Tag Archives: Sex

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!

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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!

Rule #27: Ugly Girls Masterbate.

12 Jun

Because all girls masturbate.

Since that first N*SYNC video that gave you the tingles to seeing that beautiful underage man take his shirt off and like his lips we’ve all been itching to rub our junk on the nearest piece of furniture. Don’t even try hiding that you did it. Usher’s 8701 was playing in your bedroom alone when I first felt those tingles. What? Usher, I remind you of a girl that you once knew? Fine, I’ll discover my clit. I even remember this lonely little girl that would sit on her foot in her second grade classroom and jump around on it. I had no idea why the teacher was constantly getting on her case about this heavy rubbing business and thought it was a far graver mistake to pick your nose with a pencil eraser as Kevin next to me would do all day.

But I’ll hand out my dosage of honesty here. I had no idea that I was flicking the bean until my Best Friend was wasted one night and ranting and raving about how playing finger tennis is her best form of exercise. She had never had such a wonderful time alone as when she’s flapping those butterfly wings. It’s like fun abstinence!! Sometimes letting the dam loose by yourself gets the flowers watered much better than any man could. Sometimes thinking of innuendos for folding the linens is much more fun than taking down the mini tent. Once one girl admits her crime of rebuilding London’s bridge, then the door is opened to so many other conversations, such as this one I found on Urban Dictionary:

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=masturbation%20for%20girls

That girl was strange and maybe should keep her water fetishes between her thighs, but whatever gets the job done! Heck, I might even try that tonight…no. Now. Brb.

Didn’t really work. One of the many reasons that us girls have to man up and talk about how we jelly our beans. The vagina is a very complex machine with gears and doohickies flopping around every which way. There is no way that a man is going to uncover the mysteries of this machine if the machine owner is not willing to give it a test drive. Every single perchina is different, which is exactly why every woman must frost her cupcake. It’s so sad that we don’t talk about it! How in the world are we going to figure out the tricks of the trade if my girlfriends won’t even talk to me about how they fluff their pussy? How are we going to screw the driver? How in the world will that cat get let out???

So ladies, have some confidence. Open that discussion. Make things happen for yourself and things will be so much better for yourself by yourself.

Rule #26: The bro code is bogus.

5 Jun

Perhaps I am inadvertently discrediting my own current blog, but I had an experience this weekend to show how bogus the bro code is when bros can’t even properly decode a situation where a woman is involved. These rules in the letters to my eggs, however, are already bogus because my eggs will never read them. I recently had an experience where the bro code was even more highly violated by enforcing the bro code; proving it’s inefficiency.

There was once this coworker of mine who I got along with nicely. I would even go as far as to say that he was my first friend at my new job, but I was not interested. He was nice, but frankly, overwhelming and obnoxious; therefore lonely. Since you can’t drink when you’re bartending and bar cherries, pickles and olives just cannot sustain a human diet, I have been known to drink a virgin Bloody Mary for dinner. Something about the zest fills me up like a Latino penis. Anyways, I would like to make it as obvious as possible that my drink is a virgin because virgin jokes are quite becoming. Lots of jokes run around about this: Vivian is eating the virgin again. Vivian has never sucked a virgin so quickly. Vivian is as virgin as her drink isn’t.

Anyways, somehow this translated into lonely bartender asking about how my virgin Bloody Mary’s dating life was. I answer with the most obvious answer: Obviously not great; still a virgin. Somehow he thought that that meant I was still a virgin. I don’t even understand how men think that that is sexy. There is nothing attractive to me about an inexperienced bed-mate who probably knows nothing more than to thrust rapidly or lay there like a dead starfish. Anyways, after his shift when he got wasted, he brought up the idea of my drink being a virgin again. I didn’t think it was possible for there to be more jokes about me/drink being a virgin. But this wasn’t a joke. He offered to change my joke of a virginity status by asking me out on a date. I say nay nay because he was obnoxious and now wasted.

