Category Archives: Douche Day

Why am I being punished?

Hey guys!!

I’m sorry it’s been forever—I have SO much to tell you & I promise, there is REASON for me not being around to tell y’all about my exciting life. However, we’ll get to that on a rainy day. Today, I’ve got a little story for you and I hope you’ll weigh in.

Exactly one week ago, I was a guest on my friend’s video podcast. It was a short 40-minute live comedy act and it was pretty funny. The audience was mostly men, and as soon as the show went off-air, some of these guys were texting my friend wanting to know who I was and if I was single.

Oooohhhh heeeeeyyy!!

So one of these guys, we’ll call him MAP, sends me a message on Facebook and after a few exchanges, he asks me for my number. We text a little more and then he asks me if I want to get a simple drink on Friday (yes, Valentine’s Day).

I say yes, and I was pretty excited about it.

At first, I got the vibe that this guy was genuine, nice, he has a good job, owns a condo, has a car, has a degree, is involved in a softball team, has a podcast…

Overall, I was thinking, “Hey, this guy has a life,” which is pretty attractive to me, because I’ve got a lot going on, too.

So, we meet up for drinks, and he orders a nice scotch, I got a vodka. We talked about work, our friends, things like that, but I noticed that he kept talking about his “Budget.”

Now, let’s get this straight. I, too, am on a budget. I get it. And I am NOT looking for someone who is going to swoop in and solve my money problems. However, my money issues are not something I talk about with people I’ve just met.

He was mentioning it so much, that I felt like I should pick up the tab.

So we have two drinks and leave the bar. He walks me to my door, and he goes in for the kiss, and he was holding me so tight I almost fell over. And the kiss… was very forced. Like there were (was?) teeth and tongue and I opened my eyes once because I was trying to pull away.

I went to my apartment with mixed feelings. He seemed nice, like a guy who’s got it all together, but that kiss was horrible…

However, he asked me if i wanted to hang out again and I said sure.

But since then, he’s been texting NON STOP.

Like, we’re talking, he texts me so often, I don’t even have time to answer the questions he is asking me. Sometimes, in a text, he will even ask me what time he should text me.

I don’t know what to do… I feel bad, but we’ve only been on one date and I am already feeling so smothered.

It’s one thing if we have lots to talk about, but it’s another thing, if it’s forced, and I feel like asking me questions like, “What are you having for lunch?” “What’s your political stance?” “Can you do any impressions?” is forced conversations.

Am I horrible? HELP.

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Wait for a Minute.

Anyone heard Justin Bieber’s new song, feat. Tyga, “Wait for a Minute”? …Because it is AWESOME.

Between hearing that on Friday and seeing The Biebs walk with Maywether to the ring, my love for Bieber has been rekindled. Not that it was on the rocks or anything.

BULGeRzIgAAvreF.jpg-large

Alright, enough of the bullshit, it’s time I come clean about me and this trainer. Here is what you need to know. His name is CR and he is a professional fighter and he’s really, really hot.

I want to post a picture of his naked body for you; but he has many distinctive tattoos that would give him away. After all, he was on a reality TV show last year.

When he started training at my gym, I was still dating D. I took a few of his classes, but honestly didn’t think much of it.

And then when D and I broke up, I thought he was cute. Then I thought he was kinda hot. Then I thought he was sexy as hell.

You know how it is.

At the gym, he would always talk to Marcy, but not me, so I thought maybe he was into her. Then one day he asked me why I never took his class.

“I do,” I said.

And that was that.

Then around mid-August, we added each other on Facebook.

That’s also the same time I discovered he was engaged.

A few days later, at the gym, I told him he was a pussy—really just kidding around. He told me I would pay for it during my next workout.

And he kicked. My. Ass.

“This is all your fault,” he said.

The next day, he sent me a message on Facebook saying he hoped I wasn’t sore…

Two days later, we had phone sex.

We started sending nasty sexts to each other—(in no order):

CR: That ass will be in my hands pulling down

ME: I want to get on top so you can touch

CR: I have my hands on that ass while you wrap ya legs around me against the wall

…Since then, we’ve sent nearly 8,000 messages to each other, including pictures, and we’ve had sex a handful (pun intended) of times.

I know, you’re probably ready to throw your computer or mobile device out the window right now, saying: LUCKY!!!! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?! HAVEN’T YOU BEEN HERE BEFORE?? YOU’RE INVITING BAD KARMA YOUR WAY…

Yes, yes I know.

