Life Is Like a $7 Bottle of Vodka


Valentine’s Day is supposed to be a day of romance, a cliche of hearts and cards and naked babies shooting you with sharp objects. When you think of it that way it sounds pretty fucking weird, and to be honest Valentine’s Day of 2011 was pretty fucking weird.

Courtney’s girlfriend at the time, Shmellen, broke up with her that Valentine’s Day (Courtney made sure to correct me and let me know that while Shmellen wanted space, Courtney said the words so technically she did the breaking up). They were both little baby dykes, both stubborn, both in love, and both restless. Shmellen wanted to see other people and go out, Courtney was hung up on her ex, you know, the Uje (Ush? Abbreviation of usual, you catch my drift).

So when Courtney came home and informed us that Shmellen had broken up with her (or that she had broken up with Shmellen, whatever), natch Shmoebe, Shmashley 2 and I decided the only thing to do was to get Courtney Shmammered. Being that we were all infantile individuals we had to have an older friend buy us booze, and soon we were hauling a box FULL of the most cheap liquor that $37 could buy (not surprisingly it was all in plastic bottles, yikes) up the back stairs of our dormitory building.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

We often threw parties in our dorm room,  being that we lived in the swankiest (did I just say that?) dorm on campus. It had it’s own kitchenette, a large shared living room, and TWO bathrooms! None of that shared bullshit down the hall, we were living in luxury out in West Campus.

As 19-year-olds we clearly had livers of steel because I remember drinking upwards of 10 shots of straight vodka that night. Shmoebe was mixing her TAAKA with some off brand Sunny Delight which resulted in her boycotting Orange Juice for a good 5 months after this night.

I don’t even remember playing games or really even talking besides a lot of “Fuck bitches!” and cheersing. Anytime Courtney’s shot glass was empty we replenished it. She held her own back then and was pounding back that alcohol like a champ and soon I think she had forgotten who Shmellen was (not really, she’s a lesbian, she was creeping that girl’s social media profiles between every swig of liquid).

On a different note — for this Valentine’s Day I had gotten a friend of my girlfriend (Shmashley #1) to buy her some chocolates and roses and deliver them to her dorm room for me 1600 miles away. That won me some serious awesome girlfriend points and got me off the hook for all the crap I was about to pull that night (not really, I’m a fucking horrible person and this first relationship was just one fuck-up after another if we are being totally honest). Not that it makes anything better but the shittyness was mutual between us in this first relationship. I think we both really just mistook our near hatred of one another for love because we were so damn young and stupid. Maybe that will make your judgment less for what I’m about to tell you? No? Ah well, I tried.

Once Shmoebe had broken out her mandolin I knew that we were all trashed. She started serenading us with some mellow song by Bon Iver I think and it was one of the moments you find yourself reflecting on years later. I’m not trying to be sappy here but Shmoebe and her mandolin really were the soundtrack to some of my greatest college nights — which is ironic considering how serene and calm mandolin playing is and how much of a shit show everything I do is. She retired to her bedroom but we could still hear her singing through the walls.

Courtney swayed like bambi on ice after 12 shots of vodka (that’s a lot for a baby deer) and made it to her side of our dorm room. This left me and Shmashley #2 in the living room, very alone, very drunk, and very much wanting to touch each other all over. I should probably have been watching over Courtney, I know this now. And I would really know it when I got to our room and saw projectile vomit EVERYWHERE. Literally everywhere. Desk chairs, closet doors, pillows, all over Courtney — yeah, I suck. But I cleaned that shit, so.

Lesbian sex is complicated because the definition of lesbian sex varies from person to person. I’ve always said you just know when it’s sex. You just know. Cause sometimes what you’d consider to be a mere hookup or fooling around with someone contains the same actions as the most intimate encounter with the next person. There isn’t a rule book for lesbian sex. No you don’t need to go down on a girl for it to count. No you don’t have to use toys. No you don’t have to both climax (because if that was the case let’s be real, a lot of the heteronormative sex happening out there in the world wouldn’t count). No you DON’T HAVE TO SCISSOR (then lesbians could never have sex in pubic and that would just be cruel and unusual punishment for all the queer ladies out there). So please for the love of god, stop making that stupid scissoring hand motion at lesbians when you ask them how sex works. That’s not even the best scissoring position, watch some porn and educate yourself! **don’t get me wrong, you can scissor and it can be great, but it’s usually not. I am not flexible. A lot of people are not flexible. Legs are everywhere. It gets messy.**

I digress… So I’m not exactly sure what happened between Shmashley #2 and I that night. I don’t really count is as the first time we had sex (SPOILER ALERT), but I don’t really know what the first time would be if that wasn’t it. We were on the couch, it was successful, Happy Valentine’s Day to me.

