Pictures

Scrolling through tinder, okcupid, skout, lets date, etc etc blah blah...is such a hilarious experience sometimes.

Oh, you're holding a red solo cup? You must be the life of the party.

Oh, you're wearing sunglasses indoors? You look so cool. No, really.

Oh, you're topless on a beach/boat/pool/lake and you also just happen to have washboard abs? Of course you don't look egotistical. That might actually work on some girls.

You're flipping yourself off while taking a selfie in your bathroom mirror? So badass! Also, judging by the floral shower curtain, you could always step out and ask your mother to take your picture for you, so you don't have to capture the toothpaste splatters on the mirror. By the way, Clorox wipes are godsends.

Oh, who's that beautiful hot girl with her arm around your waist? I'm sure she's your sister. Oh look, there's another one in the next picture. And you have 2 girls on both sides of you in your last picture. You must be such a boss. There's no way she's your ex-girlfriend you're trying to replace by being on these hook-up apps. No...

Um, unfortunately all of you pictures are group pictures, and I don't know who you are. So I'm just going to assume you're the ugly one.

Wow, you're surfing! Now your riding a dirt bike! You ran a marathon! Wow, you must be sooooo active. I'm sure you want a physically fit girl who can join you on your steep mountain climbs and bench press as much as you, and any girl who frowns at the idea of exercise must be a complete and utter fat slob to you.

Oh look at the deer you just killed- your hands are still fresh with its blood! Because there's nothing sexier to me than a boy who had to disembowel a deer, and lived with its skinned head hanging on his roof dripping down blood for a week.

Not one picture of your face. I see your dog, your bike/car, you facing away from the camera and your backyard. Once again, I'm gonna assume you're ugly.

All selfies. I'm sure you have lots of friends.




Sarcasm, bitch. Do you speak it?

I have come to realize that I, the girl who used to be the biggest romantic, has become bitter and cynical. That's what loving someone will do to ya, folks. Stay safe, don't date an asshole.

The Misfits

"I don't feel that way about you, Gay."

"Well, don't get discouraged girl. You might."

Bitch, I said I didn't feel that way about you.

--

The first time I saw "The Misfits" I cried.

It was also completely relevant to what I was going through at the time. But a few years later now, I realize that its relevant for almost any girl.

There have been so many instances when I feel like Marilyn's character. When men keep appearing, "falling in love" with her, pawing for her attention when all she is trying to do is "feel something". She's not "asking for it" or even really wanting it at all - but she's used to it. She's so used to it she just lets it happen. She doesn't know how to stop it and in the end her naive, loving and innocent character sees the ugly truth about humanity.

It's not the best movie, but its makes me want to cry. The blatant truth behind the selfishness of men and the trapdoor that is love.

And, of course any movie is going to speak to different people different ways, but I think the forced romantic aspect of this movie is butchered by everyone. This is clearly not a love story.
--

I can't think of any friendships I have had with men, that didn't end with a "I want more" discussion. Or friendships that have been revealed to be fueled by ulterior motives. The guy friends who you find out have only been nice to you because they thought they could get in your pants are the mother-fucking worst.

I'm sorry - I really can't control someone else's emotions. And I also find it uncomfortable I should start every new friendship with a "I will never, ever, ever want to sleep with you" conversation. And lets face it - that is fucking ridiculous that anyone has to have that conversation!!!  Someone else's sexuality is not yours to control.

Also, those conversations are not fool-proof. You can tell someone every-single-fucking-day that you are not interested in them like that, and lo-and-behold 6 months later they'll be confessing their undying love for you. "Dude, I thought we talked about this." 

Someone who is only friends with you to get in your pants, is not a friend. Those are selfish people who only see you as an object. And do we want selfish people in our life? Hell naw.

Even swingers are more sane than the self-proclaimed "friend-zoned". They approach no-string sex with fucking sanity. 
"Hey, Laura and I were wondering if you would be up for a threesome?"
"No, I don't think thats such a great idea."
"Okay then. What toppings do you want on the pizza?"

If anyone reacted to that conversation with a "HOLY SHIT, you don't want to sleep with me? I can no longer be around you!" they got problems.

