Belly Full of Ice Cream, Head Full of Tired

I have to go to work in 45 minutes, so I'm doing the whole, "I can't do anything with this awkward chunk of time and thus must goof off on the internet."

The shitty thing about working nights on weekends is that you can't get drunk before work. Well, I could, but I feel that it would be unethical, much like masturbating at work. I guess I could consider it part of my efforts to bring back functional alcoholism. (Slogan: "Look what it did for the fifties!") But, you know, I like being employed. The thing is that working these shifts really does drastically cut back on my drinking time. But it's not like I can really be all, "Um, excuse me, this shift? Keeping me from getting my drink on. Could I get a more barfly friendly schedule, please?"

Shout Outs

To Incognita, Emily, Phil, Katie and Francine.

Cisney has a great Blogwhore explanation on her site, for those of you who are confused.

And yes, Julie, I will send you an email eventually. But I'm blogging on three blogs right now, and I'm totally boring, so anytime I do anything even mildly eventful I post about it. As I said to Phil today, "If I go out and smother children, I'm going to be like, 'Look! I killed babies with my boobs! I have pictures!'"

He replied, "Please kill a baby with your boobs and let me take pictures. Please. I'll get you a baby."

Phallic or Not?

My Dating History, In Numbers

Fraction of Men I've Slept With Who Are Gay: 1/3
Fraction of Men I've Dated Who Are Gay: 2/3

Fraction of Women I've Slept With Who Are Straight: 2/3
Number of Women I've Slept With Who Identify Only as Lesbians: 0

Blogwhore 2 Judge I Am Least Likely To Sleep With, Based on Above Statistics: Jill
There's A First Time For: Everything

Percentage of People I've Dated with Depression: 75
Percentage of People I've Dated with ADD: 50
Number of People I've Dated with Tourett's Syndrome: 1

Number of Cross-Dressers Dated: 2
Number of Satanists Dated: 1

Number of Bathrooms I've Had Sex In: 8
Number of Bathrooms that Belonged to Me or Sex Partner: 3
Number of Elevators I've Had Sex In: 1
Number of Abandoned Insane Asylums In Which I've Made Out with 18 Year Old Punk Boys: 1

Damn, it's a good thing I'm off the streets.

Why I Want to Sleep with the Blogwhore 2 Judges

Shel
Yeah, I know he’s homotextual, but he still makes me want to bobupndown. So let’s pretend that this is pinkhairedboy.com, okay?

Since he doesn’t go to bars anymore, I meet him somewhere random. In a record store, maybe. He comments on the way that my orange Sleater-Kinney shirt clashes with my pink hair in a good way (it does, I swear). We talk about quitting smoking and morphine. He invites me up to see his clean carpet. I offer to get it dirty for him. He tells me he’s celibate and that just makes me want it more, because I know when it comes it’s going to be safe and it’s going to be good.

Or maybe I just masturbate in his stairwell.

Unfortunately, this isn’t pinkhairedboy.com, so all my Shel fantasies will never come true. But at least I know he’s interested in boobs and a shaved pussy.

Philo
I’m a pinkhairedboy for this one, too. I meet Philo in line at a coffee place on the Castro, and I think, “This boy would be hot even if he were sick and cranky.” I know that if you want someone, sometimes you have to take a risk. So I turn and say, “So, what kind of underwear are you wearing?” When he asks me about mine, I say, “None.” We chat a little. I mention that coffee places make me miss smoking, and he tells me that he’s quitting. Then he invites me over to listen to the latest Marilyn’s Boys single. When we accidentally have sex on cam, everyone says we’re just doing it for the Bloggie, and it’s a total scandal.

Jill
I know all about her girlscout thing, and fortunately I was a Scout for 7 freakin years. (I sold 200 boxes of cookies one year, swear to god. I still have the badge somewhere.) When I stop by her office selling cookies, she mentions that her chair needs adjusting and being a good scout, I offer to take a look at it for her. I like the way she’s a little bit mysterious and she likes my sense of humor. Plus, I can’t help imaging what she looks like naked (a total goddess). We exchanged idle small talk about trips up the California coast. (I went camping there a lot as a child.) One of the buttons on my shirt has come off, and she offers to sew it back on in exchange for my fixing her chair. I’m wearing a leopard print bra under my girl scout uniform, and she mentions that I’ve got more style than a gay man. “I have more casual sex than one too,” I say, and then we break the office chair in.

