The Most Brilliant Idea Ever.

Alright, so this entry has been a collaborative effort with my good friend Pork Chop (formally known as Crazy, she has been upgraded). Last weekend we decided we need new furniture. She needed a T.V. stand, I needed a new bed and a linen cabinet, all from Ikea because we’re poor and that’s about all we can afford. All this talk of furniture lead us into conversation of how frustrating/humiliating it is being a girl and having to move furniture that is way too heavy for us to handle. Generally the act of moving or buying new furniture involves tears, temper tantrums, chucking particle board across the room or simply smashing it on the walls and of course, heavy heavy alcohol consumption. Being as brilliant as we are, we came up with, ladies and gentlemen, the most fabulous idea ever. Please read our Craig’s List Ad below:

Title: (Women seeking men) Damsels in Distress

Two twenty-something, professional women (photos below) seek the assistance of at least 2 strong, single, fun, willing and abled twenty-something men in heavy lifting of furniture in Clarendon, VA this Saturday, December 13^th. We figured we’d give this posting a shot in the personals section.

We are going to Ikea to purchase a bed frame and some other small furniture and would like some help in getting it up two flights of stairs, and assembled if you’re so willing. Beer, pizza, and the company of said twenty-something, fun, single women is how we’d ideally show our thanks. We would also be willing to pay cash and gas if you have a pick-up truck/SUV and would like to take the trip to Ikea and do any necessary furniture shopping with us.

Please send notes of interest, pictures preferred, to Sara and Andrea at below e-mail address. Thanks! J

Now, naturally, with two hot bitches like Pork Chop and myself, we are going to get tons of responses. Last I checked, we hit over 100. I've chosen just a little taste of some of the best/creepiest/most unique responses we have received. See below for your reading pleasure:

• Sara,
  Sorry i don't have a picture. But he is about 5foot 7inches. He is slim, and has dirty blond hair.
  Oh by the way his favorite name is Sara. If you call him, ask him that or he may tell you.
  He is really out going, not lazy, and a good worker and likes to have fun. If your interested
  in a worker just give a call.
  bye,
  jw

Us: Does Luke have Leukemia?
JW: No, not at all. Why you ask that? He has a little too much smart ass and thats about it.
JW (Next Day): Sara, so did you ask Luke to help you move
Us: Haven't, no. Still haven't seen a picture.
JW: i'm sorry i just don't have pictures of my guy friends. call him and maybe he can text you one. are you trying to see how big his muscles are...haha. its worth a try on asking
anyways.
(End of conversation. No picture, no love)

• I bleed testosterone (I'm sure you do Buddy)
  

• hey gals how ya doin a friend and i will b glad tohelp yall out we wont b doing any thing so if u need some help we b glad to give yall a hand i have a full size truck and a trailer if needed im 29 my friend 27 sorrry just got the pc here and dont know the first thing on how to send pic.hell dont even know if u will get the email but if ya do we could help my cell##571-237-1286 if ya want some kind of what we look like i 6'3 brown hair blue eyes 280 my friend 6'2 blond hair hazel eyes 190 talk to ya (Too intelligent)
  

• Sure you all will get lots of offers of help as you are attractive gals, just one guy but do have an F150 pickup. if you wanted my help - may aks you to return favor in a few weeks helping me move stuff (Return the favor? This isn't an exchange. )
  

• Hi,
  You dont know me, my name is Patsy but I saw your ad on craigslist and you sound like someone that my friend might be interested in. He is pretty picky so he doesnt really meet a lot of women so Ithought I would come out here and see if there were any girls that he might be intereted in. He just moved back to the area from overseas.
  He is a great catch, I made a little list ofthings which you might like about him:
  6'0, height and weight proportionate
  Beautiful blue eyes
  Good sense of humor
  Cute laugh
  Sensitive
  Outgoing
  Popular but doesn't know the whole state
  Friends with my friends
  Nice smile
  Straight teeth
  Likes to party
  Grabs my hand to hold
  Dresses nice hehe
  Hasa good job, and is well off
  Makes me laugh
  Open minded
  Polite
  Holds doors for me
  Opens car doors
  Likes all type of music
  Likes going to the movies
  Talks to his friends about me
  Calls me to just sayhi
  Says what he's feeling
  Compliments me
  *Trustworthy*
  Patient
  Likes to shop
  Has good manners
  Occasionally drinks
  Athletic
  