I don’t have answers for you.

The only thing I can say is that I’m blaming it on D. I just couldn’t have him be the last person I slept with.

And although CR is engaged AND living with his fiancee, I can say without a doubt, he is THE hottest guy I’ve ever fucked, and it’s some of the best sex I’ve ever had.

That’s nothing to feel bad over, right?

I don’t feel an emotional attachment like I did when I was sleeping with the married guy…which is good.

I hate to say it, but I feel pretty bitter about men these days, so it doesn’t surprise me that CR is willing to cheat on his gorgeous-pharmacist of a fiancee. Because he’s a guy and that’s what guys do, right?

So, if he’s going to cheat, it may as well be with me.

Let the haters, hate.

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‘I think I made a huge mistake’

That’s what D’s text said Wednesday morning at 12:46 am.

HA. HA. HA.

I just had to laugh when I saw it…

Let’s dissect.

First of all, YOU THINK??!!!

No, asshole, you DID make a huge mistake.

Second of all, AN huge mistake, as in one?

No, you made many, several, a lot of huge mistakes.

After I got over my initial laugh, I thought, “WOW, good tactic.”

The message is so vague it almost demands a response—is he referring to letting me go? The drinking? The arrest? Something that happened 5 minutes prior?—I will never know because I didn’t reply.

I really wasn’t tempted to. He obviously wants to continue these games, but I refuse to lock myself in that emotional hell.

Today, I feel free.

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Population 5,000 II

So the 2 country guys followed us to this bar… i swear, there was a guy singing country on the front porch, but when we walked inside there were strobe lights and a guy rapping in the middle of the floor.

We danced, we drank, and shit got really silly. Eventually, Marcy and I ditched the guys and rolled home around 4 am. The next morning, we got donuts before laying out at her parents’ pool, which honestly felt like the wild west.

There were all kinds of crazy bugs and squirrels, I couldn’t relax. It was still a fun day, but… the guys from the previous night were texting me and, although they were nice, I just didn’t feel like DEALING with it.

It’s honestly the first time I’ve ever felt like that. Before, I probably would’ve jumped at the chance for some guys to join me at the pool. But not now… it’s pretty much the last thing on my mind…and it seems like a lot of fucking work that I’m just not down for.

Eventually, Marcy and I got out of the pool, got a power nap in, and headed to this nice little seafood restaurant. We ate, drank bottles of wine, and then went to pick up this guy (Chris) that Marcy dated a whole 8 years ago.

Apparently, Chris moved away a few years ago, got married and had a kid, and he was oddly back in town visiting his parents and wanted to meet up with Marcy.

When we picked him up, he was dressed casual…wearing steal toed boots. He said he was a miner for a really big company and he was just loving life in the mountains.

When we got to the bar, not only did we run into the guys from the night before, but we saw ed, too! I was pretty stoked.

However, when we all sat down for a fun chat, Chris desperately tried to steer the conversation his way, talking (again) about how awesome life is in the mountains and that he is just so healthy now and he works with so many diverse people that will go biking with him or even jump off cliffs with him…

Hey buddy, I don’t really give a shit, thanks.

After a few drinks, we decide to head to this massive club—it was so big I couldn’t believe we were still in this small town.

Marcy and Chris were dancing and I was acting a fool, doing the Roger Rabbit by myself. Chris apparently thinks he is god’s gift to women, as he came up to me and was riding my ass and pulling my hair like we were having sex.

Then he gets super close and asks if Marcy thinks I’ll get mad…

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Go away, already.

I’m recovering from an emotionally awful weekend.

I don’t know how it started, but for whatever reason, I thought of my ex all weekend. And I teared up. And I was mad at myself. And I lost sleep, because, for what feels like the millionth time, he was in my nightmares.

And you know what? I know everyone is sick of it. My parents are. Gizzy is. You are. And frankly, so am I. After 7 months of not seeing the bastard, and 2 months of no communication, I’m still clearly struggling. And I don’t know why.

Going to therapy has helped me, tremendously. In fact, I can’t tell you how pumped I am to cry to Lopez tonight over it. Because I still need help. Clearly.

However, I still struggle with lots of things. I still think that he’s off having this amazing life, while I’m still hating mine. He’s smiling, while I’m crying. He’s drinking while I’m in therapy.