Rannie
Such. A. Hottie. I’m a boy for this one too, I seriously need to start packing or something. We meet at Walmart. When he sees me checking out the yarn in the crafts section (Lion yarn is totally the best, by the way. Cheap and great!) He asks me a knitting question. I have to confess that I crochet, but I offer to teach him how. (It’s supposed to be easier.) I impress him with my indie knowledge. (Well, okay, I drop a few K Records band names and say the word “Tweepop.”) Things get steamy when I ask him about cross-processing.

When I get him out of his underwear, I discover that not everything is going small.

Christine
I meet her buying hair dye in the super market (I use Nice n’ Easy Blonde to bleach before I go pink.) Then she invites me home to play chess. Unfortunately, I suck at chess. (I have an ex-girlfriend who used to force me to play so that she could beat me. It wasn’t the fun kind of beating, either.) She feels sorry for me, so she invites me to watch The Amazing Race with her. We talk about pink things: Hair, Cookies, Outfits.

Then I eat her big pink cookie.

I guess all of this just makes me a total blogwhore. But at least I've got nice tits.

Blogwhore Some More

Well, kids, I need a favor. The latest Blogwhore Challenge is up, and I need you to link to Blogwhore 2 and mention it's for me on your site. Come on, peeps! I'm showing my tits over there!

Also, if you do this, could you please leave me a comment so I know? Thanks.

Let the Games Begin

Blogwhore 2 starts in two hours. Not that I'm like, waiting up or anything. Oh no. Not me.

If anyone needs me, I'll be compulsively trying to think of funny things.

In the meantime, you can cruise the Yahoo Group.

Only an hour and 56 minutes. Must go get funny.

Fairest

I have a new mirror project photo up.

I'm All Jon Beneted Up and Shit

I felt you guys might enjoy this picture I took while trying to get a decent Blogwhore headshot yesterday. I look really hot . . . for a ten year old.

Oh, well, pedophiles are people too, as I always say. And it does go with my new "Adorable Kitten You Just Want To Take Home and Fuck Raw" look.

More Birthday Nudity

The lovely Smashleigh stripped for my birthday.


Here I am, in my birthday drunkeness glory.

And here are the two most important men in my life, my bartenders. These boys mix a mean gin and tonic, as well as a wide variety of wacky birthday shots. I had something called an "Orange Crush" last night that I identified as having citrus in it only after I had been told its name. (No, I didn't ask what it was before I drank it. I have a Drink First, Ask Questions Later policy regarding these things. It's much like my Snort First, Ask Questions Later policy.) Anyway, if you're ever in the Philly gayborhood, stop by Uncles and tell them Cyn sent you.

Realization

Tonight over dinner, my roommate and I realized that titty-fucking is the last purely heterosexual sex act.

Well, okay, I realized that. Upon the first mention of titty-fucking, my roommate stuck his fingers in his ears and chanted, "LA LA LA I can't hear you."

It's My Birthday. Get Naked!

Incognita's showing a little skin for my birthday. (I have that effect on the ladies.)

Chris, whose own belly is probably a little furry to write on, sent me this link.

Apparently, 23 is the nudity birthday. Who knew?

All I have to say is, let's meme it, people. Everybody show a little skin! Maybe I'll let you see my birthday suit.

It's an Honor Just to be Pre-nominated

Apparently I was pre-nominated for the Bloggies. Which was, well, unexpected. So, thanks, you guys. I really appreciate it.

Everyone's talking about how the Bloggies are a popularity contest. Which is true. But, well, isn't blogging? I've quoted this before, it's from The Collected Stories of Russel Banks, but I think it applies to blogging really well:

"One of the most difficult things to say to another person is, I hope that you will love me for no good reason. But it is what we all want and rarely dare to say to one another - to our children, to our parents and mates, to our friends, and to strangers. Especially to strangers, who have neither good nor bad reasons to love us. And it's why we tell each other stories that we pray will be transformed in the telling by that angel on the roof, made believable and about us all, no matter who we are to another and who we are not."

This is what we do when we blog. Or at least, what I do with my blog. I say, "This is my life. This is what I think. Aren't I cute/clever/funny? Love me. Please."

And sometimes, you do.

I've known Incognita and Katie and Meghan since high school. Maybe before high school. And I'm still in touch with them. I keep in touch with maybe two of the people I knew in high school in "real life." Which means I've never met some of my oldest friends.

