Sunday, December 23, 2012

Crazy Girls

When I think back to the guys I dated over the years, I know a number of them would probably call me a crazy bitch. I should probably be insulted by this, but ultimately, it just doesn’t bother me. Because it’s true.

It’s not uncommon for a girl to go psycho on the guy she’s dating or fucking or whatever-ing. I just think that when a girl acts crazy, it’s because the guy is making her crazy. He gives her reasons to doubt the relationship. He gives her reasons to feel insecure and unloved. He gives her reasons to come undone. 

Girls, and guys too for that matter, tend not to act insane for no reason whatsoever. I suppose there is the rare person who flips out over literally nothing, but I think that is far more rare than we’ve been led to believe. Rather, as human beings, it's in our best interest to maintain the status quo.

Rocking the boat is usually more effort than it’s worth.

When you have something good, you just want to hold on to it. You don’t want to be suspicious or doubtful or angry. You trust.

Maybe I’ve just never had the chance to trust before. Maybe I’ve never given anyone a reason to trust me. I guess what I’m saying is, it’s pretty fucking sweet when you find it. 

Tuesday, December 18, 2012

What's YOUR Number?

It frequently comes as a surprise that even the sweetest, dweebiest, nerdiest guys have had considerably more sexual partners than I have. I mean, I’m not that bad to look at and I’m certainly no angel, yet I’ve shown restraint with my lady parts to avoid becoming known as the town slut.

But then I hear these stories, and it’s like, with guys, the more casual, emotionally unattached, and depraved the hook up, the prouder they are.

  • Duuuuude I fucked some girl last night (high fives ensue) 
  • Duuuuude I think she pissed on our floor (snicker snicker) 
  • Duuuuude is she still here..? (looks of horror all around) 

HA HA HA. How is this a thing?

When a girl has a one night stand (or a casual fling or anything remotely “unacceptable”) she instantly wants to undo it. The morning after, heels in hand, she is quick to flee the scene of the crime.

A girl feels the need to rationalize, to justify, to erase.

She wonders - is there a loophole in the system that will allow this guy not to count as a notch on her bedpost?

  • Maybe it was just the tip? 
  • Maybe he didn’t finish? 
  • He wore a condom, right? So it barely even counts... 

The fact that women even feel the need to make such ridiculous (and patently false) justifications is sad.

Why can’t we just screw proudly and not give a damn how many penises are in or around us?

Monday, December 10, 2012

3 Drunk Foods You Should Avoid

First, let me be frank here and say that there are obviously way more than three foods you should steer clear of after a night of heavy drinking*. But, for the sake of time, and to avoid worsening my raging hangover, I’m going to just stick with these for now.

Jumbo Slice 
Unless you want to spend the next morning literally watching zits develop around your mouth and chin, you should avoid the greasy treasure trove that is jumbo slice. I’m not saying it’s not delicious. The salty, chewy, virtually sauce-less blanket of cheese-laden dough seems like the most genius of ideas at 3 am. But it’s not. Your drug-addled brain should not be making dietary decisions that will affect you for the coming weeks. You should particularly avoid this late-night mistake if you have any events coming up, as you can pretty much guarantee your skin will be wrecked, your stomach will be in turmoil, and your muffin top will be muffin-ier for a full seven days post-jumbo slice binge.

Black and Orange Burger
The thing about Black and Orange burger that makes it so hard to avoid, is their business model is set up to encourage late night drunken visits. Their hours are unique in the DC burger business, meaning they’re open until 3 am when the bars close. Brilliance. However, unless you want to spend the morning after boozing cemented to your toilet, it’s probably best to avoid this popular jaunt. Though there’s something magical about those grilled onions…

Amsterdam Falafel 
Nutritionists might actually encourage the drunken fools of Adams Morgan to hit up Amsterdam Falafel because these Mediterranean chickpea treats are likely the healthiest fast food one can find in DC after midnight. However, the pita pockets can be crammed with whatever toppings you find appetizing - and after a long night out, that might be every topping. So now you are essentially using a small piece of pita as the boat to transport tzatziki, hummus, babaganoush, mayo, ketchup, and vinegar-y onions into your mouth. This ungodly combination of sauces will almost certainly make you upchuck falafel into the already puke-strewn streets of Admo. Of course, if you’re fortunate enough to keep your food down, your garlicky, oniony, ketchup burps will likely trigger the gag reflexes of the lucky few located within your immediate vicinity.



*Full Disclosure: I love all these restaurants and frequently consume Jumbo Slice, Black and Orange burgers, and Amsterdam falafel. I’m merely informing DC partiers that they will suffer the consequences if they choose to frequent these DC institutions after 3 am.

Thursday, December 6, 2012

Revisionist History

It’s not me, it’s you.

Now I see how I deserve to be treated. Now I see what it’s like to be my own person. Now I see why my friends and family couldn’t, wouldn’t be supportive of you in my life. Honestly, I’m in my mid-twenties and I’m at a point where I can’t be dating wildly inappropriate people anymore. It’s time for all of us to just grow the hell up.

You made me feel inadequate every step of the way, but fortunately I see now how completely deluded you were. I’ve got a lot to offer. And I think on some level you knew that. You knew you had something others wanted. You muted me so you could shine.

Did you mean to hurt me? Did you enjoy watching me unravel? Deliberate, frequent jabs at my hair, my shoes, my cooking. You showed no mercy, taking me down any way you could – persistent, patient. You mocked my defining characteristics. You decimated my quirks. You deflated me. You rendered me as directionless and insignificant as secondhand smoke in urban air.

And the jury is still out as to whether I can ever forgive you. The damage is done and I won’t let myself forget how small you made me feel.

You’ve set the bar - and the only place for me to go is up.