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.

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?"

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.

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.

Please Cheat On Me Then Dump Me

I recently saw a girlfriend whom I hadn't seen in years. She looked AMAZING. She was already thin when I knew her before, but she's now BONE THIN. Super hot.

I told her that she's lost a ton of weight, and I asked her what she did. She told me that she was depressed after she found out her boyfriend cheated on her, and she didn't eat much after that. She just had no appetite.

Holy shit.

Jackpot.

Finally a diet plan that doesn't involve increasing my hours of cardio or cutting out carbs.

What I need is heartache. Heartache strong enough to rob me of my appetite. And if I lose my will to live along the way, well, fuck it! It'll be worth it!

So now I really need a man. It's no longer just about the sex and desire for a drinking buddy. It's now pertinent that he rips my heart to shreds so that I can finally have the body I've always fantasized about.

Come to me, box of tissues to wipe the tears and string bikinis to expose every last rib!

If any of you out there want to date me and then cheat on me, I'm all ears. Let's do this. But first you have to make me fall in love with you. If you think you're up for the challenge, add me as a friend on Facebook!

And if you choose to send me messages, please know that every word is fair game for this blog.

Heh heh...

Sex? Ewww!

As you all know, I'm Asian. What you may not know (unless you're Asian as well) is that Asian parents never talk to their kids about sex. NEVER EVER. No matter what. If I told my mom I was raped, she'd respond by saying, "So when are you going to apply to business school? You'll never be successful without a graduate degree!"

This means that Asian parents never have The Sex Talk with their kids. This includes my parents.

So I learned what sex was from a very mature, much wiser girl. She was 10, and I was 8.

The conversation went something like this.

Sage 10 Year-Old: "You don't know how babies are made? Do you want me to tell you?"

Innocent Me: "Yes, tell me please."

Sage 10 Year-Old: "It's soooo gross. Men and women have sex, and this is where the man puts his penis IN the woman's vagina."

Innocent Me: "Ewwwww! No way! Oh my god! That's so disgusting! Why would anyone do that? I would never let anyone do that to me! Would you?"

Sage 10-Year Old: "Of course not! I'm having babies the NORMAL way!"

Innocent Me: "What's that?"

Sage 10-Year Old: "Oh. You can just have a doctor help you. You can just take a pill."

Innocent Me: "Ohhhhhh. I'm totally doing that, too. Why would anyone else do it the other way? It's so disgusting. I'm NEVER doing that."

Yep. That's how it went down. And I still feel the same way about sex. I think it's TOTALLY NASTY. Unless I'm drunk, which -- fortunately for Boo and unfortunately for my reputation -- is 90% of the time. When I'm wasted, sex is the #2 thing I want most in life, right after pizza.

But I don't want my offspring learning about sex from some random idiot kid next door. This would be ridiculous. Especially when their mother is a fucking Sexpert like me. It would be like Oprah Winfrey refusing to teach her kids about media. Or Julia Childs refusing to teach her kids how to cook. Or Pocahontas not teaching her kids how to save white imperialists from starvation. Fucking absurd, right? It's so absurd I can't stand it.

So I'm going to have The Sex Talk, and I'm going to prep like hell for it. In other words, I'll have a script memorized and ready to go before my kids are even born. Hell, why wait until then? I'll have it ready before I've even met daddy (Boo)!

In other words, I'm going to draft it now. I'm starting a new series called Conversations with Boo, Jr., and my first one is below.

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Sit down, my love. Mommy is going to teach you about how babies are made!"

Boo, Jr.: "I don't care. I'm only three."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Sweetie, you're never too young to learn about sex."

Boo, Jr.: "What's that? Can daddy teach me instead? I want daddy."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "No, daddy is busy at work buying another company."

Boo, Jr.: "But it's Saturday!"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "I know. It makes me sad when daddy is gone on Saturdays, too. But you know what cheers mommy up? Remembering that daddy is gone so that we can live in this 50,000 square foot estate with all of our cooks and servants. Don't you love our big family of helpers?"

Boo, Jr.: "Yes, especially nanny Eloisa, who reads me bedtime stories after you fall asleep at 8 o'clock. Why do you call her Helper #4?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "What? Yes, Helper #4 is wonderful. Is her name Eloisa? Good for her for learning enough English to read your children's books to you."

Boo, Jr.: "Eloisa was born here like you. She only speaks English."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Isn't it funny when your friends call our house a 'castle?'"

Boo, Jr.: "Hahahah! Yes, mommy, I love it!"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Me, too, baby. My friends do it, too. It makes mommy feel so good. But back to the reason why I pulled you away from your Latin lesson. Mommy wants to teach you about sex."

Boo, Jr.: "Okay. Is it fun? Is it a game?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "You're wise beyond your years! Yes, it is a VERY fun game. And you know what's really cool? It's one of the few games out there you can play by yourself, with one other person, or as a multi-player game with an unlimited number of players! Doesn't that sound great?"

Boo, Jr.: "Yes! I wanna play now!"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Haha! That's my boy! Hold on, my little horndog. I have a lot more to teach you before you try it!"

[I pinch Boo Jr.'s cheeks playfully.]

Mom of the Millennium (me): "You know what else makes sex the best game ever? Unlike ANY OTHER GAME, you're never too tired to play, you never get sick of it, it becomes more fun the more you do it, AND you can play it as much as you want with ANYONE ANYWHERE, ANYTIME! Doesn't that sound amazing?"

Boo, Jr.: "Yes! It sounds like the best game ever!"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "It really is. Mommy wishes she had invented it herself. But mommy is so good at it that daddy always says that he feels as though mommy had invented it!"

Boo, Jr.: "Wow!"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Yes, mommy is one of the best and most experienced players in the world."

Boo, Jr.: "So how do you play?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Well, there's an infinite number of ways to play! If you liked trying on mommy's shoes, then I could tell you about how you would play with another boy, but since you prefer playing catch with daddy, I'll explain how you would play with another girl."

Boo, Jr.: "Ew! I don't wanna play with a girl!"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "It's not that bad playing with another girl! Mommy has done it many times. I'm sure you'll LOVE IT, honey."

Boo, Jr.: "Okay, if you say so. I guess I should listen to you because daddy says that you're always right."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Awww. That was sweet of him. Daddy is a very smart man. He may not be beautiful like mommy, but he's definitely very smart. Now where was I? Oh yes, I was about to explain to you how you would have sex with a girl. So you know how you use Little Boo, Jr. to go pee pee?"