Let us remember: Women are not magical machines that when you put enough "nice" in, sex comes out. We are not yours to dictate, control or own. And if you can't comprehend that, then you can be on your way.

-CrazyK

And I can walk you right back...

Old friend messaged me on Facebook. Weird, since I don't remember when he removed me from his friends list. Also weird, is the nature of which we know each other. He's an old flame of Blondie's. They never slept together, though, she'll be quick to interject.

We talk randomly throughout the years. I can never tell if he's flirting or not, but I did send him photos of me in my underwear once, just to show him how much weight I had lost. So, hopefully the wires didn't get crossed there.

And you know what prompted this most recent re-connection? While I was in town for Blondie's b-day, he saw my profile on Tinder. (I really need to delete that shit. I never use it. And he's not the only person I know who saw my profile while I was in town.) What a great start.

Well, this gem happened during our talks. I told Blondie about it, and she insisted I post it here.

Me: I'm trying to get my boob job done before I move back out there.

Him: what's wrong with your boobs?

Me: they're ugly and painful. I've wanted a reduction since I was 14 and I'm just going to get it done finally.

Him: oh lol I thought the opposite kind of boob job

Me: oh no. Fuck that.

Him: haha I've never thought they were ugly

Me: I don't think you've seen them in all their glory though

Him: I haven't :(
I would love to though

Me: haha smooth

Him: thanks, you walked me right into it.

Me: and I can walk you right back. I got practice.

- CrazyK

The Big "Oh...no"

Never, ever, tell a guy you faked an orgasm.

It really doesn't end well no matter how you paint it.

I've only faked an orgasm a handful of times in my life. There are very few reasons I would even fake one - and believe it or not they're all good intentions.

1. You realize you're not going to cum that night, but you still want him to feel like a god.
2. You are tired, sore, and want to go to sleep. While also making him feel like a god.
3. You came close, but his knee slipped and he lost the rhythm mid thrust. So you just fake it because you're not sure if you did or not. To make him feel like a god.

The other options are to sigh, roll off, huff and say "it's not happening tonight." Which I've done. Plenty of times. And it's just a bummer, because even if I don't orgasm I still enjoy sex and seeing him enjoy himself. So, in essence, a fake orgasm is really a self-sacrifice for his. I only fake it with guys I like - if I don't like you, I'll let you know how frustrated I am. If I considered it a one night stand, I would waste no time to say what I needed and what I didn't get. But if I liked you, and cared more about your feelings than my satisfaction, I see no qualms with having to pretend a little 'O'.

Sweet, right? So how come guys get so pissy when you tell them you faked one teensy tiny little orgasm a few nights ago?

Because it is lying. They probably went and told all their friends about this awesome sex they had, how much you liked it, and daydreamed about how much of a king they were in the sack. So now they feel like a complete idiot. They should've noticed. How did they even believe it? Your legs squeezed up and everything.

Well, sweetie, I always wanted to be an actress when I grew up.

-CrazyK

I (finally) deleted my Tinder account the other day.

Not before seeing I had an unread message thats been there for god knows how long. It was some baby faced 21 year old with fun and innocent pictures. No shirtless bathroom pics, no waving middle fingers, no red solo cups to be seen anywhere, and no sunglasses. Breath of fresh air.

Then I head to my inbox.

"hey, dtf?"

Delete.



-CrazyK

Emotions

Emotions are funny things. They make us go crazy, they make us act irrationally. They make us completely disregard our self-preservation for that quick "high".

Dating is really fucked up, once you think about it. Why haven't we, as humans, evolved a better way of finding a mate besides just "trial and error"? 99% of relationships end, and no matter what that sorority girl told you, it's almost impossible to end things on a good note. At least one person in the relationship gets hurt. So we put ourselves through these relationships, subconsciously knowing that most likely each one will end in a fiery burning crash.

But for some reason, and I like to blame these pesky "emotions" we're cursed with, we convince ourselves that that wont happen to us - at least not this time. This time its the one. And we get invested and attached. We tell ourselves its love and we plan weddings and babies and future homes together. We hope that this is the one that will not end in a fiery burning crash - because deep down we have to.

