Thursday, October 31, 2013


Top ten lists have been around for a while and we all have our own top ten lists for everything under the sun. I have created a top ten list that ranges from film, books, music and even cities. A random top ten treat that some of you may disagree with but it's my list so bugger off or create your own list. It's cheap therapy, people! For those of us who don't live around the corner from opium dens or a deserted beach adorned with coconuts and turquoise water then spilling what's in your head onto a screen or good old fashioned paper will do the trick just fine. So...let's get started but this time it would be interesting and much appreciated if you commented and shared your thoughts and opinions, as well. 1. Pink Floyd- We're all familiar with this band and their timeless and unforgettable sound from the slide guitar to their haunting but undeniably true lyrics. This is real music...not just noise...but real music that I always describe as heart balm. It soothes the soul and makes you feel like Wonderland is at your fingertips. My favorites: "Dark Side of the Moon", "The Great Gig in the Sky", "Keep Talking", " Comfortably Numb", "Hey You", " Marooned" and "Welcome to the Machine" for starters. What are some of your favorite Pink Floyd songs? 2. Downton Abbey- How can you not crave Dame Maggie Smith in any way, shape or form? Who wouldn't want to live at Downton in the English countryside? Wouldn't you want to be surrounded by words of wisdom and veils of sarcasm at all times? Dinner parties and romps in the servants' quarters? Butter or jam, anyone? It's all about the must posses patience to appreciate a show like this because they feed you just enough little crumpets of British wit and drama at a time so that you end up mentally salivating for the following episode! It's better than any drug...I assure you! If Downton Abbey isn't on your "to watch" list, what shows make you mentally salivate? 3.

Monday, June 11, 2012


Ladies and gentlemen, I have to announce that something absolutely tragic happened to me on Saturday night. I am still swimming in a sea of discontentment and frustration. On Saturday night, my vision, mind and sanity were severely impaired by a spectacle that could only be compared to finding out Audrey Hepburn had been in several naughty sex tapes with Mickey Rooney and Shirley Temple. I'm talking about "Prometheus." I have been the victim of much trickery and conniving ways in my life but never have I fallen so hard on my bum, too stunned to move, in such a manner. Something is terribly wrong! Mr. Ridley Scott, either you have a severe case of dementia and need to be immediately admitted to a Swedish psychiatric hospital or you simply did NOT direct this tasteless, hollow film. This is not the work of someone who brought us the legend and historical fantasy in "Gladiator", the breakthrough, science-fiction film that revolutionized cinema in "Alien"and gave us a glimpse of a future world with "Blade Runner." Sir, I am terribly worried about you. "Prometheus" is a tale of inexperienced scientists who think, due to some cave drawings and hieroglyphics, that a planet in a different galaxy holds the key to evolution. This all takes place on a spaceship that looks more like a "Transformer" and I was surprised to see Michael Fassbender twirling about on a bicycle in an unusually joyful way through the ship's corridors, instead of Shia LaBoeuf going after women who think Kenya is a type of yoga. The actors couldn't have been less excited to be part of this nightmare, especially Charlize Theron who looked like she was suffering from constipation or lack of alcohol. Noomi Rapace, the star of the film, seemed completely out of place and looked more like she was ready for wrestle mania, and although you can act Mr. Fassbender ,even your Peter O'Toole mockup of an android could not keep this film from making a chap long for hell. This was an insult to Ridley's past cinematic hits. We don't even care what happens to any of the characters. In fact, I was so bored I was longing for an alien, any alien to kill, burn, torch, fry,harass, play frisbee with or make a nutcracker out of someone...anyone! The dialogue nor the cinematography could boost this film's libido. It was in dire need of Viagra!!! Everything was out of place like a nun spending spring break in Miami. Nothing made sense and not in an "Inception" kind of way...more like in a "why do Adam Sandler's movies get shittier by the year" type of way. I won't divulge anymore but just know that it took all the strength in the world not to inject vodka into my eyeballs and pour cyanide down my ears after waiting two hours only to find out that I was robbed...financially and intellectually! Someone is tampering with our intelligence! I refuse to stand with the sheep...I declare myself the wolf...and in case life wasn't hard enough, "Prometheus" hammers that rusty nail into your head. Until next time...