Boo, Jr.: "Yes."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Well, Little Boo, Jr. has a lot more power than that. Someday, Little Boo, Jr. will grow big and strong like daddy's."

Boo, Jr.: "Really? How big and strong?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "See mommy's thigh? As big as that. And as strong as Helper #27."

Boo, Jr.: "Your personal trainer, Chris?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Yeah, whatever. As strong as Jim."

Boo, Jr.: "His name is Chris."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "And when Little Boo, Jr. grows big and strong, you'll be able to do more things with him. And the way the game sex works is that you take Little Boo, Jr. and stick Little Boo, Jr. in a girl in any of her holes where Little Boo, Jr. will fit."

Boo, Jr.: "What? Why? How is that fun?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Because when Little Boo, Jr. becomes big and strong, this will be the BEST feeling in the world. Something unlike anything else."

Boo, Jr.: "Okay, if you say so. And how do you know who wins the game?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Well, the game ends when Little Boo, Jr. does something called 'blowing a load.' This is when a really delicious white fluid called semen squirts out of Little Boo, Jr."

Boo, Jr.: "Like pee? And does it really taste good? How do you know?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "It's nothing like pee, and yes, semen tastes wonderful. I know because I've tasted semen from hundreds of men."

Boo, Jr.: "Do you swallow it?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "I don't have to, but I do it because it makes the game more fun. But sometimes when I play with daddy, he doesn't want me to swallow it because he likes to squirt it all over mommy's face."

Boo, Jr.: "Haha! That's funny! Like a watergun!"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Yes!"

Boo, Jr.: "How often do you and daddy play sex together?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Twice a day! Every morning and every night. Sometimes, mommy visits daddy at work, and we play there, too. We also play in the Bentley, helicopter, swimming pool, and at our favorite restaurants. We've played almost everywhere!"

Boo, Jr.: "Wow. You guys play a lot."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Yes. I married daddy because he loves playing sex as much as I do. He also doesn't mind when I play with other people while he's at work."

Boo, Jr.: "Daddy is nice."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Yes. Yes, he is."

Boo, Jr.: "So how much longer until Little Boo, Jr. gets big and strong so I can play sex, too?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "How old are you now? Three? I think you'll be ready to play any day now. You'll know when you're ready."

Boo, Jr.: "How old were you the first time you played sex?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Haha! That's a funny story. Believe it or not, I didn't play sex for the first time until I was TWENTY! People lied to me and told me I was supposed to wait until I found someone I loved in order to play sex with them. If anyone ever tells this to you, DON'T believe them. Always remember that your mommy taught you that you can play sex with anyone. Anyway, when I finally realized that I didn't need to be in love to play sex, I played sex with a gorgeous mulatto in Mexico during spring break!"

Boo, Jr.: "And how do I decide which girl to play with?"

Mom of he Millennium (me): "Easy! Pick the prettiest girl who is willing to play with you. Try to find the girls who are energetic and consistently reveal a lot of skin like mommy. They'll be more fun."

Boo, Jr.: "Neat! It sounds easy! But if I play only with pretty girls, will the ugly girls get mad?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Yes, but ugly people know that no one wants to play sex with them because it's more work. When you play with someone ugly, you have to imagine that you're playing with someone pretty, and that's a waste of energy."

Boo, Jr.: "And you always say to never waste energy or time but money is A-okay!"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "That's right!"

Boo, Jr.: "This game sounds easy."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "It will be easy for you, pookie. Because you're handsome, rich, funny, and smart like daddy. When you're ready to play, girls will be lined up to play with you. I'm hoping that you have hundreds of playmates over the course of your life. Nothing would make me happier."

Boo, Jr.: "Thanks, mommy. You're the best."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Anything for you. Now run along. It's time for my Nooner with helpers #16 and 22. And then I need to go buy next week's wardrobe."

Boo, Jr.: "16 and 22? John and David? The boys who clean our pool without their shirts on because you won't let them wear them? Those shirts are weird anyway. They always have Greek letters on them."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "Yes, the pool boys! See you tomorrow, Boo, Jr!"

Boo, Jr.: "But it's lunchtime. I won't see you until tomorrow?"

Mom of the Millennium (me): "No. I'm going shopping for the rest of the day and will be fast asleep before you're done with soccer practice. Didn't you look at today's Excel schedule that I have projected on your bedroom wall?"

Boo, Jr.: "Oh yeah. And I have the laminated printout right here, on the lanyard like I wear it every day. I like that you plan all of my awake minutes, mommy. I never have to think about what to do next."

Mom of the Millennium (me): "We're both behind schedule now. Stop talking immediately and run along! No time for a hug! I'm taking the 'copter to Marc Jacobs' loft. Air kiss!"

For those of you out there who are too lazy to draft your own scripts for The Sex Talk, please feel free to use mine! I'm very generous, and I feel that it would be a great way for any child to learn about sex.

Also, if anyone has any contacts at The Disney Channel, hook me up! I imagine that they might want to make an after school special out of this script. What a great way for me to give back. Give, give, give. Sometimes I feel like that's all I ever do. God. I'm going to make an amazing mother someday.

WTF?! Blowjobs are Optional?!

Many of my successful girlfriends (the ones who have successfully locked down a man, that is) have told me that men need to be "trained" like puppies - scolded when they do something wrong and rewarded when they do something right.

I totally agree that this is probably the best way to go about getting what you want from a man, but I SUCK at this!

Example 1: A dude I was dating totally blew me off one day. What did I did I do the next time I saw him? I told him I was annoyed that he blew me off. Then, I cooked him dinner and fucked his brains out.

Example 2: I told a guy that I won't fuck him unless we're dating. He never asked me out on a date, so we've remained friends. Friends who fuck every time we get wasted.

Example 3: I gave a guy morning head. Afterward, when I told him I had to go home, he then rolled over and went to bed. He didn't even bother opening his eyes when he said "Bye."

As you all can see, I am HORRENDOUS at training men. So I asked some girls for tips on what I can use as "treats" to get men to behave.

And you know what I learned? A group of girls taught me that BLOWJOBS ARE TREATS! Can you fucking believe that?! They only give blowjobs to their men once in a looooooong time (and we're talking 2x / year here, people, not 2x / month)!

