We've all had hookups that we've regretted in the morning. You know what it's like.
You wake up, look to your left/right, then slowly recall that you drunkenly made out with / went down on / boned that friend / stranger / ex / illegal immigrant / ugly person in your bed.
Then, you wonder how you can get them out of your place as quickly and painlessly as possible.
So you wake them up and tell them you're totally late for some appointment.
You start to quickly get dressed as they do the same.
There's usually no conversation.
You both feel awkward.
Mere minutes pass but feel like hours.
Finally, you show them the door and hope that none of your roommates heard them leaving. There's no kiss good-bye. If you're lucky, there's no hug either (I HATE when they go in for the fucking morning after hug good-bye).
I think this experience is typical. Also, it's excruciatingly painful but somehow somewhat polite, right? You both realize it was a mistake, but no one says so. You just get your shit together and go.
Well, I recently slept over at someone's place and experienced a whole new way of being shown the door.
Yes, this is my real life, bitches. And for some reason, despite stories like this, I insist on waking up every morning to continue living it.
It was a Friday morning, and I awoke in someone else's bed. No surprise there. Kidding. Ha!
Don't worry. I actually knew this fellow quite well. He was kind of a good friend. Well, up until this moment. So let's call him Ex Friend.
Because Ex Friend was a good friend, I of course assumed that I'd be getting a ride home in the morning. The only problem was that Ex Friend's roommate's car was blocking his car in the garage.
So Ex Friend had to ask his sleeping roommate to move the car.
No big deal, right?
Except for the fact that Ex Friend asked me to GO WAIT IN THE LOBBY of the apartment complex where his roommate wouldn't see me while he woke up his roommate and walked down to the garage with him so that they could move their cars.
Please re-read that last sentence, if necessary. I understand that it's so unbelievable that it might require a second reading.
Fuck it. I'll just paste it again.
Ex Friend asked me to GO WAIT IN THE LOBBY of the apartment complex where his roommate wouldn't see me while he woke up his roommate and walked down to the garage with him so that they could move their cars.
FUCKING RIDICULOUS AND DEGRADING.
Why was I being treated like a dirty secret?! Why was I being smuggled out of his apartment like a 300-pound trannie prostitute?!?!
So what did I do?
I'm sure you expected someone like me to go ape shit on his ass, but I was so shocked and confused that I had no idea how to respond in the moment! I was afraid that if I reacted, I'd OVERREACT like a big psycho.
So I stupidly said nothing except "Thanks for the ride."
Needless to say, I no longer speak to Ex Friend.
Also, I know that you're super pissed off at me right now for continuing to hook up with assholes like this, but, in my defense, .... err... Fuck! Okay, I have no defense. I'm just a total dumbass. Gotta go!
Monday, September 14, 2009
Farewell, Wet Spell
Since I lost my virginity, I've spent 99% of my life NOT getting laid (by choice). Yes, believe it.
Due to living a life only slightly more sexual than your run of the mill nun, I can't really use the phrase "dry spell" the same way everyone else does. I HATE normal people with sex lives who refer to "dry spells" when they haven't been laid in a few weeks or months. Fuck them!
"Dry spell" when applied to my life would sound something like this:
Doesn't really work, does it?
So I guess what I REALLY have is the occasional "wet spell" - rare sex-filled weeks that are randomly dispersed among 1- to 3-year periods where I get no action at all.
Does that mean I'm allowed to say this?
Yeah, that sounds about right.
So how far and few between are my wet spells? Let's just say I have this conversation with my doctor several times a year:
Why am I bringing all of this up? Because I just wrapped up a recent wet spell by kicking another undeserving dude to the curb.
And since I NEVER meet anyone I want to hook up with (because I'm only capable of falling in love with assholes, apparently), this most certainly means I'm headed toward many sexless, masturbation-filled years.
I'm NOT looking forward to it, besides the substantial financial savings from no longer having to pay for condoms, birth control, and bikini waxes. Good-bye, sex. Hello, pussy hair and shoes!
Due to living a life only slightly more sexual than your run of the mill nun, I can't really use the phrase "dry spell" the same way everyone else does. I HATE normal people with sex lives who refer to "dry spells" when they haven't been laid in a few weeks or months. Fuck them!
"Dry spell" when applied to my life would sound something like this:
"Yeah, it totally sucks. I'm goin' through a little dry spell now. Haven't been laid in 3 years. Should be over any year now though."
