The Rules Of Life... And When They Can Be Broken

Apparently now FAFSA and fucking go hand in hand...

2011-08-02T01:40:00.000-07:00

As a college student who owes around $90,000 in higher-education related debt, I would first like to announce that I'm pretty sure that I would do horrible, horrible things if someone agreed to pay my debt down to the average $27,200 that most students owe upon graduation.
However, I really, really do not think I would fellate a viagara-fueled old fogey, nor would I allow a pervy, geriatric grope me in the name of graduation.
It looks as if I will be a [non-sex] slave to my college loans, because saggy sugar-daddy is just no an option.
Read the article here.

PS: If that one chick's not a whore, I'm still a virgin.

Too much alcohol and this is what results... Chicago Al chats about cunnilingus on uncensored Tosh.0 footage.

2011-07-09T21:58:00.000-07:00

Somehow I ended up fixated on Daniel Tosh's twitter this evening... and while I am a fan, I am not sure why I have spent the past hour reading his tweets... it's chicken soup for the alcoholic's soul, apparently.

Anyways, this is the video. It made me throw up a little in my mouth?? Booze could be the confounding factor, though. As a student who took Psych 300 at Ohio State I can not, in good conscious, say that my dry heaves metamorphized into a little bit of actual vomit, purely because I watched an old dude wax poetic about pussies. But I think so.
Anyone else a little grossed out by Chicago Al?

Tosh.0

Get More: Tosh.0 Videos,Daniel Tosh,Web Redemption

I banged a gay guy, didn't know it, wrote about it, and...I liked it.

2011-03-05T02:39:00.001-08:00

Holy fucking shit. I am officially, 100% verified, queer-bait. Just as I'd suspected after my first crush stepped out of the closet proudly and my Junior prom date set off the respective gaydars of each member of our dinner group.

Mark this date in history.

A lot has happened, I have neglected and all but abandoned this blog. But I am crawling out of retirement, popping a few xanax, and resuming telling the sordid stories of my sex like.

I'm fairly certain that the Universe is pissed at me for spending the bulk of my time complaining and/or making fun of my many less than satisfying sexual encounters, and then abandoning the blog as soon as I finally had good sex, complete with an orgasm.

Either that or I am the butt (pun intended) of an incredibly cruel joke thats punchline involves the butts of two other individuals.

I'm sure that at least those of you who read the title know where I am going with this.

I slept with a man, wrote about it, and knew he was sticking hard to a nauseating number of nasty nymphos.
I did not, however, expect to find out tonight that he was, and still does, Brokeback-style bang other dudes!!!!

I am literally in shock. After a huge freak out, I decided to get back on the horse and blog about it, because any of you who have followed all (or even just a bit of) the blog will be shocked, too.

Because I am incredibly non-observant, and my facebook stalking addiction has faded, everyone else has known this for quiiite a while. Note to self: Facebook more, and seriously consider whether or not people are just trying to be funny when all evidence points to homo(bi?) sexual behaviors.
Anyways, I'm going to let you guys ponder who it is a bit to make myself feel better. After I've stopped altering between denial and grief and moved on to acceptance, I'll write again and spill all.

It's like that game, guess who, but without the crazy lookin red haired lady or man going bald.... and if "is he... anally penetrating men?" was an appropriate question to ask your opponent.

We have yet to really receive comments, but I know for a fact there are still some faithful followers out there. And if there's any time to finally comment on something, it is now. So, here is my question:

Who do you think, of all of the ROL girls' victims, is actually gay???

Has anyone else heard of the "Condom Cupid?"

2011-02-16T07:34:00.000-08:00

We have to pay 5 bucks for the Condom Club at OSU... why can't we get one of these guys?!
Click here to read nerve.com's article on the "Condom Cupid"

PROOF THAT THE CONDOM FAIRY EXISTS. - watch more funny videos

SEX

2011-02-03T10:03:00.000-08:00

Some of these are pretty damn good

Post #100: The One Who Got Away

2010-11-15T03:29:00.001-08:00

As we celebrate our 100th post, I can't help but reflect on my 1st year I spent in the blogosphere. We wrote about our personal experiences, they were the best of times and the worst of times- some tearful and some hysterical laughter. We laughed, came (well 2/3 of us), and cried (the 2/3 of us who were traumatized with accidental loss of our anal virginity, not to mention the moster penis that cause V to run away screaming).

After some soul searching and reflecting, It dawned on me.
Holy. Fucking. Shit. The 100th entry means something very disconcerting.
Lets think about it together, shall we?
The posts are primarily about various sexual encounters on most occasions. There are only three of us. V and Lulu have written very few posts. We all have many, many, more stories left untold.
I think you all know where I am going with this. We are a big bunch of hoes. For sho.
I have now reached another realization. I am the whitest girl ever, let's face it. For sho? No wonder Veron won't give me my hoodpass.
But I digress.
I have been getting better (not the white girl thing, I'm not feeling the whole reverse Michael Jackson thing... too much work), and by this I mean I never get layed anymore.

