Wake up in a tissue ball wearing the outfit that you wore last night. Allow the pain and memories to wash over you not unlike a large ocean wave. Go back to sleep as your eyes are basically swollen shut from all of the crying you have done. Wake up again three hours later and it’s 3pm. Immediately check your phone for change of mind happy love reunion. When you see none, breathe deeply as if you won’t cry but you are alone so you let out loud sob wails. You are strong oh now you’ve beaten this pillow and collapsed onto bed again. Text the 476 friends you told about this terrible relationship trauma ‘THEYre all THE SAme This is a tragically cryptic message you’re not all right.’ Expect pity texts that you expect but will not make you feel better! Fucking Hungry. You become depressed that you are not one of those people that cannot eat because of sorrow. Still love food so much. Shuffle into kitchen. See couch, fridge, walls, and other seemingly unimportant objects that now make you think only of your evil ex-lover. The window! The window they looked out of! They will never look out of window again. Break window because it broke heart. Need egg sandwich. Roommate asks ‘why eggs it’s almost dinnertime’ you say ‘what is time.’ Bring computer in kitchen to listen to music. Theme: ONLY SAD. Catch yourself in computer screen, see a dead ghost raccoon with ghost rabies and it’s you! DIE A BIT ALONE. Let ghoul wail music calm you as you fetch bread, cheese, egg from fridge. Slam two pieces of bread in toaster, have trouble twist tying the bread and think “oh GREAT MY GOD HAS TOTALLY JUST ABANDONED ME.” Turn on frying pan visually imagine cutting out your heart and frying heart, but instead think of the way you guys first kissed and choke on own soul. Add oil and egg to pan but really just check Facebook, see that ex has changed relationship status. It is too hard to change yours right now. Check Facebook wall for any girl that has ever talked to him/her. Stab egg yolk but it’s not an egg yolk it’s THEIR FACE. Flip egg, slighty fail because a little yolk leaks out, let out a frustration scream because your life was made for suffering. Salt and pepper! Grinding pepper used to be fun when you could feel. Toast is slightly burnt, throw whatever is closest at whatever wall is closest. Call mom, have her say she didn’t like your ex, scream at her until she hates you because SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT YOU HAD. Decide to add 2 pieces of American cheese to top of egg. You will treat yourself today! Remember how they liked cheese and dedicate sandwich to them. No! You’re an independent woman. Add three slices of cheese and a slice of tomato (they hate tomatoes) and you don’t need somebody to make you happy! Make a Rosie the Riveter Pose and punch something. Put on Single Ladies and cry through your smile. Attempt to develop destructive behaviors: Put a lot of butter on your bread because I’m undateable and undateable mole people deserve to have clogged unhealthy arteries. Now you’re going to day drink! Pour self a large glass of booze because who cares! See what you’ve done to me?! Not really drink that much of it, though, you don’t want to be tired for your ‘drink and eat ice cream with all your pity friends’ later on. Assemble sandwich, squirt ketchup on it with the vigor of somebody who wants revenge. Take sandwich to television. Commercial for sick dogs? LOSE SHIT. Sitcom where anybody smiles? LOSE SHIT. Movie on they liked? OH MAH GOD THIS SANDWICH IS COVERED IN TEARS. Finally your mouth is covered in yolk. Text the one who has broken your heart a passive aggressive anger text that suggests you hate them but would not mind taking them back. You will later regret this text, but right now sadness has filled the room and ruined your little breakfast. Finish sandwich. You have mourned properly. Now you begin to remember all the terrible things that suck about them and feel a hate burn rising in your chest. Remember the hot coffee shop guy, decide to fantasize about them for a bit. See cheese leftover on plate lick with finger. Relish in how shitty people are and remember, damn. You can make a great sandwich.
Listen, I don’t have to tell you that you’re awesome. You know that already because you can go the the bathroom without your friends, you’ve read at least two epic poems, and you’re totally content making sweet love to a bowl of leftover mash’n’beer instead of some person you met at a club. You rock and I’d go shot for shot with you (this would probably be like two shots). Keeping that in mind, don’t take this the wrong way or anything but sometimes you can be one dumb ass fool. This usually happens around the same time you meet somebody you want to date and the crazy bells and whistles go off because ‘it’s been so long!’ and you start to wait by their apartment at night and wish us together. Listen, I get that you don’t always meet somebody you want to pursue for longer than ‘until they find out how often you wear sweatpants.’ However, you have to admit that this kind of rare excitement often leads us to go batshit balls-out crazy. It’s uncharacteristic, it’s surprising, and it’s also kind gross. I am perfectly reasonable/reasonable enough. But here I am, clutching a picture of Glen Close in Fatal Attraction yelling “I get you! I’ll get you!” Or, even worse, I’m gushing to all my friends about the ‘great person I just met’ when really great means ‘kind of shitty doesn’t treat me right but looks great in t-shirts.’ I need like, some help, and I need some help fast. And I know it’s not just me, because I’ve had to set my friends on fire until they fly like phoenixes from the nutty ashes over some sexxi person that failed them. This is why I compiled a dating manifesto. For us.
Place your right hand on the holiest of all holy things:
and repeat after me:
I (insert your name here) solemnly swear to not become one rank crazy bitch the moment I begin to feel the icy hard parts of my heart to melt. I will save these crazy moments for things of better use, like manically re-watching my favorite TV episodes with the best sex scenes or mixing things into pancakes. I will not let some shit-bag who probably has smelly feet or bad taste in movies turn me into a piece of psycho pie. I am better than that. We will probably break up or never date at all and I’m just going to end up making fun of this person anyway and liking somebody else later. I will remember that this person is flawed and how I told all my friends the guy smelled like canned tomatoes before I told all my friends they were perfect for me. I am awesome, I am great, and even though I am so cool with exploring different jarred pasta sauces by myself, I deserve to be happy if I so meet somebody who will make me happy. HAPPY BEING THE WORD. From now on, I will promise to do the following:
-Take my own damn advice. Oh yeah, I’m really amazing at dishing it out but I’m not eating any of it. I tell my friends to drop that douche! Drop that douche on the ground! And I go ahead and take every red flag I see and make those red flags into a shrine of the person I’m digging who is mean to me and narrow-eyed shady. No longer! I will now sit in front of a mirror and pretend like I am my best friend and twin and give myself all the great advice and I will take it.
-Pace myself: I now promise to stop getting ahead of myself and get the two of us out of happy little love cottage that we live in and have a dog and all sorts of luxurious white sheets. I will be as logical and reasonable as possible without getting caught up in my Imagination Candy Land. This means if they call, they probably want to hear my voice but are also not ready to get commitment ceremonied on a field in Vermont.
-Put down the fucking phone: I will not build a relationship from any kind of portable electronic communication, and I will not stare manically at this portable electronic communication as if I can somehow wish it into texting me something really adorable and sweet. Or something mean! Or ANYTHING AT ALL.
-Stop assuming past relationships are somehow a predictor to how this one will turn out: That person was a dick. Let’s move on from this. All relationships aren’t the core heart of the first person who let you down and he just puts on different skin suits and tricks you into loving him over and over.
-Nothin’ too crazy: no facebook stalking, no memorizing their work schedule, no tracking the time between the first and last text, no not washing for weeks to keep their smell on you, no making copies of their keys and hiding in the dark waiting.
-Don’t drag your friends down with you: Your friends have enough to worry about. Stop yellin’ at em every three seconds to ask them “what do you think this means that means NEED NEED NEED.” Friends never want to tell you ‘oh probably not good’ because that equals 3 more hours of analyzation and we love you love you love you but just do not CARE that much.
-GUTGUTGUT: I’ll say it once, I’ll say it again. If you feel like it’s not a good idea, it’s not a good idea. No ‘maybe it’s different’ or ‘maybe I’m paranoid’ followed by 36 friends being like ‘i think they really like you.’ Fuck it. Nobody had a happy love story of ‘yeah I think they really were like mildly interested for a while and didn’t really cool but then they totes came ‘round.’ Doesn’t fucking happen.
-Don’t be too cynical: Okay I love being cynical and mean but I can’t think that everybody in the world sucks and will leave if I ever want to have a semblance of happiness with another person. You have to like, smile a bit and laugh every once and a while and maybe give some hugs to people. Seriously. Just a little bit. Just the uncynical tip.
Oh screw it. I am perfect and I never act crazy in my life, duh. I mean..sometimes I do but it’s because I am so perfect that oftentimes it means I have to counteract it with wacko. The most important part of this manifesto, of course, is the ‘SHIT I PROMISE NOT TO PUT UP WITH ANYMORE’ part. This part is a list of all the things that I will no longer deal with, no longer put up with, and are relative dealbreakers.
NOUNS I PROMISE NOT TO PUT UP WITH ANYMORE:
one word text messages.
the breaking of plans.
the ‘i’ll call you later’ and they don’t.
the person who you hang out with and maybe it’s a date but maybe it’s not.
the slacker with no ambition.
the bad tipper.
somebody who says ‘i’m not sure where it’s going’ or ‘i don’t want to rush into something.’
somebody still stuck on the ex.
somebody who calls you babe after two dates.
somebody who calls you buddy after you sleep together.
person who doesn’t like my friends.
person who doesn’t get my ‘sometimes i want to drink whiskey and eat by myself’ and not always hang out with you. Especially if I feel like I always need to hang out with you.
the person who doesn’t get my jokes.
anybody who doesn’t find The Lion King heartbreaking. I’m sorry, what are you fucking MADE. UP. OF. STONE.
person who wants to cuddle DURING sleep.
person who doesn’t. think. i’m THE SHIT.
person who says I drink/like cheese too much.
Boring ass person who has a job so I think maybe they’ll be good for me.
Somebody that makes me a love shell who I stop hanging out with my friends for and being obsessed with.
Somebody who I feel I have to act differently around.
Somebody who doesn’t seem as excited about me as I am about them.
The person who’s feelings I have to “assume” instead of “know.”
Somebody I make excuses for to other people “yeah we’ve been BUSY so that’s why we haven’t hung out.”
Guy who only checks in late nights/ when drunk.
Person who I think my closest friends/family won’t like.
guys in bands who always invite you to every damn show.
SERIOUSLY SOMEBODY WHO DOESN’T GET HOW GREAT I AM.
So, my deal is this: I will no longer settle, and in return for not settling, I will be a non-crazy, totally normal person who is crazy about you. You might not exist, and I might be alone forever, but damn. WHOA WILL I BE ALONE FOREVER?!?!?!?!?!
I talk a lot about snacking. That is because hovering by the pantry taking little chips or leaving the fridge open while I dip one to a million things in hummus/spoons of cold leftovers is my favorite form of eating. You can do it by yourself, which is really helpful because I really can’t help that 23% of everything I eat sometimes ends up in the corners of my mouth and my white clothes. However, sometimes you have to eat full meals with other people, and sometimes these are people you potentially want to sleep with. You have to be careful. Now, when I see a menu at a restaurant out on a date, I think over these tips so I choose wisely:
1. Don’t choose something you REALLY like: Let’s face it, if I get a big old plate of creamy cheese mac, I’m going to stick my head in it like an ostrich and totally not listen to anything my date says. I will not hear them because of all the moaning and I will not see them because of all the eye rolling I will do. I mean, if it comes with bread crumbs on top I might just leave with my little bowl, put it in my bed and make sweet sweet consensual love with that instead of my date. Anyway, get something that you SORT of like, kind of like how you SORT of probably like your date! You guys just met! Keep everything SORT OF.
2. Don’t get a dip for an appetizer: I am one greedy little toad when it comes to guac/spinach and artichoke dip. In fact, I refer to tortilla chips as mini-challenges and the mini-challenge is ‘how much fucking dip can I pile onto this chip I have in my hand” and the obstacle is your hand also going for the dip. Dips are usually an alone time or drunk friend time activity. Why? Things get violent. I could possibly swat at a date’s hand if I feel like it is unfairly interfering with my ability to get as much dip in my mouth as possible. And you really shouldn’t hit somebody you want to love you, like you, or at least pay for the dinner. Don’t share anything, actually. I don’t want to give you the last dumpling, and I don’t appreciate you offering it to me because it was a given that it is mine.
3. If you eat like an animal, don’t eat with your hands tonight: First of all, sandwiches and burgers are delicious and if you can get away with daintily shoving something that is roughly the size of your head, go ahead and be my guest. But for me, since I am only 4’11 (true story) and everything is larger than my head, you can’t even see me when I take a bite. I am now Lady Hamburger Head, and when my face emerges into the light I have all kinds of sauce across my cheeks. So even though licking my cheek might produce a delicious BBQ flavor, I look crazy and avoid it. Also, I try not to eat with my hands because I cannot for the life of me not lick my fingers. Why would I wipe it on a napkin? That’s SAUCE WASTE.
3a. Unless if it’s pizza: Pizza is the perfect food no matter what. You don’t want to lick your fingers because that’s just the gross oil. You can take it on the go and go for a walk with it. It’s the only cheap food that seems cute if you get it on a date. Nobody doesn’t like pizza. Everybody likes pizza. Cowabunga dudes.
4. No soup: Soup makes you look weird. Who just orders soup for dinner? Are you on a liquid diet? Do you have a cold? Are you incapable of chewing very well? I think that ordering soup, especially with its huge risk of slopping burning hot liquid down your chest, will make anybody look weird. A guy I went out with ordered soup and I kept thinking ‘well, I bet he’s going to go out on another date after this so he’s trying not to fill up.’ Then the logical part of me was like ‘holy shit he’s a lizard and he’s trying to keep his internal temperature warm!’ In no way would I ever date a lizard. A frog, maybe.
5. A Specific Salad is a good choice: How many different times do I read from some mopey dope in a ladies mag saying “I hate it when a girl eats a salad it shows she hates her body I like it when she eats.” This made me think, okay, I better order two or three plates of just butter and fried pickles so he knows how much I am confident but that didn’t work either. On the flip side, ordering just a garden salad is kind of a bad idea. Why? Because garden salads in restaurants are always terrible. It’s like iceberg lettuce, one tomato slice, a shit ton of onion and one weird thing like an olive or a pepperoncini or something. LAME. However, some salads are just delicious because they are huge and have goat cheese and beets and if you like chicken they throw that in there top. Oh, and Mexican themed salads are the bomb! Show you’re worldly while getting little tortilla chips sprinkled all over a big ass bowl of yum. Those kinds of salads are okay and I usually get these.
6. If you don’t like your date, find out what they are allergic to and order that. No kiss for you! BOOM.
7. ONE drink minimum or no drink at all: I know, I know you’re thinking “who are you stranger?” But drinking at dinner is kind of lame because it just gets absorbed by the bread bowl and the dinner and then you just feel like you wasted it. Either suggest drinks after the dinner if you like the person and you want to whiskey-convince them to make out, or keep a little flask in a garter belt and run to the bathroom and nervously chug it. I’m kidding! I keep mine in my purse.
8.NO SUSHI: I know, I know. If you love sushi you really fucking LOVE sushi and you’re going to be like “why no sushi!!!’ and get all huffy. I like sushi enough. But I’m going to go against the grain and say it’s not a first date food. First things first is that chopsticks are kind of hard to use and you’re not always going to be perfect at it. Sometimes, I just get mad and want to stab one of the sticks straight through the roll and eat it like that. Plus, you can’t take half a bite of sushi, so you have to put the whole thing in your mouth and look like a crazy chipmunk. And afterwards, you have fish breath. No thanky.
9. Spicy Food: Now, I know ordering super spicy crazy food will just make you sweat and cry and do all sorts of unattractive things and I do not recommend it. However, mildly spicy food makes me eat slower and more carefully, like even by chewing my food and taking one bite at a time instead of the ‘shoveling method’ I usually employ. Sometimes I even cut my food in little pieces! Seriously, if I need to pace myself or end up in a fiery mouth pit of flame pain, it makes it look like I’m actually just a normal human who eats slowly.
10. No Spaghetti: Unless you are actually a rich cocker spaniel going out with a mutt dog, this is not a good idea because you slurp it and also, you can make it at home for mad cheap! What’s the point of going out when you order spaghetti which I eat all the time because I’m poor and also eat dinner too late? Don’t be so vanilla, step outside the box and order something that you can’t make immediately when you get home! COME ON.
This doesn’t leave too much food, actually. I think your best options are penne pastas, large salads, corn dogs, and things you have to cut with a fork, I think. Or perhaps just a large bowl of cereal. Oh man, I wish cereal was an actual date food. I could actually just eat cereal all fucking day. Reese’s Puffs/Rice Krispies for the win!
