My Life in the Shit Show

As I sit on my couch by myself, I look at the empty glass of wine that sits by my computer and ask myself ‘where did it go?’ I have a tendency to lose things. I have gone to so many parties and lost socks, shoes, coats, my virginity… And most of the time you don’t get that shit back.
While sitting here, sad that my wine cup ran dry, I began thinking off all the other good things in my life that got away. No Katy Perry, my ex did not come to mind. What came to my mind, unfortunately, was a pair of super cute and comfortable underwear I once had. It was one of those things that you bought that day, wore them, and then lost them. I remember they hugged my body and lady curves in all the right places, while keeping my manhood in check and comforting the boys. I planned on getting shit faced and fully intended on showing my new underwear off.
I was having a super shitty summer, probably over a boy or lack of alcohol, and my friend Ann dragged me to a party. I was super pissed cause her older brother, Jim was throwing it. Don’t get me wrong, I love Jim. He is the typical friends-older-brother-you-want-to-sit-on, but he didn’t have many gay friends. He loved the gays, but just didn’t find himself hanging around them…and he was a breeder.
To my surprise I get to this party and the host was indeed a homo. I was ecstatic when I heard this, until I met the host and the ogre took me by surprise towering. He had this certain smile about his face that annoyed me, he called it his ‘eager face’, I called it eye rape.
“Hi my name is, Doug”, he said reaching out his bear hands. It took all of my will power not to break out in tears from the disappointment.
“I need a drink!” I high fived him and proceeded to where the liquor was. The only good thing about being as ridiculous as I am, is that a select few people think I am funny, therefore I never have to bring or buy my own drinks. Take note people, if you are extremely mean, people find you funny, if people find you funny you drink for free.
After a few drinks, I started getting desperate, looking for a guy to turn. My friend Ann was like a cat in heat over some asshole that I don’t remembers name, so we will call him Asshole. Ann was doing everything but dry hump his leg and eating his dick, I would’ve stopped her but I support everyone’s orgasms, I’m not the government. She pulled me into the bathroom for, what I thought would be, some ‘girl-talk’. Instead this meant she was going to borrow Doug’s mother’s bathroom razor and proceed to shave her beaver so she was in tip top shape for this guy she was swooning over.
“Tell, this means we are best friends. I am shaving my vag in front of you!”
“I think this means you’re a fucking drunk mess,” I said attempting to drown in my drink. I was not drunk or gay enough for this.
“Doug is a nice guy, you should give him a chance,” this is something your friend says when they find someone cute at a party and want you to make the best of your unfortunate situation so they can enjoy themselves. I nodded my head.
After I was released from her beaver’s dam, I found myself scoping out my next pray at the party. I would make up a name for the guy I found to ‘hide’ his identity so I don’t get my ass sued, but I can’t for the life of me remember his fucken name, so we’ll call him Jason, and if that is actually your name, I apologize.
Jason sat in a room full of people and continued to talk about going to school for musical theatre, and that it was a busy lifestyle. I was hooked, I knew I could get this guy to throw me a kiss or two. Immediately I started flirting with him. He felt uncomfortable at first, but after a few holocaust jokes later I had him eating out of my…hand.
“So, you want to make me a drink?” I giggled as I finished off, yet again, another drink. While I listened to him talk about ‘Hello Dolly’ or some shit I managed to slam down a few more drinks. I knew I had way too much… But I also knew there was no one in the kitchen.
“Sure what will you have,” He slurred. This kid was a fucken wreck. The thing I hate is EVERY guy at a party think he is a bartender when it comes to flirting. Like he suddenly knows how to make the perfect mixed drink. You put vodka in a cup with some coke or orange juice… You aren’t a bartender. Putting my rising temper aside I just smiled at him.
“Something hard,” I smiled and gave him a wink. I have to say, I thought it was pretty clever and overly sexy of me. I followed him upstairs into the kitchen.
Jason nervously grabbed the vodka and some mixers and began mixing my drink. I tried to be sexy and get in his way, but he ignored it and moved right passed me. If I wanted to see any action tonight, I was going to have to step up my game, something that is not easily done for me since I am the unsexiest and horribly seductive person I have met. I quickly hopped up on the counter where he was making the drink and bashed my head on the cabinet above.
“FUCK!!” I yelled as I checked my head for blood. The hypochondriac in me came out briefly, brain damage or a concussion? I could only be so lucky if it knocked me out.
“Oh man, are you ok?” Jason asked as he helped me down. I quickly caught sight of a piano in the living room.
“Do you play?”I asked as I hopped down, grabbed the ‘drink’ he made me, and rushed him over to the piano. He got all excited and started playing simple piano songs he could sing along with on the piano. He was no fucking Mozart, but I was drunk enough to believe anything at this point. As he played one stereotypical song after another, I scooted closer and closer to him on the bench.
“What do you want?”
“I think you know,” I said as I leaned in for the kill.
“HEY, GUYS WHATCHA DOING?” Fucken Doug… Walking in all Ogre like and shit. Jason immediately jumped up from the piano and walked into another room. Doug took it upon himself to sit down on the bench. “I can play too.” He said.
I shut the piano cover, “play with yourself.”
Jason said goodbye to everyone and headed out. I didn’t know where he was going, I think at this point I forgot his name. I held up my drink as he left. I looked around at the room as everyone slowly started getting ‘ready’ for bed and hooking up. Doug was screaming something about no one allowed in his parent’s room. I went to Doug’s room, ignored the couple fucking on his bed, and grabbed a blanket from his closet and proceeded to an empty room with a couch on it.
This would happen to me. I give and I give and I ask for nothing back. I knew Ann was downstairs getting her freshly shaved moomoo felt up, and I was in the most annoying person’s house, on their couch, nearly black out drunk. This isn’t how anyone should spend their Saturday night.
“Hey,” Doug mumbled as he walked in and laid on the larger couch and began curling up.
“Oh my God, you are such a pussy. This is your house and you are sleeping on your bed?” I laughed at him and turned away. There are rules that must be followed when you host a party. 1-never sleep with the host’s boyfriend. 2-NEVER sleep in the host’s bed unless you are porking the host.
“I am not a pussy, I am letting my friend chill in there with his girlfriend cause it’s his birthday. Besides you wouldn’t be calling me a pussy if you’ve seen what I am packing,” Doug scoffed. Immediately my head went up and I turned to him. Who the fuck does he think he is? You don’t use a line like that, not on me. I am a fucken lady!
“Only a guy with a rice sized penis says something as stupid as that,” I looked at him. Had I been able to walk straight, I would’ve stumbled right on over there and slapped the shit out of him.
“No really, it’s huge. The thickness is like a beer-can,” Doug shot up to and stared at me.
“Prove it,” I said completely monotone. This fucker wasn’t going to get away with a lie like that. But sure enough Doug stood up ripped off his blanket undid his pants and let down what I can only describe as a naked baby mole rat. My mouth dropped. “I guess that suits the rest of your big size.” I said, turned over and I believe I went to sleep. Doug left the room calling me a cock tease.

