Monday, November 21, 2011

I Should Not be Allowed to be Awake Late at Night. But Since I’m Almost Nocturnal, Here’s Some Stuff I Said Within the Last 48 Hours

I’m going to start putting disclaimers on everything I write: If I have included you in this blog post and you do not wish to be associated with me, talk to me about it and I will remove your name. You can even choose the replacement name if you’d like. If you are Erin and you’re still mad at me for my last post you probably do not want to read this one. But you know what? FUCK IT. Do what you want.
Conversation I had with Jen last night:
(For this conversation to make sense, go here first - http://thebloggess.com/2011/08/listen-to-the-bananas/ )
          Jen: “I have a friend that’s afraid of bananas.”
Me: “Oh my god. You could fuck with them so much. Do I know them? Because personalized banana threats are the best. AND great for the holidays.”
Jen: “It’s so funny. He hates bananas. He’s never eaten one.”
Me: “I’m afraid of peanut butter. I don’t judge people that are afraid of food. Haha.”
Jen: “Let’s all meet for peanut butter and banana sandwiches sometime.”
Me: “Ewwwwwwwww!!!!! No! Never! I’d have anal sex before I’d ever eat peanut butter!

With a black guy! And no lube!”
Jen: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Me: “Sadly, and perhaps unsurprisingly, I am not joking. I would rather take a huge black dick in my dry ass than ever eat even a small amount of peanut butter. I apologize for that mental image. If it gives you nightmares, go look at that picture of Adam again. It will make you feel better.”
Conversation I had with Renee last night:
          Me: "That's the problem with alcohol. If you drink it, it goes away."
          Renee: "The same problem applies to chocolate milk."

