He Says, She Says.

Dan's Disclaimer: First off, I'd like to thank Annah for using me and my maleness in order to get better educated as she hops back onto the weiner wagon. When you've been in a cock-coma like she has, it takes a little while to acclimate. Whatever, chicks can get dudes whenever they want for the most part...we all know that. That's why on this list I'm omitting obvious stuff like, "All guys want is to get laid." Both genders tend to say the same thing about each other: "No matter what I do, I will never understand them." We're hoping to help a little while we're here.

Annah's Disclaimer: After reading Dan's lovely facts I realized I was quite the naivette to think he'd give me some PG rated material when I emailed him and said "Let's do a collabo post about the opposite sex!" Dear God I had to take a shot when I opened his email and was confronted with such obscenities. Bear with him, as I know Dan's a handful (or a mouth full, if you will) but he's brought up some valid points. With that said, I was told sex is like riding a bike and although celibacy is still going strong after the vow's end, I still remember a thing or two. Ready?

THE TEN COMMANDMENTS: AS PER ANNAH AND DAN

1) Guys have masturbated to you: At the risk of my female friends getting extremely freaked out, I can personally tell you that I've jerked off to almost every girl I know at some point in my life...not related to me of course. Look, guys get horny. They jerk off. I know you know that, but you may not think that they do to you. Well they do. Even if you're ugly. There's always at least one guy out there who thinks you're attractive, and odds are that guy has fist-pumped his phallus to you. Take it as a compliment.
1.) Girls masturbate to you too. And probably your friends as well, but only if they're cute. If your friends are ugly or eat with their mouths open it's safe to say we're not rubbing one out to them. You're welcome.

2.) 'Those things' make it hard to concentrate: If we just met and you have big boobs, when we're not looking at them all we're thinking is, "Pay attention...don't look at her boobs." In fact we get so fixated on not looking that we almost think we have when we haven't. Again, we know that you're expecting us to look, but when we look you in the eyes you may have this false impression that we're actually listening to what you're saying. It's not that we don't care...we just can't help it. It's like trying to talk to a dog with a squirrel in the room.
2.) We don't mind if you look at our boobs. In fact, we're flattered. But if we're having a conversation about the importance of Louis Vuitton purses or really great shampoos we expect you to act interested and not look at our breasts for a total of ten minutes. You can do it.

3) Just take off your bra: Within five minutes of hooking up we want your shirt and bra off, but sometimes we don't want to seem too eager. Now don't get me wrong, us dudes like to feel a sense of accomplishment - and more importantly we like to think we know what we're doing - but the bra thing is more of a chore. I'm not saying removing a bra is the most difficult process in the world, but it would save us time, energy and confidence and if you could let those bad boys out. Then we can motorboat them.
3.) Well why didn't you just say so? But really, motorboating is overrated. When it comes to that area, we prefer licking. And sucking. And a lot of lips. Not necessarily in that order.

We would also appreciate it if you undid your own belt buckle. I know movies have glamourized the whole thing but it's really difficult to undo a belt with your teeth.

4.) "What do you want to do right now?": Either have sex or get a blowjob. I don't want to go out to dinner; I don't want to go to see Broadway; I'm not interested in going to the zoo. All that stuff can definitely be fun, but it's not the answer that first comes to my mind, or any man's for that matter. In all honesty we don't give a fuck what we do with you as long as we're gettin' some lovin'. In the future though, don't even ask. Just give us head. We'll figure out the rest later. I feel like couples go out on dates without admitting that they'd rather stay home and fuck. Remember: Communication is the road to ultimate copulation.
4.) I'm sorry to break it to you but the theater and dinner are foreplay in our world. Sure, we don't mind getting pushed into a quicky once in a while and watching wrestling afterwards, but there isn't one girl out there who just wants to "get on with it" before something substantial happens. Indulge us, because it really is in your best interest. Believe me, you're not going to win any brownie points if your idea of fun is a date at Taco Bell or "just hanging out". Us girls know precisely what that means and if you didn't know, that means you're not getting laid. Get creative with it, guys. A picnic at the park. A homemade dinner that you actually put some effort into and didn't whip up with the mustard and hot dogs you had in your fridge. It doesn't have to be expensive, but we need to know you tried. The fact that you put thought into things is a major turn on for any girl, even the most cynical ones. So chop to it.

