some boys do: my experience in a physically and verbally abusive relationship
I think most people have a vision of who abuses women. It’s the stereotypical Ray Rice football player whose bicep circumference is larger than his IQ. It’s the alcoholic in the stained white tank top who lives in the trashy apartments on the wrong side of town. Certainly not a twenty something hipster who wears a beanie and jeans in a smaller size than me. Never a guy who listens to Animal Collective in between shifts at American Apparel. Until one day, suddenly it was.
At first, it was just that my on/off boyfriend was an asshole. Once, when we were on a break, he told me he would love me more if I lost 15 pounds so I would be as skinny as his exgirlfriend.  I wasn’t even overweight to begin with, so his constant harassment over my size didn’t even really bother me. I just brushed it off as his pathetic attempts to wear down my confidence and fuck with my mind, so it never did much beyond a stray hurt feeling. I had already decided I was not going to take any shit from him. In fact, instead of trying to lose weight, I hooked up with the singer of a band he liked. I let him know the singer didn’t seem to mind the 15 pounds my boyfriend was so obsessed with.
This just made him more mad, and he shifted his attacks from my weight to my sluttiness. We were long distance at this point because I was in London, and if I so as much didn’t respond to a text within 10 minutes, it was because I was having wild group sex with dozens of british skateboarders obviously. I was certainly not an angel by any means, but this was definitely an extremely confused version of reality. He made sure I knew that I was a slut, so I did not deserve him. I was lucky he would even be with me; he was doing me a favor. Meanwhile, he was screwing half the town and lying about it. Once I would find out, he would tell me it was different because he was a man. He could do whatever he wanted, but when I did the same, it made me a whore.
He had an excuse of course for everything he said. He probably was an alcoholic.  He had a fucked up family. His dad left and didn’t love him. He just didn’t want me to leave him too, and I did so now that’s what I deserved. But it was all just words up to this point though, and words I could handle.
When I came back from abroad, I was staying with him, and the abuse quickly became more than words. I don’t even remember what we were fighting about, probably something along the lines of I was a fat, ugly slut, when he grabbed me by the neck and choked me against the door. I was absolutely in shock. This was not something that I ever thought would happen to me at any point in my life. This happened to strippers and teen moms and on very special episodes of like 7th Heaven. Not to white college graduate girls wearing Urban Outfitters. Not to me.
He apologized the next day. He swore he never would touch me again. And I believed him, just because it seemed so absurd that it had happened once, let alone the possibility it would happen again. But within days, he had thrown my beloved baby blanket in a tree, lit it on fire, chucked my clothes on his lawn and locked me out of the house. We broke up and I went back to my parents’ house.
But as the weeks went by, the reality of what had happened slowly started to fade, and soon we were talking again and back together. He swore it would be different, and it actually was. We were getting along, he stopped being so mean, and it seemed like maybe we could make this work.
It didn’t last long. On Halloween, we were dressed up as Sandy and Danny from Grease, dueting to Summer Nights at karaoke one minute, and the next he was throwing my purse across the bar in front of all my friends and kicking me repeatedly outside. The next day, he claimed to not remember any of it. It wasn’t him, it was the whiskey. He would stop drinking. I would give him one more chance.
On New Years Eve, we all slept at my friend’s downtown. We were on the floor in the sleeping bag and he wouldn’t wake up, so I went and laid in my friend’s bed, where several other people also were hanging out and talking. When my boyfriend finally got up, he had been so drunk that for some reason thought I had slept in the bed with my friend, and he went completely insane. He was screaming at me in front of everyone at the party. He grabbed my hair forcefully at the nape of my neck and pulled me back by it when I tried to walk away. I told him I wasn’t going home with him, and someone else would drive me home, just to leave. Instead he followed us to my friend’s car, screaming at me, opening the door and demanding I get out and leave with him, as my scared friends told him to get the hell away because I was not going anywhere with him.
I dumped him again. Everyone was happy, as none of my friends liked him and everyone knew he was bad news, but unfortunately I was too stubborn to let anyone tell me what I should be doing when it came to this guy. But I thought the break up was for real this time, so I even started to tell people outside my immediate circle of friends all the awful things he had done to me. Some were sympathetic, but I could tell others didn’t believe me, just because it seemed so unrealistic. there were whispers that I was just lying for attention and to get back at him for cheating on me so many times.
However, even after publicly broadcasting his abuse, I found myself talking to him again. I honestly don’t even know why. I knew he was horrible, and realistically, he would probably harm me again. But I was living at my parents house, extremely bored and unhappy, with no other romantic options on the table unless I decided to start dating high schoolers, geriatrics, or married fathers of toddlers. No sooner had we started hanging out again that he again found some reason to be furious at me, and as he drove us away from the city, I was shaking in fear. He refused to take me home and kept driving the wrong way from my house, and when I begged him to stop and take me home, he hit my legs over and over again until they turned bright red and I was sobbing. But 2 weeks later, I was back talking to him again because in my head there was just nothing else I could possibly do with my endless hours of suburban boredom if he wasn’t in my life.
Finally, after six months at home, I had saved up enough money to move to New York, which I also saw as likely the only option to get out of this relationship for good. In the weeks before I left, I remember him pushing me down in my room after I got mad he was texting his exgirlfriend. He claims I slipped. But thankfully it was time to move, and I was finally free. We slowly stopped talking as much until our conversations were reduced to a trickle. I still saw him a few times when I came back to visit. Once we slept at our friends after going to the movies, and he pushed me out of the bed and onto the floor when I didn’t want to have sex with him. But somehow we ended up being sort of friends, even after everything he had done to me. I rarely ever saw him though, until one day he came to meet up with us at a bar. He kept saying he had no money, clearly wanting me to ask him why. I finally did, and he said it was because he got this horrible girl who he knew I hated pregnant and had to pay for her abortion. I told him to leave the bar, and I never have seen or talked to him again since that day. In the time since then, I know he has physically assaulted as least one other girl.
When I think back on these three years of our relationships, it seems crazy that I stayed with him. Yet, in my head I was being so strong and bad ass, or something like that. I was Rihanna, and I could handle Chris Brown and all that came with him if that’s who I wanted to be with. But toxic relationships like that will always damage you in some way, no matter how unbreakable you think you are. While my confidence and self-esteem might be as high as they always were, there have been other repercussions. I find myself attracted to dramatic relationships with guys who don’t value me as a person. It’s hard for me to get close emotionally to anyone I am seeing for fear of being vulnerable enough to let something like this happen again. I flinch when in a heated argument. “Did you actually think I was going to hit you?” a boy recently asked me, mid-fight. I nodded. “I would never do that,” he told me. It’s hard to believe now though. Because maybe he doesn’t hit women, but some boys do. Some boys definitely do.

