Sunday, May 29, 2011

Girls Aren’t Too Much Help

no women
no wonder it's dark

the vapors
turning japanese

I should add “no reason to blog”.

There was no need to come up with an original introduction for this entry; those lyrics describe my life so perfectly now that I have final exams starting in less than a week.

My days have been reduced to: study/kill the few neurons I’ve left on the internet/eat/poop... Notice I didn’t mention “fuck”. I’m worrying for sanity, here. No matter how much effort my vibrator puts into it (and the poor thing is risking the chance of overheating), it doesn’t seem to be enough.

If TV shows have taught me something is that a girl can fix all her problems getting drunk having a cute boyfriend with a nice girly chat. I thought I could count on my friend, Grey, with this; she, after all, got that lousy nickname from Grey’s Anatomy; for being such a horny med student. I was so wrong about everything that I already decided it’s going straight to my biography.

“I need to get laid” I confessed while Grey and I hung out in her bedroom. I laughed but I was being deadly serious “I swear I can’t think of anything but sex… And it’s not exactly convenient, you know? Everything makes me horny… “ I stopped abruptly; Grey’s eyes were piercing into my soul “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just realized I’m definitely not a lesbian” She answered, as if it was something to be proud about “Here I am, with such an easy opportunity to fuck you and I can honestly say I don’t want to”.

I slammed the door on my way out so hard a moody teenager would be proud.

I don’t know where she got her Friendship Manual but I didn’t feel a bit comforted after hearing how unfuckable I am.

Shallow college girl in search for an attractive
23 year old guy with a sense of humor
and flexible hours.
No experience required.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

No Kidding

I was just informed my dry but charming sense of humor makes me come off like an asshole, at least in front of people who don’t know me and/or think I’m incapable of making a joke.

No need to say I am unpleasantly surprised. I don’t consider myself many things but at least I think I’m polite. Since changing my ways would be a pain but I’m not comfortable with the idea of being unloved, here’s a pamphlet I made and everybody is getting one (yay!).

sarcasm is your friend
(and so am I!)

1. D o n ’ t    t a k e    m e    s e r i o u s l y
In fact, don’t take anything so seriously, you’re better off that way.

2. Confrontation scares me. I suck at comebacks and I cry easily.  Believe me, I wouldn’t insult you even if I wanted to.

3. When I tell (what I think it is) an awesome joke I laugh like an idiot, sometimes, making me unable to finish it.
Most of the times, though, my jokes are super lame and, as a sign of respect, I don’t laugh at them. It’s still a joke.
I’m not done with this point:

  • If I tell a friend to “shut up, you just want attention” and she doesn’t get offended/keeps talking, there’s no need for you to get offended for her.
  • If you felt the need to clarify that a dog is going to get check by a vet and not a human doctor someone had to mock you… No, no, seriously, what’s wrong with you? Can’t you laugh at yourself? It was a Disney-rated joke… Whatever, I don’t hang out with boring losers anyway.

4. Fuck you.



Saturday, May 21, 2011

My Mother Always Knows it's Me

Second most frequent question I get since I moved here (beaten roughly by “If you’re Mexican, why are you white?”) is:

“How can you be so ok with having your parents this far away?”

Well, I’m not so ok with it; I learned, from a very young age, geography is a bit of a bitch. However, the founder of Skype would be very pleased to know I probably talk more to my mother since I got here than when we were living under the same roof.

I’ve become a girl who tells everything to her mother… *giggles* ok, not everything. Here are some of my best stories that had to be modified in order to make them suitable for my mommy:

Dude and I talked for hours that night […]1, he was so fun. He walked me home […]2 and asked for my phone number.
Conveniently censored:

1and we ended up spending the night together
2next morning

After I “broke up” with Dude I wasn’t really that sad; I went straight up to my friend’s, Grey, room, we talked […]3 and I realized it wasn’t really a big loss […]4.
Conveniently censored:

3 while we smoked weed
4 since everything was funny and nothing hurt

Judas and I walked around town […]5 and we just kept sharing glances and lightly touching our hands, which lasted for an hour or two… He did hold my hand later that night […]6 […]7 […]8, no kissing, though.
Conveniently censored:

5 because Muffin and her boyfriend were fucking in our only hostel room
6 when we were both sleeping on the same bed
7 where Muffin and Muffin Man fucked earlier that night
8 while they kept fucking in the bathroom

That crappy night suddenly got better when I spotted that cute guy from classes. We talked […]9 left the bar […]10, kept talking […]11; he kissed me […]12 but then he said he didn’t want anything serious; I said it was ok and kept talking […]13.
Conveniently censored:

9 and made out
10 to the backseat of his car
11 and making out
12 amongst other things
13 and making out

Do mothers really want to know all the details?

