losing your virginity:

so, I’ve been getting A LOT of e-mails asking for advice on how to lose your virginity. e-mails from girls who are between the ages of 19 and 26 who are still virgins, asking me for advice. i didn’t really know how i could help or what i could say. so i gave it some thought and here’s what i came up with:


wanna lose your virginity? It’s super easy! just spread your legs and place the dude’s erect penis into your hopefully wet privates aka vagina. Super easy! Virginity GONE! What more do you need to know?  

Oh, sorry. you mean; how do you go about picking the right person? Getting tested? Approaching a guy in the first place? Trusting him? Trusting yourself? Being brave and jumping off the cliff into sexdom? ‘sexdom‘? Sometimes I write shit and I say to myself “who are you? Why did you write that? you’re totally misrepresenting yourself.” But then I shrug and keep writing. My style is more stream of consciousness. I just have to keep going or else I’ll panic, over think and stop writing all together. Feel free to use this as an analogy regarding your sex life and losing your virginity. 

What else is it called? Popping your cherry? Gross. Anywayzies. It’s a big deal cuz you’ll ALWAYS remember the first person you ever let inside you, but you probably won’t be marrying this person. They are a stop on your life’s path! A memory. A hurdle to jump over. a tool used for growing up. Just make sure he doesn’t have herpes, gonorrhea, warts, chlamydia, hpv, and isn’t HIV +. cuz that shiz will haunt you forevs.

Listen, it’s pretty cool you’ve waited this long. (i’m talking more to the 19 year old. 26 is bordering on tragic heap.) It means you’re nervous, thinking about it, and take yourself seriously. So since you’ve waited this long, you shouldn’t be worried about waiting a teeny bit longer for you and the dude to get tested. Don’t pick up some random guy off the street or some mall dude over the weekend. (any other time, that would be cool- but not to take your virgin status!) If you’re in high school or college, there are tons of dudes. All aching to get in some girls vadge! Duh! Don’t forget, YOU have the power! your vadge is- to a guys dick- like the entry way into some exclusive Hollywood club! 

Maybe you should lose it to a close heterosexual male friend you have that you never really looked at that way. Like dawson’s creek styles! It would be COOLER if he’s more experienced than you too! Then you could ask him questions about giving blow jobs and stuff. giving a great blow job is a beautiful and powerful thing. haters, you can hate, but it’s the truth. 

let him go down on you too! don’t let him stop until you cum. Take a bath first so you’re all scrubbed up and clean- so there’s no room for embarrassment or self consciousness! and I’m praying to GOD you’ve been masturbating long enough to even KNOW what an orgasm feels like! It’s like a warm tickley explosion in your nether regions! Make it a familiar feeling! 

How’s that? I can’t hold your hand through this, but I can leave u with this: Have sex (whether it’s the first time or the millionth time) with someone you trust, who makes you feel safe. and ALWAYS use a condom. AND even though he’s wearing a condom, make sure he pulls out before he cums! Cuz condom’s break and if something goes wrong- unfortunately it’s on the girl to take the morning after pill, get an abortion or HAVE the baby! So, take care of yourselves beautiful girls! xoxo

By: boycrazy on April 30, 2009
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sex in a subaru:

the other night I went on a date with a dude. we met up at real food daily; a vegan restaurant on la cienega. I still prefer m cafe-but whatevs! I’m not gonna slit my wrists or anything. I just LOVE it when straight dudes like to eat healthy! We finished our food, and I got in his car so we could drive to erewhon market to get dessert. we sat outside sharing raw vegan ice cream and a piece of cake (it was actually pie, but i think the word cake is so much cuter) and continued our hangout sesh. we liked eachother. i just know it. 


We got BACK in his car and headed towards RFD- where MY car waited. but somehow we ended up in the parking lot of norms; a coffee shop up the street from RFD. We sat in silence looking at eachother. he leaned in. I leaned in, tilted my head to the right and we kissed. 

All I could think was “oh my god, it’s like 11th grade all over again!” And “wait a minute, this parking lot is WAY too bright to have sex.” And “oh shit, am I about to get finger banged? Do people still do that? Am I ready to backtrack like that? Are his fingernails encrusted in filth? Did he wash his hands? Do I really want to be associated with finger banging at this point in my life? It’s 2009 for gods sake! Oh fuck it, fuck it. This dude can finger bang the shit outta me if he wants! Tonight I will be the mayor of finger banged city.” FYI: This was all going on in the privacy of my mind! What a horrible phrase btw: ‘finger bang’. I’m writing it over and over just to free myself of any power it might have to make me feel uncomfortable or low brow.

all this internal jibber jabber, and the dude totally did NOT even put his finger in my privates! INSTEAD, the dude and I kept kissing. sometimes hard and fast. sometimes very slow and soft. ALWAYS charged with meaning. It’s like I was feeling lips for the first time. Hyper aware of what it feels like to kiss. it was as dirty as sex. revealing and vulnerable. this ‘sensual’(gag) kissing required time to be taken and technique. Thank god I slowed down and stopped being as rough and passionate as i CAN be, or else i would have missed the entire experience! i can be soft and tender too! 

