Hey Everyone, I know I’ve been gone for a minute- but I am baaaack!
New blog here, follow my new escapades in my love hangover.
Hey Everyone, I know I’ve been gone for a minute- but I am baaaack!
New blog here, follow my new escapades in my love hangover.
“Don’t tell me you’re sorry, ’cause you’re not. Baby when I know you’re only sorry you got caught.”- Rihanna, Take A Bow.
This next guy I can thank for his contributions to my Dumb Shit Guys Say post (#1 and #3). Our relationship started out like most of my relationships: I was hooking up with a few of his friends and he wanted a piece of my sweet cherry pie.
The only thing that kept us \wedged/ apart was his girlfriend who hated me, (but I’m like 90% she reads my blog, so I win!). Tara and I had the same
taste in men frat boys’ fluids on our breath. I knew how territorial she was about guys- since in the past we had shared so many others.
They were always together (vomm) like white undies and a skidmark. But in the brief moments she would excuse herself to tinkle, or perhaps bend down to tie her shoes- Blake squeezed in opportunities to
flirt with me eye-fuck the shit out of me.
Anywho, I should have etched Blake off my “call him when he’s vulnerable after the break-up” list with his shady flirting. But I didn’t, because I have 6 cells in my brain, and he had a 6-pack of beautiful abs. Oh Lowdy!
So when Tara went
abroad on summer vacation, (I think they broke-up, but now I’m not even sure) Blake saw his Chapman window of opportunity and pounced. Guys don’t waste anytime, they may be on-again-off-again with you. But they’re always ‘on’ somebody else.
Blake and I had a really great time: jacuzzi, wine, Nickelodeon, bar hopping, and the occasional convo about how psycho Tara is.
When Tara came back, he told me how hard it is avoid her, Ella she’s so psycho. Ella she only thinks she’s my girlfriend. Ella I wish she was more like you …yada yada yada.
But of course, they were together, or at least hooking up. She took him to her formal, and he was in her profile pic. I mean nothing says serious like a prof pic. And that’s all it took. I stopped
talking to playing doctor with him: my parting words were “I have eyes and ears everywhere,” because I effing do.
It always amazes me how guys think they can keep their secrets, shenanigans, and charades up. And they will deny, deny, deny til they die.
I mean, you can’t even remember my birthday, the most glorious of days. How do you really expect to keep all your lies aligned and all your hookers apart? If that CIA director dude can get caught, so will you.
I suppose there are four morals to this story:
In high school, my Myspace background was this photo:
And it’s time I go back to my roots. To augment this article, check out my Heat of the Moment blogs (parts 1 & part 2) which zeroes in on the really dumb shit guys say when we’re
naked behind closed doors.
Below is a list of things I’ve been told since my last blog in June.
No, she just thinks I’m her boyfriend. Mind you, he said this at the Dirty D while she stood staring at us talking.
You’re a virgin? Let’s have sex! I’d bet it’d feel so good. I’m sure! But for whom? Because I don’t remember my girlfriends sitting wishing sex felt like their very first-time every time.
You’re not pretty or ugly, you got a unique face… like Lady Gaga.
I really like your fat ass.
Your stretch marks remind me of a tiger, raawr.
I normally only like skinny chicks, but I find you attractive.
I like it when a girl pays for dinner, it shows she’s independent.
I guess I’m just always attracted to psychos.
You’re not the kinda girl I would have dated in college, but I would now.
So here’s my number, call me maybe? Look gentlemen the only 7-digits of yours I want is your annual income $1,234,567, and how much of it you’re going to spend on me. Capiche?
I’m a grown ass man! Aww baby, if you have to say so, it ain’t so.
I can tell you care more about me, than I care for you. Bitch please. You must have mental disease.
I tell you that ‘you look good’ in the morning when 90% other guys would think you look haggard. I’m going to make it my life’s mission that he never lives this one down ever. I’m not saying I’m perfect without make-up. (ok, maybe I am saying that). But I mean… look at my skin. Good Black don’t crack!
