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Rule #32: There are six hookups always rendering an applause.

2 Aug

1. The “fuck you” hookup.

This is the most vindictive hookup known to mankind. This is the hookup that must be completed in a stylish manner, and probably won’t include sex. The significant thing here is that you make an impression. Imagine that guy in high school that never gave you the time of day since your butt cheeks weren’t hanging out of your cheer uniform. Years later, he’s probably still stuck in high school mode like I’m stuck on Ganondorf’s castle in Zelda Ocarina of Time (if this metaphor is lost on you, please sit down and spend some bonding time with your N64. Don’t know what your N64 is? Then please tell me you at least know what Tiger Heli is…). So here’s the scene: He is still wearing his Hollister polos and puka shells. When he sees you looking stunning, perhaps in a body-conscious red number, he’ll probably walk over to you and say “I like girls who wear Abercrombie and Fitch.” That’s probably not you anymore, but still, you have engaged in full throttle womanly seduction; something the teenage version of you may have never understood. To fully glorify that version of you and finally close the chapter of your teenage years filled with yearning for men unattainable. By teasing this meathead all night and finally planting a wet one on him and then not giving him your number you have just vindicated every insecurity that plagued the most awkward and painful years of your life. By planting that kiss you’re taking the beast of adolescence and slaughtering at the offering table…the final sacrifice you need to make to your eternal womanhood.

2. The rebound.

Girl, you’re hurting. Breakups suck. But sometimes you need to take off the mourning veils for your failed relationship (and granny panties) and just ride that horse. Don’t literally fuck a horse…I’ve heard bad things happen. But say now, a man hung like a horse…nothing will snap your head back to the life of a single woman like a penis so big that it pokes your lungs. That first fuck after a breakup is so monumental because you are reclaiming your rights. You no longer have to obey the rules of simply one wang, but the will of your almighty vagina. Give that vagina a treat so you can finally get on the path to find the next mister right.

3. The revenge.

I personally like to cut my ex out of my life completely, but if you feel better fucking his friends and it gives you some validation to your appeal as a woman, then HIGH FIVE! Go get ’em girl! But keep in mind; this may destroy all visions he had of you as being the one that got away. I always feel guilty when I use sex as a weapon against the formidable ex, but I could totally understand the need to feed the rage monster by sexing the people that will definitely tell your ex that you’re still great in bed.

3. Stature.

I guess that stature would also include sleeping with your boss, but things get dicey there…especially when your boss is a woman. But if you think it will help you get ahead, then it’s worth a shot? This is more of a situational thing, obviously.

4. Extreme Beauty.

I would fuck Enrique Iglesias to say that I fucked Enrique Iglesias. You can let him know, too. Sometimes you just need to take that chance, because he’s sexy. I don’t care what anyone says; if you sleep with someone that sexy, that’s a story that you can brag to your grandchildren about! There are millions of woman that would love to sleep with this glorious specimen, and probably millions that have. But girl, take yourself out of the ranks of masterbating dreamers and take that man to bed.

5. Tricky places.

It would be hard to fuck in an elevator. Or in the locker room of a professional sports team. Or on a site of an archeological dig. The trickier the place, the more professional of a sex athlete you are. Once you have a list of tricky places that you’ve done the nasty, it’s like beating all the dungeons in Zelda Ocarina of Time (If you still don’t know what this is, please, quality time with your N64. I insist.) Having sex all over the world is much similar to the Olympics, you’ve got to collect your medals and baby, there are plenty of events to master!

Rule #31: Visiting a gay club is one of the greatest ego boosts known to the straight woman.

9 Jul

I love going to the gay club. I don’t have to worry about getting too drunk. If you have been to a gay club than you know that they typically make drinks strong enough to kill a baby, womb dwelling or otherwise. I have a strong habit of getting so drunk that I sit on a bar stool and make eyes at all of the young gentlemen sitting around me. At a straight bar, this would get me in so much trouble, that I’d have to go to a gay bar and drink my babies away*

Anyways, I have recently attended this said gay club with a few friends of mine. I have never felt so beautiful. The men there have no fear of rejection from a woman, so they will compliment at will. One of the most common compliments: GIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRL, you are so beautiful! If only I was straight I would totally bang you.

So hold up. I understand that Beyonce (maybe Cher, and a close third place can be designated to Celine Dion) is probably one of the only woman capable of turning gay men straight, but when you constantly remind me that I’m at a club where there is no chance of me getting laid whatsoever. But then I think to myself that I should go to a straight club, not get told that I’m totally bangable and get banged anyways. At the very least, I’ll get eye-fucked. Either way, I’m back to the straight bar scenario mentioned in the first paragraph of this post. So then I decide to stay at the gay club with beautiful men who actually appreciate the fact that I bought this new pair of Steve Maddens…ON SALE! I’ll get told I’m beautiful and get some wonderful fashion tips along the way.

Some times I wonder if men believe that woman are vein enough to have an entire conversation based on lipstick, so that’s what they compliment. But I don’t really care. They’re right, I COULD talk for hours about lipstick.

Later, I learned that many times the gay foreigner to the friend group may be hitting on the straight woman as a way to show her hot gay friend that they are straight friendly and open the windows to conversation and gay mating. I once had a man pull me off the dance stage to warn me that I might trip on how beautiful I am…he definitely had ulterior motives. First, he invited me to his strip club where he dances and then asked if my brother was gay. Like I want my brother dating a male stripper. But this tiny fact can be easily overlooked as beautiful (gay) men continue to fawn over my beauty.

