i am unemployed. i am not in school. i live with my parents. i am wearing the clothes i wore yesterday.
and i took a nap.
i feel more worthless than i did before.
napping = wfi.
(by the way, i tag things as "college dropout", but i, in fact, did graduate from college. not even a community college. a real university! which, apparently, was a WFI, because everything has been downhill since...)
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Lesbian Fail; Or, Reason #18, Why I'm Sorta Gay...
I went to a gay bar last week, and while I did have a conversation that began with, "So what do you do?" and ended with "Let's exchange numbers!", it was very ungay and therefor this WFI is about my experience at the same gay bar TONIGHT.
So, we begin with my friend who shall be known as RK, because I promised her I wouldn't tell anyone what happened (even though there are about ten witnesses - more on that as the story progresses), so, we shall use made up initials.
RK and her boyfriend recently broke up. And RK is very, very upset about it. Especially because she has always thought of herself as independent and not the type to actually crave a relationship, or to be hurt by one. She is one of those girls that never, ever, ever talks about boys, and will have a boyfriend for months and not even mention him, and none of her friends even know about it. In fact, I never even knew she had a boyfriend at all! Ever! In her life! Let alone the many that were discussed over 10 beers (1 mine, 9 hers) last night.
Anyway, immediately following the breakup, RK picked up a few seasons of the L-Word and decided that she is/can/will be gay! We began discussing the show, because yes, I've seen entire seasons of the L-Word (Reason #16 maybe??). These conversations became more and more like a competition; who is gayer and who wants to prove it! Normally, this is a competition I would win sans any effort whatsoever. I have shoebox after shoebox filled with sports cards in my closet (Reason #15) so don't even try to out lesbian me. But anyway, I agreed that the next time she was in town, we would spend a night out at a gay bar making out with girls and doing some serious man hating. And yes, we were under the impression that at a gay bar, one is swarmed by members of the same sex looking for a hook up.
Well, the night had arrived. I pick up RK and we drive to the only bar I know of; the bar I ended up at the week before (perhaps I will transcribe that story another time). It's karaoke night. If anything there should be some killer people watching going on, right? No. Unfortunately there are only about twenty people in the bar. None of them are attractive, and none of them are unique/crazy/trashy enough to warrant any sort of whispering and giggling. Oh well. We assume it's early, and all the hot chicks are on their way. We drink some beers (me 1, her 3 [plus two margaritas from earlier]) and we smoke some cigarettes. We are slightly manhandled by a dude out on the patio. A totally straight dude. A complete bro who had no idea he was in a gay bar. None. After laughing at his incompetence for a moment, we brush it off and dub it a minor mishap in a our quest for gayness.
We return to the inside bar to finish our beers. As we are sitting on some stools, reading the lyrics to the amazing song** that is scrolling across the flatscreen, we are approached by another man.
Man: Hey, are you two gay?
We were completely caught off guard. RK and I had not discussed what to do if this question were asked of us. We panicked. We froze like fish sticks. We looked at each other. We shrugged, we mumbled, we asked him to define the word "gay". We eventually settled on "We're thinking about it?". Inflection included.
Man: Yeah I didn't think you were gay. I'm not gay either, I am just here with some gay friends.
Pause.
RK: Wait...why didn't you think we were gay? What isn't gay about us??
Man: You just don't look gay.
RK: What do you mean I don't look gay?? I look so gay! I'm at a gay bar! I'm wearing a tank top! It's sheer!
Me: People think I'm gay all the time! I'm even wearing a sweater tonight! [Let's be honest, I wasn't dressed any differently than usual, except I had on a sweater, and not a sweatshirt...]
RK and I quickly headed to the bathroom, where we admired ourselves in the full size mirror, before we left the bar to meet up with a friend who was in town.
Me: Well I think you look totally gay.
RK: Thank you! I like your sweater.
End Gay Bar Scene. Begin Scene With Straight Dudes In House.
We arrive at the bro house to meet up with D, a high school friend who is in from New York for a mere 36 hours. Also present, S, N, K, Ma, Mi, Dy, Da, P, and someone I think I'm forgetting but that probably isn't important. Immediately upon our arrival we ask the boys if we look gay. They don't understand the question and tell us to make out. We describe the previous events of the evening and I repeatedly point to my sweater and say, "sweater!!!!!!", as RK keeps telling them how she is so, so, so gay.
Flash forward an hour we are deciding to leave. The live reggae jams have come out, and we've had enough of the sausage fest. After all, we're lesbians, right? We go in search of D, find him sitting on a stool by himself in a room adjacent to the kitchen, and walk in to say our goodbyes. RK is in front of me and leans down to give him a hug. I notice the hug is taking a little long. Then I notice some back rubbing, followed by the words "just go for it". I remove myself from the room.
