Drugs Not Hugs

Touchy-feely. Lovey-dovey. Smoochie-woochie. Pumpkin-poopie. It's sad to say I'm not really one of these people. You know who I mean. The ones who see you and automatically think, "I know the name by which that human is summoned by, and therefore I must reach out both of my upper limbs and trap thou acquaintance within them!" (A.k.a. The Huggers. Those Who Hug. Those Who Embrace. Those Who Embosom. Those Who Will Die A Slow and Painful Death If They Ever Try That Shit Out On Me.)

How I do wish sometimes that I was in fact one of these friendly folks. My catchphrase would be, "Nobody is a stranger!" or "Hugs not drugs!" or "It's okay to force people towards your body, as long as you do it with a SMILE!" However, I can never be one of these people, all based on the sole fact that I tend to over analyze that four-letter word we are all so familiar with: "HUGS."

Let's break down this itsy-bitsy word, shall we? I'm talkin' letter. By. LETTER. I hope you're okay with your mind being in pieces because I'm about to blow it.

H is for Hair.

I see that stare!

And I really do not care!

Come near me if you dare!

But first...please use some Nair.

Often times, whether you are the hugger or the huggee, you will find that once your embrace has reached its full potential, the opposite person's hair will be in your face, which means it is near your nose and eyes. This is a problem because this person could easily have lice, and then you will get lice in your eyes, and if you are desperate enough to get the lice out of your eyes, you will squirt Head and Shoulders into your pupils, and then you will get pink eye, because shampoo is not meant to be drizzled onto your lenses, and if you have pink eye, everyone will assume you farted into your pillow and rubbed your face in that same pillow, and no one will talk to you because they will think you are a pink-eyed spleen-machine. On the other hand, the hair could be near your nose, and you would smell it, and some people's hair does not smell so nice. Not everyone uses Herbal Essences. Or washes their hair at all. Or even wipes. So there you are, caught in the midst of a bad-smelling fellow or gal and you cannot do anything about it but grin and bear it. If someone is going to force you to smell their nasty ass locks then they are not really your friend. They might as well grab your head and shove it into their armpit, and if they're considerate enough they might move their arm up and down so the smell wafts, just like you did with the test tubes in Chemistry class. But I do hope you never find yourself in a situation such as this one.

U if for Under.

My invisible bubble you plunder.

Which is really quite your blunder.

Now all I can wonder...

Is when the hell will we sunder?

Going in for the hug is the most awkward phase of all "The Phases of a Hug." Pulling away from the hug after the hug has been fully initiated can be very awkward, as well, depending on who it is you are hugging, but I am still going to have to give the gold medal to the going in part, and all because of one simple question: WHERE THE HELL DO I PUT MY ARMS. Over...or under? Such a plain question, yet so many complex answers. (Hey! THAT applies to a lot!) It's really no use to ask a question I'll never know the answer to, so instead, I'm just going to ask a bunch more questions. If I put my hands over, is that too manly? Is the space around the neck reserved for males only? Do I prefer putting my hands around the neck? Yes I do? But if I put my hands under, doesn't that make me look like a child? Feel like a child? Since that is how I hug my parents? If I put my hands under, does that make it seem like I'm trying to slyly make a move toward their ass? Do I secretly want to touch their ass if their ass looks like it would be a very nice ass to touch? Maybe? If I put my hands over, does that make it seem like I'm hinting to themto make a move for my ass? What happens if we both go for the same direction? And then we both try to switch to the other direction? And we do a little arm-air dance? Would we look weird to people passing by? Would we look weird to each other? Would we wish we never tried to hug in the first place because obviously it wasn't meant to happen? Absolutely? If I create my own little personal combo of one hand over and one hand under, is that awkward as fuck? Does that make it obvious that I don't know what the hell to do with my arms? And that I've over analyzed this positioning of my biceps and forearms completely? Would I feel like a total idiot? YES.

G is for mammary Glands.

Here I am worrying about my hands,

With no ifs, buts, or ands,

When what really matters is where it lands,

"It" being my bags of sands.

If you don't know what mammary glands are, then I'm sorry. Your mother should have breast-fed you. Breasts, people. I am talking about breasts. (This is the only term I can use. The word "boobs" makes me very uncomfortable for some unknown reason, and "tits" are for cows, not people. whereas "titties" are for little cows, not little people.) This can apply to guys, too. You go in for a hug in the winter time. Hugging Partner is wearing a thin t-shirt. You can feel his nipples mid-hug. That's second base right there. Funny how things work out. You go in for an innocent greeting, and BAM! Second base. Right there. Right then. No turning back. Just turning you ON. But enough about man nips. Since I was not born with a penis, I do not know if guys can feel a female's bosom when they hug, but I assume it's a yes, but what is worse than this is when two girls hug. It's like mashed potatoes, but not potatoes. Mashed boobies is not a comfortable feeling, which is a fact of life that I felt the need to share. It not only feels weird, but imagine what that really looks like. And by "really" looks like, I mean what it looks like if everyone had x-ray vision. I mean, come on. How awkward is that image? It'd look like a figure 8 turned horizontally, or like a really fat butterfly. I guess some people may enjoy this image, since men tend to get turned on when a girl would rather be with a girl than with him, a concept I will never be able to comprehend. And what if the girl is much taller than you? Does your face get mashed into her bosom? Good god. I am never hugging tall people. I've just decided this. Please don't take it personally, you Tallies out there. You should be flattered that I am polite enough to not dive head-first into your cleavage.

