You guys, not to brag? But every once in a while I write something I think is pretty okay. And this. Is one of those stories.
Said story also: 1) contains rimjob jokes and non-graphic depictions of me accidentally peeing on myself, so get yo’ maidenly swoony-face on; 2) is being very graciously hosted by The Naked Redhead, who cares not about my blue humor. Sweet.
Go there RIGHT NOW to read my take on Lady Firsts, preggo tests, and the single greatest diet known to womankind. Pay no attention to any words after that link. (Mama’s got a blog quota to fill.)
NTKOG #149: The kind of anachronistic extrovert who holds up her best lorngette to peer into the bottom of an authentic Martinez during a nineteenth century pub crawl.
I am: more of a ’20s girl, to be honest.
I am not: super psyched to get appropriately tipsy with a bunch of strangers, spats or no spats.
The Scene:
Yup. This seems like totally appropriate Saturday-night attire.
The Verdict: Dudes. What could be better than awkwardly mingling with a group of total strangers, telling the same old stories in newly disingenuous ways, so desperate to win people over that you don’t take half a breath to even consider whether they’re worth being won?
Oh, wait. Lots of things? You don’t say.
Screw pub crawls. Anglophile and I ended up cutting out after a few hours to spend a lovely girly night eating pizza and watching Fight Club. Despite the lack of artisan-crafted classic cocktails, it was way more my scene.
{ 12 comments… read them below or add one }
Your diet plan is spot on. I did a similar thing with my appearance. The question that I posed to my self was, “Do I look like I own this house or am I just the gardener?” The twofold answer was that I always looked like I was the gardener and that I always didn’t give a F*ck. Yeah, I have issues.
It’s better to look like the gardener! Then visitors will see you milling about the estate, assume you are hired help, and confess their dastardly secret vendettas against the owner! Oh ho ho and then who shall have the last laugh!
…or…or something more remotely plausible.
I like it! Thanks for making me laugh
Well done! I love the humor in what is normally a petrifying rite of passage for all girls. I had my fair share of scares in college despite being almost overly cautious. But what would life be without a good pregnancy scare to put things into perspective?
So, recently was talking to a guy, he says, if we were to ever, you I would expect you to take care of the birth control issue, I said, oh, that’s no problem at all and hung up. Wicked Shawn says “Sign numero uno of douchebaggery! Is it not enough that I would be the one in charge of panic and peeing on hand???
Loved the post!!!
Ugh, grody! As I like to imagine TKOMom used to tell me: “It’s not the guy’s responsibility. It’s not the girl’s responsibility. It’s your responsibility!” How friggin’ hard is it for everyone to come prepared?
You don’t go for retro social outings? That’s rather a shame; it sounded rather fun, although would probably be more fun if you actually knew some of the people there – the whole going on a pub crawl with strangers thing is a tad odd.
But if you didn’t like 19th century pub crawls, maybe try a mad hatter’s tea party? Mine worked rather well…
I have no problem with retro social outings — you’re talking to a girl who hosts one or two ’20s-themed parties a year! I’m just not much one for hanging out with strangers in contrived circumstances.
You hold 20s themed parties? I am officially impressed! What do these parties entail? Flapper dancing? Lots of hats? And I’m with you on the contrived thing. I really don’t like contrived.
Chapeaux a-plenty, sir! And since they tend to be murder mystery parties, lots of arch repartee, era-appropriate classic cocktails and the occasional Charleston. I’ve got to say, I’ve probably made more smalltalk about the Prohibition than anyone I’ve ever met…
You are hilariously and wonderfully insane!
We usually host various grilled meat parties or food parties. Our last party was Ahnoldpalooza where we ate copious amounts of meat and watched Arnold Schwartzenegger movies. I guess that’s what happens when you hang out with a bunch of dudes.
I brought strawberry cupcakes. They were pink. :)