Doesn't really work, does it?
So I guess what I REALLY have is the occasional "wet spell" - rare sex-filled weeks that are randomly dispersed among 1- to 3-year periods where I get no action at all.
Does that mean I'm allowed to say this?
"Yeah, things are awesome. Goin' through a little wet spell right now. Been bangin this hot dude for the last 6 weeks. Makes me come almost every time."
Yeah, that sounds about right.
So how far and few between are my wet spells? Let's just say I have this conversation with my doctor several times a year:
Asshole Doctor: Are you sexually active?
Me: No.
Asshole Doctor: No sex at all?
Me: No. None.
Asshole Doctor: Really? NO SEX?
Me: NO!
Asshole Doctor: Hmmm... Okay. Well, when was the last time you had sex?
Me: I can't remember. It was too long ago.
Asshole Doctor: 6 months?
Me: Hmm.... No, longer.
Asshole Doctor: 1 year?
Me: Hmm... No, longer.
Asshole Doctor: Really? Okay.
Me: Fuck you, doc. Fuck. You.
Why am I bringing all of this up? Because I just wrapped up a recent wet spell by kicking another undeserving dude to the curb.
And since I NEVER meet anyone I want to hook up with (because I'm only capable of falling in love with assholes, apparently), this most certainly means I'm headed toward many sexless, masturbation-filled years.
I'm NOT looking forward to it, besides the substantial financial savings from no longer having to pay for condoms, birth control, and bikini waxes. Good-bye, sex. Hello, pussy hair and shoes!
Friday, September 4, 2009
Who Wants A Little Sucky Sucky?
Ew! Get your mind out of the gutter, perv!
I'm talking about lollipops. Duh.
(No, IDIOTS. That picture is not a photo of me. You know I revel in my anonymity, despite the fact that it's holding me back from the fame I yearn for every waking and sleeping second of the day. But that whore IS sucking on a 24 karat lollipop. Only the best, baby! Too bad she's Asian. Oh how I LOATHE Asian girls / competition.)
In my expansive nightlife experience, I've found that lollipops serve as the ultimate I'm A Big Slut Prop (just in case the 5" heels, minidress, black eyeliner, and push-up bra aren't clear enough). I think it's almost impossible for a man to not get turned on when watching a girl work a lollipop.
Because of this noted phenomenon, I've filled my purse with blowpops on many occasions and licked them lasciviously just for the attention. I'll admit that I'm not very good at it because I'm more goofy than sexy, but the effort was there.
In a highly inebriated state during a recent night out, I may have taken this cute little sucky sucky bit too far.
It was Saturday night at around 1 AM. I was, of course, drunk off my ass and wearing next to nothing (my body has experienced no other state during that day and time since I turned 21). I was feeling energetic and decided it was absolutely necessary to begin dancing on a chair (yes, I'm THAT girl. You know you love me.).
Then, my friend handed me a lollipop.
Mmhmm. Just when you thought things couldn't get trashier.
I gleefully unwrapped this lollipop and started devouring it. Unfortunately, I was also in a very generous mood, so (this is where the story turns disgusting or perhaps I should say "even more disgusting" for some of you uptight prudes) I offered a suck to every cute boy who walked by.
It went kind of like this:
HOW FUCKING NASTY IS THAT?!?!
So how many licks does it take until you get to the center?
TOO FUCKING MANY.
I wish that fucking lollipop had melted away after the first boy so that I couldn't swap spit with a horde of randos.
And God knows what I thought was "cute" while in that condition. Gross. AND I was in THE MISSION, which I've found has the most unattractive nightlife scene in the city. Yuck!
Also, WHY would these boys put a stranger's lollipop in their mouths? CLEARLY, I was too drunk to know any better, so THEY should have responsibly and politely declined my generous offers to share! WTF?!?! Nastyyyyyyy!
I feel filthy. Filthier than when I hooverize an entire pizza while drunk. Filthier than when I go down on someone just to get the hookup over with. Filthier than when I masturbate to girl-on-girl porn with my curtains open. Filthier than when I lie to my readers about what I do in my spare time (Ha! You suckers have NO IDEA. Am I a big slut? Or am I a big prevaricator? Hmm....).
