Awesomely Bad High School Diary, Vol 4: Seriously you guys. Why won't he come in my hand?

This is it. I'm done. I hate high school Me so hard I'm rooting against myself now.

I know there are a few of you out there who enjoy these diary things, so I'm posting this because I'm tired and it's late and I haven't filled my quota of embarrassment this week.

In volumes, 1, 2, and 3, I frenched boys and got felt up and was very prolific about all of it.

Now in volume 4, I meet a dreamy boy named Chris, who is the epitome of chivalry. I'm a lucky, lucky girl.

Diary in black, my commentary in red.

***

May 3: Chris finally called and we talked for an hour. He said he used to write, and I thought he meant short stories but he meant graffiti. Specializing in stop signs and bus stops. *dreamy sigh* He thinks I'm pure because I don't smoke or drink. He said he "sort of" got back together with his ex-girlfriend, but they're going out without a real commitment, so he could see other people if he wanted. Was not yet fluent in "playa" at that point.

He says he likes the petite type. I don't think I'm petite. What does that mean? It means punch him in the nuts.

May 10: I went to the party tonight and saw Chris but he didn't say hi. I don't think he saw me. Maybe the giant bong was obscuring his vision.

May 12: We went out last night and Chris was there. He's really rad but in an average way. We talk on the phone now. He's kind of an asshole on the phone but I like it. Of course you do. I asked him to prom and he said yes but I don't think he likes me.

May 25: It was really nice staying up all night with Chris. He slept with his head on my shoulder while we watched Thundercats and stuff. He makes fun of my pudgy tummy and chin.

He fucked his last girlfriend everywhere, like against a sink and on her mom's desk and her car. The sink part bothers me. He said sex with me would be better than with her, but I have to decide if I should wait for love. Ah, that's sweet. Also, I have to consider what would change. Everything would change. Smart girl. It might get boring, like there's no mystery, nothing left to do. True. I could get hurt. So wise. But I might have lots of orgasms. *cricket*

May 30: I kind of love him, in an introductory way.

June 3: We slept in the same bed this weekend and I let him put his hands down in my area, and he would have got his face down there if I hadn't stopped him. That's disgusting. Yes, petewy. That's for crazy people. Blech.

June 10: I think I failed at his handjob because he didn't come/cum on my hand or anything. They are supposed to come/cum on your hand. I'm so naive, I don't even know how to spell it! I want to do lots of things with him, like 1) sleep over (just snuggling) 2) I want to help him shave and 3) I want him to tell me why he won't come/cum on my hand. Hint: Think more "churning butter" and less "Nintendo joystick."

He says he's never been in love before. I'm going to be so nice he'll fall in love with me. He says things sometimes like he's kidding, like "more cushion for the pushin" and that I smell bad. I blame that stupid rock crystal deodorant. Shut up. It's resolved now.

June 22: I really like Chris except for when he's an idiot. He's really good at seeing what people are really like. So am I. Like, I can see that he's an asshole. We both want to have sex but he's starting to do things like burp and blow it in my face. And when I don't want his hands down there he just won't accept it. I like him though.

June 30: Fuck! I am never going to get his come on my hand!! I want come on my hand like some women want an engagement ring.

July 11: He said tonight that he doesn't want a commitment, but that he won't scam with anyone else. "It's better to have an understanding than a contract," he said. What does that mean? If he doesn't want a commitment, why did he steal that Naked Gun 2 1/2 poster from the bus stop for me? He's such an asshole.

Ode to Men (Ode? Really?)

They were made without hearts

so they can't love anyone but themselves.

They were born without guilt

so they can crush hearts and not think twice.

They have no desire for love

so they need nothing but security (Yes, that's it. Security. That's what 16 year old boys want. Perceptive!)

They can give everything that is false (all the false in the world. That's how much false.)

but they never get caught in their deceptions. ("Cheaters" hadn't aired yet.)

They are a species other than ours (I was bad at Science)

one made with evil and hatred (Hold up. Did I just invent Orcs?)

and we are the ones destroyed. (Somebody has her period!)

Le Fin.

Deep bow.

I'm too sexy for my penis

Me: When you gave birth to me, was it difficult?

Mom: Oh no. It was pretty easy. No drugs or anything.

Me: Did you cut the cord? Or did dad do it?

Mom: Um...I think the doctor did it.

