Urban Dictionary: Middle School Edition

Hi, I’m your new Urban Dictionary: Middle School Edition. I bring you the latest 12-year-old inner city slang and translate it into meaningful words for your pleasure.

Shade: A way to describe someone being rude or disrespectful. It’s often expressed in the form of a verb, something you throw at someone. Example: “Don’t throw shade” which directly translates to something like, ‘don’t be a cunt and everything that comes along with that’. You can also just say, ‘ohhh, shade’ to someone who rolls their eyes at you.

I’m Dead: This means you’ve either said something really funny, or really stupid. It’s a way of saying, stop I seriously can’t handle this anymore. Often it’s when you’re caught off guard by how ridiculous something is. Example: ‘My mom is a prostitute.’ ‘What? I am dead.’

Wavy: This means that something or someone is really cool. For the older folk it is the new version of rad, tight, awesome. Example: That skirt is wavy.

Salty: This word is used to refer to a mood of negativity. Usually brought on by people, or life, throwing you shade. It can be used for different degrees of anger by clarifying with a ‘tad salty’ or ‘real salty’. Example: Jim stole the last cookie without asking and I was real salty.

THOT: A thot is an acronym used for ‘that ho over there’ or ‘those hoes over there’ for the plural. Mostly just refers to someone who is a skank, or anyone who talks to your boyfriend. It’s often used with incorrect grammar. Example: That bitch is a thot. You can also say thottie to refer to a hot ho.

Lay The Sheets: This is a phrase that talks about sex. It also has the hand motion of someone laying out sheets over a bed. They use this for sex because a man has to lay down new sheets over the ones that he sleeps on to avoid a mess later. It’s actually genius. Example: I would lay the sheet for that thot.

I’m Weak: This refers to when someone is laughing to hard to contain themselves any longer. Usually at the point of tears or pants pissing. Example: I’m sorry I’m just so weak right now.

Can’t Even: This phrase is used to explain when you just can’t handle the situation and you aren’t even able to elaborate the situation present. Most often brought on by a ridiculous amount of stress or drama. Example: ‘Tre just texted me again. I can’t even right now. I can’t even’. You can also say, ‘On a scale of one to even, I literally can’t’.

Baddie: This refers to a girl that is so sexy, she causes you to raise your hand to your mouth and say ‘oooohhhhhh’ when talking about her. Example: She’s one hell of a baddie. OR I would lay the sheets for that baddie.

Plenty more to come in the future. Stay Tuned. Meanwhile go get an ello and follow me @classycushman


When new people meet my ma, I always make her tell this one embarrassing story from her childhood and then I laugh until I cry. She was overweight for most of her young adult life and she had just bought a new swimsuit. Her mother (my grandmother) told her she looked beautiful and she and her five brothers went outside to play in the sprinklers. Of course at the exact moment my ma decided to say a ‘fuck you’ to the haters and just enjoy the sunshine, a car drove by and someone yelled out, ‘What is that thing?’

.fat swimsuit

This is when I burst into tears of laughter.

It’s truly cruel what they said. My ma is now a twig and I don’t believe she has eaten a meal since 1980 or even earlier. She still calls herself fat.

When I was a little kid I was made fun of all the time for being fat. Although I wasn’t ever fat. The truth was that my step sisters were much smaller individuals who had cool clothes that I always wanted to borrow. I would squeeze my adolescent stomach rolls into them and pray for the buttoning of each item. To this day I still have dreams about clothes being in my closet that I want, but they are too small to fit into.

My teacher once asked me if I needed clothes that fit me properly. I was mortified and obviously ashamed. I had shoved myself into tiny enough clothes that my ma was being accused of neglect.

arm fat rolls

My shirts would always give me rolls like this. 


Of course really my ma was being nothing but a saint. She knew I never wanted to buy the size up from my step sisters so she bought me the smaller clothes and told me I was beautiful, just like her mother had. If you saw pictures of me as a child I looked just like every other kid, but I was bullied until middle school nonetheless.

I’ve never really been ‘fat’. I think I gained the freshmen 15 at NYU but my athletic frame wore it rather well. Even then no one teased me for my weight, at least not to my face.

