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girlgonemad

age:

	30

location:

	New York, NY

looking for :

	A Place in NYC to buy Ranch CornNuts

more about me:

	I'm smart, tall, hot & funny. Most of the clothes in my closet cost $10 or less and I don't believe in pointy toed shoes. I'm generous with my affection, empathy for others & use of swear words. I can't cook or knit but I'll make you kickass homemade cards & comics. I'm not afraid to communicate my feelings, believe in something, make a jackass of myself, or any combination of the above.

8.184

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3/16/2007 11:42:07 PM

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The girlgonemad blog has a new home! Details at the end of this post.

I don’t know what to write for my big wrap up. I just tried checking the Blog-A-Log Archives to see if I could crib some ideas but all I’m getting is this:

Server Error in '/MultiPageApp' Application.

Not exactly fraught with emotional sentiment.

I’m really tempted to make jokes right now (CA-CA. DOODY! PUSSY!) because that’s what I do when I’m uncomfortable and damn if goodbyes don’t make me.

So I’ll talk about something else for a minute to loosen up and then come back to it, OK?

I just got done eating a burrito and watching a romantic comedy. It was about a woman who finds a magical crab at the farmer’s market and stars Sarah Michelle Gellar.

I knew it was shit 5 minutes in. The only reason I was watching it was because there was nothing on TV and it was free on HBO on Demand.

Plus, I saw the words “magical crab” in the promo slug and wanted to verify that it was intentional and not a typo (maniacal cab? masterful carb?).

No. It actually WAS about a magical crab and it made me think about the romantic comedy script I’ve spent the last – God, what is it now – two years writing. The long, protracted discussions I’ve had with the producers about plausibility and plot points and tying everything together in a way that makes sense.

You know what? FUCK IT. FUCK ALL OF IT.

Why even bother spending all this time perfecting, when you can whip off a script about an enchanted crustacean and have it play in theatres nationwide?

The crab had googly eyes and Sarah Michelle Gellar’s all talking to it and there’s all these dance sequences and dry ice in the sex scenes and it just doesn't make any fucking sense. At all.

In the first grade I wrote a story about an anthropomorphic tomato. It was called “V, the Final Vegetable” and was a parody of a sci-fi miniseries popular at the time.

I’m thinking of digging it out of my parent’s basement and having it made into a series on Showtime. WHY THE FUCK NOT?

OK, we’ve had some laughs. I guess I should say goodbye now for real.

Thank you fellow Blog-A-Loggers, thank you everyone who ever read me, thank you everyone who ever wrote me an email or a comment, thank you every gentleman (and a few select ladies) who wrote me saying nice things about my face/body/tits and/or asking me out, thank you all the men who were goodly enough to date me and let me write about it, however short or long (YOUR PENIS! just kidding ha ha ha. I meant your balls).

I’ve had some ups and downs on here but the sum total is that it’s been pretty fucking terrific. It’s allowed me to meet new people, get new writing jobs and if Hooksexup ever makes a Blog-A-Log infomercial and needs a testimonial, I will be the first to volunteer (provided they throw in a sauna belt and a free juicer).

In the meantime, you can find me at any of these fine locations:

Third Armpit – A personal blog about my personal life written in first person.

Scanner – A sex, media, pop culture blog.

Miss Information – Sex and non-sex advice

My MySpace page – This is where you go to validate me by adding me as your friend, get harassed by strange bands and pick up 15 year olds.

TCB, everybody. Live long, blog strong. I'll see you later.

xxooxxo,
girlgonemad

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3/14/2007 9:00:32 PM

Third Armpit is the name of the blog I’ll be defecting to after I leave on Friday.

"I need this like a third armpit," is something my mom used to say when she was irritated with me and my sister. When she was really mad she’d mispronounce words and screw up colloquial expressions. Funny as it was, those were the kind of occasions where laughter is deadly.

The first time I got plastered in high school I was on a double date with my best friend Hannah. We trying to impress our boyfriends by seeing who could do the most Cuervo shots. I did 8. She did 11.

Two hours later it was curfew. Hannah and I were incoherent and puking up spaghetti from a dinner hours and hours earlier.

The boys tried everything. Water. Coffee. Psychological warfare. “YOU’RE NOT DRUNK. YOU’RE NOT DRUNK. YOU’RE OK. SAY IT, ‘I’M OK, I’M OK’. OH MAN SCOTT, WE’RE SO FUCKED.”

Hannah was spending the night and my bedroom was in the basement. Our dates snuck us in through the sliding glass door, pointed our bodies in the direction of our beds and booked it through the backyard. Real gentlemen.

