Like really really stupid. I’m almost amazed at the stupidity of people. As you may or may not know, but I feel like I’ve made it explicitly clear, my self-summary in my OkCupid profile is the synopsis of Dirty Dancing in the first person. Now normally when a moron messages me asking if my tale is true, I don’t respond. WHAT IGNORANCE IT IS TO NOT KNOW THE HOLINESS THAT IS DIRTY DANCING! But this time I decided to respond, and the conversation was magical. Enjoy.
Check out my published work below! You won’t be disappointed :D
Yeah, it’s what I do in my spare time. You can find me in Backdoor Sluts 9.
I can dig it, he can dig it
She can dig it, we can dig it
They can dig it, you can dig it
Oh, let’s dig it
Can you dig it, baby?
These lyrics, Immortalized by The Friends of Distinction come to mind when I think of Kenny. And to be honest, no, I can’t dig it. In fact, I hate it. Let’s start from the beginning, shall we?
Back in late December I opened an account on OkCupid. One hipster’s profile kept popping up in my search feed, and I’d click on him every time, forgetting I wasn’t interested. So I’d click on his profile, scroll through his pictures and remember, “Oh, this guy isn’t cute at all. DAMN IT, he’s going to see I looked at his page!” Alas, it was too late. After one too many clicks he ultimately messaged me, but of course I ignored him.
Fast forward a few months to mid February. I was out with a friend at the local coffee shop. Being a die hard cappuccino fan, I ordered my regular and of course needed to take a photo of the pretty foam art because I’m pretentious and an instagram abuser. When the barista, Kenny, noticed me taking a photo, he told me to tag him in it. I graciously did, and I even followed him as a good gesture. How else I was I to become a regular at Augie’s if I didn’t make my presence known to the staff? So of course he liked the photo, we exchanged a bit of witty banter, and that was that.
Then I began to notice something. Kenny started liking all of my photos. “Kenny_dig_it liked your photo” became a constant pop-up on my phone. At first it was nice, friendly. I even liked a few of his photos back because I can’t resist a good cat photo. But then his instagram stalking became a bit excessive. If you know me at all, you’d know that I post 1 to 3 photos a day. I can’t help it. I’m obsessed with my cat and telling the world the useless shit I’m doing. So keep in mind that the month is February. Then one day, I came across the fateful “Kenny_dig_it liked your photo” reminder. And to my horror, he had liked a photo, a selfie in fact, DATING ALL THE WAY BACK TO DECEMBER. He had to have scrolled through between 40 and 60 photos to get to that one. Granted, it’s not difficult to stalk and scroll through photos on instagram, but the act of physically clicking like, on a selfie no less, is totally pushing the boundaries onto creepy territory.
I was officially weirded out by my creepy stalker barista man who clearly seemed interested in me. But every time he liked a photo, I’d show my friend and we’d laugh and laugh and laugh and have a jolly good time of it.
Now I was still following him, for entertainment purposes of course, when I came across a photo of him and his mom. On my college campus. Because he goes to grad school here. THAT’S WHEN IT CLICKED. Kenny Dig It is the hipster weirdo who messaged me on OK Cupid many moons ago! HOW EASILY I FORGOT! Also how weirded out I was incase he knew who I was, and just decided to not say anything. Although it was exciting that something in my life came full circle.
From this I have derived that either the universe is telling me that he’s my soul mate, or it’s telling me to find a new coffee shop. I think I’ll go with the latte(r). (HA! GET IT? Get it? But seriously guys, get it?)
It was kindergarten. Jason wanted to be my boyfriend, but Brianna really liked him and I didn’t even want a boyfriend (‘cause I’m all independent and shit) so I tried setting them up. I told Jason that he should be Brianna’s boyfriend but he didn’t like her! He liked me. So that was how I got my first boyfriend. Take a tip boys, never leave her alone and she won’t be able to resist!*
*might end with you being pepper sprayed in the face and a restraining order.
On the 100th day of school I remember counting Cheerios with Jason. We had to fill our cups with 100 Cheerios because that’s how you celebrate school. Not sure why we don’t still do that. I think being congratulated with cereal should be an every day occurrence. But I digress, so I turned to Jason and whispered in his ear, “are you still my boyfriend?” And he whispered “yes” and I was infinitely happy.
Summer came and went, and upon arriving to the first day of first grade, I wore a swanky blue flair skirt and a shirt that tied up around my waist (slut), and Jason was out front playing freeze-tag. I eagerly exclaimed “hi Jason!” But he didn’t respond. That’s when I knew it was over. That jerk. And then once in 4th grade it was pajama day and he wore turquoise pajamas with shorts that were too short and he looked stupid. I also found him on Facebook a couple weeks ago and the poor guy didn’t age very well. Sorry Jason, but I’m over you, so don’t even try coming back to alllllllll 5’1* of this!
