Hello internets, how you all doin'?
There's lots of shit that needs blogging about today, and its relevance is for you to determine. Shall we start with the shit? Yes, okay, lets.
First thing's first: What the hell is up with sex?
So I went to The Boy's house last night. We watched a movie, he gave me some flowers, we had a few drinks. Then we ended up in his bedroom doing naughty things, and a fun time was had by all. Except for, why does sex hurt like a motherfucker sometimes?
Don't get me wrong, he wasn't trying to hurt me - in fact, he's kind of one of those annoying "OMG you're such a precious little flower and I am such an unworthy, hulking man-beast, I would never forgive myself if I harmed you in any way!!!11!" types. I tried to explain to him that it's really no big deal, it's a good kind of pain and totally worth it, and besides, I'm not a china doll. I'm not going to break, and pain is temporary, so who gives a shit, right? Don't treat me like I'm made of glass, ffs. I'm not complaining, per se, I'm just wondering why this shit occurs.
Let me explain. Without wanting to get stereotype-y and racial, The Boy is black. While we're not talking practical-joke pornstar proportions or anything, he is on the larger side of average. The thing is, it's been a long time since I was anything resembling a virgin, and yet recent events have forced me to come to the conclusion that my vagina is defective. I'm told by several forthcoming guy friends that being "tight" is a good thing, and I concur, but I don't get why a simple few hours of being intimate in the biblical sense leaves my internal organs feeling as though they've been assaulted with a blunt object. No matter what position we were in, I was left feeling as though he had some reason to really dislike my cervix, though I struggle to recall anything it has done to offend him.
I mean, to borrow a phrase from SatC's Miranda, I've had a decent amount of bone in me. I've used (sorry for the TMI here, but if this shit offends you, seriously, why are you still reading?) the odd vibrating purple water bunny or two. So why did his penis give the impression of being some kind of battering ram intent on causing internal bleeding? The exact type of pain is a little difficult to describe - if I had to explain it, I guess I'd say it's kind of like reverse period pain. You know how menstrual cramps kind of start on the inside and then radiate outward, making you curl up in a fetal position and jam your fists as deep into your abdomen as possible, all the while hating humanity and being willing to shank an infant for chocolate? Well, this is kind of the same but opposite, like the pain is coming from the other direction, or something. I'm sure any girls reading this might kind of know what I mean, wheras any guys reading are probably all o.O right now.
Also, my legs hurt. And this makes no sense. Why? I see no reason why I should be considered medically unfit for sex. I'm a reasonably fit individual - I hit the gym several times a week, and while cardio isn't really my thing, I make the cross trainer my bitch from time to time. And put me on the weights and I'm a fucking rock star - I easily bench press as much as most guys my age, and I'll happily challenge anyone who wants to see if their hip adduction skillz are quite as mad as mine. So why, almost 24 hours later, do I still feel like I've run a marathon after an angry midget has taken to my thighs with a staple gun?
A little while ago I tried to kneel down to open the door of the bird cage. Was not happening. Halfway down, my quadraceps got this weird, shaky feeling, and then my knees completely buckled. I collapsed forward and nearly met the corner of the coffee table with my skull. It appears that being on top is bad for my health, and this is a problem, because it makes me feel like a porn star. Seriously, if you're ever in that awkward situation where you're doing the nasty but it's just not really working for you, try getting on top and unleashing your inner Jenna Jameson by faking as wildly as possible while thrusting your chest forward and throwing your head back in a ridiculous manner. You'll either get right into it, or at least entertain yourself with the theatrics until he's done (not that I actually had to fake anything, I'm just stating this as a Fun Things To See And Do In The Boudoir kind of exercise).
And omg, what if I had hit my head on the coffee table? How would I explain my need for forehead stitches when emergency room staff asked me why I fell? Could I pass it off as an everyday, gym-related injury, or would they somehow be able to tell that my head gash was the result of an Incorrect Shagging Technique, or IST? If I'd died would the coroner's report list COD as Inadequate Boning Skills? Because that would be embarrasing. I don't want my headstone to read "Patch_Tank, 19?? - 2010, beloved daughter, sister, neice and friend. Could not fuck worth a damn". That would suck. I do not want this to be my legacy.
