The Infamous Guest Room and my chastity belt the Twin Bed

Here is a timeline of events for the Infamous Guest Room:

1999: I give my first-ever hand job to a guy I met through church. After listening to the Sublime song, Caress Me Down, I thought I could figure out how to give a good one. And well, here's a refresher on the words.

She told me to come over and I took that trip
And then then she pulled out my mushroom tip
And when it came out, it went drip drip drip
I didnt know she had the g.i. joe, kung foo grip

And it went - uhh
And the girl caress me down- uhh
And thats that lovin sound- it went uhh
And the girl caress me down- uhh
And thats that lovin sound

I took the kung foo grip a little too seriously and squeezed the life outta this poor guy's manhood. I grabbed it as hard as I could and he told me to stop with tears in his eyes.

I have since learned the ways of the wood. And I hope I'm pretty good.

2000: The infamous Black-Eye Blow Job.

2001: Try to play the tip game with BEB to no avail.

2002: Lose my V-card to Social Retard immediately following the Big Christmas Party. Weeks earlier he told me he was saving himself for marriage. He tells me he loves me, then we move into to the infamous room. Two virgins trying to have sex. Classic. I say, "Is it in all the way?" He's totally offended. He puts it in and he doesn't move. We just laid there, him inside me, until he went limp. "That was sex?" I say. "Yeah, I think it was," Social Retard says.

2004: My mom tells me they will not help me buy a bed bigger than a twin....it becomes quite the chastity belt.

2005: Both Social Retard and I have twin beds in our apartments. The sex sucks...when we have it (he might be gay, but that's a different story) and sometimes we fall off the bed. We break up, while sitting in his twin bed.

2006: Meet HC on New Years Eve 2005. Two days later, take him back to my apartment and to my twin bed. Hilarity ensues. He's 6'5" and could be a football player. "I don't mean to sound easy, but you might have to sleep on top of me."

2007: I go to my alma mater for a party. Run into the Hottie I had the biggest crush on in college. Flash forward to the morning after the party. I'm naked next to Hottie, in a twin bed, in a hotel, with four other people in the room besides me and the hottie. More of this story to come later.

2008: I have a big girl bed. Big Girl Bed = Queen-sized fabulous bed. And I am hoping that it sees some action this year! Happy New Year!

There's something in the air!

I'll start off by saying, I freaking love my family.

My mom is probably the funniest person in the whole world and she's totally oblivious to it. She's very smart but a total ditz and I do the BEST impression of her. Ask anyone who's met her.

My dad is very serious but strangely funny and he gets a kick out of my mom. Not in the literal sense I hope.

My sister is a little ditzy, but not as much as my mom, and she thinks wearing Chanel is appropriate for any occasion.

My brother is quick-witted but lazy, and loves the outdoors.

I'm the mis-understood, oldest child with a somewhat twisted sense of humor.

Overall, we're pretty hilarious when we're all together and after I received the typed holiday itinerary from my dad, I knew there would be plenty of together time.

My mom called a couple of weeks ago and asked if it would be okay if we went on a mini-vacation as a family to a touristy area about thirty minutes from where they live. We'd be gone one full day and night. I asked what kind of hotel it was and my mom made it sound like a spa. I'd been hinting to my mom about massages and facials since that conversation.

So, we start talking about the hotel with my dad and he says, "I hope you brought your swimsuits for the big indoor waterpark!"

"Waterpark? I thought we were getting massages and facials?" Daphne and I both ask.

"No, where did you get that idea? This is a hotel with a big waterpark inside of it, " Daddy-O says.

"Oh dear Lord," Daphne and I both exchange looks.

So, the big overnight extravaganza arrives and we pile in my dad's jeep. Yep, I'm 26 and I sat bitch. Daphne and Connor sat by the windows. We could hardly get our seatbelts buckled because of the huge coats we had to wear. Hilarious.

We arrive at the hotel to find kids running around in swimsuits outside (in 30 degree weather), moms with tattoos that say something like "This is My Life" in hieroglyphics down their backs, and dads with cans of beer in the lobby. Think Disneyland meets NASCAR indoors. I start laughing hysterically. So does Connor. I thought Daphne might cry. My dad tells us we can't check in for another two hours, but hands us waterpark bracelets. We head to some shops in the area, make dinner reservations at a sushi and fusion place, and buy tickets to see Juno.