Yuck, this post is even grossing ME out. HOW are YOU guys doing? hang in there. We stopped kissing, looked at eachother, and said nothing. he started the car and pulled into another empty lot across the street. but this lot was dark enough to be naughty in. 

He got on top of me, and well…..did lots of stuff. he did ALL the BEST stuff. but the point of the story is this: I couldn’t believe how conducive his car was for EPIC f**king! It was a Subaru. who knew? understated. reliable. disguising itself as a family car. close to the ground. Wide enough not to feel claustrophobic. cushy leather seats, plush against my skin. plenty of things to grip onto, allowing me to switch it up and hold myself in various positions. What a night! What a date! And what a car! i love you.

By: boycrazy on April 29, 2009
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those were the days (part 3-the final chapter):

I went to hm, had lunch, and called a different dude. One that I’d had sex with in the past (I’ll call him the dude that taught me how to give blow jobs), who was more grown up and able to be a pal. Plus, he’s the one who vouched for the shithole, so he owed me. He was staying at a very successful painters apartment in the east village. I had never heard of her, but today she is by far my favorite painter ever- past and present. He was house-sitting. He said I could stay with him. Cool. But I didn’t wanna have sex with him at all, and I knew I’d feel obligated. He’s a dude, I’m a girl, and we’d already had sex. I shouldn’t have gone to New York. God, being a teenager who thinks she can handle everything can be very confusing. I was low. I was depressed. I thought what I looked like was the only thing that defined my self worth. Me in this mind frame made me no good to anyone.

He was friends with all the coolest kids. The elitist that you read about in all the cool mags. So I drank to avoid being ill at ease. I met the dudes’ cousin (a guy in well known band), his cousin’s girlfriend the photographer. And her best friend-a fashion designer girl with a successful line of clothes and her very own store. They told me that they only wore string bikinis to swim in. and made it very clear that they were best friends that comprised a dynamic due. It was not and COULD NOT be a trinity, with me included. I didn’t even have time to decide if I liked them, before they made it clear they were excluding me. But then again, my self-hatred was so strong that day-I could be shading this thing all-wrong. But I don’t think I am.

We sat around and watched network. The only one who wasn’t there was the woman who owned the apartment. I’m still confused at how the brokest cool kids get the craziest hook ups that allow them to float. We listened to Andrew wk and talked a bunch of random bullshit. And eventually everyone went home, leaving me and ‘the dude that taught me how to give blow jobs’ to ourselves.

I dreaded this, cuz I wasn’t feeling sexy or sexual. But he was slowly morphing into a self-proclaimed doctor. A doctor of sexy. Healing girls who didn’t feel good about themselves. He’s decided to take me on as his first patient. Ahh! He pulled my pants down, on the floor of the living room. My period was nearly over, but NEARLY means I’m still bleeding! I mumbled…”no, um, don’t…I, um, I’m having my female problem” (female problem? If I could have punched myself in the face to snap me out of my bullshit, I would have. But I was inside my skin. Too deep to see myself. And take ownership of myself. And stop apologizing for myself. Like everyone else was ok, or good, and I was lucky to be among them. It makes my skin crawl just thinking about it!)

He didn’t stop pulling my pants down. Huh? That’s weird, I thought. I said it louder now, and more matter of fact “but I have my period.” He looked at me, and I looked back at him. His head between my legs, he just smiled. AND THAT’S WHEN THE GNARLIEST SEXUAL EXPERIENCE HAPPENED TO ME IN MY WHOLE ENTIRE LIFE!!!!!!
He very coolly and calmly, pulled my tampon out of my vadge with his teethe, tossed it aside, proceeded to go down on me……….and I’m pretty sure I came.

By: boycrazy on February 23, 2009
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those were the days (part 2):

I called the boy I had come to New York for. I barely new him. We had had one epic make out at sway on a Sunday night, before I picked up and left for Japan. He was in an off and on relationship. Mostly ‘on’, but he downplayed this. The night we first met-he was single. I’m not, and will never be, ‘the other woman’! it’s never been a goal of mine. Anywayzies. They weren’t together anymore, but he wasn’t invested emotionally in me, as much as I was with him. Looking back, I think I was like a foot taller than him. Was I oblivious? He was so cute! I guess I didn’t realize how much my head was tilted when talking to/looking at him. He was FUNNY! That’s what I remember. But the humor ceased when I flew back to see him! And it got REALLY UNFUNNY when I needed a place to stay.

The minute I arrived at his place, I GOT MY FUCKING PERIOD. I wasn’t as vocal as I am now, so instead of telling him I got my period (which I don’t know if I would do even NOW), I got weird and squirmy and awkward. At least NOW, I would have made up an excuse to run downstairs to a bodega, get tampons and baby wipes, buy a latte at a café, use their restroom, and run back up to him like everything was lovely. Maybe even bringing him a latte too, to explain why I took so long! But if I had been THAT savvy- I never would have booked such a shithole hotel in the first place. Instead, we made out in his bed. I prayed I wouldn’t bleed on his sheets. I DIDN’T, FYI. I was wearing the dumbest outfit. And some weird ‘sex and the city’ inspired jewelry. I’m so embarrassed. Not really, but I felt I had to say that.