Blogging kids, remember the first time someone you thought was really cool commented on your blog? And you thought, "Oh my god. I read them every day, I love what they do, and they read me!" You know what it's like when you link to someone, and you're like, "This blog is great!" and they email or comment and are like, "Thanks, I like you too"? You know those people who comment on your blog, and you comment on theirs, and their comments always make you smile? You have that weird kind of intangible friendship with them, a mutual fondness and admiration. You know that feeling you get, when you write a really good post and someone links to you and says, "Hey, Cyn is really fucking funny today, check her out?"

It's fucking awesome, isn't it? It's just what you were hoping for. It's the angel on the roof at work.

Some people in my real life say that I let this blogging thing matter too much to me. It's quite possible that they are correct. I'm easily swayed by what people think of me. When people hate me, it makes me sad. When people like me, it makes me happy.

Sixty to a hundred people read this thing every day. Granted, half of you are just looking for porn, especially now that I have about a hundred different euphemisms for vagina up here. (Oh, and you Californians who are trying to find out if Huell Howser is gay or not? He is. He like, totally hit on someone my parents know.)

Anyway, I just wanted to say thanks. Thanks for nominating me for the Bloggies. Thanks for making me a Blogwhore. Thanks for reading, thanks for wanting to see my tits. Thanks for liking me.

My Friends Are Cool

Okay, you guys, this is who you really, really need to vote for in the Bloggies.

First, you totally have to hook up Incognita, who's nominated in the Canadian weblog category. I've known Incognita since high school or something, and she is seriously cool. For one thing, she writes a wicked good girly letter. For another, she was totally my inspiration to blog. And, more recently, part of my inspiration to write my recent vaginariffic posts. Incognita is a quirky vegan girl who tells the truth about things. Her posts are funny and honest and sad, sometimes all at the same time. Incognita and I are in an all-girl tamborine punk band called the Tiny Cows with Katie. And she has the cutest bunny in all of Christendom.

Then there are the East/West boys, who are up for best webcam, but somehow not best GLBT blog. They were robbed!

Chris is up for best tagline ("Are you drinking with me, Jesus?"). Her blog is awesome, and she's my fellow east-coast-living, Bring-It-On-Quoting, bi-girl Blogwhore 2 contestant. (It's like looking through a mirror. Except she's much cooler than me, so it's like looking through a mirror when you're a little drunk and you're like, "Damn, I'm so hot! I'd totally fucking do me! Right now!")

I don't really know Ed K, but he's also a Blogwhore 2 contestant. I was checking out his blog today, and I enjoyed it greatly. So I think that you should vote for him for best-kept-secret weblog and best new weblog, in hopes that he'll get all cocky and it'll throw him off his game and then I will win Blogwhore 2! Bwah ha ha! Damn I'm crafty.

You should vote for On My Mind for Best-kept-secret for the same reason. Or, um, maybe you should vote for Ed K for best new weblog and On My Mind for best kept secret. Yes. That is a good plan.

I was looking through Rannie's site some more today, and I was like, "DAMN! Boy is a Hottie!" And that is why you should vote for him.

We here at Life in the Pink support Big Pink Cookies of course. Pink solidarity, man!

Vote for Blogwhore 1, cause I only participate in the very best webgames.

Also, I have now realized that everyone involved in Blogwhore 2 has a bloggie nomination except for me. So, um, hey, you wanna see my tits?

The Cooter Monologues, Cont.

Apparently my opinion on various terms for the vagina is highly sought after. I suppose everyone gets to be an expert at something.

Snapper
I love the fact that this one is obviously a nod to vagina dentata. And apparently in use by rednecks. Personally, I can't help but feel that redneck boys fearing the vagina is a good thing. Step away from that thing, boys, it bites!

I wrote this really great paper about vagina dentata and the myth of Hermaphroditus for my old Classics class. The best part about writing papers about vagina dentata is that when you talk about things in literature being dick like, you're like, "And the trees are phallic," and it's kind of classy. But there's not really a classy way to say "like a vagina" other than "vaginal." So you're just kind of like, "The nymph's lake is a big wet pussy! And it eats him!"

Punahne
This one is lumped together with Poontang and Poon in my head. My roommate says he thinks it's a Southern word. I find it very, very amusing, though. I actually don't think I can say punahne without giggling. In fact, I'm giggling to myself just thinking it. Hee. Punahne. I think I find it to amusing to use in actual conversation.