  Is on time for dates
  Calls back later when he says he will
  Wants to meet my family
  Has a cute butt
  Good kissable lips
  Good memory
  Intelligent
  Has direction
  Creative
  Likes everything about me
  Committed
  *My best friend*
  Respectful
  Mature
  Persistent –Hard working
  Has a sexy voice/accent
  Damn, if I wasnt already married, I would be on a date with him right now.
  Let me know if you are interested, you'll be thanking me later.
  Patsy (I mean, I don't even know what to say about this. You can't pawn your affair off on us.)
  

• Too bad you've limited the ad to twenty-somethings. Because if you had said "Creepy 32 year old creeps should also respond to this ad" you'd have gotten me! A creepy 32 year old with an suv and enough creepy strength to help you out. It's ok, you're not the sizes I'm looking for anyway... I'm trying to make a women's suit out of real women. (This one definitely takes the cake)
  

• You ladies are genuises! Combining fun with necessity, and the risk of a blind date. Very daring. I'm disqualifying myself from this search (exceeding age being the first reason) but wanted to wish you luck anyway. Genuis (Yes, yes we are)
  

• Are you serious.. jajaja. this sounds more like a ploy to get some dates..
  which tell you the truth is not bad.. but I'm above the age critique to the next digits...
  and I don 't have a friend to say in his 20's but I do live close by if you dont get anything YOU LIKE... .jajaj that's funny just to think.. let me know..
  
  I have my saturday opened for now.. but who knows...
  good luck..
  oh and I'm latin..
  pictures.. jaja... now comeon.. just to help youmove stuff.. hmmm...
  send me yours and I'll reply with mine.. I'm not that bad..come on...jeje. (What the hell is jaja, jeje? We already posted our pictures. Weirdo.)
  

• Hi 30 yr old white male here with moving experience. I would be happy to provide your moving service for you two. Would a massage exchange be ok? I am married so not looking for sex but just a fun time (A massage? This isn't a fucking spa. Married and not looking for sex, but hanging out with young broads feeling you up doesn't constitute cheating in your head? Maybe you need to get a new head.)
  

• I'd help as long as one of you are single and is looking for a handsome/sexy, athletic, romantic, intelligent and fun guy to come along and rock your world and compliment your life. BTW, don't have a truck but I'd help ya guys. I live right by Claremdon (Please Sir, please rock my world.)
  

• Eat Me
  

Pork Chop: You Wish
Eat Me Boy: nawww. You're pretty ugly. Just sayin'. Retarded too.
BTW, how anyone know that's really you anyway?
Pork Chop: hi hater. guess you'd have to have some faith and find out. seriously, i'm
responding to responses to my ad. You're just lame. peace out and good luck
with that attitude.
Eat Me Boy: I pooped my pants.


On that note, I'm going to end the responses. I WAS going to post photos, but I'm already slightly nervous that I am going to end up in a trash can somewhere with various body parts sprinkled along the road or possibly in somebody's freezer, or maybe even on their dinner plate after posting this to the public. We ultimately ended finding this sexy little medical student to help us about but ended up not meeting up with him anyway. All this work and I put the bed together by myself in under 2 hours. Maybe my next Craig's list posting will be something to the tune of: "Needed: Sexy single male(s) to test brand new Ikea bed. The fat, ugly, small-weenered and inexperienced need not apply." Ha.


