menage a deux ... non?

Amelia says -

My boyfriend wants to have a threesome. Me, him, and … He said he wouldn’t care if it was a guy or a girl he thinks it would be kinky either way. He also said he understands if I don't want to do it. But still, wtf?! Sure he had had a couple beers but he was far from drunk when it just spilled out his mouth. I don’t even remember what we were talking about. And immediately I start thinking – it’s like cheating but I’m there, it opens the door to cheating in the future, blurring boundaries, I don’t want to share, some hoochie kissing my boyfriend, and my blood is boiling and I’m ready to kill this girl who doesn’t even exist. Notice that even though he said it could be him and another guy I’m assuming it would be a girl? Because honestly, who wants 2 guys on them? I’d feel way too intimidated and too many pressures to perform for both. It’s hard enough sometimes to perform for one when I still have to get the dishes done, and go work out, and make lunches for tomorrow, and that pile of books is getting higher and higher and there are so many other things that need doing. Every once in a while, can’t he do himself? Now he wants to do it with me – AND someone else. And if you do decide to do it, where do you do it? I’d be dead before I let some kinky stranger come into my home and find out where I live for future stalkerish purposes when she realizes just how hot my boyfriend is. But I also wouldn’t go to some stranger’s house where you could run into anyone on the sidewalk, in the kitchen eating dinner, in the bedroom closet with a video camera … And hotels are cheap. And skeezy. And I am neither of those. And how do you do it? It doesn’t bother me one bit that my boyfriend has a secret kinky fetish or two. I figure sexuality is what it is and so long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, it’s all good. It’s just not necessarily true that his idea of sexy and mine are coinciding on this issue. And if he’s feeling kinky and I’m not, do I fake it? It’s like a cardinal rule that you don’t fake orgasms because for one, you’ll probably never have a real one again because he won’t know how to give it to you and he’ll expect you to be moaning in ecstasy within 2 minutes. It just doesn’t work that way. So is kinky the same deal? If you fake it once, are you stuck faking it over and over again until you decide that the guy just isn’t worth the leather pants suit and the secret password?

Ode to fictitious hunky man of my dreams

Amelia says -

I've been thinking lately about the guys I've dated. And the guys I didn't but wished I dated. I promise I didn't stalk them, and won't, I just think about them every now and then. And I suck at mushy but I wondered what I would say to each of them in a love letter ... And then I thought, what if writing the letter was the same as wishing and wishing was just a predecessor to real life happenings? (I know - I think too much. But it's fun so go with me). So, based on what I loved and still love about each of them, this is my call to some guy I'm sure doesn't exist.

We are in different places right now but when I close my eyes I can see yours. And if I think just a little bit more I can feel your curls wrapping themselves around my fingers. And you might be far away from me, but I know that if I need you I just have to ask and you're there. And when I see you, I smile. And you smile back, with your heart shining out at me through your mischevious eyes. I know that whatever adventure I am looking for, you're dying to take it along with me. You've always validated my beliefs about the world and showed me what it looks like to stand up for them. You embody ideals I have desperately wanted to mirror back to you. You always let me explore the world at my own pace while you sat back and adored every piece of me. And when I was ready to jump you were ready to jump with me. In you, I could recognize traits that I cherish in myself as well and I loved you for it. It maybe took a few drinks but your openness and honesty led us into deeply earnest intelligent conversations and when I became caught up in ideas I couldn't sift through on my own you would wait for me to catch up before moving on. I'm floored by your generousity and you never expect to receive anything in return. You are sturdy and reliable and I know that even when you're not here, I'm not alone.

Imagine your life in movie scenes

*image courtesy of photobucket.com

~Amelia says ~

What if your life were a movie? What kind of movie would it be?

Mine might be a boring one ... or maybe my life would be more exciting because of it ... no, it would probably be boring. The movie people took back to the store and demanded their money back from. Take my morning for example:

I woke up alone in bed (boyfriend was out last night and crashed on the couch watching tv). So the day started as a documentary. A day in the life of the girl with bad breath. I heard the tv on so I came out to the living room. Everything's a mess. There are cushions on the floor, a blanket too, along with a load of folded laundry, a gift from my sisters, an empty sour cream container, but my boyfriend's adorable. Then he farted. Which leaves us in (I hope) a romantic comedy. The guy just can't ever reach my expectations and someday, maybe tomorrow, I'll realize he's just fine the way he is. He woke up when I came in and rolled over without leaving any room on the couch for me. Let's do this one backwards. Switch to porno. I squeeze in with him, he runs his hands through my no longer greasy hair and wraps one arm around me while the other arm brushes the unfinished puzzle off the coffee table so we can make out on it. I know, I'm cheating. But maybe I need a little porno in my life.

Seriously though, I think most of my life would be documentary style: studying the strange behaviour of the independently attached mid 20s young professional woman. (Notice I somehow elevated my status in my description? I'm no longer the girl with bad breath). And I think everyone's life would be - aside from my boyfriend's sister and cousin. They're so goofy it would be straight up slapstick comedy. If I could add a few genres to my life, I'm desperately craving some romantic comedy. No drama. Fuck drama. Give me a bit of action hero. And porn. And they would come along with some movie star finesse. I'd always have shiny hair. And a great body. No pimples (damn you pimples!). And great shoes. C'mon shoes!

I'll bet you taste delicious

*image courtesty of profiles.yahoo.com

Amelia says -

Being sexual is so hard. You must be visually stunning. And witty-intelligent-laid back-hilarious. Your voice must not be grating. You must have the softest skin possible, the sharpest curves (isn’t that an oxymoron?) imaginable, zero body hair, and the sexiest eye to hair to rosy cheek to full lips ratio you can manage. You must smell sexy. You can choose whether you want to smell like food (mmm … vanilla), cleanliness (ie: chemical perfumes) or B.O. Which one will you choose? And like a newly cleaned and impossible to maintain home you must be flawless and spotless at all times. People must be able to take you in with all their senses and be pleased by all sensory experiences of you and your goodness. Being sexual is HARD.

And people are often disappointed. I remember when I met my current boyfriend he told me that his last girlfriend called him the Candy Man. Don’t worry, he didn’t say this on our first date or anything but while we were still in the getting-to-know-you stages. I asked why. He said she told him that his ejaculate tasted like candy. He said this boastfully. Proudly. He lied.

Moving on.

At my birthday party someone asked me why I didn’t drink caesars. I said “I think they taste disgusting”. Defensively, he said “you taste disgusting”. Realizing it was my birthday - the day when one cannot be put down - he corrected himself saying “I’m kidding. I bet you taste delicious”. This was quickly followed by him blushing when he realized how sexual a comment that could be. Did I believe him? Who am I kidding? I taste like people. Skin and soap and well … skin.

