tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-147876942024-03-12T20:41:14.831-07:00The Zaftig ChroniclesThe Life of a Zaftig Chick in the CityZaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comBlogger128125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1166090071488364862006-12-14T01:40:00.000-08:002020-04-14T11:18:27.549-07:00Goodbye, for NowOn Tuesday I turned 27. I am officially in my late 20s, fast approaching my early 30s. There was a local story about a woman who biked, ran, and exercised her way into her 40s. She started running a day before she was to turn 40, and by midnight, she entered her 40s with an exhaustive bang. Meh.<br />
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I think I will fuck my way into my 30s, with a hopeful orgasm exactly at midnight. But that's three years away, so I can plan accordingly.<br />
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Anyway, I know it's been a long time since I've updated this thing, and there is a reason: no time. Life has been quite busy. Work is more hectic than ever, and I am often working late into the evening and bringing work home. I don't even have time for a decent dinner. Dinner tonight was canned fruit cocktail in gross heavy syrup (I couldn't find it in juice) eaten straight from the can and a Diet 7-UP. I was grateful for the time to consume even that. But how I dream of spicy veggie lo mein and shrimp in lobster sauce.<br />
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At 3 a.m., I got up and decided to say goodbye to the readers of The Zaftig Chronicles. I'm not deleting the blog because I may return to it; maybe when things are less chaotic and less busy for me. I may not. But I have poured my soul out, bared my vulnerabilities, and given you a glimpse into my twisted mind. Thank you for caring. As a woman now in her late 20s, it's only fair that I provide closure for the things I have embarked upon and have not dedicated my all to. I don't want to leave the blog hanging like the proverbial chad, so let me just say this is the last post.<br />
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Again, thanks to everyone who came to read every day, even when no updates appeared. Thank you all for the emails and support. It's been a great experience.<br />
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Love has not found me yet, but he knows where I live. Ring me up.<br />
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-ZaftigZaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1154461028070901662006-08-01T12:13:00.000-07:002013-01-17T05:46:47.872-08:00Broiling AliveSome of you might not be aware of this but Chicago has morphed into the fiery pits of Hell, with atrocious sunburned feet to boot. See, this is why I hate summer, for this exact reason. Why do people insist on wearing flip flops in the sun? I can't tell you how many hundreds of sunburned feet I witnessed just last week alone.<br />
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Jan managed to drag Diana and me to the beach on Sunday, where we both proceeded to bake and die immediately. Jan didn't care -- he was busy working on his "sex tan." You know, the kind where there's a dramatic tan line around the hips. The Swedes sure know how to tan, don't they? you would think with them being Nordic that they would just burn to a crisp, but no -- golden brown goodness all the time.<br />
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This weekend, Diana's apartment was a cooling center. We conked out with old Glamours and iced raspberry-lemon tea. I don't know why Diana is afraid to throw away magazines. I swear there is a 1997 issue of Glamour with some supermodel on the cover, and an edict declaring what's in and out for the '90s sitting in her magazine rack. She's a magazine hoarder.<br />
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Did I mention it's hot?<br />
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IT'S HOT!Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1150998638166771382006-06-22T10:36:00.000-07:002013-04-20T14:31:00.113-07:0010 Things about Gay PornLast night, Jan brought over gay porn for me to watch. I asked and he brought. Several things about gay porn I've noticed:<br /><br />1) The men are incredibbly, sinfully hot.<br />2) The men have impeccably styled hair. Full-bodied, lustrous hair.<br />3) A blowjob is all about suction.<br />4)Trimmed pubic hair on a man looks hot.<br />5)Tan lines can be drastic and still hot.<br />6)Men like their nipples tweaked.<br />7)Anal sex looks fuckin' sexy.<br />8)Two men in a shower? Yum.<br />9)Having sex in your socks only? Not an issue.<br />10)Music is so danceable, you don't know if you should watch or dance.