Break-ups hurt. We swear we will never put ourselves through that again. We question what he did wrong. We analyze what we could have done different. We find ourselves wishing we could time travel.

In the end, it's better to tell ourselves that if a relationship ends, it just wasn't meant to be. This is probably why people invented religions - its easier to think of everything as one big "plan" by a higher power. It's not always in our control. Even if only one party is at fault, it's better to just let it go than to hold on - its the healthy way. If one person is more attached than the other, it's not smart, considerate or healthy to try holding onto that relationship. So, just let it go.

I've seen relationships come and go in my life. At first you wonder "what's wrong with me?". Then you start to develop a type of wall - make it harder for others to hurt you like that again. Then, when people leave you start showing them the door. I've had so many people leave my life, one more isn't going to break me now. I can now focus on finding the next perfect piece for my puzzle.


Pick your head up princess. Your tiara is falling.

-CrazyK

Bag Me a Good One, Will Ya?

I'm in quarter length yoga pants, a badly fitting tee and flip flops. My face is particularly angry at me today - my new "BB" creme breaks me out horribly every time I put it on, but I'm too broke to afford a new one right now. I've picked and squeezed my face to the point that I look like I'm dying from scurvy. I put on my fake hipster glasses hoping they might detract a little from the google map on my face. I am definitely not looking for attention today.

I ran to the grocery store to grab some fresh mozzarella, Perrier and ice.

"Which size?" the cashier asks.

"Ummm...the good one?"

She chuckles. "We have a 10 lb bag and a 20 lb."

"10 lb it is, then"

Right at that moment a guy comes over to bag my items. He asks me how I'm doing, "Fine, thanks. And you?" like my momma taught me.

I pay, and I see him drop one of my glass Perrier bottles out of the corner of my eye. It lands hard but unharmed, but he's frozen and wide eyed.

"Watch it, buster." I joke.

"Yeah, I don't want that to be what you remember me for."

Was that a... Was that a flirt?

Unlike the clubbing incident, this is flattering and cute. Even when I look like complete shit, I still think someone is flirting with me.

But then - I immediately know it will fail. He's wearing glasses. He might think mine are real. I don't want to have to admit they're fake. Doomed from the start.

- CrazyK

Just Being Honest

 

 Pretty much my entire relationship with guy #4

- CrazyK

My First Clubbing Experience

I'm not that used to getting hit on. It's probably because I don't really leave my house...like, ever. Or if the guys are just more direct and confident in L.A.  Or if it's because, while I'm standing next to Blondie, I seem like "the sure thing" in comparison.

Anyway, in L.A., I've been hit on constantly. I don't exactly know what to do with it all.

At the dance club for Blondie's birthday:

I was standing on top of the couch, dancing with myself and sipping my vodka and cranberry intermittently, happy as a clam. Suddenly a guy hops up with me and we start dancing. I was fine dancing by myself but I'm having fun dancing with a random dude as well. Next thing I know we're making out. It's like halloween - sometimes a girl needs to act a little slutty every once in a while. Blondie's sitting down talking to friends and she sees us. She taps him on the shoulder and gives him the look.

 I love my bestie. But lets move on.

(Blondie: you forgot the best part. I said, "I'm watching you." and he replied "Don't worry. I'm being a good boy!")

 He probably wasn't the hottest guy in the club, and I know Blondie would have rather died than be seen kissing someone who wasn't a complete TEN. After a few mouth attacks I was ready to get away from him, as politely as possible. Because I'm the type of girl who would give you cupcakes just for appearing interested in me. I made an excuse to sit down. He sat down next to me, and we talked over the music for a bit. He had a stutter. Or he was tripping balls, I don't really know.

I wanted to keep dancing by myself, but I knew the second I started that he would invade my face space again. I crawled over the 10 people sitting on the couch to squeeze onto Blondie's lap. Hoping he would disappear into the crowd. He did. And I felt safe to dance again.

Y'all- guys must have a fucking sixth sense for this shit. Because not 30 seconds into my solo, I feel a hand on my waist. Sigh.  Then he leaned in and whispered into my ear "Do you want to get to know each other better?"