5) Handle with care: We want you to play with our balls. Some girls surprisingly don't know that. There's nothing more fun for a guy than to look at a girl with his balls in her mouth. "Excuse me, did you say something?" Ha ha. Anyway, you don't want to give the balls too much attention, but you can't neglect them either. Like teeth with a blowjob it's a fine line - practice in moderation. For instance, if a chick works my nuts too much I get all twitchy, giggly and ticklish. You know, when you're all like "Stoooppp it!" in that high-pitched voice. I end up laughing like a little girl...a little girl with a big dick.
5.) First things first, there's no action if you haven't trimmed the hedges around your bushes. If you want us to play with your baby making machines, they better be trimmed, preferably hairless if you ask me. Also, we're not mind readers. If you want to play ball, you need to ask for it. Just don't say, "Play with my balls". That's so not romantic.

6) We know you're lying to us: I can't relate to the average man in this sense, but I can certainly think like one. The thing is, if a dude has a small weiner he knows it. It doesn't take rocket science to look up the average penis size on the Internet, then compare our wang to it. So when we're hooking up and you say, "It's not small at all" or "It's just the right size," we know you're not telling the truth. But we don't care...we would much rather have a false ego inflation than feel self-conscious and get a penis deflation.
6.) We know we're lying to you, we're just trying our best to be diplomatic because that's what girls do. The fact that you have a small bat and we're still willing to come out and play says a lot about our character and you should be grateful. Bearing that in mind, if you have a small tool, you better be prepared to work extra hard in order to get the job done. If you're not fit to complete the task and on top of it you're complaining, you can rest assured you won't be getting a second call to action. There are plenty of other handymen out there who are fully equipped and willing to do things right the first time around.

Oh yeah! It's important to note that just because you're fully equipped with extra large tools, doesn't mean you're cut out for the job. There's only so much a big hammer can do for a girl. You gotta have the muscles to push and work it so she can be a fully satisfied customer. Satisfaction equals repeat business.

7) Tell us what to do when we go down on you: Eating out a chick is like driving in New York City: You always get lost at first, but once you figure it out it becomes second nature. Only problem is a different chick is like driving to a different part of the city: You're always confused all over again. All the guy has to do is pullover and ask for directions, but he never does. Instead he drives around aimlessly - or drives his tongue around aimlessly - hoping to arrive to a destination that he's further from than he was in the beginning. We have too much pride to tell you we need help, so help us.
7.) Everything you need to know about going to town is here: http://www.thebarreness.com/2010/09/demystifying-cunnilingus.html

But really, don't try so fucking hard if we're not into it. Some girls just prefer other things. Like fingers, kissing, deep tissue massages, playing footsie, or really expensive handbags. It's your job to learn what your lady classifies as foreplay and become a ninja master at it. No need to work so hard at something no one is enjoying.

My foreplay entails a lot of ninja stars and handcuffs, but no one would really know that if they didn't take the time to be curious, would they?

8.) We don't cat-call to get ass: I think for the most part American dudes know that chicks hate it when we holler at them. Guys just do it because they want to feel like they have the upperhand...they like making attractive women feel uncomfortable, mainly because the guy is too insecure to approach a girl and ask for her name. Except when we're drunk - when we're drunk we think anything will work. I think both genders can relate to that.
8.) I will agree with your last sentence. As far as cat-calls, though, I don't think any girl with her right mind takes a construction worker screaming "Hey baby you want a piece of this?" seriously.

9) We're more curious about the butt thing than we lead on: And I don't mean your butts. Most guys are thinking, "Woah dude...I don't want anything going near my ass." That's because guys are way too scared to admit that it would probably feel good. I, however, admit that it would probably feel awesome. It still freaks me out too much to ever try though. To all the chicks out there - lots of guys would secretly cave to a finger or a tongue up there...if you're interested try to push the envelope and you may be pleasantly surprised. But don't you dare try that shit with me...I will fucking fart on you.
9.) Butt thing is overrated. Oh wait, we're talking about your butt? Oh God. I don't want to put my finger up your butt, nor do I want to lick it. Unless I've had twenty drinks and by then I probably don't recall my name so you should take full advantage. Most girls don't like anything that has to do with butts. Mainly because butts dispense a brown substance that doesn't smell (or taste) good and that's not sexy. Also because it hurts. A lot. Mostly the last thing, but a little bit of the first thing as well.