This blew my mind. I had always viewed blowjobs as a necessary part of a hook-up - like kissing, groping, slapping, scratching, biting, spitting, and getting naked. I NEVER thought I had the option of not giving a blowjob!

Here's an additional shocker: the same group of girls taught me that LETTING A MAN EAT YOUR BOX IS A TREAT!

I almost came and fainted when I heard this.

But I see their point. It IS a treat if a man loves it! And what a beautiful spin this is.

I can already imagine the possibilities...

"Boo, thanks for cooking dinner. You may eat my box now."

"Boo, thanks for the new necklace! You may eat my box now."

"Boo, thanks for the surprise trip to Saint-Tropez! You may eat my box now."

My world has changed.

All I need now is a new man to practice on! I'm going to become WAY better at this man training thing.

Good-bye, blowjobs! Hello, engagement ring!

Hmmm.... that sounds like a plan doomed for failure...

How to Find Out Whether Your Man is Fucking Some Other Ho

That might just be the most elegant and poetic title I've ever written. I'm so talented.

Okay, enough loving on myself (for now). Back to the topic.

I recently accidentally stumbled upon a nearly foolproof way to find out whether a man you're fucking is fucking some other slut.

This is what happened. I hooked up with someone, and I accidentally forgot my black bra at his place. I kept meaning to ask him about it, but I always forgot until I was back at my own place. WEEKS went by where I'd continue hooking up at his place but forgetting to ask him for my fucking bra.

Then I started wondering something - why hasn't HE mentioned to me that I had left my bra at his place?

And then the answer hit me. Because the motherfucker doesn't know WHOSE bra it is!! HOLY SHIT! He CAN'T ask me because if it's not mine, I'll know he's banging other twats!!

When I realized this, I was simultaneously repulsed and excited. Repulsed because I realized that other whores were licking his dick on my nights off. Excited because I realized that I can now figure out, with any man, whether there are other girls in the picture!



So what do you have to do? Simple. Wear a generic black bra that doesn't look particularly memorable and leave it in his bedroom. Don't leave behind one of your nice La Perlas because that would be a big waste of money AND the other hobags he's banging probably don't have as fine of taste in intimates, making it easy for him to connect the bra to you.

Also, don't leave the bra somewhere obvious where he'll see it right away the next day. Shove it under a pile of his own clothes or something, so that he won't stumble upon it until DAYS later, giving him enough time to bring other girls through his revolving door.

When he finally does find that bra, BOOM! He's going to have NO FUCKING CLUE which slut left it there!

And then you lie in wait like a predator. Don't ever mention the bra. Does he ever ask you about it? If he doesn't, then you've NAILED HIM!! He's DEFINITELY DEFINITELY DEFINITELY guilty of fucking other girls!!

God. I'm a fucking genius. A FUCKING GEEEEEEEEENIUS!

Should I join the CIA? I'd be SO good at it. Well, except for the fact that I find sharing secrets to be so much more fun than keeping them.

Good luck finding out whether your man is a scumbag! I hope for your sake that he isn't, but, statistically speaking, he probably is.


UPDATE: Just thought of a way to improve this tactic. If your man doesn't mention your bra for a few weeks, you should bring it up by asking, "Have you seen my black bra around here?"

He'll then say that he has and whip it out for you.

Then, fuck with him by saying, "That's not my bra" with the most serious facial expression you can muster.

Analyze the shit out of his face. If he flinches even the SLIGHTEST BIT, then YOU KNOW - your dude is banging other whores. BOOM!

You're welcome, bitches.

My Secret Calorie-Free Diet Recipe

You want to be hot enough to lock down a man? Then start losing weight.

There are a ton of diet recipes out there, but this is the one that works best for me:

Ingredient(s):
- Water
- Ice (optional)

Instructions:
1. Obtain a very large glass.
2. Fill glass with water.
3. Add ice to taste.
4. Drink entire content of glass.
5. Eat ice if you wish to chew something.
6. Repeat until full.

Have this for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and I promise you'll be skinny in no time! This is totally what I live on all week before I don Herve Leger.

Always the Sunday Night Girl. Never the Friday Night Girl.

Think back to your most recent dates with the dude you're currently seeing/fucking. Now try to recall the days of the week when you've seen him.

What day of the week do you see him most often? Tuesday? Thursday? Sunday?

Well, I hate to break it to you, bitches, but unless your answer is Friday or Saturday, you are totally fuuuuuuuucked!!

I'm going to share with you one of my most important goals in dating - to become the Friday Night Girl.

Yes, it matters what night of the week your man tries to see you. Men are filthy players, and most of them (well, the attractive or rich ones at least) try to date at least 3 girls at any given time, so when they manage this busy Pimpin Calendar with their normal social schedules, it means they have to be SUPER strategic about when they decide to see their whores (i.e. you).

And I'm going to break down for you exactly what each day of the week means! Find your day of the week, and I'll tell you what your man thinks about you.

Monday Night Girl: Ummm... This is awkward... How do I break this to you gently? Hmmm... HE DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU. This is the least coveted night of the week. Why do you think most restaurants don't even bother being open on Mondays? Because this is the throw away night when people are bitter about having the rest of the work week ahead of them and are no longer feeling well-rested from the weekend. A man will ask a woman out on a Monday when he's totally not sure about whether he's attracted to her. It's so easy for him to bail on a shitty date early on in the night by saying he has "a ton of work to do this week." Does that sound familiar to you? Poor thing. Try losing 10 pounds and straightening your hair so that this doesn't happen anymore.

Tuesday or Wednesday Night Girl: You're DEFINITELY one of many girls he's dating because he couldn't fit you in on any other night. You're his Plan D. He wants to keep you in the pipeline by continuing to see you on Tuesdays or Wednesdays JUST IN CASE one of his Thursday, Friday, or Saturday Night Girls bails on him. If this happens, he can totally call you - since he hasn't seen you in a few days - and ask you to hang out again. But don't get your hopes up, bitch. This is just for that one week. Just wait. The next week, you'll be having drinks on a motherfuckin Tuesday again! Oh how easily status comes and goes...

Thursday Night Girl: He thinks you're a party girl. Thursday is the best night of the week to get wasted with a date because most people don't care about being hungover or tired on a Friday. He knows you're down to get trashed on a weeknight, but he doesn't like you quite enough to bring you out on a Friday or Saturday, when he'll likely be with his friends or with someone hotter. He's also not going to stay up until 2 AM fucking you because he does want to at least make it to work the next day. But keep fucking the shit out of him because you're almost there! A couple more sessions of morning head or maybe a round of anal and you could be a Friday Night Girl in no time.