If I invite, a boy some night, to cook up some hot enchilada. Though Spanish rice, is all very nice, my heart belongs to DaDa – Marilyn Monroe
In college, I did 3 (three! very long) research papers on how Disney stories blah blah bad roles models for girls blah blah low self-esteem. Whatever. As a kid my favorite Disney princess was Jasmine (there wasn’t that Black one, yet). So thanks to Disney I have a complete and total infatuation with pet tigers & Middle Eastern men.
I am a sucker for foreigners. So when Ali asked me out on a date, I was excited but… wary. I didn’t know this guy at all, so I demanded we go somewhere public. Interestingly he responded, Well if you’re so worried about your safety, why don’t you just bring a friend? Offer accepted. Having a sorority sister with me was a great ice breaker, kinda like Vicky, Cristina, Barcelona without the kinky sex scenes. Definitely the best first date of all time. Beachfront restaurant… candlelit dinner… entire patio to ourselves… flawless. I don’t condone polyamorous relationships (1 penis, 1 menstrual cycle is enough for me), but I must admit 3 is company. The night was a Magic Carpet Ride- but instead of a dirty carpet, we rode Ali’s V8 engine vroom.
A couple days later, I was dining with my dad at a restaurant, and Ali was there. What a small, small world [gulp]. I was reluctant to introduce my dad to Ali: 1 my dad is the most intimidating person you’ll ever lay eyes on and 2 he is also political talk show host. Well, their conversation went right over my head, Don’t ask me, I’m just a girl. All I know is: our meal was ‘taken care of,’ my dad apparently knew some Arabic, and they exchanged contact info. Yup. They exchanged contact info. Not okay. Weeks passed, I got busy & stopped answering Ali’s calls. This prompted Ali to call my father. Hey, it’s Ali. Just wanted to see how you and Ella are doing. My dad was none too pleased. Have you showered lately, because something smells fishy? That’s all it took, Ali got the boot. Because I know better than to question the man who pays my bills.
Such a shame, I liked Ali. And wherever he is, I’m sure he’s making moves. Meanwhile, I’m back to being Princess Jasmine waiting for a suitor of whom my dad approves.
My very first crush was BJ from Barney. My first human crush was Michael in kindergarten. It may be super creepy to describe how sexy a 5-year-old was, but I’ll try anyway. He was tall, gorgeous, half Japanese, and the way he would bend over to take a drink from the water fountain was just heavenly. He grew up to be a water polo god with abs for days, so I don’t feel bad lusting over my memories of him.
Your first crush really impacts who you find yourself attracted to in the future. Paul, Casper, Danny, & Owen were all water polo players. Luke’s business partner was half Japanese & don’t get me started on how many “Michael” notches I have on my chastity belt.
My first crush in college was a senior named Chris. Chris could legally buy alcohol & always offered to smoke me out, Free weed!? I love college! He was a prominent member of my fave fraternity and threw the sickest parties on Sic & Schafe. On Halloween, Chris dressed as a pirate: big hat, a sword, a parrot on his shoulder, and a wooden leg. The wooden leg tripped me out, I walked around Chris in a circle, Where did your leg go? [Awkward silence]. Did you pin it up? How are you bending your knee like that? [More awkward silence]. Ella, I don’t have a leg, that’s the whole point. My mind. Kaboom. Blown. In the few weeks I’d known Chris, I had no idea he was wearing a prosthetic. The whole time.
Later he told the story of how it happened, “Well when I was 14, I went surfing in Hawaii with my family. The waves were calm. As I paddled out, a Big White shark opened its mouth, and then I blacked out” [Somber silence]…
“Ha ha just kidding! I was born without a leg.” He went on to talk about all the perks of having one leg: the handicap passes, free parking at the beach, sympathy from professors when you turn shit in late. I haven’t seen Chris since he graduated, but his story always stuck with me. I no longer looked at the handicapable with pity, but with complete envy. I want free parking at the beach too!