S if for sweat.

You're very very wet!

And that makes me upset!

If you don't leave soon, you'll have much regret!

Yes. That WAS a threat.

Exercise gives you three things: endorphins and energy. What do people filled with happiness and a sudden burst of energy do? They hug people, THAT'S what they do. And yes, I do realize that I said exercise gives you three things and I only named two. That is because I am saving the third one...for...right...now! SWEAT. The joggers, the weight-lifters, the ellipticallers...these are the people you gotta keep an eye out for, cause they'll hug you. They'll hug you no matter how drenched they are in giant doblets of perspiration and body odor. ("Doblets"...I might or might not have just made that word up.) You'll be strolling. You'll be strolling and smiling and strolling some more. You'll be doing a lot of strolling at this time, in fact. And then, out of nowhere, Big Hank jogs up. You've met him once. You know how friendly Big Hank is. So you say hi. Big. Mistake.

"I REMEMBER YOU FROM THAT ONE TIME WE MET FOR FOUR AND A HALF SECONDS! I'M GOING TO PUT MY ARMS AROUND YOU NOW!"

Big Hank hugs you, without realizing that he just unintentionally changed his name from Big Hank to Stinky Hank. And you hate Hank. And his sweat. And the fact that Hank's sweat is not on one body, but now two bodies, and one of those bodies is your body, and Hank's sweat will remain on your body, seeping into your own pores with your own sweat that you are courteous enough to keep inside your own damn body, until you take a shower. You just took a shower. But now, thank to Big Stinky Hank, you have to take two, and waste some more time in your life that you'll never get back ever again. Fuck you Hank. Fuck you and your beads of sweat.

Look how helpful I just was! I enlightened you on the disadvantages of being hugged, and I did it in a friendly, cheery manner! And did I have to hug you to show you I am friendly and cheery? Did I have to invade your personal space? Put my hairs in your nose? Reach for your ass? Press my bosom upon your bosom? Force my sweat into your pores? NO, I did NOT. If you need to hug someone, I suggest you go hug your mee-ma. Or a tree. Or your invisible friend. Or go introduce yourself to a stranger so when you see them a second time you'll feel comfortable wrapping your arms around their body; just stay the hell away from mine.

Back to the Present

Well, it's official. My teenage years were spent in "the millennium." What this means exactly still means nothing to me, since I'm having trouble grasping what exactly defined this decade. What the fuck am I going to tell my grandkids?

"When I was your age, we put poodles on our clothing! And we didn't rub back and forth on people's groins like you kids, we could dance just by jiving our hands! Our bras were made of cones! There was always a woman in the kitchen, so no one ever went hungry! You could have an orgasm just by watching a man move his hips back and forth! Ya dig, Daddy-O?"

"Grandmaaaaa, that wasn't YOUR time! That was the fifties!"

"Oh, that's right...well, when I was your age, our air wasn't contaminated; the air we breathed was happy air! And it made us giggle all the time at everything we saw! And we ate magic paper that made all the unicorns come out of their hiding places! And we were productive, always making things! Especially love! Lots and lots of love! We made love whenever we could make it! With whoever could make it with us! It was a gas, baby!"

"Grandmaaaa, you weren't alive then! That was the sixties!"

"Oh, kids, I'm in such a forgetful mood today! But when I was your age, I would have already known that! Because I would have been wearing a ring that would be able to tell me my mood! Oh, how I miss those days...we had lamps made out of lava! And we had monkeys for pets! The kind of monkeys that lived in the sea! And we had rocks as pets, too! They never even pissed in the house like those dogs and cats you have today! We had giant balls of glitter that hung from ceilings and made everyone want to point to their hips, and then point up to the sky, and then repeat that motion all night! And our hair grew outwards! Around our heads! You could even stick things in there and they wouldn't move! Can you dig it, foxy momma?!"

"Grandmaaaaa, NO! Those were the seventies!"

"Oh darn. Wait...wait it's all coming back to me now...yes! When I was YOUR age, our shoes were made of jelly! And we wore our bras on the OUTSIDE of our clothes! And our ponytails were able to hang from the sides of our heads, and we had these magic sleeves of yarn that warmed your calves and shins! Ooh! And we played this game where you moved a cube around! And we could play for hours and HOURS because we could never move it to how it was supposed to look! And men AND women wore make-up! It was like totally bitchin', dude!"

"Grandmaaaaa...."

"WHAT. NOW."

"That was the eighties..."

"Dammit!"

"Grandma!"

"I'm sorry, sweetie cakes, but it's okay, because I've finally remembered what it was like back in my day."