P.S. It has been almost 1 week (and 2 days past the date of supposed furniture retrieval day) since our ad was posted. The ad has gotten flagged and removed from Craig's list multiple times and I am STILL getting responses.

Piss.

So, have you ever hit that point in life where you’ve seriously reached an all-time low? I mean...the point where if it gets any worse, your next best option is to make a nice clean slit in your jugular and drain yourself all of life-inducing bodily fluids? Yea...I had that, or so I hope. The worst part about it is that I was such a bitch prior to the experience that I probably deserved it. I should have listened closer to Justin Timberlake when he preached, “What goes around comes around, comes around, comes all the way back arouuuund”.

It started as a typical Tuesday night at Fado’s in Chinatown. Every Tuesday we went to this Irish Bar and got there super early so that we could get a seat to play trivia (another instance in where I am so cool I can’t even deal with it). So, for the servers’ sake, they request that each person playing trivia spend a minimum of $10. Well, I never have a problem doing this because I’m an alcoholic and believe in getting wasted at every chance I get, but some of my other group members don’t always eat or drink $10 worth of food or drink.

Anyway, so we are coming to the end of the trivia game when our waitress comes and starts bugging us incessantly about ordering and that we need to spend $10 per person. Generally, I would totally understand her point, I have been in the restaurant business and know how bad it sucks when people take up your tables and spend no money; however, it was not until near the end of the game that we heard from her. There were plenty of times that I would have loved to order another beer and waitress was no where to be found. At this point, there were 5 members in our group and our tab was at $45 and the game was not over yet. The waitress comes over again and very rudely says “You need to order $5 more dollars, and if you don’t I will just add it to your bill anyway.” Ha...drunken Andrea starts to feel slightly belligerent at this point. Despite my bitching, my friends order a dessert to meet our $50 minimum and the waitress returns with the check. SHE ADDED AN 18% GRATUITY...um....WHAT?! NO fucking way. I mean, one good thing about growing up in the restaurant business is that you learn the “rules” fairly quickly. So naturally, my belligerent drunken self says oh so sweetly to the waitress “Excuse me mamn, I don’t think you can add this gratuity. It doesn’t say anywhere on the menu that there will be a gratuity added, and usually it is only parties of 6 or greater that restaurants will do that. Clearly we are 5... I think this needs to be fixed.” Waitress stutters around, she didn’t think we were going to pay the $10/person, she can change it, and she will buy us a drink next time. Again, my friends assure her that it is fine and she doesn’t have to change it (they are so much nicer than I am)...but she walks away bitching with a scowl on her face anyway.

So, I need to step away for a second and just remind you. I was actually pretty nice to the waitress’s face, but the thoughts that were going through my head were just completely inappropriate, I think this is where that whole goes around comes around thing comes into play, because trust me, if there is a God and he has any say over punishments, he can HEAR your thoughts. He can hear mine anyway.

So, despite the fact that I am completely wasted at this point, I had about 5 Black and Tans over the course of 3 hours. All my friends were ready to leave but I just had a point to prove quickly. While the waitress was returning with our check, I go up to the bar and order ANOTHER drink (just to prove a point to the waitress), despite the fact that I was already drunk and my bladder was feeling slightly full. I quickly chug down the drink as my friends were waiting for me and the bitch returns with our change. At this point I was in a pretty bad mood and all I wanted to do was get out of there. So say goodbye to my friends and head down to the metro. There was an 18 minute wait.

Alright, so I’m really starting to have to pee at this point. “18 minutes,” I think. “I will just run up to the McDonalds quickly and use the restroom.” I run back up the metro stairs, down the street to McDonalds, only to realize it’s closed. Fuck. So I walk into the movie theater and ask them if I can use the bathroom and they said not unless I’m going to buy a ticket. Heartless bastards. I run to the security guards...”So, I have to pee really badly. Is there any restroom anywhere around here that I can use?” Nope...and they actually laughed at me as I walked away. I heart being the laughing stock of fat rent-a-cops, that’s just awesome. After exhausting what I thought to be all possible options, I decide to just go back and wait for the metro.

