OK, now that the prudes are gone, let's have some fun. This is a joint blog post with my friend Alanna from the blog "White Girls Be Like". I only met Alanna a few months ago but it turns out that she is my comedic soulmate. She's also young enough to be my daughter which probably speaks volumes about her maturity and says much about my immaturity. We thought it would be fun to do a joint post. When discussing topics Alanna mentioned that any time something says that it's "NSFW" you immediately want to read it. We both noticed that any of our posts that discuss sex are always among the most read. It was a no-brainer to decide to do a sex-themed (mostly) post. We asked each other four questions. Two questions are here on my website; the other two questions are answered on Alanna's website. There will be a link at the end where the laughs continue.
Anyway, without further ado, here is your chance to get to know your two hostesses (I was going to put "with the mostesses" but it looks weird and doesn't really make sense; I do like the way it rhymes though) a little better:
1. Name one of the funniest or weirdest places you've ever had sex.
2. How did you learn about sex and how old were you?
3. Did you ever accidentally see your parents having sex?
4. Describe something embarrassing that you've done.
1. Name one of the funniest or weirdest places you've ever had sex.
One of the weirdest places I ever had sex seemed completely normal at the time it happened; it was only later that I found out that the spot we used was kind of creepy. During my engagement to my husband, I was a graduate student in the U.S. and he had a full-time job in Russia. We had spent nearly a month together over the Christmas and New Year holidays from December 1992 to January 1993. Then we didn't see each other again until the beginning of June. So basically six months apart. There was no Skyping, no sexting-- nothing that people have nowadays to keep in contact. A phone call to Russia was $3 a minute so our phone calls were brief; often we sent love letters via fax (instead of sounding romantic, I know this just makes us sound old) When I came to Moscow to study for the summer, the Russian found a nice apartment for me to rent near the a metro station. The area was safe and I didn't have to ride very far to get to the University. The apartment had previously been owned by Russian Air Force General (now deceased). I arrived in Moscow and my beloved met me at the airport and took me to my new apartment. We were meeting the woman who had rented it to me (or actually him, since I think it was still illegal to rent to foreigners at that time). I remember she decided to give us the full and complete tour of this typical-sized Russian apartment. She kept pointing out all these really unnecessary details. Meanwhile the Russian and I are dying, DYING, to have our way with each other. We had been apart nearly six months, remember? I remember thinking, "Oh my God lady, just finish up already and GO!" It was like something you'd see on a sitcom. Let's imagine the camera focusing on a young couple trying to keep their hands off each other. The clueless older woman points out details like, "The toilet might run a little bit. Just jiggle the handle and the water will stop. Oh, let me show you where I keep the matches to light the stove. Would you like me to make some tea for all of us?" I probably exaggerate a bit but that's how I remember it. The landlady finally left and we quickly made good use of the bed in the one bedroom. As an aside, long distance relationships are no fun; the only part that IS fun is making up for lost time when you are finally together. Later, I don't think the Russian spent the night. I don't remember. He didn't always since his job was closer to his apartment in the northern part of the city and I was in the southern part of town. I slept in sex-defiled bed for one night, maybe two, and then I stopped because something about that bed gave me the heebie-jeebies. Yes, that is the actual scientific term for what I was feeling. I don't know why, but I felt like someone had died in that bed. I switched to sleeping on the pull-out couch in the living room and slept there for the next three months. Later when I got to know my neighbors, I asked a female neighbor, "Did the General die in that bed?" The woman squirmed like she'd been put on the spot and said yes. So my intuition was right! I don't know what it all means but I can't help but think that this ex-Soviet military man must have been rolling in his grave if he'd have known that an American girl-- the enemy!-- was sleeping in his bed. Even worse, SCREWING in his bed. The horror! Later I realized that we'd done the deed in a place where a man had died. It just seems wrong and disrespectful. And creepy. Bleh.
My friends and I were hanging out in the basement of my friend’s grandma's house and stumbled upon a 90's porno movie.
(I truly hope it wasn't the grandma's.)
We were drinking and decided it would be funny to watch it together, and it totally was. But because it WAS porn and those sort of things just can't be helped, me and my boyfriend at the time decided to go have sex on the bathroom floor (because standing-up-style doesn't make any sense and I believe you're lying if you've done it successfully). All of our friends were right outside and could totally hear us but we were young and shameless, so we just completed our task and went right back out to chill like everything was completely normal.
4. Describe something embarrassing that you've done (Yes I know it's out of order. The other two question's are on Alanna's website. This is my website and I'll write in the order I want to. So shut up and enjoy your free entertainment).