Friday, April 20, 2012


Chapter 1 Philip Moone was his name. As the early morning dawn filtered through the thin, moth-eaten curtains of the tiny motel room, all he could think about was the half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table. Waves of nausea kept him glued to his bed. He was too afraid to move. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed a silhouette. Philip slowly turned his head and saw the prostitute he’d been with the previous night. He’d brought her back to his room around midnight for cheap love and someone to drink with. Her lips were still crimson red from too much rouge and her hair fell in soft curls across her pale cheek. Philip realized that getting to the whiskey was the least of his troubles. The woman was dead. She’d been stabbed to death. At this point, Philip forced himself to rise from his bed and stagger to the table. His hands were shaking and sweat formed in little beads around his temples. He grabbed the bottle of whiskey and gulped every last drop for dear life. His eyes were still glued to the corpse in his bed when he swallowed the last drop of alcohol. The bottle slipped from his hand and hit the floor. The thud startled him and he tiptoed to the bed as if she were still asleep. In the cold light of morning, he noticed how young she actually was. She’d appeared older at the bar he’d met her at. Her red dress hugged curves that no woman under twenty could posses but she was just a kid, probably a runaway. The streets were littered with them these days. Lost souls in search of dope or cash or even for a “Daddy” they never had. Philip was ruggedly handsome and in his mid-thirties. Women had always seemed to desire him and he never put up a fight to any of their advances. He’d been with a lot of women but never one as young as the dead bird in front of him. He couldn’t even remember her name. Had it been Rosie? Or maybe it was Lucy? She’d been stabbed in the stomach and the blood had spilt onto the decaying linoleum floor. Philip stepped back so he wouldn’t step in it. A terribly morbid thought whistled through his mind. Had she been so disappointing in bed that he’d killed her? This was no time to try to render the situation into a funny little skit. He had to get out of this putrid motel room. Even though he knew he hadn’t committed this crime Philip had to flee. The cops would never believe him. An underage hooker and empty bottles of booze adorning the nightstand? This was a recipe for spending an eternity in a room with no windows. Philip began to frantically search the room for a weapon. Nothing. People would start waking up soon. He couldn’t wait any longer. The guilt choked him but there was no time to feel compassion for this poor girl. As he struggled to get his clothes on a disturbing thought hit him like a train going full speed. Someone had come into the room while he’d been asleep and killed her. Maybe her pimp or a jealous lover? It was too late now to play who dunnit. Time was not on his side and Philip needed to get away from this mess fast. It seemed that his knack for looking for love in the wrong places had finally caught up with his lonely heart. Philip made sure he gathered all his belongings, most importantly his wallet and pack of Camel cigarettes. He wondered why he hadn’t been murdered as well. He’d never been lucky in the past so this turn of events puzzled him. He glanced out the window. The paranoia was beginning to creep up his spine. A couple laughed in a drunken stupor down below. They’d most likely been up all night. Philip wished he could be laughing along with them. Anything but this nightmare he’d awakened to. He needed another drink to calm his nerves. Once dressed, he covered the girl’s face with a towel from next to the washbasin. Somehow this made him feel more comfortable with the whole situation. He slowly opened the front door to his room and glanced back at the girl. Funny how unexpected death was, he thought. One minute you’re drinking highballs and kissing a lover and the next… you’re gone. The nausea was back as he tiptoed down the stairs to the lobby. It was mad and wouldn’t accept defeat. Philip gripped the arm rail and took deep breaths. He started counting to ten repeatedly in his head. His mother, Evelyn, had taught him that as a boy to get over his fear of the dark. She also used to give him a quarter every Sunday when she would go to the neighbor’s house. A quarter for his silence while she undressed for Paul McDonald next door. Philip had always felt sorry for his father, Tom. He’d slaved away six days a week at an airplane factory and used to take Philip fishing during the summer on Wildwood Lake in Long Island. How convenient for Evelyn. She’d had all the time in the world to bake pies and do dirty deeds behind other people’s