A future recommendation- don't go to a strip club on a weekday. Specifically not a Monday night. There was a slow progression of the night- I didn't just get in the car and set off on this adventure. Dinner with friends turned into hanging out at a bar. Somehow this led to the discovery that I've never been to a strip club before. My guy friends were (overly) excited with the possibility of going; my straight, female friend said "Meh."
It was bizarre.
The women on stage were nothing like I pictured they'd be. I wasn't expecting to be inspired to strip, but I was hoping for more theatrics. Completely dead eyes, hair in ponytails with non-sexy glasses using the same moves in almost the same order and no transitions. Ass shake, lay down, spread legs, shake legs, get up, ass shake, end of song.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but the point of stripping is to show some skin in a seductive manner. Most of them went to the unlit side of the stage behind a pillar to take her top off and come back out. The one who didn't leave was not graceful about it. It was literally a 'here are my tits' move.
Possibly the worst disillusionment- only one used the pole... badly. She climbed to the very top and awkwardly slid down. Really more falling than sliding. It looked painful.
Previously, my friends decided that I needed the full experience of getting a lap dance. The unfortunate thing is the dancer we all liked had already gone home for the night and then we couldn't agree on an acceptable replacement. So the rest of the evening, my girl friend and I critiqued the style or lack thereof of each dancer, deciding either of us would be much better. I still firmly believe this.
If I were a lesbian I'd be severely disappointed. Even as a straight woman I have to say it was fairly anti-climactic. So... that was beginning of my week. It can only go up from here, right?
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Tuesday, December 2, 2014
Petty, Satisfying Revenge
A while back I was officially inducted into the nerd club- actually paying money this time! The information card everyone was supposed to fill out included name, major, career goal, and if you wanted to thank anyone in particular.
As a joke in the offhand chance they'd really humor me (or not pay enough attention and slip up), I filled out my name as "Lauren Waitforit [last name]." I knew the odds were slim to none against being announced as such, but I still had to try regardless. In my opinion, this isn't a terribly serious event. How wrong I was.
The rest of the info I filled out like a responsible adult. I was going to make another snappy comment, but didn't want to push my luck. Too much goofiness and I'd definitely get caught right away.
The day of the long, winded ceremony came and I was reminded of how much I truly hate these formalities and the people who run them. They are rigid "Type A" personalities and I am nowhere close to that. I'm a go with the flow kind of person... or apathetic. Whatever synonym you'd prefer. While lining everyone up for the hundredth time, I glanced at the card and saw Waitforit had been completely (unnecessarily aggressively) scratched out. It was disappointing, but not surprising.
When the president of the universe *ahem, university* got to my card, she purposefully left out half of my information. Just the name and major with an incredibly awkward silence for me to walk across the stage. The tension was palpable in the small auditorium in that drawn-out moment before she moved on to the next person. Other people got away with dorky, joking parts of their announcements. I lividly glared at her the rest of the evening, wishing I could shoot lasers out of my eyes.
Then, to drag this miserable night out even further, Ms. Priss demanded a group picture of the 100ish people. I faked a convincing smile and planned out what I'd say to her when I confronted her later. Something biting about her unprofessional immaturity at a trivial and harmless joke. Just because I pissed you off doesn't mean you were allowed to ignore everything else. I thanked people and you made me look like a jackass.
I needed revenge. She ran off immediately afterwards and I was too angry to trust myself to confront her without making a scene. There was no way I'd let the world see me lose my cool. She was in the wrong, not I. I still needed something to vent.
There was very little action I could take in that moment. Looking at my surroundings, I settled on the one thing I could definitely do. You passive aggressively leave out half of my information, I passive aggressively steal your flowers.
I stole an entire pot of them off of the stage. On my way out, as part of the crowd, I smoothly picked them up and left without missing a beat. I have the skills to get away with it. Not that I'm a kleptomaniac, but I've had enough practice to be confident. Those are stories for another time.
In the long run it really doesn't make that much of a difference, but I felt better with my small victory.
As a joke in the offhand chance they'd really humor me (or not pay enough attention and slip up), I filled out my name as "Lauren Waitforit [last name]." I knew the odds were slim to none against being announced as such, but I still had to try regardless. In my opinion, this isn't a terribly serious event. How wrong I was.