We come back to the hotel, check in, change into our suits and then head down to the waterpark. This place is packed. Other people's kids everywhere. But, there are slides, things to climb on, and most importantly, hot tubs. Hot tubs with a gate that says ADULTS ONLY. I am quite relieved, although there seems to be a small child peeing in the hot tub. Daddy-O tries to hide his disappointment in the sneezing child-infested waterpark.

My family beelines for the hot tub and then we make our way to the waterslides. After a quick run, we are all pretty done with the waterpark and in dire need of a cocktail.

We head back to the room and it's freaking a hundred degrees in there and the shower is the size of a small child. Everyone showers but me. I refuse.

We go to dinner, we order wine. The waitress brings the wine but has never opened a bottle. We open it for her. She pours different amounts into four glasses and empties the bottle. The sushi was like play-dough with fish. After the corrected bill comes (it was wrong three times), we race to the theater to see Juno.

My parents are conservative on a good day, and my mom covered Connor's eyes during the very tame sex scenes. We get out of the movie and it's starting to snow.

My dad says, "I wouldn't be opposed to taking this family vacation back to the house."

Connor says, "I would be mildly okay with that."

Mom, Daphne and I laugh and we agree. We go to the room and pack up our things. My dad heads to the front desk to check out.

Dad: I'd like to check out now.
Front Desk: Check out is not until 11am, sir. It's 10pm.
Dad: I'd still like to check out. We're not going to stay the night.
Front Desk: Okay, sir, but this is very odd.

While we are driving home, my mom exclaims, "Omigod, I think there's something in the air!"

All of us reply, "It's snowing, Mom."

My mom is funny.

So is my family. If you read the whole thing, you'd probably get a kick out of the fam too.

My love of all things Christmas...

transcends my love of dating the wrong type of guys.

One of the major problems I have seen in my dating routine is that I am too nice and too welcoming. With Social Retard, I wanted him to be this great boyfriend that immediately felt like part of the family, so I made it happen. I invited him everywhere, showed him the ways of the world. After two months of dating in college, I asked him to come to the big Christmas party and to bring something nice to wear. He brought white tennis shoes and mildly ripped jeans. At first, I was embarrassed, but I was totally in love with his potential I and constantly tried to make him live up to my standards.

I should have known from the misspelled poem that he gave me for my birthday that he never would.

My family is so amazing at Christmas it makes me insanely proud to be a part of the family. We have traditions that are so ridiculous, yet so fun, and I can't get enough of it. We've got Neighborhood Christmas, Lit la Yul-Laftu (little Christmas Eve in butchered Norwegian), Christmas at the Farm, Mom's family Christmas, the shopping spree (my dad takes us shopping the day after Christmas for three items), and the big Christmas party.

My parents started hosting the big Christmas party at their house before I was born. Back in the day, people would bring their own wine to drink and they would drunkenly sing Christmas carols while eating pretzels out of tupperware. Now, there's a bartender, a caterer, and 60-page bound songbooks. My mom plays the piano. The party is so popular among their friends that my mom makes the list smaller by cutting the people who talk during the singing. I shit you not. You sing or you're cut. She also separates people into parts and makes us harmonize. It's an absolute riot.

I might be making it sound way worse than it is because it is the MOST FUN party in the whole world. It's a lot of drunk lawyers and great conversation and it's doesn't feel like Christmas until this party happens. People tell us that ALL the time. It's absolutely hilarious. My friends (The Seven Sparkles and Andrew) have even started inviting themselves and they LOVE it. We don't start singing carols until everyone is pretty toasted...

After Social Retard and I broke up, I cut him off cold turkey. When we finally started talking again several months later, the big Christmas party is the first thing he brought up in conversation. Should I be surprised? Annoyed?

How important is it that your family like the person that you date?

As soon as I got the approval from the fam, I lost my virginity to him in the basement after the big Christmas party. In the infamous guest room in the basement. Niiiiiiice.

How much does it influence how much WE like the person we are dating?

Since I was so in love with his potential, I saw Social Retard fitting in with the family and immediately felt more of a connection.

Does it cloud our perception of the situation and how right they are for us?

