Any questions? Good, glad I cleared that up. Moving on.
The sport of ghosting. Somewhat old news now but I promised you guys I’d explain it to you so here you go. Last week on the Jay Leno Show, there was a comedy skit involving two comedians from Australia. They decided to film themselves in the act of ghosting on the streets of L.A. Basically, ghosting consists of at least two people with timers. One person will be on the sidewalk or on a bench, acting nonchalant and trying to stay invisible. The other person will be out of view and further away with the timer. Then, when the person on the street spots someone that looks like an ideal target, he or she will quickly run (or walk) behind the target as close as possible and for as long as possible until the person notices. The player that can stay behind someone the longest wins. Sounds dumb, but it’s fucking hilarious. One of the guys got punched in the face by someone they were following. Again, how could that be awesome? It just is.
No, I didn’t get to try it this weekend mainly because I was completely shitfaced at all times and feared that my friends and I would go from high-fives of awesomeness to low-fives of “shit I hope this doesn’t end up on my record and more importantly that we’re not ass-raped in jail tonight.” Public intoxication in a college town is the easiest way to get 40+ hours of community service. Fuck that. Though I do promise to attempt this and take video on a sober night so look forward to that shit (if you have no life whatsoever).
Again, moving on.
Ex girlfriends. They have a bad habit of popping up in the most unexpected ways.
I was going through my old email account last night in search of stories and papers I had written in undergrad. You see, my old computer’s usb drives broke a long time ago, so for a few years in college I had to email all my papers back and forth between school and home. Two years later and I’m finally trying to put a portfolio together and believe it or not, I wrote some gems back in the day and I want them in that portfolio. Anyways, as I’m searching through my past, I come across a literal shit-ton of pictures that my ex sent me in 2007. On the surface, this isn’t really a bad thing. It’s like taking a trip through time to a completely different life that you’ve somehow forgotten. While not being nostalgic, it’s a good reminder of the shit that you’ve been through and the ups and downs of life. However, it’s totally not a good thing when your current girlfriend is sitting right next to you. Now, I know what you’re all thinking: why the fuck did you open that shit in front of her!? Are you fucking insane!? The short answer to that would be yes, I am fucking insane, but that blog is for a later time. The long answer goes like this:
Girlfriend: What are those pictures in your email?
Now, I know exactly what they are and who they’re from, so I do what any good boyfriend would do in this situation: lie through my teeth.
Me: Those? I have no clue. Probably spam or something. No big deal.
Girlfriend: No, they came from somebody’s cell phone. See? That’s the person’s number.
Me: Really? Wow, those damn spammers are getting more innovative every day, eh?
I don’t know if you girls have some sort of sixth sense that allows you to see directly into every male’s soul and his deepest darkest secrets at your feminine will, but it sure as fuck seems like it since I can’t even cover up the times I masturbate when she’s in another fucking state thanks to her photographic memory.
Girlfriend: Is that a jizz stain on the bed sheet? Is that a fucking jizz stain on my bed sheet!?
Me: What the fuck, no! That’s like sweat or maybe something from your vagina.
Girlfriend: That better not be from a vagina cause it sure as hell isn’t from mine. No, that’s a fucking jizz stain you little shit! Were you jerking it while I was gone!?
Seriously, it’s like I’m living in a bad episode of Psych, except Shawn and Gus have been replaced by a psychotic bitch who remembers every stain on the bed and how much jizz I produce on a normal day in order to curb my masturbation (TRUE STORY).
Just kidding babe, I love you. Please don’t tear my balls off. Thanks.
Girlfriend: So whose pictures are those?
At this point I know the gig is up. She somehow fucking guessed this shit before she even asked the first question. I suppose that’s what gets me. If you already fucking knew, why play coy? You’re just wasting my time and yours so get to the screaming already so I can get back to daydreaming about me in the middle of an Avril Lavigne and Milla Jovavich sandwich.
Ah, insta-boner.
After more lengthy dialogue involving my crafty lies and her sixth sense continually killing said lies faster than a toon dropped into a vat of dip, I finally capitulated and told her the truth. I then said that I didn’t want to look at the pictures and to drop the whole affair. Of course, that would have been the ideal way that this situation would have played out. She would have gone back to doing her school work and I would have kept looking for my old papers.
Instead, she wanted to see the pictures herself.
I already knew what would happen if I let her: she’d get angry (though she’d try not to show it) and jealous (though she’d completely deny it) and insecure (though she’d deny that too). But I also already knew what would happen if I didn’t let her see the pictures: she’d get angry (just at me) and jealous (that I’d be “protecting” my ex) and insecure (that “I couldn’t even look at pictures of an ex girlfriend. Dare say what would happen if I ever saw her in real life!?” Yeah, I’ll tell you what would happen, NOTHING). Though honestly I can’t get mad at my girlfriend simply because all girls are semi-retarded in the whole “ex” thing and if I were to lose my temper I’d just be lowering myself to the level of the vagina.
A prime example of lowering oneself to the level of the vagina.
In the end, she saw the pictures, showed all seven signs that she might be possessed by a Satanic demon (foaming at the mouth, speaking in tongues, head rotating a full 360 degrees, begging for anal, etc.), then got all dolled-up to go to class (extra make-up, tight pants, skanky top, crotch-less panties, etc).
Sometimes you just can’t win.
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