Friday, June 25, 2010

let's have sex with dudes on craigslist.

1 i think my vagina might be broken. the evidence? number one: my pee smells crazy. not "i just ate a bushel of asparagus" crazy. and not "bacterial vaginosis" crazy. just regular old CRAZY. now i'm on enough pharmaceuticals to render an otherwise healthy human male of average build impotent, so i usually blame them for whatever new and horrible unexplained event is occurring inside me. this morning i was peeing after i got out of the shower and i had to look into the toilet to make sure a stinky dead baby hadn't slithered out. i noticed it yesterday, too. and i've been drinking plenty of water. sort of. i mean, come on. beer tastes better. and there's no sexy culprit like chlamydia or gonorrhea, either, because i'm chaste. so who even knows. sheesh.

number two: my period is on strike. she's always pretty late to the party, but now i'm starting to think about looking for her. bitch, where you at? here is the thing. i don't care about babies, because i don't care about procreation. so i'm pretty "meh" about this premature menopause. and it is a scientific impossiblity for me to be with child, otherwise get ready to start praying to a new jesus. BUT. i'm retaining water like a fucking fish tank, and that's gross. here's the fun thing about being sick all the time: i have drugs for EVERYTHING. just lying around my apartment. so when i swelled up like a tick (blargh) i was like, "don't i have some diuretics around here somewhere?" and i totally did. WITH REFILLS. "that medication has four more refills" is the diseased person's equivalent to "i would fuck you with the lights on." that really is the only thing that makes me squeal with delight these days. anyway, i need someone with a big flashlight to head up the search and rescue team. hit me on my beeper, because i'll be out papering my neighborhood with missing period posters.

number three: speaking of that glaring innuendo, six months celibate. i'm sure my ovaries are just like "why the fuck should we be productive, old dry snatch? judge mathis is on!" and they're totally right. not a drop since christmas. i was thinking about it this morning, in the shower where i do all of my important thinking, and i just couldn't get over how much i don't care. i mean, sometimes i think "i gotta get laid so i have something to write about," but even then i'm like "eh" after a few minutes pass. there's plenty of dirty material to pillage in my ho-story. the thought of shaving my legs and defrosting my freezer or whatever else it is you have to do when a hot man is about to cross your threshold makes me TIRED. plus i need a new bed. and a new body. barf.

anyway, i've used my new electric boyfriend a few times and, honestly, i've had some pretty lackluster results. this might be a little outrageous, but the way those bitches at that class were talking i expected sparks to shoot out of my butt or something. if for no other reason than wetness + unreliable surge protection (that thing plugs into the goddamned wall!) = a million volts barbecueing my soft meat. but for reals, girls always rhapsodize about that hitachi magic, but for me it was just like going over a big speed bump. you know, one of those ones that make you feel like your car is going to fall apart. whereas my old faithful is like tick-tick-ticking up the tallest, steepest roller coaster and then ripping off the safety bar, jumping the fuck out of your seat, and free-falling to the ground where you crash into a cushy puddle of awesome. it's AMAZING. and i will kill myself if it ever dies.

that big, unwieldy thing is too effing much. plus, my good spot is INSIDE, and that gigantic thing is too big to fit. because vaginas retain their shape, apparently. and at one point in my life i might have been able to comfortably hold a size thirteen air jordan, a box of saltines, and a copy of the complete hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy in there, AT ONCE, but i'm virtuous and clean now. pfffft. crisis averted, as thirty seconds with my good one erased the doubt caused by that clunky old hunk of junk. so the engine is still good, but the transmission and the fan belts might need some work.

i need to call the gynecologist.

2 sarpino's breadsticks and marinara are so good i would FIGHT YOU IN THE STREET if you tried to take mine. i swear to horus. they must be made from foreskin and kitten hair, because they are the most delicious thing i've had all week. and they don't charge to deliver, which comes in handy for lazy people like me and corey, because we like our lunch dropped right in our laps, steaming hot and with minimal effort to procure.

i went to the grocery store and cooked some actual meals this weekend because i'm trying to be a better, more conscientious human being who wants to save money (no i'm not), so i brought my lunch and shit a couple days this week, but as soon as those leftovers ran out i was right back to "how can i spend $20 on a meal that takes less than 20 minutes to eat?" remember that financial advisor i met a million years ago? (it isn't your fault if you don't, i might have only written about him in my old blog.) well, he still checks in every now and again, and he's still annoyed half to death at what i require for "expendable income." i'm sure that between magazines, beers, meals not prepared in my kitchen, music, concert tickets, and a dress i spent four hundred dollars this week. THIS WEEK. and i probably paid my phone bill and i know i paid directv, but those aren't included. four bills on ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. it's a sickness.

dudebro is a money guy (and isn't every other nicely-appointed white man you've ever met in your whole life?), and he is working on some sort of investment plan or something for me and we're going to figure it all out this weekend. totally boring. i would rather pull my toenails off with pliers. and then eat them. but i am thirty years old, and it's about time i learned about some adult stuff. like what is in my 401k.

