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‘#lesbian’ Category

  1. Priceless pieces of shit I found in my basement – Part I

    August 15, 2012 by Brittany_Ashley

    It’s that time. When you’re 23 years old and you haven’t lived in your parent’s house in over five years. So it’s probably time to get all those boxes full of your shit out of their basement. Which I did. I mean, there are still like eight more boxes in there but I went through a few and that was a feat in itself. Looking through all the boxes, I noticed a particular trend… I’m fucking weird. So here’s a compiled list of all of my weird shit I found in my basement.

    1) My “Saved by the Bell” VHS tapes

     It wasn’t enough for little Brittany to watch Saved by the Bell every morning before school, I needed to own the VHS tapes so I could see Kelly Kapowski whenever I needed to. This particular tape includes one of my favorite episodes. The Zack Tapes: In hopes of trying to persuade Kelly to go with him to the school dance, Zack records a subliminal message on the cassette tape she always listens to. This plan backfires when the whole school has the same tape and wants to go out with him. Holy 90′s problems. But what can I say? I’m so excited that I found this. I’m SO excited – Jessie Spano.



    2) My Freddie Prinze, Jr. Biography entitled: “Freddie Prinze, Jr.: A Biography”

    I don’t exactly remember what was so compelling about Freddie’s life, but the back of the book made it all come screaming back to me: “But Freddie’s life hasn’t always been a smooth ride. Eventually Freddie’s dream of acting led him to Hollywood but breaking into the business wasn’t easy. With hard work and determination, and plenty of patience, Freddie made his childhood dream come true. Get the inside story on this brown-eyed actor, his down-to-earth lifestyle and his tremendous rise to fame!” It was only $4.99 US and it includes a bonus color photo insert! Leave me alone, I thought I was straight.



    3) My cassingle collection

     Back before iTunes and Spotify and all those other things that are currently open on my computer, we were all victims to cassette tapes. More importantly, cassingles. Rather than having to fast-forward and rewind to your favorite songs on the cassette, you could just buy the cassingle and have the song by itself, and usually with an acoustic version or bonus track. Here were the two that I played the shit out of: Ace of Base Lucky Love and Jewel You Were Meant For Me. I’m still unclear on the relations between all of the members of Ace of Base. Cousins? Brothers and sisters? Lovers? All? They all have the same eyes. I don’t know. Bye.



    4) The Captain Underpants literary series

    …What the fuck was I thinking buying these? Let me just list the titles of a few: Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants. Captain Underpants and the Invasian of the Incredibly Naughty Cafeteria Ladies From Outer Space (And The Subsequent Assault of the Equally Evil Lunchroom Zombie Nerds). Captain Underpants and the Attack of the Talking Toilets… What kind of child saw this and thought, “Hmm I think this will be intellectually pleasing.” Apparently I did. **thumbing through the pages** Hahahahah, they just said “pee pee sandwiches” hahahah.




     Oh my fuck yes!! You better believe that when the Ashlee Simpson Show was in its prime and Ashlee had just released her debut album, Autobiography, that I was a huge fanatic. I even tried getting my haircut like her, it didn’t work because I don’t look good with bangs but regardless, I WANTED TO BE HER! So when she came to the Rolling Meadows Walmart, I was absolutely in line and waited for about seven hours just to get her autograph and mumble sweet nothings (literal nothings) when I met her. Let me repeat, I literally said nothing to her as she was right in front of me. My dream girl (at the time obviously, now we all know she sucks) and I said nothing.



    6) Books with pictures of the Olsen twins on them

    Books include: 1) It Takes Two - the Scholastic novel based on the film with Steve Guttenberg and Kirstie Alley. 2) The Full House Michelle Tanner book series. Both extremely riveting. One exploits twins and the common misconception that they could trade places and no one in their world would ever notice (How realistic! I’d be fucking pissed if someone didn’t know the difference between rich little me and the grungy little me). And the other exploits the little alien baby Michelle Tanner as she became my least favorite sister in the Tanner family. Really, she should’ve just not gotten up after she fell off that horse.



    7) A photoshopped picture of me and one of my ex-boyfriends from high school as Olympic gold medalist Paul Hamm.

     I was in a very crazy Olympic frenzy, the Hamm brothers were popular and I was super pissed at my boyfriend my Sophomore Year of high school when he broke up with me in a note during Algebra class. We weren’t a good fit, he’s a guy and now I’m gay so I’ve totally made my peace with it. But at the time, I was pissed. So my friend Malerie thought this would be the perfect way to soothe my mind about getting my little straight heart broken. This was the perfect remedy.. That and going to his basketball games and shouting out that I hope he breaks his ankles as I got my friends to join in and say that same. That and telling the entire chorus class intimate details about his peen.


    Stay tuned for Part II! I promise it’ll happen. And I know that because it’s all lying next to me on my bed but I haven’t the energy to take pics with them right now.

  2. The day that my job search began and then killed itself

    August 14, 2012 by Brittany_Ashley

    Being a college graduate is not exactly what I thought it’d be. I have a Bachelor degree in English, which basically means that I’m one step above a part-time employee at Cash4Gold. So there I was searching for jobs that don’t require me to say Have you dined with us before? when I stumbled upon the title of “WordPress Expert”… I wouldn’t exactly call myself an expert per se, but I figured out how to make this website myself so like, gimme the job!

    The job was downtown in a tall high-rise. Good sign. I walked into the office that was lined with Butterball ads. Yes, Butterball. Bad sign. What kind of operation are they running in this place? So I get into the office of the “big boss” aka a 40 year old guy named Rusty, wearing khaki cargo shorts. He places a booklet in front of me that reads “TURKEY! HAM!” that I thumbed through for approximately one second until my face went into an emotionless gaze. Seeing my INTENSE EMOTIONAL INVESTMENT in the booklet, Rusty begins his schpiel and the conversation goes a little like this…

    Rusty: Have you checked out what our company is about?

