Monthly Archives: July 2012

How many…

I don’t really like those “HOW MANY” questions people ask….

  1. “How many people have you slept with?” — First of all. None of your business. None. Unless I choose to volunteer that information, that little number will be safely stored in my head and my head alone. In the rules of evidence – this information’s probative value does not outweigh the bias or prejudice of hearing the information.
  2. “How many times a week do you masturbate?” — Also. Weird. I count a lot, but that I don’t count. It’s not like I finish getting my jollies off, lean over and check it off on my list of to-dos. Plus, that would be weird. Let’s just say I masturbate within two standard deviations of normal. Weird answer? Weird question bitch, weird question.
  3. “How many hours did you study?” — Stupid question. Especially if we are studying the same thing, because I’ll do the bitch thing and give you exactly the answer you don’t want. Example: “Non-stop. I’m memorizing every single thing I can.” or “Nothing this week because I’ve been studying like crazy for the last three months. I’m feeling solid.” or  “Oh… you’re still studying?”
  4. “How many hours is the bar exam?” – a whole fucking lot.

 

 

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Checked Off On My List

Oh hey girls, so you know, once a month your body decides to go apeshit and fuck you over? Yeah. It’s totally that time for me.

Why is there no such thing as a drive-thru potato chip pick up window? I either have to get out of my car to get what I want, or I have to settle for something I don’t want. It’s ridiculous. So I’m forced to get out of my car and let people see me in my scrubby clothes, shuffling through the store with a single giant bag of potato chips and a giant bar of chocolate. Guess what? Everyone knows I’m PMS-ing like a bitch.

So while I’m shuffling like a wounded animal with my junk, I run directly into someone. Am I texting rude things? Yes. Do I run directly, like actually physically run into someone? Yes. Do I squeal like a little girl when my head comes right in contact with his arm? Yes. Does he look like the muscled out guido that I go to class with? Yes. Did he just get back from the gym? PROBABLY. How do I know this? Because I ran right into his over-muscled and half naked chest and he’s damp. Do I want to die a little? Yes. Yes I do. 

TA Catch-22

Today we’re doing a throwback story.

Back in college, before I realized that B’s on my transcript were not a big deal, I realized after my midterm that I was going to get a B in Mechanical Engineering even if I got an A on the final.

Earlier in the semester, the TA for the class, John, had asked me on a date a couple times, and I had said I would think about it. Well, after getting my midterm grade and having John review my midterm with me… he asked me out again. A little lightbulb went off, and I realized if I went out with him I could change that nearly guaranteed B to an A! So I immediately accepted. We went on a bunch of dates and finally one day I went back to his place with him.

And the worst thing on earth happened to me. WORST.

We started fooling around, I told him I wanted him naked, and then I pulled his pants off. And…. He had the smallest. SMALLEST. penis I have ever seen. I just. I couldn’t. I mean. What does one do? Normally I’d just plead drunkeness and pretend pass out. But I wasn’t drunk. And then I thought I should pretend I have my period, but we had already fooled around so we knew that wasn’t true. Then I was like… AH HAH! I’ll just say I’m not ready…. but I mean was naked and 2 seconds from penetration and I had initiated the whole sex thing. I couldn’t just run out because then he might go all unibomber on my grade. I couldn’t just leave.

I sucked it up, and just had sex with him. I mean it is just sex, but I am not going to lie….  It was terrible. It just. sucked. And I couldn’t break off the whole thing with him because he might get all unibomber on my grade. So I slept with him until the end of the semester, and once I got my grade (A-!!!! wheeeeeeewwwwwww) I started acting like a completely irrational and crazy girl (because I don’t like dumping nerds, especially when they have some control over my grades) and cried a bunch until he broke up with me because he couldn’t handle more stress.

Oh. Thank GOD!

So after two months of the worst sexual frustration, I got an A- and moved on with my life.

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Doctor Warning Signs

Like any girl, I’m into smart and successful men. Girls, don’t kid yourselves by saying you are into someone just because of the way they are… the minute he changes from Dr. Hot and Sexy to Mr. Brokeass – you are no longer into him. Facts. Of. Life.

There are 4 warning signs that your Doc is a Dud.

Warning No. One: He goes around introducing himself as Dr. Blah blabity…. each and every single time to every single person. Doesn’t matter if it is the homeless dude, the taxi driver, anyone that looks his way? He tells them. He’s probably a little insecure about his rank in medical school, or he has a small penis. Either or… he’s compensating big time. BIG time. This was my ex Cam. To everyone. And he had a small penis.

Warning No. Two: He acts as if his profession is SO much more important and urgent than anything else you can possible accomplish. You talk about your tough day, he one ups you by saying his patient died or that he only slept 4 hours. When he gets paged, he acts like he is the only person on earth that can save the patient. Cam was a gastroenterologist, and the minute he would get a page he would trot off to the hospital like he was Superman on a mission. Cam, honey bun, you’re a colon/poop/etc. doctor. No ones poop is so urgent that you need to drop everything and run… Also you’re a resident, so most of the time you’re the camera-up-the-butt guy… no emergency is going to need your camera up someone’s butt first. Promise. Over inflated ego? Either he’s insecure, sucking up to an attending, or… ding ding has a small penis.