I abandoned my attempt to access the bird cage, in case you were wondering (and I'm sure you were). I feel kind of judged now, because the canary is looking at me like "what, because you can't screw properly, I don't get a sprig of brocolli today? Thanks a lot, BITCH."
(Please noone call PETA or anything though, he's got plenty of food. In fact, there is more birdseed than bird in that cage right now. It hasn't stopped him glaring at me with unfettered hatred though. Seriously, he's got murder eyes).
So. There that all is. If anyone has any insights on why I'm so bad at sex, hit me up with a comment, yes? Lovely.
In other news, I was on omegle today. No, not doing morally questionable things with my webcamera again, but playing in the text chat section. You know how sometimes you come across some other awesome idiot much like yourself who can't resist talking to a total stranger about random shit that you both pretend to understand? Yeah, I did that. Here's the transcript:
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Official messages from Omegle will not be sent with the label 'Stranger:'. Strangers claiming to represent Omegle are lying.
You: hola
Stranger: Do you know Dev?
You: Dev? yeah, he's my brother
You: cool guy
You: pity about the webbed feet though
Stranger: He's your brother? I'm his girlfriend
You: shit, he never told me he had a girl, the sneaky little bastard. can't beleive he hasn't introduced us yet
You: did you guys meet when he was in jail?
Stranger: He's a bit slow, huh?
You: yeah, he has his moments
Stranger: But he is a nice guy...
You: oh yeah, for sure
You: he wouldn't have been chosen for that space mission if he wasn't, right?
Stranger: Of course!! I bought him a giant panda.
You: aw, that's sweet :) he would love that
You: i'm glad he's got a nice girlfriend at last, his doll collection scares most people away from him
You: not that im judging, of course
Stranger: I know! I told him to put those dolls in a box and leave in somewhere.. Or burn them
You: i mean, i don't mind that the dolls are THERE,
You: but having to talk to them and pretend they're real when i visit him is getting creepy
You: lol it would have to be a damn big box, hey?
You: to fit the dolls, all their costumes, AND their tea party accessories
Stranger: Sometimes... He likes to stay with the dolls than with me
You: yeah thats definitely cause for concern
Stranger: I think he's gay cuz he likes to dress them...
Stranger: And he fucking cares about them
You: the gay dolls don't bother me, but the Sarah Palin one he calls "mommy" freaks me out
Stranger: Oh my he needs to go to rehab
You: maybe he should .... but the thing is, he's so attached to that collection of human hair he keeps in his basement, that im worried sending him to rehab might give him some kind of separation anxiety, you know?
You: oh .... you did know about that, right?
Stranger: Nooo OMG
Stranger: Tell me more!!
You: well ... if you insist
You: okay, so you know about that time he met Lady Gaga and they decided to move to Saudi Arabia together?
Stranger: I do! He's a fuckin lucky guy.
You: yeah, it's a pity that fell through, they could have been totall bffs
You: but when the CIA says they need your help to save the country, you can't really say "sorry guys, got plans with Gaga tonight"
You: i mean, not when it's a matter of national security
You: i'm not sure how using whipped cream, spandex, and a taxidermied canary to entice Rush Limbaugh to a hotel room is a matter of national security, but what the hell do I know, right?
You: and there's definitely nobody better for that kind of job than Dev
Stranger: Please, tell me more
You: well, he's about to get into pro-wrestling
You: how would you feel about that?
You: he'd have to wax his chest a lot
You: so if you're one of those girls who likes a bear, you may want to rethink the relationship
Stranger: Tell him to call me, I wanna meet you!
You: sure, I'll send him a text
You: btw, if you ARE okay with the chest waxing, that's great, but don't let him talk you into eating the wax afterwards, ok?
You: he saw that once on "Friends"
You: and being the rabid Lisa Kudrow fan he is, he's obsessed with the idea
Stranger: WHAT? omg thats disgusting
You: yeah, that's what the other inmates told him
You: but if even the Aryan brotherhood couldnt' get through to him, what chance do I have, right?