The terrible part about this is that I totally could have just run across the street to Fado’s but I refused to run into that stupid bitchy waitress again and I vowed never to go in there again (I actually just had dinner there last week...Yea, I ate crow. I do that sometimes).

Anyway, so here comes the good part. I got down in the metro and I missed the train. BAAAALLLS. Now I’ve got a 13 minute wait until the next train. I am still sane at this point but my bladder is definitely starting to feel a little rough. Finally the train comes and I get on and switch to the orange line when things start to go down hill. I had my headphones on and I actually had to turn them off because they were distracting me from NOT trying to pee my pants. Shit is PAINFUL at this point. I’m sitting down, legs crossed, hoping to GOD nobody will sit with me. I’m fidgeting a little bit. Headphones off...concentrate Wiest. Okay okay, put them back on, and maybe just try to forget about it. Okay not working, take them off. I’m pretty sure my face is red at this point. I’ve got cold sweats and my forehead is actually beaded with sweat. The hairs on my arms are standing straight up and I’ve got goose bumps everywhere. I’m pretty sure I must have looked like a crazy schizo at that point. I mean, seriously. I kept clenching my butt cheeks together frantically to keep the pee inside. This is SOO humiliating. I seriously have never felt such pain in my life. At one point I almsot just let lose because the embarrassment would have been much easier than the pain. Finally I had to get off the train. I seriously got off a stop early because I couldn’t deal with it anymore. Right as I stepped off, it started seeping out, and there were people EVERYWHERE. I couldn’t even run to get outside, I could only walk or it would have exploded. Lol...finally as I’m riding up the escalator it just let loose. Yep, hot pee running down my leg in the middle of the metro. I was almost crying at this point, tears were actually welling up in my eyes. I mean, thank god it was dark outside. By the time I got to a street that wasn’t lit, my black business pants were soaked with pee. They were sticking to my leg and I kept thinking “OH my god, I’m like one of those smelly homeless people who pee themselves. Is this where my life is headed?” And then I thought about that guy I made fun of at the Broad Street Run who peed himself while running the race. Shit, I knew I shouldn’t have laughed at him. No, but I was SERIOUSLY depressed about peeing my pants, honestly, try it sometime. I’m pretty sure it is the peak of humiliation.

Anyway, I ended up calling my mom when I was almost home and told her. I was half crying. She was laughing hysterically.

I Fucked A 38 Year Old Fat Man.

Okay...this story has GOT to come out. Its been festering inside me like the HIV waiting to turn into AIDS.

So my Father, about 6 months ago literally sat me down at the kitchen table and MADE me read (against my good will, I would like to add) this article in Money Magazine called, something to the effect of, 'How to Marry Into Wealth' (Thanks Dad). SO...needless to say, I met this guy at a bar in DC who was totally smitten. Investment Banker at Morgan Stanley, gets club seats to all the best events, I'm not talking the latest Counting Crows Concert either. I mean, The Preakness (spelling?), The U.S. Open, Oh yea, THE OLYMPICS...I'm sure you catch my drift here.

Now let me describe to you the 38 year old fat man. He looks like a slightly younger version of Donald Trump in the face. His hair is slightly red, balding in the front, and his teeth are shaped like a horseshoe but just a little bit too narrow, two of them are just a bit too pointy and he kind of suckles on them when he speaks. His body could be described as...a Weeble Wobble with legs and arms. Beady blue eyes and tiny hands complete the picture.