It totally did. I made our relationship work because I thought my family would be disappointed if I did not. If I really look back at Social Retard, I realize I was trying to put a square peg in a round hole (literally and figuratively...) and it would have never worked.

I have decided that it is important for my family to genuinely like the person I choose to date. However, the fact that my family likes them should not influence how much I like the guy. Such was the problem with the Social Retard Ex. He liked my family more than he liked me, and my family liked him more than I did. So when he said, "I think I've been with you this long because I liked your family so much," it hurt, but it also rang true.

My breakup advice is such.

Don't let your family have visitation rights. My mother would have called him if I let her, and it would have made it much, much harder. And when Social Retard asked if he could still be friends with my brother after the breakup, I said no. Connor (my brother) said this to me and I will never forget it. "Clumsy, I will always choose you over the guys you date. You're family and he's not lucky enough to be a part of it."

Pretty good stuff, for an eighteen year-old brother. Pretty good stuff.

The Players in my Game of Life

Thought I might need to introduce you to the other peeps in my life since I have already started talking about them. And for the ones I haven't started talking about...well, I will.

Daphne: My sister. Two years younger than me and is SO embarrassed about my blog. I don't know why though, she's much more wild than me. She has a job, spends much more money than she earns, but dresses like Jackie O.

Connor: My little brother. Six years younger. The only boy. Writes original songs and puts them on youtube. He's in college at my alma mater.

Kim: One of my best friends from high school. Part of "The Seven Sparkles."

The Seven Sparkles: My code name for my close group of girlfriends in high school. There was talk of us getting matching tattoos, but now that there is a fallen sparkle, we are thankful this never came to fruition. So, there are really six of us now. Three are married, three are not. I still keep in touch with all of these girls.

Sophia: One of my best friends from high school. Part of "The Seven Sparkles."

Chard: My newest friend. Met her through a girl I met on an airplane. Got me into blogging. By the way, Chard, I was thinking my codename should be CC (Clumsy Chatterbox) and we can link back and forth!

Jasmine (Jazz): My best friend post college who lives in my Midwestern hometown. Was a roommate when I lived in the Midwest. Drove me to Cali. We were in the same sorority in college.

Cayla: My roommate in Cali. She went to school with me and has almost as many problems as I do. Our favorite phrase is "We got problems."

Sue Ellen: One of my best friends from college. The NICEST person I know.

Jay: My co-worker and someone I tend to talk to quite a bit. He tells me what to wear to parties and for dates. He's fabulous.

Andrew: My best guy friend from high school who lives in West Hollywood. We tend to do really cheesy things like play games, watch movies in cemetaries, and pretend like we're really sophisticated when we're together.

Pete and Shawn: Friends I met through the guy I made out with at one of The Seven Sparkles weddings. They just moved here.

Loop: My best friend from college. My craziest friend. This girl can read my mind. She also lives a Seinfeld life.

Kate: My friend from college. We recently became friends again after losing touch. I am trying to recruit her for the Best Coast and I am getting more persuasive with each post!

I am sure this list will grow.

The Breakup Boys

SO, since I seem to be going on a little theme here, I thought I would introduce you to the significant breakups and relationships in my life.

I'll try to go in order.

First significant relationship: Let's call him Black Eye Boy, or BEB.
Dated in high school all of senior year. Kept "talking" to him until sophomore year of college. I tried to lose my virginity to him, and coaxed him into the tip game a couple of times....to no avail.
Famous for: the black eye, and for saying that he never had any feelings for me...or any emotion at all towards me. Ouch. Religious freak saving himself for marriage.
Now he's married and just moved to LA with his wife.

Second: Let's call him Social Retard. That's what all of my friends called him.
Started dating junior year of college. He's an architect in my hometown. From a small town. Never could remember any of my friends names. Wrote me cheesy, misspelled poems. Dated for over three years.
Famous for: Most all of the quotes from post #1. My mom cried harder than I did when we broke up. He's a little socially awkward. Religious when it was convenient.
Dating a really cute girl and lives in my hometown. His sister is getting married on New Years and I am sad...she was awesome and I got to know her when she and her fiance first started dating.

