Posts Tagged ‘Sex’

Lame like Vanilla Ice

Tuesday, May 18th, 2010

Either I need to start working out again, Devon is the Nerd Commander or both.

Over the weekend, I made vanilla ice cream — the best vanilla ice cream you’ve never had, by the way. It was creamy, thanks to one part whole milk to two parts heavy cream and five eggs, blended into a sweet vanilla custard that was left overnight to chill before I mixed it into ice cream. And it tastes like real vanilla, not crappy vanilla flavoring. But I digress.

I had just gotten out of the shower when the ice cream finished mixing, so I dropped my towel to scrape it out. Of course, I needed a taste-tester. For some people, this is the start of a lame porn flick, but my version was produced by NERDoVision, where the dude is playing World of Warcraft with his peeps. So I ended up naked and feeding Devon ice cream while he complained through his headset about his lousy DPS. You win this round, Elite Boss Nerdloc.

Settle down, Parenting

Thursday, May 6th, 2010

Not married for three weeks yet, and already I’m getting copies of Parenting magazine delivered to my apartment. Pushy fuckers.

I must have bought something for a pregnant friend and ended up on a mailing list, since I’m 32 years old, and all my friends are pregnant, recently pregnant or about to be pregnant.

Look, Parenting magazine, in high school, I was voted “Most Likely to Forget My Baby in a Hot Car During Summer.” I don’t need you getting all up in my uterus/grill.

TMI in da house

Saturday, March 6th, 2010

My gift to myself for my 32nd birthday was an IUD. Being reasonably sure there will be no surprise babies  is the gift that keeps on giving, because surprise babies are like ninjas. One day you’re just minding your own business, and the next you’re all, “Oh, hi there, surprise baby. Did the doorman let you in?”

I was fucking up my birth control enough during stressful times that it will be worth every bit of the $589 I paid a woman in latex gloves to punch me in the cervix.

They had to do it twice, since it didn’t take the first time, so I got punched in the cervix a total of four times.

If you are ever in a position to get an IUD and they tell you that it might hurt a little if you’ve never had a baby, bite those lying assholes on the face. Still, no regrets here. Other than not biting those lying assholes on the face, of course.

How to score with (boy) nerds

Friday, December 11th, 2009

I qualify “nerds” because there was a terrific post about scoring with female nerds at The Park Bench, which inspired this one. After speaking* with Devon, I put together this primer on dating male nerds.

Be interested in his obsession
And he WILL be obsessed with something, whether it’s Battlestar Galactica, forensic science or making chess pieces out of recycled yak dung. Being genuinely interested makes life easier for everyone, but “fake it ’til you make it” also applies.

Be aggressive
Boy nerds have taken a lot of rejection since high school. A LOT. He may not recognize you shoving his head into your breasts as flirting, in which case you’ll need to come on stronger. Nerds are very smart and very, very dumb.

Have breasts
Nerds are still men, and men like boobs.  Anything that emphasizes your breasts (say, shoving his head into them) will let him know you are a woman and that he should consider the possibility of having sex with you at some point in the future.

Build a World of Warcraft toon now
The good news is that you won’t be trapped watching football on lazy afternoons. The bad news is that you’d better be ready to part with $15 a month for a World of Warcraft account. A toon is a WoW character you control, and you will need one if you want to spend this time together. Start building now, because your level-15 noob just won’t cut it when he’s doing level-80 raids. It’s OK. While this seems lame now, you will TOTALLY FUCKING LOVE IT BECAUSE IT’S AWESOME.

Feed him
The average nerd isn’t so dense that he will die of starvation, but he may consider Whoppers and beer a balanced meal. If you encourage him to eat real food and take care of himself, you might prove invaluable in keeping him alive.

Be prepared to make bizarre abstract arguments
Like, who would win in a fight, Caprica Six or Megatron? Q or Elminster? This is nerd philosophy. Embrace it and your nerd will embrace you.

Wooing a nerd helps if you are also a nerd. Odds are, though, that your nerdiness will have a different flavor than his, so it helps to brush up on the basics. Your learning curve will be steeper if you are not a nerd, but it can work if you are committed and persistent. Go get ’em, tiger.

* Nerds don’t speak. We IM. Even ones who live together.

Facebook needs to back out of my bizness

Thursday, November 5th, 2009

Listen, Facebook, I don’t care what my mother told you to do before she died: I don’t need to hear your shit about my biological clock. I’m not even trying to have a baby, so I don’t need “fertility coaching.” I call my birth-control pills “baby bombs” for a reason.

