Everything Ever

Want to know what’s awkward? Trying to carry on a normal (albeit short) conversation with someone’s dick currently inside you, because the Conversation Starter thinks that you and the Dick-Haver are just snuggling.

I mean, it’s my fault for getting it on in semi-public places (because in college, even your bedroom is a semi-public place), and thinking, “Tee-hee, we have a blanket over us, no one will notice!” Tee-hee, they totally won’t, and then they will want to talk to you.

I think I should rename this blog, “Things that Cock-Block Me,” and then the first post could be Everything Ever.

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Hairsex

So I was telling someone about this blog (which I never do, because it’s disgusting and overly personal; like, “Friends, please learn about what I like in the bedroom!” No. But this guy was an exception because he’s a whole state away) and I said, “You probably don’t want to read it, because all I talk about are hairstyles and sex.” Which is totally not intentional, but is also totally true.

Today’s topic: HAIRSEX. Just kidding. No, it’s that I am waiting (waiting, waiting, waiting) for my hair to get long again. Like this:

Except mine, instead of being pale and straight, will be gray-gold and messy. But still.

I feel like I just have to sit around twiddling my thumbs, waiting. It takes so G.D. long to grow out. Just, like, BE LONG, HAIR!

Thankful Thank-Yous (A Day Late)

Happy Black Friday!

I’m usually late for everything, and this thankfulness-list is no exception. So: I am thankful for all the usual things (friends, family, a roof over my head, and all the rest of it), but here are some of the random things I am thankful for:

Sushi (thank you, Japan, for making something so scrumptious), the inventor of Skor (toffee + chocolate + my face = mouthgasam…seriously, it’s simple math), hair brushes (without them, I would have a white-girl afro), whoever pioneered using your mouth for things other than kissing (smart dude), kissing (I mean, you can never go wrong with the classics), the sun for not having a supernova-level bitch fit and eating up Earth (keep up the good work, Mr. Golden Sun), all the turkeys who escaped being eaten yesterday (may you live to gobble for many more seasons), all the people who were lucky enough to eat turkey yesterday (YAY not starving!), people who pick up other people’s books when they drop them (you are nice), friends who tell you when you have something in your teeth (because it’s a lot nicer to know about it than walk around looking icky), the creator of fishtail braids (they make me feel even more Irish than usual), and the book that tells me how to make paper cranes (folding them has gotten me through so many boring minutes).

Basically: thank you, World, for having so much interesting and amazing stuff. And thank you, People, for being so nice and strange and wonderful.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Getting C-Blocked by Sickness

I am sick.

My family doesn’t believe in doctors, mostly on account of the fact that they cost money and we used to be really poor and now we’re average mid-level poor. And I don’t really believe in doctors either, because two years ago, I had to do a walk-in at a hospital because I was a.) seeping pus from my eyes (SEXY), b.) coughing up blood (not bloody mucus, blood. ALSO SEXY), c.) having like seven nosebleeds a day (WHAT’S SEXIER THAN THAT?), and d.) was basically just really fucking sick. Sounds awful, right? I mean, I never went to med school, but I’m pretty sure those aren’t the symptoms of good health. Long story short, he prescribed me allergy medicine. Soooo. Not really feeling the MDs.

But I’ve had a rattling, gravel in a blender-meets-Fran Drescher cough for over two weeks, not to mention a runny nose and a headache. And still, I’m like, fuck the doctor, whatever, I’ll ride it out. (Preferably with an adorable little pug to keep me company, like Marie/Kirsten here.)

BUT NOW MY SICKNESS IS COCKBLOCKING ME. And that, my friends, is unacceptable.

I’m just gonna do what I do best and overshare: I was trying to give a classy bathroom beej the other day (it was the Guy’s bathroom, not one at, like, TGI Friday’s, so don’t overreact) and I had to keep stopping to come up for air. It was like scuba-diving, but with dick. Seriously, though, nothing makes me feel worse than when the Guy is saying, “Don’t stop,” and I have to be all, “Holla, holla, breath break.” BUZZKILLINGTON.

Then shit got really real when me and the Guy were in the moment (e.g., getting some) and I started coughing so hard we had to stop.

NOnononoNOnoNO. No.