Third: Let's call him HC. Some of you know the meaning behind this and I will leave it at that. Feel free to assume whatever you'd like to assume here. Met through a friend. From the same hometown, but lives in LA and is a lawyer. Took me to his law school "prom."
Famous for: Texting me, saying nice things but acting like we weren't together, HC, and the Pretty Woman hotel. Had a crazy religious sister that lived in a different room in his apartment. Trouble.
Started texting me again and lives alone now. He's considering moving back to my hometown.

Fourth: One of my friends affectionately calls him Insecure Boy. He's my latest, most tragic mistake. I'll tell the story later. He's a writer and went to my high school. We weren't friends, but I knew who he was. He's a little bit delusional...he thinks that I was super popular in high school and is bitter that he wasn't the coolest kid in school. I was a nice girl in high school and still am and don't know why he's so weird about it.
Famous for: The kiss rating system, tailgating, and the fucktard vs. fuckstick debate.

Have you been coughing?

You go to the doctor for your annual physical. It should be no big deal. But it always makes you nervous. It makes you think about anything you might have caught from someone, it makes you think about disease, and it makes you a bit of a hypochondriac.

Do you have any symptoms?

And maybe you don't, but you start thinking about how one side of your stomach hurt last week, um, oh and that migraine, is it fatal?

Are you sexually active?

Um, shit. Well, I've had sex...I mean, yeah. This makes you start thinking about relationships, and how you are either in one and having sex, or how you USED to have sex. Either one makes you think. Seriously, when did doctor's offices make you nervous and depressed.

Do you use protection?

Um, I'm on birth control...but I mean, we stopped using condoms after the first time we had sex. Shit, that sounds bad.

Then you feel like you need to explain. Um, I know that I am the only person he's sleeping with, because I am with him every night and we've only had sex with a very small number of people each, so I am sure I don't have disease and he's been tested.
And you find yourself oversharing to you doctor. I bet they could write some hilarious stories about what people have shared with them.

Then you decide you want to get tested for STDs. Just in case. Because you just gave a schpiel to the doctor and you feel like you need to get tested. To prove to them what you already know, you're fine. But you start questioning yourself anyway.

Do you want to get tested for AIDS?

Fuck. AIDS? I guess I should get tested. Yeah, definitely I should get tested. I mean, I've had sex without a condom before and I guess there is a possibility I have AIDS. Shit, I could have AIDS?

Then, you have to wait for your results and they won't leave a message. Something about privacy and legality. So you get a message like this..."Hi this is Nurse Bobbi from the Doctor's office, calling to let you know that you don't have any STDs. However, you'll need to come in person to get your AIDS test results."

That's why doctors are so hilarious. And I could never date one. Can you imagine how many diseases I would convince myself I had?

Let me finish my rant with two little stories.

After a minor home bikini waxing kit disaster, I convinced myself I had herpes. There was a chunk of skin missing on a very sensitive area...my doctor laughed. I didn't have herpes...but my doctor told me to NEVER use a home bikini waxing kit again.

A friend of mine, Kim, went to the doctor for her annual physical and the doc was looking at her throat. The doctor asked, "Have you been coughing?"

"No. Just have a little drainage."

"Have you been throwing up?"

"Nope. Haven't barfed since I drank too much in college and I don't have bulimia."

"Well, your uvula is bruised and there's only several ways this can happen. Throwing up, coughing, and well, giving oral sex."

"Um, that explains everything."

Kim admits to me that this was one awkward doctor's appointment as she had woken up her boyfriend with a blow job one hour before the appointment. Nice.

Also, I need to say thank you to Jack for bringing up AIDS on our first date. That's where this blog idea came from in the first place.

The Haagen Dazs and Grapefruit Diet

I thought I would let you all in on a very wonderful trick to get over a break-up.

I have tested this diet on myself and a few close friends and we're all believers.

You know the feeling. Your heart aches. Your stomach turns. You can't eat. Can't sleep.

You are physically ill.

Slowly you get your appetite back. Then you start thinking about how food makes everything better. You start eating to stop thinking about the break-up. To stop thinking about how you were having sex last week and now you are not.

Next time you see your ex, however, you want to look good. You want him to say you look really good. A nice "Wow" would be most appreciated, and well, make you feel better about the break-up. Let's be honest, there is NOTHING more satisfying than hearing an ex say, "Wow, you look great. Is something different?"