I woke up the next day, in his parents room with the door locked completely naked. I woke up with the worst hangover of my life. I wanted the world to stop spinning long enough for me to successfully get up out of the bed and put both feet on the floor. I couldn’t remember where I was, who I was with, or who I was. The mirror on his parent’s bed reminded me really fucken quick that whoever I was, I was in need of a shower and some eye drops. The only thing I could remember was Doug crying over me being a cock tease and then it all went blank. I found my shirt and my pants, but couldn’t find my underwear. I was desperate to get out of there. I sent Ann a text. “You have 5 minutes to make morning fun before we leave”. I was desperate to leave and gave up looking for the cute underwear I had bought, so I opened his dad’s sock drawer and found some boxers. I looked for any sign of skid marks, because I am obviously not disgusting and would never wear a dirty pair of a strangers underwear. I have class. I threw them on, along with my pants and my shirt.
I opened his parents’ bedroom door and saw Doug, passed out leaning against it. THANK GOD, I didn’t sleep with him. Had I done so, I would’ve needed reconstruction surgery and would have to wear a diaper for the rest of my life. I ran downstairs to see Ann curled up next to Asshole.
“Ann lets go,” I whispered, nudging her with my foot. My nudge was more of a kick.
“What? It’s like 9am let’s sleep in,” I grabbed Alex’s arm and dragged her upstairs. Ann had enough time to grab her shoes and we were out the door running to her car. “What about your shoes,” I stopped dead in my tracks and had to remember what shoes I had worn.. Flip flops, Old Navy, $1.00.
“Ann, something’s we just have to forget, and leave behind”.

