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:

"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?"

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:

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!

They Always Come Crawling Back

Believe it or not, I've been rejected before. But don't worry, rejection has been so infrequent that it hasn't hurt my self esteem at all. I would actually say it's been so rare that it has merely kept me grounded.

But there is a small group of losers out there who have rejected me. Let's call this band of idiots Not Even If You Begged.

The men of Not Even If You Begged share another thing besides sheer stupidity in common, and this is REGRET.

Hellssssssss yeah, assholes!

That's right. I've noticed a pattern lately that approximately 1 year after men dump me, they COME CRAWLING BACK.

It's so fucking insulting and pathetic.

And the amazing thing is how aggressive they are.

One guy had the nerve to come up to me while the dude I was with was in line for the bathroom. He then dissed the dude and proceeded to apologize to me, saying "I was so stupid for not dating you. I've realized since then how cool and fun you are. Would you ever want to hang out again?"

And my answer is always the same: "No. Never. You HAD your chance."

Muahahahaaaaaa. And it feels sooooooo damn good. I'd pick these moments over sex any day.

Another dude literally started STALKING me. He sent me text messages, emails, and voicemails. He then friended me on Facebook and tried IM-ing me. And every time he sees me in person, he tries to start a conversation with me.

And he gets the same answer as the rest of them: "No. Never. You HAD your chance."

Thank you, life. Thank you so so much. You are SO good to me.

I love thinking about what happened to these morons during the time between the dumping and begging. They probably dated some super hot but extremely dumb or generic girl, had awesome sex at first, got bored with her looks (because the appeal of someone's physical attractiveness ALWAYS wears off after a few months), then realized that they'd rather swallow glass than carry on a conversation with her.

How painful it must have been for them to realize that all that time, they could have instead been laughing at my jokes.

WHY did they not actually believe me when I screamed, "Do you REALLY think you'll find someone hotter, smarter, and funnier? You're fucking delusional. You're going to regret this! Go sew your wild oats, but I won't be here once you realize that banging a different stupid hot whore every weekend WILL get old! And FUCK YOU!"

Too bad. I was sweet enough to CLEARLY tell them what would happen, but I guess they wanted to learn their lessons the hard way.

And now I get to reject THEM.

Hahahaaaaaaaaaaa! I'm the happiest girl on earth.

WHAT Did You Just Call Me?!?!

No, someone did not call me a "bitch." Like that would be something eventful enough for me to blog about! That happens to me every day.

Like when I talk loudly on my cell phone on the otherwise silent bus.

Or when I indifferently sashay past homeless people as I carry a bag full of Whole Foods goodies.

Or when men approach me at a bar and I respond by saying, "Don't EVER touch me or speak to me again."

So no, this post is not about someone calling me a "bitch," "cunt," or "whore."

One of you fatass readers in Oklahoma City is about to hate me.

Here goes nothin.

I had brunch with a dude the other day, but I refused to eat anything because I wasn't hungry. He then insisted that I didn't need to try to lose weight because I was already "pretty." At the time, this irked me, but I didn't know why.

But it finally hit me this morning. I realized that I don't want to be described as a "pretty" girl. That would fucking suck because that's the way you describe attractive girls who have nothing better to offer. UGH.

And how many "pretty" / worthless (to me) girls are out there? Millions. TOO MANY, in fact. So many it annoys the shit out of me every day, everywhere I go.

WHY would I want to be known as being "pretty" when it's clearly not special and is borderline offensive?!?!

Instead, I've decided that I prefer to be described as being "FUNNY!" (But I will also accept "unbelievably hilarious," "incredibly witty," or "side-splittingly hysterical." Or perhaps a simple "most entertaining and comical girl on earth" will suffice.)

This would make me truly special. Think about it. How many "funny" GIRLS do you personally know? I bet you the answer is less than 3. And you can't count me because, although you know my darkest secrets, we've never actually met face-to-face.

And in case it's not clear, "funny" means being able to tell a joke, which is different from a stupid ho who laughs easily.

I've decided that the next man who tells me he fell for me because I'm "funny" is getting a multi-hour blowjob, a threesome, and anal!

Drunkonomics

When I'm sober, I enjoy claiming I'm a genius. And when I'm drunk, I actually start to believe it.

This is a horrible thing because I'm loudest, cockiest, AND most retarded when I'm drunk.

My latest drunken obsession is coming home wasted and doodling. But since I'm convinced I'm a genius, I can't just draw random shit like flowers and hearts. That's for amateurs and pussies. I instead insist on trying to make sense of my love life using X-Y graphs. I find that they convey so much meaning with so little effort on my part.

I'm going to start scanning and posting these graphs, and you'll be able to find them under the label "Drunkonomics."

Below is one of my recent masterpieces, which I created after I came home feeling especially rejected and bitter one night. I was wondering how I, as an outlier of hotness and awesomeness, could still be single at the moment.


For those of you who are too stupid to understand that graph, allow me to enlighten you.

