Tuesday, May 11, 2010

give me a sign.

well then. casey refused to heed my sensible advice and told her crush she's hot for him. and he likes her, too. so i obviously don't know shit. they're probably in the back seat of a car somewhere getting to third base right now while i'm sitting here in my stinky jams watching wrestling and bitching about this dinner i just cooked that sort of tastes like balls. but it's not my fault. i think i got some bogus meat.

speaking of dinner. the vampire and i went to sushisamba rio on sunday night, and i've decided that i need to go to dinner more often with bitches who don't balk at shelling out eighty bucks apiece for one meal. pick up your jaws. that shit was delicious. and TOTALLY WORTH IT. we got green bean tempura and a rainbow dragon roll to start, then i got the chicken teriyaki and he got the miso sea bass which melted in my mouth. bitch, please. it was so good. you know what i hate? when you go to dinner with someone and what they got is better than what you got. i hate that. SO MUCH. asshole and i went to the end of the earth to have dinner a couple weeks ago (seriously, it was at 103rd and western; i almost needed a fucking rest stop) and, after i kicked the table over (wait, did i write about that?) our dinner came, and his skate wing and risotto was about A BILLION times better than my steak a poivre. for cereal. and insane food envy coupled with searing shame (the waitress really almost broke her face in a million pieces slipping and sliding in my spilt cosmopolitan) did not make for a happy meal. plus, i was with ASSHOLE. and he ruins everything. i don't like dudes who challenge me all the time. i should rephrase that. i hate a dumbass. you kids know that. but i REALLY hate a dude who cannot fucking WAIT to oppose whatever it is i've just said. i like witty discourse, not a heated game of jeopardy every time i interact with you. FUCK. that shit makes me TIRED.

and i would play along and maybe deal with it if it were romantical, but asshole and i are just FRIENDS. even though he looks at my ass all the time. and friends shouldn't chap other friends' balls off all the goddamned time. it's too bad he's a disgusting pig from hell in the body of a homeless vagrant, because he's a genius (for real) who went to northwestern when he was fourteen or some shit. nerd. and he makes buckets of money. but he looks awful and needs a haircut and says ridiculous things that make me want to slap him in the face. FOR INSTANCE. we were in the car going to that dinner and he was berating me for missing his birthday party (i was SICK) because three of the women he was dating (how that is possible i have NO IDEA) all showed up and he broke up with all of them at the same time. see what i mean? PIG. he also told me how he went to some club where one can watch couples having sex, and maybe even join the gangbang if their hearts desire. awwwies. so sweet. pfffft.

i don't like when people feel like they constantly have to prove how smart or witty or funny they are all the time. blech. especially the "funny" ones. get out of my fucking spotlight. i'm sure you dudes all know people who'll ask some crazy, obscure shit just to get you to admit you don't know anything about anything because you are stupid. "hey sam, did you see that story in the paper about the dominican monk who gave birth to a lion cub?"

you know i didn't read that shit. because i don't fuck with the news. seriously, i don't. i have very specific news needs, and those include inaccurate weather reports, CTA fare hikes, and whatever rasheed wallace is up to. that's IT. the local news is nothing more than a depressing gag reel of reasons you should just fucking kill yourself, and the printed media serves no real purpose other than to get ink all over your goddamned hands and papier mache the red line every morning.

(jesus christ, commuterholes, would it fucking KILL YOU to pick up your papers in the morning? or leave the shit intact so I might read it? at seven-fifteen every morning i have to wade through nine hundred completely dismantled red eyes that some assface made it rain all over the train car with just to get a goddamned seat. is that really necessary? you can't just fold it up and place it gently in your vacated seat? wtf is wrong with you dudes? i understand you just wanted to get to the sudoku, and that's okay, but why tear the horoscopes up and shit? don't i deserve to find out what's written in the stars for me? why crumple up the cover article? why wipe your ass with the metromix section?! insensitive pricks.)

the whole friendship competition thing is BORING. game recognizes game, player. if you're smart, trust me, I KNOW. if your music collection rules, I'LL TELL YOU. i'm sure you've seen more movies than i have. and you've probably read more books. or at least smarter ones. sure, your clothes are perfect. and your ass is hotter. you know all the hot places to party. you've had the best tables in the swankiest restaurants. your car is amazing. i'm jealous of your apartment. your ACT scores were higher. (probably not, i got a 32!) your mom is alive. your boyfriend makes my knees weak. your hair is always perfectly in place. i heard you run a four-minute mile! your pets are cuter. your child is better behaved. you've been to more countries. your penis is exquisite. your job is awesomer.