I have talked to you before about my love of animals. The furry fuckers are like crack to me. Seeing an obese cat or a wrinkly dog makes me want to squeeze the little shit until its eyes pop out. I only have one furry friend though for two reasons, 1-because I have awful luck with animals and the moment I start loving them something goes wrong. 2-no one trusts me with them considering I turn into a 3 year old when around them. Don’t get me wrong I absolutely love my dog, Miss Molly Pickles, but sometimes I want more. This post is dedicated to the pussy that got away.
Eric’s family had two cats, that they weren’t using. The family was as attached to these cats, as a married couple is to each other. I don’t remember the one cat’s name, but the second one was my favorite and had he had a name, I would have remembered it.
“Oh my God, who is this ugly thing?” I asked Eric.
“Oh that is Fat Cat. His stomach drags on the floor when he walks.” Eric replied, with no excitement. I was astonished and instantly my heart began racing as the fat little shit slowly staggered my way, wheezing for breath…I think he made that noise when he got too excited. I picked him up, making sure to lift with my legs, and squeezed him.
“What’s its real name?” I asked, looking into his crust filled eyes.
“We never really named him, so we always call him Fat Cat.” I wanted to smack him.
This cat was begging for my attention, and I could tell the moment I picked him up and his rough tongue licked my nose that we had made an instant connection and fell madly in love.
“He has his name, his name is Mr. Bickles, and I want him.” It took everything in my power not to break down and cry. I became fucken unglued. He was precious and it was apparent he had been emotionally scarred from not having a name. Years of wondering around a large empty house, begging for an existence, a name. The minute I named him, I became attached. Our lives together flashed before my eyes. Halloweens together, us knitting Christmas sweaters for each other. I could see Mr. Bickles and I hitting the town together, two pussies just looking for the time of our lives.
I had told Eric to tell his parents not to get rid of the cats until I was at school, and then I would come back for Mr. Bickles, giving him the proper home he deserved… I really didn’t care for the other cat. It was skinny and was an attention whore. But tragedy struck just a few weeks before I left and moved into my apartment.
“Where is Mr. Bickles?” I walked into Eric’s, house and Mr. Bickles didn’t come wobbling to see me.
“Tell, my mom sold the cats!” Eric told me, not thinking it would be a big deal to me. I swallowed my tears and shrugged. On the inside though, my heart was screaming. I never got to give Mr. Bickles his top hat or monocle. “It was fat cat, he was ugly, you didn’t want him.”
“MR. BICKLES WAS A FUCKEN GENTLEMAN!” I reminded him, becoming hysterical. All I wanted to do was run into my bedroom and put on some Adele and cry until the pain went away. I look back now, and I still see what could have been.
My friends Monica and Maddy (MadMoni) wrote a song that perfectly describes my agony over losing my pussy. It takes two very strong (and hot girls) to sing about the loss of their pussy… …..The Pussy….Cat Song: MadMoniand Mr. Bickles, if you are reading this on your little computer with your monocle on… Papa will see you again someday, rolling in the deep.

I appreciated devoted fans. Fans like Gaga’s ‘Lil Monsters’ are some of the most loyal you will ever find, but there are some fan bases I won’t tolerate. Kim Kardashian and Nickelback fans are some of them… These were a few choice words between me, and the biggest asshole I know.

Wow Tell… I luv how u make fun of Kim Kardashian andddd Nickelback, but both r successfull and have more money then u will ever hav. ur such a jealous bitch! Lolz
-K*****

Cute spelling and grammar, K*****!
First off, yes they have money. To say ‘successful’ though… I would use that word loosely, especially when talking about Kim Kardashian. If by successful you mean she found her way into fame by letting a guy find his way into her vagina….on camera, then yes she is VERY successful. She also managed to fall madly in love with a guy…on camera. Marry him… on camera. And is now divorcing him…on camera. She is famous for allowing people to watch her shit show of a life, if that makes her talented, bravo. Send her an acceptance letter to fucking Julliard. Nickelback is ‘successful’ because of their less than classy fan base. I know somewhere in Michigan and in the deep south of ‘Merica there are some horny teenagers who are listening to them in their trailer park bedrooms and losing their virginities to their cousins. As for being jealous? I don’t think so. Maybe they will make more money than I will, but I would rather have the life I currently do, than whoring myself out making an ‘accidental’ porno.
-Tell

SERISLY?! Ur such a asshole. Kim K was so heart broken. She even wrote a letter talking about y she did it. If u actually watched Kourtney and Kim u wuld see how much of a jerk Kris is 2 her. And I love Nickleback and I am not having sex with my cuz, your reasons are dumb and not true.
-K*****

Well as much as I LOVED reading her heartfelt letter written by her agent was, I am not bying it. I am sure the E! network spent a lot of time finding footage to make Kris look like a REAL asshole, to support Kim, their cash-cow. Truth is they are a married couple, and every couple will have battles, Kim K., wouldn’t know about that though. ALSO I have looked at your spelling Honey-b, and maybe you haven’t had sex with your cousin, but you parents might have.
-Tell

Just another day on facebook… Classy classy.

Welcome to Facebook…bitches

Naturally as a college student my life is extremely busy balancing classes, drinking, and facebook. I am starting to come to realization that I probably spend more time on facebook than anything else, which I am strangely okay with…Upon spending so much time on the overly hyped social networking site, it has come to my attention that I have failed… I have failed to teach our youth the rules of facebook, and what is not socially acceptable… Well to be honest some of it is very socially acceptable, but that is just because some members of society are assholes… So here are my tips to you…
________________________________
So you want to post a photo…

Listen bitch you can post as many photos as you want but we need to set some ground rules.

1.) Bitches, I really hate it when you post photos of yourself in the mirror with your new hair cut and you leave the caption ‘a new me’…. No, it’s the same old you, giving us your best ‘high school girl duck face’ with a super shitty $5.00 hair cut.

2.) Photos of yourself in the bathroom mirror throwing up the deuces with AGAIN the duck face is never socially acceptable and you should be ashamed of yourself… You bikini belongs outside by a pool or beach, not on your body in the bathroom mirror.

3.) MEN for the love of Bob Saget STOP with the gym photos. We get it, you go to the gym. Not only do you look like a dbag posting them up on facebook, but you also look like a dbag taking the photos at the gym.

