Wednesday, February 17, 2016

5 Tips for Your Overnight Bag


On TV and in books I noticed that sometimes, women just fall asleep at mens' apartments/houses without any essentials! I was watching Trainwreck the other day with my boyfriend, and I couldn't believe that Amy didn't have some sort of overnight bag! Does this actually happen? How lazy are we, ladies, that we have forgotten the overnight bag?

Now, some girls might not want to carry overnight bags because they are bulky and too-obvious when walking home the next morning, which is why I decided to write down some must-haves for when spending the night at a guy's (or girl's) place!

1. Toilet Paper

If you are a lesbian, this might not be applicable, but guys never have enough toilet paper. And if your guy has a roommate, there's an even greater chance that the toilet paper is actually being used as paper towels, pillows, or holiday decoration. Or maybe they are competing to see who can go the longest without caving and buying toilet paper. I don't know why guys do these things, but you should be prepared.

2. Hand Towels

No matter how many times I ask, my boyfriend (of over 3 years) does not keep a hand towel in his bathroom. It's a miracle he has soap, honestly, so ladies, bring your own hand towel. Or do what I do and just wipe your hands on your boyfriend's roommate's things in their shared bathroom. Or wave your hands around the room until everything is covered in dabs of water. That's fun too.

3. A Tiny Trash Can

This is where you can store all your overnight items! And afterwards, when carrying it home with you, everyone will just assume you're a trash man! Or homeless, whatever, but the real reason the trash can is important is if you have any items (tampons, pads, skin care items) that you might need to throw away the next morning. Because some guys may not have a trash can in their bathroom (which I have seen), or, if they do, it is completely full with pizza boxes. You will need to dispose of your necessities yourself.

4. Your Retainer

Don't forget that retainer you have had since middle school, ladies! Do you want your man (or lady) to see that you no longer care for your teeth? No, so along with a toothbrush and toothpaste (again, in case the guy doesn't have any toothpaste), after being intimate with your date, make sure to have your old, crusty retainer, and make sure he sees you put it in your mouth! Not only does this tell him that you will make sure your teeth are straight forever, but it also hints that you are done and it's time to go to sleep!

5. Sleeping Pill

The younger the guy, the worse his bed is. My boyfriend still lives at home, so the options are his lumpy futon or his old bunk beds (which are too small for just one grown adult, and he tries sharing the bottom bunk with me.) You will need to find something other than a comfortable bed to put you to sleep.

Thursday, February 4, 2016

Almost Losing It to My Best Friend


*Note: I change names to protect the innocently stupid.            

            Now, it wasn't my original plan to lose my virginity to my best/worst friend. In seventh grade sex ed, I was one of the few, proud students (I think there were 3 of us) who raised their hands when the guest speaker asked that day if any of us planned on waiting 'til marriage.
            Personally, even though at the time I, who hadn't appealed to any guy since grade school anyway, wanted to wait, I didn't like this guest speaker. She spent the first half of the class calling up six students and giving them cups of water. One boy had flaky, orange Cheeto remains in his cup. She then had the students pour water into each other's cups, "proving" that if you shared fluids (had sex) with six people, you would get a STD for sure (Cheeto flakes were the STD.) She then spent the other half of the class telling us how jealous her daughter's roommates are of her virgin, college daughter, who was waiting until marriage to "sleep with" (mom language for bang-bang) her wonderful, virgin boyfriend.
            I sometimes wonder if that actually worked out for our guest speaker's daughter, or if she eventually had sex with six different partners and got a case of Cheeto-flaked herpes.
            Maybe her virgin boyfriend cheated on her, causing the perfect daughter to have sex with a rebound, leather-wearing, Cheeto-eating new boyfriend.
            This was my take-away from sex ed. That, and a day when a random short, slightly pudgy man with a small bald spot on the top of his head came in and expressed his disgust for women who put out. Really, I don't know what this little, 30-something man's qualifications were for talking to impressionable kids with budding hormones about intercourse, but there he was.
            This speaker told us about how he had a girlfriend who actually agreed to have sex with him! Sounds like he was just trying to brag, right? No, instead of being grateful, he slept with her until he married someone else, a good, virginal girl!
            "Never marry the girl you sleep with," was this random, one-day educator's advice, and I wondered why he would say that to a room that was 3/5ths female.
            Don't worry, I was always very liberal and didn't take his nonsense seriously. I only wanted to wait and wear a purity ring because the Jonas Brothers wore purity rings, and Nick Jonas was hot. It was my goal to meet Nick at a concert, fall in love, wait until marriage in our early twenties, and then sit on his face.
            But then, my $6.95 faux-diamond purity ring designed by Bitten by Sarah Jessica Parker turned my finger green a few weeks later, and a few of the stones fell off. I took that as a sign. I'm big on signs. More recently, while I was reading Jen Kirkman's I Can Barely Take Care of Myself, half the flowers my current boyfriend bought for died, only one day in my care. Super sign. (P.S., I'm thinking Super Sign will be the title of my first book, or The Rectum is an Exit, Not an Entrance, and Other Negotiable Things.)
            What does this have to do with my story? Did I see a sign that I should sleep with my best/worst friend, Dallas? No, I was just kinda horny. And my mother was always accusing me of sleeping (see, mom term) with Dallas. The nerve of her! I couldn't have one guy friend, freshman year of college!? She was just an old school, out-of-touch prude! Why couldn't a guy and a girl JUST be friends!? I was so f*ing outraged about this, that I immediately went to Dallas' house and made the f* out with him!
            I also learned that every square inch of your community college is really a kissing-zone. Dallas and I made out in the common TV area, the cafeteria, outside the cafeteria, did upstairs-outsidies in the courtyard, and grinded in the stairwell.
            The stairs were actually built for this. They were ideal! Between floors, there were two sets of stairs separated by a short platform, with very obnoxiously loud doors at the top and bottom of the stairwell. Not only could we stand in the middle platform, leaving enough time to walk up or down the stairs if we heard footsteps either way, but the doors made a loud, Chewbacca-like roar whenever we were about to be interrupted.
            In conclusion, community college stairwell make-out sessions are awesome, and you should all try them sometime (unless you're a Harvard or Yale snob. Bleh.)
            Not in conclusion actually, because I have to tell you about deciding whether or not to lose it to my best friend.
            The Pros:
            1. He had experience. A lot of experience.
            2. If I didn't like the actual act, at least I knew I would like the stuff that led up to it (cause we already did the stuff that led up to it.)
            3. My mom was accusing me of having sex with him anyway (like she accused me of having sex with everyone), so why not? If I'm a slut, I might as well actually get the joy out of being a slut!
            But, then, there were The Cons:
            1. Dallas was an idiot.
            2. Dallas was an idiot who slept through all his classes and couldn't keep a part-time job.
            3. Dallas was my best friend, and what if I lost my best friend?
            4. Dallas was an idiot who had been hit by 11 cars.
            5. 11 CARS. ON HIS BIKE. AND HE KEPT RIDING HIS BIKE. WITHOUT LOOKING BOTH WAYS. I PULLED HIM OUT OF THE WAY OF A CAR ONCE. HE WAS SUPERIOR TO AND STUPIDER THAN A REALLY STUPID CAT.
            And so I didn't lose my virginity to my best friend, the 11-car-miracle-wonder boy. How did this boy never get in the local papers?
            In case you are wondering, I also never met Nick Jonas, fell in love, waited until marriage in our early twenties, and sat on his face. I did go to a Jonas Brothers concert for my fifteenth birthday, though. That is another story.

