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.

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