The story I'm about to tell you is one of a "missed-connections" worthy lost love. The escape of what could have been the beginning of my life...

Let's start from the beginning. First, I will set the scene.

It was late on a Friday- no, Saturday-actually it was Friday I think. There is a bottle of 99 peaches and a girl named Sophia playing "bottoms up!" with herself. Sophia had not been drinking a lot lately, but was going (excuse my language) balls out on this particular night. She met a previous roommate, K, for margaritas and they soon decided to venture to McFadden's. Anyone who knows the young girls, know that they do not appreciate this bar and it's ass-groping, cigarette-bumming, fight starting patrons. This writer (I always think that sounds funny, but I had to write it while doing case notes at a counseling agency so I figure I would try it out) generally avoids that particular bar at all costs. I tell you this all in order to accentuate the drunkness of young Sophia.

Ok, I'm totally over the whole third-person thing. I felt a need to set a dramatic scene, and I feel this has been achieved. Eloquently and skillfully? No. Adequately? Maybe not. I guess I thought it would help me dissociate from the sad, sad story I am about to tell.

Anyways, so basically I was drunk as hell- so drunk that I was telling extremely long-ass stories to anyone within ear shot (I believe some guy just walked away in the middle of the crack story, which I feel is his loss because the ending is where it gets good. He had asked me if Id made out with a girl before, so I guess I can see why he wasn't looking for a half hour long answer.

All of the sudden a young man who looked 18 at the oldest sprinted out of the bar, and ran smack dab into me. I kindly did not mention he had invaded "the bubble" that I prefer drunk people not get close too, as he was in a panic. "The cops are after me!!!! The cops are after me!!!" he screamed (slurred), at the top of his hungs. He was like a sauced of version of Paul fucking Revere. I liked that. This makes me ponder whether or not Paul Revere was a drunk horseback rider because, well, didn't they get inebriated all the time in that particular period of history? In this case, Paul Revere was lucky he didn't get pulled over and slapped with a DUI. Then nobody would have known the British were coming... hey, I've seen amish people get DUIs while taking wasted horse and buggy rides. It's not pretty.

But I digress. It isn't time to take the ADHD meds yet, so this entry will most likely be less than coherent. Anyways, the little man shrieked that he was underage, the cops had found out and were coming for him. Considering he looked like a baby, my motherly instincts kicked in and I grabbed his hand and we pushed through the crows out of Mcfaddens and across the street to the 7-11 where I needed to get cigarettes anyway. I bought the lil guy some salt and vinegar chips to be kind,because he was hungry (I'm the biggest drunk pushover ever. And I am the most likely to be pushed over while drunk, just FYI. I fall down a lot). He asked if he could use my phone when we got outside so that I could light up my cigarette. I pondered this was inhaling the taste of cigarette that is oh-so glorious when in a drunken fog, and as I blew out the smoke decided that this was not a good idea. I told him that I would dial the number for him and let him use it- I'm not sure what difference dialing and handing it over is as opposed to just giving it to him, but that's not important. The good news is, he did not take off with my phone.

The bad news is, he just took off without saying anything. Considering I had all bought adopted him and taken him home with me to be my little buddy, I was rather distressed by this. I then looked down, saw the back of salt and vinegar chips, realized he hadn't taken them, remember that I don't like that kind, and got pissed.

When I got back inside later, I ran into him. Turns out I was not the only one he had pulled this scam on. I assume it was for the Salt and Vinegar chips, as he probably had a stockpile hidden in the room where Mcfaddens that serves as a border house which inevitably hides swarms of guidos so that they can provide a great "atmosphere" on the weekends.