    Me: I tried but you didn’t have a website.

    Rusty: Yeah… we’ve been meaning to fix that.

    Me: …….

    Rusty: …….

    At this point I wondered if I was getting lured into a white slavery scheme, but there were a lot of witnesses (or accomplices?) around which made me think otherwise.

    Rusty: Let me tell you a little about what our company is about. We specialize in selling coupons for turkeys and hams.

    Me: You don’t actually sell the turkeys?

    Rusty: And hams!.. And no, we sell something SO much better than that, we sell the coupons!

    Me: ….

    Rusty: Now I know what you’re thinking

    Me: I doubt it.

    Rusty: How do we make money? Well this time of year is the beginning of Turkey Season which means a lot of casinos come to us to buy anywhere between 1,000 and 10,000 coupons from us.

    Me: You don’t say..

    And then for the remainder of the interview I just stared at his pierced ear and fantasized about getting Chipotle after the worst interview of my life.

    After about 5 minutes, he realized that we had nothing else to discuss and he showed me around the office where I had to do my best impression of someone who gave a flying fuck. Then I zoomed straight to the exit and shook his hand and before he could say anything I said It’s been..enlightening. 

    The worst part is not that I had to sit through a in-depth conversation about “Turkey Season” but it was that I got an email a few hours later stating that I was “unfortunately not a good fit for the company but thank you for your time”…. And that was the day I saw that I couldn’t even get a job at a company that sells turkey (and ham) coupons for profit.

  3. How the economic crisis has personally affected me

    May 14, 2012 by Brittany_Ashley

    As of last weekend, I officially have a piece of paper that says I have a Bachelor’s degree. Yay! Okay, so like, where’s my job? Does my bank give me a graduation present in monetary form, err did I just read that somewhere? Now I can’t use my student loan money on Spring Break vacations to Cancun, and I have to pay extra money on taxes from now on… Ew. It’s no secret that the economy is shit times these days. Employment rates are high, a gallon of gas costs almost as much as a box of name-brand tampons, not to mention, banks suck. I don’t care how many times you explain it to me, Denise from CHASE Bank, charging me $6 a month for not using Direct Deposit is horseshit.

    The economic crisis has directly affected me… and I’m pissed:


    1. I owe my university money a hefty sum.

    I didn’t get a loan in my last semester of college, so what, you’re making me pay $8,000 out of pocket??!?! I couldn’t save up $8,000 if my (sex) life depended on it. If you told me that I would never have sex again if I didn’t come up with $8,000, I’d be Googling the nearest nunnery and accepting my fate as an abstinent servant of our Lord and savior. On top of all of this, the financial advisor (So-notta Jones) at my school was trying to “bounce around numbers” for my monthly budget and her first offer was $2,000 A MONTH FOR FOUR MONTHS. I have to hit up Coinstar every last day of the month just to make rent with change I found at the bottom of my purse, YEAH let me just pull out two grand like it’s nothing, like I know how to sell stocks on Wall Street or some shit. Whatever, I have my degree, and you can’t take that piece of paper from me now. Because it’s laminated and you can’t unlaminate the laminated.


    2. I never set up my People’s Gas account

    Do I fear that every time I go to take a nice, warm shower when I’m already running late, that it will just end up being freezing cold water coming through my shower head? Yeah, definitely. Do I sometimes worry that when I go to make bacon on the stovetop, that one day the flame will no longer be lit and I have to (gasp) microwave it instead? Absolutely. But I don’t want to set up People’s Gas. It’s a monopoly, people! A monopoly that I do not want to play. I will not pass go. I will not give 2oo dollars. And by 200 dollars, I obviously mean about 700 dollars since we’ve lived here for like 9 months..


    3. I haven’t worn glasses/contacts in a half a year

    It’s true, I have really bad eyesight. Like, “can’t see the license plate number in front of me while I’m (not supposed to be) driving” bad eyesight. I wore the same contacts for like 4 months and I’m pretty sure my eyeballs are permanently damaged, but that’s the cost of seeing street signs and tall buildings and the difference between terriers and infants that parents put on leashes. And so I went to go get a new pair of glasses, and it was 600 DOLLARS?!!? FOR SIGHT?! Eye care is expensive, yo!


    4. I have to choose between Starz and Showtime :(

    Talk about Sophie’s choice! The capitalist pigs at Comcast only allow me to have HBO, Encore and then CHOOSE between Starz and Showtime! CHOOSE?! How can I choose?! That’s like saying, I’m putting two lovely breasts in front of you, but you can only see one. You’ll know what’s going on there, but you will NOT be able to see it, unless you pay more money. That should be like, illegal. Don’t let me look on my TV Guide channel to see what’s playing on Starz, to what, just to show me what I’m missing? That’s like staying friends with my ex-girlfriend on Facebook… I’m good, I’d rather not see what I’m missing. And then giving me Encore? Giving me Encore like I’d actually watch any of the movies on that channel. Sure, let me spend my very limited time on the couch watching Uncle Buck, Planes Trains and Automobiles and all other low-grade movies from the John Candy collection.


    5. I can’t afford Bud Light Platinum, so I have to settle for Bud Light REGULAR UGHHHH

    I mean, that’s like wanting a filet mignon and settling for Taco Bell’s Triple Steak Stack.. it just won’t cut it. When I see the Bud Light Platinum commercials, of the deserted factory (run by robots?), that only plays Kanye West songs, as you watch your bright blue bottle of BLP go through the conveyor belts.. AND IT LOOKS SO FUCKING COLD!! That’s exactly what I want in a beer.. but I have to settle for regular Bud Light, with commercials starring unattractive, average looking people, ew. No, I want the Kanye beer where I feel like part of his entourage!


