Crazy Girlfriend Behavior

In every new relationship, I think every woman should be allowed a small amount of Crazy Girlfriend Behavior.

Now, by “behavior,” I don’t mean Facebook stalking his ex and Fed-Exing her a dead rabbit with the phrase STAY AWAY FROM MY MAN YOU LOOSE, FELLATIOUS WHORE stained in blood into its fur.

Rabbits are small. You can’t fit that whole sentence on a rabbit carcass.

Common sense, people.

I don’t even mean Facebook stalking any of his exes, like, at all. Festering rabbit carcass notwithstanding.

Trust me, girls. Don’t do it. You won’t like what you see.

The type of Crazy Girlfriend Behavior I fully endorse is this:

Writing A Passive-Aggressive Blog Post Shit-Talking His Ex-Girlfriend That May Or May Not Include A Fun Diagram That Took Twenty Minutes To Make In Photoshop!

Duh.

That was so obvious.

(Not only does this method work for current boyfriends’ exes, it ALSO works for ex’s current girlfriends [see last few sentences of this post]. Bonus!)

Here’s the thing.

The Lawyer?

Lives next door to his ex-girlfriend.

Yeah, you read that right.

The Lawyer could fart on his back porch and his ex could probably smell it ten seconds later.

I’m sure you can imagine just HOW FUN this is for me.

Let’s go in depth, shall we?

The way The Lawyer’s house is set up is like this (click to embiggen):

*Map not to scale and probably completely inaccurate. Oh look, trees!

(Oh yeah, I’m calling her Skinny McSkanky, because she’s 1) skinnier than I [also acceptable Crazy Girlfriend Behavior: being jealous of his ex because she is skinnier than you and giving her a moniker like Skinny McSkanky] and 2) duh, skanky.)

So The Lawyer and his ex-step-uncle live on a lakefront property together with a third house, the one that Skinny McSkanky rents from Lawyerman’s G-Pa. I guess The Lawyer and Skinny McSkanky started dating out of convenience. That, and they are both young, attractive individuals. ANYHOOSITS. Lawyerman told me things with him and S.McS didn’t end well. I didn’t ask for deets because 1) it’s none of my business and 2) if it had anything to do with anything sexual my brain would asplode right there and well, I just don’t want that happening.

Now, I must say this. S.McS has never been anything but nice to me and I am probably a major bitch for writing this post.

BUT.

I am allowed to be somewhat completely irrational because of:

Crazy Girlfriend Behavior.

Enough said.

ANYWAY. As you can see by that lovely map I made, the pool is adjacent to S.McS’s house. Despite this fact, the pool is shared by her, The Lawyer, and the Lawyer’s ex-step-uncle.

SO. Whenever The Lawyer and I want to go swimming, we have to be all up in S.McS’s backyard and shit.

It’s really not as bad as it sounds, but still. It’s not THE most comfortable thing to do.

I should mention here that this pool is not an ordinary chlorinated pool. It is filled and drained on a regular basis with spring water that is FREAKING FREEZING COLD. This makes it good for taking baths in. Which The Lawyer does from time to time, and apparently others use it for this purpose, too.

Because, next to the pool, on the edge of S.McS’s porch . . .

I found this:

And thought to myself:

AHAHAAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHha!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

HAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

BITCH HAS GOT EMBARRASSING DANDRUFF!!!!!!!!!

And immediately I felt better about myself.

I never mentioned it to The Lawyer.

Because these thoughts are allowed to exist in my head only.

And also apparently, on this blog.

(SHE EVEN GOT THE WAL-MART BRAND. BITCH DIDN’T EVEN SPRING FOR SELSUN BLUE)

Romance is not dead

Things with The Lawyer are going swimmingly, thank you all for your concern. There’s not really much else I can say on the whole situation right now. You’ll forgive me, yes?

For just over two months now, I’ve been enjoying the best sex of my life. No lie! We do it probably 7 or 8 times per week. And it is glorious.

Sometimes, when you’re as horny as we both are, however, the art of seduction gets lost.

“Let’s make love” (ok, I never say this, and neither does he, but let’s just use this as an example of something “romantic” people say to let their SO’s know they want to touch dirty parts together repeatedly) becomes “you wanna do the sex now?”

Post-sex phrases like “that was fantastic” and “was it good for you?” turn to “good fuckin’, baby” with an ass slap.

I realized that maybe we needed to slow down a bit. Be a little more . . . romantic.

So when we were lounging at his pool yesterday, I said to my Lawyerman while giving the flirty eyes, “Come here.”

He came over to where I was sitting on the edge of the pool and put his hands on the small of my back. I kissed him softly and then turned his ear toward my lips.

“Baby, tonight, when we’re fucking . . .” I whispered softly.

“Mmmhm?”

“I’m gonna fart so hard it makes your balls vibrate.”

Another melodramatic one from yours truly. Yay.

Oh, dearies.

I feel the need.

