Keeping my socks on and not getting my rocks off

So, this blog was supposed to be my summer project. My way of creating something and not just being a mindless consumer in our world. That did not really seem to happen. Apparently my 36 hour work week meant I was too busy to put some time into 400 words a week with an ounce of wit.

Anyway, I truly do have a few stories to tell from my summer. (I know- August was over a month ago)… I had a list of anecdotes and quotes on an enigmatically titled note on my phone…which as you may know was stolen.

Yeah, shitty excuse who am I talking to? A professor about why I’ve been skipping class?

The real excuse is actually the same one I have for missing class, I guess. I was too busy being a narcissistic asshole and buddying up to my gin and tonics to put anything into my narcissistic project.

But enough with the excuses…

After months of silence you are probably (not) wondering why I am suddenly compelled to write…

Well, I’m going to tell you anyway!

I am worried that I am fading fast into a soulless abyss. I may be quickly diving into a life where my lack of soul is made up for by an excess of sarcasm, and possibly vulgarity.

My crisis is embarrassing but I’ll just have to spit it out: I cannot reach orgasm any more.

This is not OK. Sex is my favourite past time… it’s the one thing I have never doubted that I am truly great at. Not to mention the fact that I get personal satisfaction out of the act.

I have no sex drive. No desire.

I see a picture of Ryan Gosling and I no longer begin to salivate. What the actual fuck…?

I bought a very realistic looking sex toy as a present to myself and he doesn’t even satisfy me. His name is Prince Eric by the way, for future reference. How sad is it that I can’t even rely on my electronic boyfriend to satisfy me?!

It’s not the toy’s fault though. I loaded him with new batteries directly after purchase; he has enough power to do the job. It is my own fault.

I have nothing to fantasize about. Nothing works.

I’ve realized this is because I may have a closer relationship with sexual desire and my emotional self than I had previously thought. I don’t have a strong enough emotional attachment with a girl or boy I find sexually interesting and so… there is no fantasy.

Oh, the wonders of the female orgasm!

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I used to have a friend who would say she would much rather have chocolate or pizza than sex and my heart wept for her poor soul. Now I feel like that person!

And I am sorry but I need to make a change before I turn into this…

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I have no idea what this lady’s sex life is like but I don’t think any of us want to picture her and sugar bear going at it. No offense Mama June. But seriously, I’m afraid I’ll be sitting on the couch one day, covered in that fluorescent orange cheesy powder and look up and realize that I would pick poisoning my body over a nice, healthy, sweaty romp.

Well this is an after-midnight rant. I must attend to my body pillow (unnamed) so that I can be productive in school tomorrow and brain storm ways out of this libido-less rut I’m in.

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iphone nation

In this brief(ish) post I would like to discuss our reliance on our smart phones.

Last night I went out to a bar (how every story starts for me). I was having a lovely time, getting free shots of tequila from the bouncer, when he leaned over and warned me that a few people had reported that their phones had been stolen at the bar that night. I brushed it off, as nothing like that could possibly ever happen to me. I’ve been going out for years, I’ve lost fake ids, real ids, wallets, sin cards, health cards, all kinds of cards really but never my precious phone.

Needless to say, I began dancing with some loser and after deciding that I wasn’t enjoying his company (he kept trying to put his hands down my pants, ew) I got him to buy me a double G&T and got the fuck outta there. As I went outside to have a much needed smoke break I opened up my purse to see that my shiny white iphone was nowhere to be found. A panic attack ensued.

I found another bouncer who wasn’t able to do anything for me despite pretending to take measures to do so in an attempt to calm me down. I decided I was sober and smart enough to take matters into my own hands. The boy I was dancing with matched the description of the wretched phone thief that the bouncer described to me…it was time for my Casablanca spy skills to go to work.

I hit the dance floor yet again but this time, I was on a mission. I found any and all boys who matched the description of the thief and pretended to dance with them whilst conspicously feeling their pockets for my phone; they didn’t seem to mind.

I finally found the guy had been dancing with at the time of the theft and began dancing with him. I felt him up and he was the only one to question my doing so-suspicious. The only thing left for me to do was to grab him by the scruff of his shirt and threaten him for stealing my phone. I meant fucking business.

Buddy was not happy and promptly brought me to security where I explained the situation to an over weight security guard who didn’t give a shit.

My friend had already left the bar to bang the beautiful boy she was dancing with so I was stranded. Luckily, I found a guy I had met at the party and he took pity on me.

He hugged me as I cried a little and we wandered around downtown looking for some frat house that this sexy Irish guy I know lives at.