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1150883706408126752006-06-21T07:58:00.000-07:002007-07-13T14:32:27.297-07:00Now There's a Medication for Being a WomanLet it be known -- I hate medicines. They reek of population control. You know, swapping one illness for another, all the while thinking that multicolored Tylenol is saving every organ in your body. But your liver is like, um, yuck. I don't think it's a surprise that there literally exist a medicine and diagnosis for everything. But this recent ad I came across takes the cake.<br /><br />So it's a muggy and hot Monday afternoon (remember, <a href="http://zaftigjones.blogspot.com/2005/07/morning-angst-vol-1-i-hate-summer.html">I hate summer</a> so I'm certainly not in my bestest of moods) and I'm driving to the North Shore to drop Diana off at the Dentist. You'd think a woman with a mouth dirtier than a New York subway and balls big enough to tell a man she'd piss on his face as a thank you for buying her a drink wouldn't need a "support buddy" to go have a tooth LOOKED at, would you? Well, she did.<br /><br />I was miserable. I was hot, my hair was a frizzy mess. I could feel the curls on the back of my head drawing up into a shrub. And Diana's going on about getting off at the gynecologist and why more women don't do it. A conversation that on any other day I would relish for its scandalous comic relief, but at that time all I wanted was to go home, shower, slather on some mint cooling gel, order in Indian, and pop in a DVD, and conk out to <span style="font-style: italic;">Memoirs of a Geisha</span> and fried gobi. Respectively. We finally make it to the dentist office and Diana is seen right away, ever punctual she is. So what do I do while I wait? Read the dusty, old magazines laid out for the Extremely Bored Friend Waiting for Friend. Ugh.<br /><br />Why, why, why, why, do doctors' and dentists' offices have the same array of Happy Housewife magazines for its EBFWFF people to read? Seriously, your choices are between: Learn how to bake a cake, take up the entire neighborhood's hem, iron a months worth of your husband's work shirts AND manage to do it with three children attached at each hip all at once. Or, perhaps, the EBFWFF's would be interested in knowing how to properly collect coupons and save $.05 on a can of peas or make a water garden or grow tomatoes in an urban landscape with a foolproof -- non-Peta sanctioned -- method of keeping the rats out. I chose the former.<br /><br />Not three pages in and already I've diagnosed myself with five illneses. These Happy Housewives magazines are nothing but billboards for the latest pill and potion and scare tactics of the pharmaceutical companies. Of course it is. Can't you hear the honchos now? "Women are frantic, neurotic; with the correct wording we can make 'em believe they have everything." Anyway, the one that really got me is from Astra-Zeneca and their 2-page advertisement with a deranged looking woman having a session of mania. With cute polaroid pictures they illustrated some of the most pathetic reasons why you should request more information about bipolar disorder.<br /><br />A. Sleeping Less<br />B. Talking Too Fast<br />C. Buying Things You Don't Need<br />D. Spending Out of Control<br />F. Racing Thoughts<br />G. Flying off the Handle<br />H. Irritable<br /><br />Going by this list, every woman on earth has bipolar disorder! Hell, I had every single symptom just yesterday alone. Who get's enough sleep? What woman doesn't talk too fast or too much? C. and D. are deafults of my sex. F. G. and H.? Ha, see me on a lonely, horny Friday night. Basically, this 2 page ad was saying: If you're a woman you probably have bipolar disorder.<br /><br />Fair.<br /><br />But nothing a little shopping and gabbing won't fix.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1146111390954256562006-04-26T20:46:00.000-07:002006-04-26T21:20:10.473-07:00Duran Duran Ain't Gonna Get ItI should be sleep - I have to get up at 5 am for an important meeting. Instead, I'm awake, listening to Duran Duran, wanting to masturbate, wanting to scream, wanting to do something! Anything but sleep. I know, all the experts say don't weigh the day in your head while trying to fall asleep, but how can one not? Especially when you've had a day like mine. I was out of control with Steven today. After I refused New York and dinner on his return, he has given me the icy shoulder. Oh, on the day my hormones are beating the shit out of me. Oy, I felt the cold, steely, stinging hand of rejection today and I'm not sure if I didn't deserve. I'm sure I did. I tell you, things have been rocky since the day <a href="http://zaftigjones.blogspot.com/2006/02/reversing.html">he sent me on the road with my croissants</a>. We haven't had sex since then and I am about to explode! EXPLODE.<br /><br />I'm sure he is punishing me and letting me know that he's not a penis on call (thank Diana for that one). But I <span style="font-style:italic;">want</span> a penis on call. Every girl deserves an on-call penis - at least for a few months. Why is it men can have on-call pussy and women can't? Argh!