I’m 21, if I’m a screw-up, I’m too old to be fixed. Since I’m not selling my body in exchange of heroine, I see no harm in my mother thinking I’m a straight-edge virgin.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

She Marries Him Anyway

I’m currently reading Nietzsche (which makes me sound way smarter than I really am) and I’m noticing he’s a bit of an asshole; even worse when he mentions women. On a chapter, however, he goes on and on about how our (I’m talking to my bitches here) biggest enemy are other girls; even though we have a personal love for ourselves, we still carry an impersonal disgust for women. I so wanted to call him a dick  but, instead, I found myself agreeing with him.

My best friends have always been females and that’s not changing anytime soon; although, if I have to be in a room full of people, I prefer them to be all guys. Not because I’m a horndog looking for an orgy, simply because they are easier to talk to. As if a life of reinforcement didn’t do, these past days showed me Nietzsche had a point.

The context here is lame and boring. You just need to know that all the girls from my residence had to go downstairs to help with something; I was on my way but something stopped me. An hour later I ran into a girl from my floor with whom I rarely talk to. She must have had her period or a stick up her ass since she thought it would be nice to bitch about the fact that I didn’t go downstairs; I considered my options:

a) Explain to her what happened. It would lead to her telling me what I should have done.
b) Tell her not be such a drama queen. I don’t have the balls.
c) Apologize. No.
d) … whatthehell, play dead.

I waited for her to finish and kept walking. Didn’t say a word. It was fun.

I know how this will sound so I’ll start by saying: I like my brother’s girlfriend (not in that way), I think she’s lovely; I’m guessing she doesn’t think I’m disgusting, either. Even so, when we both arrived back in town, after weeks of not seeing him, hell broke loose in a very girly way:

“No. Hang out with her… She’s your girlfriend/sister, of course you have to be with her”

We ended up having dinner, the three of us, at her place; I pretended to fall asleep on the couch, so they wouldn’t feel bad for leaving me alone.
(I don’t want to be a cockblock).

Back at my brother’s apartment, where his adorable roommate was being handsome as always. He decided to give me this hat that he didn’t use, just because it made me look more like a Mexican (it’s not a sombrero at all but attractive people can get away with stupid comments). When his girlfriend found out, hell broke loose, again, this time including shouting, tears and “you’re such an inconsiderate pig!”; she really wanted that hat and it wasn’t a gentleman move from him to give it to somebody else.

They made up. I have very strict instructions to take the hat and never bring it back.


Even though I hate happy couples and want to see them burn, I’m not proud that my mere existence creates such chaos.

*I’m not cool enough to have real bitch fights.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Mad with Desire

My best friend and I never agree on guys, which makes it pretty damn easy to stay true to our “Hoes before Bros” philosophy.

I don’t even try arguing with her because, on some level, I’m aware her guys are better looking than mine. She’s really into pretty little guys with six packs who only exist at Abercrombie & Fitch; even though I can’t deny these guys are the closest to heaven that I’ll ever be ♫, they do nothing for me. If I wanted pretty, I’d be licking pussy… My guys have to be rough around the edges; there must be something awkward about them. 

The guy with the girlfriend, Judas, the one I like liked like liked, falls into the “pretty” category. His soft clear skin, greenish almond shaped eyes and perfect white smile make him so delicate looking he almost gives the impression of being a little boy. I didn’t think much of him when we first met, it wasn’t until we talked for a while (and he defended me against Dude’s childish actions) when I became interested.

My relationship with the Cute Guy from my classes was far more animalistic. There’s really nothing to say about his appearance, he’s average. Average height, average weight, dark eyes, dark hair and still, from the first time I saw him, entering my classroom, I thought “fuck, this guy is so hot”.

Making out with him hasn’t calmed my sexual needs at all, neither did the fact that his not-so-close shave left the skin around my mouth sore for three days. Biology takes over me every time I see him in the hallways; I don’t care whether he’s a Sagittarius or if he likes to feed hungry puppies on his free time (no, ok, I’d care about the puppies), I just keep thinking what an amazing set of kids we would have. I swear I rarely ever feel this mating necessity so badly. Of course I don’t mean I want to become a 21 year old mother, I just want to do it like mammals do on the Discovery Channel ♫.

Either I come up with a casual and not at all desperate way to get him into bed or with a good explanation for why was I humping his leg.

Monday, May 9, 2011

My Father was Catholic Once

The most entertaining aspect of living in a college residence run by nuns is hearing people’s reaction when I tell them I do. I’m not trying to mock anybody; if I weren’t living here I’d probably think being a “slave of Jesus Christ” would involve serious flagellation after every impure thought.

