This beautiful city seems empty

Hey dearies,

I know, it has been WAY too long since I last posted. In all honesty, I am experiencing a horrible case of writer's block. Seriously. Who would've thought that I would EVER run out of things to say? It's not like there isn't anything going on up there, because trust me there is. My thoughts are just a huge jumbled mess.

Okay, I've got it. First dates. Look, I love going on first dates. Most people get nervous and take a little trip to crazytown, but it really isn't that bad. Meeting new people is always good. I think first daters fail to realize that this person they're FREAKING OUT over is most likely NOT their Romeo [or Juliet, whatever floats your boat]. So, doesn't it make more sense to just relax, and have a little fun? Heeere are a few of my most memorable first dates:

When I was fifteen, I was asked to the movies by this older guy, named P. We saw Chicken Little, I think. Since I worked at the movie theatre at the time, we ended up watching multiple movies and had a pretty good [somewhat awkward time]. After, we sat at this little table and talked for hours about EVERYTHING. Now let me tell you dear readers, people tend to feel comfortable around me. Sometimes too comfortable. I personally love it, but every so often I get in some sticky situations. So, P and I are chatting away and he suddenly goes "So, is there anything weird about you?", and I, always trying [but failing] to be the most hilarious person in the room, respond "Oh, yeah. I have a third nipple. Hahahahhaahhahaha just kidding. That would be gross". Nothing. No laughter from P. My ego bruised, I look up to see he hasn't even cracked a smile at my comedic genius. Then slowly, he raises his shirt to reveal...a third nipple. I dated P for about three months and we still talk every so often. He is a sweetheart even that first date got really weird really fast.


My friend L was seeing this guy Z. We were in high school at the time, so she insisted that I go out on a date with them [Z of course, would bring his friend P. A different P. Not nipple P]. I knew P from class and he drove me crazy. He was always loud, telling jokes that made NO sense. Anyway, the four of us saw a movie, walked around the mall, and had dinner. A seemingly normal first date. No, P was apparently nervous and did everything wrong! He kept leaving the dinner table to "adjust his hair". At one point, he exclaimed that he hated skinny girls [mind you, I was about 112lbs and 5'9 at the time]. Great. Way to make me feel amazing. Then he started to go on about how hot Victoria's Secret models are. I'm sorry, but last time I checked, they were skinny [Dont get me wrong here, I love the VS Models. I want have children with Alessandra Ambrosio]. Anyway, all throughout the evening he kept doing and saying the most obnoxious things on the planet. By the time we left, I never wanted to speak to the guy again. Here's the kicker, that night he called me apologizing [after hearing how disgusted I was by his behaviour]. P and I dated for two years. We had some serious life plans together, but we were younger than our relationship, so it didn't work out. He is still my best friend and I love him to bits.

I worked with R for about three months before I even looked at him "that" way. It was one of those things that sneakily built up over time, and I didn't even notice. R and my first date wasn't a like my other first dates. We didn't really go anywhere, but it counts since it was the first time we hung out, not as friends or as supervisor and supervisee. Yes. I was his supervisor. I hate saying that, because when I picture a supervisor, I imagine a fat bald man with a pocket protector and fifty year old beer belly [I have never had a supervisor that looks like this, so Lord knows where I get these images from]. He hated me at first, but I clearly blew him away with my witty humour and doube Ds. Just kidding. I have the chest of a seven year old boy. Anyway, I went over to his house to hang out and "watch a movie". Anybody who knows anything, knows that this is normally code for "make out in the basement". Funny thing is, we didn't do that. When I first got there, we found that his dog had pooped all over the carpeted basement. So, our first romatic moment together was actually spent cleaning diarreah with stain remover. Pfft. Who needs candles when you've got poop? I didn't mind though, it was funny and kind of helped kill any lingering awkwardness. We watched...oh dear God, what did we watch? Bruno? No. I think it was Four Christmases. Anyway, we sat there holding each other, the air charged with tension. When the movie was over, neither of us had made a move, but I had to leave because R had a family dinner to go to. We talked for a little bit and then finally, FINALLY he kissed me [I was beginning to wonder if he was even into me at that point]. Boom. Magic. R and I were together on and off for six months.