Warning No. Three: When he treats you like a moron. He exaggerates his pronunciation of words and explains things in really simple words. Eric (another dr ex) used to explain things so SO slowly to me, as if the slightest word would confuse me. And then ask “Did you understand that??” Listen. He either thinks you are a complete and utter fucking moron, or he thinks that he is SO… SO much smarter than he is. Since he thinks you are a moron or that he’s smarter… I mean. That can only mean delusions of grandeur, psychosis, and other psychological problems.

Warning No. Four: When the only thing in the world that matters is HIS WORK.I think this goes for everyone, but nonetheless. Eric was a research cardiologist, and he truly believed that his work was the most important, groundbreaking, and cutting edge stuff that would revolutionize medicine. It was the most important thing. On. Earth. He was obsessed. He talked about cardiology all the time. During sex, in the shower, on the phone, in the middle of a blow job. Now. What true red-blooded man talks about work during a blowjob? An idiot. That’s who. Obsessive behavior? He’s either really that in love with his job (which means there is no room for you in his life) or he has an obsessive personality that is currently on medicine. It could be you next. He could be the next man to make the news for locking you in his basement.

 

Follow this foolproof advice:

  • If you see one of these warning signs? Proceed with caution. Don’t commit until you’ve decided if he’s positive for any other the other warning signs
  • If you see two of these warning signs? Consider your options extremely carefully. And start to back out of the relationship when you realize the cons are vastly outweighing the pros.
  • If you see three of these warning signs? Cut and bail. Dump him and never look back. This is a situation where second chances are NOT okay.
  • If you see four of these warning signs? What in god’s name were you doing until you discovered all four fucking warnings? I told you to get the fuck out of there!
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The Worst Date

Someone asked me what the worst date I have ever been on is… and while I have plenty of stories, this one was the one that I thought of first. I am sure there may be one or two more buried in my skeleton closet.

I knew this kid from high school, Brian. So a couple years back when he moved to New York, he asked me on a date. I said yes. Brian had always been one of those nerdy guys that never had the guts to talk to a girl, so I was obviously curious how he had grown up.

Like any decent person, I had a drink before I got to dinner, so the little uptight bitch in me would chill out. Etiquette, you know? I get to dinner, we’re talking and ordering drink. We order entrees, and before I know it… Brian is hammered. Hammered. Before our entrees have even hit the table. Strrrrike One – because real men should hold their liquor. You can’t be a bitchass and get that hammered off of two scotches. Plus, your goal should be to get me a little drunk so I don’t notice your many flaws.

Then we get our food… and mid-bite he just reaches over and helps himself to my plate. His fork still had little bits of saliva and food from his place on it. Strike Two – Sloppy drunk man helping himself to my serving? Gross. Second. Time and place. This was not Albert’s Wild Wing Shack where it’s all copacetic. Plus. You can order more food if you are hungry. Stop touching mine!

So dinner is over, we leave. He’s striding ahead of me in the crosswalk. So halfway through the crosswalk, I kinda grab his arm in a cute kinda “heyyy wait up for me” kind of way. And he turns and says, completely seriously, “This is suede, don’t get your fingerprints on it.” Strike Three – Are you fucking joking me?  You’re concerned about the stupid suede jacket that you fished out of the Barney’s clearance bin on 70% off? Get more materialistic and shallow. I don’t care if that jacket is made of gold, if you won’t even let a girl touch your arm, you are going to be alone for the rest of your pathetic, shallow, and miserable life.

At this point, I am just so goddamned fed up with this colossal waste of time, so I just turn and hail a cab. I open the door, and Brian slides right in, looks at me and says, “So… my place?” EPIC MOMENT. Not only because I’m still holding the door, but because he actually thinks we will just head over to his place and I’ll fall backwards on your bed with my legs wide open? Get a grip. That shit only happens in porn.

And for anyone questioning my judgment…. I had a whiskey before I got to the date. On the date, I had two glasses of wine, a martini, and an apertif. I was at that sweet mellow spot of drinking where all the little things before forgivable… but no amount of alcohol or prescription medication would have ever made that date acceptable.

So. Anyone else up to rival this one??

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Blahh blahh

So most of the time I don’t bother reading the news because I’m really involved in myself, and I find it unhelpful to care about other people’s problems.

But I recently read this article about the controversy about Ralph Lauren manufacturing the Olympian uniforms in China… I mean. Listen America, did you all just realize that stuff is made in China???? Even US flags are manufactured in China…. when that happened where was the outcry? Are we all being a little bit sensitive because we have nothing better to do? Or is it because we are just a teensy jealous that Ralph is making the uniforms?