Ill na na
I'd actually never heard this one before, so I tried to do some research. But it turns out that looking up information about euphemisms for the vagina is one thing that the internet is not good for. Um, apparently it's a song by Foxy Brown, though. Paul, could you maybe use this word in a sample sentence or something? Anyway, as words go it seems kind of bulky and hard to say fast. Definitely do not see myself busting this one out during sex anytime soon.

Hairy Clam
Okay, I actually don't find this gross because it just makes me think of the Bearded Clam, which makes me think of Freud, and Freud is funny. I have The Best New Yorker Cartoon ever on my fridge, and it's Freud offering this girl some coke and say, "Perhaps some blow would cheer you up?" and underneath it says, "The unpublished Freud." You really have to see it though, it's awesome. The thing is that apparently everyone doing coke really was plan A for Freud, and the whole psychoanalysis thing was just plan B. At least, that's what Lynn told me this one time when he was drunk.

Vag, pt. 2
Today Phil mentioned to Reed that he rented Eddie Izzard and Moulin Rouge, and Reed said, "How very vag of you."

Flower
This is so faux sensitive new age guy. It kind of creeps me out, like when you have a one night stand with someone and the next morning they're all, "I really enjoyed making love to you," but they don't give you their phone number or anything. Or, really, like when anyone uses the phrase "making love" at all. It reminds me of the author photo of this really new agey guy sniffing a flower that's on the back of this book I have entitled:

The Yoni
Subtitled Sacred Symbol of Female Creative Power. Yeah, it's that kind of book. Adam gave it to me as a graduation gift from high school, along with a vibrator. He described it as a "Dyke Kit." That was totally my best high school graduation present, too. It has like a billion pictures of the vagina in it, and it used to live on our coffee table at Naked House and all the gay boys would look at it and be intrigued and frightened at the same time.

Yoni is a great term to use both as an insult and matter-of-factly, like, "You're such a fucking yoni face," or "My yoni hurts." People don't know what it means, and if they do they're just like, "The hell?" because it's all wacko new agey.

Oh, and I looked up "Ill na na" in the back of the Yoni book where it lists all the different words for vagina, and it totally didn't have it.

Down South
Emily, Julie and I all went to New Orleans for spring break one year, and we were obsessed with our Down Souths, and we were actually Down South, and we would sit on buses and talk about our Down Souths a lot. In fact, you could not get us to fucking shut up about our Down Souths. Down South is kind of a dumb Cosmo term, but it can be really funny. Also, the girl is actually from the South, and sometimes I go Down South to visit her.

Quim
Quim is an antiquated term that I never use but really like. The Yoni claims that Quim is "Sixteenth century, based on Celtic cwn, 'cleft' 'valley'". I like that it doesn't have any of the vagina/sheath/sword business going on. Also, it's a very nice word to say. It sounds all soft and pretty. For a while Julie and I had this plan to start a sex-positive feminist magazine called "Love, Cunt." It never happened, but we did have a joke that our grandmothers would have started a sex-positive feminist magazine entitled, "Fondly, Quim."

Ohmigawd! Ohmigawd!

I'm like, totally a blogwhore, you guys!

This news made me jump up and down and scream and hug my roommate. He was like, "Um. That's nice for you.

This totally makes up for my previously shitty day, which involved me getting sent home from work because I'd been there since four am and then had to come back in at seven am and I was very tired and kind of scary.

Thoughts on Movies I Don't Plan To See

• Every time I see an ad for Kangaroo Jack (and I see a goddamned lot of them), it's all I can do not to whip out a sharpie and scrawl the word "Off" under the title. The only reason I haven't yet is that I usually don't have a sharpie with me.
• My main problem with A Guy Thing is that if I thought there was any possibility of my having slept with Julia Stiles, I would shower and shower and never get clean. There's one word to describe that girl, and the word is "doughy."

The Cooter Monologues

A couple of days ago Incognita mentioned not knowing what to call her vagina. And then today, East/West linked to The Most Comprehensive Vagina Nickname List in the World.

So I felt it was destined that I talk about what I call my vagina.

Cunt
I call it my cunt when I'm being serious about it. I like the way the word cunt sounds. It's small and strong and kind of gentle at the same time. If I mention it during sex, I call it my cunt.