I must have looked quite bothered, because I heard a voice ask "are you ok", and I looked up to see a normal looking guy in jeans and a zip up... the most beautiful sight ever. This was because of various factors. First of all he was not a guido- I did a subtle mental test for signs of guido, known as the douchetest and he looked completely normal. Kind of like a basketball player. We talked for a bit about how he was a civil engineer. Now, I am not sure if I have mentioned this before, but I ate engineers. Only certain types but I have my reasons to know that they received a certain mutant asshole gene- whether it is heredity, I have not tested. I was so enamored, though. I believe I told him approx. one million times how I was so happy to meet a civil engineer- also, a guy who had graduated from college and had a legit job that didn't involve eating chips on his parent's couch... salt in vinegar to be exact, as I suppose the 18-year old will end up doing, who was so nice.
We decided to dance and we discovered that we had even more in common- we were white-girl and white-boy dancing our asses off. I looked into his eyes, attempted to get low, and hoped that we would be 'gettin low tonight. It was magical.
While we were dancing, I asked him if he would like to come over and spend the night. I convincingly and enthusiastically told him I would not be jumping his bones, nor trying to be a hobaggity, drunk- oh, who am I kidding. I am proud of my hobaggity-ness and we both knew we were going to bone.
He came back with me, and as I stumbled over sidewalk cracks and swerved (I probably could have gotten a WUI, or walking under the influence, considering the borderline frogger game I was playing).
He was drunk too however, and the walk home was so romantic. He held my hand so I didn't accidentally body check him, and I appreciate him accompanying me so that I did not end up getting raped or, almost as bad, ending up back at K's house as she made up for lost time with her long-distance boyfriend. I've never been one for listening to a sexual soundtrack that others are making. Plus it makes me too jealous.
We arrived at my house and- oh, it was just so cute- he went to pee on the side of the house (guys? anyone? Can someone tell me why the two seconds between the stairs and the inside of the house are so vital? It's a dude thing, I guess). I had to call my roomate, R, to to let me in. I am not sure if lover-boy heard this, but I may or may not have whispered "I DONT KNOW HIS NAME" in the voice that I assume would occur if a whisper and a shout fell in love, bred, and had a baby named "Drunk Sophia's Voice".
The real drunk Sophia waited for lover boy (ok, I still don't remember his name) to come inside.
I had warned him that we would have to stay on the couch, because my room is such a mess I knew he would take one look at it and run for the hills (don't worry, that joke will be funnier later).
For two or three minutes we made out on the couch, and I was enamored.
Nausea and swooning, however, had a fight and nausea when, so I went upstairs to puke my peaches up. I bowed to the porcelain, brushed my teeth, and got ready to rumble.
I stumbled down the steps, used my sultry voice to say "now, where were... huh?"

THE COUCH WAS EMPTY. The door was cracked open, confirming his escape into the dark night.

So sue me, I lied for the dramatic effect.
He was, indeed, the one who got away. As well as the one who ran away.
I shrugged and next thing I knew it was the next afternoon and I was laying in the previous night's clothes on the couch, as apparently I could not make it back to bed.
Then I remembered the events of the night before.

And I laughed. My. Ass. Off.

Some would be offended by that particular situation. I, however, count it as one of the top funniest things that has ever happened to me. I was not offended because he would not have walked almost a mile away to come home with me, and proceed to maul me (yup, someone else finally did the mauling), and also probably would have run away at any other point of the evening (hey, Canada story and Salt and Vinegar Chips) did, if the getaway was not situation induced.

It is hysterical because I keep imagine this dude bolting out the front door, heart thumping with fear that I would come downstairs before he could make his mistake, and then hurdling the front of my porch and bolting into the night. I think the first time I told this story I peed my pants a little, because for some reason that image is so fucking funny to me. While telling this story, I began to imagine him wearing a superman-esque cape that flapped as he hurdled the porch, and I think this adds to the story.

And that, my friends, is the story of my hundred yard dasher, or "the one who got (read: ran) away".

PS. Though the story is very funny, I must clarify that the fact that I did not get layed is serious. I think I might be a virgin again. I am going to start hanging out by the med. center (which is my neighbor) during shift change so I can bag me a doctor or male nurse to bang (I feel like they have to be very secure in their masculinity because of the teasing they endure, and that turns me on). I have also noticed myself eyeing some of my roommates friends. Some of them are 18.
I am not a pedophile/parking garage stalker/reverginized former hussy.
So... any takers?

Birth Control You Rub on Your Skin?

2010-11-10T01:22:00.000-08:00

Wait... what?!

Birth Control You Rub on Your Skin?

Back In Mother-Fucking Business!

2010-11-09T01:45:00.000-08:00

WE ARE BACK!
Replacement Power Chord? Check
Computer That Turns On? Check
Computer That I Know Won't Die Right... Now? Nope

So the apple-man fixed my computer... for now. Actually, he told me I needed a new charger. He also told me to back everything up immediately because any second now it should be done for. It's living on borrowed time, kids.

Anyways... at least I had enough time to get wasted, and make completely ridiculous/just plain bad decisions, and acquire a new (rather sad, but more hysterical) story to tell the world.

Stay tuned for the next rule- "Always stay hopeful that The One That Got Away will someday come back".

Also, just tonight my mind decided to reveal to me a half hour of Saturday night that was previously undiscovered. "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you" is also a rule... a commandment even (we are making"rules of life history with that one)... that can, and should, be broken under the right circumstances.

Let's Hear It For The Girls! Breaking News: Tatties can be used to a woman's advantage!

2010-10-19T00:22:00.000-07:00

I love Modern Family and I looove Sofia Vergara. I love her even more for owning up to the fact that her knockers played a part in her rise to stardom. Come on... we gotta rock what we got. Im pretty sure that my DDs have single-handedly (ok double-handedly and then some) enticed many of the boob-obsessed boys I've bedded and turned me into the sophisticated (ok, slutty) sex blogger I am today.
So, today let us celebrate those who take advantage of the opportunities our breasts have presented us with. Here's to you, Hooters Girls!

PS I am now taking up a collection for new bras...I think my tatties my soon have their own orbit.

The Mac Is Dead Or Dying

2010-10-18T16:48:00.000-07:00

Talk about a poisen apple... Im about ready to curbstomp my dumbass computer... hence the lack of updates. More soon, when I can getto the library.