The rest of the info I filled out like a responsible adult. I was going to make another snappy comment, but didn't want to push my luck. Too much goofiness and I'd definitely get caught right away.
The day of the long, winded ceremony came and I was reminded of how much I truly hate these formalities and the people who run them. They are rigid "Type A" personalities and I am nowhere close to that. I'm a go with the flow kind of person... or apathetic. Whatever synonym you'd prefer. While lining everyone up for the hundredth time, I glanced at the card and saw Waitforit had been completely (unnecessarily aggressively) scratched out. It was disappointing, but not surprising.
When the president of the universe *ahem, university* got to my card, she purposefully left out half of my information. Just the name and major with an incredibly awkward silence for me to walk across the stage. The tension was palpable in the small auditorium in that drawn-out moment before she moved on to the next person. Other people got away with dorky, joking parts of their announcements. I lividly glared at her the rest of the evening, wishing I could shoot lasers out of my eyes.
Then, to drag this miserable night out even further, Ms. Priss demanded a group picture of the 100ish people. I faked a convincing smile and planned out what I'd say to her when I confronted her later. Something biting about her unprofessional immaturity at a trivial and harmless joke. Just because I pissed you off doesn't mean you were allowed to ignore everything else. I thanked people and you made me look like a jackass.
I needed revenge. She ran off immediately afterwards and I was too angry to trust myself to confront her without making a scene. There was no way I'd let the world see me lose my cool. She was in the wrong, not I. I still needed something to vent.
There was very little action I could take in that moment. Looking at my surroundings, I settled on the one thing I could definitely do. You passive aggressively leave out half of my information, I passive aggressively steal your flowers.
I stole an entire pot of them off of the stage. On my way out, as part of the crowd, I smoothly picked them up and left without missing a beat. I have the skills to get away with it. Not that I'm a kleptomaniac, but I've had enough practice to be confident. Those are stories for another time.
(Molly approves)
In the long run it really doesn't make that much of a difference, but I felt better with my small victory.
Sunday, September 28, 2014
It's gross but kinda funny
I threw up a lot as a kid... bare minimum twice a month. It was partially because I have a shitty immune system, partially because I had (have) panic attacks. I've gotten a bit better on both issues, but I still throw up almost every time I get sick with anything. I don't do it on purpose. That being said, I have favorite stories:
I was alone in my house at night, most of the lights off. There was no warning, just the instant 'Oh God it's happening RIGHT NOW' feeling. I almost made it to the bathroom, but ended up puking on the floor. It was so much darker than vomit should ever be.
I distinctly remember calmly thinking "Is this blood? Which part of my body is shutting down? Is throwing up blood kidney or liver failure? No one is here to take me to the hospital."
Thankfully, it was just spaghetti. It's nice to not have internal bleeding.
There was the time I tried to drink myself into oblivion after a godawful day. I was impatient and wanted to be drunk immediately... too much, too fast, empty stomach. I puked everything I've ever eaten. The next day my friend tried consoling me, telling me to "puke out the sadness. Like a fuckin dragon." It was surprisingly helpful. Since then, every single time I vomit I think of dragons.
The absolute best story was the movies. No, I didn't puke in the theater. It would make for a more dramatic ending, though more humiliating than I think I'd admit to the internet. It was close, don't get me wrong.
I refused to run to the bathroom to save my dignity, which in hindsight was a bad idea. It would've given me the extra few seconds to get into a stall, close the door, and position myself in front of the toilet. My dumb ass walked and barely got inside a stall. There was no time for anything else.
There's projectile and then there's what I did. I exploded. It went everywhere. EVERYWHERE. On the seat, on the top and sides of the tank, every side of the bowl, the back of the toilet, on the stall walls, covered the floor.
EXPLODED.
Maybe 20% actually got in the toilet. I cleaned up and almost threw up again just because I was so disgusted. Then I found one of the employees, explained the situation, said it just needed to be disinfected. This made me miss the majority of the movie, which I had been looking forward to seeing for the past month or so.
To make this story even better- this was in the middle of a pregnancy scare. My boyfriend at the time didn't make the connection until the next day. Luckily it was just the flu. I wasn't (nor have I ever been) pregnant.
Then there are memorable stories of being sick in elementary, middle and high school. The trip to california where I threw up at least once a day. If I go too long without eating. All of the carsick stories (lots and lots). Like I said, I puke a lot. It sucks.