some boys do: my experience in a physically and verbally abusive relationship

I think most people have a vision of who abuses women. It’s the stereotypical Ray Rice football player whose bicep circumference is larger than his IQ. It’s the alcoholic in the stained white tank top who lives in the trashy apartments on the wrong side of town. Certainly not a twenty something hipster who wears a beanie and jeans in a smaller size than me. Never a guy who listens to Animal Collective in between shifts at American Apparel. Until one day, suddenly it was.

At first, it was just that my on/off boyfriend was an asshole. Once, when we were on a break, he told me he would love me more if I lost 15 pounds so I would be as skinny as his exgirlfriend.  I wasn’t even overweight to begin with, so his constant harassment over my size didn’t even really bother me. I just brushed it off as his pathetic attempts to wear down my confidence and fuck with my mind, so it never did much beyond a stray hurt feeling. I had already decided I was not going to take any shit from him. In fact, instead of trying to lose weight, I hooked up with the singer of a band he liked. I let him know the singer didn’t seem to mind the 15 pounds my boyfriend was so obsessed with.

This just made him more mad, and he shifted his attacks from my weight to my sluttiness. We were long distance at this point because I was in London, and if I so as much didn’t respond to a text within 10 minutes, it was because I was having wild group sex with dozens of british skateboarders obviously. I was certainly not an angel by any means, but this was definitely an extremely confused version of reality. He made sure I knew that I was a slut, so I did not deserve him. I was lucky he would even be with me; he was doing me a favor. Meanwhile, he was screwing half the town and lying about it. Once I would find out, he would tell me it was different because he was a man. He could do whatever he wanted, but when I did the same, it made me a whore.

