I'm a Dirty Secret

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!

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:

"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!

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:

"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.