<br /><br />Anyway, enough was enough. I took off my panties, hiked my skirt up a little and waltzed innocently into his office, closed the door...and was told literally to turn back around. He was busy and didn't have time to fuck me on company time today. Is that so?! It was.<br /><br />NEVER let a man know you're horny. They relish the thought. They tease you, brush up against you, let you smell their cologne, uhh.. all the good stuff. I had a million fantasies at my desk after that; came close to popping one off. I was sure I could get off fantasizing sucking his fingers while he stared at my crotch. But no....<br /><br />Instead, I've got Duran Duran.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1145756952241643792006-04-22T18:44:00.000-07:002006-04-22T18:49:12.260-07:00All ApologiesI write a post about the sins I've commited and I turn around and indulge in them again - the sin of deception. I know I promised to update the blog regularly again, and I've been meaning to, but I just haven't found the time. Don't get me wrong, things are worth blogging about but I'm swamped with work and relationship issues from family to love. So bear with me, people and I will get this ball rolling again very soon.<br /><br />Thanks for the lovely e-mails.<br /><br />Z.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1144260384303224742006-04-05T10:57:00.000-07:002006-04-05T11:06:25.310-07:00I Heart New YorkSo Steven and his team are heading to New York next week and he's asked me to join his team and come along. The mischief in his eye when he asked this was enough to convince me. But as much as I heart New York, I think to go on that trip would be a disaster. Everything would be exposed for sure. Plus, I'd have to bring Jan along with me, because he knows half of New York and where to get the best falafels and find knock-off handbags. Of course Steven would want me to be on my back all through the trip and Jan would want me to be on my feet. I'd be torn between hot sex and a $25 Vuitton handbag knock-off. <br /><br />Oy. Weighing the pros and cons.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1144155595487381402006-04-04T05:57:00.000-07:002006-04-04T06:17:19.753-07:00Morning Confession: One Sinning Tart, MeI confess: I am a sinner. And according to the gospel I am going to hell in six-inch stilettos (Prada, of course) in a handbasket. For I have engaged in all the deadly sins and some not so deadly. What's even more sad is that I can recall specifics of when I engaged in a deadly sin.<br /><br /><strong>Lust:</strong> Oh, this one has been sinned out. In fact, I think my early twenties alone is enough to assure me a place in hell. I've lusted after everything there is to lust after -- men, married men, men with money, men with no money, men who want other men, men who want women who want other men. I've lusted for kinky sex that involves expulsion of bodily fluids from both partners. I've lusted after cops because of their uniforms; have had some wicked thoughts about being brutally frigged on the hood of a police car while at least fifteen cops wait there turn. Yeah, girl has Lusted plenty. Check.<br /><br /><strong>Gluttony:</strong> Well, this sin is committed at least once a week. I've overindulged on expensive food more than I've needed to. I've spent $150 on dinner for myself on more than one occasion and ended up throwing away most of it. However, I think my best example of gluttony is Fall '04. Jan and I had been water fasting for two days trying to detoxify our bodies of impurities, when on the third day we decided if we're going to break a fast, we'd best do it glamorous. So off we went to Tank, a sushi joint we frequented, and ordered about $300 dollars worth of crap. We ate until we felt one with the sea; ate so much we both puked at the same time. Afterwards, we found ourselves in the drive-thru of McDonald's ordering large fries and non-diet 7UPs. Check.<br /><br /><strong>Avarice:</strong> I think a look through my storage room will pretty much book me a ticket to Hades. Shoe greed counts, I think. Product greed? I think so. And of course stealing stationary off the desks of others because I just have to have more stationary is avarice as well. Oh, and playing the lottery when the jackpot reaches the hundred-millions may qualify also. That means half the country is going to hell and all of Texas. Check.<br /><br /><strong>Sloth:</strong> Love this sin, especially on the weekends. I've been known to lay in bed all day on a workday or not shower until midnight after laying in bed all day and evening. But the best moment of sloth was when I laid in bed all day watching Fawlty Towers on DVD and gorging on rocky road ice-cream sandwiches (rocky road ice-cream and Basil Fawlty do make for sinful times) instead of popping over and helping Viv sort through her attic. And hey, isn't this sloth AND glutton? Oh, dear. Check. Double check.<br /><br /><strong>Wrath:</strong> Not much of this sin in my life. But I did flip off the idiot in the white Volvo who cut me off on my way to work. I entertained thoughts of pulling him out of the car and whizzing all over his face. Yeah. Check.