    This is just the beginning…

  4. “So… do you, like, try to turn straight girls?”

    April 28, 2012 by Brittany_Ashley

    The question I’ve been asked a million and a half times: “So do you, like, try to turn straight girls?”

    There is no such thing as “turning” a girl. There is no switch located somewhere deep inside a girl’s vagina that tells her when she is and isn’t a lesbian. This implies that you can just become gay all of a sudden one day if you try hard enough, which would mean that being gay is a choice. I’m not going to bore anyone with that conversation about my little baseball lezzie playing self being gay since I soccer slid out of my mother’s vagina, so I’ll just get into this conversation about a straight girl wanting to sleep with a lesbian, regardless of what we do.

    If a girl wants to fuck another girl, it’s not because a lesbian said the right things, or looked a certain way, or dressed a certain way to make her realize that. We don’t wear a lucky v-neck, or have a playbook in our back pockets coaching us on what to say. No. If a girl wants to fuck another girl, it’s because the idea turns her on. Maybe adding a dash of alcohol or the right setting made her feel comfortable enough to explore that, but a lesbian didn’t put an idea in her head that wasn’t there before. This isn’t sexual Inception.

    So how does this situation even happen? Well it usually starts with a lesbian (hay!) and a straight girl (yo!) at a setting where you can find both parties. Practically any setting: a bar, a softball game, an Ingrid Michaelson concert, a student newspaper convention in Southern Florida (shout out to D.Delph). The world is your sexually-confused oyster.

    Okay so you both are there now. Staring at each other. Who makes the first move? The times I’ve hooked up with straight girls, for the most part, they’ve been the one steering the boat towards Muff Island. If a girl wants to hook up with a girl, and she sees that opportunity, she’s most likely going to take it. If she knows you’re into chicks, and it’s been a secret, or not so secret desire of hers, trust me, she will make you very well-aware of her intentions. Very aware.

    Whether it happens that night or not, the idea that maybe started off as a little speck in her brain has multiplied and now she’s googling how to finger a girl. Most straight girls assume that since you’re a lesbian, you want all women, so there is no doubt in their mind that you want them too. And I mean, if you’re hot, yeah. Yeah we do. Flirting with a lesbian and putting yourself out there is a pretty vulnerable situation for a straight girl but you’d be surprised at how confident they are when they’re coming onto you. Because they believe it’s a sure thing, and you don’t need to second-guess yourself when you think that’s the case. So it happens. You two hook-up. Maybe it’s bad, maybe it’s really fucking good. Maybe you’re skeptically looking at her like.. “Are you SURE you haven’t done this before?”

    Now what happens after the hook-up? What if she likes it? What if she doesn’t? Whether she actually likes it or not, rests very little on what actually happens in the bedroom. She could’ve orgasmed five times, or zero times, it really doesn’t matter. If she likes it, she’ll like whatever you’re doing. Remember the first time you had sex with a guy? He probably pre-ej’d but you were like “THAT WAS THE BEST THING EVER!” and you couldn’t wait to do it again because you liked it no matter what and didn’t have anything else to compare it to.

    So who makes the first move to talk to who? Most likely you, you will have to. I’m not trying to marry the girl and I’m certainly not trying to recruit her for my summer slowpitch league. I think after being blown off enough, I’ve realized that if I never hear from the girl again or she is completely evasive towards me, it has nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the fact that she either:

    a) She realized being with a girl was just a fantasy and not a reality she’d want and then pretends you don’t exist

    -It’s pretty normal for a girl to realize that she was just turned on by the fantasy. Maybe she saw the hot cheerleader lesbos on “Glee” and thought, I could totally do this! Or maybe her old college roommate was a big fan of “The L Word” and she kind of secretly found it sexy. But then it happened and it was nothing like the porn she’s used to. We don’t have long fingernails with red polish and we don’t let our male co-worker join in when he walks in on us in the copy room. This was clearly just a fantasy of her’s that was not executed the way she had envisioned. We all have fantasies, but if they happened in real life, we may not be as into them. Like the one I have about being kidnapped. Then my kidnapper and I bang in the back of a truck with my hands still tied up. I mean, I don’t want to actually get kidnapped. And I think in the situation, I’d be so terrified that sex would be the last thing on my mind and with my luck the kidnapper would look like Cynthia Nixon… Anyways, I think a lot of fantasies are fantasies for the sole purpose to exist in our mind and nowhere else. It’s good to act those out, but then you realize the distinction between a fantasy and a desire.

    OR b) She is too ashamed to admit that she actually really got turned on by it and then pretends you don’t exist.

    -It’s a pretty normal feeling for a girl to question her sexuality after she hooks up with another girl. “Am I no longer straight?”, “Does this make me a lesbian?”, and “But what if I don’t want to move to Portland, rescue a Greyhound and work as a volunteer firefighter with my partner?” are typical questions for a straight girl to ponder after she’s played Guess Which Finger That Is with a lesbian the night before. It is a whole slew of confusing feelings that they’d rather hide away in a lockbox than actually think about. There are girls out there that are so ashamed of what turns them on, that they’ll never truly admit to themselves that they are a little gay, or even a lot gay. It’s a pretty easy rule of thumb: Straight is when you don’t want to fuck a girl twice. If you’re thinking about fucking a lesbian again, after you’ve already done it, better start brushing up on that Sylvia Plath, girl.

