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.
the kind of tinder date only i could have
i swore i was not going to go on any tinder dates, and i honestly meant it. i knew exactly where this app was going to lead me, and it was not anywhere good. however, i was still down to “yes” and “no” every 22-38 year old male in a 7 mile radius all day every day, sometimes making small talk. but anytime a dude asked for my number, i just stopped responding and moved onto the next mostly boring conversation that i could glean a few compliments from to entertain me before ditching that guy as well. eventually i come across a profile of this cute bmxer and we have 5 mutual friends, all bmxers i knew from london including one of my best friends. so i message my friend, and he’s like you have to meet this guy, you’ll love him. and then he tells me he’s messaging the guy as well, i’m sure to only tell him like “oh brittany? she’s slutty you gotta meet her,” and before i know it this has become “a thing” and it is clear that this meeting is going to happen.so i cave and give him my phone number, and soon this 6’4” giant man covered in tattoos will not stop sending me dozens of cute animal emojis and asking when we are going to hang out. “tomorrow,” i finally reluctantly agree.
he starts texting the next day to make plans, telling me he’s free whenever and now is just hanging out with these 17, 18, and 19 year old bmxers who are crashing with him for the night, sending me a picture of their underage tween drinking on the couch. “aw, cute,” i tell him, although was somewhat weirded out that a 30 year old man was chilling with high school students? but we plan to meet at prado in echo park at like 10:30 so i can be supervised by half my friends who would also be there. so around 9 i start drinking, and drinking, and drinking. like i am not about to meet some random off the internet while even anything resembling sober. but i definitely over did it, and by the time i get to prado, i am already pretty much wasted. bmxer shows up a bit later, neck covered in tattoos and i swear there was like a teardrop tattoo on his face which he probably got after murdering the last tinder girl he met up with, and within about 5 minutes of his arrival i am making out with him all over prado. this is one of the last concrete memories i have of this evening. the only other fuzzy event i can recall was announcing we were leaving to go to a bar downtown, and my friend asking if i really thought that was a good idea, and i’m sure i replied by slurring “yes, it’ll be fine,” famous last drunken words for sure.
the next thing i remember is waking up in a bed that was definitely not my own, boy arms wrapped around my midsection. but strangely, i am wearing all my clothes? which instantly gives me an alarming overwhelming sense of pride, like wow, i didn’t hook up with him. apparently blacked out brittany has more self control than anticipated. however, this feeling of accomplishment immediately vanishes when i roll over to look at him, and notice that wait…this guy doesn’t have any neck tattoos… or arm tattoos..and oh my god. then i realize who it is. it is the 17 year old bmxer from the photo he had sent me earlier. “OH MY GOD YOU ARE THE 17 YEAR OLD!!” i start completely freaking out, asking him why i am in this room, what the fuck is going on and if he was born in a year starting with “20” (close, 1997. jesus christ). at that moment, the actual bmxer walks in the room, clearly confused as hell.”what the fuck? i thought you left in the middle of the night?” i open my mouth to try to explain, but in my hungover haze can barely string words together. the 17 year old is in a panic that his bmx idol was about to beat his ass, and he starts to tell him that i just got in the bed in the middle of the night and he swore he didn’t touch me, well besides some cuddling and tween boner like illegally poking me in the (clothed) ass. eventually we all just start cracking up because the entire situation was like next level absurd. my purse was in the 30 year olds room. my shoes were next to the 17 year olds bed. i would pay very large sums of money to see videotape of what actually transpired once we got back to that house, but for now i’m sticking with got lost on the way back from the bathroom, as this apartment was confusing as hell and had way too many beds occupied by bmxers for a drunken me to successfully navigate, and the three of us were too drunk to remember anything. the actual truth will remain a mystery, and all that is certain is that i am now like the mary kay letourneau of the bmx groupie world.
