I accidentally made a porno once.
Somebody sent me a very nice message on my tumblr and asked what provoked me to start writing in the first place and if I planned to continue in the future.
The truth is, I only started my blog because I have a couple of friends who relentlessly pushed me to do so. The last time I saw them was at a wedding in Indiana where we all drank far too much, and vodka we decided I needed a reality TV show. Since I don’t have enough money to be considered for anything on Bravo (and no one at MTV cares about me because I am not 16 and knocked up, Justin Bieber, or an all around disgusting human being), we decided a blog would be a good way to share my random thoughts and sick sense of humor with the world…although I didn’t really expect anyone but them to read it.
I never really aspired to be a writer. It would be fun to write a column or get a book deal sure, but anything beyond that scares me for one major reason… once you become famous enough for people to care about your personal life, every asshole from your past will appear with an eagerness to share some horribly embarrassing story or photo you have chosen to forget existed. Even if it is currently stored on a cell phone that looks like it belonged to Zack Morris, trust me, it will somehow find its way into the public’s eye. This got me thinking about what incriminating things could surface if I were to ever become famous.
At first, I wasn’t too concerned. Any embarrassing story anyone could tell about me, I’ve probably already told to a room full of people. There was that time I was convinced I had Chlamydia, or the time I threw up on myself in a cab, and I have previously shared those for your amusement. Plus it’s not like I got diarrhea at Barnes and Noble and everybody found out about it (hey Phil, there’s a “Mean Girls” reference you will finally understand).
I quickly remembered an ex or two may have a picture of my boobs, however I don’t lose any sleep over it since I have much more revealing photos of them, and collateral is a hell of a drug. Hear that boys? If those pictures ever do get out, everyone including your former Sunday school teacher will be getting a pretty sweet Christmas card this year.
I breathed a deep (premature) sigh of relief when it hit me like I was the fat kid in dodge ball. There may or may not be a porno out there starring yours truly.
In my early twenties, I had a boyfriend who worked as a sever at a local restaurant. He would often work the closing shift, and we would stay and drink after hours. His boss was a special breed of bat shit crazy so my ex figured he owed him a few drinks for having to put up with his often unpredictable behavior. One night in particular his boss was an extremely cruel tyrant so he decided tonight was going to be the night he finally told him to eat a bag of dicks…but not before we drank him out of business first.
We gave it a good old college try, and a solid 4 or 5 bottles of wine later, my ex suggested we have sex on his boss’s desk as one final “Fuck you.” Considering I was so drunk I would have agreed to shave my head as well, I thought this was his best idea to date.
We fell went down the stairs to his office and began to roll around. I’m pretty sure we both got stuck in our clothing while trying to remove it, and I’m guessing on average, we fell off the desk six or seven times. I will not get into any graphic details since some of you may be eating, but if you have ever had this level of drunk sex, you know that shit ain’t pretty. It’s literally the most un-sexy sex of all time, in the history of the world, ever.
Oh the florescent lighting, I can’t even…
We both passed out half way through for several hours, only to awake confused in a destroyed office. We collected our belongings, somehow made it home, and I woke up the next morning with my underwear on over my jeans. There were also traces of Mexican food on everything, which leads me to believe I may have pulled off that look in public.
I was nursing the mother of all hangovers when a terrifying thought crossed my mind. We had sex on his boss’s desk, in his office, steps away from the safe which stored all the money, and go figure, neither of us stopped to check to see if there was a security camera. I think I remember seeing something on the ceiling, but was that a fan? Was there a flashing red light or did I just hit my head so hard I saw stars?
Was there a security camera or wasn’t there? This is the greatest unsolved mystery of all time, right behind “Where do all those missing socks from the dryer go?” The restaurant has since gone out of business, and it’s not like I am going to call his old boss up and ask him if he watched the most horrifying sex tape of all time so there is no way to ever know…
So unless I become famous and that tape surfaces, I am going to continue to pretend it does not exist, just like my ex.