4.) PICNIC… I don’t know what bitch sat on her computer on a Friday night, don’t play we KNOW you aren’t going out with ‘friends’ and decided it was ok to edit the SHIT out of every single photo you have ever taken, but knock it off, the shit gets old.. I don’t know how many hot pink borders I can look at with ‘bff 4ever’ written across it.

5.) LAST.. We get it, you party. Not every photo of you has to be with your hip popped, mouth open wide, and red cup in your hand. We have graduated from that…well most of us have.
_____________________________

Airing out my dirty laundry…

So you are in a relationship?

1.) I am happy someone could look passed your physical flaws but you are really putting a lot out there by letting us know ‘it’s is complicated’. You are either dating or you are not… We don’t need to know you guys are having problems or that you guys are fucking around on each other… Get your shit together, and save your complications for your teenage pregnancy.

2.) It is obvious you aren’t in a relationship with your best gay guy friend, girl. So please stop putting up that you are married to him, and obnoxiously call each other wifey and hubby. It makes us all view you as being desperate.

3.) ‘Straight’ guys. You are not in a civil union with your buddy… Maybe you guys are secretly barebacking one another behind the local Wendy’s, but lets call a spade a spade.. You aren’t in a civil union, and we aren’t buying your little just-for-fun ‘bromance’, anymore… We know.
______________________________
Omg. Uhh. Lolz. #soinlove

So you want to update your status?

1.) RULE NUMBER ONE ON FACEBOOK not everything is a milestone. You can only have so many epiphanies in your life and so many ‘starting over’s’, please don’t bore us with every time you hear a new Taylor Swift song that relates to you, you suddenly are completely changing your life around.

2.) Grow some balls people. If you are writing a status about someone specific, come out and say it. ‘I really hate some people’, is really getting old to read, be specific, tag that bitch into your status, tell them they should’ve called you back after you let them pork you.

3.) A status update is for when you do something significant… I don’t care if you are doing laundry, got a new phone and ‘need yo numbas’, or sooooo sleepy. Save your status for big things that have happened in your life.. like ‘the condom broke’, ‘knew he would come out of the closet sooner or later’ or my personal favorite ‘buzz driving on my way to AA’… Save your status updates for something clever, I just gave you three super good examples.

I hope that some of this stuff was helpful, if you have created several of these offenses, you should probably your ass off facebook… and for those parents who read this, and didn’t find the help you were looking for..SHAME ON YOU for being on facebook. NO… NO!

Local homophobic resident Ed Smut of Bibb Co. Alabama surprised his friends and family when he rejoiced over the military getting rid of the ‘Don’t Ask Don’t Tell’ Policy. After hearing the news Smut immediately cracked open a Miller Lite and began chugging it while saluting his confederate flag.

“At first I didn’t know what to think,” girlfriend of 15 years and cousin Alice Onetooth said, “I thought he would come out of the closet and turn out to be one of them gays.”

Later on Ed elaborated on his excitement to his loved ones, and quickly wiped away their concerns.

“Now that we are giving them freedom hungry homo’s another right to do what heterosexuals can, all the homos will be running to them recruiting offices’ to sign up,” Ed says taking out the cigarette in his mouth so he can have another swig of his beer, “they probably are signing up for all the gay sex they think they are going to have. But nancy boys can’t fight, and they will probably all die in the Iraq.”

After it became clear to Ed’s father Prick Smut, he relaxed and put away his pocket bible.

“As soon as I found out my son was happy cause he knew the gays would die in Iraq, I was relieved,” Prick says while petting his wife’s hand, “I didn’t want to have to tie him down and throw the bible in his face again, we already did that after we saw him flipping through the channels and paused at an episode of ‘Sex in the City’”.

Over and over I will say that I don’t really give a rat’s ass if people don’t like what I write. So many have taken great offense to something that is supposed to be random and funny, and they don’t realize it is not a person and direct attack on anyone. They have took it upon themselves to write me under fake alias’ and tell me how horrible of a person I am, and that I should go to hell or kill myself…

First as much as I love a good joke, telling anyone to kill themselves is a little extreme and NO one no matter how horrible of a person they are, deserves to be told their life is too insignificant for living. So for you…Samantha Myers, or whatever the hell your real name is, I really hope no one has taken your threats to heart and has killed themselves, and congrats, you finally made it onto my website.

So rather than completely deleting the website over a few choice words with people, I have decided to spend more time on here, my website needed more love. What better way to do that than to tell you how I got it started?

I walked into my English class at IVY tech last year and was talking to someone about an awful date I went on… The date wasn’t really something I wanted to do… But my ex was hung up and obsessed with this guy, so I decided to go out on a date with him, obviously that is a shitty thing to do, but sometimes you just got to piss people off and ruffle some feathers. That is a story for another day though.

I was telling some kids in class and they were cracking up over how I was telling my story and told me I should write it down, and send it in as an essay in class. I laughed at the idea, but then thought about it… What if not only did I read it to the class, but I also posted it for EVERYONE to see. It should be obvious to everyone by now, that I apparently LOVE embarrassing myself.