Just the other day I was joking around with my boyfriend who was eating kippers. They stink up the whole house. And definitely stink up his breath. I kissed him and then said “yuck. Your lips smell like fish”. Can you see where I’m going? If you know how goofy I am you might guess that I followed that up with “I have to lips that probably smell like fish sometimes”. Did I go too far? I can tell you, that is the direct opposite of sexy. But got me a laugh. Which I might value more than an up and down body ogling. You know why? Because once you’re sexy you have to stay sexy. And sexy, is hard work.

Seriously?

Anna says...
Amelia, it was a sticky nine inch dildo? Seriously? Gross!!! Oh wait, I mean...sexy...

Guy emailed my friend to ask her why I was no longer on Facebook. I emailed him back instantaneously...Why do I do this to myself? Why can't I get let go?

If I could write Guy a message right now, it would go a little something like:

Dearest F*ckFace,

Why are you such a tool? I hate you. I hate you for emailing and phoning! I hate you for still wanting to be friends with me!!! Why can't you give up like a normal person? Why can't you leave me alone!

Anna

Closet Dildo

Amelia says -

I'm talking about an actual slimy neon pink rubber 9 inch long sticky dildo I found in my closet - no, it wasn't mine.

I lived at home my first year of university - which didn't save me any money and really put a damper on my dating life. I was never home and I was paying a crapload to keep my car full of gas despite my 3 trips to town per day. So me an my wallet sat down and talked about my options. I had to move into town. I asked this girl from my class if she wanted to live together because I knew she would be looking for a place. She said sure and that one of her friends would like to come too. But they couldn't move in until the end of the summer. So I spent 4 months living in our huge (empty - broke students don't have furniture silly) apartment alone.

I was working at a bar so I would get home at 4 in the morning and get up at noon, go back to work. I never managed to be home much so I never bothered to have anyone over. Nobody even knew where I live. And then one day ...

I was cleaning my place and when I had dug through the pile of dirty clothes to get to the bottom of the closet I dropped everything. There is was. Shiny. With lint and hair stuck to it. Pink. I swear, I imagined it throbbing. A Dildo. How long had it been there? I hadn't cleaned in a week, so it could have been days ago. Who left it? Was it a joke? Did someone think this was funny?

I called the girls who had the keys to the place but they hadn't been anywhere near the place. They lived in another town and wouldn't be coming back until September when school started back up. I asked the neighbours if they had seen someone. No. I called my sister who said someone must have broken in and I had to call the cops - which I did. Can you imagine how that went?

Cop comes to my house: When did they break in?
Amelia: I don't know
Cop: How do you know it happened?
Amelia: They left a dildo in my closet
Cop: laughs ... it was your friends
Amelia: No it wasn't, they don't know where I live
Cop: when did you leave the door unlocked?
Amelia: I didn't. But you can break into this place as quickly as you can say sex toy (ok - I embellished that part. But I did lock myself and Ms Cop out of the apartment with a butter knife an get us back in in two seconds flat)
Cop: What did they take?
Amelia: nothing
Cop: What did they break?
Amelia: nothing
Cop: What do you expect me to do?
Amelia: I don't know! You're the cop! Someone came into my home and did something in my room with a dildo and then left it behind! That's gotta be illegal. Can you at least give me a report number so I can get my land lord to put a deadbolt on the door?

Can you imagine the paperwork Ms Cop had to put in?

Practical Love

Anna says...
Is it possible to learn to love someone? Is this 'mature' love? The love that we are supposed to have?

I've been thinking about all the love stories I've heard over my lifetime...my great uncle, my uncle (I'll save that one for another day) and the war bride on CBC during Remembrance Day...We eat this stuff up, don't we? Something inside of us yearns for a love story....a passionate love story that is filled with sweaty palms and and lingering kisses...But what happens after the love story? What happens when the credits start to roll and you are left with each other...in the middle of a street in London (Bridget Jones' Diary)...in a Macy's (Serendipity)...looking at the stars (Sleepless in Seattle)...sitting on a bench (Notthing Hill)...on top of a fire escape (Pretty Woman)...when the carriage pulls away from the church (Emma and Pride and Prejudice...ahhh Jane Austin)....We are all left wondering, what happens when they get into a fight? What happens when she realizes that he leaves his dirty socks on the kitchen floor? What happens when HE realizes that she is actually pretty hairy when she doesn't shave? What happens when (GULP!) they eat really bad Indian and need to use the toilet at the same time....?!?!??!?!?!

I have another story to tell you...a story that may seem very unromantic to you (as it did to me when I first heard it). It is short and sweet and anything but romantic....there are no bells, no hallelujah chorus...just this...


Once upon a time in India there lived a family...a father, a mother, a brother and a daughter. The father and mother worked hard to provide for their children. The children worked hard to keep their parents happy. The son was bright and confident. The daughter was independent and the beauty of her village. She had long, thick, glossy black hair. A pale, olive complexion and full beautiful lips. To this day, she is remembered in her village for people walking behind her just to see her thick braid swing back and forth.

She was very innocent of the world. She spent most of her days on the farm, picking leaves from banana trees to feed the family cow, getting water from the well, taking her pet goat(Marathi) on walks through the forest. She didn't have many friends, but was very close with her mom. She often sat at the kitchen table and chatted with her for hours about silly things women talk about.

She went to university...it was her father's dream that she become a doctor, unfortunately for her she was not the greatest at math. She had just turned twenty-four and her parents (and her) decided that it was time to find a husband. So, they put an ad in the paper that went something along the lines of:

"Christian. Pale complexion. Daughter of _______."

Meanwhile....in a nearby village there lived a boy...a mischievous little boy. He was the youngest boy in a family of fourteen. He was not the most academic child, but tried very hard. Unfortunately, his family was quite poor and couldn't provide all that they could for him. He had a good life though. He spent quite a bit of time running through the forest with his brothers and friends, eating cassava, coconut, jackfruit and mangoes.

Eventually this little boy grew up...and became quite a dashing young man...although a little too skinny. He decided that it was time to discover the world. So, he packed his belongings said goodbye to his family and went to the Middle-East. He traveled through Oman, Musket, the United Arab Emirates...He met some friends and worked as a mechanic for a few years. There were a few sketchy moments during his time in the U.A.E. It was quite hard to be a Christian living in a Islamic state at the time. But he enjoyed himself immensely.

Eventually, he became lonely and knew that it was time to take the plunge and get married. He called his brother who arranged for him to meet a marriage broker back in his village. So, he went on a shopping trip and bought four different saris to give to his new wife (whomever she should be).

