An Ode to Horny

A couple nights ago a good friend of mine, that we’ll call Horny McHornerson, decided to go out to a lil’ concert. Horny is named so for obvious reasons, she’s horny, nuff said. I’ve known Horny since we were 13 and we can easily pick up on each other’s personal quos, which makes going out together entertaining and safe. While we still manage to waste our breath talking about decisions we may or may not make, I can look her in the eyes and already know what she’s going to do before she does. I guess that’s what it’s like when you’ve lived with someone for so long. Horny has been many things to me over the years: a good friend, a trusted confidant, and a respected counselor. One thing she has never been for me however, is a moral compass.
From the moment we met in summer school the summer just before we went into high school together we were fast friends. Her hyper sexuality and cunning wit coupled perfectly with my gullibility and naivety. She took me under her wing immediately because I was obviously a dumb ass.
I had little clue about naughty things like sex, drugs and rock and roll and it was no wonder the class got a kick out of my inability to catch sexual remarks. I was constantly the butt of any and all sexual jokes that summer and for good reason. This is from a girl who couldn’t catch the most obvious of sexual implications.
I can remember one instance when our old ass Asian summer school teacher had been explaining a historical pirate battle to the class saying, “To take a hold of their ships, they’d shoot sea men.” Of course everyone in the class was laughing hysterically, including my stuffy ass Asian teacher. I mean that was more obvious than Kimura Lee’s turkey neck. I looked around the class confused and bewildered. Why the hell was everyone laughing? Quick Keo, do something. Fit in. Laugh too. I swiveled my head back and forth like a jackass and mumbled, “Hah, sea mean, yah, that’s good” and privately tried asking Horny what the hell was so funny later in the summer. That biyach turned on me faster than a republican and told everyone about my dumbassedness and inability to understand sexual humor. Throwing me under the bus like that before I had even entered high school was risky business, but I forgave the trick because she was just too damn funny. Those shit head summer classmates of mine had even taken it upon themselves to craft up a sweet lil’ nickname for me to carry with me throughout my four years.
They gave me the nickname “Bing.” They even convinced my teacher to start calling me by my full and proper name Keo “Bing” Eaton. (Take a second. And say that to yourself a couple times slow. Keo…. Bing…. Eaton. Then a couple times fast. Keo Bing Eaton. Now a few times slower again. Keo being Eaten. Get it yet? The clue is in the last name. Those effing turds!)
When we’d arrive in the AC less classroom in the hot Hawaiian summer mornings, the classmate adjusting it always asked my opinion saying, “ I wonder if…. Keo, Bing Eaton feels good?” The class would laugh in sync.
“Um.. I guess …. It’s pretty freaking hot.” I’d reply.
The pervert, like most perverts, would always strike back with another hit, “Oh. So what you’re telling me is that Bing Eaton is hot?”
“Uh Hell Yeah!! I’m sweating my ass off right now!”
“Bing Eaton, is that better for you?”
Feeling the cool breeze I’d moan in relief, ”Ahhh… much better.”
“Bing Eaton is that pleasing you?”
“Very much so, thank you. You’re such a good friend.”
“I’m the best friend. Keo, do I or do I not know how to please you… Bing Eaton?”
“Oh you sure do” I’d reply with zeal.
Those turds would go all day with that shit. For most of the summer, they had convinced me that the nickname was due to the overwhelming amount of Bing Cherries I’d bring to school each day in my vintage tin lunch box. (I’m not shitting you about the lunchbox. It had a picture of a red ‘57 Chevy Convertible on it because at the time I was obsessed with ’57 Chevy Convertibles, for reasons I refuse to remember. Somehow I know it has something to do with my invisible friend Louis. He was quite the ladies man of the invisible world and I’m pretty sure he drove one or something, I can’t remember.)
With an invisible friend and a tin lunchbox you can imagine my shock and dismay when I found out what the overtly sexual nickname had meant all that time.
“Keo. Bing. Eaton. Get it? Keo being eaten?” Horny was speaking slowly as if I was a foreigner who didn’t speaka any englice.
I heard the words but nothing was firing. “So let me get this straight. Keo, That’s me…. Being eaten? Am I right? …… Like, alive? And by another person?”
I just couldn’t understand why being eaten alive by a cannibal would be so friggen funny all that time. And believe you me; I was NOT playing dumb to be cute. I actually WAS that dumb, and it definitely was NOT cute. As far as I was concerned, these people were fucking sick and they desperately needed Jesus.
Horny piped up again, “She doesn’t get it guys.” She continued, “Keo, sometimes when people have sex a guy will eat a girl out.”
I thought about that for a second, “You mean, take a girl out to eat.” I replied with as much certainty as my uppity 9th grade English teacher would soon do to correct me when I mixed up the order of my words.
“No Keo. Not take a girl out to eat. Eat a girl out. He goes down on her. Muff Dives. Eats Carpet.”
What the? I thought she was suppose to be explaining something to me, not making me more confused with all this diving and mufflers and carpet eaters. Long Pause.
Finally Horny did what she usually does when people don’t understand her, and screamed obnoxiously in my face, “HE PUTS HIS MOUTH ON HER VAGINA!”

