Cats Make Better Boyfriends

I Don’t Know How I Did It

Over the course of the past few weeks I have figured out that all twenty-something boys are idiots and not the greatest things on earth like I once believed. I’ve stopped glamorizing relationships and fake-relationships and wants and drunk smiles and morning tears and hallway conversations. I’ve realized that boys are stupid and girls are crazy and that’s just the way it is. Until these boys grow up and can take care of women and families and themselves, even. I will kiss them and laugh at them and not fall on my feet in love or fall for tricks and treats. All these boys are not men and I am still a kid, myself. 

I will enjoy my twenties and forget about falling in love and destiny and the stars. I will laugh and drink and ride my moped and let love find me.

I Guess I’ll Watch This Stupid Fucking Mad Men Show Again, Ugh.

I had this pretty intense problem from the ages of maybe thirteen to sixteen of picturing  nearly any stranger that I happened to encounter as naked. It wasn’t just an innocent cotton underwear, school girl locker room pretty pink nipple spotting type of problem. 

Oh no, when I was at the peek of my awkwardness, not only was I crippled with the common insecurities and uncomfortable body awareness that plagues all girls; but I was living in a world where I would meet someone and instantly imagine their boners.

I’d wonder if the cute nerdy kid in my typing class really did have a swollen, pale dick like I gave him in my creepy fucked up fourteen year old mind. And it wasn’t just the boys I was attracted to, but all of em. Any color, any size, any dialect. Any gender. 

There was an Indian girl in my history class when I was fifteen who had these gnarly teeth. All buck teeth and gapped toothed grin, brown bangs past her eyebrows and a hovering shyness that never left her shoulder.

I saw only nipples. Like hersheys chocolate kisses that melted through her macys’ training bra. I’d sit in class and I’d sweat. Fuck. I didn’t even want to kiss her, I just couldn’t see anything but nakednakednaked. There was no one that was innocent to my horny little head. 

As the years went by, I forgot about the nude strangers. I flirted with boys in class and kissed girls in driveways behind their moms car. I found my own dicks and clits and bated breaths that I didn’t need to picture them every five fucking inappropriate and inopportune second.

However, every now and then I’ll meet someone new and I’ll drift off for just a moment…