The need . . . to blog.

I feel like I’ve been keeping you lovely freaders so out of the loop. And while I don’t blog just so others read it? I do feel a compulsion to blog, even though I don’t know exactly how to vom it all out into this little WordPress box.

When I write it down? It sticks. It’s more . . . real.

Dig?

I’ve started several drafts and haven’t finished any of them. This is highly unlike me, as I hate to let drafts just hang out there without being finished by at least the end of the day.

Have I wanted to blog about my trip to the quickie store to buy porn for Dating Without Pants (now defunct blog, tear) since he won my contest (even though I still haven’t sent his prize and I have an anal-centric porn DVD just chilling on my computer desk for anyone to find if they want to)?

Of course I have.

Have I wanted to blog about the fact that New York called me and asked me to come over to his house to pick up something, and when I went over there, he looked as if he hadn’t bathed in six days and his house was a complete wreck? And the fact that The Lawyer called when I was at NY’s house? And that I answered the call and talked to him while NY was standing right across the room from me? And that it was a big YES I AM OVER YOU and he hasn’t bothered me since?

You KNOW I have.

But I’ve been spending so much time with Lawyerman that I have barely any time to blog at home. And my brain has been unplugged at work recently because we’re between quarters.

And I’ve had zero alone time to sort out all my thoughts and emotions.

I’m going to need some “me” time away from The Lawyer, and I hope he doesn’t think I’m giving him the kiss-off. But lately? Since we’re around each other so much? I’ve begun to get weird feelings. About stuff. And I’m afraid if we never leave each other’s side? The Crazy is going to rear its ugly head far sooner than I’d anticipated.

I really, really want to talk about what’s going on, but I just don’t know what to say. No, The Lawyer hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s a difficult situation to explain and I’ve already had difficulty explaining it to my, you know, TANGIBLE friends.

I just feel so helpless in my situation and I don’t know what’s going to have to happen for the situation to become resolved. It’s a shitty feeling . . . sorta like purgatory. I can’t talk about how I feel without it becoming a HUGE, serious issue, yet I can’t just let it go. I’m not ready to break up over something stupid that I’ve probably fabricated inside my own mind. But I’m not ready to talk about it, either.

I don’t want my freaders getting off The Lawyer’s bandwagon. Like I said, he hasn’t done anything. It’s all right here bouncing around inside my brain.

At least . . .

I certainly hope it is.

Because I certainly can’t handle another heartbreak right now.

Dirty texts, body farms, and incest

Oh, hello there, blog!

I almost forgot you were here!

I was telling Andy the other day that I feel like I should be blogging more regularly. That I shouldn’t start being boring just because I have a boyfriend. And while I don’t want to blog only to have something up here and be able to say, “Well, I blogged. Now I can get back to reading TFLN my low-paying job,” if I stopped blogging now, I’d feel that it was a result of being boyfriended.

And I can’t be havin’ that.

I’m an independent woman, yo.

This is MY SHIT.

Anyway.

So after all that whining about Being My Own Person and Not Allowing My Relationship To Define My Blog, I’m going to talk to you about my boyfriend.

Swell.

So, this past week was the longest we’ve been away from each other. He had some continuing lawyer education crap in Buttfucky starting Tuesday, and I had a wedding to attend on Saturday. He was coming home Friday, and I was leaving that same day, before he got back home. So it was Sunday before we could see each other again.

In a new relationship? Where it’s all sex, all the time?

Six days is a Long.

Fucking.

Time.

So what did we do to pass the time?

We sent naked photos of ourselves to each other!

Awesome!

I admit, this was my first foray into amateur porno photography. No man before The Lawyer has ever received a dirty picture from me, except that one time I sent Murray a picture text of my boobs. So I felt a bit cheesy doing it, but we did have a lot of fun. It’s a good thing we’re both on Verizon, because holy hell the amount of texts we sent each other last week. Lawd have mercy.

I had some real gems from The Lawyer: Drunk In Buttfucky Edition. I would have saved them, but there wasn’t enough room on my phone. They were somewhere along the lines of “I cn haslryd stadn up rghhtnow” and “jesus peprmnt telphone ham sandwch.” These were still going strong into the weekend when I was in South Carolina at my cousin’s wedding.

So I spent about 40% of the reception going into the bathroom to meet his demands of “show me your boobs/ass/vagina.”

Class. I has it.

Some other lovely bits of information I picked up at the wedding?

One of my cousins works on the body farm at [Southern University], where he has the distinct pleasure of boiling the skin and meat off dead human bodies, then piecing back together their skeletons. Hello, dream job! JEALOUS!

And here’s the really sad/fucked up info.

The mother of the bride? AKA my dad’s sister? Dating. Her. Stepson.

Let me repeat that. Step brother of the bride? Is dating the bride’s mother.

If you STILL haven’t wrapped your head around that one—this means that my aunt is dating her ex-husband’s SON.

