I slept with a gynecologist and all I got was... well... nothing.

I think everyone would agree that if any men really know how the female body works, it's the gynecologists. You know, they spend most of the time down there, doing whatever it is they do, touching things... (In fact I find it hard to believe that they aren't bored when they actually have sex - they know all there is to know.) They should know, right? Well, what a foolish mistake.

A couple of weeks ago I was sitting in my favourite pub with my friends and we got to talking with three guys. One of them liked cycling and thought that British short story writers of the 20th century include Geoffrey Chaucer. Then there was an anesthesiologist who was absolutely certain that he was the hottest guy at the table, in the pub, in the whole world... you know... everywhere. And then... there was a third guy. He was kind of fun to talk to. He wasn't too handsome or anything, just a normal guy. But he was nice. And he said he was a gynecologist. So we talked about vaginas and uteri and breast cancer and you know, casual stuff that you normally talk about with a guy you just met. So at the end of the evening I was pretty drunk and I gave him my number. No, actually, I kind of forced him to take my number, which made me feel really embarrassed the next morning when I remembered it.

So, yeah, he texted me a couple of days later and we met in the same pub and we talked and laughed and it was nice. And then it was time to go home, so he walked me to the bus stop and then he asked me if I wanted to go to his place to see Django Unchained, which we talked about earlier. And there, just there, my brain malfunctioned and for some reason, which I can't remember now and couldn't remember 5 minutes after he asked me, I said yeah, why not.

And we went. He lives in this really quiet part of town and while we were walking there I kept thinking "you don't know this guy, he's gonna kill you somewhere and no one will ever know", but for the same insane reason that I agreed to go, I kept walking. We finally got to his house, which was very nice by the way, and he hadn't killed me, and we talked a little bit and then he told me he didn't even have Django, he'd have to download it. (I don't know why I expected to see the movie, really. I must have woken up my old naivety back at the bus stop.) And then he kissed me.

And right there I knew this wouldn't work. Have you seen the Sex and the City episode where Charlotte is dating that bad kisser guy? Well, think of something like that. His tongue kept kind of wobbling in my mouth and it was horrible, just horrible, please stop. (If he'd been doing the same thing somewhere else on my body, it could have been pretty nice, if you know what I mean.) So the clever thing would have been to get the hell out of there, right? Get out, you say, go home, get some sleep? Yes. Yes yes yes.

BUT. I didn't know where I was. How I got there. How to get back. So I just let him keep on kissing me, while I was trying to figure out what I was going to do. And I couldn't think of anything. So while he was licking my chin or whatever (I don't know, I kind of  blanked the awful kissing part out), I decided I'd stay because:
a) it was cold outside
b) I was getting tired and if I stayed I would get to sleep earlier
c) I didn't know how to get home

AND THESE ARE THE ONLY REASONS I SLEPT WITH THE GUY.

The sex was bad. B-A-D. You'd think a gynecologist would know. Nope, not the case. He knew where everything was, yeah. But he didn't know what to do with it. At all. And the horrible thing was that he seemed to be really into it. And I was so, so bored. (Orgasm? Hahahaha no.) So we had sex, fell asleep, I got the hell out of there the next morning, and we haven't contacted each other ever since.

...

So, there are a few things that concern me.

1 - How come that there are still guys who don't know how to kiss??
2 - Do girls still fall for cheesy lines like "let's go watch a movie"?? Or was that just drunk, stupid me?
3 - If gynecologists don't know how to make a girl happy in bed, how are the regular men supposed to know??

And, the most important one...

4 - AM I A SLUT???

Yes. The answer is yes, probably.

Beat that!

Another WTF experience. I don't know how I do this. It must be me, I must give off some kind of a weird perverts-come-talk-to-me vibe, otherwise I really don't know. If other people have similar experience with the world, something is really fucked up.

So, here's the story. A friend of mine and I are standing in front of a pub. It's the middle of a wine-tasting party, so everyone inside is fairly drunk. So we're standing outside, smoking, when some (completely pissed, to be fair) guy comes to us. He starts laughing and singing and pretty much acting really drunk. And then he starts asking questions.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" he asks.
"No," my friend says.
"So is this your girlfriend?" the drunk guy asks, having perfectly understood the concept of "no".
"No," my friend repeats.