I made up a diet in order to satisfy my need to not to become a total gluttonous obese person but still satisfy the cravings.

This is where Haagen Dazs comes in. It's the most expensive ice cream, but also uses natural ingredients. Stay away from the ice cream with trans fat. Eat a grapefruit for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and ice cream for dessert. Get all sorts of flavors to satisfy your needs, but eat tons of ice cream. It makes everything better.

I have actually lost weight doing this and felt a hundred times better about the break-up. Only do it for a week.

DISCLAIMER: Totally not FDA approved....just Heartbreak Tested and Approved.

Black Eye On Your Knees

Okay....please don't judge. I know it's hard to believe, but I'm not a virgin. When this event happened, however, I had not joined the cool kids at the sex table.

When I was a young, inexperienced seventeen year-old girl, something funny happened to me.

Here's the story. My high school boyfriend and I had just gotten our routine down. We were just starting to experiment in the Rated-R territory. We'd tell my little brother to stop playing video games and we'd kick him out of the basement. For all of you people who grew up without a basement, you really missed out on a great room. The Midwest may have tornadoes, but we also have basements. And basements + teenagers = a great place to mess around.

We had this big room with the TV in it and then a computer room was right next to it. The computer room conveniently doubled as our guest room. Equipped with a queen bed, this was the perfect way for us to sneak away and "check e-mail." Yeah, we also checked our clothes at the door.

Let me set the scene. He's standing, leaning against the bed. I'm on my knees. Down to just my cute little undies, I was, well, taking care of him. He's only wearing boxers. And I'm taking care of him. Okay, catch my drift?

Since I'm unexperienced, I well, clumsily choke. I choke and come up for air. He apparently is enjoying the "job" and is "into it" and moving himself, fine, he's THRUSTING. I catch my breath for a second and go back down to finish the job.

Him thrusting. Me going back down. Him thrusting. Me going back down.

Setting the scene for disaster here.

Me going back down. Him thrusting up.

I got a black eye from his dick. No joke. Black-eye from a blow job.

He immediately goes limp. I fall to the ground. My eye (the brow bone) is starting to swell. I'm laughing and crying. He's not laughing. Then he laughs. We catch our breaths.

"Shit. You need ice. Are your parents still upstairs in the kitchen?"

"Yep. Shit."

"Get dressed and go upstairs to get ice cream and I'll hit the wall on your way up...and it will look like you hit your head on the wall."

"Okay..."

Me walking upstairs. Dude hits the wall (hurts his hand...classic).

"Hi mom, hi dad. Was coming up for ice cream and I hit my head on the door. It's starting to swell."

Thank God my mommy hasn't a clue. She mothers me. Helps me put ice on my black eye from the blow job.

True story.

P. S. Thanks Elle, for the brilliant work on the title. Well played.

The Mother Fucking Cheesecake

There's a story about the mother fucking cheesecake.

My roommate Cayla had a "big birthday" this year. And when I say "big birthday" I mean, it was an age milestone, not a huge shindig. We were still in school at this point in time and had plans to go out with two other girls to a club. Beforehand we'd drink and eat snacks (provided by yours truly) and hang out. I made this amazing avocado salsa and a homemade cheesecake.

Not fake homemade from a box. I practically milked the cows for this one. I spent 6 hours baking a Snickers cheesecake from scratch. I crunched up the graham crackers for the crust, I used fresh ingredients and put it in the oven for over two hours. This cheesecake was heaven on earth. Truly a labor of love. It tasted AMAZING. We were eating the dip and cheesecake with Cayla's friend, Petty and a few other of Cayla's work friends. Everyone was raving about the cheesecake. Everyone except for bitch named Petty.

At this point, Cayla and I had consumed roughly three mojitos and two glasses of champagne each. Fast forward to the club. We have two vodka-tonics each. Then bitch named Petty MADE us all take shots of Petron. We were so hammered and so freaking against taking these gargantuan shots of tequila, but bitch bought them for us and we couldn't turn her down. Did I mention I was NOT the designated driver? I had driven Cayla's car to Petty bitch's house and she drove it to the club. She volunteered to drive.

