#10 - The Solo Cup Incident

Post-Coital, I reached for my cup of water – wait, I can't start there. First a little background is needed:

I was living in a new town, totally out of my element, during the worst sexual dry spell of my post-teenage life. I had no car, no real friends, and few opportunities to meet people my age. It was no surprise then that I hooked up with the first girl that came my way at my first state college party.

“Jenn” was, to put it bluntly, nothing to look at. Her face was dotted with pimples and her eyes crossed without the high prescription lenses that were always slipping down her nose. Jenn's hair was stringy and her curves, pale and sagging. She refused to shave anywhere, not in order to uphold a specific ideology, but for sheer laziness. Her halitosis was inhuman. As I have inferred however, I was desperate. Plus, I naïvely convinced myself that her visible flaws would likely be evened out by her other traits: she must have a great sense of humor, right, or a biting wit maybe, a tragic sweetness?

As I got to know her better, I found Jenn to be humorless, cold, argumentative, pretentious, and tactless. I in fact have no guilt about my candidness here (read: talking shit), because as I was later made aware, during the two weeks or so we were hanging out she disclosed to our mutual acquaintances with every minute detail of our sexual encounters.

Jenn also had the worst-kept apartment I have ever seen. Seriously, I've seen some gross apartments, but Jenn's wins this dubious award. It made me embarrassed for her. Her bedroom floor was a deluge of dirty clothes, from which she would compile her makeshift wardrobe. There was a pile of dirty plates, silverware, and ravioli cans hanging out in one corner – theoretically only so organized because she had company. Mold and drain hair and dead skin seemed to be crawling out from the ajar bathroom door. Inexplicably, there were used Solo Cups in great abundance on every surface. I found myself here in her bedroom, clothes and microbes up to my knees. With one motion, Jenn cleared all of the papers and potato chip bags and Solo Cups off the bed and I sat down next to her. There, I kissed her halitosis lips.

After a mostly unsatisfying climax, I excused myself to go get some water. On the way, I got my first real look at her living room. Devoid of furniture (other than a single lawn chair) the only objects covering the soiled carpet were more used Solo cups. I picked up the cleanest looking one, rinsed it out as best I could, and filled it with tap water.

Back in her bedroom Jenn lounged, her unkempt body hair in full view. I sat on the bed next to her and sipped my water, glancing at her, then the suspicious stain on the floor by her bed, finally settling my gaze on her breeze-blown curtains.

We began a conversation, which quickly devolved into rhetorical argument. In the moment of annoyed silence, I reached for my water and grabbed the wrong cup. About to put my lips on the rim, I looked inside. I saw a used condom. It was not mine.

After a few minutes of listening to her talk about local politics, it started to sink in what I had been reduced to. It was all I could do to get out of there gracefully. I avoided her until she moved away to Idaho or something, later that month.

#9 - The Night I Got High On PCP

I was at one of those furtive warehouse parties deep in Flatbush when it happened. My friend “Greg” and I were tearing through cigarettes and four dollar vodka tonics. Greg was flying. He offered me some coke, but I declined; I only rarely even smoked pot. We were totally out of our element – we two bookstore clerks – but achieved a state of lucid comfort at around 2am on the roof of the warehouse.

On this roof, Greg and I spotted a cute girl and both attempted to hit on her at the same time. She wasn't having our drunken foolishness, but thought she might be able to get a cigarette out of the deal. Our packs were empty, so we both rushed out to try and bum one to curry her favor. A kid with Kanye West glasses and a shit-eating grin offered me a hand-rolled cigarette and I snatched it up immediately. Upon my return, our girl took one look at my gift and blanketly refused. As she walked away, Greg returned. “What the fuck was her problem?” We smoked that shit together and left the party.

I was by myself in the subway station when it hit me. I focused on the tiles on the opposite wall and time stopped. I was immediately aware of the musculature that ran from my shoulders to my fingertips. I could feel the underside of my skull. I sat there motionless waiting for the G train (probably for about 90 minutes, knowing the G train) and when it came I took great care in getting on, for with each footstep gravity seemed to have less of a hold on me.