I was alone in my house at night, most of the lights off. There was no warning, just the instant 'Oh God it's happening RIGHT NOW' feeling. I almost made it to the bathroom, but ended up puking on the floor. It was so much darker than vomit should ever be.
I distinctly remember calmly thinking "Is this blood? Which part of my body is shutting down? Is throwing up blood kidney or liver failure? No one is here to take me to the hospital."
Thankfully, it was just spaghetti. It's nice to not have internal bleeding.
There was the time I tried to drink myself into oblivion after a godawful day. I was impatient and wanted to be drunk immediately... too much, too fast, empty stomach. I puked everything I've ever eaten. The next day my friend tried consoling me, telling me to "puke out the sadness. Like a fuckin dragon." It was surprisingly helpful. Since then, every single time I vomit I think of dragons.
The absolute best story was the movies. No, I didn't puke in the theater. It would make for a more dramatic ending, though more humiliating than I think I'd admit to the internet. It was close, don't get me wrong.
I refused to run to the bathroom to save my dignity, which in hindsight was a bad idea. It would've given me the extra few seconds to get into a stall, close the door, and position myself in front of the toilet. My dumb ass walked and barely got inside a stall. There was no time for anything else.
There's projectile and then there's what I did. I exploded. It went everywhere. EVERYWHERE. On the seat, on the top and sides of the tank, every side of the bowl, the back of the toilet, on the stall walls, covered the floor.
EXPLODED.
Maybe 20% actually got in the toilet. I cleaned up and almost threw up again just because I was so disgusted. Then I found one of the employees, explained the situation, said it just needed to be disinfected. This made me miss the majority of the movie, which I had been looking forward to seeing for the past month or so.
To make this story even better- this was in the middle of a pregnancy scare. My boyfriend at the time didn't make the connection until the next day. Luckily it was just the flu. I wasn't (nor have I ever been) pregnant.
Then there are memorable stories of being sick in elementary, middle and high school. The trip to california where I threw up at least once a day. If I go too long without eating. All of the carsick stories (lots and lots). Like I said, I puke a lot. It sucks.
Wednesday, September 10, 2014
Groups of anything in class should die
Fuck you, group projects and fuck you hard. Literally every
week thus far I’ve been involved in some kind of group since the start of the
semester. I don't want to interact with anyone else ever, stop trying to make it happen. Just let me stare at the clock and count the minutes until I can leave.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become somewhat less shitty at
public speaking. Still not enthusiastic about the idea and still hope a meteor
crashes into the room right before my turn, but I can get through a
presentation alright. A personal one, I mean. Group presentations make
me nervous and I’m sudden back in third grade having a panic attack because I
don’t know if I’m going to mesh with the group or if everyone will pinpoint and
focus on my mistakes. Even then I knew how painfully awkward I was. Third
grade. For serious.
There was a moment in the terrible 'trying to put everything
together' phase where I realized I might have done mine horribly, horribly
wrong. From that point on, I was in the state of nauseated nervousness, obsessing
on what I could say to redeem myself.
Luckily the rest of the group was at the same level of “I hope
this is right” confusion, so at least it would be homogenous. A guy in the
group admitted that he was also extremely awkward in every aspect of life. One
of us made a joke about awkward hugs, so I mimed my best version… at the same
time he did. We were both unsure of what to do. We did the lean into it, lean
away, what the shit are you doing, what the shit am I doing, why is this
happening, I hate everything that’s ever led up to this moment, please God drop
a meteor right now.
It ended up as the weirdest hug- a side hug with me tapping
the outside of his arm, him tapping one of my shoulders, the other arm just in the
air in my direction.
Save room for Jesus!
Presentation- I haven’t been that apprehensive about public
speaking for a long time. I kept telling myself to chill out, be kinda normal
for 90 seconds. It wasn’t working out well. My inner voice was getting pissed
at my actual voice and I think my frustration crept out. Most of the people in
class had the same weird look on their faces the longer I was standing. Then
the professor kept asking questions and I couldn’t comprehend what she wanted
me to say, so I just kept talking, hoping she’d leave me alone ASAP.
Then that lying son of a bitch started explaining his part.
Where was the awkwardness now, motherfucker? He was charismatic and downright
charming. He had the perfect joke timing. I immediately hated him. I was under
the impression we had solidarity in our inept social skills.