All my dating stories are kind of bad and hilarious, with pretty good endings [depending how you look at it]. Here's one that really made me feel special. I met A at the bar at work. He, some of his colleagues and I had a drink together and we exchanged numbers. About a week later he texted me and asked me if I would go out with him. I agreed, halfheartedly. You see, my ex and I had just broken up, but still cared for each other [and in all honesty, were still practically dating]. The morning of my date with A, I planned on cancelling. It just didn't seem right for me to deny how i really felt about my ex. Then, the ex texts me and informs me that he had slept with a highschooler during one of our "breaks". Now reader, I had never been cheated on [and TECHNICALLY wasn't cheated on this time]. The deception I felt was horrible. Imagining him kissing and holding another girl made me sick to my stomach, and almost made me feel worthless. Since crying in the fetal position messes with my hair, I decided to keep myself occupied and go out with A anyway. We determined that I would meet him where he was staying [did I mention he was an Australian, in town on business?]. I showed up about ten minutes early, and the poor guy wasn't even ready for me. [On the night we had first met, I had complained that I loved hiking and there really wasn't much room for that in Toronto.] When I walked into his room, he had his laptop open and his game face on. He had spent some time researching hiking spots. I thought it was cute that he had remembered what I said, and had taken it into acount. Since I had to work later that day, we ended up just walking along the lakeshore. We bought coffe and drank it while dangling our feet off the rocks at the waters edge. It was simple, romantic, and real. A went back to Australia, but we're still good friends and talk almost everyday.

Wow, so much for writers block. Guess I just have many stories to tell. All the guys I've dated have impacted my life in some way or another Even if I lose contact with some of them, I will always appreciate and love them for the experiences we shared together. I've never understood how people could genuinely hate their exes. I mean, sure you might've been hurt, but you cared about the person at one point, so they can't be all bad. Right?

Stay sexy, readers.

LoveLoveLove You,
Gouda

Moving On

I feel so far from where I've been

- Jewel

I came to a really crazy realization on the train ride home this morning.

You know how you see those pathetic girls who are constantly trying to make the men in their lives try harder, or love more? Even though they do hurtful things over, and over you’re the one seemingly begging for an apology or an excuse to continue to have them in your lives. I’ve realized that this works the same way with friends. At a certain point you have to realize that you care significantly more than the other person and you have to stop trying. You can’t constantly get upset over someone who doesn’t put in the effort for you, when there are those who make you feel important, funny, carefree, and loved.

This came to me after having a great night with a friend from school and her family in the city. I had so much fun having a good, clean night with her. We had an old style sleepover complete with swapping men stories after a night at a Greek restaurant on the upper east side with her parents and a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. It was really a great night. I realized that when I am around this friend and her family, as I feel when I am around most of my friends from school and most of my friends from Long Island, I feel like I am somehting to be valued. I am worth hanging out with, talking to, and standing up for. It made me feel really special last night (as corny as it sounds) and I am going to stop fighting for something that isn’t reciprocated. It’s very sad and I don’t know how long it’s going to take me to be completely “over it”, but I have friends who make me feel valued and I need to concentrate on that.

I don’t think of myself as a vindictive person or one that holds a grudge. I don’t plan on cutting people out of my life to the point of being cold-hearted; I plan on always being there for those who are/were once good friends. I just need to take a step back and stop hurting MYSELF; because that is exactly what I am doing.

Jane

What goes on?

Dear readers,

What is the deal with my life? As much as I'd write, a gramatically correct post with amazing flow, I feel that you would much prefer it if I just recapped the past day in shambles. Because thats what it was. An absolute shitshow. Hello life, I've missed you.

The day started out pretty regularly. I wasn't scheduled to work [I work as a hostess at a pretty nice restaurant, in case you were wondering], but I picked up two shifts, so I ended up working all day. Gotta pay the bills. Anyway, the day started out pretty well. The weather was gorgeous.

A little into my morning shift I became, get this; an earthquake survivor. Okay, technically we've all been through some sort of earthquake and just haven't felt it. This was the kind of earthquakee that was felt across the country and made the news. I felt so blessed. The kicker; I didn't actually feel anything. REALLY?!? Was I so busy chatting up old business men to improve their "guest experience" that I didn't feel a earthquake that friends in my old town in New York felt? Lord, I am such a mess. Normally, I love when stuff like this happens. I want to be the old lady that sits my grandkids on my knee and tells them how I bravely survived the blackout and the "ole' quake of '10". Way to ruin my life stories earthquake.