I am a size four, but I’ve woken up every other day for the last 10 years having a ‘fat day’. I look at myself in the mirror and feel bad about whatever I ate the night before. I grasp my thighs and squeeze them until I can see cellulite and then run in place and look in the mirror at what giggles. I then look at my ribs and hip bones and lean different ways seeing if I can make them stick out to where someone would offer me a cookie. I flex both arms and shake my head at the creepy muscles that stick out above my boobs and then grab my triceps fat and wonder what my arms would look like if they were thinner. I decide if I have real abs or just fat person abs and then usually try to create back fat rolls by leaning to one side and sigh, defeated.



Truthfully some form of this happens to all women. 

I usually only wake up feeling skinny if I crashed from exhaustion the night before and haven’t eaten in over 24 hours, or if I’ve been puking from too much booze for a while. All the dehydration and lack of nutrients usually make everything look better although I feel as though my insides have rotted. Then I promise to never eat again which usually lasts only a few hours.

When I’m done with that I hold my hair up and feel that it’s flat and boring and wish it were longer. I push my face nearly against the mirror and stare at my large pores and then wish my unibrow hairs would just stop growing. I grab my nose and imagine what a nose job would look like and pout my lips to make them look bigger. Eventually I give up and look away from the mirror and wonder if everyone sees what I see.

Growing up with a ma who suffers from an eating disorder while being an extreme athlete at some point builds a complex. However, women these days don’t even need anyone in their life to build a complex for them. The world around us tells us we’re not skinny enough, pretty enough, smart enough, dumb enough, curvy enough, we don’t have big enough boobs, or make enough money, it’s defeatist, and absolutely defeating.

not good enough

Despite spending probably countless hours looking in the mirror the last 10 years, beating myself up, degrading my qualities, and questioning my beauty, I love myself. In fact I love myself more than I could ever love anyone.

I’ve never encountered a man who didn’t want to have sex with me. I’ve never encountered a female who didn’t compliment something about me, or who is jealous of something I have physically. I’ve been told a countless number of wonderful things about myself, and while I believe them to be true, I still stood in front of the mirror giving myself a long hard look after eating four pieces of pizza last night. I’ve accepted that maybe I’ll always spend that time in the mirror, and that maybe I’ll always have ‘fat days’ because I bet even Victoria’s Secret models do too.

Lately society has turned from condemning women for not being good enough, to condemning them for believing they’re not good enough. We get criticized for self-criticism and shamed for not recognizing our innate, individual beauty. Thus, reminding us that we’ll still, never be good enough.

bull shit 1 Shut the fuck up Kate Upton.


bull shitI’m sure you do Miranda. 

dove Okay Dove. We get it. There’s still no Dove Fashion Show each year. 


learn-to-love-your-bodyskinny bitch.



This is useless. 

And maybe that’s the truth. Maybe we won’t ever be good enough. And maybe, just maybe if you learn to love yourself, and the weird way you stare into the magnified mirrors at your blackheads, you’ll love yourself so much, that it no longer matters what anyone else says about you. Good or Bad.


If you haven’t heard of Ello that’s because you live under a rock, or haven’t read any of the latest newspaper headlines, or watched Comedy Central, or been on eBay. Incase that’s the case, Ello is the new social media site that’s taking the world by storm. Here are some questions you might have:

How do you get an Ello? Well you have to request an invite. That’s right, it’s like the secret society of Yale social media site. Of course I believe they’re getting 45,000 requests per hour so yours isn’t exactly likely to be seen. (DON’T GIVE UP YET, KEEP READING)

Why is Ello amazing? It’s ad free. Seriously. COMPLETELY AD FREE. They also don’t tell you what you can and cannot post and they don’t monitor what you can and cannot see on your news feed. They also don’t sell your data. Seriously.

What’s different about it? Well for starters, you have two categories: Friends and Noise. Friends is for the people you actually care about and noise is for the rest. That way if you want to see stuff from only the people worth your while you can do so. Then when you get real bored, like already jacked off twice bored, you can click the Noise tab. Here’s the best part: No one knows whether or not you have them in Friends or Noise so go ahead– Noise everyone.

Is there a cap on who I follow? Nope, it’s more like twitter, or tumblr, or WordPress this way. Millions of people can put you into their friends category and you never have to read or see what they say. It’s brilliant.

