Prom, Anyone?

There should be proms for grown-ups.

I mean, seriously. Why is it that once you graduate high school, there aren’t special parties for no reason? Being an adult is great, don’t get me wrong. But there is a big difference between wearing a little black dress out for cocktails and feeling like a princess in a giant gown. And yeah, you get to do that when you get married, but you can only tie the knot like ten times, and around number five, people aren’t going to RSVP. So there should just be like a yearly Big People Fun Dress Up Party Dance Night (or BPFDUPDN).

Besides, teenagers can’t appreciate prom. Half of them are totally ruining their photos with hideous braces-covered smiles, and the other half are too busy making out with awkward boys/girls in braces to really soak up the moment. And they can’t even drink during–some shots would really make it easier for the awkward high school set to hold each other’s clammy hands while they “dance.”

Long story short, I would like an excuse to wear a ball gown. And since I’m not friends with anybody who throws “balls” (well, I am, but not the kind of ball you’re thinking of), I would like someone to create this event.

And if you’re saying, “Fuck that, my high school prom sucked,” well, don’t you think it’ll much better with booze and girls who actually put out? Plus, you don’t have to worry about your parents hearing you come, which is always a bonus.

WHOOOOOO, I’m gonna start online shopping for my BPFDUPDN dress. Someone else take care of the pesky details like the venue and the invites, ‘kay?

I think I'm buying this one.

Tiny Dancer(s)

Ballet is so pretty. Even when people grow feathers and get red eyes and stab themselves and look generally insane, it’s still gorgeous.

Long story short, I loved Black Swan.

Cum On Over and Read This Post

I am afraid getting facials is bad for my skin.

Not a spa facial, obviously. Although if that were true it would be an amazing breakthrough and I could become famous. They would call me “The Dirty Scientist” and say, “She Uncovered the Truth, Which Is That Cleaning Your Face Is Bad For Your Face!” Actually, you know what, that sounds horrible. Why would I even create a fake fantasy life where I’m known as the Dirty Scientist? I really didn’t think this through.

Anyway, I meant the dirty kind of facial, obviously. (Also, I write about having people come on my face a lot. A lot more than is normal, probably. But the first step in knowing you have a problem is admitting you have a problem, right? [Side note–obviously my problem is that I talk about facials a lot; clearly my raging sex addiction is not a problem. Ask anyone.])

Back to the topic at hand, I was just mulling it over, and I wonder if cum is bad for your face. Based on the amount of facials I get (don’t ask me, it’s not like I have some secret diary under my mattress with “Cumshot Journal” on the cover…seriously, I totally don’t), I feel like it isn’t. Which means…could cum be good for your skin?

I read about some show where some psycho mom (coughMadonnacough) made her son give her like a tube of his jizz so she could use it as hand cream or something. Ignoring the highly disturbing content of that last sentence and refraining from any super-creepy puns, if that is true, I should have some youthful-ass skin.

To be honest, though, even if someone was like, “Don’t let anyone cum on you because it’s bad for you and you will get a cold or something,” I would still be like, “Yes please.” My friends were all, “WHY DO YOU LIKE THAT, IT’S DISGUSTING.” And my answer is, I have no idea. I bet if you asked a dude why he liked seeing girls covered in cum, he would have an equally vague answer. It either turns you on or it doesn’t. And believe me, it turns me on.

Oh and also I hope it’s good for my skin, just as an added benefit.

Life’s Great Little Good Things

If you like charming things and socially awkward French people, you should watch Amélie. Because it totally has both those things.

My favorite part about the movie, though, is the way they introduce the characters. They say a few important things about them–like their job, or where they were born–and then they say really specific, weird things that they like or dislike. Amélie’s mother, for instance, likes to clean and organize her purse. Amélie likes the feeling of putting her hand into dry grain (which feels great, in case you’ve never had the pleasure). Seriously, though, why doesn’t everyone introduce themselves this way?

Honestly, I care way more about if a person hates birds chirping or loves using stencils on construction paper than about their political views. Because it’s wacky and interesting and plus, people would like each other more! Not a lot of chit-chats about abortion rights lead to enthusiastic high-fives, but everyone can get behind how awesome the first bite into a fresh apple is (SO GOOD, right?). And then instead of being like, “Yeah, I do remember your friend Dave, actually. He’s the dick who believes in [insert controversial topic people like to blather about here], isn’t he?” people would be all, “Ohhhh, Dave! I love that guy! We both like to put black olives on our fingers before we eat them.”

See, these bitches bonded over their love of opening a can of Tab.

Oops, I think I just figured out world peace.

For real, though, can Weird Things About Oneself be the new handshake? Then it won’t have to get all awkward when it’s the dirty-looking guy’s turn to go around and rub his hepatitis all over you (oh, what, you don’t hang out with people who might have hepatitis?). Instead, he can just be like, “I enjoy contracting diseases!” and you can yell back, “One of my favorite things is the feeling of clean untouched hands!”

You know. Or you might be normal and none of this applies to you. I DON’T KNOW. This whole post was just supposed to be a short little segue into my List of Odd Little Things I Like and Dislike, but I got carried away. And I used up all my brainpower blathering, so now I can’t even remember the LOLTILD. I’ll just do one of each: I don’t like the smell of double-brewed coffee (e.g., coffee made partially from old grounds), and I like the feeling of warm grass under my bare feet. And since nobody likes negativity, here’s a bonus Thing I Like: being picked up and spun around by someone who is genuinely excited to see you.

Fuck, life is full of good great little things. Now go do some while I sleep.

Shoegasm

There once was a little old woman who lived in a shoe. But clearly she had a bad real estate agent, because she could’ve been living inside of these divine heels instead:

I mean, seriously. I want to wear these everywhere. I want them to run down the beach and leap into my arms. I want to put them on and jump around on bubble wrap. I want to curl up into a tiny little ball and sleep in them. I want them to pop out of a birthday cake seductively. Mostly, though, I just want them all over my feet.

I’m not sure if you People of the Internet got this, but I love these damn shoes.

Boobs (Yeah, That’s the Title)

It’s probably a good thing that I don’t have huge boobs. Because if I did, I’d be shoving them in people’s face like no one’s business.

On one hand, I kind of wish I was stacked. Because if you throw a rock at any straight dude (although holy catnip, why are you throwing rocks at people? Maybe you should go to an anger-management class or something, psycho), he’s gonna like boobs. The bigger, the better (at least until you get to, like, floor-dragging size. Unless he’s into that). Big ta-tas win out over small ones, every time, with very few exceptions. And being a B-cup, I’ll never have that “voluptuous sexy” thing going on. Suuuuucks for me.

But, flip side, I really like my girls. They’re perky and symmetrical and when I don’t wear a bra, they don’t unravel like Froot-by-the-Foots or something (if you’re saying, “Big boobs don’t do that!” well, I’ve seen things. Terrible things). And I like that I can wear low-cut shirts and skimpy stuff and not look like a complete whore (just like a kind-of-sort-of-slutty mini-whore). Plus they don’t smack me in the face when I go running, and not getting bitch-slapped by your own anatomy is always a plus.

But since I don’t think the Boob Fairy is going to sweep into my room in the middle of the night and dazzle me with a pair of D-cups, I’m just gonna have to rock what I’ve got. Possibly by walking around topless and yelling, “Yeah, that’s right, I have awesome tits,” whenever people stare. Because that’s normal.

My Future Pet

Meet my future pet.

Yeah, he’s pretty great, isn’t he?

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