Speaking of old ladies, I had a guest yesterday that I believe deserves honorable mention. So, I'm at the hoststand when this little old lady saunters up to me. She was so hunched over, that all I could see were her eyes . Then, all I hear is "You know what? There is no parking out there. I nearly got TWO parking spots, but both times someone cut me off, and I was like bitchesss". I loved that. She dragged on the word "bitches" like a champ, and also used the word "like" as if she was fifteen. Kudos old lady, you're pretty awesome. I definitely laughed for about fifteen minutes straight after that.

In between my work shifts, I went to booster juice with my coworker, J. After, we went to Wal-Mart and GUESS WHAT I GOT! Ready? I, Gouda, purchased a Magic Bullet. There aren't even words to describe how excited I am about this. This new appliance makes me feel invincable. Chances are it won't help with my questionable culinary skills, but it's my obsession for the week. So, deal.

My the end of my evening shift I was in an extremely foul mood. Everyone and their mother [including my mother] was bugging me like you couldn't believe. A bunch of coworkers were supposed to go out, but I wasn't even up for that. Thank God for good friends. My friends L and L convinced me to go out, which may be either the best or worst thing they've ever done for me. I haven't decided.

So we go out to this predetirmined place, where we met up with almost EVERYONE we work with. For all intensive purposes, I'll call this hotspot Alligator Boulder. It was awesome. For a really long time, I refused to go out with people from work because I always insist on seeming professional and put together. Boy, did that change last night.

Here are bits and pieces of what I remember:

-tequila shots from a guy who I thought looked like Jake Gyllenhall [lord knows he probably looks like Mick Jagger without drunk goggles. Kesha's type, not mine],
- texting my ex [my phone doesn't save sent texts. I feel this might be a good thing]
-flirting. with everyone,
-NO HOOKUPS [I'm so classy],
-the discovery of a new low calorie drink. Vodka Water Merlemon [I hope that's what its called, because that's what I yelled at the bartender about three million times]
-Dancing. Lots of it,
-an after party. We went to this guy's apartment. I don't remember much of what we did there, but I do remember the view being gorgeous],
-hearing the playlist that I heard at Boosterjuice earlier that day, I kid you not.
-this awkward blonde kid that tried hitting on EVERY one of my friends and stuck around the whoooole night. I mean, at one point he asked me to dance and I think I said something like "I don't know how to dance with people. I can only dance alone". Please, get the hint. You're embarrassing yourself.

There's likely more, but last night was one of those nights where memories will come back to me slowly over the course of the next few days.

Today is what would be my sixth month anniversary with my ex. As much as it pains me to say this, I'm actually a little sad. He meant alot to me. Jesus drunk Gouda, why did you have to go and text him? I really thought I was completely over that. I guess these things take time. I'll live.

I need to leave for work soon. I can't tell yet if I'm still drunk or really hungover. On the bright side, I'm wearing a really cute off the shoulder romper with a side braid in my hair. Very Stephanie Pratt, minus the DUI and crazy brother. Actually, scratch that. I don't even like her that much.

Wish me luck at work readers, I'll definitely need it.

LoveLoveLove you,
Gouda

Keeping it Classy

Well behaved women rarely make history.

- Marilyn Monroe



Okay, dear loyal reader(s), I know what you're thinking so far. "Well that Jane... she's kind of... well... boring." Yes, I know. I have been on my high horse the last two posts so I have decided to share something with all of you. I am not proud of this story, per say, however, I feel that it is an entertaining one to share with you. Names and places have been changed to protect my anonymity and the anonymity of anyone else involved.

About a year ago, I was cruising around the lovely city of Manhattan. I had just gone to see a theatrical production with some of my friends and it was a beautiful summer night. The show ended around 10 pm and we decided to travel to a few bars before we took the train back to our homes. We found ourselves in a lovely little joint I will call the Fox and Bugle.

We sat down at the bar and ordered drinks. I will share a little secret with you readers, I was underage at the time, as were my companions. As we were approached by several gentleman, we decided to create little alter egos for ourselves, to match the personalities on our false identification.