He had an excuse of course for everything he said. He probably was an alcoholic.  He had a fucked up family. His dad left and didn’t love him. He just didn’t want me to leave him too, and I did so now that’s what I deserved. But it was all just words up to this point though, and words I could handle.

When I came back from abroad, I was staying with him, and the abuse quickly became more than words. I don’t even remember what we were fighting about, probably something along the lines of I was a fat, ugly slut, when he grabbed me by the neck and choked me against the door. I was absolutely in shock. This was not something that I ever thought would happen to me at any point in my life. This happened to strippers and teen moms and on very special episodes of like 7th Heaven. Not to white college graduate girls wearing Urban Outfitters. Not to me.

He apologized the next day. He swore he never would touch me again. And I believed him, just because it seemed so absurd that it had happened once, let alone the possibility it would happen again. But within days, he had thrown my beloved baby blanket in a tree, lit it on fire, chucked my clothes on his lawn and locked me out of the house. We broke up and I went back to my parents’ house.

But as the weeks went by, the reality of what had happened slowly started to fade, and soon we were talking again and back together. He swore it would be different, and it actually was. We were getting along, he stopped being so mean, and it seemed like maybe we could make this work.

It didn’t last long. On Halloween, we were dressed up as Sandy and Danny from Grease, dueting to Summer Nights at karaoke one minute, and the next he was throwing my purse across the bar in front of all my friends and kicking me repeatedly outside. The next day, he claimed to not remember any of it. It wasn’t him, it was the whiskey. He would stop drinking. I would give him one more chance.

On New Years Eve, we all slept at my friend’s downtown. We were on the floor in the sleeping bag and he wouldn’t wake up, so I went and laid in my friend’s bed, where several other people also were hanging out and talking. When my boyfriend finally got up, he had been so drunk that for some reason thought I had slept in the bed with my friend, and he went completely insane. He was screaming at me in front of everyone at the party. He grabbed my hair forcefully at the nape of my neck and pulled me back by it when I tried to walk away. I told him I wasn’t going home with him, and someone else would drive me home, just to leave. Instead he followed us to my friend’s car, screaming at me, opening the door and demanding I get out and leave with him, as my scared friends told him to get the hell away because I was not going anywhere with him.

I dumped him again. Everyone was happy, as none of my friends liked him and everyone knew he was bad news, but unfortunately I was too stubborn to let anyone tell me what I should be doing when it came to this guy. But I thought the break up was for real this time, so I even started to tell people outside my immediate circle of friends all the awful things he had done to me. Some were sympathetic, but I could tell others didn’t believe me, just because it seemed so unrealistic. there were whispers that I was just lying for attention and to get back at him for cheating on me so many times.

However, even after publicly broadcasting his abuse, I found myself talking to him again. I honestly don’t even know why. I knew he was horrible, and realistically, he would probably harm me again. But I was living at my parents house, extremely bored and unhappy, with no other romantic options on the table unless I decided to start dating high schoolers, geriatrics, or married fathers of toddlers. No sooner had we started hanging out again that he again found some reason to be furious at me, and as he drove us away from the city, I was shaking in fear. He refused to take me home and kept driving the wrong way from my house, and when I begged him to stop and take me home, he hit my legs over and over again until they turned bright red and I was sobbing. But 2 weeks later, I was back talking to him again because in my head there was just nothing else I could possibly do with my endless hours of suburban boredom if he wasn’t in my life.

Finally, after six months at home, I had saved up enough money to move to New York, which I also saw as likely the only option to get out of this relationship for good. In the weeks before I left, I remember him pushing me down in my room after I got mad he was texting his exgirlfriend. He claims I slipped. But thankfully it was time to move, and I was finally free. We slowly stopped talking as much until our conversations were reduced to a trickle. I still saw him a few times when I came back to visit. Once we slept at our friends after going to the movies, and he pushed me out of the bed and onto the floor when I didn’t want to have sex with him. But somehow we ended up being sort of friends, even after everything he had done to me. I rarely ever saw him though, until one day he came to meet up with us at a bar. He kept saying he had no money, clearly wanting me to ask him why. I finally did, and he said it was because he got this horrible girl who he knew I hated pregnant and had to pay for her abortion. I told him to leave the bar, and I never have seen or talked to him again since that day. In the time since then, I know he has physically assaulted as least one other girl.

