women

First, Kiss My Ass

 

Let’s just get right into it, shall we? So, as some of you may already know, I was a bit of a late bloomer. I’ve spent most of my life looking a lot like this:CPJx_Q0WwAEQnCT

Needless to say, I kind of missed out on having high school boyfriends and things like that. I was always just doing my own thing! It was great! In my time not having any boyfriends I learned a ton of life skills! Like being able to recite the 50 states in alphabetical order in under 17 seconds! (For the record, I did it in 15 seconds once in college when I was drunk off gin but I haven’t been able to touch that time since.) I also learned how to wiggle my ears and flare my nostrils. I can make a muscle with my tongue. And I can rap all of It Was A Good Day by Ice Cube. Really all the quality things you need to succeed in life! No regrets.

Today I’m writing about kisses. My first kiss to be exact. See, it’s funny—I watched a TON of Disney Channel growing up. 80bf16273dc97199274fe8de782a6828I learned what a first kiss should be like from Lizzie McGuire and Mia Mignonette Thermopolis Renaldi, PrinCESS of Genovia. Your foot should “pop,” there should be fireworks, or maybe someone would even tell me, “you shine like the light from the sun.”

I was brainwashed by all the sappy shit. I was ready. Sadly, high school came and went with still no kisses. You are reading this correctly—I had my first kiss in college. *Insert angel emoji here.*

So yeah, there I was in college without a first kiss. I used to think about that movie Never Been Kissed and I just thought to myself as long as I didn’t get as old as Drew Barrymore’s character without being kissed, I would be all good.

The night of my first kiss was a weird one. I was out with friends having a grand ole time, drinking some gin, smiling, dancing—it was great. When all of a sudden, an equally drunk friend comes over and attempts to kiss me while I had a full on smile on my face. It was a second or two of lip to teeth action. Granted my teeth are pretty nice, I’d kiss them too. But in my intoxicated mind, this counted as my first kiss. But my foot didn’t pop, there were no fireworks, and no one told me I shine like the light from the sun!

I’m not going to lie to you, I cried. BUT I BLAME THE GIN! WAY TOO MUCH GIN! Funny thing, gin, isn’t it? Something so beautiful and pure as gin can give you wonderful things like a personal record for reciting the 50 states in alphabetical order, but it can also give you tears when your foot doesn’t “pop.”

Rest assured folks, I’ve been making up for lost time. Don’t feel bad for me, I’ve gotten plenty of kisses and popping in since then. (AAAYYYYEEEE!) But that’s a story for another time.

 

I’m sorry mom,

Blog On Fleek

Birthday Blues

10 pm November 30, 2014.

Nice. Only two hours until my 21st birthday. It’s a Sunday, so I can’t go out. I guess I’ll take this time to unwind.

You know what? I’m going to paint my nails and put on a face mask. Dammit, this is about to be MY DAY! And dammit, I will look damn good. I’m the goddamn Birthday Princess for crying out loud!

But what color? Hmm.. Something….trendy yet sophisticated. Something that says “I’m mature, but I’m still here to party.”

Settled on a nice nude color.

Chicka chicka yeah. Nude color to match my nude body tomorrow night….BECAUSE BIRTHDAY SEX, Y’ALL!

Now that I have the color sorted, I can focus on my face mask. I’ll put on the mask and start painting my nails. Ya know, to really give the mask time to work its magic while I focus on my nails. Damn, I’ve got this 21 thing all figured out.

Time to slap on the mask. I squirt some into my hand and start applying it to my face. It’s chocolate scented, so it looks like I just rubbed my business all over my face. Not to mention slightly racist.

Oooh. And it’s cooling! What a treat! Smells and feels like two chocolate Easter bunnies doin’ it in Heaven.

Time for the nails. First coat: completed. Eh, a bit streaky. Definitely needs a second coat. I put on the second coat. Eh. Maybe even a third coat? Sure. Done. Now, we wait. This shit has to dry! I’ll just relax. Let me lay down, I still have 5 minutes before I can take this mask off at 10:17pm anyway. So cooling. So relaxing. Let me close my eyes for a second.

FUCK.10:56pm November 30, 2014.

NO LONGER COOLING. NO LONGER RELAXING. IT NOW FEELS LIKE TWO CHOCOLATE EASTER BUNNIES ARE DOIN’ IT IN HELL, THE FIERY PITS OF HELL.

I run to the bathroom to wash it off. CHRIST, it’s in my eyes. Like two chocolate Easter bunnies are doing it in my eyes.

I proceed to splash water in my eyes for the next 4 minutes. Four minutes of my 20-year-old life I’ll never get back.

But I’m in good spirits! I still have an hour left!

11pm November 30, 2014.

An hour! One whole hour! A complete 60 minutes! What to do! The options are endless!

I look down at my nails. They’re ruined. They’re all dented and scuffed from the chocolate bunny incident of 10:56pm. Guess I’ll do them over. No big deal, I have a whole hour.

I take off the polish. Different color this time. I reach for a fast-drying formula. My classic shade: Rimmel’s “Mind The Gap, Victoria.” It has my name in the goddamn color’s name. Meant to be. My nails are done without a hitch. And I managed to kill some time. Perfect.

11:30pm November 30, 2014.

30 minutes. The home stretch. I can do this!

You know what? I’m going to take a shot! I’m 20 years young baby! I’ve basically spent the last five years of my life saying “fuck you” to the Man anyway! Might as well fuck legality one last time!

To the liquor cabinet!

Yikes, lookin’ sparse. There are only three dusty bottles in the corner. Strike that, two are empty. One bottle. The label is handwritten. I recognize that the handwriting is that of my neighbor, Jack, the italian immigrant who makes his own wine. Label says, “Grappa 120 Proof”

Jesus. I google it. Basically it’s fermented grape skins, stems, and other shit I don’t want in my mouth.

I pour a shot anyway. Do you even take shots of this? Fuck it, I do what I want.

It smells absolutely awful. Like someone bottled the contents of a port-o-potty and topped it off with some cheap wine. Nice. I can do this. FOR AMERICA!

I toss it back. HOLYFUCKINGCUNTJESUSSHITCHRISTGODDAMMIT. My face scrunches as soon as the Grappa touches my tongue. I set down the shot glass too hard and knock over the bottle with the back of my hand. Broken glass and grappa now cover the kitchen floor.

I grab some rags and clean up the mess I had just made, tiptoeing around the broken glass as I do so. It takes forever and it’s a sticky mess, but I get it done. And right before 12!

12am December 1, 2014. My birthday.

The last two hours were rough, but they’re behind me now. New year, new me. Just call me Vicky Martin because I’m livin’ la vida loca, baby! But I have tomorrow to live it up! Exhausted and defeated, I call it a night.

I brush my teeth and crawl into bed. I reach to turn off the light and see my bottle of nude nail polish from before. hmm…nude. It reminds me: BIRTHDAY SEX, Y’ALL! It’s not too late! I can really make this count!

But not with a real male, unfortunately. I dig through my underwear drawer and pull out a certain purple, phallic, vibrating, silicone dream I like to call Leo.

I crawl into bed. Excited, I pull down my panties. I turn on Leo.

Batteries are dead.

HappyBirthday2me


 

I’m so sorry,

Victoria, Blog On Fleek