I Miss Making Out

I have to ramble on a bit before I get to the point. The boy and I watched a movie that he picked up (for me). Some crap teen flick, not all bad, some laughing was involved. I was a little disappointed that his version of ‘my kind of movie’ slash chick flick was so … teenish. Afterwards I quickly put the DVD away as to avoid having to see any more smiling happy faces. I generally don’t enjoy films with a >17 rating.

A video came on while I was surfing – Naked Lunch “God”, which is basically, IMHO, a Pink Floyd/Rammstein rip. I was reading Rentboy Diaries and Girl With a One-Track Mind among other things. And as with any sex blog, there has to be a rehashing of the first sexual encounter.

I guess it was the lethal mix of teenie entertainment paired with reminiscent music that brought me back to my teen years and the early dating / sexual experimentation that followed. It dawned on my that I really miss just making out. What happened to getting totally wet, electrified, red-lipped, blanket-tossing making out sessions without sex? I have something that a lot of women would want, I have my sweety the whole day, morning to night. The term ‘sweety’ in reference to ‘morning’ and ‘night’ is used loosely. 24h companionship doesn’t make me want to call him or anyone sweety anymore. I never have the chance to miss him. We wake up together, we go to work together, we come home together, we sleep together.

The excitement in missing someone and having to wait for the work day to end to see that special person is over with. There is zero excitement now. I can make a list of possible things he will eat and/or drink in the morning. I know every gesture, every movement. It is a very routine life. When I ask him what he’d like to do on the weekend I already know what places he will suggest. It’s only in bed, I worry if he’s going to pull one of his new kama sutra inspired freak positions and I’m going to have some kind of nasty muscle ache the next day. That’s about as spontaneous as it gets.

That brings me back to the real point – I miss being single. If not single, then not so at-the-hip attached. Just making out, that’s what I miss the most.


I’m back, I think

East of Eden by John Steinbeck has been my bed-side, bathtub and bathroom buddy for the duration of my sickness this last week. Why I mention this is not to share my reading list with fubar readers, but to make a connection. If any of you have read this book, I hope you will remember the Chinese helper, Lee, that Adam, the sorry bastard who got shot by his half-human of a whore wife, employed. Justin reminds me of Lee. Lee often says, “I am getting more Chinese in my old age.” I think Justin is getting old, but not more Chinese. I remember when fubar was full of postage about Avril fans mistaking Justin for … well, Avril. And long worded emails from strange people who wanted to make love to Justin’s Brunei behind. Lately all that Justin has been posting are hi-res pictures of celebrities. He doesn’t even talk about his new DVDs anymore, and all of you who have been here more than a couple months should know that Justin’s DVDs are his well-nurtured children. Justin, you need to post more, goober.

The last 7 days have been extraordinarily boring. I’ve left the house a total of 5 times, twice to the doctor, once to get cigarettes and fluids, once because I was desperate for human company and another time to get some fresh air. Two days ago my house guest adventure started. My live-in boyfriends’ friend from Turkey is on a two week visit here in Germany. I don’t mind him, I can even say I like him. He’s a good person, hasn’t really got all the glasses in the cupboard, but that’s okay. Another friend of my boyfriend is here as well, he also stayed the night last night. They both came in late, carrying laptops. Thing I don’t understand is why they come here at all. They claim it is to visit friends and whatnot, but… My apartment turned into an internet cafe. They didn’t speak to each other, they all, including myself, simply immersed themselves into the internet, gaming and playing Solitaire, of all things. Is there something so totally interesting about boarding a plane (and paying for it) just to sit on your laptop in a different country? And these are grown men.

It was already bad enough that my boyfriend came home early smelling like garlic, he claims he didn’t eat anything with garlic (my ass he didn’t), but his two friends smelled equally …. mmm, delicious. Remember, I’m sick. After sitting next to my beloved house guests that hogged up waay too much space on my couches and my boyfriend for a couple hours I gave my boy the sideways glance and head shake that we need to get out of here. I was going to suffocate. I didn’t care that I had to bear the nut-freezing temp outside; I NEEDED that fresh air like Justin needs Avril. This morning I woke up and my bedroom smelled like garlic and my living room smelled like something I can’t describe. I wrapped a scarf around my neck and opened every damn window in this place until it was unbearable. Ah, house guests. I’ll be happy when my friends from America arrive on the first. One will be stayed until the middle of January, and I know they will smell completely normal, at least after the airplane food odors get showered and washed away. It will be the first holiday season in three years that I will be surrounded by my real loved ones, my friends, my dad, my boyfriend. As I can’t afford to fly over the few in my family who I do want here, this will be a nice substitute.