When I think back on these three years of our relationships, it seems crazy that I stayed with him. Yet, in my head I was being so strong and bad ass, or something like that. I was Rihanna, and I could handle Chris Brown and all that came with him if that’s who I wanted to be with. But toxic relationships like that will always damage you in some way, no matter how unbreakable you think you are. While my confidence and self-esteem might be as high as they always were, there have been other repercussions. I find myself attracted to dramatic relationships with guys who don’t value me as a person. It’s hard for me to get close emotionally to anyone I am seeing for fear of being vulnerable enough to let something like this happen again. I flinch when in a heated argument. “Did you actually think I was going to hit you?” a boy recently asked me, mid-fight. I nodded. “I would never do that,” he told me. It’s hard to believe now though. Because maybe he doesn’t hit women, but some boys do. Some boys definitely do.

a few weeks ago this boy is at my house, and he asks to use my computer to look something up. “sure, no problem,” i say nonchalantly as i get up from the couch in the living room to grab the computer from my bed. however, as soon as i am behind the door in my room, i start more or less hyperventilating as i enter code red panic mode thinking about how i am going to hide the massive amount of incriminating evidence in my browser history. i open the computer, and his exgirlfriend’s instagram pops up as literally my most visited site, and that’s not all, i’ve got her mylife page, resume, google map of her address in case i feel like taking this stalking irl, plus facebook accounts of any girl he followed on insta for the last month. levels of surveillance that would completely blow a boy’s mind and send him straight for a restraining order. not to mention extremely embarrassing searches like “odds of getting chlamydia from one sexual encounter” and “get rid of excess body hair” and “real world road rules challenge spoilers 2014.” i frantically try deleting my history and it is taking so long that he actually comes in the room to see what i’m doing and i have to abandon my efforts and open the firefox browser i hardly ever use and hope for the best. as soon as he leaves a few hours later, i check firefox to see if it had exposed me for anything mortifying, and it seemed mostly clear except i somehow have the videos for five-when the lights go out, and la bouche- be my lover favorited on the top of the page?? no idea. i’m guessing he won’t be inviting me to any concerts anytime soon after seeing the music i apparently have on hand for constant access to 90s jams, but if that’s the worst he saw, it’s fine with me.

a few weeks ago this boy is at my house, and he asks to use my computer to look something up. “sure, no problem,” i say nonchalantly as i get up from the couch in the living room to grab the computer from my bed. however, as soon as i am behind the door in my room, i start more or less hyperventilating as i enter code red panic mode thinking about how i am going to hide the massive amount of incriminating evidence in my browser history. i open the computer, and his exgirlfriend’s instagram pops up as literally my most visited site, and that’s not all, i’ve got her mylife page, resume, google map of her address in case i feel like taking this stalking irl, plus facebook accounts of any girl he followed on insta for the last month. levels of surveillance that would completely blow a boy’s mind and send him straight for a restraining order. not to mention extremely embarrassing searches like “odds of getting chlamydia from one sexual encounter” and “get rid of excess body hair” and “real world road rules challenge spoilers 2014.” i frantically try deleting my history and it is taking so long that he actually comes in the room to see what i’m doing and i have to abandon my efforts and open the firefox browser i hardly ever use and hope for the best. as soon as he leaves a few hours later, i check firefox to see if it had exposed me for anything mortifying, and it seemed mostly clear except i somehow have the videos for five-when the lights go out, and la bouche- be my lover favorited on the top of the page?? no idea. i’m guessing he won’t be inviting me to any concerts anytime soon after seeing the music i apparently have on hand for constant access to 90s jams, but if that’s the worst he saw, it’s fine with me.