Let’s get the record straight: I don’t have to go to church, I can go out on weekends and I don’t masturbate with crucifixes or throw rocks at prostitutes… I don’t even believe in god (but I wouldn’t say that too loud around here, just in case).

To paint you a pretty picture just imagine you decide, along with a group of college students of your same sex, to live in the same building. Some of them, for whatever reason, decide to bring their grandmothers; since it would be rude to tell a bunch of 70 year-old women to get the fuck out, you decide to give them the first floor, while you and your friends move to the top floors. As a way of thanking you for that thoughtful gesture, the grandmas decide to cook food for you, everyday (except Sundays’ evenings, since that’s God’s hour or something). They won’t bother you if you don’t bother them but they’ll still tell you to put a jacket on, because is cold outside. 

Nuns rarely give me interesting stories, however, a couple of days ago I had an interview with the Head of Residence; it was just a formality but it gave me a wonderful opportunity to exercise my “don’t even bother” muscle.

Below, you can read a dramatization of the most relevant moments in which these symbols ‘♪♫’ will replace a “whatever, bitch… I’m not going to argue with you”.

Nunism #1
TheBoss: Is your handwriting always like this? […] Your t, h, b and else are all at the same height, you don’t expand… Do you realize that says something about your self-esteem?
Me: My handwriting in general is big… Doesn’t that say something?

handExample of my handwriting

TB: Yes, it does… It says you are a generous person with potential, however, those t’s say you are afraid to reach that potential… Is that true?
[My handwriting is such a badmouther] I don’t know… Never thought about that.
TB: I’m just telling you what your handwriting says about you; do you agree?
Me: [♪♫] Ok, yeah, probably.

Nunism #2
TB: Personal question, we never got to discuss it before… How’s your faith?
Me: […shit] It’s ok.
TB: So you believe?
Me: [no] Oh… I don’t know. I don’t think about it.
TB: So you think something that most of the world believes in is stupid…?
Me: [how did you get that from “I don’t know”?] Stupid? No… I’m just not into religion.
TB: Does your family believe?
Me: My brothers and my mother don’t. My father… I don’t really know, I think he does.
TB: You don’t know?
Me: He never talks about it.
TB: Now I see the problem…
Me: [Rude bitch!]
TB: If you don’t think it’s stupid you must believe there’s something out there… Don’t you think it’s important to give it a little bit of thought?
Me: [♪♫] Ok, yeah, probably.

Nunism #3
TB: Even though your mother is Spanish and you have Spanish roots… I’m sure your South American side predominates…
Me: [ohnoshedidn’t! ok, don’t bother, whatev- NO!] Latin American*
TB: Yes, yes…
Me: No. Mexico is not in South America…
TB: [♪♫] Ok, yeah, of course.
Ouch…! She’s good.

Friday, May 6, 2011

I’m Sorry I Told So Many People About It

I, little miss “unfinished projects”, have achieved a hundredth blog entries, if I did my math right (nah, I have an entry counter; I’m too pretty to do math). I’m going to celebrate it in the most annoying way: doing a flashback episode.

I’m leaving all the grammar mistakes, because they are a big part of my awesomeness.


I have never used a washing machine, I don’t really know the value of money and… Have I mention I have terrible social skills? I mean, I’m truly awkward. I just stand there, make terrible jokes or just looking petrified.

More Places and More Names

  1. That reminds me… I need to do my laundry today; I’m almost out of panties.
  2. My phone company surely knows the fucking value of my money.
  3. All my make-out partners tend to disagree on this one… Or they are into petrified looks (…or into boobs).


A Little on the Young Side

This one will remain as my best blog entry ever.


Now, not only I just crossed the line between loving my dog and being a freak about it… I reek of wet dog

What I don't Spend, I Lose

I miss reeking of wet dog ): Nothing fun to add here… I don’t joke about loving my dog.


Houston, we have a problem: I write wrote pure crap. 
I’m going through the months without finding something of substance… Why did people read me back then…?
Why was I even alive? </dramatics>



I’m actually voting for just one, but option number 2 doesn’t sound that bad after some research I made of other places, I’ll just say this: There’s a (just-girls) residency called “Slaves of Jesus Christ”.

Do you Feel Absolutely no Concern for your Future, boy?

I’m usually not into cutesy acronyms but… LOL! Big fucking LOL! Life surely has an awesome sense of humor; I’m a Slave of Jesus Christ and I’m fucking proud of it.


Would you really rather regret something you did, that something you didn’t?

FRIDAY, MARCH 12, 2010
I Have a Splitting Headache

Bad decisions make awesome stories, kiddo.


Not much else to add; in this day and age Facebook words are even wiser: I’m not longer in a relationship.

Where the Hell is Everybody?

I  proudly announce I’m still rocking that single status.