Why should I want one? Well is a space for artists and since you think you’re capable of writing you might want to be a break out star on this new platform. Of course you have to have talent in order for that to happen, but it’s worth a shot.

You want in right? You should mostly because that’s where all my writing is these days. Well, I’m here to tell you that people are selling their invites on eBay for over a hundred dollars right now. I’m also not making a joke here.

Oh, but wait. That’s right. I know the creator and happen to have invites just sitting over here in my lap looking lonely and needy. Drop your email (and probably some justification for why you’re better than the 45,000 other people this hour) and I’ll gladly send you one.

Hamburger Fuckin’ Helper

The last thirty minutes of my life says more about me than I care to admit. Often people ask me to tell them about myself and I find that to be a complexing statement. Whenever I am asked, I fail to conjure up any sort of redeeming thing to say and once came back with, ‘I really like jeans.’


Fortunately I said that to a boy who didn’t truly care about much other than my vagina so he ignored it and we moved on. Next time someone asks, I’ll consider telling them this story:

I came home from work rather hungry as teaching twelve year olds is more intensive than I could have ever imagined. I looked into the cupboard at my boyfriend’s house at the shambles of food I had gathered from my mothers. Teachers get paid at the end of the month, which means I am rollin’ in the dough of about five dollars. I saw pasta, and beef fried rice. I recalled that I had ground turkey in the freezer and thought I could make things work.

Everything I make tastes like shit. Seriously, unless its a PB&J or grilled cheese. It’s not even that I try to cook and suck, it’s that I honestly couldn’t give two fucks about cooking. I have head giving skills that top any chef (woah, big claim, not sure how I feel about it) so I’m not too worried. I wasn’t working with great materials to begin with. The beef fried rice box was Hamburger Helper. I know that even as a child I never really enjoyed anything that came out of one of those boxes, but I continue to eat from them on principle. When I was a kid my brand new step-father said, “No more of this ‘poor’ food from now on” to my mother and I was offended. Of course he couldn’t make anything, but he had no problem suggesting my Ma make something better.

I was annoyed that our ‘poor’ had offended him. He wasn’t exactly well off and he has been the sole reason that my Ma has never left the status of ‘poor’ ever since. With his minimum wage jobs, we ended up actually getting that box of beef fried rice from the food bank. For a time it was the only place we could get food, and I’ll tell you right now, 80% of what you get is expired. I also didn’t look at the date on the box and still won’t go look.

Oh my fucking god. Just now I was google searching images for Hamburger Helper trying to find something good, but really they’re lame. However, the single most embarrassing moment of my life happened. I got it: Hamburger Helper is shit you can throw in with hamburger to help it not just be a giant pile of meat. I’m disappointed even more than I thought possible in myself. 


The ground turkey was frozen and probably had been for about 6-12 months. I bought it on one of my health kicks before I got real with myself and went back to pizza. I googled around and it said it would only taste best within four months, but it was my only resource so I said ‘fuck it’ to caution and taste right out of the gate. I decided to microwave it a bit being impatient and then head to the stove top.

About 25 minutes later I had done what I needed and mixed everything together. I took a few bites and hated it. It tasted like the one dollar cans of beef & vegetable soup at Wal-mart. Seriously it was awful and lifeless. Forcing myself to not waste food, I ate a few bites more before I threw it all out. Every last bit.

In the next five minutes I produced heavy sweats and felt like fainting and then immediately threw up. This is the main reason I refuse to go look at either of the sale dates because part of me just knows better. There’s a reason they created Domino’s and that reason is me.


Five Tips To Attain The Unattainable

On Monday something strange and amazing happened to me. After sex I lay lifeless in bed, catching my breath, when I felt something wet on my cheek. No, surprisingly it was semen, it was salt water. I was crying tears of joy from my orgasms. Yeah, tears of fucking joy.

I couldn’t even form a thought, which is quite impressive considering I spend my every waking moment Nicholas Cage-ing my life. You know how Nick is always doing the voice over for all his movies? Well I’m basically doing a constant voice over of my life in the moment, every moment. However, after sex I could only form two thoughts, ‘Oh my fucking god’ and ‘Oh my fucking god’. I was envisioning myself walking through the emptiness within my own brain, like the forever encompassing whiteness in movies, and it was glorious.