A wild, 20 minute make out session ensues. Heavy breathing, loud, loud, loud sighs, rolling on the floor, and smashing against the wall can all be heard. Clearly there was dry humping. Oh, and when I said "heard" I also meant "seen", because there is a giant window shared between the kitchen and this back room. And naturally, all in attendance stand around to watch. RK and D are oblivious to this.
RK stops the making out for a second. Did she finally notice the audience?? Oh, no, she didn't. Instead she just had something to tell D:
I don't think I'm gay.
They make out more.
D: You're bi.
Eventually Da, a huge, sweaty, red faced drunk guy that I've despised since the 8th grade, comes barreling into the kitchen. Apparently this whole time he hadn't noticed he was by himself in the living room... He tells us he thinks D went home because he hasn't seen him in a while. He makes eye contact with no one and goes galumphing into the back room where his presence immediately puts an end to any romancing (how could it not...). RK and D notice their audience, exit the room into the kitchen, RK hugs all the other boys goodbye (I think they felt cheated), and we go home.
In the car RK tells me she is so embarrassed, and even more sexual frustrated than she had been in the beginning of the night. I tell her that I cannot believe she began to sex up D while I was standing right behind her. "You were in the room?????", she asks me, astonished. I WAS IN THE FUCKING ROOM, HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THIS??? She profusely apologizes and finally gets the chance to check her phone for the text message I had sent her during the GreatMake Out of March Dry Hump of the Century.
you are so not gay.
RK: Want to go to San Francisco's Pride?
**(youtube comments are priceless)
So, we begin with my friend who shall be known as RK, because I promised her I wouldn't tell anyone what happened (even though there are about ten witnesses - more on that as the story progresses), so, we shall use made up initials.
RK and her boyfriend recently broke up. And RK is very, very upset about it. Especially because she has always thought of herself as independent and not the type to actually crave a relationship, or to be hurt by one. She is one of those girls that never, ever, ever talks about boys, and will have a boyfriend for months and not even mention him, and none of her friends even know about it. In fact, I never even knew she had a boyfriend at all! Ever! In her life! Let alone the many that were discussed over 10 beers (1 mine, 9 hers) last night.
Anyway, immediately following the breakup, RK picked up a few seasons of the L-Word and decided that she is/can/will be gay! We began discussing the show, because yes, I've seen entire seasons of the L-Word (Reason #16 maybe??). These conversations became more and more like a competition; who is gayer and who wants to prove it! Normally, this is a competition I would win sans any effort whatsoever. I have shoebox after shoebox filled with sports cards in my closet (Reason #15) so don't even try to out lesbian me. But anyway, I agreed that the next time she was in town, we would spend a night out at a gay bar making out with girls and doing some serious man hating. And yes, we were under the impression that at a gay bar, one is swarmed by members of the same sex looking for a hook up.Well, the night had arrived. I pick up RK and we drive to the only bar I know of; the bar I ended up at the week before (perhaps I will transcribe that story another time). It's karaoke night. If anything there should be some killer people watching going on, right? No. Unfortunately there are only about twenty people in the bar. None of them are attractive, and none of them are unique/crazy/trashy enough to warrant any sort of whispering and giggling. Oh well. We assume it's early, and all the hot chicks are on their way. We drink some beers (me 1, her 3 [plus two margaritas from earlier]) and we smoke some cigarettes. We are slightly manhandled by a dude out on the patio. A totally straight dude. A complete bro who had no idea he was in a gay bar. None. After laughing at his incompetence for a moment, we brush it off and dub it a minor mishap in a our quest for gayness.
We return to the inside bar to finish our beers. As we are sitting on some stools, reading the lyrics to the amazing song** that is scrolling across the flatscreen, we are approached by another man.
Man: Hey, are you two gay?
We were completely caught off guard. RK and I had not discussed what to do if this question were asked of us. We panicked. We froze like fish sticks. We looked at each other. We shrugged, we mumbled, we asked him to define the word "gay". We eventually settled on "We're thinking about it?". Inflection included.
Man: Yeah I didn't think you were gay. I'm not gay either, I am just here with some gay friends.
Pause.
RK: Wait...why didn't you think we were gay? What isn't gay about us??
Man: You just don't look gay.
RK: What do you mean I don't look gay?? I look so gay! I'm at a gay bar! I'm wearing a tank top! It's sheer!
Me: People think I'm gay all the time! I'm even wearing a sweater tonight! [Let's be honest, I wasn't dressed any differently than usual, except I had on a sweater, and not a sweatshirt...]
RK and I quickly headed to the bathroom, where we admired ourselves in the full size mirror, before we left the bar to meet up with a friend who was in town.
Me: Well I think you look totally gay.