Thirty minutes later (after Cayla is making out with some fugly wannabe producer), Cayla tells me she wants to go home. I know she's about to be sick. I tell Petty bitch we need to leave and she hands me the keys and tells my drunk ass to drive her home. She didn't want to leave yet. So I stupidly drive Cayla home...we pull over twice so she can barf...and then I hit the car on the side of the garage. Classic. But at least we made it home safely.

Petty Bitch calls my phone twenty times. She left her keys in Cayla's car. Did this bitch just ask me to drive them back over to her in Hollywood? I barf.

"Okay, I will be there in thirty minutes to pick them up. You can't pass out."

Forty-five minutes later, they show up at my apartment. I drunkenly found the keys and brought them outside to her car.

Petty: "So Cayla's really sick? Do you think it was the cheesecake? It was probably the cheesecake."

Me: "Um, no, I think it might have been the large amounts of alcohol, no dinner, alcohol...oh and that shot of Petron you bought us."



Seriously, don't bring my mother fucking cheesecake into this, you Petty bitch.

So, now when something goes wrong....remember this.

Blame the cheesecake. The mother fucking cheesecake.

Let's Have TEXT.

Seriously.  Like that's a real proposition.  Let's have TEXT.  

Nowadays, it seems like relationships have become less personal.  Texting, not phoning.  Texting to get boning.  Really, is an impersonal, unpunctuated one-liner gonna turn me on?  Not likely.  It takes all of my energy to type the godda*$ message (I hate T9 because of a blunder that almost cost me a friendship) and by the time I compose the mother-flippin' message, my want to get it on is gone.

My sister, Daphne*, put it this way.  "Dating these days is different.  All you do is meet someone at a bar, make out, and then see if they text you back...that's dating."

I hope to God she's wrong.  Because if she's right, dating SUCKS.  Where's the courting?  Where's the romance? Where are manners?  Are we gonna say our marriage vows via SMS?  I can see it now, "do u take this woman to be ur wife? if so reply i do." 

The pastor will have to mass text (another big pet peeve of mine), "does any1 have just reason 4 these 2 not 2 wed?"  And he'll have to wait a few seconds to see if anyone responds...

Is it wrong to want some sort of a fairy tale? I want the Pride & Prejudice, the "you-complete-me" kind of dating, that kind makes you want to tell a story. A love story.  Not a "let's play text games until we end up fucking" kind of story.  Since when did the "minute man" mean a fast texter.  Since when did a text = this means something.

The thing is, I've gotten great at the witty comment reply, the "you can't have me but you want me text message."  The problem is, guys don't want the witty reply.  They want the "let's hit it" reply.  They want the easy reply.

To that I say, write me a letter.  Send me an effing Hallmark card...take me on a real date with a real walk-you-to-the-door kiss. So tease me, take me, just don't text me. 

Don't think about sending me a booty call text.  I'll have a flat ass reply.

Ten Things NOT to Say to a Girl during a Breakup

10. "Everyone keeps on telling me how lucky I am to be with you, and I just don't see it."

9. "Someone once told me dating you was like having a million dollars, but I haven't seen any of the money."

8. "Everyone else laughs at your jokes and thinks you are funny, but I really don't."

7.  "I feel like I'm losing a brother."  (Talking about MY brother during our breakup...he didn't seem too concerned he was losing ME!)

6. "Is this breakup going to take much longer?  I'm really late for meeting people at the bar."

5. "I think I was in love with the idea of you.  Yeah, I definitely wasn't in love with you."

4. "I'm not sure I've ever had any real feelings for you."

3. "Most of the time, when we're with other people, I always wish THEY were the ones talking and not you.  Yeah, I usually hoped you didn't tell any of your stories. I mean, remember, I don't think you're that funny..."

2. "All my friends really liked you, so it was really convenient for us to date."

1. "I think I've been with you this long because I like your family so much."

All of these quotes were actually said to me during a break-up.  Most were said by the same person over a period of three years (we broke up twice) and the others were from some fairly significant relationships in my life.  I'm finally to a point in my life where I can look back and laugh at these crazy men.  Honestly, I have learned so much from these crazy men and I wouldn't change one minute of my heartache.  Okay, that was a total lie, but I think I am a better person because of it.  Stay tuned for ridiculous advice I made up about surviving break-ups.  I have perfected the technique for getting through break-ups in my own special, imperfect way.