I know we are ladies, but our bromance is beautiful...

About two years ago I graduated from college… and I never thought it would this hard to be separated from my best friend…it’s like a part of my soul is missing…or like… going to make a sandwich only to realize there is no mayo left…only mustard, and then I want to cut the next person I see out of blind rage...yeah... that bad...

We are close…like really really close…we’ve even been likened to Seth and Evan from Superbad and I shit you not people were like… “Wait, what are you going to do without each other.”…. “Can there be one without the other.”… “Natalie? Whose going to spoon feed you mayo when you are too hung over to move?”

And we were all like (in perfect unison)… “Bitches, please…we’ll be fine…”

We weren’t. Well…I wasn’t.

The first month…I couldn’t sleep.

The second month…I started to uncontrollably twitch.

The eighth month you ask? I drank heavily with my mother every night and asked questions like, “ How many sexual partners are too many sexual partners?”

But god when we are together it’s pure assholiness bliss…rolled up into cute little mayo balls and topped off with a cool refreshing budwiser (bud light to be exact).

So Ker Bear, this is pretty much my declaration of love to you because my period is coming and I’m like super duper emotional and I miss you…deal with it.

Remember when we were pissed off at the cunts that ran our apartment complex and we were going to call them and say our apartment was haunted? “Our apartment is haunted mother fuckers….fix it now! Get a priest up in this shit and save our souls!”

Or that one time those two douchebags were hitting on us in their car….and as we were screaming, “Fuck you, assholes!” (Even though they were technically hitting on us….) and they crashed into the car in front of them.

Oh how we laughed and laughed and laughed.

And then there was the time at work when I was like, “I wonder what I feels like to get slapped with a loaf of bread?”

And you said, “Let’s find out.”

And then you slapped me with a loaf of bread.

....I almost pissed my pants at work that day.

We just laughed and laughed and no one at work knew why were laughing as our faces turned purple…ah that was awesome….don’t worry Nick…we used a loaf that was going to be thrown away already.

Oh man and senior year every time I called you right before any of your classes…. “I bought a case, I'm outside in the Trans Am. Skip.”

“Ehhhhhhhhh, I need to go to class.”

Only to have you call me back three minutes later…. “I'm walking out have a beer ready for me in the car.”

Um yeah…let’s do that again, like this week, since you are coming up for Cinco De Mayo....I'll buy a case and we'll just drink in the back of a taxi for an hour... awwwww helllllllllllllll yeah.

I do not want to know...

Have you ever noticed that the people who talk about their sex lives with excruciating details are the people you never want to picture naked? The people where genetics didn’t quite work out for them.

...You know, the sexually over-active band geeks, girls with small boobs, Spencer Pratt, girl who gives too much head, the beached whales of LA, boys who wear Ed Hardy belt- buckles, me, Snooki, the list really just goes on and on.

We get it. You’ve had a penis inside of you at one point in your life (or vise versa). But let’s talk about something that I can really believe you did, like those felt posters of unicorns you colored on your walls or how you just picked chip crumbs out of your bellybutton.

There’s a reason people call it a “private life.” So that way icky people don’t feel bad having to lie to themselves and their “friends” about their “sex lives.” And no, eating chocolate is not technically “sex in your mouth.” So stop telling me about it.

But it never fails. I hear all the lies, all the unsettling details, and I smile and nod hoping that the constant back and forth movement of my neck will keep the vomit down.

“And then he put my legs…”

“That’s a bold face lie. Your body is physically inept to do that position.”

Do you see the picture I’m painting for you? I’m calling her fat!

Yet, everyone loves to talk to me about sex, ( I can’t imagine why) and I’ll pretend to listen. 

...But when you re-describe the “shower sex” you had with your also gigantic boyfriend for the 17^th time all I can think about is that line where your ass meets your thigh and flaps over.

It's a travesty really...

Sometimes I feel like we are losing a culture. I don’t know if it is just because I’m getting older…or if it’s only because I’m finally starting to feel the beer. But I stand by my statement, however…let me make it sound a little more ominous….

Our culture is dying.

