by Laurelin

I promised I would never write about him again, and it’s amazing how easy that promise has been to keep. (This totally doesn’t count.) I haven’t wanted to, needed to. I’ve had nothing to say worth even remotely remembering. I remember this feeling before, just like all the others. That slow creeping suspicion that you feel fine, that he’s on your mind but not as close to the surface as he was the day before. With it comes this really stupid lost feeling: like, what am I going to DO now that I’m not thinking about it all the time? The answer is very simple: anything I fucking want.

I find myself smiling for no reason throughout the day because all of a sudden I’m no longer trapped in my own mind. I’m acutely aware of the sunlight shining off the top of the Prudential Center and how my city is so beautifully illuminated in the summer even in the midst of concrete. The Charles River glistens as I listen to the sound of my own feet slapping against the sidewalk and I’m running for me, not because he’ll only like me if I’m thin like all the other girls. I feel almost like this was a test, to see if I could pull myself out of the quicksand and be all the better for it.

Granted I haven’t been tested yet. I’m dreading the moment I run into him somewhere. I can imagine my blood turning to ice and my stomach turning. That’s one thing that never changed, feeling like I’ve been punched in the gut every time I see him. One can only hope that whatever dreams he chooses to chase take him far away from where I’ve already found mine.

It’s cloudy in Boston today, and I’m shivering writing this on my porch on my day off. I’m planning my usual Tuesday night city waterfront sangria crawl and I have a new phone number in my phone and the memory of smiling last night at my bar, my heart pounding as I’m pouring this guy a drink and inviting him to come out –– someone new. I’ll go to the same spots and do the same things, but it will be different. Maybe tonight’s the night I’ll stop looking for him every time the door opens.

“What do you guys think?” I ask the waitresses once he finishes his drink and walks out.

“So. Hot,” they say, and I smile.

Outside on my porch, the clouds roll in as the wind picks up. It’s getting colder but I don’t care. For once it’s beautiful, not gray to match my mood. I could sit out here all day.

[..]

by Laurelin

I had this post written over a week ago. I had just walked home from his house for what I knew would be the last time. I was so sad that I could have cried, but I didn’t. I sat down and I wrote about it. When I woke up later and re-read what I had written, I knew it could never see the light of day. He didn’t deserve those words, like he didn’t deserve me. Words help me remember, and I desperately need to forget.

I had written something like it before: ten years ago sitting in an ex-boyfriend’s house in Providence. He was going to leave me, I knew it, so while he slept I would look around. I memorized the way the black curtains fell across the dirty cracked window pane, the way I could see the black bars of the fire escape over the setting sun and Providence skyline. I memorized every poster: Marilyn Manson, The Crow, the black and white kissing girls. I memorized the way it smelled, like Yankee Candle’s Moonlight Path mixed with the shavings from the snake and iguana cages. But most of all I would look at him.

The way his two metal gauged hoop earrings clinked together when I touched his face. (Years later I would buy the same earrings just to hear that sound.) My fingers had traced every outline of his body and just watching him sleep was enough to make me want to cry. Because I knew he was going to leave me, and I wanted to remember. I didn’t want to ever forget a single thing.

And when he did leave me, I wrote it all down. I said that the sky would never be as beautiful as it looked though his window. I was foolish; that that one didn’t deserve those words either. But I always treasured them. I remember being caught scribbling by one of my sorority sisters, and when she asked me to read her something I had written I hesitated before deciding to read her that essay. I got about halfway though when I noticed she had tears streaming down her face. When I was done she grabbed my hand and told me that I should never stop writing. We cried, but I was happy to have finally shared him with someone.

Last Friday after creeping in from his apartment I decided that enough was enough. I would never again notice how leaving the bar drunk my hand slides so easily into his. I would never again get so drunk that I would try to not feel ashamed for winding up in his arms, knowing he was only holding me because he had no one better. Last Friday I wrote my final piece about loving him, and I said goodbye.

I had traced his every outline, but his feeling will fade, and in time so will this sharp feeling of total loss. I might run into him again down the line, and hopefully by then I will be able to genuinely smile. Hopefully by then I won’t have to turn away so he won’t see my lower lip trembling. I write to remember, but some things need to be forgotten, erased. Hopefully one day I can come back to this and remember how last Friday was the start of something worth remembering.

