Worst One Night Stand

[Photo by Terry Richardson]

Five page papers due on Wednesday regarding the "Mystery of God" are no fun at all. I never met the guy, but he bumped into me at Q-Bar once and didn't even say sorry. So instead, I write for you this twisted little tale:

It all began as too many early collegiate nights did. Before weeding out the cities best spots (and best friends) a group of notoriously on-point girls headed downtown to make the rounds. Starting at Sugar and ending at The Cellar, things were darkening by the minute and bobby-pins were finding themselves scattering across the slimy floor as they rocked and cocked their heads to the sounds of a Saturday night.

As things progress I strongly urge you to keep your eye on the one who we'll call "Olive." Don't lose her cause, she the lead here. At The Cellar "Megan" and "Olive" met two good looking lads. One introduced himself as Borha from Barcelona and the Euro thing was the only thing saving him from getting him beaten rotten for the Abercrombie and Fitch sweatshirt he had on. Olive was too drunk for a name like "Borha" and told him she was just going to call him Jack. Jack returned the favor with, "Fine, I'll just call you Lucy." Both placing aliases on the other, perfect: another matchbook romance.

The girls all leave the bar and head over to Geary for some pizza. Hating all things bread-like, Olive soon gladly received a phone call from none other than Barcelona-Jack. He and a friend picked up her and Megan from the pizzeria in a lavishly cheesy Benz and took them to their lavishly cheesy apartment.

They enter a pad that you love because it makes you look so tan, but you hate because you're afraid the vibrations from your voice are going to stain something. WHITE WHITE WHITE. Not cream, not off-white, not fucking periwinkle or beige. From the walls to the floor, to the bed to the sheets, to the fucking couch, it was all very blanco.

Megan and Barcelona-Jack disappeared or left, whatever. Punch drunk and alone, Olive and Jack begin hooking-up and as any sly seductress would, Olive swiftly avoided answering the question: how old are you anyway? She mumbled a doubtful '19' and Jack replied that he was 29 as he lite a series of white candles around the room.

BAM-BAM-BAM. Instant sex. Literally 45 seconds after the last candle was lite, clothes were flying about like $2 day at Goodwill on Haight. Allegedly it was full blown, jack rabbit sex for about 10 minuted, fully equipped with one Spaniard speaking the naughtiest sentences in his native tongue. What happened next to interrupt the beautiful 'bow chica bow wow' that was going down was unexpected to say the least.

Pre-note let me say (if this story didn't already tell you) Olive is not a virgin. You are not reading of her sacred 'first time' into womanhood experience. Alright, so they're going at it and Olive looks down to find herself covered in blood. Blood all over. It's all over the white bedsheets, pillow cases, comforter, and beloved Barcelona-Jack. Fuck my life moment.

Olive gets up as fast as her confused-self can, noticing that it is getting light outside. She drips down the hallway into the bathroom, blood all over. She comes back to the bedroom to find Jack frantically trying to get the blood out, naked, a cigarette dangling dangerously from his lip. They exchange a series of forgotten dialogue as he blows out each candle, she puts her clothes and runs out. Downtown San Francisco at 5:30 am, with a low battery cell phone, no money, no bus pass. She gets in a cab, calls a friend who agrees to meet her outside and pay for it. After telling the cab driver the story, he dumbfounded asked her, "Do you need a napkin?"

Two days later, Olive got a text that said, "Sorry I yelled at you like that, but I need to now something." Here is the rest of their texting conversation:

Olive: Who is this?

Jack: It's Jack. Were you a virgin?
Olive: Haha no.

Jack: Then why wouldn't you tell me you were on your period?

Olive: I wasn't. I just bled for 30 minutes.

Jack: Tell me how old you are really.

Olive: 17

Jack: (no response)

And that was the last they spoke. After half-surviving the worst one night stand after finding out her age Jack ran for the hills. Ironically it wasn't the bloody mess he found to be a complete dealbreaker, rather her age. It hasn't happened since then, but of all nights for Olive's vagina to act up (and out), it made sure to pick the one-nighter with the Spaniard living in a white castle.

Carpe-fucking-diem.

Frightening Parallels

They just aren't that different than us.

Duly Noted

"I believe in the soul, the small of a woman's back, the hanging curve ball, high fiber, good scotch. I believe there ought to be a constitutional amendment outlawing Astroturf and the designated hitter. I believe in the sweet spot, soft-core pornography, opening your presents Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve, and I believe in long, slow, deep, soft, wet kisses that last three days."

-Bull Durham

Campus Chic- Have A Good Laugh Fuckers

Chloe Schildhause and Sky Madden take on the Long-Champ mafia that is our campus to find that good shit.

Campus Chic Episode 1: Sina Ghahreman from San Francisco Foghorn on Vimeo.

The ULTIMATE Dealbreaker

Was Jon Gosselin always such a D-bag or has the divorce from Kate just brought out the worst? Either way, SuckitbySina is proud to present that he is the #1 Dealbreaker.

