When my most recent ex-factor admitted to sticking his dick in other vaginas behind my back, I made him get tested for STDs and all that jazz at Planned Parenthood. I could have gone myself and refused to tell him the results just to be an asshole, but seeing as how he HATES going to get tested and I wanted to put him in the most awkward and uncomfortable situation that I possibly could, I went with it.
Planned Parenthood gives a free bag of condoms to every patient, each time he or she comes in for whatever it is they’re there for. The Ex Man’s car was, at the time, inoperable, so I had to drive myself out to the city and chauffer him around just so he could get this naughty dick business taken care of, and by the time we finished our two visits (one for testing and another to pick up the results) I had a hefty amount of condoms in my back seat. Here’s where I tell you the moral of this story: it’s not a good idea to live out of your car. I did this for two years and it’s brought me nothing but terrible luck. Two Decembers ago my car was broken into right outside of my apartment in San Francisco, right after I had done a month’s worth of laundry back at my parents’ house, and the fuckers stole all of my clothes. ALL of them. I was (as always) on a budget, so I ended up going to The Gap and leaving with a sack full of items that had tags with descriptions like “waffle-knit” and “cuffed-wool”. I was a lemming and it was awful. After that I thought to myself that I’d never leave all my shit in my car again; that no matter how tired I was I’d always bring all my stuff in at the end of the day. That idea lasted for a while, but as time passed and I re-built my wardrobe, I kind of forgot about it and slowly but surely my car started to fill up with random shit once again.
So there were the gazillion condoms, chillin’ in an old purse I bought from Banana Republic over four years ago like happy little clams, when my car was stolen. And it’s not like I missed them. I hate condoms and I didn’t even think of them when I took a mental inventory of what I thought I’d never see again that fateful morning at the BART station. But boy oh boy did I remember them when my FATHER, my poor, ignorant father who loves to live in denial and probably thinks I don’t even know what a penis looks like, took me to pick up my car from a tow yard after I got a call from some woman at the police station who said it had been found at a junky movie theatre nearby. I can imagine it: x amount of hoodlums (yes, “hoodlums”) start to go through all the shit in the back seat of the car they’ve just stolen. After laughing at the parking tickets shoved in my console, cracking up at the private, inner-most secrets of mine that were jotted in the moleskin I JUST filled and left in the pouch on the driver’s seat, they discover a purse and excitedly open it thinking that this poor perverted bitch has left some highly valuable things behind, only to discover that it’s full of condoms. Red, yellow, green, blue and even the tuxedo black one. Then they laugh some more at the pathetic picture they've got of my life, throw the condoms around like they’re fucking confetti and soon after ditch my poor car at a theatre where they continue to make fun of me while waiting for the main feature to start.
They also left some stuff of their own behind, including a wrapper for those wretched pink snowball snacks, an empty Cherry Coke bottle and a Broncos hat, so I suppose it was probably easy for my dad to believe me when I told him that the condoms weren’t mine, but then again I said it while trying not to throw up and I’m sure that sweat was projectile-shooting out of every pore on my body, so who knows, maybe he thinks his daughter is a hooker. That would explain why last night he tried to talk to me about why it’s bad to have one night stands.
Fuck, man.