Sunday, February 21, 2010


Need I say more? There's an "ex" there for a reason. Come on, what the F. Are there other girls out there that seem to be haunted by this very same problem? They're like mold. Damp, smelly. Putrid. She needs to leave him alone, and he needs to not enable the situation. Every god damn guy I start to like has one of these. I enjoy how I am referring to "them" like a bad wart. Let's call them genital warts, that's better.

You broke up. It's done. Everyone needs to move on.

PS, Olivia Newton John called. She wants her pink jacket back.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

No one walks as shamefully as I

Exhibit A:

I had just left the dorm of this boy I was seeing (which brings up the substory about the fact that I was only really seeing him because my friend wanted his friend. I know, I am a GREAT pal sometimes). I was smoothly sporting a lacy black and silver top, heels, and....wait for it....worst of all....ENORMOUS men's basketball shorts. Add last night's makeup, the scent of day old alcohol exuding from my pores, and that haggard I-just-got-f'd aura, and you have the best recipe for a simply delightful walk of shame.

Luckily, my girlfriend was along for the ride, since the boys were roommates.

Unluckily, we somehow picked the perfect time and place to run into a meandering group of 10 or so priests on campus. I know those things aren't supposed to have had sex or anything, but I'm pretty sure they figured out that I had. Once we realized the blackhole ahead of us, we even attempted to take a minor detour through the parking lot. GOD FORBID I try not to get judged by men that have never supposedly touched their own penis, an idea which is blasphemous in and of itself. They of course changed their own direction in order to run straight into us and our judgment. Yay.

Exhibit B:

I was getting a ride home from my cousin's friend, a nice boy with an uncircumcised penis (yes, my first one!). We had some fun, that is, after I got over the shock of blindly feeling the anteater with my hand down his pants. He sweated a lot, which was weird, but he gave me one of the top 5 best compliments ever received in saying, "You have the body of a pin-up girl." So I let his odd bodily attributes slide. No pun intended. Ok, maybe it was a little intended.

The next morning, he gave me a nice ride home...
... my parents' house. Woops. I don't know why I didn't care in the least, or why I wasn't even a tiny bit nervous. I guess you just have to know my family. 'Sweaty' over in the driver's seat apparently had no idea what they were capable of, and stupidly tried to drop me off in front of the house next door. As if that is going to not make it completely obvious that he's trying not to be seen/caught/made fun of. Seriously, could you make it ANY worse? Anytime you're stuck like that, you just have to run with what you've got. Make it a great story, maybe start a blog?

I'm pretty sure I was wearing heels and maybe even a dress. I got out of the car and started walking up the sidewalk towards my house. I think I might have even closed my eyes and shuffled my feet in a post drunken stumble to try and power through the potentially mortifying event. But, of course, avoiding confrontation with my family and/or neighbors is simply out of the question. 27 seconds into the sidewalk strut, I hear the tapping of a finger on a window and look up at my living room to see my mother repeatedly knocking on the window and waving to me with a facial expression of mockery and excitement. I walk in the door and she immediately asks, "Where have YOOoOOuUUu beeeeen? Hmmmm???" As if I'm simply coming home to my curious and jovial college roommate who knows EXACTLY where I've been. My older sister, home for the holidays, follows up her interrogation with a shrill "WALK OF SHAME!! WALK OF SHAME!!" accusation, while my brother joins in on the fun by laughing hysterically, and I ran up the stairs as quickly as my hungover and sore body will allow.

Luckily, my father was not home at the time. Again, not that I was concerned that I might get into trouble. I just can't bear being humiliated by my entire family after a long night of lovin'. Call me (or them) crazy. Unluckily, he came home 2 hours later, heard the absolutely hiLARious story of my adventures and came up to my room straight away to address me saying with a coy smile on his face, "Heard you've been doing some really good things."

Alright, now you choose. Which one is worse?