    So this seems pretty lose-lose for a lesbian then huh? Well, I mean, we still had sex with you so it’s not all that bad. Does it ever turn into anything more than just a one night hook-up? It has. But more often than not, it hasn’t. My efforts stop once I realize that it’s not me, that it’s them. It’s not that they didn’t think I was charming enough when we woke up in the morning, or sexy enough when I had all my clothes off, or gracious enough while we were in bed, it’s that it is not for them. Or it is totally for them but they’re not woman enough to admit it and they’ll go through the next 10-15 years in and out of relationships with men that don’t satisfy them. Tough titties. If you don’t want to sleep with us again, what are we gonna do, cry about it? Yes.

  5. Flushing the shitty people down your toilet of life

    April 20, 2012 by Brittany_Ashley

    Life is a toilet.

    It starts out all clear and clean. Then at some point (usually after KFC snack bowls) it gets contaminated. By shit. Your toilet is filled with shit. Your life is filled with shit. It’s only a matter of time before it piles up so much that it’ll never go away. Eventually it will clog and you’ll have to run to Walgreens and stand in line with a plunger in hand. Only a plunger. The whole line, and the Walgreens employee know exactly what you’ve done. And this could have all been avoided if you just flushed all that shit down the toilet before it became a problem and built up. You have to flush it down, or else you’ll forever be suffocated by shit.


    What I’m getting at is this: We’ve all had shitty people in our lives at some point. If you haven’t, it’s probably because you’re so shitty that you didn’t realize you were making someone else’s life awful. Or you just accepted those people’s inherent awfulness and figured you’d cut them out when they REALLY did something awful to you, like fucked your ex-girlfriend, stole your weed, or took the batteries out of your vibrator to put in their Wii remote and didn’t return them. Kind of like when you’re dating someone that you know is awful for you but you just tell yourself that you’ll keep dealing with their bullshit until they do something really unforgivable. Like murder your family. Yes, that’s when you’ll pull the plug, when they stab your brother with an ice pick and throw a plastic bag over your calico cat’s head, that’s when it’s over. So you just carry around this burden of feeling like shit about yourself and about this other person until they do something big enough for you to actually take action, because you wouldn’t be able to feel justified in breaking up with them for just, you know, blowing the owner of a douchey Wrigleyville bar while you two were “figuring things out”, it has to be bigger than that. Bigger than felatio.

    We’ve all been fooled once before by someone who came along in a horse-drawn Prius who seemed like the Garth to our Wayne. Everything they say and do is so cool to you. They non-ironically listen to NPR. They smoke American Spirits. They dated the guy from New Radicals (refer to: They majored in Anthropology while working at Anthropologie, just for the wordplay. You envy how much style they have, how they can put a belt on practically anything and it looks so chic. You two have so much fun. They know all the rap lyrics that everyone else just hums their way through. You think they’re so fucking cool. Then you realize a few weeks, months, years later, that they never really cared about you, that you were just always down for 25cent wings when no one else was, or they took advantage of the fact that you love to buy copious amounts of O-Bombs when out together. You laugh/cry at the fact that at some point, you thought they were too good for you, when the truth is, you were too good for them, and that they just did their best impression of being a good friend but the facade wore off.

    So what happens when we realize that some people in our life are horrible fits for us? We get angry. We start to lash out at work on customers that ask for lemons in their water (JUST FUCKING DRINK THE WATER CUNT). We get angry at our friends that don’t actually suck but we’re so paranoid that everyone around us is going to suck that we get angry at them just expecting them to blow. We get skeptical about everyone around us. Like life and love and friendships are just one big test to see how much you can be pushed to your limits without throwing yourself off the top of your apartment building or swallowing all the contents of that entire CostCo sized bottle of Ibuprofen that you keep in your medicine cabinet for hangover Thursdays. So skeptical then when you meet someone who actually is wonderful and genuinely normal that you constantly feel like someone is playing a joke on you and that it can’t be real. So you push yourself away. Stay away from me good person, I don’t believe you’re real!

    When you’re so used to being surrounded by shit, you forget how good that you, yourself, are. The more that you doubt your self-worth, the more you’ll stop believing in yourself each day. And when you give up on the idea that you deserve greatness and deserve to be treated like you matter, that’s the day that your life dies and you might as well just move to one of those Southern states where you have no rights and people frown upon birth control, the gays, liberty and happiness.

    At a point you have to stop letting people treat you like shit and like you’re less of the person that you know you are. At some point you have to let go of people that make you feel unsettled and constantly disappoint you. Because you know that when you look at some of your friends who keep going back to the same awful people in your life, you label them as pathetic, but how long until you realize that you’re being just as pathetic? How much does it take for you to realize that you’re now being pathetic by allowing people who are toxic to stay in your life and in your phone and as your Facebook friend/Twitter follower/LinkedIn contact/GChat address book? ANSWER ME, TECHNOLOGY ANGELS!

    Unfortunately, there will be a time when you have to look at some of the people in your life and say “I tried my best” and just let them go. Be brave enough to break your own heart, you little lesbian. You want people who are always in your corner, not someone standing outside the ring who wears a fanny pack full of bullshit excuses. So for yourself, raise the bar. Find people that will join you up there. Hey, come join me up here in my new standards!

    The fact of the matter is, there will always be people who won’t value your feelings. You just have to sift through all those shitty fuckers to get to the good ones that will.

    And then you can have a toilet like this!!!

  6. What happens in Vegas…goes on my blog.

    March 31, 2012 by Brittany_Ashley

    In a surge of nostalgia for Spring Breaks, I decided to take a brief hiatus from my mediocre life to spend a week in Las Vegas. Strippers and cocaine were on my agenda but I didn’t get to those things because I was too busy getting lost underground and laying by the pool in front of a giant pyramid. It wasn’t the craziest trip of my life (the Mexico Spring Break incident of ’08 when I passed out on the concrete in front of the wrong hotel room…) Anyways… The saying isn’t true…Not everything that happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Seriously guys, I bought my roommate a Topless Girls of Vegas calendar and they totally let me bring it out of Vegas.. it didn’t have to stay.. So now I give you.. Things that won’t stay in Vegas


    My midget bar experience. 