10) Just because we're not making noise doesn't mean we don't like it: I mean, it might. But there are plenty of times when which we're on top just rockin out, doin' our thing. Lots of guys don't make noises in the sack but it's either because they're 1) concentrating, 2) completely absent-minded, or 3) thinking about another chick. I've talked to girls about this before and many of them tend to be weirded out by a mute man because they feel like they're getting fucked by Robo Cock. Can't say I blame you, but odds are we're loving it. Now turn over and let's finish this...my arms are starting to get sore.
10.) If we're not making noise, you suck. Simple as that.

Or we're sleeping.

Look What I Found!

Now I can breathe again. In more ways than one.

On a completely unrelated note: Do you know what's more annoying than waking up on any given morning before noon time?

Exactly. That toast is a friggin' asshole.

Next post is a collaboration with this prick. God help us all.

Kissing Strangers

I'm not sure if you guys remember Max, the husky I rescued two months back that took me for the run of my life and had me eating dirt and grass on a few occasions. That little fuck face found a great home with some fabulous gay men and I couldn't be prouder if I was a mother at her kid's first recital.

Fast forward to Friday (also known as last day of my celibacy vow), I was driving home from a particularly humiliating interview when I received a call from a number I didn't recognize. Being in no mood to talk to anyone, I hit the ignore button on all three tries. Two minutes later, I get this text message:

I pick up the phone with trembling hands, terrified that somehow one of my dogs had sneaked past me when I left for the interview and had wandered off into a neighbor's backyard.

Stranger: Hello?

Me: Hi. This is Annah, you called me.

Stranger: Yeah, I think I have your dog.

Me: What do you mean? What does it look like? Where are you?

Stranger: I'm at Amelia Park. It's a husky, female.

Me: I don't own any huskies. Plus I live nowhere near Amelia.

Stranger: Well you had a sign for a husky at this park with your number on it, so I figured it was you.

Me: (trying to figure out what the fuck he's talking about). Oh my God, yeah. I mean no. That's Max. That's a husky I rescued a while back and left fliers up in that park to see if anyone wanted to adopt him.

Stranger: So this isn't your dog?

Me: Nope. But, what are you going to do?

Stranger: Take her to the pound I guess, but I don't leave work for another 8 hours so I'm just going to keep her tied up and see if she doesn't escape.

Me: It's okay. I'll pick her up and keep her 'til I find her a home.

Stranger: Why would you do that?

Me: I do animal rescue. It's just my thing.

Stranger: But why?

Me: That's none of your damn business, really. Shit, I'm sorry. It's been a tough morning.

Stranger: Um, yeah okay. Come by. My name is Alex. Just ask for me at the entrance.

Twenty minutes later I was facing Alex, a boy of barely eighteen who towered a good six inches over me in his jeans and t-shirt. The dog -a cutie I've baptized as Jenka- immediately started wagging her tail at me and put her front paws all over my suit, muddying it up in the process as a light drizzle started to fall.

Alex: What are you going to do with her? (His blue eyes scanned the damage to my suit and finally rested on my face).

Me: I'll keep her, like I said.

The rain was beginning to annoy me, but he didn't seem fazed in the least and I wondered how much longer until my mascara started to smear.

Alex: There aren't many good people like you left in this world.

Me: That's sweet, little buddy, but you don't really know me. It's probable I'm the devil in need of a companion.

Alex: Well if you're the devil then I should really start questioning religion.

The balls on this child! I just rolled my eyes and looked around, feigning irritation.

Me: It was nice meeting you, Alex.

Alex: That was stupid, eh? You must be thinking I'm just some kid trying to get fresh.

Me: I'm getting wet. I'm not really thinking about anything except getting in my car.

And then just like that and without preamble, he kissed me. No warning of any sign as he pulled my damp body up to his and planted one on me while Jenka sat in the back seat of my car, already dozing off. I let him for a few short seconds before pulling away.

Alex: I mean it. It's nice to know there are good people like you around. (I felt him search for my eyes, the confidence from just a few minutes before fully dissipated after his more-than-bold move). I didn't dare look up, scared six months without sex would betray me and I'd jump his bones right there in the middle of the park.