RK: Thank you! I like your sweater.
End Gay Bar Scene. Begin Scene With Straight Dudes In House.
We arrive at the bro house to meet up with D, a high school friend who is in from New York for a mere 36 hours. Also present, S, N, K, Ma, Mi, Dy, Da, P, and someone I think I'm forgetting but that probably isn't important. Immediately upon our arrival we ask the boys if we look gay. They don't understand the question and tell us to make out. We describe the previous events of the evening and I repeatedly point to my sweater and say, "sweater!!!!!!", as RK keeps telling them how she is so, so, so gay.
Flash forward an hour we are deciding to leave. The live reggae jams have come out, and we've had enough of the sausage fest. After all, we're lesbians, right? We go in search of D, find him sitting on a stool by himself in a room adjacent to the kitchen, and walk in to say our goodbyes. RK is in front of me and leans down to give him a hug. I notice the hug is taking a little long. Then I notice some back rubbing, followed by the words "just go for it". I remove myself from the room.
A wild, 20 minute make out session ensues. Heavy breathing, loud, loud, loud sighs, rolling on the floor, and smashing against the wall can all be heard. Clearly there was dry humping. Oh, and when I said "heard" I also meant "seen", because there is a giant window shared between the kitchen and this back room. And naturally, all in attendance stand around to watch. RK and D are oblivious to this.
RK stops the making out for a second. Did she finally notice the audience?? Oh, no, she didn't. Instead she just had something to tell D:
I don't think I'm gay.
They make out more.
D: You're bi.
Eventually Da, a huge, sweaty, red faced drunk guy that I've despised since the 8th grade, comes barreling into the kitchen. Apparently this whole time he hadn't noticed he was by himself in the living room... He tells us he thinks D went home because he hasn't seen him in a while. He makes eye contact with no one and goes galumphing into the back room where his presence immediately puts an end to any romancing (how could it not...). RK and D notice their audience, exit the room into the kitchen, RK hugs all the other boys goodbye (I think they felt cheated), and we go home.
In the car RK tells me she is so embarrassed, and even more sexual frustrated than she had been in the beginning of the night. I tell her that I cannot believe she began to sex up D while I was standing right behind her. "You were in the room?????", she asks me, astonished. I WAS IN THE FUCKING ROOM, HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THIS??? She profusely apologizes and finally gets the chance to check her phone for the text message I had sent her during the Great
you are so not gay.
RK: Want to go to San Francisco's Pride?
**(youtube comments are priceless)
Sunday, March 22, 2009
I went to a strip club.
well, abby had her bachelorette party. which was planned out by someone who wasn't me. which is how we ended up at the strip club.
i had never been to a strip club, nor have i ever wanted to go. in fact, my only experience involving a stripper was at a high school friend's birthday party; he was the least expensive stripped in all of tucson's yellowpages. can you even imagine??? and go figure, he needed a ride home afterward (i have no idea how he got there in the first place). giving the stripper a ride home was not something any of us were willing to do. what we were willing to do however, was call him a cab and shove him out the door to wait for it.
anyway.
so who else was on the guest list for the evening's events? oh, just one of abby's friends who has only been drunk once in her life, loves to embroider, and has a 5 month old baby at home (she left early), and abby's friend J, with whom i went to high school (i used to go up to her locker when she had it open, stick my arm in, and pull everything out of it and onto the floor, and then walk away, if that tells you anything about our relationship). oh, J's friend that none of knew was also in attendance. my point here is that the obvious "we're here cuz it's a wild and crazy bachelorette party" visual was not attainable. we were, instead, a small group of girls, at the strip club.
in my attempt to avoid the strip club altogether, i figured we should stop at the meet rack (be sure to read aaron a's review). ( quick facts about the meet rack: a man who calls himself "god" runs it; they brand people with an image of god's face (50 cents off drinks for life!); there is a room filled with sex equipment (swings, chairs, cuffs etc); this room is also filled with pictures of people engaging in sex on the equipment; AA members get free drinks for life; God has a gold and diamond ring shaped like a penis that he wears proudly.) so obviously, i thought the bar would be weird and exciting enough to get me out of the strip club adventure...but it turns out, the other girls were just too creeped out by the vibrating dildos on the bar to even order a second round.
it was strip club time.
the bachelorette, drunk, but not wasted, partook in an onstage strip show. motorboating, simulated oral sex, rubbing and grinding with not one, not two, but three strippers, including one with braces, who she later tracked down for a little private lap dance. there was some legit, cute strippers, i wont lie. so i was a little annoyed that she preferred the beat chicks. but of course, the hottest girl in the club wasn't even a stripper. she was a waitress. clearly though, none of this actually matters because i was not about to, and now i never, ever will, partake in any sort of lap dance. really though, motorboating?? i'll just keep ordering beers.