Porn is every where now-a-days!

2010-10-13T20:55:00.001-07:00

I found this on maxim.com.... definitely made me giggle!
From maxim.com

Rule #27: Don't Summarize 6 Months Worth of Sex-capades Into One Blog Entry

2010-10-11T23:50:00.000-07:00

I want to take a moment to apologize to you readers. I, as a blogger, have failed you. The past 6 months were, much to my pleasure, filled with blog-worthy adventures, but unfortunately procrastination and sheer laziness kept me away. Luckily for you, Fall quarter has commenced, it's 3AM, and I'm looking for something to distract me from homework.

I can only imagine the inquiries that have sprung from my absence since early spring; I figure they're along the lines of...

"Veronica, have you hooked up with a girl yet? Did you get railed in the ass again? Are you banging white guys again? Have you committed statutory rape yet?" (Yes, those were shameless plugs for my previous entries. Some of you may not be familiar with my explicit tales.)

The answer is yes to all of the above; I told you it was a busy summer...

Okay, I'm joking. Only one of those happened. In all seriousness, I've been reflecting on my summer and I really can't think of one stand-out, spectacular story that I'd like to share with you. I'd love to save some of my stories for future blog entries, but to be honest, I have a terrible memory and the details are already starting to fade. Instead, I'm going to share some tasty tidbits from my summer to catch you up.

My last entry was in April, so I should probably familiarize you with the remainder of my Spring quarter. First of all, Lulu, Sophia, and I became eskimo brothers. If you don't know what eskimo brothers are, then you need to familiarize yourself with the League. I'm not entirely sure how it happened, but one of our womanizing neighbors managed to achieve the roommate trifecta. Obviously, this wasn't accomplished all at once, as this would have prompted a blog entry immediately.

Also, I'm proud to announce that I won the roommate race and was the first to have sex on the fire escape attached to our house. I was real drunk, so it's not my clearest memory, but thankfully I had it rehashed to me by one of my neighbors/witnesses. This rendezvous happened to be with one of the coaches of our currently-ranked-#1 football team. I wasn't aware of his profession at the time (I'm not a gold-digger yet), but we swiftly became bang-buddies and I discovered this after finding the team photo on the kitchen counter of his condo. Why bother jersey-chasing when you can bang a coach?

As for summer... I'll share some important bulletpoints:

1) I made the discovery that high sex is the BEST SEX.

I had never had sex while high, and always wanted to do it, but never found myself in the right circumstances. I honestly don't smoke that much, and when I did I usually just ended up eating and passing out. For years, I heard friends rave about how amazing high sex was; I was intrigued but not entirely convinced, so when the opportunity came up to get high before hooking up with my oldest & dearest fuck buddy, i jump in it (sorry, i can't get enough of that commercial). For those of you that argue that weed is a gateway drug, I say lighten up. The only thing I see weed as a gateway to is a surplus of orgasms. I'm not pressuring you to try it yourself, I'm just saying that it was ABSOLUTELY MIND-BLOWING.

2) I learned that exercise balls make useful sex props.

You'd think that an inflatable exercise ball would only add complications to your usual sex routine, but that is not true in this case. I'm a very clumsy person, and as soon as my partner-in-sexing gestured for me to lay back on the ball, I was sure that disaster would ensue. Trust me, if I can successfully master the art of banging on a spherically-shaped object without injuring myself or my partner, then you can too. Not only did the workout ball provide opportunity for unexplored positions and sensations, but it was also a LOT of fun. Not the goofy sort of fun where you laugh and get distracted, but sexy fun that gets you even more turned on. If that doesn't convince you to try, then I only have one verb to remind you of: bounce.

3) I turned 21.

I know, I'm so mature for my age. As if becoming legal to drink and promptly earning another blackout badge wasn't enough, I decided to make this birthday even more momentous by getting my clit pierced. First of all, no, it didn't really hurt. I went in expecting an immense amount of pain and the inability to bang for at least a couple of weeks. As soon as the piercer told me that I could have sex that night if I wanted, it was on. I couldn't wait to try it out, and let me tell you - this has been the best sexual decision I've made in my entire life. I thought I was easily riled up before...for the first few weeks all it took was the friction in my jean shorts to get me started. I absolutely love it, and so far guys do too, it even encourages them to pay me extra attention there. I'm not saying everyone should go out and get their clit pierced, but I'd definitely recommend it to anyone considering it.

So there you have it... was it worth the wait? I felt like i just wrote my 3rd grade "What I Did This Summer Vacation" essay, but I'm glad we're all caught up again. 6 months is a considerable dry spell, but I promise you, it won't happen again. Sophia, Lulu, and I have a few experiments/shenanigans planned for the near future; they might be successful or they might go down in flames, either way you'll get the play-by-play.

Breaking News!

2010-10-11T18:21:00.000-07:00

Before my riveting op-ed piece on chubby men, I have BREAKING NEWS!