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted on fubar. Hopefully after all the cobwebs get cleared I can start posting something a little more worthwhile, something that might even resemble entertainment. For the oldtimers who still remember: no, I will not show you my boobies. For the newbies: you suck.

Just in case some of you haven’t checked out the forums recently, then I want to repeat Thess’ request here. In case you newbies haven’t caught on yet (you suck) Thess is an oldtimer in fubar, here long before I was. Thess is the super-woman, and hard core bitch for some, of fubar. Pay your respects, newbies (you suck). Thess needs your prayers for the life of her mother. I believe there is power in numbers, more in prayer than anything else. So please, all you who read this, please just give a minute of your time and lift Thess and her mother up in your prayers today and the following days. Love you Thess, don’t give up hope.

Happy holidays to all! <3 eve.



I was going to make a real post until I realized I have to go to the bank.

So, I’ll shorten it to this much. I now work in a piercing and tattoo studio, and I wanted to rub it in that I will be seeing more breastesses than most male whores. Wee. :p I love my job.

What you got in that bag? And where the f00k did you gettit?

Time for a break in the dick parade.

*10 minute blank out staring at screen* I don’t really know what to say. I promised Justin if he emailed me I would post. I’m rusty.

I’m in ‘class’ – “Projekt zur Berufsorientierung junger Frauen” which is translated as a project for the career orientation of young women. The only good thing here is that there’s a kitchen with free coffee and free DSL. And maybe a new friend. But she needs to wash her hair more than every four days. And eat a few cheeseburgers.

After class yesterday I had an appointment with a real man of our times. He’s the director of this place and before he goes into retirement at the end of this year and dies with his tiny pension stuffed under his pillow he’s supposed to help out us “girls” with finding an 8 week place where we can do a praktikum. I guess that’s an internship, basically you work full time in some place and don’t get paid.

The problem with him started right at the beginning by telling me that I should probably pronounce my first name (Samantha) a little more “German” – as in Zumuntu. Apparently being American and having an american name is no longer a good idea for the work scene? He’s so modern and up to date. What made his statement 5 points more ridiculous is that in my class of 15, over half are foreigners from the Middle East and it took me a week to understand their names and be able to pronounce them the correct way – ie. how their own country would say it. No one tells them to germanize their names.

Strike two was that he didn’t realize that my email address was an email address. Obviously he’s never seen that new invention of the internet. Or written an email. Which wouldn’t surprise me because in the 90 minutes I had to stare at my reflection in his glasses and he sat in front of the window that was the cause of my migraine he received SEVEN phone calls. He didn’t politely tell them to call back, he had full blown coversations with Spaniards and Turks that were looking for or found jobs in construction and factories. And I got to quietly sit there with nothing to do.

For being a career counselor he apparently has no idea how to listen to what people want to do and suggest things along the line of what goal they’re reaching for. I threw out the idea of opening a cafe, something I’ve already started, and he told me to do a bakers training. Baking bread = serving coffee? Right.

And he’s so educated he couldn’t figure out where Michigan, one of my most prominent states in the America, was located.

He couldn’t grasp the concept that the name of an american elementary school and a language school aren’t really important in life, and that it doesn’t matter what the meaning or relevance behind the name is.

Or that I didn’t want to work in the fucking warehouse of the construction store (like Lowe’s or something) just because he had a connection there that was also german-american. He said it would teach me better German. I wondered if wizzing on his rug would piss him off.

A real man of our times.

Edible Boobies

So, I was going to run into a bitch session about emails from my step crack smoking dad and a recollection of a conversation in his office two years ago while he was getting drunk and taking care of mental patients, but I thought you’d all be more entertained by b00bies.

I wasn’t as successful as I thought I would be. Apparently, I don’t have porn radars and I don’t know how to even find b00ber pictures the entire male world hasn’t seen already.