There are a few important things to note. First, the line you see there represents the supply of women. Notice the negative relationship between hotness and awesomeness. We all know that this relationship is painful but true. The girls who are most amazing to look at are also the ones who should never talk. Ever. And the girls who are most fun to hang out with are the ones who pig out on Cheetos, wear comfortable clothing, and have mom haircuts.

This relationship sucks ass. But fortunately, there are outliers who lie both above and below this supply curve. I've tossed in some examples to help you understand what this means.

But let's focus on me as represented by the gigantic dot labeled "me!"

Notice how humble I am in admitting that a fairly large proportion of women are hotter than I am. I would say approximately 10-15% of the female population is more bangable than I (but if we counted sense of style, this number would decrease to 0.01%).

However, LOOK at how much disproportional awesomeness you're getting for my given level of hotness. There's really only 1 woman in the world more awesome than I am, and that's Angelina Jolie. That's pretty fucking awesome. That's an awesomeness surplus that should make any man cream his pants to get with me.

So if this is where I stand in relation to other women, WHY am I writing this hilarious, incredibly insightful blog post to a bunch of randos instead of getting my box munched by a grateful man who's never felt luckier in his life?!?!

COME ON, fellas! This box won't eat itself! Get ON IT.

Hmmm... Perhaps I need a Z axis for "delusional?"

Nahhhhhh! That graph is TOTALLY accurate.

Happy Motherfucking Birthday

Apparently, I'm more BORING than I realized.

My birthday recently passed. Let's call it my ... oh I dunno ... 22nd birthday. My 22nd birthday recently passed, and I decided to spoil the crap out of myself that day by giving myself whatever I wanted all day long.

So in contrast to the 364 other days of the year when I live in a constant state of deprivation, I pigged out and got wasted.

Okay, so maybe I get wasted every day, but I totally don't eat delicious food.

So what did I consume to celebrate?

- My first chocolate chip cookie in YEARS
- Chicken tikka masala
- Ranch-flavored Wheat Thins
- Pizza
- Cheese platter
- Fruit tart a la mode
- Donuts dipped in chocolate sauce

It was a FINE day. One of the best eating days of my life. Near perfect.

But I wasn't content.

By around 10 PM, after I was down 1/2 a bottle of red wine, I decided that I needed one more thing to complete my day: BIRTHDAY BOOTY.

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

I was ready to work off the calories within my distended belly by spending the night riding some cock.

So I did what any respectable girl does when she wants play. I booty texted!

My first message: "Want to give me a birthday gift?"

His response: "What would you like for your birthday?"

WTF? WHY was he asking? What ELSE could I possibly want at 10 PM on my motherfucking birthday?!

My response: "You have 2 hours to deliver!"

His response: "Ok! I'll think about it! :)"

My response: "So what did you come up with?"

His response:

His response:

His response:

No, readers. Those are not typos up there with missing text. THERE WAS NO FUCKING RESPONSE!!!

Until 9 AM this morning.

When I received this response: "I was concentrating so hard I fell asleep!"

BAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!

OH

MY

FUCKING

GOD

Clearly, I am the least desirable woman on earth.

WHAT MAN gets a booty text and FALLS ASLEEP AT 10 PM?!?!

I was offended. And for a moment, I was able to empathize with a man I once hooked up with whose dick I fell asleep on. But that was different. I was DRUNK!

Back to me. How shitty is what happened?! I practically rang a dinner bell, spread my legs, and put a flare between them and got NO RESPONSE!

Humiliating. Devastating. Life-scarring. And on my BIRTHDAAAAAAY.

I hate my life. I hate it! I hate it!

The Value of a Dollar

Have I ever told you that I'm an Economist? If so, I was lying. But I do enjoy thinking about the economics related to decision-making and consumption.

For example, some days after work, I want to get home right away, so I ask myself, "Should I spend $15 on a cab ride home?" Then, I think about the opportunity cost of that $15. Once I recall that $15 could buy me a Grey Goose vodka tonic, I conclude that $15 for a cab ride is SO not worth it!

But that was in the past. I no longer consider opportunity cost in terms of foregone alcohol consumption.

I now have something better and more practical. Something that everyone in the world can understand and appreciate the value of.

Nobel Prize in Economics, here I come. I have discovered the most efficient way to measure the value of a dollar and therefore truly understand the opportunity cost of any purchase.

Here is my solution: The value of a dollar should be measured in terms of what it can get you at Spearmint Rhino.

Eureka, motherfuckas!

Yes, I'm talking about the strip club, where, for 1 measly dollar, I can have a flawless stripper with no body fat, big fake sallies, and a round rump:

• give me a titty carwash,
  
• show me her vagina,
  
• fondle my breasts,
  
• balance dollar bills on her nipples,
  
• clap her feet together,
  
• do a helicopter,
• spit on my friend,
  
• rub her ass on my face, or
  
• DO ANYTHING ELSE my filthy heart desires on command.
  

Hot, obedient, cheap, and with UNLIMITED possibilities. It is literally the most efficient way to spend $1.