I have decided on a Halloween costume, and all you 'fellas out there better watch out. I will be looking fiiiine and fully expect to have at least 10 "wanna-go-back-to-my-place?" requests by both men and women.

No one can resist The Snail!

PS Anyone know where the nearest craft store is? I need to fine me some googly eyes and a hot glue gun!

Bulky Men Are Better Bangers! (aka a big SUCK IT to those who mock me for being a reformed chub-chaser).

2010-10-11T03:25:00.000-07:00

Fat Men Last Longer in Bed

Image from fuckyeahchubbycouples.tumblr.com. My version of the image courtesy of my amazing graphic-design expertise and high level of motivation for procrastination.

I came across this at 4am in my insomnia-induced stupor and it might be the two straight nights of sleep deprivation talking, but I think it's hysterical.

Trust me, I have many comments to make on the article, but I also have a geo lab to finish before I leave for my first class at 7, and I can't even find it...

Come to think of it I can't even find the stuff I need for my first class.

I fully plan on returning, however, when the clock strikes 9:48 am and I am done with classes, because it is very important to me that I execute my own, personal reflective case study regarding the topics mentioned in the article. It's going to be a very long day because, obviously, I must then go on a tubby-man hunt so that I might actually get some lovin' that doesn't qualify as a game of "10 seconds of whiskey dick in heaven". I'm about to be on that like Lindsay Lohan fresh outta rehab!

If I remember. Let's be realistic, I can't even find my books. Is it Friday yet?

The Top 10 Craziest Sex Laws in America

2010-10-10T02:14:00.000-07:00

The Top 10 Craziest Sex Laws in America | Sex & Relationships | AlterNet
All I have to say is... whew! Porking a porcupine, turning tricks with species other than my own, and seducing Satan are all legal in Ohio. I'm in the clear.

Ps. I would like to point out that oral sex is outlawed in Ohio... hey we gotta draw the line... apparently the line between beastiality and fellatio is a very, very fine one.

Goodbye, Cockzilla!

2010-09-24T02:28:00.000-07:00

So, as you may have gathered from the bed-breaking reference, my male counterpart from the previous entry just so happens to be hewhodeservesnoname (formerly known as Cockzilla), and the song played a large part in the 2008 partial demolition of my bed.

I realize I should be embarrassed and pretending like I don't give a fuck about what hewhodeservesnoname did- especially because I blogged on and on about how excited I was about our impending reunion. Nobody wants to look desperate and pitiful.

With that said, the point of a blog is to be brutally honest, and any woman would be pissed if this happened to them. And I'm sure it has happened to many people, so I will continue to not be ashamed about what happened.

I am going to try to keep it short because I have Espanol homework to do, and it has taken me two days to even look at the work that I have to complete by 6:00 am. I will be done within one cigarette, beginning... now.

Basically, hewhodeservesnoname and I made concrete plans for him to come for the weekend. Let me be clear- he had asked me if I would like a visitor, not vice versa (I am going to cling to the small amount of pride I've got!).

In anticipation I even bought Magnum condoms (lord knows I don't use them regularly for bangin- I usually end up giving them to my friends who seem to have picking up well endowed men. Not only did I get Magnums, but I bought (what I was under the impression was) some of that KY his and her stuff, which is basically comes out to approx. a bazillion dollars in college-student-land. That part was pretty funny, though, because when it came it had nothing to do with "intensifying his/her pleasure". It was actually what I believe is called "Kissable Sensations", and is meant to be licked off of various body parts, This did come in handy, as Lulu, a neighbor, and I were hanging out in my new house. I was trying to de-stress from the final I had just taken. I also needed to be distracted, so that I did not dwell on the toll that staying up for two nights straight had taken on me- both physically and emotionally. Lulu and the neighbor took it upon themselves to diffuse the lack of sleep situation- my body (no joke!) goes nuts if it gets stressed out. This particular day my legs were swelling up and falling asleep... I couldn't make this up if I tried!

To make a long story a little less long, we used the resources we had been given, and played very giddily- while we did not succumb to the "kissable sensations", we played a couple rounds of "taste the chocolate/strawberry" on various non-offensive body parts.

Basically all I meant to accomplish with that lengthy diatribe was the fact that I had prepared for his visit.

I was very excited for his 8 1/2 inches of goodness, and the orgasm he promised to accomplish. Normally, I laugh when told that a guy thinks he will be "the one to cure me", but hewhodeservesnoname is the only one that I knew would work for long enough that it may have been possible. I'm pretty sure that men, on average, have a smaller attention span than me- and just today I managed to finally find the beepers I had bought a few weeks ago. They are meant to attach to my shit so that I don't lose things anymore- I lost the fucking package before I opened it. In unrelated matters, I managed to lose a sandwich today for 4 hours. Neither of those confessions are very pertinent, but I think I've proved my point.

Anyways, though hewhodeservesnoname has ADHD, he is able to use his mouth, fingers, and other appendages for a long fucking time. I refuse to discount his dedication and persistence just because I hate him and wish he would fall off a Cliff sometime in the near future.