Me: When the doctor told you I had both a penis and a vagina, was it hard to choose which gender to assign to me?

Mom: Becky.

Me: What was the weather like that day? Do you remember?

Mom: Becky.

Me: Hmm?

Mom: You are not a hermaphrodite.

Me: But if I was, I bet you wouldn't even tell me.

Mom: I think you'd be able to figure it out yourself. Anyway, by this point, you'd need hormone supplements.

Me: Oh really? Is that what the pamphlets said?

Mom: Becky, you've never had a penis.

Me: You tend to gloss over the difficult issues, mom. If I was born a hermaphrodite, I think you might have gone into a deep denial about it. I think that's what's happening here.

Mom: I might gloss over things here and there, true. It would be hard to gloss over giving birth to a baby girl with a penis, though. I bet I would remember that pretty well.

Me: Would you though? Would you? *squinty eyes* Would you?

....

Me: Think about it.

...

Me: Would you?

...

Me: *suspicious eyes*

Mom: *chews sandwich*

Me: *raises eyebrows*

Mom: *sips tea*

Me: You are one tough nut to crack, you know that?

Mom: Is this about your shoulders again? Broad shoulders are very attractive, you know. Why do you think women wear shoulder pads in their jackets?

Me: They don't.

Mom: Oh. *absentmindedly touches her shoulder*

Me: You need me to cut those out later?

Mom: If you have time, yeah.

Me: I'm just grumpy I think. I don't feel very girly sometimes.

Mom: I think what's happening right now is that you're wearing your uncomfortable bra again.

Me: I am. This bra makes me so angry! I want to break out of it like The Hulk. *sticks fists under shirt into bra cups and pushes outwards* Arrrghhhh!!!

Mom: See? You're just having a bad bra day. You are the girliest girl I ever did see. There is nothing manly about you.

Me: Other than my broad shoulders and my penis stump.

Mom: Actually, I think they construct a clitoris out of the penis.

Me: Oh, good God. No. Ok, there are, like, 5 things on my plate I can't eat now. Baby corn, button mushrooms, asparagus, cherry tomatoes, this gherkin pickle needs to go away...

Mom: Why? What's wrong?

Me: Don't say clitoris ever again. Nobody should ever have to hear their mom say "clitoris". Or at least say it with the emphasis on the second syllable. Your way sounds so...Julie Andrews.

Mom: When have you ever heard Julie Andrews say the word clitoris?

Me: I'm pretty sure she says it that way. Like, Juuuussssst aaaaa spoonful of sugar helps the CLItoris, go down....

Mom: But then there's: Nobody solves a problem like cliTORiiiiis.....So, who's to say?

Me: The nuns sing that one, not Julie Andrews. My argument stands.

Mom: Wow. You should have been a lawyer, really.

Me: Did you save my extra penis skin? You should tell me. I might need a graft one day.

Mom: I think I pressed it into your "Baby's First Memories" book.

Me: ....

...

*shudder*

...

Me: Bravo.

Mom: Thank you.

Stone Cold Killa (of loved ones)

Me: I think I have Restless Leg Syndrome.

Jack: You definitely have that.

Me: Wow. Harsh.

Jack: I was just agreeing.

Me: You're supposed to disagree.

Jack: I thought I was only supposed to disagree when girls call themselves fat.

Me: No, you're supposed to disagree with all the negative stuff, but agree with the negative stuff we say about other people. Also, agree with the positive stuff about others, but go out of your mind bonkers agreeing about the positive stuff we say about about ourselves.

Jack: Ok, you don't have Restless Leg Syndrome.

Me: Oh my god, shut up. You don't even know. My legs are so restless it's crazy.

Jack: You know what's a good show? Dog the Bount...

Me: GLEE!! I KNOW RIGHT?? *Sigh* What I wouldn't do for one afternoon playdate with Kurt, everyone's favorite gay teen. I want to put velcro on the palms of his hands and fasten him around my neck and wear him around town like one of those stuffed monkeys. Or maybe I could get a Kurt-sized baby bjorn. I want to buy him a sandwich and a blended coffee drink, then maybe I'd take him to visit Nana's Nigerian Nurse and we'd have a Single Ladies dance party.

Me: *dreamland*

Me: Wait. What was I talking about before?

Jack: Basketball.