When my mom came down to check on us, Hannah and I were passed out on top of the covers with our clothes and shoes still on. Hannah didn't even make it into the bed, actually. Her upper body was draped across the mattress and her knees and feet were still on the floor.

My mom hoisted me up out of bed and shook me by the shoulders.

MOM TO ME: "What's wrong with you? What's wrong with her?"

ME: “She’s just depressed.”

[Good one, Erin.]

MOM TO HANNAH: "What's wrong with you? Why are you on the bed like that?"

HANNAH: "I'm praying."

[Even better, Hannah. You two should team up and run for public office.]

More shaking. More questions. More lies. The need to not be vertical anymore got the best of me and I succumbed.

ERIN: “We’re drunk. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. Please let me lie down.”

MOM TO BOTH: “This is just great Erin. I trusted you. Hannah, I’m telling your mother. I bought you food, drove you around everywhere, took you downtown to buy clothes. You’re LIARS. Thanks. Thanks a lot. I need this like a third asshole."

HANNAH: "You have two?!"

ERIN: (snickers)

You know how sometimes you get so angry it renders you speechless? You do these half breaths and start sentences and stop? There may be little hand gestures, like a newborn baby or a really inept sign language instructor? That was my mom right then.

She left the room. I tossed and turned and eventually threw up. Too sick to move, I lay there in my own vomit. Hannah continued her prayers, a little more earnestly this time.

Armpit whitening cream, on sale now at eBay.com.

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3/13/2007 4:55:22 PM

My old roommate in Michigan made this picture when I announced I was moving to New York City.

Eerie, right? All Boris Karloff and shit.(BTW, dudefriend was married six times).

This was my first Hooksexup personals photo. Those are the dogs of my ex-boyfriend Ben's stepmother. My sister helped with the PhotoShop.

A few years of New York City, a job at Hooksexup and then...

It's almost like that Poison video

I always wondered how Bret Michaels had the balls to sing a cautionary tale about a young girl's slide into slutdom while putting his rock star penis in hundreds and hundreds of THE VERY SAME WOMEN.

Well, in case you didn't read yesterday's entry or haven't updated your RSS feeds/bookmarks I'm moving to a new blog and I'll be doing some stuff for Hooksexup Scanner as well.

Tomorrow I'll tell you where the name of my new blog comes from. Also something else that's interesting but I don't know yet and I don't have time to think of it because I have to get in the shower now. THANK YOU.

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3/12/2007 3:55:17 PM

Today is the first day of the last of my blog. I'm off to the glue factory as of the 16th.

I'm sorry if that makes you sad.

Please hold my monkey.

He's holding a space heater but I don't want you to do that because of electrical hazards and carbon monoxide.

I'll be posting a little every day until then as well as simultaneously posting on I Need This Like A Third Armpit, my brand new blog.

I'll also be writing for Hooksexup Scanner, a blog which deals with "Sex, News, Pop Culture and Celebrity". I asked the editor Sarah if that meant I could write about cats and she said "maybe".

Check out my starter post, a "Marry, Fuck or Kill?" featuring the 3 Vincents. I'll be doing more entries starting Thursday.

I DON'T GIVE A FUCK ABOUT ALL YOUR STUPID PLUGS.
WHY ME ERIN, WHY ME?

Because I don't have long pretty hair. Mine's a mass of split ends and I haven't had everything handed to me like you have and my boyfriend works at Pep Boys and my thighs are thick while yours are slender and built like a doe's. THAT'S WHY, BITCH!

But seriously though...

I put in my resignation last week. I've been writing for the Blog-A-Log for almost three years now and I feel like I've done all I possibly can. I want to be able to write about dating (or not dating) at my discretion and do it in a new format.

It's been fun and amazing and I recommend the experience to any writer or person who doesn't think they're a writer but who makes their friends laugh when they write about their dates. That's how I got started. Also I sucked off the editor and paid someone large sums of money.

Anyway, I have to go do some freelance junk. I'll be back tomorrow.

xoxoxo
girlgonemad

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3/10/2007 12:14:02 AM

So where was I? Oh yeah. Losing my virginity.

It happened at my boyfriend's house. Foreplay consisted of two videos: Edward Scissorhands and Christine. We didn't make it through Christine. Sorry John Carpenter, not your best. Plus my boy and I were horny.

We waited until his mom went to bed and tiptoed to his room, which had all black walls and always smelled inexplicably of peanut butter. Kerrick dimmed the lights and I put in Guns-N-Roses “Don’t Cry” on cassingle.

The underwear I was wearing wasn't my own. They were my sister's. I realize that sounds pervy but really it wasn’t. I didn’t have the money to buy hot underthings and my sister’s boyfriend was kinda rich (i.e., had a job) and was always buying her presents, including underwear.