I hate that I still have baggage. I hate that I’ve only been on one date in the last year and he turned out to be an ass. I hate that the last person I slept with couldn’t get it up. I hate that my ex was trying to fuck me while he had a girlfriend.

All I am banking on is time. I hope, and am close to actually praying to God, that in time, this will get better. Because we’re approaching year five, folks. And I don’t know how much more of this I can handle.

After all, I’ve thrown out everything that reminds me of him. Sold his gifts on ebay. I’ve moved apartments because my old one reminded me of him. I’ve changed my route to work as to not drive by his street. I’ve deleted his number and blocked him from my chat list. I quit watching Sex and the City because the thought of sleeping with someone makes me sick.

But my mind, my memory, my nightmares…all things that I just can’t wipe clean, are torturing me.

To top it off, I drug myself out of bed Sunday afternoon to go to the writer’s meeting. I showed up obviously pissed at the new editor. Upon arrival I found out she gave the cover to another story, after she said she would consider mine. The story that won? Oh, one that hadn’t even be turned in yet. Typical.

I wanted to clear the air, so I asked her when deadline was. At first, she said Monday, then Sunday, then she said Saturday, then Friday…and then said turn it in whenever. Of course, I snapped and said “Look, I need a day and a time so I can get my shit in.”

Saturday at 5 pm is deadline.

If I don’t post on Wednesday, it’s because I’ve checked myself into a padded room, complete with straight jacket and bars over the windows.

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Free at last

Guess what day it is.  It’s the return of Douche Day!!! You know what that means, something happened with the man himself, Douchearoo.  Seriously, after all of the awful things that the ex Snoop-Linus did to me, I think I still hate Douchearoo more.  Because he just tries to be an asshole.

I was driving to work this morning, minding my own business, when I noticed a child’s toy chillin’ on the back of a semi.  I thought it was funny, because it was one of those alphabet caterpillars.  So I got as close as I could, took a picture, and posted it on facebook saying, “Aw some little kid lost its toy!” Not 2 minutes after, Douchearoo comments “The kid is an it?” Yeah asshole, IT is.  I didn’t see if it was a little boy or a little girl who left his or her toy on the back of this semi, and you know what else? With all the recent baby drama I like to call kid’s it.  So step off, you don’t know me! 

If anyone else would have made that comment I would’ve laughed and been like, “HA HA, yep, it is an IT!” But I think any other person that would have been jackass enough to think about leaving a comment like that would have concluded beforehand why I called the kid it.  Just for funsies let’s run through the scenarios of other words I could’ve used and why I didn’t:

1. Aw some little kid lost his or her toy

-No. This is facebook, not effing English class, I’m not going to sound like a tool.

Aw some little kid lost their toy

-Then his comment would’ve been, “Since when do kids multiply” or something just as pretentious.

It’s like I told Lucky, if he wants to be silent facebook friends, I am totally fine with that, but don’t comment on my shit! He would do things like this when we were together and it really got under my skin.  He didn’t do it to me so much as he would to others. But, it honestly made me mad that I was dating someone who preyed on the weaknesses of others so he could feel better about himself and try and make himself look cool.

But really, correcting people’s spelling and grammar is all he’s ever had.  He’s ugly, balding, and fat, so his feeble mind is all that he has going for him.  That’s not even saying much, because I think he has trouble holding entry level jobs.  As for me, well I’m just coming into my prime and I work at one of the best companies in the world in my industry.  So you know all of that has to make him feel really good about dumping me a few years ago, I sure am glad he did.

As much as I wanted to reply to the comment and tell him that he sucks and I hate him, I didn’t.  I deleted the picture, and deleted him as a friend.  I’m almost 27 years old and can’t be getting into facebook battles anymore. I also have to think about what I’ve got going on this weekend, the hangout with High School Crush, a public fight with my ex over facebook for all to see could easily ruin that.  How unattractive and trashy is it when people get in public fights over facebook and twitter? Ugh! I’m taking a classy approach in 2012.

I am happy to report that I am now no longer facebook friends with any of my ex-boyfriends.  I’m free!!!!

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Douche Day Returns

Happy Jerseday Everyone!!   Let’s start off this fist pumping with a DOUCHE DAY story!

A few weeks ago my friend Dina came up to visit, I haven’t seen her in a year so a reunion was so very necessary.  She came to my apartment one night; we started off with cocktails at my apartment and stories of how we hate men.  We ended the night at an afterhour’s club with my old sorority friend Vickie and that’s all I remember.