So 38 Year Old Fat Man starts talking to me, begins telling me about himself and in the back of my head I'm thinking..."Okay Dad, I'm going to make you proud for once." Of course, he asks my number, I give it to him...blah blah blah. We go on a date the following Friday. Now let me just say that I was pretty intoxicated when I met him the first time, not intoxicated enough to realize that he wasn't slightly unattractive but intoxicated enough to think he was well, "slightly unattractive." So anyway, I meet up with him at the Metro and my first thought was "Shit Dre, run...I know you can do it, run far. Christ, what were you thinking? Where is God when I need him?" But, I suck it up and he takes me out to a very nice, expensive dinner, in which I down at least 3/4 of the $70 bottle of wine he ordered (I'm so classy). The date continues...we go to the bar where we met in which his friends were there (all between the ages of 21 and 24...child molester on our hands?). We leave, go to another bar where some more of his friends were, in which I tolerated comments such as "Wow Dude, she's really cute." (and then to me) "What the hell are you doing with him?" My reply in a slight whisper "Not sure, can you hand me a fucking drink PLEASE."

To make a long story longer...I got WASTED. I'm talking, can't speak properly, can't WALK, I'm leaning on 38 Year Old Fat Man, we get in the cab, go back to Clarendon where I do remember the Cabbie bitching because his tip was so shitty, and walk back to my place. We have ANOTHER drink in the kitchen and go upstairs and well, you know. I'd like to redeem myself in this situation by stating that I was SO wasted, I don't even remember it. Oh...but the story continues.

The next morning, I wake up and 38 Year Old Fat Man is BUTT ASS NAKED IN MY BED. Oh my god, oh my god. I ease myself out of bed, use the bathroom, brush my teeth, get some water, etc, etc. Not knowing what to do with myself, I lay down on my stomach, smashed up against the wall, as far away from him as possible. Take a few deep breaths and begin to drift off when... Fuck. Fat man cuddles up next to me and starts rubbing my back...rubbing my ass...rubbing, well...whatever. Somehow...its morning now, I'm no longer wasted...and I fuck him...AGAIN. I was just on top of him trying to get it over with and at one point made the mistake of putting my hands on his chest for support. That may have been the worst feeling ever...straight, thin, silky chest hair. Like thin dog hair, it was terrible. I kept imagining getting one of those stuck in my throat. I don't know why. I can't fathom. I seriously, have NO idea. I still think about and wonder what the hell I was thinking, if I was thinking at all, which clearly I wasn't, well lets hope I wasn't because if my brain thinks like that then...I've got a rough life ahead of me. I was on top of this fat dude, fucking the shit out of him and I remember opening my eyes once...BIG MISTAKE. I'm not kidding when I say I literally had to bite my tongue so I wouldn't throw up. Anyway, so I take him home after that. And now I've got this awesome story to tell

So much for marrying into money. Clearly, I just don't have the stomach for it.

This or That

So. I can spend $60 on a 3 month subscription to Match.com, to date a bunch of deuchebag losers with small penises who just want to get laid, and will get laid, if not by me, by some other dumb chick who decides she wants to feel loved...or liked, or even just wants a little bit of attention.  OR. I I can buy a scale that tells my weight, body fat percentage, and water weight and muscle mass for $43.98 + shipping.  

I cho0se the scale. 

I'm Irritated.

So hear me bitch. (Don't worry, I'm really good at this). I mean, we all have these moods right? I may, more frequently than others, but its just one of those built up moments where I need to explode. And rather than taking it out on stray cats and small screaming children, I'll post a blog. Yay.  So here goes my list: 

• I'm irritated about sucky boys.  How they storm into our lives like Hurricane Katrinas and think they can take over, because most of the time they can't but every once in a while one of those suckers comes blowing in at 145 mph winds and totally gives us no choice except to love the chaos that they bring with them.  I speak for my friend (Crazy) at the moment because nobody should have to engage in retail therapy for boys...ever. And don't you forget it. 