I BETTER NOT get oral herpes because of this. I mean, I always knew I'd contract oral herpes someday, but I at least hoped I'd get it as punishment for a super hot makeout session with a tall, dark, and handsome rando banker dude in a Bugatti. When you contract herpes like that, it's totally glam and clearly worth a lifetime of humiliating cold sores.
I'm talking about lollipops. Duh.
(No, IDIOTS. That picture is not a photo of me. You know I revel in my anonymity, despite the fact that it's holding me back from the fame I yearn for every waking and sleeping second of the day. But that whore IS sucking on a 24 karat lollipop. Only the best, baby! Too bad she's Asian. Oh how I LOATHE Asian girls / competition.)In my expansive nightlife experience, I've found that lollipops serve as the ultimate I'm A Big Slut Prop (just in case the 5" heels, minidress, black eyeliner, and push-up bra aren't clear enough). I think it's almost impossible for a man to not get turned on when watching a girl work a lollipop.
Because of this noted phenomenon, I've filled my purse with blowpops on many occasions and licked them lasciviously just for the attention. I'll admit that I'm not very good at it because I'm more goofy than sexy, but the effort was there.
In a highly inebriated state during a recent night out, I may have taken this cute little sucky sucky bit too far.
It was Saturday night at around 1 AM. I was, of course, drunk off my ass and wearing next to nothing (my body has experienced no other state during that day and time since I turned 21). I was feeling energetic and decided it was absolutely necessary to begin dancing on a chair (yes, I'm THAT girl. You know you love me.).
Then, my friend handed me a lollipop.
Mmhmm. Just when you thought things couldn't get trashier.
I gleefully unwrapped this lollipop and started devouring it. Unfortunately, I was also in a very generous mood, so (this is where the story turns disgusting or perhaps I should say "even more disgusting" for some of you uptight prudes) I offered a suck to every cute boy who walked by.
It went kind of like this:
"Hi!"
[I hold out lollipop to cute boy.]
[Cute boy puts it in his mouth and passes it back.]
[ I give him a flirty smile.]
[I place the lollipop back in mouth.]
[I wink.]
[I search for another cute boy.]
Repeat 10-20 times.
HOW FUCKING NASTY IS THAT?!?!
So how many licks does it take until you get to the center?
TOO FUCKING MANY.
I wish that fucking lollipop had melted away after the first boy so that I couldn't swap spit with a horde of randos.
And God knows what I thought was "cute" while in that condition. Gross. AND I was in THE MISSION, which I've found has the most unattractive nightlife scene in the city. Yuck!
Also, WHY would these boys put a stranger's lollipop in their mouths? CLEARLY, I was too drunk to know any better, so THEY should have responsibly and politely declined my generous offers to share! WTF?!?! Nastyyyyyyy!
I feel filthy. Filthier than when I hooverize an entire pizza while drunk. Filthier than when I go down on someone just to get the hookup over with. Filthier than when I masturbate to girl-on-girl porn with my curtains open. Filthier than when I lie to my readers about what I do in my spare time (Ha! You suckers have NO IDEA. Am I a big slut? Or am I a big prevaricator? Hmm....).
I BETTER NOT get oral herpes because of this. I mean, I always knew I'd contract oral herpes someday, but I at least hoped I'd get it as punishment for a super hot makeout session with a tall, dark, and handsome rando banker dude in a Bugatti. When you contract herpes like that, it's totally glam and clearly worth a lifetime of humiliating cold sores.
Monday, August 31, 2009
A Trip Down Booty Call Lane
I finally decided to enter the year 2009 by joining the iPhone cult, and I LOOOOOOOOVE it!
In the process of switching to shitty ass AT&T, I decided to get a brand spanking new phone number.
Changing your phone number is a big fat pain in the ass. So why did I decide to do it? First, I was sick of using an area code for a city nowhere near where I live because I'd constantly have to tell people, "No, I'm not in Orange County." Fucking annoying.
Second (and this is clearly the more important reason for the new number), I felt this would be a highly clean and efficient way to cut people out of my life. SNIP SNIP, motherfuckers! You're done!
I was eager to bid adieu to the following rejects:
- Men I've dumped
- Friends who have gotten fat
- Business contacts who call me way too often
- Friends who can't hold their alcohol
- Men I stupidly gave my number to while highly inebriated
- Friends who are in serious relationships and have therefore become completely worthless and unfun
I had a BLAST going through my phone book to decide which numbers to transfer. And my phone book was NOT short. I had NEVER before deleted a number from my phone because I'm horrified by the idea of an unknown number calling me (I will never pick up the phone for anyone not in my phone book).