Meanwhile....the young lady was having no luck....although she had quite a few prospective suitors...business men, lawyers, accountants....none of them impressed her. Her parents were supportive and trusted her opinion. They knew she was an excellent judge of character. So, they kept looking.

One day. A meek looking man came to the door with his brother (OUR GUY!). He was dressed to impress in a white shirt and loungey, hair combed with sweaty palms...They sat for chai with her brother, her father and her mother. The conversation was easy, although the beauty barely spoke.

Finally, the man and his brother left. The woman turned to her parents. She had decided. This was him. He was solid. He was hard-working. He wanted the same things in life. He wanted to live in another country. He had ambition and drive. What more could she want?

Her father called the marriage broker and they were married within two days. He left for the Middle-East a couple of months later. Eventually they had two children. One (very annoying) daugther born in India. One witty and HILARIOUS daughter in Canada. They have been married for over twenty-five years now.

There was no passionate kiss in the rain (Four Weddings and a Funeral), not even a makeout session in an airport (Bend It Like Beckham)...I hope (shudder). But my parents love each other. You can tell by the way my mom wraps my dad's lunch in the morning. The way my dad puts out my mom's shoes before she goes to work. The way they sit in the dark watching the street. They love each other silently and respectfully and without resentment. My dad still giggles like a school-boy when my mom hugs him. My mom still cooks him his favorite meals. Their love is beautiful and pure. Isn't this the ideal? And to think...it all came about so practically...

I think I'll pass

Amelia says -

I think I can do without this love thing. Especially if it's the mushy gushy needy feeling that seems to follow me through my relationships. I can't handle romance. Maybe that's a sign of my immaturity (I'm turning 26 in 2 days) or maybe it's genetic (if you pick me flowers instead of skewering a cow you obviously won't make a good mate) or maybe it's a sign of the times (where efficiency and productivity is the way to go and I just can't figure out how this romantic BS is either of those).

But I went out last night with some friends and could totally see the appeal of the guy who was flirting with my friend via Indian Leg Wrestling on the floor - you'll just have to look it up if you don't know what I'm talking about - or my coworker who was incredibly drunk but indulged me in a few grappling sessions - again look it up.

Last I heard competing with the person you are wooing, especially competing in some type of physical challenge, isn't romance - but it's hot. The guy who sidled up behind me and slowly but surely grabbed my bum? Not hot. Just to clarify. Made my hands sweat but only because I felt incredibly creeped out. Goofing around, scrapping it out, making inappropriate jokes, dancing like a lunatic - hot. Made me sweat too but I'll happily pour for those activities.

So can hot replace romance? Just for a little while? Because I think I'd feel way more comfortable in that world. JT brought the sexy back for a reason. For some of us, it's just more important.

"L is for the way you look at me, O is for the only one I see..."

Ava Says....

Love, the elusive L-word. I’ve been in love and it was wonderful. It was also heartbreaking, terrifying, electrifying, exciting, sensual, and every other emotionally charged adjective you can think of. Unfortunately, we weren’t meant to last. It’s so hard for women these days to believe in love; cynicism and skepticism seem to be the way of the world nowadays. Unless you’re one of the few true romantics left in the world, like me, for example.

I agree with Anna – true love does still exist. Here’s my story.

Once upon a time, a seventeen-year-old girl totaled her car and had to take the bus to school. One day, she was riding the bus and a very handsome stranger caught her gaze. Immediately, this girl thought he was very cute and contemplated talking to him. However, before she could he got off the bus. Every day after that, this girl rode the bus hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy but alas, he never again boarded. Eventually the girl’s car was fixed and she no longer needed public transportation. A few months went by and as luck would have it, this girl found herself in another car accident that coincidentally put her back on the bus. For a brief moment, she thought that maybe, just maybe, that handsome stranger she saw on the bus that day would be riding again. He wasn’t. She rode the bus everyday, talking with her friend about another boy in her high school that had a crush on her. This girl didn’t really like this boy but decided why not give it a chance. When the girl boarded the bus for the last time (she was picking up her car that afternoon), she thought to herself that if the handsome boy was on the bus she would talk to him and if he wasn’t, she’d forget the fantasy and give this lowly high school boy a shot. When she boarded the bus, there he was. They met each other’s gaze and the boy started to talk to her. They talked through the entire bus ride and when he asked for her number, he invited her out to lunch the next day. She accepted and they have been together ever since.

True story. They’re married now. They’re friends of mine. A frivolous romantic comedy can be written based on this story, it really is amazing when you think about it. They’re the reason why I haven’t given up on love. They’re the reason why I think my prince charming is out there, riding the bus waiting patiently for me to board. Maybe we’ve already met….regardless; my love is out there, somewhere.

Cinderella in Sweats

Anna says...

I have a book of fairy tales in my room. It contains about five different versions of Cinderella...Snow White...Beauty and the Beast. Do you know that almost every culture in the world has a variation of Cinderella? Some involving an 'ugly' and 'rude' prince....some with a vindictive fairy godmother. Some even with nice and supportive stepsisters. There's one similarity in all versions though...you guessed it the prince and Cinderella always make it in the end (okay, minus the Russian version where the prince never ends up finding her).

I have a love story to share with you...it begins in a small village in India...

There was once a man. I short man. A short brown man. He lived in a very small village in southern India in the late 1950s. He was smart and adventurous. So he decided that it was time for leave his small village and try something a little different...

He got on a boat and sailed for days and days. He got sick several times. Fever. Chills. Sweats. Vomiting. He didn't think that he would be able to make it. But finally...he arrived on the eastern coast of the United States.

He ended up in Illinois where he took odd jobs to pay tuition. Times were tough. The U.S. in the 1950s really wasn't the best place to be for a minorities.

One day, while working for a family he met a woman. She was innocent. Religious. Came from a very conservative family. They got to talking. Realized that they had a lot in common...eventually this blossomed into love.

He decided to propose. She accepted. After telling her family, they were staunchly opposed. It was too much.

So, he left. He scrawled his address in India on a small piece of paper and gave it to her. He was gone.

She decided that he was it. It didn't matter what anyone said because she knew...he was the one for her. So, she got on a boat. Got on a train. Got on an auto and found him. They got married and they've been together for over 40 years.

Pure love exists. This story of my great uncle proves it to me everyday.

Mating dances

*image courtesy of hubpages.com

Amelia says -

Anna made me start to think about all the different mating dances we do. And there are a lot of them. And most of them mimic in some way the mating rituals found among animals. Of course that makes sense because when we are after a mate, we revert to our animal instincts: will you be a good provider? How much food will you bring home? What does your shelter look like? How many supports can you bring to my life? How good are your jeans (genes)?