closed doors. When Philip was nine, she’d left that summer. Philip and his father had come home from a fishing trip. She was gone. She hadn’t even left a note. All she’d left behind was an apple pie in the kitchen. But Philip loved women despite his mother’s sudden departure. He loved them so much that he let them use him up like an old handkerchief. Philip was now in the lobby. Not a soul in sight, not even the old clerk behind the desk. He was probably asleep in the back. He’d reeked of booze when Philip had paid for the room. He went to the front desk and immediately found what he was looking for: the guest sign-in sheet. He took it and stuffed it into his coat pocket. The hotel door was wide open, as if the establishment wanted to facilitate his getaway. He stepped outside into the cool Los Angeles morning dew. Philip lit a cigarette and strolled away from the motel. The city was still asleep and the silence was deafening. He would have to go hide somewhere. He wanted to run but his legs felt stiff and frozen. None of this mattered, though. Nothing could let him forget that on this morning a girl was dead. Later that day, Philip found a cheap hotel off of Hollywood and Vine. He’d paid in cash and signed in under the name Dean Harper. The room smelt of spoiled milk and piss. He didn’t care. He opened the bottle of cheap whiskey he’d bought at the little liquor store around the corner. He sat down in a decrepit armchair by the cracked window. As soon as he took that first swig he could feel his heart pumping again. The chill in his spine began to vanish. It felt right to be back in Los Angeles; back in the city of sordid delights. Back in New York, he’d managed to write a book and get a publishing deal with Ace Books. His self- debut “Endless Appetite” was about a man from the moon who came down to Earth to collect Hollywood movie stars. The book wasn’t worth a damn and Philip knew it. It had allowed him to live on the advance from his publisher. Sometimes it really was about the money. His father had died the previous year of heart failure. The poor bastard had been fishing and the thought of his old man alone on a lake brought hot tears to Philip’s eyes. He needed to write. That’s why he’d come to Hollywood. For the bright lights. For the women. For the razzle dazzle. Now all he had were blank pages and a dead girl choking at his conscience. A knock on the door made him gag on his whiskey. He held his breath. The knocking continued. Philip slowly got up and listened. He knew it was the cops. Had someone seen him leaving the motel? He took another swig of whiskey and looked out the window. There was no fire escape. He’d break his legs if he jumped. The knock came again, this time louder. Philip took a deep breath and marched to the door. Let them take me in. I may be a lot of things but I won’t go down a coward, he thought. He swung the door open. There was nobody there. Philip could feel his face getting hot and sweaty. His heart began to race. He’d opened the door expecting to see someone. He was losing his mind. Panic swooshed around him like an army of bees. Philip’s mouth was dry and he wished anyone had been behind that door, not this terrible void. Philip peeked his head out and looked into the hallway. There was a greaser standing in front of the door next to his. So this was where the knocking was coming from? The man turned to Philip. “Mind your own business, would ya,” he slurred. Philip closed the door to his room and sunk to the floor. He needed a cold shower. He had to get this stink off him. Another drink would cool him down faster. That’s what’d he’d do. A drink and a smoke sounded like a grand idea to settle his trembling mind. He solved this problem by drinking the entire bottle of whiskey and falling into a hellish state of slumber. The next morning Philip opened his eyes. He was greeted by the harsh light from the rising sun stinging his face. He needed water. It was at this point that he realized he was not in the bed. He was on the floor. The piss-stained floor was caked to his face. He sat up and grimaced in pain. Philip’s ribs felt bruised. He stood up and walked to the dusty mirror by the window. He wasn’t expecting to see a shiner and a bruised lip in the reflection. Philip lifted his shirt and it was just as he expected; a huge purple bruise decorated his ribs. He wasn’t digging these morning surprises. He would’ve remembered being in a fight. The room looked decent so he clearly hadn’t gotten into it with anyone there. Philip was scared. If he was in this state what did the other guy look like? He’d been in the City of Angels not even a week and he wished he could run home as fast as he could to one of his mother’s pies and cold embraces. His lungs felt like they’d been filled with dust so he opened the