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Monthly Archives: July 2013

I currently attend a small, New England, liberal arts college. I feel like that sentence kind of sums up a lot about a person. Mostly it means that in high school I thought it’d be a great idea to read a bunch of books and talk about feelings and stuff and now I’ve realized that I hate that but feelings credits don’t transfer well.

That’s mostly a joke. I do like where I go to school. I usually think of my school like my little brother. He’s a piece of shit and he’s annoying and my mom always blames me when he does something stupid, but if you ever try to shit on him, I’ll be pissed.

Anyway, one of the requirements at my school is a lovely class called Fundamentals of Speech Communication, which is pretty much just learn how to fucking not throw up every where when you speak in public because that is embarrassing. Needless to say, I was not the greatest Speech Communications student. I read the book though, which is more than I can say for probably 99% of the people who take that class. Rookie mistake, Dean. No one in college reads the book.

I’m an anxious person, and this was my first class of my college career and I really wanted to do well but also I hate giving speeches. Who likes that stuff? Even Obama is probably like, “not this shit again.” It’s the only reason I’m not fit for politics. That, and also I hate everyone and I get bored pretty easily. I’d start my campaign and then about two weeks into I’d be like, “eh.” No sex scandals in sight though! Another plus of being incredibly anxious around other human beings.

So I was living a nightmare every Tuesday and Thursday at eight in the morning. And the best part about this nightmare was that it just got worse and worse.

One of our assignments that we were told about in the beginning of the semester was to do two “impromptu speeches.” This was mentioned quickly, and off the cuff, like it was no big deal. Then a few weeks later, my professor told us to write down any speech we’d want to give and then put down three main topics or something. We went around the room and we all read our dumb ideas, and then she collected them.

Like I said, going to a small, New England liberal arts college says something about you, and usually what it says is that you’re some bizarre weirdo who’s kind of managed to turn that into something that doesn’t look so gross so you can be that quirky popular kid. Most of these speech topics were normal. Greek Life at small schools. Something about Halloween costumes. Then there were a few other more offbeat things like “Octopi.” And then one of them was fucking insane.

I don’t want to give out any names, but the girl who wrote this was named after a male character from the TV show Friends. I’m not a huge fan of Friends. It’s fine, I have nothing against it, I can see its merits. But me watching Friends is like anyone else watching The Simpsons. They’re all just kind of like “okay yeah adequate cartoon program” and I’m mostly thinking “yeah, adequate TV about people with more than eight fingers and skin that isn’t bright yellow sure.” 

Anyway, this girl, named after a male Friends character, said this very bluntly. She did not beat around the bush. The fact that we did not know previously that we would be sharing these did not phase her, like many a fucking weirdo who have come before her. (I say fucking weirdo like I don’t like these kind of people. I’m definitely one of them, though, so it’s hard balance to strike. Self-loathing and hating everyone who’s just like you.)

And she proceeds to tell the class that if she were about to give a speech, it would be about this girl who was stabbed in the abdomen, then performed oral sex on her boyfriend, and got pregnant.

Everyone in the class is pretty much like, “okaaaaaaaaay sure.”

Then class is over and our professor collects them and we go on our merry way.

Fast forward to next class.

“So you know how we made up those fake speeches?! Yeah now you’re going to pick one randomly and do a speech about it.”

At this point I’m praying for octopi. Please dear god let me get octopi.

So I’m sitting there, and, like I said, public speaking is not what I excel at. I am incredibly anxious, and I’m sitting in the back row imagining all the things that could possibly go wrong until what if that’s the exact spot an alien is going to censor it’s human-exploding laser beam and create the first casualty of some kind of intergalactic space war?? I really don’t want to be exploded in my first semester.

And for some reason my professor’s trying to be all cool and like, “I’m not going to call on names, just come up and volunteer when you want to.”

So I resolve to volunteer never.

One by one, everyone’s going up, picking up their speech topics. There is no justice to this system. The funny kids get boring topics like the Halloween costume one, the other nervous wrecks get things like the history of wheelchairs or other dumb things the funny kids wrote done to be FUNNY. One girl gets her own topic and I’m like you sick BASTARD.

I know in the back of my head that I’m being stupid. That I should just stand up, do my speech, get it over with. But at this point I’m practically fucking shaking and jumping out of a window seems like a more solid option. I would probably get a better grade.

And I keep freaking out until I’m dead last.

And everyone else has gone. So I walk up to the front of the room, and pick up the little piece of paper, and I have completely forgotten about this stabbed abdomen blow job girl that’s has just been waiting to get picked the whole time.

