Good! Unnng, excellent, just like that...

So recently my friend and I were at our usual Wednesday joke class. It's a college class in my program that's designed to give teachers the resources needed to pass our big evaluations. We like to call it 'storytime' because basically, the professor reads us the outline of our evaluation. Girlface and I stay until we can sign in to mark that we were there, then we bounce like a bed spring.

We also entertain ourselves with completely irrelevant tasks during our 20 minutes of attendance. Last time I was writing sheet music for Hallelujah and Girlface was grading quizzes; this time, I was playing on my space phone (translation: iPhone, bought to fuel my internet addiction). It was a momentous occasion that has since ruined my life.

Girlface: Man, I wish I had a space phone...
Me: You can play some games for a bit, but I'll need it back to check my email.
Girlface: Do you have Bejeweled?
Me: ...GIVE ME TWENTY SECONDS

The good thing about my addictions to shiny things is that it denotes a short attention span and a bad recall, so I could hardly remember a game like Bejeweled existed for the time it would take to get out my phone, check to see if it was an app, and download it. The bad thing is that if a friend mentions it and I'm already searching for games, I have to buy it.

Bejeweled is a terribly addictive game in and of itself. Huge time consumer for me... while I'm waiting for a page to load on my computer, while I'm chatting with people on my phone, while I'm waiting for prep period to be over so I can teach, while I'm pooping in the faculty bathroom and resting my heels while another teacher walks in so I can continue when she's safely out of ear shot of my butt... I estimate it takes up a good 10% of my day. Considering I used to spend that time sleeping, well.

The worst thing is, other Bejeweled people totally know this. They just don't care.

Me: So. Recently downloaded Bejeweled.
Fluffy, who I tease about looking like a hobo, or Sasquatch, who is inherently a hobo: OH. Oh. I'm sorry. On your phone? So you have it everywhere?
Me: I haven't slept in three days, I think my eyelashes are turning to sugar.
Fluffy: ...what's your high score?*

There's something so cathartic about lining up shiny gems and watching them disappear. Sometimes you line up 4 and they become shiny. The shiny ones explode. In case you didn't hear that, SHINY. EXPLOSIONS. This is pretty much like getting addicted to crack, especially the part where I neglect friends and family, except I don't have to have the nosebleed and I only paid once and nobody famous is on it.

One thing that bothers me. One, tiny, little, thing. If I get a cascade... for you non-Bejeweleders, that means the disappearing gems go on for a while and get me combo points... well, there's a man's voice that comes on and tells me I'm doing good, or excellent, or incredible. But it's just so very slightly strangled. Not in a painful way. Just. Reminiscent of me giving him a handy in the back of his mom's van while he tells me it's so good, excellent, incredible, unnnnnnnhhhhh. I don't know if this is unique to iPhone but I'm just terrified that if I get any more combo's past 'incredible' I'll have to charge him fifty dollars and call it a night.

Sound: off. Forever.

...of course, it would definitely make those ladies in the bathroom hurry out of there that much faster.

*86,851. I don't know if that's bad, or good, but I've already shared it with one person so I figured might as well continue spreading it around like VD.

Do I have to have a sexuality? Can't I just be sexual?

So in all honestly, when I spewed this word vomit onto my keyboard I was kinda emo about being stood up for a date that might've made me question my sexuality but I wasn't in danger so I just deleted that shit and I want to replace it with this:

When it comes down to it, after so many drinks, gender is just a number.

One vodka tonic, hold the medication

I think I just had my first panic attack.

Or, rather, anxiety attack mixed with panic mixed with 'get me the fuck out of here.' I've had anxiety attacks before due to my medication. When I started taking atenolol I felt randomly like I was being choked and got short of breath. I also had the strangest nightmares, but that's neither here nor there.

But today in sign language, I just felt the overwhelming urge to cry. Like, hyperventilate, freak out, leave, go sob myself into a little ball of self-loathing for no apparent reason. It was close. I stared at my desk and hated that the class made everybody so visible to everybody else.

I... am really good at hiding it. My emotions, my feeling. Like, A+ actor. All I needed was to use that 10 minute break to hyperventilate around the corner and sob a little and I was good until the end of class. Then, repeat.

