Dodged That Bullet

It’s really hard being a girl. There are rules we are supposed to abide by and so many double standards that we have to deal with. We are supposed to wait for a guy to text/call/contact us, but we’re also supposed to show our interest in a guy so that he knows to make a move. But if we show too much interest, we scare boys off, or drive them to think we’re “crazy.” Here’s my thoughts on this: girls come off as “crazy” because we drive ourselves mad trying to figure out what the hell boys want from us! The act of attempting to figure out what men want and how they think is seen as an act of craziness. So instead of boys blaming themselves for being so confusing, they take the easy way out and just blame girls for acting crazy. This is a universal problem. All girls can relate. And if you’re one of those special girls who has never been considered crazy, you’re either lucky, a lesbian, or mute.

Apparently I am crazy. Crazy enough to get myself blocked on Facebook by BLT. I can HONESTLY say I don’t know what I did. Yeah, I have a big mouth, and I probably talked about him to the wrong people, who talked to other people, who then talked to other people, who talked to his friends who eventually talked to him. Gossip and rumors ruin everything. If I told one person that I was “interested in hanging out and getting to know him,” once it eventually gets to his ear, it will be warped into “she’s obsessed with you; she wants you to be the father of her 7 children and sits outside your house every night hoping to get a glimpse of you through your bedroom window.” (WHICH I DO NOT DO BY THE WAY!) The sad part about this is my best friend, Kenya, actually lives across the street from him, which completely sucks because now I feel uncomfortable going over to her house.

I have never been blocked on Facebook before, not even by a vindictive ex-boyfriend or a hated enemy. And before now, I never thought that I would be. I’m not a psychotic bitch, I have a great group of friends and as far as I know, very few people have ever considered me to be creepy (okay, the act of “creeping” on the internet is a different story, but EVERY GIRL does that, right?)

I’m still wracking my brain to try and figure out why he would block me. Besides someone telling him something about myself that isn’t true, the only other reasons I can think of is he 1) found this blog and realized I was writing about him or 2) just couldn’t stand to look at my pretty face online anymore because he knows I’m too good for him. My friends think I dodged a bullet with this one, because what kind of guy blocks a pretty girl on Facebook? Honestly, the guy doesn’t even know me! We shared a mutually-aggressive make-out session and he slept in my bed shirtless. You wouldn’t think a PG-13 occurrence such as that would turn into completely erasing someone from all social media. Eventually, I will get to the bottom of this. However right now I’m trying to not let it get to me. I know there are a handful of guys in my life who are interested in me and like me for the sassy, spunky, flirtatious woman that I am – I just keep telling myself that BLT wasn’t worth my time anyway. I guess this fish got away. Time to go fishing again.

I WANT THIS FISH

It’s been over a week and I haven’t heard from BLT. I even deleted his number so that I would be surprised to get a text from an unknown number and see that it’s actually him. I’m stupid, I should just grow a pair and text him myself. Why am I not confident enough to just text him and ask him to hang out again? The worst thing he is going to say is no, right? But that is the worst thing. That potential “no” hurts, a lot. I’m scared, I’ll admit that. But what exactly am I scared of? Failing? Failing at what, getting some hot guy to like me? Whenever this kind of things happens, I try to tell myself there are so many other fish in the sea. But I want this fish, this bright, shiny, gorgeous fish that is better than all the rest. And if I don’t get this fish, I’m devastated (for a short amount of time, until I do find another pretty fish).

I fall fast and hard, which means I kind of become obsessed in the man (or men, sometimes it’s more than one) I like at the time. I go around and tell all my friends every little detail about him – like when I run into him on campus, his favorite food, his birthday, how good of a kisser he is, the name of his childhood dog….

All girls do it. I always creep on my current love interest on every single social media site possible. If he has one, I will find his Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Linked In, Tumblr, Spotify, Snapchat, Lulu, Tinder, etc. I don’t know why I do this, maybe because I’m nosey. But once I start, I have to dig deeper. Once, a while back, I dug so deep that I found out the guy I was currently seeing was actually a 3^rd degree sex offender. Safe to say that ended quickly.

Anyway, I suppose I will just continue to wait for BLT to text me. Or maybe this weekend I’ll be drunk enough to muster up enough courage to invite him over for another sexy make-out session, AS LONG AS HE SHAVES.

SANDPAPER

BLT was fully on my radar at this point. I was past the nervous part and was just ready to pounce. But he was different from other guys I had met recently – yeah I wanted to jump his bones and let him have his way with me, but I also had this feeling that I actually wanted to get to know him, and dare I say it, CARE about him. Shit, that’s scary. Caring is daring. Fuck.