I want THAT, not a box full of tissues. I think I’m a pretty easygoing person, but once you get between me and my getting mine, well, nyet. But, alas, I’m still sick. So I guess I’m going to curl up with my teddy bear and just cross my fingers that I at least dream something hot.

Oh, yeah, and Happy Turkey Day–all you betches better be thankful you’re still healthy enough to fuck.

Concerts and Art Projects and Sweaters, Oh My!

30 Seconds to Mars is touring in 2011. I want to see them. Except Jared Leto’s kind of a douche. A really, really good-looking douche, but still. The kind of douche you can’t wash off like in those Axe commercials. However, he makes some good music.

Also, I have been drawing a lot more lately. I kind of privately consider myself an artist–not because I’m good, ’cause I’m not, but because I make art (or try to, at least). And that makes me an artist, right? (Maybe not. But it sounds way better than painter-and-sketcher. Because that sounds like crap.)

Unrelated to any of this is a picture of someone dressed all fifties. Because I want to time-travel (okay, fine, I’m pretty sure this picture is fully from the here-and-now, so I want to teleport) and steal it.

Failing that (I’m a little busy to invent a teleporter this week), the knitting kind of reminds me of these super-cozy sweaters from Aerie. Which I am too college-student poor to buy, but *coughSantaIknowyouandyourelvestotallyreadthisblogalldaywhenyou’resupposedtobemakingnutcrackersandshitcough* would be a lovely giftie.

Honestly I just like to dress like a homeless person. The more ripped and cozy and tattered, the better. Also, people will give me money on the street, and then I can use it to buy more homeless-people clothes. Win-win!

Vanilla Kink

These are most of the sexy things I like that fall a little out of the ordinary:

Getting spanked, swallowing, wearing a pearl necklace (or shirt, or skirt, or whatever–I mean, I just figured that was a nicer way than saying, “Getting came on,” but look, now you made me say it anyway), high-risk activities (e.g., in the outdoors, with a semi-chance of getting caught), getting my hair pulled (but not too hard), getting held down/wherever, and probably more things I can’t think of.

What counts as kinky, d’you think? Because I always thought the above activities were, if not totally vanilla, than not crazy-wild, but after talking to my friends about some of the tamer things, I was totally alone. So either I’m a totally bizarre slut or my friends are prudes, or they’re even kinkier and are lying to cover it up, or everyone on earth is a robot. Or something.

Today’s oversharing brought to you by Wild Hearts.

Whip Your Hurr

I wish I was a little ballsier with my hair color. I have only dyed it weirdly once (bright, cherry-berry Ariel red), and it was an accident (I was trying to go auburn). My natural hair color is this weird dirty blonde-gray combo, so I’ve been highlighting it since basically forever. But then I had the classic movie-like First Big Breakup and revenge-dyed my hair like, slutty blonde–way lighter than my natural color. Which was fine, until the horrible roots grew in like five inches.

So. I just re-dyed my hair (the terrible Breakup du juor was a while ago–three different guys ago, in fact–but my hair grows ridiculously slowly) to something kind of (but not really) resembling my natural color (who the fuck would buy “ugly gray-blonde”? They don’t sell that shit in stores). But I can’t help wishing I would just pull a Cowardly-Lion-at-the-end-of-The-Wizard-of-Oz and be brave for once in my life. And do something crazy, like blue highlights.

I mean, this?

She totally pulls it off. But one of the biggest reasons I’m too lazy to dye my hair a crazy color is because…

a.) I may be the laziest person who has ever lived (well, okay, I come in second to those people to have to be cut out of their trailers, maybe), and…

b.) I’m broke.

Those two things don’t really make me want to spend $$$ on dye every, like, month. And then there’s c.), I’m a huge chicken.

But I was thinking…if it’s just highlights, and not all-over color, maybe it won’t be so awful when it grows out? And so now I’m thinking I want pale turquoise or teal highlights underneath my hair. Stupid? Probably. Awesome? Also probably. Kinda like this, but a little lighter:

Like this gorgeous color, but only little pieces of it:

The big question is, will I do it? And the big answer is probably not, because I suck, but at least I can drool over hair I will never have. C’est la vie. I’m just going to go binge-drink and fishtail braid while crying.

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