Today I’m celebrating a year with my boyfriend. I know, it’s hard to believe right? I myself am a little perplexed on how I went from never managing a sleepover to successfully maintaining something so wonderful for so long. I’m rather lucky, and I think it goes without saying that he is too. I mean he’s dating the head giving champion of the world who is also a god of mankind. Seriously though, him and I are in a win-win.


I’m sorry these are two of my favorite things so wrongly combined. I’m tingling. 

This got me thinking though, how does one attain the unattainable? Settle down with those who won’t? Capture the restless? Get a serial dater to be monogamous? and that is what I’m here to explain. Of course this advice is based on the idea that you’ve already got a girl who likes you and now you want her to stick around. I have no fucking clue how you’re supposed to pull off the ‘getting a girl to like you’ because you may be really ugly, or not funny, or stupid, or willfully ignorant, or a million different things that makes getting a girl to like you really fucking hard. I can’t fix that, but if you make it this far, this is what I’ve got.

Here are five tips to getting a girlfriend, and also how each can backfire if you fuck them up.

1. Eat Pussy. Do it as soon as she lets you, and do it often. If you’re good at it, most girls can’t get enough of it and everyone wants the boyfriend who is going to eat their pussy as if it’s their only source of food. There’s something magical about a tongue on your vagina that cannot be replicated by anything else.

Here’s how it backfires: If you only go down on a girl until you get her to be your girlfriend and then all of a sudden stop doing it she will find someone else who is eager to do so.


2. Have A Life. Be someone who has passions, commitments, and goals. It’s never attractive to be free all the time as if you’re sitting around waiting to spend time with her and it’s only the second date. You need to do things so you have something to talk about, something to be about.

Here’s how it backfires: Too much of a life and she’ll find someone who can make more time for her. Faking a life and she’ll figure out your so called ‘desire to help the poor people in Africa’ was just a ploy to get down her pants and she’ll meet someone in the Peace Corps.

bill gates

3. Get All Up In Her. I mean this both physically and mentally. Yes it’s important to put your dick where she wants you to when she wants you to, but it’s also important to get inside her mind. Who is she? What kind of person is she? What does she value? What are her pet peeves? Goals? Driving factors? A girl likes to feel like her opinions and thoughts are heard and validated.

Here’s how it backfires: Get to know her and then judge her? She’ll find someone else who is less of a douche. Get to know her and then ask to change her? She’ll find someone who is less of a douche. Ask for her opinion and then don’t value it? She’ll find someone who is less of a douche.


4. Embrace Independence. The reason it’s so hard to tie a girl down sometimes is because being single is the fucking tits. I know a lot of people complain about the cold lonely nights, but I think they’re forgetting the hot sweaty drunken ones. Single symbolizes freedom, and that freedom is key to a lot of people’s happiness. You need to recognize and respect it’s importance. No, I’m not suggesting you let her fuck some strange occasionally, but don’t tell her who to be, or what to do and she’ll respect you.

Here’s how it backfires: Tell her you don’t care what she does (which is very far off from just not telling her what to do) and she’ll assume you don’t care at all and move on. Tell her you think you both should have the freedom to do whatever you want, and she’ll put you into the category of fuck buddy.


5. Know And Love Yourself. This might be the biggest factor out of all of them. Before you’re going to be able to even begin to express that you have the capacity to love someone else, you’ve got to love yourself. This takes a shit ton of work. You need to know your flaws and work on them. You need to know your strengths and use them. A lot of girls walk away from a good guy because he doesn’t seem sure of who he is, and it’s impossible to fall for someone you can’t get to know.

Here’s how it backfires: Love yourself too much and you’re like a walking orange character from the Jersey Shore. No one likes someone who ‘loves’ himself to the point where he can’t see his own faults. Pretend to love yourself and she’ll run screaming the first time you break down during a Full House episode that just really caught you off guard. No one is ever prepared for that. Ever.



A God Of Mankind

give a fuck

I often get haters because people mistake my overly aggressive and honest nature as me being a judgmental bitch. I am not judgmental in the slightest. In fact, I’ve even drank with pregnant women and helped people cheat on their significant others. Sure, you still might hate me and believe those things make me an indecent human being, but at least I’m not judgmental.