My imaginary sex life is so great.

MONDAY, JUNE 7, 2010
Try to Relax Occasionally

I now realize I’m just way too hot to have a real sex life.


Cooking, cleaning the bathroom, ironing, grocery shopping. Activities that I try to have fun with, as I don’t do them very often. Activities that in a couple of months will be a big pain in the ass since I will be dealing with them on a daily basis.

I'm Going Alone. So Shut Up.

I was such an adorable little snowflake! Actually thinking I’d do those activities on a daily basis and not just when I have no other choice but doing them since my health or/and dignity are at stake.


We made out, and we made out hard. When I came out for air I noticed my brother wasn’t that far away from me; he looked right back, and with a very drunk smile on his face he offered my make-out partner a shot of tequila.

Daddy’ll Kill You

Really, dude? Making out in front of your big brother…? Classiest move to date.


I feel like embarrassing myself today (random need I have from time to time), and talking about my undying love for my brother’s roommate is the fastest way to reach my goal.

In my Mind, I'm Probably the Biggest Sex Maniac You Ever Saw

You’d be amazed of how quickly that undying love died after I saw the filthy conditions he’s able to live in.
After spending so much time together I already see him as another big brother (one I’d fuck hard but a big brother indeed).


Does anybody knows someone from Valladolid…? Because I don’t.

Very Phony, Ivy League Voices

I just copied this to say: I do know a lot of people in Valladolid ♥


There isn’t any other way of describing my current situation other than doing the polite thing: Inviting you all to my wedding with Rupert Grint. June, 3rd. Summer wedding, it’s going to be lovely.

He’s Out in Hollywood

Good thing I read this. June, 3rd is scarily close and most of you haven’t RSVP; manners, guys!


‘There’s another woman involved, you selfish bitch’. Apparently all that ‘Girl Power” we like to brag so much about disappears when there’s guy in the picture.

In their sweet little minds, once the panties are off, dudes forget about everything else, including that those things they call girlfriends.

Sensitive as a Goddam Toilet Seat

(I was physically unable to ignore the “that/those” mistake)
How easy was for me to judge those situations without being in one. I’m still not sure how true to my principles I was/am/can be.


You will tell me if I’m blowing this out of proportions, but what kind of 16-year-old boy is not in the mood for sex? I’d have to be some kind of leper for that to happened… And that’s a very low blow to my self-esteem

A Rude Bastard

No, I was wrong… Hating on a 16 year-old dude for not wanting to sex me up is my classiest move to date.

Any idiot would record their everyday thoughts but just a borderline retard would want to remind people of her own stupidity. Oh, well!

Monday, May 2, 2011

Sex Rules for Myself

Do you ever wonder if some of your principles are just an elegant excuse for being a coward?

I’ve grown to think it’s my duty to update you on my social life and then share the life lesson I got from it… Today won’t be any different.

Let me start saying that night I looked pretty damn hot. I’m throwing it out there so people understand how frustrating it was for me to be wasting all my hotness as a third-wheel for my friend Muffin and her Man. Guys did come up to me (did I mention I looked hot?) but I was only interested in one. Judas, being your typical frat boy was too busy getting drunk with his friends to approach me more than very few times. I did consider approaching him but, either my principles or my lack of metaphorical balls, stopped me.

He has a girlfriend. If he isn’t going out of his way to talk to me, I just have to assume he is happy with his current situation and respect that. What’s the difference between that and not having the courage to break up a couple…? It is a thin line that being intoxicated and disappointed as I was couldn’t figure out. 

In paper (or in Microsoft Word) my whole mental process seems pretty classy; in reality, I ended up yelling at a random guy. It was a shitty night and the guy was being annoying as fuck, shut up, I never yell.

Life is too short to carry a bad night on your shoulders. After Muffin almost dragged me out of the bathroom, I decided she convinced me I am too pretty to be in such a crappy mood. 

Operation: “omg! look who’s there and looking hot” began.

Remember the guy, from one of my classes, who was flirting with me before his “friends” decided to cockblock him? The one I, being 15 at heart, decided to nickname him Cute Guy? If you do, you will understand I owed him a make out session… What kind of person would I be if I didn’t show this poor guy life isn’t always unfair?

We were making out at the backseat of his car when he confessed he wasn’t looking for anything serious… Before I could ask him if my tongue down his throat felt as a marriage proposal he wondered if I could maintain a casual relationship.

I said no.

My principles (that word again!) have been answering that question for a while now. I can’t have a sex buddy; people I get attached and things get messy. Or at least that’s what I’ve been telling myself since I was 16. Being such an adorable little cynic I find it hard to believe I could confuse sex with love nowadays… I’m too much of a coward to figure it out, anyway.