How do you know if you've partied too much...if you should have called it a night?!
Read on, my friends!
1. I have absolutely no idea where my bag is
2. I believe that dancing with my arms overhead and wiggling my bootay while yelling WOO-HOO is truly the sexiest dance move around
3. I've suddenly decided I want to kick someone's ass and honestly believe I could do it too (bitch...i ain't playin...)
4. In my last trip to pee I realize I now look more like a homeless hooker than the goddess I was just four hours ago
5. I drop my 3:00AM snack on the floor (which I'm eating even though I'm not the least bit hungry), pick it up and carry on eating it
6. I start crying and telling everyone i see that I love them soooooo much
7. There are less than three hours before I'm due to start work or enter the classroom
8. I can't seem to stop making phone calls to people I haven't talked to in years
9. The man/woman I'm flirting with used to be my biology teacher
10. The urge to take off articles of clothing, stand on a table and sing or dance becomes strangely overwhelming
11. My eyes just don't seem to want to stay open on their own so I keep them half closed and think it looks exotically sexy
12. I've suddenly taken up smoking and become really good at it
13. I yell at the bartender, who (I think) cheated me by giving me just cranberry juice, but that's just because I can no longer taste the vodka
14. I think I'm in bed, but my pillow feels strangely like the bathroom floor
15. I start every conversation with a booming, "DON'T take this the WRONG WAY but..."
16. I fail to notice that the toilet lid's down when I sit on it
17. My hugs begin to resemble wrestling take-down moves
18. Boys/girls you would never be attracted to seem to look amazingly hot...and you might end up kissing one or two or six of them
19. I begin leaving the buttons open on my button fly pants to cut down on the time I'm in the bathroom and away from my drink
20. I take my shoes off because I believe it's their fault that I'm having problems walking straight
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Pimping Internationally
"You know this song?" a male coworker of mine asked at the bar on Friday as Johnny Cash's "I've Been Everywhere" played overhead. "It was written about me."
"You know Ludacris's 'Pimpin' All Over the World'? That was written about me," I replied without missing a beat.
And so begins the first entry of the world's reigning international pimpette. (To clarify, countries in which I've gotten any kind of action include the U.S., Italy, France, Czech Republic, Switzerland and Canada.)
I once was involved with a guy who said he kept track of states he'd earned. You earn a state by hooking up in a state, with someone who went to college in a state, with someone who currently lived in that state, or with someone who lived in that state for at least a year.
Here we go.
create your own visited states map
By the same parameters, I post you Europe:
create your personalized map of europe
You know what? Looking at that, it looks like a lot less. But comparably, I guess I have a lot of notable hookups, geographically speaking.
Looks like someone needs to plan a trip to Greece or the Midwest.
And there comes the issue of quantity vs. quality once again. Quite the dilemma for Samantha Jones. If you're spending all your time trying to rack up points, bending over backwards for the sake of making that mental (or in my case, literal) checkmark on a fictional (or in my case, real) chart of hookup goals? Is it really vital to get the hot dad, the minor celebrity AND both Indian races (ie: dot and feather), not to mention the elusive midget?
Well, I've thought about it. And I've experienced it. I've hooked up for the sake of adding to my numbers, even though I knew it was destructive.
And it's worth it.
So far. I may change my mind someday.
All over the world, baby, it's only right I share my experiences with y'all, cause I've been places y'all never imagined....
"You know Ludacris's 'Pimpin' All Over the World'? That was written about me," I replied without missing a beat.
And so begins the first entry of the world's reigning international pimpette. (To clarify, countries in which I've gotten any kind of action include the U.S., Italy, France, Czech Republic, Switzerland and Canada.)
I once was involved with a guy who said he kept track of states he'd earned. You earn a state by hooking up in a state, with someone who went to college in a state, with someone who currently lived in that state, or with someone who lived in that state for at least a year.
Here we go.
create your own visited states map
By the same parameters, I post you Europe:
create your personalized map of europe
You know what? Looking at that, it looks like a lot less. But comparably, I guess I have a lot of notable hookups, geographically speaking.
Looks like someone needs to plan a trip to Greece or the Midwest.