<br /><br /><strong>Envy: </strong>Not much of this sin in my life either. I think because of my own self-importance (which is another sin, I think). However, I did once envy Bethany Wellesley in college because she'd discovered a way to NEVER have roots in bleach blond hair. How is this possible? She was a natural dark brunette. I had roots a day after getting my hair done. But not BW. Nope. Never. And she claimed she did her own dye job and that she was broke. So how? Bitch. Yeah, check.<br /><br /><strong>Pride:</strong> CHECK. Going to hell on that one alone.<br /><br />Off to work.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1144089581080935102006-04-03T11:33:00.000-07:002006-04-03T11:39:41.106-07:00SpringIt's here and I'm officially happy. Sure, I love cold weather -- fall is my fav -- but spring is my absolute favorite time of the year. I believe I have been through <a href="http://zaftigjones.blogspot.com/2005/07/morning-angst-vol-1-i-hate-summer.html">the reasons why</a>, so I will spare you. However, I want to inform you all that the blog will now be updated regularly again, in honor of spring. Had some rough patches and didn't feel like writing too much, but the patches have been sanded down and moisturized and I can move forward. So stay tuned.<br /><br />Meanwhile, head outside and let the wind fuck you. It's spring.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1143368736020688012006-03-26T02:07:00.000-08:002020-04-13T05:25:36.676-07:00Streets of (Sauza) GoldSo Jan and I decided we needed the cool air of night to satisfy our need to feel drunk in nature. A bottle of Sauza Gold, two perfectly sliced green limes snug in a Ziplock bag, a mini salt shaker, and an mp3 player with one pair of headphones, and we were ready to go outside and get drunk. Before we left, we loaded my iPod with plenty of Nina Simone and made a pact that at midnight we'd each get an earphone and listen to "Feeling Good." And we were feeling oh-so-good. I was cold, but the heat in my chest felt erotic -- thanks to Nina's sultry raw voice in my ear and the host of fine-looking males passing us by. It was all driving me over the edge. "I need to masturbate," I screamed. Jan hushed me and snatched the chewed lime peel from my mouth. I love hanging out with a controlled drinker. No matter how much Jan drinks, he never gets fully drunk. Me? Well...I think kicking off a pair of $250 shoes and telling a cab driver to run them over seems pretty out of control.<br />
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"Get her therapy!" shouted the cab driver, before swerving around my shoes.<br />
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I'm sure I yelled back, "Eat my therapy!"<br />
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How irresponsible of me to be drunk in public, right? Not really. It's fun when you don't want to do the club scene or deal with snobby parties on the North Shore. Just go outside walking, jamming on your iPod, with a close, like-minded friend. It's exhilarating.<br />
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Anyway, just got home and I am sobering up -- thanks to a cheap cup of coffee from a 24-hour diner. That's all it takes for me. Jan's in the shower, singing in Swedish; and I'm sprawled out naked on the floor, on my laptop, writing this, and waiting for my turn to bask in the glory of soap and hot water. Then we're going to bed...together. I think I'll masturbate before five a.m. Ha! That's not something I usually need to do when lying in bed with a man. But....Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1142552050280003942006-03-16T15:07:00.000-08:002020-04-14T11:21:07.764-07:00Snacks of a Different KindThis afternoon, Diana visited me at work. It was lunch time, so she met me downstairs in the lobby and we proceeded to head to the building's dreaded cafeteria, where Diana produced a bag of "snacks" for us to munch on while she bitched about doing her taxes ("I'm writing off Starbuck's lattes."). I looked at her food offerings and seriously considered trying my luck at the cafeteria assembly line. Snacks to Diana is a tub of plain hummus, baked pita chips, and diet tea. When we spoke on the phone this morning and set up the get-together, all I said was for her to bring snacks. I guess I meant something indulgent like a slice of rich chocolate cheesecake from the bakery we love. <a href="https://zaftigjones.blogspot.com/2005/10/diana-reads-book.html" target="_blank">But it's Diana</a>. I dipped a few pita chips in the boring hummus and drank a swallow of the very chemical-tasting tea (ack!) before giving up.<br />
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If I had been entrusted to bring the snacks, I'm pretty certain we would have had a largely different, artery-clogging selection before us. Let's see, I was thinking more along the lines of double battered fried mushrooms, vegetable sandwiches from the Indian stand (with real butter), and mango milk shakes. Of which Diana would have probably eaten none of; not because she is watching her weight...no, but because Diana only eats what she loves. However, Viv and Jan would have fought to the death over the last mushroom. <br />