One last thing: One day Brianna and I were waiting in a single file line and wondered what it would be like to touch tongues. So we poked the tip of our tongues very lightly together for a split second and then cringed and said “ew.”
God, I was a whore.
On the eve of December 21st, I was wearing an orange flannel shirt with gold studs, black leggings and rust colored boots. After all, I was at a party celebrating the end of the world. Little did the Mayans know that we’d use their prediction as an excuse to get wasted and make bad decisions. Luckily for me, I had a flannel shirt, and I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure that if there were ever to be an apocalypse, it would be mandatory that people dressed in flannel. I’m not sure who would implement this rule, considering the world would be overrun by zombies, robots, aliens, water, or whathaveyou, and the government probably wouldn’t be much of help anymore, but it’s guaranteed there would never be a shortage of flannel, just watch any apocalyptic film for further proof. So I was feeling pretty confident in my apocalyptic uniform, the outfit I had agreed to die in, when I saw my cousin. This bitch was decked out in a bikini top, vest, leather gloves, fishnet stockings with a handy dandy weapon by her side. Clearly I should have gone for bad-assery rather than functional. I felt unprepared and meekly asked to borrow a weapon. Luckily she has an orange and grey plastic gun lying around. As the people ushered in, the outfits got crazier and the weapons more extreme. People were wearing trench coats with big goggles attached to their heads, wielding huge nerf guns and swords. They brought survival packs, and one guy even brought a machete with his rifle waiting in the car. A little excessive if you ask me, but I guess you can never be too prepared? I on the other hand, brought mints. So worst case scenario while everyone is kicking zombie ass, or doing their best Kevin Costner impression, I can be the girl that says “Hey you guys, I know we’re in the middle of an apocalypse, but none of your dumbasses brought a toothbrush or toothpaste. Take a mint, seriously.” Then everyone would proceed to thank me and make me the apocalypse queen (this is my story, just go with it).
After a while of schmoozing and drinking, an incredibly cute guy walked through the door. That’s when I learned he was my cousin’s new
boyfriend guy she was currently sleeping with, and they had met each other through the popular dating website, OkCupid. Needless to say, I was in shock. This guy was handsome, funny and had a decent job at the age of 23. From what I’d known about OkCupid, it was a site creepy old men used to scare women away with their deep dark secrets such as, “The most private thing I’m willing to admit: I MET JESUS ON MARCH 15, 1976” and a Romney and Michael Scott look alike who divulged, “I’m really good at: liberating your pleasure wave”. Needless to say, I was wrong. OkCupid is actually a site creepy men and women of all ages use to scare other men and women away. This, I found out the hard way.
After leaving the party that night, I decided I wanted to make myself an OkCupid profile. For years I have been dating the wrong people, getting my heart broken far too many times and slowly accepting the fact that I’d die alone under a mound of cookie dough wrappers surrounded by a dozen cats. As Hannah Horvath once said, “I have been dating someone that treats my heart like it’s monkey meat. I feel like a delusional, invisible person half the time so I need to learn what it’s like to be treated well before it’s too late for me.” This quote perfectly described previous relationships I had been in. Hannah gets me you guys, she really does (said me and the million of other people who watch Girls and can identify with the needy, clever, neurotic and imperfect protagonist).
The first step to creating my OkCupid profile was filling out the section entitled, “My self-summary.” Just seeing the words “my self-summary” makes me cringe. How can you fill out your entire personality in a little box for the world to see? Well, the answer was surprisingly easy, just lie! It was like I had found a major loophole. I could lie in a way that was obvious as well as show people a bit of my personality. So in that box, this is what I typed:
“They call me Baby. One summer I went to camp with my family. Thats when I fell for the dance instructor. When his dance partner got pregnant and needed an abortion, I volunteered to fill in for her even though I didn’t even know where to begin. It was all so exciting, our blossoming forbidden love and sequence of dance montages. Tragically, the abortion left the poor girl in a sickened state. Luckily, my father (conveniently being a doctor) saved her life, but my lover ended up being fired. But then I declared to my family my love for Johnny, he took me out of the corner, and we danced for everyone. It was the time of my life.
The idea of writing a summary about myself in this tiny box is daunting.”
As you hopefully could have guessed, this was a first person summary of Dirty Dancing. As you probably didn’t guess, more than half the people who view my profile send me a message saying something to the effect of “Hey Baby! Sounds like you had a crazy summer!” which is actually quite beneficial in helping me weed out the idiots. This now brings me to my next segment I’d like to call, The Worst Messages I’ve Ever Received. Starting with, CharminItalian. (Note: All of the compiled messages are verbatim, spelling and grammar errors included. The offenders’ messages are on the left, while my responses, if any are made, are on the right.)
“do you like adam levine”
“That’s a random question. Why?”
“well i was going to ask if you would believe me if i said i was his cousin”
“Is that a pick up line that ever works on girls?”