It wasn’t easy when I decided to start writing… I was super busy and the only time I had to write was during class. I sometimes find it difficult to write in a confined setting. Ivy tech is one of those settings. Not only is in cramped and uncomfortable, but I feel like I should always carry a shank on me, waiting to stab someone at any moment. My first day of class I made sure to dress in jeans… I didn’t want to be caught DEAD in the same pajama pants as the girl next to me. This was almost dress code, pajama pants!

I repeatedly tried to start a blog, while completely ignoring my professor talking about APA formatting, but the site was red flagged because it said ‘shit’ in the title. After staring at my professor and his crazy eye for an hour and a half, I ran to the library to see if I could start writing a blog there. The computer worked for about five minutes, but as time went on it got red flagged again and shut down. Eventually, after jumping from one computer to another, I got super pissed and walked up to the librarian in the computer lab.

“I am trying to write a blog, and I the internet keeps going down,” I sweetly smiled at the homo behind the counter. At first I just stereotyped him as a homo because he was a male librarian, but then when I saw him jump to his feet and rush over to the computer with a little switch in his run, I knew. His hands flew across the keyboard as he typed in code after code trying to assist me.

“Shit show?” He said disgusted and looked up at me… I knew he thought I was a freak, and to my surprised he looked disappointed.

“Oh yeah,” I began, “it’s not what it sounds like, it is just about dumb things I have done, there is no actual poop in the site.” I was beat red in the face, I could only imagine what he thought I was putting online for the world to see. He probably thought I was taking pictures of my shadoobees and posting them online.

“You can’t do that here,” He said and walked away. Embarrassed and ashamed, I logged off and ran out of the room. I would have to do this long handed and later transfer what I wrote to a computer when I got home, where no one would judge me, and I couldn’t think of a more cliché place then Starbucks.

I walked in with a notebook and pen, and ordered some ridiculously overpriced. It took the woman forever to make my order, and she asked if I wanted to purchase a bottle of water. I picked it up cause there was a large sign stating that every bottle they sell helps relief in Africa for water wells. I looked at the bottle, 2% of sales? Really? That is it? I put the water bottle down and shook my head at the stand, for SHAME! Eventually I grabbed my coffee and made my way to an empty table and began to look around waiting for inspiration and trying to recall funny and embarrassing things that have happened to me. This was my first mistake. Instead of brainstorming I looked out into the room and could see everyone, and all their pathetic and hipster glory.

First off I hate when people call themselves ‘unique individuals’ because they wear thick framed glasses, enjoy coffee, and are reading Walt Whitman. Actually that kind of makes you like everyone else trying to be an individual. You know who I am talking about. The kid that acts like he buys all his clothes from goodwill and other second hand stores, but really he got them at hottopic and H&M and just dirties them up before he wears them… Yeah well this place was FULL of them.

The first thing that caught my eye was the earthy mother that was sitting with her young friend discussing politics. This wasn’t what caught my eye, what caught my eye was that the woman, with absolutely no hesitation, whipped her boob out and started allowing her child to feed. First you should know I am a feminist. I love women’s rights and all that jazz, what I don’t love is seeing nipple while drinking a warm dairy beverage. It makes me feel the need to ask for assistance in putting milk in my coffee.

Eventually the woman’s friend must have came to her sense and told her girl to cover her shit up. The woman threw a blanket over her breasts and the baby’s head, and continued her conversation like nothing had happened.
Immediately I started writing as fast as my little hand could. Public boob was gold. ‘People would read this and eat it up’, I thought to myself. That was until the asshole sitting in front of me had a throat clearing fit.

I looked at the twenty some, semi attractive, guy sitting in front of me, clearing his throat and pulling at his hair. Obviously this is one of the schmucks who comes into a coffee shop, cause he likes to make it aware to everyone that he is a writer.

“Everything okay?” I grunted. I knew I was giving him exactly what he wanted, the chance to talk about himself, which I was kind of okay with. At the time I was single, and thought it may be a cute story when he and I got married that we met at a coffee shop.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry. I am writing a multi-genre research paper on the middle class American and how I believe they are attacked too much with increases in taxes when the government should clearly be taxing the upper-class.” I looked blankly at the guy, who took a sip of his coffee- or more than likely his hot chocolate. He didn’t have the balls to drink coffee. Obviously he thought he was a good liar, there was no way in hell he was writing a paper like that on his dumb Macbook.

“That sounds awful. Is there much you can find in that? Poems, songs, lyrical essays? It’s multi genre, how many genres are you suppose to have?” I asked him as I sipped on my black coffee. That is right, asshole, I was drinking a man’s drink, mostly because black coffee was the cheapest thing there, and for some reason I was having a Puerto Rican attack and NEEDED some black coffee….Either way it was a MANS drink….or at least a gay mans drink… I guess men drink whiskey or tigers blood.