Meanwhile, I was feeding shots to this hottie tottie slut in a red dress. If you wear a red dress to the bars on a Tuesday, you’re begging to be fucked. There was the fact of the dress, and that she was begging to be fucked. Almost immediately after lonely bartender had asked me out, she went and started grinding on him. She was sexy and he was wasted, so no judgement was made on my part. It was a busy night so I further occupied myself with the less creepy customers who actually tipped. What happened next I only caught glimpses of from my peripheral.

Apparently, slutty red dress had gone up to one of the sober bouncers and purposely knocked a drink out of his hands. They both looked at it and she says “I’ll get it.” She literally did the bend and snap. The cup came up cupping her C-cups with her ass on his weenie. You go girl! The bouncer said that he would have totally gotten her number, except that lonely bartender was already taking her home to fuck her.

BRO CODE VIOLATION! By the bouncer telling me this story, he may have allowed for one night of fucking, but he definitely ruined all chances of lonely bartender to hit it with me on the regular.

Why the bro code is a failure is because too many bros know about the bro code and insist on bragging about it. With girls, it is more of an unspoken code. We must be respectful of each other and our prerogatives. Slutty red dress was trying to get her pussy wet and I wasn’t about to stop her.

Rule #23: Only offer a threesome if you are fully aware of the consequences.

29 May

I have a personal rule that I will never offer up a threesome unless if I am the third stranger. You don’t want to deal with being jealous that the guy likes the other girl more or trying to deal with two wieners. That’s a lot of wiener. But we can debate the logistics of the ideal threesome later. This post will be delving in on the idea of offering a threesome when you are not ready. Be cautious in this situation because once a man hears the possibility of a threesome, he will stop at nothing to get his cock doubly pounded.

My girls and I had planned a double birthday party with hotel and VIP section at an exclusive club. Needless to say, we got drunker than the Irish on St. Patty’s Day. We’re at the club and for some reason the best looking guy there was a promoter so I figured that that would be a fairly safe bet to get a phone number and perhaps a date the following day. Apparently club promoters are paid to flirt with the ladies so I shamelessly flirted. Except my slutty friend flirted, too. I don’t blame her because the boy looked like Usher. Somewhere between free shots of Grey Goose from the promoter and my Best Friend singing “Confessions Pt. 2” about nine times, yes to his face, the subject of threesomes was brought up. I blame it on the fact that my slutty friend and I were both fondling him from opposite sides. We’re not the type of girl to fight over a man, so I guess we were fine with sharing. At least when we were drunk. I’ll be perfectly honest and say that I don’t remember the entire conversation on how the threesome came about, but even if the conversation didn’t happen, the idea was enforced by our actions.

The VIP section at this club was not necessarily designed for the type of dancing that we wanted to do, so we decided to jet. We danced all night and went back to the hotel to gorge ourselves on pizza. This was a girls only event. Go ahead, picture girls in panties jumping around and flinging pillows at each other with mounds of pizza rolling off of our jaws. Slobbery slices of pizza. As I was passing out, I received a text that said “threesome” from a “Rover.” I guess the promoter’s name was Rover…so much for Usher. I was obviously not prepared to follow through on the threesome, especially not with my slutty friend (even though she is awfully sexy, I don’t think I would be able to please her womanly needs) so I fell asleep. My Best Friend, however, thought that I was ready. She called him and drunkenly ranted “I would totally have a threesome with you! I want your BBC in every orifice I own and my friend’s! Come over! We’re at the Hilton! Just come down to the lobby and I’ll come and get you.” Rover thought that was my voice talking. When he called back, my best friend wakes me up to tell me that Rover was downstairs waiting for me. Sleep or awkward late night, stinky pizza drunk sex. I didn’t really have an option since my automatic response to liquor past 4am is to pass out and that I did.

So now, due to my unconventional methods of offering a threesome, I can no longer have amazing single partner sex with an Usher lookalike neither can I get free shots of Goose. If anything, I’d take the Goose because I can always flick the bean to the real Usher.