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By the end of our snack date, Diana had eaten all the hummus, chips, and drank both of our teas. On my way back to the office, I picked me up an Indian veggie sandwich, skipped the mushrooms, and drank orange juice instead of a milk shake. <br />
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When I left work, my office still smelled like spices.<br />
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Sometimes we're all snacks of a different kind.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1141938248138447942006-03-09T13:00:00.000-08:002006-03-09T13:04:09.053-08:00Well, My Day Is MadeIf there is anything to assuage for my favorite picture this year losing out on Best Picture as the (F)OSCARS, then it's a re-creation of pivotal scenes in Legos. A reader of the blog sent me this <a href="http://destinationdaniel.smugmug.com/gallery/1213678/1/56771253">link</a>, and I felt all warm and fuzzy inside after viewing it. <br /><br />Creativity like this refreshes my faith in humanity. <br /><br />Gracias, Purple.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1141740484815614672006-03-07T06:03:00.000-08:002006-03-07T06:08:04.836-08:00Future PromiseOne day I will sit down and spend five hours editing this blog, tying up bad grammar, lassoing dangling modifiers, deleting double words, fucked up punctuation. It's something I've been wanting to do since the blog started, but getting the entry out was more important. <br /><br />So, expect a HUGE re-edit sometime soon. Not that anything will change in the post, but they will be cleaner, so that when I get old, at least I can come back and read The Zaftig Chronicles and not say, "Damn, I missed all that!"<br /><br />Off to work (and love in some weird way).Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1141684485786897022006-03-06T14:28:00.000-08:002006-03-07T06:08:50.086-08:00Screw the AcademyNot much to say about that disaster last night known as The Oscars, but Jon Stewart summed it up best: "<a href="http://www.sixshot.com/articles/5940/">Crunchy Black and Three-Six Mafia, one Oscar</a>; <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000217/">Martin Scorsese</a>, none." Goes to show you how much the Academy is full of shit. <em>Crash,</em> Best Picture? Hardly. <em>Brokeback Mountain</em> was robbed big time in so many categories that I'm afraid I'll cry if I have to repeat it here; so I shan't.<br /><br />I'm really through with awards in general. It's all politics and ass-kissing and campaigning and shitty outcomes. Besides, there are more important things in this world to care about, right? Like <a href="http://extratv.warnerbros.com/v2/news/0206/22/2/text.html">Nick & Jessica's divorce</a>: Will he or wont' he get that damn jewelry. God, I'm <em>sooo</em> dying to know this critical information.<br /><br />Ack. To hell with it all.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1141508242360726722006-03-04T13:36:00.000-08:002006-03-04T13:37:22.390-08:00StokingSo we'd been seated at a cozy Thai restaurant, and by the time my Nam Tok arrived, I realized sometimes I liked to be slapped. The after burn of flesh against flesh, delivered with such controlled viciousness turned me on. We'd just argued a mere ten minutes before he grabbed by my wrists and told me, "You're going to fuckin' have dinner". After all, it was what we'd gone out to do. We were doing the whole dinner and a movie cliche,a nd I was flipping out over a phone call from his ex-girlfriend. I'd hit him on the back really hard and he'd let me, but when I screamed and hit him on the back of the head, he grabbed my hands and held them, then slapped the shit out of me. I nearly came from the blow. I wanted more. Something in me must have conveyed to him that he could control me for the evening. And so he did.<br /><br />Later, after dinner and expensive drinks, he pulled me into an alleyway and had his way with me. I wanted him to slap me, but I couldn't bring myself to say it to him. The sex was brief and orgasmic, and I got off by feeling that sting on my face. He never slapped me again. And I never asked for him to do it. I self-gratified off that slap many of nights. <br /><br />He's a powerful memory and I don't like to share much about him. But I'm stoking today, adding pieces of him to every erotic feeling surging through my body. Michael.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1141418087285119672006-03-03T12:21:00.000-08:002006-03-03T12:34:47.300-08:00The Soothing of MemoriesIn these times of rough, I turn to memories of home life. Today, I present you with the memory of my mother and her lack of child care whenever she hears a loud crash or thump in her house.