Diary of a 23 Year Old in San Francisco: 1

May 5: Labels

This isn’t a terribly original idea, I ‘m afraid, but recent circumstances have caused me to realize how exceptionally convenient it would be if males came with labels.

By labels, I specifically and exactly mean a small stamp on the back of their furry little necks, or measly muscled calves, that summarized, in one word or phrase, the most critical information regarding their personality and/or damaging characteristics (physical and non) to any glimpse of a relationship.

For example, if one of these males was staggeringly, emotionally unavailable in that dating him was like dating a scarecrow, (except exchange the desire for a heart and replace it with a near constant erection) this type of device would be quite valuable.

Contemplating past experiences and interactions with males, (not to be confused with mail men) some warning labels stamped on a wimpy calf that I would have really appreciated are:

Hilarious but hairy

I sleep with only my socks on & let my scrotum run free

I love cats and my virginity (equally)

I will smoke all day and eat all of your roommate’s sprinkled sugar cookies

Let’s break-up over bacon

I’m Italian and I equivalent shoving my tongue into the roof of your mouth to hand shaking

Just call me Plata-penis

I kiss with my retainers in my mouth (top and bottom)

My farts smell like French fries of the moldy variety

I am a Chronic Drunk Dialer & Crier

Not sure if I’m gay or just European…

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