I was blinking rapidly in silence for a few moments trying to absorb the concept she had just forced into my innocent widow mind.
Finally, I replied, “Eul, Why?”
“Because it feels good dummy.”
“Seriously????” I reacted as if she had told me that she ate a cockroach and liked it. I was baffled and disgusted… and most of all confused. Like I said, Dumbass.
They made it their goal that summer to corrupt me … and boy did they ever! Horny McHornerson is to blame for tainting my innocent mind with everything from sex to cussing. It’s with that background that Horny McHornerson and I have the relationship we do today. Today, I am the queen B of sexual innuendos. And more than anything in the world, I revel in making a goodie goodie go bad. Now look what you’ve done to me Horny…. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.
It’s safe to say that Horny and I are pretty good friends. We lived together for years in boarding school and always kept in touch throughout college. Horny is quite possibly one of the worst people I could go out with because neither one of us has the ability to reason within a 12 foot radius of each other’s presence. There is some kind of quantum physics shit going on when we’re around because it’s like her mere presence de-wires my logic. We both suddenly become the non-judgmental friend on steroids for one another. Our friendship is a refuge from the persecution of our rigid and righteous other friends (Squares! Jk. Big ups to you guys for keeping Horny and I alive). Whatever it is, it’s been like this since the very beginning. Our deliberations go a little something like this,
Horny: “Do you think I should go home with this guy?”
Me: “Oooo I don’t know. Tough one. Do you want to?”
Horny: “I don’t know. Maybe. Sort of.”
Me: “Do it then.”
Horny: “Are you sure?”
Me: “No. But Whatever”
Horny: “But. Are you sure?”
Me: “No. I just told you that I’m not sure. But it looks like you’re gonna do it anyway.”
Horny: “So what you’re saying is, I should do it.”
Me: “Yeah, I mean, why not?”
Horny: “Otay.”
Horny has this rule of 3’s. If you ask her a question and the answer is No the first time, all you have to do is ask her 2 more times and Whallah, she says Yes. It’s a weakness she isn’t proud of, but nobodies perfect right?
The next morning, always starts the same way:
Horny: “KEO! You’ll NEVER guess what I did.
I like to play along….
Me: “What Horny???? Tell me, I must know!”
Horny: “I went home with that guy and woke up with a bed covered in mounds of sand.”
Unable to believe her lack for better judgment the night before I’d persecute her, “YOU WOKE UP COVERED IN SAND? What were you thinking?”
She continues, “Mer mer mer… mistakes, alcohol and more mistakes, and did I mention the guilt.”
“Well, don’t be too hard on yourself. These things happen. At least you’re safe and you had fun. Right?”
“Right.”
“Now let’s go jump in the valley and baptize ourselves, shall we?”