Often my purpose as a friend is to allow others to look at me and make comparisons. I’ve always been able to ease the guilt of a friend by assuring them that I’ve done worse things to better people. Guilt is useless and so is attempting to achieve moral perfection. You should tell people you think they are stupid when you feel that way, you should do what makes you happy in the moment and stop trying to please other people, and you should stop wasting your time judging others because it is a complete waste of energy. No matter how much you judge someone, internally or outwardly, they likely don’t give a fuck. Be someone who doesn’t give a fuck, not the twat in the corner throwing a tantrum over an uncontrollable circumstance.

whiny bitches


Life is sincerely too short for that kind of unhappiness. 


That all being said, here are some things you don’t know about me. (Feel free to get all hater-y about them).

1. I have never slept with a black man. Not because I didn’t want to, but because the opportunity never arose and I am sad about this.

2. My brother and I once engaged in a contest over who could sleep with more letters in the alphabet (with first names). Though I have nearly tripled the alphabet by number alone sitting at 62, I only have 17 of the 26 letters. This led me to almost sleep with an Xavier I met on a light-rail.

3. My family benefits from social security, food stamps, and unemployment. Without these government aids we would all be homeless.

4. My Dad belongs to Mensa, and also lives in a trailer park.

5. I once lit off firecrackers on a brand new Audi in the dealership lot. I am still unsure why I was not arrested.

blwoing up cars

6. I can’t stand the sound it makes when someone eats a Whopper candy. It makes my skin crawl even thinking about it.

7. I often plan out the death of my step father. I mean sit down and try to figure out the best way it could happen without being caught. The best plan I have is to go on a murder spree so that way when he dies, they won’t suspect me, but the rampant killer around town (which is also me hahaha).

8. I have shown up drunk at least once to every job I’ve ever had up until now.

9. When I was a kid, my Dad used to pick us up for the weekend with a beer in the car. I told him drinking and driving is bad and he told me that the law referred to the physical act of drinking while driving. People spill their coffee on their laps, which is dangerous, but drinking a beer at red lights was just kosher. (This explains a lot doesn’t it).

drinking in car

10. I once had sex with someone just because they looked like Macklemore.

11. I almost got arrested for stealing a bag of M&M’s from Coors Field during a baseball game. I hopped the turn-styles and ran into a bar after throwing the bag away.

run from cops

12. I once stole someone’s wallet at a bar, after taking away the tip they left the bartender, and then stole $20 before returning the wallet, and then stole a bottle of Patron.

13. (Most of you might know this) I once had sex with my ex boyfriend’s childhood best friend, at my ex’s parents house, on their pool table, while on vacation there. His best friend also had a girlfriend of seven years at the time, they are now getting married.

14. I spent most of my time in the last election going around and stealing Romney stickers off of peoples cars and other belongings. We made a collage in our home with lots of dicks drawn on the stickers.

15. I learned how to change a tire with a bald stripper and a state patrol officer while piss drunk at one in the morning, because I am a god of mankind.


I Visited The Worst Strip Club In America

I was recently told that Maxim Magazine had once rated Al’s Green Door the worst strip club in America. After reading about the pregnant and amputee strippers online, I decided to make the 90-minute trip from Denver to Cheyenne, Wyoming to see it myself.

When we arrived it was about 10:30pm. There was a large biker gang parked out back smoking cigarettes. We went around the front entrance to take photos of the building when we were asked by one of the biker men if we had reached a tourist destination. Al’s Green Door is in fact one of the only strip clubs in Cheyenne, Wyoming so I suspect that the people who frequent it aren’t aware of its title.



Me, twerking in front of the place.

In order to enter the club you have to walk through a drive-thru liquor store. The man running the liquor store told us that we could go right in and didn’t ask for any cover fee. Upon entering the bartender asked us for our IDs. She was an older lady with long graying hair who was kinder than one would expect. I ordered a gin and tonic and my friend asked for an IPA. I was quite surprised when the bartender managed to find my friend a Fat Tire and did it without complaint. For four dollars my drink was strong and made with Tanqueray and I was happy.