“ha thats pretty bold, what if i am telling the truth”
“Hey baby :)”
“No. Put a shirt on. And don’t flip off the camera. You’ll never get a lady acting like that.”
“Id put a shirt on for you :)”
More like Sactown’s douchiest bro.
“your lower lip is magnificent! . the shape is goddess like!”
A 50 year old male old enough to be my father. But just the perfect age to be creepy as fuck.
“Just wanted to say ur hot and if u ever need a sugar daddy to spoil u with presents or spending cash lol let me know cause ur 2 hot 2 not have one lol”
This 23 year old male had many pictures of himself with superimposed My Little Pony characters. Winner!
“Nice pics, hot! wanna chat? :)
“Ugh no. That’s not how you compliment women.”
This 38 year old may not be old enough to be my father, but he’s too damn old, and gives me the heebie-jeebies.
Not a big McDonald’s fan?”
Hellou1234 must get all of the ladies, considering his user picture is a snapshot of his checking account with a balance of $51,386.62. Who in their right mind would put THAT much money in a checking, not even a savings, but a checking account?! Also, McDonalds. That is all.
“You are such a dork, I love it! Our children are going to be hilarious. ;)”
What better way to a woman’s heart than by planning your future together without her consent?
“Shit, I don’t think there’s enough random cat pictures on your profile for it to be legit. Only then can we go on a romantic date to McDonald’s, where we will smuggle alcohol with us, get fucked up in the ball pit and pass out.”
No. No. No. No no no no no no no. No.
“hey :) can i rub nutella on your booty?”
Unfortunately for this guy, I just had someone else rub nutella on my booty. What are chances?!
“X(((:) sending you a fish as a sign of our frndship, plz take care of it & daily place your cell in the water so that the fish won’t die…& we can be frnds forever….”
This 29 year old fella was one of the worst of them all. He had sent a message the previous day, and one more the next. This stage five clinger was definitely put on my blocked list. Also I never put my cell phone in water so I’m 100% sure I killed the tiny water breather ensuring we would never ever be friends. Ever.
Unfortunately for this next guy, I accidentally cut his name off of the message. But this was one of the rudest messages I had received.
“A girl with a sense of humour. Now I’ve seen everything.”
“That’s really offensive.”
“That was the point.”
“A guy who’s an asshole. How unique.”
I just couldn’t let him get away with being a jerk without having to throw my two cents in aka giving him a metaphorical kick to the groin.
“How r u?”
Let me just reiterate this 29 year old’s screen name. JUST. LIKE. DADDY.
“Like to meet you you look hot like to chat”
Judging from his profile picture, I’m pretty convinced he had tiny animals living in that facial deformity he called a beard.
Are you all as currently horrified and want to puke up all of your insides like I do at this moment? Good, that’s exactly what I was going for. You may be beginning to ask yourselves, “WHY DOES SHE STILL HAVE THIS ACCOUNT?” Good question my dear readers, good question. I’ve actually deleted my account many times, but it’s like an abusive relationship. OkCupid says, “Baby I’m sorry! It’ll never happen again, you’ll only meet good people this time, I promise!” So then I reluctantly agree to come back and the first message I receive is a from a woman who says, “hello there ummm you into any thing fun that your Down todo maybe? I’m trying to see about finding a girl To be friends with that might be down to fuck guys with me :) I also got my own house :)” While her offer was tempting, I mean she has her own house, I’d rather sit and listen to Taylor Swift cry and tell me about all of her break ups, multiple times, for hours on end. I’ve had many years of practice thanks to my sister. Bring it, T-Swift.
But don’t get me wrong, OkCupid isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ve been on a few dates from it so far. One was a Jew (of course) who happened to know a few of my friends (obviously), so the good news was he couldn’t murder me since everyone would know who did it. The date looked promising. We texted non stop for a couple weeks before having the free time to meet up. When we finally met for dinner, I was instantly disappointed. He wasn’t as handsome as he was in his photos, his posture was terrible, and he laughed like a middle aged rich white male who owned a yacht. The date went fine, we lost miserably at Trivia Night, our team name was Hot For Hillary’s Blood Clot, but we drank some beers and had a decent conversation. By the end of the night he had driven me back to his place (his parents’ place) where my car was parked. We sat uncomfortably in front seat, trying to make small talk. It seemed as though a good night kiss was inevitable and there was no way to get out of it. He made some dumb joke about being batman and then leaned over and kissed me. His tongue was literally licking the roof of my mouth. I needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. As you could guess, there was no second date.
The next date I went on was with a girl, which was also my first ever girl date. It was hers too so we were both pretty nervous. But we had coffee, did a lot of laughing, ate thai food and took a hike through foggy Oak Glen. After driving her home, we shared a really nice end of the date kiss in the car. Then I found out she had just gotten out of a 3 year relationship in which they were engaged for 2, he had just moved out of their home, and he had to carpool her to work every day since they shared a car. Needless to say, there was no second date, but I did come to accept my sexuality so that’s positive, right guys? Right?