I woke up the next morning to Anth pounding on my bedroom door saying Dina was texting him because she needed to get her stuff.  It was literally one of those out of body experiences where I was like, “Really? What happened last night? Am I alive right now?”  I was still in my clothes from the night before, my tv was blaring, the lights were all on, there were ralphing remnants crusted to my face, oh and I was still super wasted. 

Dina showed up an hour later, not pissed off that I had obviously left her at the club to fend for her own.  Apparently we were with a guy she had been dating so she stayed at his house.  Shew!  And I was dancing with his ugly sidekick.  Yuck.  We tried to recrap the rest of the night but failed and failed again.

After a while of diligently searching I found my phone and started to look through the texts and calls to see if I could figure out what had happened.  That’s when I saw it.  A text from: DOUCHEAROO.

The Time:  3:49AM

The Message From DOUCHEAROO:  Was I ever mean to you when we dated?  As in really mean like made you feel awful about yourself?

The Time:  4:02AM

My Reply:  REALLY?!!

—14 hours lapsed time of me coming out of my drunken stupor, being hungover, and wanting to die—

9:59 PM – DOUCHEAROO:  Yes, really.

Me:  You told me I was crazy, a bitch, and dumb while you saved messages from your ex telling you that “you’re wonderful”  and you acted like I was disposable, so yeah I’d say I felt prettttty bad about myself when I dated you.

DOUCHEAROO:  I’m sorry about that.

Me: Uh, thanks.

DOUCHEAROO:  I guess I have been through some shit lately.  So I just wanted to know.  Made me appreciate your level of sanity.

Me: Oh yeah, dealing with some crazy?

DOUCHEAROO:  You have no idea.  (Editor’s note:  HAHA, he deserves it.  Dick.)

Me:  Good luck with that.

DOUCHEAROO:  Noted.  Can I tell you one thing?

Me: What?

DOUCHEAROO:  I’m sorry I took you for granted.  I was stupid and didn’t care.  Just know that any guy is lucky to have you.  Anyone who disagrees is a moron.

Me: Um, thanks?

DOUCHEAROO: Welcome, we did have some good times I thought.

Me: Sure.

DOUCHEAROO: I guess my point is that I’m sorry when I hurt you.  You deserved better.

Me: Yep, 4 years too late with that apology.

DOUCHEAROO:  Just wanted you to know.  Your name is still Gizzysaurus in my phone by the way.

Me: Cool.

DOUCHEAROO:  I miss you.  That’s all I will say.

Annnnnd that’s where I quit replying.  Like you have got to be freaking kidding me!! 

Next message—-

TO: Snoop Linus

From: Gizzy

I HAAAAAATE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! YOU.

Right, a little immature and unnecessary but I don’t regret it and I was out of my element so whatever.

Reply from Snoop-Linus 5 days later:  I fucked everything up, all of it.  I just need you back in my life, the past year hasn’t been the same without you.  I love you Gizzy.

Really?  I say I hate you after not speaking to the kid for months I send I hate you and get an I love you I need you back in my life? 

So the lessoned to be learned here is that even at 26 years old I still cannot be trusted with my own cell phone while intoxicated.   

I think getting that “I hate you” out of my system will end the whole Snoop-Linus debacle and I don’t think DOUCHEAROO will be texting me for sometime after getting shot down…. Again.   DENIED!

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The source of all my troubles.

Remember when I told you guys I was anxious about my magazine meeting on Friday because I would have to see JB? Well I decided to do myself a favor and skip the damn thing. I just couldn’t do it to myself.

After a particularly long and exhausting week, I went home Friday evening a zoned out in front of the television and was asleep before 10. When I awoke around 1 am, I had a few texts from JB: No meeting today? Did you tell me you were going out-of-town? I tried my best to be on time and look presentable…

I replied, telling him I was in a bad mood and had just been very busy at my day job.

“Don’t worry about it. Just as long as you’re not mad at me.”

As you can see, the JB situation continues to be rather confusing, and will probably remain that way until we know each other better, or not.

I was talking with my mom on the phone over the weekend and she asked me about The Ex—where did he stand? Her question arose after I told her he kindly brought me Never Say Never last week. I told her a story that I realized I’d kept to myself…and it’s pretty important.

It was a little more than a month ago, The Ex was in town, doing some work on his parents’ home. On that Saturday night, he texted me to see what I was up to. I told him I had plans (ok, so they were to stay in and watch the Lifetime movie of Wills & Kate, but…). He said he was going to stay in and watch a movie with his parents. Ok, night night.