“Oh, no it’s not too bad, and its only five genres,” he stumbled over his words. What an awful liar. I rolled my eyes and begin to write about this tool now in my notebook. Five minutes of no talking went by until eventually the guy began clearing his voice again. DAMMIT! If you want someone’s attention why not just say ‘hey fucker let’s talk’, or start taking off your clothes like mother dearest did earlier. A nipple wink and I would have gotten the hint from the guy that he wanted to talk.

“So what are you writing about?” He finally asked, leaning over to see my writings.

I tilted my notebook toward myself so he couldn’t read it…this guy was such an asshole, and had no right to read what I was putting down, it was my business and I didn’t want him to see what I was writing about him. I flipped my notebook over and I smiled at him.

“I am writing an erotic novel about animals,” I said without missing a beat and smiling. “It’s kind of like ‘Animal Farm’, but with more sex and less politics”.

The guy looked at me and nodded. He then left his seat and moved to a couple tables down. He had finally got my hint, and by the looks of it, was a little creeped out by me. I finished my coffee and ran out the door, I had about 20 minutes to get home before this coffee was going right through me, and I would start shitting my brains out, plus, that ‘Animal Farm’ idea wasn’t going to write itself.

Today while checking my facebook, I recieved a tremendously loving and encouraging message from a former ‘friend’ of mine. I normally like to respect peoples privacy but not posting their first names in shit show…. But at this point I really don’t give a shit. Here are the letter exchanges. PEACE AND BLESSINGS!

Tell-
We use 2 talk befor u started to completely ignore me because u thought u were ‘too good’ for every1, but I just wanted to let u kno that I was going thru ur fb page and would like 2 tell u that ur not clever, or funny. U get a rise out of saying foul and uninteresting things, and u have got 2 be one of the most shallow ppl I kno, also news flash… just because ppl r pointing a camera at u, doesn’t make u a model, it makes u pathetic.
-Chris

________________
-Hey girl Hey!

Sorry, I had to put your message above through spell check. Clearly you have never read my website, because you would have known how extremely unintelligent I feel people are who can’t type in complete sentences without using numbers.

I got your message, and after giving it to a 13 year old girl to translate, I would like to respond to it. First, I didn’t stop talking to you because I thought I was ‘too good’ for everyone… I just thought I was too good for you. Also, your advances toward me and your constant need to send me photos of your ridiculously small penis started making me uncomfortable. But don’t worry I have a tip for you. If you manscape your giant bush, it may make your penis look a little larger.

I am glad you felt the time to be passionate and pissed off enough to go through and read my entire facebook…if that isn’t crazy stalking fun, I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS- But I would like to say that I never had claimed I was funny, other people told me that, and I can’t help it if people think I am super funny.

As for the whole ‘modeling’ thing. I would never in a million years call myself a model, but if a guy or girl who owns their own photography company call me and asks to take my photo, and call me a model, well I wouldn’t want to take that away from them. Also I look like, super cute in all those photos. But your photos of you half naked in the bathroom mirror at McDonalds shoving your hands down your pants are JUST as good as mine I am sure of it!

-Tell

Ps- if you send me an address I would be more than happy to send you a dictionary…or maybe draw you a map to your local public library!

_________________________
Tell-

U r probs the most condescending boi I have ever met. Just becuz a guy takes pix of himself in the bathroom dsnt make him less intelligent than any1 else. And if u must kno I am sending u these thru my cell, so it is easier to type it out in txt language.

-Chris

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Hey CHRIS-

I don’t think your pictures in the mirror of a glamorous Walmart bathroom make you any less intelligent than the next person. I just think those pictures make you easy… No, I think you are unintelligent because you think that texting is a language and you spell boy with an i. But anyways, I am going to delete and block you from facebook now, not because I love doing the petty high school BACK and FORTH internet arguing where nobody wins… but because I have commitment issues, and feel like this ‘friendship’ is over.
Stay In school…. Oops, I mean. Have fun working at the local fast food joint!

-Tell

I sometimes sit at the end of relationships with my head spinning, asking myself. “Why did he leave me? What the hell did I do wrong? Am I that bad at sex?” I have always blamed my boyfriends, calling them assholes and wanting everyone to know of the wrongs they did to me… It wasn’t until I was talking about one of my past relationships that I realized how shitty I indeed treat some of my boyfriends.

I dated this guy named Drew for a while. The relationship started off romantic, we talked all night one day, till the sun came up, and just really overly cliché shit like that… It was a great relationship until I found out he was fucking the brains out of his ex boyfriend on the side… Which was disappointing because his ex was very unattractive, not to mention Drew would always talk about his ex’s bent penis… I didn’t even have a bent penis, so I must have really been treating Drew like shit.

Every time we fought, I hated knowing that I was to blame, or that I was in the wrong, so I would completely flip it around on him, and make myself out to be the victim. Thank God I was blessed with the ability to cry on command.

Super bowl weekend I convinced Drew to drive up to my Dad’s from school, and come to a party. He got there and I kept saying one rude thing after another, on accident of course. I got yelled at for arriving to the party late, and I was taking it out on him, naturally.