So... the Saturday that he was set to arrive, he texted me and told me that he was going to leave in approx. 1 hour.

One hour later, I was armed and ready.

THE BANG-A-THON WEEKEND CHECKLIST (Large penis edition)

[Accidentally purchased] shit to lick off each other? CHECK

Magnum Condoms? CHECK

Book that attempts to help women who have trouble with orgasms have orgasms? CHECK

(or, READ, I guess)

I waited to text him to see where he was until quite a bit later- I had a feeling something shady was going on. After one text, I decided that I was not waiting up. I had a feeling close to deja vu, but couldn't figure out why.

The next morning, when I woke up and he hadn't so much as sent a "not coming" text, it dawned on me.

He had done this before.

Usually I do not let important details like this slip my mind, but at that point my brain was divided into BR and AR. That is, Before Rehab and After Rehab.

BR he had promised to come visit and didn't show up. I later found out he had gotten far too wasted to drive, and had his keys taken away. Why he couldn't text me to let me know this, I didn't know, but I assumed it had something to do with his alcoholism and black-out drinking.

This didn't even occur to me until that next day when it hit me like a ton of bricks.

That Mother-Fucker did it again.

I refused to be the girl who texted him a million times. I told myself I would give him two texts over the course of 24 hours to shoot me a "hey, sorry can't come" or even a simple "i'm not dead" courtesy text.

I texted him that morning and it was a "What The Fuck, ****?!" (Stars used for obvious anonymity reasons and my stubborn refusal to call him by his blog-given name) text. Later, around 9pm I texted him saying "At least let me know you're ok"

I haven't spoken to him since.

(I'm 'diggin the bold and italic emphasis. Very dramatic.)

Proudly, I have sent a mere two, very intoxicated, text messages attempting to tell him what a loser he is, while simultaneously scolding him for his inability to "man-up". Shocker that I received no reply, right?

I do know he's ok because he is good friends with my old roommate, T, and all of my other friend's from T's hometown, and if anything had happened I would have known almost right away.

So basically, he is a Big Fucking Asshole.

Also, I hear he is looking for a top to give it to him while he takes it in the ass.

Oh wait, nevermind.

Considering he such a little bitch about sending me a three-word text message, it is obvious that he lost his balls somewhere between jail and rehab. His feelings of testicle-envy have most likely rendered him incapable of adequately performing his butt-fucking duties. I guess he'll have to go fuck himself.

Sorry for the venting, kids. Having my time wasted/people not doing what they say they will, are pretty much the only two things that really, truly anger me.

Apparently hell hath no fury than a Sophia scorned.

Anyways, that's the story of why I never told you guys great stories of my awesome weekend, and an explanation for the future absence of Cockzilla related material (ok, I'm using the nick-name for one last jab or two at the end of the post, but that's it).

While I remember that sexual experiences lustfully, he has been blacklisted from my life and this blog.

We do not talk to him, about him, and under no circumstances do we discuss the width/girth of his Cockmember. Cockzilla is a Cocksucker. Me? Salty? Noooo.... Alright, yes. He is just all dick, as his [former] nickname implies.

Ok, bare with me for one or two more insults that barely make sense- I'm on a roll here...

Here goes... Apparently his penis became so large that it took over his brain and rendered him incapable of any and all cognitive functioning. Just saying. I swear, if they did an EEG his brain would appear to be as dark as OSU two days ago when the power went out.

His penis? It would fucking light up like a Christmas tree (just for kicks) and spring to action.

Rant over. Nowwe will call him hewhodeservesnoname.

As I close this entry, I would like to express my apologies for my vengeful rant against CrackCock- or hewhodeservesnoname.

PS. We are groveling and begging you guys for help, and trying to get some interaction going on up in here through the use of comments, ratings

plus...

**hewhodeservesnoname is obviously not my best work.

So, In case a mention is needed in the future, can anyone think of a better nick-name?!?!

-If you have a blog, send a comment and we will link to you

RulesOfLife Soundtrack

2010-09-23T21:10:00.000-07:00

Just an FYI- I added two playlists of music that I love and that I think of when going through my blog entries. Some remind me of parties and these past three years in college, and some are directly related to encounters that later became documented in this very blog, for your enjoyment.

"Hotel Song" by Regina Spektor is the one song that Lulu and I have listened to each and every time we pre-game. We still refuse to leave the house without singing "A LITTLE BAG OF COCAINE" at the top of our lungs.

"I Kissed A Drunk Girl" (Something Corporate) is self-explanatory. Not only have we each kissed a drunk girl (most often each other), but kissing a drunk girl is something that each of the guys we write about have in common. That's one degree. Take that, Kevin Bacon.

Alright, do I even need to explain "Sex on Fire"?

