My First Car

*This story has come up in conversation quite a bit since it happened in spring 2004. I have told it many times, but I have never sat down to write it out, until now. I hope you enjoy it! *

A long, long time ago, before I had the ability to drive, and I was still living with my parents and life was still relatively simple, we owned a Ford Focus. It was a beautiful car: cherry red, shiny, new, still even had that new car smell. It was to belong to my sister and then when I got my license I was going to share it with her. It was a brilliant plan.

One beautiful, sunny, non-typical Ohio day, my sister took our grandmother out to a few odd places so she could get some things done. When they returned, she parked in my family’s driveway and went inside. My sister came in and found me on our cordless phone with one of my friends. It was then she kindly reminded me that I had to go outside and water the plants on the front deck. I took the phone with me and went.

I was watering plants as I was talking. Since the car was in my line of sight I started to tell my friend all about it. Bragging a little at the fact that I hadn’t even turned sixteen and already I had a car to drive. Slowly, I detailed each feature: Anti lock breaks, power seats, locks, and windows, a 5 disk CD player, a mass amount of space in the car, and best of all… tinted windows.

Now, I was staring at the car with the phone to my ear and the garden hose in my hands wondering when exactly my sister asked for tinted windows. I hadn’t and I knew it was an extra feature. And this tint looked extremely dark. With the hose running, still in my hand, I walked toward the car.

The closer and closer I got to the car itself, the more and more I smelled the grill from my neighbor. Whatever they were cooking smelled like something horrible. I mentioned this to my friend. I got to the car and set my hand of the hood. It was exceptionally hot. I shrugged this off to the fact that my sister had just got home and proceeded to brag a bit more about my car. It was even so new that it only had a few miles on it. My friend then asked me how many miles it had. I opened the door to get in the car and check the mileage.

I never got that far.

As I opened the door, a cloud of thick black smoke came over me. My car was on fire.

Let me pause for a moment and go over the scene again. The garden hose was still in my hand. The cordless phone was up to my ear. My other hand was on the door. I could have done many things, among the options were:

A) Point the hose at the fire and try to extinguish it.
B) Hang up on my friend and call the fire department.
C) Close the door so I was not inhaling all of the toxic car smoke.
D) Scream and freeze in horror.

Guess what option I picked.

Yup, that’s right. I froze. Not knowing what to do, I took a DEEP breath of the toxic fumes and screamed the longest and most high pitched scream that anyone has ever heard. I am not lying when I say that dogs started to bark. As the smoke-filled scream delighted the neighborhood dogs, my neighbor ran out of his house, across the yard, onto my driveway and pushed me out of the way.

He looked at me with a mixture of "What the Fuck?" and "Give Me the Hose." So I gave him the hose and dropped the phone. He then started spraying the fire while his son called the fire department. All the while, I stood useless.

Long story short, wires were crossed in the dash and the car would have exploded if my neighbor had not ran to my rescue.

The good in the story come from the fact that it is blatantly obvious that I cannot ever be trusted to use a hose correctly. I was never again asked to water the plants on the deck. That, and from sucking in the fumes from the fire, I had a wicked contact buzz for the next few hours.

A Public Apology

Dear Magic Mike,

I would like to start off by saying that I am sorry that I missed your magic show, and I hope that you are not mad at me. I wanted to be there, but the fates were working against me that day. I blame fate for the tragic event because I truly believe that it is my destiny to be as horny as a bunny that just got out of a prison that will not allow conjugal visits. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be able to run and upkeep my site.

I was because of my bunny-like persona that I missed your show. I knew that your show was very near my current man toy's house. Before I was to go to your show, I decided to stop off at his place to get in a quick hump. I went and we started in on our activities for the day, and just kept going. Time went by, and I had no idea how long it had really been. There was no sign of an end. We just kept going and going. He was the Energizer Bunny and I was the Horny Prison Bunny. By the time we got done, there was a sweaty, exhausted, ball of bunnies on his bed.

Now, it was not because of this that I missed your show. I could have gotten there in time if it had just been normal everyday sex. And, for the most part, it was normal everyday sex...except at the end. Without going into much detail because I try to not fuck and tell, the end of the sexual escapades of the day was the sole reason I was not at your show.