the cutest old man ever painting at echo park lake

the cutest old man ever painting at echo park lake

yes i would love to fly home to chicago for my ten year high school anniversary at rainforest cafe in a mall. i can have awkward conversations with people who i never liked with to begin with over planet earth pasta as the fake rainstorm rolls in and the animatronic gorillas start  tweaking out.

if it wasn’t for facebook, i probably wouldn’t recognize half the people there as they have slowly morphed into beer bellied and balding insurance salesmen and haggard moms obsessed with updating everyone on their children’s diaper blowouts . facebook honestly has changed the whole reunion game, as the worst people from high school post every single thought they have each day, and i’m not sure if i am supposed to reference this or act as if i have no idea what has transpired in the last ten years. i can already see after one too many cheesy animal themed cocktails drunkenly asking, “so wait your super christian husband really was arrested for banging his 17 year old student? me and my friends group text his mug shot out like once a week, just fyi.” that would go over pretty big, i’m sure. 

our grade was also completely devoid of anything resembling a teenage hipster, so there isn’t even any long lost love there that i would want to make out with in the gift shop behind the monkey puppets . lucky for me, there will certainly be plenty of 28 year olds still wearing affliction graphic tees and obsessed with being edm djs who will probably be blasting like zedd or some shit through the rainforest. very enticing  romantic options.

so unless two randoms dorks have spent the last ten years fanatically watching romy and michelle and plotting some sort of epic maury worthy “geek to chic” reveal, i can’t imagine this reunion could possibly be worth it. i bet the 20 year reunion is probably really where its at, once half the people there are divorced and horny, midlife crisis is around the corner, and people are really starting to look like shit. add some alcohol, and the scene is ripe for some entertaining meltdowns. you can count me in for that one for sure

yes i would love to fly home to chicago for my ten year high school anniversary at rainforest cafe in a mall. i can have awkward conversations with people who i never liked with to begin with over planet earth pasta as the fake rainstorm rolls in and the animatronic gorillas start tweaking out.

if it wasn’t for facebook, i probably wouldn’t recognize half the people there as they have slowly morphed into beer bellied and balding insurance salesmen and haggard moms obsessed with updating everyone on their children’s diaper blowouts . facebook honestly has changed the whole reunion game, as the worst people from high school post every single thought they have each day, and i’m not sure if i am supposed to reference this or act as if i have no idea what has transpired in the last ten years. i can already see after one too many cheesy animal themed cocktails drunkenly asking, “so wait your super christian husband really was arrested for banging his 17 year old student? me and my friends group text his mug shot out like once a week, just fyi.” that would go over pretty big, i’m sure.

our grade was also completely devoid of anything resembling a teenage hipster, so there isn’t even any long lost love there that i would want to make out with in the gift shop behind the monkey puppets . lucky for me, there will certainly be plenty of 28 year olds still wearing affliction graphic tees and obsessed with being edm djs who will probably be blasting like zedd or some shit through the rainforest. very enticing romantic options.

so unless two randoms dorks have spent the last ten years fanatically watching romy and michelle and plotting some sort of epic maury worthy “geek to chic” reveal, i can’t imagine this reunion could possibly be worth it. i bet the 20 year reunion is probably really where its at, once half the people there are divorced and horny, midlife crisis is around the corner, and people are really starting to look like shit. add some alcohol, and the scene is ripe for some entertaining meltdowns. you can count me in for that one for sure

obligatory drunk bathroom pic at el chavo

obligatory drunk bathroom pic at el chavo

really considering hair clinic across the street from me for my next hair appointment. i love the “california style” they offer, which apparently looks a lot like if you took that fat lady from the drew carey show, dressed her from the fashion bug sales rack, and then gave her a makeover for a middle aged cougar chola. am slightly concerned about what kind of facials they are offering.

really considering hair clinic across the street from me for my next hair appointment. i love the “california style” they offer, which apparently looks a lot like if you took that fat lady from the drew carey show, dressed her from the fashion bug sales rack, and then gave her a makeover for a middle aged cougar chola. am slightly concerned about what kind of facials they are offering.