One of my best gay friends had text me and said hello, and was letting me know about his current boyfriend, I didn’t realize Drew could see my phone and I had called my friend ‘babe’ in a text, completely platonic and in no sort of way was I hitting on him… To my surprise Drew flipped out on me, but I had no idea why. He just walked away and was rude for the rest of the night. On our way back home he pulled over into a park so we could ‘talk’.

“I don’t want you calling me pet names anymore!” He shouted as soon as the car took an abrupt stop.

“Oh- okay. Can I ask why?” I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. I nervously played at my, then long, hair. He sounded like a crazy person, and he was sweating… I thought I would end up chopped into pieces and left there in the snow.

“Tell don’t play stupid. I saw your text. You shouldn’t be calling other guys ‘babe’. So I want you to just call me Drew from now on. Nothing else.” He was mad, and I knew it was my fault… I didn’t know how to put the blame on him. I was struggling to clear my name, and make me look like the good guy.

“First off, get your story straight, that GUY was my gay cousin!” I managed to blurt out as fast as I could.

“You call your cousin, babe?” He had a look of awkward disgust on his face.

“FUCK YOU!” I was feeling like I was backed in a corner. Like Hitler when he was asked what happened to all the Jews. “You don’t know our relationship, we came out together!” This was a complete lie, neither of us had come out to each other, but it seemed believable, so I ran with it.

“Whatever, I just don’t want you calling me pet names anymore.” He was stern about it and started up the car. I quickly turned my head toward the window, away from him.

“Your best friend constantly is calling you her husband, and all I hear is you calling her ‘wiffey’, NOT TO MENTION you guys are married on facebook. And your other friend, Derrick is constantly calling you boo, ALL THE TIME! And I just have to sit and pretend I am okay with that? How do you think I feel? It breaks my heart!”

My head was still turned toward the window, because I had realized I had him cornered and I was laughing. Not a laugh out loud, gut wrenching laugh, but a nice belly bouncing kind.

“Babe are you crying?” Drew asked, sounding very concerned. This caused me to laugh even harder, which apparently appeared to sound and look like was crying even more.

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” I shouted, pinching my leg as hard as I could, trying to straighten up my act. “My sister always told me no guy is worth seeing you cry.” WHAM. I had him in my hands now!

“Come here,” He said, I quickly threw my face over his shoulders, to hide my smiling face from him, as he patted my back. “I am so sorry, I had no idea that bothered you so much.” He said as he gave me a tug in our embrace… Without him looking I pulled my phone out and deleted the texts I sent to my ‘cousin’… I thought to snap a picture of me smiling and eventually tell him about it all. Maybe have a good laugh… Instead I convinced him a few days later it was snowing anthrax, Dr. OZ was doing a show on anthrax and I was bored. How else am I supposed to get my thrills?

It has occurred to me over the past several months through friends and ex’s that some people don’t know how to be in committed and monogamous relationships. While some are monogamous, others don’t know how to properly act or treat their significant other… So I have taken it upon myself to further educate my friends and family.

RULES OF DATING
THINGS TO NOT DO WITH YOUR EX
1. Don’t penetrate your ex
2. Don’t get coffee/dessert/dinner/afternoon delight with your ex
3. Don’t have phone sex/skype sex/snail mail sex with your ex
4. Don’t take annual blood tests with your ex
5. Don’t give your ex a full body wax/massage/candle drip fun
6. Don’t eat anything off of your ex’s body or their cat
7. Never feed your ex, they won’t stop coming around (if you give a mouse a cookie)

THINGS THAT AREN’T ROMANTIC
1. Making your ex hold your hair back while you vomit
2. Vomiting at all
3. Pooping with the door open
4. Pooping in their home on the first date (avoid pooping around them all together)
5. Urinating or other water sports
6. A surprise facial (you know who you are)
7. Making a porn and posting it online together (several of my friends have done this one)
8. Having sex in the back of their car in a target parking lot
9. McDonalds….Not only is it not romantic, but it is also not a date
10. Shaving your ex…anywhere at anytime. If they are in a coma, let the doctors do it.

THINGS THAT YOU SHOULDN’T DO
1. Don’t have sex with their identical twin
2. Don’t think about their identical twin while masturbating
3. Don’t take nude photos of yourself and send them to your coworkers
4. Don’t show nude photos of your boyfriend/girlfriend/rabbi to your coworkers
5. Stop having sex with you professors
6. Stop reusing dirty needles (I am talking to you friends on the west coast)
7. Don’t make them watch Rent/Phantom of the Opera/Hairspray
8. Don’t read Twilight together
9. Don’t refer to ex’s as ‘past loves’
10. When talking to them on the phone to your boyfriend/girlfriend/rabbi, get their brothers dick out of your mouth
11. Be honest… You didn’t get that from a toilet seat, girl.

I realize to some of you this may not have been useful, and I apologize. So for all you boys and girls out there, if you can’t follow these rules a pretty basic one is to stop fucking other people when dating someone. Usually that will clear things right up. If you can’t do that, wear a chastity belt, you sluts.