Somehow, someway, his dick got near my face. This happens from time to time and I am not adverse to it, but you must know the positioning of it all to fully understand the horror of what happened next. I knew the activities were drawing to an end, but no matter what I am doing I tend to keep breathing. I enjoy being alive. Even with the activity at hand, or at face rather, I knew I was going to have to take a fairly deep breath. So, I leaned my head back a bit and started to draw in a breath through my nose. I knew immediately that this was a mistake.

What actually happened managed to happen so fast that I wasn't sure what was going on. But I knew this was not right. I felt a small amount of tingling followed by a mass amount of pain. My sinus cavity was on fire and I could feel a lump of something traveling down my windpipe headed directly for my right lung. For a split second, I thought I was going to die.

In my almost death, I realized what exactly had happened. As I leaned back to breathe, he decided that that moment was a great time to cum. In his effort to pop out a few ounces of baby batter, he decided, I guess, to not look where he was cumming or even try to aim it somewhere other than my ready and open bronchial tubes by way of my nose. Yes, that's right, He came directly into my nose when I was in the middle of breathing in.

If you have not experienced this pain, I urge you not to try it. I felt as if I had snorted wasabi. The end result left me very disoriented with a raging headache, pain in my lungs and chest, and a small aversion to ever letting him cum anywhere near my face again.

In short, Magic Mike, I am sorry. I am sorry I didn't make it to your show but, as you can see, there was an unprecedented circumstance beyond my control. I would love to come to your next show no matter when it is or where it is and I will make this promise to you now. I will not try to get some before the show. That way I know I will be there.

I cannot tell you how truly sorry I am.

Pants? Who Needs Pants?

On Wednesday nights, my friends and I always hit up this gay bar called Apex in Cleveland. They have cheep, strong drinks and good karaoke. Plus, little more then three blocks away, there is a 24 hour diner that doesn't mind having drunken idiots in the place. All in all, a good location.

One night, I was singing my ass of and getting fairly drunk in the process. My friends, however, were not having such a good time, so they all decided to take off for the diner and leave me at the bar. I sang a bit more with the DJ, then I went on my three block hike to the bar.

As I was walking, I noticed my shoe was untied. Being that I was already kind of drunk, I figured that I should stop to tie it. That way, I wouldn't trip on it and fall down.

I sat on the ground and bent down to tie my shoe. All of a sudden, I felt an itch on my ass. I scratched it and, when I pulled my hand back, a little black ant was crawling on it. I flicked it off and proceeded to tie my shoe. BAM! Another itch on my ass, and this time it was a harsh fucking itch. I scratched and, pulling my hand back again, another two ants were there. I stood up immediately and got a crawling sensation all over my right leg. I had sat on an ant hill when I went to tie my shoe, and those bitches were not happy about it!

Realizing what a mess I had got myself in and feeling an ant getting closer and closer to my crotch, I whipped off my pants right there on the street and proceeded to brush off my leg and pants.

I was on W117th.

In the middle of the ghetto.

In my underwear.

Batting at my thighs and my ass like I was on fire.

It was at that time I noticed a car passing. I stopped, still sitting with my pants off, and thought a moment. I must look like I was a blubbering idiot. I was standing on the street, waving my pants around like they were a surrender flag, screaming at the top of my lungs, and seemingly grabbing my own ass.

I quickly put my pants on and went to the diner.

All the while, my fly was undone.

Stupid Bitch

I have two dogs, and I was buying a large bag of Kibble at Wally World and standing in line at the check out.

A woman behind me asked if I had a dog.

On impulse, I told her that no, I was starting "The Doggy Diet" again. Although, I probably shouldn't because I'd ended up in the hospital last time, but that I'd lost 50 pounds before I awakened in an intensive care unit with tubes coming out of most of my orifices and IV's in both arms.

I told her that it was essentially a perfect diet and that the way it works is to load your pants pockets with dog food bits and simply eat one or two every time you feel hungry and that since the food is nutritionally complete, so I was going to try it again.