spent all day yesterday at echo park lake playing MASH like it was recess in 1994, and the now 30 year old boys were still refusing to play because they didn’t want to publicly admit any girl they would want to marry. most of the game took on a decidedly darker tone, especially in the  “kids” category, where the usual 0-1-2-3 options turned into “obese step children,” “three abortions” and “illegitimate baby with a mexican.” my future was determined to be a wells fargo bank teller in a siberian apartment with aspergers twins while married to a boy who used to cheat on his gf with me  while alternating between screaming i was ruining his life and making out. sounds amazing, cannot wait.

spent all day yesterday at echo park lake playing MASH like it was recess in 1994, and the now 30 year old boys were still refusing to play because they didn’t want to publicly admit any girl they would want to marry. most of the game took on a decidedly darker tone, especially in the “kids” category, where the usual 0-1-2-3 options turned into “obese step children,” “three abortions” and “illegitimate baby with a mexican.” my future was determined to be a wells fargo bank teller in a siberian apartment with aspergers twins while married to a boy who used to cheat on his gf with me while alternating between screaming i was ruining his life and making out. sounds amazing, cannot wait.

my friends always tease me about being into losers. while they scour potential suitors linkedin profiles to evaluate future earning potential, they joke that my dream boy doesn’t even have one. so a hot skater was driving me home on sunday afternoon and i made a joke referencing this, and he looked at me and was like “linkedin? what’s that?” okay, he could not be serious. “you know, it’s like a social network where you post your work history?” he was completely blank faced and it seemed he had literally never heard of it in his life. i don’t even know why i was surprised considering two hours earlier i realized he didn’t have a computer and he told me he only ever used his non -ipad tablet for watching porn. ugh. how do i stop liking boys like this. please someone help me. the thought of lawyers and doctors physically makes me recoil and i am like getting off to instagram videos of 30 year olds doing kick flips. there has to be some sort of sexy loser aversion therapy program where they show you videos of hot guys in bands with no money, cars or jobs while giving you forceful electric shocks to knock some sense into you and then feed you pizza and ice cream and pump you with morphine as you watch a slide show of clean cut doctors, lawyers and businessmen driving mercedes to their huge mcmansions. i’m guessing this advanced technology hasn’t been developed yet or else my parents would have been like beating down the doors of the building to enroll me in the program, begging the doctors saying “i’ve seen the way she looks at 22 year old stoners in skateparks, and its disturbing, please save our daughter.” maybe one day i can make my parents dreams of banging a guy with health insurance come true, but until then, i’ll keep getting texts like “hey, i’m delivering a pizza on your street come out and say hi.”

my friends always tease me about being into losers. while they scour potential suitors linkedin profiles to evaluate future earning potential, they joke that my dream boy doesn’t even have one. so a hot skater was driving me home on sunday afternoon and i made a joke referencing this, and he looked at me and was like “linkedin? what’s that?” okay, he could not be serious. “you know, it’s like a social network where you post your work history?” he was completely blank faced and it seemed he had literally never heard of it in his life. i don’t even know why i was surprised considering two hours earlier i realized he didn’t have a computer and he told me he only ever used his non -ipad tablet for watching porn. ugh. how do i stop liking boys like this. please someone help me. the thought of lawyers and doctors physically makes me recoil and i am like getting off to instagram videos of 30 year olds doing kick flips. there has to be some sort of sexy loser aversion therapy program where they show you videos of hot guys in bands with no money, cars or jobs while giving you forceful electric shocks to knock some sense into you and then feed you pizza and ice cream and pump you with morphine as you watch a slide show of clean cut doctors, lawyers and businessmen driving mercedes to their huge mcmansions. i’m guessing this advanced technology hasn’t been developed yet or else my parents would have been like beating down the doors of the building to enroll me in the program, begging the doctors saying “i’ve seen the way she looks at 22 year old stoners in skateparks, and its disturbing, please save our daughter.” maybe one day i can make my parents dreams of banging a guy with health insurance come true, but until then, i’ll keep getting texts like “hey, i’m delivering a pizza on your street come out and say hi.”