Rule #20: Never forget what the childhood version of you wanted to be.

27 May

Ninja. I wanted to be a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Becoming a turtle was a little out of the question and I had enough trouble kicking a soccer ball so kicking someone’s ass was always a little stretch. I tried with my brothers, but that’s another story that ends with plenty of black eyes and tattling to mommy. Sure you realize that you might not necessarily end up exactly where you thought you would, but I would still think that I’ve kept most of the same principles of my childhood goals. As a child, your goals are so pure. Keep it there.

Right now is the season of graduations about and younglings launching into the fake-real world and I do not envy them at all. Not so say that I have all of my issues figured out. I’ve graduated twice now. From high school, I moved on directly to college. I absolutely loved it. Would I have changed it? Oh totally. I would go back and take a year off to travel and then make some money so I wasn’t trapped in all these God-forsaken loans. When you graduate high school, you’re still very much a kid with hairy genitalia. Kids follow anything they’re told. Except the annoying little crapheads that I babysit. Anyways, I loved my college experience and am very happy that I went. But now that I’ve been out in the real world for a while now, I’m still constantly asking myself if I’m where I’m supposed to be. And it’s always something different. And frankly, I’m so tired of asking myself if I’m doing the right thing. Instead, I’ve started questioning who I want to become and the type of person that I want to evolve into. Maybe it is better to ask who you want to be rather than what you want to be. Who you are defines more of the “youness” than any degree or career can tell you.

Make sure that you make time for the ones you love, make love to the ones you want to make love to and do what you love. That’s it. No one really cares what you do (besides your mother who has always been nagging you to marry rich and follow in her footsteps). If you love living in sewers and climbing up to the main level to rescue hot lab assistants like April O’Neil, then fucking do it. You’ll be able to find tons of used food down there so survival is no biggie. But seriously, if you were not cut out to go to college and get that big person job and make millions of dollars to buy that nice house and car that you spend the rest of your life paying off so you can die old, then don’t follow that plan. My man (not actually my man) Micheal Dell dropped out of college, and here’s what the fuck that billionaire has to say on the topic: “As you start your journey, the first thing you should do is throw away that store-bought map and begin to draw your own.” I’ve never been much of a map drawer, but I do what I love and so far I love where that has taken me. What I really want to get down to business and say is that if you’re not happy, then change something. If you hate your job, go to school so you can get a different job. Or just get a different job. If you feel constrained by your relationship and you’re no longer happy, then move on. Life is a constantly flushing toilet bowl where there is always new shit. The people who love you will always love you as long as you stay true to yourself. Decisions to better yourself are ALWAYS understood by normal people. If someone does not understand that you are changing your life so that you can better accomplish your dreams, then they should probably consider some life changes as well. Flush that shit down.

Think of your Uncle Earl, or whatever his name is. He’s the guy who sits in his basement all day and counts his money and sometimes brings nasty food to family gatherings, like fruitcake and mustard bread. He talks about all of the things that he wants to do but he is just a basement dweller. If he would just accept that he was a basement dweller, then that would make his life so much happier. He’s living to be the true Earl. If he wanted to travel, he would have done it. No. He is indeed a basement troll and he loves it. Don’t be that. Unless if that is exactly what you want to be. If you want to be a basement dweller, you go and do that with all your heart! As for the rest of you, get out there and do something that you actually enjoy doing. Stop reading this blog.

But you didn’t stop. You didn’t stop because you love it. Enough for my own personal little egotrip.

Discover the type of person that you want to become and then your life path will work out for you in the end. It’s so hard to control…well, anything in this world. How is anyone supposed to get a decent job in this economy? And then even if they get a “decent job” who likes working the 9-5 for their entire career? Some people, that’s the answer; some people. If that’s what makes you happy, then just do it. But me, I’m going to be devoted to becoming the person that I want to be and the rest will hopefully fall into place. Also, I’ll work on my nun-chuck skills.

YOLO muthafuckas. YOLO (that’s what the kids are saying).