The paper, the pen, the chair that our dear President currently sits on is most likely made in China. In fact, you whiners complaining about things made in China, can you do me a favor? Go check the tags on ALL of your stuff in your immediate area. If you find more than 5 different things made in the United States, let me know and I’ll give you a gold sticker for supporting commerce in the United States.

Find something better to bitch about… something that doesn’t make you sound like SUCH a hypocrite.

 

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Never Underestimate Yourself

I fully accept that on occasion my bitchiness is out of control. I have slapped a girl in a bar because she was wearing the same dress as me, and said we were twins (just for the record, she was fat, and I’m not). There was this girl that was mean to my best friend, and we ran into her on her 26th birthday, and instead of just saying happy birthday I said, “It’s nice that the age you turn coincides with the number of people you’ve whored around with so far this year.” 

But these things I remember…. recently an old friend emailed me with an old email I had written to him. He was this pretentious bastard when we went to school together and he had emailed me with some flip comment about how I should go to his frat formal with him. And I emailed him back, “Aww Dave. That’s so much for thinking of me for your frat formal date… I’d be thrilled, but I’m busy that whole weekend avoiding you and your creepy drunk advances.  Better luck with someone with lower standards.”

Clearly I’ve underestimated how blunt I am. 

 

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Basic Rules of One Night Stands

… no seriously.

Here is a list that my girlfriends and I discussed….

  1. Most important. I don’t care what you say – that condom is for you. Wear it.
  2. No food. No breakfast. No sitting at a table and engaging in trivial chitchat.
  3. I WILL kick you out before everyone wakes up. Ta-ta now.
  4. Absolutely NO showers. You can’t touch my towels.
  5. (Caveat to 4) Unless there is some really kinky shower sex going down. But, I find myself unattractive with my hair all plastered on my head and steamy from the water, so you gotta have some MAJ porn star qualities for me to let you fuck me in the shower AND touch one of my towels.
  6. I really don’t care about your phone number. Leave it, whatever, but rest assured I will never talk to you again. NEVER.
  7. Last names aren’t high on my list of things to retain so… tell it to me, or don’t. I couldn’t give a crap less.
  8. The minute you do anything remotely romantic, your ass is OUT. Don’t sweep my bangs off my face, don’t tell me I’m pretty (I know!!), and don’t try to cuddle me. All that shit gives me the chills.
  9.  I don’t really care if you see my dirty dishes in the sink, see my laundry all over my couch, or the fact that I might not have done my sheets in two weeks. I’m not cleaning up for you, since the lights will most likely never be on while you are in my apartment.
  10. If I so happen to be wearing some hideous granny panties and a bra with a rip in the lace? I really don’t care. I didn’t get dressed up for you, and it is NOT your birthday.
  11. If you say “thank you” at any point, you earn one face tingling slap. Two, and you’re out the door while I chuck your shoes out after you. I know I’m probably the hottest girl to get naked in front of you, so you’re welcome. But I already know this fact, so keep your stupid comments to yourself.

So ladies and gents… what are your one night stand rules?? Anything else to add to the list?

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Translations

Online Profiles are so weird. Why do men think these things will work??

Man writes: “i’m looking for a cheeseburger loving fashionista who’s into trying new things”

  • I see: “I am looking for a chubby girl with low self-esteem that buys expensive things to make herself feel better and is a freak in bed.”

Man writes: “I can’t live without crystal light and diet soda”

  • I see: “I’m secretly a freak about my weight and I count calories. I might be gay.”

Man writes: “I’m looking for something serious”

  • I see: “I can’t find someone in real life because my personality in real life sucks”

Man writes: “I can’t live without the internet”

  • I see: “I stream a lot of porn.”

Man writes: “You are hot, keeping it real, message me.”

  • I see: “I can’t say shit like this in real life, and you’re hotter than me, so heyyyyyyy”
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Putting A Ring On it…

I got out of a pretty shitty relationship a while back, and when I bitched about how it was such a huge mistake to my friend, she reminded me: There are no mistakes, only experiences that change you. Do those zen approaches to life ever help? Because the whole Cam experience only brought out the violent person in me that wanted to beat the bastard (with a bat).

Anyway, Cam and I had met in September, and within a few weeks he had given me the keys to his apartment and told me he wanted to marry me. For Christmas he purchased what he called a “promise” that he would buy me a better ring and we’d live happily ever after. Crazy right? But the fairytale loving sap in me thought this was my whirlwind romance. I thought that maybe this was what it was supposed to be like. After all, Cam spent tons of time with me, doted on my every move, and spent every single dime he could on me.

What I didn’t realize back then was that all the money he poured onto me and the time that he wanted to spend with me was his way of manipulating me and his way of controlling what I was doing. His obsessive need to know what I was doing soon got out of control. He would get upset whenever I made a decision on my own, and then badger me into whatever he wanted to do.

The moral of Cam? Do not trust the boy that obsesses immediately and refuses to let you out of his sight. Cam and boys like him have the crazy “i love you so much, i’m going to lock you in the basement so we can be together forever” kind of psychotic love.

 

 

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