Every now and then we all like to flash our tail feathers. Maybe for you that means your wallet. For me, I've got a great rack.

We also need to know that our prospects will make good mates. Like Anna said, that has a lot to do with your skills on the dance floor. The more they look like moves from the bedroom, the better a mate you must be. If you can accomplish that with clothes on, imagine the possibilities when naked!

Our mating calls. This must be boastful, directed and inviting. "How you doin?" is getting a bit old but never fear. Apparently it also wasn't direct enough so many mate seekers resort to lines like "hey hot stuff. We should do it". The more socially adept will say something along the lines of "can I have your number?" or "let me buy you a drink". They are proving that they will make superior mates because they will consider your needs and desires both inside and outside the bedroom.

Padding. We need to make our homes look inviting to the opposite sex. Bachelors who are looking to successfully "pick up" might clean the dirty towels off the bathroom floor, ensure that there is toilet paper in the bathroom because no girl likes to drip dry and make sure that there is at least juice in the fridge for breakfast. Bachelorettes will purchase a queen sized bed that is "much too large for just me", ensure that their fridge is stocked with bacon, eggs, juice and all the ingredients necessary for a breakfast of champions and will double check that their tampons, tweezers, birth control pills and sex toys are all hidden so as not to intimidate their prospective mates.

Well done all.
You should have succeeded by now.
You haven't? Call louder next time.

Maitres chez nous.

I went to a thing today. It was a thing about careers in the foreign service. For the first time in my law school career I actually felt excited for me. I forgot how that feels.



We are "maitres chez nous"-masters of our own house. I think that I forgot that for a while. It's not like I've come to this sudden realization or anything, because tomorrow morning I'm going to be faced with the same self-doubt and anxiety about my lack of love life, but I forgot that waiting around batting my eyelashes is a douche move. I mean, we all have so much potential in us...don't we? Woman are more powerful than they EVER were and since WHEN (WHEN!) did we EVER need a GUY (a STUPID GUY!) to validate us? Crickets...I think I am the last one on the planet to come to this realization....didn't Betty Friedman write this in The Feminine Mystique like 50 years ago? Hmmmm...



Anyways...I realized that waiting around for Guy to realize that I AM worth is really quite pathetic. Yeah, he's witty. Yeah, he's kind of cute. Yeah, he makes me laugh...but so are a good 1/4 of the male population (please God...let this be true). I was going to back this up with an optimistic fact that there are TONS of men out there, but just discovered there is one male for every two females at the moment. Sonofab*tch.



In any case. I've made a decision. If I am 35 and single, I will:

- I will attend the Cordeau Bleau in France (I've always wanted to be a chef).

- I will take a ridiculous vacations to exotic locations like Malta or Crete.

- I will adopt a child (or a dog...maybe a puppy).

- I will stop going to the gym and begin a diet of high cal foods like Starbucks frapps and loafas from Cookies By George for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

- I would buy myself an enormous bed and sleep my entire weeked away.

- I will own my own house



What would you do if you were forever single?

Imagine the possibilities

*image courtesy of images4.cafepress.com

Amelia says -

We all have our fetishes.
I like to be ziggled (when you run your fingers along my back tickling me into ecstasy)
Some people like to cross dress, some people like certain foods, some are turned on by men doing housework (blush, gulp)

But imagine if you could guess someone's fetish based on their appearance. That's what Ava and I decided we were capable of doing at the pub on the weekend. And this is what we discovered.

That guy, across from us. Downing the beers in about 3 seconds flat. With the tee shirt that had a body outline on it - he likes to choke you.

The guy on the other side of the bar with the beret. He likes you to speak "naughty french" to him - even though he doesn't understand a word of it and you could probably make him cum in his pants just by whispering "ma puce est dans ton trou de cul" (my thumb is in your asshole)

That one with the bushy beard? He looks a bit like a leprechon? He likes girls with red hair. And his favourite position is the 4 leaf clover.

The lumberjack, he loves his trees.

Do you know what she said?!

Amelia says -
I was driving back to work today and happily listening to the radio - until ...

"Rhianna is getting back together with Chris Brown to collaborate on a song. They are writing a love song together to symbolize forgiveness and moving on together. Rhianna says she is doing it because she believes it is her fault he hit her"

That was the first part that made me go "oooh! No!!!"

I'm sorry but if you get mad at me and you hit me, that is NOT my fault and I'm never going to say that it is. It's YOUR fault. YOUR'S.

Then ...

Announcer With Everything 1 "I don't know what to say about that. How can she say that?"
Announcing Service Speaker 2 "But what if it becomes the best love song ever?"
Awe: "I think that would make it worse"
Ass: "Well, it's saving Chris Brown's career"

Ass - you need to be smacked upside of the head. Who cares if it's the best love song ever? And sorry, but I doubt it. Most of the music produced by Rhianna and Chris Brown while catchy, is fleeting. But even if it were, Awe is right. It would be awful if a woman took responsibility for her abusive boyfriend's behaviour and then we decided that the results of that behaviour were love. That's not love. That's calling scapegoats. That's MY-SO-GE-NY. In other words ... BS

Confessions of a Video Store Vixen

*image courtesy of calendarlive.com

Ava Says....

While Amelia and I were out gallivanting on Saturday night, we thought it would be interesting to investigate the fascinating characters that frequent the pornography section of a local video store. Coincidentally, both of us have friends that work at said video store so we thought, what better way to research the individuals who enjoy pornographic films than by interviewing those that sell them.

Some highlights of our conversations:

1. VSV: Do you watch The Simpsons?

Us: Yes

VSV: They all look like Millhouse’s dad

2. VSV: One customer returned a porno film he purchased a few weeks before claiming
it didn’t work. I asked him if it was scratched or damaged in any way and the
gentleman said no, it didn’t get me off.

3. VSV: One customer often comes into the store three times a day and rents three
different movies each time. Then he returns later on in the evening when the
staffing changes and rents six more. That’s 15 porno’s a day!!!!

4. VSV: They all have bad breath and wear sweatpants

5. VSV: It is most entertaining to hear how they justify what they’re renting; “Who
Fucked Rocco”, cause it’s a mystery.

Apparently, some pornography fans like to stick to their own, like the elderly Asian man who seems to enjoy the Oriental Sex Academy series and his elderly wife who doesn’t mind returning it by the designated due date.

Later, Amelia and I decided to investigate the tiny squared adult film section of the video store. As we both wandered through the doorknob-less door (an issue that Amelia and I discussed at length and I will return to later), I’m pretty certain the young man perusing the best sellers wall blew a load in his pants when as he watched two hot chicks wander into the porn room.