Now I was a little upset at this point in time. The guy I had been casually seeing/hooking up with was about to leave for the remainder of the summer and as we were both to return to different universities, it had been "adieu" to our fling. It was also his birthday as of 12 midnight, so I had left the bar a few times to speak to him on the phone, leaving my friends to deal with the men in the bar.

Now, there was one extremely attractive man. He was the antithesis of my type. He had spiky blond hair and a sleeve of tattoos. Those of you who know me will attest to the fact that I am into more straight laced, awkward types. This smooth, tattoooed man was foreign to me. However, when the face/body is good you cannot deny it; this boy was blessed with some good looks.

Men like this never pay me much attention. I assumed this would be a similar scinereo being that I was distracted, constantly on the phone, told him I was a student at Harvard Law School, and paid him very little attention aside from the moments where he was purchasing rounds of shots for my friends and myself. However, I was wrong. Apparently, the tattooed man was enamoured with me. (Let this be a lesson to you ladies-- when you pay them the least attention, that's when they want you the most. I often forget this.) He questioned my friend each time I left, begging her to tell him I didn't have a boyfriend.

This is all very interesting, and I was almost intoxicated by this. I gave up on my inhibitions and decided to go outside my comfort zone for the night. We started cozying up and it wasn't long before we were kissing and whatnot. We returned to the bar shortly after to get more drinks. This is where the conversation began.

I asked him where he was from. He told me he came from a small town in Westchester County. Luck have it, my father is a very important official from this small town in Westchester. When I asked him if he knew who he was, he responded matter-of-factly "Yes, he is my boss." I retorted right back saying "Yes, he is my dad." A look of realization overcame him and his eyes got wide. "I know exactly who you are. I clean your Dad's office every night. I dust a picture of you on his desk." With sheer horror I turned back to him, "You are my Dad's janitor?!?"

This was the end of this cozy little rendez-vous. For one, this picture is an 8 x 10 of my high school senior portrait, which conveniently displays my graduation year on the frame. This probably tipped him off that I wasn't a student at Harvard Law School. Secondly, the thought that I had just made out with a janitor was enough to make me want to stick my finger down my throat and vomit all over Union Square.

That is how I learned two things: a) I shouldn't lie to random men in bars, b) I should not stray from my "type", no matter how attractive he may seem. I am doing pretty well on B.

kisses,
Jane

They Think They Wear Pants...I Think They Wear Tutus!

I truly love how guys think they wear the pants! I like to think they wear pretty little tutus! Just so you know this is not going to be a man bashing blog (believe me I loveeee me some man)...it is going to be more of an appreciation for the women who are so extremely talented that they can make their men BELIEVE they wear the pants! Little do they actually know lol! To this day I am still absolutely amazed by how good I am at making guys believe that they have the upper hand in situations where in reality they are actually just a little pawn in a game of chess where I have their king cornered! All it takes to get checkmate is to know how they think! Which lets face it girls, we all know that’s not very hard! They think like us women, just less intelligently! Come on girls we all know that we are just as big of horndogs as guys are! And if you deny thinking about getting some 24/7 then you are a little liar! The only difference is that we can hide thinking about sex better...for the most part lol (if you’re a friend of mine, more than likely you don’t hide it very well lol)

Like for goodness sakes it still amazes me how often guys cry, most of the time out of self-pity because they think they messed up so badly that they won’t get any! Newsflash guys!!! Most of us girls just threaten that (I say MOST because some girls can resist sex for awhile! Bless you girls lol) We don’t really mean it! We would miss sex too much...plus its way easier for guys to please themselves then it is for us women! We aren’t going to get rid of our quick and easy access to some pleasing just because he said something stupid! Am I right girls?!! It’s just one of our tactics of manipulation!

To all you women out there who can make your man get on his hands and knees and do the dirty things that he should learn to like, I praise you!!! Guys have no problem eating 50 hot dogs in one sitting so it shouldn’t be a problem to eat something else!!! Like my favorite quote that I saw on a pair of panties said: “Don’t be a pussy, EAT ONE.” If the guys follow these wise words then maybe we can let them wear the pants for a little! lol So here’s to you women who are skilled manipulators!

Love you all,
Cornball

Say When

Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering.

