May 2003 Archives

The other day my buddy Kathleen and I were in the checkout line at some ghetto store. The man in front of us turned around and started at us for a while. "Hi," he said. Now, I'm generally not very friendly. Especially when strange men talk to me. But since the man was obviously "special," I said hello. He then asked if we were mother and daughter. Now please, let me remind you, that Kathleen and I are a mere 3 years apart. Granted, she looks like an 11-year-old, and I generally look like a 45-year-old Tijuana hooker, but I was offended nonetheless.

I said yes, I was her mother. Kathleen immediately went into sullen teen mode to back my story, and started kicking her own feet and staring petulantly at the floor to help convey the ennui and alienation she was now feeling as my daughter. He told us that he could have almost mistaken us for sisters, because I looked pretty young. "Well, I was a young mother," I said. He nodded, and then his eyes rolled back to their original walleyed postion and he went back to drooling on himself. He then purchased his used copies of "Guns and Ammo" and other assorted camping magazines and then darted--if a 300 pound man can dart--with the magazines, into the bathroom from which he did not emerge.

Kathleen and I giggled hysterically and finally made it back to the car where we had a supply of wet-naps to wipe the impurities of the day off our hands.

Later that day we checked our grades online. We had taken two classes together, and I was dismayed to see that Kathleen had gotten an A in our British lit class while I had received an A-. Of course this sent me into a frenzied spiral of self-loathing and bitter rage, until I received an email the next morning from the professor telling me that she had made a mistake with the grades and that I had earned an A as well. Yes folks, another semester with a 4.0. Let's hear it for your little cupcake! My hysterical perfectionism that will surely one day result in the taking of my own life has paid off once again. Go me!

In related news, when I told my parents about my grades, my father said to me, "You know Lina, if you hadn't have gotten straight A's we wouldn't love you anymore. And you're adopted." I shit you not. That was my father's reaction to my stellar GPA.

I'm still looking for work. I'd really rather not work, because I'm like a delicate hothouse flower who is doomed, to when confronted with a situation where I have to behave in a socially acceptable manner, to often finding myself at a loss and starting to wilt. I was obviously meant to be born independently wealthy but god--who is, mind you, a vengeful one--spited me yet again.

1. If there are only two guys left on American Idol how the hell can the finale last three nights?
That's a great question, one that I wondered myself. More to the point, how can anything think Clay Aiken is either cute or straight? How can a man who sings ballads regularly live with himself?

2. When's it okay for a straight guy to have sex with another guy?
When one of those guys is my boyfriend.
The other night I made dinner for one of my male friends and he was rather impressed with my culinary skills. He said in wonder, "You are going to be one of those wives that has dinner ready on the table when your husband gets home from work, won't you?" And I replied, "Well yes, except he won't be coming from work, he will be coming home from the gay bar where he's been cheating on me all day." That shut him up right away.

3. Why is it in the movies whenever two women are left alone one of them is always tense and they end up having sex with each other?
Obviously whoever wrote this question has never been a woman alone in a room with another woman. That's just how things are, in the movies and in real life. In fact, I basically can't be left alone in a room with anyone, be it man, woman or child without something terrible happening.

4. What's your favorite word? Why?
I have many favorite words, and they change all the time. Hump is one that has been around for a while because it is just so incredibly foul. I also like heinous, dude, vile, rad, and perhaps. Oh, and pudendum.

Clearly, I was slightly confused by this missive. I hopped on over to the Babel Fish Translation Device and learned that I had just run across my new boyfriend.

crldabaliknjwfkr: i hump u good time for because you leg are wetting
crldabaliknjwfkr: horny like lobster
crldabaliknjwfkr: you are see?
crldabaliknjwfkr: I would like to set a sausage into its donkey
crldabaliknjwfkr: !
crldabaliknjwfkr: I her nut/mother, who I would help them to get into the goat explained it remember?
crldabaliknjwfkr: HUMP YOU, I
crldabaliknjwfkr: I would enjoy to set a piece corn into their drilling
crldabaliknjwfkr: do you remember me?
crldabaliknjwfkr: http://www.nb.no/assets/images/Roger_Arnhoff.jpg

What I appreciate most about the internet is the chance to participate in the global community and interact with a diverse group of mortals from other cultures. That and getting a piece of corn set into my drilling by a totally hot guy.

I got a number of complaints about my recent posting of a dick pic without warning, so the above fansign is my way of apologizing. Well, not my way, exactly, because that sweet ass is not my own. In fact, my own is nearly triple the size. But really, that's not the point. The point is I am posting a hot ass up here and you'd better appreciate it. Show your love in the comments, people.