I call people cunts, too. As in, "Man, I fucking hate that dumb cunt." It tends to offend people. When I lived in Naked House, me and the girls called people dumb cunts all the time. One day poor Chris called someone a dumb cunt during his house meeting, and his male housemate was like, "Um, I'm not comfortable with you using that word," and Chris was like, "But . . . the girls . . . but . . . " Then he told that story to us, and we were like, "Ha ha! What a fucking dumb cunt."

Pussy
I used to not like this word, but then I went to the Dyke March and heard a couple hundred women chant, "What do we want? Pussy! When do we want it? Now!" and I changed my mind. Usually when I use the word pussy, it's in close proximity to the word eat.

I call people pussies, too. Also, I use the phrase, "Does that make your pussy hurt?" when guys are being wusses. Yes, it's incredibly crass and vulgar. That's its charm.

Twat
I use this phrase when I'm kidding around. For some reason I have this joke with a bunch of my friends what whenever someone is like, "Have you seen my lost item?" I'm like, "I don't know, have you checked my twat?" Then they're like, "Man, you gotta stop putting my stuff there, Cyn," and I'm like, "I can't help it, I know how much you like going up there and getting it."

Snatch
Snatch just sounds horribly vulgar. Especially the phrase "bleeding snatch." Which is why I started refering to the feminist magazine at my college as "Bleeding Snatch" after I went to a meeting and managed to offend everyone there. But that's okay, cause they were all dumb cunts, anyway.

Vag
I don't use this, but I knew a girl who did, and I thought it sounded cool, like her vagina was a really close friend or something. Like, "Yeah, me and Vag went to the mall last weekend. She's so awesome! Love her. To. Death."

Cooter
My friend Fran used to use this, and I find it really amusing. I can't actually say it, though. Heh. Cooter. I think that there's some kind of a turtle that people call cooters, too. Does anyone know about this? It may be a snapping turtle/vagina dentata thing. Or I may have just made that up.

Poontang/Poon
Both my straight best friend from high school, Adam, and my gay roommate Phil use this, although Adam may not anymore. You gotta say it with a lot of Os, like "Pooooooooooontang." Phil uses it like a vagina/sex reference, like, "Must obey the poon."

Squirrel
There's this scene in Bring It On where a rival football player says, "While you're out here losing, your male cheerleaders are out there stealing all your squirrel." I've never heard the word squirrel used like that before. Does anyone know the deal with that? I kind of like it, despite my mental picture of an angry squirrel attached to someone's crotch. (I picture the squirrel chittering a lot.)

Muff
I never use this term, but the girl is obsessed with the name Muffie. Her DJ name was DJ Muffie for a while, and she plans to start a lesbian reproductive clinic called "Aunt Muffie's Repro Depo." My friend Emily has an actual Aunt Muffie who is a lesbian, which is just fucking awesome.

Tuna Taco, Roast Beef Curtains
Both of those terms gross me the fuck out. Because they're nasty and disgusting! But they don't bother me as much as . . .

Man Pussy
No, this is not a name for the vagina. But it really, really bothers me when people say this. It makes no sense! For starters, women also have assholes! And anal sex! There's already a name for that body part, and both genders have it. It's not like you call your penis a "man clit" even though that would actually kind of make sense, in that they're basically the same thing. (Even though clits are much better.) I think part of the reason that this term upsets me so much is that I kind of see it as an insult to the vagina. Like, stop pretending you have my favorite body part, already. You have a penis and an asshole, isn't that enough for you? Leave my genitalia out of it!

Question

If one, had, say, accidentally purchased an assload of celery, what would one do with it?

Besides, obviously, making an assload of Ants on a Log. Or an assload of Bloody Marys, if one did not like raisins. Because, unfortunately, I like neither raisins nor Bloody Marys, and I failed to check if we had celery in the fridge before I went out and purchased more yesterday.

If Wishes Were Fishes, We'd Walk On the Sea

My friend Cera gave me this Wishing Star kit for Christmas. They're these strips of paper that you write wishes on and then fold into stars, and hopefully your wishes come true.

When I was a kid, I wished on everything. Stars and dandelions and wishbones and lucky days of the month. Mainly, I wished "May I be a rich and famous author when I grow up." (Shit! I've told you! Now it won't come true!) Back then I even believed that you could get rich as a writer. But I had a million other wishes, too. May the boy in my math class fall in love with me forever. May I be beautiful. May I get what I want for Christmas. Everything I wanted seemed so important.

