Archive | April, 2011

What Not to Do…

17 Apr

Ever.

I will try to share this experience with you in the most appropriate way possible, because, well…what I am about to tell you is just not appropriate. If any of you are confused, asking a former lover how your performance in bed was, is generally not a good idea. The only exception is if you know for dead certain your milkshake brings all the boys to the yard, i.e. you are appealing and something you are doing is good. The reason inquiring about your loving skills is not a good idea is that, well, what if your loving is lacking skills? Will the person you ask be nice enough to just not text back? Will they be honest and say, “Please never call me for a booty call ever again”. You never know, so best to let the past be the past (unless the past comes back roaring its ugly head in the form of gonorrhea, but that is another story). What I am about to tell you, in the form of a warning, is a true story. The imbecile involved shall remain nameless, to protect all involved.

It was a glorious night out, a college graduation party. There was, quite obviously, an excess of alcohol, but that is no excuse for this kind of stupidity. It was a mixed group of both women and men.  Everyone was merrily drinking and singing along to awful karaoke, American Idol wannabes. Then, it happened…imbecile actually asked her former lover (who was present) how her fellatio skills were. Everyone, which was a group of at least 6, just stopped the merry-making and stared, open-mouthed at the stupidest person to ever walk the face of the Earth.

Now, let’s stop and investigate why this girl is the stupidest person to ever walk the face of the Earth.

#1 She asked a former lover how her performance was

#2 She asked a former lover how her performance was face-to-face (versus text)

#3 She asked a former lover how her performance was in a crowded bar

#4 She asked a former lover how her performance was in a group of people, some of whom she didn’t know

#5 She asked a former lover how her performance was while sitting next to her current boyfriend’s aunt

Not only did this individual do the single-most embarrassing thing I have ever witnessed, she did it knowing full well what his answer would be. She knew he was not pleased with her. He was polite, he never text her back after she asked the first time.

I am sure you are all wondering how this former lover of hers responded to such a question, well…buckle your seat belts and hold on…

After the ludicrous answer had been asked, he said ever so politely, “You know, I wasn’t quite fond of you, I felt more teeth than mouth and you bit my penis”.  You can pretty much bet she cried and made a terrible scene.

Did I feel sorry for this girl? No, I did not. Anyone who thinks its a good idea to ask how well they performed fellatio in a crowd of people deserves the answer they get.

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Dingleberry

14 Apr

While planning our week in Ireland, my travel friends came upon a most amusing name for a town. This town? Dingle. Yes, D.i.n.g.l.e. First thing my boyfriend says? “We HAVE to go to Dingle, so we can pick some berries!” I rolled my eyes and told him there was no way we were going to go clear across the whole of Ireland just because the name loosely refers to a poop crusted piece of toilet paper hanging from butt hairs. Did he think that was a silly reason to go somewhere? Heck no. So, obviously, from the get-go, I was not too keen on the idea of Dingle. Not only did I think of disgusting butt crack adornments every time it was mentioned, it was incredibly far from anywhere else we were planning on visiting. Regardless, I had two whiny men simply begging to put Dingle on our itinerary. Just to silence the “picking berries in Dingle” and “shall we make a dingleberry pie” jokes, I caved and Dingle was to be a future destination. The jokes, however, did not stop (Men).

After some research on Dingle, it didn’t really sound all that bad; in fact, Rick Steves himself calls it, “The epitome of Ireland”. I decided if Rick Steves liked it, I would too.

As I mentioned in a previous blog post, we almost died on the road to Dingle. Several times. Well, maybe that is an exaggeration, but the entire time spent white-knuckling it to Dingle, I was growling that it better damn well be worth it. As we passed green, luscious rolling hill after green, luscious rolling hill to the far western coast  of Ireland, I began to see why Dingle was the epitome of Ireland and we hadn’t even gotten there yet. By far and wide, the area in a 100 mile radius of Dingle was the most green and gorgeous of all we had seen. It was almost too much. As we drove slowly into the town of Dingle we saw row upon row of quaint shops and pubs all squeaky clean and perfect. The town was nestled in the same green, rolling hills we had oohed and aahed over for hours. Dotting the hills were cream and yellow colored homes that looked straight out of a storybook; in fact the entire town looked like one I had seen in one of my childhood fairytale stories. It was dusk and getting dark as deep, gray, foreboding rain clouds kissed the hills. As I exited the car, I could taste the sea and feel the wetness of rain yet to come on my face. We decided exploration of this incredible town was in order. Everything was in Gaelic; people walking past spoke the strange, beautiful tongue. This place was amazing. This place was Ireland. This place was worth it.