When it was over I asked a joking question (really a snide
comment with a joking tone so I wouldn’t be obviously bitchy) about where that
awkwardness went. He said public speaking is the only thing he’s comfortable
with; it’s everything else he’s not. I don’t know if I believe him.
But then again, there was that hug…
Jesus could’ve danced between us in the amount of space
there was. Time stopped in the worst possible way and took eons to start again.
I don’t know if I can stress how uncomfortable and freakishly long moment that was.
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Slap heard 'round the world
Apparently I'm somewhat infamous in another town. By that I mean people know the story AND my name. I'm not just "that girl."
A few months ago, my group of friends were camping out and towards the early evening started drinking. One of the guys (whom I'd never met; he's a friend of a friend) is an obnoxious drunk. Too loud, whiny, and getting emotional. He is the type who can't let a joke die and has little to no filter.
One of my friends has this weird thing about belly buttons- if you poke her there she'll throw up. She saw some horrible thing where a kid got impaled on his bike through his belly button or something. Regardless, you should respect someone's personal space. He kept trying to poke her, she was forcefully telling him to leave her alone, he didn't listen. He thought it was a game.
By that point he was pissing me off. You just don't mess with a girl's best friend. I stepped in front of him, got right in his face, and told him to leave her the fuck alone. He just laughed and tried to reach around me. Without warning I slapped him. Hard.
Full contact- heel to fingertip, stung my hand kind of hard. Our mutual friend saw and heard it across the campsite and came over to diffuse the situation, dragging him away. He was being a whiny bitch and kept saying "she slapped the shit out of me! Why did she slap the shit out of me?"
He sulked for the rest of the night and apologized the next day. About a week or so later he made some lewd comments about us to our mutual friend, who then decided he wasn't allowed to be around any of us ever again.
Doucheface told someone about that night, who told someone else... so then everyone knew he got the shit slapped out of him by me. By everyone I mean my group of people, the other friends there, some of their friends, this guy, and some of the people at the college he goes to. I am legendary in town 2 hours away. Win.
The only downside is that every time I'm drinking with the belly-button friend she makes a comment that nobody better piss me off or I'll slap them. I'm really not a violent person. I yell and cuss like a mother fucker in traffic, but that's as intimidating as I get. I almost never hit anyone.
For the record, at the time of the slap I was sober.
A few months ago, my group of friends were camping out and towards the early evening started drinking. One of the guys (whom I'd never met; he's a friend of a friend) is an obnoxious drunk. Too loud, whiny, and getting emotional. He is the type who can't let a joke die and has little to no filter.
One of my friends has this weird thing about belly buttons- if you poke her there she'll throw up. She saw some horrible thing where a kid got impaled on his bike through his belly button or something. Regardless, you should respect someone's personal space. He kept trying to poke her, she was forcefully telling him to leave her alone, he didn't listen. He thought it was a game.
By that point he was pissing me off. You just don't mess with a girl's best friend. I stepped in front of him, got right in his face, and told him to leave her the fuck alone. He just laughed and tried to reach around me. Without warning I slapped him. Hard.
Full contact- heel to fingertip, stung my hand kind of hard. Our mutual friend saw and heard it across the campsite and came over to diffuse the situation, dragging him away. He was being a whiny bitch and kept saying "she slapped the shit out of me! Why did she slap the shit out of me?"
He sulked for the rest of the night and apologized the next day. About a week or so later he made some lewd comments about us to our mutual friend, who then decided he wasn't allowed to be around any of us ever again.
Doucheface told someone about that night, who told someone else... so then everyone knew he got the shit slapped out of him by me. By everyone I mean my group of people, the other friends there, some of their friends, this guy, and some of the people at the college he goes to. I am legendary in town 2 hours away. Win.
The only downside is that every time I'm drinking with the belly-button friend she makes a comment that nobody better piss me off or I'll slap them. I'm really not a violent person. I yell and cuss like a mother fucker in traffic, but that's as intimidating as I get. I almost never hit anyone.
For the record, at the time of the slap I was sober.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Pep-Talk
I was going through some of my stuff and found stories and other such nonsense I had written in 7th-8th grade. Most of it was terrible. Buried among all the crap I found one particular paper- whatever made me write this back then thought someone would need it later. Or I was just being weird... which is a definite possibility.