Besides, the phrase “fertility coaching” is just bizarre. Like I really need some strange dude standing next to me while I’m having sex, telling me I’m doin’ it wrong.

The anti-Match.com

Tuesday, November 3rd, 2009

When I told Devon I called him a serial killer again on my blog, he said, “At least people won’t be Googling me for dating purposes anymore.”

That said, now I have to make sure he can never find another date with anyone who can use a search engine. So here goes.

Devon Jones steals from homeless children.
Devon Jones is gay, gay, super gay, Liberace gay.
Devon Jones watches “Rock of Love” while he slaughters puppies.

And this is what I do to people I LIKE.

BE AFRAID! — no, not really

Thursday, October 22nd, 2009

At a friend’s house the other day, I learned that children in a school in New Jersey aren’t allowed to carry backpacks from class to class anymore, presumably because they’re hauling weapons of mass destruction to history class. I know I would.

When I was in high school, I had a bag that could hold about 4,000 pounds of crap. I carried all my morning books in that bag so I wouldn’t have to trudge back and forth to my locker. I could fit small freshmen in that bag.

Maybe that’s why schools started outlawing backpacks. Good job, me.

What the hell are people so afraid of, and why do they create crap rules that don’t keep us any safer?

Cracked explores the problem with its usual brand of ferocious investigative journalism. I always suspected that Amber Alerts and the sex-offender registry were worthless, at best.

Diddling kids sucks, but if it’s going to happen, odds are it’s going to be creepy Uncle Todd, who REALLY likes giving horsey rides, rather than that dorky loner three blocks down who got nailed once for public urination.

Hell, if anyone had seen me peeing in Mom’s backyard, I could be a sex offender now.

Crafts for size queens

Tuesday, October 13th, 2009



I don’t normally plug products, but this is So. Fucking. Awesome that I had to give it a shout-out.

I mean, I wouldn’t buy one, because I don’t live in a dorm, but this makes me wish I did so I could decorate my room with giant condom wrappers. But then, if I did live in a dorm, I probably wouldn’t have 50 bucks to spend on a pillow. For 50 bucks, this pillow would have to make me pizza and proofread my papers and rub my feet. And the pizza would have to have mushrooms.

Romeo and Juliet, and cell phones

Monday, October 5th, 2009

It’s been said before that Romeo and Juliet would have resolved much more happily had T-Mobile been around in Shakespeare’s time. Juliet could have sent her beloved a text: “Hey, Romeo, luv u 4evah, don’t kill urself.” And Romeo could have replied: “U wanna hook up? C U in the crypt.”

It would have been awesome, and the Montagues and Capulets could have had a good, long laugh about their little rapscallions’ behavior.

Which led me to think how even more awesome it would be if they had IM.

CapChick: O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo. Deny thy father, ’cause his shit is whack.
LoverBoy: No worries. He’s watchin’ porn on his laptop. LOL.
CapChick: Can u come over 2nite? I Netflixed “Othello.”
LoverBoy: Talk about whack. Those dudes make me wanna kill myself. Depressing shit. BRB.

LoverBoy: OK, back.
CapChick: Where’d u go?
LoverBoy: Had to pee. Sorry.
CapChick: So, r u coming over? I miss u.
LoverBoy: Waitin’ 4 Dad 2 pass out in his beer. OK, BITCH.
CapChick: Did u just call me a bitch?
LoverBoy: No, BITCH. Means Basically in the Clear, Homey.
CapChick: Does not. U just made that up.
LoverBoy: No, really, I got it off of netlingo.com.
CapChick: U r sooooooooo lame. But I love u anyway, pookie.
LoverBoy: U know I would die 4 u. B there soon.

Actually, now that I think about it, we’re all better off that they killed themselves.

Citibank to eat my cash

Wednesday, November 26th, 2008

So far, I’ve received two e-mails from Citibank assuring me that my accounts are FDIC insured.

How comforting.

Clearly, I need to find a new bank, but with the rate they’re failing, I’m not even sure where to go. During the Depression, my grandparents kept their savings in the Bank of Old Mattresses, and that seems like a better idea every day. Especially if pirates snatch my savings. A Somali pirate tried to steal my lunch money just this afternoon, and I had to beat him off with a sharpened pencil.

No, wait, I mean beat him up. Beating him off is definitely something different.