazzi bulbs, the locals will cheer, and your moment of glory will finally be realized, all thanks to Halle "Who the Hell Does She Think She is, Anyway?" Berry.

Back at your place, a lonely cat howls with hunger, waiting to be fed..