The both of us operate solely on what we feel like doing in the present moment, and when mixed with alcohol, we’ve got a recipe for disaster. This deadly combination made its presence our senior year when we both checked out of the dorm to stay and party with our friend Teacup Tities who was home alone that weekend. What parents leaves an obviously scandalous high school girl home alone to watch their condo over the weekend is beyond me, but nonetheless I was not complaining about it.
The three of us had invited a bunch of our classmates over and had a lil pow wow at her parents place in town.
With my sisters ID, I provided some alchy for our lil festivities. I had probably drank 3 times prior to this instant and ended up downing a 6 pack of Smirnoff Ices like it was holy water. It was safe to say that I was pretty messed up for my innocent lil' angelic self. The stomach cramps and accidental hook up that ensued should have been expected, but for me it was all too new. My treasured innocence had been tainted and it was making me crazy on the inside. Horny knew I was flippin out after she walked in on me in the shower crying dramatically in the bathroom during the party.
After I got out of my baptismal shower, I decided to erase my night’s hiccup with a few more shots of Smirnoff and a Gravity Bong hit. (I’m pretty sure that was Horny’s logic and advice in action.) I had never seen anything like it before, and couldn’t understand the concept of a large bucket of water and a milk gallon of smoke being force fed into my lungs. The soccer boys loading it we’re talking mad shit to me about it, so I jumped up like a gangster and ingested the gallon of green smoke to shut those little juggling bitches up. From what I recall, the only bitch I shut up was nervous system! I swear smoke billowed out of my mouth for what seemed like an eternity. I couldn’t get the smoke out fast enough. I felt as if a Sumo wrestler with a hot plate for an ass was sitting directly on my lungs. The burning and choking continued for some time. I remember taking two side steps and plopping on Teacup Tities leather sofa and immediately turning into a human sticker.
What happened next was nothing short of a spiritual experience. I could see my friends laughing at me, I could see them moving around me and could hear them speaking to me, but for some reason I couldn’t communicate back to them. I remember thinking that this is what it must feel like to be a vegetable.
The soccer boys were laughing at me, but I couldn’t muster enough energy or concentration to move my tongue let alone string together a witty comeback or a stinging backhand. At one point, Teacup Tities asked me if I needed anything and while in my head I could hear my thoughts perfectly say “Water”, the actual response that came out of my drooling mouth was much more similar to Helen Keller’s version of the word, and sounded a little like “Wah Wah…. (Then a louder) WAH WAH.”
The water she poured into my agape mouth was streaming down my fucked up face. I knew I had to do something about this situation, I mean this was high school, this was my reputation at stake here. If I stayed there any longer I knew those bitch ass soccer boys were gonna shit talk me for life, so in one fluid and spontaneous motion I peeled myself off from the couch and stumbled into the bathroom and locked the door. I hovered over the toilet for what seemed like an eternity. Seriously, it seemed like an eternity. I was really starting to believe I had turned into a vegetable right then and there over that toilet seat, and man was it effing frightening.
Shit, what was I gonna do if I had become a vegetable at 17? I would definitely get kicked out of my private school for this. I mean private schools can’t just have vegetables walking around their campus and shit, I mean it’s just unheard of. How the hell was I suppose to explain this to my Mom? I didn’t know what was gonna happen to me and while my body lay fucked up; my mind was squirming and praying to come back to my body.
"Oh please God, I swear I'll never talk shit again. And I'll never even think about my beloved Track Coach Mr.Stripperman in a sexual way again I swear!"
Horny was outside of the bathroom door trying to break in because my body refused to respond. When the entire party finally broke the lock and opened the door to the bathroom they found me crying over the toilet bowl.
Horny asked, “Keo, Are you okay?”
I looked up at Horny with pleading eyes, said a mind prayer for the gift of speech and blurted out, “I think I’m going to die.”
Horny freaked out. She had never seen me like this before. She got me into the room and covered me with a blanket, but I couldn’t sleep. Poor Horny McHornerson was so scared she was crying over me. I was certain I had become a vegetable; I knew I had little time to waste; I had to say my goodbyes. While I could still hear and process everything around me perfectly, moving and responding was a different feat. So I started rambling off my goodbyes to Horny with what can what best be described as a down syndrome twang.
“Horny, I’m gonna die. I feel like I’m gonna die. I wove you.”
“I love you too. You’re not gonna die.”
“Yes I am Horny. Listen to me, I AM GOING TO DIE. But before I do, tell my family I love them, tell all our girls I love them and I’ll miss them. And Horny, I love you.”
At this point, Horny had broken down like a little school girl crying over me. I was sure that I was fading away into my untimely death. What can I say, I had always been one for theatrics.