So my phone had every phone number I've ever entered since my FRESHMAN YEAR in college.
In other words, my address book captured about a decade of booty call history!
I was CRACKING UP going down all the names in my phone book one-by-one. Taking this trip down booty call lane made me realize something: I've gotten a LOT of HOT ass in the past 10 years! WOW.
Some of the things that went through my mind:
But, of course, there was the occasional:
Doesn't this process sound SUPER FUN?! It was. It was truly invigorating and intoxicating. Every second of it. I highly recommend it.
And now my phone book has been cut in half. I feel so free knowing that the only people who can reach me are those whom I've hand selected. That's the way it should be.
Now how do I send a mass text to all these lucky people informing them of how honored they should feel? Is there an emoticon for "Today should be the happiest day of your life because I've decided to remain friends with you?"
In the process of switching to shitty ass AT&T, I decided to get a brand spanking new phone number.
Changing your phone number is a big fat pain in the ass. So why did I decide to do it? First, I was sick of using an area code for a city nowhere near where I live because I'd constantly have to tell people, "No, I'm not in Orange County." Fucking annoying.
Second (and this is clearly the more important reason for the new number), I felt this would be a highly clean and efficient way to cut people out of my life. SNIP SNIP, motherfuckers! You're done!
I was eager to bid adieu to the following rejects:
- Men I've dumped
- Friends who have gotten fat
- Business contacts who call me way too often
- Friends who can't hold their alcohol
- Men I stupidly gave my number to while highly inebriated
- Friends who are in serious relationships and have therefore become completely worthless and unfun
I had a BLAST going through my phone book to decide which numbers to transfer. And my phone book was NOT short. I had NEVER before deleted a number from my phone because I'm horrified by the idea of an unknown number calling me (I will never pick up the phone for anyone not in my phone book).
So my phone had every phone number I've ever entered since my FRESHMAN YEAR in college.
In other words, my address book captured about a decade of booty call history!
I was CRACKING UP going down all the names in my phone book one-by-one. Taking this trip down booty call lane made me realize something: I've gotten a LOT of HOT ass in the past 10 years! WOW.
Some of the things that went through my mind:
"Haha! I can't believe I hooked up with a co-worker!"
"Oooh! I miss lifeguards..."
"Holy shit. I lost my virginity to him. Or was it the other way around?"
But, of course, there was the occasional:
"Who the hell is this? Did I hook up with him? Yeah, probably..."
"I can't believe that asshole raped me."
"I don't think he really was 18. Good thing it happened in Mexico..."
Doesn't this process sound SUPER FUN?! It was. It was truly invigorating and intoxicating. Every second of it. I highly recommend it.
And now my phone book has been cut in half. I feel so free knowing that the only people who can reach me are those whom I've hand selected. That's the way it should be.
Now how do I send a mass text to all these lucky people informing them of how honored they should feel? Is there an emoticon for "Today should be the happiest day of your life because I've decided to remain friends with you?"
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
You're Reading the Words of a World Record Holder
Readers!! I have good news and bad news!!
Here's the good news: I can no longer bitch about the fact that I'm 22 years old (plus or minus 1 to 10 years) and have never had a boyfriend!!
I wish I could have seen you fall off your desk chairs just now. Yes, rub your eyes and re-read that sentence. It still says the same thing - "I can no longer bitch about the fact that I'm 22 years old (plus or minus 1 to 10 years) and have never had a boyfriend!!"
Booyah!
Finally. A man asked me to be his girlfriend. His words were uncreative but still music to my ears for they were words I've awaited my entire life: "Will you be my girlfriend?"
And then we cuddled and made out for hours as he told me things like "I'm all yours now" and "I want to be your boyfriend."
It was amazing.
"Is this love?" I thought to myself.
I savored 5 hours of this bliss.
But then...
...
...
...
... the alcohol wore off.
And here, readers, is where the bad news comes in.
Ready for it?
He sobered up, realized what he had just been saying, and then said, "I told you this before. I don't want to be in a relationship right now."
BAM!
New World Record: SHORTEST RELATIONSHIP EVER = 5 HOURS!!!
Bahahaahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
How HILARIOUS is my life?!?!
People ask me if my stories are true, and I can now see why because even THIS ONE seems preposterous to me. I can't even believe this happened, and I fucking LIVED IT!
And so now I have to live with the ramifications of holding this title, and by this, I mean the many awkward conversations I'll have to endure in the future.
Example 1:
Example 2:
Example 3:
*sigh*
Like my life wasn't already filled with enough excruciatingly awkward moments!
But on the bright side, I can now tell people "Yes, I HAVE been in a relationship" and "Yes, I HAVE had a boyfriend before."
And that's PRETTY fucking sweet!!!
I think I'm going to roam around the street now, tap randos on the shoulder, and just share the good news: "Hey! Guess what? I've had a BOYFRIEND. I know. I'm totally cool, right?"
Woohooooo!
Here's the good news: I can no longer bitch about the fact that I'm 22 years old (plus or minus 1 to 10 years) and have never had a boyfriend!!
I wish I could have seen you fall off your desk chairs just now. Yes, rub your eyes and re-read that sentence. It still says the same thing - "I can no longer bitch about the fact that I'm 22 years old (plus or minus 1 to 10 years) and have never had a boyfriend!!"
Booyah!
Finally. A man asked me to be his girlfriend. His words were uncreative but still music to my ears for they were words I've awaited my entire life: "Will you be my girlfriend?"
And then we cuddled and made out for hours as he told me things like "I'm all yours now" and "I want to be your boyfriend."
It was amazing.
"Is this love?" I thought to myself.
I savored 5 hours of this bliss.
But then...
...
...
...
... the alcohol wore off.
And here, readers, is where the bad news comes in.
Ready for it?
He sobered up, realized what he had just been saying, and then said, "I told you this before. I don't want to be in a relationship right now."
BAM!
New World Record: SHORTEST RELATIONSHIP EVER = 5 HOURS!!!
Bahahaahaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!
How HILARIOUS is my life?!?!
People ask me if my stories are true, and I can now see why because even THIS ONE seems preposterous to me. I can't even believe this happened, and I fucking LIVED IT!
And so now I have to live with the ramifications of holding this title, and by this, I mean the many awkward conversations I'll have to endure in the future.
Example 1:
Someone: So when was your last long-term relationship?
Me: Depends on what you mean by long-term.
Someone: 6 or more months.
Me: What? 6 or more HOURS?
Someone: No. 6 or more MONTHS.
Me: Fuck! How about 5 or more hours.
Someone: What the fuck are you talking about?
Me: Shit. Nevermind. Well, I guess the answer is, 'NO, I've never been in a fancy shmancy LONG-TERM relationship' then, per your RIDICULOUS standards. Asshole. Why'd you have to rub it in?
Someone: What the hell is wrong with you?
Me: So so much...
Example 2:
Someone: When was the last time you were in a relationship?
Me: Oh. August 21st.
Someone: Awww. You remember the exact date it ended?
Me: Yeah, it was pretty rough.
Someone: I'm sorry. How long were you together?
Me: Since August 21st.
Someone: Oh no! You broke up on your 1-year anniversary?
Me: No. He dumped me after he sobered up and realized he had made a mistake.
Someone: Oh my god.
Me: Yeah, yeah. I know. NOW will you let me have that 7th vodka tonic? Thanks. Thought so.
Example 3:
Someone: How long was your longest relationship?
Me: 5 hours
Someone: Ha! You mean 5 months? Or 5 years?
Me: No, you piece of shit. I'm not a retard. 5 HOURS. As in 300 MINUTES. As in it ended more quickly than my Saturday afternoon naps.
Someone: Oh..... Wait. REALLY?
Me: Yes. Really.
Someone: Oh....
Me: Yep. I know. It still hurts.
Someone: That sucks.
Me: No. It FUCKING sucks.
*sigh*
Like my life wasn't already filled with enough excruciatingly awkward moments!
But on the bright side, I can now tell people "Yes, I HAVE been in a relationship" and "Yes, I HAVE had a boyfriend before."
And that's PRETTY fucking sweet!!!
I think I'm going to roam around the street now, tap randos on the shoulder, and just share the good news: "Hey! Guess what? I've had a BOYFRIEND. I know. I'm totally cool, right?"
Woohooooo!
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