the last time i saw my dad he was driving me into the city to my friend’s and we stopped at walgreens. i was wearing a crop top and short skirt and leather jacket, a bold look for a suburban drug store on a tuesday night, and as i followed my dad into the store, some high school kid in the parking lot started screaming “i’m not saying she’s a gold diggerrrr” a la kanye west at the top of his lungs. luckily my dad was oblivious to the fact this tween thought we were dating, but i just started dying laughing at the thought of gold digging my cheap ass dad who like will buy food at aldi and has a nissan maxima with like 200k miles on it. still he is the best dad ever even if any gold digging privileges for underemployed daughters have long been suspended and i am so very lucky to have him.

the last time i saw my dad he was driving me into the city to my friend’s and we stopped at walgreens. i was wearing a crop top and short skirt and leather jacket, a bold look for a suburban drug store on a tuesday night, and as i followed my dad into the store, some high school kid in the parking lot started screaming “i’m not saying she’s a gold diggerrrr” a la kanye west at the top of his lungs. luckily my dad was oblivious to the fact this tween thought we were dating, but i just started dying laughing at the thought of gold digging my cheap ass dad who like will buy food at aldi and has a nissan maxima with like 200k miles on it. still he is the best dad ever even if any gold digging privileges for underemployed daughters have long been suspended and i am so very lucky to have him.

tinder date #2- not my best first impression

the second boy i gave my phone number to on tinder was “hot in a heroin addict kind of way,” as i told my friend. his hair should have been cut two months ago and was too greasy, and his tattoos looked like they might have been done in a prison. but my internet surveillance uncovered his vine and he was kind of adorable, so we agreed to meet up that weekend. he asked what i liked to do, and i very creatively answered “i don’t know just party and go out or whatever, what bars do you like?” and he just responded to text me when i wanted to hang. so on saturday, i go to some party at my friends and theres kegs and free drinks, and by 11 pm I am completely wasted, texting boy about how drunk i am in typo ridden messages. he tells me he can pick me up in ten mins, so i pour another drink for the road and head down to the street to wait.

the car pulls up and it only then sort of dawns on me that i am getting in a car with a random stranger off the internet at 11 pm at night, but it didn’t seem very likely that many vine users were also murderers? or else maybe my murder would be broadcast in 8 second increments. but i get in and tinder boy is cute and i am talking a mile a minute about how he should have come in because theres so much free booze there, and how i’ve been drinking since 5. “what bar do you want to go to?” i ask. “uhhhh… wait is there alcohol in that cup?” he responds sounding annoyed as he watches me attempt to sexily drink out of a red solo cup, which im pretty sure is an impossible feat. “yeah, do you want some?” i offer. “um, i don’t drink..”

excuse me what. doesn’t drink?? my alcohol soaked brain could not comprehend this information, and i can’t even imagine how horrified my face looked at that moment. i was definitely not at a state of mind to play this off coolly, and so i immediately asked “what?? why not?” “well,” he pauses, “i used to be a heroin addict actually…. so i just stopped doing everything like four years ago.” honestly, thats pretty impressive and awesome of him, but definitely worlds most awkward thing to hear within 2 minutes of getting in strangers car. i was actually way more disturbed by the not drinking than former heroin usage. yet somehow i still end up making out with him at his house and then my drink is gone, and he’s like “do you want anything to drink?” and for a second i wonder if he actually has beers or something, and then he continues “like water….” lol and i just can’t handle this wasted making out with a sober tinder person scene any longer and made him take me back to the party with my drunk degenerate friends and lots of pbr, and if i learned anything from this entire experience, its that at least now i know my perception of what a hipster heroin addict looks like is completely dead on.

"comments online include: ‘i’d like to debrief russell adams’"
only the hardest hitting news from the daily mail, as always.

just got back from visiting my best friend jena in austin for sxsw, and i never want to hear the word rsvp or wristband ever again, but still had the best time and now am depressed and pouting in my room as i count down the days until next year. 

-saw basically zero bands i had planned on seeing because i forgot how much sxsw completely sucks if you do not have a music wristband or do not love waiting in long ass lines for hours on end. but i did see my boyfriend kurt vile, cloud nothings, orwells, deap vally, like 1000 bands i forgot the name of, and the inside of a wendys like 4 times. 

