Hi everyone! Sorry I haven’t been commenting much. Twitter was trying to steal my soul (@acharmcitychick).
I’m taking off from blogging this week. I’ll be back soon to brighten your day with more stories about being clumsy, single and/or drunk. Have a good week!
Boss: Can I move your suitcase?
Me: It’s my bag. Sure.
Boss: Why is it kind of heavy?
Me: I usually have random, useful things in there.
Boss: Like what? A weapon?
Me: I’m not sure what’s in there right now. Let’s see.
The current contents of my bag (minus keys and lip gloss):
Exhibit A.
Boss: Really? A giant wallet, screwdriver, Under Armour shirt and shorts, banana, bottle of water, purple pen and hand lotion?
Me: You never know what you might need. Usually I have a mini Kleenex packet, a hair tie and a stain removal pen in there as well.
Boss: You’re a mess. By the way, there’s a young, new Italian guy named Donato on the 6th floor if you want to meet him.
Me: Is he cute? And I am not a mess! What if I’m hungry? What if I have dry hands? Go ask your wife what’s in her bag right now.
Boss: Okay…and yes, he’s 25 and very handsome. Blue eyes.
He leaves and comes back 20 minutes later
Boss: She has a wallet, keys, scissors, pen, toothpaste, pair of shoes and an orange.
Me: I rest my case…and sign me up for Donato.
Sing to me, O Muse, the cause of
a squeaky bra on the day I
presented my pimped-out PowerPoint
of which I was once so proud.
Not pearls, heels nor shaky laser pen
could take the attention from
these blushing cheeks
as each step bore the betrayal of creak
and squeak.
O, bra most exquisite!
What awkwardness thou hast provided
whilst supporting my superior bosom.
Continue not this costly crime against me,
for our intimate time
together has been not long
and I do not know if you can be fixed with WD-40.
Andrew of Shut Up Dad inspired me to try drunk writing. So, here I am. I was hoping there would be a masterpiece in my brain by now, but I’ve got nothing and now I’m just a little wasted and feeling a whole lotta freaky. Thanks, Andrew.
I have decided to take this opportunity to have a little chat with the menfolk. Ladies, this is where your reading ends for today. Sorry. Here, watch this video of cute baby animals whilst the men and I continue:
Gentlemen,
Come, gather ’round. HEY, Le Clown, eyes up here.
Don’t worry, I shall present my thoughts and queries in list form for ye who supposedly sport a short attention span. Right, let’s dive in.
1. Just because I’m kind of a dude, it does not mean I want to hear about your balls. Don’t tell me stories about them unless you have a medical problem and need to vent. Otherwise, I’m serious. Stop with the ball chatter.
2. Unless there has been a sexual agreement, don’t ask me or your possible future second (or third) wife on a first date to your house. Bitches, please. Show some respect and at least take us out so we can get our drank on.
3. Our nipples will remain attached to our bodies, just like yours, so please stop trying to suck them off. Also, please don’t turn them like knobs. I am not a door. There is no Narnia inside this closet.
4. Don’t fart when we’re in the shower together. Are you people kidding me with that? I think farts are awesome and all, but H2O (as water vapor) easily attaches to methane molecules by the chlorine atom, or the sulfur released from bacteria, making your butt smell attach more easily to my nostrils and subsequently sustaining that foulness for a longer period than when we are, say, in the car. Enjoy your brand on your own shower time, fellas.
5. FYI: Most of us prefer your medium-sized weens to the giant weens. Promise.
6. Would a blowjob be positively enhanced if I switched between coldish and very warmish liquids? Just curious.
7. Thank you for all of your kind words and funny comments over the past few months. My entire workplace must think I’m insane as I boisterously laugh at your wit and questionable humor.