Conversation I had with Joey last night:
          Joey: “Therefore I'm gonna try not to break my finger typing to you. Wouldn't want you to have a blog topic. :P”
Me: “I have my next few blog topics already. When I feel like writing about it, I'm going to write my blowjob story.
For only being 18, I have a lot of blowjob stories.
But one is really, really funny. And blog worthy.
Anything we talk about will not compare to that story.”
Joey: “Mmhmm.”
Me: “Even the fact that the story took place with a total loser; that does not decrease how great this story is.
But due to the events of the past few days I don't want to write anything at the moment.
When I write this story, it has to be perfect.
It has to get me famous.
And alcohol. A good story always gets someone to buy you alcohol.
I'm really excited to write about it.
Will you read it? It can't possibly ruin your image of me any further. I think, if you ever thought anything nice of me, that I ruined that thought in less than a minute of talking to you.
Maybe don't read any other blog posts, though. They aren't that funny. Some people think they are. But either they're just being nice or I'm really critical of myself. Probably both. Either way, it isn't really your humor.”
Joey: “I dunno”
Me: “It's really funny.”
Joey: “Uhuh”
Me: “It's one of those stories that's awesome regardless of how you tell it.”
Joey: “Yup”
Me: “Unless you don't find that kind of thing funny and you're grossed out by anything sexual. Like Ginnelle. I doubt Ginnelle would find any part of the story funny.
And that's why I love it.”
Joey: “Yes”
Me: “If it pisses off Ginnelle, it's probably awesome.
Yes what? :p”
Joey: “I'm.
Just.
Answering.
Everything.
Like.
This.”
Me: “I.
Love.
You.
That felt weird. I don't like typing like that at all.”
Joey: “Yeah.
Annoying.”
Me: “I'm conflicted now.
I really want to tell you the blowjob story.
But I don't know if I want to tell you now, or if I want to wait until I blog it.
OR until I have you trapped in a room with me where you'll have to listen to it.”
Joey: “Choices.
Must.
Be.
Made.”
Me: “You make it. :p
Make a choice, boy. You're hearing this story at some point. Feel lucky that I'm letting you choose when.”
Joey: “Eh, the choice of cyanide or cyanide is not a choice.”
Me: “Cyanide and Happiness is very funny sometimes. I enjoy it.
But seriously, when am I telling you this wonderful story?”
Joey: “I choose option c, two of the below, and the answer to question 30.
...wait. Is this a test?!?@@,!!==-8=!59(”
Me: “You do not want to see my face right now.
It is a combination of rage, confusion and fear.
It is not pretty.
I will tell you the story now. And in case you do not read it, I will repeat it to you the next time I see you.
Then when I'm drunk I will tell you again.
And when I blog about it I will post a link to your wall.
The post will be titled ‘My poorly planned and hilarious blowjob’
And it will be on your wall for everyone to see.
Until you delete it.
But if I do it while you're in school it will be there for hours.
I give you one more chance: Decide when you hear this story or you will hear it four times. You may choose one of the three because I really don't control the drunk one at all. So that one doesn't count.”
Joey: “Nah, I don't mind having strange stuff on my wall at all. Stupid stuff however, just pisses me off.”
Me: “And if you send me another number out of context I will repeat the same blowjob story over and over to you until your ears burst from the trauma of imagining me sucking dick.
And then I'll tell you who it is.
That will drive you over the edge.
The story will already be stuck in your head.
And then you will have the face of the guy in your head.
You will not like this.”
Joey: “Hmm.
‘Let me sleep on it, baby baby let me sleep on it. I'll give you an answer in the morning.’”
Me: “But you can avoid it.
BUT I DON'T WAKE UP IN THE MORNING!
Tell me now. <3”
Joey: “And if it's Dylan... :/”
Me: “I swear on my boobies I will not tell you who it is unless you ask. And unless you do not choose one of the two options and/or send me math.
Or meth. I don't like meth either. It makes you ugly. Don't do meth. Meth and math are only one letter apart and I think it means something.
Math makes me ugly. I hate it.”     
Joey: “I actually laughed at that, Ana. :)”
Me: “Which part? I'm very proud of myself for making you laugh. But I'm sure I've said funnier stuff to you.”
Joey: “Meath
Maeth
Metha
Mathe”
Me: “I like mathe. It sounds French. Even though I hate the French language. I want to go to France in the winter someday. More on that later.
Blowjob story.
When do you want to hear it? :p”
Conversation I had with anyone that commented on the link to my blowjob post:
          Me: “Do not read this. I'm not kidding. It's terrible. The story is funny, but I am not a good writer (I also wrote this past midnight) and it turned out to be a lot more graphic than I thought it would be. However, I toned it down. A LOT. And many of you already know this story. So here it is. On my blog. Some of you may also know who this is. It could (will) make you feel weird. I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS! Enjoy. :)”
Kyle: “Dear lord Ana D:, that poor poor child!”
Jen: “Oh my.”
Me: “I blame the mother. Because I hate responsibility.”
Kyle: “Oh yea ^_~”
Erin: “Good goodness. EW.”
Me: “I seriously hope you're saying that because of the title and not because you actually read this. You're too young to be exposed to this. :p” (She’s actually 16. Not that young. But young enough for me to make fun of her a lot.)
Erin: “I read it.”
Me: “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?”
Erin: “Don't tempt me with things. I have no will power. :p”
Me: “Good thing I wrote that disclaimer. I am not responsible for the trauma you are feeling. This was your fault. And the kid's mom's fault.”
Erin: “Not my fault. YOURS for having absolutely no class :p
Yours for exposing me to temptation.”
Me: “Sometimes you have to make a choice between being classy and having fun. I choose to have fun. Because I'm awesome.”
Erin: “Sometimes u hav to choose between being gross and being classy. I chose classy. Because I'm awesomer.”
Jen: “ANA YOU CLASSLESS FUN HAVER!”
Me: “Sometimes you have to choose between using proper grammar and being a loser. ;p”
I win.
Conversation I had with my mother today:
          Mom: “One of the girls I work with has a daughter that lives in New York. She had an internship for someone famous. I think the last name was Beckham…”
Me: “David or Victoria??”

Mom: “Victoria! That was her name. She-“
Me: “THAT’S AWESOME! She’s so pretty! Tell that girl to be my friend. I want connections!”
Mom: “I asked you if you wanted her to help you with Spanish but you got mad at me.”
Me: “YOU DIDN’T SAY SHE’S WORKING FOR VICTORIA BECKHAM!”
Mom: “I didn’t know about it then. It’s only during Fashion Week.”
Me: “ONLY?? She’s working for VICTORIA BECKHAM for FASHION WEEK??”
Mom: “Yes.”
Me: “OH MY GOD! I changed my mind. I need help with Spanish. Buy me a train ticket to New York.”
Mom: “No. You’d just be emailing her anyway.”
Me: “What if I’m super funny and awesome and she’s all ‘You should come to New York and meet Victoria Beckham.’”?
Mom: “Then get a job and go.”
Me: “Touché.”