the thing about that, though, is that i'll find out that all of my investments are looking good and there's thousands of dollars socked away in it, and then GUARANTEED i will start trying to figure out a way to drain all of the money out. and i know myself. i will swear that it's an emergency and i'll promise myself that i'll put it back and none of those things will ever happen and not only will i be broke but i will be disappointed in myself and my lack of willpower. maybe it's better the way it is now, with my current system of just tossing those packets from schwab into the trash after i've burned them. (i already told you that i burn useless mail. over the sink. stop looking at me like that!) i wish i could just have a trustee who would take care of the bills and give me an allowance, but bitches are untrustworthy and they'd probably steal from me. or worse, they'd actually pay off all my bills and leave me with no money to spend on frivolous cabs and cover charges. god, i need to GROW UP. help.

3 STALKER FAIL. wednesday night ginger, laura, and i went out DURING A TORNADO AND A THUNDERSTORM just so i could see that adorable bartender again. laura and i took the express train down after work, sloshing nearly barefoot (why do i wear inappropriate footwear on rainy fucking days? i should watch the goddamned weather in the morning) through dirty-ass puddles of gross before cramming ourselves into the worst seats (the ones next to the doors, fuck you cta) on the muggiest train in history (foggy windows, barf) so i could ogle that handsome slab of bacon again. swoon.

it was the kind of night that you couldn't BELIEVE people were going out in, let alone think about venturing out in yourself. because you're smarter than that. duh. it was pitch black at four in the fucking afternoon; tornado sirens were wailing through the air; the rain was pelting and the wind was audible. a normal person would have looked out at that and been scared to go HOME, let alone travel way past home to catch a glimpse of some hot dude she would never really holler at in real life anyway. but this is the thing about me: i AM that dumb person. dumb might not be the right word. hm. i am the one who will go out drinking with you in a blizzard, brave a treacherous thunderstorm to get some fish tacos with you, dodge softball-sized hail to shake my naked booty cheeks in a disco if you want to come with. i'm a good sport. and a good goddamned time.

we walked in and my stomach fell right out of my butt, because i immediately saw that there was a tiny dude with hipster glasses and a pink necktie behind the bar, and not my precious polo player. hockey enthusiast? rugby captain? lacrosse star? sad face. we got a table, because eff the bar if my honeypants isn't there, and i sat there feeling damp, and yes, DUMB, while my toes squelched and slipped and squeaked in my flip flops. good thing the food is so jamming. i ordered an iceberg wedge 1 because i love bleu cheese and 2 because i had just spent an hour yammering laura's ear off about draper and iceberg wedges are a very mad men-era thing to eat. everything we got was divine, and i have no problems sweeping my disappointments under the delicious food rug, i might be an expert at that, as a matter of fact, and we had lots of giggles and girl talk and ragging on shitty dudes. then the sky went from the color of cigarette ash to this terrifying shade of yellow and i was convinced it was the apocalypse and that we were all about to die. good thing i didn't say no to dessert.

sneaky laura, always a good wingman, stayed behind while ginger and i started our slow trek to the car (this rain is destroying the use of my joints at the moment), and when i noticed she was gone and turned around to find her she was grinning from ear-to-ear and i knew exactly what she'd done. "he works mornings and sundays," she announced breathlessly. i don't sweat dudes. i let dudes sweat ME. i mean, shit, I'M the fabulous one! fuck them! who cares about some stupid guy? i'm not going to go bankrupt trying to get a look at some hot college senior. pfffft.

who wants to go for burgers next sunday?

4 mr. clean bathroom magic eraser. life-changing. trust.

5 you already know how in love i am with the personal ads in the reader. i live for them. missed connections is my first love, of course, because i just know in my heart of hearts that one of these days i'm going to see this: 147 BUS SATURDAY LATE AFTERNOON you: black, tattooed, criminally attractive, killer glasses and personal style, reading the kind of book that only intelligent women read. and carrying a big black bag full of so much shit it required its own seat. me: tall, impossibly handsome, wealthy and generous underwear model who only rides the bus to stay in touch with the "little people." our eyes met briefly when i caught you picking crumbs out of your bra, inspecting them, then eating them. they met again when i heard you fart. it was cute when you pointed to the unsuspecting gentleman asleep in the seat in front of yours and made a face like he'd done it. i would have gotten off at your stop so that i could properly introduce myself, but i thought that would be creepy. also, i didn't want to interrupt you on your way into planned parenthood. anyway, i am smitten with you and i would like to marry you and financially support you until you die at thirty-seven. ps, you can have boyfriends. and i have enormous testicles.