[..]

by Ryker Suicide

I’m a huge fan of playing with grilled cheeses since there is really no limit as to what you can do with them. Most recently the man and I came up with our new favorite grilled cheese recipe. It’s great for a quick lunch and full of flavor 🙂
– Ryker Suicide

Ingredients (enough for two sandwiches):

• 1 avocado
• 1 hunk of brie cheese
• 2 tsp of brown sugar
• Sourdough sliced bread (or whatever bread is to your preference)
• 1/2 sweet onion
• butter

Directions:

1. Caramelize sliced sweet onions in butter slowly. Do not overcook! Let them cook slowly.

2. While they are cooking, butter outer sides of bread with soft butter and slice brie and avocado. On each inner side of the bread, layer brie and then avocado slices.

3. When onions are finished, add them on top of the avocado. Sprinkle with 1/2 – 1 tsp of brown sugar (to taste)

4. Grill sandwich in a buttered pan or press in a panini grill until cheese is creamy and melted.

Eat and enjoy!

[..]

by Laurelin

It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I’ve been in a serious rut lately. I don’t know if it has to do with my approaching 30th birthday, my increased responsibility at work, my lack of any romantic interest in anyone besides an ex that I just want out of my head, or a lethal combination of all of these things. Either way, I haven’t been very happy lately, and I really don’t feel like myself. I feel…lost. Sad. Alone. Rejected. Like I’m standing in a crowded room screaming — and no one can hear me, or the ones who can just don’t care.

I know it is nothing more than a temporary hiccup in an otherwise smooth existence, so I have been dealing with this the best way I know how: drinking, reading, working out, whatever. I’m choosing one night a week to do something really fun and taking it to the next level in a vain attempt to forget that for one second, when I go home, I will probably just start to cry about the same thing over and over again.

The one constant in my recent fall from my ever-perfect life is my ex-boyfriend from a few years ago. He was the person who inspired me to start writing this column; first in anger, then as time went on in friendship and in unwavering support. He moved to Los Angeles about five months ago. His leaving made me feel like a part of my life was seriously over. I felt conflicted; devastated and happy at the same time. This city eats bartenders alive, and he was ready for a change. We always said we would go together, and when we broke up I was the one dead set on leaving… but I wound up staying, and months later, he left, and I cried.

He knows me better than most of my girlfriends, and when I call him drunk and crying about another guy at 4 AM, he always answers and he always knows just what to say. Just hearing his voice on the other end of the line is like being thrown a rope, something to keep me hanging on for just a little bit longer.

“You were crying about birthday cake,” he said the other morning, “it was cute, and sad.” Birthday cake, the one that I had custom made for a guy who never showed up for his party I helped plan in Boston, and who shut off his phone when I called to ask what was going on. Instead, I carted the cake home to my apartment and my roommates and we tore it apart; ate half of it and threw the rest in the trash. And I got drunk and I cried, because I was an idiot to care about someone who never cared for me, again.

And then, a few weeks ago, my ex called from LA to say he was coming home. He had had enough of California, and for once, I didn’t cry. He was coming home and finally, maybe, things could get back to normal. He’s been back for two days, and when I woke up this morning I was tangled up in him and for once, I didn’t feel lost.

I woke up, I took his clothes and I washed them with mine. I pulled his old dusty Tupperware container out of the closet and got him new socks and underwear and one of his T-shirts. I made coffee while he slept, and when he woke up he rubbed my back because I had run twelve miles in the rain the day before and I was cold and sore, and we were happy.

We might not be together anymore, and I don’t want to be, to be honest. We’re clearly both lost, but we take care of each other, for now. Sometimes, when you’re in a rut it’s nice to have someone throw you a rope. Other times it’s nice to have someone climb down and sit there with you until you’re ready to muster the strength to get out on your own.

[..]

by Laurelin

It’s been a long time since I’ve done this. I remember the feeling like it was yesterday, a once sharp pain now only a memory that makes me cringe only because of the way I almost remember feeling. It’s faded now, the sharp feeling of loss from so long ago to be replaced with this new experience, one that’s a bit more bittersweet and almost entirely silly.

I remember the first time. I was standing at the Ocean Mist in Rhode Island at an all ages rock show. The bar was perfect; on stilts that went into the ocean so when you looked away from the crowded stage and sticker covered walls you could see only the blue of the ocean. The windows were open in the summer and you could taste the salt on your tongue while you breathed in the bass from the speakers. As a teenager, it was heaven.

I had had a crush on this guy forever, and I had decided that while we were all out that night I was finally going to tell him how I felt. The music faded to a dull pounding in my brain as I walked over to him, and my stomach flipped somersaults. I somehow managed to spit it out, not remembering exactly what I said but distinctly remembering his face, his blank expression that told me that I was wrong, he would never like me back, and I turned and ran. Later a friend told me that he was embarrassed, that I was too tall, disproportionate. I wanted to die.

