Archive | January, 2011

What a Bloody Nightmare

31 Jan

I was a little bit of a late bloomer.  I was 14 years old when I got my first period.  I was 17 when I had my first kiss.  And 17 when I gave my first hand job.  And first had sex.  But I was a whopping 19 when I gave my first blowie.  See?  Late bloomer!  But this isn’t a post about blowies, wristies, motor boating, or any of that.  Instead, it’s about how I, as a chick. can time like period like clockwork.

I typically can clock it to within 2 hours of when it will start.  That’s pretty amazing if you think about it.  There are some chicks who have really irregular periods, not I.  Like.  Clock.  Work.

So, I ask you, why did I not pay attention that today was my big day?  I mean, I knew it was coming, and then I forgot.  So you know what happened??  Yeah, I think you know what happened!  All over my God damn pajama pants.  My clean pajama pants.  God damn it!  At least I didn’t get it all over the fucking couch.

No, if you’ll excuse me, I have a perfectly good reason for why I need to finish off all the damn Poppycock in the house.

There Are Some Crazy Bitches Out There

31 Jan

There are some benefits to staying home from work:

  • not having to shower
  • staying in pajamas the whole entire day
  • preparing meals consisting of Poppycock, Bagel Chips, Doritos, and Coke.
  • napping for several hours

It’s almost like having a hangover, only without the hangover part.  One of the best things about staying home sick from work is parking my fat ass on the sofa and watching a bunch of terrible movies.  I’m about 45 minutes in into my third movie of the day, and I’m wondering to myself, who acts like this bitch.  “Obsessed” (the horrible Beyonce) is one of those movies that’s been made a hundred times over.  In this version, Ali Larter (who is smoking hot) falls in love with Beyonce’s man and starts throwing herself at him and stalking him.  As I said, it’s been done a hundred times over.

But here’s my question, who fucking acts like this??  Take this scene as an example:

Let’s be honest, readers, how many of you have ever attacked someone (or been attacked by someone) in the men’s room?  Do hookups in a public restroom happen?  Sure they do!  I mean, sometimes we may find ourselves in the men’s room with some guy who is motorboating us in the only stall while his girlfriend is outside buying the next round of drinks.  Sure, it happens.  But what I want to know is who actually does something like this!!

I’m onto you, Hollywood!

It’s Snot Funny

31 Jan

Bitches, I hate being sick.  I freaking HATE!!  Every time I get the teeniest tiniest taste of a cold or the flu I turn into an eight year old brat.  All I want is for someone to dote all over me and listen to me whine about how I’m going to die and take notes as I begin to bequeath all of my worldly possessions.  Boom Boom can have my Burberry handbag.  My sister can have all my bedding and furniture.  Jersey Belle can have all my music.  Fashionista can have all my cookbooks and Le Crueset stuff.  Jewcy Bits can have all of my gluten free goods.  Lucy(fer) and Damien can have my 401(k).  My mom can have my photo albums.

Is anyone writing this down??

No, of course not.  Because everyone is busy leading their own lives while I sit here on the couch dying from Ebola, or the Hantavirus, or Anthrax, or the Black Plague or God knows what else.  In the past two hours I have gone through half a box of tissues.  It’s that kind of day.  My poor nose hurts so badly from blowing it that I’m afraid of what it will look like in two days.  And where on God’s green earth does all of this damn snot come from?  WHERE?  It’s not possible to produce so much freaking mucous.  It’s just not right.  I’m rotting from the inside.  It’s the only explanation.

I’m dying.

Goodbye cruel world!

Goodbye!

Fuck, I have to blow my nose AGAIN!

Observations from the Gym

16 Jan

Hey all!

Foxy Luv in the hizzie! Keeping it real here in Smalltimore.

Since we are at the start of a new year – it is resolution time. Normally – I never touch the stuff. But I have lost some weight over the last year and I am determined to keep it off – so I resolved to get to the gym 5-6 times a week. I know right – it’s a good one!

The other day while I was working out and hating it and wondering how I might be able to score some Maleria or a tape worm to help keep me slim, I scanned the gym to see who else was in hell with me. It was essentially the usual suspects. There were the requisite old people who are on aspirin regiments walking slowly, yet peppily on the treadmills. There was the very butch personal trainer who I suspect was checking me out (really – there’s nothing to suspect – of course she was checking me out. I mean – come on – its me.). There were the Man-orexic gay dudes, who despite booking at insane resistance levels on the eliptical, still had great hair going on. Kudos to them!

And then, what to wandering eyes should appear, but a 40-something year old dude (and I am being generous, he was clinging to his 40’s by his fingernails) in a fraternity rush t-shirt! Say what? OK – I love the movie Old School – I do. But that is because it features the very hot Luke Wilson, period.

Let’s be for reals here – a dude in his late forties wearing a fraternity rush shirt tells me A – he’s a cheap bastard who thinks a threadbare t-shirt is acceptable work out gear, or B – he feels Animal House is more than a movie – it’s a lifestyle. Either scenario is not something he should be advertising. And – here’s a shock – no wedding ring on his sweaty little hand. WHAT?