And then something incredible happens. Something really what-the-fuck-ish. Something which makes us both freeze and look at each other in total amazement.

The drunk guy answers.
"Ah, OK. Are we gonna beat her up?"

So we just look at each other, wondering if we really heard it right. We did. And then we leave, while my friend contemplates punching the idiot in the face.

...

So, yeah. Apparently I look like someone who should be hit in the face regularly. Which is nice, considering that I'm a girl and all that.

Another friend had a theory that it was some kind of local slang for gangbang. Not sure which version would be more disturbing.

I just have one question, Universe. WHY ME???

Anti-bad decision cheese

Recently, I've thought a lot about how people need an anti-bad decision button in their brain. You know, a button which you'd press when you'd be thinking "hey, this kinda looks like a bad decision, but fuck it, let's do it anyway". And then the button would insert thoughts about the next morning into your brain. Or it would make your head really hurt. Or something.

But tonight I've had an epiphany. We don't need buttons. All we need is a good anti-bad decision cheese.

Anti-bad decision cheese is a really smelly one. Preferably pickled brie with onions and everything. The idea is this: You go to a pub. You have a few drinks (I guess that goes without saying, really). You order pickled cheese. You eat it. Then, you have really bad breath, obviously. And here comes the genius part - NOBODY WILL KISS YOU IF YOU HAVE BAD BREATH! Ha! Aha!

You can go home without feeling ashamed of what you did, you can go home without having kissed the ugliest guy in the pub because he was just kind of there and no cute guys were around, you can go home knowing that you haven't slept with your ex-boyfriend, who happened to be in the same pub as you... You can go home without having made a bad decision.

And the best part is - a guy who'd be a good decision will kiss you anyway, no matter how bad your breath is. (OK, this may be a bit naive, but anyway.)

So, yeah. Anti-bad decision cheese. Spread the word. One day I'll be famous for inventing this.

...

Garlic should work too, I suppose.

Pee in tea

In the past few months I've learned quite a lot about the twisted ways of the Universe. Either someone up there is making fun of me or the world really is a very, very dangerous place. Dangerous to your sanity, that is. So let me tell you a little story of how I first came to thinking that there must be something wrong with... well... everything.

A few months ago, I felt like I needed to go out with someone. Just to have a little fling, you know, nothing serious. Just to have someone to look forward to. Someone to text to at 4 am when you're drunk. And then wait for their reply with that nice nervousity that we all know, you know, the butterflies in your stomach, blahblahblah.

So a friend of mine (whom I dated briefly like five years ago) sets me up on a date with his friend. You'll like him, he says. He's really clever, he says. He's started going to the gym and he looks amazing, he says. So I say yeah. Let's do this.

First, I see him in a group of people. We talk a little, we have quite a good time. He's not exactly what I had in mind but eh, whatever. He's nice enough. He takes my number and my Facebook name and after a few days he sends me a message, asking me for a date. Quite an original and funny one, too, so I get excited and start to really look forward to it.

He takes me to an abandoned arboretum in the middle of the city (I had no idea we had something like that here) and apart from the fact that it's freezing, we have a really nice time. We walk, look at the trees and the stars and it's all very romantic. I talk a little, he talks a lot, I listen, he talks, we walk, I start getting cold and then we finally get out of the really romantic fucking arboretum and we go to a tearoom. (Yeah, he's that kind of guy. The minute he said "tearoom" I died a little inside. They don't serve wine, those bastards.)

In the tearoom, he talks some more. And one of the things he says is particularly interesting. He just casually drops it into conversation, just as if he was telling me what kind of tea he prefers. The thing he says is this: "I like to go to bus stops and start peeing in front of people. It's fun."

So I start laughing, partly because I hope he's kidding and partly because I can't wait to tell my friends about it. Turns out, he's not kidding. He also has a friend who likes to strip down, call the police and then make a pee circle around him and tell the policemen they can't cross it because of his religious beliefs. (They're both university students. "My guy" studies psychology. Pee circle guy is going to be a lawyer.) So then I say I have to go. He doesn't even pay for my fucking tea. I guess I should be glad he didn't pee in it.