I have to mention here that practically everyone in the line was by now enthralled with my story, particularly a guy who was behind her.

Horrified, she asked if I'd ended up in the hospital in that condition because I had been poisoned. I told her no. It was because I'd been sitting in the street licking my balls and a car hit me.

I thought one guy was going to have a heart attack he was laughing so hard as he staggered out the door.

Stupid bitch...why else would I buy dog food??

My Famous Craigslist Post

**Unaltered from my original CL post on March 21**


To My Bleeding Roomate:


Over all you are a bad roommate. You use things that are not yours and eat my food. You never clean up after yourself and you don't have a job. If you father didn't pay for you to live in my home saving me almost $400/month I would kick you out.

But he pays for you on time every month, and I work so often that it hardly matters that you are a self-centered slob. I do not see you much, and when I do have to endure your incessant whining about how horrible your trust fund life is, I can tune it out fairly well. I have come to accept that when I want to have a glass of milk, there will be none left. When I wish to make food for myself all of the dishes, pans, forks, knives, spoons and all other accoutrement's I need to complete the cooking task at hand will have to be washed before I use them due to your filth. After I am done cooking it is inevitable that whatever left overs there are will be gobbled up by you. I however can live with all of this. Honestly, I have been living with you for months now and all of this - thou horribly rude - has yet to affect my day to day life.


Yesterday, you crossed the line. We are both female and once a month are in need of things to stop our monthly bleeding. You bleed the week before I do. As a responsible female that has been dealing with her period for over 10 years, I went to the store at the beginning of last week and picked up a box of tampons. I knew that eventually I was going to need them and I should have some on hand. I put my fresh unopened box of tampons under the sink in the bathroom.

A week passes.

I start to feel as tho I will be dealing with my womanly curse sometime soon. I go to the bathroom to make sure I am prepared. I sit. It's here. no denying that fact. I think to myself "Good thing you got those tampons last week because you are slightly early. If you had waited, you would be screwed now." I reach for the box.

EMPTY.
Let me say this again.
EMPTY.

You took my tampons and managed to use a whole fucking box in one week and left me stranded on the toilet with my pants around my ankles bleeding from my crotch.

I resolve then that this is the last straw and form now on I will be keeping everything I purchase in my locked bedroom, including food. Have fun starving! Before I bring my mini fridge out of storage from my college days I feel like I should tell you why exactly I am doing so. I sit you down in out living room. Tell you there is something I need to talk to you about and it is very important.

Your response:
"Yeah, I know we are out of tampons, next time you are at the store you need to buy more."

CUNT.

It's Been Too Long...

Holy shit! I cannot believe that it has been this long in between my posting. So much has happened to me since my last post!

I almost died in a plane crash, I have been to SC for a weekend away, I almost got stabbed by a drug dealer, I met some wonderful bitches at a bar and we are starting a band, and a shit ton of other things. One of the best/worst nights of my more recent life was April 19th which also happened to be my birthday party.

I've been planning random birthday parties for the last month or so but due to one thing or another they have all been canceled. Finally, I committed to having my birthday party at 4Play in Cleveland. They gave me an offer that a drunk like me could not refuse: FREE drinks all night, because it was my birthday. Before I got to the bar, I already knew it was going to be a good night.

I walked in and after all the shameless self-promotion I did, the bar was packed. I stopped at the bar and picked up my present, free drink slips for my friends, and also got two bombs and a straight shot of Yeager. Then, I drank a shot or two with my friend Ben, who is a story all on his own. Then I picked up a mixed drink and proceeded to pimp out my friend Az. Az is this hot chick whom I have known from middle school, we have gone back and forth in hating each other for a good 15 years. Her mother hates me, and she says I am a bad influence. Mrs. Z, if your reading this here is your proof.

Az is hot, she is personable, she is outgoing, and she has NO game. Honestly, she couldn't actually pick up a man if her life depended on it, but since she is hot she has never really had to try. The losers of life have come to her and, because she has no game herself, falls for the ploys these assholes toss at her. So, after I drink a small amount to start the night off I look at this mildly attractive guy at the end of the bar. He is sitting alone so I get his attention and say basically "My friend Az needs to have a good time tonight. I will be drunk, she is yours to take care of. Don't fuck it up." the rest of the night Az is shaking her ass for him and sucking his face off in the back corner of the bar. Eventually, she will have game. Until then, I will wear my fuzzy hat and bring my ho-hitting cane when we go out.