Spring term had just started, it was the first Friday night out. I had one goal: to see BLT. We had just become Facebook friends a few days before, and I was feeling lucky. That night, one of Kenya’s roommates, Sparkle, was hosting a 20s themed birthday party. To my surprise, I show up with Kenya around 9pm, and sure enough BLT is already in the house, playing beer pong. I was looking hot that night; My hair was on point, my make-up was flawless and my outfit was banging. I was ready for a good night.

After a few more shots of some really strong alcohol, I mustered up enough courage to say “hi” to BLT. He mentions that he can’t stay at the party long, but that he would meet up with us later at one of the campus clubs. LET’S FAST FORWARD TO THE GOOD PART OKAY?!

Several hours later, I’m at the club with my ladies. Somehow I managed to score a VIP table and free champagne for the night, so we were drinking, dancing, being sassy to the bitches who weren’t cool enough to sit with us. It’s about 1am, and I look at my phone and I have a Facebook message from BLT:

“I’m coming soon” it reads. I naturally show the message to every one of my friends around me and impatiently await his arrival. 30 minutes later, I get a call from an unknown number. Praying it’s not Verizon calling me to say that my bill is overdue, I drunkenly answer the phone.

“Hey, it’s BLT. We’re outside, where are you guys?” I don’t think I’ve ever ran through a packed dance floor so fast. Finally, my prey was within my line of sight. I don’t know if he knew it, but from that moment on I knew he was mine for the night. Unfortunately I cannot specifically explain what happened during the last 30 minutes we were at the club. All I know is there was a lot of sexual tension, sweat and alcohol. The only detail I clearly remember is turning to BLT after a very dirty dancing session and whispering in his ear that I wanted him to come home with me…

Thankfully, I do remember leaving the club and walking home, hand in hand. I was probably stumbling about in my 5inch heels, talking about something that wouldn’t make sense unless it came out of the mouth of an infatuated drunk college girl at 2 in the morning. We safely arrived at my house and made our way to my cozy bedroom. Naturally, my room was a mess and I had forgotten to shut my window so it felt like we had just walked into a freezer.

Since I was noticeably more intoxicated than he was, I kept trying to act sober. I think I attempted to take of my heels three different times before he had to hold me steady so that I could untie my shoelace. “I promise I’m not that drunk, these heels are just really tall.” I pleaded. Yeah right. I was trying to be calm and suave, on my bed with my head propped up by a pillow while he sat at the edge of the bed. At that point, half of me wanted him to jump on me and strip my clothes off, and the other half just wanted to sit there and talk. I chose to go with a happy medium… once there was a break in the conversation I pulled on BLT’s shirt sleeve and brought his perfectly-chiseled face down onto mine.

Now there are bad kissers and there are good kissers, and believe me, I’ve kissed my fair share of both. But there are also those rare kissers that you mesh with flawlessly, almost as if your lips are like two puzzle pieces that fit perfectly together. That’s how I felt kissing him… for a while. After a solid 20-minutes make-out session, I began to notice my chin was kind of moist. In the moment, I thought it had just been from kiss slobber, or that I was so hot and bothered my chin was sweating. However, once we started going at it again, I realized something wasn’t right. I didn’t want to stop our impeccable kiss chemistry, but my chin was on fire. What was going on!?

It was then and there that I learned the downside to facial hair. Homeboy did not have a thick beard or anything, but as I reached up to touch his face with my hand, I felt like I was stroking sandpaper. I was so caught up in our kissing session that I hadn’t realized that he was giving me the worst beard burn in the history of ever. My drunkenness had probably lessened the pain a bit, but the next morning I woke up, used my phone as a mirror to look at my chin and silently screamed. BLT had left a stubble scrape on my chin the size of a small dog, which was bright red and starting to bleed. Trying my hardest not to wake prince charming, I rolled out of bed and immediately blotted some liquid foundation on my battle wound. I sat there thinking to myself “holy shit, am I ever going to be able to kiss this guy again??”

Bro Tank

A few weeks ago, I was slaving away in the sewing lab with my friend Kenya – we were goofing off, talking about boys and shit, and to our extreme surprise in walks BLT, in a bro tank, showing off those gorgeous muscular arms of his… you know, the kind of arms that every woman dreams about being pushed up against a wall with (as pictured).

He had a perplexed look on his face, almost like he was lost. Kenya and I inconspicuously exchanged nervous looks. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, so I quickly sat down so that I wouldn’t poke myself with a sewing needle. I tried to act calm, but I’m sure my face had turned bright red. I also was wondering if he remembered me as the girl who told him he had great hair.

 

“I’m looking for Frank, he’s my designer,” he said. “Do you know where he is?” I’m pretty sure I answered his question, but really, who the hell knows what I said. All I remember is him walking out of the room several seconds later and turning to Kenya afterwards and basically celebrating the fact that I was able to make words come out of my mouth.

