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I just found this box container thing of condoms that I’ve had since I was in college as a joke, that I have kept with me since graduation as a joke… and that I have kept with me since my break up a year and a half ago as an (unexpectedly very ambitious) in case of emergency.

And it just occurred to me how great being in a relaysh is because you don’t have to use these.

Also, this btw:

Just saying.

I have to go to the doctor tomorrow for my monthly pregnancy test and liver check (via blood test; see above) because… I’m on Accutane. 

I didn’t want to talk about it until my skin cleared up enough for it to be like, omg weird. you’re on accutane? but your skin is so clear!!  (which is what I (and you should, too) do with anything that is embarrassing: wait until enough time has passed and then you talk about it ad nauseum. See: everything I’ve ever blogged about).

And that time has finally come. So, here:

In October, when the situation was just getting out of control, I walked into this doctor’s office on Fifth Avenue and the doctor pretty much took one look at me, shouted at someone to put me on Accutance, and walked out.  He barely even looked at me. He sauntered in, glanced over at me, definitely arbitrarily drew a check on some piece of scrap paper, and said “Ah. Yeah, write her up for Accutane. Give her a laser and get her insurance information” and walked out without saying another word.

Then I got put in a machine that shot blue light (lasers??) at me for about a half an hour and then I moved to another room and a nurse came in to talk to me. She told me I’m not supposed to get pregnant about thirty eight times.

And by “not supposed to,” she meant STRICTLY FORBIDDEN FROM GETTING PREGNANT:

(THAT. is an image that appears on every prepackaged pill of Accutane.)

Like, it is not a joke. I am literally in a relationship with an empty womb. iPledge. I literally pledge. I am a card carrying member of the do not fill this stomach up club:

I’m not allowed to get pregnant because if I were to get pregnant my baby would be ultra fucked up. Like, alien baby, eight heads, no eyes, Benjamin Button, Simon Birch fucked up. 

Anyway, this was (months ago) when I was over one year deep into not having had sex (have i mentioned how i recently had sex? yeah, just wanted to point that out again. pretty important), so this conversation happened:

Nurse person:
OK. It is very important you do not get preg-
Me:
el oh el. I’m not going to get pregnant!!! I haven’t had sex in over a year and trust me, for the past few months it hasn’t been because I haven’t been actively seek-
Nurse person:
…Ok? Yeah. It’s very important that you take this seriously. If you were to get pregnant your child would have severe birth defects. anyway [she explains iPledge program. READ ALL ABOUT IT HERE!!] you need two forms of birth control-
Me: 
Um… This [pointing to my face] is my only form of birth control… do you think anyone wants to sleep with me? [That’s why I was going on Accutane, DUH!]
Nurse person: 
(Not finding this funny) So, you’re going on the pill. Your second form can be [she reads the list possible birth control methods, beginning with abstinence.]
Me:
Hahahaha. Abstinence!! Can I pick that one? [I AM INSUFFERABLE.]
Nurse person:
You can’t pick anything. You have to decide what you’re going to do and then you have to do it. And you need two forms. What is your second form of birth control going to be?
Me:
Ok. condoms. 

This woman could not have been more confused (and I, in hindsight, more embarrassed) about why I was practicing my standup routine in a doctor’s office, but she was equally serious about shutting me the fuck up.

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(i’m not saying I’m “me.”)

“in a way
props” 

a gchat:

friend: idc what anyone says…..like……anyone who thinks that just because ur on the bottom u get to lay back and enjoy is a fucking idiot.
me: um… yeah. the bottom is the hardest… because someone is literally SMASHING into you
me: hahahaah
me: and you have to lay there and pretend it feels good

Nothing in this world impresses me more than people who can date/have sex with more than one person at a time. It’s a remarkable skill that I do not possess and am in sincere awe of.

It is literally exhausting for me to deal with one person of the opposite sex and live a normal life. I’m not even dating anyone, but I just had a phone conversation with my dad and, I swear to God, I almost mentioned that I recently had sex when he asked what was going on (?!!) - just accidentally, because it happened to be on my mind. If I had to handle talking to or seeing or hooking up with more than one person, my brain would turn into yogurt.

Seriously, how do people do it? I mean, the calculations involved in figuring out the perfect response timing for a text message ALONE is enough to destroy any hope of concentration for at least two hours…

Nevermind the constant wondering what the other person is doing, if they’re hanging out with someone cooler/prettier/funnier than you, if you were funny enough/looked pretty enough/acted cool enough the last time you hung out, if they’re going to text you to hang out again, if your phone is broken because they haven’t texted you in a few days… The wondering is endless.

And what about if you go out with another person and when you’re out, you see the otha otha person. (Or worse! If you see the person you’re into out with someone??) WHAT THEN?? There are less than zero people interested in me so there’s very little risk of this on a personal level… and YET, this is still a terrifying scenario I imagine on a somewhat regular basis. This is also why I conduct all my personal affairs exclusively in the confines of my apartment… just in case!

When I’m doing whatever it is that is between not dating and not not dating, it’s exciting because I have something to consume my every waking hour for however long it takes for, either, 1. me to repel the other person or 2. the other person to realize the discrepancy in hotness (I only date up now… cuz I like to be treated poorly. :-*) and move on, but there are simply not enough hours in the day to spend obsessing about more than one person.