A tad dramatic at some parts, but everyone is when they're 13 or 14. Here:
"Though things look the worst at times, things do get better. I promise they do. Never lose hope, never lose sight of the blinding light at the end of the tunnel.
Don't lose or get lost though things are fucked up. It will get better. Outcomes do improve. You can get a do-over, but not if you give up or give in.
Remember who you are- what you stand for, where you come from. Keep in sight your dreams always, inspiration strikes at any moment. Will you answer the desperate pleas of long lost and forgotten blips of hopes and dreams?
Don't give up.
Don't give in.
Don't be any less than what you were born to be. Never let your destiny be less than how you are supposed to be.
Look for the light at the end of the tunnel. It's there, trust me.
If you ever get lost in the road of life, come to me. I'll be your guide.
I'll help you trudge on, stand dignified in every aspect of the day.
I can be there for you but you have to promise me one thing:
Don't ever give up.
Yes, times are rough but always learn from past mistakes- they all have a message to bear."
Stumbling upon this was bizarre for me. I kinda needed it.
And this:
A tad dramatic at some parts, but everyone is when they're 13 or 14. Here:
"Though things look the worst at times, things do get better. I promise they do. Never lose hope, never lose sight of the blinding light at the end of the tunnel.
Don't lose or get lost though things are fucked up. It will get better. Outcomes do improve. You can get a do-over, but not if you give up or give in.
Remember who you are- what you stand for, where you come from. Keep in sight your dreams always, inspiration strikes at any moment. Will you answer the desperate pleas of long lost and forgotten blips of hopes and dreams?
Don't give up.
Don't give in.
Don't be any less than what you were born to be. Never let your destiny be less than how you are supposed to be.
Look for the light at the end of the tunnel. It's there, trust me.
If you ever get lost in the road of life, come to me. I'll be your guide.
I'll help you trudge on, stand dignified in every aspect of the day.
I can be there for you but you have to promise me one thing:
Don't ever give up.
Yes, times are rough but always learn from past mistakes- they all have a message to bear."
Stumbling upon this was bizarre for me. I kinda needed it.
And this:
Tuesday, May 13, 2014
Don't quote me
I'm somewhat notorious for quoting my friends' weird comments or our conversations on facebook. It's bad... really, really bad. As we're talking, my mom will outright say "Don't you dare put that on facebook!" She's usually too late.
Without further ado, here:
"Oh my God you're a terrible person... how are you so stupid... why are we still friends? I'm going to stab you... you're really fucking creepy... I'm going to kill you... just go away" -naomi (all of this directed AT ME)
"Happy slim thug day. Do what you do but don't get caught." -dad
"Either throw it away now or later... unless you want to be known as 'puke boobs.' I can honestly say that's never happened to me"- mom, in reference to the cat puking in my bra on the floor
"What does 'per' mean in latin? I need it for my medical terminology paper." -naomi
"It means 'happy cat sound'". -dad
"Go to sleep!" -mom
"I'm sick, you can't tell me what to do" -me
"I can too! If I don't sleep I can't care for you. Ya little shit! Go to fucking sleep or I'll come in there and choke you!!" -mom
"Hey kiddo, blow your nose. You have a trail of snot running down your face and it's gross." -me
"Yeah, I have an army of boogers. I am a mess." -jacob (my nephew)
"Oh yeah, we used to steal your halloween candy. Mostly chocolate. I never took as many as your father... Your father is a chocolate whore." -mom
"You're so cute." -mom
(I make an ugly face)
"Am I cute now?" -me
"Yes. Retarded, but cute." -mom
"I LOVE CHAINSAWING! I think my chainsaw is my new favorite tool! It's like riding a motorcycle with razorblades attached!" -John
"Cake fucking. Yes." -phillip
"we can only dream math will be sexy one day" -phillip
"Oh this tastes like love" -me
"Eww" -phillip
"I didn't say it tastes like sex, I said it tastes like love." -me
"Eww" -phillip
"Sometimes I wish my mother was a midget" -taylor
"I love you... WITH AN IRON FIST!" -taylor
"He's a Christmas horse. And he has a bow on his butt. If I ever got a horse as a present I'd want one with a bow on its butt." -amanda
"Quit attacking me with your pelvis!" -amanda
"We're fighting killer ninjas and zombies. Are they zonjas? Or ninjies? I don't know" -mike
"Why is he wearing those glasses?" -chuck
"His name is Greggy. Do I have to say more?" -me
"But those glasses don't make me want to have sex with him" -chuck
"That's the only good part of today. She pooped her pants. She walked to the office with poopy pants to get her blood drawn and give us her poop. I never want to see poop or pee again." -naomi
"I'm going to have to unplug your xbox" - Courtney
"Whoa whoa whoa!"- Mike G
"Dude, calm your tits" -me
"No! These tits will not be calmed!" -Mike G
I can't help that my friends and I have some bizarre conversations; it's why I keep them as friends. I need to share the wealth of our awesome lives. It's not my fault that it's slightly and/or uncomfortably awkward out of context.