"Tell us! Tell us!"

"WELL, we had bracelets that you didn't have to clip on! All you had to do was SLAP them onto your body! And we carried things in packs that were on our fannies! And our favorite cartoon had a dinosaur named BJ! And you never had to wash your hair because it was cool to be greasy! And we didn't have that ePodie thingy you little ones have, our music BOOMED! Out of BOXES! And we had plastic on string that we liked to move up and down ON that string! And we had fruit that rolled up! And fruit that was a foot long! And our babies were made of BEANS! So BOO YA, YOU FART-KNOCKER!"

"Grandmaaaaa...that was the NINETIES!"

"WELL FUCK ME."

"Grandma! You just said a cuss word!"

"WHEN I WAS YOUR AGE WE DIDN'T EVEN HAVE WORDS!"

"Grandma, we know what it was like when you were a teenager."

"Well then dammit PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME."

"When you were our age, you watched tons and TONS of videos on the internet, because everyone had so much time on their hands! Like that one with two girls who did ALL that stuff...and with only one cup! And you had that movie with the homosexual cowboys! And pop stars shaved their heads! And the most beautiful man in the whole world DIED right after making that movie with the man who thinks he's a bat! And you listened to music about licking people's pussies! And people were so healthy! They were so healthy that they took medicine even when they WEREN'T sick, that way they would never GET sick! People took tons and tons of pills to make sure they wouldn't spread any germs to anyone, right? And everyone dressed like they were from some OTHER decade, because you guys couldn't think of your own style! And little kids watched shows with men and their wiggles!"

"Oh...I'm starting to remember now..."

"Yeah!"

"Yeah. Yeah my decade SUCKS."

"No! It's great!"

"Only because you didn't live in it! Trust me kids, that decade SUCKED. ASS."

"Grandmaaaa...you---"

"WHAT THE FUCK MY DECADE REALLY DID SUCK."

"Grandma!"

"GOD DAMMIT!"

"Grandma!"

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT!"

"We think it's cool!"

"I have nothing to do with any of that. There is no way I was a part of that ridiculous culture."

"It's okay that you were!"

"Wtf mayne. Idk ab dat. Fuck u, assmunch. I'm going to the BK Lounge. I have the munchies. Ttyl."

All I want to know is if history repeats itself, then when the hell is it going to because I've been waiting for that to happen for the past 10 years. Ya feel me, breh?

Operation Stranger Spiel

I'll admit that I expected college to go a little something like this:

"Hey you group of 12 people I've never met, I'm Natasha!"

"Hey Natasha! Wanna be best friends with the 12 of us?"

"Hell yeah I do!"

And then the 13 of us would start skipping along together under a beaming ray of sunshine singing "We Are Going To Be Friends" and referring to ourselves as The Baker's Dozen. The problem with this assumption of mine is that 1) I have yet to see a group of 12 people; 2) not everyone enjoys publicly skipping as thoroughly as I do (and I'd be perfectly fine with the 12 of us privately skipping, but where would 12 people go to privately skip? The only private places I can think of are bathroom stalls, and that is just not nearly enough room to complete even ONE full-fledged skip. It would be more of a hop...which would just look like I have to go to the bathroom quite badly, which would look bizarre to the people watching my feet underneath the stall because what kind of moron holds it when they are right by a toilet? The proper thing to do in this situation would be to just SIT. And PISS. And I really don't know why I am going on about this since I've already made it clear that you cannot skip in a bathroom stall, and whether I've tested that theory out or not is completely my business.), and 3) I'm not one to go around randomly introducing myself to people.

WELL...there have been some cases where someone has ravishingly intrigued me and I've gone up and randomly struck up a conversation, but that is EXACTLY why I do not feel the need to go around chatting up anonymous people. Because if I am meant to meet someone, then I will KNOW. However, it's been quite some time now and I have not been captivated by anything on two legs, and this is why I recently decided that maybe I should start talking to strangers, no matter what my parents taught me when I was a child. That's right, Mom and Pops! I'm 19 now and I can do whatever the hell I want, and what I want to do is talk to STRANGERS! And then accept their CANDY! And then get in the back of their windowless VAN! And then randomly talk to all the other teenage girls in the BACK of that VAN! Cause I'm a responsible ADULT!

Seriously, though. Operation Stranger Spiel? It's not really working out. Unless YOU think these conversations are going to lead to skipping in the sunshine...

Stranger #1 sits next to me at the round table. Okay, this is my chance. Say something, Natasha, just say something. Anything. Comment on the round table, perhaps? "Hey, we're like the knights at the round table, but more like WHITES at the round table! Cause we're both white! Ha!" No no no that's lame as shit and you might come across as racist. Stranger #1 then pulls out his cell phone. Bingo.

"GO PHONE!"

I'll admit that my initial intention was not to shout at the boy one foot away from me, but that is how it came out. Just gotta go with the flow, go with the flow...okay, so I shouted. Recover, Natasha, redeem yourself. Time is running out.