We couldn’t find the house or get in contact with him, probably because it was about 4:00 in the morning and he works at 5:00. So, we found another frat house with music and strolled on in. Just myself and a 6’4  guy walking into a house at 4 A.M., casual. The guys were super chill and we partied with them for the rest of the night and I drank more until I forgot my sorrows and my lovely little iphone.

This morning as I was coming home I realized how truly dependent I am on that device. I couldn’t check the time, I couldn’t use the front-facing camera to see how badly my mascara was smeared all over my face in public, I couldn’t listen to music to ward off the crazies on the subway. I was alone.

We live in a world where our smart phones are like an extra limb. I think I miss it more than I’d miss a few of my fingers if they happened to go missing.

When I went to Cuba in May of this year I didn’t use my phone except to use the camera for a whole week. It felt so invigorating to be free of constant, nagging texts and social media bullshit. However, when I got home I was re-shackled to my toxic love affair with the thing.

And now, she’s gone and I truly feel lost.

What does it say about us as a generation or a society that we are so connected to these things? It’s like my damn baby and I just realized I never even gave her a name! She’s been kidnapped!!!

What I do know is that although some gutless, greasy little bastard took my wittle Apple baby, people whom I wasn’t even that close to were so kind and patient with me which is so refreshing to see.

Oh, and to that fucking punk who took my phone: if you’re creeping and happen to open my WordPress app and see this…KARMA’S A BITCH, SON AND SHE’S GOING TO BITE YOU IN THE ASS SO HARD FOR THIS. P.S. go die.

me all the time now.

Nickname

So, I realized that I didn’t think my blog alter ego’s name out very well. Although I like it and she is the name of my drunken alter-ego I didn’t think out one important detail, the nickname.
What kind of nickname comes out of “Giselle”?
“Gis” with the sound of “jizz”?
Oh Lordy, what have I gotten myself into.
Anyway my lovely blog readers, yes I do already have an imaginary following thank you very much! One day someone will read these post once I’m Chelsea Handler famous!
Please do not take it upon yourself to nickname me jizz. Not that I have anything against the substance whatsoever- as long as it’s not anywhere in my eye or impregnating me I’m pretty cool with it.
Lets go with “G”
Like gossip girl has GG…
I don’t want to do both for Giselle Gazelle because I’m sure someone out there has that shit trade marked and I’m in no mood to get sued.

Ok, just a thought.

I’ll be here counting down the hours until it’s the appropriate hour to have a glass of vino,

Giselle

Aka

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Well, here goes nothing…

So, here I am, two weeks after creating this blog with the ambitious idea of becoming (quite instantly, I must admit) the next Carrie Bradshaw. Only not fictional but real. HBO can be quite real though, mostly in relation to the amount of swearing in conversations. For the past two weeks I have told myself, “Girl, get over your pathetically procrastinating-prone nature and write something!”. Sadly, nothing seemed juicy or funny enough to start off the tone for my blog. I was waiting for some ground breaking, hilarious experience to occur, probably during a drunken stupor as most of them do, to inspire me to actually turn on this laptop and type away. The most exciting thing I’ve done since then however was watch This is the End with my mother and go to a high school reunion type party. So, I decided maybe if I just start writing the universe will realign and the writing gods will shine down on me and the perfect writing topic will fall into my lap. So, here goes.

I’m a 20 year old girl (woman? I don’t know). Therefore, I’m getting to that point in my life where I should probably start thinking about taking my life and my future seriously. Or maybe do more than just think about doing it and actually do. But, baby steps.

This blog will consist of my life stories, usually involving bad decisions made under the very bad influence of one of my best friends named vodka, not maudlin for the most part not to worry. Underlying is the general haze of confusion about who I am and where I’m going. Kind of like that line in Juno where she says, “I don’t know what kind of girl I am”. Only, I’m four years older than the character and luckily not pregnant. (Wait, fingers crossed). Oh shit, writer gods, that’s not the kind of life experience I was hoping for. I was hoping for something more along the lines of running into Ryan Gosling and having him fall madly in love with me. But I digress, this blog will also include my views and experience on my own sex life, and on occasion that of my friends.

I consider myself to be a good mix of Samantha and Carrie. I have the libido of Samantha with the romantic soul of Carrie. Currently, neither part of me is being fulfilled.

The name I will be using is Giselle. My friends will also get fake names, but probably not ones that are as glamorous, sorry guys.

Now that I have the first one out of the way I can move on to actually telling stories, the kind where the only fictitious part are the names. Well, writing a first blog post feels kind of like losing your virginity. There’s a huge build up wracking you with anxiety but once it’s over, that’s it and you can go on your merry way. Actually, this has been far less painful.

Stay tuned,

Giselle