<br /><br />Scene: A 12-year-old Zaftig has knocked down several large Funk & Wagnalls encyclopedias reaching for the Es so she could look up England (a place she swears is her former-life home country).<br /><br />Zaftig: (Scream)<br /><br />Mother: What the hell was that?<br /><br />Zaftig: (Silence)<br /><br />Mother: Zaftig, what did you knock down?<br /><br />Zaftig: (Silence as she put the books back.)<br /><br />Mother: Ten minutes later: Are you okay in there?<br /><br />Zaftig: Yes, I'm alive.<br /><br />Scene II: A 25-year-old Zaftig accidentally knocks over a CD tower, causing it to break and several Karen Carpenter CDs to crash to the floor.<br /><br />Zaftig: SHIT!<br /><br />Mother: What the hell was that?<br /><br />Zaftig: Just me dying.<br /><br />Mother: Well, did you break anything?<br /><br />Ah, memories.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1140981723381144732006-02-26T10:37:00.000-08:002006-02-26T11:22:07.740-08:00ReversingWe argued. It ended with me storming out of his apartment, carrying the latest issue of Marie Claire, a greasy bag of croissants and orange juice. We'd spent the night together, engaging in satisfying sex, discussing my latest obsession -- <a href="http://brokebackmountain.com">Brokeback Mountain </a>-- and figuring out if we should stay in bed all day today. Well, this morning he happily went out to pick up my Sunday essentials, but when he came back he looked upset.<br /><br />"Here," he said, thrusting the bag of croissants into my hand. He then walked to his kitchen, angrily grabbed a glass from the cabinet and slammed it on the table. "What kind of person are you?" he asked.<br /><br />Umm.,.what the hell? I sat up (I was lounged out on his couch, bare legs outstretched, admiring my pedicure when he'd returned). "Okay, what did I miss?"<br /><br />"A lot. I'm tired of this."<br /><br />I swallowed the lump in my throat. I was feeling very frightened to the point I pulled my legs up to my chest and morphed into a protective ball. "Steven, what is going on?"<br /><br />He paced the room. "Zaftig, you've got running around, changing my schedule for you, and you're just not letting me in."(He actually said this; I'm not paraphrasing.)<br /><br /><em>Okay, we've just had sex last night, we gave each other massages, and then fell asleep to the soothing sounds of Cole Porter. Trust me, I let you in, literally.</em> "Okay, I thought we decided that we liked things this way," I said.<br /><br />"I need some time to myself, could you leave?" He didn't want to talk, he just wanted me, my magazine, juice and croissant out of his abode. <br /><br />Oh, it was hasty blur of gathered belongings, angry Weitzmans stomping on the floor, and a very acrid "Don't fucking call me," and a slam of his door.<br /><br />So he fucked up my morning. No one fucks up my Sunday morning. With my greasy bag of goodies and a smiling, air-brushed MAriah Carey on my front seat, I headed north on Lake Shore Drive at 10 am. I cursed him as I manuevered past shitty drivers, newspaper salesmen, and various people in their Sunday's best. <em>How dare he ask me to leave?!</em><br /><br />As soon as I opened the door to my apartment, I undersood. He'd probably thought long and hard while getting my breakfast. She only wants sex, he probably thinks. Isn't this spectrum reversed? Shouldn't I be the one feeling like this? Shouldn't I be the one wanting a deeper relationship? Shouldn't I be the one left out?<br /><br />I think it's <a href="http://zaftigjones.blogspot.com/2006/01/stepping-in.html">time</a>, guys.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1140289633082678582006-02-18T11:03:00.000-08:002006-02-18T11:07:15.076-08:00What the F*#@Okay, I just read an e-mail from a reader, and it reminded me of the baked broccoli recipe I posted. I went to check it out to verify I got the recipe correct, and realized the post is gone! I don't remember deleting it. However, I can't remember what else I wrote in the post. Does anyone remember this post? I KNOW I wrote it.<br /><br />Comments are on for the day, for your convenience in respodning to this post.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1140042198080494562006-02-15T14:13:00.000-08:002006-02-15T14:27:52.786-08:00Fuck WisdomI could barely enjoy my VD dinner and subsequent post-dinner sex because I was getting old. I was aging before Steven'seyes. My youth tossed out with the refuse or un-eaten salmon roe. A few days ago, my last wisdom tooth (upper right side) began its process of aging me and burrowed its way through my tender gum. My lymps node swelled and a light fever came on. It went away, but yesterday as the tooth burrowed out further, those symptoms returned. So there I was, munching on Philadelphia Maki and fucking teething. <br /><br />"Your teeth came in late," Steven said. "It means you're officially wiser."