Wednesday, November 11, 2009

the dirtiest bird.

thank god for the holidays, right?! that glorious time of year when those of us who are tragic and childless and alone contemplate suicide a little bit more seriously!



so this weekend is fakesgiving! what is that, you ask? well, baby, it's our annual week before thanksgiving gathering of vagabonds, tramps, orphans, and other miscreants. we started what...five years ago, maybe? i don't have a big family thing, and it turns out a lot of other people don't really either. and a lot of people live here while their families live someplace else. so we all go to corey's place and get really sexy and liquored up and go potluck crazy the weekend before, sort of as a group "fuck you" to everyone with their real families and their expertly carved turkeys and honeybaked hams. we make all the traditional thanksgiving shit: turkey, potatoes (sweet and white, let's be serious), green bean casserole, my amazing macaroni and cheese, homemade pumpkin pie. and we sit around a table and eat like civilized human beings, but it's like one big ass kids' table. all we do is joke and fuck around and talk shit--it's just like thanksgiving at your house without grandpa sleeping facedown in his plate and your drunk uncle trying to cop a feel.



i don't ever give thanks for a goddamned thing, because fuck that. my fucking life is retarded. BUT. this year i have some pretty jamming shit going on, and i am in a surprisingly sunny mood this morning, so i made a fucking list. get your hankies ready.



1 i would really like to give thanks for that dude with the crazy hair who wrote "he's just not that into you," because before i read that shit, i kind of really didn't fucking know. i was the queen of excuses, both making and accepting the most ridiculous explanations for why dudes treated me like dogshit. i got on the bandwagon late, but i read that book in one fucking sitting and it completely changed my views on and standards for my interpersonal relationships with men.



sometimes a motherfucker has to hit you over the head with something before you really understand, and that book was the brick to the skull that finally catapulted me out of my dude coma. because it's so easy to give some asshole the benefit of the doubt, especially when the alternative could be such a poor reflection on me. much easier to believe "he's really busy at work" than it is to swallow "i'm not important enough to call for two weeks." sometimes you just need to see in black and white that, despite how sad and lonely it might make you feel, that is unacceptable behavior and that idiot deserves his walking papers.



so i'm not accepting anymore bullshit, you fucking bitches. if you're not asking me out, i'm over you. if you're not calling me, i'm over you. if you're not dating me, i'm over you. if you only want to see me when you're drunk, i'm over you. if you don't want to fuck me, i'm over you. if you don't want to marry me, i'm over you. if you're breaking up with me, i'm over you. if you disappear on me, i'm over you. if you're unavailable, i'm over you. if you're selfish, i'm over you. if you don't love me in a tangible goddamned way, i'm totally fucking over you. and if you hit me, you better kill me, because i will fucking end you.



2 i'm thankful for helen keller, without whom i would never get up and take my birth control on time, because at 530 on the nose that bitch is standing on my face demanding her breakfast. in a couple weeks it will be a whole year that we've shared living quarters, and she's still the same old bag of snatch, there is just ten more pounds of her to contend with. if she bites me in the foot, the hand, or the face one more fucking time i might snap and boil her on the stove fatal attraction-style, but for the most part we get along swimmingly. especially since it's totally legal to lock this kind of child in her crate for hours when she's getting on my goddamned nerves.




3 i would like to thank netflix for being a fuck of a lot cheaper than basic cable. $25 a month compared to the $130 i was paying RCN is a no-brainer. i was sad at first (devastated, really) but i have learned to cope without my steady diet of reality shows, ESPN, and keith olbermann. sort of. talking about it too much makes me start to get weepy.



and on a side note, i am totally UNthankful for ye olde converter box-antenna combo. i get channels 5, 9, 11, and 32. that's ALL. someone please pay for cable for me. or maybe i should drop out of school and let my tuition make the payments...?



4 thank the swedish gods on high for cheap-ass, put-it-together-yourself furniture. i move every five minutes, and what in the fuck am i going to do with some heavy antique bullshit? herniate a disc?! i need a goddamned dresser that costs $12 and that i can carry home on the bus in a handbag.



5i am also grateful to tagged photos for reminding me what shiny and drunk really look like. every time i spot a bitch with a camera at a party i politely excuse myself to drink my beers in the bathroom or crouch next to radiator or some shit. is it so hard to turn the display screen to a bitch and ask her if it's okay to post that picture of her ACROSS THE INTERNETS?! it's like these kids race home after the party and facebook it up, and whenever i sleep off the drunks and get around to checking my email, ten motherfuckers i used to have crushes on have already looked, and laughed, at some silly ass shit i got caught doing.