Friday Night Girl: You fucking cunt. How'd you do it? I've been trying to become someone's Friday Night Girl my ENTIRE LIFE, but it has yet to happen. This is the night when people usually go out with their friends, so if your man sacrifices a night out with his friends to be with YOU, then he's really into you. AND the Friday Night Girl almost always gets DINNER AND DRINKS! My two favorite things in life. Shit. What's your secret, you whore?! Share, damnit! Share!

Saturday Night Girl: This is basically the equivalent of the Friday Night Girl, but in a way, it's kind of better because the Saturday Night Girl also gets to have Sunday brunch with the man. DAMNIT! What could possibly beat morning sex followed by a breakfast burrito?!?! This position is so coveted that I don't even deign to dream that it could ever be me.

Sunday Night Girl: He knows he already has you. He's probably totally tired from the weekend but knows that doing something chill with you on a Sunday will be enough to get you to put out. I'm guessing you guys have watched a lot of movies on Sunday, right? Too bad. And yes, readers, this is the turd bucket in which I always find myself. The dude is so exhausted from wining, dining, and fucking other girls on Friday and Saturday that he wants to stay in with me on Sunday. Why do I even bother starving myself if this is all that life has to offer me?!?! I hate dating.

My Legacy

Drinking for 6 hours straight makes you do crazy things. Like having unprotected sex with someone you just met. I've never done this. I've only heard.

Unprotected sex is one of the dumbest things you could possibly do, ESPECIALLY as a woman. I've realized that there's no reason why I shouldn't ask a man to put on a rubber because (1) it protects me from STDs, (2) it shields the world (and my taut, unscarred vagina) from my progeny, (3) there's no way in HELL a man is going to turn down sex with me just because I asked him to roll a condom on, and (4) I can't even feel the difference whether there's a condom on or not (and who really gives a fuck about whether HE can feel the difference).

But this post isn't about unprotected sex . It's more about my fear of death by STD , which would be a horrible way to go. No sex would EVER be worth it. Not even a gang bang with Tom Brady, Josh Duhamel, and Brad Pitt (toss in Chris Pine and my answer might be different... I'd be honored to lick the genital warts on his dick).

Anyhow, all this thinking about death by STD got me thinking about a quasi-morbid obsession of mine - my obsession with MY LEGACY.

Since I was a kid, I've spent a freakish amount of time fantasizing about how I want the world to remember me after I die. When I was young and innocent, I dreamt that the world would weep after my passing because it had just lost one of its Nobel Prize laureates - someone whose passionate commitment to service and knowledge left a lasting mark on the world... someone who actually made the world a better place. You know. Like how we'd all feel if Angelina Jolie croaked.

But now I'm old enough to realize that Dreams are for naive children and delusional adults, so I've reconciled my goal for My Legacy with what I'm actually capable of accomplishing.

So how do I want to be remembered, loyal readers?

Behold! My lasting contribution to the world: The Fuckbuddy Code of Conduct.

Yes, I've learned from the world of business that if you want to be successful, you need so solve a pain point, and there's no pain point more familiar to me than the shit that goes down due to the fact that men and women have NO CLUE how to behave in Fuckbuddy situations.

So I'm going to spell out the Fuckbuddy rules. These are rules that should be followed by EVERYONE who engages in meaningless sex (you know who you are, you horndogs). In addition, this Code of Conduct - like our Constitution or GAAP - becomes more valuable to society the more it's applied, so please do the world a favor and forward it to every slutty hobag and sleazy player you know.

Without further ado, I present My Legacy...

The Fuckbuddy Code of Conduct

Fuckbuddy, defined: someone with whom you enjoy the rapturous delight of fucking or hooking up without having to commit to a monogamous relationship (like your soul mate, but without all the work)

For PLAYERS: Recognize that while women are perfectly willing to behave like whores, they still don't want to be treated like one. As such...

After you fuck a Fuckbuddy, you WILL spend the night with her - no matter how early you need to be at work the next day.

For the LOVE OF GOD please try to be more creative when sending the same old booty text at 1 AM every Friday night. You know what this SMS is, you fuckers. "What r u up to?"

If, while you're hooking up, you've reached a point when you realize that you never want to sleep with your Fuckbuddy again, DO NOT lie to her for no reason to make her feel as though you plan on seeing her again. Don't fucking make plans to watch some TV show together even though you know FULL WELL you'll never call the bitch again.

If you're hooking up with a girl who's totally wasted, put a REAL condom on. Yes, I've heard stories about drunk idiots wrapping their dicks up in saran wrap, and situations like this need to stop.

Do not fuck two different Fuckbuddies within a 24-hour period (unless it's a threesome). And if you do, make sure that neither of them EVER EVER EVER find out!

For SLUTS: Accept the fact that to your Fuckbuddy, you're just another whore, so...

Do NOT get angry if you find out that your Fuckbuddy made fun of you to his friends. You barely knew him, and you put on a schoolgirl costume the 2nd night you fucked! You were asking for it.

Don't waste your time being overly sweet or nice to him. This means no cooking and cleaning for the bastard. If he wants homemade food and someone to do his laundry, he can either whine to his mommy or commit to fucking ONLY YOU!

Realize that it's SOLELY your responsibility to make sure you guys use protection, and use it EVERY TIME. Your Fuckbuddy doesn't care about your health, so YOU need to watch out for yourself.

If you find yourself starting to think about your Fuckbuddy frequently and in contexts besides sex, ABORT!! You're probably developing feelings for him, and this will make things super messy because you'll start making demands that your Fuckbuddy will not be willing to accommodate.

You absolutely CANNOT get offended when your Fuckbuddy booty texts you, and you CANNOT get angry when he doesn't respond to one of YOUR texts. This is just the way the Fuckbuddy world works. It's not about romance. It's about fucking someone in the most low-maintenance, low-cost, and convenient way possible. If you can't handle it, then don't put out unless you're dating someone.

And there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. I think that if we all follow these rules, we'll see that sex can be meaningless, fun, AND safe! If that doesn't make the world a better place, then NOTHING will. Maybe I DO deserve a Nobel prize... Hmm...