later that day, after adult bmxer drove me home as i tried not to vomit in his car, he texted me a screenshot of the tween bmxer’s twitter. “woke up with a random girl in my bed” he posted, followed by like 20 likes and replies from his horny high school friends who were only been barely making it through each horrible day of adolescence by dreaming of a future life where random girls could just end up in your bed. “that’s so cool,” one of them told him. and he replied, ” it was more weird than cool, it was my homie’s girl.” i immediately started @ing him, “more weird than cool?!?! lol rude.” i have no idea if he even figured out that i was the actual random girl who had been in his bed, but he never answered :( . so i guess that means he’s not asking me to prom…
spent all day on saturday at an oceanside house in malibu where they probably have filmed way too many porns. winter in los angeles is really not so bad.
it is now officially valentine’s day and i’m sitting in my bed alone listening to taylor swift and falling in love with boys i barely know as i stalk them through every form of social media, which i’m pretty sure is what every single girl is contractually obligated to do on february 14th.
i think i haven’t had a valentine in 4 years? god, that’s pretty pathetic, like truly approaching cat lady levels. i just got an e-card form my mom signed with my dog’s name, and it looks like that’s the best i am going to do this year lol ugh.
in theory, it doesn’t seem like it should be that hard to meet someone i like. i go out a million times a month, i’ll carefully craft a plan to talk to any dude i think is cute, a lot of guys will usually hit on me, and i guess i do meet boys. dozens and dozens of blog pages worth of them. but even though
most some are perfectly cute/smart/nice, there’s always just some fatal flaw that means it would never work, like lives far away in nyc/london/michigan, wears flip flips, doesn’t drink even though he works at a bar?!, or has a wife and baby (lol k one that was p bad).
but clearly other people are not having this same problem, as every day my newsfeed continues to blow up with more people getting married and engaged. it just seems like such an odd coincidence to me that in the past 2 years everyone has suddenly miraculously simultaneously found their soul mates, all with timing aligned perfectly with an appropriate midwestern life plan. i mean, i know some of these people are truly in love and cute and perfect for each other, but it’s too easy not to completely see how the other 65% have just accepted this is it because they are too comfortable to break up with their boring as hell girlfriend and start over again at the ancient age of 28 and possibly be alone for a year or two before someone else comes along.
and i think maybe that’s my problem in a way. i’m perfectly happy being by myself and with my friends. i’m certainly not desperate enough to start dating the first dude who wants to hang out with me twice in a week just so i have someone to stay in and watch netflix with. it’s like when i think of having a boyfriend, i think of it as giving up the freedom to do whatever the fuck i want, and that’s not something i’m going to do for just anyone. of the few boys who have ever meant anything to me in the last eight years, when we met, it was just so immediately something, fireworks, sparks flying, all the cliche taylor swift lyric imagery you could imagine. and once you feel that, it seems sad to date someone if my attitude is just “meh yeah i guess he’s cool, we’ll see what happens.”
sometimes i wonder what will happen to me. like what if you just never meet anyone you truly want to be with? i hung out with this tinder boy my age last week and he told me he went on a date with a 38 year old a few weeks before, and in a way i was scared that was my future. almost 40 and trolling for hot twenty something skaters on tinder. it very well could be. or who knows, maybe in 3 years i’ll be the one blasting my engagement to my tall dark haired tattooed dream boy all over facebook and planning some dumb twee as hell vintage wedding sponsored by pinterest. but somehow i really really doubt that.
but instead of worrying about my sad destiny of cat lady cougaring at the skatepark, i’m going to try to have the best single girl valentines ever and buy myself clothes, eat in & out, wear a slutty red top, and hang out all night with the only thing i ever really loved, bud light, until i’m drunk enough to make out with the next boy who is all wrong for me.
guys, jef from the bacherette is messaging me on tinder nonstop and it is taking everything in me to not breakdown and completely start interrogating him about how much of a horrible bitch/nascar slut emily had to have been. totally too scared to meet him because could not possibly conceal my bachelor/ette obsession past 2 drinks and would probably start completely fan girling the fuck out. other noticeable tinder pick ups include ariel pink, who was already having insane violent sex multiple nights a week with my old roommate last year, and toph eggers, dave eggers little brother in “a heartbreaking work of staggering genius” lol.