I was surprised, however, to see that the the first item listed under edible breasts contained an international Harry Potter meetup site. I find that too disturbing actually.

And then I did a search for edible boobs, and discovered that if I had a wishlist, this would be on it. Seriously, a girl can never have too many penis cake pans.

And then my luck increased, and with a little photoshop help, I present:

Japan at its best.

Blah. Porn’s still boring, and if Justin weren’t so *cough* preoccupied right now, I would just continue on with something else.


Just Hang Up

Oy. What the hell is wrong with my mother? I don’t generally pick this topic for any kind of discussion, because frankly I haven’t got a whole lot I want to say or elaborate on. I’m moving in three days so I thought a courtesy call to my mom was in order. I haven’t talked to her in a couple months. It’s not that the international call to the US is expensive and makes me go broke, but we usually end up talking for a couple hours and that’s sufficient. So one phone call every 6 to 8 weeks is just fine.

So, I restate, I’m moving. I’m moving in with my boyfriend, because we’ve found an apartment. Moving to a bigger city. I thought maybe my mom would at least be curious as to what’s going on in my life. I was wrong.

“Are you pregnant yet?” – teh mom.

“No! What the fuck?!” – teh eve.

And then she wanted to talk about babies. I’m not having kids any time soon, I’m 19 for God’s sake. I told her she has at least a decade to go before she sees grandkids. I have school and work training to think about, stable housing, a car… and to find a guy that will do more than donate sperm and actually be a father and not leave after a year. Just because I’m moving in with him does not mean we’re going to start our own breeding ground. Good Lord.

We talked for 145 minutes. In that entire time, I spoke for about 20 minutes max. ‘Tis no lie. I ended up lapsing out and just talking to my boyfriend online about how my mom just doesn’t listen.

So as she’s telling me about her marriage problems, about how stubborn her husband is and how he never let’s her get a single word in, I’m there on my own trying to fight to get my own words in. I’ve heard this same damn story every time I’ve called, and for the last 2.5 years that they made the mistake to meet each other and fall in ‘love’ – which personally, I don’t buy it. She never asked about my relationship (except if I was knocked up yet) or about the apartment. And she has the nerve to talk about how her husband never lets her speak, when I’m her daughter calling her for the first time in a couple months with my big news about the apartment and my moon&stars relationship.

I thought moms were supposed to get off on that and she could chow on some coffee and chocolate while chain smoking and just listen for awhile. My bubble’s bursted.

Now I remember why I don’t call home. Argh.

People are like restaurants

Despite how nice of a person you are, sometimes it’s hard not to notice how easily people can be placed in stereotypes. I was on the road the past couple of days and realized that even though the city I’m moving to is of a substantial size, the population repeats itself. Day to day when you walk down the street, it’s like seeing the same people every day.

So here’s a little break down of the boxes I could make.

Mainstreamers, male and female
They shop at the mainstream stores – the stores that carry the same handful of clothing brands that you can find 20 times in the same shopping lane. You know one when you see one. The guys wear the tight shirts and the fashionable pants, they have their nicely cut jackets that probably cost them half a month’s worth of pay, and their shoes are along the lines of whatever brand costs the most, isn’t sporty, and their overall look if seen in america would be considered clubby or just homosexual. Usually, I just call this bunch the beauty boys.

Then there are the mainstream girls. They’re picking up whatever trends are on the racks for the season. You see them tripping over their own 5 inch heels in any given season, their clothes are so tight you wonder how they actually breathe, and in the winter a thick coat generally appears to not be fashionable enough for them – God forbid they look more than their 90 pound constricted frames.

The disturbing thing about this group is that they are only seen together – only about 10% date or are seen with people that don’t look exactly like them. Both genders are super tanned year around, so in the crowds of paleness they are the orangies. It actually looks terrible, but I guess skin cancer and wrinkles at 35 is hip now or something.

Natural Loungers
This group is not gender specific, they both wear the same clothes – hemp, natural fibers, all in dull colors of t-shirts, super wooly sweaters, and cords or tie-around ankle-length skirts. This is more of a college group than anything else. They also flock together and cook together more than often, because no one understands their ‘save the cows’ motto more than their equals. Needless to say, 75% I’ve met are vegetarians. Often seen unshaved, long haired, and without the extras that consumerism has to spare. The girls almost never wear makeup, they make pottery and do natural crafts in their spare time – something they always seem to have more than enough of. The guys think that water and soap are necessities to be overlooked, and deodorant may also be a disposable item in their toiletry. This particular group of people appears to be the more approachable, but in personally conversing with the person you discover they are actually very close-minded and not accepting of people that do not follow their same values. Also, reggae, ragga, soul filled and angsty are the top choices of music.