Now I’m not sure if pornographic films are honoured with any sort of award show or recognition special but such witty titles as “Gaping Talepipes”, “Broke Back Mount Him”, “School of Cock”, and “Face Fucking Incorporated” should certainly be applauded for their…imagination? Personally, I am much more impressed when I see titles like these instead of “Big Titties” 1-45. You can bet these are films we’ll never see on the Oscar stage; and the nominees for best picture are, Slumdog Millionaire, Milk, Frost/Nixon, Doubt, and Gaping Tailpipes….riiiiight.

After copious amounts of laughter, Amelia and I decided we’d had enough smut for the evening (and then proceeded to discuss sexual positions that don’t exist, so maybe we didn’t fulfill out smut intake for the evening). We then pondered why there was no doorknob on the door and contemplated crawling underneath it to avoid catching any roving STI that might be lying stagnant. Thank goodness, for purse sized hand sanitizer.

Overall, we don’t quite understand the appeal of pornography but one thing is for certain, it makes for one hell of an amusing blog.

How I Met Your Mother

Anna says...
My friend calls them "dark club girls." Do you know who I'm talking about? They're those girls who may not have 'it', but who think they have 'it'...but are idiots and use flirtation and cleavage to make themselves feel desirable. Okay, yes...I'm bitter because I'm sure something deep within me wishes that I could be a dark club girl.

Dark club girls come out at night...Their technique involves them going to darkly lit places (ie. clubs) where they swoop in for the kill. They chat up random (and for the most part) creepy guys to bolster their self-esteem. They then tell everyone (including prospective lust-interests and uninterested friends/acquaintances/basically anyone who will listen to them) their success stories. They can be identified by the following dialogue:

- DCG: "Yeah! I had an awesome time last night...but this guy kept asking me for my number! Gross!"
- Anna: "Really! Was he cute?"
-DCG: "Hmmmm...kind of, but he was really creepy."
-Anna: "Ohh! Nasty. Shutter."
-DCG: "Yeah, and he keeps phoning me! I mean what's up with that?!?!? I mean, I kept trying to get away from him all night!"
-Anna: "How'd he get your number?"
-DCG: "Oh...I gave it to him."
-Anna: "Oh."
-DCG: "Yeah, well I didn't want to be mean..."
-Anna: "Don't you have caller ID on your cell?"
-DCG: "Yeah. But I don't want to be mean...Oh! And today, he kept saying hi to me when I walked down the hall!"
-Anna: "Seriously? Oh wait...was that the guy that you smiled at today and walked over to say hello to??"
-DCG: "Yeah. Well...I didn't want to be mean."
-Anna: "Oh....hmmm...ok. Yeah."

I've run into a lot of DCGs in the last year...and to be honest with you...they are f*cking annoying (ok...my apologies...I'm attempting to not swear because it's a nasty habit that I'm sure makes me seem like a douche).

I think I'm just a touch jealous. I wish I could flirt...but I can't and it's not in me and I really don't understand how it works. I hate it when people try to touch me in a sexual way (hip rubbing, back rubbing, thigh rubbing...etc.) it makes me feel uncomfortable and I would never want to inflict that torture on someone else. I also don't see what the point is...I mean, if you try flirting with someone for the night most of the time you'll never end up meeting up ever again...unless you give them your number in which case you'd end up feeling rejected when they didn't email/phone, etc. Yeah, I'm really OPTIMISTIC about this, but the approach to dating these days seems to be:

Step #1: Get plastered. Or act more plastered than you really are (the pre-game).
Step #2: Go to a club (or bar) with a dance floor.
Step #3: Attempt to dance.
Step #4: (Guys) Watch. (Girls) Dance...with a lot of hip movement and hair tossing...the mating dance.
Step #5: (Guys) Pretend to be really REALLY plastered and muster the courage to grind with some girl. (Girl) Keep dancing....but try to catch a glimpse of who you're dancing with.
Step #6: (Girl) Turn around. (Guy) Hands on hips/ass....defining moment...if the girl pulls away you know that it's off. If you know it's on then (Girl) moves in closer and puts hands on neck.
Step #7: Dance facing each other.
Step #8: Potentially kiss (but it's okay, because your drunk your not responsible for your actions).
Step #9: Make a decision...go home (with Guy/Girl). Get a number (which if you get then you can 'forget' to phone because you can make the excuse that you're drunk about you lost it). Pretend it never happened (and if your friends ask then you can pretend that it never happened and that you were SOOOOO drunk!!!!!).

Forgive me if I would not like to participate in this mating ritual. I'd rather have a guy who had the balls to say he liked me and wanted to go out sometime (and run away!) than Mr. I'm So Hammered I Can Barely Say My Name Let Alone Yours trying to grab my ass all night...

Sex positions that aren't

*image courtesy of photobucket.com

Amelia says -
While sitting with Ava having drinks at a pub we started talking about the names of sex positions. And laughing over them. Which led us to think of names for sex positions that don't exist but just sounded like they should. Of that list, here's the creme de la creme:

Bottle Rocket: shake until he blows
Virtual Golf: close your eyes and focus on your follow through
Moosehead: akin to "fisting" but using the foot
Gold Platter, Silver Spoon: the male equivalent of a money shot - they mount you from behind, pull out at the crucial moment, aim up
4 Leaf Clover: you decide
Double Jointed Donkey: kick with both legs
Leaping Lassoo: you wrap your legs around him, he gyrates
Little Red Riding Hood: likes it in grandmother's bed. With the husband from next door. Please use discretion as it WILL end your current relationship
Flying Scotsman: moans must resemble the bagpipes
Sweater Vest: acceptable presence of chest and back hair (more of a fetish but warranted inclusion)
Spit and Polish: self explanatory
Track and Field: this can be broken down into the long jump, the shot put and the caber toss

The birds and the bees

*image courtesy of profiles.nlm.nih.gov

Amelia says -

Who are the birds and the bees? I can never figure out which one's supposed to be the boy and which one's the girl. Maybe it's neither. Often it seems like they're both boys and it's an age old homoerotic reference. Either way, I thought it would be amusing to do my figuring publicly. So here goes:

Birds ~
It's another word for your wang! Therefore the birds are boys
Birds eat bugs .... therefore they are girls (do I need to explain that one? That a bee can fit inside a bird ...?)
Birds are peckers ... so are boys
Birds are pretty (so must be girls)
Unless they are turkeys or vultures with their greyish, pinkish wrinkly skin (ahem ... boys)

Bees ~
Sting
and pollinate
and visit many "flowers" in one day
(I can't even think of any reasons why the bees would be the girls)

Therefore it is my conclusion, based on my entirely scientific reasoning and the *majority rules rule* that both are boys. Which is cool. But where do I fit in?