"We are all on drugs" explains a lot of... well, everything. Most prominently, the roach-bearing, RulesOfLife Girl loving guy who seemed to leave remnants of his toke-time after every single visit to see one of us (mostly Lulu). I was forced to leave Lulu at the hospital, as she waited for her parents, so that I could go flush a roach down the toilet. One of us is dealing with, well, serious repercussions (I'll let her tell you the story herself, should she choose to) as a result of his negligent disposal habits. Not to mention what would have happened if we hadn't found his (ok, this one is just alleged, but can you blame us for blaming him?) extremely belated Easter present to the house in a pastel-colored egg on move-out day. At least that one was smokeable. SCORE! Oddly enough, our little pot-bearing friend graduated with my new roommates...and by the time I moved with his former classmates (That's just two degrees, if you are counting), he had banged two out of three of us from the old house. One of us *ahem* was lady-like enough to keep it in her pants. Take a guess which one of us chose to be chaste. I'll give you a hint- he is not white and Veron still won't let me have my hoodpass. Case closed. With that said, I dedicate Weezer's "We Are All On Drugs" to our favorite little promiscuous, pot-loving, dank-donning, dude. And yes, I am extremely proud of my astounding aptitude for alliteration. Ok, I'll stop. I know I've went to far.

She and Him and Scarlett Johanssen/Pete Yorn make up, more or less, the bands I will always remember in conjunction of my Junior Year of College, not in any particular situation, but in all of them. They were on repeat in our house throughout this whole year. Plus they have something in common- the women of each duo are on my very exclusive "girls who I would like, very much, to have sexual relations with. Even though I am very heterosexual and enjoy penis immensely". Seriously, that's the name. It's hanging on my fridge. And yes, the guys I life with probably think I'm keeping a secret [i.e. a penis] from them.

The one song that I specifically picked because it inspired one of the sex-fests (a faux rage-fueled-romp), which then prompted a blog entry is "70 times 7" (Brand New).

Way before this encounter, the song meant something to me. The words "Is that what you call getaway?", mark the beginning of my freshman year's "My Favorite Weapon" obsession, and mark the beginning of a 7 year love affair with Brand New. It reminds me of the beginning of my high school h.s. career. My sister still had to drive me around, and we would vent our teenage angst while Brand New expressed their indie rock angst.

Later in life (as in, Sophomore year of college) the memories behind this song definitely changed. A participant of one specific sexual encounter, and myself, had first bonded while sitting on the porch of the Chitt. house. Our love of Brand New, especially their earlier work, was the first of many common interests we shared. The fact that we both cited that exact song as a staple of our high-school years cemented the initial attraction between he and I. The other part of the attraction we discovered while ripping each other's clothes of later that night. I don't mess around.

The next time I saw him, we wasted no time getting back to business after going out for the night. The next afternoon I came down where he, Veron, Lulu, and some other friends were hanging out in the living room.

I have mentioned many, many, times before my sever ADHD. For that, I blame what happened next. I got bored with all of the listening, talking, and N*Sync karaoke. I couldn't make this shit up. That was was actually a blast, and kept me entertained for a while. Following a rounding rendition of 'Tearin Up My Heart, we began to converse again.

This is when I got bored. In the middle of sitting around and discussing in detail how fucked up we'd been the night before, as is normal protocol for hungover college kids, I interrupted Lulu, turned toward my newfound special-friend, and politely (though I do confess it was, quite possibly, in a non-discrete manner, with my voice at a volume classified by most people as louder than the average person's "inside voice"), inquired as to whether or not he would like to go bang it out before the new episode of Family Guy came on.

Knowing we had very limited time before our date with Peter Griffin, and had an extreme abundance of raging hormones on our hands, we chose music as a way to cover up any sounds that could disturb my roommates and neighbors. Hard and fast- but in a good way (no jackhammering for me) was how we wanted to bang it out. Naturally, 70 times 7 was the first song that came to mind.

And holy shit, I would just like to thank you, Jesse Lacey. This song was perfect for penetration in a pounding-manner. If you haven't listened to it, please do so for educational purposes. Most of the song is angry and angsty, as I described before. However, it calms down for a bit towards the end. The bridge is steady and quiet- and then suddenly the loud, angry chorus hits you.

And it makes you BANG. Fuck, not even bang. Fuck is the only way to describe it. And we both may or may not have been yelling "Fuck!" at the top of our lungs. You can ask Lulu- she claims she could have heard it from a mile away. Alright, you can ask any of my roommates. And a handful of neighbors.

I now call this kind of sex getting "Lacey Laid". I can only hope to someday meet the band someday, in order to express my utmost gratitude to the band. I do, however, hold them responsible as an accessory to the banging-binge that later broke my bed.

Some of you may have noticed that I have split this entry into two parts. I figure the first is long enough- the second strays from the music too much anyway.

I didn't go through the stories behind all the music, but a ton of it is self-explanatory and it's all so good that I hope you guys look at it!
<3

Top 10 Celebrity Sex Tapes

2010-09-23T13:38:00.000-07:00

...And The Winners Are

Have any of you seen any of these? Were they sucktastic or fucktastic... that's what I wanna know. I might just have to watch some myself... Porn Tuesday needs to be rectified so that these can be rated Rules Of Life style!