"Thank you," I quickly stammered, jumping in my car and speeding off without so much as a look back.

Talk about the teapot calling the kettle black, Jenka.

But I Am An Adult!

I ran into an old friend from high school the other day and the encounter reiterated what I already knew deep down: People think there's something wrong with me for not fitting "the mold".

You have no idea how happy that makes me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And This Is Where It Ends.

Or shall I say, it begins.

We tried our hardest to make the toga party happen but finding a costume (or cheap sheets for that matter) when you're on a budget is like finding a straight man in South Beach on a Sunday. Instead, we downgraded to a regular "Yay, sex!" party so I drew me in a toga for you guys because I hate to disappoint.

These beautiful people crammed in my apartment last night to celebrate the end of my celibacy vow.

I won't bore you with specifics so here's a quick recap. I told everyone to show up at eight Cuban time so naturally they started marching through my front door a little before midnight.

We drank eight bottles of vodka, one of rum, and two of tequila plus 97 beers (yes, I counted). My friend Luis tried persuading me to culminate the celibacy with his tiny cork penis and although I was flattered, I declined the offer.

Someone stole a bottle of Boucheron perfume from my guest bathroom (who does that?!). I hope it clashes with her body odor and makes her smell like two day old cat piss.

Went to breakfast with the last few drunks standing 'round five in the morning and lost my Blackberry (which is driving me insane because that's where I keep all my blog post ideas). Woke up to find my shoe inside a dog bowl and have no idea how it got there.

Left my room and almost died when I saw the state my place is currently in. Saw this on top of the dining table and couldn't help but laugh.

All in all end of celibacy vow party was a success, even if I am still "celibate" in the sense of the word as the only love making that took place last night was between me and an omelette. Now, where's Jackson Rathbone when I need him?

This Is a Post With No Title

About a month ago, the features' editor for a prominent Miami magazine called me and expressed her interest in interviewing me for the entrepreneur section.

I nearly tripped over my own words before I said "Yes!" trying not to sound too excited (as if this sort of thing happened all the time and magazines were just fighting over an interview with the oh-so-coveted Annah Rondon). Maureen promptly forwarded the questions and I stayed up 'til four responding with as much sophistication as an unemployed chick covered in dog poop can muster. I was pretty pleased with myself when I hit SAVE, only to have my computer freeze and delete the entire thing two minutes later. I'd promised the interview in by noon the following day so came morning time, I re-answered carelessly, ensuring there were no typos and leaving the rest up to the famosity gods.

The approval (or denial) of my interview would be in by Friday and needless to say, I couldn't bring myself to do anything but stress over it. I wanted to be productive. I did. But instead I remained glued to my couch staring at the house phone with bulging eyes. Hoping, praying, drinking for a miracle.

 

 

By Friday, my hair hadn't been washed in over five days, much less combed. Do you think I noticed? Not in the least. I only thought of impending famosity and what it would bring (unlimited vodkaseltzers, fridge full of groceries, trips to Spain and lots of shoes, of course). I also had a date that night but refused to shower until that call came through (which it did, at half past six).

Me: Hello?

Maureen: Annah?

Me: This is she. <--- Attempting to sound nonchalant.

Maureen: It's Maureen, from ________ magazine.

Me: Oh hey, Maureen. How's it going?

Maureen: Good good. Listen... The editors saw your piece and the blog.

Annah: And what happened?

Maureen: They actually loved it. You're in.

Maureen: ... But unfortunately the features' printing schedule is already booked until May of 2011, so your interview won't publish until after May's issue.

Me: No problem. There's no rush.

Maureen: Alright then, Annah. We'll be talking soon.

Yes. Soon. Seven months from now soon. By then I'll be dead under some bridge, Bruno and Mikey doing crack lines with the other homeless dogs whose owners failed at the famosity game. After hanging up and resisting the urge to drink an old bottle of rum I spotted in the cupboard, I decided against it and headed towards the shower. I caught a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror and shuddered, Did I really look like Chaka Khan's crack cousin minus the tan? I grabbed a full bottle of conditioner and got ready for war with the tangles.



And that's how I ended up last Friday, bald and not a step closer to fame.

