My boyfriend and I have been living together for about 8 months now, which has been great. It’s like living with your best friend who you also enjoy having sex with. And while living together has been fun, I forgot what it was like to really be alone in my apartment again…until this weekend.
My boyfriend went to Vegas for the weekend “for work.” (This is the first time in my life I’ve ever been in a healthy relationship so please don’t ruin this for me by forcing me to imagine him cheating on me. Besides, I put a tracking device on his phone and already cyber stalked every female that went on the trip. We’re in the clear.)
I pretended to be sad that he was leaving, but deep down, I was very excited. It wasn’t like I was excited to go out and get drunk with my girlfriends or to snoop through his underwear drawer without getting caught. I was excited to just be alone and experience the freedom to be as gross as I wanted to be.
We kissed goodbye, and I waved as he drove away. My wave got faster and faster; I was ready to get inside and catch up with the Kardashians with zero shame.
I walked back into our apartment, threw my hair up in a messy bun, popped in my night guard and slid into my cotton underwear–the hot pink ones with the period stains from ‘07. (I’ll never get rid of them, they’re just so comfy.)
Six hours went by and boy, I felt great. I didn’t look great, I didn’t smell great, but I felt great. The only way I can possibly describe this feeling is that it was like I had my dick out all weekend. I just felt so free.
I watched Bravo and farted. I ate whatever I want, wherever I wanted. (Literally, there was a bowl of queso in my bed.)
My bedroom smelt kind of sour by that point, but I liked it? Because it was my sour smell. There was a film that started to develop over my teeth, but f*ck it, the inhaling of processed foods wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. My hair was so greasy that it looked wet. Not like, supermodel-in-the-ocean-wet, but like Danny from the movie, ‘Grease’ wet – except I am not Danny and it was not the movie ‘Grease.’
Being so gross that you’re unrecognizable is pretty much like being in paradise. I decided to stay in my bed and watched “He’s Just Not That Into You.” What’s a weekend of ‘me-time’ without a good Jennifer Aniston movie?
I got a text from my boyfriend; he let me know that he made it there safely and that he loves and misses me. Take your time coming back, babe!
I didn’t leave my bed all weekend. It was pretty great. I also didn’t plan on changing the sheets.
Anyway, I feel like I got a lot out of my system. Not only did I excrete an insane amount of grease physically, but internally, it just felt so good to be so gross, all alone in my own little nest. It was a fantastic weekend.
My boyfriend is on his little “work trip” (okay, he probably has tits in his face right now) but hey, I got queso!