- Paul Coelho



I am sure this has happened to all of us once in our lives. I have this best friend, let's call her Mildred, we went to high school together. We are part of a larger group of about 6 best friends. Another member of the group, someone I have known/loved/confided in since I was newly 14, we shall call her Maggie. Now Mildred has been dating this fellow, for our purposes, Rex, for about a year and a half. He broke up with her about a month or two ago because he needed time to figure out how/what he feels. This might seem like the end of the world for ole Mil but MIldred pulled something similar about a year ago and she and Rex broke up for a short period of time only to be blissfully reunited. Rex assured Mildred that this was a similar situation.

This all seemed quite plausible until Rex slept with Maggie.

Now, I could tell you how agonizing this has been. How Mildred lost weight, sleep, and many tears in the past few weeks. Or I could be completely selfish and outline how this little reality show type drama has had a severly negative effect on my life, forcing me to completely isolate the person I had trusted with every secret since 8th grade (Maggie). But, that is not where the story leads us.

Rex and Maggie have still been talking/hanging out and Rex and Mil have not. Mil and Rex have decided to meet up on their anniversary in December at an undisclosed location to see if they both still care. (Everyone in unison now--- VOM) However, according to Maggie, whom I am not supposed to be communicating with but you'll never tell dear old readers, Rex says similar things to Maggie. (So typical)

Last night, Mildred and I were dropping one of our companions at a party where Rex would be present. We were outside of the house for approximately 3 minutes when Rex, after having consumed roughly 15 shots, sauntered outside. He unknowingly stopped walking directly in front of my car. I resisted the urge to run him over only because Mildred held her hand firmly over the gear shift, not allowing me to move the car from park. Rex came over to make obviously drunken small talk, oblivious to my sarcasm and general bitchiness. Finally, he looks at Mildred and asks if she misses him. I scream "NO." Rex then leans in and grabs Mil's face and ACTUALLY TRIES TO KISS HER. As I am about to shift the car in gear, regardless of where his feet are present, one of his friends runs outside and drags him onto the grass away from the car. As we drive away we hear him screaming "YOU MISS ME. I KNOW YOU MISS ME TOO."

Now, I wish I could explain to you how many nights I have cradled Mil's lifeless, sobbing form until she could be coaxed to sleep. I wish I could explain how many times she told him "I'll never talk to you again if I find out you're talking/hanging out with Maggie..." or "I'll never talk to you again if you keep talking to Maggie..."

This altercation, and obvious jubilation from the passenger seat as we continued to drive, led to a short argument between Mil and I. I was fuming. He slept with our best friend. And continues to see/talk to her. How many second chances was he going to get? How many times is he allowed to disregard her feelings before she follows through on a threat. When will she finally just 'say when?'

If you had a childhood like mine, you had a corny uncle (in my case, Dad) or maybe you just grew up being friends with my fellow blogger C, who, when pouring you a glass of milk for your Oreos, would tell you to "say when." I never quite understood why you would say "when" at the moment you have had enough but that is what you did.

When will Mildred say "when?" The answer is that, of course, she won't. We never do. We let Uncle Artie keep on pouring until the milk has overflowed and we are sitting, drenched in a gallon of it. It is easy for me to yell at Mildred, become frustrated, even begin to resent the pain she continues to put herself through. But if I were in a similar situation, would I be able to say when? I sincerely doubt it.

Jane

Bulletproof

In the interest of everyone's sanity [since I know that everyone and their mother is dying to know], I am single. Newly single in fact. As you read this, picture me polishing my nails on my blue satin nightie. I know. I should be broken up inside and every breath I take should hurt. I'm sorry, it doesn't.