Stranger: God you're an angel, he would never tell me this kind of stuff
You: really? oh, don't let him pull that secretive shit with you
You: next time he does that, put his leash on him, and tell him that his Mommy Sarah Palin Doll wants him to "speal"
You: "speak", sorry
You: thats what the other prisoners did to get info out of him
You: and speaking of angels, don't let him convince you that he is one
You: or he'll never take the feathery white wings off
Stranger: He definitely isnt an angel
You: and that shit just makes everyone else at the mosque uncomfortable
Stranger: He's a weirdo boy
You: oh yeh
You: oh, he just responded to my text
You: he said he's in the middle of a really serious debate with his tennis ball
You: he'd love to talk to you right now, but until that fuzzy little green son of a bitch agrees that Don't Ask Don't Tell should be repealed, he's kind of tied up
You: but he'll facebook inbox you later
You: oh, and he said to remember the "cushion hole theory"
You: he said you'd know what that means
You: and to buy some maple syrup so he can demonstrate it to you again
Stranger: Yeah but tell him that i dont know if this gonna happen...
You: look, maybe you should talk to him about that yourself, i don't want to get in the middle of you guys
You: especailly if it involves cushions
You: i know how weird he is about upholstery
Stranger: Dont you worry about this honey!
You: lol ok :)
Stranger: Heu, Dev told me that you have a girlfriend
Stranger: Hey, sorry
You: he did? wow, how did he know?
Stranger: I dont know, he just said..
You: i thought winona and i were pretty careful to keep this quiet, but Dev can find anything out!
Stranger: I think he's watching you and your life.
Stranger: And your girlfriend.
You: *sigh* i wouldn't be surprised. I found a minicam in the sugar jar the other day
Stranger: Winona knows that?
You: she's probably figured it out, yeah
Stranger: Btw, whats your name?
You: she should have known better than to read those xfiles novels to him, they make him paranoid as all hell
You: my name is tiger
You: you?
Stranger: Im kim.
You: its nice to meet you kim, I'll probably see you at christmas dinner this year
Stranger: Awesome! I wanna talk to you cuz you are a very nice person
You: i should go now, if you talk to Dev later, tell him the goldfish aren't really trying to kill him, ok?
Stranger: Ok!
You: Great! I can't wait to talk to you either, it will be nice to have someone else at the table who doesn't put sharp things into their eyes "just to see what will happen"
You: have a great day, I'll see you soon, ok?
Stranger: i cant wait to talk to you too!
Stranger: Have a nice day, Tiger!
You: You too Kim! may the force be with you :)
You: bye!
You have disconnected.
So there that shit is too. I don't know why I do these things. I think perhaps that I have this perception that I'm funnier than I really am. I'm not sure why my name was "Tiger" either, before anyone asks me the significance of that. It was just the first word that came into my head, much like "bubblegum" is the first word that came into my head just now when I decided to type the first word that came into my head. Blue. Pillowcase. Citrus.
One last thing.
The last event of importance of the day was the shower I took just recently. I decided, once again, to brave the horror that is Lush's "Aqua Marina" facial cleanser. What is this, you exclaim, surely Patch hasn't got a bad word to say about her beloved fresh cosmetics company? Well, I admit, I am usually overcome by a total fellation of all things Lush. But this time, they decided to send me a sample of a cleanser I hadn't tried before, and whilst I am grateful for the gesture, I am curious as to their motivation in manufacturing a facial cleanser that gives off the odour of rancid sashimi. It smells like fish, people. Not fresh, tasty, salt-and-pepper fried trevally served up drenched with lemon and accompanied by a rocket salad and a crisp glass of white. Rather more like the liquified-offal looking fluid that leaks from the bins out the back of a dodgy seafood restaurant. And why? Why must things that are good for one's face smell like fish? I persist with it not out of any masochistic tendencies, but because the ickiness is, thankfully, very short lived. Remove the lid, and the smell is barely discernable. Scoop a chunk out of the container, and the unpleasantess is there, but it's tolerable. Smear said chunk over face, try not to succumb to urge to expel contents of stomach. Stink is vile, so very, very vile. Scrub face as quickly as possible, whilst questioning sanity of rubbing fishy substance into one's skin. And then rinse off. Rinsing off is a wonderous relief, as the odour is neutralised as soon as warm water comes into contact with the icky flsh cleanser. Seaweed has made skin soft. Calamine has reduced redness. And the fish stink is gone - until next time.