This is the Reason Why You're Single: YOU'RE FAT

I found myself in the unfortunate position of being seated next to a fat chick on the airplane today. I shall call her Plump Passenger. I noticed that she was reading a magazine, so I peeked over her ham hock arm to see what she reading. It was an article in Cosmo on dating rules you should break. You know, bullshit like “It’s okay to make the first move” or “If you ask a guy out on the first date, then you should offer to pay.”

Really? WHY was Plump Passenger wasting her time reading shit like this?! How does she not realize that her priorities are totally out of order?!?! Before she worries about ANYTHING else related to what she should know about dating, bitch needs to get her ass on an elliptical and cut back on the motherfuckin beef fajitas! WHAT MAN PROBLEMS can you possibly have if no man will even talk to you to begin with?!

To irritate me further, after she finished reading that stupid article on dating, she then proceeded to read a COOKING MAGAZINE, and it was NOT Cooking Light or some other diet magazine. It had recipes that use ingredients like … ugh … BUTTER and SUGAR.

Clearly, Plump Passenger isn’t even trying! And what I wonder is, WHY NOT?! Don’t fat people realize that shedding their fat shells is the answer to all of their problems?

Fatties, I’m going to answer all of your questions right now:

Q: Why doesn’t anyone hit on me?
A: Because you’re fat.

Q: Why won’t anyone love me?
A: Because you’re fat.

Q: Why don’t any of my friends invite me to go out with them at night? Why do they only invite me to lunch on Sunday?
A: Because you’re fat.

Q: Why won’t anyone extend a job offer to me?
A: Because you’re fat.

Q: Why are you being so mean to me?
A: Because you're fat.

Look at that. I just solved all of your personal and professional problems in one fell swoop! God I am a truly efficient Asian.

Now get your life in order by putting down that brownie and familiarizing yourself with your new best friend, Hunger.

Confession: I Have an Eating Disorder

Whenever I come home wasted, I absolutely HAVE TO binge on something. This past Thursday, I ate:

- an entire pizza
- a half a bag of chips and salsa
- a cup of ice cream
- a bowl of ramen
- a bag of popcorn

By myself. And I would’ve eaten more, but, thankfully, I fucking ran out of food!

This is clearly a problem because it makes me FAT, and the Hot All-American Corn Fed Wall Street Boys whom I [unsuccessfully] pursue do NOT fuck fat girls. I’ve noticed that they have a penchant for anorexic white blonde girls that do Teach for America. I have nothing in common with this girl. Actually, I would even go so far as to say that I LOATHE THIS GIRL.

So, given this information, how can I ensnare the Elusive White Dude?

I’ve tried and failed at a number of possible solutions to this problem.

Potential Solution #1: Develop Anorexia
Gotta say – this is harder than it looks. I have newfound respect for girls whose clavicles jut out so far they could cut your face. I’ve repeatedly tried to starve myself, but I fail miserably every time. I think the longest I’ve starved myself is 3 hours. I don’t know how stupid teenage girls do it. If I ever come across an anorexic girl on her death bed, I’d totally high five her. Then hit her up for starvation tactics. I can already imagine our conversation: "It totally sucks that you're about to die, but you look SUPER HOT."

Potential Solution #2: Bleach Hair
This is totally pathetic, but I’ve also tried to bleach my hair blonde, and I learned the hard way that Asians look like morons as “blondes.” Who would’ve thought?! Despite paying over $200 at a high-end salon, my goddamn hair turned orange, which is basically the color that "redheads" have. And no one is attracted to redheads. NO ONE. Not even redheads. They're the 2nd to the bottom rung in the dating game, superior only to the HIV positive morbidly obese.

Potential Solution #3: Teach Children
Haaaaaaa! Would YOU want me teaching your children? That would DEFINITELY not make our future brighter. We’d be totally fucked (unless you like the idea of me encouraging your 10 year-old daughter to wear stilettos, masturbate, and berate men). Also, I hate kids. And I’m fairly certain that they hate me, too. Perhaps they, like dogs, can sense evil?

So what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Things seem hopeless, but I have good news. I’ve found a solution for my eating disorder. And if any of you out there suffer from the same problem as me, it’s TOTALLY something that you can do, too.

I’ve stumbled upon one thing that can keep me from binging on junk food while drunk, and it is…… BINGING ON COCK!!!

No, I’m not talking about poultry. I’m talking about big (if I’m lucky) hard (it better be) circumsized (or uncircumsized) man cock!

Yes, it’s a truly elegant cure for my eating disorder. Not only does cock cost me nothing, but I burn a shitload of calories riding it AND it’s CALORIE FREE!!!! (As long as I don’t swallow…FYI semen has about 5 calories per ejaculation. I totally looked it up.)

This means that whenever I go out, I now have an alternative to getting fat –getting laid!! And we all know which one I’d choose.

Watch out, world. I’m gonna lose some serious weight and become a serious whore.

What an ingenious problem solver I am. Why do people keeping telling me I "need help?” Ridiculous. Clearly, my life is in order.

Dumb Bitches May Be Smarter Than You Think

I’m surrounded by dumb bitches, a species that just does not mix well with me, an incredibly intelligent bitch.

I’ll admit that I’ve somewhat put myself in this situation because of the neighborhood I’ve chosen to inhabit. My hood is actually stereotyped as being populated solely by blonde girls who wear size 0 Lululemon pants and can somehow afford to take The Bar Method or private pilates classes every day when they’re not busy “working” in their “demanding” PR “jobs.” Oh yeah. And these bitches have BIG TITS, too. Fake, of course.

So you can see why it’s easy for me to hate these dumb hos. When I go out to my neighborhood bars, men look at me though I’m wearing a FUCKING INVISIBILITY CLOAK. No, god damnit! No! This is fucking Marc Jacobs and Prada, you stupid pieces of shit! UGH!

And what do the dumb bitches wear? Their usual boring ass jeans and a stupid shirt combination, which is as interesting as the unmemorable and devoid-of-wit conversations that they spew.

And yet each one of them gets approached by numerous suitors all throughout the night! Why is this?

Because they may be dumb as rocks, but they know the simple formula that matters when it comes to locking down a man – a formula that intelligent girls over think because we like to be thoughtful and strategic about everything. But, in this case, intellect and cunning are completely irrelevant because the formula is, in fact, completely simple.

The formula: big tits + tight body + good in bed = woman who can get ANY MAN she wants.