"GO PHONE!"

NO NO NO, Natasha! "Redeem" yourself does NOT mean repeat the exact same thing you just said but louder! Come ON, you can DO this!

"I have a go phone."

Much better, much better. Just keep your composure...

"Oh yeah?"

"YEAH! Let's COMPARE them!"

God dammit, Natasha! Quit getting so excited when people respond to you! That is a NORMAL part of conversation, whereas comparing cell phones is just fucking WEIRD.

"Yeah, this is my 8th one."

"I'M ON MY SIXTH!"

I've given up on you.

Stranger #2 was not really meant to be a part of Operation Stranger Spiel.

"Hey!"

"Hello? Do I know you?"

"Ah! Sorry. I thought you were someone else..."

Okay, Natasha, it's time to stop judging people by the backs of their heads. If you really want to make friends, you need to stop assuming that just because someone has hair on their head like many of your friends do, it means that they must be who you think they are. Get with the program. Lots of people have hair.

Stranger #3 somehow already knew my name, a perfect sign that we are supposed to be friends!

"Hey Natasha!"

"Hey!"

"Hey!"

Is there an echo in here?

"Oh, sorry, I was talking to THAT Natasha."

"Oh...ha...my bad..."

Okay Natasha, this one was not your fault. I mean how many "Natasha's" are there, really? Well, NatAHsha's, you are the only one so far, but it's not your fault you have the habit of responding to NatAWWsha, since no one has the courtesy to call you by your own fucking name.

Stranger #4 was driving in his car as I decided to cross the street. He honked at me.

"HEY!"

Good good, Natasha. He may have rudely honked at you, but you waved like a good friend would do, and he will see the potential in the friendship that could be made! And just look! He's rolling down his window to say something to you! Maybe he'll ask you to go get some coffee!

"HEY YOU KNOW THERE'S A CROSSWALK!"

"FUCK OFF!"

NO NO NO, Natasha! That is NOT what you say to potential best friends! You do NOT tell them to fuck off! That is NOT a friendly thing to do! No WONDER you haven't made any new friends this semester, you dumb shit.

Strangers #5 through 12 I introduced myself to at a party. This is a complete waste of time since none of them probably even remember me, and I doubt they were that cool, anyway...

Okay, so really I've only struck up a random chit-chat with one person. I'll admit this. But that didn't go so well, DID IT. No. It did not. Look, I tried. I'm sorry, but sometimes you try, and then sometimes you try to try, and this time I actually tried. And then I FAILED. So fuck having new friends, man. All I need is me, my go phone, and a bathroom stall to hop around in.

The Dumbass Class

Mindset 101: a class to improve your mindset, a class to help you achieve your academic goals, a class to improve study habits, a class to prove to you what a dumbass you really are.

And I'm in it.

This was not my choice, mind you. The "Mindset for Academic Achievement" class, or as I like to call it, the "Let's Waste Everybody's Time" class, is recommended to students who are on academic probation. Yes, I am currently one of these students. Unfortunately. You would think this class would be telling you motivating things like,

"It's not that you can't do it, you just need to apply yourself!"

or,

"So what you messed up?! This is your SECOND CHANCE."

or,

"You may be dumb, but you sure are smokin' hot!"

See? Any of these things would motivate me to do better. But no. That's not how it is. Want some examples? I think you need some examples.

These are some bits and pieces taken straight from my Mindset textbook. Read 'em and weep. Or, read 'em and feel like a moron.

"You wonder what you'll tell your parents, friends, and significant others. If they find out about your poor grades, they'll think you're a big loser!"

GEE. THANKS. First of all, if your "significant other" thinks you're a big loser for getting bad grades, maybe you shouldn't be dating them in the first place. Second of all, I wasn't even thinking I was a "loser;" the word, "loser" did not even enter my mind, and here I am, reading my textbook, trying to be a good little student, and then they suggest to me that maybe I'm thinking I'm a big loser. WELL I WASN'T THINKING THAT UNTIL YOU BROUGHT IT UP.

"Students can determine their progress in the class by checking their grades."

No! What?! Wait...so you're telling me...that my grades can show me how well I am doing in a class? So...grades have something to do with school? Wow! I never knew that! Thank you, Mindset textbook! You are really helping me!

"Apply strategies in this book to transform your tarnished academic record into one that SHINES!"

And then maybe your professor will give you a GOLD STAR STICKER! But if you do badly...then your professor may SPANK YOU!

"Do you choose to "use it" or would you rather "lose it?"

...are we still talking about school here?

"What do you think? Do these strategies deserve a "thumbs up," a "sideways thumb," or a "thumbs down?"

I am really glad that college has taught me to communicate with the angles of my thumbs.

"What do you think of THIS strategy - is it good, bad, or ugly?"

I didn't know Clint Eastwood wrote this book!

"One strategy is to use flash cards to study. On a scale from 1 (would make my life worse) to 10 (would rock my world), to what degree would this strategy change your life?

