Monday, April 25, 2011

Actors Carrying Crucifixes

Carrie
It was like a bomb that just kept exploding: “I have a girlfriend. This whole flirtation is in your head”

Charlotte
He should have mentioned her earlier. That guy is a jerk.

Carrie
Thing is, I don’t think he is. I sparked with this person. I never spark… I wonder how happy they are.
This is not a good side of me. Seriously! What’s the point of meeting someone like that if they’re not available?

Charlotte
It’s the universe telling you they’re still out there.

Miranda
Maybe it’s the universe telling you all the good ones are taken.

Charlotte
What did he look like?

Carrie
I can’t remember, which is what always happens when I really like someone. I just remember a feeling… Or he was a dating mirage.
I was so hungry for a spark, I hallucinated a man!

Sex and the City
 plus one is the loneliest number,
Season 5

Why come up with witty thoughts when there are TV shows?

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Don’t Touch Anything

Believe it or not, I’ve done a little bit of growing up since I left my parents’ house 9 months ago… I’m not talking about my moral compass, of course; it sailed, along with my virginity, years ago (leaving a goodbye note promising me I’ll see them both again when I’m old and boring). I’m referring another kind of growing up, an underrated kind: The Stop being such a little bitch kind.

I miss my family, friends, dog and bed. I worry about not getting the grade, I let myself be disappointed by guys constantly and my period hasn’t been regular for a year now. Meanwhile, a friend of mine is going through the death of a family member due to cancer and my parents’ phone calls have been, more than once, reduced to “Guess how many people have died tragically as a result of the drug dealing war here in Mexico?”; I’m pretty sure people in Japan and Syria aren’t having a blast either.

I said it once; I’ve no problem in saying it again: I have no real problems. Neither most of you, face it.

I’m not against bitching, believe me, I’m a great bitching partner…

Did you just spent a sleepless week studying and you still failed the test?
Let’s swear our brains out while we plan to chew that teacher’s balls off.
Your clothes look terrible because of the half of pound you gained?
Cry as hard as you can, I bet it burns lots of calories.
Did that beautiful cock teaser just say she loves you like a brother?
I say there’s not better excuse to drink until you puke… And then drink again.

However, if you are going to act like believe it’s the end of the world, you will have to excuse me while I roll my eyes; life is too short for me to pretend I care. It does hurt like a bitch but no matter how hot she is or how sweet he was, we are lucky if boy/girl crap is the biggest of our troubles.

The way I see it, in every bad situation (once you’re over the initial shock), you have two choices:

a) Stop bitching and get yourself out of it.
b) Keep letting it mess up with your head and stop bitching, since you apparently enjoy it.

 

Now that I have half convince you, I won’t look so pathetic when I explain you why am I spending the rest of my Spring Break with my grandparents: I refuse to keep bitching about the same things over and over again.

I mentioned, on January, how disgusting my brother’s apartment was. Ok, it turns out… I didn’t know shit about disgusting; no one knows about disgusting until you find yourself taking a probably useless shower in a tub with dead bugs, pubic hair and some spots I will pretend I never saw. Blame my parents for raising, both, an uptight bitch and a repulsive pig.

Not even The Roommate’s sweet ass is going to keep me here.

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Jesus Never Sent Old Judas to Hell

From the old 90210 to the new one, I’ve lived in Teenageland longer than I should have. I’ve seen fictional characters go from high school to college, action those self-proclaimed critics state as “jumping the shark”. I never fully understood why so many people hate that TV-transition, until a few days ago. It’s not realistic… And yes, I’m talking about realism on TV shows where everyone just accepts 29-year-olds as high school students and black kids as an extinct specie.

Coming from a phase when a “sorry, hon, I can’t drive you to the mall today” felt like a justified cause of depression; young impressionable idiots, like me, end up feeling scammed when we realize  how few fucks one actually gives once we reach college…  I guess it’s hard to create a mildly successful TV Drama in which we can’t care about the characters, given that they don’t even care about themselves.

Time for a context and an explanation: Muffin and I thought it would be fun for us to stay an extra day before heading home for spring vacation on a cheap hostel; we also decided to invite some testosterone to stay with us, agreeing they make the world a sexier place. After a relatively open invitation, that testosterone end up being Muffin’s boyfriend (a.k.a The Muffin Man; credit: Danni), Dude and Dude’s “loving-hands” friend I mentioned on my last entry, which, for fun, we’ll call Judas. I swear I wasn’t aware of this arrangement until last minute, I don’t seek drama that hard… Although, I’m guilty of not giving a damn when I see it about to crash against me.

In an unexpected but greatly appreciated twist of events, Dude decided to be pleasant; there was no chemistry left between us, whatsoever (which makes me wonder if there ever was).

Indifference reign over the evening even before we took the hookah out and do that transferring smoke from mouth to mouth thingy; activity awfully enjoyed by Judas and me. Later, that evening, a fuck was almost given when my own friend assured me Judas’ girlfriend wasn’t really a girlfriend and more like a casual fling, you can’t really blame me for thinking this was just too suspiciously convenient for it to be true.

However, the “I-Don’t-Care.I’m-A-Golden-God” Award was given to Dude after I was informed of a conversation that took place during my absence (ihaveatinybladder.org).

Muffin Man
Do you like her?

Judas
Yeah… I…
[looks at Dude awkwardly]

Dude
Hey, don’t let me stop you. Next time, give me the heads up and I’ll stay at our dorm.

0700: Dude was already at his dorm, keeping his word; Muffin and her Man were at the middle of a two hour sex session inside a bathroom stall; Judas and I were at our only bed, sleeping and, for the first time in the history of my blog, I don’t mean anything else than that.