I mean, what do you do at that point?

I cleared my throat, turned to my class, and began my speech with an Attention Grabbing Statement (the first thing on the list of Essentials for an Effective Speech).

“Oral sex.”

And it’s all a blur from there. I believe I ended this groundbreaking work of public speaking genius with something like, “so if you’re going to give a blow job after getting stabbed in the stomach and you’re a woman, consider using a condom. Or spitting. Thank you.”

To this day, I’m still not sure if it was one of my prouder moments or one of my more horrifyingly shameful moments. Also, if anyone was qualified to give a speech about pregnancy and blow jobs, it’s me.

About a week later our professor called all of us up individually to discuss our grades for our impromptu speech.

She gave me a B because “it needed more content.” Apparently I didn’t have enough hard facts about pregnancy via blow job due to stab wound. I can safely say that I still don’t have those facts. Whenever I tell people that this actually happened to me, that I was actually graded on an impromptu speech about this, they ask me if you can actually get pregnant this way.

I still have no idea.

You might want to spit just in case.

Despite the title, this post has nothing to do with MySpace. But I will say that I was on MySpace for a very small portion of my life and it was mostly to talk to my Internet friends who I met in an AIM chatroom for fans of a Harry Potter podcast (Mugglecast, if for some reason you’re wondering which one). It goes without saying they were my only friends. By which I mean they were my only friends on MySpace. But also yeah they were my only friends in real life too.

Side note to that half side note: the people I met online (mostly girls who were a couple years older than me) would Skype a lot and this was back in the old days when Skype was just audio because no one had webcams. That detail is in no way relevant to this story, but anyway once I was Skyping with this girl and we were talking about something I don’t remember, but for some reason she brought up relationships and I was like “No, yeah, I’m single” and we talked a bit and then she just said, “It’s so  awkward when people assume you’re straight.”

And I remember FREEZING because in my head I was like “what the fuck I am totally not gay at all” and I had no reason to believe this girl was anything in terms of sexuality but I had no idea what to say and I just remember being like, “Um, yeah. That would be weird.”

And that’s all I remember. So anyway yeah sometimes people you never meet in real life can see right through the straight facade you don’t even know you’re putting up at age 14.

SERIOUSLY anyway I’m writing this blog post to talk to you all about something that could potentially affect my future very much so please take this seriously (the fact that so many of you have already geared yourself up for something completely ridiculous that has no actual affect (effect? I always fuck this up GUESS WHAT I stopped caring about actual grammar about a year ago go ahead, blame it on Twitter, everyone else does) on my life is I think really reflective of my personality and maybe even possibly my writing style as a whole, if I can even say really that I have a “style” per-say since I’m still quite young and discovering my own place within the writing community as a whole).

I can buy the actual domain name of this website for $18. Would it be worth it? You guys have been reading this blog for so long now (if this is your first one then hey welcome what a doozy you’ve stumbled upon am I right? Check this one out, I was reading it one night at 4 am and I laughed AT  MY FUCKING SELF so you’re sure to enjoy it) is this something you can see yourself reading in a year?

Is this going to propel me into Internet fame? Am I going to look back on this post and laugh?

The thing is, if I invest money into this, I’m going to have to really step up my game.

Everyone says I should post pictures in my blogs to make them more readable. And make the text, like, different an interesting. I just, like, don’t want to do that you guys. Is the no pictures thing really a big deal? Should I add in some of my Instagrams?

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a modern romance

Honestly, this blog gets more views than I have followers on my Instagram account (not that much more let’s not get ahead of ourselves), a fact which I’m proud of and also ashamed of, so I don’t really know if pictures are the way to go here.

Or maybe I need to ask you more questions?? This one fucking post would probably cover me for an entire year. All the blogs about blogging tell me that I should ask questions to get y’all to comment but most of the time I’m like, “yo who I gotta blow to get a comment on my blog.”

(For the record there’s, like, maybe two people on this Earth that I would give a blow job to and both those blow jobs would be terrible.)

Regardless of what anyone tells me, I’m probably just going to go ahead and do it and we’ll see how it goes, y’know? What’s $20? See I say that and then I remember that $20 is two Chipotle burritos for me and then I just get distracted.

Of course I’ll thank all of you on twitter when my blog gets turned into a book and then that book gets turned into a Netflix original series, don’t worry.