Also, WHY THE FUCK have I ever tipped any other service personnel?!?

I'm no longer tipping my bartenders. And if they try to give me shit, I'm going to say, "Ummm... I'm sorry, did I miss it when you showed me your coochie? What? You DIDN'T show me your coochie? Oh. What about your tits? Did you whip those out? What? Oh. You didn't show me your tits? Okay, well can I play with them for a little bit? What? No? Wait. WHY are you asking me for a dollar then? Because that's what I can get for that dollar, bitch! How are you gonna to top that?!?!"

Our economy will finally achieve maximum efficiency. Dollars will now shift from deadbeats like pizza delivery boys, waitresses, and cab drivers to the hardest working members of our society: strippers - women who are willing to EARN those dollars. Thank you, strippers, for teaching the rest of us what hard work really is.

And to give back, I'm going to take my $1 million in Nobel Prize money and make it rain on them hos.

I'm Very Sorry But Very Thin

I have almost no readers, but I want you to know that I appreciate each and every one of you. Maybe one day, I'll book a table for 4 somewhere nice, and I'll buy you all dinner.

So when I received a complaint from a reader the other day about my lack of posts during the past week, I genuinely felt bad. I know what it's like to need something so badly that you can't live without it.

For me, those things are Grey Goose, thin crust pizza, and attention.

For you, they are MY WORDS.

So allow me to apologize for not posting as frequently as you need in order to get through your week.

Also, I have an excuse! And it's a damn good one.

I've been hungry.

No, not just hungry.

STARVING. FUCKING STARVING.

And I know you're used to me bitching about starving for sex, but I'm actually going to keep it clean today and clarify that I'm referring to actual normal FOOD. You know, like sandwiches and shit.

But don't worry about me. I'm not starving because I can't afford food or haven't had time to eat. As if! I'm starving because I've consumed no carbs, fruit, dairy, or salt for over a week. Nothin but lean protein and green veggies, baby! Bow down to my discipline.

And holy shit I've never looked better.

Also, holy shit I've never felt weaker.

It really makes you appreciate the "effortless" daily tasks that you once took for granted. I used to not think twice about shampooing my hair, but this morning, I had to take THREE breaks because I was too tired to scrub my scalp any longer. And don't even get me started on how long it took me to get dressed when I kept falling over. I had to give up on pants.

Why this crash diet? Well, I've been starving myself for the past 2 weeks to get bikini ready for my birthday party!!! Woohooo! I have an ADORABLE sailor bikini just waiting to overexpose my malnourished, overexercised body!

And an unfortunate byproduct of this starvation has been my inability to write because - let me just tell you - it's fucking hard to be a clever wordsmith when you're constantly blacking out and your hands shake so much you can't even type.

So that's my excuse! BUT, fortunately for you, I'll be back to my normal diet on Sunday! Which means I'll be healthy, feisty, and chatty once again. I foresee tubs of green curry fried rice and many many posts on my schedule next week.

Peace out, bitches! Time for me to go celebrate myself and let my friends shower me with the affection I deserve!

Girl, He Nasty!

Mocking the men I date - like the basic AA-operated vibrator I bought when I was 19 years old - simply cannot satisfy me any longer. I want to mock MORE MEN. Specifically, I want to mock the atrocious men who my friends hook up with.

But apparently I can't. At least not if I follow The Girl Code, which involves not being allowed to talk shit about your girlfriends' hookups and instead constantly lying to boost their self-esteem, despite the fact that it will ALWAYS be low.

"Ohhhh. You hooked up with Jake? He was REALLY nice. I'm so happy for you! You totally deserve the best, and you should NEVER lower your standards."

And this is YET ANOTHER reason (reason #28,942,322) why I wish I were a man.

Whenever a man hooks up with a totally butt ugly ho, his friends TOTALLY get to call him out on it!

They say stuff like...

"Ew! I can't believe you made out with Jenny! She's so gross!"

"What? You fucked that FAT CHICK last night?! Naaaaasty!"

And I FUCKING LOVE IT!

Meanwhile, I have to witness unsavory shit go down and bite my tongue.

But perhaps I'll just start breaking down barriers and doing it anyway. Clearly, I don't follow any other social norms, so why bother in this one instance?

Also, I think that my girlfriends and I would both benefit from my vicious honesty. They would be less likely to hook up with FUGs (Fucking Ugly Guys) for fear of my mockery. And I would get to laugh in their pathetic faces.

Sounds like a win-win to me!

"Ew! He was such a creepy repulsive midget. I can't believe you fucked him! I'd rather shove a raw spare rib up my cooch and then eat it. Bahahaha! You're SO stupid. God. Get some fucking standards, hobag!"

Yep. I feel a trend starting. And the world will be a more fun place as a result. I hope my mom realizes she conceived such an influential trail blazer.

But first I need to garner more ho-y girlfriends who actually bang losers. So far I have 1. Unless I can't count myself, in which case, I have 0.