Today is Black Friday, which I guess really means “what color is your liver when you shop for toasters’ or something. To me, Thanksgiving was bomb because there were six kinds of cheese and I drank so much rum punch and it made me yell “fuck me in the face” during family Jeopardy when I forgot who Eisenhower was. Anyway, I hope yours was as full of joy and booze as mine was. On another upside, my aunt woke me up this morning to tell me the ole blog was mentioned on the Today Show. I mean, I was called “Frenemy.com” or something but those ladies drink wine at like 6am so I believe whatever they say even if it’s wrong things about me. Whatever. Later tonight I went out reluctantly to some bars…and I still can’t help but be fascinated with how terrible bars are on weekends. For one thing, it takes like 20 minutes to get a drink. And plus this guy who hit on me barely believed my “I don’t find you attractive so I try to convince you I harvest organs’ lie. I mean he eventually did when I mentioned ‘feeling alive when clutching beating hearts’ but still, it was a bummer. Oh, a good piece of advice: if somebody at a bar tries to hit on you and you don’t like them, don’t say I have a boyfriend. That’s so unoriginal. Instead, say you like to steal organs from people because you like the way that warm flesh feels. Anyway, I still don’t get why I should drink gin and stare at people when I can just drink gin at home and stare at the internet in my sweatshirts. Does this mean I’m going to have lots of cats? UGH BLAH BARS.
Okay, so I got a specific e-mail today and it took me too long to make my hair look accurate tonight and so it’s ‘answer questions tonight’ night and here is the question:
What is your opinion on friend with benefits?
Huh? Is it possible to have a friend who not only embodies the qualities of friendship but also..has extra? Benefits, to me, usually mean healthcare. So at first glance I thought my friends with benefits was Barack Obama but he doesn’t supply vacation hours so who knows. Oh, what a failing political joke that was. Anyway, friends with benefits could also mean ‘tell me I’m skinny while also bringing me cupcakes’ or ‘share their booze while I crazy over some guy I like’ or something. Innocent demands of friends to make them constantly remind you how amazing you are, regardless of dress size or relationship status.
I’m avoiding the answer here. I know perfectly well that friends with benefits means ‘okay so we’ve been friends in a group of friends long enough that when we’re left alone and laugh at each other’s jokes we can have sex sometimes.’ Ahh! Why would you do that? Don’t you know what sex does to people? Sleeping with somebody means that we become crazy animals who overanalyze everything and claw at our own eyes and talon grasp our phones till they call us. Friends are for bringing us off the psycho highway and for seeing us without makeup and for eating slushies and other fatty cravings. You don’t destroy this magic with sex. Sex destroys! Sex makes you genital crazy! Sex makes you too awkward to text ‘you want to watch a marathon of all The Rock’s movies’ because you boinked and now you have to obsess over your last phone call alone now. The relationship changes from ‘fun’ to ‘whaaaaaaat?’ because everybody thinks a ‘we were friends’ love story is romantic so we get way too excited. I don’t even probably like you, I just get swept up in too much beer and too much excitement. BAD.
I’ve had a couple of friends with benefits, and by that I mean ‘me and a good friend were bored and hanging out too much.’ Surprisingly neither of them worked out because Harry Met Sally is a fairytale and these things don’t work out ever. When I ended up bone-dogging my friends, it kind of turned out the same way I feel when I loan my friends money: here I am, fucking myself alllllll night. NONO. I’m lucky enough to still kind of enjoy these friends, but for a while I just wanted to a) smack myself in the face for letting them see me without a shirt and b) smack them for agreeing to watching me take my shirt off. I can’t ever take this stuff back. And what’s worse is that I never thought of them other than friends until we got drunk and decided to make out. If that hadn’t happened, I wouldn’t ever get crazy or nuts about them. Because I already decided we were friends. If I really dug somebody, I would have dug them long before we went into friend zone. OH, are you trying to argue that you ‘know you would never date but you still have sexual needs?’ HA. If you don’t like somebody that much but need sex, it’s casual sex. If you like somebody enough to be just their friend, DON’T HAVE SEX BECAUSE STRANGERS EXIST. And if you want to date your friend, you would date your friend (which really rarely ever happens) If you really need to have sex, it’s just as easy to bring some douchenozzle with a sherpa lined hoodie (why was that my example?) home. If you’ve been friends with this hottie friend person for a while, you probably didn’t feel the spark and now are reaching on the love shelf because they’ve seen you in sweatpants and you are too lazy to online date or go to bars. Do us all a favor: wait for somebody who has an ‘i want to sleep with you and buy you dinner’ agenda right away. Or, very easily wait for somebody you don’t know who wants to keep it casual. Keep away from your friends, unless you’re making nachos and wearing unflattering pjs and analyzing e-mails and interactions. That’s what friends are for, anyway. That’s totally benefit enough.
Years ago, I had a very lovely college T-giving. I miss that place.
Well, it’s Thanksgiving tomorrow, and I’m gonna get up way too early tomorrow to help the Ma out by making butternut squash soup (straight from Giada, bitches) my garlic smashed taters, and bomb ass green beans. Yeah I cook I know WHADDA CATCH! Anyway, I thought tonight would be the perfect night to name the things I am grateful for this year:
1. Bravo Television: Seriously, any cable network that shows primarily reality shows and chef competitions and makes me feel classy? Bless your little heart. I can sit in front of the television for hours with my boughetto sweatpants and my big ass glass of wine and feel like because of all the fancy suits and lovely GLBTQ support, I’m doing something. I’m really, really doing something.
2. My Freezer: No matter how tired or poor I may be at certain ends of certain days, nothing is lovelier than being able to make a full hot meal from the cold shit I bought like, 8 months ago. Veggie burgers, frozen asparagus, dumplings, frozen meals..all of it can produce a dinner that makes me think that I am independent and able to, like the caveman hunters before me, care for myself.
3. Face Brightener: I don’t know what the hell this sheen makeup stuff is, but I put it in the corner of my eyes, under my eyebrows, and my cheekbones, and suddenly I’m a glowing alien piece of shit. I don’t believe in “love glow” or “pregnant glow” but I do believe in “looking dewy when you’re hungover as shit.”
4. Friends whose terrible secrets you know: Nothing’s better than a friend who you know the worst possible things about. They know terrible things about you, too. So you having somebody to tell things like “I think sex is like a 4 minute you-tube video” or “I contemplated taking my ex’s cat for hostage” feels like no big deal when you know they peed themselves on New Years once. It’s pretty liberating to have somebody to talk to when you know all their shit, too. You feel normal! TOTALLY NORMAL, RIGHT? Man, I love the people in my life who talk me off the crazy ledge. Or tell me to turn off the damn phone, or stop placing hits on guys who don’t call me back. (A, L, S, B: I’m lookin’ at you ladies)
5. Cute People I share an awkward moment with: Yes, we smile at each other on the subway or we do a double take in the bookstore. Sometimes we even mouth ‘hi.’ I never want to meet you, because you make my day better for mutual attractiveness and if you met me, we’d be annoyed at each other and oh god, it’s so good to never meet somebody you think is attractive.
6. The old guy who buys a round for the bar and you don’t have to talk to him, you can just get a free shot and move on. A good liquor sale is also a convenient substitute for this.
7. Hats: Bad hair day? Hat. Mysterious outfit? Hat. Fedora? Weeds out guys who suck.
8. The Jersey Shore, Ke$ha, Glee, Katy Perry’s breasts, Inception, Harry Potter, Twilight, Justin Bieber, The I-Pad: Thank you for making all of my jokes pop-culture fresh and topical.
9. MY BED: Thank you, my bed, for being warm and flannel and making me forget that a douchebag who stops calling isn’t worth it, or that somebody who you don’t know isn’t worth bringing home to your warm comforter and fluffy pillow. I can sleep in your arms forever.
10. Kids on leashes. This is legal! Thanks for that!
11. Cheap, delicious food: Hummus, Egg Sandwiches, Kraft. A trifecta of delicious I will never be too drunk or too sober to stop enjoying.
12. Feeling lucky: When it doesn’t rain on you, when you catch the train right on time, when you get on line before the line gets long…all of these things make me feel like I am important and immortal.
13. A good song, a good laugh, a good walk on a sunny day, a picture of you that makes you look okay, a moment you’re happy for no reason, PUDDING EXISTS, snacks at a party you didn’t think would have snacks, the best song, turning on the TV to see a movie you love just starting, getting your laundry done, actually going for a run like you said you would. You know, the little things.
14. My favorite things are: Gin, Oscar Wilde, Puppies, and Goat Cheese. I will forever be grateful for these things every single year. And you! You guys are the best. What are you grateful for, you potato-munching bitches?
I got an e-mail today where somebody asked me what I thought about true love, the soulmate, or.. what else are people calling it these days? Brain Mates? Heart Buddies? Eternal Handcuffs?
To put it lightly, I say: heavy title, brah!
I’d like to consider myself a romantic realist. I don’t need your damn bouquets and I hate it when somebody puts my face in their hands. I also hate the word ‘romantic’ because it makes me think I’m going to bed John Malkovich in a period piece or something. Furthermore, we’re not all unlikeable film actresses put in insane scenarios so we can stumble gracefully into love! My entire life, you see, isn’t a romantic comedy because the central goal of it isn’t to fall in love. I have aspirations, you mother fuckers! This doesn’t mean that I don’t want somebody that makes me laugh and feeds me zombie movies and string cheese, but it does mean that I do those things okay by myself. I’ve always thought “The One” is the last person I end up with, not “the only person for me.” This is because I don’t really feel like all the miserable mistakes or flings or moments of sad pathetic emo muzak sobfesting happened so I could meet somebody and OH I’M COMPLETE NOW HERE IS THIS HUMAN BANDAID. Fuck that! Good booze and funny people and not shitty parties can do the job for now. Oh, and good jackets. I love me a good jacket. Basically, I’m not on an eternal love search but I wouldn’t object to somebody cracking my ice walls and doing the dougie with me or running around a park with me or something. I’m just saying that when/if I find somebody good..I don’t want to put the burden of “you are the only person that completes my SOUL EVER.” Things change- you’ll turn 40 and those Polaroids of you kissing foreheads and wearing fake glasses and giggling are going to be memories because you have bills and terrible shitty kids to pay for. People change, and a lot of people are terrible and awful and I’m not going to run around with wildflower love optimism because nobody likes the girl that goes ‘they’re out there!!!!’ That’s only cute when you are Fievel! To me, it’s better to just remain cautiously realistic, look out for yourself, and hopefully eventually be able to say “Listen, buddy. I’m going to do a lot of ‘walking around in sweats and eating pasta sauce from the jar. This is going to be not perfect and plenty ugly. If you’re down with that, I’m down with you. Let’s see how far we can take this fucking car before the wheels come off.” And I think that, eventually, somebody will get that and come along. You won’t “save me” but you can change my mind, you can make me (slightly) better. And yes, dude. I will love you a lot for it.
Anyway, that’s it. Not ‘soulmate’, but rather ‘somebody rad you can enjoy for as long as life allows you to.’ That works just fine for me.
I’m doing loads of writing for exciting big future Frenemy projects and I’m tired and cranky and actually really happy, too. Side note, I keep drinking these terrible sugar-free energy drinks because sugar I guess I’m afraid of yet handfuls of snacks eaten throughout the day I am not. Why I am the way I am, I will never know. Anyway, at least I have Thanksgiving to look forward to because I’m gonna COOK which means I sneak so much butter into the potato mash. So yeah, recommend me if you wanna and keep sending me your cheese ideas and cocktails and questions and bad bar stories to IAmTheFrenemy@gmail.com. Mostly because I keep getting these weird SPAM emails about how I’ve won money and also this one message about how if I send my credit information to some chick named “angelina angel” I will find true love. Ugh, does anybody else but me think the phrase “TRUE LOVE” is just kind of a sloppy way of putting a lot of pressure on your self-worth? The last one left standing wins, I say. ACK YOU THINK IT’S TRUE, TOO, TAYLOR SWIFT?! I like you all for you, though, swear it.
EDIT: The link above just leads you straight to the humor directory, as I think I am funny? Anyway, thanks for asking about which category to nom at me in.
Ever since I was a kid and I played with my shotgun wedding Barbie, I’ve felt like I was sort of forced to think about MARRIAGE. I’m sorry, did I say marriage? I really meant the expensive ceremony before the marriage where I dress like a cupcake and slow dance to Luther Vandross. I was always taught that WEDDINGS are the most important moment of a little princesses life, and thankfull, things have changed evolved since then. It started out that I would marry Greg Brady and buy a unicorn with him. In high school I used to fantasize about how I would have a ‘really chill wedding with barefoot people and Dave Matthews.” In college I said “I don’t need a certificate to be in a committed relationship, here read my feminist literature” And today, though I may be one bitter nacho hag, I sometimes watch TLC and think to myself “I guess I’ll wear a vintage gown and my shock that somebody’s marrying me.” Of course, I’m immediately like ‘it’s not the day, it’s finding the delightful moron who won’t go away without the help of a lawyer!” I also think about weddings more lately because too many conservative khaki-wearers are all “I only want specific people to marry each other because it personally affects me when people of the same gender make their close friends and family celebrate love by eating cake and dancing to Sly and The Family Stone.” And you know, have basic rights. Annnnnnnywayyyy…what I’ve come to realize is that weddings just really freak me out. Not because I don’t want to get married, and certainly not because I think anybody should be denied the privilege, but because there are just too many terrifying moments that come along with them. I name them here:
1. Chucking flowers at women’s faces. Oh sure. This lady might have just snagged a man, but this means that she’s allowed to throw plants at her single friends and have them claw at each other’s brains and throw away their composure because if they catch it IT DEFINITELY means they will get married next. Well, guess what, bitches? I caught one of those bouquets when I was six, and unless all those 30-year-olds who gave me the stank eye in 1994 aren’t married yet..MYTH BUSTED.
2. Dancing. The song “We Are Family” is a song that I’m okay with middle-aged people shaking their booties at. I encourage it. It’s a song with a lovely message and I wasn’t born when it premiered. However, when the DJs get creative and play Lady Gaga..well…I once saw my grandmother dance to “I wanna take a ride on your disco stick” Those are terrors that will never leave me.
3. Six Asparagus Spears, Fingerling Potatoes, and Mini Quiches, Oh MY: Don’t get it twisted, I would love to sit at a round table with two people I know and 13 people I don’t and eat balsamic vinegar and salmon in lemon butter sauce. And I would love to have little cocktail napkins that I crush in my hand until I find a garbage can. But my main problem is that spend at least twenty small-talk conversations talking about ‘how the food was.’ People love judging the shit out of wedding food. As if ‘chicken with rosemary’ is such a complicated and varied dish to pull off, and if ‘pigs in a blanket’ warrant more discussion than no discussion. So I have to say “yeah the food is delicious!” until my mother whispers ‘the food isn’t that good’ and I stop.
4. Creepy old men on the dance floor: Yes, it may be more dancing stories, but this is the only dance floor that exists where a rotund old person comes up to you and starts dancing around, you have to oblige even though he is sweaty because he’s probably your cousin. Okay, well, thanks let me get more champagne/go to the bathroom/GTFO.
5. Open Bar: Now, I’m definitely not complaining about my cherished open bar that is a thing of great beauty. But what I am complaining about is that everybody has an open bar, too. That means that sly 18-year-olds, people who get angry and racist when they drink, and older people who keep going ‘woo’ because their kids are not there..those are the people that I don’t think should drink. And they always drink too much and they always end up doing stuff like fall off chairs and I can’t enjoy my 35th ‘i can handle my damn booze’ whiskey sour in peace.
6. DJs: Ugh. Always trying to ‘pump us up’ and saying ‘the happpppy couple’ and I’m like dude, just play the song this isn’t your damn time to shine! Oh, no? You’re just going to tell everybody to do the Electric Slide? Fuck you. Just..fuuuuuckk. Cover bands are you know, great if you like thinking that Bon Jovi did it better.
7. Getting Set Up: Somebody’s always got to introduce me to some dumb fool that I’m not related to and he’s always a dip shit and I’m like ‘oh cool you went to medical school? And you don’t have a TV? Ohhh so we got set up because we’re both SINGLE. That always works.” And then my family’s like ‘oh it’s okay she must be a lesbian’ and I’m like ‘if lesbian means don’t date shitbags, Lord and Lady Not PC!’ Anyway, this means I flirt with the waiter until he pours you more champagne than everybody else OH DAMN IT.
8. Stupid damn outfits: If it’s a family wedding, I have to dress all like “sure what are tattoos, grandma? I’m a sweet, nice, employable human.” Which is always annoying but I don’t want to upset my grams cuz I love her. Either way, I have to spend way too much money on some stupid ruched number that isn’t comfortable and now I have to get a necklace to match and of course I did this the day before so my dress is going to have a bow of some sort an I’m going to regret not wearing sweatpants. And now my shoes hurt. And my hair sucks. And I’ll never, ever wear this outfit again.
9. Crying. Everybody’s crying. And it’s like, well, I guess I understand it’s a beautiful thing but this isn’t the ending of Field of Dreams! Oh…oh good God. I’m not crying I’m just yawning! Stop LOOKING AT ME. I HAVE HEART SHELL.