Side story: An hour later my mom wanted to go to AC Moore. I hate that store. But she wanted to buy stuff to make a candle with and I decided to go with her so I could buy scissors and cut my bangs.
          I should have known scissors were too much to ask for.
          I spent probably twenty minutes looking at Beanie Babies.
          Then my mom got the candle wax. It was Christmas scented. I thought that was a stupid idea.
          Me: “Mom, you should get lilac. Then you can use it all year. Christmas doesn’t last very long. Lilac is good for any occasion. Or cinnamon.”
Mom: “No. I want it for Christmas. I’m making these candles specifically for the holidays.”
Me: “Why would you favor Christmas over the rest of the year? A lilac candle would be nice for Easter. Why don’t you get something for Easter too?”
Mom: “Ana, there are countless sparkly things in this store. Go find something to amuse yourself with and leave me alone.”
          So I did. I picked a direction and walked away.
          Ten minutes later the fire alarm went off.
          My mom saw someone that works at the store run in the direction I had gone in.
          And then she saw me returning from that direction.
Mom: “WHAT DID YOU DO??”
Me: “What? Oh, wait. You think I pulled the fire alarm?”
Mom: “No. I think you set something on fire.
Me: “It wasn’t me this time. Besides, I’m afraid of fire.”
Mom: “You didn’t wander through an emergency door, did you?”
Me: “No. Even I would notice the ‘Emergency Exit Only’ sign.”
Mom: “Well, we just wasted an hour. We should just leave.”
I don’t know why the fire alarm went off in AC Moore, but I know it wasn’t my fault and I didn’t die in a fire, so I guess it was no big deal.
Unless someone did die. That would suck.

 
Edit: In case you are wondering, and I know you are, I was sober for all of this. But get me drunk and I'm sure I can be even more ridiculous.

Sunday, November 20, 2011

My Poorly Planned and Hilarious Blowjob

Disclaimer: This post turned out to be a lot more graphic than I originally intended it to be. If you would like the shortened version, ask me and I will send it to you. Also, if you for any reason respect me, you should not read this. Feel free to keep living in your fantasy world where I have not done terrible things. Otherwise, read on! :)

