Friday, July 5, 2019

A haunted vagina and neighbor fucking


I am BACK BITCHES. Ya’all probably thought I was dead. Or happy. Or married and pregnant. NOPE. Still a fucking mess and trying to wade through the dickheads and douchebags of the world. I’m just doing it in Seattle now instead of LA. It’s taken me a while to move into my Stella Got Her Groove Back phase since moving my entire life and two fur babies to a new state. I haven’t had much news to report except that the bus I take to work is a mother fucking shitshow, my neighborhood smells like human urine on a warm day, and my dog hates everyone in the world except for me. Also, I drink less and take more Xanax because I am a GOD DAMN ADULT.

This blog has never been about boring you with the mundane existence of the conductor of a trainwreck/bang bus. I knew eventually something would happen to write about. And guess what, SOMETHING FUCKING HAPPENED.

After making a trip home and being publicly shamed by all of my friends (fuck you all. Also, I love you) for having a vagina that has basically become a haunted house that only ghosts of semen that never found an egg and cobwebs live, I decided that I should maybe try to see what the dudes here are about. SPOILER ALERT: dudes everywhere are generally the same. The only difference here is dudes are super into rock climbing and dolphin riding and shit with ropes and it’s fucking terrible. I take Pierre on “hikes”, but we get tired and sweaty very quickly and spend most of the time sitting under a shady tree and judging the people challenging themselves by running and all that nonsense. Calm down bro, we’re all just trying to live.

I’ve also had to deal with the shock that a lot of people identify as Christian (does that mean I have to marry you to find out if you know what the clitoris is? Because NO.), have children, or own like 3 dogs that my dog would absolutely want to fight with. Pickings are very, very slim here guys. And I haven’t had a summer body since infancy, so the struggle is pretty fucking real. Flexibility used to be my selling point but at this point my fucking knees creak and my hip is about one vigorous sexcapade from needing to be replaced. Tik fucking toc.

Nonetheless, I threw some pictures up on a Bumble account to lessen the amount of sexual harassment and verbal abuse I would have to deal with (Tinder you can seriously go fuck yourself.) and soon it felt like I was being pummeled by a bag of dicks. It was honestly overwhelming. But I’m pretty sure everyone responds to your message because of the weird passive aggressive politeness people feel like they need to maintain here. One dude within 7 minutes of starting a conversation said he was going to get on a ferry and come to my neighborhood on the off chance I’d want to meet up. Dudes in LA won’t even text you back if they realize an Uber ride to your house will take more than 10 minutes. GET YOUR LIFE TOGETHER GUYS. While that turned my true crime phobia of being murdered into high gear (I did not leave my apartment that night for fear he would be lurking in my alley with a boombox), it was an impressive gesture of dedication.

After wading through the potential stalkers (which I’m not completely ruling him out yet because we know ladies LOOOOOVE attention) and dudes who couldn’t engage in conversation if their life depended on it, I finally connected with a guy who seemed cool. He was funny, handled my sarcasm and bluntness well, and threw out meeting up quickly so things didn’t get stuck into a texting trap for 6-8 years. I was having some cat mom drama, but eventually shit came together and we decided to meet up for drinks after work.

I knew he lived in my neighborhood, but my neighborhood is huge with like 800 apartment complexes and surrounding areas. I have literally not put on a dress since maybe 2016, so I figured I could make an effort and put on a pretty dress and ya’all I looked hot. I’ll say it and I’m not sorry. But I was also physically hot because it was 80 degrees in my apartment and I was nervous and chugging wine and trying to look dewy, not sweaty. Thank you bangs for being the best at hiding forehead sweat and potential eyebrow smearing from sweating. I appreciate you more than you know.
I made my way to a little dive bar down the street. Kinda felt like I was gonna vomit, kinda debating going back home and finishing the bottle of wine, and kinda wondering if I should have shaved my legs and if he had any roommates. Still probably sweating a little by the way. I walked in and picked him out right away since he looked exactly like his photos WHICH IS WHAT SHOULD HAPPEN. Dudes, please stop putting up pictures from your glory days in high school or college if you are now 56 YEARS OLD AND HAIRLESS LIKE A NEWBORN MOUSE.

The conversation flowed decently with little to no awkwardness. Things were going well. Then I started describing where I lived. He got a weird look on his face. I mentioned something that made him lean toward me and say, “Where do you live?”. I panicked because you’re not supposed to tell strangers where you live because that is not how to STAY SEXY AND NOT GET MURDERED (Karen and Georgia I’m so sorry I fucked this up) but needed to know where this was going. And guys. You fucking guys. WE LIVE IN THE SAME APARTMENT BUILDING.

I legitimately wanted to scream and jump out the window. He lives two floors above me. His parking spot is across from mine. It is like a bad rom com and I want to get the fuck out of it. Also, I was HUGELY disappointed. He is absolutely someone I would want to hang out with more and see where it goes. But my longtime readers will have read about the time I dated my neighbor and it went south and I had to leave my cutey baby apartment and nothing was the same after that. I left California to leave my bad choices behind and not shit where I eat. This would be shitting all over my dinner table. And I can’t do it.

So, I did what any rational adult in this situation would do. I drank my fucking ass off until I couldn’t have given one shit about anything. I barfed out all my childhood trauma at him. I obsessively talked about my dog and cat. I revealed those deep, dark, dirty secrets that you don’t share with any dudes, ever. I figured the best thing to do was scare this guy so bad that he would only ever awkwardly wave at me if we happened to get on the elevator together. Sometimes life hands you a free cocktail, and sometimes life teabags you. Well I paid for all of my own drinks so you can guess which one I got. #blessed

Needless to say, I can’t help but laugh about this. In a huge city filled with a shit ton of people, I am the only one who would go on a date with their neighbor. All I can do is send more messages and change the distance of who my interests are to AT LEAST 10 miles away. Or, I’ll just get blacked out and hump my neighbor and sleep in my car until May.

Till next time, if I’ve taught you anything, please, DON’T FUCK YOUR NEIGHBOR.

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