Lower standards isn't neccessarily a bad thing...

Everyday I tell myself I’m going to exercise, or that today is the day I’m going to starve myself. But I never do. Why? Cause I’m fat…and lazy. It’s true. I’m not searching for those fake, “You don’t need to starve yourself….that much,” sympathy compliments. I’m on the chunkier side, and while yes my amazingly charming personality will get me far in life, it will not get me far bed.


And rather than actually get off my fat ass and do something about it, I’d rather just complain and lower my standards. Which if you know me, you know there pretty low to begin with. Well maybe not low, just “different.”


My mom once said to marry someone fatter than you, so that way when you let yourself go about five months after the wedding, you still won’t be the “fat one” in the relationship. Dear God, I think she may be right.


She also said to marry a Jew. So I have combined the two and made a hybrid of the perfect man: a Fat Jew. They’re great with their money and yet their self esteem is low enough that they’ll spend thousands to keep you around.

Ladies and Gentlemen this is the perfect man: The Fat Jew.

Fat Jews come in all shapes and size. Each one as juicy as the last:


#1 Fat Jew: Seth Rogen: Chunky, cheeky and a fro could a girl (or guy) ask for more? Um…no.
Seth Rogen is by far my dream man. Sexy, jewey, and all sorts of love. This man will keep your jelly roll flappin’ with all his funny one liners.


Seth Rogen I will make a porno with you! I will!

Fat Jew numero 2: Jonah Hill

Even though you may have lost some weight mister, you are still a Jew I would do.






















Oh blue eyes, I’ve always wanted to date a jew with bigger boobs than me. Jonah Hill I say yes!

And last but not least…..


Fat Jew numero 3: Jason Segal.

You make me laugh, you make me giggle. Now let’s force feed each other lard and kosher bacon.

























But you’re looking a little chunky….can you gain weight please? Thank you!

Plan B is usually the right plan....right?

So I wake up hung over as fuck (you know our generation really needs to get out of this whole “fuck can be used for anything” bubble) That being said, I am as hung over as fuck and have to make the treacherous walk from trashby to the fine eating establishment I call my job in less than an hour due to the fact that my car got totaled in the Trashby parking lot. How the fuck that happens. I do not know.

Now I can’t move. Literally. I have sex sprains up the kazoo. ( and no not cause of position but location. Location. Location. Location.) I can’t bend down to tie my converse let alone walk the 20 minutes down Port Republic to J.J.’s

But I face the music and walk the walk and yet still get walk of shame calls in my uniform. It may have had something to do with the fact that my uniform includes the slogan “We deliever  8 inches in the cold.”

Maybe.

After 6 grueling hours of work. I somehow manage to pass out on my couch from 5p.m. to 9p.m. At 9:03 exactly I woke up. Still hung over, still nauseous. And then it hits me. I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant? Oh, dear god I am pregnant!

My parents even said if you have sex and you don’t use a condom you will get pregnant and die! Or wait was that Mean Girls? Either way, Tina Fey and my mom would not lie to me… would they?

Fuck.

Still disheveled from my five -hour nap, I run and manage to trip over a book, a table and a bed in search of my phone. I must call CVS. I must get this elixir they call Plan B.

But wait? I don’t have a car.  How will I get there? The Roommate! The roommate will save me!  I call the roommate. The roommate says CVS is closed. Fuck.

But there is a 72-hour gap. Eureka! It’s only been like what 13 hours? Right? Yeah? Yeah. I’m good. I’m so good. I’m soooo not going to be pregnant…

THE NEXT DAY

Easter Sunday.

Hair disheveled. Red Soffee shorts and a black T-shirt with “YEARBOOK NERD” plastered on the front. (This is the right attire to pick up Plan B I presume.) The roommate drops me off @ CVS. The pharmacy is closed. Fail. God damn you Jesus. You and your resurrection.  There are more important things such as erasing this potential mistake, mister.

CVS numerous 2. Pharmacy is open! Not fail! The half-Jewish roommate is scouring through the Easter greeting cards as I stumble towards the back forcing down the vomit that I now assume is morning sickness.

Children are frolicking all around. Singing, “We are your future! We are your future! Fuck with god and he will torture!”

I fall to the ground and begin to hurl bouncy balls and transformer figurines at these demons…I mean children, screaming, “God will not prevail!!” (Okay this didn’t happen but whatever.)

I walk back to the pharmacy, and timidly ask for Plan B.

“What?” Said with a Southern accent.

“Plan B!” I repeat as I hand the pharmacist my drug money. An obese overweight child eating something orange out of his belly-button stops, forms words in his head and then turns to his also obese mother and asks:

“Momma? What is a Plan B?”

