If You're Going To Be A Whore...

This is the story of how this blog got its title:

It all starts on a cold night in Florence, Italy where we stand awaiting a beer pong tournament at one of many bars crowded to the seams with American students.

There are girls in completely weather inappropriate clothing making out with 30-year-old Italian dudes who still live with their moms, and drunk American guys wishing they were as forward as the Italian dudes...or they ARE as forward as the Italians. That, I think, is worse because you can't just tell them you don't speak their language and walk away. You HAVE to talk to them because they also speak English and they have a cousin from the same city as you and that's cool and oh, hey here's a drink that's totally NOT called a Vodka Roofie-Tonic, and now you're trapped in fifteen minutes of awkward drunk chatting.

Just another night in a study abroad semester, but this is fine with me because anything is better than sitting in my room wishing I had puffy cheetos and Netflix Instant Watch episodes of Law and Order: SVU. That's a sad life.

So, there was a group of dudes, I don't remember from where or how we got to talking to them, but at a certain point we had to introduce ourselves, obviously. They are Americans who are trying to not feel like total lame-ohs while the Italians scoop up all the slutty girls from the study abroad programs.
Okay, so, anyways, the guy is moderately good looking (if memory serves...and it doesn't) and we're girls, so there are flirt missiles flying around like wasps on a watermelon.
It's balls-ass loud in here because of all the people and music and kareoke in the other room and somehow I think there's a parade outside so it's louder than that time I sat on the remote and turned the volume all the way up. That's pretty fucking loud. So we all have to repeat our names or shout them or over-enunciate and you can only do that once or twice before it's EVEN more awkward.  
The conversation goes as follows:
Dude: I'm Dude.
Everyone: WHAT?
Dude: DUDE!
Everyone: Oh, hey.
My friend: I'm Ari, like Ari Gold from Entourage.

(I don't watch the show, but I assume a character is name Ari Gold.)
 <--That guy? Google and Wikipedia tell me that's him. I trust those sources.

Now, I'm trying to be witty because that's what I do when I feel awkward about something, and one of these dudes was heavily invested in staring at my cleavage, so awkward was how I felt. Something else you may need to know about me is that I'm not very good at being in big crowds of people; bars, house parties, tourist attractions, riots, lunch lines, none of it really works for me. I get really uncomfortable and end up scooting to the edges and watching people and making fun of them when they can't hear me over the music and get upset. Anyways, I'm trying to be funny, so this is what I blurt out:
Me: I'm Mary, like the mother of God.
Boom.
Victory.

Everyone laughs, I'm popular! People will remember me! I rock!
It was a successful night of losing beer pong, and getting hitting on, and all the things you dream of when you're a little girl.

Then, as always happens, people find out how bad I am at saying 'no' to advances made by dudes over six foot two...or guys under six foot two...or...just...men in general. That fact in combination with how hilarious I was that one time, created the idea for this.
So now you have to suffer it.
Boom.
Victory.

So the moral of the story is that if you're going to be a whore, then you may as well be an awesome one.