You're So Vain...You Probably Think This Blog is About You...

Anna says...
If I had the courage...I would write the following to the jerks that I have met this past year (and the scrum that is Guy):

Dearest Douche Bags,
Thank you for leading me on. Thank you for making me check my Facebook account every 10 minutes to see if you've messaged me. Thank you for disappointing me every time my phone rings. Thank you for pretending that I am the coolest, most attractive girl on the planet but refusing to acknowledge my existence and then make out with someone right in front of my face. Thank you for making me loose my cool every time I see that you've moved on. Thank you for acknowledging the fact that I will most likely be alone forever. Thank you for basically telling me that I'm not good enough. Thank you for making me feel invisible.

Yes you mother fuckers, I hate you, and hope that you suffer a violent case of runs for the next week and break out in hives from too much boozing...(or catch a very nasty STI that causes itching and peeling during exam time). You ass holes are a waste of viable sperm.

Sincerely,
Anna
(You remember me don't you?That girl you thought was amusing and good for a laugh).

What brought on this sudden sense of rage? I went out tonight...(is that enough of an explanation?). I felt so uncomfortable...and invisible (as always). It was an awful experience, and I left at 11:00 PM after coming to the realization that "he" was not here. Why?

1. I had no confidence tonight (I'm assuming that if I was supposed to meet "him" I would feel sexy and delicious...but I was wearing enormous boots and a long sleeve top...making it difficult to dance without hearing large 'thudding'.)
2. I was wearing little to no makeup (I was having coffee with a friend when another friend phoned to tell me that there was a party...Had "he" been there, I'm assuming that I would have looked perfect).
3. We aren't going to meet at a bar. It just wouldn't work that way...(I hope).

I suppose that we live and learn from every experience...although the only thing I learned from this experience is that I seem to be the chick who blends into the decor of a room-adds diversity, but nothing to talk about. Maybe I should get some heels?

Neurotica

Amelia says
*This is my own very special idea of what really turns me on*

- borrowed from Captain Joshua Regal by A.M. Hartnett (and slightly - or drastically - altered after the fact):

"Fucking hell! I'm so tired I could gouge my eyes out, but my head won't stop humming." He lifted his chin to survey the length of his body and the pitifully limp thing between his legs. Mischief shone in his eyes. "Give us a kiss, woman. You're the very thing I've been looking for forever but never knew I needed till now"Eden rose up and hovered over his mouth, nibbling his bottom lip and teasing his tongue, drawing back when he offered her more. His body stiffened in expectation of what else was to come but she pushed herself up and walked away instead. Studying her face in the mirror she saw him walk up behind her and felt his soft bites on the side of her neck. She heard him whisper "you are beyond perfect just as you are". It was her turn to anticipate what he would do - the familiar hands gripping her breasts and moving their way downward until they found what they were looking for. She was pleasantly surprised when instead, he reached around her with a cupped hand and swept his crumbs off the dresser top where he had put on an amusing show earlier trying to eat biscuits while shaving. She watched him sweep his hand across the wood ensuring that every last bit was accounted for and, mesmerized, she followed his hand as it moved to the trash bin emptying its contents and reoffered to her as a symbol of openness, willingness to start fresh.

So maybe not everyone found that hot ... but that's what I want. A fine balance between sexual intrigue, gentleness, personal validation or praise, and shared responsibility for the home. My heroine may seem quiet and passive to some of you, but if the story were to continue you would see that she is one tough cookie who is not willing to settle for anything less than she deserves. Who demands that respect be mutual and does not accomodate disrespectful behaviour with sexual gratification.

What a woman ... sigh

My Glamorous Single Life

Anna says...
Life in the media is so much better for the single women...Sex and the City, Lipstick Jungle each show us that as strong, independent women we should (a) have an unlimited fund to buy the latest Dolce and Prada sensations; (b) we should be able to eat anything and never gain a pound; (c) meeting people is fun and easy and not exhausting in the least; (d) WE are not to blame for anything...it's all "them" (ie. males); (e) everyone is having sex and it is amazing sex and (f) we should be able to wake up and look like we just came back from a Vogue fashion shoot...

My life doesn't look remotely close to this. I'm in law school (so cue all law school references..."Legally Blond," chick from Law and Order, etc.). Except, I have no money (because I have basically set aside my savings-and the savings of others, to pay tuition and live a very frugal existence. My clothing consists of random pieces that I have collected from my life (all the way back to highschool) that I attempt to mesh together in order to form a proper outfit that will not be mocked. Oh! And, I'm not blond and have bad taste in shoes.

Luckily, I have a pretty good metabolism, but I fear feeling 'jiggly' so I refrain from eating greasy pizza and chocolate cake and (attempt) to go to the gym so that I can run off my unhealthy binges of glosette raisins and sour candies.

Meeting people is perhaps the most exhausting experience (for me anyways) and when I don't have to...I won't, because the prospect of feeling socially awkward for more than 10 minutes makes me want to vomit. Who would want to put themselves through this agony voluntarily???

My personal pet peeve is that as women, we get together (most of the time over food and/or a drink) and we try to convince ourselves that there is NOTHING wrong with US. We are PERFECT. Yeah, so what we treated a guy we liked kind of shitty...THEY should have known what they were doing wrong. Personally, I kind of think that we should start being honest with each other...not brutally honest, but honest enough to say "Dude, he smiled at you and you scowled and walked in the opposite direction...what do you expect?" That being said, prefacing the entire thing with "You're gorgeous!" or "You've got a great personality...but..." is a nice way to pad the reality bomb you're about to drop.

I'm not having sex.

When I get up, I look like garbage. BUT! On a brighter note, I really couldn't care less if anyone sees me this way (a sign of maturity I suppose). But seriously....bad hair, eye crusties, dry skin and sweat (especially during my period when I wake up and swear that I must have taken a shower fully clothed while sleeping).

G-L-A-M-O-R-O-U-S...oh the glamorous, oh the flossy, flossy...

Batman, Catwoman, S & M

*image courtesy of photobucket.com

Amelia says -
We all knew catwoman was into it all along. She wears a skin tight leather cat suit. She's got a whip. She can fit a whole *bird* in her mouth without using her teeth. She can "lick" herself. All of these sure signs that her sex life is riddled with fetishes.

