The EX Factor

Life. You cannot control what happens; no matter how high the high, the only place to go is down.

We’d been dating two years, 18 months were spent living together. We were that couple everyone wanted to be. Physically and esthetically complimentary to one another; we made each other better in every way. I had found him, my partner in crime, and it changed everything.

When I moved to New York we were still dating, but as the black sedan pulled away from our place I knew deep down it would be the last time I would see him. A couple of weeks later our relationship ended.

The fantasy was finished. Everything had been turned upside down in an instant; moving away only made it all the more clear. It was over and I haven’t looked back since, until now. 

Let’s call him The Ex.

Years had gone by, two and a half to be exact, and not one word, email, or text message had passed between us. When it’s over it’s over; I had never been one to dwell on the past.

When I arrived back to the ‘scene of the crime’ to cover an event for an international publication, the last thing I expected was to see him; we had been so good at avoiding each other for so long. 

Never having kept in touch with an ex boyfriend, something made me want to change that. Even though The Ex broke my heart and made me question everything I thought I knew about love, I didn’t hate him. Why couldn’t we be friends? I emailed him. Just a few words, a peace offering and the suggestion to grab a coffee while I was in town. To my surprise, he responded.

And that is when everything changed.

Tip of The Week: Pillow Talk

Knowing your limit is of the upmost importance. Every now and again the party comes at you hard and you find yourself having too much fun to say no.

I'd been going strong since the half bottle of champagne consumed at dinner. The East Village hotel bar was packed, as per the Thursday night ritual, and shots of Patron were free flowing. I grabbed my friends arm, a look of horror across my face, "My Phone!"

Once said phone had been recovered, the kind server on the patio had rescued it from the darkness, we were back to the bar. It was the deadly combination of vodka, shots of espresso, mixed with god only knows what else that finally took me down.

Entering the bathroom stall, I felt as though I may be sick. Minutes later it came to me, the 'perfect' plan; I wasn't sick... I was just in need of a quick nap!

How to Nap Like a Pro 

In my drunken state I felt that the toilet was kind of gross and best not lean against it. Rather than taking this as a sign that I should be going home to bed, I used an entire roll of toilet paper and fashioned myself a massive pillow. Proud of my 'smart move', I was ready to catch some shut-eye.

The hard floor caused my sandal to dig into my ankle; it was most uncomfortable so in order to better enjoy my nap I removed the sandal.

Get ready for it, the full visual; legs sticking out of the stall, one shoe on, one shoe off. Beautiful girl sleeps with her head against the toilet, all while clutching a massive toilet paper pillow.

Note: When you are massively drunk, there is no such thing as the perfect idea.

 

Trading Up?

It’s not everyday that a man has the balls to write his number on your menu and tell you to call him. So when the handsome guy at the table over did, I was immediately intrigued. 

Fast-forward one week, the handsome guy from the restaurant had invited me for drinks. True to my workaholic form, I only had Tuesday at 11:30PM available. He seemed surprised, or perhaps discouraged by my rigid schedule but agreed to meet me anyhow. 


Let’s call him, The Trader.

Leaning against the black granite bar of my go-to spot, The Summit Bar, I gave my date the once-over. Tall, with dirty blond hair, his suit was cut slim enough to indicate he had a sense of style and his shoes were inoffensive (I don’t ask for much, just don’t offend me with your clothing). 

We made our way to the back couches and without my alcohol-induced haze I couldn’t help but notice how young he looked. Bored with the typical ‘first date’ niceties I began to grill him with questions; sometimes a girl just needs to have a little fun.

Through an intense round of questioning, The Trader let slip that he'd had half the summer off. I looked at him quizzically, demanding to know just how exactly someone in New York City had more than a month of vacation time?

He looked slightly embarrassed before coming clean; he had just graduated from college. I almost died; it was too much; he was practically a child. Not that I am much older, but still... The last person I slept with is double his age. DOUBLE!

Not to be ageist, but really. Torn on whether or not he’d seen the horror flash across my face, I decided to stay and humor him.

Poor kid has no idea what he just got himself into.

Tip of The Week: O'Donnell's Opinion

Am I the only person who finds it ironic that Republican Candidate for the US Senate, Christine O’Donnell was born in 1969 and has most likely never even tried to 69? Or wait, perhaps it was like her bout with Witchcraft and was just something she experimented with in college…

Either way, O’Donnell has taken a strong public stance against masturbation and ‘lust’ in hopes of drawing attention to her political agenda. Unfortunately O’Donnell doesn’t seem to have a political agenda, but rather just a religious one.

