Spring Has Sprung
My sixth grade teacher and Catholic vigilante Mrs. Kots always told us that spring meant the beginning of raging teenage hormones. Dammit if she wasn't right.
What I have to say from here on out is going to make me sound like a big pussy, but whatever. I'll take it on the chin.
I want a girlfriend. More than anything in the world right now, I think. It started a couple months ago when I was tired of not having a roommate, and I sort of felt lonely because it's the first time I've really lived by myself. But right now, as Mrs. Kots predicted, spring has sprung and so has my testosterone. There are a couple obvious problems with this:
a) I'm not that attractive that I can get laid whenever I want, and
b) I'm not quite sure that I'd even want to get laid whenever I want.
My dad once told me that the Dorans tend to be the monogamous type. I'd attribute it to the Irish Catholic background that was beaten into us (literally, for my dad and his siblings). I don't think I could ever have a one-night stand, if only because it's so damn hard to shake the Catholic guilt I've developed from 13 years of education under the supervision of PJP the Deuce. It's possible that I'd have sex with a girl after a party or something, but I'd be kicking and screaming as I got kicked out the door, or I'd cling to her leg as she struggled out of my room, with "Don't Let Go" playing in the background.
But anyway, back to my point: as Sir Mix-A-Lot would say, "When a girl walks in with that itty-bitty waist and a brown thing in your face, you get sprung!" Except in this case, it doesn't necessarily matter if there is an itty-bitty waist or a brown thing in my face involved, because it's mating season. It also doesn't help that the weather is getting nicer and girls are wearing fewer clothes. The female body is a work of art, and spring signals the prospect of nude models.
What with the changing weather, the raging hormones, and the fact that the last time I had a girlfriend, Lindsay Lohan was still hot and nobody knew who Paris Hilton was, I need some touch. I should probably also stop listening to Exile in Guyville. God damn, Liz Phair can fuck with a mortal man's brain.
What I have to say from here on out is going to make me sound like a big pussy, but whatever. I'll take it on the chin.
I want a girlfriend. More than anything in the world right now, I think. It started a couple months ago when I was tired of not having a roommate, and I sort of felt lonely because it's the first time I've really lived by myself. But right now, as Mrs. Kots predicted, spring has sprung and so has my testosterone. There are a couple obvious problems with this:
a) I'm not that attractive that I can get laid whenever I want, and
b) I'm not quite sure that I'd even want to get laid whenever I want.
My dad once told me that the Dorans tend to be the monogamous type. I'd attribute it to the Irish Catholic background that was beaten into us (literally, for my dad and his siblings). I don't think I could ever have a one-night stand, if only because it's so damn hard to shake the Catholic guilt I've developed from 13 years of education under the supervision of PJP the Deuce. It's possible that I'd have sex with a girl after a party or something, but I'd be kicking and screaming as I got kicked out the door, or I'd cling to her leg as she struggled out of my room, with "Don't Let Go" playing in the background.
But anyway, back to my point: as Sir Mix-A-Lot would say, "When a girl walks in with that itty-bitty waist and a brown thing in your face, you get sprung!" Except in this case, it doesn't necessarily matter if there is an itty-bitty waist or a brown thing in my face involved, because it's mating season. It also doesn't help that the weather is getting nicer and girls are wearing fewer clothes. The female body is a work of art, and spring signals the prospect of nude models.
What with the changing weather, the raging hormones, and the fact that the last time I had a girlfriend, Lindsay Lohan was still hot and nobody knew who Paris Hilton was, I need some touch. I should probably also stop listening to Exile in Guyville. God damn, Liz Phair can fuck with a mortal man's brain.
posted by Kevin A. Doran at 12:38 AM
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