Monday, April 29, 2013

you're disgusting...tell me I'm pretty.

I'm back biiiiiiiitches! I know you've missed my foul mouth, promiscuous ways and ability to make you feel weird things in your tummy and your crotch at the exact same time.

Clearly I'm single again. Life just isn't as interesting and worth writing about when I'm coupled up. Sad right? But I'm going to say that's more a reflection on the dude than me. I stay awesome. Always. I just think it's weird to blog about a penis that's entering me on a frequent basis. Don't worry though, no one's safe when it comes to these things.

One of my favorite things about breaking up with someone is when everyone starts finding out and people choose sides. For most people this process is probably fucking terrible and they cry and feel sick and watch their Facebook friend numbers dwindle and contemplate taking a Whitney Houston-style bath. I, on the other hand, revel in this uncomfortable process. Obviously the people who were my friends first pick me. Mainly because they are smart and like hanging out with someone that could strip down or run into a tree at any moment. His friends pick him because they're too scared to admit that they like me better. It's the people that met us when we were together that have the dilemma. They don't realize it but I am watching them like a mother fucking hawk. I notice every Facebook status they like and count the numbers. Today, I got three. He got one. That's another win for me you poor bastard! I can't even describe the immense amount of pleasure when the "You were always the fun one" and "I like you better single" and "I never got to put it in you and I'd like to now" texts start rolling in. This is my drug. If I could snort them or inject them, I would. And I would refuse the help and NEVER go to rehab. Ultimately I'm not losing anything. I keep what I already had. But, when I gain a new drinking buddy who CHOSE my side, weren't forced into it, that's gold people. Pure fucking gold. Or some crack, whatever does it for you.

Another thing that makes me not hate everything in the world is the "new girl at school" period that lasts for about a week or two after you become single again. Suddenly you are more popular and interesting than a girl with three tits and the ability to piss a fabulous pale ale on command. All of a sudden the dude you tried to make out with for three years at the dive bar who developed a spidey sense and exited the bar through the back the second you walked in the front maybe wants to make out. He might even want to buy you a burrito at the taqueria and pay the tip, just the tip, on the margarita at the bar afterwards. And then that other dude that would ignore your drunken texts asking him if you could rub your face on his facial hair because it looks super soft starts to like the idea. Now there's nothing else in the world he'd rather do than rub his facial hair on your face. With or without your shirt and pants on. Though let's be real, clearly pants off. Totally. Even better is the nice guy that trolled you for 5 years, gave up right when you decided that maybe you were ready for the nice guy and showed you pictures of his new girlfriend who is almost as cute as you and obviously 100% nicer and less shallow. Of course now he's single and decides that he wants to put a ring on it and have all of your babies. Like a male seahorse. Which if it was possible I'd be all kinds of down with. I plan on reveling in all of this because in a week it'll be over. They'll realize that I'm planning on going back to crossing items off my "Pound Bucket List" and I won't be ready for just one penis in my life for a good while. I wish I could huff the attention and then store some of the remnants in a jar and take a little bit when needed. Oh well. I'll take the random feel-up from the drunk guy at O'Connells and call it a win.

I've also decided that I'm not going to apologize for reveling in any kind of attention I get from the male species, even if it's gross. Just because I wouldn't let you penetrate me doesn't mean I don't want your undivided attention and adoration. I actually like it more because I don't have to give you any type of response. I've let weird old dudes cop a feel. I feel like it's harmless because we all know their penis no longer works. It's like a sad hose with a crink in it so water doesn't come through anymore. Let the guy enjoy his last days a little. He'll probably be dead within the year. Also, there was a girl with much bigger boobs a few stools down from me and he didn't molest her. Another win for me. The 19-year-old kid bagging my wine at the grocery store? I'm not going to touch your penis. But am I going to act all coy and wink when you hit on me? Hell yes I am. And then I'm going to avoid going to that store for the next month so you don't actually try to ask me on a date. If you still live with mom, ain't nobody got time for that. We can't pound at my house because my roommates birthed me. Double standard I know, but I give zero fucks. I prefer to be admired at a distance by the under aged and unemployed.

Basically I am going to take maximum pleasure in every trolling for dick text message I get for the next few weeks. I won't even be offended if a dick pic or two come rolling in. I'm always interested in what's going on down there.

Also if you've decided to pick my side you made the right choice. If you weren't sure then read the rest of my blogs. Enough said.