Bonanza JellyBean,
The other day I had a guy – who I’ve seen in my office building for the past six years – look down and my chest right as he said, “I would have remembered meeting you.” I totally had sex with him in my car.

Miss Tanya,
I am to pigs!

Sofi,
I could really go for some “Oye Mami”! I’ve been obsessed with La Kalle radio lately…which is funny since I don’t speak Spanish and I have no idea what the lyrics are about.

And when I say “love” I mean hate. And when they pause so I can thank them I usually throw my drink in their face.

You’re saying my witless catcalls don’t impress the chicks? Damn. I guess “Plan B” is in order.

However, I don’t like it when men yell at me from their cars when I’m walking down the street. It kinda scares me. Walking along in the middle of the day, thoughts in cloud, startled by, “Shake it baby!”

I can relate to your Diet-Pepsi-hole-in-the-wall story because I’ve apparently fucked most of the men in the greater bay area. Okay, that might be a slight exageration, but I have had an incredibly awkward moment with more than one boyfriend when some random guy walks up to us at a party, or a bar, and just can’t figure out how he knows me. I end up lying my ass off in front of my boyfriend, who I’m stupid enough to believe really loves me, praying that the random guy doesn’t remember out loud that I know how crooked his penis is or that he came on my face a million years ago.

How’s that for overshare? And you don’t get A cookie, you get a whole batch! I hope you like snickerdoodles.

I love it when some drunk old queen tries to grab my ass and says something lewd to me as I walk down Polk or Castro Streets! Makes me feel sexy and oh-so-desirable. Sure, I might slug ‘em or act pissed off, but I just love it!

I don’t like being mistaken for a hustler, tho. No. I don’t care much for that.

Oh, but I do like to be called a “dirty slut” or “sex pig” during sex. I do.

Maybe that is because I used to be one. Just the other day I purchased a Diet Pepsi at some little hole in the wall place on Market Street — no, they didn’t serve Diet Coke. Anyway, the guy behind the counter is looking at me funny/odd. When I hand him my $2 he says, “No charge. It’s on the house, Matty. Don’t you know who I am?”

…awwwwwwkward. I didn’t.

Turns out I guess we had a sex date or something.

I felt both bad and slutty.

(and, I still can’t remember him. he was pretty cute, tho!)

do i get a cookie for the longest comment in history of blog-dom!?!?