We are surrounded by these Dora the Explorererers/I-Carlyerers/Big Time Rushers and they just don’t know what good TV/music really fucking is. I say “Camp Anawanna we hold you in our hearts, and when we think about you it makes me wanna fart”…and these bitches look at me like a leper.

Fuck off. Dora. Fuck off….you and your trashy cousin too. No one is impressed by all these animals you save and shit. And that Boots bitch is about to cut your ass.

You’ve been warned, Dora….you goddamn whore.

It’s just sad, man. An atrocity. Fucking mind blowing. These shows I watched fucking shaped who I am now today…well that and being fat…and watching 7 t 12 hours of SNL a day during my summer vacations…while eating 4 chicken burritos…and 2 corndogs a day….I don’t want to talk about it.

Corndogs are a gateway drug…to be perfectly honest. Did I mention I used to be fat? Like, parents had to lie to me to not ruin my adolescent self-esteem, fat…which is still dwindling btw.

Any who…I will never forget getting into a scream-fest with my mother at the mere age of eight because all the kids on Hey Arnold got to roam the streets of NYC and they were only nine…so why the fucking fuck could I not ride my bike down my fucking street?!

…it’s still a sore subject.

But this shit shapes us…influences us…forces us to see why we are so obviously smarter than our elders.

What are these kids going to be like when they are older? Bitches and dicks? It’s all those flashing lights and bright colors on these new shows, fucks with your mind. Believe me, as a nanny, I've been forced to watch some shitty ass, brightly colored shows.

So thank you, Yo Gabba Gabba, for ruining all of our lives. With all those bright lights and glitter…and I don’t even want to talk about how that freaky green thing dances better than me.

But I do honestly believe that these shows will have an influence on the younger generation…which Pete and Pete so obviously did on me.

These kids will be our future politicians/engineers/NASA and shit people…do you really think you’ll be able to sleep at night when you find out that the President elect in 2036 favorite show was I-Carly?

…yeah.

Welcome to the Apocalypse.

Ladies, we suck.

Ladies. We suck. Like seriously we do. Our emotions and insane ability to rationalize every answer we didn’t want to hear/bad situation/how eating certain foods while standing helps you lose weight, will always hold us back in our lives.

The moment that we can start taking everything at face value and not try to decipher through the many “levels of what that really meant” or as I like to call it “psycho girl bullshit babble” to make that straightforward answer we didn’t want to hear into something positive, will be the moment that we will truly rule the world.

This is life, ladies. Not everything is going to go our way. And trying to hide behind our over rationalization will only make the situation worse and harder for you to separate yourself from said situation(s). You owe it to yourself to grow a pair of balls and take it like it is.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not not including myself in this category of girls because I do this shit ALL. THE. FUCKING. TIME. I am so sick of my ability to do this. It’s nauseating. It’s frustrating. And it’s holding me back in my life.

But, god damnit, it is so much easier to live in that deluded sense of reality than sometimes be disappointed with your life. And if your life consists of hours of over rationalization over boys/men/people with penises, your life is pretty fucking good.

Stop pussyfooting around and deal with it. I know I sound mad in this post and that’s because I am. But mostly I’m mad at myself and my immaturity, so I’m using this post as a moment to yell at myself for how retarded I am acting.

Stop it. Just fucking stop it. Grow up and act like a man! Emotionally, that is. Just take it like is, get a little mad, and punch someone. (That’s how it works right?) Botta bing, botta boom. And move the fuck on.

I know at certain times it is impossible to control, PMS is a Grade A whore that’s only real purpose in your life is to destroy your self-esteem with passive aggressive comments about how much you suck as a person lingering in that pretty little head of yours.

Our lady emotions just seem to have this uncanny ability to make logic look like bullshit and bullshit look like logic. But the moment we realize this fact will bring ourselves one step closer to being fully functioning adults and not the crazy ladies everyone pretends to love.

Well with the exception of me of course, I know you all really love me. Right? RIGHT?!?

Now excuse me while I go shove a copious amount of hot fudge sundae Pop tarts down my throat because you took a little too long to answer that question.

I'm not normal...not like we all didn't know that already...

