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Oh that’s definitely the exit strategy. I’m high AF off of whatever the hell I took before I got here and I have to breathe discretely through my mouth, so everyone’s going down with me.

And no one took the hint? Pitiful. Though that Lysol bit is clever. Last ditch effort would be to lick your hand and grab the doorknobs if you wanted to be especially ruthless. 

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Mood Playlist Type Stuff

Tagging → Santana Lopez, Richard Roberts Time Frame → Sunday Afternoon | January 10, 2016 Location → Santana’s Place | Greenwich Village, NYC General Notes → The “sugar” aspect. Guess who forgot to post this last weekend!!!

He knew not to touch her when she had make up on.

It was an unspoken rule for them since the beginning, back when her foundation regimen was a little cheaper and would’ve left the tailored wool of his lap a mess of dusky bronze color. She wasn’t his first, so he had already learned the lessons, he already knew the rules enough to know how to keep this side of his life separate from the real one. And he knew just enough about her to know when she was all business and when she was vulnerable enough... in the mood enough to twist this facade into something that seemed more genuine for the both of them.

So when she invited him over and answered the door in her pretty workout clothes and a ponytail, her face freshly washed and nothing more than moisturizer on her skin and lips, he knew he could kiss her. And he did.

And he slipped her tight leggings off and he pressed her against a counter top and he let her close her eyes and pretend he was whoever she wanted him to be. And sometimes when he did it, in moments like this one, she would say his name and he’d smile against her lips and this was when she would be the sweetest. And this was why he did any of this. Because he needed that sweetness.

And when he let himself think about, he thought that maybe she needed some of it, too.

He didn’t know where she came from exactly, didn’t think to ask, but he knew it must be from one of these families; the way she avoided the subject of he Upper East Side, she had to have been a part of one of those families. Sometimes he would throw a name out there, something esteemed like the Reynolds, the St. Jameses or the Marconis, and she wouldn’t even blink. Her nude smirk would stay just the same and she would smoothly transition them towards a subject closer to his chest. He could see the trick of it, but that never stopped him from falling for it every time.

He could be grateful - he was grateful and not just particularly for the way she opened up at the brush of his fingers, blooming slick and hot like she had been playing with herself for hours before he got there. No, he was grateful for those moments when she steered their conversations to his day or his golf game or what his plans for an upcoming anniversary or birthday were. She never played the petulant, wanting girlfriend, only a supporting role, an approving one. He nipped just under her ear and received an approving gasp.

“Richard... I... Oh.”

He sank into her easily, watched her with wide eyes as her head lolled on her shoulders and her mouth fell open, babbling convincingly sweet words to him. And because she seemed in the mood for it, he put a hand between them, found her twitching little button and tried to guess if the trembling orgasm she came to fifteen minutes later was real or not.

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They’re just so sweet to me. And, not gonna lie, I might’ve let out a few pointed coughs. Made some free throws with some tissues and a trashcan. Hidden the cans of Lysol.

On a Saturday, no less. That’s just rude. I settle for nothing less than a hot toddy if I’m near death and forced to work. I’d say someone’s asking to be infected. 

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Nothing worse than having to take two sick days in a row only to have someone drag you out of your bed of tissues and Satan’s nipple flavored losanges and dry clean only duvets to come into work and fix your clients’ downed website.

And no one thought to bring me tea. Not even once. Nice.

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Ms. Brown

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Are you one of those people who post life affirming and motivational things on your blog on the regular or is this just a New Years thing that will die in the middle of a cold, dead March with the rest of the new diets and exercise regimens?

It feels good to be back in New York. The last month has been..I’m not sure what word to use for it. I went away for a little while, back on good terms with my Dad which is always a plus. I guess I needed time away from the city. 2015 was a year that was full of life changing events for myself and I think it got to me toward the end and a little away time was needed. I feel a bit more refreshed and more ready to take on New York and get going with my own designs and my own shop. 2016 is going to be coming up Kurt, at least I hope so.

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Well, I wasn’t as quick with texting back for those few days I had them, but when I got on my Macbook, my blog didn’t suffer. If I wasn’t used to long nails, it probably would’ve been worse.

I’d worry about poking myself in the eye with them. Doesn’t it make typing difficult?

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I don’t reveal all my bloodletting tendencies before a first date, Mr. St. James. It’s not ladylike.

Opening envelopes? That’s tamer than I was expecting.

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You have my ass, you drink the tequila I told you about, you dance drunk, end up on Youtube and then have to change high schools - that’s how you end it. I know who you are and I would have definitely reminded you if our paths had crossed. I have, however, met your sister briefly - very briefly - at a Siren launch party. I was a guest of a guest, so I had to play it lowkey, you know.

How does one earn that title, Untwerkable? I mean it seems self-explanatory, but I’m sure the story’s interesting. Nice to meet you, Santana. I’m Quinn. I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with PR folk so I’m sure our paths have crossed at some point.  

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I’d like to brag and claim that only the strongest of us can survive it, but I am weak. And I’m comfortable with that. But now that I know how it is, the mystery of how other Instagram hoes live with those things is even bigger now.

You gave them a good trial. I’ve seen people ready to bite their fingers off after wearing stiletto nails for only a few hours. As it turns out, not everyone is cut out to be Wolverine. 

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After this convo, I’m not even sure if the 90s really existed. All I can remember about the 90s is Disney Channel Original movies and ashy powder foundations. Tired with dealing with men, angry, same difference. Oh wow, are you the only girl?

The 90′s were a magical time. Totally rad, dude. Wait, that sounds more 80′s. Just my grandmother, and my dad if you count him being half French, but she wasn’t really angry. Probably more tired dealing with men all her life. Three sons and two grandsons were her limit, I think.

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snixx:

MAC finally released liquid lipstick! 15 shades, chalky nudes, a really ugly one I’ll let you guess on and reds bright enough to smudge on someone else’s man’s collar.

Video of one of my favorite YouTube make up gurus, Irishcel507.

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I don’t like this talk. Stop it. At least come back to the 90s. They said “radical” then. With latino grandparents, yeah. I don’t knoe about French people. You were raised by angry French people?

That kid sure is plucky. Did you see him give Michael the business? That’s all I got. Is that a universal thing with grandparents? Because I’m sure my grandmother said that a time or two to my cousins in very angry French.

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Oh no, you wouldn’t remember my ass. I had an ex once who called it the Untwerkable and I wear that title proudly. If you ever met me, you’d know me by my mouth more than anything else. Stories of its grandeur grow more and more infamous in the Midtown area. I’m Santana Lopez, I work in PR so if you’ve ever seen the Untwerkable, it was probably chasing after someone’s attention.

He doesn’t have to do much now. That look’s sealed his fate as a living hip-hop fashions legend. I’ll take your word for it, on the perky. I don’t believe we’ve ever met in person. Asses are rather memorable for me,, but who knows, one could have slipped by unnoticed.