window. The heat latched on to his skin and forced him to splash some cold water on his face and neck at the rusty sink. Walking the streets for some fresh air seemed like the right thing to do. He needed to clear his head and get a cup of coffee. Maybe he’d meet a nice girl who’d kiss his swollen face and lend an ear to his aching words. He needed to feast on something other than his poor, lonely mug. Philip left his hotel searching for a new beginning to his stay in Los Angeles. He decided right then and there, in front of a little coffee house, that he’d only drink at night. He needed to stay clean during the day so he could write. That’s why he was here, amongst the palm trees and other struggling souls clinging to memories from the past and dreams of a promising future. Philip walked into the little coffee house and sat at a table near the window. He’d always enjoyed watching people walk by. He wondered where they were going, if someone was waiting for them or what their troubles were. The coffee house smelled of warm bread and cinnamon. He lit a smoke and began to relax for the first time since he’d arrived. A curvy Mexican girl came to take his order. She just smiled at him, revealing gold teeth and decaying gums. She spoke no English and just kept smiling at him. Philip lost his appetite and ordered a coffee. She nodded and shuffled away. He felt sorry for her. He felt guilty that her innocent smile had repulsed him. She came back with his coffee and he noticed how creamy the skin on her hands was. Her fingers were long and delicate. Philip could love those hands forever. He wished she could cradle him and caress his sorrows away. “You have beautiful hands,” he told her. She just smiled again and nodded. He forced a smile back and tried again, “ Do you speak English?” She shook her head no and giggled before disappearing into the back of the café, leaving him with an unnerving sense of loneliness. Philip left the coffee house feeling hungry. It was a hunger he’d never felt before yet the smells floating through the air of freshly baked pies from the local bakery made him feel dizzy. He needed to work. He had to set aside his troubles and focus on his mission to write something of substance. But his body ached and he couldn’t get the dead girl’s porcelain face out of his mind. He pinched himself just to make sure this wasn’t a dream. Sadly, it wasn’t. He decided to walk down Hollywood for even just a glimpse of inspiration. As Philip walked down the boulevard, he remembered an old flame he’d had a fling with years ago lived close by. Her name was Susan and she’d worked at her parents’ restaurant. They’d had a terrific time that summer. They’d drunk cheap gin at the drive-in and made love on her grandmother’s couch out in Bunker Hill. Susan was a sweet girl, with hair just like Lana Turner and breasts that would’ve made Errol Flynn blush. In fact, she’d wanted to be a movie star last time he’d seen her. That was years ago, though. Maybe she still lived in the little white bungalow on Wilcox. He could use a woman’s attention right now. Women had always easily made the wheels in his head spin. He quickened his pace, eager and cheerful to see a familiar face amidst the confusion clouding his vision. In fact, Philip felt so full of anticipation that he decided to make a little detour and have a drink at the Frolic Room to celebrate this ray of hope. And with his new agenda he decided to make a day of it. He’d have a toast to new beginnings amongst perfect, beautiful strangers and take his time going to Susan’s. The chances of her still living there were slim but that’s all it took to put a smile on Philip’s face. The bar was dark and smoky. Hipsters flirted with starry-eyed ingénues and the bar wasn’t too packed. Philip glanced at the clock. It was already one in the afternoon. He was pleased with his new found joie de vivre, if you could call it that, and chose a seat next to an old man with a bowler hat and an expensive looking pocket watch. The man grunted when Philip sat down, clearly annoyed with his presence. Philip ignored him and ordered a Tom Collins. He was ordering beyond his means but he didn’t care. The gin made him forget about his battle wounds and he decided to strike up a conversation with his neighbor. “Beautiful day isn’t it?”, he asked the man in the bowler hat. “ And why’s that?”, the man mumbled. “ We’re in Hollywood. I’m a writer you see and today I feel like I’ve got something worth writing about. And I’m off to see an old friend,” Philip grinned. The old man finished his drink and got up. He patted Philip on the back. “You’ve got a lot to learn, kid,” the man said before leaving the bar. If only the man knew. If only he knew the cards Philip Moone had been dealt in the game of life. WHAT DO YOU THINK WLLL HAPPEN NEXT?