They even have the same FIRST NAME.

FUCKING. KILL. ME.

Someone pissed in my gene pool.

Then vomited and shat in it.

I hate the fact that I’m even admitting this. It makes my family sound so trashy. But hey. The things we admit for blog fodder.

And if THAT weren’t exciting ENOUGH . . . when I went to The Lawyer’s house upon my arrival back home, we immediately got down to business and were promptly walked in on by his mom, who is visiting town to watch his swearing-in.

FAIL.

TMI Thursday: It rubs the lotion on its skin

Does everybody know what time it is?

TOOL TIME!

No, damn it. Get out of my blog, Tim Allen. And put down the coke straw.

It’s . . . TMI Thursday!

Okay, let’s get right down to business.

So once I was dating this guy. At this time, we’d been dating for about a month and had yet to do the nasty. I really liked him and I hoped that inviting him to a party and getting him drunk enough would result in a little after-party sexytime.

I’m such a man sometimes.

Except when I cry at my desk. Like this morning.

But I digress.

ANYWAY. So we went to this party and proceeded to get sloppy, nasty drunk. After becoming sufficiently wasted, we stole some cookies from the snack table (this was a Grown Up Party with actual food in place of a drug buffet a la college parties).

What, your college parties didn’t have drug buffets?

Loser.

So my man friend and I left the party with our stolen cookies, went back to his house, and began sucking face.

It’s finally going to happen! I thought.

Oh yes. It did happen. I’d gotten him drunk enough to slip me the tubesteak.

However . . . apparently, it had been a while since he’d had sex, considering the fact that he lasted all of about, oh, three minutes.

Yeah. Lame.

So we started doing Other Stuff.

The details are fuzzy at this point considering we were both tanked, but I do remember this. At one point, he shot his swimmers all over my back.

And instead of going to get a towel? Like a NORMAL person would do?

He proceded to rub his semen into my back. Like lotion.

Vigorously.

My mouth was agape in horror. But I was too drunk (and too enamored with this dude) to say anything. I just waited until he was finished and we got back down to business.

Is this, like normal? Do other people do this? Because it sure as shit weirded me the fuck out.

So I guess I just had a nice cum lotion layer on my back all night. Awesome.

Maybe he was trying to give me a sensual semen massage?

(Doubtful.)

And what was even weirder? The next morning, when he requested morning head (which I graciously gave, because, again, enamored with the kid), he pulled my head out from under the covers when he was about to come . . .

and then he came all over himself . . .

and never cleaned it up. He put his clothes on and went about his day.

Maybe he had some kind of weird evaporating semen?

I don’t know. But I never quite figured it out.

My guess is, he was just gross as fuck.

I sure know how to pick winners!

I don’t mind the yelling so much as long as he doesn’t break out the hand saw again

Guys like sports.

I get that.

Some of you, though? Just baffle the shit out of me with your shenanigans.

The Lawyer, for instance.

The Lawyer is a University of Florida alum. He eats, sleeps, breathes, and shits Florida athletics. He’s one of those guys.

This year, Florida’s softball team is the #1 seed in the Women’s College World Series. Since regular season games aren’t televised, the WCWS is The Lawyer’s only chance to see them in action.

During a UF vs. Alabama game on Sunday, we were starting to give up hope on the Gators. They were down by 3, and the end of the game was drawing near. If they lost, they’d have to play another game later that night. Neither of us wanted that to happen.

When the game ran long, it switched over to ESPN 2. When The Lawyer changed the channel, his piece of shit TV just decided it was going to turn itself off.

After much swearing and hat-throwing, The Lawyer got an idea. He retrieved a smaller, even shittier TV from storage, and set it up next to the other TV. There was peace in the forest again.

Until, that is, THAT TV started fucking up.

Oh yes. The picture would come and go. Audio stayed the same but let’s face it. You don’t want to listen to the game when you could be watching it.

The Lawyer surmised that the TV’s were becoming overheated. So he went into his bedroom and grabbed his fan. He plugged the fan up behind the smaller TV and put it directly next to the TV’s vent.

“You’re a freaking nut,” I said.

“Oh no. I’m not done.”

He grabbed his tool bag and pulled out one of those hand saws (sorta like this one), and began SAWING THE BACK OF THE TV OFF.

Behold:

The Lawyer's handiwork, taken with my camera phone.

Now that, my friends, is the dedication of a sports freak. The Lawyer sawed his TV up to watch ONE INNING of a WOMEN’S SOFTBALL GAME.

His efforts paid off when the TV started working again just in time to see the Gators’ first baseman hit a walkoff grand slam in the bottom of the 7th.

I think it’s all a result of The Lawyer’s devotion.

—

In other news, The Lawyer and I are “official” now. My first real boyfriend since the breakup with Murray, almost a year to the day later! Of course, he saws up TV’s, but other than that? Completely normal.

Riiiiiight. Who am I kidding? Like I could ever date anyone “normal.”