“Well Dwayne.” As she begins to rub her mistakes belly. “Plan B is a baby killer used by sinners who would rather murder an innocent child than deal with the terrible mistakes they have chosen to make…. and they usually go to hell.“

I think she was talking about me.

THERE IS A HUGE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN BEING A WHORE AND PUTTING OUT....

And as any female neophyte, I am the latter. (It’s probably funny cause, it’s probably not true.) I may be the only girl who actually aspires to put out. (but just for the stories I swear!)

So I’d like to begin my stories (I like to call my whoreish personality traits, stories) on a typical Friday morning. I woke up, ate some mayo and meat, shimmied on my black pleather pants and declared to the roommates @ ten a.m.: “I am having sex tonight.”

“With who?”

“I dunno.”

Silence.

“I just know I am.”

“Sure you are…”

Now this prediction was more than just a hunch; it’s actually a psychic trait I developed after tripping on some crazy weed. Now I can’t see who it is going to be. I can’t see the exact place. Or the exact time of the actual said sex. I just know I will be having sex at some place, with someone, during some particular point on said day.

I think it’s useful (and honestly no one really believes those people who claim to predict tomorrow’s lottery numbers.)

I am also on a train as I write this entry and I am getting some very interested looks from some geriatric neophytes to my right. (Just thought that had to be stated.)

Any who! I am convinced I am having sex today. Completely convinced. So convinced I was telling everyone I came into contact with.

“Good Morning!”

“Was sup Brundmann! I’m having sex tonight.”

“Good for you., I…will not.”

“Oh we know, Brundmann, We all know.”

People standing by point and laugh @ said professor. As I frolic down the Harrison hallway throwing up fairy dust in search of people who will listen to my latest prediction.

The Breeze runs a special Friday edition reading “WALL WILL SEX!”

Now, the day has turned into night and herds of overly make-upped and under-dressed whores.. I mean freshman, have come out from under their UV tanning beds in search of one thing: boyfriends. These are the girls that think sex equates into a relationship.

You know the type. They sulk near the bathroom in hopes to lure a potential male specimen for 5-15 minutes. This usually the amount of time it takes for the drunk male specimen to realize that he will get laid if he pretends to stay interested for 9 more minutes.

Sorry girls but if you believe sex equals a relationship this you are not only a whore, but a dumb whore @ best. Which falls right below whore, but two steps above fat, ugly, dumb whore. Gosta be smart wit yo sex!

After watching these girls travel the treacherous Port Republic hill ill equipped for their trip into sexual transmitted disease land (Ashby) I am absolutely positive that I am having sex tonight. So positive that I walk into a party, where thus “sex ” is located, by myself. ALONE. I was on a mission and that mission was unprotected sex.

The beer is flowing, BAC’s are lingering at a staggering .407, bodies caressing through the sea of unidentified blobs and this was just the keg line. So I know it’s going to be a good night. If I remember it (I did, don’t worry).

“Sex” is flirting with me. I’m flirting with “Sex.” (And now there is a 3-year old sitting next to me as I write this. Yay…awkward. and the mom is so totally judging! How do you think that child got next to me Mom?!? By hugging?)

Anyways, “Sex ” declares: “We should go inside.” And this drunken sex neophyte (me) quickly agrees. Staggering into a dark stairwell, I had to ask the inevitable.:

“Do you have a condom?”

“Eh…No?”

Now I don’t know what it is about guys and not having condoms. I think subconsciously they think it will jinx them if they do have one, but seriously guys! Take one for the team! We have to deal with everything else. You can buy the goddamn condoms.

But the best part wasn’t that “Sex” didn’t have a condom but the fact that ”Sex” said and I quote: “But my cock is clean I promise.”

Really? Did you scrub it alcohol right before this moment? Cause that’s not really what I wanted to hear.

However, I make bad decisions. I always have and probably always will. I like to blame it on my “fuck it mentality.” But it’s more so because I’m a dumb ass that seems to like putting myself in bad but awkwardly funny situations.

Also, we were practically doing it @ this point so my response was slightly obscured by the dry humping. So I said and I quote:

“Eh….fuck it.”

TO BE CONTINUED.

Who actually writes in their blog anyways....

So I have kind of, sort of noticed that my blog is lacking well, blogs. Probably due to laziness and lack of creativity. But, I have decided to give myself another push, however this time scratch out the NYC part. (just for the time being) and focus on the awkward sex part. Because I do. I do have awkward sex. And awkward sexual exchanges. And these stories are hilarious. (Three weeks after the fact, tweaked with some vodkha , weed and a tiny bit magic.) And I feel if Tucker Max can do it! Then gosh darn it so can this young sexual brooding catholic! (And girls are such better storytellers.) So this fact just helps my confidence as I am about to let you into my dark cave of  sexual endeavors. Also known as the most embarrassing moments of my life. Yay….sex.