The place was large for a dive bar, but tiny for a strip club. There is a long skinny bar that extended the length of the room and directly opposite of it is the dancer’s stage. Along the walls are couches and plenty of plastic chairs. There is another room off in the distance that was empty except for a pool table and the women’s restroom. Every seat at the bar was taken and most of them seemed completely uninterested in the strippers. In fact, if you weren’t paying close attention it was possible to glance into Al’s and miss the stage entirely.

The stage is nearly ground level so the heels put the stripper’s boobs right at eye level when standing. The stage is maybe 5×5 feet and is placed in a corner that has mirrors on both sides. There is no stripper pole, but instead a pull-up type bar that hangs from the ceiling. The girls are each responsible for using their own money in the jukebox to play the songs they want. Each girl is allowed to dance for four songs and must be topless by the last song.

The first girl on stage was pretty enough. She had an attractive body except for a belly that stuck out and a rather small ass. Her face was nothing special and she also wore no makeup and had on basic brown-rimmed glasses. Her hair was long and still wet from the shower, but appeared to be somewhat curly and highlighted blonde.

An ugly overweight woman from the bar got up and went to the stripper with money in her mouth. The stripper took the money out of her mouth with a brush of a kiss and then stuffed her face in the woman’s boobs. The two of them laughed and it became apparent that the lady was quite the regular and nearly the ‘mom’ of all the strippers.

The second stripper was wearing what I can only describe as a 90’s swimsuit with a hood. She looked older than the other girl, but not by too much. Her face was charming and that of a cute punk girl with lip rings. Her body was tiny and frail looking; she probably only weighed 95lbs. The skin on her stomach up close showed obvious signs of having children and when she removed her top her boobs hung well below where one would expect. She also had both her nipples pierced.

My friend and I grabbed another drink and I asked the bartender if Al still owned the place. Apparently, Al had sold the place 40 years ago to the man who is the current owner who celebrated his 40 years this past April.

A group of boys who were celebrating a birthday came to join us at our table. The birthday boy was carrying a stack of at least 50 ones and said he was prepared to have a good time. We asked their opinion on the strippers and the general consensus was that the younger one was their favorite. She had been there every time they visited Al’s. The birthday boy told us about the girl who used to work there who only had one leg, and I told them I had heard about a girl with one arm. Unfortunately, it was confirmed that neither of them work there anymore and I was disappointed.



Selife in the stage’s black-light

We sat down at a round table directly in front of the stage. We were the only women who took a table near the stage. Soon after we sat down, a group of late 30-somethings entered the bar wearing fedoras and screamed along to Ludacris songs. There was one woman in their group who tried to get on stage and was yelled at several times for playing songs on the jukebox. One guy in their group paid $20 for a lap dance. There is no designated place for lap dances so the strippers just pull a chair up on the stage. The younger stripper grinded on him for an entire song and at one point thrust him violently into a mirror on the wall and removed his shirt.

I was impressed with each of their stripping abilities. I have been to many strip clubs and found their skills to be on par. Both girls would grab onto the pull-up bar and swing their feet out over the crowd and clap their heels together to get attention. I watched both of the girls lift into the air, spread their legs into the splits, and do pull-ups. I was envious of their strength and control and threw dollars towards them.

I had the pleasure of talking with Kayla, the older woman with the saggy boobs. She taught a group of men how to make money darts. She was able to twist dollar bills into the shape of a flat dart to throw. Kayla then grabbed her purse, covered the end of the dart in lipstick and let the men throw it at her ass. On the second throw the dollar stuck and a few people cheered.

I gave Kayla two dollars to put her saggy boobs in my face even though the going rate is just a single dollar. I felt bad that I was wearing dark purple lipstick and didn’t want it to end up on her tits. This was when she told me that she often gets an imprint of eyebrows on her boobs and loves it. At some point she kept readjusting her thongs and explained to my friend and I that her tampon was bothering her and apologized if we happened to witness it.

Kayla liked to strip to death metal which caused her to make less money than the other girl who stripped to pop hits, but Kayla didn’t seem to care. When no one was paying attention to her she would jokingly head bang and grab her crotch while throwing up the ‘rock on’ symbol. After her songs she let me take a photo of her shoes. The stiletto part of her enormous heels was the barrel of a gun.