But it wasn't until I was watching an old batman movie last night that I realized the feeling was mutual. Catwoman is Batman's favourite pussy and she likes it rough. Whether she is romping with Batman or not, she's always up for pain. You shoot her - she asks for more. She does have nine lives afterall.

And the costumes. We all know playing dress-up can spice up the bedroom. Add a bit of violence and you've got yourself some S&M. And I don't know if you've noticed (but I have) just how many times they end up on top of each other - easily able to unmask or "finish each other off" but they don't. They prolong their enjoyment, staying in character ... Straddling, Mounting ... Squealing and Moaning ... What a Sexy Masquerade.

The IT Factor

Anna says...
I don't know if you've noticed ladies...but some people have 'it'. 'It' isn't really clearly defined these days-it involves mystery, confidence, arrogance, sex...I can list of people who have it, but I can't tell you what it is.

The 'it' factor doesn't necessarily involve good looks. Actually, some of the best 'it' people are not beautiful...actually, a lot of them are the opposite. But somehow, they manage to take that ridiculous looking nose and that awful chin and turn it into sexiness.

I once knew a girl who had 'it'. Actually, we were best friends. When I first met her, I thought she was the most ridiculous looking person I've ever seen in my life. Huge honker. Pale and pasty skin. Stringy hair. Strange looking. You know what though? Every guy in high school was in LOVE with her. She thought that she was hot, and some how she had convinced everyone else that she was.

I remember her telling me that it was all about confidence-posture, eye contact, head high, breasts out...It was to the point where people were scared of her because she was so sure of herself. And now that I think about it, she wasn't beautiful or moderately good looking, she was sexy.

Looks don't matter. Yeah, I know...we are a looks obsessed society (and I refuse to talk about this, because really...it's been talked about to death) but I think it's just a shortcut...a way to surpass confidence and just get attention first.

How do you get the right kind of confidence? What is supposed to run through your mind when you want to summon that inner sex-pot? I don't think that I can be of any help here...but I am probably the furthest thing from sexy...(I mean, how can you be sexy when you're 5'3 with a goofy looking smile plastered on your face sincethe day of your birth?). But, I usually feel sexiest when I'm listening to a good song...something that distracts me and I couldn't care less what I look like when I'm enjoying...hair toss, sultry eyes...smoldering stare...

You know, your whatever-you-call-it

Amelia says -

I’m talking about the names we call our junk. Men and women both.

I had some friends over the other day and we were talking about vibrators (ie: the beaver … for your beaver …) and everything else girly and / or sexual. And we realized that we all call our junk some very different names. I have a twat. Sometimes it’s a hoo ha. Or a wazo. Depends on my mood. And I don’t really care what you’ve named your sexy bits but I do care that certain precautions are taken in choosing the name.

The va-j.j.
It’s not a thoroughfare or a tunnel. It’s not a receptacle. Please stop calling it your mail slot or garage. It has a function and when I think about mine, I prefer not to think about it solely in terms of how YOU would use it.

It doesn’t have teeth. I prefer not to think of it as an animal (specifically a beaver – which is the bane of all tree-shaped objects coming its way)

Because it is *edible, you may also name it after food. Men may also name their schlongs after food (ie: the dong becomes a ding-dong). But be careful which type of food you name it after: Fish? No
Taco? Let's think about it - hot, ok. meaty, maybe. juicy, sloppy, slipping out all over the place? I hate to break it to you guys, but most girls don't come that way (pardon the pun). In sum, no.
Muffin - fine.
Do you see the difference?

Your dong.
Most guys call it something reminiscent of a conqueror. A soldier. It has a helmet. A purple headed yogurt slinger, cock (the proudest of the barnyard animals). Either way, it is to be respected. But every time you use it, you cannot always conquer. That would make you a rapist. (Which you do not want to be ... did I have to spell that out for you?)

Some guys call it their rod - and yes, it's like fishing when you randomly point it around hoping for a bite. So fine.

Some names come with ego attached. "Love stick" would be one of them. It's not love. It's sex. I may not now or ever love you. I hope your wounded ego does not take too long to heal.

Or they simply call it *insert his name here* junior.

For the most part though, men tend to use more positive terms to refer to their wangs while women and men both sometimes use derogatory names for vaginas.

Slight tangent, most of us do not call it a vagina. My sister was in the movie store one night and saw the Vagina Monologues on the shelf. Confused, she yelled across the store "hey! What's a vageena? Vageena? ... oh crap. nevermind"

Back to the important stuff ... do you see where I’m going?
My junk is just as significant and important as yours. Get it, or get out.

Checklist Perfect

Ava Says...

Every woman has a checklist perfect man and if they say they don’t, they’re lying. A checklist perfect man encompasses every quality a woman desires to have in a significant other. What a scrumptious thought. The Perfect Man. I’ve met tons of guys that I think to myself, “hmm, you could be my checklist perfect man”, but they always seem to have a box or two devoid of a checkmark. Men who are intelligent, funny, and sweet often provoke zero passion, attraction or sexual appeal. Men who are drop dead sexy, and I mean, “I-will-gladly-fall-into-bed-with-you kind of sexy", are more often than not, self-involved, narcissistic, or don’t have all that much going on upstairs. While on a trip to Israel this past Christmas, I actually met my Mr. Checklist Perfect. The downside? He lives in another city, a city that I, almost moved to coincidentally. This guy is so close to what I would make myself if I could create male perfection. The recipe would be as follows: The cups represent importance on a scale of 1(slightly important) to 5(extremely important).

- 3Cups Intelligence
- 3Cups Ambition
- 3 Cups Drive
- 4 Cups Hilarity/Sense of humour
- 3Cups Attractiveness
- 5Cups Musicality (a musician themselves or someone with a genuine appreciation for the art form)
- 4Cups Sweet
- 4Cups Kind
- 4Cups Understanding
- 5Cups Loving
- 2Cups Tall (or taller than me)
- 4Cups Sexy
- 4Cups Genuine
- 4Cups Caring
- 3Cups Family Man

Obviously the sexiness and attractiveness factors are in regards to what I find attractive in a man (think Zac Braff, Jake Gyllenhaal, Gavin Degraw, Justin Timberlake, and Channing Tatum, all rolled into one)….now wouldn’t that be tasty.

I met someone with all these qualities while traveling the homeland…but as I stated a few lines above, he lives in a different province, *sigh.*

I guess that’s why they call It Checklist Perfect – there’s no such thing as perfect.

Another part of me wonders if perfect is all it’s cracked up to be. I love flaws and believe the key to a perfect relationship is loving your man not only for the positive qualities they possess, but for their flaws as well and loving them even more because of those flaws.

Now that’s what I call perfection.