    First night out and where do I end up… at a bar that hires midgets to hand out cotton candy and gummy bears. This is a real thing. Walking down the strip, Hispanic gentlemen in suits grab your wrists, ask you what you’re doing tonight and before you know it, you’re forearms deep in paper wristbands with a glass of champagne in your hand at a nightclub called Chateau. Then you walk up the steps to see a pretty outdoor patio. You sit down, someone tells you to move. You stand somewhere else, they tell you that the standing area you’re in is reserved. Then you go lean against a corner and someone else comes up and tells you that corners are reserved for chairs only. Fucking A. So then you go inside to the sweaty dance floor filled with a quarter local clubheads, a quarter wasted stylistically-challenged 20-somethings from Idaho who are having the time of their life with their eyes closed and Cranberry Vodkas spilled all over their tube tops, a quarter loner creep master creeps that rub their junk on any random girl and stain their Old Navy cargo shorts in an instant, and a quarter midgets dressed as Oompa Loompas. I… I don’t know anymore. The images from that night will be shelved in my nightmares right next to the one where I get chased through a wooded forest by Randy Quaid holding an axe.


    My plane ride from hell.  Southwest Airlines… you’re like the Little Caesars of pizza chains. You are awful and you give everyone diarrhea, but your prices are so cheap that we keep coming back to you. First of all, not one but TWO of our flight attendants had lazy eyes. Genetics really need to throw airline employees a bone, what happened to the hot stewardesses back in the day (that I didn’t live in)? Since when do overweight divorcees with a FUPA show me how to properly attach my safety belt. I want the hot ones back! The employees weren’t the problem… it was the passengers. I sat next to one of those couples who you can tell it’s their second marriage so they “really wanna do it right” AKA they just fuck all the time, who made me get out of my aisle seat when I was all cuddled up in my jacket with my laptop in front of me, so that they can go to the bathroom AT THE SAME TIME and have three minutes of unadulterated foreplay in a 4×5 bathroom cell that was located about 8 steps away from my seat. But we can’t forget about the little boy a few seats ahead of me whose mother let him play his PSP to the loudest level possible as he played a video game that I could only imagine was where you drive a  really loud Humvee, rape and pillage anyone that gets in your way  and then shoot everyone else with a Tommy Gun. Because that’s exactly what it sounded like. And then when the one flight attendant that works for Southwest that wasn’t disfigured asked the mother to turn it down, her Arkansassy self proclaimed that he had been playing it for an hour and a half already and no one on the plane seemed to have a problem with it until now. YEAH because now everyone in a 6 foot radius of you wants to kill you, and your son, and store you in one of the overhead compartments. This section of the post is already getting too long so I can’t get into the Yuppie teenage girls behind me that wouldn’t stop talking about their religious retreat….I almost prayed for that plane to go down.


    Prostitute options.

    Prosties, as I like to call them, are really prevalent in the Vegas area. I forgot that prostitution was totally legal in Vegas, so when Hispanic teenagers are passing out these cards on the street to people, it was much to my surprise that in twenty minutes I could have a hooker at the hotel room door! I then fantasized about what my night would look like if I ordered a prostitute. I’d want to take her to go see The Hunger Games because I’m sure she’d like a nice break from all that felatio and penetration stuff. But then I imagine she’s already seen it, so we’d have to go see Mirror, Mirror instead. Which is fine. Then we’d go back to my hotel room, we’d roll around on my Queen sized bed with Egyptian cotton and then I’d take out my giant penis and rail her. HA JUSS KIDDING. I’d take out my giant ring finger and rail her.


    The realization that buffets are never a good idea. As a wee tot, I was forced to go to Old Country Buffet. And I was forced all the way up until I was thirteen, where my dad still told the hostess I was 7 years old so we only had to pay 7 dollars for me to eat. We did the Luxor/Excalibur buffet for $32 for lunch AND dinner. Sounds like a steal….if you hate yourself. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to mix Mexican food, with Chinese food, with Southern fried foods and milk. The only saving grace was the soft serve ice cream machine where I got to put sprinkles all over it and remember a simpler time where I didn’t have to take Pepto Bismol like candy.


    My confusion for the game of Craps. I watched YouTube videos. Lots of them. And I still don’t understand. Walking past a lone table, the kind Oriental gentleman with a lisp told me he’d teach me. So we put 20 dollars in the table and I throw the dice…over the table. Fault. I toss the dice and it lands on 4. Then I roll it again and it lands on 7 and he takes all my money. What the fuck was that? Who made these rules and how do they work? The rest of the trip I scowled at all the craps tables, filled with people cheering and clapping, DO YOU PEOPLE EVEN KNOW WHAT’S GOING ON?! The only game of craps I played the whole trip was after I had dinner at Tacos and Tequila and I spent the next three hours with a pillow under my ass.


    My general disdain for the employees of Coyote Ugly.