I'm going to go and do normal person things for a while now. Happy Friday, you guys, stay safe out there.
First thing's first: What the hell is up with sex?
So I went to The Boy's house last night. We watched a movie, he gave me some flowers, we had a few drinks. Then we ended up in his bedroom doing naughty things, and a fun time was had by all. Except for, why does sex hurt like a motherfucker sometimes?
Don't get me wrong, he wasn't trying to hurt me - in fact, he's kind of one of those annoying "OMG you're such a precious little flower and I am such an unworthy, hulking man-beast, I would never forgive myself if I harmed you in any way!!!11!" types. I tried to explain to him that it's really no big deal, it's a good kind of pain and totally worth it, and besides, I'm not a china doll. I'm not going to break, and pain is temporary, so who gives a shit, right? Don't treat me like I'm made of glass, ffs. I'm not complaining, per se, I'm just wondering why this shit occurs.
Let me explain. Without wanting to get stereotype-y and racial, The Boy is black. While we're not talking practical-joke pornstar proportions or anything, he is on the larger side of average. The thing is, it's been a long time since I was anything resembling a virgin, and yet recent events have forced me to come to the conclusion that my vagina is defective. I'm told by several forthcoming guy friends that being "tight" is a good thing, and I concur, but I don't get why a simple few hours of being intimate in the biblical sense leaves my internal organs feeling as though they've been assaulted with a blunt object. No matter what position we were in, I was left feeling as though he had some reason to really dislike my cervix, though I struggle to recall anything it has done to offend him.
I mean, to borrow a phrase from SatC's Miranda, I've had a decent amount of bone in me. I've used (sorry for the TMI here, but if this shit offends you, seriously, why are you still reading?) the odd vibrating purple water bunny or two. So why did his penis give the impression of being some kind of battering ram intent on causing internal bleeding? The exact type of pain is a little difficult to describe - if I had to explain it, I guess I'd say it's kind of like reverse period pain. You know how menstrual cramps kind of start on the inside and then radiate outward, making you curl up in a fetal position and jam your fists as deep into your abdomen as possible, all the while hating humanity and being willing to shank an infant for chocolate? Well, this is kind of the same but opposite, like the pain is coming from the other direction, or something. I'm sure any girls reading this might kind of know what I mean, wheras any guys reading are probably all o.O right now.
Also, my legs hurt. And this makes no sense. Why? I see no reason why I should be considered medically unfit for sex. I'm a reasonably fit individual - I hit the gym several times a week, and while cardio isn't really my thing, I make the cross trainer my bitch from time to time. And put me on the weights and I'm a fucking rock star - I easily bench press as much as most guys my age, and I'll happily challenge anyone who wants to see if their hip adduction skillz are quite as mad as mine. So why, almost 24 hours later, do I still feel like I've run a marathon after an angry midget has taken to my thighs with a staple gun?
A little while ago I tried to kneel down to open the door of the bird cage. Was not happening. Halfway down, my quadraceps got this weird, shaky feeling, and then my knees completely buckled. I collapsed forward and nearly met the corner of the coffee table with my skull. It appears that being on top is bad for my health, and this is a problem, because it makes me feel like a porn star. Seriously, if you're ever in that awkward situation where you're doing the nasty but it's just not really working for you, try getting on top and unleashing your inner Jenna Jameson by faking as wildly as possible while thrusting your chest forward and throwing your head back in a ridiculous manner. You'll either get right into it, or at least entertain yourself with the theatrics until he's done (not that I actually had to fake anything, I'm just stating this as a Fun Things To See And Do In The Boudoir kind of exercise).
And omg, what if I had hit my head on the coffee table? How would I explain my need for forehead stitches when emergency room staff asked me why I fell? Could I pass it off as an everyday, gym-related injury, or would they somehow be able to tell that my head gash was the result of an Incorrect Shagging Technique, or IST? If I'd died would the coroner's report list COD as Inadequate Boning Skills? Because that would be embarrasing. I don't want my headstone to read "Patch_Tank, 19?? - 2010, beloved daughter, sister, neice and friend. Could not fuck worth a damn". That would suck. I do not want this to be my legacy.
I abandoned my attempt to access the bird cage, in case you were wondering (and I'm sure you were). I feel kind of judged now, because the canary is looking at me like "what, because you can't screw properly, I don't get a sprig of brocolli today? Thanks a lot, BITCH."
