Ugly people are better at sex.

I spend about 80% of my free time drinking, and 10% of it in the bathroom. What do I do with the other 10%? Invent ridiculous theories on why we are the way we are, what's wrong with the youth of today, and why I can't stop eating cheese at every meal.

Welcome to my new feature: Barstool Sociology, where I share my infinite wisdom and my inability to be politically correct.

Today's theory: Ugly people are, by default, better at sex.

This one's a no-brainer. In our society, the prettier you are, the less you actually have to do. You can make a career out of looking good all the time. You can date anybody you feel like, and they'll most likely just be in awe that you're willing to be seen with them in public. You can get into clubs for free, you can charm even the most influential of figures without ever opening your mouth. So most people are who beautiful never try, because they never have to.

But, if you're not jaw-droppingly gorgeous, like most of us, you have to cultivate a personality. You have to inure yourself to the people you're pursuing. If you want to sleep with people who are more attractive than you are, you have to be more than a one-trick pony. You have to have at least a few redeeming qualities - maybe sharp wit, good comedic timing, and the ability to offer a partner mind-blowing oral sex.

When we have really good sex, we are thinking one of two things about the person we are with:

• I am enjoying this because the person I am sleeping with is very attractive.
• I am enjoying this because the person I am sleeping with is very good at it.

Rarely, very, very rarely, will a person be thinking both things at the same time. And if you ever are, I recommend asking the person to marry you, because it ain't gonna happen again.

Here's the thing: ugly people have to be good at sex, or the more attractive partner that they've been with will never sleep with them again. The worst sex I ever had was with someone whom I slept with out of guilt and desperation. Unsurprisingly, he was also the most physically unattractive person I ever slept with. It was like getting punched in one breast, and then the other. I had to add a mutant of a human to my "list," and I didn't even get my rocks off.  He apparently didn't understand that since he was far more unattractive than I am, he is required to try harder. He was required to work at it if he ever expected me to bear with looking at his hideous face and mediocre body ever again. Needless to say, I spent the next three brutally long months of my life screening my phone calls and ducking out of my dorm room at odd hours.

This paradigm, however, thus makes individuals who are average to slightly above average in attractiveness the ideal partners. If you date someone outrageously gorgeous, you'll be subjecting yourself to dead fish syndrome or a two-pump chump. If you date someone hideous, you'll be subjecting yourself to takeout and Netflix every night because you're too humiliated to be seen in public with them. According to my theory, most individuals need to date someone who is attractive enough that looking at them is enjoyable, but just ugly enough that they are concerned about your eye wandering and will overcompensate in stairwells and friends' bathrooms. Consider all your mating problems solved.

oh my god, nobody cares.

 

I know I am a mutant. I know I am the only woman on the face of the earth who can't stand babies. I am aware of this already. No one needs to lambast me for it. 

So this should come as no surprise to any of you that I am tired of hearing about them. I want to preface this by saying that I am not tired of hearing about children and the weird/funny things they do. I am not against children. As soon as they can emote and pick up shit on their own, I'm all about it. 

But there is a proliferation of baby-TMI going on, particularly on social networking sites, and I'm really over it.

I am really tired of hearing about how people's newborns shit all over themselves, or how they didn't sleep through the night, or how they cried when their foreskin was cut. 

And what is with the pictures of new born babies and their shriveled, rotting, black umbilical cords? It looks like they have leeches crawling out of their stomachs. Attractive.

You are not special for having a kid.

I am completely irritated by the maternal smugness that fills the air every time a child slides out of a vagina. Some women seem to think that giving birth is the greatest accomplishment of their lives. I hate to break it to you, but women have only been doing it since... oh, I dunno, the beginning of the species. You don't deserve a fucking trophy for being rawdogged. I've realized that two consequences of unprotected sex, STDs and children, have a lot in common, actually... they're lasting reminders of bad decisions that both irritate and destroy any opportunity for future intercourse.

On another note,  I don't give a shit what Louis C.K. says, all babies look the same.

I hate to be a total bitch to the most innocent of human creatures (okay, actually I don't really care), but I don't understand why people will take 65390173190 pictures of their newborns. Pretty much all babies look the same to me until they're at least 6 months old. Not to mention the fact that newborn babies have absolutely no personality. Nobody is as boring of a photo subject as a baby who can't even lift its own head. You might as well take pictures of your cat's asshole or a turd in the toilet - at least these things respond to stimuli.