Our time spent in Dingle was too short and the hostel we stayed at was, well, let’s save that one for a later blog post; let me just say now, it was interesting.  Despite our lodgings and the terrifying drive in, Dingle was one of the most beautiful and untainted places I have ever been. If I ever make it back to Ireland, Dingle will be my first stop.

Oh, and yes, there were berries to be picked, but they never ended up in a pie.

Grrrrrrrrr

11 Apr

When I moved to Elko, one of the very few consolations was that I would be living in a small and thus, safe place. I have come to find that small does not always equate to safe (or maybe that just applies to Nevada towns). A couple of weekends ago the boyfriend and I went to Salt Lake City for ONE night. When we came back we were welcomed home with a keyed truck and a broken rain gutter. The fine, up-standing citizen who decided it would be shits and giggles to key our brand new truck decided a nice, crooked line all the way down the length of the truck would look nice.  Upon further inspection it appeared someone also tried to break into our truck. Just swell. Next, the downed rain gutter; it was definitely not mother nature who wrecked it. The thing was dragged down, or kicked down from the roof above. This realization left us with only one thought: someone was trying to break into the apartment above. Thank God for renters insurance, dowels in every window and good locks. Not only this, I am finally glad my boyfriend is a gun owner. So, to the idiots who messed with our house: you do it again, you will get a gun in your face. Don’t mess with THIS family!

Lady and the Tramp, Minus the Lady

1 Apr

I understand this may offend some, but it is too good to not put up. Courtesy, alistercoyne @photoree.com

I went to a concert the other night and in true fashion, the ho’s were out in full force. These (dare we call them women?) never fail to make a grand, drunken appearance at any and every event. You all know exactly who I am talking about (unless you are said ho). These girls are dressed head to toe in enough fabric to cover a newborn baby and enough makeup to cover the faces of the entire population of a modest-sized country. The girls I saw at this concert were no exception, however, what made them especially memorable is that one, I swear, was Snooki. She was short, orange and had incredibly large hair. They bombarded our peaceful little area of the pit with the smell of Aqua Net and herpes cream. Snooki, as I mentioned, had immense hair. It was quite a sight, particularly because she must not own a mirror of any sort, because it was a rats nest all the way around. She was standing a foot away from me and her hair was all up in my face. It smelled like feet. At this point, Snooki and her fellow Jersey Shore wannabes were really starting to chap my ass. They were bouncing around and screaming like complete idiots and this was before the band was even on the stage. Their obnoxious behavior said “Go ahead and look, I will only be charging $4.99 later for it, so why not?” The orange one, upon further inspection must have felt two inches of foundation was not enough on the face, as she applied it on her saggy B-cup boobs, as well. Who does that? Her eyelashes were so laden with cheap mascara they were dragging, a lot like her Spanx’d ass. At one point her lumpy butt bumped into my boyfriend and with a look of pure disgust he said, “I just got AIDS”. They were in one word: disgusting. Oh and one more: annoying.

I don’t understand how girls like this reason. Oh wait, they don’t reason; that mental function is completely lost on them. This has to be the only explanation for cheap dollar store, see-through leggings and their apparent lack of understanding of how venereal diseases work.

Ho’s are a scourge on the world. Please, for the sake of humanity, next time you see a ho, do not even give her the benefit of a “Good-Lord-what-are-you-thinking-look”. Maybe, if we paid them no notice, they would just go away. Or maybe with any luck, they will all die off from glitter inhalation or lack of blood circulation, due to too-tight thrift store lace thongs. Natural selection really needs to do a number on this particular group, and fast…