And there comes the issue of quantity vs. quality once again. Quite the dilemma for Samantha Jones. If you're spending all your time trying to rack up points, bending over backwards for the sake of making that mental (or in my case, literal) checkmark on a fictional (or in my case, real) chart of hookup goals? Is it really vital to get the hot dad, the minor celebrity AND both Indian races (ie: dot and feather), not to mention the elusive midget?
Well, I've thought about it. And I've experienced it. I've hooked up for the sake of adding to my numbers, even though I knew it was destructive.
And it's worth it.
So far. I may change my mind someday.
All over the world, baby, it's only right I share my experiences with y'all, cause I've been places y'all never imagined....
Married Men: Off Limits
There are just too many around. And you think one is hitting on you, or you're hitting it off with him and he's in your age bracket, but in actuality, he's older and married. That's why ladies, before you even OPEN your mouth (or any other body part for that matter), you check the left hand. Don't be obvious about it and avoid his eye contact, but just casually glance down while you're talking to see if there is or isn't a band around that left index finger.
A week ago I met what I thought was a cute, eligible bachelor who wasn't much older than myself. "Mmm, now this is what I'm talking about," said the voice in my head as I sat down across from him and soaked him in. He was cute, with brown eyes, brown hair, tall, and muscular. We were talking and REALLY hitting it off, getting to know where each other was from and discussing common interests. He kept smiling at me warmly, and I said, "I hope I'm not in over my head here." He said, "I have a feeling you'll be just great here" and winked at me seductively. I kept smiling and chatting with him until another lady walked in the room and asked him a question about his day. I didn't pay attention to what the question was, but I heard the answer quite clearly: "blah blah blah MY WIFE blah blah....." Shocked and horrified, I immediately glanced at his left hand, praying that it was an ex wife rather than present wife. Much to my display, there was a white gold band on his left index finger. Like a turtle retreating into its shell for cover, I walked to the opposite side of the room and spoke to the other people there. I don't much remember what happened after. But I do remember thinking...why did I get such a good vibe from him? Was he hitting on me or was he just being friendly? And the never-ending, cliched question surfaced...why are all the good ones taken? Perhaps he wasn't a good one. Perhaps he was just another married sleeze who hits on single girls and only considered what's in their pants, not what's in their brains. Ladies, I learned a valuable lesson from Oprah last month watching a cheating/affair special. In the words of Ms. Winfrey herself: "If a married man hits on you, it is a insult!" (raucous applause from the audience) Yes, it's a insult because he is already attached and essentially going after something he can't and morally should not, have. Regardless, I know there are more men out there. And I know I need to be more careful next time and check that left hand before I check out his killer biceps.
A week ago I met what I thought was a cute, eligible bachelor who wasn't much older than myself. "Mmm, now this is what I'm talking about," said the voice in my head as I sat down across from him and soaked him in. He was cute, with brown eyes, brown hair, tall, and muscular. We were talking and REALLY hitting it off, getting to know where each other was from and discussing common interests. He kept smiling at me warmly, and I said, "I hope I'm not in over my head here." He said, "I have a feeling you'll be just great here" and winked at me seductively. I kept smiling and chatting with him until another lady walked in the room and asked him a question about his day. I didn't pay attention to what the question was, but I heard the answer quite clearly: "blah blah blah MY WIFE blah blah....." Shocked and horrified, I immediately glanced at his left hand, praying that it was an ex wife rather than present wife. Much to my display, there was a white gold band on his left index finger. Like a turtle retreating into its shell for cover, I walked to the opposite side of the room and spoke to the other people there. I don't much remember what happened after. But I do remember thinking...why did I get such a good vibe from him? Was he hitting on me or was he just being friendly? And the never-ending, cliched question surfaced...why are all the good ones taken? Perhaps he wasn't a good one. Perhaps he was just another married sleeze who hits on single girls and only considered what's in their pants, not what's in their brains. Ladies, I learned a valuable lesson from Oprah last month watching a cheating/affair special. In the words of Ms. Winfrey herself: "If a married man hits on you, it is a insult!" (raucous applause from the audience) Yes, it's a insult because he is already attached and essentially going after something he can't and morally should not, have. Regardless, I know there are more men out there. And I know I need to be more careful next time and check that left hand before I check out his killer biceps.
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