The last date I went on that’s worth mentioning is Daniel. Dear, sweet, Jewish, Daniel (how do they always find me?!) He’s 26 and works designing video games. He’s an uber-geek-Star-Wars-loving-cat-hoarder, so he was right up my alley. And by cat hoarder, I literally mean cat hoarder. He had just bought a kitten who as it turns out, was pregnant with more kittens. Kittens having kittens. MTV should make a show out of that one, they’d make millions. We met up for lunch and had a really nice time, arguing about how he loved Les Mis and how it made him cry, and how I wished I died in the French Revolution so I would have never had to witness the travesty that was Les Mis. Then he asked if I wanted to come to his place to meet all five kittens. That’s when I pushed our dirty plates, drinks and silverware onto the floor, spread out on the table and said “Take me!” in the middle of the restaurant.*
I met him at his place and then gushed for about 20 minutes over his kittens. Could he be the one? And as it goes, we shared an end of the date kiss where our teeth clashed and his lips felt small and hardened. It was awkward and uncomfortable, the perfect man with kittens COULD NOT KISS. I left feeling deflated. I’d only been on three dates so far but it was emotionally exhausting. I vowed to never see him again, but he kept texting me and sending me really adorable cat videos. I was weak to the kittens! After about 2 weeks of texting, I decided to see him again, hoping the kissing would improve. We went on a wonderful date that consisted of the LA Sunset, a fancy dinner, a parody play entitled “Terminator Too: Judgement Play” and copious amounts of alcohol. We spent the night together which was great the first round, okay the second, and not good and entirely sober the third. Remember the scene in the season finale of Girls when Adam and Natalia are having the most uncomfortable sex you’ve ever witnessed? Yeah. We were Adam and Natalia. You may think I’d have ended things there, right? Nope! Because I’m stupid and always believe there’s room for improvement. The next weekend he drove up to visit me in Redlands. It turns out that no matter how great of a personality you have, you won’t always be physically compatible with everyone. He did this one move during sex where if I was on top, it was like I had asked a question he didn’t know the answer to and was stuck permanently shrugging. Try and picture that. You’re having sex with someone and they’re permanently shrugging at you so their neck disappears. It was really weird and sadly unforgivable. We still keep in touch and talk from time to time, and I’m doing my best to not further lead him on. He’s just so adorable, charming, intelligent and funny, if he just changed everything else about himself we’d be perfect for eachother.
The moral of the story is, OkCupid is a horribly addictive place that you shouldn’t get your hopes up for. I guess I’m an eternal optimist, hoping that one day I will go on a decent date, but until then I’m just wasting my time stalking other people’s profiles, seeing if they know the answer to my favorite question to judge people on, “In the line ‘Wherefore art thou Romeo?’, what does wherefore mean?” while asking myself every day, “what am I still doing on this site?”
with me either i am showered with thirty minutes of makeup and hair done or i haven’t changed out of my pajama pants in three days. there is no inbetween
I haven’t updated this thing in forever. Maybe I’m not funny anymore. OH GOD. Just kidding. I’m hilarious as balls. But really.
Normally I’m a pretty good driver. Normally. But I have my moments now and again when I fuck up, real bad. I’m not talking accident bad, just stupid driving bad. And this weekend I had one of those moments. So on Thursday night as I was driving into the city I realized that I had forgotten my license at home. Mistake number 1. I just told myself to be extra careful when driving, by always following the speed limit (I went 5 miles faster) and to DEFINITELY NOT TEXT (I texted anyway, but I kept looking at the road, so that makes me extra cautious, right?) So after seeing The Dark Knight Rises WHICH WAS FLIPPING INCREDIBLE BY THE WAY. I am so in love with Catwoman. I either want to marry her, or be her, or both. Can I do that? Does that make me a lesbian? Anyway, the time was 2 am. Since it was so late, all the exits were closed except for one. One exit of a bajillion million was open. Just one. And I was on a journey to find it. (note: not an exaggeration, there are exactly a bajillion million exits in that parking structure, I SWEAR) So since the parking structure was lighted, I decided to not turn on my headlights. I was being courteous to the other drivers by not being cunty and flashing my headlights in their eyes. So after about 10 minutes of zigzagging and turning around, I FINALLY found the open exit. Problem was, I DIDN’T KNOW IF I COULD TURN LEFT OR NOT. Turns out, I could, but by that point I was already in the right hand lane making a right turn.
So as I’m driving, my navigation isn’t recognizing the street I’m on. ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? This has never happened to me before this moment, so I’m driving aimlessly straight, just hoping the satellites will kick in and jumpstart me back to my current destination. Right when it finally works, it tells me last minute to make a right hand turn. I swear to god my navigation system is a little bitch who’s nearsighted. She always tells me that my destination is like 500 feet closer than it should be. So I’m stopped at this light. Do I make a right or do I just keep going until it recalculates my route? It didn’t exactly look like a right hand turn lane, but there was an arrow on the ground indicating I could go that way so I said “fuck it” and made an extremely wide turn. Then suddenly, the flashing blue and red lights caught my eye in the review mirror. I started to panic, and I made a run for it, causing a speed chase which ended in the cop hitting a fire hydrant and his car exploding.