I spend most of my time trying to get people to look past my model good looks and getting them to see the hilarious, intelligent, human being that I am. People think that just because I was born with a light dusting of freckles that just naturally highlight my cheekbones that I’m vapid or shallow, and that simply is not true. I’ve seen the Britney Spears documentary now about 4 times, which shows that I deeply care for the innermost thoughts of people, and this was right after I began a re-read of William Faulkner’s The Sound and the Fury which is my favorite novel told in a nonlinear structure that describes the ruins of an old Southern family and the way they are or are not adapting to the changing social structure around them in post-Civil War America. At least I’m planning to start that re-read. I have to write a blog post about myself first.

I just want all of you to know how hard it is for me to write this blog post and publish it for all 20 of you to read. I constantly strive to be seen as more than just a beautiful, gorgeous face with amazing hair and a great body that I do little to no work to maintain.

But I just can’t let this injustice go on any longer. There are parts on this handcrafted by God (I don’t actually believe in God for the record) human being that I am that just don’t get the attention they deserve. Now prepare to behold, all the underrated parts of my body.

1. My ankles

Great ankles aren’t something you can work toward. There are no ankle workouts. There is no couch to amazing ankles app for the iPhone that gives you two weeks free and then forces you to upgrade so you can get the ankles of your dreams. Great ankles are thrust upon those who God (again, I don’t know why I keep bringing God up I’m really not religious at all like I don’t even care about religion and I’m not anti-religion in fact I think organized religion can be a great place to teach children moral lessons that they may not get elsewhere which is not to say that atheists can’t be good parents but of course they can be it’s just what parenting style works for you honestly) thinks can handle that privilege.

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also check out dem veins

I am one of those chosen ones. I seriously love my ankles. Sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse of them and think “damn girl you got some ankles on you” and then realize I’m talking to myself and then I feel attracted to myself, which can be weirdly confusing sometimes but then I just go with it.

I just really wish my ankles would get more attention. Instead of a random guy driving up behind me and hollering at me from his vehicle about my “long sexy legs” (real and recent occurrence also I’M FIVE FEET AND TWO INCHES the only thing long about these legs is how long it takes me to run a mile because I’m really bad at running because my legs are SHORT) someone could tap me on the shoulder and say “hey girl I noticed those ankles in those sneakers you’re wearing” and then I could look deeply into their eyes and say “why thank you I inherited them from my grandmother” and they would run away terrified because that is not how you properly respond to an ankle compliment. How do you properly respond to an ankle compliment? I don’t know because no one has ever complimented my ankles so this is just a mystery that will have to go unsolved.

2. The inside of my bottom lip

Okay yes obviously not many people would really get to understand the beauty of this part of my body because who’s going to look in the inside of my mouth. But who better to ask than a dental hygienist.

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not going to give you a picture because coincidentally the part of my body I’m most self conscious about is my teeth, so here’s a picture of rap game Taylor Swift’s lip

Recently my mom went to get her teeth cleaned to find that our family dentist now does Botox injections. After inquiring, apparently the dental hygienist commented on how plump her daughter’s lips were. When presented with this information, I made a joke about hitting on our dental hygienist, and as a lesbian who kept this secret gay part of herself hidden for quite some time because her mother once said (exact words) “You know, I liked it better when everyone was just in the closet,” the dinner table isn’t exactly the best place to try out my specific brand of lesbian humor. It was not met with the uproar of laughter that it would have it was somewhere else.

But anyway, yeah, even my dentist says I have awesome lips. What has your dentist said about your lips recently, huh? Yeah, nothing. That’s what I thought. Like, if I had to pick a lip expert, it would be a dental hygienist for sure. Who has seen more lips than those people? Very few people I think.

I am a complete package people. So next time your like, “Wow, look at Laura’s beautiful, feminine hands” take a second and realize, you know what, she is just way more than that. She also has great ankles and I bet the inside of her lips are gorgeous.

I’ve run out of synonyms for “perfect” to describe my body, but I can assure you that this segment will be back when I come up with others.

As the quest for Internet celebrity continues, I have found that writing about lesbian sex brings a lot of attention to you. We’ll just add that to the long list of the perks of being gay. Quick shout out to everyone who found this blog through various searches involving the word “cunnilingus.” I genuinely hope you stick around and comment and then I’ll comment back and then we’ll be lifelong friends, because I seriously would love a friendship that evolved through “cunnilingus.” The word, not the action. Although I’d be okay with that as well.

