always ask ahead of time

        Jessie was my first hook-up after getting out of a rocky, dysfunctional 3-year relationship.  And he was quite possibly the worst rebound to date.  Lets start with the fact that hammered me just casually overlooked the fact that he had a HORRIBLE CURLY BLONDE AFRO.  It was unlike anything I've ever seen.  But for some reason, this didn't stop stupid, horny me from hitting on him.  I spent the evening flirting with him and making him buy me drinks, including one called "The Red-headed Slut," to which I so cunningly replied, "I'm not a red-headed slut, I'm a dirty-blonde one..." Real clever, Katie.  

          Anyway, at some point in the night, we got separated and he ended up leaving.  Naturally, I was disappointed and REALLY wanted to get my first-time-after-the-relationship-time over with.  So I texted him my address saying, "How soon can you get here."  This is where I should tell you that I was home from college on Summer break and living with my parents...drunk me didn't exactly think this one through.  So Jessie and his fucking blonde afro show up in my front yard.  Being as classy as I am, I suggest that we have sex in my backyard.  (I am so, so sorry mom.)  

       Well the clothes start coming off and I find myself face-to-face with my first uncircumcised penis and nearly scream.  I am sorry, but WHY IN GOD'S NAME WOULD ANYONE LEAVE THEIR CHILD UNCIRCUMCISED IT LOOKS LIKE A HOTDOG IN A SLEEPING BAG.  Fucking Jessie was so drunk that he couldn't stay hard and the "sleeping bag" just kept coming back.  I was livid and disgusted.  And had grass in my hair and was starting to notice the blonde afro.  It became clear that nothing was going to happen, aside from being scarred for life, so I kicked him out of my backyard.  Thank you Jessie for being my worst rebound to date.  Since then, drunk me ALWAYS slips in the casual "Soooo, are you circumcised?" question ahead of time.

where are you from?

Last night, a guy came up to me and asked where I was from.  After telling him, he proceeded to say, "WRONG! Your dad's balls!"

I walked away.

tinder

For those of you who don't partake in the new, pathetic phenomenon of Tinder, let me briefly explain it to you.  It is an app that shows a picture of everyone in your area that is also engaging in this creepy social media outlet.  You can scroll through their pictures, choosing to "like" or "dislike" each person.  If you "like" a guy's picture and he "likes" yours back, the app enables you to message each other. 
     Well naturally I downloaded it.  I guess this is where I should tell you that I am absolutely pathetic.  I fall in love with every bearded man that walks by me.  Within minutes of meeting a cute lab-partner, I have already chosen kids' names that go nicely with his last name.  And twice I have accidentally said hello to people on campus that I've never actually met, just stalked on Facebook.  So downloading Tinder is the least of my problems.  I downloaded it over spring break while visiting friends in New York City and began "liking" any Thor-resembling, manly specimen that came across my screen.  I proceeded to message my "matches," quickly realizing that the likelihood of finding my future husband on a juvenile dating app was probably pretty slim.  
      But, low and behold, a few days later on St. Patrick's Day, a gigantic man comes up to me at a bar, introducing himself as Hank and saying he recognizes me from Tinder.  Like WHAT ARE THE CHANCES. In NYC of all places.  Drunk me immediately reads this as fate and is making out with him within about 5 minutes.  But apparently not before I casually ask/scream, "Are you circumcised?  Because I'm dealing with that shit again."  (My friend Marie made sure record as much of my stupidity as possible in her Notes section in her phone...).  And I wonder why I'm still single.
     Anyway, the last thing I remember leaning against a wall watching Hank dance with my friends and proudly telling the two random girls next to me, "Hank and I are engaged.  But I'm worried our kids are going to be freakishly large."  And that's it. 
      But then somehow, here I am,  fully clothed and sock-bun still intact, in Hank's bed at 6:45am the next morning.  I rolled over (on brown sheets, mind you.  Who the fuck buys brown sheets) and stare at this Hercules-but-with-a-huge-nose-like specimen next to me.  We pieced together/he embarrassingly recounted for me, that my phone had apparently died at around 10:30pm and I insisted upon going back to his place to charge it.  The whole time home I alternated between loudly proclaiming, "I'm not sleeping with you," and "I can't BELIEVE there's no McDonald's within walking distance from this bar!"  So we get back to his place, I plugged my phone in, crawled into his bed, and 8 hours later, here we are. 
    I felt a little bad for just passing out in this guy's bed, but I managed to stay classy and stick to my chastity vows of last night (just blow jobs are classy, right?).  Then I got the fuck out of there.  Because this man was literally so big he could have accidentally rolled over in his sleep and  smothered me.  And also because I couldn't stop thinking about eating an everything-bagel.  So Hank, the chivalrous guy that he is, walks me to the door, kisses me goodbye, and ends our romantic rendezvous by saying, "Let me know when you're back in town.  I want to fuck you with a horse-mask on."

Like what is my life...

Screen shotted a few off my conversations the next day on the miserable plane ride home; clearly I surround myself with the classiest of women.  

let the shambles begin

          I am starting this blog after a lot of pressure/encouragement from a couple of my closest friends who have cringed and laughed at my expense multiple times.  Obviously, I have chosen to keep this anonymous because I would really like to get a job one day.  Preferably not one listed under the "personals" section on Craigslist.  And my poor tiny mother would keel over if she even knew I was engaging in pre-marital sex. 

 If for some reason you're reading this and think it's obvious who is writing it, PLEASE contact me and let me know.  I'd rather my younger siblings not know about these things. Especially not about that one time in our backyard....

I have also changed everyone's names, including my own.  So I will now call myself Katie because it is the world's most generic, boring name.  And it's my go-to name that I use to introduce myself to men with horrible teeth. Or those below 6'0.  Or those wearing fedoras.  I will, however, tell you a few things about myself that I believe are important to know before we get to my shamble-y stories.

1.  Despite what it  may seem, my "number" is not something outrageous; I just happen to attract the biggest fucking weirdos.  You're probably thinking "She must sleep around a lot to find all these outrageous guys," but unfortunately, that is not the case.  Like my weirdos to guys I've slept with ratio is practically 1:1.  Sometimes I look at my track-record and think that life has got to be fucking with me.

2.  I am not even close to being absolutely gorgeous.  I have (significantly) smaller than average boobs. And my butt and thighs refuse to fit into anything labeled "small" or "medium."  I have to use an inhaler the three times a year I actually do go to the gym.  And one time I ate two chipotle burritos in one day.  I still have to wear a retainer at night.  I also have that charming flap of skin/fat underneath my arms that makes it impossible to look thin while waving at someone. I'm telling you these things because I HATE really pretty sluts.  And I know you do too.  And I want to be relatable to readers. 

3. And lastly, I must tell you that at least 99% of these encounters involved alcohol.  Don't get me wrong, I am totally owning up to these shameful acts, but I'd like you to know that the likelihood of them occurring had I been sober is NONE.  

Enjoy :)