Stupid Things I Do When I'm Drunk

I have a love-hate relationship with drunk me.  She's fun, she's free, she doesn't give a shit.  It's all the parts of me that I suppress during the day.  But I guess I keep those parts too cooped up because when I let loose I really let loose.  So in order to purge myself as well to serve as a reminder, here's a list of stupid things I did last night.
1. Yelled a lot during pong.  I hate those girls that can't shut up, but I was one of them last night.
2. Didn't make a single pong cup.  Although sometimes I do that when I'm sober too, haha.
3. Smoked a cigar.
4. Talked about my sex life.
5. Repeated myself.
6. Dropped my laptop.
7. Grabbed a guy's dick (He was in his boxers and he's so tall it was almost eye level - this is the second time drunk me has grabbed a dick. Sober me does not take part in this, ever.)
8. Tried very hard to run a naked lap after I got skunked in pong.  I wouldn't do it without my partner, but the level at which I was trying to convince him to go with the flow so I could run down the street in my underwear is beyond embarrassing.  He'll never let me live it down, I'm sure.
9. Said way too much, and said it loud.  Drunk me is always airing out her fucking business.
10. Became determined to be flexible.  I put my leg on my friend's shoulder, or tried to... (my ass went on the floor)  Don't know what I was trying to prove there.

However, there are a few smart things I did!
1. No drunk facebooking.
2. No drunk tweeting.
3. No drunk pictures! They always turn out so awful and some asshole has to post them later.
4. I gave my phone to my sober friend at the end of the night so I couldn't drunk text a guy at the party who I wanted to give a piece of my mind to (the fact that I begged for it back is irrelevant).
5. Ate something when I got back to my room.
6. Didn't slap the shit out of a friend who was trying way to hard to get with me.  I like him as a friend, but apparently he can only handle that when he's sober.

Oops, I Had Sex (and it didn't go well) - A Cautionary Tale

I post enough embarrassing stuff on here that I figured I should just go ahead and share this one too.  I'm honestly disgusted at how much sex/boy talk I've been doing lately.  I swear I have other interests in my life, but I just suppose they just aren't as noteworthy.  And honestly, my sex life is so much funnier than anything else I do.  In fact, it's even a bit of a warning...  Are you ready for my not-sexy sex story?

It would be just my luck to pick out a guy who has a thing for pain in the bedroom.  Bite, scratch, beat, whatever it is, he's into it.  You know what he's not into?  Foreplay.  Or Condoms.

Concerning the first one I just have to say, it's fucking necessary to turn on the sprinklers before you start running around in the front yard hoping for something to happen!  And I haven't had sex in almost 5 months, it should be soooooooo easy for you to do.  No excuses.
By the way, do you know what condoms have on them? lube.
And I'll just go ahead and do a little no-condom rant.  I KNOW. I've been taught since the 6th grade that condoms are great, super important little things that are a necessity.  Especially when having casual sex with someone. I KNOW.  But we didn't and in my defense I asked for one a few times and he just claimed he didn't have one.  You know what he didn't ask?  If he come cum inside of me.  Yeah, that happened.  No permission given, he just went for it.  I was dumbfounded.  Saying "yeah I'm on birth control" was not "woman speak" for disregard condoms and, oh while your at it, put your sperm in me!

So, there was that nonsense.  And I was in pain the whole time, both times.  Strait up pain.  The first time I even asked him to stop, don't finish, just stop.  It's a little my fault, I'm not directive at all.  I don't come with an instructions manual, I just hope that I have a good builder.  One lesson learned from the sexcapade was speak up!  Being quiet will get you nothing!
Or wait, it will get you something...
In my case it was a swollen v a g i n a.  It happens during sex, it's honestly pretty natural (I looked it up).  However, I got home and put an ice pack on my vagina.  For about an hour.  I wish I was kidding.  Thankfully I'm a good sport, because it makes me laugh just to think about it.  I mean, an ice pack shaped like an oreo was in my pants for a good part of my Friday while I was skipping classes because it hurt to walk or wear underwear.  You can't make that shit up, you just have to live it.

Also when I got to my room I realized I'd walk of shamed with a hickey the size of Massachusetts on my shoulder and neck.  Gigantic.  A guy actually asked me if I got hit by/fell on something.  That happened to be the weekend I went home and my amazing dad had the grace to ignore it while I did my best to apply make-up and wear clothes from my small selection of t-shirts (they make me feel like I'm choking so I don't own many).

I waited five months to have sex, and this is what happened to me.  I just...it really does make me smile.  I'm so ridiculous sometimes.

By the way (my little disclaimer), in the guy's defense, it wasn't all bad and he's actually a nice person.  The good stuff just isn't as interesting or funny as the bad, so I won't bore you with it, haha.

An Apology (and explanation) Letter To My Future Husband (should I ever get one)

Hello my beautiful blog!  I've been hiding from you.  Yes, hiding...because of that last post, the one that I STILL can't read but refuse to delete.  It reeks of how low and pathetic I was and can be; plus I pretty much cried the whole time I wrote it.  It was an emotional breakdown that I'll admit I'm still not dealing with.  It's all basically "la-la-la-la-la-plug-my-ears-and-move-on."
Big surprise that it's not working well for me.

Here's Example A of how well things are going:
I meet Joe Schmo at a frat party.  He's pretty cute, tall, awkward, and one-hundred and twenty percent into me.  We talk, we badly dance, I give him a chaste kiss and my phone number (lalalalalalalalalalalala).
Then we hung out the next day...for six hours.  We strolled around campus, looked at a few sights, held hands.  It was all very cheesy and 1950's.  I took him to one of my good friend's house, mistake #249,904.  The awkwardness clung to the air around me, I felt so forced into even the simple intimacy of sitting next to him. Finally I couldn't take it any more.  I asked the poor kid to leave.
Have you ever had to do that?  Is there a polite way to ask someone to get the fuck out before you use your North Face to hang yourself from the ceiling fan?  Personally I couldn't think of one and I was in panic mode.
I think I did an okay job though, by saying, "I'd really like to just hang out with my friends now." then I kissed him and said "can that be a goodnight kiss?" (damn smooth for panic mode, am I right?)
And I have not talked to him since.  If the guilt is killing me, then the anger I feel at myself for being such a complicated bitch has already bought my headstone.
I realized just how much I do not, repeat DO NOT, want a relationship.  I don't want to share my friends or my time with anyone else.  I can't be bothered by the strange "I like you," and "I like you too" but "how much?" parts of a budding relationshit relationship.  Yet I threw away the friends-with-benefits part of my life because I fell in love with the guy and wanted more.  But I don't want more?  You see, I put a question mark there because I'm really not fucking sure.

So yeah, I'm not really okay.  But I am.  Like, I'm functional and happy, just occasionally confused.  Also, I'm on the brink of making stupid decisions, like texting the guy I'm still in love with for his birthday so when I'm out for the summer we can have lunch and catch up.  I keep asking people whether they think it's a good idea or not, and they all say the same thing.  I'm not sure why I keep asking, I know what I 'm going to end up doing.
And so continues the denial train, choo-choo-motherfucker!