I would love to write more about lesbian sex because I am all about exploiting certain aspects of your life for fame and fortune, but I simply just can’t. Mostly because it’s distinctly missing from my life at the moment due to the fact that my girlfriend lives 200 miles away from me, but also because that person probably doesn’t want our sexual exploits described on the Internet, especially not to make me more famous because she’s a just and modest person. And I’d like to continue our relationship because who else would like my personal tumblr posts? And also because I don’t deal with being single very well. I am not known for exiting gracefully, in any sense of the phrase.

So we’re keeping it under wraps for now so I don’t reveal any more of my dickheadish tendencies and get myself dumped. And I’ve been managing to do this for a while in terms of all of my relationships, and because I am a homebody who is generally terrified of the outside world, I maintain and create pretty much all friendships through the Internet. Those things combined have come together in this short little advice column.

We’ll call it How Not to Be That Guy Online. It’s worth noting that this is (a) a working title, and (b) “guy” in this case is being in a gender neutral sense. We can all be that guy, regardless of gender presentation (tip: trying to control someone’s gender presentation would get you labeled as “that guy.” See how I artfully avoided that? Keep reading for all these tips and more!)

The first and most important word of advice I have for all those secret dickheads like myself out there is this: self-deprecation is key. If you admit to being a dickhead, like I have three or four times in this one blog post alone, no one can make you feel bad for calling you a dickhead! Obviously this is within reason. Like, don’t, you know, be an actual jerk to people who don’t deserve it. I’ll leave it up to your best judgement to muddle through these things, but it goes without saying that you shouldn’t be an Internet bully because that is also called cyberbullying and I saw a made for TV movie that aired on ABC Family about it and it got pretty out of hand by the looks of it.

What I’m saying is that you can get away with a lot more than you think you can. People who actually try to be good people get scrutinized so harshly. Just lower people’s expectations so that you can be a dick most of a time, and then you can tweet something really nice or progressive and everyone will be so impressed with you. Trust me, this works way more than it should.

Now for my next tip, it’s important to remember that Internet Douchebaggery can spread through several social networking platforms. The best way to avoid this is to pretend you don’t give a shit about anything that’s not Twitter, Facebook, or Tumblr. But if you’re anything like me, you fucking love Instagram way more than a human being should. A passion for taking shitty photos and making them look all vintagey cannot and should not be hidden!

But I also realize that there are some things that don’t belong on Instagram. Do with your selfies as you wish, I know that the arrangement of those is a personal decision that is not made lightly. However, I try to make sure that I don’t have more than one selfie per row of three Instagrams. It’s just what works for me. But I’m talking about pictures that you see in your feed and you’re like “…c’mon dude.”

This includes, but is not limited to: funerals, memorial services, candlelight vigils, births, and gratuitous pictures of your lunch when you eat the same thing for lunch every day. How many pictures of sandwiches are you going to post? It’s just getting out of hand.

A good rule of thumb when trying to determine whether or not you’re being That Guy on Instagram, if you would look like an asshat pointing your iPhone at whatever you’re Instagramming, you probably shouldn’t post it on Instagram. Don’t take photos of sad dogs off the ASPCA website and slap Earlybird on top of it! The only thing honest about that is that the sweet sweet puppy would look sadly into your iPhone camera while weeping, “why must you exploit my sadness?”

Other pet peeves: fucking tag your shit with actual real tags of your damn photos. And dont twitpic the same pictures that you Instagram please for the love of god.

We’re going to end this on a positive note, however, because I believe we were all put on this Earth to make everyone’s days shine a little brighter by “liking” their dumb posts on Facebook. This is something I need to work on myself because I am a bitter, jealous dickhead (just weave things like this in naturally) but be obscenely generous with your “likes” and “favorites” and whatever the fuck else we do now. It’s not like you get a limited number of them, and unless you know you get a little twinge of pride when more than 7 people like your new cover photo. Don’t lie to me. Just make everyone feel like their pitiful Internet existence makes you happy and they’ll carry it like a little smile in their pocket. It’s like complimenting someone when they’re blatantly asking for it. Just make them feel a little better and they’ll do the same thing for you. And if they don’t, you get to secretly hate them and “forget” to write happy birthday on their Facebook wall.

Mostly because I like to think of this blog as a curse upon your souls and all good curses come in threes, those are all the tips I have today. But believe me there is way more you can do to make me not be consumed with rage whenever I go on the Internet. That’s always the ultimate goal. To make me happy.

(and remember that last tip when I’m talking about this on my twitter and tumblr and whatever else hahaha just kidding you don’t have to like it I’ll keep being fucking annoying over here regardless of your actions)