10. NOT ENOUGH LIONEL RICHIE: It’s like what, we only get ONE song?
11. Throwing rice at people isn’t nearly as effective as throwing something like bricks or stones. Oh, wait..throwing uncooked food and making birds choke is ENCOURAGING. How silly of me to think otherwise.
12. Sitting through 3 slow dances. The couple and the couple’s parents and I think the family dogs run around for a while. And the bride has to dance with a baby so everybody can scream at the adorable. Watching you slow dance is boring, and it’s even more boring if we have to watch a bunch in succession and even the whole thing. There are so many times I can hear “and allllll myyyyy lifeeeee” without being like, so I’m watching you and I’m gagging and I’d like to check my phone but that’s rude.
13. So much smiling. Too much smiling. My face isn’t used to this. I have to smile all the time, and it’s starting to really hurt and we all have to keep on smiling because these people just signed a contract promising to love each other forever/until somebody fucks up. The genuine smiles come when I can tell the families don’t really like each other.
14. I see the cake, I have to wait ten minutes to eat the cake. WTF I didn’t come here for your happiness I want the fucking CAKE.
15. Other people’s happiness reminds me of how eating snacks and watching television is MY happiness. Dude, I’m totally kidding. That’s not true at all. It’s not like I’m going to die alone, I’ll totally find somebody because I look great in white! Wait..why am I thinking like this? Oh thanks, wedding, for making me become a sap-filled moron. Thanks a whole lot. No, it’s a beautiful wedding! OH GOD HOW TO FEEL WHILE I DO THE YMCA.
There’s nothing scarier than girls who are good at being sexy. I see them wandering out on Friday nights acting like “i’m able to walk well in heels and pull off this smoky eye makeup without looking like a crack whore.” They look like they’ve had an ‘affair’ and a ‘lover’ and don’t build most of their relationships on the foundations of ‘beer and texting.’ Meanwhile, I’m trying to contemplate whether or not asking the bartender for a handful of olives would be weird or not. Sexy is just not my jam. I mean, once I get into the ole bedroom with you I’m happy as a clam to roll around and drool all over you and stuff, that’s cool with me. I’m not holding myself back once I definitely know we’re gonna do it. Yep. Said DO IT, SO DEAL. Anyway, the whole ‘speak in low sexy voices on the phone/wear no underwear not because you have no clean ones’ has never come naturally to me. If you can do it, GREAT. But most of us, well, it’s no strut in the park. However, there are lots of ways I can be sexy. I name them here:
1. Uncomfortable Sexy:
When somebody asks me ‘what I’m wearing’ I immediately want to tell them the truth. This usually means Christmas-themed pajama pants and athletic socks. I have favorite pairs of underwear that I put on whenever it’s not the weekend, and they’re boy briefs that I believe have some sort of elastic on them. Obviously, this immediately just shoots the sex mood from 0-60 am I right? Listen, I’m not even really sure what the stock answer for this should be. Like, nothing? Do you think I’m sitting around not wearing anything at all as if this is casual? Or is this just some sort of code question for ‘I’d feel way better if YOU told me that you wish you could mouth my genitals instead of me just watching porn?’ Ah, yes. I thought so.
2. Awkward Sexy:
I don’t have the cleanest of vocabularies. I curse a little too much and sometimes I even use the word ‘dick’ as if I have one and you should ‘suck it’ (This usually applies to bad drivers and rude people at supermarkets). This means I can never use words like dick in a sexy, growly kind of way like that word isn’t HILARIOUS to me. I also hope you find uncomfortable laughter kind of sexy. Because if you tell me how much you want to see me naked, I’m going to laugh because on a Tuesday afternoon, the last thing I want to see is me naked. This isn’t a body issues thing, this is a ‘today I found a potato chip in my cleavage’ kind of thing. So I’m going to laugh. Furthermore, sprawling out in lingerie or even lingerie in general is one of those things that I could never wear seriously. I don’t really feel the need to spend 50 dollars on a bra meant to be taken off. I buy beige wonderbras in order to meet somebody who wants to take my bra off, so when I’ve got you here, what’s the point?
3. BUZZED Sexy:
My sexyback goes way up when I’ve had a couple of glasses of the..oh hell, you know what I drink. Anyway, I’m more likely to touch your thigh (like, right by the crotch) and I’m more likely to..well, when you say something alluding to intercourse, I just go ‘yeah?’ in an encouraging manner but I don’t really respond back. Maybe I’ll bite your lip when I kiss you in front of other people or grab your butt in public, but that’s about as racy as I’ll go. Still, I think I can catwalk like a sex god champ.
4. Misinterpreting Sexy:
Sometimes I dance to shitty pop songs when somebody has given me cocktails and one of my friends promised to split some french fries with me later. Eating greasy food makes me feel alive! Anyway, I’ll dance and I think it looks good and come hither but it usually means I’m clomping around making a really weird “i’m dancing” face and it’s just not. a good. look for me. Obviously, I think I do..kind of like when I dance in my room in my underwear and I catch myself in the mirror and I’m like oh helll no. I am tripping. One time I nibbled a guy’s ear and he laughed. It’s like, mostly I’m very, very wrong about what is actually attractive to people.
5. Not in the Mood Sexy:
Ack. Whatever. As long as you let me keep my bra on, I guess we can intercourse. I mean, you can turn the lights off but I take my glasses off and I can’t see shit anyway so we’ll deal. Listen, there comes a moment when I just sort of relatively give up protesting that some people find it sexy when I walk to the kitchen wearing no underwear or do things topless or whatever. And I do it not because I want to, but because I think that it’s not demeaning and I might as well just give in at the moment. I GUESS, UGH. I mean Yeah baby, yeah. I love this right now. Squeal squeal moan. Turned on? Because I’d like to check my e-mail.
6. Clothing Sexy:
If I really want to make an effort to look decently attractive, I start to prepare myself for the job at least an hour beforehand. I spray myself with two to three body sprays and use some sort of base foundation that I’m not used to wearing. I try to put on my Spanxxx and smile when I put on my blush because I read that’s good. I even use hairspray, which is like a picture for your hair! Freeze the moment! Afterwards, I wear some trendy shit skirt that I thought was really hot on Ashley Olsen but probably makes me look like a Bell Jar. When I’m finally done assembling ourselves, I check myself out and think ‘damn I just gave myself a MAKEOVER how impressive.’ And I feel pretty sexy, but only in the way that ‘oh now that i’m in the harsh lighting of another bathroom mirror and I look terrible.’
7. Electronic Sexy
If I send a message saying ‘I want you so bad right now’ you can’t tell that I’m biting my fingers and laughing really, really loudly yet kind of cheering myself on because I had the amazing courage to actually send something so risque. Go me and my independent, free-woman thinking!
8. By Myself Sexy:
I don’t want to be overly crass here, but..well..I’m going to be overly crass. You know what makes me feel sexy? Vibrators. They like me for me, not because of the ugly faces I make when using one or the fact that I’m wearing a large T-shirt and also sort of trying to watch some things on Hulu. So many ugly faces, by the way. Sometimes I shove my own face into the pillow because nobody’s mouth should contort like that.
9. Fondue Sexy:
This is like date food. This is lie, rub yourself all over your date food. Sexy cheese? Is this heaven right now?
10. Actual Sexy:
These moments never happen when I’m, say, taking a bubble bath in rose petals or other sexy myths. I don’t take bubble baths because I don’t clean my tub as often as I should and I’m aware of this. And I stopped going to Bath and Body Works ever since I went to high school and it’s all I got from Secret Santa for like eight years. Sexy happens when somebody I’m into pulls the right thing off and it doesn’t make me feel cheesy and I don’t laugh at it. Because my first instinct is to laugh at it, by the way. So if I don’t and I blush oh my god it’s a miracle. Hell, this sexy stuff can happen when I wear a Forever 21 tank top and no pants and realize ‘oh okay well that’s pretty decent I am okay with this.’ They are not planned moments. They are not rehearsed. And they are not. They’re just..good.
OH well it’s 430 and I had a total idea for this really great post but instead I went out and I drank gin and I ate these spicy pumpkin seeds at a bar and all was great. So instead, I answer a question because Sarah’s from England and I really like saying I talk to people in EUROPE and that’s what I’m focusing on tonight.
So i have a problem. Normally I am a very strong person, I don’t let boys hurt me because I’m too good for that..But basically I have opened up to a guy and I quite like him, this has turned me into a paranoid mess. When I’m with him, he’s lovely and seems so into me. But then when we aren’t together he just doesn’t make contact with me, he rarely replies to texts, he never calls me or even talk to me on Facebook, I don’t understand what he thinks he’s doing. It is seriously turning me into that physco bitch that I don’t like people seeing and it’s becoming harder to contain the crazy me. Should I call it a day on this before I get in deeper? Or confront him?
Let me level with you here- we’re all crazy bitches and once we feel love joy we can’t be stopped! I mean it. Once we really like somebody..We can’t be stopped. We’re too excited! Anyway, the logical part of me wants to tell you ‘girl if he’s not texting you every day every hour on the hour what are you even doing?” This, I realize, is not logical at all. It’s batshit! What’s worse is that the not logical part of me wants to be like ‘hide under his car hold his dog for ransom never sleep until he’s yours.’ Which is also jail worthy. Technically, if he’s not communicating constantly through various social networks it’s probably because he has other things to do and I shouldn’t freak out. This doesn’t make me react any crazy less, and I understand your ‘let me grip my phone and see if they text’ mentality. To explain why I’m on your side, I say this: there’s a part of our brain that gets activated once we like somebody. Even if you’re one strong motherfucker, this part may happen when you least expect it, like when somebody wears a thermal shirt or shows you their IPod playlists. And that click is psycho-squeaky attachment, Mack Truck enthusiasm. One time I was on a subway and I realized I thought about somebody for SEVEN MINUTES STRAIGHT. That record timing is only second to ‘what things can I put on top of brie.’ Furthermore, paranoia is the rice side dish to your newfound wacko thoughts. “Maybe he’ll go out and fall into a ditch onto the private parts of a girl skinnier than me!” “Maybe he’ll hate me because my pinky toe is large!” These are totally normal wacky feelings and I feel them, too. But to give good advice, I have to say this- if it feels bad, it’s probably bad. My gut tells me when I want mac and cheese (always) and my gut tells me when to cross the street when a homeless person is chewing on his own hand and singing at me. However, when I feel bad about how somebody is treating me, I ignore my instincts and start to make all these wacko excuses about how I’m overreacting and he’s probably just SUPER BUSY and whatnot. Listen, if you feel like shit, it’s not worth it. You shouldn’t have to feel terrible! Use your crazy energy to Google movie spoilers and brownie recipes and shop for the perfect leggings. We might be nuts, but it’s easier if we don’t drive ourselves nuts over somebody else. I like to store my crazy for other things, like rage driving and Dexter marathons. Even if somebody attractive seems into you when you’re alone together, it’s barely worth the trouble. You know who I treated really nicely when I was alone with it? My Lamb Chop doll. You know what I ate in restaurants when I was out with my friends? Lamb Chops. I’m sure that analogy was a breakthrough for you. Anyway, remember: you have years of going psycho for loads of other people! So if you feel like shit most of the time, back the fuck out. I mean, you’re going to go nuts for so many other people. Old dog, crazy tricks.
The other day, somebody accused me of not being romantic. ME?! Not romantic?! Okay, well I’m not going to run and stop a plane you’re on, but that’s because you can actually go to jail for that kind of grand gesture. I would beg to differ, even though that’s a phrase that doesn’t make sense to me. Why would I beg to have an opinion? Anyway, the reason why I disagree with this is because I find myself an extremely romantic person. For example, I once saw Love Actually and I probably enjoyed it. For other example, I once stood in the rain but I think that it was for a taxi cab. The rain is romantic, right? Okay, listen. I want love just as much as the next person who sits in their room and watches Curb Your Enthusiasm and doesn’t really make any active moves to find it. Oh hell, I do want it, eventually. Which proves I’m not a cyborg. However, the old way of ‘you brought me roses? Well I guess I’ll keep them in glass until they die” is a little dry turkey overdone to me. Tonight, I list things that I find really and truly romantic:
1. Allow me to lay on your couch for days while I watch old Intervention back episodes on your Netflix account. Supply me with a comfortable pair of sweat pants and spray me with water if I start wilting as if I’m a plant.
2. Instead of taking me out to dinner, bring me avocados or just perhaps just a funnel that you put something with pancakes in. Oh my fuck, avocados. First of all, I eat most food like a slob and I’m probably just going to stress out about how much pasta is going to end up “on my face” rather than actually consumed. So it’s best if you leave me alone in my corner to make guac in my little bowl right now.
3. Buying me shit like jewelry is a little pointless because I’m just going to lose it when I done drank too much tequila at a margarita bar (if those don’t exist DO IT). Use the money to give me more cell phone minutes! Well, really it’s best that you buy me a couple of seasons of Buffy or maybe something really sensible like a loofah or a Swiffer because I won’t “buy that” but I’ll always think “I’ll need that.”
4. You don’t need to tell me I’m beautiful. I mean, you CAN, but the real gesture is when you insinuate “I’m going to like you even when you stop shaving your legs every day and just let the stubble grow a bit.” I won’t let it get it out hand, I promise. I just don’t like doing it every day. If you think I’m pretty when I’m wearing your t-shirt, well..double points if you think I look pretty when I’m wearing my marinara-spotted alumni “I didn’t go here but my friend did” sweatshirt. YOU’RE WRONG BUT I AIN’T GONNA ARGUE.
5. Pie. Cake is for birthdays, and cupcakes are for me to buy for me when it’s me time and nobody’s watching. Pie, I never really buy. You can get me pie.
6. Listen to me for a really long time and always agree with me when I start complaining about how terrible this thing that happened to me was. I hate it when somebody like, says ‘excuse me’ in a rude way at the supermarket. Or when my friend cancels plans at any point. What a bitch let me explain about it!
7. Write me a song and instead of singing it, have somebody famous sing it instead but better. In fact, just leave it to people who know what’s up sing the songs. I like “This Must Be The Place” so it’s easier to play me that instead of writing about me.
8. Give me personal space when I’m sleeping next to you. It’s not that I don’t want you there, it’s just that I enjoy drooling on a pillow and sprawling my legs wherever the fuck they want to go. Still, seriously, suggest breakfast in the morning. I’m like, shit grin for breakfast.
9. LET ME WATCH MY SHITTY SHOWS WITHOUT PROTEST. Okay, I like Glee and Bravo. Jesus Christ. Let me watch it! I read books, too, so give me a fucking break.
10. If you feel like you need to buy me a drink, instead buy me a bottle of the expensive good booze I won’t buy on my own and I will be yours and we will share it. Or most of all, when I ask you if you “want to drink tonight” say yes because that might be most nights and I don’t want to drink by myself if you’re there. JOIN ME ALWAYS.
11. Let me whine a lot. Allow me to sit on a bench for ten minutes when my heels hurt. I wear heels to look attractive and this means I end up whining about them and rubbing my feet because they have actually ripped my skin and exposed bone on my inner foot. Pretend like you think this actually is a legitimate problem. Pretend the fact that my throat ‘kind of hurts’ means I need to curl up in a ball and be stroked for three days. CODDLE.
12. When I explain to you a story that I told a friend because I lied about being busy/sick when I wasn’t, I need you to be prepared to vouch for this story.
13. EVERYBODY IS NOT AS ATTRACTIVE AS ME. HUH?
14. It’s totally cute when I snort when I laugh, right? And it’s totally cute that I stop and pet every dog I see? RIGHT?!!?! Pretend that the quirks I acknowledge I have are the quirks you actually adore about me.
15. Spend hours people watching and angrily observe clingy teenage couples, teenagers that wear hoods in the mall, middle-aged women that wear unflattering pants, children that suck but parents think are cute, and decide that a ‘day beer’ is the best way to truly understand the awfulness of this cruel world.
16. Read a fucking book! Remotely comprehend the fucking book!
17. Talk to me about stuff that you think is awful. Complain to me, baby, like I’m the only thing in the world that doesn’t suck as much as everything else. Send me texts about awful people! I love that!
18. Suggest “something that requires no makeup or pants” -Sandy WHY YES PLZ
19. Make me feel like I like you enough that I listen to really sappy romantic songs that I “somehow have on my I-Pod” and I’m like “oh okay I can swoon at these because I’m by myself but I would never let on that this is how you make me feel.”
20. Make me secretly enjoy the endings of rom coms. If I don’t throw my remote control/explode my TV at the impossibly tied up ending of a shitty rom com, it’s because I like you. Or smile on the subway. Or get cheese-high without cheese. If you make me feel this way, props. Shit ain’t easy.
21. Keep little ziploc bags of my hair in your possession. Okay, maybe just know my “smell” but pretend like it’s “coffee and amber and lavender” not “all that plus whiskey.” Know my favorite stuff. Be a stalker without actually stalking.