And yes, if I ever give birth, it will be to a giant cigarette. Or an Absolut bottle. At least these will actually serve a function for me. And neither of them shit themselves.

50 things that I like.

So I spend a lot of time on this blog talking about shit that I DON'T like. Inspired by niotillfem, I've decided to come up with a list of 50 things that I really like. (She did 101, but I can't go that far. I'm too sarcastic to even feign enthusiasm for living). Here's to a deeper examination of my psyche, and a laundry list that will probably someday need be submitted to a mental health professional for analysis.

Eccentric old cat ladies are right up there, probably because I realize I'll be one some day.

1 The feeling of being the only holder of a secret; when someone tells you something and says "I've never told anyone this before..."

2 The satisfaction of cooking a meal and knowing it will taste good

3 The smell of sweat on someone else's skin

4 Smoking cigarettes on the porch as the sun is setting

5 The exquisite nature of pain that means something

6 Telling someone something honest that is blunt or scary, even to you

7 Wearing only a bathrobe

8 Drinking a bottle of champagne on a Wednesday afternoon with your best friend

9 Singing along to Alanis Morrissette and Melissa Etheridge in a bar and humiliating myself

10 The moment you dunk your head underwater in the ocean and the cold of the water shocks you

11 Finding a new song every week that exactly fits what you're going through

12 Reading about people who have absolutely no reason to be happy, yet they are anyway

13 Walking to work and thinking about all of the history that surrounds me, and all the people who walked these streets before

14 The second of unadulterated joy when you're at a concert and the band plays your favorite song

15 The calm that comes and blankets you post-cry

16 Looking at photographs of family members when they were young, and noticing how beautiful they were

17 Putting on red lipstick and looking at myself in the mirror

18 Finding some amazing overlooked item at a thrift store

19 Calling myself a feminist and atheist and not being afraid of what people are going to think or say

20 Writing a piece of poetry - even a line - and finding it later and remarking at how good it is

21 Looking at massive things (mountains, skyscrapers, the ocean) that make me feel small

22 Watching ridiculously gorgeous women who have no idea how beautiful they are do mundane tasks

23 The challenge of filling a notebook with your thoughts

24 Dancing anywhere, to anything, at any time

25 Meeting a person and feeling a click when you realize that you like them and want to be friends with them

26 Glamorous ingenues of past eras

27 Cities on hills

28 Drinking people under the table, especially if they're men

29 Huge waves that pummel you and knock your breath away, that leave you choking and laughing

30 Creating hilarious monikers for people

31 Putting on a pretty dress even if I have nowhere to wear it

32 Sitting on patios adorned with lights

33 Showing up at a bar that's full of people you know, and realizing that everyone is exactly the same as they've been and will be

34 Being told I'm intelligent

35 Seeing someone's house for the first time

36 Watching my dad get beet red and weep from laughing too hard

37 Rubbing the ears of a cat

38 Carnival lights and being at the top of a Ferris wheel

39 Practicing my handwriting on everything I can

40 Mint chocolate chip ice cream at 7 pm on a hot summer day

41 Finding someone's hand in the dark

42 The way the beach smells just after rain

43 The sound of high heels down a long tiled hallway

44 The feeling of my hair whipping when I'm driving and the windows are down

45 Facing the day in a cool pair of sunglasses

46 Dried roses

47 Reading transgressive fiction that elicits an actual emotional response

48 An incredibly crisp french fry

49 Driving around at Christmastime using the excuse of looking at people's light displays to peek into their windows

50 Stupid things I did when I was 16 that I can reminisce about

v-cards: part two, the higher education edition.

This was sort of what I was like, except I didn't have any friends.

God, I hated college.

College is really weird because essentially you're just throwing horny, inexperienced children into a building where they can sleep together and throw up from drinking too much Bacardi 151. You don't know ANYBODY and you're desperate to make friends, so you hang out with people who have absolutely nothing in common with you and would otherwise make your skin crawl. You'll try anything, you'll talk to anyone, you'll wear whatever. You'll encounter many people that are nothing like you.

So anyway, I met a guy. Actually, I met a lot of guys. A lot of virgin guys.

My whorish self was quite unaccustomed to having someone stop me when I reached for their pants.

"Wait, Chelsea, I have something to tell you... I'm a virgin."

"Are you fucking serious? AGAIN?"