I went to sleep, and woke up, as I usually do, around 1:30. Minutes afterward, my phone buzzed with a text message. The Ex. “You still awake?”

I replied, saying I had just woken up. He wanted to come over.

“Did you go out?” I asked him, wondering why a night in with the parents would result in a near-2 am text message.

“To Bruce’s house.”

I told him he could come over. When he called to say he was near my place, he sounded a little buzzed. Once he got to my apartment, he said he’d be right up.

So, there I stood in the dark. Waiting.

When he wasn’t at my apartment five minutes later, I wondered if this whole thing was a joke. So I called him back.

“Yes I am here. I had to pee.”

“Umm, well I have a bathroom in my apartment, you don’t have to piss outside.”

He was drunk.

When he finally got to my door, he was holding a beer, and sporting a neon wristband.

“Oh, they’re giving out wristbands at Bruce’s house now?” I asked.

“I told you I went to the bar,” he said.

“No…you told me you went to Bruce’s.”

“I did…he’s out of town, I had to feed his dog.”

So that sparked a nice little fight with several layers—why was he in town, not making plans to visit anyone (especially me) and then lying. Lying about his plans, the bar, etc.

We paced around my living room, him wanting to know why I hated him so much, me telling him I was sick of the games, sick of being played. And then, his phone started ringing.

It was 3 am.

“Why is someone calling you at 3 am?” I asked.

“It’s probably an alarm….or it’s running low on battery.”

Lies. More lies. I marched over to the phone, still buzzing on my kitchen counter: BONNYE.

Bonnye is a girl The Ex dated before we met. Once I started sleeping with The Ex, Bonnye would show up at our bar during one of our bartending shifts, proceed to get wasted, and tell everyone that The Ex was her boyfriend.

Her parents own several bars in the city, including one where The Ex still works. She has been a constant source of worries for me, since day one.

“Why is Bonnye calling you at 3 am?” I asked.

He went through the usual bullshit—we’re still friends, nothing is going on, I don’t want her…she just got dumped a few days ago so we’ve been talking about it.

“Oh really? Why did she get dumped?” I asked.

“Umm I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me that.”

“You just fucking said you guys had been talking about the breakup.”

As we continued to fight, she continued to call. She called 15 times. I pressed “ignore” and she would call right back.

I’m sure you’re all saying I should have learned my lesson by now, but it was that moment that was more clarifying than perhaps any moment prior. All of the sudden, I saw it. He was keeping a pool of women at his fingertips, whether he likes us, loves us, hates us, whatever—he uses us for whatever reason. I was witnessing his lies unfolding, and it was proof he has an entirely other life that I’m no part of, knew nothing about.

Since then, I have felt a weird sense of anxiety—a need to push him, and others, away. I don’t know how I got so caught up in his mess.

But last night, I found a short sense of relief during my first ever boxing class. My instructor even wrapped my hands and everything.

The class hurt like hell. I realized just how out of shape I am. But while I was punching that bag, all I thought of was Bonnye. The Ex. All of my exes.

And it felt great.

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Buzz, your girlfriend…woof!

It’s been a very long while since I’ve mentioned anything about my freelance work at the magazine with Jesus Belt (ahem, David).

For the most part, things have been going pretty well. I’ve been able to swing some pretty cool assignments that are taking me out of my element, and I’m getting to work with a group of writers I respect, which challenges me (in a good way, of course).

My rather rocky relationship with David has mostly reached its smooth path, hitting a bump here and there. A little more than a month ago, he sent me a text on a Friday night.

“You going out tonight?”

Well…hell-o, there. Have I considered dating Jesus Belt? No. However, he does remind me physically of ShyGuy (my one day lovuh) and his personality reminds me of an editor I had in college, who I developed a crush on until I found out he told people he “so could have had a threesome with me.”

So yeah, I would kiss Jesus Belt. But anyway…

I’m all, “yeah I’ll be at such and such bar.”

He says, “My out-of-town gf is in for a visit and I think we’ll go there, too.”

Umm…what?

Am I just a faggot? Why would he ask me if I was going out, then throw in the gf card? I mulled over this for several minutes, to which I concluded two things—either I think men are flirting with me when they are indeed NOT, or he wanted his gf to think he was super popular living in this new city of his.

Hrmph.