8. Regarding the art of manscaping, you all seem to be doing well with that. We approve.
9. Please go do something nice for your lady if you have one. You owe her for farting in the shower.
10. Thank you for joining El Jimador and I for this chat. Good talk. Time to pass out.
Love,
Lauren Ann (I included my middle name, that’s how you know I mean business).
I was making my way into work this morning when a guy who looks like young Marlon Brando grabbed my arm:
Young Marlon Brando: Hi…
Me (pulling arm back): Hi?
Young Marlon Brando: Sorry, this is weird, but do you want to meet me for a drink after work?
Me: Does anyone ever tell you that you look like young Marlon Brando?
Young Marlon Brando: HEY STELLA!!
Me: Hahaha, that’s a yes. I’m Lauren. Do you work on campus?
Young Marlon Brando: No, I’m here on business. Will you meet me?
Me: How about Camden Pub at 5:15?
Young Marlon Brando: Looking forward to it.
And then he kissed my hand and walked away. Smooth. I didn’t get his name. Those eyes. Smooth indeed.
My, young Marlon Brando, what sexy lips you have….is it getting hot in here? No? I guess I did have a lot of coffee, which would explain why I’m so nervous and jittery. Just breathe, Lauren, you don’t even know that guy’s name. I need to keep it together. KEEP IT TOGETHER. I need to keep my legs together. Oh god, I should have worn panties today.
Be yourself. Love yourself. Dance like there’s nobody watching. Be a first rate version of yourself and not second rate version of someone else. It’s better to be hated for what you are than loved for what you are not.
You know these sayings and others like it. Are we actually living by them? Are you being yourself? If not, are you happy?
I lived by a different motto for a long time: “Be yourself….but be like everyone else. Pretend and lie. Hide.” Where did that get me? For starters, I spent most of my life as a shy, sad little girl who thought she was ugly and uncool. I still don’t fucking know what it means to be “beautiful” or “cool,” and I am perfectly okay with that fact. Why? Because I am grateful and I am myself and I have never been happier.
The most raw, refreshing, beautiful feelings I have ever had came when I decided to experience life as myself. Then I loved myself, and once I loved myself, that’s when other things, good things, started to fall into place. It isn’t always easy, but I’m telling you, you’re going to love it.
I don’t want to see anyone miss out.
So, who am I? My name is Lauren. I love to laugh. I like dorky stuff. I’m a romantic. I speak in a British accent in my head. I dance a lot. I don’t lie. I want 5 cheeseburgers and 100 oreos in my belly right now. I think my eyes are pretty. I’m playful. I believe true love is really real. I love sex. And witty banter. I like being held. I think I would be a great mother. I’m indecisive. My favorite color is green. Or maybe pink. I don’t watch the news. I’m impatient and sensitive. I don’t like being alone. I write poetry. My heart goes into everything I do. I still pretend I’m a mermaid when I go swimming. I had 3 orgasms yesterday. I do actually like long walks on the beach
and I want to know, who are you and are you being your unique self?
I’m half sick of shadows. We owe it to ourselves to live.
The Three Hot Chicks on Porn review the 1940s vintage XXX sex film “Peeping Tom.” The nine minute film is black and white and has no sound. It is set to Looney Tunes sounding music.
The Three Hot Chicks are:
Carolina of Staked in the Heart
La La of Tales of a Charm City Chick
Maggie
The action begins with a woman flouncing unceremoniously on a bed in an ugly room and taking off layers of clothes.
La La: “Nothing good ever begins in a dirty motel room.”
Maggie: “I’m waiting for four old white men to show up and start singing Sweet Adeline.”
After undressing, the woman picks up a book and starts reading. She lays back on linens that look like they haven’t been washed since the motel opened.
La La: “She’s wearing granny panties and the bra I wore in the 6th grade.”
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Thanks to the Mad Gay Man for the Lovely Blogger Award! He is mad, gay, a man and an absolute treasure. He often has me guffawing at my computer screen, which I’m sure is appreciated by everyone in my workplace.