But, I fell for one of the never-been-touched crowd. I have no idea what it was I liked about this guy. Really. I couldn't articulate it if I wanted to. He was unambitious, pretentiously into literature, and ridiculously jealous of my success in school. He was one of those guys that sits in basements and plays World of Warcraft. His mother still did his laundry. He wasn't very good at oral sex. I had to pressure him after three months to actually become my boyfriend. Yes. I had to talk him into it. I'm not going to go into how wrong that is - you should already know.

But you know how these things go. You love people, for reasons that no one, especially not you, understands. You pretend to like metal and get taped for the Killswitch Engage tour DVD. You pretend to enjoy playing MMORPGs and hanging out in his crappy small town in central Massachusetts. You pretend to like his mother. You pretend to understand the big words he drops to make himself feel intelligent. You pretend to like his poetry. You pretend, and pretend, and fake everything because you're so desperate to keep this person near you.

And so I pretended to treat taking his virginity like a BFD (big fucking deal, for those of you not versed in hip acronyms). 

It was an afternoon, just like any other afternoon. The door to my single bedroom was closed. I don't think any of my other roommates were home. The shades were drawn on the windows, which overlooked a 6' by 6' concrete courtyard with dead pigeons in it, and the light was soft. I don't remember the exact logistics - a problem to be blamed on my overzealous alcohol consumption and the fact that I try to block out any and all memories of my mouse-infested shithole of a freshman dorm room. His apprehension was boring, as all perceived apprehension about something is when you're the one who's done it a million times. I believe it was missionary. I don't believe it took very long. I believe he made some statement post-coitus about his feelings, which I'm sure I dismissed with some kind of assuaging statement. And all I remember thinking was: I shaved my pubes for this?

 What a waste. Razors are so expensive.

Every first time, for the most part, sucks. It has to suck. It's a sport - some would say, even a game - and everybody sucks when they start playing. This is why I don't understand why virginity is valued so highly. It just means that when you finally have sex with that person, it's guaranteed to be awful.

I like to think of my v-card takings as an act of valiance, freeing these men from the inevitability of terrible intercourse with hopes to set them on a path toward a more fulfilling sex life. It's a thankless job, but someone's got to do it. I've gone into retirement, but I'll never forget the acts I did in the name of mankind.

the world according to Chelsea.

I've been thinking a lot about my own personal dogma. I thought it was finally time to articulate my theory of living, be it as crass as it may seem. But, hey, to each her own. I don't expect you to be like me. I doubt your liver could handle it.

1. Do not marry someone unless you have had sex with them.

I don't even get this shit. It blows my mind that there are people in modern Western society who meet someone through church or some other socially-sanctioned "pure" avenue, go on three chaperoned dates with them, and then get engaged at Arby's. They then spend two months planning a wedding with sparkling grape juice and crepe paper streamers. We try on dresses before purchasing them, right? We won't purchase a car if we don't know how it drives. There ain't no marriage lemon law, and I don't like to hesitate. I'm a living exception to the rule that no one's going to buy the cow if they've been getting the milk for free since the second time they met.

2. Every day is worthy of a celebration.

Now I don't mean this in some "OMG life is so beautiful. I am SO blessed! Everything is perfect and I am so adorably awesome!" sort of way. What I'm saying is, why the hell not? Every day is a suitable day to drink a bottle of champagne or wear a party dress or dine at a fancy restaurant you can't really afford. Call it hedonism but I prefer to live my life and enjoy it while I'm still here. So pop the cork and pop it off.

3. Be a whole person.

I like dancing. I also like writing (though it's mostly blatherings about daily occurrences that irritate me or frothy poetic nonsense that I jot down and hide away). I also like arguing about politics, watching documentaries about cults of personality and home decorating. My point is that I don't look to one thing to fulfill me. I never grew up saying "I want more than anything in life to be a wife!" I am a wife, but more importantly, I'm a person. I seek fulfillment through my relationships with other people, but mostly I find that fulfillment in my relationship with myself.

4. Just get over yourself.

I've had the hardest problem with this lately. My envy has been eating me alive. Yes, of course I wish I didn't drive a shitbox from fourteen years ago/have acne AND wrinkles/work a 9 to 5/have lovehandles. And yes, I am pissed off at people who have things that are nicer than my own. However, if I didn't just get the fuck over myself, I would be obsessing about these things ALL THE TIME instead of writing hilarious blog posts for you to read. So actually, you should be thanking me for getting over myself so I can make the world a (warning: subjectivity ahead) better place.

5. Live and die by the Hitachi Magic Wand.

I'm not screwing around with this one. Really. REALLY.

Bow down, bitches, and give thanks to your saviour.