I kind of think that the guy that set this up wanted some kind of revenge. I don't know. But since that day I've been on the watch. The world is full of dangerous, dangerous people. Trust me.

Yeah... OK. This is... uhm. WHAT???

Apparently, Facebook perverts really ARE everywhere. I just didn't know I'd meet two of them in two days.

Actually this didn't happen to me. It happened to a very good friend of mine. Today. One day after my experience from yesterday. There's something seriously wrong with the world. Or men. Not sure which.

So a schoolmate of ours (whom I really don't know that well) writes to my friend on Facebook. His opening line is one of those really charming ones. One of those that after reading it, you start thinking about the guy in a way you never thought about him before. One of those really, really romantic ones.

"Do you want me to send you a photo of my penis?"

She doesn't know what to reply for a while. No surprise there. I would have been equally shocked. So then she goes:

"Isn't it too early for that kind of stuff? And anyway, what's in it for you?"

"I guess I just like doing stuff like that for some reason."

"Why would you want to send it to me??"

"Because I love you, you know."

"Send me some flowers then."

He doesn't send her flowers. Instead, he actually sends her a picture of his penis. Erect and everything. You know. Sexy.

Then he asks her: "What now?" She says she doesn't know. 

And then we contemplate suicide. 

...

Someone please tell me that this is just a horrible coincidence. I don't want to get penis slapped on the street tomorrow.

Facebook perverts... They're everywhere!

A normal Monday afternoon. Trying to write an essay for my Women in Fiction class. I go on Facebook, procrastinate a little bit, clean the entire flat, you know how it works.

Then my Facebook tells me I have a new message. It's from this guy that I ran into last week, hadn't seen him for like three years before that, we said hi, talked a little, he told me how he's living with his girlfriend and we parted ways thinking "yeah, nice to see him/her".

So he sends me a message. The conversation goes like this:

He: "Hi. Let's write dirty stuff to each other :D"
Me: ":D :D i can't, i'm writing an essay."
He: "if i didn't have a girlfriend i'd tell you i'd fuck you when you finish writing haha"
Me: ":D yeah well what can you do :D"
He: "OK, i'm gonna go watch porn or something"
Me: "yeah, ok, sounds like a good plan :D"
He: "you want me to send you something? :D"
Me: ":D not really, no, I prefer to choose my porn myself :D"
He: *sends me a link to a porn video*
Me: "ok, yeah, that's nice :D i'm gonna go write the essay now :D"
He: "skype?"
Me: "no, i really don't have time plus my webcam doesn't work anyway"
He: "that's ok, you can just watch what i'll be doing and then you can... relax... and finish your essay. what's your skype nick?"
Me: *i tell him my Skype nick* but i really don't think this is a good idea :D"

He calls me on Skype. The webcam is pointed at his crotch. He starts doing stuff. I burst out laughing and tell him that I REALLY don't want to do this. I ask him what his girlfriend would say. He says I'm too much of a moralist. I say bye and hang up.

SERIOUSLY?

What the fuck is wrong with the Universe? I guess it's trying to send me a message. "STOP SLEEPING WITH PEOPLE! THE PERVERTS HAVE YOU ON THEIR LIST NOW!" Well, thank you, Universe. You've made your point.

I'm gonna go kill myself now.

Quelle naïveté...

Right. So. I'm a classic naive idiot. I thought I'd met someone I could actually be happy with. Hahahaha.

He's clever. And funny. And cute. And he has a great taste in music. And movies. And books. And he likes to go to the cinema on his own because this way he can enjoy the film more. Which is something I do too. And he smells nice. And he drinks too much but hey, who am I to judge, I can't remember when was the last time I went to bed sober. And he's a horrible dancer but he loves dancing and he always looks so happy. And he prefers the Syd Barrett era Pink Floyd. And he has actually SEEN Harold and Maude. And he makes you a nice breakfast and tea and everything. Oh, and he works with little children.

So, yeah, basically, I was half in love with him already.

Then he made a move on my best friend (who's just moved in with her boyfriend of two years).