Monday, March 19, 2012


ASK MISS CROWE… Q: How do you find a good man in Los Angeles when everyone here is so pretentious? Well… that’s like going through your jeans before putting them in the wash and hoping to find a twenty or finding a ripe avocado at the supermarket. If you lived in Omaha I would suggest you just go knock on your neighbor’s door to ask for some sugar, in which case I’m sure you’d be getting a lot more than what you asked for. They weren’t lying when they said a good man is hard to find but every once in a while you’ll stumble on someone that makes you wonder whether you’re in a Nancy Meyer’s comedy. The only advice I can give you is to take risks and to be fearless. Stop hunting for a man; it makes you seem desperate. Once you accept the fact that you are in a city that lost its soul a long time ago then you will have accomplished a feat that most are too blind to acknowledge. This isn’t a game of hide and seek or an Easter egg hunt. Adopt a “laissez faire” attitude and I promise you will stumble upon Prince Charming. Good things happen to those who have a life. So stop sitting around eating ice-cream and watching re-runs of “Sex and the City” and live. Q: What do you say to people who fall madly in love but according to society, their age difference isn’t appropriate? It’s not like you’ve fallen in love with Hitler, is it? Sean Penn and Michael Douglas seem to be pretty giddy about waking up with women half their age. You don’t hear them complaining, do you? It could be a lot worse. First of all, falling madly in love is like a myth. It’s an endangered species practically!! Society doesn’t know the first thing about happiness anyways. Throughout history they’ve murdered innocent people and committed the most atrocious acts just because of skin color. Never listen to the masses because you’ll end up in the gutter. Looking down on a man or woman who’s dating someone younger is pure jealousy. We always want what we can’t have and youth is as fleeting as time so pounce on your younger lover and give all the hypocrites of the world a huge smile… and the finger of course.

Wednesday, December 28, 2011


At first, I was open minded about watching "Don't Be Afraid of the Dark." It starred Guy Pearce, whom I respect, and Katie Holmes, whom I feel complete indifference towards. The film was produced by Guillermo Del Torro, who has a brilliant imagination and storytelling capabilities, and the film takes place in an astounding Gothic mansion worthy of selling your relatives for. I put my skepticism aside and decided to take a chance. The previews included frightening whispers from the basement, a disturbing little girl and the cinematography reminded one of a Diego Velasquez painting. So far, so good. Little did I know that my time and energy would be wasted and I would have been better off peeling ten pounds of vegetables or attempting to reproduce the Sistine Chapel in my living room. First of all, the actors either loathed being on set and took the job to get paid or they were taking heaps of sleeping pills. I still have faith in Guy Pearce, so my guess is he needed quick cash and called it a day. Katie Holmes, on the other hand, delivered such a dreary performance that she could very well be a substitute for morphine. You feel tired and numb,not in a comfortable way, I must say. The story is about a couple, Guy and Katie, who are renovating a house that I wouldn't live in since even the driveway seemed lined with evil spirits. The man's daughter, Sally, comes to live with them and clearly she would rather be peeling vegetables like myself. Sally begins to hear spooky whispers from the basement and wants to befriend whoever or whatever is scaring the shit out of her in the middle of the night. Is she completely incompetent or taking Katie Holmes's sleeping pills? It is impossible to root for a child who clearly wants to play hide and seek in Hell. It turns out, that tiny goblins have been haunting this home for over a century and when they get bored they must eat a child. These were no goblins but ugly rats with pitchforks, in my humble opinion. They crawled around like cockroaches and Sally could have killed all of them simply by stomping on them. Of course, there would be no movie if she'd done that.Undoubtedly, no one believes her tale of woe and she has to battle the demonic forces trying to destroy her family. The only problem is that her family is already flying over the cuckoo's nest. Her father ignores her periodical fits of hysteria and focuses on being on the cover of Architectural Digest with the renovation of the mansion. His girlfriend just wants to bake scones and stare at the koi fish in the pond outside and Sally's mother resides in LA, where her nocturnal activities have replaced motherhood. An episode of "Friends" has sent more chills down my spine then this artless tale of vengeful rats on steroids, who want to eat a masochistic child, whose father prefers money over her and whose girlfriend is in a constant state of confusion, due to the tainted Scientology porridge she's been gobbling up...well that's a whole other story. So go ahead and turn off the lights, your computer, your phone or any other devices that emit light if you are anywhere near a screening of this irksome tale about vermin and lunatics. Till next time...