22. Me. Like me! Act like you do! Sometimes go out of your way to express that. That’s about it, dude. I ain’t fancy. What, you fancy?
Following the lovely pattern of “I get awesome emails late at night when I’ve drank too many Gin and Tonics to think of an original post so I need some help,” I received some booze-for-thought by a reader who read the “exes are for hate, random people are for sex” part of my last post. She writes:
how do you get to the sex with random people? I can’t get a stranger to buy me a drink, much less take me home. It’s not that I’m ugly or anything. I just look intelligent or like girlfriend material or some shit like that. Oh, and friends have advised me to “talk like you’re a bit silly” when I’m trying to pick up a man. That can’t be the trick. It just can’t be.
I feel you, lady. Having sex with somebody you don’t know is kind of like eating soy cheese when you’re not lactose intolerant. What the fuck are you trying to prove soy cheese isn’t even vegan. However, I do realize that sometimes you don’t need to talk about your favorite soul moments and spend hours touching each other’s face before you sleep with somebody. Sometimes we want to just let it all loose and Jersey Shore the shit out of somebody. Which is when we put on our relatively low cut tops, do a couple hundred pre-game shots, and head out to a bar to find the prey with the least “I have STDs because I’m a serial killer” face. Because murder is a thing! I am so nervous about murder.
Personally, I never get hit on too much at bars. I get the occasionally drunk guy who never takes off his jacket. One time somebody attractive hit on me and it freaked me out and I blamed witchcraft. But that’s about it. I usually just chalk it up to how smarmy I look: A) GLASSES B) TOTES ROLL MY EYES AT PICKUP LINES C) HERE IS MY SHELL BREAK IT. I like to go to dive bars of course, and wait for some amazing guy with a nutcracker to take my hard exterior and break it gently open with hilarious jokes and he’s tall! I like tall guys! “hello, I can smell you’re alone but that doesn’t make you LONELY!” “ME?!??!??!” Anyway, this makes the ‘casual sex’ thing kind of hard to grasp. In order to get somebody to approach you at a bar, ladies, you have to do a couple of things.
1. Fucking Smile. I know I’m usually not, and wearing your best “look at that fucking idiot with her stupid heels all over that polo shirt guy” isn’t going to make anybody approach you.
2. Don’t Fucking Smile. Misery loves company.
3. Wear something that is sexy but not slutty. Like turtlenecks that say “fuck me” or low cut shirts that say “Daddy Issues.”
4. Wave your drink around and scream “It’s empty! It’s empty!”
5. Stand around and stare at everybody until somebody goes up to you.
The problem with ‘having somebody approach you’ is that nobody will really do that if you’re not staring at them. You have to kind of stare into their eyes exactly the way you think a sexual deviant might. You have to pretend you are some sort of sexual deviant of the sewer people in order to get somebody to approach you at ye drinking pub. Mostly because all people are chicken shit and you need to say it with your eyes like Queen Diva Tyra Banks always tells me to do.
Now, when somebody finally approaches you, you have to figure out a way to have sex with them. The secret to this is you must not ooze class, you must booze class. Boozy classy ladies know that you must make out with a guy on Friday and text him/take him home late Saturday. A lady never gives herself away right away! To make out with a guy, all you need to do is pause mid-sentence and stop speaking. Look at them. Let them look at you. Or sip your drink like you’re sexy a lot of the time. Or just smile like an idiot and lean over like you might ‘weebles wobble but they don’t fall down!’ Now you can make out and all is right with your glass house ‘let’s not focus on the real issues’ world.
Finally, it should be mentioned that to find somebody who is worth not getting to know but worth sleeping with you have to snag someone who you think is super attractive but is stupid. So you have nothing to talk about/get emotionally attached to. This leaves Zac Efron and that clean cut guy from Glee but I’ve never really heard them speak in my sex dreams so I’m not sure if they’re actually stupid. Basically, you just have to just find somebody who is not your type. Like if you’re taking home a guy with skinny jeans you’re going to blow your emotional load all over him when he mentions that he likes Camera Obscura or Harry Potter themed bath towels. But if you take home a rugby player or a financial advisor, you won’t be phased when they ask you if you like Tom Cruise in “Knight and Day” or your favorite kind of chili. Works like a charm. Or just somebody who you know isn’t ‘into relationships’ and you can pretend you aren’t either and get attached in your brain. Or just somebody you care about sleeping with more than you care about if they do or do not get hit by a car afterwards (NOT DIE BUT BROKEN LEG IS FINE I GUESS).
Finally, when you walk home in your walk of shame remember that you ASKED For this and celebrate with some beverage you can chug down oh lord I am dehydrate. And a big greasy breakfast sandwich. YOU ASKED FOR THIS LIFE YOU WILL REWARD WITH THIS EGG.
Oh, and the response of “talk a bit like you’re silly?” SHIT YOU SERIOUS? I don’t even talk silly with babies. If a baby doesn’t know the Secretary of State, I will lightly tap it with a textbook until it understands. Listen, I don’t care if it’s a one-second stand, you’re a smart bitch, and you’re never talking silly to nobody. Not even a puppy that can’t stay awake and it just closes its little eyes on it’s widdle blanket. Fuck you, I didn’t pay college tuition to adorn this mutt with incorrect grammar. Shit. Never, ever, ever be silly. Leave that to the girls you hate on! Much love.
In the past couple of days, I’ve been getting some kickass e-mails from you guys, and today I thought I’d share some of them.
First off, I got a question/rant I thought I’d respond to:
So i texted this guy, this guy who happens to be my ex but over the last year we have been canoodling, making out in back seats of cars, meeting up and going out, getting completely inebriated off jameson and tequila shots and sleeping together. he’s just so hot and cold. like some days its “how are u, wat are u doing, cant wait to see you” dirty text here, nudey pic there.. you know… well today he’s been cold.. and of course my phone was a little slow so i just texted myself from my email “HA HA” to make sure it was working… it was and now im just pathetically sitting here with a text from myself laughing at myself as I watch conan and suck back another glass of wine. CHHERS… WELL HE STILL HASNT RESPONDED! “i was sleeping” is what ill get tomorrow… my ass! He used to have this gf but he says its over, but he’s been nothing but a liar, a liar im addicted to like the butter on my popcorn, but i wanna believe him. How can I trust him again after I’ve caught him lying before? and how can I stop being so crazy about him not talking to me 24/7„ iget that guys are differnt and dont need there cell phones vibrating every two seconds… but for gods sakes I DO…
My formal response to this is going to be “bitch, please!” . But don’t be offended, my friend, because my response to the entire female population and myself is going to be “bitch, please!” with maybe a classy slap after it. We all get screwed up over guys who are nice to us one minute and mean to us the next because we have babies and get cramps so we FUCKING LOVE PAIN. And we love liars, because of that Rihanna song and most ‘bad boy’ 90s icons. Now, listen. I understand how Jameson can really screw up your judgement and not because it’s alcohol but because it’s JAMESON. Like, I’m lucky to get a couple of shots of Wild Turkey in some dude’s damn plastic flask and Jameson’s relatively expensive and my eyes will widen at it. Like a surprised alcoholic kitten, so it’s cute fuck off. Anyway, you have to slow your role and remember the facts. The most important one being don’t make out with exes! Exes are for hate! Random people are for sex! I have a couple exes myself and I use them for what they’re good for: I sit there in silence and I growl at them in my mind until they are torn apart by the rabid dogs of my mind. Exes are for pure blind hatred because you can devote all your hate energy on them and invite love and light to the rest of your life or something. I’m not sure. Now, I enjoy the company of one of my exes (hey, ian!) but that’s only because I set him on fire mentally for like a year straight (sorry, ian). And now we don’t make out and it’s fine. STOP MAKING OUT. Furthermore, naked pictures of a dude you’ve already seen naked isn’t even a sweet deal. You’ve seen it in person, stop making it last longer! Sex is for the shameful parts of your brain, not your cell phone. And also, who wants to date a liar?! Lying is for guys you meet at bars and your parents, not people you want to date. The bottom line is guys who take a long time to text back may not always be busy, but if he makes you feel bad about it, your gut feeling is probably right. And finally, well that’s it. Follow your gut! It knows what the hell is up, even when your crazy little brain doesn’t. LISTEN YOU HAVE POPCORN AND WINE AND CONAN WHY ARE YOU EVEN HAVING A PROBLEM RIGHT NOW?!?!?!
Well. I feel a little better. Now, another thing you guys sent me was a bunch of delicious sweet cocktail recipes and I will post a couple. And later I will post more, because there were many to drink FOR RESEARCH. Because I done tried that rum soy milk combo from a reader and my little drunk heart got a little warmer and drunker and vegan-friendly. You guys always look out for me. I name these cocktail submissions after you wonderful drunks:
-San Pellegrino orange OR Sunkist
I like this cocktail because this lovely girl gave me the choice of being ‘fancy’ or not with the soda. She knows that sometimes I feel classy and able to spend 3 dollars on a special Italian can with aluminum foil over the damn top, and sometimes I have to be homeless and poor with some cheap ass orange soda. I like this option! Vodka never changes, but the chasers will represent how much dignity I choose to have that night.
-Bacardi Torched Cherry Rum
I enjoy simplicity when it comes to making drinks, and I especially love a drink that takes a vaguely sexual fruit and sets it on fire. What a gross name! I’m gross. I should drink this. Anyway, the magic ingredient to this booze is seltzer water. Seltzer water is calorie-free so I can drink eight of these fuckers and it’s the equivalent to going to the gym. This beverage is the kind of classy drink that you don’t even need to add ice to. She doesn’t even instruct me to “GARNISH WITH LIME” because as if I would. You can just stir it with your finger in that plastic glass of yours and move on.
This one’s word for word. It starts off kind of composed and gets drunker as the recipe goes on, just like my night. Later she says BOOZE IS BOOZE. And mentions The Food Network. Hooker speaks my language.
INGREDIENTS: 1 bottle limoncello liqueur (EDIT: AS IF I COULD AFFORD THAT. GONNA BE CITRUS SMIRNOFF) 1 bottle San Pellegrino sparkling water (EDIT: POLAR SELTZER WATER) 1 pint blueberries several sprigs of fresh mint (EDIT: MAYBE)
1. Find a large pitcher or bucket. Put some ice in it. 2. Pour the entire bottle of limoncello into bucket/pitcher. 3. Pour in San Pellegrino until the bucket/pitcher seems full or to taste. 4. Dump in fresh bluberries (save a small handful). Stir that shit up. 5. Dump in fresh mint. Stir that shit up some more. 6. Pour into glass(es) and plop a few of those extra blueberries in each glass to make sure everyone gets some. 7. DRANK.
Note: What is the best part of this recipe? I memorized it instantly after watching Giada drink some on the Food Network because I wanted to drink it NOWNOWNOW!
It’s also kind of summery, but whatever. Booze is booze!
I take eating pretty damn seriously. As a human, not only am I required to do it to live, but I also enjoy doing it a whole bunch of times a day. However, as a modern female, I am required to put more “thought” into the things I put into my body. So I can stay skinny/get skinny/look like an hourglass/look like a piece of plywood or whatever. It can get pretty confusing about what foods you should consume when you’re a girl. Sometimes it’s carbs, sometimes it’s not carbs, mostly it’s just grapefruit. To help, I’ve put together a handy guide to understanding the stomach of a female. Kind of like our own little food pyramid but without the 7th grade health test afterwards:
1. HEALTHY TASTELESS GUILT MEALS : (1-3 times a day, consumed only in the daytime hours)
Everybody knows that girls are supposed to eat heart happy, grain-filled meals to give us the superior look of an active and jogging lifestyle. Eating this natural animal food makes us seem like vitamin-filled martyrs who have no need to enjoy delicious tastes on our tongues. You see, we are fulfilled by other things in life like fresh air or some shit! Also eating really healthy sometimes makes us live longer or something, and after a few weekends spent punching my liver in a blender, I figure my body deserves a chance in hell. This is when I go out and buy a bunch of tasteless root vegetables to consume. Anyway, we must suffer by chewing these bland tasting barley lentil nightmares and pretend that we actually enjoy them, too! Egg whites are a great example of this. I always order egg white omelettes in diners but they taste like slime to me. Eggs are for cholesterol and dripping cheese! But no, no. I will fork suffer in silence. One time I decided I would only eat extra-firm tofu for a week over brown rice and broccoli. I did and I was like ‘oh yeah this stuff is like, so delicious to me! I’m so lucky I think it tastes good.’ Meanwhile, I was staring at people and they were turning into large pieces of butter. Whatever, I eat oatmeal and carrots sometimes.
2. CONDIMENTS: (every time one eats Healthy Guilt meal)
Condiments deserve their own category because I will douse this shit over anything that I know is nutrient rich and healthy until I forget it’s even there. Hot sauce, salsa, and mustard are the trifecta of condiments because they are mostly calorie free so it’s not like you’re fucking anything up. This means mostly that I will microwave a bunch of frozen-ass vegetables for dinner and squirt all sorts of mustards that are fancy over it. There are so many types of mustard out there and I have tried them all. Whole grain, spicy, honey, dijon I love you and covet you all. Another great must-have is the spray. They make fake butter spray and one-calorie salad dressing spray. I’ve gotten drunk and sprayed that shit directly into my MOUF. I’m not scared of your judge, you’ll do it too. If I’m feeling cray cray, Polly-O powdered parm has like 15 calories a tablespoon. And as always and most importantly fucking cream cheese. Treat yourself!
3. FOOD YOU EAT WHEN YOU HAVE MONEY: (pay day-three days after pay day)
Oh man, when I get a big fat paycheck I run out and I buy all sorts of crazy food. I’ll get brie because it’s 4 dollars, I’ll get pickles and I’ll get capers and I’ll get a fancier tomato sauce than marinara. I’ll buy the good kind of veggie burgers and it’s a good damn day for me at the grocery store. Furthermore, I’ll buy that seven dollar veg burrito WITH guac. I’ll order a damn appetizer at happy hour who gives a shit? For three days I am loaded, and I will eat all my favorite foods and feel like one boughetto chick. Class and sass, bitches.
4. FOOD YOU EAT WHEN YOU HAVE NO MONEY: (four days after pay day)
Well, these are darker times. This mostly means I eat a lot of soup and I start trying to do creative things with the stuff in my freezer. The freezer is my mecca because there’s always some ‘breaded chickenless nuggets veggie burgers bags of broccoli’ in there. I don’t know how old they are, they’re just always there. After I grab some bags from the freezer, I get a big old frying pan and just throw it all in there and add a bunch of powdered spices. I basically only eat things that have dried basil and garlic powder for days and days. If I eat out, I only get little appetizers or go to the burrito place and ask for salsa or something. Oh, and I drink so much. Just to add to the ambiance of it all.
5. CHEESE, HUMMUS, AVOCADOS: (any fucking time)
These foods make anybody’s panties drop. I will eat these if they are offered to me no matter how full I am because they are just so damn good. My friend Danielle once noted ‘you should really just devote an entire post to cheese’ and I will do that. I will and it will be beautiful and nothing will hurt. There’s the ‘diet cheese’ I eat which is just light string cheese and the Laughing Cow little light cheese spreads, and then there’s the expensive block cheese I dream of and then..I won’t go on. I’ll never let go. If you’re vegan, you’re a saint and I admire you. Furthermore, hummus and avocados are two foods I will eat even if they are on a shoe. Eating creamy red pepper hummus is like kissing a puppy that is sleeping. Guacamole is the only thing I’m never worried about leaving me and I’d eat it on a piece of scrap metal. I want it, give me!
6. FOODS YOU EAT OUT WHEN YOUR PARENTS PAY:
Most expensive dish that is fatty and gross and makes you emotionally handle talking about your love life or your career or whatever in front of your grandmother. And appetizers! I can get an appetizer! OH HEY SPECIALTY SUSHI ROLL.
7. FOODS YOU EAT OUT WHEN YOU ARE PAYING:
Tiny soup, tiny salad. SANDWICH NO FRIES IF THAT’S EXTRA. Sad little avocado rolls.
8. SHIT YOU EAT OFF SOMEBODY ELSE’S PLATE/FOOD YOU DON’T PUT ON A PLATE: (often)
That stuff is calorie free. I will hoard myself by the appetizers with the damn olives and artichoke dip or whatever and I will eat that stuff but because I never put it on a tiny festive little face, it’s like you’re not actually eating anything at all. I can just lean over and shovel. In the same vein, just like if you take six or seven bites of your friend’s fatty bacon risotto, it’s like basically chewing on air because you ordered something with dressing on the side. And if somebody buys a bag of chips or something, I can have little tiny handfuls of those chips and go back to the pantry and have more handfuls of those chips because they’re not actually entering my body because I never put them on a napkin.