Last weekend I went up north to visit my girlfriends. In the purple haze of cheap weed and even cheaper vodka, I saw a young man with a prosthetic leg. My immediate thought was, “I am sooo going home with him tonight.” And I did.
But Greg, unlike Chris, was in an accident more recently and not as comfortable in his prosthesis. He didn’t appreciate it when I called him Peg-Leg-Greg. Oh does that offend you? Greg got even more upset when I hopped on his lap and bounced like a baby on Santa. His leg popped right off. Oops, my bad…
[Angry silence]. Greg did not have the sense of humor Chris did, which made me look like a real insensitive bitch. But hey, if the prosthetic shoe fits, right?
I guess my point is… I’m not sure what my point is. I’m sure both Chris & Michael would both be proud of their everlasting effect on my dating life. Look at me now!
When I was a kid, there was a popular anti-smoking campaign with Debi Austin. I found the ads very disturbing…
But obviously not disturbing enough, because I was a smoker for nine glorious years. I now get a sense of pride, when I see that the anti-smoking ads have re-surfaced, because I quit for the 12th (and final time). Please spare me the round of applause or pat on the back. I am a firm believer that quitters never win and winners never quit. Now that I stopped smoking I have to endure those golden years of life when you shit in your diaper & forget your name. Ya, ya smoking causes lung cancer, bad breath, wrinkley skin, etc. Pish-posh. Smoking has a major pro: rise in social capital.
Those freaky hole-in-throat ads fail to mention how much easier it is to make friends over a cigarette. Hey, got a light? I don’t see what the big deal is about secondhand smoke, we don’t complain about their carbon-dioxide emissions.
This is precisely how Parker and I met. On a cold, windy evening outside my university’s library I desperately tried to flick my bic, but shit wouldn’t ignite. Cue my knight in shining armor. Parker sparked my cancerstick and it was love at first light.
We did the whole what’s-your-major-where-are-you-from small talk. I couldn’t tell what year he was, but it was abundantly clear that he was one of those people who took a looong summer break after graduating high school. He wasn’t old (he was wearing a baseball cap); but he wasn’t young either (I think he had a receding hairline). Whatever. I’m not picky. He was smart, funny, blah blah blah. I, of course, went on a lovely little date with him. A concert. It was cute, who cares?
Date #2 was sushi, my fav cuisine. Unfortunately the sushi was super gross. Like warm enough to crawl off the table before my chopsticks could pick it up. Then Parker laid it on me, Ella, I have a confession... Oh great. This should be good. What’s this guy got? A kid? A contagious disease? A warrant for his arrest? I’ve seen it all, not much can surprise me anymore. I’m not a student at your university. Okay, kinda creepy considering we discussed majors and the President D’s lack of humility, but that’s not too bad.
I’m not a student… I’m a professor. Uhhh. Well that’s
interesting weird deceptive– eff I dunno, I was speechless. Sure I had a thing with Mr. Yang in high school, but this was different. Mr. Yang was hot and totally off-limits. Parker was mediocre and I was no longer under 18. Where’s the fun in that? I lost interest immediately. That is, until he said I’m not sure if this is appropriate.
Dangle forbidden fruit & I am bound to take a bite. Well, Parker, I can keep a secret if you can. But the thrill, the rush of sneaking around was short-lived. Parker started memorizing my school schedule & would conveniently pop outside of my classrooms smoking a cigarette. At first it was a cute coincidence, but it became unattractive pretty quickly. As I said before, the difference between creepy & cute is how mutual the attraction is. And taboo or not, I was not digging Professor Parker.
I once had a fling with a hot, foreign language professor. Yum. That was more adventurous, because when he spoke I hadn’t any idea what he was saying. Oh Massimo, you’re just a midnight snack, shhhhhh don’t talk back.
Not quite sure what the lesson here is, but I’ll try to pull one out of my
“You really are a great guy, but right now I’m looking for an a-hole.”- @ExGFPRBLMS.