We got lunch and I ran into an ex I used to get drunk with all the time. It ended with me having very unsexy blackout sex with him. Fantastic. Just the person I wanted to see. Whatevs. That’s how life can be. It was fine. we said our hellos, how are you’s- and I got back to the new boy.

I wanted to recapture the New York AND the night I spent with this guy BEFORE TOKYO HAPPENED. But I didn’t like my body anymore and I felt really needy and aimless. I didn’t feel loved and safe. And it wasn’t this dudes job to provide me with any of this. He was basically a stranger. the whole trip was putting way too much pressure on the both of us.

So what did we do to make it better? WE SMOKED POT! Bad move on my part! I’m already a lunatic, but when I have even a puff of the doobage, I get super bummed and ultra paranoid. Not sexy. Not cool. And a deal breaker if there ever was one. It got weird REAL FAST. Every look and move he made, I thought was about me. In a negative way! we passed out at his house….and I left in the morning, without saying goodbye. (to be continued)

By: boycrazy on February 20, 2009
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those were the days:

Once upon a time, a much younger version of me went to New York. I was so sad. About what, I’m not sure. I was gaining weight, smoking cigarettes, binge drinking, bloated, unsure of my sense of style. I was lost.

I had been so focused and strong and happy only months before. What happened? I had moved from la to New York and from there, I was offered the chance to live in Tokyo for 4 months. In Tokyo, I worked as a model, I worked a lot. They liked pale skin, blue eyes and dark hair. I was getting boobs though and my agency was not happy about this. My feet were a bit too big for their liking too. What could I do? I was just a person.

I barely ate, had to be weighed every day in a g-string. Every part of me was measured. I understand. I’m not complaining. Just telling a story. 


I was a business transaction. I was on a contract. I had to make sure I made/fulfilled my contract-my contract was based on estimates the agency had made (before they flew me to Tokyo) of how much they thought I would work while I was there. A photo and video of me was shown to fashion designers and other various clients that might hire me. These clients would say whether or not they liked me and if they were likely hire me. I was miserable in Japan. 

At first it was exciting, but the measuring and weigh ins took their toll. But this was my decision. If I was going to call myself a model (a, b, or c grade) this is what I had to deal with. I’m tall. So I did lots of shows. I worked with cool designers like issey miyake, did commercials-sony,panasonic,etc, and worked with others whose names I might never remember.

While in Tokyo, I lost my NY sublet on Charles Street in the west village. That fucking bitch subletter pulled the rug out from under me. Is it ok if I call her a cunt for doing that? It is a real word. It exists to be used for the right occasions. It was the day before I was leaving Tokyo to go back home to New York and she called me to say she was changing the locks and giving it to her cousin. Thanks for the warning you dirty cuntrag life ruiner!

I figured it out. Flew back to la instead. Stayed with my mom for 2 weeks. Found an apt in Beachwood canyon. And started booking commercials. Always with the intention of moving back to NY. 


2 months later,I went back to New York to visit a boy I had a crush on. I made a reservation at some cheap hotel I’d heard about in the back pages of the village voice. I was an idiot. Or just super young. In reality, the hotel was a shit hole filled with the borderline homeless(have you ever read ‘down and out in Paris in London’?). a place that provided cheap rooms where a hooker could take a client. 

I rode up in the rinky-dink elevator. a jalopy of an elevator. A big brute of a man stared down at me. He was super scary and I think he was drooling while he stared at me (not to toot my own horn. I’m sure he would have drooled over any girl he was planning on killing with his bare hands). 

We arrived at my floor and I ran to my room. Get this- The peephole was filled with toilet paper. Someone had removed the glass. The door bashed into the bed the minute I opened it. The room was as big as an American apparel dressing room. But not nearly as modern and bright. There was a knock on the door. Which progressed into a threatening banging! “Let me in miss. You better let me in!” It was the guy from the elevator!

I pushed my bag AND a chair against the door. I thought about climbing out the window but it was sealed shut AND it was double glass or something super solid and unbreakable. I know this cuz I punched it with my fist. 

I heard heavy breathing and laughing outside the door. The banging continued. This wasn’t a time to cry. I had to be calm. And I was too scared to cry. I was a ghostly shade of white and panic stricken. I crawled under the bed, yelling “get away from here! I’m calling the police!” This would have been difficult, considering the fact that there was no phone in the room AND I didn’t have my cell. I was going to get raped to death. I was FREAKING OUT! 

Miraculously, the banging stopped; I grabbed my bag, ran out of the room like a bullet, down the 8 flights of stairs. I let the front desk keep the $200 I had given them for what I planned to be a week long stay. (to be continued)

By: boycrazy on February 19, 2009
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