I went to the bar with my friends and proceeded to get pretty sloppy, and thankfully, never saw JB or his gf.

Well, until our weekly meeting that is. I walked in the war room to find a homely girl, whom I’d never seen before, sitting in front of a computer, packing up her messenger bag.

Her hair was cut similar to mine was in the 9th grade—like a mushroom. Am I on the cutting edge of fashion? No, but I do know that mushroom cuts, spaghetti-strap tanks, and shorty-shorts with shower shoes were never in style for chubby gals (nor are they for the skinny bitches, either).

So, there she was. Dave’s gf. The boring, plain, white rice chick.

Jealous? No. She lives a good 15 hours away from her bf, who wears a Jesus Belt, holding up paisley pantsuits. Please.

But really? Dating chunky girls are in now? Here I am, trying to make the most of what’s in my closet (last season’s j-crew), and perfecting my at-home manicure to compete with WASPs and Kardashian look-a-likes, when it’s the pasty, square-state chicks gettin’ all the dick.

What’s a girl to do? Or maybe, the proper question would be…WWBD?

Since I met Dave’s gf, we’ve gotten in a few silly tifs. Well, they are silly on his end…not on mine, of course. The first one started with a story idea I had to introduce and cover the adult kickball team in town.

When I suggested the idea…he was like, “ok…yeah…cool,” and doing some sort of bedroom eyes with the sports’ editor. “It’s not too late to sign up for the team is it?”

“Umm..I’m not sure,” I said.

“Well, you’re playing in the first game,” he said.

“No, I’m not. I won’t.”

“Hey, Lucky, it was your idea. How messed up is that…you come in with an idea and want to pass it off on someone else?”

“Umm hey ASSHOLE, my idea was just to write about the team and the first match—not make a damn fool out of myself playing kickball!”

“Why don’t you want to play kickball?”

“Because I’m lazy.”

“Lucky, kickball is like, the most non-athletic sport there is. You can play it drunk.”

“I’m not doing it. I’ve done a lot of stupid shit for this magazine, but I have to draw the line somewhere and this is it!”

“Honestly, the fact that you’re getting so upset over it is making me more amped on you playing in the first game,” he said (same defense used in rape cases around the globe).

Luckily, the entire kickball season was cancelled because not enough people signed up to participate. There is a God.

A few weeks later, I wrote a review of a new pizza joint in town. And it was not a stellar review…something about their “sweep the floor” pizza actually tasting like the contents of a dustpan.

That didn’t go over so well. Late one night after I turned it in, Dave sent me an e-mail saying he didn’t mention the policy we had that we can never write a bad review.

Umm…excuse me?

He went through this long schpeal about how yeah, it may be unethical, and yeah, it might not make sense to me, but people only want to read places TO go, not places they shouldn’t go. He signed off with, “don’t hate me.”

Sigh.

“D—I don’t hate you. I just think your policy is lame and I won’t do reviews anymore.”

And that was that.

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DOUBLE DOUCHE DAY!!!!!!

Since I sucked at life the past few weeks and haven’t posted any of douchearoo’s douchey emails to his douchey friends, I’ve got a double trouble douche day for you my little nuggets.  First a story about the sneaky douche, snoop-linus.

After the most embarrassing night of my life Friday, I wake up Sunday morning with a text from snoop-linus and one from my friend Dina.  Mind you, we haven’t spoken in over a month and he still calls and texts every single day of my wretched life.  The content of his text isn’t important, but what Dina’s text said most certainly is, “I don’t know if you care but I don’t know what to do with this.  I just saw snoop-linus all over some old mom and then he got in a car with her.” I have his facebook, email, and cell phone account passwords from when we were together.  I had to have them to keep track of his cheating ass.  I get on facebook and see he has a new “older” friend, bingo, spank you Dina.  From scouring around her profile I can tell she is about 35, married, with three children.  I’m thinking to myself, how the fuck does he know this old gunner? I go into his sent box and see this little gem from snoop-linus to old gunner:

Heyyy, just wanted to say thanks again for the ride home.  Had to hit you up on fb since you wouldn’t give me your digits haha.  You’re an awesome person.  Here’s my number ***-***-**** text me tomorrow when you wake up in the a.m.  I have to work until about 9 but after that we should go to the fairgrounds and watch the fireworks.

-Snoop-Linus

P.s. I don’t care what level you’re on, I like the person that you are.