As a wee one I was
kinda-sorta smart a genius… obviously. I was thrown into kindergarten class at the ripe age of four. I was forced into a program in which I read Dr. Seuss books to sixth graders… during nap time. While the illiterate kinders were in La-La Land during nap time, I was developing both my reading and social skills hanging out with the big boys. This is how my admiration for older men silver foxes developed. Between that and the trend of kids sucking their moms teets til six years old, I have always been the youngest in my classes- even in college. Last to get my license, last to turn 21, but first to sneak whiskey from my dad’s cabinets. Even people academically a year behind me are older than me.
This background story is significant to how I handled myself with Toby. I met Toby while picking my girlfriend up from the dorms at school. I pulled in to a red zone, threw my hazard lights on and waited for her to come out. Toby was passing by on his Sector 9 and struck up conversation with me. My girlfriend finally hopped into my illegally parked car, and I was ready to roll out. Toby insisted Stop playing hard to get and give me your number. Homeboy had an ego, and I had a desire to
boost it break it. But when I refused to bite the bait, Toby hopped behind my car- while I was in reverse! This was very Noah from The Notebook of him, I’m not moving til you give me your number. My heart was racing. Whether it was because I almost hit him with my car, had been illegally parked for 20 minutes, or was slightly turned on- I’m not sure. Maybe it was mixture of all three, but Toby got his wish. Fastforward –> super cliché, romantic dates: candlelit dinners, live music, sharing popcorn at the movies, the whole shebang.
Toby was six-feet-two-inches of pure bliss. He was one of the very few people who can make me laugh out loud. He also annoyingly intelligent; and I loved it.
Oh yeah… and did I mention he was a freshman in college while I was a college senior, months away from graduating? So when I wanted to order wine, I felt guilty. I couldn’t invite him to the bars with my friends and he didn’t have the extensive social network four years at the school built me. Uhh how do you not know who Sara Haduni is? She’s totes my bff! These are the
well-thought-out oh-so-shallow reasons why I had to let it go.
When I finally decided to end things for good, he slyly said You know Ella, in all the time we’ve been dating I’ve not once mentioned age. You always bring it up. My question is who needs to grow up here? Ziiing. He had a point, I was so wrapped up in my long list of expectations & standards, I punished Toby for not being the fantasy silver fox I created in my koo-koo-for-Kettle-One head. Moreover, I punished myself. [Wow, this blog took an unexpected sentimental turn].
I guess my moral of this story is: you should live in the moment, instead of overthinking every single “flaw.” Whoever you end up marrying is gonna be the exception to all your current rules anyway [ask your mom].
“Birthdays lead to sex, and sex leads to birthdays”- Ella, 2009
I often spend my Wednesday mornings on my porcelain Kohler toilet expelling the 2 for 1 margaritas and $5 taco buffet from the previous Tuesday night. After a few gargles of mouthwash, I move onto the most important task of the day: checking the birthdays of the upcoming weekend. Social media has made the art of seduction much easier for the femme fetales of today.
You see, when a girl’s birthday encroaches she’s already got a week planned of group dinners, bar crawls, a Vegas trip, plastic shot glass necklaces & tiaras. Sometimes the Queen
Bee Bitch gets the group to wear matching outfits.
But the poor souls of the penis persuasion don’t get showered with the same gifts, attention, free drinks from the local bar creeper. This is where you come in (ding!).
Aww [insert name here] your birthday’s coming up! What epic plans do you have?
-Not sure, I’m gonna keep it low key.
But you’re the birthday boy! Who’s gonna spoil you?!
-I don’t know. It’s not a big deal.
It’s your day of birth! I’m coming over with a bottle of wine and cake.
Easy peasy lemon squeezy. Birthdays are the optimum time to prey on the vulnerability of a guy who secretly wants to be showered- but can’t ask his bros to do the deed. Pretty much anything goes, Let’s get drunk… because it’s your birthday. Or I wore my special panties… because it’s your birthday! And obvi, make use of Jeremih‘s claim to fame.