Boyfriends are like acrylic nails. When your nails are all unmanicured and regular, you envy your coworker's perfectly manicured french tips. You feel like your life is incomplete without intricately squared off fingertips. Then, you saunter off to visit your nail guy [Lee, in my case. Charming little man], only to spend fifty dollars in half an hour. Anyway, so once you have your acrylics done you are in love with them, and use any excuse to over accessorize with pretty rings and such. Sometimes [and maybe I'm the only crazy person who does this] you do little hand movements in the bathroom mirror like some exotic Polynesian dancer. And when you go out, you make sure to use handrails as much as you can [bacteria shmacteria]. Nothing can stop you with those nails! Then, they start to grow out. [OH, for the interest of all my male readers. I know I might as well be speaking Zulu to you right now, but bare with me. Or go ask a girl about her nails.] Anyhow, so your nails start to grow out, and then they're not so pretty anymore. They start to chip, and hurt and crack [and sometimes you even start to eye those tempting BIOGEL nails]. Then after a few weeks of the discomfort, you rip them off [you could go to Lee, but there's no way in HELL you're spending any more money on those things]. And once the nails come off, you're disappointed. Your real nails underneath are all battered and bruised and look like something Lindsay Lohan regurgitated. In the end, you realize that the acrylics really weren't worth it. You put in too much money and too much time, only to be ruined. SO not worth it.

My nails are actually doing quite nicely. They've pretty much gotten back to normal and look quite fabulous, even if I do say so myself. However, that new girl at work has a pretty nice manicure...

LOVELOVELOVE YOU,
Gouda

P.s I know, I posted twice today. So, sue me. I was kidding. Please don't.

The Character Actress

At some point during almost every romantic comedy, the female lead suddenly trips and falls, stumbling helplessly over something ridiculous like a leaf, and then some Matthew McConaughey type either whips around the corner just in the nick of time to save her or is clumsily pulled down along with her. That event predictably leads to the magical moment of their first kiss. Please. I fall ALL the time. You know who comes and gets me? The bouncer.

- Chelsea Handler


So if you have been reading our blog, you have already been promised quite the entertaining time. I'm afraid C was right... we have all found each other mainly out of sheer awkwardness. We find ourselves in the most amusing predicaments and I am excited to share them with you, cyberspace.

Earlier Gouda mentioned that she is often compared to the heroine of romantic comedies. Don't get me wrong-- I have my moments too (a prime example would be the character of Gigi in "He's Just Not that Into You"-- however I'm not the Kate Hudson/Cameron Diaz/Isla Fisher type. Think more along the lines of Anne Hathaway and America Ferrera. I am what you would call a character actress. In most mainstream movies, I would be your typical best friend of the heroine. Funny, if at times naiive, blunt, at times to a fault, and endearing. These characters are always likable enough with charming faces and one seemingly obnoxious flaw. She is usually either 20 pounds overweight, or has a very sharp nose, or a cute/distracting mole on her chin.

So lately, I've decided to write my own love story. Don't get me wrong, I will never look like Cameron Diaz or be as startlingly aloof/mysterious as a Penelope Cruz but I am holding out hope that some guy finds The Character Actress and appreciates her sarcastic humor and endearing idiosyncrasies. In fact, I don't think he'll only appreciate them, I think it will be his favorite part about her.

I can't promise that we will find this Mr. Perfect throughout this blog. However, I think it will be more fun if we don't. I read once that women are significantly funnier when they are not in a relationship. This probably explains why I am so fucking hysterical.

Now, I know what I have already geared you up for. I cannot promise that this won't resemble a cheap knock-off of Carrie Bradshaw's column. The fact is that I am a girl, and as much as I can ramble about something intellectual or athletic IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME before I am going to start talking about men. So I apologize in advance. It's unavoidable in my opinion. And makes for some fantastic stories.

I guess I should get to the point where I come up with a pen name. This is challenging for me. I am going to go with Jane, because it is the first name of one of my favorite authors. Don't get me wrong... Jane would never be caught dead writing a blog that will surely be explicit in the very least, knowing us, but I have always believed on taking a modern twist on old classics.

-J

PS- I really enjoy good quotes. I will try to start each of my entries off with a good one.

If they JIGGLE they are real!

If you think FML is good, you haven’t seen anything yet! But seriously! It really doesn’t even compare to the stories you will read in our blog! Our lives are basically fml times infinity! As the saying goes “birds of a feather, flock together”...our “feather” is that of bad luck/extreme awkwardness!!!! But before I get to the stories of my unbearably awkward life I’ll start with telling you my name...not my real name of course, but my pen name! To all of you readers, I will be Cornball with a capital “C” not just because it is a name but because I am SUPER CORNY!!! Everyone at school always looks to me for easy laughs because I am naturally corny and don’t even realize it! I use stupid expressions like “you’re preaching to the choir” and sh*t like that (you obviously get the seriousness of my corniness just from that lol) and think it’s totally normal! Oh and not only am I corny but I have the best job in the whole wide world! I get to use my corniness and obvi my good looks to make money! I know I know you all def hate me right now...but it’s not my fault if you can’t find a job doing things that you’re good at! Sorry sucks for you!