I don’t quite understand the point of openly judging everyone in the world who does not agree with her views? If Christine O’Donnell doesn’t like lustful sex because God told her not to, that is fine with me; I’m not the one missing out, she is. In no way is it any of my business to tell Christine O’Donnell that she should like sex, however I feel totally within my limits to give her some advice:

Be Professional. As someone who plans on living a life of ‘public service’ it would be helpful to note that the church and state are celebrating their 219th anniversary of separation. Don’t bring your personal problems with masturbation to work. 

Take What You Can Get. Stop denying that the 1996 hit film, The Craft was based on your college experiments with Witchcraft. It’s clear you love to exploit your past to gain attention.

It’s Not What You Wear, But What You Say. There are many great political leaders you can look to for ways to stop embarrassing yourself. Hilary Rodham Clinton is a perfect example of a great woman who, even though you may disagree with her ideas, demands the respect of the public. She is well spoken and prepared for her interviews and debates. Regardless if you like her or not, you’ll have an easier time digging up dirt on her bad outfit choices than you will trying to find an embarrassing interview. 

Perhaps if Christine O’Donnell started worrying more about what she was going to say during her next interview rather than on masturbating she would be in better shape. I say release that sexual tension; maybe she’ll finally be able to use that thing in between her ears (scientists call it a brain) to form some useful and relevant thoughts.

Guest Blogger: Sophie

 "As most of you know, I'm not the only woman who likes sex the way I do. If you are a women reading this right now, you probably relate to my stories and adventures in one way or another. Every now and again I'll be turning over the reins to a guest blogger. Today please meet Sophie." 
- Chloe Is My Alias

State of Affairs

Edited by Chloe Is My Alias

I hadn’t seen him in more than ten years. He was my college sweetheart, the one that ‘got away’. After weeks of intense emails and calls, the anticipation of finally meeting was killing us both.

His initials? CPG.

I was 5 minutes from the midtown lunch spot he had selected to meet when I got his text “where are you?” It was flattering to know he was as anxious to see me, as I was to see him.

Sliding my coat off my shoulders to reveal my favorite low cut black wrap dress; I handed it to the hostess and glanced over to the bar to see him watching my every move. Nothing had changed, butterflies in my stomach, knees weak, just like the first time we had met. CPG got up from the bar and came over, kissing my cheek as he whispered in my ear “Damn, you haven’t changed a bit.”

We were escorted to a corner booth and the server brought over a glass of my favorite Shiraz, he had remembered after all these years and I was instantly smitten all over again. We felt like teenagers, trying to catch up on our lives and conveniently skimming the obvious topics of his wife and children. CGP looked amazing; my whole body started to shake when he ran his hand up my thigh and under my dress. I couldn’t help but think, “this is what corner booths were made for.”

We left the restaurant and he slid his hand around my waist pulling me in for one of those kisses that instantly make you wet. I nibbled on his ear and told him to bring me to the hotel around the corner; that was all it took.

The elevator ride to the room was a blur; we couldn’t keep our hands off of each other. We entered the room and I pinned him up against the wall, unbuttoning his shirt, running my hands all over his chest and I working my way down until I was on my knees. CPG pulled my hair back watching me lick him.  He was the only man that knew how to get me off and I was full of anticipation, knowing full well it would be an afternoon of pure pleasure.

Desired Distraction

Terrible news has a way of creeping up on you. When I called to catch up with a friend she had news and not the kind I was expecting. Our friend is a heroin addict. He’s 20.

My heart sunk deep into my chest; the pain he must have felt to turn to something like heroin, I can empathize. What has me so shaken is quite simple and scares me more than anything. This can happen to anyone and no one saw it coming.

There is a pain so deep you’d do anything to end. Lying on the ground, sobbing, you barely make a sound. You want to feel safe; you want it all to just be okay. Helplessness washes over you, making you feel weak and alone, which in turn makes you feel scared.

Worse than the pain is the inability to end it, make it stop. Progressively getting worse, you get to a point where you feel crippled by life, as life it’s self causes the pain.

So many nights and days were spent dealing with pain. So many pills popped, joints smoked and knives dragged through layers of flesh in hopes of finding a distraction. It’s not that I ever wanted to die; I was just too tired to keep living.

I first fell in love with sex when I realized it was the only time I wasn’t in pain. Closing my eyes and letting waves of pleasure rush over me; sex was and still is like meditation. Everything bad in life falls to the side, nothing matters except the physical pleasure in that moment.

For me sex is not about love it’s an escape. It requires no thought and has no meaning when it’s done and over. People seem to think there is deeper meaning to the pleasure derived through sex; as a society we are consumed with finding deeper meanings and refuse to just let things be.

No longer in pain, I still see sex as just that, sex. The world is constantly shown in a picture perfect way, a set of ideals that my life is unable to live up to. The ideals others push onto society; inadequacy seeping through and everyday trying to keep up with what ‘they’ say is right.

We live in a world that promotes compliance, not questions. Ignorance really is bliss, but I was never one to be ignorant. Once you open yourself up to understanding, you can never go back.