    So, as we’re in line for Coyote Ugly on our first stop for the night, the ponytailed door guy tells us it’s 5 dollars…5 dollars for what? To stand in a room that reeks of stale Coors Light and shattered dreams? How about I just masturbate with a hot curling iron and call it even? So we leave and said ponytail guy pulls us back in and says we don’t have to pay, but just to stay. Now the smell of desperation pours through the air. But that wasn’t the worst part. Girls are bitches at Coyote Ugly. I saw the movie, those girls were charming. No, not in this reality. They really fucking take the water gun and spray you if you’re too close to the bar. And their red bottle of alcohol (unbeknownst to the people that get it shoved in their mouth) dribbles all the way down your neck and onto your attire. And THEN the sassy little blonde in jean cutoffs goes off the bar to grab poor girls to make them dance on the bar too. In a reverse McFaddens, none of the mediocre-looking 20 year olds on vacation with their parents want to dance next to Coyote Ugly employees who make a living pop, locking, and dropping it. I bobbed my head and did the Zack Morris (he can’t dance if you don’t remember the episode) in the corner so that nobody would grab me. Not to mention, it took me about 10 minutes to get a drink from the bartender that I was standing DIRECTLY in front of. Just because you have lots of tattoos and pink in your hair doesn’t mean you can withhold that $10 Bud Light from me and THEN make Blue Kamikazes or some shit for the guy next to me in the Aeropostale polo, which was pure terror to imagine that someone actually orders that in a bar, in front of people, in public. This isn’t a Caribbean cruise ship, don’t order a blue drink.


    The class I took on how to be a stripper. This is a real thing. The class is taught by Kindra, a heart-of-gold ex-stripper that turned her life around and teaches divorced middle-aged women how to give a lap dance that will seduce the orthodontist of their dreams, and teaches 20-somethings how to be sluttier at bars. It was a pretty uncomfortable 90 minutes. It was like a mix between being at the strip club (watching Kindra dance) but then not at all. My mind was confused. I saw a stripper, and a pole, and I couldn’t stop watching. But then I realized I was surrounded by 28 women wearing Crocs and their stepdaughters Spanx, ready to learn the ways of an exotic dancer. So I had to remind myself I was a student. It was all too confusing for me. I’m still confused on how I feel about that class. Half arousal, half education.


    The Cuban cigar aroma left in my purse.

    So let me just paint the picture for you. We made new friends at the roulette table. And by friends, I mean guys wanted to buy us drinks and the Asian one kept laughing at all my really raunchy jokes. We get up to the line at the Cathouse (which I will refer to as MeowCasa from here on out), and a guy is trying to sell us into buying a table. I kindly tell him that we’re on the list under LL Cool J. He laughs and for once my charm gets me somewhere in life. The guys we’re with, Asian Tony and Black Craig, are smoking Cubans and they have to be put out. So, because I didn’t want them to waste it, I say OH THOSE FLAMING THINGS? Yeah! Just throw them in my leather purse! I wake up the next morning and it smelled as though someone lit a forest fire in our room and then threw some regurgitated Q’Doba into that fire, and then made me chew on a pack of Marlboro Reds. That’s how pungent that shit was in the morning. And this is coming from the girl who once put out a cigarette in her pocket and left it there until she found it in the dryer a week later.


    My invitation into a 5some. Yes readers, I got invited into a 5-some. Flattering yes, but that sounds messy as fuck. It was one guy, Black Craig, from North Carolina, trying to rally me and three other girls into an orgy of sorts. Which, I’m not mathematician, but what exactly is his benefit for having four girls in bed with him? He only has like, one penis, he only needs one hole. The way I see it, is that the rest of the sexual experience would be like one giant re-enactment of Human Centipede which crossed my mind once in a nightmare but hasn’t exactly been on my sexual bucket list. Aside from my general evasiveness towards any sexual activity that doesn’t involve me crying somewhere near the end while blasting “Complicated” by Avril Lavigne and asking my partner why they don’t love me, I hadn’t shaved my upper thighs that day so it was kind of out of the question


    My MeowCasa crush. As Black Craig continued his search for his orgy participants that night in Meowcasa, and given my general decline towards his advances, I did what anyone else would do, I fucking drank. So we order at the bar. MEOW indeed, as my bartender was like a little drop of Heaven in a sea of drunken Spring Breakers and coke whores (she was neither). Black Craig was still in disbelief that I was a lesbian so when he asked me who in the bar I’d actually go for, I motioned towards the bar, he gives me a real rapey look and then he whispers something in her ear… My guesses include: “My friend wants to know if you have any boxed lunches available”, “My friends wants to know if your vagina is open bar” and probably the actual comment “My friend wants to fuck you.” Whatever he said, she smiled at me and said she had a boyfriend. Shock of the week. So I bury my mouth in my beer and then say FUCK IT (in my head, not out loud). I turn on my charm that made me the best hostess TGI Friday’s had ever seen, and I start to flirt with her, despite the whole boyfriend thing. Then she reveals that it’s an open relationship… Now we’re getting somewhere. For safety reasons I won’t reveal her name, so let’s call her Patty. But anyways, Patty was the most adorable thing I’d seen on the entire trip (AND I SAW A HOMELESS CAT IN SUNGLASSES, GUYS) so I couldn’t let it end right there at that bar surrounded by douchebags. So I told her the name of my blog and maybe she’ll read this. And if she does, she must know she has a lesbian admirer in Chicago who totally pretended to like coffee just as an excuse to ask you out at 4AM. 


    Honorable mentions:

    -I only won $35 dollars in roulette and blackjack although every dealer loved me

    -I got lost at least 6 times in the underground malls that are Vegas

    -I went to an oxygen bar and got massaged by an Asian girl for 15 minutes who kept making conversation about my stripper class

    -I saw Zumanity and got super turned on when the two topless brunettes synchronize dove through a giant glass of champagne. They were the sluttiest athletes I’ve ever seen.

    -Penny slots will get you fucked up. A dollar can last you up to an hour and you’ll get free drinks in the meantime.

    -My solid diet of Michelob Ultra and Snyders Pretzels made for a great diet.

    -Also, look, Bumblee from Transformers isn’t dead! He was just hiding on the Strip!