Flash cards really could change my life, couldn't they? Colored pieces of paper with words on them are a very life-changing thing, and I'm glad the authors of this text have been considerate enough to use my "teenage lingo" so I can understand what they mean by 1 being the worst and 10 being the best. I'd give it an 8 (I'd tap dat).

"If you ever visited the cockpit of an airplane, you probably noticed dozens of switches, gauges, and other gizmos on the control panel. Each instrument plays an important role in keeping the plane in flight...however, when something goes wrong, warning lights start flashing. Red lights indicate far more serious problems."

Wow, THIS paragraph applies to the audience! Since everyone has, at least once in their lives, been in the COCKPIT of an airplane! Now I really understand, thank you! I would also like to thank you for alerting a 19-year-old the meaning behind "red light." Silly me, all these years of driving and I never knew I was supposed to stop at those blinking thingies above me! I feel so smart now that I know THAT.

"Agree to reward yourself when you achieve your desired results of improving your GPA."

Oh, I will. And I'll start by burning this book, you fucking assholes.

Us "Mindset students" have been taught that MINDSET is an acronym, standing for:

Motivation

Initiative

Navigating

Direction

Study skills

Expectations

Time Management

I must say that I have really been using these 7 words and applying them to my life. I am Motivated to take the Initiative to Navigate myself in the Direction of a trash can and as I Study its current contents I Expect that finding Time to toss this fucking book inside of it will not be too hard to Manage. Thank you, Mindset class! You've really helped me! I don't feel like a fucking idiot AT ALL!

Seven Men A-Humping

I was 16 when I went to Paris.

(Sounds like the intro to a movie, doesn't it?)

I was 16 when I went to Paris...and that's where I fell in love.

(Well guess what. This isn't a movie.)

I was 16 when I went to Paris...and that's where I was humped by 7 Frenchmen.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking...

"Way to go, Natasha! Smother that French toast with a batch of your own syrup! Yeah, baby!"

Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but that is not how it went.

It all started in a small cafe with three of my friends. (If you converted this situation into some kind of algebraic equation, it would go something like this):

If you have four young teenage girls each ordering one 4 dollar cup of coffee from one male waiter, and two of the girls are adding a shot of espresso for an extra 75 cents, but one of the girls is adding whipped cream for an extra 25 cents, which girl will the waiter hit on first?

...and they said I should have taken a math class my senior year. Please.

"I'd like a cup of coffee, please."

"Of course, of course, Miss...?"

"...Natasha."

"Natasha....Natashaaaaaaa...are you American, Natasha?"

"Yep, I'm from America!"

"You don't look American."

"Well, I am!"

"I've heard a lot about American girls..."

"Have you now."

"Yes...I hear they're a lot different than European girls..."

"Oh, really?"

"I'll go get your coffee now."

He comes back, coffee in hand, mysterious male friend at his side.

"Hello, American girls!"

"Hi!"

"You want to go to a disco with us tonight, yes?"

"Hehehe!"

What? We were 16. We didn't know any better but to sit back and giggle at the 25-year-old perverts. Who happened to be quite attractive.

"We can't; we came here with a group of people and we have plans tonight..."

It scares me to think if we would have gone with them had we not had a mandatory engagement.

"You should forget about those other plans, yes?"

"HEHEHEHE!"

Look. I've already explained the giggling thing. You're just going to have to get over it.

"You know what the ladies call me?"

Random questions like this can never be good.

"What?"

"Superman."

"Superman?"

Along with the giggles often come questions you wish you, yourself, had not asked.

"Yes, Superman, because I be with THREE girls one night, THREE girls at the same time, in my bed, and they call me Superman."

Notice the word, "girls." Also notice the fact that OUR WAITER IS TELLING US ABOUT HIS THREESOMES AND WINKING AT US.

This evening was significant because, although we did succumb to a bout of the gigglies, we were not oblivious to our new outlook on Frenchmen. Well, let me correct myself: on the stereotypes Frenchmen believed were true regarding American girls and their frivolous friskiness. Which, while this can hold true for many girls out there, hence the skyrocketing on the "YOU HAVE A DISEASE; KEEP YOUR TONGUE IN YOUR MOUTH FROM NOW ON" charts, it did not match up to myself and my friends. BECAUSE WE'RE NOT SKANKY WHORES.

This is where we jump a couple days ahead on the, "Encounters With Frenchmen" Timeline, to none other than...New Year's Eve.

The streets were nothing short of chaos. As we walked along the sidewalk, we had to dodge people left and right (whether this was because there were a lot of people or because there were a lot of people stumbling around due to intoxication, I'm still not sure), and not one person was lacking the accessory of the evening: a bottle of wine. The whole time I crossed paths with a fellow teenager, a teenager with the ability to freely carry alcohol in their hand, only one thought was able to consume my mind.

Why am I not French. Why am I not French. Why am I not French. Why am I not French.