My sophomore year of high school remains my favorite year ever. It was the year I started what I consider “real” dating.
          Freshman year I had a couple boyfriends. But neither relationship was very fun.
          By sophomore year I was determined to stop being so innocent. I guess a lot of girls feel this way at that age. But few actually accomplish much.
          I got lucky.
          In my sophomore year I was trying to find my balance between pretty and smart. I had been both in my life and I had been neither.
          I found a nice balance between the two and this secured me a boyfriend and grades that would not make my home life terrible for me. Things were looking up.
          Everyone has a moment where they are faced with a sexual task that they are unfamiliar with. With experience, anyone can become a master. And this year of my life gained me a lot of experience.
          For the record, most high school sophomores are about 16. I was not.
          I graduated at 17. This made me 15 during my sophomore year.
          Unlike the guys I had dated the year before, this guy was open to a lot. He was also inexperienced. This was perfect. Pairing someone that was familiar with sex with someone who is not can end terribly. That was a lesson I would learn later in life. Or the next year. But this story is not about that. This is the story of how I turned almost every encounter with my boyfriend into oral sex.
           To this day I cannot recall the first time I gave oral. I DO remember doing a lot of research on it first, though.
          I didn’t care if I was his first or not. I wanted to be the best. I wanted this guy to look back and think of how awesome I was. I did it to be remembered. So I would always look back on the relationship and feel accomplished.
          This proved to be very successful.
          Like many successful things, it soon backfired on me.
          I also gave him oral because I thought it would increase my chances of having sex with him. At 15 I was very horny. And we did almost have sex a few times. But to be honest, I don’t think he was ready. He always “forgot” the condom. Or he “didn’t want his first time to be in a public place”. To me, this was silly. I would have fucked him anywhere. Once I wanted it so bad that I stupidly said “I don’t care about the condom. If anything happens, I’ll get rid of it. JUST FUCK ME!” and he considered it. Thankfully, he was able to control himself briefly and declined. It was not my proudest moment. But we were both still very horny. And in school. After a lot of fondling, we were satisfied.
          However, after he experienced oral from me things did not go as I had planned. I was so fucking good at oral that he was fairly uninterested in anything else.
          I didn’t really mind too much. I got fingered a lot and I enjoyed giving oral. We did it mainly in school and in movie theaters since neither of us could drive anywhere yet. We hadn’t even taken Driver’s Ed. When we had no way of seeing each other, we would sext and have phone sex. I didn’t have a cell phone at the time, so we emailed naked pictures to each other instead. Then I would talk on my home phone and we would have phone sex for hours. This possibly increased my how much of a whore I’ve become more than all the oral.
          Anyway, almost every weekend for nearly four months I went to the movies with him and sucked him. In fact, during those four months I was probably engaging in more sexual activities than anyone else in my grade. (Except maybe the pregnant girl. Coincidentally, her name was Anna. One letter away from my name. Girls with any variation of my name must have awesome sex. I refuse to believe that any “Ana”, “Anna”, “Anastasia”, “Anastacia”, etc. is not good in bed.)
          I wish I could say that I am not proud of this. I really do. I would love to say that I was a stupid 15 year old that was desperate for sex and throw in some excuse that would forgive my actions.
          But while most of that is true, I have no regrets.
          I even had a strategy.
          Every week I would look at what movies were playing. Then I would look at how long the movies were and pick the longest one that had a PG13 rating.
          I do not remember a single moment from any movie that I saw. In fact, out of months of going to movies, I can only remember the names of four:
          The Tale of Despereaux, Coraline, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button and Hotel for Dogs.
           I remember the theater for The Tale of Despereaux being very crowded and that did keep me from going down on him. Barely. I just gave him a hand job and a lot of hickeys instead.
          The Curious Case of Benjamin Button was the longest movie we saw. I believe it was almost three hours. This gave me more time to give him an awesome blowjob.
          Twice.
          It is my best work to date.
          But no one cares about a good blowjob story. That is meaningless.
          I’ve given tons of good blowjobs and I almost never discuss them.
          That is because my funny blowjob story is way better and people actually care about it.
          It happened during Hotel for Dogs.
          I will never forget that day.
          In case you’re wondering how we ended up seeing Hotel for Dogs, we had gone through all of the PG13 movies. We were forced down to PG. It probably wasn’t the first time that had happened, but it was the most memorable.
          The notable part of this comes in when you think about the audience of a PG rated movie. Especially one that has a lot of cute dogs.
          There will be children in the theater.
          A lot of children.
          We anticipated this, as we had encountered the problem before, and we followed our normal strategy and picked a seat in the back where no one would notice us.
          This has never been a problem in the past.
          The movie theater guy would make a round. He would leave and I would get started. My boyfriend had gotten very good at noticing when someone was coming in.
          He would alert me to get up, he’d cover his junk and we’d pretend to watch the movie for twenty seconds.
          Then we’d continue.
          Well, on that day he was off his game a little bit.
          He was off his game because I was on mine.
          I was doing such a good job that he neglected to notice the door opening on the right side of the theater.
          I didn’t notice because I was sucking his dick and facing to the left. (I opted to bend over instead of getting on my knees to decrease our chances of getting caught. Until that moment, everything had gone very well.)
          From what he told me later, a woman walked in with her son.
          Her son looked to be about three years old. And he likely saw us.
          She walked in, said “JESUS!” covered her son’s eyes and dragged him out of the theater.
          And then she came back in.
          And sat in front of us.
          I have no idea why she did this, but it pissed me off.
          I did not want her in front of me. If I continued to give my boyfriend a blowjob, she would sense it. She might even turn around. I did not want to be there.
          I should also mention that she felt the need to bring her kid to see the movie when half of the movie was over. That’s what caught us so off guard. It was a weird moment to show up to the movie. The movie theater dude had already made his rounds. And no one had gotten up from their seat.
          Anyway, we both really wanted to continue, so we moved to another seat in the back and I went down on him again.
          From what I was told later, the woman kept looking over at us.
          I’m not sure how he stayed hard, but he did.

          That is the story about how I possibly traumatized a small child.
          And how the child’s mother watched me give a blowjob in the middle of a PG rated movie.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

The Internet Connection at College Sucks and it’s Going to Make me Fail Everything and Then I’ll be a Prostitute.