I am not a normal person. I am aware of this fact. I have been well aware of this fact since I was four and single-handedly got all siblings banned from fields trips at my brothers school while my family lived in Seoul.

In my four-year old defense, yah don’t put the four-year old version of myself (or any version of myself really) in front of a never-ending table of gingerbread house ingredients and expect those ingredients not to end up in my mouth.

There are a few facts in life that will always rein true, one of them being that if there is food in front of me, it is going to end up in my mouth relatively soon.

Any who, back to me being weird.

I’m weird, and while at first (the first 17 years of my life that is) I was always ashamed of this fact. I always wanted to be normal and this constant need to fit within the social norms of society caused me to appear as a shy, quiet girl, content with graciously listening to the retardness of others. When in actuality, I was just keeping my mouth fucking shut because I wasn’t ready to handle the repercussions of my weirdness/bluntness/jackassiness within a room full of my peers.

My life is not normal either, this probably has some correlation to the fact that I am not a normal human being. Basically my whole life is a joke. I literally wake up every morning and wonder, “What weird shit is going to happen to me today?”

And something always does.

Perfect example, this Friday, I was on a play date (because I’m a fucking nanny) with a 40 year-old lady from Trinidad and we spent hours talking about how we had to put pass codes on our iPhones because we had nudey pics in them and the children we nanny kept snooping in our phones a little too much.

Then about an hour later, the 5 year old I nanny looks at me and goes, “Natalie, did you a password on your phone because you have a picture of a man’s thingy in your phone?” Which he then proceeded to point to his man-thingy area, just in case I couldn’t decipher what exactly he meant from his 5 year-old vernaculars. My only rebuttal was a few good moments of awkward silence combined with an inspiring, “….nu-uh.”

Obviously, I have a way with words. A wordsmith, some might say.

Oh, and this whole conversation occurred in a Whole Foods.

For the record that “nu-uh” technically wasn’t a lie. Suck on that bitches. Now if it had been my old phone…that would have been a completely different situation…so many dick pics…

None of that situation is normal. Yet my life has become so ridiculously laughable that that was actually kind of a tame Friday afternoon for me.

And here I am now, slightly hung over on a Monday morning, half naked, per usual, trying to end this post on how weird I am, but I’m too distracted by my own fucking tits.

And that America is why you love me/want to be me/hope I show a nip slip soon. Or why you hate me. 

Whatever, I’m going with the nip slip explanation.

Again, don't normally do these, but I like the chick who tagged me in it...

Lana @ That Ain't Kosher tagged me with the lovely questions...so why not play along?

1) If you could only listen to one band or artist for the rest of your life, who would it be? (This may sound unoriginal or boring, but all of you probably know that I would give up all of my intact organs for a chance to see Radiohead live, so this question is extremely important to me. I have ended friendships over this.)

I don’t it’s physically possible for me to listen to just one artist for the rest of my life without my head imploding. I’m one of those people that will listen to one song they love on repeat for about 3 days straight, only to find that their body is psychically disgusted by even a vague mention of said song. I need constant change in my musakical listenings.

2) Who is the most vile celebrity on the planet right now? (No points for Bieber, because that's pretty evident) 

Howie Mandel. Ew.

3) What was/is your college major? Would you have picked it again if you had the chance?

I got a degree in Media Arts and Design with a concentration in Journalism. I used to want to be a hard news journalist, crazy right?! If I had another chance to pick again I’d major in theatre with a minor in creative writing. But only the minor so I could have all the writing professors kiss my ass again, and watch all the dudes in my class get pissed by my ability to write a dick joke 1000 times better than them. It was good fun the first time around!

4) What's the most unintentionally hilarious movie you saw in the last five years?

God, I’m stumped on this one, but my roommate matt said “Precious” was hilarious. So I’m going with that.

5) Pork: Noun or verb?

Mother of God. I don’t know. I. Do. Not. KNOW!!!

6) Pick a type of chocolate to eat forever. (I bet you wish I'd tagged you back, don't you Lor?)

White. White. White. Whitetity. White.