-jena made out with a 23 year old that was 6’8”

-i got a sxsw tinder boyfriend because of course i did. he was canadian and would just show up completely wasted late at night to make out. he didn’t say much besides he was gluten free and wanted to take off all my clothes, but that was enough for me because he was pretty cute + tall. totally banged him at the house he was staying at while like five of his friends were passed out on the floor of the bedroom because there is something mentally wrong with me.

- on sunday night this random totally drunk guy would not stop hitting on me and buying me drinks, which at this point was totally fine with me because i was broke as fuck. eventually he asked me and jena if we would drive him home  to his parents house?! if he paid us 50 dollars, and we said we needed 20 dollars as a deposit lol which he gladly gave us, but then we said we had to go to the bathroom and booked it the fuck out of there to go buy some wendy’s nuggets. i really hope his mom had to come to the bar to pick up her wasted 35 year old son who already had a 250 dollar bar tab at 10 pm. 

-had so much fun with jena that i have definitely googled “move to austin” at least twice since i got home. even just driving around austin doing nothing would end up being the most fun ever blasting “we can’t stop” and just screaming out the window because we were completely delirious from no sleep and disturbing amounts of adderall for a week. miss her already : /

-on a less fun note, the crash that happened was sad as hell and extra scary because jena and i were actually inside the bar where the crash went down outside of. i had been waiting outside there for 3 hours earlier in the day to get into kurt vile, and now later that night people standing in the same spot ended up dead thanks to some drunk insane wannabe rapper idiot. i still don’t understand how me and jena both didn’t see any of this happen, because i have texts from inside the bar at 12:30 which is when the news said he drove onto the street and hit people, but then at 12:45 i was texting from down the street stuffing my face with pizza, totally oblivious to what had just happened where we were. just so happy we were okay, and so sad for those who were not. 

miss you austin.

just got back from visiting my best friend jena in austin for sxsw, and i never want to hear the word rsvp or wristband ever again, but still had the best time and now am depressed and pouting in my room as i count down the days until next year.

-saw basically zero bands i had planned on seeing because i forgot how much sxsw completely sucks if you do not have a music wristband or do not love waiting in long ass lines for hours on end. but i did see my boyfriend kurt vile, cloud nothings, orwells, deap vally, like 1000 bands i forgot the name of, and the inside of a wendys like 4 times.

-jena made out with a 23 year old that was 6’8”

-i got a sxsw tinder boyfriend because of course i did. he was canadian and would just show up completely wasted late at night to make out. he didn’t say much besides he was gluten free and wanted to take off all my clothes, but that was enough for me because he was pretty cute + tall. totally banged him at the house he was staying at while like five of his friends were passed out on the floor of the bedroom because there is something mentally wrong with me.

- on sunday night this random totally drunk guy would not stop hitting on me and buying me drinks, which at this point was totally fine with me because i was broke as fuck. eventually he asked me and jena if we would drive him home to his parents house?! if he paid us 50 dollars, and we said we needed 20 dollars as a deposit lol which he gladly gave us, but then we said we had to go to the bathroom and booked it the fuck out of there to go buy some wendy’s nuggets. i really hope his mom had to come to the bar to pick up her wasted 35 year old son who already had a 250 dollar bar tab at 10 pm.

-had so much fun with jena that i have definitely googled “move to austin” at least twice since i got home. even just driving around austin doing nothing would end up being the most fun ever blasting “we can’t stop” and just screaming out the window because we were completely delirious from no sleep and disturbing amounts of adderall for a week. miss her already : /

-on a less fun note, the crash that happened was sad as hell and extra scary because jena and i were actually inside the bar where the crash went down outside of. i had been waiting outside there for 3 hours earlier in the day to get into kurt vile, and now later that night people standing in the same spot ended up dead thanks to some drunk insane wannabe rapper idiot. i still don’t understand how me and jena both didn’t see any of this happen, because i have texts from inside the bar at 12:30 which is when the news said he drove onto the street and hit people, but then at 12:45 i was texting from down the street stuffing my face with pizza, totally oblivious to what had just happened where we were. just so happy we were okay, and so sad for those who were not.

miss you austin.