I was immediately infuriated, because I was jealous? HELL-TO-THE-FUCKING-NO, I was disgusted.  The lady has a family for christ’s sake.  So what do I do about it?  I break a month long silence to tell snoop-linus that he is a disgusting piece of shit and he has got to be bat shit crazy if he thinks some old gunner is going to risk losing her family for some 23 year old druggie, who hasn’t graduated college, and works at the chicken palace.  He took this as an opening to try and win me back which later turned into him attacking the person I am, calling me no fun and a sour puss to which I reply, “Really? Because your friend seemed to think I was fun Friday night.”  I’m sure it’s driving him crazy trying to figure out which of his friends I was talking about.  Score -> Gizzy: 1 – Snoop-Linus: 0

On to the douche that douche day was created on behalf of, Douchearoo.  The counter fellatio email: The day: Sunday January 13, 2008.  The time: 6:38 p.m.

A little background for E.  As you may or may not know I have been banging the neighbor Chi O chica.  The details are fairly unimportant but it is pertinent to for you to know that, up to this point in the story, we had fornicated more than once.

Saturday night.  Beer pong at Horse’s new place.  Chi O comes over with a friend.  Jew Fro and I handily beat them five times.

Chi O and I are on the third floor of the bar talking about nothing in particular. Finally we have perhaps the greatest conversation I have ever been a part of.

Chi: I can tell you have been checking out other girls all night.

Douchearoo: Not anymore than usual.

Chi: Look, I’m not stupid I know you are probably doing stuff with other girls and I hope you know you are not the only guy I have been with.

Douchearoo: Ok.

Chi: I have just never met anyone capable of having a strictly sexual relationship.  Just keep calling me when you are out drinking with the guys and when I feel like having sex I will answer.

Douchearoo: No arguments here.

Chi: I’m pretty sure you will be cool about this.  I’m also pretty sure I want to have sex with you tonight.

Douchearoo: Lets go.

Back at my apartment we jump into bed and I fingerblast away for about 15 minutes.  Finally she rolls off and says “I can’t do this.”  I start to think that she has come to her senses and wants a relationship which she would have been vehemently denied.  She says and I quote, “This is too much foreplay, just (curse word) me and I’ll go home.”

You don’t need to tell me twice.  After coitus, I go wash the slimy condom feeling off my (curse word.) She pulls me back into the room and says she wants to do it again.  Good for her but I don’t.  It is 3 a.m. and I inform her that if she makes me wear a condom again I will have sex until 7 a.m.

Now here is the funny part.  She says I don’t have to wear a condom.  I ask her if she is just drunk or stupid because I know she is not on birth control.  She retorts, “What is the worst that could happen?”  She is stupid.  I know she is not even on birth control.  After our five minute round table about the ‘worst that could happen’ she tells me that even if she were with child she would never keep it, not make me pay for half of the procedure, and would not even tell me if she were pregnant.  Yes, all those responses were direct results of my questions.

I finally convince her that she is stupid and I am not going skins in.  Then at 3:08 a.m. exactly she is handing out fellatio to me on our kitchen counter.

Douchearoo:  You know my roommates are going to walk in the door here any second.

She looks at me with a full mouthed blank expression.

Douchearoo:  I can handle an audience if you can.

Of course she stopped before anyone walked in (I kept trying to push her head down and she didn’t like it; prude.) She walks out and tells me that was fun and “you know where I live.”

The point here is that this could be a semester long of pure fun.  How exciting.

What. A. Douche.  Speaking of douchearoo, I went out to dinner with my friend and old roommate Mercedes last week who douchearoo hates.  She is recently single so she is on the prowl for men as well.  I drove to her hometown about an hour south of where I go to school, which is also conveniently where douchearoo now lives and works.  It’s a big city, so the chances of ever seeing him are slim to none.  We decided to go to a prominent bar area about 7pm that night so that we can sit outside and gawk at the hot guys passing by.  We decide on a bar and as we’re walking up, Mercedes notices 3 guys sitting at a table outside and says to me, “Hey, there’s a table of 3 guys!! We can sit by them and talk to them, it’s perfect!”  As we approach the patio area we notice that the 3 guys are douchearoo, his douchey farmer friend, and his douchey midget roommate.  We immediately turn around and go back from the way we came.  Douchearoo definitely saw us, he turned bright red and put his face in his hands.  Don’t worry douchearoo, I don’t want to talk to your douchey ass either.  Faggot.

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