Luckily, things usually end pretty quickly and I can get right back out there.

have you guys ever seen the commercial for “Plan B One Step” (the morning after pill, if you’re not familiar)?  if not, let me describe it for you: some chick wakes up in this bed next to some dude who’s sleeping. then she goes to get the morning after pill. alone.

ok, so like. this commercial makes NO sense.

let’s start with - and i don’t mean to sound bitchy, but - if you wake up next to someone and they aren’t going with you to get the morning after pill… you/he shouldn’t have slept over. (unless, like… is she sneaking out?? does the sleeping dude want a baby and she’s pulling a fast one?? WTF)

i’m assuming the people over at plan b one step are suggesting this was a one night stand, right?? and maybe i’m not the best person to be saying this since i’ve slept with three people and have never had a one night stand - or had sex with someone casually - but… um. you should leave after you’re done, no? come and go, my friend.

or, worse. is that supposed to be a boyfriend? is it? (IS IT, PLAN B ONE STEP ADVERTISERS?!?!) is that supposed to be her darling boyfriend just innocently sleeping next to her? so exhausted from putting it down sans condom the night before that he can’t bring himself to wake the fuck up?

i don’t even know if one night stand or boyfriend is worse. (or why the group of people in charge of this commercial thought it should involve some sleepy homeboy.) i really don’t. but if it’s supposed to be a boyfriend and this is something that happens in real life and you find yourself in this situation and he’s dead asleep next to you, by the time you get back from duane reade, that relationship better be over.

but, anyway, regardless of who that asshole is:

why the fuck are these people sleeping?!?!

there is no scenario in which having sex and realizing the condom broke (or not using a condom in the first place) should yield CLOSED eyes (unless you’re really really drunk, but then, come on, you’re not waking up and hitting the drug store first thing.)

you won’t find me closing my eyes after i realize a condom broke. i’ll tell you what you will find, though: me. frantically perusing google for 24 hour pharmacies. and then you’ll find me at the duane reade in times square at 4am.

popping a plan-b.

unrelated: i’m not pregnant.

i have two reactions to people telling me i’m pretty or complimentin’ ma looks:

1. telling them their comment is nice but declining. like, declining the compliment. i say “that’s sweet, but no”. like, take that back. here you are, you can have this “you’re pretty” back; put it into your compliment bank. don’t waste that on me.

or, 2. and i prefer this, just saying “ew.” and not like “that’s gross” (but sort of). it’s more like in the way that if you were to decide to drink expired milk after smelling it… the point right after you smell it and right before you decide yes, it’s a go… (that’s the best description i can give.)

but this doesn’t really matter, it’s just a set up for something really inappropriate that i have to put after the link… OK?

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good news for anyone the two of you who have had sex with me in the past year: NOT pregnant.

(yey)

bad news for me: you don’t want to no no…

bad news for me: my period.

bad news for you: you can’t have sex with me anymore. sorry.

NOT.

it’s that time of the month where i get really paranoid that i’m pregnant - even though i haven’t had sex in months - because i don’t know enough about my body or its functions to recognize when my period is supposed to come. also, i’m not on the pill.

so i start freaking out and since there’s no one else to talk to, i tell the housekeeper and without.fail.EVERY.MONTH this bitch tells me how she had her period for three months when she was pregnant with one of her kids. and i’m all:

EWWAITWHATFUCKWHAT?!?! and, it’s been more than three months so i’m not thaaat worried anymore (but imagine me at one, two and three months. dailypanicattacksandforcefulstomachpunching). but, like, if someone can have their period for three months while they are with child who’s to say i’m not currently seven months pregnant??!

i HOPE i’m not. cuz i can’t be popping no babies out of this:

i had a really explicit sex dream about my 60 (or 70?) year old highschool english teacher last week. in highschool my friends and i used to jokingly talk about about him jerking off to chaucer (i say “jokingly” because we knew nothing about sex, not because the chaucer thing was unrealistic; i maintain that he probably does get off to literature.)

so, naturally, in my dream, we got it on in a new york public library (he flew in from england, no big deal. cuzimreallygoodinbedithinkidontknowitsbeensolong) and it was a lot like that library sex scene in atonement, except we didn’t get caught by some creepy tween with a bowl cut and he’s old enough to be my grandfather (minor differences). but it was excellent and somehow we got in without a library card (which really flipped the arousal switch on high because of the immorality, the pure LAWLESSNESS… of not using a library card. not the fact that we were having sex in a public library. no, the library card thing.)

afterwards, we just sat on these beautiful plush chairs and read. books. independently. no talking. perfection. (i dreamed post coital reading, guys. ugh amazing).

i can’t even explain how much of an orgasm i had just thinking about that let alone when i was dreaming about it. it’s maybe the greatest thing that’s happened to me since the last time i interacted with a man more than twenty years older than me (this one time, adam rapp signed a copy of his novel, “to pretty mercedes,” and i’m still trying to will myself to have a sex dream about him/ actually have sex with him).

so, anyway.

this is what i looked like in highschool. LOL

i’m fucking kidding, i looked like this and I WAS A STRAIGHT UP ANGEL:

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