Without further ado, here:
"Oh my God you're a terrible person... how are you so stupid... why are we still friends? I'm going to stab you... you're really fucking creepy... I'm going to kill you... just go away" -naomi (all of this directed AT ME)
"Happy slim thug day. Do what you do but don't get caught." -dad
"Either throw it away now or later... unless you want to be known as 'puke boobs.' I can honestly say that's never happened to me"- mom, in reference to the cat puking in my bra on the floor
"What does 'per' mean in latin? I need it for my medical terminology paper." -naomi
"It means 'happy cat sound'". -dad
"Go to sleep!" -mom
"I'm sick, you can't tell me what to do" -me
"I can too! If I don't sleep I can't care for you. Ya little shit! Go to fucking sleep or I'll come in there and choke you!!" -mom
"Hey kiddo, blow your nose. You have a trail of snot running down your face and it's gross." -me
"Yeah, I have an army of boogers. I am a mess." -jacob (my nephew)
"Oh yeah, we used to steal your halloween candy. Mostly chocolate. I never took as many as your father... Your father is a chocolate whore." -mom
"You're so cute." -mom
(I make an ugly face)
"Am I cute now?" -me
"Yes. Retarded, but cute." -mom
"I LOVE CHAINSAWING! I think my chainsaw is my new favorite tool! It's like riding a motorcycle with razorblades attached!" -John
"Cake fucking. Yes." -phillip
"we can only dream math will be sexy one day" -phillip
"Oh this tastes like love" -me
"Eww" -phillip
"I didn't say it tastes like sex, I said it tastes like love." -me
"Eww" -phillip
"Sometimes I wish my mother was a midget" -taylor
"I love you... WITH AN IRON FIST!" -taylor
"He's a Christmas horse. And he has a bow on his butt. If I ever got a horse as a present I'd want one with a bow on its butt." -amanda
"Quit attacking me with your pelvis!" -amanda
"We're fighting killer ninjas and zombies. Are they zonjas? Or ninjies? I don't know" -mike
"Why is he wearing those glasses?" -chuck
"His name is Greggy. Do I have to say more?" -me
"But those glasses don't make me want to have sex with him" -chuck
"That's the only good part of today. She pooped her pants. She walked to the office with poopy pants to get her blood drawn and give us her poop. I never want to see poop or pee again." -naomi
"I'm going to have to unplug your xbox" - Courtney
"Whoa whoa whoa!"- Mike G
"Dude, calm your tits" -me
"No! These tits will not be calmed!" -Mike G
I can't help that my friends and I have some bizarre conversations; it's why I keep them as friends. I need to share the wealth of our awesome lives. It's not my fault that it's slightly and/or uncomfortably awkward out of context.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Why I hate hookah bars
The atmosphere of many hookah bars are weird. It's almost always really dark with some kind of light show reminiscent of disco balls, usually blasting hip hop/rap songs. Don't get me wrong- I legit like most of the music- it's just that I have sensitive hearing and don't like to have to shout to be a part of a conversation. I'm already an introvert, so I tend not to talk unless I have something somewhat relevant. Having to shout doesn't help encourage me to join in.
Ok, that's a minor inconvenience.
The real issue is that I don't smoke. I have no idea why that's an issue, but it quickly becomes one. My friends know I'm not going to smoke and don't care that I'm not. They either offer once (maybe twice) out of courtesy or they don't ask at all. People who don't know me ask multiple times, usually in a nagging kind of way, as if it's inconceivable that anyone wouldn't want to smoke.