Upon waking, I felt like shit obviously. I was catsitting in Williamsburg for the weekend and my friend “Joanna” came home to find me lying in her bed like a jelly. I told her of my night and her response was, “Yeah judging from your experience and where you were hanging out, it was probably PCP. Or maybe heroin.”

#8 - I'll Think Of A Fun One Later...

This is sort of depressing, but my dad's a pedophile and crossed several boundaries w/me. They're divorced now, but if my mom knew she'd freak.
I'll think of a fun one later...

#7 - Cats Just Don't Understand

My cat has recently become interested in all things sexual. When my boyfriend and I are fooling around, the cat jumps on our bed to watch. Epic boner killer. His other obsession? My vibrator. Or as my boyfriend likes to call it, "The Earthquake Machine." The cat just thinks it is the best toy ever. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get off when a cat keeps batting at your vibrator? I don't want to think about the cat during me time, I want to think about other things. Stupid cat.

#6 - Smoke Weed Everyday

This entry came in via IM:

XXXXX: I smoke weed every day
often while im at work, too
during my lunch break

TMMSR: Does your mother know this?

XXXXX: heeeeeeell no

#5 - Playing Doctor

When I was seven, I was really great friends with the kid who lived across the alley behind my house from me. People called him my boyfriend, but we weren't that, not really.

During the afternoon, we'd sit on the bench in front of my house and show eachother our private-parts. We didn't know it was wrong, we just thought it was funny that they were different.

What a sight we must have made to anyone watching from the street.

#4 - This One is a Doozy

My friend and I talk about these stories all the time. How our mothers have no idea who we really are, how they would be disappointed. My mom would tell me to go to church more often, get married, or have children. As if those are the things lacking in my life, and the sad things is, to her they are.


Sometimes these secrets are little innocent stories we don't want our mothers to know and sometimes they're slutty stories. Here's a few that come to mind...


I overdraft my checking account on a bi-monthly basis. And, I don't have overdraft protection. I lie and tell her I do, but I don't.


I will make-out with dudes for fun.


I show people my boobs for money. Not stripping, just strangers who are into that sort of thing.


I've had three ways.


My main motivation for going to the gyno is to be checked for STDs. Whatever else they due is a plus.


I have so much student loan debt, I'll be paying it off for 20 years. Most of the student loan debt was accured because I wanted to travel and buy cool clothes while in school. They (the banks- not my parents) gave me the checks and I cashed them. Now, I'm broke and overdrafting my account every other month. But, you already know that.

I charged up credit cards in college and never paid them.


I still smoke weed on a weekly basis and drink on a daily basis.

#3 - NIN is for Lovers

The year was 1995. I was 16 and was had been a big fan of going "online" and posting on BBs about music. All you could do was post comment threads and kinda email people, and it was very primitive. I loved it. I challenged other Nine Inch Nails fans to trivia battles, created a little alter ego for myself, and met a lot of interesting people. One guy I met, Cobalt, was in a band in Detroit, was an artist, and seemed super cool. I gave him my home address and we started exchanging pictures and mix tapes (1995!!) and very flowery sentiments. He was quite handsome. We made plans to run away together, but we both seemed to realize that this probably wouldn't actually happen. It was all very romantic. So imagine my surprise when I get an message from him announcing that he was driving through the state where I grew up and had booked a hotel room in the town where I lived.
Without a moment's hesitation, I drove to the hotel. Even now I cringe when I think about it. I knocked on the door, he opened it, I walked in, and....... it was the most fucking awkward experience I've ever had. We seemed to hate each other on sight, and kinda made small talk and weirdly argued for about 20 minutes. This was not the romantic experience I had been hoping for. I got up to leave, and he came over and hugged me goodbye. I turned around, got into my car, and drove home, shaking, as it had just occurred to me that I could have been raped or kidnapped or killed.
We never spoke again. Apparently we were better off cooing at each other electronically. Cobalt, if you're out there, thanks for not hurting/raping/kidnapping/

killing me. My mom would thank you too, if she knew.