All these years later, finally comfortable with who I am, how tall I am, my life and my choices. All these years later still struggling with the truth and just finally giving up and telling someone I still have feelings for them even though I know nothing good will come of it. I don’t know why I said it. I don’t know why I felt the need to tell him, it’s not like I couldn’t sleep or live without finally getting this off my chest. I know it was stupid and it does nothing but makes things awkward. (All these years later that still hasn’t changed.)

I don’t feel better. I don’t know if I feel worse. I don’t think things can be the same, but they shouldn’t have to be different. I imagine that in the grand scheme of my life, this is going to be something I look back on and laugh at. A psychic once held my hand and said, “You have already been so lucky, you’ve had two great loves and two great heartbreaks. This thing you hold, this is neither. So why can’t you move on?”

It’s something that now, I can remedy with calling other ex-boyfriends and drinking with girlfriends, where as back then I cried myself to sleep for days. This time, only a train ride home with a bit of smudged mascara, a woeful realization that I’m not as tough as I make myself out to be. I feel bad for myself. I feel bad for making him struggle to find the right words to not hurt my feelings. I feel bad for the past three guys I’ve dated, because I have kicked them all to the curb with a handful of lies and half truths once we hit the one month period. Better off alone until I figure this out, don’t like to be alone so I start things I can’t finish.

“It’s okay, because you know this is silly,” my roommate says as I’m trying not to let anyone at the bar see me cry. “I know,” I mumble, and I DO know. I don’t even notice the guy walking up behind me and ordering shots. “Two please,” he says and passes one to me with a kind smile. My eyes dry almost instantly, and I know how stupid I must look. We cheers and the shot goes down like fire, but I seem to have found my coy smile, and this guy is kind of cute.

“Rough night?” he asks.

“It’s nothing,” I say smoothly, and the lie spreads like butter on warm toast, so well that I almost believe it. Almost.

[..]

by Justin Beckner

Over the past decade Sailor Jerry has turned itself into one of the greatest success stories of the industry while miraculously staying true to its roots. This is largely due to grassroots style underground marketing campaigns and the relentless work put in by people who believe in the product. But let us not forget that marketing campaigns are not what ultimately sells rum, the uncompromised flavor of Sailor Jerry’s is what sets it above its competitors and is fast making it one of the top selling brands of rum in the country.

Our story starts with a man named Norman Collins, known to friends and clients as “Sailor Jerry.” Jerry was a seafaring tattoo artist, musician, and poet, who schooled himself on the Asian art of tattooing during his time in the Navy. Everything Jerry pursued he did with valor and passion, but it was his work doing tattoos that garnered him his iconic and legendary status within the annals of the tattoo industry and beyond. Designers like Ed Hardy have been heavily influenced by Jerry’s work, Converse has put his designs on shoes and clothing, and the use of anchors, compasses, and ships are staples in tattoo shops around the world. Jerry was also very insistent on the sterilization of equipment, especially needles. This helped to decrease the spread of infection and clean up the image society had of tattooing.

The tattoo work of Norman Collins contains a resonance of the passion and valor which he put into everything he pursued. So it makes sense that those who played such a vital role in making Sailor Jerry’s Rum would share those same principles. The rum itself is a work of art. A gentle blend of caramel and vanilla flavors that are so smooth, you can actually enjoy this rum straight on the rocks. It also tastes great with a cola or in any sort of mix which calls for rum.

The following is an interview conducted with Sailor Jerry’s Rum Brand Ambassador and marketing mastermind, Erin Cooper.

Justin R. Beckner: How did the Norman Collins namesake become a brand of rum?

Erin Cooper: A company called CCM owns the Sailor Jerry brand. They bought the artwork and the name and started off as a clothing company. A few years into this, they decided that they wanted to have an alcohol in honor of Norman Collins. They went to William Grant, who are known for their Scotches, and of course Hendricks Gin, and they put together this amazing spiced rum to honor Sailor Jerry.

JB: Tell us a bit about Norman Collins, the original Sailor Jerry.

EC: He was the grandfather of Americana style tattooing. A lot of people don’t know that and are somewhat jaded because of Ed Hardy and how they blew up that form of artwork into this commercial thing rather than a respected artform. Norman Collins actually taught Ed Hardy how to tattoo, so many of the things that Ed is known for were learned from Norman Collins. Norman traveled a lot, especially around Japan, and learned their tattooing styles and techniques and made them his own. Around the time of Norman’s hayday, during World War Two, the pinup culture was booming. So that’s where we get the pin-ups incorporated with the anchors and compasses and other symbols of Americana.

JB: I’m told that the recipe for this rum is kept under lock and key.