I'm in love with a stripper

Amelia says -
Well, not currently. And not in love. But it was a good title.

I did date a stripper though. Without knowing his second occupation of course (He told me he worked for the government).

I met him online. Said he was after my brains – which is an immediate turn on in case you didn’t know. We know you’re after our boobies and sex. We love to hear that you think we’re smart and that you think that’s dreamy. And he was gorgeous. Ripped. Well dressed.

I stuck to my rules though. 2 weeks of chatting before meeting in person. Did I mention he had a hot tub? We sat in there for hours eating chocolate and drinking beer. I nearly passed out when we got out from being in there too long. Aside from that day though, he was kind of a dud. A little strange, a little self-involved, a little bit of an alcoholic. I suggested we be friends instead.

To which he responded with a message on my phone saying: I don’t know if you realize that I’m also a stripper. If you ever have a party or anything and you need someone to dance, give me a call. You’d get a discount being on of my friends.

I’m not really sure where he got confused. I’m pretty sure when I think of friends I think of respectful and supportive people who enjoy spending time together who do not have romantic feelings for each other and do non-romantic things. Now, I don’t necessarily think stripping is “romantic” but it’s definitely on the sexy spectrum no?

I guess he took after the elephants. Big head, no brain.

The other thing that makes me groan and sweat

The more I work out the hotter I feel. And the more sex I have. And enjoy. Because I’m comfortable enough with my body to let my brain shut down and just enjoy the ride (ahem*).

On the flip side, the less I’m working out, the worse I feel. And yes, I could remedy that by working out, feeling great again and hopping back in the saddle. But I don’t. Instead, all I want to do is wallow and eat marshmallows, ice cream, a pie (yes – the whole thing).

I realize that I am not alone in this. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out – duh, being healthy feels good. But what the fuck do we do when we fall into the rut? That seems to be impossible to figure out.

Suggest whatever you want. The answer is probably “go fork yourself”.

Work out – “Thanks for affirming that I’m fat. Go fork yourself”

Maybe you should talk to a therapist … - “Thanks for thinking I’m crazy. Go fork yourself. And that man in the white suit behind you”

Maybe you need to get in touch with your inner self, to value yourself as a unique being. I know that meditation and yoga have worked for … – “Go fork yourself”

See what I mean?

Anna is man's best FRIEND.

Anna says...
So, that's not exactly how it ended up going down yesterday night...seeing as though I only got home about two hours ago (and it's 9:30 AM). No. I didn't sleep with anyone (gross because boys have diseases...specifically boys in law). For those of you who don't know...my legs will be crossed until I'm married...vow to God, etc. Yup, we still exist in the world.

I ended up going to a friend's place at 10:00 PM for the pre-grame where I had a vodka and 7-up (drink #1) with a group of her friends. It was actually pretty fun. We chatted about crap. Then, all of us progressed onwards to the coffee bar/bar place where the event was being held.

I saw some people that I hate in my year, which quickly brought me to drink #2...Guinness (which I nursed for a good 3/4 of the night). My gang was actually pretty social. We met some med dudes and started chatting about malpractice (wow...even I fell asleep listening to myself talk). I got random hugs from random dudes in my section (which is always nice).

Thing is, all the brown dudes-and there are a LOT of them in med-are looking for white girls (did I mention I'm Brown Town? Okay, because it's actually sort of insecurity with me and the dating world). Yeah, I know it shouldn't be about race...but here's what I heard...

To get with a white guy you need to be (a) really smart or (b) white or (c) really really pretty. I didn't make up these rules. These rules were 'taught' to me by a couple douche bags in my class. They implicitly stated that I was not any of these things (I really know how to pick um' don't I?) Anyways, I don't know if I'm really pretty. I think I'm a'ight-average. I'm not smart...but I'm a hard worker (yeah, I know I'm in law but that means dick-all). And clearly, I'm not white (this is pretty obvious).

I once read a book called "On Beauty" by Zadie Smith (if you haven't read it...read it, it's amazing). One of the main characters in the book was Kiki-a black woman. She used to have all these white guys always flirt with her and give her hugs, etc. but she knew that NONE of them were interested in her or would ever even consider her at dateable material. The flirting was sympathy flirting (gulp...'pity flirting'). The entire night, I felt like I was a victim of the 'pity-flirt'. Which brought me to tequila shot #1.

After finishing the Guinness (I'm like 110 pounds), I was feeling a little wobbly. I saw my room ate-who is the funniest, coolest guy-and I basically ran up to him and gave him the biggest bear hug. I was sincerely excited to see him because he's adorable (and no in case you were wondering). Anyways, he bought me a tequila shot which we did together. After realizing that my glass of Guinness was empty, another dude (with a girlfriend...who brought this up in conversation like 20 times in two hours-dude, I get it) bought me drink #3.

I sipped on drink #3, and eventually ran into rando guy-third year law. We started chatting and he started talking about India and teaching in Thailand. He went to grab a Strombo at the bar and asked if I'd come with him...

I did. We chatted some more. He told me that his parents died-and at that point, drink #3 hit me like a pile of bricks. I said, "I'm so sorry to hear that" (trying to make sure that my words came out in a full sentence). I told him about my loss of hearing for the first half of second semester, etc. It was actually a pretty good conversation...But you know what I kept thinking? Why are you talking to me? Are you trying to get a lay this evening? If you only knew what I know...you wouldn't be wasting your time.

Eventually, I told him I had to go find my friends, and he said "It was nice to meet you Anna." Looking back, I like it when people use my name in a sentence...it shows that they actually care and were semi-interested in what I was saying. Plus, I don't get to hear my name too often, so it was nice.

I then ran back to my gang where rando guy from my section kept giving me enormous bear hugs (this is common for him, we have this thing where he gives me hugs every time he sees me because he thinks I look pouty). This is completely platonic since he has a girlfriend as is a shameless flirt. I think he just likes the attention he gets from the other guys (and he likes to tell me what an awesome FRIEND I am. I'm such a great FRIEND. Which he doesn't seem to do to anyone else...ummmm...dude, I'm not even thinking about you that way... sooo...yeah....)

At this point drink #3 was putting me in a trance. Three of us decided to leave. We went over to a friend's house to decompress and eat ice cream (ummm...word of wisdom...Guinness and ice cream do not mix...actually the combination is lethal...I had my head in a toilet for a good ten minutes). While the girls were talking, I fell asleep on her couch in my jacket and mitts. By the time I woke up, it was 6:30 AM and I realized..."Holy shit! I gotta go and study!"

Which led to me going home. Throwing on a pair of sweats and falling asleep in my own bed for one hour, waking up and drinking about 1L of water).