  7. My “Chicken Soup for the Soul” submission.

    March 12, 2012 by Brittany_Ashley

    Being an aspiring writer, it’s a distant dream to be published in Chicken Soup for the Soul, alongside such inspiring writers as Tommy Bridgefield, the 9-year old prodigy whose acrostic poem about his cat TABITHA was both courageous and moving, and who could forget Jane Pierce, the 43-year old divorcee whose short story about going grocery shopping for the first time without her abusive husband made readers shake furiously in their living rooms, shake much like a salt shaker at a diner somewhere in central Utah. Needless to say, Chicken Soup for the Soul and series’ alike (Chicken Soup for the Soul: Tough Times, Tough People and Chicken Soup for the Soul: What I Learned From The Dog) is a well-respected and critically acclaimed novella that only publishes great pieces of art. Without any further adieu, I give you, my submission:

    Dear Chicken Soup for the Soul,

    I write to you because I’ve recently had an epiphany. Let me start at the beginning, Soup (Can I call you Soup?) A few weeks ago I was hanging with a few of my girl friends (platonic girl friends, not kiss-on-the-mouth girl friends) after I had a really long day at work. I had gone there straight from work and didn’t have time to change. I quickly noticed that one of them, Monica*, kept re-positioning herself on her chair that she was seated on right next to mine. She looked pre-occupied as to what everyone else was talking about. A few minutes later, she looked more and more uncomfortable. Soup, I think something was wrong with her, or better yet, I think she was uncomfortable with me next to her. I was pretty silent during the “hang out” because I knew I hadn’t changed my attire and frankly Soup, I knew that my crotch smelled kind of funny and it was really distracting. I’m usually very hygienic but this time, I had no other choice.

    After a few minutes of me being more and more silent, thinking in my head “Does she know?” and “I hope she didn’t tweet about this”, I started to squirm in my chair. Crossing my legs, cupping my hands and putting them near my no-no, and turning away from Monica. Monica then said, “Why are you turning away.” And I uncomfortably laughed and said, “My legs are sore from some quads I did earlier at the gym.” Soup, I was totally thinking on my toes with that one. Improvisation. I don’t even own a gym membership. 

    And the next words that came out of Monica’s mouth were both courageous and moving, much like Tommy’s poem, which undoubtedly holds a place in the Chicken Soup Hall of Fame. Monica blurted out, “Oh, I thought you could smell my crotch. It smells awful!” All I could do was laugh, and then sigh, laugh again, and then spray my travel-size Bath and Body Works Cucumber Melon body mist in the general direction of her vagina. 

    Soup, this made me realize something. I was sitting uncomfortably at my friend’s house for almost a half hour, preoccupied with the fact that I thought my friend Monica could smell the aroma that I was giving off, all the while, she was doing the same thing. We’re all so absorbed in our own thoughts and our own insecurities that we forget that everyone around us is doing the same thing. 

    So next time I refuse an invitation to go out for drinks because I think my hair looks a little greasy because I hadn’t showered in three days, or the next time I put off letting someone go down on me (Can I say that, Soup?) because I ran out of Schick Quattro razors, I won’t, because everyone at the bar will probably be worried about their own hair and my sexual partner will probably be preoccupied with if they left their oven on at their apartment or not! 


    Brittany A. Ashley

    *Names have been changed for privacy purposes


    I’ll let you guys know if it gets published! Keep your fingers crossed for me!

  8. 7 reasons why you shouldn’t date me.

    March 6, 2012 by Brittany_Ashley

    “It takes a wise woman to admit her faults” – Margaret Thatcher, or.. Demi Lovato.. I don’t really remember.. or think that either of them said that actually. But basically, it speaks volumes about a person to admit their less-than-favorable traits that would make others evasive. That’s why I’m telling you all of them right now so we’re all out in the open here, Internet, and because I want us to be together forever and we’ll never leave each other. Oh and I’m having coffee with your mom tomorrow, hope you don’t mind that I stole her number out of your phone although you told me not to. I love you? Let’s move in together!

    So as a follow up to my 15 reasons why you should date me, I give you..

    Seven reasons why you shouldn’t date me:


    1) In 8th grade, I cheated on my boyfriend, Nick Oates, with my next-door neighbor, Colin Strack.

    Granted, it was just an OTPFB, but I still feel really bad about it! Not because I think Nick and I were meant to be or anything (turns out, I’m a lesbian, and also I’m pretty sure Nick is married now) but because of the backlash I felt afterwards. Someone (I have my suspicions who…) told Nick of my secret rendezvous the next day at school and he passed me a note while I was at my locker that addressed me as “Mrs. Strack”.. which was both humorous that he thought I’d wed at such a young age, but also sad because I actually hurt someone else when they depended on me to not to do that. I felt like a modern day Hester Prynne in my red Aeropostale graphic tee, and I don’t want to feel that way again. I CAN’T BE TRUSTED, PEOPLE!


    2) I take eerily long showers.

    I once listened to an entire John Mayer live album while showering. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG THOSE ALBUMS ARE? His songs are like ten minutes each because he goes off on crazy guitar solo tangents that turn into jazz then blues then rock then back to youuu, it always comes around, back to youuu (only fans would understand that). My point is, I listened to an 114 minute album in its entirety while in the shower and I didn’t even realize it.. like time stood still while I was drenched in Chicago water with a little bit of Skintimate shave gel on my upper lip. You think I wake up in the morning with a smooth upper lip everyday? Hell nah, I’m part Hungarian and Romanian, that shit lingers longer than The Cranberries’ lead vocalist Dolores O’Riordan while singing “Linger” at a coffee shop open mic.


    3)  I’m not very flexible.