*Next Time on Nobody Scissors: It’s not lying if you tell some of the truth… right?*


Just a Couple of Gals Bein’ Pals


When I moved into my college dorm I knew I was in trouble. Not in trouble like “it rubs the lotion on its skin” but in trouble like Monica Lewinski had just become my intern and I was for sure going to have sexual relations with that woman. One of my roommates was a BABE. I think I even told Courtney the first night after we moved in that I knew I would hook up with her and I believe that Courtney’s response was some sort of noncommittal shrug. Why was I so certain about this? I mean, I had only slept with one other person (okay two, but we don’t talk about the second one because we all have those people we aren’t so proud of) and I would hardly consider myself a player of any type. Maybe like a fantasy player but not someone who could handle real life game-time minutes.

The tricky thing about this roommate (other than the fact that she was straight) was the fact that she had the same name as my current long-distance girlfriend (Let’s call her Shmashley 2 for the sake of clarification). It’s not cheating if you hook up with a girl with the same name as your girlfriend, right? Okay, so I know that it totally is cheating but I didn’t know that it was going to happen… I just totally hoped it would.

*Theme music and opening credits play*

The night that we finally kissed was a pretty bizarre one. We were at one of our usual parties, AKA weird theatre kids and then me and Courtney, the two queer jocks sticking out like sore thumbs. Okay maybe we didn’t actually stick out all that much because theatre kids are also generally pretty queer, but I can guarantee that 98% of these kids had never played a sport in their life. Okay maybe they had had their asses kicked at middle school P.E. dodgeball, but I’m talking like electively ever touched a ball. Okay now we are getting into the territory of penis humor and I must back away s l o w l y . . .

Anyway… So we are at this party and I remember joking around with Shmashley 2, quoting some SNL skit we had watched the previous night. She was a little buzzed and a lotta flirty, which was nothing new. We often held hands, hugged too long, and laid all over each other during Dexter marathons in our shared living room all in harmless gal pal-ery. Shmashley 2 had never kissed a girl which was astounding to me. No offense but if Shmashley 2 were to be cast in a film she would hands down be in a teenage comedy as the slutty friend — this was something we liked to tell her a lot, which was probably totally offensive since she was an aspiring serious actor. She had big boobs, long hair, a girl next door’s hotter older sister’s face, and a strong need to be the center of attention. That night at the party she had my entire attention, she was leaning on me, whispering against my neck, and looking at me like I was a corn dog on the Fourth of July. When Shmashley 2 was ready to go home she was catching a ride with a friend of ours and me and my other roommates were riding with another friend (we surprisingly always had a DD because we were responsible underage drinkers), but she came up to tell me goodbye like we wouldn’t be seeing each other at home in t-minus 10 minutes.

She looked at me with her big blue eyes and kissed me straight on the mouth. Not romantic, not awkward, not weird. It was just … normal? Like your mom might kiss your dad. Or like you’d kiss a boyfriend as he drops you off at work. Like we were a couple. It wasn’t making out, it was a closed lip, soft but speedy peck on the lips. She smiled, flipped her hair and bounced out the door.

I felt the eyes of Shmoebe on me and I just laughed and finished my beer. Okay who are we kidding, I wasn’t drinking beer. 18-year-old me hated beer. I was probably drinking a classy as fuck smirnoff ice.

Little did I know that was just the very beginning of what would be the Shmashley 2 saga. When I got home I climbed into my lofted bed and heard my sister and her girlfriend at the time, Shmellen, giggling in her bed across the room. Shmoebe made her way into our room (a not so uncommon drunken occurence, though usually she was accompanied by her mandolin) and laid between Courtney and her girlfriend.

“Just don’t have TOO MUCH sex on top of me.” She said, completely serious, and was out like a light. I can’t vouch for how much sex was had on top of Shmoebe that night, but I do know that she’s a champ and sleeps like a dead person.

I rolled over in my bed as Shmashley 2 cracked open my door and walked toward me. “Mind if I join you? Seems like we’re having a big slumber party.” She said, and so I lifted the covers and she climbed in.

Though we had cuddled countless times before this felt different. It was electric, something had changed between us and I wasn’t sure when, how, or why but I knew that things were about to take a step in a romantic (or at least sexual) direction. I won’t rehash all the details but soon we were making out, and getting heckled by the others, which if you’ve never had a first time sexual encounter with a peanut gallery, I suggest you try it.

The next morning I remember getting ready for class (miraculously not hungover, a part of my “youth” that I miss ever so dearly) and seeing Shmashley 2 in the living room brewing some coffee.

“So.” I said.

“So.” She replied.

“I guess this changes things…” I said, and she shrugged.

Game on, I thought.

*Tune in next time for the worst (best?) Valentines Day ever*