          Someday you might go into a bathroom stall in Providence and find “CALL FOR A GOOD TIME!!” written on the wall with my number next to it. This will happen because I can’t load Sex on Fire by Kings of Leon.
          It isn’t just Sex on Fire. It’s everything. Facebook usually seems to be okay. But if I want to have some background music for studying the internet is all “Nope. Sorry. But here’s some Twitter for you. :)”
          I don’t want Twitter. And I don’t want to be a whore. That is a last resort and college is trying to make it my priority.
          Being a prostitute is not my priority. Being awesome is my priority and if I can’t listen to Sex on Fire while I work I become much less awesome.
          Not that prostitutes aren’t awesome. They are. They provide the best service ever. I admire them.
          I also admire people that travel to other countries and do awesome foreign things.
          Did you know that in Spain they have a tomato throwing day? That’s the kind of random thing that would make my life so much better. There is no day that I would wake up and be like “I don’t feel like throwing tomatoes at people today…”
          That would be amazing regardless of what mood I was in.
          If I’m happy I’ll be all “YAY! TOMATO THROWING DAY!!”
          If I’m sad I’ll be like “Well…At least I can throw tomatoes at people today.”
          Anger is self-explanatory; “FUCK YOU GUYS! I’M GOING TO THROW A TOMATO AT YOU! HA!”
I actually only have those three emotions.
          Well…And horny. But in that case I suppose I’d be like “No. You wait until a less important day. Because today…WE HURL TOMATOES AT EVERYONE!”
          I wouldn’t screw anyone that disagreed with that.
Also, Italy. Italy is awesome because they have a chocolate day. Twice a year.
          The Italian Chocolate Festival is one of the main reasons I want to go to Italy.
          The other main reasons are…
Ø  Italians are sexy.
Ø  The history.
Ø  Pizza.
Ø  My favorite counselor in high school told me that I should go to Italy and have an affair with an Italian guy because it will make me happy and help me learn the language.
I really enjoyed talking to her in high school. She inspires me to do great and weird things. Like fuck Italian guys. Maybe I can also get him to buy me pizza and coffee. If I had the money I would do all of this. But I don’t. So I’ll blog about it instead.
Sex on Fire finally loaded and now I feel like I can have a good future. Good future = Go to Italy and fuck people until successful.
My blog has a lot of random stuff about sex in it. Or maybe I’m just imagining it. Either way, my blog has nothing about blowjobs yet. Don’t all good blogs have blowjobs?
I’ll do that soon if I get a couple people to approve of the idea. It’s a funny story. But most blogs just have random sentences where blowjobs are mentioned. Not actual stories about something funny that happened while giving a blowjob.
Holy shit. Microsoft Word recognizes “blowjob” as a word! It didn’t recognize “shank”, so this shocks me. Microsoft Word suggested I say “thank” instead of “shank” and that’s pretty much the opposite of what I mean.
“I’m going to shank you for killing my cat!”
          “I’m going to thank you for killing my cat!”
          Totally different.
          I hope we all learned something today.

Monday, November 7, 2011

A Cautionary Guide to Anyone That Thinks They Might Want to Date me (and Why I Will Probably be Single Forever)

