Why I’m The Weirdest Most Fucked Up Woman On Earth

Everything we’ve experienced has made us who we are. No, you have not accidentally clicked on the O Magazine blog. Keep reading, you impatient motherfucker.

So why am I saying such a cheesy cliché? Because it’s the perfect introduction to the questions that I’m asked most often:

- Who ARE you?
- What’s WRONG with you?
- What MADE you?
- Why do I like you so much?

None of these questions could possibly be answered in one post, so I’m going to add stories from my formative childhood, teenage, and college years to my expansive blogging repertoire.

These posts will all be categorized as “Scarred for Life: A Retrospective of Rejection, Failure, and Humiliation.”

Stories in the pipeline include the following:

- How I lost my virginity (in Mexico)
- Why I’ve cried over a boy only once
- My first kiss and blowjob (happened on the same day)

You’re salivating, aren’t you? God I am a phenomenal writer.

Let’s begin with one of my favorite life-scarring stories: my high school prom.

I believe that high school girls fall into one of two buckets; they are either pretty or not pretty. It would be a waste of time to bother assigning other adjectives because 99.9% of them are not confident, not well-dressed, not savvy, not witty, and not nice. The other 0.1% are on Gossip Girl or are fabrications in male masturbation fantasies.

I’m sure you can guess which of the two buckets I fell into – NOT PRETTY.

If you’re half as perceptive as I am about the way the world works, then this should explain a lot of things to you.

Mostly, it should explain why I’m FUCKING HILARIOUS. I hope that you’ve noticed by now that hot girls are NEVER funny, and this is because all the stupid men in the world (which is the same as saying "all men") laugh at any “joke” a hot girl tells, regardless of whether it’s actually funny. So hot girls can never learn how to be funny because it’s a skill that needs to be honed after years of experimentation based on responses to different jokes. Hot girls can’t benefit from this because when EVERY MAN laughs at ALL their jokes, then they end up (1) having no clue what is funny or not funny and (2) (this is even more annoying and repulsive) THINKING THAT THEY’RE FUNNY WHEN THEY’RE NOT!!!

Okay, I’m almost calm now. Back to my story about being ugly in high school.

[Unnecessary Tangent #2: I literally JUST went to a bar and then came back within 1 hour. The music was too loud, so no would could hear me, and what good am I to the world if I can’t be heard?!?! So I decided to come home and give the world more of my words. I now realize why the world’s greatest writers are recluses. It’s not because they – wait – I mean “we” don’t want to interact with society. It’s because we need to be home writing nonstop, without interruption. Could it be that I am the reincarnation of Emily Dickinson?]

I’m back for real this time, and I won’t sleep until I finish this fucking story. I was not attractive in high school (not much has changed), so I didn't particularly look forward to my senior prom. At that point in life, I’d been rejected by every boy I ever had a crush on, and I still had never been kissed. I don’t even think I so much as held a boy’s hand. I was a late bloomer. And I wore Disney t-shirts and no make-up.

So while movies like American Pie indicated to me that all other high school students were planning on getting banged on prom night, I found the whole thing to be rather inconvenient.

Let’s rewind to the summer before my senior year on the day of my 17th birthday. On this special day, I received a phone call from a boy I had been obsessed with since 5th grade. I'm going to call him Pihs (pronounced “piss” and short for Peaked In High School).

Pihs called me to wish me a happy birthday, and we chatted on the phone for at least a half an hour. This wasn’t unusual because he was a friend of mine. In other words, I helped him with his homework (obviously, I was a straight A student and he was not), and I drove him around (until he got his own car and stopped hanging out with me).

The highlight of the call, however, was when Pihs asked me, “If we’re both still single during prom, will you go to prom with me?”

I ALMOST DIED. It was literally a moment I had been dreaming about since the days I carried my lunch to school in a Kero Kero Keroppi lunch pail. Of course, I answered, “Yes!”

Now let’s fast forward to the spring of my senior year. Motherfucking Pihs started dating a ho about one or two months before the prom. Whatever. It’s not like he would’ve shown his face at prom with me anyway. And his girlfriend was one of the Pretty Girls. Obvi. She looked like a Latina version of Jessica Simpson, humongous boobs and all. Even I would’ve ditched me for that hot piece of ass!

And so I had no options for a date. Well, one boy asked me, but he was the fattest boy in our class, and we all know that fat people don't count/matter. I opted to go alone instead.

Prom totally blew. I literally only recall sitting at a table by myself wishing I had never come at all. This is fucking absurd because I'm sure that the prom theme was some stupid shit like "A Night to Remember." Yeah fucking right! My theme would've been "Countdown to Ditching These Losers When I Leave for Stanford University."

And the icing on top? The next day, when I was in line to pick up photos from prom, Pihs’ sister asked me if I had a good time at prom. I said, “Not really.” And in front of at least 10 other people, the bitch loudly asked, “WHY? Was it because you LOOKED UGLY?”

CAN YOU BELIEVE WHAT I ENDURED IN HIGH SCHOOL?

Thank you, Worthless Piece of Shit Who Invented Prom. Thank you for wasting my time and money and subjecting me to stupid twats dancing in tacky Jessica McClintock dresses before giving it up to horny high school losers at the Hilton Hotel.

This excruciating trip down memory lane has given me two interesting new goals, however:
(1) I will wear my prom dress on a date, tell him a virgin, and then fuck him afterward because I think it’s totally twisted, pathetic, and hilarious.
(2) Find out what Pihs is up to these days and post every detail on this blog. What do you wanna bet his job somehow involves a cash register? Ha!