EC: What’s great about William Grant is that we are a family owned company and our Scotchers will talk your ear off about how our Scotches are made and the distilling process. But with Sailor Jerry, the recipe and the process are kept under lock and key, and even the Ambassadors aren’t allowed to share them. I can say that we do our blending in New Jersey. Of course the flavor is no secret; it’s got a rich vanilla flavor with some caramel and a hint of lime. A lot of people assume that because Sailor Jerry is 92 Proof that it’s really sharp and you can’t get any of the flavors. But in spite of the high proof, you can really pick out the flavors and see the scope of the awesome profile of the rum. One of Sailor Jerry’s mottos was “My work speaks for itself.” That’s what we like to say about the brand. When you mix it with cola or have it straight up or however you choose to drink it, you’re going to taste it for what it is. We make it the way it’s supposed to be made.

JB: The marketing strategy for Sailor Jerry is very grassroots. How did this brand grow so quickly to rival some of the more commercial rum brands?

EC: We started underground with Sailor Jerry and we hit the dive bars where we thought would be a great place to put it. We gave bands the rum and they promoted it on tour – it was definitely a snowball effect from there. We won’t put advertisements on TV or magazines and the brand has gone further than they ever imagined it would. We still want to stay underground and we want to stay true to the people who know Sailor Jerry’s for what it is. We want to stay true to the punk rockers and the rockabilly geeks and the people who made Sailor Jerry’s what it is today. But at the same time, it is a rum for everybody and we want to make it available to the general market. What’s cool is that recently we’ve been seeing Sailor Jerry’s in high end bars here in Las Vegas and many of the casinos and it’s been getting picked up by corporate beverage programs, and it’s not because of the label or because of Norman, it’s because of the liquid inside. It’s the same way with music; the bands that who drink Sailor Jerry and help promote it are always a natural fit.

JB: I think Sailor Jerry’s philosophy fits quite well with the philosophy at SuicideGirls.

EC: I totally agree. I think that when Missy and Sean started the site it was very underground and it was based on this alternative lifestyle and the art that goes with it. Sailor Jerry’s stated out the same way. I also would like to say that Amina is fantastic. She’s a great photographer and if it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I started out in modeling and she was a great inspiration for me and it’s been so amazing to have her and AmberLynn on our staff at SJ.

JB: Let’s talk a bit more about how you got your start and how you came to be the Ambassador for William Grant.

EC: I started out modeling here and there and did some work with Inked Magazine. One day I got a phone call from one of my friends who knew an agent who was looking for tattoo models for this company called Sailor Jerry. I had never done modeling for a liquor company before and I was super nervous but I did it and pretty soon I was working at all the Sailor Jerry promos that were going on in Las Vegas. Then when New York decided that they wanted a brand ambassador for Nevada, my name came up and I went to New York, interviewed, and got the job. Around that same time they were doing a casting call for the 2011 Sailor Jerry Calendar, so I sent my picture in and crossed my fingers that I would get it and I got a phone call like a week later saying that I was going to be in the SJ Calendar. All these great things happened all within a short span of time. I love my job and everything that the company it. I’m very glad to work for a company that fits me so well because I am a terrible liar. When I worked in retail, it was hard for me to sell things if I didn’t really like the way it looked. With Sailor Jerry’s, it’s so easy for me to sell because I believe so strongly in the product.

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by Blogbot

Earlier this year, SG radio presenters Nicole Powers (SG’s Managing Ed), Lacey Conner (all round rockstar and recovering VH1 reality TV star), and Darrah de jour (SG’s Red, White & Femme post-feminist sex and sensuality columnist) were joined in studio by actress turned lifestyle guru Mariel Hemingway and her partner, stuntman and fitness expert Bobby Williams. Together they have developed a holistic regimen, which they call The Willing Way.

The pair spent a full two hours in the SG Radio studio explaining their all-encompassing mind, body, and soul philosophy. Going from yin to yang, we discussed the importance of getting enough sunlight in your life (Mariel and Bobby like to watch the sun rise and set each day, though they avoid the burning midday rays), and how to keep darkness at bay. With her life having been touched by several suicides, Mariel spoke about how she battled her own depressive tendencies, and how she has empowered herself to find a sense of wellbeing.

This being SG Radio, there was also plenty of laughter, and lots of conversation on our favorite subject – sex. Thus, the first hour of our show was devoted to talk of orgasms – and the importance of having a healthy diet of them, in order to achieve a truly balanced life.

Whatch the video above to see edited highlights from this very special SG Radio show!

For more information follow Mariel and Bobby / The Willing Way on Twitter.