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???

Once upon a time, penis

If you've read the two unlikely penis encounters that have appeared on this blog (so far) and have thought to yourself, oh wow, now that's...umm..something... belive you me, the events I am about to reveal will make the other two look like an afternoon tea with aunt Edna.

It was October, two years ago. I was going home from a friend's birthday party, headphones on, big thought bubble above my head, thinking about the meaning of life, that kind of thing.
When suddenly a guy approached me from behind. I moved to the side a little cause I thought he was just overtaking but he turned to me and stopped. That surprised and freaked me out a bit (boy, I had no idea what was coming) so I stopped too, took the headphones out of my ears, turned my head....
And there he was.
A dude.
With sneakers and socks on.
There's nothing else I can say about his outfit.
Yeah.
That's right.
Socks and sneakers...
And a willy.
Dangling like a drop earring.

I didn't want to devote that much time to the fact that he was wearing socks and shoes, I know that that shouldn't have been my biggest concern - apart from that, he was completely naked and probably ready to do unspeakable things to me with his dingdong, but I just couldn't help it! A naked dude in the streets kept his shoes on just in case his feet might get cold.
I mean it was getting a bit chilly that time of year....I could tell just from looking at his..I mean...him.

What happened afterwards could be easily called an awkward silence. I guess you undestand why I wasn't feeling very talkative, don't you..
"Good evening miss," the naked dude said politely, finally breaking the silence.
"Umm.. good evening," said confused Carrot while trying to figure out whether this bizarre scene was real or just a product of her own imagination.
"May I lick your pussy? I will pay you," he said.
"I.. um.. no, thank you," she answered.
"Oh, ok then," he said and maintaining his good manners, he concluded the conversation with "good bye", turned around and walked away leaving her speechless and rooted to the ground........

WHY THE FUCK DID I SAY THANK YOU?!

I spent the rest of the walk home stopping every 5 seconds, turning around and muttering "what the fuck?!" under my breath.
And I am pretty sure that THAT was the very moment that caused a great disturbance in the space continuum and has been attracting all sorts of perverts on me and my friends ever since.
Because once a guy in his birthday suit offers you money for sinking his head in your crotch, there's no way out.

I wonder what will happen next.
I just hope it's not a penis slap...

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.

Lazin.....I mean procrastination

I'm pretty sure this happens to everyone. That thing called postponing or procrastination (which is just a fancy word for laziness, if you ask me).

The motivation websites all say: you have to take control, seize the day, believe in yourself, release your potential, stick to the good values and do what you're supposed to do! Because YOU CAN!

But that's easier said than done.

Of course.

If it wasn't, I'd be concentrating on the roots of Japanese Buddhism right now, not writing down thoughts on procrastinating which is in fact itself procrastinating.

(Yo dawg, I heard you like procrastination so I put procrastination in procrastination, so you can procrastinate while you procrastinate!)

That damn thing is everywhere! It's under the blankets, behind your door, peeping through your window and waiting for your eyes to wander off the notes to that little black spot on the ceiling that's been bugging you for months. It's running up and down the aisles between bookcases in libraries, yelling political statements and making sure not a single person in the immediate vicinity will be able to focus on more than 5 minutes. It's hiding under that browser icon, luring you with sweet dirty words like "facebook" or "pinterest". It's right behind me, I can feel it's chocolate breath. It's whispering into my ears: "So.... you heard that Jupiter's radiation belts are the largest structure in the Solar System? Or that the winds in the atmosphere of Neptune reach speeds over 1000 miles per hour?"

Have you ever noticed how interesting the world around you gets when you're supposed to be doing something completely different? Did you know that Jupiter is the fastest rotating planet in the Solar System and that a day on Jupiter only has 10 hours?

The sad thing is that this magic charm only lasts as long as it's just a way to escape your real responsibilities. And I am aaaaaaaaabsolutely, 100% positive that if I studied astronomy and had to learn data on planets of the Solar System, I'd be now reading an article on the origin of Buddhism in Japan.

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.