This started off being funny and then it ended up just making me sound like a huge bitch. Enjoy!
1.                 
I break things. This might not seem like a big deal. But guys tend to have expensive electronics like phones, video games and computers. A guy might be all “Hey, look at this cool app! Do you want to play with it?” because they know I’m easily amused by everything. And since I don’t have a fancy phone (because I’ll break it) I would be like “YES I WANT TO PLAY WITH YOUR FANCY PHONE!!” and then you will regret not having a warranty that would protect your phone from stupid people.
I might not break it the first time I use it. But if it becomes a regular thing, I assure you, I will break it. Letting me use computers or printers is the worst idea of all. At least with a phone I will likely break it by dropping it. You can catch a phone while it falls. Have you ever tried to catch a printer or a laptop? Fuck, even a desktop. I’d manage it somehow. If you have tried to catch a printer or a computer, you will know that it is difficult. You would have to have bulging muscles and an incredibly high tolerance to pain. If you are dating me, you will likely have neither of those things. You will fail, the device will fall to the ground, and you will feel regret. Your soul, and wallet, will rapidly deteriorate.
2.                  Sometimes I get really sad for no reason and there’s nothing you can do. On some days I am so happy my heart feels like it is filled with bubbles. Then I will become sad, often for no reason at all, and everything in life will suck. Including you. I don’t mean it, but in my mind at the time I think “What’s the point?” and my self-worth plummets. It’s like when people tie cinderblocks to a dead body and throw it in a lake. Nothing can pull me back out. Unless you’re a merman and have bulging muscles and are a necrophiliac. But I don’t usually attract men with bulging muscles. I don’t even like bulging muscles. I’ve also never been dead before, so maybe that would open me up to more guys that would want to date me. Fortunately for my body, I don’t like dating either. That might defeat the purpose of this post, but it’s too late to go back now.
3.                  I will make you do things that will make you feel weird inside. On days when I don’t feel like I’m dead and being invaded by a merman I am so cheerful that my happy energy will make you want to do anything. Even if it means going to Bath and Body Works with me. Or seeing a chick flick. My happy power is much stronger than my sad power. You’d think it would be the opposite. You shouldn’t make a sad person even more sad by being all “I’m not going to Bath and Body Works with you. That’s gay.” But when I’m depressed, I’d probably shank you for even suggesting I leave the house. So when I actually want to do stuff, you won’t care what we do. And as we’re doing these things you will be looking for a way out. You’ll say “Hey! Why don’t we go to Hot Topic? That’s fun!” because Hot Topic is slightly more manly than Bath and Body Works. But I’ll be all “Maybe later.” And then I’ll spend an hour in Bath and Body Works smelling every single item they have. You will have to stay with me the whole time and pretend to have fun. You will not have fun. You will walk out of that store smelling like a girl.
4.                  I don’t believe in love. If you do believe you will love me someday, you will probably be very disappointed when you tell me that you love me and I respond with “Oh…Cool. Is it nice?” because I will almost definitely not feel the same. I might like you, but even that’s a stretch. I prefer friends with benefits more than anything. But if you think you might have feelings for me and I might feel the same, follow this checklist to know for sure:
·         Do I talk to you in a way that would indicate that I might return those feelings? (This can be tricky. I don’t do it often. And I’m pretty upfront with my feelings. But if you’re unsure, think about how often I compliment you.)
·         Do I let you buy me things? This is a bad way to figure out if I care about you. If I accept gifts without question, I don’t like you. I’m likely using you. If I show guilt towards getting a gift, I feel bad about not getting you anything because I care about you. Also, if I am silent I might be thinking “Fuck. How am I going to get him a gift this good??” but I also might be thinking “Great. NOW how am I going to break up with him?”
·         Do I share my feelings with you? (This is also unclear. I share my feelings with a lot of people. But there’s a special way I do it when I like someone. Or maybe I just imagine it.)
·         Actually, this is stupid. You can’t really tell unless I tell you. Which I probably will. I rarely hold back emotion. When I do it consumes my mind and makes me sad. And then I can’t go to Bath and Body Works.
5.                  If there is even one thing I don’t like about you, it is likely that you don’t have a chance with me. This is actually really stupid because there’s a lot wrong with me. But if you have problems like I do, you have to make up for it. I think I make up for all that’s wrong with me fairly well. I’m fun and kind of easy to get along with. I’ll even let you drag me around to look at car stuff. And I’ll go see sports with you even though I hate sports. I don’t really care what we do and that’s what makes me awesome. I won’t complain. I won’t be able to honestly discuss the awesomeness of the game with you later, but I’ll try. Even though I might not even know what sport we watched, I’ll pretend I know things. And that will be funny. But if you do not make up for your flaws by being awesome, I do not want you.
6.                  I will spam your wall on facebook and your friends will look down upon your weakness. I am on the internet a lot. When I am on the internet I find a lot of funny things. And I will impulsively send them all to you. Your friends will see how often I post on your wall and think I’m needy rather than awesome. You know the truth, but you will have a hard time explaining it to your friends. You will either have to lose your manly pride or tell me to stop posting stuff to your wall. If you choose the latter, I will be sad. When I’m sad I curl up in a ball under my blankets and don’t move for hours. I’m basically a rock. A very sad rock. And unless you’re into dating a rock, you will not want me to be like this and you should avoid making me sad. If you prefer me as a rock, I will dump you and you can go fuck yourself.
7.                  Valentine’s Day better be awesome. I want a teddy bear and flowers. Chocolate is optional. I don’t know what I’m going to get you, but if you get the standard gift for me, I will not feel like I overachieved or underachieved. If I am somehow with you for a second, or even third, Valentine’s Day, feel free to get me the same gift again. If that makes you feel weird, you can get me something else, but you still have to get me flowers. Roses. White roses if you feel like being awesome. Or you can get me a different color every year. That would be cute. But white roses are my favorite. Keep that in mine. If you get me carnations I will be disappointed.
8.                  I don’t cook. I make sandwiches and sometimes I bake. But if you want something fancy, you will be disappointed when I accidentally set the kitchen on fire. I also don’t eat meat. Even when I did eat meat, raw meat grossed me out. So if I make you anything, it will not contain meat. No one will win if I prepare a meal. Sometimes it’s worth it to go out to dinner. Unless we get pizza. I love pizza. You will not get any and you will be appalled by my ravenous eating.