But no matter! It's not like I MIND the American law of prohibiting people under the age of 21 to drink! It's not like if we had been able to drink while we were young, we wouldn't go so haywire with it when we FINALLY were of legal age; it's not like a lot of people would still be ALIVE had they not had to wait over two decades to get to drink, and then not know how to handle it since they had been holding off all their lives! It's not like America is FUCKING RETARDED when it comes to alcohol!

As everyone else stumbled around screaming, "Bonne année!" (pronounced bone-oh-nay) (it means, "Happy New Year"), my friends and I cautiously wandered the streets, in complete awe of the scene before our eyes. It was beautiful...it was magical...it was a moment I'd never forget...especially when 7 men emerged from an alley... and began to hump us.

"Bonne année!"

They hit my friend Josie first.

"Man down! Man down!"

We tried to alert the group, but soon it was too late.

"Bonne année!"

They had swarmed us.

"Call for back-up! Repeat: call for back-up!"

But the 7 Frenchmen had their own idea of "back-up."

"Bonne année!"

We had no choice but to initiate Plan A.

"STOP, DROP, AND ROLL! STOP, DROP, AND ROLL!"

It was pointless; we had been seized.

"Bonne année!"

And conquered.

"WHAT TO I DO WHAT DO I DO!"

Josie shouted to me.

"WHAT DO I DO WHAT DO I DO!"

I shouted to Josie.

"Bonne année!"

The Frenchmen shouted to no one in particular.

It was no use; they continued to thrust their pelvises at any part of our body they could come near to. In our desperate attempt for survival, we moved on to Plan B.

"AAHHHHHHH!"

We began to scream.

Our tour guide turned around. FINALLY we had caught his attention.

"HELP USSSSSS!"

"Ha! Ha! Ha! That's what we do in France!"

Back to Plan B.

"AAHHHHHHH!"

"Bonne année!"

"AAHHHHHHHHH!"

"Bonne année!"

"AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"OUR TOUR GUIDE IS AN ASS!"

"THESE GUYS ARE GRABBING MY ASS!"

We were in the middle of a battle that we were sure we would lose. We had no ammunition but our own individual pair of grenades, and that is exactly what these men seemed to be after as they tumultuously tried to fire off their own individual missiles. And people say the Vietcong was fierce...they don't even come close to the fierceness of the VietCOCK.

BUT, just as we were about to surrender, a neighboring troop of fellow females passed us, and the Vietcock immediately migrated to their next battlefield, with enthusiastic shouts of, "Bonne année!"

(Now I know why they pronounce it, BONE-oh-nay.)

Though our limbs were warm with friction, though our innocence was publicly stolen from us, though our last night in Paris was spent getting involuntarily dry-humped by drunken strangers, these strangers had moved on to their next target, which, in my optimistic opinion, means only one thing:

Mission accomplished.

Natasha Ferrier (a.k.a. The Cliché Conjurer)

I find that whenever something doesn't go as I had planned, the easiest way to accept it is to spout off some cliché. Let's say, for instance, someone broke into your house, stole all of your belongings, shaved your cat, and then burned your entire house down, and the only survivors of this catastrophe were you, your now-bald cat, and some marshmallow Peeps. (they don't burn, ya know.) This is when I come in. You're crying, you're screaming, you're telling your cat to shove off because it's bald and creeping you the fuck out, and all I have to say is,

"Cheer up, kid! After all, everything happens for a reason."

You stop crying. You lift your head up. You look at me, and you smile.

"Gee, I never thought of it like THAT!"

"That's what I'm here for! To brighten the spirits of those less fortunate with cliché sayings that have uncommonly known explanations! And YES, I do expect you to take what I say to heart without questioning it at all! Because I'm Natasha Ferrier, The Cliché Conjurer, at your service!"

I did not realize the tendency I had to blurt out clichés at what were probably not the best of times until I was informed of this habit.

"I wonder if he likes me or not..."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"Yeah but it's really bothering me...when will I KNOW?"

"Only time will tell."

"WHY DO YOU ALWAYS DO THAT."

"What?"

"You just respond to whatever problem I have with some random idiom and I HATE it."

"Love and hate are two horns on the same goat."

"SEE?"

"What?"

"You picked me up to talk about this, but you're not really SAYING anything to help!

"Actions speak louder than words."

"STOP IT!"

"What?!"

"None of those even make sense!"

"Things could always be worse."

"AH! You are impossible to talk to. I'm ignoring you for the rest of the night."

"Easier said than done."

"..."

"You're really going to ignore me?"

"..."

"Are you serious?"

"..."

"Silence is golden."

"UGH!"

Of course, I do realize that there are some sayings, clichés, idioms, and euphemisms that make absolutely NO sense at all, and that is why all of you reading this today have been granted the privilege to not only learn a cliché or two, but also learn my own personal opinion of them. Maybe one day you can be a Cliché Conjurer yourself! (Though don't expect to master the art right from the get go; it took me years to perfect my skills. And what sweet skills they are.)

"You can't judge a book by its cover."

Actually, I can. And I do, often. And until a book featuring Fabio on the cover holding some chick with her shirt mysteriously torn conveniently across her breasts wins the Pulitzer Prize, I will continue to do so.