but i'm the funny one. get it straight.


sushisamba. the vampire did NOT eat all of his vegetables. now that i'm old, i appreciate vegetables a lot more than i did when i was trying to feed them to the dog when my mom left the kitchen. my (dry-ass) chicken came with purple mash and crispy onions, and i was sort of jealous of all his grilled zucchini. especially when he let it get COLD and then WASTED IT. i really should just order whatever the person i'm with is ordering, then i won't have to sit there like a hungry puppy watching the fork go to his mouth and back to the plate and back to his mouth while whimpering with lust. but i didn't because it was thirty bucks and i really wanted to spend my money on drinks. lush.

i was drinking these cocktails that must have had jesus pee in them or something, because they were like sunshine on my tongue. the lemon samurai. man, i love drinks that taste like candy. i really do. because they're usually chock full of nineteen different types of alcohol, conveniently masked by peach nectar or guava puree or coconut jizz or whatever other fruity, tropical-sounding shit they have lying around. that's the best way to get shitty drunk, sucking down 5 glasses of 200 proof bullshit the color of a fucking jelly bean. ahhhhhh.

sunday night must be a slow one for fancy dinners, because that place was EMPTY. like, pin-drop quiet. like, so quiet i could hear the waitress's labia quivering as she leaned over to place her breasts on a platter half an inch from the vampire's face as she took his order quiet. slut. why are you bitches so fucking OBVIOUS? first of all, she had no idea of the nature of our relationship. i know it was mothers day and everything, but that doesn't mean i'm this dude's MOM, whore. what if she'd been serving that tits on toast to my fucking boyfriend? that's cause for a ponytail snatch. A JUSTIFIABLE ONE. jesus, do i have to be groping and fondling and PDA-ing a dude to keep a bitch off him? every time i think, "oh, man! home alone with helen AGAIN?" with a sad-faced womp, the universe throws me another reason to put the noose away. it's treacherous out here. just because my tongue isn't tickling his uvula (hot) doesn't mean we're relatives. maybe i have some fucking class. and manners.

scheming tramp. and can't she just get on match.com like the rest of us? why bogart an innocent woman's dinner companion? the rest of us have OBVIOUSLY got this shit totally wrong. i need to be somewhere serving tequila shots from between my boobs, not reading emails from motherfuckers whose poor spelling and grammar lead me to believe their cognitive processes are severely impaired or delayed. why find my own when i can just toss my ass at yours? infuriating.

in our section was both a couple in which the woman was OBVIOUSLY being rented, and a couple in which the woman was OBVIOUSLY a man. now i'm the laziest shitstain on earth, but if i were trying to pass for another gender i might just try a little bit harder. i mean, i would do more than slapping on a wig. vampire didn't notice because he was too busy trying to write his number in wasabi for his new girlfriend (no he wasn't), but i almost couldn't tear my eyes away. you can't put on a wig AND have a full beard, ma'am. tranny FAIL. that hooker was my kind of broad, though. i thought dudes took hookers to places that serve fried shrimp in brown paper bags, not swanky mcmillionaire fourteen dollar cocktail places. that's the kind of prostitute i aspire to be. fuck a blow job in the backseat and a trip thru the drive thru. i want caviar.

during dinner the vampire says to me, "i want to learn spanish. and i want to learn sign language." well the spanish thing isn't strange, because it's a handy language to know. plus, i'm fluent. le voy a ayudar. but sign language, homie? that requires an explanation.

"well, i met this deaf girl..."

when the police come to your house and ask what you think may have led me to walk blindfolded in front of a moving train, i want you dudes to point them to this post. and when the officer turns to you with a quizzical expression and says, "i don't get it," kindly raise your voice a decibel and say, "THIS DUDE WAS WILLING TO LEARN SIGN LANGUAGE TO HOLLER AT A DEAF BITCH." i can't get a motherfucker to open my car door, let alone learn another language just to try to get the chance put his penis in me. this shit is infuriating. it makes me want to use my hands to strangle somebody, not figure out how to fingerspell "i like you."

is that shit unbelieveable or what? and i really want to talk about how crazy that eventual sex is going to sound, but i say enough of my own shit to get sent straight to hell for. for real, though. how insane do you think that groaning is going to be? i mean, good for her and everything, but if i could get a dude to read something other than espn the magazine in exchange for a peek inside my apartment the earth might tilt off its axis. this is fucking BULLSHIT.


ps, i just had a peanut butter shake so delicious that it might have erased the need for a man in my life. and that is not a euphemism for a light-skinned dude's seed, you dirty pieces of shit.