7) When was the last time you really had your heart broken? (It doesn't have to be relationship-wise. Like, this JUST happened to me when my brother told me that he'd cleared out his garage and all my stuff, that they'd been keeping in storage, was gone.)

To be perfectly honest, the last time I really had my heart broken....it was because of a dude…who was fat (with a slightly effimanent voice). Yeah… it wasn’t a good time for me. This boy ruined my self-esteem for approximately two years, but the break-up did remind me of the amazing healing powers of shoving copious amounts of red velvet cake/Twinkies/Mars Bars down your gullet. There’s always a silver lining, babe. Always.

Sometimes the world gets me down...

And then I remember how great my boobs look next to both light and dark beers.

That is all.

Let's not lie to ourselves anymore here, okay kids?

I want to talk about the blog-o-sphere for one hot sec. Can we just all truthfully admit for one fucking second what we are really doing on the Google-nets?

It cracks me up when people pretend like they aren’t trying to make a name for themselves with their blog….

You have a fucking blog. You’re either…

 A. Pregnant…and want to force all of society to be happy for your “blessing from God”…(we’re not, by the way).

B. Just recently watched “Julie and Julia” and thought, “Who doesn’t want another recipe blog…that could potentially land me a book deal? “

Or C. You are trying to get fucking famous…with your thought provoking, fucking thoughts (which aren’t, by the way).

Side note: I’m fucking drunk as I write this…so I apologize for all the typos/grammar mistakes/racial slurs.

Any who…I ’m not even going to pretend like I don’t fall into the latter. Of course, I’m trying to get fucking famous.

I want to write for a living…who doesn’t?! You make your own hours…you can drink constantly (on the job)…and people are forced to take your opinion “seriously” because your opinions obviously must have some merit since you are paid a salary to write about them.

And let’s not forget about the narcissism. If you have a blog…you are one narcissistic son of a bitch. Don’t even pretend like you’re not.

My ego is fucking huge…and all this blog does (especially recently) is perpetuate that situation.

I think I’m hilarious. No scratch that…I know I am hilarious. Why? Because I have a fucking blog.

It’s just like taking a creative writing class in college…you know you are a good writer…you just want to force 20+ people to be jealous of your “written gift.”

However, the blog-o-sphere leaves you in a very weird existence…seeing as there are a 1,000,000,000+  blogs on the internets as I type this sentence.

What makes you special? What makes me special? Nothing… unless you are me. Then you are fucking awesome.

And welcome to the never-ending narcissistic cycle of being a blog writer. Not like you didn’t already know this truth…just thought I’d make you (and myself) feel a little worse.

Happy blogging. 

Sex and the City, Awkwardly Speaking That Is...

Alright Ladies (and one dude that reads my blog), guess who's got two thumbs and just wrote her first sex/relationship advice column...THIS GIRL!

And my first question is from a Ms. NellieVaughn:

“How do you go about regaining the affection ogf someone you treated like absolute crap? We never dated. It was a very grade school crush we had for each other.”

First off, it’s going to depend on the person and how badly you treated them in the past. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve used the “treat ‘em like shit” tactic plenty of times and it definitely had some positive affects on my sex life. But it also led to a lot of unnecessary bickering and bullshit with a person that I wasn’t even dating.

It will also depend on if a new chick came into their lives since you graced him with your “loveliness” and didn’t treat him like shit. All it takes is one person who actually cares about someone to ruin all the chances for us assholes out their in the world.

Once someone is shown how to actually be treated in a relationship, they won’t go back to anything less. Sorry.

So, I would do your research. Facebook stalk, ask the “creepy questions” to your mutual friends, and if you really feel like you messed up something good you will be doing a lot of “putting yourself out there emotionally” shit with this person. And believe me, it’s going to feel icky at first, but it will be worth it. Or it will blow up in your face. One of the two.

I have a very “fuck it” mentality when it comes to putting yourself out there in relationships. And if your not willing to say “fuck it I’m putting myself out their whether it works out or not for this dude,” you don’t really care about him and I wouldn’t even try again in the first place.