9. SHIT YOU EAT WHEN YOU’RE MENSTRUATING/DUMPED: (once a month and however often people are shitheads)
Oh hell to calories. This is my TIME TO SHINE, bitches. I will make box after box of mac and cheese, ramen noodles, pizza slices, handfuls of Cheetos or whatever. And oh shit, brownies. And you better just put chocolate frosting in the fridge for this kind of occasion. Nobody better mess with you when you’re feeling bloated or shitty. You are entitled to down whatever your little heart desires because you are in sad mode and you are going to wear sweatpants and cry your mascara off anyway. Eat on, fuckers.
10. THINGS TO PUT BOOZE IN: (well not like every day but..you know..a lot)
BOOZE IS CALORIE-FREE SO DON’T EVEN. But there are lots of delicious stuff to put booze in that are important to the success of the drink. Sometimes it’s just diet soda and if you’re lucky enough diet tonic which is really hard to find. But if you’re indulging and in the mood, this could be eggnog, cranberry juice, hot chocolate, apple cider or whatever. In fact, Kate at citizenwasp.tumblr.com sent me a lovely recipe for warmed soymilk, nutmeg and lots of honey and rum. Quite useful for watching “Netflix’d TV shows that are slightly embarrassing to admit to watching” (P.S. SEND ME YOUR COCKTAIL RECIPES! I’ve been drinking vodka and diet lime soda for too long) Anyway, nothing is more important than choosing the chaser that goes with the drink. Sometimes it’s just ice, sometimes it’s fancy grapefruit margarita shit. A very, very important choice of the night.
I received this email the other day, and I think it made my cold little heart melt. Seems like there is hope for all of us!
Nice to meet you, I’m you, four years from now. I graduated from an awesome but useless liberal arts college, struggled for months trying to break into a creative field, drink too much and date too little, but most tellingly, my very favorite movie in the world is Terminator 2. The best grade I ever got was on a paper entitled “The Social Psychological Transformation of Sarah Connor from Terminator One to Terminator Two.” I got an A+. Thanks liberal arts education!
I’m 26 (about to be 27) and I feel you. The year after graduation is the worst: I was living in a loft in Brooklyn with four roommates including a burgeoning alcoholic who loved to bring guys home in the middle of the night and fellate them on my couch. And did I mention that we had no doors on the bedrooms? And cockroaches literally fell out of the ceiling, so we had to wear hats all the time, which is not my look.
But just like the message to all those bullied teens, it gets better. Now I live in a windowless apartment in the East Village with my charmingly gay roommate with whom I watch Rupaul’s Drag Race and stuff my face with nachos (I can now afford the finest nachos money can buy, no more cheez whiz for me!). I have a real job and a pretty decent life. Dating sucks, but your blog makes me feel better (albeit also older because I might be too old to be making mac and cheese at 5 in the morning and drinking Tito’s vodka and V8 as an afternoon snack, but that won’t stop me). And I started my own social experiment blog, which provides me with false feelings of grandeur.
Anyway, that’s my message to you. Check out my blog: http://rebeldoestherules.wordpress.com/(I’ve stopped updating it, but I’m going to start again, I swear), and hang in there. You’re an inspiration to funny girls everywhere.
Anyway, thanks for the hope this afternoon. I thought the hope of one day being able to afford that expensive six dollar cheese without even having to search the pile of various blocks of cheese for the cheapest one? A dream to look forward to. Oh, and I love hearing from you guys. Any questions, post ideas, or general cocktail recipes send on over to me at IAmTheFrenemy@gmail.com, kids. My spirit animal looks forward to it.
Today, a reader asked me to write a post revealing how one might know when they’re on a date. This might seem crazy to some people, but to me, I totally understood where she’s coming from. At this point, the word “date” is sort of a loose term. For example, I’m not one for sit down dinners. Candle-lit ambiances are for palm readers, I don’t look good eating in front of people I don’t know, and I’d rather go to a dive bar. This makes the ‘dating world’ a very terrifying shade of grey, mostly because the word has taken on all sorts of new idiotic meanings. “A Date” doesn’t mean “we’re going to one day sleep together so I have to spend money now on you.” Date pretty much means “who’s going to get sick of the other person faster and confused about our relationship first?” This got me and my reader friend discussing how each of us have spent precious moments of our life Googling dating advice. I mean, I’m putting it out there- I have, and I’m not necessarily proud of it. What I’m saying is that dating is hard and it’s no longer black and white. However, never fear! I’ve found some great ways to help you navigate the dating swamp:
How to know you’re on a date:
-You or the person you are with have not spent most of the time people watching: Seriously, if I’m not spending most of my time looking past you to watch some dumb shit trying to hit on a girl, I probably like you. Because that girl is so drunk, and she’s doing such funny and silly things!
-When you come to a pause in the conversation, you awkwardly dance to the music that’s on in the bar. I don’t know if this is a sign of terrible nervousness, but it happens every time I want to feel attractive but have nothing to say.
-You have accidentally bought this person something/they have accidentally bought you something: Sometimes I’ll say ‘oh sure I’ll get this if you get the next one’ and it’s like, the most romantic thing ever.
-Accidental knee brushing that results in more knee brushing: Sometimes I will move my leg a little farther than it has to be so I can make contact with somebody else’s denim jeans. This is my passive-aggressive way of saying I maybe want you to pull my hair in a bedroom somewhere.
-You’re asking stupid questions that place people in ridiculous and unrealistic scenarios: How would you like to die? What one moment would you live again? Where would you go in a time machine? It’s not like these things could happen, but this is my totally original way of getting to know you better!
-You try to mask your beer burps! Actually, manners become something you actually think about. Like, cross your legs and wipe your mouth when whiskey dribbles down it.
-You act like you’ve actually seen that movie or know that song. God, I hope you don’t ask me more questions about this movie or song.
-You make out as expected but pretend like it’s a really cute and special moment: I mean, we’re all hormone-filled pieces of crap. We all want to dry hump. However, if you use discretion and wait twenty minute to grab somebody’s face after finishing our third G&T, it’s a classy and romantic start.
-You’re not checking your phone: I mean, my phone is on my hip, which my dad recently taught me might make me get cell phone radiation or something. And whenever it vibrates I have to hold it till I die, till we both break down and cry. I am clutching it if I even suspect it’ll go off! If I’m not doing this, you should feel very special.
-If the person you’re with doesn’t kick you immediately out of bed: Like, you can hang around and they don’t ask you what your name is and stuff. However, if they get breakfast with you, it’s like whoa hey slow down there, buddy! You’re allowed to look at my face in the day when I ask you too, kind of like when Beauty asks Beast to “step into the light.”
-Wardrobe change: I wear a skirt as little as possible. I mean, I like skirts and I love shopping, but I tend to sit with my legs open and can’t really handle the ‘easy access.’ However, when I like somebody, I’m all ‘oh wait I should probably look like I’m not a functioning alcoholic with abandonment issues’ or something. And this makes me think that I need to dress like a human being who takes showers on the regular even though ‘my hair totally looks good when I don’t shower.’
-You get that weird feeling in your crotch: I mean, you just do.
-You go to the bathroom but: you kind of move your hips like you know how to actually walk sexy even though you totally don’t. And you smooth yourself out in the mirror. I’m usually too busy focusing on the ‘squat don’t step in pee or paper’ in the public bathroom to care too much about how I look.
-You avoid any mention of the fact that you spend most of your time watching Bravo and fantasizing about cinnamon buns but after a couple of drinks you are using that fact as leverage. Fuck it! If you can find somebody who likes you for the fact that you jag off to cream cheese icing, I say most power to you!
-You’re suddenly telling that one cool story about how you got into a bar fight once or this college story that makes you sound pretty bad ass. And totally, totally lovable, because you’re quirky.
-Which also leads up to the ‘oh how weird is the fact that I love this terrible thing so I’m hilariously awesome?’ For me, it’s The Final Destination movies. I don’t even know why I think that’s a cool thing to tell people I love. I just think it’s something great that makes me weird. And therefore everybody’s soulmate.
-Stupid laugh: What’s up with me laughing like a shithead? I don’t laugh like this, and why am I covering my mouth?
-Food is mentioned: I don’t know what it is about ‘hanging out with somebody while walking through a park or drinking beer, but there’s something about saying “I love this taco joint’ or ‘we have to go to this little hole-in-the-wall bakery’ that makes me think you totally like me because you eventually want to eat with me. Maybe not now, but like, soon! Somehow, this kind of stuff is about as much of a future as I can handle on the first hang out. Well, I’ve named our kids but whatever.
- You hold a door open for me: What’s up with that? Chivalry is such a lovely, weird thing when somebody does it. It’s like, well, I can technically open this door myself, but if you’re doing it, I can just awkwardly scratch my head instead! Works for me! Why are you being so nice, dude? Do you love me?
-I want to hang out with you in reality more than I like to sit here thinking about you. Don’t take that lightly! That’s a big deal. A pretty big deal.
True Answer: There is no answer! We’re independent, hell yeah! But welcome to the great unknown, fucker! You know how that show ‘I didn’t know I was pregnant’ did so well? Well, that’s kind of what dating is nowadays except you don’t get the shitty baby at the end. GOOD LUCK.
I don’t know who first told me about the true love, but I can say two things: Fuck you. Also, things have changed.
Cinematic Example: Nobody gives a shit about Prince Phillip but everybody loves Aladdin. I say this because Disney movies are any human’s first introduction to ‘love conquers all’, which means that at four years old you learn about soul rip before you can wipe your own ass. Upon further examination, Aladdin is a fucking criminal. He doen’t open doors and he cares more about his monkey than about wearing a shirt that doesn’t expose his chest. He can’t support you because he gives all his bread away. Prince Phillip from Sleeping Beauty, however, is perfect. He’s rich, he’s tall, and he probably always calls you back. But fuck him, we don’t like him that much! He’s brie at the holiday party: expected and boring, but I’ll eat him until somebody brings along the entree. Anyway, we’ve all sat on our asses watching Disney movies and now we’ve been taught what the fuck’s up with love. And we’ve all watched the ‘hey look, this girl’s getting on an airplane in the rain! Something will happen now!’ movie a million times, which also gives us some sort of..big picture when it comes to romance. However, in our real life we’ve spent a lot of time proving it wrong. After all “you’re pretty cool” is the new “love conquers all.” Ya dig?
Oh, and soulmate! What’s up with soulmate? For me, both of those syllables are creepy and big and my tiny baby brain does not understand them. Well, except for the ‘mate’ part. That section of the word probably just offends me. Independent woman, wadddup?! In my brain, when I end up with anybody, it’ll be because it’s the last person I end up with. I’ll be crazy about you, I promise, but it won’t be no Kate Beckinsale movie. It’ll be ‘rent is too damn high-I got my own shit taken care of” reality.
Anyway.. here’s just a word about Prince or Princess Charming: Creepy. Don’t want. Too many expectations. Can’t handle the pressure.
Television Example: Whenever I watch The Bachelor, I get really scratch at my face nervous. Watching women get super worked up about one guy and they all start crying over him and stuff, I feel like ‘oh sure, I get that. I totally get psycho nutso when I’m digging somebody especially if there’s a bunch of other bitches after him.’ But women who wear gowns and drink champagne and say the word ‘fairytale.’? Well, that just downright freaks me out. That kind of traditional is out the window with the rest of my tweed skirts. The Women of ABC may deserve to date airline pilots and guys who iron their shirts, but for me, the standards are different. You don’t have to be perfect because I’m so far from being that it’s offensive so I’m not judging too hard. Nobody in The Bachelor appeals to me because they’d only want me to order one glass of wine and at dinner! What the fuck, lameo? Like, somebody who knows who Tobias Funke is I’m gonna be into. A person who opens the door for me? Well, that guy has taken a back seat to the person who high fives me when I quote “Evil Dead 2.” It’s not shitty, it’s evolution. I can pay for my own drinks, first of all, and meeting somebody who takes me out for ‘fancy sushi’ isn’t nearly as interesting as somebody who isn’t a dumbass. Which is probably why people have such a thing for Seth Rogen. I’d say Emma Stone, but she’s hot too so it doesn’t count.
The main problem is, of course, is that ‘wine and dine’ no longer applies for most of us. The old ‘hey what’s in your wallet and how much can you protect me?’ has now become the new and improved ‘your personality.’ We like you mostly not for your dividends or your job or your magical ‘I will buy you Thai food every Friday until your Tom Yum Stomach explodes’ but for how awesomely weird you are. This means we don’t expect gag reflex romance. This means that we don’t think love is that magical. (Basically, I don’t like wearing pants. I can eat a bag of baked Potato Chips in under an hour. The magic dream is dead, friends.)
The dream is dead, obviously, because I don’t want to only count on love because I’m realistic. Love is awesome when I shit-grin all over the place, but it sucks that when it’s over it makes me temporarily forget about how awesome television, English Bulldogs, and my friends are. I get distracted in my sad. Love’s great, but I like other things too. These things include getting drunk buying trendy boots and learning how to make a good omelette. There’s a small window for both.
Furthermore, if we happen to really like you or even love you, you’re off the hook for the whole ‘better be her prince or princess in the making’ shit. We’re cool with you bringing a flask of whiskey and six seasons of One Tree Hill to my pad if that show’s still fucking on and why do you have it? We’re way cooler and ‘casual loose’ than we used to be. We like you for you! Like that song! Which basically means this: it doesn’t mean you get to treat us like shit. Don’t take advantage of this new, realistic mindset. After all, Aladdin gave Jasmine a whole bunch of peyote and flew her around some Oriental Rug. Very romantic.
So..do us a favor with this info. Our demands are reasonable, give us a little more than we’re expecting. Call us back. Let us know you’re thinking about us. Buy us a shot of whiskey when we look thirsty. No matter how sarcastic and shitty we can get, tell us we’re pretty or something. I mean, whenever I step out of my track shorts and into a pair of normal people pants, I’m trying to impress you. So note it, you fucker. However, most of all, don’t leave us hanging. It sucks. I mean, we’ll drink anyway, but you don’t want us to drink more because of you. Open a door once in a while, too. We’re not fragile, but we’re not fucking unhurtable. We’re those unbreakable wine goblets that actually break if you throw them on the ground hard enough. We can get damaged.
So listen, buddy. Make us laugh, let us make you laugh, and drink with us until we’re tired. It’s not much, it’s not ‘knight in shining armor’ (which you’re probably not capable of) It’s real, for real.
Happy Saturday Night, everybody! Saturday nights are usually my favorite night of the week, mostly because of the promise of Sunday brunch/nice comments from men when I wear outfits that expose my breasts. Anyway, I don’t usually do the whole “hey person I don’t know of course I’ll come back to your place” thing because I prefer drawn-out rejection and also not getting murdered! So my nights, for the most part, end up with me in my “who’s lookin’ Old Navy flannel and a face slathered in moisturizer.” I’m cool with this. Hell, even if you’re in a happy relationship (fuck you!) sometimes you need a nice night all to yourself, too! I’m not jealous, I think it’s quite admirable that you can enjoy a single person’s night of “crippling loneliness” every once and a while. I respect and admire you. Well, regardless, if you’re back at your place even though you drank too much and flirted too hard, congrats! Here are some things that should make you proud you turned down play to get some rest instead:
1. Now you can catch up on the last 20 minutes of: Practical Magic, Old School, Two Weeks Notice, Mr. Deeds, What A Girl Wants, My Best Friend’s Wedding, Kate Hudson and whatever other movie that constantly plays on TBS and you’ve seen 450 times already. But maybe you missed something! So let’s watch it again!
2. Or you can sit in your pajamas and blindly text your friends that you miss them! Because you miss them s00 moch!
3. Use this valuable time to eat snacks. Hey, you can either make boxed mac and cheese or you can dip your crackers directly into your butter tub. The effort you put into this is up to you. It’s your moment. If you have leftovers, I suggest you eat them.
4. Facebook chat is useful for two occasions: procrastination and drunk. Use this time to talk with that one other friend who has also decided to end the night by themselves and hates their roommates, too! You guys can now share how much awesomer YOUR night was so you don’t feel like a loser.
5. Lay on your bed and play that one song on your Ipod over and over again.
6. Contemplate texting that one person you know you shouldn’t text because you texted them last but that was days ago so that doesn’t really count anymore, right? Ugh this is all so hard! Are there rules for this? Let me Google the rules for this.
7. You keep your dignity! You now have dignity and the most delightful sense of power because you said no to casual sex even though this isn’t the ’50s and you can say yes now. You can save up all these dignity points for the next weekend when you decide to go home with somebody or make out with that guy who has a goatee.
8. Now you can look at 465 pages of “Texts from Last Night!” Or IMDB Jon Hamm. Or YouTube Glee songs. You’ve been totally meaning to fit that into your schedule but you’ve been so busy.
9. You never get the time to pick at your face in the mirror like you used to anymore. Or tweeze your eyebrows again! Now’s the time.