Me: You know who has Restless Leg Syndrome? Kathy.

Jack: Oh, she definitely has Restless Leg Syndrome, big time.

Me: ...

Jack: She doesn't have Restless Leg Syndrome at all. Her legs are so at peace, it's crazy.

Me: Kathy's my friend. She falls under the "Me" umbrella. She is a part of me. Refute anything negative about Kathy.

Jack: I love Kathy. Kathy's the prettiest of all your friends.

Me: ...

Jack: All your friends are the prettiest, I can't choose one.

Me: Exactly.

Jack: Kathy has the best cans though.

Me: God, I know. They're fantastic.

Jack: Why are you always worried about stuff like Restless Leg Syndrome? Why don't you worry about heart disease? That's what dad died of, it's more likely you have heart disease than Restless Leg Syndrome.

Me: I thought dad died of pneumonia.

Jack: The pneumonia was like the straw that broke the camel's back. The camel's back being dad's heart in this analogy. The straw being fluid in his lungs.

Me: How'd he get fluid in his lungs anyhow? I thought all his liquids were thickened with that thickening powder.

Jack: Yeah, I don't know. He was non-dairy, non-liquid, non-....

Me: No, he wasn't non-dairy. As long as the dairy wasn't milk, that was the rule. No *liquid* dairy. He could have thick dairy, like whipped cream.

Jack: No, all dairy causes mucus, so he was completely non-dairy. Non-dairy, non-liquids....

Me: No, that's wrong, I KNOW he wasn't non-dairy, because I brought him a huge piece of berry cream pie, like a week before he went back in the hospital, and it was fine.

Jack: You mean, a week before he went back into the hospital with pneumonia for the last time? With fluid in his lungs? With all the coughing and stuff?

Me: Yeah. He loved that pie. It was his favorite. I remember as he was eating it he said, Kid, this is the best fucking pie I've ever had. I tell ya, these nurses never let me have shit like this. Cream, you know? Real crea....m....

Jack: Becky.

Me: (twirls hair)

Jack: Becky.

Me: I killed dad.

Jack: Yeah. You did.

Me: Oh, man. My bad.

Jack: Your bad?

Me: It was really good pie.

Jack: He was NON-DAIRY, Becky.

Me: I'm a horrible listener. I really am. I need to listen to directions better.

Jack: You are the worst listener ever.

Me: See...you're supposed to disagree when I say I'm a bad listener. Remember? Disagree with the negative, agree...with the....

Jack: (raised eyebrows)

Me: I'm sorry I killed dad.

Jack: It's ok. Maybe we need to get you a pen and notepad to write things down so you don't forget next time.

Me: That would be good. I'm more of a visual learner.

Jack: Well, now we know.

Me: One to grow on.

Lessons in Drunk: A Retrospective in Photos

I've been known to drink a little. Here and there. Now and then. Truthfully, though, I can count the number of times I was drunk in 2009 on one hand, even if you cut off my thumb and pinky. And maybe my index finger down to the knuckle. I don't know, whatever, math is hard.

At this year's New Year's Eve party, I did not get drunk.

Alright, I got a little drunk. Barely. It was a very grown-up kind of drunk though. Like, drunk enough to put a flashing neon koosh ball in each of my bra cups so that whenever I met someone new I could punch myself in each boob, like bam!bam! and then hold my hand out, "Nice to meet you!" like a fancy lady with green and orange technoboobs.

But not drunk enough to re-enact my own birth in 4-part sequence in the photo booth, by convincing my mom to stand on the bench as I emerged from under her long, flowy skirt, wide-eyed and innocent. Not this year.

This year I was drunk enough to bury a bottle of wine in a planter for later. I learned that from my dogs. It's the best trick ever.

But not drunk enough to press my index finger firmly into any of the male guests' ambiguous crotch bulges and ask, "Is that your penis, or your zipper? I think it is your penis, because it feels squishy."

Sometimes it's just a warped zipper, and when it is a warped zipper, I'm hailed as a fashion hero. Nobody wants a warped zipper. But when it's not a warped zipper, but rather a squishy penis, I'm not a hero. But that's okay, because I'd rather be a hero 50% of the time and a weirdo drunk poker of penii 50% of the time, than neither of those things 100% the time. It's like Spiderman. No...no it's like how it's better to have loved and lost than never....No, it's more like Spiderman.