The next morning I woke up to Horny lying next to me with her eyes closed. When she felt me move she jolted up,
“You bitch! You’re alive, you bitch! You scared me to death!”
“Huh?”
“I believed you, you little bitch. I really did think you were gonna die. You’re such a bitch being all alive and shit.”

Horny and I will never forget that night for the rest of our lives I’m sure. And while we brushed it off like the badasses we often pretend to be, our little high school asses we’re scared shitless. I didn’t touch a gravity bong for years after that and never forgot what it felt like to be a vegetable for a couple of hours.
‘Till this day, Horny and I are still making mindless decisions in each others presence and play it off like the badasses we don’t have to pretend to be anymore. I can’t thank Horny enough for the contributions she’s made in my life thus far: the cussing, the mind corruption, and of course the non-judgement. Only a true friend could be so truly ruly dedicated to my corruption. This my friend, is and Ode to you Horny McHornerson. You go with your Bad Ass self girl! Cause I friggin love you..... even if you are morally inept.

A Mustache fit for Carrot Top

Anyone who knows me well, knows that I am an avid hair removal evangelist. For my 16th birthday, when spoiled bitch ass kids were getting Lamborghinis on My Sweet Sixteen, I was at boarding school wishing for one thing: Laser Hair Removal. Of course at the time it was a far too expensive and unrealistic wish, but at 23 I finally decided I'd just buy it for myself.

Before I got my wish, I had spent years fixing the problem for myself. My best friend Krusty the Clown and I would meet up to wax everything from each others underarms to toe hairs. So over the years, I had become something short of a professional. At least that's what I thought.

After years of waxing my own eyebrows and upper lip I thought this time would be just like the others, quick and easy. Much to my amazement it turned out to be exactly both of those. Quick.... check! Easy..... check!

But hold up.

Wait a second. What's that?

A little redness... well that's normal.

Okay, A LOT of redness.... and burning .... and pain. Uh oh. I'm starting to panic. My upper lip is starting to look like I have two red carpets leading to my nostrils. What the hell went wrong???

Some ice and some sleep with do it, I figured.

I woke up the next morning like most mornings, pissed to NOT be sleeping still. I carried on with my normal pre-work routine including some face washing. The moment that exfoliator hit my mustache it was like a frying pan full of red ants just sizzled my upper lip. I mean it was THAT bad.

I looked in the mirror, and those red carpets had hardened into a shiny layer of new skin that was a beaming tangerine orange. I thought about calling into work sick, but it just wasn't an option at this point. I know, Make up!!! That shit is bound to cover up ugly, after all that's what it's made for.

I spent a good half and hour applying about 16 coats of concealer to my upper lip to no avail. While the concealer concealed the bright orange of the mustache, the shiny new hardened skin that lay beneath was now crusty and protruding. It didn't help that it was probably the hottest day of the summer and I kept sweating my mustache make up right off. It's safe to say that I looked pretty disgusting.

When I arrived to the parking lot of work (aka the mall), I applied another quick coat of mustache cover up. As I ran out of my car in a frenzy, a truck pulled just behind my car. A familiar face stopped me in the car. Dammit! It was the cute ass foreign guy I just met over the weekend. Frick! I swear I never see people in the parking lot... NOT EVER. And of course the day I have a mustache fit for Carrot Top I see one of the only cute guys on this cute guy forsaken island. Shit! It's just my luck. Now what the hell am I gonna do?