(Please noone call PETA or anything though, he's got plenty of food. In fact, there is more birdseed than bird in that cage right now. It hasn't stopped him glaring at me with unfettered hatred though. Seriously, he's got murder eyes).
So. There that all is. If anyone has any insights on why I'm so bad at sex, hit me up with a comment, yes? Lovely.
In other news, I was on omegle today. No, not doing morally questionable things with my webcamera again, but playing in the text chat section. You know how sometimes you come across some other awesome idiot much like yourself who can't resist talking to a total stranger about random shit that you both pretend to understand? Yeah, I did that. Here's the transcript:
You're now chatting with a random stranger. Say hi!
Official messages from Omegle will not be sent with the label 'Stranger:'. Strangers claiming to represent Omegle are lying.
You: hola
Stranger: Do you know Dev?
You: Dev? yeah, he's my brother
You: cool guy
You: pity about the webbed feet though
Stranger: He's your brother? I'm his girlfriend
You: shit, he never told me he had a girl, the sneaky little bastard. can't beleive he hasn't introduced us yet
You: did you guys meet when he was in jail?
Stranger: He's a bit slow, huh?
You: yeah, he has his moments
Stranger: But he is a nice guy...
You: oh yeah, for sure
You: he wouldn't have been chosen for that space mission if he wasn't, right?
Stranger: Of course!! I bought him a giant panda.
You: aw, that's sweet :) he would love that
You: i'm glad he's got a nice girlfriend at last, his doll collection scares most people away from him
You: not that im judging, of course
Stranger: I know! I told him to put those dolls in a box and leave in somewhere.. Or burn them
You: i mean, i don't mind that the dolls are THERE,
You: but having to talk to them and pretend they're real when i visit him is getting creepy
You: lol it would have to be a damn big box, hey?
You: to fit the dolls, all their costumes, AND their tea party accessories
Stranger: Sometimes... He likes to stay with the dolls than with me
You: yeah thats definitely cause for concern
Stranger: I think he's gay cuz he likes to dress them...
Stranger: And he fucking cares about them
You: the gay dolls don't bother me, but the Sarah Palin one he calls "mommy" freaks me out
Stranger: Oh my he needs to go to rehab
You: maybe he should .... but the thing is, he's so attached to that collection of human hair he keeps in his basement, that im worried sending him to rehab might give him some kind of separation anxiety, you know?
You: oh .... you did know about that, right?
Stranger: Nooo OMG
Stranger: Tell me more!!
You: well ... if you insist
You: okay, so you know about that time he met Lady Gaga and they decided to move to Saudi Arabia together?
Stranger: I do! He's a fuckin lucky guy.
You: yeah, it's a pity that fell through, they could have been totall bffs
You: but when the CIA says they need your help to save the country, you can't really say "sorry guys, got plans with Gaga tonight"
You: i mean, not when it's a matter of national security
You: i'm not sure how using whipped cream, spandex, and a taxidermied canary to entice Rush Limbaugh to a hotel room is a matter of national security, but what the hell do I know, right?
You: and there's definitely nobody better for that kind of job than Dev
Stranger: Please, tell me more
You: well, he's about to get into pro-wrestling
You: how would you feel about that?
You: he'd have to wax his chest a lot
You: so if you're one of those girls who likes a bear, you may want to rethink the relationship
Stranger: Tell him to call me, I wanna meet you!
You: sure, I'll send him a text
You: btw, if you ARE okay with the chest waxing, that's great, but don't let him talk you into eating the wax afterwards, ok?
You: he saw that once on "Friends"
You: and being the rabid Lisa Kudrow fan he is, he's obsessed with the idea
Stranger: WHAT? omg thats disgusting
You: yeah, that's what the other inmates told him
You: but if even the Aryan brotherhood couldnt' get through to him, what chance do I have, right?