Now the dude may be excited to have you back in his life, but he may also feel like now he get’s the right to treat you like shit. You’re going to have to honestly ask yourself, is this how I want to be treated? Personally, even if you did treat them like shit, don’t start another vicious cycle of shittiness. It never works out. Never.

It will be fun at first, but the same issues will arise again, the main one probably being that you two are both total assholes to one another. One total asshole cannot date another asshole. That’s just scientific knowledge there.

You should also ask yourself why you want to be in this person’s life again. And be honest with yourself. It’s okay if its just because you miss the attention. I allowed a guy to treat me like shit for over 2 years because I loved the attention. We’re still friends but don’t talk to him anymore, and it has been one of the greatest decisions of my life.

I hope this helps. If it doesn’t, you can’t blame me. I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.

Is it time for me to create a sex column?

No seriously is it? In the past week,  I've had so many people (specifically dudes) ask me for sex and relationship advice.

I have no clue why though, nothing about my face says, "I give good relationship advice."

However, I have come to realize that something about my face totally says, "Hey, come talk to me about sex in the most unsexually way possible," and, "Why yes, I will watch that clown porn clip with you (unsexually again, that is), but don't expect me to like it."

Would you guys be interested in that? Well, fuck it. I'm totally doing it, whether you like it or not. Once a week this awesome blog will become "Sex and the City, Awkwardly Speaking."Or should I just make a completely new blog for the sex column? Whateva this will just be the trial period.

So send your questions to awkwardsexandthecity@gmail.com or just post them in the comment section.

And believe me, I'll be blunt.

I suck.

I suck at life. And it’s starting to reflect in my blog, seeing as I only posted once last week…and it was a repost. Gross, I know. But to be perfectly honest, the things in my life that are consuming the majority of my time are things I don’t really want to write about. They’re not bad things, they’re great actually. Shit eating grin, type of awesomeness.

Of course I wouldn’t want to talk about shit that makes me happy. Oh, no. No. No. No. I only want to be completely honest about the most embarrassing shit in my life, but I guess, that’s what makes me, me. My happiness won’t bring laughter into your life, only my stunning ability to make awkward situations even more awkward will do that.

 And I won’t stop making awkward situations even more awkward until every one of you mother fuckers is laughing their goddamn heads off! This bitch be crazy for making other bitches and dicks laugh and shit. I live for that shit. Shiiiiiiiiiiiit.

But to get back to that humorous place, I have to clear my head by writing out all this shit that’s mucking up the works in this pretty little head of mine. So bare with me.

I’m so out of sync with my writing side that I’m currently drinking rum and coke out of a wine glass ANNNNNNNNNND I put on more clothes to write this shit out, rather than my normal half-nakedness. Who the fuck am I?!

I’m changing. I can feel it. And whether or not this change will be beneficial to who I am as a person, well who the fuck knows. I don’t even eat mayo that much any more. I know. I know. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK?! 

However, I am pleased to report to I still drink a shit ton of alcohol and watch a shit ton of porn (with the exception of this glorious lent period, we Catholics are going through right now….which is a load of bullshit.) Whatever, Jesus still loves me. This I know. For the Bible tells me so.

And when I say I’m changing, I don’t mean personality wise, because fuck it, I’m fucking awesome as the person I am right now. Personality wise that is, my ass/leg/thass area could gain to lose around ten pounds.

I’m referring to my outlooks/philosophies/hipster shit I say tanked off my ass about life. Weird right? Does that even make sense?

It’s crazy how quickly your life changes. Let alone be aware of the fact that that change is occurring. I’m glad I recognize this situation, but it makes me wonder what did I miss in previous years. It also makes me wonder if I’ll hold back in soon to be pivotal moments in my life because I’m too afraid of the aftermath of my choices.

And I think that’s what’s mucking up the works currently. Those crucial, soon to be moments. For once in my life, I actually have to be serious, because my actions and choices are going to greatly influence the outcome of these things. And needless to say, it um what’s that saying? Scares the shit out of me. How could it not? I don’t do well with vulnerability in any aspect of my life and whenever there is a change that is when I’m at my most vulnerable.

But don’t you worry, when all this shit blows up in my face. You, will be the first to know.