but my sexy, dirty whore of a mistress is the x-matches section. ohhhh honey, the kinky, fucked-up, deplorable, repugnant shit you bitches are into! i love it. my favorite from last week's paper, which i'm just now getting around to reading because i am so busy and important: MAKE ME CUM BLOOD (in the women seeking ? sub-section) 53 year old curvaceous female in dire need of some serious pain. multiple partners are a must, as are foot fetishes and intense anal play. i want to be hurt so badly i can't walk for weeks; hospitalization is not a negative outcome. have a husband, not looking for anything serious, just love to watch and join in. must be during the day, as i have 6 children. HUGE vag with space for multiple entries and toys. dungeon in shed, please lock me up and leave me wanting more. please fuck me hard in every orifice, asap! chodes accepted, uncircumsized preferred. down4brown69

okay, lovers. as much as this made me shout "OHMIGODYES!" the second i read it, i also thought, "is this shit real?" because there is just a little bit too much going on here. it sounds like this bitch read a list of the dirtiest things a dude would ever want to do to you and just lumped them all together here. because, really bitch? you REALLY are into "intense anal play" AND chodes?! yeah right. and why are multiple partners a MUST? how many dudes does it take to stick buzz saws and tire irons and cattle prods into your gaping vagina? and what kind of fucking insurance does this lady have? it cost me $900 goddamned dollars in uncovered services to deal with that bronchitis i almost died from (not really) in february; i cannot IMAGINE what her copays and deductibles look like. and what does she say to the ER doctor? that time i fractured my nose giving a blow job (i'll tell you later) the story i made up sounded SO DUMB and that lab coat looked SO UNCONVINCED and it was excruciating. maybe she's never been hospitalized before, but i am an EXPERT on that shit, and you would not believe the number of times you get asked "what's going on?" by every single person who walks by you. AND SEVEN HUNDRED PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS WALKING BY YOU.

thank jehovah i'm sick all the time and records are computerized, because those nurses know me by name and when i want in with vomit on my shirt and my belly distended ten times its normal size they skip the small talk and formalities and start jabbing needles in my arm and threading tubes up my nose. spanks used to regale me with horrifying tales from his days as a medical student in the emergency room, and the worst sexy thing i ever heard was about a vibrator that punctured some dude's inner booty wall. and boy was that gross.

so, this bitch. could you imagine that being your madre's secret life? gangbanging dudes in the shed?! your tiny ass goes out there one hot summer day to get out your dirtbike and you walk in on your mom fellating a dude in leather chaps with a sword stuck up her ass. DELICIOUS. and scarred for eternity. ugg. why the asap? why the uncircumsized? and WHY ON EARTH THE DOWN4BROWN69?!

6 ginger just forwarded me an email about a new gelato spot in chicago that serves whiskey gelato dipped in chocolate then rolled in crumbled bacon on a stick. FUCK YES.

7 my friend eve has been having casual sex with dudes she meets on craigslist, and she called me the other night to try to convince me to holler at that shit, too. listen, friends, if you want to refer me to a witty bastard with chiseled features who doesn't mind just holding hands (for reals, i might be over sex entirely; i'm tired!) and paying for everything, please feel free to send him my way. and i'm 100% happy if you find non-murderers on the internet to get naked with. i don't hate. yes, i fucking do. but not on that.

isn't that a weird thing to try to talk someone into? i understand getting your friend to try brussels sprouts or a new hand cream, but trolling whore sites for dicks? totes weird. and i haven't given up hope yet, despite all of the evidence that maybe i totally should. and i'm LAZY. don't get me wrong, i'd love to shave my legs and maintain the sharpness of my eyebrows, but i'm not doing all that for a dude who's just going to come over when i'm too tired to enjoy it anyway. to hell with that. craigslist works for this bitch because she "has two kids and doesn't have time to date," and i don't know what that means, really. i guess i'm not sexually driven enough to skip all the fun shit that goes away after the third month.

strangest, scariest conversation of my life to date. and i need to work on that buddy system so this dumb whore doesn't get chopped into a million pieces. i'm one of those kid's godmother. and i'll be damned if i'm stuck letting my television raise him because her ass is too good for a vibrator. pshaw.

8 this is what partying with sam looks like. all titties. my party is tomorrow, and i hope like hell you are coming. let's be serious. i didn't call the bar ahead of time to set shit up or reserve tables or whatever, we're just going to roll in and take over. here's what i know: a bunch of my burning hot snatches are coming; some of my platonic twig and berries will be there; my sexy internet stalker is coming (with binoculars around his neck, i think); we will be DRUNK; laura is wearing stilettos even though she is already nine feet tall; i have this fancy new bra that pushes my boobs up and together and i have a shirt that makes that bra really shine; there's a chance a table might get broken because rog will be there; i'm going to pay a tiny asian to rip the hair out of my face later in anticipation; there might be some glitter eyeshadow cream involved; lesbians aplenty; japanese gym shoes; and all this celibacy is fucking with my discretion, so you might get to see my butthole. EXCITING. saturday june 26, 10pm (i'm always late!), easy bar, 1944 w. division, chicago. i'll see you there!

and if i don't, i hope you get locked in a shed after suffering multiple unwanted entries. JERK.