10. This open beer in your room that you left there because you ran out in a hurry isn’t going to drink itself!
11. You can now really, really hone in on the reasons why all your other previous relationships have failed or something.
12. Plan out your day because you have to get up tomorrow and buy toilet paper and maybe clean the dust bunnies under your bed. If you were like, hooking up with somebody you would have totally forgotten that you had to do those things
13. No walk of shame. This one is pretty important. I don’t know about you, but I look like a rabid animal after I spend the night at somebody’s place. Like, my hair sticks up and my makeup leaks all over my clothes and I look like a whore that slept under a truck for a couple of nights. I usually leave the house early and treat myself to a bagel, because who cares about carbs when all of NYC knows what a honk-slut I am? I might not get that bagel, but at least I’ll end up wake up smelling good.
14. People are annoying when you sleep next to them. I hate your arm underneath me and this is my pillow space and you can’t have it! Now my neck hurts, and I’m going to have to go out on a limb here and blame you. Oh, what a joy to sleep comfortably.
15. When you kiss somebody for a really long time, it can really do a lot of damage on your lips. And beard burn is the worst. Let’s not damage your pretty little face, huh?
16. If you go home with somebody, your friends will not believe you when you say how lonely and sad and how hard it is for you to meet somebody special.
17. If you go asleep by yourself, you won’t have all those night terrors because you watched Halloween II last night. Furthermore, staring at your closet thinking somebody will pop out of it really builds character.
18. One time, I went home alone and taught myself HTML code. Forget college, that’s productivity!
19. You can take a celibacy vow because you’re better than casual encounters. And you deserve the love that comes to you naturally and beautifully. And you’re only going to be treated right from now on until somebody like, super hot enjoys the same kind of music you like and buys you at least two drinks.
20. Because being alone is better than being with you. Yeah, that’s right. Isaid it, and I meant it.
A tattoo I once read stated “In Vino Veritas.” And this meant, upon further Googling, I mean I translated it myself: In Wine There is Truth. To this I say “hell yeah to that inked wrist, you crazy bitch” because nothing delivers honesty, happiness, and love in my brain more than a good glass of wine. And sure, I’ve met some people who say “you know what, I never really liked wine” and to that I immediately narrow my eyes at them and distrust them immensely. There is nothing about wine that is not likable. From the moment I was fifteen and snuck the liquid of life from my mom when she looked away at Thanksgiving, I realized that love may come and go, but wine was forever. This warm feeling I had was just like a good crush, anyway. Which is good, because wine will get you through a whole lot of heartbreak. And nothing will ever be better than a glass of red over some angsty vinyl record when shit is going down. Bless you, wine. You just made my bad things better again. Here’s some more ode to wine:
1. It’s the perfect “first drunk in front of your family” drink:
When I finally turned 21, I couldn’t wait until the first family holiday. Finally..long conversations about my future over various plates of olive and hummus appetizers would be made so much better with the addition of accepted drinking. Unfortunately, nobody in my family wants to see me swig back shots of whiskey and gin at family events, as much as I would like to. Anyway, this is where the wine comes in. Glass after glass of this stuff is totally acceptable because it’s not even like a real drink! It’s like grape juice that makes you talk about politics with your aunt! You’re not drunk, you’re passionate! Hideyourproblemshideyourproblems.
2. Excuse to eat cheese
We all know how much I love cheese. And any drink that makes cheese more acceptable to eat, I’m all about. Once again..wine. Even if you’re snacking on Kraft American slices or Polly-O string cheese, it makes you a much classier snacker if you drink a paper cup of wine with it.
3. Makes you a Real Housewife
Listen, that Bravo show is my jam. Nothing is better than a bunch of Botoxed bitches clawing at each other’s souls and releasing poorly autotuned pop hits. And nothing gets more of a starring role in that series than ridiculously large glasses of wine. From Kim to Atlanta to everybody in D.C., pouring a glass of wine makes me feel as classy as a trash bag when I’m catching up on reruns.
4. FRIDGE BOOZE
Sure, beer is delicious, but keep too much in your fridge and you have to buy a smaller fridge of it and keep it hidden in your basement. Wine you can display all over the side compartments with the condiments and the mustard and it’s like “what the fuck you gonna say about it?”
5. Respite for mothers
Everybody expects women to push babies out of them and be totally cool with a bunch of little shits running around grabbing their skirts and messing up the carpets. They also expect them to suck it up and take it like a champ. However, nobody faults moms for sucking back two or three glasses of wine while stirring up the pasta pot. And for that, I look forward to motherhood.
6. Drink it alone!
Nobody gives a shit if you have “a glass (or six) of wine” while you’re hanging out watching Netflix with yourself. It’s like the gateway to whiskey, but it’s not as sad!
7. Eat it with a panini!
I guess going out to lunch with friends is the most boring meal ever. Breakfast being the most obviously delicious meal of the day, is filled with omelette dreams and delicious pancake stacks. And dinner, with its cheese and artichoke pastas or whatever, can be paired with the strongest of cocktails. However, lunch is just sandwich and boredom. Like a big long food nap. So whenever I trudge out to meet some friend I only want to spend an hour with while eating a goat cheese pepper sandwich, nothing gets me happier than the acceptable ‘beer and wine list’ at the bistro. I will make this meal better, with it’s boring potato chip sides, as long as I can have a big ole glass of red with it.
8. SIX DOLLAR DRUNK
Well, if anybody has ever tried the Trader Joe’s Three Buck Chuck, I give you hugs and say right on, dude! But for the most part, buying a six dollar Yellowtail at the liquor mart is the fastest, surest, cheapest way to get drunk on a dime. And it’s not even in the sad way like buying Four Lokos or Mad Dog or whatever the college bros are chugging. I can be a drink piece of shit and be classy. A total dream.
9. A sense of entitlement
I really don’t know anything about anything, but I do know that I like Shiraz wine. Mostly because I decided to like it after I discovered it’s alcohol content is mostly 13.5%. I also don’t like sweet wines but I like woodsy ones. And I can sound like one hot piece of shit when somebody asks me my opinion about wines, like I know oh so much because I know a type and a flavor. Like one of those old timey English people!
MADE OF FRUIT
11. Trick your friends into going down the wrong path.
Hey, just because it’s Tuesday doesn’t mean I can’t get drunk. So when my uptight lameo friends are just like “I have work in the morning I can’t get smashed tonight!” I’m like oh whatever I bought this bottle of wine come over and I’ll make you broccoli and they do and go to work late and I feel victorious.
12. Read more
Something about the fact that a whole bunch of good writers spent most of their careers drunk on wine makes me feel smarter. Plus, the fact that this is the one alcohol that makes me feel intellectual and also sober enough to be able to read straight? Yeah, I’m college educated. And worldly. I’m both, dawg.
14. Friends in general
You drink a bottle of this, and you’ll learn more about the people you love by the end of the bottle. You’ll feel warmer than you usually do, you’ll give hugs when necessary, and you’ll be so damn happy that you get to know the people you know. Case closed, wine. Case closed.
Everything I Learned From Love I Did Not Learn At All
I don’t know much about love. I’m sorry. I’ve lead you on. I meant nothing, I know nothing.
Love makes me uncomfortable. When I see couples on the street and they are hugging, my first reaction is to throw pieces of bread at them as if they are pigeons. Choke, pigeons, choke! You are not human! When I see couples at tapas restaurants I’m all like “Dinner?! Cut the chord, losers!” To me, relationships start at parties and end on bad notes and Sunday mornings are for me and my boyfriend Pancakes. The rest of my days are spent listening to angsty songs on my Ipod and staring at art blogs and reading 30 or so pages of a book before I give up. Oh, and gin! So much gin.
To me, love is also weak. Giving half of my heart to somebody or whatever John Mayer croons about makes me want to vomit the toast I spread cream cheese on with my finger today. Cuddling is for puppies, and Whitney Houston said “The Greatest Love of All” was me! I took that to heart, damn it! Anyway, I used to accept this snarky behavior as decent and normal for one or all of these reasons: I read books because I’m smart and therefore don’t need somebody to validate me. I don’t look good in vintage dresses. I have at least six pairs of flannel pajamas. I spend a lot of time with jam on my face. I trip a lot over objects that aren’t necessarily there. I am unlovable! But in the badass “I wear leather way,” of course. Furthermore, I hate spooning because it’s weird! And I’m funny! Previously, I thought these characteristics somehow deviated me from the rest of all these shitty happy people who spend their time staring at butterfly-shaped things and dating plaid shirts. The kinds of people who have heart swells at Ikea. I am superior because I don’t want to chew on somebody else’s sweatshirt in a movie theater. I rock this shit!
Don’t you see? I’m quirky! Quirky, in rom com speak, is the new “when a nerdy girl takes off her glasses she is hot now.” Quirky girls are everywhere: the off-the-grid literary females who eat blocks of cheese and drink pitchers of beer at a time. All these girls need to do is accept that the Judd Apatow regular who has been following them around fo years is their true love and they are set. Because don’t worry, somebody is always waiting in the bushes to love the quirky girl! She’s the new “guy’s girl who knows about sports!” And he’s not All-American hot so you don’t have to feel like a sell out! Either way, you find love and it’s more real because you’re more aware of politics and sarcasm. It only suddenly occurred to me that this deviation from “I want to lean so hard on somebody” has made me feel oddly entitled to love. As if anybody who dares step into my “cross this line you’d better be bearing gifts of brie and Oscar Wilde quotes” is going to be the perfect forever for me. It’s so easy, all we have to do is wait! OH WAIT.
This is why I get so all about “letting my guard down” to somebody. This is otherwise known as time spent oddly alluding to the fact that someone before them had huffed and puffed my walls down. You know the one: the calm before the storm, the one that you let wah wah wah all over you before you realized that The Pixies were awesome and you were really good at making on-the-fly pop culture references. CALM BEFORE THE COOL. And then I get all wah wah wah when people I kiss fly the coop because there are 6 billion people or whatever in the world and me admitting secrets to somebody doesn’t always make me the only person somebody will ever think about. And it hurts so bad because I didn’t settle for somebody in high school! Or because my GPA was high and I’m still alone! Oh here is my pedestal let me sit on it. JADED! SHIT ON!
Granted, I happen to know that dating somebody or wanting to be with somebody who doesn’t read a lot or can’t get my Glenn Beck jokes or doesn’t get how funny ’90s action movies are not worth my time. But that doesn’t mean I don’t get upset just like everybody else or idealize it or want it. Quirky or not! What I mean is, I probably want it just as much as girl on the corner with the Uggs who has never read Keats. I am not entitled to it, nor is anybody, but I should have it. And I’m not lame or shitty or weak for wanting it. After all, love is like air. We all want it, but we don’t really care why.
Yes, that’s it. I would like somebody who sees me without eyeliner and knows what side of the bed I sleep on. Sure, I think that relationships are what happens when either of you are too lazy to move from said bed. But most of all, because I have had some that suck and most that dont’ last, I imagine a good one would be one for the books. And I’m tired of acting like that’s something that I don’t want. Fuck it, I’ll take it! It’s like a free sandwich! Sure! Why not! But I think that I want it and I think that it should be good and I think that it will be hard to find. Just like everybody else. BOOM.
Ah, there it is…the sound of me climbing off my pedestal, pouring myself another drink, and promising to stop resenting couples I don’t know. FOR NOW.
And you know what? They’re out there. They just are.
I wrote this note a month or two after I graduated college. I thought I’d share it with you guys.:
Of course, this was how I studied in college, so maybe I deserve what I get.
Twenty minutes ago, I changed from my track shorts to my ‘goin’ out shorts’ which is, in fact, just long denim jean shorts that I find acceptably cool because they are ripped. You should also know that I don’t use my track shorts to go “running.” I use them to go “drinking and sleeping.”
Why am I telling you this? Because this is my life now, post- education. This is the bed I am laying in or lying in. I’m not even sure how to use that correctly anymore, although in case you are wondering, I am quite dignified enough to write this note sitting up. In my bed.
After four years of attending college, there are a couple of things that I thought that I would be when I graduated. None of them were: lost, terrified, and irritated. This is why most college movies end at graduation. Nobody wants to see Elle from Legally Blonde curled up in the fetal position in her parents basement, although don’t even get me started about how she would have never gotten into Harvard Law. Anyway, I’d like to name a couple of things that I thought I would be, but am not, months after graduating with a BFA in writing:
1. Intelligent. Not that I am dumb by any means. I can spell and read just fine, and one time I won free beer at trivia because I knew that nutmeg was the CT state spice. I am not, however, sitting around like the people in all Fitzgerald literature, drinking fine bourbon and talking about world issues. This is how I thought all scholars, like me, acted. I’m a scholar because I read The Odyssey, right? I had to cite at least three literary critics in an essay once. Anyway, I read blogs, kind of skim over them actually, and I know that the light in the Great Gatsby is green but is not from an alien. Screw the Great Gatsby! I couldn’t even FINISH LOLITA.
2. Creative. I know this one girl who makes soap. I know this other girl who makes art pieces out of wax. I know another friend who knows how to make the exposure on a picture look like blah blah here is my performance art and I am also a great writer. I am not making fun of them. They are all very good. I am very jealous of them. I also saying that I have not picked up one GD crafty, cool, copper making skill in my four years of liberal artism. I can write comedy sort of, but not many people on bikes they have made themselves out of old victorian spoons and clock pieces care that I improv a decent dick joke. I can: make eggs. I cannot: string christmas lights/ hang posters evenly. I have nothing to talk about in the dim lit party arenas of people who just got back from the latest exhibit except ask them what they think of Nickelback in the hopes they will laugh.
3. Capable: In high school, I had home ec. I learned when I was 15 how to make a pie and iron a hem. This is the last time I was ever physically taught a life skill, and it was at a time when I hadn’t even tried beer or made out with a boy who didn’t have braces. So it was obviously very helpful at the time. At this point, oh, I thought I would just magically know how to balance my checkbook. And not get screwed over on my *Nstar (*NSync?) Bill. And how to compile all of my loan checks into one fat check of sadness. And increase my credit card minimum. And make rice. And know what a mortgage is. And remember to carry my health insurance card with me. And clip coupons. What’s a 401k? WHAT IS ADULT?!?!?!??!
4. Cosmopolitan. I eat pizza a lot. I also think a ‘fun night’ is a six pack of the cheapest shit you got and a running commentary on everybody else who isn’t in the room. Movies are good too, but I like the kinds of movies where people get their faces eaten by the undead. I watch Battlefield Earth and Lifetime Movies and I am oh so content. I have not seen that French movie, and I have not seen that other movie, either. I have, however, seen the movie “She’s Too Young.” Go ahead. Google it. Alas, I never thought I’d be Carrie from Sex in the City or anything- I’ve never had the horse face for it. I DID think that I’d have at least one fancy sparkle dress I could whirl around on the street in, just having come back from a crazy night with lots of martini glasses, slow motion laughter, and European men nodding at me from other ends of the room.
5.Rich as FUCK: By now, I thought I’d be making smart witticisms with Andy Samberg. Well, actually, at the time it was more like Dane Cook. Granted, I thought I’d be getting coffee for them, never talking to them, and faxing stuff, but I did think that I’d be “on my way to the top” instead of “watching True Life in my socks with such fervor” like I am instead. I also thought that “Stafford Loans” were like unicorns- as in sure, I could take them out and have them, but it’s not like I’d ever ride them across the rainbow or anything. I also thought that going to the ATM wasn’t going to be like playing russian roulette but instead of getting shot in the head, I’d have to eat cream cheese and toast for a week. Lucy just pointed out that “you love cream cheese and toast.” That’s right, I forgot. I have my toast. EDIT: Three to four months later, I’m making a small and growing income, thank the children. But for some reason, I thought that, no matter what job I’d have, I’d be wearing smart high-heeled shoes, pencil skirts, and carry an important briefcase with lots of papers. I’d complain about my Cosi salad, I’d constantly be on my cell phone, and I’d have shinier hair. Or I’d wear Converse sneakers and be pointing at a computer while people intently listened to what I said. I didn’t know WHAT I wanted to be, I just knew how I wanted to look. IMPORTANT.
Anyway, that’s what I have. Lots of nothing. But I’m whatever, I still have Facebook. And the hope of my big break of getting on a game show, or perhaps Intervention. However, I really don’t feel bad about these things I just listed, because Sex and the City is fiction. And Dane Cook sucks. And that chick in the Great Gatsby was cuh-razy! And! Optimism! Constant, Throbbing, Numbing Optimism! Anyway, don’t feel bad for me because….
We’re all in the same boat, class of 20-whenever this economy gets fixed! So suck on that!
You know, click the link above for my shameless plugging and all that. But there’s more…
I got another reader question today, which I love because I feel both regular drunk AND drunk with power tonight! Anyway, it reads as follows:
Question! How does one respond to “I love you”, when it comes out of the mouth of someone you’ve been dating for a couple weeks and enjoy the company of but are definitely not in love with?!