• I'm irritated about all the people on the damn metro. Yes. Every single one of them.  They push you out of the way, the stand the fuck up before the train stops while frantically yelling "Excuse me! Excuse Me!"  Yes fucker, I hear you.  I apologize for the million people crowded around me and that I can't move anywhere to get out of your way.  I mean, seriously.  Calm the fuck down.  Just calm the fuck down.  You're going to get off the train just fine.  Nobody's going to leave you on the metro bus. Somebody will allow you to squeeze your fat ass off the train so you can run like a raging idiot to your next train and realize that it doesn't arrive for 4 minutes yet.  Your Welcome for making my life miserable for about 30 seconds while I have to listen to you and while you shove your nasty sweaty armpits in my face.  Also, you're not that important.  Nobody cares if your 4 minutes late to work.  If you're that worried, wake up earlier. Dumbass. 
  

• I'm irritated that I have to listen to my coworkers and the news talk about Sara Stripper Palin and John McCain and Barrack Obama.  They all suck.  I don't want to hear anything else about them.  Nobody is going to fix the economy, nobody is going to get us out of Iraq, nobody is going to make the United States a better place to live.  All politicans suck.  They are greedy bastards and there is nothing we can do about it, and no I will not vote, so quit getting in my face about it.  I don't like either candidate, why would I try to help one win.  I don't really care.  So please close your newspaper, and kindly shut the fuck up.  

• I'm irritated that I have finally come to terms with an actual Bridezilla, Ladies and Gentlemen: Meet my sister.   I mean, really?  I would much rather buy and iPhone than a $305 YELLOW bridesmaid dress.  Oh, pardon me, the color is "Maize". You  know, that color in the crayon box that was always confusing because I mean, Maize is clearly not yellow. Oh, but she's being so lax.  We can all pick the style of dress that we want, but if we don't all wear the same one, we all have to wear different ones.  We have 5 styles to pick from...and wait, there are 5 bridesmaids.  That means, somebody is going to get stuck with the ugly one.  Can I just wear my iPhone please?  OH but we can pick our own shoes.  As long as they are "bronzy gold".  How nice.  I see tons of "bronzy gold" shoes all over the place.  How will I ever choose. I'm sure bronzy gold shoes will be less than $100 also, since there are so many to choose from.  Bronzy gold...I don't even know what that means. 

Okay, I have to stop because now this is depressing me.  I have funny stories to tell when I'm not in such a horrible mood.  So um, I'm going to straighten my act up and I'll be back.

Let me tell you how insanely awesome I am...

So lets get this straight. Girl hates job. Girl gets hired at magical company where she's wanted to work for years since she has come to terms with the fact that she will never be a doctor because she's too lazy and annoyed to go through another 4, 6, 8 (however long it takes) years of school to do so. Girl loves new job. Girl finally fits in with fabulous coworkers. Girl goes to WORK happy hour and gets wasted and makes a raging idiot out of herself. Girl...wait? Repeat that last statement again?

Ohhh yes, that would be correct. "Dre," you ask, "did you really get wasted at a work happy hour and attempt to fraternize with the executives and make a wonderful display of your ability to slur your speech and be oh so successful at the attempt?" Yes, yes I did.

"Not only that," I say, "but I also attempted to throw 3 shots of God knows what at the Happy Hour down my thirsty little throat, 3 Vodka Tonics and THEN i went to another bar, with my manager among other people, and had 3 Saki bombs, 2 shots of Saki, and then went to ANOTHER bar and had something else...I can't remember what at the moment but I know it wasn't water. OH, I forgot to mention, I had 2 Magic Hat drafts before the Vodka Tonics. I threw all this fabulous liquor into my 110 lb body (poor thing) and 1 tiny piece of pizza from matchbox."