6 thank god for gay men! especially the ones i call my own. NO ONE ON EARTH makes you feel more fabulous than a homo, which is why a real diva like myself has several in my entourage. i went out dancing the other night with a few of my favorites and i almost died of happiness. i swear in my former life i was the messiest queen on the block, because nothing pops my cherry harder than house music and grinding all up on some sweaty hardbodies.



you heteros always fuck up the dancing, your stupid erections puncturing my liver and shit when all i'm trying to do is catch a groove. i was up against the wall with this raging hot latino, and at the end of the song we pulled our sticky loins apart, did a shot of patron, and went on to find our next victims. he didn't moan and grunt in my ear like straight (disgusting) dudes do, trying to impregnate me in the middle of a disco. and they always make sure a bitch looks FABULOUS.



7 i am thankful for new balance classic 574s and u420s, for being the most gorgeously awesome shoes on earth. they're the only gym shoes i have ever, and will ever, put on my feet. and it's good that they're so fantastic, because i can never wear a goddamned high heel ever again.



8 thank the clothing gods for spanx and all of those other restrictive undergarments that make looking like hot shit so much easier for a bitch with a trunk chock-full of fucking junk. i wore a beautiful dress at jonathan and kelly's wedding, and underneath it i had an expensive piece of torture stretched from my toes to the top of my fucking skull, and i looked like something you should spread on fucking TOAST. i couldn't eat or sit comfortably or pee the whole fucking night, but who fucking cares? because i don't i want to eat, i want to look AMAZING.



9 i love cheap wine, expensive beer, and petite ecolier more than i love most human beings, and to them i owe a huge debt of gratitude. they almost render real human contact otherwise obsolete. add a tramadol and some truffle butter and you never have to even get out of bed.



10 and THANK YOU, regular people who videotape themselves having gross regular-people sex and put that shit on the internet, for making me feel like less of a filthy slut. because whatever it is i'm doing pales in comparison to that nasty shit.



11 and while i don't believe in self-help books as a genre, i totally fucking believe in SARK, and am totally thankful for every book she's ever written. and she might be too flowery for you hard asses, but i learned more from her about self-acceptance and happiness than i've learned from anyone else EVER. she has this sort of wide-eyed optimism that i could never have, but i do try to employ some of her philosophies in my every day life. so next time i see you and smooch you full on the mouth unexpectedly, you have SARK to thank.



12 my ipod is thankful for portishead, because when beth gibbons sings it, samantha irby feels it. she sings the kind of songs that sneak up on you and rip your fucking soul out. so, SO good. i can't even explain. the lyrics are out of theis world, particularly for moody teenage girls who think their newfound broken-hearted enlightenment is just so deep. ha.
"i don't know what i've done to deserve you, and i don't know what i'll do without you." when you hear some shit like that while agonizing over some lame dude it's earth-shattering.



anna sent me my first portishead cd, along with a copy of "little plastic castle" by ani difranco--AND a sark book as a matter of fact!--for my 18th birthday, and i listened to those bitches ad nauseum for the entirety of 1998. and i could listen to them again and again today.



while i am of the opinion that you should just buy ALL of their albums, here are my favorite tracks (and you should download them, like, yesterday): strangers, it could be sweet, wandering star, mysterons, biscuit, undenied, over, humming, mourning air, elysium, the rip, machine gun, nylon smile, magic doors, plastic, and threads. oh, shut up. you can afford it.



13 thank you all of my peers who married early, because while my initial reaction was all seething envy, now you bitches are fucking DIVORCED. or you will be in ten minutes. i mean, what the fuck do you know at twenty?! i couldn't even pick a breakfast cereal, let alone decide the motherfucker i was going to spend the rest of my life with! i mean, please. i could be mrs. preston harris right now! could you hoes (the ones who know, at least) even IMAGINE that bullshit?! i'd be five seconds away from jumping off the nearest building. ugh.



sorry about your broken marriage and everything, but fucking thank you for reminding me why i'm so goddamned smart! i may be no one's wife, but at least i'm not someone's EX-wife.



and one final heartwarming thanksgiving wish:
fuck you healthy people who clog the elevators at school so that my boot and i have to kill ourselves climbing from the basement to the third floor so that your fat ass and your rolling backpack don't have to be inconvenienced by me and my handicap. jerks.



gobble gobble.