Stranger: God you're an angel, he would never tell me this kind of stuff
You: really? oh, don't let him pull that secretive shit with you
You: next time he does that, put his leash on him, and tell him that his Mommy Sarah Palin Doll wants him to "speal"
You: "speak", sorry
You: thats what the other prisoners did to get info out of him
You: and speaking of angels, don't let him convince you that he is one
You: or he'll never take the feathery white wings off
Stranger: He definitely isnt an angel
You: and that shit just makes everyone else at the mosque uncomfortable
Stranger: He's a weirdo boy
You: oh yeh
You: oh, he just responded to my text
You: he said he's in the middle of a really serious debate with his tennis ball
You: he'd love to talk to you right now, but until that fuzzy little green son of a bitch agrees that Don't Ask Don't Tell should be repealed, he's kind of tied up
You: but he'll facebook inbox you later
You: oh, and he said to remember the "cushion hole theory"
You: he said you'd know what that means
You: and to buy some maple syrup so he can demonstrate it to you again
Stranger: Yeah but tell him that i dont know if this gonna happen...
You: look, maybe you should talk to him about that yourself, i don't want to get in the middle of you guys
You: especailly if it involves cushions
You: i know how weird he is about upholstery
Stranger: Dont you worry about this honey!
You: lol ok :)
Stranger: Heu, Dev told me that you have a girlfriend
Stranger: Hey, sorry
You: he did? wow, how did he know?
Stranger: I dont know, he just said..
You: i thought winona and i were pretty careful to keep this quiet, but Dev can find anything out!
Stranger: I think he's watching you and your life.
Stranger: And your girlfriend.
You: *sigh* i wouldn't be surprised. I found a minicam in the sugar jar the other day
Stranger: Winona knows that?
You: she's probably figured it out, yeah
Stranger: Btw, whats your name?
You: she should have known better than to read those xfiles novels to him, they make him paranoid as all hell
You: my name is tiger
You: you?
Stranger: Im kim.
You: its nice to meet you kim, I'll probably see you at christmas dinner this year
Stranger: Awesome! I wanna talk to you cuz you are a very nice person
You: i should go now, if you talk to Dev later, tell him the goldfish aren't really trying to kill him, ok?
Stranger: Ok!
You: Great! I can't wait to talk to you either, it will be nice to have someone else at the table who doesn't put sharp things into their eyes "just to see what will happen"
You: have a great day, I'll see you soon, ok?
Stranger: i cant wait to talk to you too!
Stranger: Have a nice day, Tiger!
You: You too Kim! may the force be with you :)
You: bye!
You have disconnected.
So there that shit is too. I don't know why I do these things. I think perhaps that I have this perception that I'm funnier than I really am. I'm not sure why my name was "Tiger" either, before anyone asks me the significance of that. It was just the first word that came into my head, much like "bubblegum" is the first word that came into my head just now when I decided to type the first word that came into my head. Blue. Pillowcase. Citrus.
One last thing.
The last event of importance of the day was the shower I took just recently. I decided, once again, to brave the horror that is Lush's "Aqua Marina" facial cleanser. What is this, you exclaim, surely Patch hasn't got a bad word to say about her beloved fresh cosmetics company? Well, I admit, I am usually overcome by a total fellation of all things Lush. But this time, they decided to send me a sample of a cleanser I hadn't tried before, and whilst I am grateful for the gesture, I am curious as to their motivation in manufacturing a facial cleanser that gives off the odour of rancid sashimi. It smells like fish, people. Not fresh, tasty, salt-and-pepper fried trevally served up drenched with lemon and accompanied by a rocket salad and a crisp glass of white. Rather more like the liquified-offal looking fluid that leaks from the bins out the back of a dodgy seafood restaurant. And why? Why must things that are good for one's face smell like fish? I persist with it not out of any masochistic tendencies, but because the ickiness is, thankfully, very short lived. Remove the lid, and the smell is barely discernable. Scoop a chunk out of the container, and the unpleasantess is there, but it's tolerable. Smear said chunk over face, try not to succumb to urge to expel contents of stomach. Stink is vile, so very, very vile. Scrub face as quickly as possible, whilst questioning sanity of rubbing fishy substance into one's skin. And then rinse off. Rinsing off is a wonderous relief, as the odour is neutralised as soon as warm water comes into contact with the icky flsh cleanser. Seaweed has made skin soft. Calamine has reduced redness. And the fish stink is gone - until next time.
I'm going to go and do normal person things for a while now. Happy Friday, you guys, stay safe out there.