So the Key Variables are:
- bit tits
- tight body
- good in bed

Notice the Tier II variables that I’ve deliberately omitted from the formula:
- Fashionable/stylish
- intelligent
- witty
- confident
- ambitious
- well-educated
- good cook

It’s not that these Tier II variables don’t matter. It’s just that they only come into play if you are lacking in the 3 Key Variables listed above. In other words, if you have small tits, a tight body, and are good in bed, then you’d better either be fucking amazingly good in bed or have a TON of the other Tier II variables up your sleeve. But even then, your success is not guaranteed.

And these variables are where dumb bitches and smart bitches differ. Smart bitches focus on the Tier II variables; dumb bitches focus on the 3 Key Variables. This is exactly why I now believe that the dumb bitches are smarter than I had thought! While they may be worthless in every other area of life, they’ve honed in on what they CAN offer and on what MEN WANT MOST IN LIFE, and they’ve MASTERED those 3 simple things.

Fortunately for all the smart gals out there, mastering the 3 Key Variables is completely within your reach (whereas a dumb ho couldn’t tackle half the Tier II variables if she spent the rest of her simple life trying).

Here’s how.

1. Get big tits. Do whatever you’re comfortable doing to ensure that you don’t have the chest of a 10 year-old boy, whether this entails a padded bra or implants. And wear shit that shows them off! God I hate when I see a girl with an amazing rack that’s covered up under a loose black shirt. What a fucking waste! Just go home, you worthless ho.

2. Hit the gym hard and stop eating. This is perhaps the easiest thing within your control. You actually don’t even really need to workout that much if you just fucking starve yourself like the models do. Subsist on diet Red Bulls and coke. Yes, I’m talking about the powdered form of coke. Kidding. Or am I?

3. Watch a ton of porn. This is how you learn to blow a man away in bed. Master the art of the sloppy wet blowjob, where you constantly look into the man’s eyes and lick his dick like it’s covered in chocolate and squirts out a sweet anti-aging nectar.

Yep, that just about covers the things that men care about most. They haven’t been fucking kidding all these years when they’ve constantly told us that they’re “simple creatures!” And it explains why dumb girls who only have big tits, abs, and whorish sex to offer are offering more “value” than you, the witty, bookish, career climber who is too busy gunning for a promotion to go to the gym and who never watches porn.

And I’m not saying you have to do these things forever. Another thing the dumb hos have figured out is that once they’re married, they can stop putting out (because sex gets old) and let themselves go (because they’re “too busy” taking care of the kids to go to the gym).

Get to “work!” And you’d better invite me to your wedding.

Please excuse me now while I watch hours and hours of free online porn.

Take It Like a Man!

I recently met a guy whom I thought had some potential. He’s funny, smart, and cute. AND he’s geographically desirable (I LOVE when the walk of shame is < 2 blocks…ahhh…brings me back to my college days of returning home from frat row at 8 AM).

Unfortunately, however, this dude who piqued my interest wasn’t as excited about me, which I learned in quite a direct way when he pulled me aside one evening while we were out for drinks with a group and said, “I think you’re really beautiful, smart, and funny, but I’m not ready for a relationship right now. I completely crushed my ex-girlfriend, and I’m still getting over it.”

FUUUUUUUUUCK! I knew that was the kiss of death. It’s the exact type of copout rejection that they warn you about in He’s Just Not That Into You.

So how did I take it?

First, let me step back for a moment and tell you something: I almost never get rejected by men.

I’m sure you’re wondering how this is possible, coming from a girl who has NEVER HAD A BOYFRIEND OR BEEN ON MORE THAN 3 DATES IN HER LIFE. Is this because I’m gorgeous? Hell no. Is this because I’m rich? God, I wish. Is this because I’m unbelievably witty and incredibly charming? No, but that was the best guess so far.

So why, then, am I so rarely rejected? Because in order to get rejected by someone, you have to actually LIKE THEM first, and I ALMOST NEVER meet anyone I like!! By now, you’ve read the painful details about the men I usually encounter, so you shouldn’t be completely shocked to learn that, literally, only about once a year, do I come across a man who is funny, intelligent, cute, and cool enough for me to actually want to sacrifice my precious hours of sleep to be with him (I say “sleep” because, obviously, if I were dating someone funny, intelligent, cute, AND cool, I’d be fucking his brains out every night).

So back to my very recent rejection. How did I respond? Well, let’s just say that I’m still trying to wipe the ASTONISHED look off my face.

Yes, that’s right, bitches! I just said “ASTONISHED” – not “sad,” “dejected,” or “melancholy.”

I said “astonished” – because I can’t stop asking myself, “What the FUCK is wrong with him?!?! Is he fucking blind? Deaf? Retarded? Does he think someone like me will EVER come around again?!?!”

And that, my friends, is how you TAKE REJECTION LIKE A MAN!

I’m totally over responding to rejection like an insecure, weak woman. No more asking, “Why did he reject me? What’s wrong with me? What did I do wrong? Should I have put out sooner/later? Do I need to get better at giving blowjobs? Am I not pretty? Do I need to lose weight? Should I have said ‘yes’ to his request for a threesome? Are my boobs too small? Did I call him too much? Should I learn to cook better?”

FUCK THAT SHIT.

It’s time for girls to take rejection like a man and ask, “WHAT THE FUCK is wrong with HIM?”

YESSSSSSSSSSS!! This is the way rejection should be handled! You ask that question, and then you MOVE ON. You don’t sit around actually trying to figure out WHY you were rejected (because you’ll NEVER EVER EVER EVER actually learn the true reasons). Nor do you start to think that there is something wrong with YOU (unless you’re addicted to drugs, you read your man’s emails, you don’t bathe daily, or you have one or more incurable STDs, in which case YES, there IS something wrong with you, you fucking crazy bitch). Just accept that, for some reason, whatever it may be, the rejecter doesn’t know how to appreciate you. In other words, it’s HIS FAULT that he doesn’t like you, NOT YOURS.

You’ll realize that this is actually an effective way to think about things if you reflect upon why YOU have rejected people in the past. I’ve personally rejected a ton of amazing guys for completely irrational and illogical reasons about which they shouldn’t waste a millisecond worrying (and I’m sure they don’t because they’re men). Really. Just think about the BS reasons why you’re not attracted to someone, and you’ll see that none of these things should be taken personally by anyone!