When I Had 2 Roommates, II



When I had two roommates, I realized that I wasn't good at being a girl. I set my alarm at 6am, and I told myself that I was doing this so all three of us would have time to get ready in the morning privately. First me, I was the early bird. Then Roommate 2, who usually had to go to work. Last but not least-amount-of-time-taken (not by a long shot), Roommate 1, who usually woke up late to purposely skip her first class, every day.

In my head, this made sense-for me to get ready at the crack of dawn (exaggeration) and let the two other girls take over the bathroom, but really, I was avoiding them. I was avoiding fighting over the bathroom, true, but I was also avoiding eating breakfast with them. At 6am, I brushed my teeth, brushed my hair, applied a thick double-layer of chapstick, shaved my unibrow (to make myself feel fancy), and grabbed my cereal from the shared kitchen to take to my own single bedroom. I also tried avoiding the cats, who would hopefully be sleeping on the floor instead of grabbing at the bottom of my pant leg (since I am short and normal pants are not.) One of the two cats was a girl, so I still consider this me avoiding girls.

I liked Tristan, the boy-cat, better. I thought he had more character. My boyfriend liked Tristan's sister best. My boyfriend is a moron. His judgment doesn't matter.

Back to the story: I was avoiding the girls I chose to live with for a whole year. Sometimes, out of curiosity about that elusive female-species, I would watch Roommate 1 finally get ready before the class she chose to attend, after I came back from my first class. She did up her hair, and put on eyeshadow. Then she put on eyeliner. Then she might clip her nails or paint them. She painted her lips and brow as well. She applied something to her cheeks to make them a glowing red (I don't know what this something is, because I am bad at being a girl.) And I would just stare at her, taking 3 hours to get ready for the day, while she talked about yesterday. I wondered how she even had time to enjoy yesterday. When did she even finish applying yesterday's make-up!? Who the fuck has time for this!? I am not famous, I don't have a stylist who can do this for me while I do my homework or anything.

One day, Roommate 1 was driving me in her car. I was in the passenger seat, and my boyfriend was minding his own business in the backseat. Maybe he was sleeping. Maybe he was playing his Nintendo. Maybe he wasn't there and I didn't notice the difference because I am bad at being a girl-friend as well. Whatever, a different story.

Roommate 1 was telling me about her day, while retouching her make-up in the car mirror. She could multi-task (which I learned in college isn't actually a thing. Perhaps she would've learned this too if she attended her classes.)

Roommate 1 was complaining about her mom favoriting her younger sister again (which her mom did often), and about how another guy just stopped texting her out of the blue (which happened a lot. I never understood why this actually happened so much. Not only was Roommate 1 better at being a girl, but she was better at being a girl-friend. She would sew and knit her boyfriends custom gifts. For her last serious boyfriend, she bought a polo and sewed Darth Vader in the corner, and she was in the process of embroidering a shirt with an image of his favorite Dr. Who for his birthday when they broke up. I just don't have the time for that shit.)

Then, she told me, on top of that, her Aunt Flo was in for a visit. Roommate 1 rolled her eyes.

Me: "Oh, do you not like your aunt?"

Roomate 1 shot me a glance. "What?"

Me: "Your aunt."

Another glance. I wished she would watch the road.

Me: "Do you not like your aunt?"

Roommate 1: "My Aunt Flo!?"

Me: "Yeah. Is she a bitch?"

Roommate 1: "My period?"

Me: "Oh. Oh. . . . I thought you had an aunt named Flo. Like the Progressive lady. Like she was your aunt."

Apparently, I am so bad at being a girl, I don't know how to name my periods. Thanks a lot, stupid Progressive commercials, for making the name Flo a thing!