#2 - Cocaine is a Hell of a Drug

i used to have a huge cocaine problem. i mean massive. i did it all the time. 8 balls weren't enough. it was pathetic. I'd be snorting it up and thinking that i was going to have a stroke but I'd still be worried about how much i had and when I'd be getting more. i even shot it up sometimes which is more addictive than the drug itself (which isn't really addictive to your body, more like your mind). i cut down a lot a few years ago but still did it socially or when my nerves would get to me, and to keep my weight down. I'd show up at my parents' house or school high as a kite and no one would ever know. last year i went crazy with it and did 2 eight balls in a week because i was having a nervous breakdown. the cocaine psychosis didn't help and i ended up in the hospital. my parents don't think I've ever even smoked a cigarette. every day i fight the urge to use any type of drug again. it sucks but that's what i have to do to stay clean.

#1 - Casual Encounters

On a recent trip back to a city where I used to live, I had a casual encounter.

Upon arriving in said city and hanging out with my friends, and most notably, my ex boyfriend, I had a hormonal reaction. Let's just say, it's been awhile, and when you come to discover that all your friends are in relationships, with the exception of your ex, the casual sex applicant pool seems pretty shallow. Realizing I was still very very interested in my ex and knowing that wasn't going to happen, I did what any sexed-up 20 something with an iphone and cheap beer would do: I went online. At the suggestion and encouragement of my friends at the bar, I busted out my hand-held world-wide-webbing device and posted an ad on craigslist. Yes my friends, it was not a casual encounter, it was a "Casual Encounter". Within half an hour I had 4 responses, the next morning, a dozen more. For once, I felt like the prettiest girl at the dance. I responded to a couple of the ads after evaluating the applicants' photos, and the games began!

Now, granted, when you wake up in the morning, not drunk, and open your e-mail to receive sexual invites from men, sight unseen, it can feel a little awkward. But remember, it's only the internet, and who knows, maybe you're talking to a 12 year old girl. So, after a careful selection process based on level of creepiness, seeming level of desperation, and online humor, I went on a date.

I met the dude at a bar, and was surprised to see that he did not look exactly as I expected, or talk as much as he did online, but when you know there is the promise of sex, what's a hard-up girl supposed to do? The answer? Drink. Drink your ass off.

And so many stiff drinks later, we're off! I would love to say that this was a great experience, and everything went smoothly, and that anonymous sex on the internet is great, but, let's get real here. It's sex. It's always complicated. So...it started. We made out (not a great kisser, you forget that kissing is just kind of wet and awkward if you're not into the person), and then the clothes came off. I'd again like to say that we did it, I had multiple orgasms and everything was great, but no. At the end of some entended oral sex (score!) the dude announces that he drank too much, and has been feeling sick. Weak constitution? Can't hold his liquor? I don't know, and I don't care. All I can think is, thanks! Because: 1. I got off and 2. I didn't actually fuck someone from the internet. Double score!

Will I be doing this again anytime soon? Probably not. Was it satisfying? Well given the amount of alcohol ingested to get over my fears about the process, the memory of it is slight at best.

So, what have we learned? If you go on the internet, YOU WILL GET LAID, but don't expect much.

Things Your Mother Shouldn't Read

I love my blog, but the problem I find is that sometimes I can't write about the things I'm thinking about when I know that my grandmother will be reading it. It's a total boner killer.

I can't be the only one in this position.

Got a blog?
Got a topic you don't want people knowing you wrote about or a story your mother shouldn't read?

Don't have a blog?
Want somewhere to post your embarrassing moments without being found out?

Send things over to thingsmymothershouldntread (at) gmail dot com

Everything will be posted anonymously.