Monday, May 28, 2012

beware of the bush...and the whiskey dick.

I hope this blog doesn't ruin the lives of too many men. Actually...fuck it...I hope it ruins all of their lives.

A little while back I was hanging out with a few friends drinking beers because clearly, what else would we be doing on a Sunday night with the hell that is Monday looming over us? I had just started having adult sleepovers with a new victim, I mean man-friend, and had mentioned it to my friends but didn't quite go into detail. Men, just a warning for you, I know you believe that we tell our girlfriends every brutal detail of our sexcapades but this isn't necessarily true. If we bone you and know for a fact you were a one-night stand, and you were wearing flannel in a non-ironic way with loafers, then chances are we will mock you mercilessly to our friends the next day and describe in vivid detail how weird your O-face was. However, if you may be around for rounds 2-7, we aren't going to bag on you. I mean seriously, if I mock you but I keep letting you penetrate me then who's the twat? That would be me in case you were distracted by the word twat.

My new man-friend happened to be part of the drinking crew and all was going well. No one had made any awkward comments or insisted we sit next to each other and then proceed to stare at us until at least one of us was contemplating faking an irritable bowel syndrome flare up. Then, just because Jesus obviously loves me, a Viagra commercial comes on. My friend, assuming it would just be funny, made a comment to man-friend about how maybe this commercial should be something he should pay attention to. Within seconds I was suffocating in awkwardness and literally hoped I would shit myself just to take attention away from what was just said. To try to play it off I sat there silently and prayed for death, while trying to make a face like nothing was wrong. Even though I'm pretty sure that I was dripping sweat and possibly dry heaving. Just when I thought maybe the moment would pass, man-friend says, "That's not really completely my fault." Ahhhhhh fuck. And my friend who has more tact than anyone I know yells, "You went soft!?" in the most deafening inside voice I have ever had the joy to experience.

See, I hadn't mentioned that one little part of our first encounter. We've all had a whiskey dick experience. Whether we're the girl working our jaw muscles until we feel like our face is going to fall off or you're the guy cursing his poor penis for taking early retirement. It's not that big of a deal. I don't take it personally when it happens. Clearly it's you, not me. I'm awesome and I know where my talents lie. As mentioned before, if you're a for sure one night stand and I plan on ignoring you next time I run into you at Fresh and Easy, I would tell my friends you were an epic fail and give you a witty nickname like "Soft Sam" or something else brilliant. But if I think you might be a 7 or higher on the cool scale I'm going to leave that little detail out. New man-friend made the mistake of assuming i'd told my friends everything and they were legitimately mocking him. A warning to all men, don't assume her friends know everything. If you tell on yourself, no one can fix that.

At this point we were all feeling a little awkward, and I think my friend felt bad about attacking new man-friend's in the sack skills, so she decided to change the subject. This is where the chastity bush comes in. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, you're lying. But I'll let you pretend to be ignorant and explain anyway. The chastity bush is when a girl decides not to groom her nether regions to prevent herself from being a whore. This is done when we know we're going to drink a lot and run into an unattractive guy that we've boned in the past and we don't want a repeat performance. Or when we've been fucking more people than Jenna Jameson in an orgy scene and we need to simmer down before fetuses just start walking out of our vaginas. This seems like a great tactic. But then the inevitable happens. You decide to let the jungle go wild and after 18 Jager bombs and some weird little pill you get from the chick crying in the bathroom, you're ready to leave with just about anyone who's still standing and doesn't have vomit on their shirt/pants/shoes. Cut to 20 minutes later when you're licking Sam/Alex/Bob/Jim/John/whatever's face and remember that all hell has broken loose down there. Do I tell him? Do I just let him find out himself and act dumb? Lie and say I was just camping for two weeks and a bush keeps the bears away? In theory, the chastity bush is a fantastic idea. But I would still recommend keeping a razor and one of those travel sized shaving creams in your purse just in case. If he's a potential round 2-7 you don't want him showing up with goggles and a weed wacker the next time you text him "hi ;)" at 3 am.