I am one of the nicest people I know, and I rarely ever judge people… Whenever I see a woman with boobs so low they rest on the table when she eats, I just smile at her. I don’t point and laugh, or turn to the person next to me and tell them to look at the mess across the food court. I just nod to myself, and enjoy the fact that she is confident enough to let her boobs sit next to her plate full of pizza. You go girl.

Like I said I don’t judge people, and sometimes that has proven to be very difficult. My high school has an extremely tiny choir room, so we crammed about seventy people into a room that should only fit about fifty. We were always butt to butt in chairs, and it was usually sweaty and uncomfortable. We all we are tight group of people though, so it usually wasn’t a big deal that we were all sitting so close together. BUT there is always that one guy that no one wants to sit by. You know who I am talking about. The one who doesn’t shower and smells like old cheese and unwashed penis. Okay, well of course with my luck, THIS KID, would be sitting right next to me.

Honestly I would rather have sat next to anyone else. It wasn’t so much that the kid was gross, and smelled, and had a unibrow… Obviously that contributed to it, but the boy was super stupid, and that just annoyed me to high heaven. Anyone who thinks that global warming isn’t real because it wasn’t in the bible, clearly has some research to do.

Every time I saw him I wanted to call him Dingo, I have no idea why, but I always had the urge to call him that, but I never did. His eyes looked like they were trying to run off from each side of his face, and although I have no idea what a Dingo is, I totally imagined it looked like that. But for his sake, I will call him it in this story, I don’t want to embarrass anyone.

I sat next to Dingo for a while, trying to breathe out my mouth for the most part, not wanting to get his stank in my nose. I felt uncomfortable because I felt like I was eating his smell every day I took a breath in. I was praying for winter to come, I had assumed by then he wouldn’t sweat so much, and surely the smell out decrease. Imagining winter wasn’t hard to do. His dandruff was so bad; it was like it was snowing, constantly.

I refused to make fun of him, or tell anyone I was upset about having to sit next to him. People teased him a lot. They said horrible things like ‘ew, you smell’, ‘brush your teeth’, or ‘your dad left cause of you’… I wasn’t about to join in. Not because I didn’t think he should brush his teeth…but because he was a name call away from going Columbine on everyone’s ass, and I knew if I played my cards right, I may be able to dodge that bullet…literally.

Dingo and I shared a folder and music, he would hold one side and I would hold the other, every time our hands accidently touched, I would cringe, but I didn’t want to be rude and wipe it off. So I would just giggle and make a joke about coming onto me.

A few weeks after we started sitting beside each other I noticed my arm closest to him had started to itch. I thought it was just because he grossed me out so much, that it was my body’s way of telling me to get the fuck out of there. My skin was literally crawling. It was a mind game. Like when someone says they have lice, and you start itching your head.

It didn’t take but a couple of days to realize that this wasn’t a mind game, and I started seeing bumps on my hands. I thought it was a rash, and put some lotion on it, but I saw that it went up my arm, and these bumps started developing all over my body. I was embarrassed…

One day during rehearsal I got a glimpse of his arm, which had the same rash on it.

“What the hell is that?” I asked, pointing at this hand, which was covered by my sleeves. I had started wearing long sleeves and sweatshirts, so I could cover my hands and arms up.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s been there for like a month,” he shrugged and gave his arm and nice long itch.

All I could do was gasp and shake my head… It was like I just found out he had murdered someone, which he had, he had murdered my skin, my beautiful olive skin.

That night I ran home and told my mom to call the Doctor, for all I knew I had leprosy or gangrene.
I went to the doctor the next day and showed him my hand.

“It started on my hand about a week ago, and then it kind of spread throughout my body,” I began telling him and he examined my hand.

“Oh God, its scabies.” My doctor said and jumped up from his seat. He took off his gloves and began excessively washing his hands over and over again. I had never seen a doctor act so immature, like he would die if he touched me. He literally went through half the bottle of soap before putting on two pairs of gloves and ONLY LOOKING at my hands again.

“Who have you been lying with?” He asked me, his nose a little wrinkled.

“No one, I swear, I sit next to a kid in choir with this rash,” I told him.

My doctor shook his head, and told him it was highly contagious, he wrote me a prescription for some medicine, a pamphlet on personal hygiene, and sent me on my way.

I was ashamed of myself; this was a rock bottom, if there ever had been one. My doctor couldn’t get far enough from me, and he assumed I was a whore. The worse part of this all was that I knew I would have to talk to Dingo if I didn’t want to get it again.

I had to wash every bit of my laundry, which was awful. I have way too many clothes. Things had to be thrown out that I never thought I would have to part with. I used the lotion and eventually the itching stopped, but the bumps didn’t go so quickly.

One day after a practice I pulled Dingo aside, he still had the rash on his hand, and was scratching as I talked to him.

“Dingo, listen, we need to talk,” I passed him the pamphlet…as he wiped his nose on his sleeve.