I guess "don't have sex in a porn shop" should be a rule?

2010-09-23T07:36:00.000-07:00

No Penis,
No Patronage!

Since I'm already being lazy and linking today, thought this one was pretty funny...
Click here and read the article. Apparently our fundamental right to have sex in whatever porn shop we want is being taken away, one booth at a time. Ludicrous!

The 10 Most Popular Places to Have Sex...Besides Your Bedroom!

2010-09-19T15:35:00.000-07:00

What do you guys think?

Rule #26 Don't Bang Guys Who Used To Be Amish... Especially If They Have Slept With Your Sister

2010-09-12T09:28:00.000-07:00

.... Especially If He's One Of Your Best Friends

Seriously. I have banged friends before, but I know that I was punished this type. And it involved an encapsulated form of medication shoved up my ass.

Oh yeah, and while we're catching up- I think I lost my anal virginity to myself.

It all started very innocently. I had recently broken up with my psychiatrist (okay, "terminated the patient-client treatment") because he is very assholeish, said I had an alcohol abuse problem, and I found one that isn't two hours away. Plus his name is... well we will call him "Shavely" for privacy reasons, but his real name is close to that and just as dumb as he is).

And yes, the first step of alcoholism is denial... blah blah blah... but when he told me to stop drinking I actually stayed sober, this proving I am just a college student exhibiting normal college behaviors. Anyways, considering that my birthday is near, and I am back home with old friends, I decide to celebrate my newfound freedom at a good friend's house.

I didn't know that I was still good at drinking- I thought I had lost my touch. But then I was told that my drinks were actually stronger than normal, and once intoxicated decided to smoke the ganja like a fucking champ. I mean, Shavely and I had just broken up. I believe with the break-up over any kind of relationship, client-douchebag included, you are allowed to drown your sorrows and celebrate at the same time.

We all engaged in normal college-kids-coming-home behavior and played a little pong, caught up a little, had a little conversation about big trucks and the environment, and then all got tired because we are getting old. (FYI it's my birthday tomorrow. No presents, please. Donations are acceptable. It is the end of the "good birthday area" Nothing to look forward to except turning 25 and renting a car. Or so everyone keeps trying to tell me while consoling my almost-mid life crisis. Heed my advice, young ones, turning 22 blows).

I had settled very comfortably into- we'll call him my blonde friend- a vacant bed and then felt it come on.

Insomnia.

It hits when ya least expect it. Since I wasn't sure I would wake up if I took a sleeping pill, I was a lil worried I'd be looking at the ceiling for the next six hours. Well, wouldn't you know. I ended up looking at the ceiling that night anyways- as I was banging one of my best friends.

Ironically, I had sincerely considered taking The Blonde Friend out back and punching the shit out of him because, as a pong-distraction tactic, he started talking about the fornication he and my sister engaged in a few years ago.

I mean, it wasn't bad. But the whole time I couldn't get over how much of a brother he's like to me, and now I am very skeeved out.

And yes, he used to be amish. This was when he was very young, and I am only mentioning for the mere shock value, but it still rattles the system to know that in your prime you were banging models (one of whom is now playing football for OSU. He walked on! Who walks on and then gets a significant amount of playing time?! Apparently this guy), and rock-stars-to-be (yup the man I lost my virginity to is now on a Campus tour across America and recording with some hot-shot producer in NYC. And yes, I'm bitter) to being stood up by Cockzilla (don't wanna talk about it) and banging ex-amish best friends. Not that The Blonde Friend isn't a little cutie but.... I call him "a little cutie" for god's sake!

I have decided not to finish with the anal virginity loss story. It is too painful to revisit. Let's just say, I know believe in Karma. And I will never, ever rethink my stance on anal sex.

I know I said I'd do a part two this time, but it's for the good of all of us. I promise.

Would you rather own a luxury yacht or a private jet?

2010-09-11T13:34:00.001-07:00

Gonna have to go with neither. I would sell both of them. Or even just one (no need to be greedy!) to pay off my fucking student loans. You know, so I dont end up whoring myself out to all of Columbus working for my pimps, Discover and Citibank.
-Sophia

Ask me anything

What would your perfect day look like?

2010-09-11T13:31:00.001-07:00

I would not know. I would be too busy. Having sex. A ton. With many orgasms. Uh oh, I told you my wish- it will never come true!

Ask me anything

If your house was on fire and you could only grab three things, what would they be?

2010-09-11T13:30:00.001-07:00

1) My IPad
2) My Dog
3) Lulu and Veronica (they count as one, ok?)
-Sophia

Ask me anything

Retraction to the Queefing Conundrum

2010-09-11T13:28:00.000-07:00

I recently read, at the ungodly hour of 6 am because insomnia is yet again ruling my life, that lube can help alleviate the big Q. Mystery solved- thank you, Cosmo!