<br /><br />My mother asked me at 13-years-old if I wanted to have the teeth removed, and I said NO! People, listen to your mothers. Not only are the teeth painful when they burrow out, but during this process it reminds you of how wise (old) you are getting. <br /><br />Fuck wisdom.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1139964211663070682006-02-14T16:33:00.000-08:002006-02-14T16:44:23.026-08:00Happy Valentines Day!If you're into one of the most commercialized days ever, of course. Me, on the other hand, I have nothing against chocolates, champagne, and flowers. And dinner. Steven has finally convinced me to leave my house for more than work and buying orange juice. So we're going out for sushi (he hates falafels. Fucked, I know.) I left work early just to come home and get ready.<br /><br />I'm currently in shockwave mode. I'm sure every woman has been in this mode before a date -- it when you know you're going to have good sex, and every five seeconds a sexual shockwave surges through you. Well, I've got it bad! That's the good part about being a woman, we can be turned on and no one be wise to it. We don't have a tent in our skirts. Although many men claim to be able to smell a woman's arousal. I don't doubt it.<br /><br />So I'm off to my shower. And yes, the <a href="http://zaftigjones.blogspot.com/2005/08/friday-night-vol-4-power-of-azzura.html">Azzura</a> is coming out.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1139602678213985382006-02-10T12:17:00.000-08:002006-02-10T12:21:33.136-08:00The LowdownSo now that many of you know I am alive, I think it's time I explain to you that I almost wasn't. In mid January, I went through an extremely tough period. I lost my job, my sister showed up to my door at 2 am, screaming hysterically that she cant do it anymore, I was avoiding Steven on a daily basis, because I was scared of the way I was craving him. it was bad. But just as things spiral downward, they climb upwards. And the only thing I regret about the tough spot is that I didn't turn to the blog to vent (because I really needed it). But now things are peachy-keen, and I have learned a very important lesson about life. -- things won't always be bad (or good), and there will be light again. I sat in the dark for a day, just being numb, wondering why. Then the numbness turned into a tickle, and then I remembered I was alive, I have friends, money in the bank, experience. It's hard to be numb when reality makes you know it.<br /><br />My job fired me after I confronted a misogynistic client. Actually, I stood up for women worldwide, when I blurted out in the middle of a presentation: "Mr. ___________, I think your view about women wouldn't make your mother very proud." <br /><br /> Well, Mr. _________, just stood right up, walked over to me, got in my face, breath smelling like pastrami and rye, and said, "I'm not rich because of what others think of me, including my mother."<br /><br />I wanted to go insane on him, but my boss was eyeing me like a hawk, with his eyes telling me to be strong. In all my life, I've never felt so powerless. Here's this wealthy, successful man in my face, letting me know that I'm just as disposable as the women he so hates. There was a terrible heat in my chest, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. "Okay, well, I'm sure your mother regrets bringing a man like you in this world!" I said. I gathered my paperwork and left the office. I needed to cool down. I didn't return to the office, and instead went and ate falafels. When I got home, my boss left an infuriated message, telling me that I couldn't return to work until further notice. So I was...fired.<br /><br />Three days later, I was sitting in the dark, crying, when my sister showed up. She'd drove all the way from Rockford to collapse at my door. "Honey, I have my own problems!" I shouted at her. I made her some teas and let her sleep in my bed. In the morning, I found out she'd just been rejected by some man who lived in her apartment complex. I comforted her and then told her she could stay with me for a few days. Darkness.<br /><br />The next day, light. My boss called and apologized for getting upset that I walked out on a client. He pleaded for me to return back to work. I happily accepted. And the next day I strutted into the office, feeling my most powerful. And while Mr. _______'s mother wasn't proud of him, I was rather proud of Zaftig.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1137712653322070282006-01-19T15:10:00.000-08:002020-06-16T00:08:47.830-07:00SwampedYeah, things are pretty hectic right now. Just taking a spare moment to write this has fucked up my schedule. <div><br /></div><div>Work has made me a zombie; I'm living off air, Kung Pao chicken, Fresca, and phone calls to half my workforce to attack their incompetence. I'm so swamped. I don't even think I will finish everything by next week. </div><div><br /></div><div>Seriously, life gets like this at this time of the year.
Trust me, interesting things are happening, but I just don't have the time right now to chronicle them. Bear with me.