“Wow, You Have Great Hair!”

My first story is my most current story. It’s long, so bear with me…

I should mention that all real life people I am referring to in my posts will have a nickname or a made-up name. Only my craziest, closest friends will know who I am referring to in these ridiculous stories, as to save myself, my friends and some poor guy from further humiliation.

So here goes:

The first time I met BLT I went up to him and told him he had great hair. We were at a nightclub in our college town and a mutual friend had introduced us. Little did I know at the time he was the same guy my best friend, Kenya, had told me about from one of her classes. “You have to meet BLT” she would say. “He’s exactly your type.” She was right. He is tall and muscular, with a full head of sun-kissed sandy-brown hair, striking sky blue eyes and a perfectly-chizzled jaw line. He has great personal style, much better than most of the young men who attend my university. Occasionally he wears thick, black-rimmed hipster-style glasses and a beanie, both of which he can pull off impeccably.

Several days after our first in-person encounter, I learned that BLT was a model for a fashion show that I just happened to be designing for. So clearly, the Gods above or whoever is in charge of that matchmaking shit knew we had to meet. Surprisingly, after 3 years, I had never seen this boy around campus before. Where had he been hiding all this time?! We could have had the world’s hottest children by now…

After a very short amount of time, and a few serious hours of social media stalking, I knew a lot about BLT. Possibly even more than he knows about himself. Although there was one tiny set-back… I was pretty sure he didn’t know my first name. But that doesn’t stop a girl from pursuing, right?

FWB

In the last year, I have met my fair share of men. I turned 21 a little over a year ago, which opened a whole new world of testosterone. And from just the past year, I have a life-time worth of stories to share – some are hilarious, some are embarrassing, some are actually kind of sad, and a few are a bit heartbreaking.

First, here’s a little bit more about me: I have a big ego. It gets in the way sometimes, but it’s something about my personality I’ve had a hard time trying to change. I’ve kind of always been that untouchable girl… yeah I hook up with guys occasionally, but no one can actually tame me. I’m that bitch that will flirt with a guy until I know he’s interested and then just use him to my advantage. However, deep, DEEP down in my heart, I would love to have a boyfriend; a sexy, tall, tan, blonde, blue-eyed, athletic, fashionable, confident boyfriend who would do anything to be with me (oh, I’m also really shallow). Yeah, I know that guy probably doesn’t exist, and if he does, he’s probably dating some Victoria’s Secret model or some bitch on Instagram that you want to follow because she’s just that pretty. But until I find this ridiculously perfect man, I suppose I’ll continue my recent routine of meeting young men out at bars and similar venues, acting both like a homie and a flirt towards them, because that’s all they are looking for at this point in time in their commitment-less lives.

Something I’ve learned in college? Guys love it when girls are down to be “friends with benefits,” because it’s a win-win for them; they gain a friend and get to lay the pipe without any strings attached or relationship bullshit. But unfortunately feelings have a good way of fucking up these FWB situations. And in my case, those feelings usually come from my side and my side only. I wish I could set aside my feelings for a little steamy bedroom action. I also rarely just want to sleep with a guy. Obviously when I first notice a hot guy, the thought of having sex with him is prevalent. But I’m the type of girl who wants to get to know a guy before most physical action takes place. It makes the sex better. Anyone else feel the same way?

Dear Diary? No, Fuck That

DISCLAIMER: This is not a “Dear Diary” type of blog. I don’t like that phrase, I’m not a 12-year-old lovestruck teenager who is obsessed with some Disney channel heartthrob.

(This is how I feel about diaries.)

Let me introduce myself and the reason for starting this blog. I am a college student at a big university somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. I am wild and obnoxious, and I always enjoy a good party. I’m very social and I’ve had some pretty story-worthy experiences. I feel like I have a lot to say, and I want to say it, since most young women can relate to my life experiences. I’ve always heard that you’re supposed to write about what you know, so let me just say that most of these posts are going to be about the things I know best: dramatic college boys, bitchy girls, sex, stress, alcohol, an occasional Breaking Bad reference, and the journey to becoming a happy, successful adult in this ridiculously crazy world of ours.

I have a tendency to be brutally honest, almost 100% of the time (hence the title). I don’t hold much back, and sometimes that personality trait can get me into trouble. So instead of always running to my friends and gossiping about my latest #mancrushmonday, it just makes more sense to write it down and post it on an anonymous blog. That way, I can share all the nitty-gritty details of a one-night stand or add a comical twist to an embarrassing moment.

So cheers to you, readers. I hope that you find whatever it is I decide to share on this blog amusing and relate-able.