My name is Self-Appointed Expert, and this is my blog. It is part memoir, mostly fiction, and above all just trying to be funny. Some of is based on stuff that happened to me, some is based on stuff that happened to people I know, and a good deal is just entirely made up. So, if you find yourself offended, just remember - it's a joke. When you give me that look, it's a joke. Consider it my homage to the Secret Life of Walter Mitty, A Million Little Pieces, John Hodgman, and Christopher Guest.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

The New Rules of Feminism, Or How I learned to Stop Worrying and Fuck My Friend's Dude.

I enjoy a lot of things in life. I enjoy a good limeade (not too sweet), a homemade picnic on a breezy summer afternoon, sunless tanners that don't make you look too orange, and last but not least, fucking guys my friends are in love with.

There's really nothing quite like it. You're out with friends, probably drinking. You catch the eye of your pending conquest across the room - you recognize him immediately even though you've only met him once or twice before. But in fact, you feel like you've known him forever - and in a way, you have, after the hours and hours you've spent listening to your friend pour over the details of his eyes, his laugh, and whether she could possibly have a chance with him. You smile to yourself, press your lips into a pout, flash your eyes, and breathe the hint of a come hither gleam into your glass as you begin to suck on the last of your ice cubes. He is, immediately, intrigued. And how could he not be? You are, in that moment, unrejectable: either he's interested in you and you win, or he's not and it doesn't matter because you were NEVER interested in him to begin with. Because you would never to that to your dear friend [insert name].

You don't even like him. I mean, he's probably okay looking, at worst fairly conventional, but that's irrelevant. Simply knowing that you caught him, and that your friend couldn't, would be enough to get you off even if you didn't end up letting him follow you home and riding him all night. But, of course, that doesn't stop you from actually sealing the deal. And it doesn't stop you from doing the same thing with another guy, to another girl, the next week, and the next, and the next.

The crown jewel of the whole operation, however, is not the conquest, or the feelings of validation, or the straight-up boning. It's the feeling of domination that comes from knowing that your friend, the girl who really loves your fuck of the night, can't do a thing about it, because you are living proof that she never had a chance with him anyway. And though internally she may hate your guts with every red blood cell in her body, on the outside she can only wish you well. Because, after all, you're her friend, and you ended up with a great guy.

She just hopes you're happy.


Blogger kayellbee said...


im in the nyu law library cracking my cr[BLEEP]ker ass up.

whoa, is my comment going to be removed by the administrator?

EDIT: ok, i bleeped it. better?

12:48 PM


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