I decided to scope out what the bathroom situation was like to compare it to reviews I had read claiming it was worse than the dumpsters outside. The sink was covered in cigarette ashes and each stall door had a poster with resources for ‘family planning’ as a result of unprotected sex. The place however is definitely cleaner than most bathrooms in New York City and I even took a piss. I made my friend bum a cigarette so that she could smoke it in the bathroom. It seemed like a right of passage for Al’s Green Door that I wanted to experience.


We left after smoking in the restroom and both the girls waved us goodbye and thanked us for coming in. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there and if it was located closer, I could imagine myself hanging out there often. The people were nice, the strippers were talented enough, and the drinks were cheap and strong. I suppose it depends on what you’re looking for in a strip club, but if you just want to get boobs in your face for cheap, I’d recommend Al’s Green Door to anyone.


I went on a date accidentally. I know that some people struggle to get dates and it probably seems unfair that I’m upset that I stumbled into one, but that’s exactly what happened. I’m not positive when a girl is supposed to tell a man she’s got a boyfriend. My boyfriend would tell you that the correct answer to that question is probably immediately, but I find that hard to believe. The idea of immediately paints a picture in my mind of a man asking if I need help finding anything in Home Depot and I’m just screaming ‘I HAVE A BOYFRIEND!’.


It comes off as presumptuous and self-righteous. I’m not a believer of the fact that any man who talks to me, more than just a hello or job pleasantries, wants to sleep with me. My boyfriend says this makes me naive.

One of my coworkers gave me his number after asking if I wanted to grab a drink after work one day. I have been working there for two months and he’s probably the only person who has been nice enough to consider hanging out with me outside of work because the restaurant industry is full of catty bitches.

being a bitch


He hadn’t said more than a few words to me before the drink request and I thought I could at least text him and get to know him. Two days after he gave me his number we both had the day off and he asked if I wanted to hang out. I’m a fuck-wad when it comes to making plans and unless you call me and force me to come, I’ll usually avoid it. I’m truly an extrovert, but most the time I’m skeptical if the effort will be worth it to go hang out with someone I’m not crazy about. Luckily, my co-worker insisted to the point where I felt obligated to go hang out with him.

When I arrived he and his roommate were just casually sitting on the porch watching the rain, smoking a joint. I joined in and listened to their conversation. My co-worker had just moved into this house and I was witnessing a conversation between two people who also didn’t know each other. I figured it was as if his roommate was doing all the grunt work for me and I appreciated that. His roommate was this mohawked lesbian who didn’t shave her legs; she was refreshingly unique to me. With her help, I learned that my co-worker was studying to be a chef, had been in the military in Guam, seriously I’m not making my casual distance jokes, and was 28.

I couldn’t tell if he was trying immensely to impress me, or wasn’t fully capable of holding a conversation. He was constantly changing the topic either to show me he had broad varieties of intereset, or because he knew very little about each subject. I thought he was strange that way. I was getting ready to leave when he suggested we go get food. I would have bailed except that he wanted to go to this restaurant I’d been trying to go to forever to try their hot wings. I decided that as long as I paid for my food it wouldn’t be a date by definition.

hot wings

He ended up buying my food. I tried to fight it but he insisted and because I’m poor and need to save all my money for the strip club, I caved. Over lunch I learned I could never date a chef. I like my basic pallet. I like that I think good pizza is the extra cheesy greasy kind. I like that a good burger just tastes good. I’m like the Adam Richman Man vs. Food of food; I can’t describe to you the mahogany flavors of a sauce, but I can tell you that it’s awesome. I can also eat way too much of anything. The chef was mad that they had balled his hamburger meat before cooking it, how one would know that? I’m not entirely sure.

manvs food

Afterwards we got ice cream which I paid for to make things even. We talked about other good food and how to make liquor ice cream. He was spazzy and reminded me of a high school boyfriend who was a compulsive liar. He told me we could make carrot cake together one day and somehow referenced a future of him teaching me about food. I wanted him to know for certain I had a boyfriend at this point, but there was no place to interject without coming off like a bitch. It was at the point where I had waited too long as if I was hiding it until I decided whether or not I liked him when in actuality I was just hoping I would never have to mention it because he was uninterested.

He was interested. I hugged him goodbye and he said he’d text me later. However, after enduring our time spent together, I still don’t have to say I have a boyfriend, I can just simply say I’m uninterested.

no thank you