Ahh..I have this problem often because so many people are in love with me that I have to bat them away with Louisville Sluggers to death. No, that’s probably not true?! Anyway, if somebody is so infatuated after a couple of weeks that they’re already saying I love you, they’re probably just dickmatized. The stage between like and love is just that: dickmatized. This might mean you are probably really good at making out and you’ve shared a couple of stories about your high school experiences or your childhood dreams or something. So congraduations on that, but also acknowledge that this person has been reading a little too much YA fiction and thinks love means a long hug and a couple of confessions. Slightly off base. I think love is what happens when you know everything that sucks about somebody but you’re still insane enough to want to eat breakfast with them forever. This takes time. So you need to tell this person to slow his or her roll a bit and learn what part of their body to think with. There’s an order, after all: start with the crotch, follow with the brain and end with the heart. This person’s at crotch phase. This means you can acknowledge that this person is emotional porridge and get out, or you can:
-say thank you
-put your finger to their mouth every time they say “I lo..”
-mumble a response to buy some time
-isn’t this the perfect Twix commercial?
-that guy from That ‘70’s Show said “I love cake” as a response which was kind of funny and would work in real life if you’re a moron.
-punch them in the crotch to bring it back to reality.
-you’re not really obligated to tell somebody you love them, so you can say nothing. But I do think that you are obligated to say “Are you sure? Shouldn’t you see how much of a raving bitch/psycho emotional drunk/sloppy eater I can be? Because I kind of try to hide that from you at this stage.” And then tell them to stop prematurely jazzing their feeling load. Patience is a virtue, after all.
So that’s that. Let them down gently, with the promise of how much awful you’re going to get in the future. And if you like them, stick around. Good crazy is hard to find.
The best way to snag somebody is to trap somebody. Using a series of insane tricks, plots, and ploys is certainly the only way to convince somebody you are a useful lover in their life. This is what is known as “a game.” Now, I’ve heard about these elusive games only by way of one phrase: “I don’t like games.” Well, that phrase and also the admission that “I don’t play them.” It was only recently that I realized I actually have no idea what the fuck these games are. You see, nobody’s ever described how to play a game like one might describe how to play chess or maybe when Jigsaw says it. They just say that games are bad news, like guys in bomber jackets or girls with pin-up tattoos. As I began to wrap my minds around the love games that we all say we don’t play, I realized that we’re all fucking liars. And that, unintentionally or not, we’re just a bunch of awful people trying to break other people down until they like you better than you like them. This means you win, and you can roll around in bed for a couple of months before you get bored or too attached to move.
Rule #1: Be a shitty, terrible person before you fuck up and realize you dig somebody.
Ah, the blissful moments before you realize how screwed you are. Usually, when you meet somebody attractive of the sex you are attracted to, you find yourself neutral about it. That’s because, as single people, we spend most of our time thinking about the perfect person (for me, it’ll always be John Connor) and watching movies about beautiful people falling into beautiful love. So when we meet somebody, we’re like “well, you’re kind of cool and all, but you’re not a vampire or Leo DiCaprio or the 6’3 French chef I have decided I will marry.” So you don’t really care. You might not respond to their texts right away, or you might not call them back when you have plans, or you might just spend most of your conversations with your head buried in your hands. This is the part of the game you do not realize you are playing. Everything is coming up all casually indifferent roses and you’re keeping a semblance of mystery which is hot. Until the moment you realize, because they like The Talking Heads or want a French bulldog, that you like them. And you are now fucked. Because the only part of “the game” that you play correctly is when you don’t know you’re playing it. It’s all downhill from here because now you turn into a nutjob.
Rule #2: Don’t be a slut….yet
Holding onto your precious flower in these times of going from indifference to 60 is a key part of mind control. An invisible chastity belt is required in order to come out ahead, even if that means that you have to go home and watch Rated R sex scenes or take a cold shower for six hours. If you take your pants off on day one, you’re going to be instant coffee and everybody hates instant coffee. Yet, we drink it when we have to…do you see where I’m going with this? But you do have to be coy and giggle and play with your hair a lot so nobody thinks you’re Jonas Brother celibate or anything. Anyway, once you kind of withhold for a bit, you have to go all crazy and do lots of sexy, sexy stuff. Sexy stuff to me is DVDs and vodka tonics, so I can’t really help you guys out with that one. I guess maybe just make out and breathe through your nose and fumble around with pants or something. But keep in mind: first you have to seem really chaste. And later you have to seem really hot and bothered. And it has to be at the perfect time. Or else you lose. I can’t tell you when that time is, you just have to know. Don’t worry but if you mess it up you’ll ruin everything. Sex! Intrigue! POWER! Hooray!
Rule #3: Break them down on the outside while breaking yourself down on the inside.
Now’s the time where you have unlocked the chastity belt or at least un-notched it so you can’t just let them have all the power! That’d be bananas! So you trick them into thinking you’re great and awesome by wearing all of your best outfits and telling all of your best jokes. And then you ignore them but obsess over them on the inside. This way, you seem like you have all sorts of prospects (hey, you’re adorable! Of course you do!) but you can really sit at home and claw at your face and stare at your phone and yell at all sorts of your friends. Or flirt with a guy at a bar for ten minutes before you run away! Ha! You are so in demand! Anyway, to them you seem so cool and indifferent, but you’ve really listened to Creep by Radiohead thirty-six times in a row tonight. Whatever, use this time to bond with your friends by asking them over and over again what you think that phone call meant or something. Everybody loves that.
Rule #4: Meet somewhere in the middle, if the middle was rock bottom
This is the moment where you are crawling to each other because you have both broken each other down enough that you can’t really walk anymore. You’ve ran in circles around each other for weeks, you’re too tired to go anywhere! You see, after sleeping with each other, you have to convince yourself that the sex wasn’t that good. Or that it was the best! Or that you don’t really care. Or that you try to not call to often, or seem too interested. At this point, you’re not even sure if you like each other, yourselves, or anything anymore. So….sleepy…can’t…move. And this is when you crawl towards each other like little babies and mutually shit your pants together. That or whatever else you can do to lose a tiny bit of your dignity. This is the moment before..
Rule #5: Surrender
This is when somebody has to admit their feelings or pull out. Either way, a tiny little white flag is waved because nobody wins this game. This isn’t Jumanji, fuckers! We’re all losers! You might say how much you enjoy hanging out with each other and decide to keep sleeping together, this time with the understanding that you have to text each other every day or whatever. Or you run away with your tail in between your legs because you’re just “not ready for this right now.” Which usually means “I also enjoy sleeping with other people/you’re not that good/I don’t want to ever have to buy you dinner.” Who knows? Either way, game over. Until next time, suckers! Until next time!
This evening, I received a message from a nice gentleman who had a question for me. Nobody ever asks me questions, probably because I’m drunk and too busy trying to turn an olive and a glass into a mini basketball game. Therefore, I’m going to delight in answering this because I’m one big fucking know-it-all. He asks:
My girlfriend and I are currently on a break. She went off to college. She feels like, after being in a relationship for “so long,” that she wants to know her options. She asked for a break where there will be very little talking, if any, the entire time. I am respecting her decision and giving her space. So I was wondering what your take is on “breaks” in a relationship?
Breaks are really great if you like pulling a band-aid off really, really slowly and on your own time because pulling it off fast will hurt too much. Breaks are also really good if you like lowering yourself into a vat of boiling water or burning yourself at the stake. What I mean is: hello! Look at this slow way of dying! Listen, breaks are fine and all if you enjoy pain and the idea that somebody else is going to be sleeping with your significant other. Because that’s what that is about. And I’m not trying to be shitty about breaks either, because I guess Ross and Rachel dealt with that pretty well and I respect pretty much every decision David Schwimmer has ever made. But the fact is that somebody suggesting that: hey, you’re okay and all but I need to see what’s out there. What I mean is that you’re not that great. I’d like to search for somebody better while I have you on the backburner in case if the people I make out with don’t spoon me as well as you do. Here’s my point: break up. BREAK UP. If you take yourself out of the equation, than the person you’re with can be single and see how shitty or awesome being single really is. Or you are. Or whatever. She’ll come back or she won’t but at least you won’t be all shady and sappy all month. A trial separation means you’re just going to sit around and stare at old photos of her and cry into your pillow. It’s like a pre-breakup, but than the breakup sucks too so it’s like double the crying. Go out there and make out with some random chicks that are anticipating the new Ke$ha album. Don’t respect her space, respect yours! Well, that didn’t make any sense, but you know what I mean.
Things that are better than a break:
-slowly stabbing yourself with needles
-watching Mr. Wrong
-breaking up with somebody and letting them figure out their life
-no more cheese
-not getting slowly dumped for a month
-not having a false relationship for a month
-I went on a break once because I was too lazy to have the lengthy break-up conversation. I told him not to talk to me until February when I just had planned the way I would break up with him/hoped he would forget about me. He didn’t. I was a dick. SIDE NOTE.
-Putting puppies in costumes
Good luck, bro. I’m rooting for you. Breaks suck. Think it over.
Hey y’all. I headed out to Boston this weekend to hang out with some old college pals and drink whiskey in a different state. So although I’ve been a little inconsistent with posting, I’m back tomorrow night and will commence full “drink, watch Intervention and write till 3am” mode.
However, I’d like to take a moment from my fried pickles and lite beer to talk a little bit about breasts. After ending my Friday night at a particularly bro-oriented sports bar, I decided to take the opportunity of being slightly disgusted by most of the people who were there and take a survey. I asked various gentleman “what makes you approach somebody at a bar?” Why I did this, I can’t say for sure. Oh yes I can- I was bored and three strong drinks in and I had a guaranteed gold mine of hilarity in my hands. So I asked, and they answered. Here are some of the best responses:
Jafi, 23: Breasts
Kevin, 28: “Shirt”
John, 26: Breasts, personality
Mike, 30: Brunette, breasts.
There were a couple more like this, including a 24-year-old who had just got dumped and wanted to tell me the breakup story, a group of gay men, and a guy with a broken finger, but all of them were mostly about breasts. And eye contact. So ladies, if you have breasts and stare at people, congratulations: you are on the fast track to finding your Prince Charming.
However, if you want to meet somebody nice, you can do yourself a solid and follow these tips that deflect from breasts:
-put pictures of yourself doing philanthropy work on your breasts.
-put surveys that people you meet can take where they have to answer questions about their credit scores.
-wear a bra made of your favorite books.
-wear all of your shirts backwards to hide your breasts.
-wear a cardboard box for a dress.
-wear a hat that says “I have a lot of money.”
-go to a bar on stilts so nobody can see you have breasts.
-abandon all hope.
So yeah for breasts! They might be heavy and useless for those not nursing, but at least we can boost the old self-esteem by having them attract all sorts of wanted, loved attention!
Anyway, help me out and send me your funniest failed pick-up experiences to IAMTHEFRENEMY@GMAIL.COM. I’ll post some of the best soon!
There are lots of sex tips that I’ve read in magazines and heard in the bathrooms of seedy dive bars. However, I’m beginning to think that I’m pretty much an expert at turning pretty much everybody I’ve ever met on. In fact, if you were in the same room as me now I would probably be turning you on and I’m wearing a baggy college sweatshirt whilst drinking a vodka lemonade. But whatever, I’m just that good. Anyway, I’ve decided to share with you some tips I’ve picked up along the way so you can be as gifted as seduction as I am:
1. Set the mood: Forget music. Nothing gets somebody more sexual and aware of their body than a movie playing in the background. The scripted dialogue, the jazz saxophone music score, the possible appearance by Mickey Rourke- all of these little things make for a mind-blowing sensual experience. However, choose your film carefully. I actually keep three or four movies by my DVD player at all time in case if I ever want to set the mood: Driving Miss Daisy (Morgan Freeman’s voice is a known aphrodisiac), A Few Good Men, Crash, and Jurassic Park III are all movies I’ll never cease to be turned on to time and time again. Choosing movies with lessons about race, military corruption, or shitty douchebag dinosaurs are great sex enhancers.
2. Wiggle your eyebrows up and down: This suggestive move obviously means you are thinking of somebody without pants on, and are clearly inviting them to remove their pants if they’d like to. Come on, take off your pants! Global warming is a real problem!
3. Push out your booty: In case if anybody forgets, I like to remind them that I have a butt that you might enjoy placing your hands on. Therefore, I find all sorts of reasons to stick out my behind. For example, I like to take large objects that lay on the mantelpiece, such as urns or shards of glass, and drop them on the ground so I can pick them up slowly. I also like to reach for things on high shelves or bring a Thighmaster and work out on their floor. I also like to just stare out the window longingly but also by popping out my behind. That way, it shows that I am smart but also hot.
4. Brag: If there’s one thing I learned in my 22 years of being alive, nothing is sexier or more bone-worthy than telling people I: make a really good cheesecake, can spell pretty much any word, have an intricate coin collection, or can quote all lines from Terminator 2. My general rule of thumb is if my grandmother would give a shit, so would the person I want to take into the bedroom. My grandmother loves when I tell and retell the story of how I once flew a kite when it was windy and nobody thought I could! Although, I will say, most guys really perk up when I tell them I can actually fit my entire fist into my mouth. Proof is in the pudding. EW.
5. Gin: Always one of my favorite tips, of course. Listen, the more you drink, the more willing you are to put your hand on somebody’s thigh. Everybody knows that there are only three kinds of people who put their hand on your thigh- concerned guidance counselors, creepy older women who don’t know boundaries, and people you want to tongue dance with. Yet, given that it is one of the most unnatural moves you can make towards somebody but is almost required to signal sexual feelings, a little liquid courage is required. On another note, the atmosphere of a bar is one of the sexiest atmospheres there is in the world. What with all the squatting motions over toilets, the sticky counters, and the flattering lighting, it’s a wonder that every bar doesn’t just turn into a giant orgy all of the time.
6. Don’t mention your biological clock: Last night, I was at a bar drinking my shots of bourbon like the graceful human being I am when this genius guy casually stated ‘So all girls want to have babies.” BOOM! Wasn’t even a question. Statement piece. Now, happening to also be drinking with an attractive member of the opposite sex, the first thing I did was scream “of course!” at the top of my lungs. Then, I began to pull out all the little booties I had knitted in the last two hours and my “Mommy’s Future Boozer” bib I had made. Then I began to cry as I sang “Hush Little Baby” and rocking back and forth counting my eggs. NO. I broke out in a cold sweat and pretended like I didn’t know what babies were. What are babies? Who are these evil little bedwetters, and what do they want from us? Huh?
7. Visible bra: Wearing an outfit that shows off the fancy, flesh-colored push up bra I wear really says one thing and one thing only: I have breasts that need to be held up with the assistance of fabric. Boner much?!
8. Act emotionally unstable: Kind of like Sammie from the Jersey Shore, or the girl in line at the CVS holding onto her boyfriend for dear life, apparently nothing says “you should get involved with me” more than clingy ass bitches. That’s right, lean your head on his or her shoulder. Act like everybody’s mean to you. Suck your thumb. Cry a little bit about how you couldn’t believe the ending of that movie could treat you that way. Wave a knife around a little bit when your date expresses dislike for anything you like.
9. Crotch stare: Sometimes, I just like to stare at somebody’s crotch and slowly, slowly lick my lips. Then, to make you seem coy and not like, putting it all out there, I like to then drag my finger across my neck. Works like a charm.
10. Mention your exes: Now, I don’t like to just casually mention that I’ve been with people in a sexual or romantic manner before in my lifetime. I like to fucking TELL people about my exes, casually inserting how wounded and raw and fragile I am from their previous indiscretions. Plus, you’re still so mad at them, so it’s like little bits of sweet revenge when you’re like “yeah I dated that marine biologist Eric for two years and if I saw him now, I’d like to stake him and his slut girlfriend on the horn of a rhino! But no big, we’re still friends. I tried to kill him once, but that’s no big.” That way, somebody knows how broken I am..which means EASY AM I RIGHT?
The end of the relationship is kind of like getting the worst menstrual cramps in the world: all you want to do is complain and eat and yell, but everybody thinks you’re overreacting. Getting dumped happens to everybody, and because it happens to everybody nobody wants to hear about it. We’d all rather sit in our bitchy whiny pillows and think about how much our own lives suck. With this kind of shitty pity party, it’s best to get over an ended relationship ASAP. If you’re not in the process of a break-up or you’re in a super happy love relationship now, it’s still best if you print this out and put it away somewhere safe. You’ll need it someday. Here, I give ideas for the fastest way to a speedy break-up recovery:
1. Cast a spell! Gather all the loose hairs of your lover from your North Face. If you can gather some of his dead skin/blood, that’d be great too. Burn them all in a pit in the darkest part of your wood. Add the soul of a crow and cry him a river. Put a ring of salt around his varsity jacket and summon the goddess spirits of revenge. Give your soul to have his life be filled with unhappiness. It’ll be worth it, you dated for 3 months.