Now I have to share 7 things about myself because he said so:
– During a pilot lesson, I screamed the entire time that I landed the plane.
– I took an intensive Shakespeare class and to pass I had to play Sir Toby Belch in Twelfth Night. I was so nervous about acting that I drank half of my “prop” beforehand and performed drunk. Everyone thought it was fantastic and my professor suggested that I do more acting.
– There are a number of bloggers who are very important to me and I am grateful to have all of you in my life.
– Without cable or sufficient heat, I have found that dancing cures both boredom and the chill of cold winter days/nights.
– I am craving a grilled cheese sandwich.
– I used to hate getting unsolicited naked photos from you people, but now I kind of like it and I feel honored that ladies and gentlemen from far off places may want to share their bits and bobs with me (and no, I won’t share your photos, don’t worry).
– When I was a kid I ate the stuff that’s inside of glow sticks. I got a sore throat afterward and it didn’t even make my pee glow. What a bummer.
I don’t normally participate in these sorts of things, but if I did, I would award my girl Madame Weebles. She’s smart, has big boobs and is one witty bitch–I’m not sure what other reason you would need to click that link. Also, she’s a reiki master and I think that’s hella cool. I long for a good reiking.
And now for something a little different…three chicks (Maggie, Carolina and myself) review porn. Enjoy!
This is the first official sex tape review for The Three Hot Chicks on Porn. They are:
Carolina of Staked in the Heart,
La La of Tales of a Charm City Chick,
Maggie
We chose “Another Night in Chyna” featuring WWE wrestler and reality TV star Chyna (Joanie Laurer) and her boyfriend, X-Pak (Sean Waltman), another WWE wrestler.
Chyna claims the video was amateur, done for their own private use, and it was “leaked.” That happens all the time. You go to find the video of last Christmas and discover its gone, then suddenly its all over the internet.
The action starts with a pool scene where we see Chyna floating on a raft in a red bikini. X-Pak enters the pool to fumble around awkwardly trying to kiss her.
La La: “Have these two met? I feel like this is his first time.”
Carolina:
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Recently I was skyping with someone about an outline I made for a possible book. He is kind of a dick sometimes, but he has good ideas. We both had a glass of wine, we talked and flirted a little, and he suddenly said to me, “You should strip for me, do a dance, maybe touch yourself a little.”
I rolled my eyes.
“C’mon pretty girl, do it! Stop being so worried about your book. This will be fun and will release some of the tension!” he continued.
“Oohhh, I don’t know, I’m feeling kind of shy,” I replied. “You first.” I was kind of kidding.
Then I saw the mischievous man-grin. He looked through his music library for a minute, turned on “Lick it Up” by Kiss (haha, I know, right?) and stood up. I sat on my couch and watched as he actually danced, stripped to the music and then did the thing with his thing. You know, that helicopter thing. I was dumbfounded.
So then it was my turn. Frick. I didn’t think that when I said, “You first” that he was going to just get up and do it. Men. You know, one of the main things I have learned in 2012 is that men have little to no shame. Jesus.
So I picked a song (you know I love my Tom Jones)
and I got up (I had on pink leopard print boxers), whipped my hair out of my ponytail and just started dancing my silly ass off. Robot? Yep. Twist? Absolutely. Carlton dance? No doubt. Shakin’ the tail feathers like my dad does at weddings? Fucking right.
It was a lot of fun, and it did release tension, but the guy got really mad at me about it and he hasn’t spoken to me since. Really? Some gals don’t skype strip, especially not on command, and I think someone needs a better sense of humor.
Dog lover. Storyteller. Urbanite-Suburbanite. Poet. Music addict. Editor. Explorer. Wine enthusiast (Malbec, please). Anglophile. People watcher. My dream job? Writer, or a Tom Jones back up singer. Well, not Tom Jones now, but Tom Jones in the early '70s...so let's go with the writing thing.
tales of a charm city chick 