No, actually I pulled over, like the good little samaritan that I am, and proceeded to panic. The cop was young, he didn’t look much older than me.
The dialogue went something like this:
“Do you have your license and registration?”
“No, but can I blow you?”
But really I had my registration.
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME? BEST COP EVER. I’m driving around like a fucking idiot. I should have gotten a ticket for not having my license, not having my insurance, and not having my lights on. He didn’t even say “this is a warning,” he just told me to drive safe. Nicest dude ever, like holy shit. Sometimes it really pays off to have a vagina, I’m telling you.
After I drove away, I started to cry, 75% out of panicking about being pulled over, and the other 25% out of being so lucky that I wasn’t given at least 3 tickets. This is also another side effect of having a vagina.
Anyway, I’m not usually this awful of a driver. I swear. But shit happens, you know?
I just finished watching The Way We Were starring Barbra Stresiand and Robert Redford (MAN, whatta hunk).
This film has everything. It’s got romance, protests, feminism, glamorous makeup, curly hair, communism! What’s not to love?! This tear jerker will forever be a favorite film of mine and I will never stop singing “The Way We Were.” (Thanks for that one Babs). Watching their relationship made me think of my own relationships and about how you can love someone so fervently. What crossed my mind during the movie was the first time someone said, “I love you” to me and really meant it. Looking back though, if someone first said “I love you” the way he did then, I would slap them across the face and force them to take it back and redo it properly, then I’d pretend to act all surprised and all would be well. But before I tell you what he did, I want to add a little back story, this is totally going to be How I Met Your Mother style: It was the summer before junior year of high school. I was a young girl, 4 months shy of 17. I was going on a family vacation for a week, so made plans to hang out with my best guy friend before I left. We went to the movies, but to be clear, this was NOT a date. We bought tickets to see Nicole Kidman in her academy award-winning role in The Invasion. Oh I’m sorry, what was that? Kidman didn’t win an Oscar? Or anything for that matter because the movie was fucking terrible? Oh, right. Well we just bought those tickets so we could sneak into Superbad. Wasn’t being 16 just the friggin’ best? Old enough to drive but not old enough to watch people having sex and say things like “Well Jules, the funny thing about my back is that it’s located on my cock.” Really fantastic line, btw. Anyway, as you could have guessed, we got kicked out of the theater for being too young.
AGEIST SON OF A BITCH.
So we had to go sit in the stupid movie we actually bought tickets for. Needless to say, we didn’t watch the movie, and long story short, a relationship was born. Holy shit, kids are fucking romantics, are they not? Making out in a movie theater a few seats down from an older couple is what constituted as a relationship back then. Good times. So a couple days later, I’m giddy as ever and on vacation with my family. I certainly didn’t tell my parents what happened, but for no apparent reason. I think I thought I was being cool and sneaky for keeping it a secret, but honestly, teenagers are just stupid. At the time I was also planning how to break it off from the guy I was seeing. Oh did I forget to mention that? We weren’t really seeing each other. It was…complicated. We went out on a few dates, I gave him a kiss once, and then he promptly fled my car, probably to cry or vomit from nervousness.
“Give it to me straight doc, what’s wrong with me?”
”Sorry to say this son, but you’ve caught cooties. You have 3 months to live.”
So it was like breaking up with someone although nothing had really started. I was honest, and told him that there was someone else in the picture of whom I had feelings for. But you know what the worst thing about it was? I did it through text message. Because I am a complete dick. Funny side note: We were best friends in preschool and it wasn’t until we reconnected that we realized who each other was. Small world and totally interesting, no? No. Okay, let me get back to incessantly blabbing about the longest first I love you story ever. So the break up text is actually a great segue to bring this story full circle. A couple days after the entire being-16-and-making-out-in-a-theater-shenanigans, we were texting while I was having dinner. And that my friends, is how he said, “I love you.” Through a text message. While I was out of the state. Did I mention it was through a text? And after 2 years of chasing this boy, you best believe I was overjoyed out of my fucking mind. OUT OF MY FUCKING MIND. Yes, I do realize I keep repeating myself, but it’s for emphasis. FOR EMPHASIS. And then if I remember correctly, I think we pretended the exchanges of “I love yous” didn’t happen for about a month before we said it again. Then we broke up. But that was almost 2 years later, so I’d say we had a pretty good run. And the greatest thing about it is we’re still awesome friends today. It’s just sort of strange to think about how it’s possible to fall out of love with someone, but I guess that’s why they call it falling in love in the first place. But I think we all know what the true moral of the story is: Cooties are fatal, and they’ll probably kill you.