Having just unloaded Az onto another guy at the bar, I turn to see a few more of my friends come in. We do a round of shots and then head for the pool table. The fat ass and her friend are in my way.

"Hey fat ass, get out of my way."
"Cunt!"
"At least cunts get fucked. Move you lard bitch. "

I am a bad person.

Fatty moves and we start playing pool. I keep running over to the bar to get some sucker to buy me drinks for my birthday. By this time, I am wasted. I've made it to the "stupid but standing phase" of drunkenness. That time we start taking pictures. Pictures will be up later as soon as Gay Best Friend (Ben) e-mails them to me. And he is taking his sweet fucking time.

After pictures, I stumble into the bathroom and puke. Then I got shot for shot with two of my friends. This lasts about and hour, and I hit the bathroom and puke again. I grab my ride and we head out the door without saying goodbye to anyone. I pass out in his front seat snoring the entire way home.

We get home, and I fall onto the concrete and puke all over my neighbors bushes. Luckily, it was raining. They will never know. As I was being carried into the house The Mex gets a call. He has the keys to Az's car. He leaves me on my own driveway and heads back to the bar. I sit on the driveway. In the rain. For forty-five minutes. It took me that long to remember that The Mex unlocked the door for me before he left so I could get inside.

I went inside and promptly passed out.

All in all, a good night.

Snow Plow Follies

So, in case any one reading this is brain dead, it snows in Ohio. Sometimes, it even snows a lot. After I got home one night, I went right to bed because I had to work early the next morning. When I awoke to go to work, there was Ohio at its best. In the few short hours I was sleeping, the sky got snow diarrhea and decided that my driveway looked like a good place to let it all go. There was snow up to my fucking knees. The bumper on my Caliber was covered in snow, and I had ten minutes to get to work. Fuck! I grabbed my phone, called my work, and let them know I was going to be late. Then I grabbed a shovel.

I started to dig my car out of the accumulation of the sky's gastric disaster when a snow plow comes down my street. I tossed the shovel aside and put on my biggest helpless girl face and just look out into the street. Not directly at the plow truck, just looking off into nothingness as I forced myself to cry out big Kirstie Allie sized tears. As expected, the plow driver stops.

Driver: You stuck, Cutie?
Me: Yeah, and I have to be at work soon. My boss is going to kill me if I don't get there on time. *Superfluous hair toss and batting of eyes inserted here*
Driver: Well, I wouldn't want someone as pretty as you getting all cold. Why don't you let me plow you driveway for you? I will only charge you twenty dollars.

Now, in my mind, I am saying a big fat "Fuck That!" No way in Hell was I going to pay this guy. I had to work a little harder to get him to do it for free. And I had to work fast. I really did need to get to work.

Me: How about instead of the twenty, you plow the driveway and I'll let you take me out on a date?
Driver: You got a deal, hot stuff! Move out the way so I can clear out the snow for you.

I pick up the shovel and move out of the driveway. He gets all the snow out of my driveway faster than I have ever seen a plow truck go. Maybe he thought that I found it sexy...I didn't. A plow tuck says "I am poor and I need seasonal work just to get by" NOT "I have a big dick and enough cash to take you anywhere you want to go." Sorry to all the plow truck drivers out there but I only date men that can support my tastes. On the average, you are not them.

After he is done with my driveway, I jump into my car without talking to him and drive off. As I am passing his truck he give me this "What the Fuck?" look. I then drive off, middle finger in the air.

Sometimes, the bitch in me exceeds even my standards. Oh well, it got me to work on time.

Old Story I Felt I Had to Share

Sometime in '04 – Good times + Good friends = A lot of Shampoo.

I want to start this one off with a disclaimer: I do not approve of drinking underage. I have, however, drunk my share of bottles when I was underage. This happens to be one of those stories. I DO NOT recommended that anyone drinks underage. It is against the law.