"are you on the list?" an impossibly large bouncer asks us as we walk up to a club in hollywood. "no," my roommate tells him, "but we are here to see isaac and eduardo." he nods immediately and moves to let us pass, as clearly these names mean something. but to me they are still just names, names of these random rich old men my roommate had met earlier in the week and gotten money from and now she had dragged me out with her to meet them in the hopes there would be more where her first money filled envelope came from.
we push our way through the crowd until i finally see them, two seventy something year old men in a sea of douchey tanned bros in designer jeans. their faces light up when they see my roommate, rushing over to give her a kiss on the cheek and a hug, and she introduces me to them, and we join the 5 other 20 something girls gathered around their table, drinking from their giant bottle of grey goose and talking extra loudly so their too proud for hearing aid ears could hear us. the conversation is surprisingly not as awkward as I would have imagined, and several grey gooses in I forget these men could be my grandpa and start having fun. the waitress brings the check, and our designated old man tells us he can’t read writing that small anymore, and my roommate informs him the bill is 1500 dollars, and it’s clear this is pocket change to this old man, as he then orders another huge bottle, just so I can have one more drink before we go to dinner, leaving the rest abandoned on the table.
after dinner, we go back to the old man’s house in beverly hills, and i get kind of nervous but my roommate reassures me that he’s not going to touch us and that she went to his house before and it was completely innocent, just likes hanging out with young girls. we pull in the gated entrance and his house is somewhat bizarre, with a beautiful pool and hot tub, but the interior clearly has not been redecorated in quite a long time, and he still has a tv from like 1989 in the kitchen. there is an andy warhol style painting of his daughter in the hallway, and i ask how old she is and he says he can’t remember any more. we move into the living room where a large bar sits against one wall with every kind of liquor i have ever imagined. he pours me a drink that has to be 3/4 vodka, and he tells us he has 8 homes around the world and is a citizen of monaco. he says he wants to put on some music, and he walks over to the stereo system, and i imagine “my way” by frank sinatra would soon quietly come out of the speakers. instead, i swear to god, a mash up of nine inch nails closer and 50 cent in da club begins BLASTING at full volume to the point you can barely hear what anyone is saying. this man was born in 1937. at this point i am pretty drunk and me and my roommate start dancing around his living room as nine inch nails shakes the floor of the mansion, and my entire life seemed unreal at that moment.
as the night comes to a close as it nears 2 am, i do my very best to be as charming and funny as possible to ensure future invites, and it seems to be working, as he laughs and laughs and when i mention i do not have a car and have to take the bus everywhere, he says, “oh, we can fix that. we will get you a car.” then he says he will be right back, and disappears, returning in ten minutes with 2 envelopes, hands one to each of us.”here are your presents,” he tells us, and we hug him and say goodnight, promising we will come back soon, and we drive out the gates and head back to silver lake as i tear the envelope apart to find 750 dollars, and this insanely rich old man could be the very best thing that has ever happened to me. just like anna nicole smith but with much much smaller boobs.
i have been minnie mouse for halloween almost every year since 2006, when i first bought this dress at a vintage store and forced my then boyfriend to be mickey against his will, permanently degrading him in the eyes of his friends for giving in to me. we broke up and minnie has been single and on the prowl ever since, and i will probably still be wearing this costume in 2016 because it is just too cute and that mouse nose slays ‘em every year.
"this man looks like almost a different person after years of drugs have take their toll on his face." 2007 seasoned meth head honestly is looking way better than 2004 entry level meth head, now hes kind of hot, ditched the mullet and his steroided out hockey player bro with an absurd neck circumference look. not the best example, daily mail, scabs covering the person’s after face, or gtfo.