I live in the area where German hip-hop was first discovered, created and recorded. You can spot a hip hop kiddie and his or her groupies about 50 miles away. It’s pretty similar to the american brand of little dogs, still nipping at everyone’s heals. They’re the 15 year olds that bring beer to the park and spray the town with their shitty unartistic tag names – eventually they all get caught because they have big mouths. They’re the little assholes that prevent me from sleeping on the train because their minidisc players are blasting whatever new gold-rim car music they could scrounge out of the trash. They think they are the ultimate coolies of the world, that their sagging pants and FUBU will help them live life and fufill their dreams. Every little hiphop kiddie has his g-girl, she’s equallly shabbily dressed and usually sporting a bandana and an oversized coat. I still don’t understand why they all have a habit of spitting, I suppose it’s the human version of a dog pissing on a tree. But they make good for entertainment – unless that is, they never grow up. I’ve seen these cases, and surely these are the worst. Because despite the fact that they add 6+ years to their already 15, they don’t change. They just take it a step farther – they’re the super egos of the party, the super sweaters on the dance floor, the ones with their man-made philosophies that they are their own gods and we need to bow.

Rich Old Women
You smell them before you seem them – either their overpriced department store perfume or their dog’s shit on the sidewalk. Every rich woman seems to either have a dog that’s barely as tall as their shoes, or they have enough fur on their coats, hats, sweaters, scarves, and purses to lay claim to 10 slaughtered animals. Rich old women never go gray, they never go white, they’re branded by super blonde or an all over dark color. They draw in their eyebrows, look haughty at all times like they just stuck the frown pill up their ass, and you can at all times see their dark lipstick creased into their wrinkles. These women are probably lonely and fearing the role mortality plays on them, so they drown out their misery in the showing of money. Oh, and GOLD everything.

It’s the Russian word for Grandmother. I fit all Middle Eastern women into this category that sport the head coverings and long neck-to-ankle balloon. They don’t speak in public unless it’s to their husbands or female friend – and always in their native language. I honestly think that they play so little of a role in life that they don’t bother to learn German because they have no need. It’s not like their allowed friends besides their countrywomen and male family – or like they’ll ever hold or be allowed to have a job. They dress like the Amish – all dark colors, light colors seem forbidden, if you see a red head scarf it’s almost like seeing a red “A” sewn onto their breasts. Their only unique part is the pattern of their head scarf and their shoes. Both always completely clash with the ultra suppressed woman look.
A Babooshka’s man is also dressed in dark, they don’t speak, they walk with their hands in their pockets and have the facial expression of a car thief looking to score a new ride. Black leather is life’s staple, along with heavy Russian clothing I would die wearing. Any season, they are sweating, and you can smell it.

Homeless Punks
They piss me off. They look like punks and they are too above society to work for the man, but they’re not too good to beg for the man’s money. They have lots of dogs, group together like flies on shit, and pretend to be able to play guitar while they sweat through their holey jeans and black leather jackets. I don’t understand them, I don’t want to. These are the only beggars I have no sympathy for. They choose to not be a part of society except the refuse on the street with an open hand and without a thank you. Fuck them. They can piss off.

Wish They Were Still Young and Thin
Women are ridiculous. Especially women in their late 30s and 40s that think dressing outrageously will make their thighs look smaller. The typical example here, which is country specific, is the whatevertrendwashot3yearsago look for teens – along the lines of that alphabet pants things (writing all over it), lots of bold and bright colors that make you gag – and ALWAYS, their pants are too short. So you have this center of attention thing right from their stretched waistbands down. You see the gut, the thighs that meet until the knees, a cutoff of material somewhere between the knee and ankle and then these really, really horrible shiny colored (red or black) half-boot things. It reminds me of a washed out crack whore or an episode with a morning after sceen of “Absolutely Fabulous.” Kill me now.