Now I don't know what to wish for. The wishes I have seem to small and silly to even be called wishes. May I make the rent. May a magazine publish one of my stories. May I see my girlfriend sometime soon. I have more wishlist type wishes than When I Grow Up type wishes. I can't write "Shoe cubbies from Target" on the inside of a star.

What do you wish for when it seems like no one has a job anymore? What do you wish for when what your country is doing is the opposite of what you believe in, and it seems like you can't do anything to change it? What do you wish for when you feel small, and the world feels even smaller?

It's not the season anymore, but I wish you love and happiness.

What do you wish for? Tell me. Wishlist wishes and When I Grow Up wishes are both good. Maybe I'll write it on the inside of a star.

Haiku for You

I hope these are actually haiku. I really suck at counting syllables. I'm always putting extra syllables in or taking them out.

Shel
I like Robbie too.
Also, puffing the chiba.
Gay dorks are awesome.

Philo
Cute boy by the bay.
Quitting smoking is a bitch,
but you still kick ass.

Jill
Share your power tools.
I'll help adjust your office chair.
Get lumbar support.

Christine
"Big Pink Cookie" sounds
dirty. So does "skin your site."
Good luck with the job.

Rannie
Pictures are pretty.
Maybe you should learn crochet.
It is easier.

Putting the "Whore" in "BlogWhore"

Kisses to Shel, Rannie, Jill, Christine and Philo.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

My Microsoft Word spellcheck doesn't contain the word "orgasmed."

Greedy Little Me

It's my birthday in nine days. In keeping with my birthday tradition, I am po'.

Thus, you should buy me shit.

Whorin' Again

I drew this cartoon about why I should be on Blogwhore 2.

How It Is In Our House, pt II

Phil: I'm going to the gym.
Me: Could you return that movie? Is it on your way?
Phil: No. Anyway, I haven't burned it to my computer yet.
Me: You're burning it?
Phil: Hey, we have both Bring It On and Dude, Where's My Car.
Me: But Bring It On is an actual good movie, and Dude, Where's My Car is a stoner Movie.
Phil: And Practical Magic is a bleeding cunt movie.
Me: My bleeding cunt resents that.
Phil: My bleeding cunt likes it.
Me: Your cunt doesn't bleed.
Phil: It does if you fuck it hard enough.
Me: Oh my GOD. Oh MY god. OH my god. Oh my god. I rock back and forth repeating this for a while.

How It Is In Our House

Me: Did you rent Practical Magic?
Phil: Yes.
Me: FAG!!!!!

later
Phil: So I'm assuming you're not going to watch Practical Magic, and I should return it?
Me: Nah, I'll probably watch it.
Phil: FAG!!!!!!

later still, my phone rings
Me: I'm watching a movie, can I call you back?
Girlfriend: I'm about to go to sleep.
Me: Okay, I'll pause it.
Girlfriend: What movie are you watching?
Me: Uh. Practical Magic.
Girlfriend: Uh huh.
much mockery ensues

I'd just like to say that that movie is fucked up. Also, the moral is that if you do drugs and have casual sex, then you're a stupid whore who deserves an abusive relationship. I'd complain more, but that's kind of also the moral of every movie ever.

Twat Update

The girl got me Vinnie's Giant Period Book for Christmas, and it's totally like, the best gift ever. Because now when I get my period, instead of being all, "Grrr, it's 'that time of the month' where I'm 'not at my best' because I'm 'bleeding from my vagina'" I'm like "Yay! I get to put stickers on things!" Like, yesterday I got to put on a "Crazy Cramps" sticker, and today I got to put on a "Heavy Flow Day" sticker. Exciting!

This is also great because I totally don't "know my flow." When I was dating guys this was a problem, because my cycle, however long it is, is longer than a month, so I would always get really stressed out before it finally came. But now I'm dating a girl, so all that happens is that sometimes I get menstrual fluid on previously nice underwear. It would be cool to know what was up, though. My girlfriend apparently knows when she's ovulating, which is just crazy.

When I told Adam that I didn't know my cycle one time in high school or something, he said, "That's so like you." I'm not sure if that means that I'm unorganized or just bad at being a girl. I mean, I like to be in touch with my vagina and all, I just prefer a more "hands on" approach if you know what I mean. Only not now, because there's blood coming out of it.

Was that an overshare?

Whore. Whoooore!