    All I have to say is that BASING A KID’S GYM GRADE ON THE SIT AND REACH FITNESS TEST IS HORSESHIT! Some people were born with long, horsey legs and a shorter arms, it’s NOT our fault. It’s science. You know what I call girls who could touch their knees with their head during warm-up stretches? Slutty. My back wasn’t made to bend forward like a gymnast, it just wasn’t. And I can’t touch my toes, it’s just not possible, I don’t care how many of you yoga instructors tell me that if I stretch a little more and more each day that I could do it someday. Not someday. No day. So if you were hoping that I could do the Reverse Lawnmower and other gold medal gymnast-y shit, you are shit out of luck.


    4) I talk about my bowel movements way too often. 

    Anyone who knows me pretty well knows that my stomach doesn’t take well to a lot of things: ham, apples, pop, the movie Powder, etc. I know, I know, it’s not lady-like to talk about your BM’s but sometimes you just have to. Like the other night, BIGGEST HANGOVER SHIT OF MY LIFE, I mean I could’ve finished Jane Eyre in quicker time. And I don’t mean the movie.. I mean the 400-page novel.


    5) I’m allergic to animals.

    I love animals. Nothing makes me cry harder than walking past a PAWS and seeing that little calico kitty in the window, staring up at me saying “What did I do wrong to not have a home?” with its cute little eyes and whiskers and oh my fuck I’m going to start crying right here in Panera Bread. I love animals. But the only thing worse than a UTI is having uncontrollable allergies that prevent you from petting a newborn Huskie puppy. If you really loved me, you’d sneak bits of doggy fur in my pillow each night to eventually make me immune. But you don’t REALLY love me, DO YOU INTERNET?!  I’m sorry for yelling at you.


    6) I’m a quitter.

    I’ve quit every single club/activity I’ve ever been in. Tap: (pictured above) Quit, I was an awful dancer. Karate: Actually I had to resign because I broke my wrist during a game of Truth or Dare. Ballet: Fucking quit. Swimming: Quit, I have post-nasal drip. Basketball: Quit because I threw up at try-outs. Baseball: Forced to quit because I was/am a girl. Softball: Quit because I wanted to alienate myself from fun high school activities my senior year. The point is.. The only things I haven’t quit are smoking and drinking. You do the math.

    7) Because you’re probably straight! Go away!

    Just kidding. But seriously, go away. HA jokes, come back. No, run now. Wait, where are you going?  



    Fax me!



  9. 15 reasons you should date me.

    March 6, 2012 by Brittany_Ashley

    I don’t mean to toot my own horn or anything, but instead of rebooting my OkCupid account, I figured this was an easier way to show the women of the world why they should date me.


    1) I dine at only the most exclusive restaurants!


    2) I’m an animal lover!


    3) I’m a great listener!


    4) You can bring me home to Mom!


    5) I love to share!


    6) I respect the elderly!


    7) I’m really cultured!


    8) I’m super health-conscious!


    9) I’m a gentle lover!


    10) I love to get dressed up to the 9′s and go out!

    11) I’m really athletic!


    12) I’m totally a morning person!


    13) I photograph really well!


    14) I’m a class act!

    15) I’m not one of those women who need to spend, spend, spend!


    Fax me!


  10. Netflix knows I’m a lesbian.

    February 24, 2012 by Brittany_Ashley

    It’s become apparent to me that Netflix is starting to intrude upon my life in a way that I don’t need a website to. It’s bad enough that I have human beings prying into my personal life and “recommending” I do this and that, stop sending flowers to that girl, and stop standing outside this one’s window, etc. etc., but I don’t need a website to recommend shit to me. I was pissed enough when Netflix raised its prices and stemmed off into two different packages: Instant and Traditional sending-in-one-DVD-at-a-time-but-oops-I-forgot-I-even-had-this-shit-so-it-just-sits-on-my-dresser-in-its-red-packaging. You know that anything on Instant was either made before 1994 or it has Brendan Fraser in it. Enough is enough Netflix, you’ve been a nuisance on my life more than I’d like you to be. But the straw that broke my lesbian back was when Netflix started to drop hints that it knows I’m gay.

    Looking back on my previous viewing history, I don’t see how Netflix would’ve come to such a conclusion. How I Met Your Mother for about 2 weeks straight (which is one of the most heterosexual shows ever, despite NPH being an H), being a frequent viewer of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (the ENTIRE series on Instant guys, get into it if you haven’t already) and of course, My So-Called Life (because who doesn’t love a little adolescent Claire Danes in a sweater?). Basically, I appear to be a heterosexual woman with great taste in television. But no, that’s not what Netflix sees.

    I’m sick of looking at my Top 10 Recommendations for Brittany and looking like a giant homo. Jesus, you watch Kissing Jessica Stein once, and it’s just assumed that you want to watch Boys Don’t Cry and Margaret Cho’s Comedy Special. Which I will, thank you very much, but I would like to find it on my own.

    Netflix has been dead wrong a few times about what its been recommending to me:

    Exhibit A

    …Why in the fuck would I watch Dora the Explorer? Netflix you don’t know me at all. And NO I wouldn’t watch anything called Kiss the Bride. And we all know that Gossip Girl sucks now.


    Exhibit B

    Let’s start from the right.. Love on the Side sounds like the title of every relationship I’ve ever been in. Eating Out: Drama Camp sounds like something I’d never want to be a part of. Drool looks like it was funded by WGCI. Eating Out, how many films can have this title? And there are two dudes making out on the cover… that’s clearly not what I had in mind. And Reform School Girl actually sounds like something I may watch later so we’ll just put that in the instant queue..


    Exhibit C

    …..Being Elmo… doesn’t sound like there’s much to “being Elmo” considering HE’S NOT A FUCKING HUMAN


    Exhibit D

    Butterfly Effect 3???? I didn’t even know there was a Butterfly Effect 2!


    Netflix you don’t know me at all.