After an emotional night of Sex and the City, (no I wasn’t having it, yes it was the show, can you please stop mocking me for sleeping with my cats?) I finally fell asleep around 3 am. I woke up around 9 so I could catch the 11 o’clock showing of Magic Mike with my friend’s mom. (IT’S NOT WEIRD, SHUT UP.)
quite like dicks on the big screen.
THAT, my friends, is a penis.
Mmm mmm mmm, God bless America!
And incase you were wondering, some other things you get to see in the film are rolling hips, stomachs, and packages being thrusted on women’s faces. Yummy. I’d post more photos, but really it’s much better in the theater. Plus you get to see Channing Tatum’s bare ass too many times to count. Yes ladies and gents, God apparently is real and has answered our prayers, HALLELUJAH!
This incredible movie (incredible because of the nakedness, not the plot, although it was likeable) reminded me of the time I went to my first and only strip club.
The year: 2009.
Who? A birthday girl, an ex-friend, and me! (whatta bunch, eh?)
Where? Hollywood Men.
What? Surprise birthday bash.
My good friend had just turned 18 (she’s engaged now! Hmm, I’m seeing a bachelorette party at Hollywood Men in the future…) so another friend (now ex friend but that’s a completely different story )(pssst, she’s crazy), and I decided to get together and take her to a male strip show. We convinced the birthday girl that we were taking her to a comedy club, because seeing a dude in a thong is way more exciting without a disclaimer.
So we’re standing in line behind a bunch of women all dressed up and giggling like fools. There were even quite a few wearing veils and penis crowns. You could hear the music blaring from inside the club, yet my friend still had no idea where she really was. She asked us, “Um, guys, I don’t get the male to female ratio here” as she looked around and noticed only women standing in line. Thinking quick on my feet (because I’m smart, duh) I told her that it was probably just ladies night (insert snarky giggle here), and yet again she believed me. As we’re nearing the front of the line, there’s a bouncer and a huge poster of shirtless men in a row.
Hey isn’t that Kevin from the Backstreet Boys? Pretty sure he goes by Niko now.
Upon seeing the poster, miss birthday girl thinks to herself “Oh cool, an all male comedy troupe!” Oh my my my, what a naive little jewess. It wasn’t until after we entered the club, breathed in the fog machine smoke, heard the blaring music AND saw shirtless waiters wearing bow ties and carrying trays of drinks that my friend screamed “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, ARE WE AT A STRIP CLUB?!”
The rest of the night was spent screaming and gushing over the beautiful men in assless chaps and banana hammocks with tassels. I know what you’re thinking, “Wow, life can’t get any better” Actually, it can, AND IT DID.
Up on the stage was Niko (formerly known as Kevin from the Backstreet Boys). He performed a dance to Grind on Me by Pretty Ricky. Now imagine him picking up a lit candle and pouring hot wax over his abs while doing a body roll. Amazing, right? If you’re a man reading this, just shoot yourself now. You know you could never live up to the expectations of Niko.*
BUT WAIT! The story doesn’t end just yet!
After all of the dance acts, it was time to bring the ladies onto the stage. This is where I paid for a $10 lap dance by Rico (not to be confused with Niko). We made sweet sweet love on the stage. (He stared into my eyes while I touched his baby-oiled chest, that’s at least 2nd base, haters.)
Do you see the magic? the love? the lust? HOW CAN YOU NOT?! P.s. you can totally see the outline of his penis.
Overall, what I guess I’m saying is, I’m a big fan of male strippers. HUGE. I support male nudity. And you should too. Stay tuned for my next post. SPOILER ALERT: It’s about the sex show I saw in Amsterdam.
*For those of you who I got all hot and bothered, you can watch Niko pour wax on himself here! His dance starts about 30 seconds in. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipMiX5-oh7Y&feature=youtu.be
This is my life explained perfectly with the help of adorably serious animals.
Here’s a conversation I had with a friend last night:
“How’s the essay going?” he asked, nonchalantly. She stared at her computer screen. “I have to pee,” she responded, trying to divert his attention away from the fact that she had accomplished nothing that night, other than scour the internet for horrifying tattoos and trashy celebrities. “You’re so fucked,” he wrote. He was right. She is leaving for Dublin in a day and half and has a 10 page paper due the day after she returns. Could she write it while on her vacation? Seemed unlikely. ”Why am I like this?” she asked, desperately hoping for a response that would give her some insight to who she is or how she could change. ”Because you hate bullshit. And I love you for it,” was his answer. Honest and precise, she thought. The perfect answer.
Side note: Didn’t you guys know? Facebook has totally updated their system yet again. You can turn measly everyday conversations into a dramatic novel!
This guy’s a douche.