But my point is...barely drunk this year.

And the way I accomplished this was by avoiding cameras. Because you can get as drunk as you want, and if nobody has proof of it and if it never ends up on Facebook, it never happened. It's like the old proverb...If a Becky gets drunk in the forest, and nobody tags her on Facebook, did she really get drunk in the forest? No. She didn't.

But I was not always this clever. I was not always such a stealth avoider of cameras.

There was a time before Facebook, when I didn't mind having my picture taken while drinking. Because, why not? Who's gonna see them? Pssh. Certainly not 372 of my closest Internet friendishes! Because hey...what the hell's an Internet anyhow? If anything goes wrong, I'll just burn the negative! Yay!!

But it's lucky for you that I was so footloose and fancy-free with the getting my picture taken, because if not for that, there would be no...

LESSONS IN DRUNK: A PHOTOGRAPHIC JOURNEY

Tip 1) How to Pose Drunk

Smiling for the camera should feel natural. Relax your face, and offer a serene, comfortable expression, one that expresses maturity and sophistication and conveys that you're having a lovely time at this gathering, and above all, you are a lady. A lady with class. Be cool and confident. Don't overdo it.

Parties? Yeah, they're ok.

I'm more of a cuddle-up-with-a-good-book kind of girl though.

Tip 2) When to Say When

The most difficult thing about social drinking is when to know when you've had enough. Take some time to evaluate how you feel. Are you dizzy? Is your language appropriate for the crowd in attendance? When your friends come to say goodbye, are you able to restrain yourself from climbing up onto the hood of their truck to prevent them from leaving?

Oh, must you leave so soon? Pity.

It was wonderful to see you. Please come again!

Tip 3) Drinking 101

It's common for young people who are beginning to experiment with alcohol to test their limits. College is a prime example of this. For you young readers, remember, moderation is key to a healthy lifestyle. Look for the signs. Stop drinking if 1) You feel nauseous 2) You feel you are about to make a bad decision 3) You find yourself in a potentially compromising position 4) You find yourself at a bar in Cancun, a bartender named Beto is holding your head back by your ponytail and pouring something down your throat via baby bottle 5) You are thrown in the pool and your 90's rolled-up denim shorts now weigh 50 lbs, yet because you are no quitter, you simply tighten your braided leather belt to keep them from falling down, and you persevere....

Gather together, ladies.

It's time for the always classy "group portrait in the restroom".

Ready? Camera centered? Alright then. Big smiles!

...and 6) You end up with photos like this when you get back home.

How does one say "sensual boob honk" en espanol?

Tip 4) Not falling down

This one's tricky. Because sometimes your friend is way drunker than you, and that friend begins her descent and grabs a hold of your teeny tiny 90's backpack-purse straps ipod earbud cords for support and takes you down with her. That's understandable. This one is totally not my your fault. Let's move on.

Could this floor BE any more slippery?

HAHAHAHA, sigh. "Friends" is the best show ever.

Tip 5) Celebrating Important Events

It's easy to lose one's head and get carried away on important nights, such as birthdays and weddings and historical presidential elections. When this happens, and you've made some bad decisions and perhaps had too much to drink, consider the quick "power nap" strategy of recovery. The best thing about a power nap is it clears your head, sobers you up, and it can be done anywhere, even a driveway.

Warning: A well-meaning female friend will undoubtedly approach for the obligatory "comforting back rub", and in this instance a sharp, "Leem lone!! Go way!! I'm n' puke!" will allow you the peace you require to nap undisturbed.

Heavens. It appears I've lost a contact.

I swear I would lose my head if it weren't screwed on tight.

Tip 6) Your 21st birthday

Congratulations. You are a woman. Your friends will likely take you out to eat, maybe even at a restaurant with lots of tall indoor plants, if you're lucky. By this time, you have learned to drink responsibly and you are ready to reveal your maturity to the world.

By all means, have that margarita! Have a second! Remember to eat your dinner though, because food helps to...wow, you really blew through that drink. Handy tip: The face you make upon releasing the straw of your margarita after sucking the whole thing down is not a pretty one. You clearly have brain freeze, also wonk eye, also are you having a stroke? Take a moment to compose yourself.

Or not. *sigh*

These margaritas are simply divine. I do believe I'll have another.

Garcon? *snap snap*