This morning was extremely jarring for me. Not only did my alarm go off at 7 a.m., but when I went to hit it off, I pretty much punched a naked guy in the face, and it wasn't the naked boy in whose bed I recently murdered a chicken.
Why, hello there! What's a naked boy like you doing up here in the Heights?
It comes back to me now that as he was leaving the party last night, this boy said something along the lines of , "Well seriously, it was very nice to meet you. I've heard some nice things about you. And I do hope to see you again," to which I replied something like, "Well, fuck...fuck?" Maybe it was the tequila talking, or the mindset of having my NYCherry recently removed. All hell breaks loose when I don't have to deal with precedence. Or maybe this is what happens when you start out the night talking about your brother's porn stash and the NYCondom ad campaign: Get Some.
Never mind that it's that bloody time of the month or anything. I really wish "they" would come up with a device that would allow you to discreetly take care of that...you know, like a tampon but about eight inches further in. Well, I guess I answered my own question there. Maybe that could be my contribution to feminism/humanity: the tampon with the ten-inch string. The ad campaign would go "Just Bloody Get Some Already" or "Don't Just Go With the Flow" or maybe even something like "Your Blood Should Be Your Business."
Yes, this is what I think about when I'm awake at 7 in the morning on a Saturday.