Even though I knew it was kind of wrong, I saw no harm in occasionally borrowing a pair, washing them and putting them back in her drawer. I always dated guys who were broke and thus never got any gifts. I deserved gifts and my panty stealing was just evening the score. Or so I had rationalized.

When my sister found out she flipped her wig.

“Erin that’s DISGUSTING.”

“What?”

“I know what you did, they’re in a different place in my drawer.”

“Prove it.”

“MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!”

I guess it was kind of nasty.

Kerrick got undressed and got in bed with me and we did the usual stuff people do and then he put on a Trojan. (BTW, I still have the wrapper. It’s in a Ziploc bag with a masking tape label. One day I will be audited by the IRS and have a hard time explaining why I have stuff like this but no tax receipts.) By this point the cassingle had been flipped over several times and I actually made Kerrick wait until Slash’s guitar solo to put it in me. What a metal snob, my hymen.

Here's the video again for all you youngsters who might not have seen it. Sorry about the quality. BTW, what the fuck was with the imagery? A baby? A gun? A church? Axl naked under a grave? I remember thinking it was really deep but now it's just acutely embarrassing.

I didn’t come but it didn’t hurt and overall it was pleasant. No blood and gore, his penis worked and there was no inappropriate crying. The bed was the worst part of the experience. It was a waterbed and the heater was broken, so the temperature was about 30 degrees.

Afterwards we snuck out of the house to go get cheeseburgers at this place called “The Tick Tock Cafe” up the street. The lights were so bright after spending so long in a darkened bedroom and everything felt all yellow and happy. We drank Cokes and smoked Marlboros and got griped at by a little old man with a cigar for being so young and smoking.

I searched all over for a picture of the Tick Tock Cafe but couldn’t find one. Here’s one of the Tick Tock’s eventual replacement, a Hardee’s.

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3/5/2007 9:17:23 PM

I’m 30 and can still fit into my prom dress.

I also own a heating pad, a Fonzie glass and a one-eyed sock monkey.

I love visiting my storage space. It’s like shopping, only difference is there’s no food court and you have to take a Benadryl afterwards from all the dust.

RIDE THE PINK PONY

On the way back to my apartment I grabbed a copy of L Magazine.

They’re doing a sex issue in which they interview every single sex writer/blogger/advice giver in the city of New York City.

Except me.

The feature story is called Losin’ It and it’s about losing your virginity.

I wish I had lost my virginity better. On prom night or the set of an appropriately-themed 80’s movie. I can easily picture my deflowering at the hands of the indomitably sensitive, linen trouser-ensconced penis of Andrew McCarthy.

But the casting director messed up and they couldn't get Andrew so instead it’s that wormy Grieco guy.

SIR RICHARD GRIECO SIR I WILL PUKE IF YOU TOUCH ME

Anyway, since they didn’t ask me...

His name was Kerrick and he had long blonde hair and looked like an inbred version of Bono. He worshipped Metallica, drove a yellow truck and wore black turtlenecks and a crystal on a rawhide string.

We met at a mall an hour away from my town in front of Spencer Gifts. I was 15. I gave him my number and he called me that night.

Since he lived an hour away and I wasn’t allowed to ride in cars with boys he spent a lot of time at my house.

Our favorite thing to do was pretend to play cards.

I’d fetch the poker set from the cupboard in the kitchen and set up a game in progress on my bedroom floor. Chips stacked, cards dealt, penny antes in a pile. The level of realism would have made the most seasoned production designer weep.

Alibi ready, Kerrick and I would proceed to screw around on the bed, ears pricked for the sound of my mother approaching the door.

STEP. STEP. STEP.

Oh shit. Disengage!

STEP STEP STEP

Where’s my bra?

STEP STEP STEP

The bed! The bed! Fix the covers!

KNOCK KNOCK

The simultaneous thuds of two teenage asses hitting the floor.

OPEN

“Hi Mom.”

“He has to go home soon, Erin.”

“I know, we’re just finishing this game.”

“Ok. I mean it.”

The word “poker” became our euphemism for sex and several months into our relationship I told Kerrick I was ready for a game of “advanced poker”, the rules of which involved him putting his ding dong in me.

Several factors influenced this decision:

1. I was horny.

2. I was watching a lot of Beverly Hills 90210, a “family series” centered around kids my age fucking.

3. I was the only one of my four best friends who still hadn’t done it. I was lying and saying otherwise. I knew lying was bad, so I figured better be a truth teller than a liar, even if it meant becoming sexually active at the ridiculous age of 15.

COMING SOON: A broken waterbed, borrowed underwear and a day which will live in infamy.*

*otherwise known as October 23rd, 1991

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