If you haven't already figured this one out...don't worry, I'm prepared to explain.

Exhibit A: The constant use of BlueTooth when not operating a motor vehicle.

Exhibit B: Always looks sweaty.

Exhibit C: Love for "mandals" aka man sandals.

Exhibit D: Hair plugs, hair plugs, hair plugs.

Exhibit E: Perpetual wearing of all things Ed Hardy-even his own show was so disgusted they had to blur out those lame ass designs on his t-shirts.

Exhibit F: Has an annoying voice.

Exhibit G: Man Boobs. Need I say more.

Not only does this guy possess a plethora of horrible attributes, but homeboy left his children and pretty decent looking wife (with vaginal reconstructive surgery to repair what those 13 kids did to her lady parts, so I'm sure it's back to virgin status) for some skanky little mid-west whore. Nice job buddy. But hey, she's just as much a cheesy Deakbreaker as he is so I hope they live happily ever after. Suck it.

-Evathediva

SuckitbySina Correspondent

Blackberry Vizion

This is Paulina. She gets nosebleeds more often than Mischa Barton goes to the hospitol for "exhaustion." Toilet paper in the left nostril is THE look for Fall '09. Pshhhh

"DID YOU DATE BRITNEY SPEARS?"

Sometimes it's just too good to be true. At the end of summer after a savage night out, we grubbed on pizza at Escape From New York and were heading back home. I had somehow managed to break one of Elise's ankles at the restaurant causing her to become hugely handicapped.

It was 2 am, Paul was carrying Elise on his back as we stomped down Haight Street. With a brimmed hat and a droopy-eyed state of mind, I was in no particular mood, no vacancy. A second later a man comes up to me and gets about 2 inches away from my face. He desperately asked, "Is there anywhere I can get a bite to eat?"

Without missing a beat or any doubt in my mind, I replied, "Did you date Britney Spears?"

Yes. With the landing strip of a goatee, Ed Hardy sweater, and small entourage of about 5, standing in front of me was Adnan Ghalib. Sure he took my poor Britney's innocence and threatened to release her sex tape, I couldn't have been more dumbstruck.

The men around him let out laughs, he mumbled "Oh shit" and quickly walked away. A few seconds later he returned, to pick-up my jaw which had landed on the sidewalk and re-ask me where he could eat something. I directed him to Escape From New York, knowing it had closed 10 minutes prior.

Name-dropping is trashy and frowned upon? Well then, OOPS I DID IT AGAIN. Fuck that, Adnan was my connection to Britney and no one can take that away. So by the simple rules of gravity, this means I met Britney and we're friends.

The Ruins of New York

Shawn Joswick unofficially models for this seasons Palladium look-book and also hosts this video snooping around wrecked buildings. Going into ruins in New York like an abandoned hospital in Staten Island, Red Hook Grain Terminal, and the Glenwood Power Station, he wears the hat of "urban explorer" quite well. Working with architectural salvages Joswick learns the beauty that lies in the dirty and rusted. A hidden metropolis, ghost-buildings with stories to spill. Check it out.

Blackberry Vizion

The phone has hit an all new rock bottom. As if parts of the screen missing wasn't bad enough, Elise decided to drown me in her Jack-and-Coke one night. Result: my entire phone's keypad gets soaked and sticky. It's besides the point that she was retaliating against me undressing her in the middle of Frenchman in New Orleans. After it's alcohol poising my Blackberry entered an intense rehab detox program, which consisted of being buried in a jar of rice every night. Not fried with an egg on top, just regular, white, uncooked. Much like when old people try to recover from a breaking a hip, she's easing back into it.

The crappy camera still comes in handy though and more Blackberry Vizions like this coming.

Olive or was it Viola had to use the restroom at Toad's Hall(?) in the Castro the other night. The boys were taking their sweet ass time and she wasn't having it. (Babe this urinal thing is quickly becoming a habit. I'm concerned. I take that back, I'm intrigued.) Anyway the only problem was that the urinal left her no access to toilet paper. We then spent ten long minutes trying to convince the man in the stall to pass us some. NO FUCKING MERCY. He cold-hearteningly ignored our drunken pleads and offers of money and over the pants handjobs. Fucking bastard, but Viola let him know that she thought he was mean and I told him he had "moobs."

[Yes, that is her out-stretched arm begging for toilet paper under the stall door.]

Alexander Spit

Alexander Spit's album drops today and here the video for "Beat For The Street." Dope dope track and best believe there's more where that came from. Put your hands up now or head over to Slim's on Friday for the release party. Now let's see some tickets.

"And baby, whether I'm your dawg or your pet peeve

I hit play and put the pause on your bitch please"

Real Legit:

You probably/hopefully may find that I am a big fan of all things crude, blunt, and bad ass. These Burger King ads I came across are all of those and it's hugely refreshing. Thank you for telling it like it is AND for making those Whoppers just how mama likes them. Make it seem wrong and sinful and all the rats come running. Real legit.