The moral of the story, men don't assume we tell our friends everything. Just assume that they will hate you the second we discard you. And I'll just pretend that you aren't telling your friends about my chastity bush.

Monday, May 21, 2012

status update: "i better do anal or i'm single again."

Why is it that the very second you change your relationship status on Facebook you feel like the next text you get is going to start off with, "Hey...we need to talk..."? With maybe a few more of these ... and possibly even one of those confused face emoticons that I fucking hate. I wasn't confused when I got your text but now that you added that little fucker I don't know what the hell this conversation is going to be about. So thank you for giving me butt crack sweat and a severe case of indigestion while I sit at my computer for the next 8 hours at a job that already makes me contemplate suicide on a regular basis.

For those of you who know me well I suck at relationships. Seriously. If I make it past date three that's like winning the Special Olympics. If I make it to month three that's like cheating and winning at the Special Olympics. Epic stuff. However I stand by my belief that it's because I'm too fun for anyone I've dated. They believe in things like sober days during the week. Also going to bed before midnight and having dinner without wine. What the fuck is that? I don't think you should force the person you date to become a Mormon. I didn't sign up for that shit and I'm not waiting until marriage...for anything.

The one time I felt enough confidence to actually update my Facebook status to "In A Relationship" I immediately regretted it. Now it's out there and before I could even refresh the page and decide maybe I wasn't ready the fucking thing had 87 likes and 54 comments. Weird since I only had 16 Facebook friends. The pressure was on. Now if it didn't work out the whole goddamn Facebook world would judge me. I'd be getting e-cards with inspirational messages like "You're better than that" or "There's more fish in the sea." Really? Is that a sperm reference because the last thing I want to think about is some rebel sperm penetrating my drunk little egg. Especially since for the next 7-8 years I only plan on having one night stands and lots of hate sex since men are evil and women are too fucking nuts for me to cross over to the other side.

Maybe this whole process would have been easier if Facebook had clearer delineations for what kind of relationships people are in. Instead of jumping right into "In A Relationship" I would have much preferred changing my status to "He doesn't make me want to vomit and I only consider punching him in the face once a week." And then maybe the next step would have been "I might be willing to put a finger in his ass during oral."These seem way more realistic. By the time we were ready to break up everyone would have been ready for it because I would have updated the status to "Does anyone know where to hide a body?". No shockers then when I suddenly became "Single" again.

After the first incident I swore I would never update my relationship status on Facebook. It was kind of easy since "Whoring it up" or "Trollin for dick" were never options anyway. Unfortunately every so often the embarrassing girl inside me exorcises my soul and makes me do things I consistently regret. In this case, after a bottle of wine (alright bitches two bottles of wine) I decided that I was taking the plunge and updating my relationship status. I literally paced back and forth in front of my computer for 20 minutes arguing out loud to myself. Thank god my neighbors already think I'm a psycho. Finally I did it and shut my computer off. Honestly I figured at this point the only more embarrassing thing would be to change it and then immediately change it back. I mean seriously...get a gun.

Of course within second my phone blows up with Facebook messages. And even cuter it posts my updated status as a huge billboard on my Facebook. Thank god I've gotten into the market of trading Xanax for Vicodin because it took more than they found in Brittany Murphy's bloodstream to get me through that first hour.

I was 100% sure that within the next 2 hours I was going to be dumped. He was going to come out of the closet, announce he has actually asexual and faked it every time, or that he was moving to Utah and becoming a Mormon. The third one would have literally driven me to suicide. I don't want to be responsible for making someone hate their life so much they want to swear off everything I enjoy about life. Every time I got a text message I thought I was going to shit my pants and/or barf on a stranger. Thank god for Costco and their bulk items.

All of this could have been prevented if Facebook would just pull their heads out of their asses and allow us to update our relationship status to something that makes sense. Mr. Facebook guy, if you're reading this, I would appreciate it if you would allow me to update my status to "My peesh is off limits, but I'm still fun."Put that as a Timeline billboard suckas.