Now that the legal bullshit is out of the way:

I was sitting in the basement of my parents' house with a group of friends one night, for a friend's birthday party. There were about ten of us there and, in the hick town that I grew up in, everything closed at about 8pm. The logical choice for ten teens on a random Saturday night was to break into the home owner's liquor cabinet and see what you could swipe and consume without getting caught.

EC, Jem, and I started plotting how to get booze for the others in the basement. There was not mission impossible music playing, but there should have been. We slinked up the stairs and into the kitchen. I slyly ran into the top step and tripped over myself, causing Jem to run into me, and EC to run into him. I fell into the kitchen, which put me exactly where I wanted to be: on the floor, next to the liquor. I reached up and opened the cabinet and with the grace of an angry panda on ice skates I went digging. I whipped out every bottle I could and, one by one, EC and Jem took them downstairs.

Did I mention we did this all silently through hand motions that made the three of us look like special umpires? And not that "Wow! This is unusual" type of special but the "My favorite color's clear and I like to lick GLAAAAASSSS" kind.

After taking what seemed like a good amount for the ten of us, I stood up and started to walk down stairs. But something caught my eye. There was vodka in the back that I hadn't seen in my digging: Citron Absolut. What can I say? My parents aren't drinkers. That was just their 'For Company' bottle. I figured that I had company, so why not drink it? I picked it up and tossed it under my arm and headed back downstairs.

The ten of us started to play every drinking game under the sun and most of us were wasted within about twenty minuets of picking up our first glass. I, however, felt that I needed to go for broke. I downed the Citron Absolut that earlier was deemed as "tasting funny." I drank the entire bottle...the entire fucking bottle. At this point in time, I was a very inexperienced drinker. That act alone should have had me on the floor, but did I fall? Did I falter? FUCK NO. I picked up another bottle, rum this time, and horded the last of it for myself.

About three bottles later, I was passing in and out of various states of intoxication. Like frat boys in the Fifties, everyone jumped in the bathtub trying to fit as much as we could in there. Our last count was all of ten us, a stuffed animal, three bottles of random alcohol, and both of Apple's tits. I add in that last bit because Apple's rack could encompass the world if it really tried. I honestly think we could have fit three more people in the tub if she could have taken off her tits.

My next solid memory after tits in a tub was being in my bedroom with Kita. Kita was a Russian guy who I knew through friends of friends of friends. Why he was at my house? I still don't know, but there I was topless in my bed with him kissing my stomach. Normally, I would have been like "Fuck yes! I am incoherently drunk and I am still getting some ass!" On this particular day, however, not so much. The barely there pressure of his kisses were enough to take me out of the state that I was in and into an immediate panic. I needed to find a place to puke and I needed to find one - NOW.

I tried to lift my upper body and get Kita to stop, but gravity proved too much for me. Using all of my force, I got to about a crunch position when the floodgates opened and all hell broke loose. I puked more that night then I had collectively for the entire year before that. It was everywhere, but most illustriously it went directly onto Kita's head. With unceasing fury, Kita ran upstairs and into the bathroom to shower. He barely took time to take his clothes off before he jumped in. I heard the next day that he himself puked on the way to the bathroom. Sympathy pukers, I will never understand them.

I was covered in vomit, my legs were as useless as Christopher Reeves', and I had no shirt on. Having come to the realization that I just spilled the entirety of my stomach onto someone's head, I did the only useful thing I could: I called my friend Apple for help. I woke the next day in the bathtub with my pants soaked, thinking I had pissed myself. I was still shirtless. Turns out, Apple chucked me in the bathtub and started the water running for about 20 mins in efforts to wake me up after I passed out on her three times and tried to make out with her more than she could count. Like everyone else in the world, I am a horny drunk.

All in all, the night was fun. I would however like to find Kita again. I haven't spoken with him since. That bastard owes me ten bucks...he used all of my shampoo.

Two Posts in One Day Because I Just Started.

Reason to start a lesbionic relationship.