Sex is still an escape and distraction from the world. That pain that overwhelmed me on so many occasions is gone as I no longer worry about fitting the cookie-cutter mold that is our societies expectations. I can only hope my friend can find strength to look beyond what people tell us to see and figure out what everything means for him.   
 

Tip of The Week: Favre Gets Freaky

 
In case you live under a rock, former New York Jet's quarterback Brett Favre has been accused of sexually harassing former colleague, sideline hostess, Jenn Sterger. If you seriously don’t know what I am talking about there's this thing called ‘Google’ and I hear it’s pretty good.

Let me be frank, sexual harassment is not a joke. The way Streger’s PR team has allowed this story to be told is simply embarrassing, making a mockery of their client and all women who have suffered sexual harassment.

By refusing to comment, Sterger was most likely hoping to avoid the whispers of ‘attention whore’ that the media were sure to slur. Wakeup and read the papers Jenn they are saying it anyhow.

With little information about what actually occurred between Favre and Sterger, I wanted to take this opportunity to personally reach out to them both with a little Chloe advice.

Grow some balls. Favre, if you want to ask a girl out just walk up and ask her in person, don’t keep calling and leaving messages. Sterger, if a man keeps calling, try answering your phone and tell him you are totally flattered but you have a rule about dating people in your working environment.

Take a fucking hint. Favre, if she doesn’t answer after the third message it means not interested (read: this does not mean send her naked pictures of your penis). Sterger, after voice mail  number three you may have noticed his level of determination. When the phone rings, answer it! By laying down the law one can prevent creepy penis photos!

Hire the best PR Team. Favre, get someone on your side to maximize all front page opportunities coming your way; it will probably be the last time you get this much press. Sterger, strategy is everything when it comes to a situation like this. Decide your angle and get the best in the business on your side. 

Sterger’s current PR team does not appear to have a clue what their angle is. Are they trying to promote women’s rights? Are they seeking retribution for Sterger by making Favre look bad? Are they hoping to inspire women to stand up to sexual harassment? (I sure hope it’s not the latter, as so far the media isn’t painting the most flattering picture of the victim).

If someone makes you feel uncomfortable, be straightforward about it. If they persist, take action. Simple. The only person that can stand up for you is you.

GLOSSY MAGAZINE FEATURE

I've always had a thing for Britts, so when UK fashion mag GLOSSY asked me to speak my mind it was hard to resist.

 
Check out the full interview HERE
or get the preview HERE

Reality Check

 

Everyone wants to know, ‘Who is the real Chloe?’ Sit back and listen because I am about to tell you.

There is nothing more real than being 5 years old and having to explain to your friend why your parents are fighting. There is nothing more real than having your high school crush die of a heart attack, when you are still in high school. There is nothing more real than losing your role model in a car accident and having two friends murdered by the time you are half way through your first year of university. There is nothing more real than your family losing their fortune and being told, ‘you should have had more.’

There is nothing more real, than real life.

I never understood why I had to go through so many traumatizing things. I don’t believe that everything happens for a reason. I do know that everything in my past has made me exactly who I am at this moment, and as much as it nearly killed me to get here, I am happy with the person I have become.

We sat on the black leather stools at the bar. The Editor was high, the drugs racing through his veins.  My hands were shaking as I attempted a sip of vodka. I had never seen him like this; he was stumbling, stuttering and slurring.

He looked at me and I finally asked the question we both knew was coming, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Looking downward he shrugged, for the first time since we’d met he seemed at a loss for words. “I didn’t want you to be mad.” I was in shock. Mad!? Was he serious? How on earth do you get mad at someone for having an addiction? I kissed his lips, feeling his hands tighten around my waist. We stood at the bar, arms around each other; the room was full of the usual Monday night bar crowd but it felt like it was just the two of us there.

It broke my heart to hear his response. Why are people so consumed with judging others for their actions? There was obviously something he could not cope with if he turned to drugs in such a way. We stood with our bodies pressed together and I knew it would be the last time I saw him. All I could do was be there for him, but first he needed to be there for himself.

Good Vibrations

"Your ass is not a cul-de-sac, things can get lost up there!" My girlfriend was laughing as she recounted her disaster of a morning. Still half asleep, my eyes flickered open as she continued; a horrifying story about a mini  pocket-rocket lodged (and then lost) you know where...

I absolutely adore that my friends call me with their madness, fully knowing I will never make them feel embarrassed or ashamed. People spend too much time worrying about how others will receive them; they forget to focus on how something makes them feel.

Everyday, everything I do is for me. I do not worry about pleasing others, or meeting any expectations other than my own. Let go of what people told you to think and start thinking for yourself. Know that if you want to make something happen you can and don't let anything or anyone stand in your way.