I don't even know what that means. I started racking my brain. Hopefully he means go outside and talk about childhood memories, right? Most likely it involved a cocaine covered bathroom and a bad hand job - because lil' 'ol me doesn't carry condoms in her cigarette case. Oh well, whatever the fuck he meant, I didn't want to. I found my out.

"I don't think that's a good idea." I clearly say into his ear. He nodded, and I crawled over the sea of naked legs to Blondie again.

A friend of Blondie's who I met that night wanted to bum a cig off me, so we went outside. She's a beautiful girl, big luscious lips and a banging hourglass body. She's the typical Los Angeles hottie. We're almost done with our cigarettes when two guys come over and start talking to us. Their Australian accents are like tinkling bells to us.

"Oh, Australians, eh? Well, I hail from Ameristralia!"

Yes. I made a fucking reddit reference. They stared at me like deer in headlights (or should it be kangaroo in headlights?). Then I fucking clarified it was a reddit reference. They called me a nerd, and I died a little inside.

We end up talking to them for about 30 minutes. Blondie comes out twice to check on us. "We'll be right in," we keep saying. We hoped the boys would get the hint. We kept saying we were here for a friends birthday. They kept asking us what we were doing the rest of the night. They asked us where we were hanging out inside, we said a private table.

"Well, we have to go back inside." I announce. Blondie's friend grabs my arm and leans in.

"I told them they could come hang out with us." She's just like me - too polite to be blunt.

"Don't worry. Stick close to me, and we'll lose them in the crowd around our table. Maybe the promoters will tell them they can't hang out there, and then we're off the hook."

I lead them in, I hold Blondie's friend's hand behind my back and we waddle like jello on springs through the crowd. It parts for us - the boys, not so much. I smile sweetly to a guy pouring drinks at our table and ask to squeeze by him, and I make sure to brush against him as thanks. Blondie's friend and I stand back up on the wall behind the couch and start dancing.

I pretended like I couldn't see the two Australian boys the rest of the night, but to the honest, we had a perfect vantage point up on the couch. They were now awkwardly dancing alone in the standing crowd. We just kept dancing.

Near the end of the night, I was sitting next to Blondie. A guy I hadn't seen all night comes over and starts making small talk. "You're here for her birthday? How long have you guys known each other? Where are you from?" He even has a weird background story of rival promoters, and how if our promoter saw him he would kick him out. Lovely.

Then he says, "Do you want to be friends on Instagram?" Really? Is this the new phone number? Fucking Instagram??

"I don't have one," I lie. I do have one, but I have that thing locked down tighter than a nun.

"How about Facebook?" he even whips out his phone. I knew I couldn't lie about this one - I mean, who doesn't have a Facebook these days?

I exhale and say rather reluctantly, "I'd rather not." It's true, I have my Facebook locked down as well. I'd rather give someone my number than add them on Facebook - so many details about my life are on my Facebook and I've had a bad history of being cyber-stalked before.


The worst hit-on I saw all night, though, was as we were leaving. Blondie was standing outside the door, Blondie's friend was exiting and I was immediately following . As Blondie's friend crossed the threshold of the door, a guy standing right beside it fucking grabbed her and held her there. I stopped in shock. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but she was just staring at him. I thought she would have enough sass to bluntly remove herself, but she didn't.

I was psyching myself up to get between them, thinking I needed to allow enough time for her to do it herself and not seem rude, and I was also caught off guard. It seemed that she was, too. Suddenly, both Blondie and I rush forward, Blondie grabbing her arm and pulling her and me, yelling "hey, back off, asshole!" while throwing my arm out between them.

A few steps away Blondie says "ok, we have to protect you from the 100 guys hitting on you tonight."

A man standing a few feet away next to a cab says "Make that 101!"



"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I'd rather not."
"Hey, back off, asshole!"


I mean, really? Is that supposed to be attractive? Grabbing in the doorway, friending on Instagram, and bathroom handjobs? What the fuck, dudes?

- CrazyK

The Bends

Here's a good example of how my hopeless romantic mind works.

Recently I was on a flight. I'm a pro-flyer. I never like to talk to the people beside me. Sometimes I have imaginary ones in my head, but my mouth is never brave enough to actually open.