Monday, December 26, 2011


I sometimes find it amusing listening to people's complaints. To be fair, sometimes they are legitimate reasons and I don't blame them for wanting to buy devices that will induce pain and misery. We all have days when our issues seem insurmountable and we'd like to do some serious damage for our well-being. Life can be unfair and "real" problems tend to strike anyone, anywhere, anyhow. It seems to me though, that in Africa or Asia, for example, their problems do tend to be slightly more tragic than over here, in the stolen land we killed for and now call home sweet home. Tsunamis, famine, AIDS, earthquakes and war are just a few "hiccups" they deal with day in and day out. The following is an actual list of complaints that have poured out of people's mouths. Undoubtedly, I had to swoop up this marvelous list and reevaluate various disasters these innocent victims have to suffer. 1. "My hand is too fat to shove into the Pringles container so I have to tilt it." Really? Maybe someone should yank the Pringles from your greasy fingers and hit you repeatedly on the head. Laziness always astounds me. Society now relies on technology to facilitate everything for them. Remote controls, cars, computers, phones, microwaves...the list is endless. No wonder there's an obesity problem in this country. Is laying in bed surrounded by controls and screens the bright future that lies ahead? Are we destined to resemble Jabba the Hutt's relatives? Step one to dodging this horrific nightmare: get up and start walking,to the store for starters. Remember those two weird shapes protruding from your hips? Once you've accomplished that, then we'll talk. 2. "I didn't have a childhood so I can't turn my pain into art." Asshole alert! Is it really necessary to have a childhood a la Almodovar's "Bad Education" or a summer reenacting "Deliverance" with your family to be creative as an adult? Or maybe you're embarrassed of your childhood because you lived in a trailer park and your Dad was arrested for selling pills to your classmates. Either way, you should embrace or forgive the past because dwelling on what did or didn't happen is a bigger waste of time than watching "Keeping Up With the Kardashians." There's no rule that you have to suffer to be creative. I guarantee you that Edgar Allan Poe would have worked as a priest if it meant living a peaceful existence. Get over your glorification of fallen artist's misery and maybe you're just not talented in that domain and would be better off as a baker or used car salesman. 3. "My GPS made me drive through the ghetto." Boohoo. If driving through the ghetto in your Prius is your definition of a bad day then you clearly haven't walked through the Everglades at night. If you think rundown homes and a couple gangsters in the McDonald's parking lot is inconvenient, try walking through the gator-ridden swamps and running into a one-toothed guy of questionable appearances carrying a rifle and a dead raccoon. Try that scenario on for size. What if your GPS lands you in Amish country? 4. "I can't hear the TV while I'm eating crunchy snacks." I forgot how stimulating the dialogue was in "Crank II." Since when do words have more importance than explosions and beheadings? Maybe you should stop eating for a minute or two if it's getting in the way of your education.This person should be thrown in a time machine back to the 1300's in Europe. Drawbacks like the Black Death, religious dogmas and the Hundred Years War would probably also have gotten in the way of his crunchy snacks. First World problems, I daresay. The next time you're itching to complain because Lady Gaga's music video is taking too long to load think about having the plague, while your family is getting massacred outside and Your pet chicken is screaming that the sky is falling, all in one day. What then? Till next time...