Commence the wailing and bitching about how much you hate new facebook and how it totally ruined your life because it murdered your entire fam—wait, what? Facebook isn’t capable of murder because it’s not a sentient being? Well then surely it must have done something equally horrific such as..wait, I’m sorry, did you just say it just turned your page into a timeline? So there’s now two columns of comments and you can highlight your favorite memories from your life? Jesus christ, all of you just shut the fuck up already. This has got to be the number one First World Problems complaint. And I thought I was bad when I would walk in the kitchen with socks and then get upset when I stepped in water.
But seriously, wet socks are THE WORST.
Honestly, this is a bullshit essay for a bullshit class. I speak for myself when I say this, because I know other people like the class. While my peers studiously take notes on each slide, I spend my class time drawing terrible doodles in the margins of my papers or reading Cracked articles. Besides, I learn valuable information from Cracked, such as directors who abused their actors to make classic films, or why a zombie apocalypse is destined to happen. But hey, I got an A on the last final (lord knows how) so I’m not TOO worried for this one. Slightly worried, but not enough to give a fuck. Maybe half a fuck, at best. I just mentally checked out of Milan weeks ago, and it’s getting progressively worse. Did you know I’ve been trying for days to write this essay? I use the term “try” loosely. Another problem is it’s on a topic we’ve never discussed in class. Who does that? Isn’t the whole point of writing essays to apply the knowledge you half-assedly learned throughout the semester? I hope everyone is having an easier time than I with their finals… You all thought I was going to say I hope everyone is having an equally terrible time or worse, didn’t you? Assholes.
If someone asks you to think of the worst thing you could possibly think of, what comes to mind? War? Nah. Zombie apocalypse? No way! Most people want that to happen anyway. Give up? IT’S BABIES AND CHILDREN ON AIRPLANES. There is honestly nothing worse in the world and I dare you to disagree with me. I fucking dare you. So last weekend I flew to Morocco. I love that since I’m studying abroad, traveling is no big deal. It’s the norm, the way of life. I can act so fucking nonchalant about being in NORTHERN AFRICA! Which, by the way, I had NO idea Morocco was in Africa! Yes yes, point and laugh at my stupidity, whatever. If you know me at all you’ll know I suck at geography. Before going to Morocco if you had asked me to point on a map where I thought it was, I would have pointed to an area around southern Europe and said “THERE!” And since my finger is large in comparison to a map of the world, who knows, maybe my finger easily would have guessed the right spot.
who’s a good little finger? You are! Yes, you are!
Anyway, as I was on my way to Morocco luxuriously sipping a martini and wearing a scarf around my hair (none of this happened) everything was great. I’m pretty sure there was a child near by, but all was good until we were about to land. And then the crying ensued, but you know what? It’s fine. The ride was almost over, and the kid was fantastic the whole time there. I think. I mean, I slept the entire way so I’m just assuming it kept it’s devilish ways to itself. Post landing we stood in line at customs behind this Moroccan dad and his adorable child. This little girl, let me tell you, had a mind of her own. She looked about 1, they walk at 1, right? And she kept wandering off because apparently she’s too good to stand in line. Looking around me, there were children everywhere. The airport was their playground. This little kid was sliding under the bars which designates where the lines begin and end. Other children were playing tag. And the cute little girl in front of us? She was having the time of her life pushing my friend’s suitcase in circles. It was one of those fancy shmancy 4 wheelers. And this little girl was having the time of her freaking life pushing a suitcase! Can you remember the last time you’ve had that much fun from doing practically nothing? Shit, I’m envious of these sticky handed creatures. It takes a lot more than a suitcase and metal bars to entertain me. Thank you, Steve Jobs. Anyway, as these hooligans ran amok with their parents chasing after them and airport personnel trying to stop them, I began thinking of alternative methods than bringing your children flying.
Method 1: Children Kennels
Now hear me out before you shoot me down. What I’m about to write is probably not what you’re thinking. You know how when you travel and you need to leave your pet at a kennel? Well why not do the same thing with children?! Oh, that’s exactly where you thought this was going? My mistake, but good for you for keeping up. Anyway, I think this is a great idea! In a pet kennel, each pet gets their own
cage enclosure. They’re given toys, food at appropriate hours, sometimes a window, and play time out doors! So while you’re having an adult vacation and sipping mai tais on the beach, your child is wearing a shock collar so they don’t step out of bounds of the grass being carefully watched during free time with his or her friends.
“Have fun sweetie! Mommy needs a drink.”
Method 2: Children Ride in Cargo
If you absolutely, positively, must bring your child with you, then place
it him/her in cargo. On the way home from Morocco, I didn’t have the most pleasant experience with children as I did on my way there. First there was a cute little baby girl in line. Her father was holding her and she was giggling and having a great time. The day before I received a My Little Pony toy in my Moroccan McDonald’s Happy Meal. We were crunched for time and I was starving, what do you expect?! This is the toy I received:
Is it just me, or does she look like a complete whore?