so, in the end, the best part about the strip club? how my reeboks looked in the black light. the worst part about the strip club? how my sneakers felt covered in a stripper's spilled red bull.
i had never been to a strip club, nor have i ever wanted to go. in fact, my only experience involving a stripper was at a high school friend's birthday party; he was the least expensive stripped in all of tucson's yellowpages. can you even imagine??? and go figure, he needed a ride home afterward (i have no idea how he got there in the first place). giving the stripper a ride home was not something any of us were willing to do. what we were willing to do however, was call him a cab and shove him out the door to wait for it.
anyway.
so who else was on the guest list for the evening's events? oh, just one of abby's friends who has only been drunk once in her life, loves to embroider, and has a 5 month old baby at home (she left early), and abby's friend J, with whom i went to high school (i used to go up to her locker when she had it open, stick my arm in, and pull everything out of it and onto the floor, and then walk away, if that tells you anything about our relationship). oh, J's friend that none of knew was also in attendance. my point here is that the obvious "we're here cuz it's a wild and crazy bachelorette party" visual was not attainable. we were, instead, a small group of girls, at the strip club.
in my attempt to avoid the strip club altogether, i figured we should stop at the meet rack (be sure to read aaron a's review). ( quick facts about the meet rack: a man who calls himself "god" runs it; they brand people with an image of god's face (50 cents off drinks for life!); there is a room filled with sex equipment (swings, chairs, cuffs etc); this room is also filled with pictures of people engaging in sex on the equipment; AA members get free drinks for life; God has a gold and diamond ring shaped like a penis that he wears proudly.) so obviously, i thought the bar would be weird and exciting enough to get me out of the strip club adventure...but it turns out, the other girls were just too creeped out by the vibrating dildos on the bar to even order a second round.it was strip club time.
the bachelorette, drunk, but not wasted, partook in an onstage strip show. motorboating, simulated oral sex, rubbing and grinding with not one, not two, but three strippers, including one with braces, who she later tracked down for a little private lap dance. there was some legit, cute strippers, i wont lie. so i was a little annoyed that she preferred the beat chicks. but of course, the hottest girl in the club wasn't even a stripper. she was a waitress. clearly though, none of this actually matters because i was not about to, and now i never, ever will, partake in any sort of lap dance. really though, motorboating?? i'll just keep ordering beers.
so, in the end, the best part about the strip club? how my reeboks looked in the black light. the worst part about the strip club? how my sneakers felt covered in a stripper's spilled red bull.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Friday, March 13, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
You think you're soooo good at blogging cause you know how to post a screencap.
If you think the rolleyes thing is funny, it's not.
Any real internetress would know you should just :rolleyes: for comedic effect.
Shouldn't you be screenPRINTING instead of screencapping?
g2g
I have work tomorrow.
You know, the place where I make money.
Jealous?
Any real internetress would know you should just :rolleyes: for comedic effect.
Shouldn't you be screenPRINTING instead of screencapping?
g2g
I have work tomorrow.
You know, the place where I make money.
Jealous?
RE: Gem's previous entry
well, obviously, changing the color scheme of the blog was apparently a WFI, as my one time partner in crime has now quit the blog!
i feel like a rejected spouse. i was only changing the blog colors so i could GET A LITTLE ATTENTION AROUND HERE. yeesh. i just wanted a little, "leave it alone, i'll fix it! i'll make it pretty!" but noooooo. i get an "i quit".
fewer syllables i guess.
i also got laid off and spent every last penny i had (both literally, as in, in the bank, and figuratively, as in, credit cards!) on getting everything i need to screen print from home. we'll see how that goes, as i fall further and further into debt. and thus, i shall become proof that finances and depression are directly related.
edited only 22 minutes later to add:
(i knew she'd be back...
)
i feel like a rejected spouse. i was only changing the blog colors so i could GET A LITTLE ATTENTION AROUND HERE. yeesh. i just wanted a little, "leave it alone, i'll fix it! i'll make it pretty!" but noooooo. i get an "i quit".
fewer syllables i guess.
i also got laid off and spent every last penny i had (both literally, as in, in the bank, and figuratively, as in, credit cards!) on getting everything i need to screen print from home. we'll see how that goes, as i fall further and further into debt. and thus, i shall become proof that finances and depression are directly related.
edited only 22 minutes later to add:
(i knew she'd be back...
)
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
I already mentioned how Nellie is getting married, but I have just been informed that my friend Abby, whom I've been hanging out with on a regular basis since I was about 4, is also getting married. Ugh! This needs to stop!
Also, I kinda have to plan her bridal shower. WFI or what?!?!?! (I'm thinking, hot wings and ranch...)
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