The double edged sword

First of all I want to say that I am the flip cup champion.

Ok, well not really. But I play a mean game of flip cup.

Those of you who may not know what it is (i.e. you are reading this in Iran, went to a women's college, are a friend of Bill W....) it combines speed, team work, and sloppy coordination. Each team has a pitcher of beer, and it is a relay race of sorts, you pour beer into the cup and you have to flip it over. Once you flip it over, the next person goes. Sounds like fun...you get a little bombed but nothing bad. Now let me tell you the version that we played last night...Survivor flip cup. And being the wanna be bad ass/raging alcoholic, I was all up in that. The twist of this version is that the losing team has to vote off that weakest team member and have a stronger team member pick up the slack. Now it isnt too bad when you are doubling up on beer...it gets bad when you have to pound 6 and flip them all by yourself (because you rock at flip cup). Like I did last night. After having like...3/4 of a pitcher of Sam Adams. I only lost (to a team that only had to pound 3 glasses each) by 2...which is actually pretty impressive considering how fucked up I was. And the drunk dials to old bosses. PS Thanks for the recommendations.

I have to admit, as much fun as I have, there is something in a nice cold beer that once confronted with my chemical make-up, I get happy giddy and have to tell the whole world how much I love them/love other people. I really don't know how to be a sad whiney drunk...but I am also one of those people who think that they have the meaning of life figured out. Try listening to a girl explain how through love and friendship we can commune with our soul....slurring her words and pounding beers in between sentences. Credibility much? But as much fun I have, I have a fear of the morning receipt because as much fun/love as I give out, I also put my money where my mouth is so to speak and, like last night, end up buying pitchers of beer in order to continue the love in. Last night I spent $30...which isn't bad, but considering that this move is going to cost me $$$$$ and that I am living off of Goya and stealing food from the office pantry (I love bein a girl and being able to shove food into my purse).

So maybe it is time that I date someone. Like a boy, when I get drunk I either want to fight or hook up with someone. Luckily, I am a reformed quasi-whore and never get into fights (unless if an ass deserves it). Without sounding too vulgar, I do not know how I can express how much I love the Samuri "Ichi." It is perhaps one of the greatest toys invented. Since I bought it on Sunday, and I came home drunk w/o a hook up, the toy and I "get close" last night. But it got me thinking this morning (couldnt sleep well...its like I am addicted or something), I feel sooooo bad for the next guy who I end up having sex with. First of all, its head spins and there is a function to make it vibrate...and we won't even go into size (think like a woman's fantasy). I could see myself in bed, being like, "Uhm...could you make your penis spin? And if you could somehow make it vibrate and get another 3/4" of width? That would help get me off. Thanks baby." I am ruined! I am making so that I will never enjoy sex with a man ever again (not that my last fucks have been memorable). What's a girl to do?

I am operating within this double standard. I give the Samuri and the Wabbit a rest and find a guy to take care of my drunken cravings/need of sex and the number of guys who I slept with goes up. Which then, in turn, makes me a slut (I also am severly germ phobic--goes with being neuortic). So, my question to guys, would you rather have a woman who has slept with many men but who loves an average size penis or a slightly virginal low sleep number woman who is ruined for having sex for the rest of her life? Becuase, seriously boys, no matter what...you will never be able to compete with the wabbit. Or my Samuri.

In other news, your author is thinking about pursuing a Jessica Stein and going out on a date with a woman. Now, I know I am being extrodinarily hipocritical, considering that I have given London boy so much shit on this blog after finding out that he screws around with men. First of all, yes I am a hipocrite. Secondly, I am sorry, considering that EVERY SINGLE MAN who I have had a thing/crush/a remote interest has turned out GAY...I think I could think like that. Also, let's be real, dating men in this city sucks and considering my track record with gay men...maybe I am a lezzie trapped in a Long Island girl's body. Slightly more healthier than a fag trapped in a woman's body...So we are emailing back and forth and of course, it is going to be written about on here.

My brother gets engaged and I become gay. That would make a great Christmas card.