My parents took me out to dinner the other day to reward me for finishing the semester without slitting my wrists. We were fistfighting for the the appetizers when my mom said, "Oh! Lina, did I tell you that--"
My dad interjects, "that you're adopted!"
He then giggled until his melon started to sport a slightly purple hue, which is soo not in this season.

Tonight I was on the phone with my mommy and she was telling me some story about someone and she said, "She's adopted, you know." My dad is listening in the background and shouts towards the phone, "You meant she say she's adopted too." So this week I've been mainly cleaning the house, looking for work and having my patrimony, or more precisly my entire genetic make-up denied. Not that my genetics have panned out thus far--in fact they have resulted in a number of things that only radical cosmetic surgery can fix--but hope springs eternal.

I've been a bad friend lately. Unintentionally, of course. You know when you think hiring strippers is a good idea, and then later you realize that maybe it was not such a good idea? Yeah, that happened again. I'm an ass. I was in Trader Joe's buying cheese and strawberries, and we were on the phone with the strippers while we were going through the checkout. I paid for my items, and requested $20 cash back. The checker sneered at me and said, "Would you like that in singles, ma'am?"

I blushed furiously and slunk out of the store. Later, as the stripper was doing his thing, he suggested that he bring out his friend--who was waiting in the other room for him to finish so they could go out clubbing--to dance for us as well. We cheered, and he said, "Well maybe I can pull another guy out of my ass!" One of our gay male friends snidely said, "I've done that before." As things heated up, one of strippers pretended to put his hand nearly on my friend's crotch. He said, "I think I feel something hot!" A flaming homosexual in attendance (a different one) uttered dryly, "That's chlamydia."

In other, less shameful news, Fran and I were talking the other day about the cutest bikini that she saw. It's pink with cherries on it, and she was contemplating getting it for me. And herself, of course. I love things with cherries on them, but I had to admit that there was a chance only slim-to-none that I would ever wear a bikini. I'm pretty Amish in that department, and like to keep my gorgeous body covered at all times. Fran made the astute observation, "Lina, girls way fatter than us wear bikinis all the time." Somehow it's not translating very well for the web, but I will tell you, at the time it was freaking funny. I love that girl.

So I'm looking for a job for the summer. I've only put in one application sp far, but I'm working on it. I'm hoping to not get an office job again this year, because they suck the lifeblood out of me. I'm excited about summer though. If anyone wants to help me celebrate the end of the semester, remember the tube sock pix and of course it wouldn't be a weblog without the wishlist link, to which I've added a plethora of DVDs that I desperately need to make it through my summer.

So in this "Teen Q&A" the first totally bogus thing that this guy says is "the baseball analogy is a pretty immature way to talk about some very mature stuff and aren't you better than that?"

I'd like to take a moment to answer that rhetorical question and say "FUCK NO FUCK NO FUCK NO FUCK NO."

Last weekend I went to a cocktail party with the other Lina. (Who I will post flattering pictures of very soon, I promise) Much talk of the bases went on. First, I got felt up in front of witnesses by a homosexual and he denied that we had just gotten to Second Base*, which we clearly did. His argument was that because he did not actually go under my shirt, this did not constitute a technical trip to Second Base. Then, as the other Lina is wont to do, she started introducing me to people as the "Lina with the adorable cervix." Of course I try to explain this so people don't think I am some kind of tramp, and tell the story of how I totally scored with my gynocologist and got to Second Base with her.

What you may ask? An over-the-shirt feel-up and a gynocological exam both fit into the Second Base catagory? YES I say! Much argument ensued. To break it down, in the reality I have created for myself and which I intend to live in for a good long time, the bases are as such (for the hets):

First Base: making out
Second Base: anything beyond First Base that does not yet stray into the catagory of Third Base. A very fun base. I've heard.
Third Base: oral sex
Home Run: DUH.

Now the disagreement seems to arise in the grey area found between 2nd and 3rd Base. Many of the cocktail party guests seem to believe that a classic "fingerbang" should be in the 3rd Base catagory. I felt very strongly that this was clearly a 2nd Base activity, but now I'm not so sure. They also believed that the classic "blowjob" should count as a Home Run. What were you, dear reader, taught about the Bases? Share with us your wisdom.

Please check out the brilliant Heathy Lee Roth's take on the Bases. EATING PUSSY: The NEW First Base.

* please note that the Bases are capitalized because said Bases are sacred.

See? I told you guys I had never been to the library before.

Luckily I have my natural genius to fall back on. Phew.