Since this toy did nothing productive for me, I gave it to the baby. Little did I know, she’d use it as a weapon!! The moment her grubby hand took the purple unicorn was the moment I helped her exact revenge on her father. She was beating the shit out of him with the toy, no joke. She kept hitting him in the face with it. I bet her parents hated me. If they took the toy away, she’d cry, if they let her keep it, she’d continue to terrorize her poor dad with it. It was a lose/lose situation, and all of this was my fault. HOW WAS I TO KNOW?! I’m sure they were angry at me and were just being polite. Also, the kid kept dropping it on the ground. When my friend went to retrieve it, the kid would do it again. She grew wise to this game of fetch. This little girl had a small taste of power, and liked it. I apologize in advance if this kid becomes a tyrannous leader or a republican when she gets older.
So as we board the plane and get to choose our own seats, I swore to myself I wouldn’t sit near children. Did you know life doesn’t work that way? Because I learned that when a child was seated behind me and another one right next to me. Oh the joys of reproduction. First the kid behind me continued to kick my chair for about 15 minutes, and the plane hadn’t even begun to move. Then the kid next to me gave me dirty looks. I’m pretty sure he sensed my “not kid friendly” vibes I was shooting out. Luckily for me, the grandma switched seats with her kid so the kicking of my chair stopped. The little tyke next to me was sick so he was surprisingly great for the plane ride. Didn’t make a commotion or anything. And I slept soundly almost the entire ride home. Except for the end. When the child behind me was screaming for 20 minutes. That was fun.
Sort of. This guy on Skype added me. Upon clicking the “accept message” button, I hadn’t realized I’d be adding him onto Skype. My bad. Anyway, I messaged him saying “Who is this?” and his response? “hey im sorry i know another Caitlin and when i searched for her three came up…but im bruce by the way very nice to meet you and my god your beautiful haha im sorry wen i added you, you had no pic so only seeing now” GOOD GOD MAN, learn how to use punctuation. Also, what the fuck? I don’t even know this creep and he’s already trying to get in my virtual pants. The next time I came online he sent me a message saying hey, so I blocked him. I’m assuming I’ll be receiving a hostile love note written in his blood and pictures of me sleeping soon in the mail. I’ll keep you posted. I’ve been thinking about the concept of human relations and affection for the past week and this was just the cherry on top. A guy whom I’ve never met before was reaching out to me through the internet. You can’t get more desperate than that.
This might be a good time to make a disclaimer. For those of you who were in a relationship before going abroad and are still making it work now, that’s great for you! I admire your persistance and strength for trying to make that work. This is really about the people who had been broken up but got back together because they couldn’t handle being alone with themselves for 5 months. Not trying to offend but I know I will. Just kidding, no one reads this anyway.
It amazes me the lengths people will go to receive another person’s affections. It just shows how desperate we all are for love and attention, that we’d rather have a “relationship” with somebody through texting, Facebook and Skyping, than in person. My friend the other day was talking about a few guys from our program. She was telling me about how they all got back with their exes from home. This is hilarious to me. If you didn’t know, most Italian women don’t like American men. They’ve been referred to affectionately as “ice queens.” I know, that’s a generalization, but I’m really only referring to the ones who go out dancing at the discotecas. Italian men on the other hand are a whole other story. They like to whisper sweet nothings into your ear such as, “you’re beautiful,” and “you’re so beautiful,” and, this one is a real gem, “you’re beautiful.” They will do this because 1. They think it’s flattering (It’s not). 2. They don’t speak much english. 3. They think it’ll make you kiss them (you won’t—unless you’re really drunk). Anyway, I just feel bad for the girls back home whose boyfriends are here. They’re probably thinking, “oh that’s so sweet! He’s half way around the world and yet I’m the only girl he wants to be with.” EEEEEEEEH! (obviously a buzzer) False! He just can’t get any play out here. It’s just interesting to me because a lot of the guys here seem kind of douchey and frat boy-y. Again, not worried about offending people because no one reads this. But I guess they’re sensitive enough to the point where they’d rather have a pretend relationship with a girl at home than have to deal with being alone for 5 months. What interesting creatures we are.
By the way, I’m not aiming this post at just the guys. But everyone in general. Even those who aren’t in relationships with someone back home have people they’re currently talking to. Most of the people on this program that I’ve talked to have a person back home with whom they talk to often and are considering starting something up when they return. I admit, I’m guilty of it too. It’s that pesky being human thing with emotions and shit. Someone really needs to fix that. So overall I guess I’m asking you to think about why you’re with the person you’re with. It’s not fair to take advantage of another person’s feelings for selfish purposes. It’s also not fair to yourself, because you’re not allowing yourself to figure out who you are outside of a relationship. Think of your time abroad and away from your ex as 5 months of YOU time. 5 months where you can grow into someone you love. 5 months where you wish you could spend more time alone with you even after the program ends. You owe it to yourself to be happy without the dependence of another person acting as your crutch.