Yesterday night was one hell of a night. EC, D, and I decided to hit up a Hookah bar down by KSU. I had never been there before but I figure it's just one more place where I can unleash my stunning personality, charm, and wit on the local populace. So, we head down to the 'bar' at around 9pm. This is earlier then I like to normally head out because I tend to pre-game at my house on a regular basis, but I was told we were heading to a bar, so I was game.
If you've never been to a Hookah 'bar' I will warn you this one – NOT A FUCKING BAR! The waiter, if you could call him that, came over with their pathetic menu. The strongest thing on it is fucking Monster. Now, don't get me wrong! I live off of caffeine drinks, usually Red Bull, but I am not picky. Monster has gotten me through late night study sessions in my brief stint in college, all night parties, and the "what-the-fuck-did-I-do?" hangovers the next day. However, this is not my idea of top shelf shit and it depressed me that I couldn't get anything better than that. After sucking down three of them and killing one and a half hookahs with my two friends, nothing eventful happened. I figured that this was going to be a night that I would soon forget, move past, and catalog in the things never to do again file. Then it started picking up.
Every table filled up in a matter of moments and eventually there was a line out the door. As we were sitting there smoking away, this not-cute-but-not-ugly-enough-to-make-me-wretch guy walked over and started talking to us. He was slightly intoxicated and, I figured, my only source of entertainment for the night. So, after picking on him a bit to see if he could take it, we invited him and his friends to sit with us.

Introductions were being passed around and everyone was saying hello. EC, like the asshole he is, hits the Hookah with his elbow and the hot coal from the top falls out and hits Drunky McSloshedface's crotch. DMcS, as I like to call him, sits there for at least a twenty second interval with this coal burning away at his man bits before his fight or flight instincts kick in. Now, faced with a burning crotch, I would most likely choose the flight option: stand up brush the coal off of myself and then laugh at the situation. DMcS chose the fight option. He pulls back his fist and starts mutilating his crotch in a drunken attempt to Mike Tyson the coal away from his now enkindled member. He looked like a rabid monkey, complete with the too-drunk-to-hold-my-mouth-closed spit trail and grunting noises that one can only hope were result of the pain he was in. And after that many punches to his very own groin he should have been in pain.
Once he was done bowdlerizing his own genitalia, he sits back down, spots the coal on the ground, and picks it up with his bare hands to place it back atop the hookah so he can get another hit. He hits it hard and passes over to D without so much as a second glance. As if flailing about like a window licking epileptic was cool.

A short time later, he asked for my number. Now do you see why I am still single?

This is Me.

I am not that great of a person. Hell, who am I kidding? I am a horrible person. I find myself routinely dashing the hopes of others, violating the "unspoken laws" of society, and very much living for the hedonistic pleasures that life will give me. I am the center of my own world and, as far as I am concerned, everyone else's.

Knowledge of my planet-rotating personality only makes me become more of a bitch, and gives me more reason to break the social norms that everyone else so gingerly dances around. I've laughed at midgets openly to their faces, I've spat upon people because I didn't like their attitude, drank more then my share on multiple occasions, causing ungodly amounts of puking, pissing, and more blackouts then one should have in three lifetimes. I've hooked up with, beat up, or verbally assaulted almost everyone I've met. As each day progresses, I continue to add to the list of people that hate me, places I've been kicked out of, and (most importantly) people that worship me like a god. Truthfully, I like those last select few people best.

It's that last group of people that may throw you off a bit. If I am this bad of a person and willing to admit freely to anyone that asks that my head is stuck so far up my own ass that I can lick the back of my own teeth, why on God's green earth would people still want to be around me? Entertainment, ladies and gentleman. I am one entertaining bitch. I mean, think about it. You have a friend that, without trying to be anything but themselves, has given you hundreds of stories to tell your grandchildren. Wouldn't it be great? Wouldn't you keep them around too, even if they had puked on your front steps in the dead of winter causing an ice sheet of puke to be walked over the next morning, and then laughed at you when you fell on their ice puke? Admit it: you would, wouldn't you?

All I have to say to that is: Fuck you all using me for your own sadistic purposes. The stories are mine and, damn it, I am going to tell them the right way. My way.