Americans in Germany
“Oh My God! That is soooo, like, Germany or something – we have to bring one of those home for mom!!!” I don’t know what happens when the average girl hits German soil, but whatever brain was there to begin with fades into this hyper-talkative, like OMG voice that can be heard two blocks away. They openly comment on everyone they see in a very loud voice, obviously not realizing that 75% of German people can speak English, and that 90% understand it.

American guys like beer, and they’re not afraid to show it. That, or they think they are ultra European the minute they buy some european-styled clothing and can say “Geil!” – which is the German equivalent of “cool.” They’re also known for staring at the girls, commenting on nice asses and creating a loud buzz of headache noise wherever they go.

Everyone else

Happy Valentine’s Day

Good morning fubar readers 😀

Well, hopefully the truly fubar dedicated didn’t give up on the site just because it disappeared for such a long time. I can assure you that we did everything we could to convince Justin he needed to stop being lazy and get the site back up 😉

Today is Valentine’s Day. *twirls finger* Exciting, eh? This holiday has little or no meaning to me, but this year it’s nice. It’s the first time in longer than I can remember that I had a “Valentine.” The way things have worked out in the past, relationships didn’t extend into February or they were long-distance. So.. this makes the first V-day with someone special since.. since.. middle school?! I can’t remember back that far. ^_^

Unfortunately, today isn’t too stress free. Today the paper comes out with the apartment ads. Me and Marc have been looking for an apartment for weeks now. Today is just going to be another day on the phone and running across Mannheim in all directions to look at available places to live. Just for the record – Eve did not make her celibacy vow of one year. (missed it by about 2.5 weeks) 😀 But it was a nice try and a nice ending. So the bitch factor has been lifted slightly, probably to the relief of some here. 0_o

It’s funny being in public with your S.O. on Valentine’s Day. Those who are single cast over looks of jealousy/longing. There’s nothing wrong with being alone, but V-day makes it seem like it sucks 100X more than it does ordinarily.

Well, when we woke up this morning at 6 AM I asked if he wanted coffee. He said yes, and I told him I would make it after I got ready. He gave me the look that says, no, not in 10 minutes, now. The coffee maker broke again. That coffee maker cost over $400 and it breaks on an average of once a week. >:-O Came back in the room to inform him that he’d have to wait until he got to work and he grabbed me, kissed my neck and handed me my V-day gift with one of those really large and ridiculous smiles. 😀

vdaycup1 (14k image) vdaycoffee (13k image) vdaycup2 (14k image)

He knows me too well. Really, the perfect gift was exactly what he got me – my own coffee cup. And now every morning I’ll be reminded that there is someone looking out for me and thinking about me, and not only on this day. < / end mushiness> You can’t blame a girl for being happy. 😉

So, fubar readers, I wish all of you with someone a great day full of red and hot sex and a good view of your own personal b00bers. For the singles, well, maybe next year. 🙂

See you around on the boards.

will trade boobs for web designing volunteer

cinnfuleyes: i don’t want to redesign my webpage.
psykotik2k: me neither
cinnfuleyes: i need to find someone else who will.
psykotik2k: mhm. me too
psykotik2k: hey
cinnfuleyes: hmm?
psykotik2k: you could post about it on my site
psykotik2k: i’m sure someone will volunteer

. —-> http://theheretic.net/nocturnal

So, I got tired of my old site look … I tried to redesign it with frames for convenience. I now can’t stand to look at it. Actually, it just makes me ill.

This is where your part comes in. Like Justin, I’m lazy. If you have some web design skill, and you want to be so kind as to help, I’m sure there’s some kind of incentive involved.

If you have questions or would like to volunteer, you can contact me:

By email : eve@theheretic.net
By AIM : cinnfuleyes
By Yahoo (not often used) : obliquenocturnity
or by ICQ : 175891380

Update: thanks Thanks for the new layout, Bryan ;D


Talking about Eve the rapper and tattoos:

psykotik2k: would you get paws on your boobs?
cinnfuleyes: hell no
psykotik2k: i know a girl who has a skull on her left boob
cinnfuleyes: gross!
psykotik2k: i know
psykotik2k: i wouldnt wanna be like, going down on her boob and seeing a skull staring at me 😮
cinnfuleyes: HAHA
cinnfuleyes: <3 justin psykotik2k: 😀