Tuesday, December 20, 2011


Did you know it's completely possible to be fantastic in bed? Hey, it's the new self therapy people, so climb aboard and trust me, it won't be a bumpy night. In fact, all you have to do is open you ears and listen, which is the best medication I might add. So relax, light smoke, have a cocktail or undress in front of your window so your neighbor can see a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Sometimes your sex life is just fine. As fine as a summer day in the Hamptons but it can also be a disaster but guess what? It's all in your head. There's nothing wrong with you or the people your thighs are wrapped around. Here are a few issues that pull us away from the exhilarating sex life we all want to possess. "I CAN'T DO IT" This of course meaning it's impossible for you to climax, to shoot hoops through the big "O" let's say. You've tried all 529 positions of the Kama Sutra, taken a speed course in tantric love, and passed yourself out like a free sample hoping for a winner.Nothing is working and sooner or later you're drowning in a sea of disappointment. WHAT TO DO? Stop thinking or obsessing about it. Forget about the orgasms, period. Orgasms are like love, they happen when you least expect it. Stop viewing it as as a scene from "Outbreak" where if you don't rapidly find a cure you will die and not even Dustin Hoffman can save you. Let go and please your lover. Get lost in the moment and get your hands dirty. In this case, do not keep your eye on the prize. "I CAN'T LIVE WITHOUT IT" You're sex starved. Two week without sex and you feel as if you've spent your life in a nunnery. Once is never enough.You can never quench your thirst. But then it will feel to your partner as if you're on some kind of never ending crusade. They'll start to feel guilty because they can't keep up and resentments start to pile up and it all starts to feel itchy and uncomfortable, like that wool sweater your grandmother knitted for you in the back of your closet. WHAT TO DO? Normally, you feel a deep satisfaction after making love. A kind of natural Xanax, if you will. But instead, you want more and more, like a drug addict. The more you make love the more frustrated you become. You don't make love because you love the other person but to prove that you are loved. It's a classic case of narcissism. You make love to confirm that you are desirable but you never end up believing it. To get out of this trap, you'll have to learn self discipline. Sorry to burst your bubble but too much of a good thing always ends up losing its appeal, including sex. You will never be satisfied if you're constantly void of any emotion or affection. When you start making love for the right reasons, you'll discover what it is to be sexually satisfied, like Jeff Bridges. "I CAN ONLY DO IT THIS WAY" You think you're sexy but only under certain physical or psychological circumstances. Maybe you can only do it in public,in the stairs or in a parking lot.Or maybe you can only do it in front of a mirror, or with married men, complete strangers, giant, hairy apes or adolescent boy-types. This can be cute once in a while but not on a daily basis. WHAT TO DO? The problem is that you put a barrier between your sexual activities and the rest of your life.You separate your sexual life from your real life because then there is no risk for you personally. Better invest in a sledge hammer because you're going to have to break down that wall.Break the routine and don't fall on bad habits because you're afraid of change. The road less traveled, or the one that seems raided by bats and possessed clown, should be taken my dear. it's scary at first but so is wearing six-inch heels on a rainy day. "I'M TOO AFRAID" As soon as your bumping and grinding in your new satin sheets with someone, all your insecurities come pouring out. You could hate being naked or afraid of experimenting because your own desires embarrass you. Maybe you believe that your partner will stop loving you as soon as they get you into the sack or if you show them how much you want them. WHAT TO DO? The first step for you is to get rid of your inhibitions. Make a list, even. Talk to your partner about your hang ups. You have to speak up or else you'll never get what you want and as we all know, time is not our best friend. Inhibitions are often repressed desires and what scares you the most is probably going to give you the most pleasure. Even if you crave someone to dress you up as a turkey and want them to chase you around with a butcher knife!! It's is being weird together. Corsets are made to be loosened, whether they're physical, emotional or psychological. Sometimes, all it takes is a little pull and you'll be dancing in the rain, not even noticing that you're soaking wet, muddy and frightening the neighbors. Till next time...