Some things should remain hidden and buried, but still others need to be unearthed, dusted-off and celebrated, like that dead body I found, and now show to people for 15 bucks a pop. Such was the case when I came across my old blog…
As many of you may or may not know or care about, The Theory of Stevolution is, in fact, the second iteration of my written tomfoolery, and is built on the rubble of something once called The $tevil Empire, the first means of my blogging conveyance. I had thought that the ol’ Empire was swallowed by the internet and was, at very least, enjoying a second life as some sort of Taiwanese porn site.
However, during a freak Google search, I was lucky enough to catch an errant digital comet back to my online origins, and found that it was still alive and very much kickin. Oh sure, the old place is a bit dilapidated, with broken links and dead pictures scattered about like dead bodies ($15), but it’s still able to be raped and pillaged of anything meaningful, just like any good lost civilization … and Hollywood.
Thus, I have decided to mine these archaic caves of creativity and repost the “a-paugh-crypha” that I found there in a series I like to call “The Lost Theories.” I will try to be as faithful to the original posts as possible, including the links and/or images that I originally used, provided I can still find them. Keep in mind, these are musings from a 25 year-old.
The first tasty dish from this feast comes served all the way from 2005, and is one of my favorites. It’s about the first time I ever truly lived with a girl. In an interesting twist, that same girl will, this year, become my wife … provided she doesn’t read this.
– BEGIN TRANSMISSION –
Title: “Living with Herpes … I mean … girls”
About two months ago, my life took a drastic turn, not for the worse, but for the … feminine.
No, I didn’t start meticulously douching my fleshy-fun-bridge while singing the timeless classic, “It’s Raining Men,“ nor have I developed a newfound proclivity for wearing hot pants. I’ve been doing that stuff for years; it’s what we tough guys call “being awesome.”
But I digress, my foray into femininity is a direct result of my lovely new roommate, [name withheld at request of Katy] [oh crap] [eh, it's cool, I'll just delete her name later]. Verily has she opened my eyes unto a new, girlie world of both pleasant surprise (her rampant nudity) and extreme oddity (that would be MY rampant nudity). There are so many new things, which, heretofore, I had yet to experience. Allow me to present them to you now.
Wait, hold on.
$teve-O’s: The Weirdness of Living with Chicks List
(not to be confused with
1. Unwieldy Unmentionables
Laundry used to be pretty thoughtless. Not in that it forgot to send me cards on my birthday or anything like that. It was something that I could do with my mind completely shut off, like driving, watching TV or listening to you talk.
But now there’s a veritable litany of new clothes, the proper folding method of which is beyond me!
There I was, pretty much the quintessential man’s man, holding, in my work-worn hands, a frilly, lacy thong. Normally, I enjoy the thong. I’m a fan. But this time, it offered not a salacious view of both right and left butt cheek, but rather a conundrum of epic proportions. I had no idea how to fold this thing, and to this day am baffled by the complexities of trying to form a proper crease in such a flimsy garment.
In the end, I crumpled it up, not unlike a used tissue, and crammed it in the drawer. I haven’t received any flack for this as yet, but plan on looking down the business end of a severely pissed of Brit when she finds, quite literally, all of her knickers in a twist. My plan of escape when confronted is to throw a bag of powder in her face like Mr. Fuji from the WWF used to do and run away yelling, “POWDER MONSTER!!! POWDER MONSTER!!!” Yeah, that should do the trick.
2. Newfound Motivation
It has come to my attention that women are much more motivated than men to actually get up and do stuff, unless that “stuff” contains football, eating or touching yourself … or some weird combination of all three.
Usually, Katy’s up way before I am, prodding me to awaken with a mixture of sweet kisses and rapid-fire kicks to the groin.
Also, if it wasn’t for Katy, I’m pretty sure all I would do is watch cartoons and eat peanut butter all day long. Girls have this uncanny ability to make you feel bad about wasting a day, and that power increases roughly 8-fold when you live with one. Again, this could be due in large part to the promise of future nudity. In any event, I’ve done more in the past two months than I remember ever doing by myself. Then again, I have missed a lot of cartoons. And I’ll never forgive her for that. Do you hear me? Never.
3. Make-up + Jewelry = A Life of Crime?
There is make-up and jewelry … everywhere. I think Katy might be part of some kind of clown gang obsessed with stealing decorative Middle Eastern jewelry. Hmm, I bet she goes by the moniker “Bippy Knuckles” and is good with a butterfly knife.
Man, my girlfriend kicks ass!
What was I saying?
Oh yeah – seriously it looks like the counter of Macy’s in our room with all the hair products, make-up, body oils, dead seals, face creams and other gels and salves, indiscernible to the heterosexual male eye. I’m of the mind that the less make-up, the better … unless you’re really ugly. You know who you are. But as Katy’s retardedly hot and thankfully doesn’t need to wear much make-up, the dense population of the stuff is highly unnecessary and continues to get trampled beneath my heel!
The bathroom for most guys is a sacred place – it’s where we do our finest thinking and some of our only reading. It’s a special time filled with an interesting marriage of scents and a soundtrack of our own devising.
This performance is meant for an audience of one … well, two if you count the Holy Spirit.
When you’ve got skirts running around on the other side of that door, things get … tense. After a period of reining in the thunder, inevitable comfort sinks in and you’re deeply embroiled in a kind of hilarious compooptition (if you will) with one another. Until you have that defining moment, though, it’s pretty touch-and-go.
Luckily, I have experience in dealing with the British, so their crazy, madeup language has little effect on me, but sometimes Katy will come out with some kind of coloquialism that destroys all logic.
In an effort to curb any international incidents, allow me to present to you a good way of communicating with a Brit, should you ever come face to face with one in the wild.
Just type a phrase in HERE and slowly read the translation. I emphasize SLOWLY here – pretend you’re talking to a retarded dolphin or something. Katy and I have bridged this lanuage barrier, and I’m sure you can too. Oh, and drinking a lot of alcohol helps.
Well, that’s it for now. There are plenty of other reasons why living with a girl is a weird adjustment, but I’m lazy and have to leave. Overall, it’s a great experience, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. Except maybe super speed.