Reasons I Should Be in Blogwhore 2:

• Being called a whore would actually be a compliment, for once! (Well, it's a compliment when my girlfriend says it, too. I hope.)
• I would tell lots of juicy stories, like the one about the time I had sex with this drug dealer on a random bathroom floor and he was on all this K and . . . Maybe I'll tell you the rest if I get to be a blogwhore.
• My birthday is January 24th. The contest starts the first week in January. I was born to be a blogwhore!
• Nudity Taboos? What are those?
• There is no blogfilthydykeslut contest.
• I would Bring It.
• PinkHairedBlogWhore has a nice ring to it.
• My roommate is quitting escorting, and we need at least one whore in my apartment.
• If you are a Blogwhore judge, and you send me your address, I will totally mail you nice things.
• I made wallpaper. 1024 800

I Dig More Straight Boys

So, immediately after I posted that, I thought of a bunch more straight boys I like. This is what I get for pretending I'm a big dork with no friends, when really I'm a big dork with a lot of friends.

Lynn
Well, first of all, without Lynn I wouldn't have met The Girl. This is not the reason I like Lynn, as I liked him even B.G. (Before Girl). However, it's definitely a plus. Lynn is a great drinking buddy. He's tall and quiet and says really funny things. Lots of people think that Lynn doesn't like them, but usually he's just being socially awkward. Lynn is an indie rock kid, and he has great taste in music.

Reed
Despite being straight, Reed was secretary of the LGBTU in Oberlin. This may be why I didn't immediately think of him. Reed doesn't believe in exchanging money for goods and services. Reed does a lot of drugs, and he does them well.

Justin
Justin is more of Phil's friend, but he's cool as hell and I wish he was my friend. If Justin was gay, he and Phil would date and they would do a lot of drugs and blow things up. It would be like, "Oh, honey, that's so sweet, you blew up city hall for me! Let's go snort coke and have sex in the rubble." Justin needs to come visit us.

I Dig Straight Boys

I was randomly thinking about the straight men that I like while at work today. There are four of them.

Adam
I've known Adam since I was twelve, and we've been friends since I was fourteen. I still refer to him as "my best friend" in conversation. Adam lives in San Francisco and is very, very bad about calling people back. When we talk, we say incredibly funny things until we're both laughing too hard to breathe. Adam once said that I was the vilest person he knew, and I knew to take it as a compliment. My raver phase was all Adam's fault. Adam has great taste in friends. Seriously, I've never met one of his friends who I didn't like. He's once of those people who shares his friends, too, and doesn't hide them away like he's afraid that they'll like you better. Adam has had a tracheotomy since birth, but smokes a lot anyway. He does a great impression of that "They said smoking wasn't addictive" commercial. Adam is brilliant and graduated from college at the age of 18, but now he works at the GAP because sometimes that happens to English majors. Adam's engaged to a super cool chick named Ashley, and he was the first of my friends where I was happy rather than horrified when I heard about the engagement. I think my mom still secretly hopes that I'll marry Adam, even though he's engaged and I'm all dykey.

Chris
Chris and I have Man Time together, where we tell women to bake us pie and talk about what math professors we'd like to see in Catholic School girl outfits. When I first met Chris, he was frightened and wouldn't talk to me, not even when I tried to geek out about math with him. Now Chris is hardcore and drinks pints of Guiness early in the morning on summer days. Once I broke the button off of his fur hat without realizing it when I was rolling, and he didn't tell me about it until six months later, when he accidentally broke my ashtray. I think that may have been the nicest thing that anyone's ever done for me. When I broke my ankle, Chris took care of me when everyone else was too busy. Chris is in a new metal/punk band called Thrillzilla. He's also very into drumming in the marching band. One time, Chris told me about this state fair in Illinois or Iowa or some I state where they deep fry swiss cheese in rye batter, and now it's totally my life goal to go there and eat some. Chris used to tell me that I was the only one who never left him, because I didn't go abroad for a semester. But then I graduated, so I guess I fooled him.

Neal
I dated Neal for a long time. He's a chemistry/math genius who graduated from Caltech with an obscenely high GPA and a number of mental disorders. I think that's what Caltech does to you. I worry about him a lot, because he likes to stick needles in his arm and sometimes he can't leave his house for days. Neal made me think that science was cool, and that I could be good at it. When I was first dating him, I would listen to NPR all the time and save up fun science facts to talk to him about. Neal's the only person I talk to besides my family when I go home. We go out for coffee and drive around a lot. If you didn't know him, you wouldn't expect him to be funny, but he's actually really hilarious. I've written a lot of stories that are secretly all about him.