Look, when guys are blowing out their candles, they’re wishing for one thing. And it’s something (most of) his frat bros won’t give him. Remember: it’s not slutty, it’s selfless. So go forth my little birthday fairies. Just a wave of his stick, and finish the trick, bippity boppity boo!
[Foreword: This blog is for all the
little undergrad girls who want to say this shit, but can’t.]
Ok so it’s Spring again, a frat boy’s fav time of the year. Why? Well because girls start
dueling til the death sluttin’ it up hoping to get invited to fraternity formals. To be 100% honest, in college I was too afraid of being one of those girls. I would just say to my guy friends, Take who you think will be the most fun. Even though the obvious answer was me (duh), some guys didn’t get the hint.
My good friend Nina eloquently said, I’d rather be a nun at home, than a slut in Vegas. Well put, Nina, well put. But I don’t wanna be a slut or nun. I just want to be in Vegas.
Downside to being a graduate: I no longer get to soberly greet the fraternity’s fresh meat in class or the library.
Upside: I can now be completely shameless in my attempts to get invited to their formals.
I am The Ultimate Dream Date:
Every year I hear, My date was terrible. I should have taken you, Ella. Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Cry me a river. Alls I can say is: this year, you’ve been warned.
Oh and if I’m already taken, I’ll send you a list of suitable alternatives. Ciao!
Okie dokie party people. I really did not want to do another post on what-not-to-do during a hook-up sesh, but I must address this issue. And yes, it is indeed an issue. Below is another list of things I would prefer you kept to yourself while we’re getting hot & heavy.
You’re my first black chick. Hmm you’re welcome? I would tell you you’re my first [insert-any-adjective-here] guy, but that’d be a lie. I’m pretty sure I’ve popped all cherries in the last decade. If it’s taken you this long, keep it to yourself. It’s like admitting you’ve never flown First Class. By a certain age, everyone else has. And if you haven’t before, you probably shouldn’t brag about it mid-flight.
You’re the hottest black chick, I’ve ever hooked up with. There are many things wrong with this statement. First of all, never end a sentence in a preposition, that’s elementary grammar people. Secondly, I am not Black. I am Blaxican, get it right. Thirdly, you are not gaining any brownie points by claiming you’ve hooked up with ethnic girls before. This is America, I’d expect nothing less. Lastly, hottest black chick? WTF is that supposed to mean? That’s kinda like telling someone they’re pretty tall for a midget. Not very PC.
My mom really likes you. Well duh. Everybody loves me… at first. I am a charming piece of ass. I’m not worried if she likes me. My real concern is why the hell are you thinking of your mother when your pants are at your ankles. Please keep all oedipus complexes to yourself, Dr. Freud.
Have you told your mom about me, yet? My mommy dearest and I discuss which celebrity we think will die next and how we can trick my dad into giving my tuition money, even though I already graduated. You’re not my boyfriend. And until that changes, I can’t waste my breath on you.
Am I better than Mike? I’m sure your roommate Mike said great things about me. So naturally you had to see for yourself. But until you mentioned his name, I didn’t even realize you two were roommates. Are you better than him? Well come to think of it… he was pretty amazing. Maybe I should just hop into his bed instead. You can just listen through the walls to see if I’m enjoying myself or not.
Please don’t put me in your blog. Lately, many guys have said this. I am flattered you read my posts. But do you really think I have the time to write about all of my one-night stands? I meannnn there are not enough fake names in the English language to accommodate such a list. Like I’ve said before this blog is about my discarded men. As long as you don’t do something stupid, you’re in the clear.
Not gonna lie, here’s a list of stuff I probably shouldn’t have said:
So, we all make mistakes. But when I say weird shit, it’s fun to laugh at myself. When guys say weird shit, it’s fun to laugh at them… on the World Wide Web.