We start trying to communicate. Not only is english obviously his second language, but it didn't help that I was talking with my hand sprawled over my mouth like I was spitting a rhymes. I must've looked like the biggest dork, trying to not only figure out what the hell he was talking about, and then what to say next, but how in the freakin hell I was gonna cover up this upper lip of mine. We chatted briefly about the World Cup, i think... and then I wrapped it up real quick saying "welp, gotta go to work" and sort of just ran away, like out of the blue too. All I knew was I couldn't possibly stand there a second longer with this cute foreign guy, lest he start to notice my shiny mustache.

I was completely mortified. I ran up to work to tell the first coworker I saw what had just happened. I run in to see our only two male coworkers Dreamlover and The Entertainer standing at the counter with our other coworker Shy girl. I run in, completely stressed and embarrassed and ready to explain my story when I look at Dreamlover to see him sporting a bright neon orange paper cut out of a mustache on his upper lip. What in the hell is going on this business??? The irony was enough to make a girl sigh and run to the office. I mean, seriously... what are the odds?

My lil melodrama caused questioning from the coworkers. I didn't know which was worse, the fact that I had to admit to my male coworkers that I have to wax my upper lip, or the fact that I had a mustache fit for Carrot Top. And to rub salt in the wound, there's Dreamlover, standing there with a friggen orange paper mustache. What the eff???

While I explained the story, Dreamlover slowly reached his hand up to his paper mustache and tried removing it inconspicuously. I had to laugh.

I just hope this shit doesn't scar.

PEAK-A-BOO! It's my ass. Sad thing is, it isn't the first time a drunkard tried exposing my goodies in public. I swear, I attract crazy.

FB status reads:

"PEAK-A-BOO! It's my ass.

Sad thing is, it isn't the first time a drunkard tried exposing my goodies in public. I swear, I attract crazy."

People asked... and here's the story:

Against my bodies wishes, I ended up going out

to ladies night at a run down dive bar famous for it's over priced drinks and smelly ass plumbing. With me, a random lil' crew of old soccer friends from childhood and a coworker who I'll just call Veronica. Veronica rarely goes out because she has a kid, but when she does, she sure does deliver when it comes to a good time. She and I always (and by always I mean, the past 2 times we went out together) have the greatest time together. Minimal Drama, Maximum fun is our unspoken mantra. She and I never go out without a purpose, always a method to the madness.

Last night, with the help of another loved coworker we call Dreamlover, we decided our mission would be to each pick out an unknown suspect, male, for the other, and the other would have to approach the suspect three times throughout the night and introduce ourselves as if we had never met them. We like to make an impression.... and three times sure is the charm. Veronica didn't hesitate when it came to introducing herself to the gangly, hip indie guy who stole Tom Sellecs mustache. An obvious misfit in a bar full of Tap Out Tanks and walk shorts.

This girl is no square. Case in point: I leave Veronica for 5 mins to hit up the mini-bar I had waiting for me in the trunk of Ramona (my car) and got back to see Veronica hammered. One word: Patron.

At the end of the night, when the lights came on, I was standing in front of her, with Veronica sitting in a booth behind me with a bunch of guys. Suddenly I felt the musky bar air tickle my bottom side, In a drunken stupor Veronica had lifted my skirt up over my waist to reveal my ass to just about everyone in the bar. It was horrific to say the least. I turned around to get a kung fu grip on her neck but couldn't muster up anything but laughter when I saw how hard she was laughing. All she could say in her defense was "at least your ass is nice and dark like its suppose to be." I didn't realize asses were suppose to be dark.... huh... ? News to me.

Unfortunately, it wasn't the first time. A couple years ago an ex-lover came home from college one christmas, saw me in the parking lot talking to a gangload of ppl after the bar had closed and he ran up behind me and lifted my dress up over my head. My classmate "Teacup Tities" and coworker "Moody Mona" was fortunate enough to be one of the bystanders. Both Teacup Tities and Moody Mona's boyfriends and about 15 of their friends were around for the mini-peep show. Finally when I fought my dress back down, the ex-lover jolted me up in the air and head butted me, and sprinted off into the darkness of the night, while I stood there completely baffled, embarrassed, and most importantly with a fat ass headache.

What does that say about a person when drunkards get the tendency to pull your dress up?