So yes, readers, I was rejected BIG TIME, but I believe that he’s a complete idiot for rejecting me, and I’m going to get back on the bandwagon, widen the funnel, and continue looking for a man who will fully appreciate my splendor and lavish me with the respect, admiration, and free dinners that I unequivocally deserve. Partially, this is because I want to find love, but mostly, this is because I want more blog fodder so that I can gather enough material for a book deal.

Danger: FOBS Fucking Amok

Until recently, I had nothing against Asian FOBs. I grew up with many of them, and my parents were once young Asian FOBs themselves.

But I’ve changed my mind. About the FEMALE FOBs, whom I now refer to as FOBS = Fresh Off the Boat SLUTS.

Why this sudden hatred? Because FOBS are total whores, and it’s affecting my already shitty love life!

I used to innocently wonder why I’d see hot non-Asian dudes with totally FOBby unattractive chicks, and now I know why: these bitches are FREAK-A-LEAKS! How do I know? Because I’ve heard from SEVERAL men who have a disturbing amount of experience in this area, and they’ve confirmed that these chicks will do ANYTHING to please a man. Dear God, NO ONE should do ANYTHING to please a man. Eradicating this concept should take priority over curing mother fucking cancer.

And so the lore of the Asian Fetish holds true – FOBby Asians look cute and innocent, but they actually ARE freaky, kinky, cheating whores.

Why does this affect me, despite the fact that I’m not a FOB? Because non-Asian people are totally retarded about differentiating between FOBs and non-FOBs, so when they meet me, they fucking assume that I’m willing to get breast implants and let four big white dudes gangbang me as they watch! WTF. As if!

I used to blame porn, but I now point my finger elsewhere – at the damn Japanese schoolgirl-looking hos who have never uttered the word “no” in bed. If any of you readers fall into this category, please memorize and use the following phrases the next time you’re in bed with a man (these are the things that the rest of us women don’t hesitate to utter on a regular basis):

- “Eww! Get off me! You stink.”
- “I’m not drunk enough.”
- “Not after the way I saw you checking out that dumb slut tonight.”
- “Do I look like a fucking whore to you?”
- “No. Only pornstars do that shit.”

You Can't Afford Me

During a second date, my date ordered our first round of drinks, paid for the drinks, turned to me, and then said bitterly, “Gee, thanks for offering to pay!”

Obviously, he meant this sarcastically because I had not, in fact, offered to pay. Why should I have? The thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. I was completely disgusted that he DEIGNED to say those words to me because I had PURCHASED AND COOKED all of the food ($100+ spent at Whole Foods) for our first date. But EVEN IF I HADN’T, I think he was totally in the wrong for other reasons that I will explain to you now.

I used to think that people should take turns paying for dates and that the frequency of payments should be approximately proportional to their incomes. But this was the old me, who never EVER went on any dates. I’m not trying to say I’m “experienced” now, BUT I have actually been on a few dates in the past year. Sadly, I can count all of them with my two hands, BUT there have still been enough dates to teach me something very valuable: ALWAYS MAKE THE MAN PAY.

Since I know the identity of all 9 of my readers, I can predict that at least 7 out of 9 of you are completely disgusted with that statement. But hear me out.

We all know that times is tough right now, which is why I’ve been a little more conscientious about my spending. As part of this, I began adding up the amount of money I had spent on recent dates. This is where my new insight came in: I decided to not only add up the money spent DURING dates, but also add up the money spent PREPARING FOR dates (thank you, Econ degree from top tier school...you are finally demonstrating your true value).

My earth-shattering discovery? I was shocked to learn that we, as women, spend so much money preparing for dates that it actually ends up costing SUBSTANTIALLY MORE than a damn dinner!

Here are some sample date preparation costs:

• $100 for sexy lingerie (bra + thong + any other creative accoutrements that might get your man off)
• $65 for bikini wax (w/ tip)
• $75-200 (at least, for a hot top or dress)

= over $240!

How much is a typical dinner for two with booze? Usually, NO MORE THAN $150-200!!! And don't get me started on how cheap dinners are if your man takes you out for pho, tacos, or bi bim bop.

And what do men usually do to prepare for dates? Take a shower (if you’re lucky), shave (if he has time), and throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt (the same ones he was wearing before the shower).

Other things to consider:
- The ongoing costs that are required by any girl wanting to look hot:

• $65 for perfume
• $75 for make-up
• $90 for haircuts
• $45 for manicures/pedicures
• $65+/month for gym membership
• $7,000+ for breast implants (kidding)
• $300+ per pair of stilettos (not kidding)
• $100+ per pair of jeans
• $30/month for birth control

- The Glass Ceiling
- Wage inequality
- Monthly menstruation AKA 5 DAYS OF BLEEDING OUT OF OUR VAGINAS
- Carrying and conceiving babies that permanently stretch and deform our bodies
- Being valued by society almost solely based on our looks, which fade too soon, too easily, and too quickly
- Feeling guilty about everything
- Worrying about everything
- Suffering from low self esteem regardless of what anyone tells us


So I’ve decided that I will no longer offer to pay for any of my dates, unless my dude wants me showing up with no makeup on and in granny panties and a t-shirt -- with a hairy pussy underneath.

I think it’s perfectly fair, don’t you?


P.S. For those of you who think that your girlfriend doesn't need to spend that much to look good, just remember that you get what you pay for. It's okay. I realize that not every man can afford to date a bangin' hot girl who consistently wears smokin' outfits and who gets stared at by all other men and women in the room. You can't all be Tom Brady or Leonardo DiCaprio. If all you can afford is a kinda cute girl who dresses just okay, then that's cool. You just need to accept it.

A question more important than "What is the meaning of life?"

I'd like to address a question that people stop to ask me on the street almost every day. No, it's not the question "Are you a model?" But that's a good guess. The question is, "What makes a hobag a hobag?"

I think it's important to answer this question for many reasons. First, nothing's worse than being a ho while thinking you're a normal girl who's "just having fun." This could lead to many awkward situations, such as turning 30 years old and wondering why none of the 485 men you've slept with have proposed to you yet. Second, ............................. second, ..............okay, I guess there is no other reason why the question is important. Basically, I just want to figure out whether my girlfriends and I are skanks or not.

Here's what I've decided are the symptoms of Hoism, which will now be the standard for the entire world going forward:

You ARE a hobag if ...

• you lost your virginity before you learned how to do long division (sorry, no exceptions for rape or child molestation as we all know that people who were sexually abused grow up to become skanks with low self esteen).