If there's a group, that's when they gang up on me and repeatedly ask (demand to know) why not? They say it's fun/ tastes good. Then they keep telling me it's not a drug, it's not even nicotine or it's not addictive. I know. I don't give a shit. It's not going to happen, kindly shut the fuck up. Thanks.
It's at that point I'm either so uncomfortable I want to (or actually do) leave or I've made them uncomfortable by being the wet blanket. Again, I don't give a shit about their feelings. I'm pissed that they won't drop the subject that I don't want to smoke. If they offered a cigarette and I said "no thanks," would they keep asking? No. From that moment on everyone would accept that I don't smoke. Life would go on.
The last time I went to one I assumed it would only be one, maybe two people I didn't know. There were five. I went with three of my friends and met up with another person I halfway know and his friends. EVERYONE asked multiple times, including my closest guy friend who knows just how uncomfortable I am.
The mood instantly changed when the group collectively realized that I absolutely would not bend. I was suddenly the lamest person on the planet, like "who the hell invited her?" I was incredibly pissed that my friend didn't stand up for me. It got worse when the new people (not my people) started talking about their various drug stories. I have never had the desire to do any drug, so... I was even farther outside of the cool kid's group.
The only saving grace that brought me out of the loser zone was that I had some of whatever alcohol another friend brought (I guess that proved I'm not a saint?). I drink occasionally, maybe two or three times a month, stopping when I get to a nice level of tipsy. When I get to the stage where I think more alcohol = more fun, the still sober-ish part of my brain cuts me off. I have really bizarre, unsettling dreams when I drink too much.
The moral of the story? So long as you partake in one of those aforementioned vices- smoking, drinking, various drugs- you'll be accepted by the cool kids.
Oh wait. No, that's a shitty moral.
Stick to your guns? I don't know. That's the best advice I have.
[Sidenote: I'm so sick of hearing why pot shouldn't be illegal. I've heard everything so many times I could scream. Seriously, SHUT THE FUCK UP! I couldn't possibly care less.]
Ok, that's a minor inconvenience.
The real issue is that I don't smoke. I have no idea why that's an issue, but it quickly becomes one. My friends know I'm not going to smoke and don't care that I'm not. They either offer once (maybe twice) out of courtesy or they don't ask at all. People who don't know me ask multiple times, usually in a nagging kind of way, as if it's inconceivable that anyone wouldn't want to smoke.
If there's a group, that's when they gang up on me and repeatedly ask (demand to know) why not? They say it's fun/ tastes good. Then they keep telling me it's not a drug, it's not even nicotine or it's not addictive. I know. I don't give a shit. It's not going to happen, kindly shut the fuck up. Thanks.
It's at that point I'm either so uncomfortable I want to (or actually do) leave or I've made them uncomfortable by being the wet blanket. Again, I don't give a shit about their feelings. I'm pissed that they won't drop the subject that I don't want to smoke. If they offered a cigarette and I said "no thanks," would they keep asking? No. From that moment on everyone would accept that I don't smoke. Life would go on.
The last time I went to one I assumed it would only be one, maybe two people I didn't know. There were five. I went with three of my friends and met up with another person I halfway know and his friends. EVERYONE asked multiple times, including my closest guy friend who knows just how uncomfortable I am.
The mood instantly changed when the group collectively realized that I absolutely would not bend. I was suddenly the lamest person on the planet, like "who the hell invited her?" I was incredibly pissed that my friend didn't stand up for me. It got worse when the new people (not my people) started talking about their various drug stories. I have never had the desire to do any drug, so... I was even farther outside of the cool kid's group.
The only saving grace that brought me out of the loser zone was that I had some of whatever alcohol another friend brought (I guess that proved I'm not a saint?). I drink occasionally, maybe two or three times a month, stopping when I get to a nice level of tipsy. When I get to the stage where I think more alcohol = more fun, the still sober-ish part of my brain cuts me off. I have really bizarre, unsettling dreams when I drink too much.
The moral of the story? So long as you partake in one of those aforementioned vices- smoking, drinking, various drugs- you'll be accepted by the cool kids.
Oh wait. No, that's a shitty moral.
Stick to your guns? I don't know. That's the best advice I have.
[Sidenote: I'm so sick of hearing why pot shouldn't be illegal. I've heard everything so many times I could scream. Seriously, SHUT THE FUCK UP! I couldn't possibly care less.]
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