My Daddy
My daddy likes to read blogs that he isn't supposed to. He also puts up with me far more than could reasonably be expected. He's an old hippy and he has a beard and funny hippy quirks that I don't realize are weird until I tell other people about them. Sometimes my dad likes to pretend to be folksy and say things like, "Does the pope shit in the woods?" He really likes books about polar explorers. My dad is a woodworker and in his spare time he builds amazingly beautiful carved furniture. My dad thinks it's important to create things, and so do I. My dad is an athiest, but now he claims that he believes in god if you define god as the big bang or some shit like that. But I think that if I had to be an athiest in kindergarten, he has to be one now. My dad has cool sneakers. My dad and I play this game where I mess up his hair and say, "Your hair's a mess!" and then he messes up my hair and says, "It must be hereditary!" I miss my dad a lot.

New Years Eve Redux, Nine Days Late

I met my girlfriend in New York for New Years, and I made a very important discovery.

If you're an attractive lesbian couple, straight men will do anything for you.

My roommate, the girl and I were all staying with a friend of the girl's who goes to Pratt, an art school. No offence to anyone who goes to Pratt, but I was very disapointed by the quality of the art students there. Not by their art, because I didn't see any, but by them themselves. When I think art student, I expect Freaky Freaky McFreak, and these kids were just not living up. Come on, people, how do you expect to get anywhere without half a dozen tattoos and clothes you made from items you found on the ground?

Anyway, we ended up going to a party thrown by friends of the girl's friend. Phil and I were on a mission to get people to drink tequila shots. Unfortunately, the people at the party were a total bunch of fucking pussies, and were very, very hard to convince to do tequila shots.

This is why Phil and I had to take tequila shots with everyone who agreed to do them.

This is why some of the people who live in my house ended up puking and passing out New Years Eve. And by "some of" I mean "all of."

But before I found myself puking up strangly pink vomit, (Yes, the bile does match the curtains!) I managed to titillate an awful lot of straight boys.

First, there was the random guy who asked if he could dance with the girl and I.

Then, there was the man with no neck who said something along the lines, "Holy Shit, two girls kissing!" when standing next to the girl and I at midnight. When we seperated, he asked me if we were "into that kind of thing." To which I replied, "I don't know, are we?" and made out with the girl some more. I consider making out in front of this man my good deed for the year. Or at least, my good deed towards frat boys for the year.

Then there was the gentleman who kindly offered us his room (and cleared himself and some random girl out of it) when the girl and I were idly looking for somewhere to hang out and chat. It later transpired that it wasn't actually his room, but fortunately the room belonged to another straight boy, who was more than happy to let us continue to use it, despite the fact that we told him he couldn't want. (We did, however, offer to let him listen.)

And that is how I lost my white hair tie in a straight boy's bed on New Years Eve. Because if you can't use your lesbian powers for evil, what's the point of having them?

If Fashion Is Your Trade, Then When You're Naked, Well Then You Must Be Unemployed

Walking home from work today, I saw a man wearing a backpack with a plastic dinosaur fastened to the top of it. He was a very short man, with a beard, and he could have been any age between 18 and 45. (I suck at telling how old people are, and I mainly saw his back.) He was wearing men's slacks and an unattractive puffy jacket, and walking briskly.

One part of my brain went, "I wonder if he's developmentally challenged."

The other part went, "Man, I totally should tie a plastic dinosaur to my backpack."

New Years Resolution Roundup, Eight Days Late

Well, first I resolve to be more punctual . . .

Just kidding. If it hadn't been for having a ton of lesbian sex and then having my internet break, this would totally have been on time. And those are valid excuses, as they both involve things going down.

My New Years Resolutions last year were:

• Learn how to skateboard.
• Stop running away from things.
• Fuck more girls.

I can also skateboard semi-decently now. I can't do tricks or anything, but I can get around on it okay. I definitely need to skateboard more, though. Maybe when the weather is nicer.

I'd make a judgement on the running away thing, but I did move across the country twice in 2002. And one of those times was to move to a city where I didn't know anyone. So I think I've still got some work left on that one.

I've only got one goal for 2003, and that's to support myself. Not to save money or anything, but just to be able to pay all my bills and my student loans and things. We'll see how it goes.

Why You Should Nominate Me for the GLBT Bloggy

Because if you don't I will eat your babies.

We all know that the gay boys always get this one. They're all cute and well dressed and totally funny and bitter like modern day Doroth