2. Gain ten pounds! I call this weight “the comfort pillow.” For days and weeks after ending a relationship, I eat only spoonfuls of butter, Ben and Jerry’s ice cream containers, and my own tears in a glass filled with ice cream. That way, when I have to see him or her in Filene’s Basement or something, I have my chili-covered knight armor on. My knight armor of soft, pillowy fat that deflects all of his evil man pain rays. Sometimes, he won’t even recognize me because my face is so covered with cake mix and it’s a great disguise. A good recipe to jump start this is sour cream and cheese sauce, mixed together and poured over potato chips. I call them my “i’m too hopeless i don’t care if they’re not really” nachos.
3. Lose ten pounds! If there’s anything I’ve learned from Us Weekly, it’s that every time Jennifer Aniston or Jennifer “got talent?” Hewitt gets dumped at the curb, she firms up her abs. I know this because they show a blurry picture of her slumping down to put away groceries followed by a picture of her in a corset at a movie premiere! This is called REVENGE BODY! I got revenge body by chasing my ex all over town with a BB gun, then having to run from the cops. I also only ate the emails he sent me and the flowers he gave me for three weeks straight. After I lost all the weight, I was like ‘look how kind of different I look’ and he was like “this is a restraining order” but I felt really good anyway.
4. Fake a pregnancy! If you are with somebody of the same gender, the solution to this is just steal a baby and be like “our friends who died gave us this baby and we have to take care of it together!” If you are with somebody who you can make a baby with, go to the planned parenthood dumpster/public bathroom near a high school and find a positive pregnancy test and be all like ‘oh my gahhhh.’ Then you can convince him or her in the three or four weeks you live the lie together that your winning personality and motherly capabilities are totally desirable and lovable!
5. Ghost Tactics: All you have to do is put a sheet over your head and pretend that you are a ghost. Now, you can sneak up behind them in their house/car and be like “Looooveee Alysssssaaaaa” and “This could save your lifffeeee.” Everybody listens to ghosts. It’s like a rule.
6. Make out with somebody else at a bar!: A good friend of mine once told me “all you have to do to make out with somebody at a bar is cross your legs towards them and smile.” DONE and DONE. When you’re kissing somebody else, you’ll forget about your ex. Then you buy this new person enough drinks until you ask if you can call them by your ex’s name and become really attached to them and love them forever.
7. DRINK: Come on, who would I be if I didn’t tell you to crack open a bottle of the finest booze 8-14 dollars can buy, sit your ass on the couch and suck that shit down. That way, when your roommates come home and you’re wailing and staring at old “photo memories,” everybody will attest it to your alcoholism and not your sorrow. SECRET SHAME.
8. Spend all your money! For some reason, every time I get dumped, I think “I deserve to spend all my money today.” So I start buying fancy ass paninis for lunch or just blocks of brie cheese for myself. Then I start buying dresses. Then I start buying more dresses. Then I just wad a twenty dollar bill and throw it in the trash. Why? Because I think I deserve all these things because I am sad. My things make me feel better! Look at all my pretty things I can hold!
9. Dress like a slut: Nothing like good old fashioned objectification to feel loved and wanted again. Now’s the time to wear obvious amounts of blush, beauty products with the word “SEX” in them, and mini dresses that actually look like shirts. That way you can get lots of creepy attention from sexual deviants and feel really amazing about yourself. Like, if that elderly construction worker wants me, why didn’t HE?!?!?! WELL!??!?! Now’s the time to dance sexy to FLO-RIDA and pretend you don’t have a brain! You’re in mourning!
10. Send sexy texts to you-know-who: You know the person I’m talking about . The backburner guy or girl you don’t really care about, but know they like to have consensual sex and had a crush on you at one point. So now if you text them rapid fire texts starting at 2am and ending at 330am, all about how “man i wish you could come over right now” “come over” “no you come over” you feel better. Mostly because you couldn’t actually come over, since you are in your pajamas and are wearing a face mask to calm the swelling from tears. But you know, it feels nice that they would be down for it. Never meet up with this person, just put a text message where your heart used to be. That’s the spirit!
11. Buy a pet: Name it after your lost love. Dress it up in little t-shirts and khakis and glasses and make it look just like this person. Sleep with it close to you at night. Spray it with their perfume. Never, ever, ever let it go. If it poops on the floor, ask why it has betrayed you. Have trouble looking at it.
12. Have fake conversations: I like to argue with exes when I am in the shower. There, in the warmth of the water and the Suave, I can say all the things I want to say and also say really badass rejections when they beg for me back. It’s like AS IF, invisible ex! I am so much stronger now. Get out of shower, check phone obsessively to see if they have called and they have not.
13. Call your Mom more: When everybody stops giving a shit about your sadness, your mom never will. In fact, she will relish in the fact that she can now tell you all the things she secretly hated about your ex in the first place. Moms love talking shit. She will destroy that lameo with the venom and hatred of the most evil high school girl. Seriously. Bitch be tough.
14. AVRIL LAVIGNE: Yep. Pop punk singer-songwriters may have been shitty before you got dumped, but all of sudden Avril’s like ” YOU WERE EVERYTHING THAT I WANTED WE WERE MEANT TO BE SUPPOSED TO BE BUT WE LOST IT” and you’re like hell yeah! How is it that pop radio can understand me so much?! How come I’m listening to this shitty, terrible music? Of course- this song was written for me! If you have better music taste than this, remember there’s nothing wrong with listening to a little Bon Iver and curling yourself up into a ball and releasing your screams into a pillow. It’s a very productive way to listen to music.
15. Well that’s a stupid status: Facebook is the perfect way to let three or four hundred co-workers, friends of friends, and people who went to your high school know how you are feeling. This way, when you put “Part of me is gone and destroyed:" people will be like “oh my god is she okay?” and then when you go “I still miss you, baby. Every minute of it.” people will be like “oh my god she’s still mourning!” and your breakup will remain relevant and people will really, really care about it.
16. PITY: In the same vein as #15, you should probably just use this breakup to make a blanket statement about how you are “always the one to get dumped” and how you are “nobody’s soulmate” and list how this end reflects how you will date for the rest of your life. Because all breakups are the same, and you will never love anybody this way again, and you will die in a foxhole of memories and alone.
17. Stalk: Follow them home. Stealthy, like that of a forest creature. Do not step on branches, breathe only when you have to. Do not eat. Track them for days. Learn their scent. Finally, if you see them cry, you run out with a cake and yell “I missed you too!” Sometimes they don’t cry, sometimes you have to hit them over the head and drag them to your car and eventually, when you keep them there for a while, they’ll cry and admit they miss you too.
18. Fires: If you burn everything they’ve ever given you, good. If you burn their house, their place of work, or blow up the car of the flirty co-worker/person they talked to on Facebook in the past two days, then you’re making some real progress.
19. Distract yourself: I like to commit a crime like a bank heist right after a serious breakup. That way, I’m more worried about hiding evidence, hiding bodies, or escaping from police instead of thinking about my ex. Watching surprisingly addictive episodes of Campus Police or Desperate Housewives works as well.
Everybody has friends who pose like a bunch o’shitbags, too.
You will need:
Let me make this clear: I hate the term “lover” when it is applied to people. It’s like, lady, you’re not French in 1956, and there is no reason the guy whose bending you over his couch can be described in such flowery literary sentiments. However, when “lover” is applied to Evan Williams, I can get behind it just fine. By far the most pain-inducing and joy-inspiring of the affordable whiskey family, to me it’s got about as much bittersweet nostalgia behind it as a shitty Nicholas Sparks saga. The first time I swigged back this bottle was 18 on a hardwood floor somewhere, probably to the encouragement of some Joy Division loving shitbag I wanted to make out with on somebody else’s couch. Anyway, who cares about him? Memories of cheap plastic whiskey are not for sloppy macking on Craig’s List furniture. You see, Evan Williams and I have our own problems to deal with. Mostly because, for years since the first sip, Evan has never failed to give me heartburn, stomach problems, and shame fuel. It’s okay though, Ev, I still keep coming back for more. Two or three sips of your amber pain have given me the inspiration I need to walk somewhere on a winter night, make the phone call I’ve been avoiding, or hug the person I shouldn’t be mad at anymore. I’ve danced to fucking Telephone with this stuff in my veins and I liked it. Most importantly, Evan, the best memories I have of you are with friends- Brittanie and I spent a Friday night in and tried to line the rim of our shitty Pier 1 martini glasses with sugar and make Manhattans with vermouth and lime juice. We failed miserably because nobody I get along with is graceful enough to pull off cocktails correctly. Instead, we ate a whole bag of reduced-fat potato chips. Furthermore, you should never try to make cocktails out of whiskey under twenty dollars. It’s like putting lipstick on a pig or whatever phrase those Real Housewives use to insult each other. And sure, Evan will leave your liver and stomach in a ditch, but if you’re poor and young and just want to drink, he’ll do. He’ll do after a shitty bar night where your hair looks terrible and you need to go home and play Scene-It trivia with a friend who thinks your hair looks “fine..I didn’t notice?” He’ll do when Johnny No-Name reminds you that dating a guy who likes industrial music was a bad idea or when paying your cell phone bill on time forces you to eat ramen for a week. And although Evan gets a bad wrap as the drink of despair, I wholeheartedly disagree. If you are drinking Evan in a good mood, well, you’re better off sober- he is a drink of despair but it’s not such a bad thing. Because if you’re not drinking whiskey alone, it’s not despair at all. And when you’re in a really fucking terrible mood, this eleven dollar handle just might be your best answer yet. It’s the potential to make a shitty night made better with the people who like you best. And that, my friends, will make any mood improve. Even though your morning will suck. A lot.
Everybody knows that girls are really, really insane. Not only do I have a restraining order against every ex-boyfriend I’ve ever had, I also like to cope with things by eating an entire pint of ice cream while screaming. Bad hair days have known to make me murder hoards of the innocent. My walls are covered with newspaper clippings from Family Circus and Ladies Home Journal Cool Whip cake recipes. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m not here to talk about what makes us all crazy, I’m here to talk about why we’re crazy:
1. THAT ONE ASSHOLE:
You know the one. The one you met when you were a heartbreak virgin so you were kissing baby rabbits and all like ‘oh man why are all emo kids wearing all black and shit love is great!” But, then BAM. The 18-25 year old in question casually tells you about how relationships aren’t his thing or that you and her will never work out because of the band. Or basically, this person rips through your chest and grabs your heart and puts it in a blender with some whey protein powder and one whole banana. This person drinks your heart for a midday snack as you bleed profusely on the ground and listen to Jagged Little Pill and eat cookies and moan. After a while, your chest cavity grows a tiny dark little goblin heart instead of the regular heart you had before. IT IS A CRAZY HEART! Now, listen. This isn’t a big deal. All it means is that for the rest of your life, all of your relationships will take place over a storm cloud of fear and anger. Any sudden movements made by the person you are currently with will be met with cat claws at the eyes. If this person forgets to text you, you will throw a glass at their head and screech till houses shake. You will cry every time they cancel your plans because they got hit by a bus. Who cares if it’s unreasonable because YOU CAN’T GO THROUGH THAT AGAIN. Listen, you don’t understand, if you ever experience the kind of pain like the first one, you’ll become an animal hoarder who names 30 macaws after other people’s grandchildren. So when you don’t hear from someone in 34 minutes, it’s only reasonable to set the bed on fire. It also doesn’t suck that a lot of the people you meet after this person kind of suck, too. Or that most people actually suck.
2. Carrie Bradshaw
Carrie Bradshaw, at first glance, lives the life all people want to live. She’s got really available best friends, 8 million dollars worth of clothing, and is allowed to chain-smoke by her computer all day instead of having a real job. And since she is the narrative voice of the show she stars in that we all watch, we believe that we she is relatable enough to be a real person we can strive to be. GOOD THING WE’RE WRONG. Now, listen. We can totally have great friends we have breakfast with all the time, the confidence to wear crazy accessories in public, and visible collarbones. But what we don’t want, but what Sex ad the City makes us think we want is a really complicated, really terrible love story. A guy and a girl meet. They date on and off for years while he has trouble committing to her, admits that he can’t be committed to her, leaves her to move to another country and marry somebody else, wants to date her when she’s in another committed relationship, than leaves her at the ALTAR. All of this takes place over a period of eight years as she cries, beats herself up, and fucks up some pretty decent relationships because of him. And it is awful! It is a really terrible, really abusive love story that every girl was taught to love and cherish! WHADDAFUCK. I don’t even like the color pink that much, I drink whiskey in plastic cups and I have visible tattoos. I’m not your average ‘romantic idealist fan Team Soulmate fan girl.’ And I still know most of the details of the Carrie Bradshaw love tale terror-ganza. So yes, take a look at every girl that has given a shitty guy or girl a second chance. Every girl who waits around for an unavailable person. Now look them in the eye and say “Mr. Big.” If there is no flicker of understanding, murder her because she is A ROBOT.
3. TAYLOR SWIFT:
Gorgeous, elf-like millionaire, sent by Venus to the bosoms of lonely teenagers everywhere. Agave voice with a heart of gold and a Care Bear for a spirit guide. She’s lovely, she’s fresh, and she looks like she should always be in a field surrounded by cartoon animals that are drawn to her scent. She survives on a diet of hugs and cotton candy. Yet her latest singles Dear John and MEAN are all about how John Mayer and some other dude pushed her around and was MEAN TO HER. At this I lost complete faith in the male race as a whole and obviously have to give up men forever. Everybody knows that Taylor Swift should be passed around like a baby bird at show and tell, not thrown about like..well..like me. I’m a brunette, first of all. My skin smells like Bacardi and Febreze, and unlike Taylor Swift, I’ve actually touched dirt. I’ve seen things like sex sheets and the bottom of a Ruffles bag. And if Taylor Swift could get hurt by the men, innocent angel that she is, we’re clearly dealing with a race of humans so disgusting and immoral, we girls might as well throw in the towel now. MUCH LIKE KATY PERRY. She kissed a girl, admitted to vaguely liking it, and then married that..oh wait…3a. KATY PERRY KATY. Come on. You marry Russell Brand?!! Russell Brand, the dirty ex-heroin addict who actually makes me feel like I need to have sex and wash my hands at the same time?! Guys who look like they were born of an Evan Williams shot and a sewer should not marry fresh-faced skinny bitches who have breasts that shoot fireworks! Real fireworks! Brands should marry the crazy, overly-pierced nutsos with The Killing Moon lyrics tattooed on their thigh and PBR candeleholders. Why you be fuckin’ up the natural order of things?!?! WHO IS LEFT FOR US?!?
4. VALENTINE’S DAY:
Oh here’s a day. Here’s a day where I feel terrible about myself even though I hate couples who celebrate Valentine’s Day. Even though I thought the movie Valentine’s Day starring every actor but Wesley Snipes was terrible. Nothing about this holiday is good. It takes place in February, first of all, which is the shitty month because everything is slush and cold and you still have to keep your weight-loss New Year’s resolutions. Second of all, the chalky candy hearts are terrible. Third of all, my mom and single friends are always like “well maybe next year you won’t be single!” And I’m like “well, it’s not really a goal. I mean, I want to meet somebody that isn’t shitty and watches shitty movies with me while I wear my sweatpants and chew ice cubes made of gin. I don’t need this timeline to be February but you’re petting me and cooing at me so now I feel depressed.” It’s kind of like when Robin Williams yells at Matt Damon until he cries a lot in Good Will Hunting. FEEL BAD MATT FEEL BAD! It’s 24 hours of buried feelings! Coming up from the grave! Happy holidays!
You should want to have it. No you shouldn’t. Be a lady. Take it. Don’t take it. Be in a relationship. Do it in a bar bathroom. It feels good. Monster’s Ball. Get attached. Be detached. If you do it, you have to think about what that means. If you don’t do it, you have to think about what that means. Oh, for ghoul’s sake, it’s crotch smashing. What is there to think about except “Is this good at this moment?” and “NO BABIEZ” Oh, right. A million fucking things.
I look better in them, but if I need to be SEXY SEXY and take off the skirt that makes me look better because of the Spanxx, I’m wearing creepy granny panties. COME ON. I could maybe think about going to the gym, but…quesadilla.
Cats treat you like shit, they climb all over your counters, they clean themselves with their tongues, and they stare at you all the time like you’re ugly and they know it. They’re terrible and they are mean and if you want to house them, it means you want to die alone. But when you live in a nice little apartment that doesn’t allow dogs and you see a cute little calico you could call “Dr. Nibbles,” your heart melts. You take it home. It jumps on your bed at night and steals your soul. You will now never be loved again. You will sit in your house on a Friday night, watching reruns of The Golden Girls as your cat sabotages you by pretending to be sick and you stay home and watch it and Friday turns into forever. This cat will only love you when nobody else will! SURRENDER TO CAT!