I board the plane late, I'm walking down the aisle, looking for my row. Everyone has those moments, when you see the people coming down the aisle and you hope they're either going to fill in that empty seat next to you or not. Until that seat is filled, everyone is a candidate and your anxiety peaks. I am usually a person you wish would sit next to you; the tiny, mousy cute girl. As I'm glancing between my ticket and the numbers, I catch the eye of a young guy sitting down. He's cute, and has an adorable smile on his face- almost as though life hasn't chewed him up and spat him back out yet. Wouldn't you know it, he's my seat buddy.

"Hi, I'm in the window. Sorry." I swing my backpack over my head into the bin. He, and the man sitting aisle, stand up for me to get in.

The adorable boy asks, "Would you like me to sit in the window seat?"

I glanced down for a barely millisecond and responded, "It really doesn't matter to me." I mumbled it, really, because my ticket was clenched between my teeth.

He does, I sit in the middle and I thank him. I get an overly enthusiastic "No, thank YOU." in return. I smile to myself, humored at his expense. If I had said that, I would be internally chastising myself right about now. I'm imagining his internal monologue.

I do my usual routine, pull out my book, my phone and my journal. I immediately delve into my book, a memoir, and don't look up for another 4.5 hours. Adorable boy next to me spent a lot of time staring out the window. He played a first person shooter game on a tablet for a bit, then stared back out the window.

I kept telling myself I should speak to him. Strike up a conversation - that's what adults do. How often do you sit next to someone mutually attractive on a plane? He probably wants me to say something. Hey, I might even get his number and we could hang out after we land.

But I didn't. I read while he watched the in-flight movie. He laughed out loud. God, that was actually really adorable. I finished my entire book right as the attendants were announcing our descent. I packed it away in my purse and silently waited for us to land.

I leaned back, trying to relieve my back pain. I found myself leaning towards adorable boy and away from middle age man next to me. I braced my weight on my hand, which was clamped around the arm rest. We avoided eye contact.

Then, we hit turbulence. It was pretty jostling, and adorable boys hand shot up and landed on top of mine on the armrest. This was so cliche- just like a goddamn romantic comedy. I'd like to say there was an electric shock when our skin touched. His palm was just clammy. He let go immediately and I chuckled. He was a nervous flyer. How cute.

"Sorry." he muttered.

"That's ok" I said. I moved my hand.

We started actually talking after that. He admitted he was nervous, we talked about recent plane crashes. We lived in the same town. He was in school. He was on his way to San Diego for a surfing competition.

"I know flying is supposed to be safe and everything," he said. "but y'know I still just feel uneasy."

"I get that. I had the same thing happen to me during my SCUBA diving class. I realized I didn't like the idea that I couldn't breathe and be stuck 50 feet under water if something went wrong."

"Oh, I don't SCUBA dive."

"Professional surfer and you don't SCUBA?"

"Naw."

I was having flashes of romantic comedies again. This guy had a personality I didn't know. Just like I had one he didn't - and I found myself wanting to tell him.

"I don't have it right now because I gave it to my fiancé. She just flew to Alaska." He was now talking about his iPod. And fiancé. A fiancé who has a reason to go to Alaska.

Well, there goes my buzz. Alaska is so much cooler than me.

We kept talking. He pulled out his medical marijuana card, commenting on how he was looking forward to "partying" when he got to San Diego. Which, by the way was a connecting flight, so he wasn't even going to leave the airport. Scratch those imaginary lunch date plans.

We bantered while we stood in the mass of people waiting to get off. He asked my name and told me his. His eyes were very pretty.

"Sorry about the hand thing earlier." He gestured to the arm rest.

"No, it's really fine. Funny, actually. I thought that kind of stuff only happened in movies."

"Yeah, I know. I couldn't believe that actually happened." Just the fact that he noticed as well, made my day. Maybe we were star-crossed soul mates.

We disembarked the plane together, and he made small talk up the tunnel as I power walked to the exit. I thought I had lost him through the crowd until I turned around and saw he was right behind me.

"Well, CrazyK, maybe our paths will meet again." And he kinda smirked.

Oh, come on. You weren't supposed to carry on the romantic comedy cliche.