• your only criteria for whether you should give a man a blowjob is whether the dick will fit in your mouth, which is particularly relevant since there are already two other dudes' dicks in there. When it can't fit, you let him stick it up your ass.
  

• you tell people the number of men you've slept with, but you have to use the words "plus or minus 100." After you notice the looks of disgust on people's faces, you defend yourself by chiming in, "Just kidding! The real number is actually [insert amount of $ in your checking account]." If you fall into this category, then you're not just a hobag -- you're a broke ass hobag, which is the worst kind. But don't worry, it's also the most common kind. There are only a few rich ass hobags in the world. We commonly refer to them as "It Girls."
  

• you do the walk of shame so regularly that you've created an optimal route home that ensures no one will ever see you. This route involves a tunnel you've burrowed yourself and perhaps maybe a zipline or two. You've strategically hidden ninja outfits in bushes throughout your neighborhood. You carry your change of thong and your toothbrush in a hollowed-out Bible.

• you're able to ask 27 qualifying questions regarding condom preferences, but you don't ask any because you don't even use condoms. This is because it feels "sooooooo fucking amazing fucking without one!" You don't even care if it's a military man. Or a frat boy. Or an ex-convict. A dick is a dick, right?
  

• you purposely masturbate before an open window that directly faces the window of your neighbor; however, that window belongs to the room of a 6 year-old boy, who is also the son of a local pastor. You've repeatedly told the pastor that his son is a "little fucking liar."

CONCLUSION: Despite this unbelievably high standard I'm setting for what makes a hobag a hobag, it seems as though, somehow, I am NOT a hobag. I'm very relieved and will be emailing the results of this test to my parents shortly. Are YOU a hobag?!?! If so, it's okay. Don't feel bad. It's much better being a hobag than a prude. Everyone says so.

Step aside, OPRAH, a new humanitarian is in town.

How do you know when you’re having unusually bad travel woes? Could it be when you’ve already finished your in-flight movie, exhausted your laptop battery, AND caught up with an old friend on the phone all before the damn plane has even taken off? Yes, this happened to me because life kicks my ass from every angle, like it is Bruce Lee and I am merely a fat, middle-aged Chuck Norris fan. I was on a flight that was delayed SIX HOURS on the tarmac, so, needless to say, I had some time to think about things. Mostly, I thought about what kind of pizza I’d order once I finally arrived in NY [it ended up being a crispy, thin-crusted delight topped with basil and mushrooms].

But during the remaining 10 minutes, another thing popped into my mind -- my admiration for the humanitarian nature of this blog. This isn’t just a flurry of vulgar, meaningless ranting. This is me being real and completely open to reveal the indignity of what dating is like for an Ivy-educated, fit, attractive, confident, highly-paid, witty, charismatic girl in her 20-s, which is a common persona with which I’m sure every woman identifies. It’s like when we look at those girls in magazines and movies and think to ourselves, “OMG, she looks JUST like me!”

So then I thought to myself, as a self-proclaimed humanitarian, how do I want the generous blessing of my words to be used by those in need (i.e., all of you)?

I came up with the many ways that I believe my words serve as a lifeboat beside the capsizing shipwrecks that are your lives:

• If you have a girlfriend who wants to start “dating other people,” my writing would immediately convince her that it would be better to put up with your fucking bullshit than to deal with the other bullshit out there. I mean, at least YOUR bullshit is familiar. The rest of the bullshit out there will totally blindside her and fuck with her will to live, as it has done to me. Well, all of this assumes that you’re not beating her, in which case, you’re just fucked. Also, fuck you!

• If a man has ever said to you, “Girls have it WAY easier!” my writing directly slaps him in the face and kicks him in the balls. All men who make that comment deserve to feel that pain for they obviously know nothing about our suffering.

• If you’re a woman, my writing makes you feel better about your own love life because it couldn’t possibly be a bigger shitshow than mine. And if it is, don’t EVEN try to compete with my blog because you will never be as funny as I am. Skank. Just get back to working on your tan and whining to your girlfriends over brunch about how you’ll “never lower your standards.”

• If you’re a man, my writing teaches you what not to do, such as be ugly. It also gives you a glimpse into what women really think about love and dating, which is that when it comes to love and dating, we’re fucking ape-shit crazy.

• If you’re an impressionable youth, my writing shows you the multitudinous, wondrous, and – dare I say it -- MOVING usages of the word “fuck.” This contribution is perhaps the greatest addition to writing since Shakespeare’s iambic pentameter. If you don’t know who Shakespeare is, don’t worry about finding his work. Just keep reading my blog. It’s very similar. Sometimes, I think that he was reborn in me.

I need to stop getting drunk, generally, but on dates, especially. One step at a time. One step at a time.

Apparently, getting hammered on a date is a no-no. I don't know this for a fact. I'm just basing this on a pattern that I've noticed, which is that after I get wasted on a date, I never EVER hear from the dude again. Yet I keep fucking doing it!! I'm an idiot, I know.

So in order to try to convince myself to stop this filthy habit, I racked my brain for a list of reasons why the the drunken dates need to stop, and here are the best ones I could come up with:

• Because you slur your words and mutter incomprehensibly
  

• Because you spit so much when you talk that it rains on your date's face like Hurricane Andrew
  

• Because when you think you're whispering sexily into his ear you're actually screaming like the wailing hiss of death
  

• Because you might trip and knock out your two front teeth (this actually happened to a dear friend of mine)
  

• Because you might puke out the window of the car and then fall out of the car and onto the lawn with your left breast fully exposed (this actually happened to me)
  

• Because it's hard to tell whether you've had consensual sex or were date raped

Pretty good reasons, eh? I think I'm convinced. Let the NEAR-sober dating begin. Hey, I said one step at a time! Chill out! It's not like YOU have to date me. Well, unless you want to, in which case I'd like to direct you to the email address at the top right of this page.


LESSONS LEARNED:

1. Don't get sloshed because the above listed items will happen.
   
2. Don't black out in bed next to a man you don't trust. Wait, back up. Don't get wasted with a man you don't trust because he might end up next to you in bed as you are blacked out. I know, I know. I, too, enjoy convincing myself that the hot ones ARE TRUSTWORTHY and only have my best interests at heart, just like the nerdy-looking, Stanford-educated ones, but really, this is not the case. The hotter they are, the more likely it is they'll stick it in when (or WHERE) you least expect it.