 

 

*Fetal alcohol syndrome is a real threat to a womb child’s health. The only way to kill a fetus with booze is by killing yourself first. Those resilient little buggers might even live through that, so best to not get pregnant in the first place.

Rule #30: Love the person that you are becoming

13 Jun

You’re still becoming her and you will be until the very day that you die.

I’m only saying her because my blog is pink, this could easily be directed to men.

There is a difference between loving the woman that you’ll become versus loving the person you are. If you love the person that you are, well good for you! You’ll only get bored eventually, so keep a goal of the ideal self that you want to be. It is having this goal of a person that you are trying to become that keeps you motivated to keep improving, it’s inspiration to make something better for yourself. Do you think Angelina Jolie thought “oh well now that I’ve got a hot body, I can probably cool it” Or “I’m flipping Lara Croft, ain’t nobody gunna top this” or “I just stole Brad Pitt from freaking Jennifer Aniston!” No, she went out and adopted kids with him and then made him put a ring on it. And I will roll over and die if that woman stops improving. She is constantly working on a new goal and making herself a better woman. Don’t you dare say that you’re not Angelina. That bitch is weird, but she keeps her shit together and I bet if you ask her, every day she gets happier. It’s that constant evolution that keeps you satisfied with yourself and that growth keeps you constantly intrigued and happy with who you are becoming. To use that cliche Emerson quote: “Life is a journey, not a destination.” It’s so hard to keep track of your long term goals if that is all you’re looking at. Be happy that you aced your college essay. But even more importantly, be happy that you cared enough about it to put in the effort. That effort and drive will make you happier than any stroke of luck that could happen to you. Except maybe backstage passes to Trey Songz which leads to marriage. That would be a very happy stroke of luck, but marriage to Trey Songz is a hefty goal of mine.

I once swore to myself that I would never do a job that I didn’t love. What I’m slowly realizing is that it’s not about the job at all. It’s about how you choose to spend your time. If you can make money while doing it, that’s awesome. No one lays on their death bed and asks for more money, they ask for time. It seems like something so simple. If it’s money that makes you happy, then go for the money (sometimes I just love counting it). If it’s love, then do everything in your power to make love happen. If it’s adventure, then get out and do something. You’re not going to accomplish much by sitting here and reading blog after blog. Go out and live your life, make things happen. Idealize the person that you want to be and get out there and work at it.

Rule #29: If you must fart, then either be respectful or sneaky about it.

13 Jun

I was a vegetarian for 4 years. The only meat I would touch was a beef stick, and not the kind you find in a convenience store either. Unless if you found it in a convenience store and he wasn’t a hick and you took him home immediately. So a sort of penis beef stick.

After that four years was up, for some reason my values and morals flew out the door and I began fucking up a storm and eating meat like the world was ending. Sometimes eating and fucking at the same time!

But the things that meat can do to a body that has forgotten how to digest meat. Apparently there is a special enzyme that your body evolves when you’re eating it on a regular basis, however, my body took a few months to remember how to break it down. Now it’s breaking it down like Chris Brown…I digress. During that strange transitional period, I could usually contain my gas outbreaks to the privacy of my own home and the confines of my own private bathroom…except when beer was involved. When do I pick up guys? Usually when beer is involved. Allow me to humiliate myself further by stating the following example of what a woman should not act like:

I was out to the bars one fateful night when suddenly a dashing young man offered to buy me drinks. Wanting to impress him by not drinking what I should have ordered, I went with a nice stout Guiness. This is a drink that should probably just stick to loggers, the Irish and maybe a few Germans. But alas, with my need to prove that I am different than all other girls, I asked for the manliest beer that I could think of: an Irish Stout. I may have gotten bonus points with the beer, but what happened next could not be overshadowed regardless of how much of my tatas were hanging out. There was this mini-stage that my friends and I were standing on. It elevated us to a good two feet above everyone else in the bar and I felt a big one building pressure within the depths of my bowels. I tried holding it back which just gets uncomfortable and I figured that if I let it out now, then it wouldn’t come back to haunt me later…in bed. BOMBS AWAY! Little did I know that the able bodied man buying me drinks was on that lower level buying round #2 and had turned around just in time to get the brunt force of my atomic fart directly in his face, showering his nostrils and open mouth with my toxic exorcism. Ladies and gentlemen, it went a little something like this:

http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_PFKH3sNe9bQ/TKYiYKtXkuI/AAAAAAAAAAg/5wZxmuIdVhM/s1600/fart_southpark1.gif

The poor guy was defenseless against my air raid…his mouth was open and everything! He hops up on stage to hand me my second glass of butt poison and asks me the dreaded question: Did you just fart? Now, I hate lying. Especially to men that I might take home; it’s not a good way to start off the one night stand. So I did what I always do when I feel awkward: Lay on the sarcasm. I could have blamed the dog, or one of the other drunks; but instead I say “Oh yeah…that was tooooooooooooooooootally me.” This way, I still tell the truth, however the truth is highly misconstrued because of the sarcasm laced within my words. My cover might have been blown when my best friend bursted out in laughter…but he still took me home.

As it turns out, boobs can cover up flatulence!