 I smiled, replied with a coy "maybe" waved and headed downstairs. I immediately texted Blondie about him. And his fiancé. She asked me what he looked like. Of course.

"Cute. Kind of like a rough Zac Efron."


That's what it's like. Now I'm not trying to get all fucking "deep" on you and shit, but I am. Just bare with me.

Having a hopeless romantic brain like mine is like SCUBA diving. You're lured in with the promise of international travel, exploration and a really cool hobby. Slowly, you start descending, weighed down by iron baggage, before you even notice. Oh, this is nice, you think. Look, a seahorse. I fucking love seahorses. You see this vast ocean out in front of you, and you day dream about the things you will see, the things you will do. You get way too ahead of yourself.

Suddenly, you realize you're descending too fast. You're at 50 feet and you forgot to level off. And fuck - you forgot your oxygen tank. You were too busy thinking of the things you could do to realize the things you needed to do. Mayday, mayday. Abort. You start scrambling to get to the surface, cursing at yourself along the way. For a second you wonder if its possible to look sexy while drowning.

You get to the top, struggling for breath. You feel sick because you ascended too fast. That was such a stupid mistake. You swear you'll never do that again. And then you're on land, with the knowledge that you're safe now. 


Who the fuck thinks that's fun?


-CrazyK

(edit: Blondie says this post is too sappy. And you know what? It might be. But maybe that's why I'm the friggin' romantic, and shes the commitment-phobe.  Should I add the parts where I had brief thoughts of ravishing him in a hotel room as soon as I landed? Or the dark glimpse of "his fiance doesn't have to know"? I like to blame those thoughts on my year-long dry spell, and am secure in the knowledge that I would have never have done them anyway. And that there were fantasies of cuddling on couches watching movies while he laughed out loud, too. Ergo: my brain is weird. )

My "Date" Shoes

I'm 22. I'm a Scorpio. I like classical music and long walks on the beach.

Wait - no I don't. I fucking hate walking. Especially on a date where I probably wore my high heels. Do you know how annoying walking in heels is, let alone on sand? Fuck that. Warn a sister if you think there will be walking involved. I can wear my Uggs.

I can't count the amount of times I've come home from a date with unbearable blisters on my feet. I don't know if the guy is trying to figure out if I'm physically fit, or is trying to prove that he is. I'm fit, believe me. I've had to walk an hour to work every day in Europe. The difference there was I was wearing my comfy shoes.


Rule #1. Don't roll the windows down because you will mess up her hair. It probably took a lot of tears to look half-way decent. But they seem to teach this one in middle school.

Rule #2: If she's got pretty shoes on her feet, don't suggest a "stroll" around campus or the shopping center. I'd much rather sit my ass down and continue looking pretty. I will go home in a much better mood than I would with blistered feet.

-CrazyK

(edit: I remember Blondie saying in middle school that you weren't a "real" model if you couldn't run in heels. And true, she lives in heels. But look at her feet. I dare you. It's a battlefield.)

Bi-Polar Opposites

Blondie and I couldn't be more different.

She's 5'11, thin as a rail, and has long blonde flowing hair that seems impossible. She's a model. And I don't mean that in that "she's my best friend and I believe the best in her" kind of way. I mean that as a "she's actually a fucking model".

Me? Well, she thinks I have self-esteem issues. Which is probably true, but it's most likely because I have a fucking model for a best friend. Most girls believe that whole "there's an unnatural expectation of beauty" and "that's all photoshop." But I got to look at that unnatural expectation of beauty everyday while I was going through my fat stage. I get to wake up cuddling that non-photoshopped ass some mornings (eat your heart out, boys). There's nothing worse than going to a photo shoot with your 15 year old best friend only to be treated like you don't exist because you had a bad acne break out that week.

I like to call us The Beauty and the Beast, but Blondie usually ends up smacking me across the face. She's suggested getting a shock collar.

But I love her. There's a reason we're best friends. Sometimes even we don't know what the reason is, but it's there.

She's a model with intimacy issues, a sharp sarcastic sense of humor who thinks she's never going to get married. I'm the average girl who was voted "most likely to get married by 24" in high school because I'm such a hopeless romantic. And I've learned that's the most dangerous thing to be in this world.

-CrazyK