"A watched pot never boils."

Whoever made this one up obviously had never watched a pot. Smoked some pot, maybe, but certainly never watched one. Because a watched pot DOES boil, and how do I know that? Because I've WATCHED one, and what did it do? It BOILED.

"When in Rome..."

When in Rome...what? How did this saying survive all these years? The guy who wrote it OBVIOUSLY wasn't done with the saying, and some idiot found it and thought, "This is brilliant! When in Rome! I don't know exactly what that means...it must be some kind of poetry! Yes! Abstract art! The kind of art that people only pretend to understand because they feel like being DIFFERENT, when really, any 5-year-old could have written this and it would have merely been regarded as childish gibberish and been put on the refrigerator door by Mommy! But since an adult wrote this...well, it's abstract ART!"

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

What's going to hurt you more? A pebble thrown at your big toe, or someone telling you you're a fucking fat tub of lard who's going nowhere in life and has bad B.O.? If you chose the pebble, you might want to continue reading to the next saying on the list.

"You're an idiot."

Okay, this one really isn't a cliché; I just felt the dire need to address the audience who chose the pebble. Moving on.

"I'm happy as a clam."

Where the hell was I when scientists discovered that sea organisms had emotions?

"Drunk as a skunk."

And where the hell was I when they discovered that skunks were the alcoholics of the mammals?

"Cool as a cucumber."

Okay, this is just getting ridiculous.

"Don't toot your own horn."

Who else's horn am I gonna toot? Yours? A stranger's? NO. If there's a horn to be tooted, it's going to be my own, thank you very much. I'm not going to just go around tooting other people's horns. Because that's WEIRD. And you know what else is weird? "Toot." Why not "honk?" Or "beep?" Toot? Are you kidding me? You think I'm going to take you seriously when you say that?

"Walking on Cloud 9."

Hold on a second here...what happened to Clouds 1 through 8? Are they not as good of clouds? Well why not? Aren't all clouds pretty much the same? Is the ninth cloud really the best of the bunch? How many clouds are they, anyway? Has anyone ever counted the clouds? I doubt it.

"You say potayto, I say potahto."

No you do not. Because no one says, 'potahto.' That's retarded. That's like if I said, "You say banana, I say BaNONa." You'd be like, "What? Who the fuck says baNONa?" to which I would respond, "You say potayto, I say potahto," and yet for some reason this would automatically be acceptable, and you would say, "Ah...well, to each his own," when just a minute ago you were about to drop me off in the middle of the freeway because I prefer my yellow fruit of mush to be pronounced, "BaNONa."

"Distance makes the heart grow fonder."

Oh, how sweet!

"Out of sight, out of mind."

Wait, what? You just told me distance makes the heart grow FONDER, and now you're telling me that if I'm not seen then I'm not in anyone's mind? What about the DISTANCE? REMEMBER THE DISTANCE? Why must you confuse me like this! Damn you!

"Ask and you shall receive."

HA! Right. You keep on thinkin' that, you naive dimwit.

"Good things come to those who wait."

Look! It's the naive dimwit again, BACK to waste my time with some more bullshit! Hey! Maybe if I wait awhile, the naive dimwit will go away! Because that would be a good thing!

"Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all."

Nope; dimwit's back.

"Fake it till you make it."

I think this one really only applies to the women of the world.

"Two heads is better than one."

Don't worry, men of the world; I found one that only applies to you, as well.

"Busy hands are happy hands."

(As long as they're not my hands...or hand...)

"The best thing since sliced bread."

Whoa! No way! It can't be! Nothing is as absolutely wonderful as bread that has been cut down the middle a few times! It's just not possible! Whoever is the best thing since sliced bread must really be a somebody...man...if only I could be better than sliced bread! I'm just a dumb HUMAN, who's never been sliced! Not even once! Damn you, bread! Damn you AND your slices!

"When one door closes, another door opens."

Yeah, at the same time 8 other doors close. Then what will happen with that one open door? You won't do shit about it, and then it, too, will close. But that's alright! Because yet ANOTHER door will open! And you find yourself in this neverending cycle of opening and closing doors and I won't blame you if you ask who the HELL keeps closing all these damn doors and whoever it is must have a LOT of time on his hands.

"Leave no stone unturned."

And so does this guy.

"Speak softly and carry a big stick."

I left this one last on the list, because this one baffles me the most. By FAR. Speak softly and carry a big stick? Who am I, Gandalf? You think anyone is going to listen to a guy who speaks softly? Or for that matter, listen to a guy who carries a big stick with him everywhere he goes? EARTH TO HUMANS: Lord of the Rings is FICTION; it's FAKE; in the real world, people don't listen to guys who speak softly and carry big sticks; in the real world, people sell those guys heroin and give them some newspaper to sleep on.

I think it's time we all take a second glance at the ridiculous phrases we use and realize how absurd we all sound when we say them, thinking we sound wise. Seriously, people, I mean it. Wake up and smell the roses.