But ok enough about me...I will finally get to the moment you all have been waiting for! The story for the day! I am sure you can all relate to this one (due to the fact that it deals with guys being stupid! And if you're a guy who is reading this, take notes)! And if you can’t, then can I switch lives with you for a day?!! Seriously, I would love to switch! Ok, so when was it decided that it was ok for guys to make it blatantly obvious that they are staring at your chest?!! Like obvi guys are going to look there, like duh we wear low cut shirts for a reason but seriously guys, can’t you keep your mouth shut for at least a second! Its not attractive watching your tongue hanging out of your mouth and drool creeping its way down the corners slowly! GROSS! And if that’s not bad enough, now guys these days must COMMENT on your lady gifts! You boys really don’t know how to act suave like James Bond anymore! You all are helpless in the smooth department! Or so I have learned at work... when someone actually asked me if my lady parts were real!! Like come on really?! Since when is it ok to ask if a girls breasts are real?! First off if you have to ask whether or not they are real, you obvi haven’t seen many in your day! And second off for your information... IF THEY JIGGLE THEY ARE REAL! You dum dums! Fake ones just sit there and say “hey look at me!! I’m here for your enjoyment! Come hither!” (For those of you who have fake boobs, good for you! I wish you luck with all the comments that I’m sure you get!! I am just trying to explain the difference!) Where as real boobs, jiggle and move around! They tease you and make you think maybe you can have them but they don’t stay in one spot long enough for you to really know for sure whether you are welcome to enjoy!

What I have just explained to you as readers I have basically had to explain to customers at work...hence why this is actually an awkward story and not just a rant! P.S. No I am not a prostitute! I sell alcoholic beverages and have to deal with drunken assholes who don’t know the difference between real boobs and fake ones. Hint to all guys...if you don't know, don't ask! You are just making yourself look even stupider then we already know you are! Am I right ladies?!
Ok well thats all for now! Until next time!
love you all,
Cornball

Blogs Have Cherries Too..

...and I just popped ours. That's right. I feel both privileged and somewhat bratty. A quick introduction [JUST in case your mental capacity couldn't handle our "about me" section]. This is a group blog. We are a group of girls who go to the same college and are apart for the summer. These tales are true, and unscripted.

Now a more personal introduction. I'm not telling you my name. Why? Because I try really hard to be all mysterious provocative. Is it working? Not likely. Well, firstly, I need a pen name. Something not lame or super cheesy [though I happen to be both those things]. OH! I've got one.

You ready? Hi, I'm Gouda. Get it? Like the cheese [clearly I took the cheese route despite my doubts]. Not only is gouda delicious, but it fits me because I am a "gouda girl". Hahahaha. That might have been the most pathetic attempt at humor ever. I sound like the creepy old guy that follows you around at Price Chopper trying to convince himself he's still "got it". Like, no. You don't have it. You stopped having it when the tattoo on your chest started resembling mashed potatoes and your nose hairs reached your chin.

Sorry about that, I tend to go off on tangents alot. If you're looking for something uniform and serious, then my posts are NOT for you.

I am currently in exotic Toronto. Please, refrain from being extremely jealous...it messes with my aura. I move into my apartment in our college town in a few weeks and CANNOT WAIT. Let the shenanigans begin.

It's hard to describe myself. I think that my blog will give you the best feel for my personality. A few times I've been described as being alot like the main character in every romantic comedy. Think Drew Barrymore in that movie where she was messy and clumsy or Cameron Diaz in that movie where she was really quirky. You know the one. Or many.

Ironically, being that person in real life isn't as fabulous as it seems in the movies. When I fall or walk into stuff all I get is a bruise and an embarassing story [Adam Sandler never seems to rescue me with some silly line].

I could probably go on forever [boy, am I a talker], but it would be rude to irritate you on my first entry. I'll save the annoyances for later.

LoveLoveLove You,

Gouda

p.s ooooh tricky tricky. I just nearly signed that with my real name.