But then my date picked me up and after I told him my story he said "Fuck that magazine! You'll be famous before May" and I kind of smiled and patted my nearly bald head subconsciously, hoping he was right. Afterwards we watched a crappy movie but made up for it with a makeout session I probably enjoyed a little too much considering the celibacy vow. Then Saturday I met a new gay friend and he's all "Honey, you're already famous! Only nobody knows it yet."



Now, what do I do about this bald head?

Ain't Life Grand?

They say misery loves company and when it rains, it pours. What I really wanna know is, How come this doesn't apply to totally awesome events? For example: If I find a dollar bill on the floor Monday morning, why is it that when I buy a lottery ticket with that same dollar bill I don't win?

Last Wednesday, the local news channel announced a supermarket chain was holding a recruiting fair and even though I know nothing about supermarkets except they have comestibles for throat stuffing, I decided to take down the information and give it a shot (I am desperate, after all).

Thursday morning I woke up in high spirits, ready to take on the world and be proactive in my search for employment and quest for hotness (a.k.a. getting fit).

I jumped out of bed at six and decided it'd be swell to make coffee and sit on my balcony to conjure up post ideas from the dead.

After breakfast I went to walk the dogs and upon my return, the house alarm was blaring louder than a fire truck on its way to happy hour. I entered my code quickly and waited over twenty minutes for ADT to call me and ensure I was okay. It never happened.

 

Seeing that I pay $40/month for my peace of mind for absolutely no reason, I threw on my only pair of workout pants and a t-shirt and went for a power walk. The sun's rays were slowly emerging and I felt peaceful, paying no mind to the high school students whistling behind me and saying profanities as I sped by them in my old school Adidas. I got home ready for a shower and the supermarket job fair, feeling elated and proud from my little workout. Who would've thought that as I stood there gulping o.j. straight from the container and picking my wedgy, I'd discover something so disturbing.

Apparently my pants had a big ol' rip down the middle and everyone I passed caught a glimpse of my nude panties with some buttcheek on the side. Nice.

I rushed in the shower and half an hour later I was on my way to the Marriott to try my damnest and get a job. After an hour of going around in circles, it was evident I was more lost than Sarah Palin at a democratic convention. Yet another twenty minutes passed when I arrived only to find out the t.v. station had messed up the dates and the job fair had taken place two days before (it's a beautiful world when you can't even rely on the news to give you accurate facts).

I left the Marriott disheartened, ready to head home as soon as I figured out how to get back on the expressway. Yet I couldn't think. What I really wanted to do was cry, so I pulled into the nearest parking lot ready to let the snot roll when I discovered something beautiful right in front of me.

I caved. I knew I shouldn't have but I went in there and had a creme filled donut with one of those really fattening caramel lattes. It was so good I didn't even feel burdened with the usual post-meal guilt. Elated from the sugar rush, I decided to try a job agency around the corner and on my way there, some asshole turned when it was my right of way and hit my car on the left side.

I was livid. So of course I jumped out of the car ready to kick some ass.

But then Asshole also got out.

Sometimes, it's wisest to just throw in the towel and call it a day. I stopped at a gas station to check out the damage and was surprised to find only a few scratches on the driver side. I hopped in my car and turned it around, heading home as the usual afternoon rains began coming down in lovely Miami. As I pulled into my parking lot around six, I couldn't help but think how much I didn't miss rush hour traffic and how happy a hot shower and glass of iced tea would be making me in merely a few minutes. I reached inside the glove compartment for my house keys, but all I found were stolen napkins from Taco Bell and my insurance papers. I frantically began my hunt but we all know the harder you look for something the less likely you are to find it. I even looked under the car seats but this was all I found:

I cranked up the air conditioning and laid back, giving up altogether when the sound of scratching woke me up. I opened my eyes to stare at the very confused face of my ex-roommate who was picking up some old clothing she had left behind. I've never been so happy to see someone in my life and smiled stupidly as she handed me her keys and headed on home.

When I finally shut the door on the world behind me, Mikey came to greet me excitedly, shitting himself and my beautiful shoes in the process.

And that was it for possibly the worst day in the history of shitty days. One steaming shower later, I was snuggled in bed with my dogs and a delicious book. And that's the beauty of life; as long as you're living it, there's always tomorrow.