Talkin' Dirty
Wednesday, July 19, 2006
I feel the need to preface this post by clearly stating the following:
--I really am a polite girl with good manners, who was well-raised. I like pearls and monograms, for god's sake.
--I really didn’t know what any of this was until at most a month ago. Really!
--Even though I’ve been referred to as the “tequila queen” and a “lush”, and I’m drunk twice in this story, I really don’t have a drinking problem. Really!
--If you are under 18, I think it might violate a law to read this.
You’ve never been more excited to read a post from me, have you? Dirty bastards!
Last week, Darren and I had dinner and drinks, which isn’t anything unusual. We went to the Emerald Inn which is always delightful. We drank some beer. Well, actually, we drank a lot of beer. So many that the waitress actually brought us a free round, which makes it a very successful evening in my book. And suffice it say that when we left, we were both a little inebriated.
We began to head towards the subway when the conversation turned towards strange sex practices, because Darren was telling me about his coworker who is working on an urban dictionary. (I can only imagine the crazy-ass Google hits I’m going to get after this post.)
Darren and I rarely talk about anything like this, so it was funny in and of itself that we had strayed near the topic. But we had, and he immediately mentioned the Dirty Sanchez—a move that Meg had actually once explained to me (I suspect it had to do with the aforementioned urban dictionary, though I again am not sure why we were talking about that, especially since we had met not more than 10 minutes earlier, but it was my birthday and I was again drunk). So, yeah. The Dirty Sanchez. Ewwwwwwww.
Well, this inevitably led to discussion of other disgusting moves. Like, say, the Donkey Punch. Which, what the hell? If you’re that calculated about it—and if you don’t have a problem punching your partner in the head—methinks you have some problems. And that’s just for starters. The other thing I learned about was the Chili Dog. That one put me over the edge. Who thought that up? Secondly, what is wrong with you?
All of these are just disgusting. Is anyone even really partaking in them? (Please don’t answer that.) They’re sick and they’re unsexy. They are absolutely, pointlessly dumb. And every single one degrades women in a really despicable way. But my main objection, to the chili dog in particular?
The cleanup. Seriously. Consider it.
*I really can’t tell my mother about this blog now, can I?
--I really am a polite girl with good manners, who was well-raised. I like pearls and monograms, for god's sake.
--I really didn’t know what any of this was until at most a month ago. Really!
--Even though I’ve been referred to as the “tequila queen” and a “lush”, and I’m drunk twice in this story, I really don’t have a drinking problem. Really!
--If you are under 18, I think it might violate a law to read this.
You’ve never been more excited to read a post from me, have you? Dirty bastards!
Last week, Darren and I had dinner and drinks, which isn’t anything unusual. We went to the Emerald Inn which is always delightful. We drank some beer. Well, actually, we drank a lot of beer. So many that the waitress actually brought us a free round, which makes it a very successful evening in my book. And suffice it say that when we left, we were both a little inebriated.
We began to head towards the subway when the conversation turned towards strange sex practices, because Darren was telling me about his coworker who is working on an urban dictionary. (I can only imagine the crazy-ass Google hits I’m going to get after this post.)
Darren and I rarely talk about anything like this, so it was funny in and of itself that we had strayed near the topic. But we had, and he immediately mentioned the Dirty Sanchez—a move that Meg had actually once explained to me (I suspect it had to do with the aforementioned urban dictionary, though I again am not sure why we were talking about that, especially since we had met not more than 10 minutes earlier, but it was my birthday and I was again drunk). So, yeah. The Dirty Sanchez. Ewwwwwwww.
Well, this inevitably led to discussion of other disgusting moves. Like, say, the Donkey Punch. Which, what the hell? If you’re that calculated about it—and if you don’t have a problem punching your partner in the head—methinks you have some problems. And that’s just for starters. The other thing I learned about was the Chili Dog. That one put me over the edge. Who thought that up? Secondly, what is wrong with you?
All of these are just disgusting. Is anyone even really partaking in them? (Please don’t answer that.) They’re sick and they’re unsexy. They are absolutely, pointlessly dumb. And every single one degrades women in a really despicable way. But my main objection, to the chili dog in particular?
The cleanup. Seriously. Consider it.
*I really can’t tell my mother about this blog now, can I?
This entry was posted
on Wednesday, July 19, 2006 at 8:20 PM.
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