"Wow, Dre. Thats pretty poor taste on your part. How utterly lame you are."
"Oh wait," I admit. "There's more. So, the story goes. I hop in a cab with my manager and Miss Piggy and for some god awful reason, tell them to drop me off in Rosslyn. Why do this? Because I am a raging raging idiot perhaps? Who knows what goes through this brilliant head of mine at times. I am convinced I can walk home from there, a good 2.6 miles I am sure, however; the issue at hand is that I can't even walk. So I stumble around the streets for at least an hour, totally lost, when this beautiful ringing to my ears interrupts my drunken stupor. Is it Angels from heaven coming down to swoop me away? Close enough, it is my manager, checking in to see if I am okay. No, I tell him, I am lost on a highway and I don't know how to get home. Lovely manager picks my drunk ass up somewhere along Highway 50 and takes me home. Awesome. But wait, there is more. Somehow I manage to climb the 3 flights of stairs up to my glorious bed and finally pass out when...oh god. My alarm clock goes off. I have to get up again. Mind you, it is 8:30 am. I usually leave for work at 8:00 to get there on time. I am wasted. I have never felt so awful in my entire life. I would rather my skin get chewed off by ravaging dogs then feel this churning in my stomach. Breath Dre, Breath. As I stumble to the metro, I eat a 100 calorie pack of pretty orange goldfish, how tasty. I am ridiculously late. First metro train comes, I squeeze myself into the massive crowds of people and immediately begin to have a mini-panic attack. I am getting cold sweats, I probably reek of alcohol, I'm pretty sure people are looking at me funny but I am too nauseous to care. My mouth starts watering, and Oh God. Breath. Breath. The train comes to a stop, thank god. I literally shove women and small children out of the way and make a beeline for the platform. I run down as far away from people as possible and ever-so-elegantly vomit all over the platform. Wonderful chunks of yellow goldfish add a beautiful splash of color to my gray pants. Man asks if I need help. Thank you sir, but I am a raging idiot and just need to sit here for a few minutes. It is 7:30 at night as I am writing this right now. Let me speed through the end of this god awful story because I think I am going to get sick again. I somehow manage to make it to work. Stay for about 2 hours. I throw up twice in those 2 hours, I was throwing up water. Yea, I can't even keep water down. I go home. Vomit again, this time at the Foggy Bottom Metro stop. I am a strong believer in marking my territory. "

"Wow Dre, you should really think about killing yourself."
"Yes, Yes I will do that. Thanks."

And now, here I lie, in bed. Lame as ever. And I am going to go throw up now. Peace lovers.

Unattainable Is the New Black

So, I'm pretty sure I have major issues, if anybody hasn't figured that out already. I mean, seriously...maybe its my strong desire to not to be in a relationship that I am unaware of? I have no idea. I've met a lot of great guys since I've been down here in DC. A LOT. These are great, (some very) attractive , successful, intelligent, worthy guys that I have met. Yet, none good enough. Why? You may ask. My simple answer...they're easy. They adore me. And for some odd reason, I have an issue with this. Everytime I am with them, my mind lingers back to two very different, yet very unattainable (for very different reasons) guys. EVERYTIME. Seriously, it could be the most frustrating thing ever. I don't even want to have sex with these guys that adore me, I don't. I could, but I don't want to...no, no, not Dre. She would rather masturbate to the idea of the unattainable ones. Okay, unattainable one. The other one hasn't even reached that point yet, but that is neither here nor there. Why can't I just be normal...like girls who would cream of the idea of guys falling all over them, the same idea that makes me want to projectile vomit all over my laptop as I furiously type this disturbing idea.

Re-Inventing the Ritual...

So, in honor of myself moving back to D.C. (I knew I'd be back one day), I've decided to dig up my old blog grave, and attempt once again, to dedicate myself to keeping a somewhat daily journal of the ever-so-exciting events of my life. For the few of those who actually read this, and did not know me when I lived in D.C. the first time, let me back up for a quick second and clear the water for you:

My roommate and I, when I lived in D.C. back in 2005, kept a daily journal of ourselves and the trouble we got into. I unfortunately, put that blog to rest, never to be found again, which I seriously regret because it was actually hilarious.

I am now returning, and determined to entertain myself and anybody else who desires to read this. For now, I will keep this at an introduction, stay tuned...