Forgive Me Father, For I Have Flipped My Shit

People may say, "don't sweat the small stuff," but an intelligent psychologist of whom I've been studying recently by the name of Dr. Nat Ashafer Rier says, "DO sweat the small stuff; DON'T sweat the big stuff," and that's exactly what I tend on doing. I am going to scream into pillows, throw electronics at walls, kick and scream, and show every stranger who happens to walk by me my middle finger, all because of a minor issue I encountered earlier and will soon forget about completely. Why fret over a huge dilemma that you have no control over whatsoever? You're never going to be able to fix it, so I see no need in getting all worked up over it. With small problems, you can more than likely make them better, so why not channel your hissy fits toward something that you can make disappear! Getting ridiculously upset over something you can easily mend is a wonderful feeling! I love it, I do! It's not that I have an anger problem. And if you think I do, THEN FUCK YOU I'M NOT AN ANGRY PERSON SO EAT MY SHIT AND SHIT IT OUT AND THEN EAT IT AGAIN. I just like to express my emotions from time to time, that's all.

It was the summer of 2009 when one of these emotional expressions of mine occurred. (Some folks call it a temper tantrum, I call it an emotional expression.) I was driving in my car with my sister; it was a beautiful day and we had just spent the entire afternoon stretched out on blankets and basking in the sun at one of our favorite parks. (I describe the scene to you so you know I was harboring no fury.) There was a building to my right where cars were driving out of, onto the street of which I was on. So THEN, some bitchassmofo decides to pull out onto my street (yes, my street.) even though I obviously had no intention on letting her in, so at the same time that she decides it's a brilliant idea to pull out in front of someone as they are still driving, she also brilliantly [almost] hits my car. This is when my outburst occurred.

"FUCK! YOU!"

I scream and casually toss up my middle finger, then I thrust my other middle finger upwards, and simultaneously move them up and down at a high speed, as if they were doing a little dance. The Middle-Finger Mambo, as I like to call it.

Then, in my petulance, I turn towards my sister, to alert her of my infuriation in case she had remained oblivious during my Middle-Finger Mambo.

"FUCKING. BITCH."

I say these words slowly, so the message really comes across, and point to that vexation of a woman ahead of me, hoping she would see my profile in her rear view mirror and not only be able to tell that I was talking about her, but be able to tell that what I was saying was that she was a FUCKING. BITCH.

Then it hits me that we are still in front of that line of cars waiting to pull out from that building.

Then it hits me that there was a mini-van at the front of the line facing towards me as I had so blatantly cussed out that woman.

Then it hits me that that mini-van was jam-packed with people, and not just any type of people.

My sister turns and looks at the mini-van, then slowly turns back to me and utters:

"Nuns."

We both cautiously look back at the 7-seater mini-van that had every one of those 7 seats occupied. With nuns. Elderly nuns. Elderly nuns looking right at me. Elderly nuns looking right at me...and laughing.

"Are they laughing?"

"Yeah...it looks like they're laughing..."

"Are they pointing at me?"

"Yeah...it looks like they're pointing at you..."

"Are they pointing at me and laughing?"

"Yeah...it looks like they're pointing at you and laughing..."

"What kind of nuns ARE these, man!"

"Laughing nuns. Seven of them."

"Well well well...nuns aren't as innocent as they say they are..."

"We need proof of this!"

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

"What?"

Click!

"Quit taking pictures!"

"We need PROOF, Natasha."

Click!

"STOP IT THEY CAN SEE YOU DOING THAT!"

"And they're still laughing and pointing! It's perfect!"

Click!

"Stop!"

Click!

"Stop it!"

Click!

"They're probably laughing because they know you're going to Hell for having a nun photo shoot."

Click!

"They think you're going to Hell, too, for cussing out that woman."

"You're right. Keep clickin'. "

Click! Click! Click!

"Okay, that's enough."

"Now how do I forward these..."

"You can't FORWARD pictures of nuns!"

"Why the hell not?"

"It just seems wrong..."

"If anything is wrong here it's the fact that 7 nuns just witnessed you being disrespectful to thy neighbor, and instead of being appalled, they started laughing and pointing at you."

"You're right. Forward that shit pronto."

Some may say it is wrong to have random fits of rage over trivial matters, but I think we all know what is truly in the wrong here: the fact that nuns have been lying to us for years and really they are sinful, sneaky, masturbating perverts who find joy in the animosity humans have towards one another. Why do you think they have to go to their Father and ask for forgiveness? BECAUSE THEY HAVE A LOT OF SHIT TO CONFESS, THAT'S WHY. I can just imagine those nuns later that day...

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been 2 minutes since my last confession; I just can't stop sinning today. This afternoon, I saw a young girl blurt out profanity at a woman she did not even know, and I laughed about it, and then posed for pictures her friend took of me as I pointed at them. Oh, and I masturbated to a picture of Jesus. Please, I ask for your forgiveness."

Yeah, DO you? Do you, BITCH? Well guess what. You're NOT forgiven. What ya gonna do about THAT, huh? Huh?! Yeah. That's what I thought.