Be a Slut

I am a firm believer in being a frisky kitten with your lover, but this PostSecret terrified me to my very core.

Please, whoever you are, don’t do it. Because if it’s me*, you’re a dick, and speaking of dicks, I think I have a few pictures of that floating around. And if it’s not me, you’re still an asshole. The only reason you should ever keep pictures of an ex is if you’re still in love with them and you’re going to do something dramatic and romantic to win them back; otherwise, you’re just a creepy dude who I’m pretty sure cries while he masturbates to old pictures of me.

And that’s just not a good time. For anyone.

*Okay, so I totally just realized that PostSecret is made up of blacked-out pictures of a naked chick whose body and such could not be further from mine–thank God, no offense to that lady. So, phew. I mean obviously I didn’t really think it was about me. Obviously. Of course. Ahem.


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Let’s Fck

The “u” on my keyboard is kind of broken. I have to slam down on it like I’m trying to punch a hole through my laptop just to make it work.

Honestly, I’m most sad about that because it’s really messing up my dirty AIM-ing abilities. And now how will I write my anonymous sex letters? Or write in my top-secret journal about being a call girl?

I mean, let’s be honest, “Fck my pssy” really just doesn’t have the same ring to it. A guy might even be confused if I said, “I want to sck yo off,” although to be honest I wouldn’t say that even if my U button was fully functional. Long story short, this whole keyboard thing is really killing my buzz. Fck yo, computer, fck yo.

Talk Dirty to Me

Dearest People of the Internet, I love you. I love you even more when you tell me dirty little secrets, or ask me questions. And now I have a totally anonymous ask box (on my totally awesome new tumblr, which is basically like the pictures-only version of this blog), so you can get as filthy as you want and I’ll never know if you’re someone’s grandma or a nun or something. Go here and talk dirty.

Seriously. Be even filthier than that girl.

In Your Face

I might officially be a kinky slut.

I mean that in the most positive way, of course. But I think there comes a point when you sort of reflect on all the sex stuff you’re into and then decide if you’re vanilla or chocolate-raspberry-swirl-with-crazy-ass-toppings. And that point came today about 0.03 seconds after I got a facial.

Please, I can't put a picture of that.

We’re not talking the spa kind, people. (Unless you go to a really weird spa. In which case, more power to you, but I feel like it’s my duty to point out that you could get paid for having someone come on your face instead of paying for it. But anyway.) The first thing that popped into my head wasn’t, “Ew,” or, “Not my face!” or, “I’m going to kill him!”; it was, “Mmmmm.”

I’m not saying that makes me a sick sexual deviant or anything, but I’m saying with confidence that I am the only girl I know in my age bracket who finds that sexy. I’d say that alone pretty much kicks me out of the vanilla category, although I’m not sure yet what flavor I am. (Taste me and tell me. Oooh, look, more sluttishness!) Seriously, though, I had a straight-up request for more sex on the blog, and I aim to please. So that was my dirty little sex thing of the day. Prrrrrrr.

In other news, if you’re sick of filthy mindless rambling, give me something to talk about.


One of my friends told me that her boyfriend loves when she has long nails. Apparently he thinks they’re sexy, and he likes getting his back scratched, and he loves the sound they make when she drags them across a chalkboard. (Okay, maybe not the last part.)

I was like, “Okay, to each their own,” and went about my merry way, thinking about rainbows and kittens and world domination. But then I was out to lunch and some randos were along, and one of the boys was enthusiastically asking his girlfriend, “Do you wear long nails? Have you ever had long nails?” I had a trippy acid flashback to the first nail-oriented combo, and so I realized that girls with long nails is kind of a Thing (for certain boys, at least), like red hair or thongs.

Listen. There are two things I will never grow out for a boy, and my nails are one of them. Why? Well, let me tell you.

  1. I don’t like having talons. I have had acrylics a few times, out of sheer boredom, and I hate them. Hate. Hate hate double hate loathe. I feel like a retarded pterodactyl when I try to pick things up. The only good thing about them is the great noise they make when you tap your fingers like a bitchy receptionist.
  2. My science teacher in high school told me about how all these people at a party got salmonella from “a tiny bit of poop” in their dinner. You wanna know how that got there? It was under one of the chef-lady’s talons. POO FINGERS ARE NOT SEXY. (Although, what the fuck? Maybe don’t finger your [disgustingly dirty] asshole before you serve dinner to a bunch of people, you sick filthy freak.)
  3. I don’t like how they look. I think short nails are cuter and prettier and I won’t scratch my eyes out when I put in my contacts, which is always a bonus.
  4. How do you give a handie with those bad boys on? It’s not like I normally involve my fingernails in that action, but I feel like it’s kind of unavoidable when  said fingernails are an inch long. You know what’s not sexy? Getting shanked in the dick.
  5. How do you give yourself some attention, more importantly? I am not looking to accidentally rape myself, thankyouverymuch.

See that? That right there is the nail-length I like. Plus, I also dip my nails in heavy-grade gold glitter (that is not sarcasm, but God’s honest truth, because your nails feel soooo cool after you do it).

So. If long nails are anyone’s thing, that is peachy keen for them. But don’t scratch me with those claws.