And thanks for the caring emails. Things should resume briefly.</div>Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1136937118857554062006-01-10T15:33:00.000-08:002020-06-18T01:48:11.054-07:00Stepping InWhat's the maxim? Never begin a relationship with someone you work with! <div><br /></div><div>Fair. <div><br /></div><div>But sometimes you just have to <i>Step In</i> and see where things lead. Maybe things will lead to a sushi dinner at Sushi Wabi or burger and fries at some greasy spoon or a meaningful evening in each other's arms. You just have to <i>Step In</i> and find out. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's risky. Yeah and so is leaving your home. Shit happens; but good shit happens once in a while, and that's the shit you want. The key here is you have to want it. </div><div><br /></div><div>"What do you need?" he asked me, today at work. "Because I'm willing to give it to you. I don't know how much more I can show this to you."</div><div><br /></div><div>I want a lot of things: I want better manners; smarter decisions; tastier grocery store fruit; 36 hour days; more competent co-workers; better investments; more time with my family (sans cousins); my sister to be okay; less cramping; more women to utilize the sanitary bags in the bathroom to dispose of their feminine products; less crappy television; better books; more journaling; more hot soup. </div><div><br /></div><div>However, the things I <em>need </em>are simple: I need to be free; to be human; to be in love, even if it's with something like good deeds. I need someone with bigger hands than mine to hold me, caress me, be a fucking cliché with me. I need...love of a different kind. Not the kind that Jan gives me or Viv or even Diana's sparse love. The love I'm missing is the kind that makes me fall asleep feeling chock-full of bliss; the kind of love I plan my weekends around. </div><div><br /></div><div>I want a lot of things, but I only need a few things. </div><div><br /></div><div>I'm a little scared to start a relationship with someone who already knows whether I shave or not. I've already opened a very intimate part of myself to him, but he doesn't know the part that I give to the man I love. Sure, he can have all my sex, but my love, my real time, that takes more than making me squirt a hundred times in one night.
Sometimes you <em>do</em> have to Step In, but sometimes you have to make sure you're not stepping into something unsavory. So I guess I'm checking my shoes.
He'll have to wait.</div></div>Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1136756945225665972006-01-08T13:36:00.000-08:002006-01-08T13:55:37.093-08:00Too MuchI'm having way too much sex! I'm doing way too many positions. I destroying way too many sheets. I having way too many orgasms. I knew things had got out of hand when, on a Saturday evening, I was in a piledriver position, getting it every way to Sunday, literally. We stopped at five am, Sunday morning. My back is killing me! I'm on Tylenol and Elexa this weekend. I'm really losing my mind about everything. This morning, Diane stopped by and I opened the door with my boobs hanging out of his shirt. "You look absolutely fucking out of your mind," Diane remarked.<br /><br />"Go home," I said. "I'm busy."<br /><br />Diane pushed me aside, barged in, and demanded to see the man who has me in this ravaged state. "He's in the shower," I said. "Now go home."<br /><br />"Okay, but I'm coming back with Jan. Tell him to go home." She finally left without seeing Steven.<br /><br />I joined Steven in the shower and we went at it once again. I screamed, "THIS IS TOO MUCH!" <br /><br />To which he smiled and said, "No such thing."<br /><br />Oy. Things are getting dangerous.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14787694.post-1136244533665402482006-01-02T15:26:00.000-08:002006-01-02T15:29:56.676-08:00Happy New Year IIWell, my New Year was quite happy. I spent all Sunday lounging in bed with Steven. Sure, we smelled like sex, alcohol, and freshening cloths, but it was such a beautiful moment. The only times he left the bed was to bring us toothpaste and toothbrushes, me orange juice, and to pay for our ordered-in Chinese. And the only time I left was to use the bathroom. We even had a chopstick duel that lasted a good ten minutes, with me winning by snapping his chopsticks into fours, to which he exclaimed, "Damn bamboo!" After we were fully fed, sexed, and freshned, we watched On Demand programming, which was both fun (the Cathouse series on HBO) and gross (The Discovery Channel's Medical Incredibles series, where a woman's skin fell off.) Then we talked about our New Year's resolutions. He wants to buy a new car. I, on the otherhand, want to stop buying stuff. "I'd like to be <a href="http://zaftigjones.blogspot.com/2005/11/sense-and-sensibility.html">sensible</a>."<br /><br />He finally went home around eleven, it was then I changed my sheets and took an hour-long shower, where I washed 2005 down the drain. And when I went to bed, everything felt so good. And I caught a whiff of his cologne on my pillow and it made me re-think my relationship hating stance for a while, until I dozed off. And I dreamed of happiness.Zaftig Joneshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15434951092116940728noreply@blogger.com