Our eyes completely closed, our legs locked between each others’ and his hands holding mine; minutes before my brain completely shut off, it revolved around an almost dating rule: “A guy wouldn’t leave his girlfriend or whatever it is, for a girl who his friend banged the night they met her”. I lost my thought when he showed me he wasn’t asleep, either, by holding my hands tighter and bringing them closer to his chest. Being the cynic I am, I knew it didn’t mean a thing; being the idiot I am, I smiled.

Monday, April 11, 2011

Go Home, Mac, Like a Good Guy

Dear Dude:

Don’t be alarm by this letter assuming its content will be an attack. I’m incapable of such thing. I write without the intention of bother or humiliate you. Surely, I apologize  by my request of attention; I know your feelings must be granting it only grudgingly but I’m requesting it in a sense of justice.

First, let me share my best wishes. I truly hope the hangover wasn’t so bad it made your head explode or that you haven’t died in some other freakish accident. Nothing makes me happier that knowing a gang of black skinned gentlemen haven’t share intimacy with you. 

Our last encounter left me anxious; as a caring person I feel it’s my duty to help you in whichever way possible, therefore, I’m attaching a document you may find useful in the future.

Dealing with a Girl You Used to Date 101

Chapter 3:
When Being An Asshole is Extremely Unnecessary

Ask yourself these questions: Was she honest with you while you were going out? Was she nice? Did she try to make you feel comfortable (meaning, she was never clingy and/or listen to you whine about grades)? Did she pretend to be interested while you talked about Assassin’s Creed for half an hour? If you answered yes to most of these questions, this chapter is for you.

Be sure you’re in the easiest situation possible: simple lack of compatibility. No need to do anything else but avoid being an asshole.

Here are a few tips:

*Note: We are required to advice you that getting your butt drunk is never a good idea, even if you’re in college and, consequently, immortal. Drinking  whiskey directly from the bottle will just make you look like an idiot.

  • It’s considered well manners to greet the people you know from a small group; if you’re shy, just grow a pair.
  • Pretending to fade out every time your friends try to get you to talk to her it’s frowned upon in some cultures.
  • Spending your whole night in a corner, alone with your cellphone may not show rudeness, but it’s pathetic. What the hell is wrong with you?
  • If she, sick of your annoying friends, gives up and comes around to talk to you for a while, according to basic rules of etiquette, you should answer her.

Please understand the purpose for my next confession is to bring nothing but truth to your eyes. Your friend, the one you talked wonders about to me, brought disgrace to your friendship by having an indecent conduct towards me. I can be as explicit as you want me to be: aside from being a sweet talker, he had his hands all over me. He, even, offered to walk me home; proposal I politely refuse since I found out he is committed to another woman.

I know it may be uncomfortable news to you; I, however, hope you recover quickly since I’m graciously asking to give him my number if a break up happens in a near future. I see great premarital sex potential, I’m sure you understand.

My most sincere ‘fuck you’,
Lola “His-hands-felt-better-than-yours-ever-did” Dahl

Wednesday, April 6, 2011

The Play Itself Was No Masterpiece

Time to make the whole Fucking-A-Nameless-Guy story some justice… Just not in the name of dignity. To be frank, I do it because this will be my only chance to tell a story of two guys fighting over me, especially, since no one ever asks “How did you and that guy, who you dated for about a month, long time ago, met?”

Context: Costume party; open bar, life was pretty great.

Breaking every single rule girls stand for, I went to the bathroom by my own. Once I got out I found a rather cute guy who goes to one of my classes. If you have read my blog long enough you will know my motto is ‘god bless vodka’, luckily, Cute Guy shares my ideology. He flirted his ass off and I pretended not to be wishing for that moment since I first saw him. As I later found out, this guy had a tiny crush on me; vodka, being the adorable social lubricant it is, helped him make a move.

I don’t know if this generation doesn’t stand for a bro code anymore because Cute Guy’s friends knew what was going on and thought it would be cool to mess around a bit. They distracted him by taking his drink, wallet and probably virginity, they were that mean… Then, they brought out the big guns.

“Hey! You’re the Mexican One, right…? You should totally meet Dude, he has family in Mexico… DUDE! Come here!”

Apparently, a couple of stories about my homeland and a three-hour walk around town at a -2°C (28°F) degree weather make a perfect road out of my panties.

You see, without the sex, the story is kinda blah… Which is the same thing I could say about Dude. After another lousy date, this time, without an apparent reason (other than ‘we already wasted our three conversation topics’), I cut the crap and asked him if he was having fun. I received a vague answer, for a change. In case his sweet little mind didn't understand the question, I rephrase it to “do you really want to keep this going?”… This happened:

“It’s the kind of thing you have to think about…”

This is the moment when I used my “biting tongue” ability not to shout: AM I EVER GOING TO GET A STRAIGHT ANSWER OUT OF YOU, FUCKER?
Instead, I went for this:

“I’m not asking you anything complicated and there’s no hidden agenda… It’s simple as: You like someone, you want to keep seeing him/her.”

When he blurted the “I have to think about it” crap again a red light flashed inside my pretty head warning me to run away fast… Since very few things in my life are ever so evident I, literally, turned around and left. We were already at my front door, it wasn’t that dramatic.

I guess I should have seen it coming when he told me he didn’t read fiction… Or novels, for that matter, since they were not a productive way to waste his time. Oh, fuck your productivity, Age of Empires freak!

…I wonder how hard would Cute Guy’s door hit me in the ass if I come back to him.

Monday, April 4, 2011

People Always Clap For the Wrong Things

HappyBday21

In other news, tomorrow is my 21st birthday… Ugh, twenty-one is old. It’s almost 25, which is like almost mid-20’s.

If you got the reference I, actually, respect you a little bit less.

To be honest… I love birthdays, especially mine.