Oh the ways I've embarrassed myself over the years-- it's hard to choose just one memory. I could probably have a recurring blog post of the things I do that are embarrassing. However, this incident has always stuck out in my memory. It happened probably ten years ago. The building I worked in at the time was 11-stories high and the parking lot was quite large. Normally it wasn't a big deal to walk a long distance to your car unless the weather was bad. On this particular summer day it was raining and I was wearing sandals. The rain was coming down hard and I ran to my car as fast as I could while trying to keep my sandals on my feet (I think they were slides). Even now I don't know exactly how I managed to do this, but at the exact moment I threw open the car door, I slipped forward in my sandals and my momentum was fast enough that I hit myself in the face with the edge of the car door. Hard. Really hard. Like, "I hope I didn't just break my nose" hard. The door hit along the side of my nose and the inside corner of my eye. I ended up giving myself a black eye. Not the entire eye, just half of it, but it still looked horrible. In public I felt like I should've worn a sign that said, "I'm just clumsy-- I'm not being abused." I'm sure there was security camera footage of that moment. I hope the guys who monitored that camera had a good laugh at my expense. I don't blame them. It's not something you see everyday. I actually wish I could have seen it. It would be kind of neat to own that clip because we could play it at my funeral someday and it would be a perfect example of my personality. And it would make people laugh. I hope. Or else people might wonder, "Did Gina have some sort of mental disability that no one ever talked about?". And that would be a reasonable question to ask.
'Twas the night before 2011 (which some may refer to as "New Year's Eve"). My ex and I were having people over his house to celebrate and drink and all that. Little did I know, while I was hanging out in the main area with the girls, the boys were in the tool room taking shots of Bacardi 151.
After a while, the boys come out and my ex was WASTED BEYOND BELIEF. He was clearly already in blackout-mode and barely comprehensible, dancing me around and being silly. When it came time to pick up one of our friends from work to come join the festivities, my ex was pretty much gone. It took like a half hour to finally get him in the car. I hadn't been drinking so I drove the group of us to go pick the guy up and by the time we got back, my ex had fallen asleep in the backseat. The rest of us just went inside since it was clear there was no possibility of waking him, and we all continued to drink and chill.
Eventually, my ex’s mom came downstairs asking where he was and I told her in the most delicate way possible that her 18-year-old son was passed out drunk in his car and probably shouldn't be disturbed. Of course my advice was not heeded and she and her husband called his father to come pick him up. When the father and his wife arrived, they foolishly attempted to wake him up, but he was so out of it, he didn’t realize his father was pulling him out of the car, and he proceeded to go bananas and mercilessly beat up his father on the front lawn. This nonsense provoked interest from the neighbors and the ones who weren't busy laughing and making bets were calling the police. He was arrested and spent the night in the drunk tank because that’s what happens when you drink 151.
Everybody left except his two best friends and after the craziness, we continued to get drunk on the remaining alcohol. Because I was a little angry he got himself in trouble yet again, I decided to take the $500 in cash he got for his birthday and treat the three of us to an evening at the strip club down the street.
(I realize I’m a terrible person and will burn in Hell but like I said a million times, THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU DRINK 151!!!)
Anyways, where was I? Oh yeah, strip club. (Which, by the way, I totally think it’s wrong to have a strip club a block away from a neighborhood with children and families and a Morningstar Pregnancy Services place across the street. But I got in for free, so you have to take the good with the bad I suppose.)
I gave the two boys $100 each to place where they may and we all watched a lovely woman dressed in black light-reacting clothes expertly pay her way through college. I was making it rain on this ho. At the very least, I bought her a textbook or two.
After a while, we got a little bored putting $1 bills in various clothing items, so we found we found a room with a pool table and a lonely pole. The boys played pool and I tried my hand at the pole. Everything was going quite well and I had some pretty stellar moves (if I do say so myself) until I turned upside-down to do that slidey-thing. I got about a third of the way down and then my heavy Timberland boots decided to drop me right on my head. The boys (and some other patrons) heard the “supposedly” loud crash/bang noise and looked at me, still upside-down with my legs hanging over me.
(Quite like a stuffed animal, I was told.)
I popped right up and everybody laughed. The strippers implied I “didn't have what it takes” but that’s some bullshit because everything was fine until my work boots turned on me. So ungrateful. Like, I totally bought you a textbook, you slut. Anyway, the boys and I decided to leave, and I still get ridiculed to this day.
To read the answers to the other two questions please click http://whitegirlsbelike.wordpress.com/2015/01/23/sex-with-Gina/