Seriously, there is a beautiful little cove around the way from that class that's pretty much totally closed off right now due to construction, and it has a running fountain and privacy and. Now my favorite hyperventilating spot.

I don't know if this is hormones. I think it's that class. Why? Because we were supposed to get into groups and do group projects. I haven't. I have no idea why I'm suddenly too shy to ask people if I can hang out with them to do the projects, but I literally freeze up and 'forget' and... I've already missed turning in one lab report, in danger of missing two and a questions paper. There is absolutely no reason for me to be afraid of these people. For one, I'm social. I hang out with people. I love company and talking. I have several of these individual's phone numbers.

The only thing stopping me is this paranoid little feeling that although they are my friends, they are MORE each other's friends. That although I am included, I am also excluded in a very fundamental way.

I DON'T EVEN KNOW.

Unlike the title suggests, I am not curing my problems with alcohol. No worries. It's just weird for me to be anxious about anything social. I typically just jump right in and start talking about dead baby jokes and nipples.

I just need to figure this out before I settle for a C in sign class because I can't do any group assignments.

I have to race like a pisshorse

The title is just another charming phrase I picked up along the way. Drop it casually at formal balls and EVERYBODY will want into your chiffon gown. Or at least point you to a bathroom.

But for now, I'm stuck in the library, too lazy to relinquish my little computer booth and head across campus to find a bathroom, since I only know where one is, a fault of the school, I'm sure. Or at least I'm going to blame them.

Anyway, in class today, my teacher had gotten started on gender and sexuality. I didn't take notes, because even though he has a PhD in psychology, I still probably know more than him on this topic. (I already know more about embryology, as the fucker has no idea what a zona pellucida is.) He got started on transsexuals, then moved to masturbation. Addressing the class, he told us that most of us masturbate, and are too ashamed to admit it.

I masturbate. And I would admit that, in public. Mostly. Not in front of a huge class, so it's not like I volunteered that information. In a small group? I am a very innappropriate person around strangers, but I've learned they like the shock value. So admitting the fact that I've masturbated while driving, that's funny, and it does get you friends cuz "BITCH YOU CRAZY." But on the flip side, nobody has seen my dildo. Sad, because they know what it looks like: purple, and sort of like a nun. Like, the glans is the habit, and it has flowers that sort of make the shape of a string of rosary beads. I wish I was kidding.

I call it 'Divine Penetration.' (I desperately need a new one; an 'OhMiBod,' if at all possible.)

In regards to sexuality, my rearing with both restricted and free. My mother didn't exactly volunteer information, but she was the one to explain to me what a blowjob was. I don't think I ever got the sex talk but I don't think there wasn't a time I didn't know, it was just always known. Then I have friends all over the place who are dirty and nasty and from whom I learn everything that made up for it. And then there is the internet, and my mother comes in here too, not because she's on the internet beyond email but because she totally instilled in me a sense of curiosity. Which is kinda bad, in this case.

Then again, I didn't masturbate for the first time until one of my friends said, "If a girl says she doesn't masturbate.. she's lying." Until then, I hadn't. Was I missing out?

Apparently.

So I can remember my first orgasm ever. I have another friend who cannot, because she started very young. And yet other girls have yet to really experience an orgasm. 20% of all new brides will not have an orgasm their first year of marriage. This is sad. Something needs to be done.

I propose that Christopher Walken goes around to each female individually and assesses their sexual level of maturity. If they don't masturbate, he explains to them the error of their ways. If they have never climaxed ever, and many women don't orgasm until they're 24, he takes care of that problem personally. Bitches and hos get the slut smacked out of them.

I also volunteer Heath Ledger, Brad Pitt, Johnny Depp, Matt Damon, and any other typical hot male celebrity. Walken was my first choice just because he's kind of a badass. In case you hadn't noticed.

(Upon asking a friend, they volunteered the name 'Rupert Grint.' I veto'd that, if only because his sex face would invariably the same nauseated expression that is his go-to emotion when acting. I like redheads as much as the next girl but. No.)

What you should take away from this, or what I took away from this when I reread that mass of pixelated mental vomit:

-masturbate furiously daily. No, you won't go blind. Much.
-the author needs an OhMiBod and it would be a fantastic birthday or Christmas present, but only for her. Think before you buy it for anybody else. Like, really really hard.