While I am sure Blotter, Roadblock, Corky, and the rest of the fellas back at the Kappa Kappa Jackass house are really proud of you for keeping it real – that really shouldn’t motivate you. Because Blotter, Roadblock, and Corky are 20 something morons who spend most of their time either baked or bitching about “fat chicks” and having to go to class at 10 o’clock in the morning. Come on guy! Give it up! You have a job, you have an IRA, you have a Honda, you have a mortgage. You need to loose your rush shirt and realize you are an old fucker. That’s the deal – embrace it.

How about a shirt that says I have “$150K in my IRA”? Or “I own a 3 bedroom, 2.5 bathroom home in an upscale area”? Or “100% Herp Free!” Or “My mom is dead”? Any of those would be chick magnets!

And also – I can totally see your man nips in that shirt – it is that well worn. Ewwwww. Please – get a new damn shirt.

The Stupid Things Girls Do

11 Jan

Folgers and I had an interesting conversation today about the stupid things girls do.  Why do we, as chicks, do slutty things with dudes who we don’t really like, but make the guys we really like wait before we put out?  Really, why do we do that?  This all came up when we were talking about the terrible date I went on with Bob the Builder over the summer.  For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why I would make out with a guy I had zero intention of seeing again.  The response of “it seemed like a good idea at the time,” didn’t quite do the trick.  He was even more confused when I announced I typically don’t kiss someone on the first date.

  • Folgers: Wait a second, so you kissed this douche bag, but you don’t usually kiss someone on the first date.
  • Me: Yes, that’s right.
  • Folgers: So why would you kiss him?
  • Me: I don’t know.  I guess we were both there and I had needs or something.
  • Folgers: But you didn’t plan on seeing him again?
  • Me: Yes.
  • Folgers: What on earth would you have done if you liked him??
  • Me: Nothing.
  • Folgers:  Wait.  So if you had liked him you wouldn’t have done anything with him but since you didn’t like him you made out with him all over Philadelphia?
  • Me: That’s about right.
  • Folgers: You realize that makes zero sense, right?
  • Me: It makes sense to me.
  • Folgers: I think you’re retarded.

You know what?  He has a point.  Why do we do that?  As I think back to what I was thinking when I kissed Bob the Builder, I really have no idea why I would kiss him when I wasn’t sure whether or not there would be a second date.  Isn’t that sending mixed singles?  But I guess I didn’t really care.

Meanwhile, if I had really liked him, I never would have let him kiss me.  Why?  Because I wouldn’t want him to think I was that kind of a girl.  Even though, clearly, I totally am.  It just doesn’t make sense.  The only thing I can come up with is as women we give ourselves in different way.  God knows.  I’m thinking this one might keep me up at night.

 

Just the Tip Tuesday (01/11/11)

11 Jan

Aside from rock hard abs, charm, wit, and Adonis-like looks, the one other thing I want in a man is a sense of humor.  Sense of humor is close to the top of my list – an absolute must.  Sure, I could date a dude who had the body of a God, but after a some trysts, it would probably end because he would bore me.  Give me a funny man any day of the week and I’d be willing to look past a few imperfections.

That’s why this week we’re going with Saturday Night Live’s Andy Samberg as our pick of the week!

Let’s just say I’d like to get into his digital shorts.

Kiss: Keep it Simple, Slut

9 Jan

Does making out with a bunch of people qualify as a slut?  Because if it does, I totally want to be a slut.  I wouldn’t say I’ve kissed a lot of people in my 20+ years of making out with boys.  I’d say it’s probably close to 30 or 40.  Really not that many if you think about it.  I’d like to think I have at least 10 more first kisses ahead of me, if not more.

I don’t remember all of my first kisses, though I wish I could.  I do remember that one took place in a yellow(ish) Mustang in a parking lot, one in a pick up truck after I lost a board game, one beneath a bar during happy hour, one in my college dorm room…actually several in my college dorm room, one on the floor of my trainee’s apartment, another in a hotel room at the beach, yet another in the kitchen of my junior year apartment, one in the living room of my first apartment, one in my TV room, and that’s about all I remember.  I know there are many more, but lord only knows where they took place or the circumstances leading up to it.

For some reason the other day I started thinking about my next first kiss and if I could plan it out, where would it be.  I’ll be honest with you, if a guy I like is going in for a first kiss, in all likelihood I’m not going to throw my hand between us and tell him it’s not the right place or the right time. More than likely I’ll be on his lap before he knows what happens, but still what if…

What if you could plan out the perfect first kiss?  Where would it be?

I’d kill for a first kiss on a summer night on Vineyard Haven beach under a full moon.  Or in the spring on Westminster Bridge as Big Ben strikes the hour.  I’ll even take one during a rain storm in the middle of Rittenhouse Sqaure Park.

Guess we’ll just have to see where the next one finds me.

The Post That Will Secure My Place in Hell

6 Jan

Who do you think is scarier: Roger Ebert or Dick Clark?