issue thirteen. my goddamned brain is melting. in july it turns to squashy goo, then in august it just starts pouring out of all my head holes: ears, eyes, and nose all leaking viscous cerebral fluid and chunks of spongy mind particles. it's the opposite of a party. by this goddamned point all of the outdoor concerts and sidewalk sales and street festivals that looked so promising a few months ago have shown themselves for what they really are: traffic-congesting clusterfucks teeming with oozing hot human toxic waste all doing that awful thing where they put their hands on you in an attempt to move you out of the way while simultaneously sliding their sweaty summer bodies against yours in an effort to beat you to the deep fried endangered panda on a stick tent.
bitches gotta eat less. while my general modus operandi is "fuck it, bitch, stay fat," every year the sight of so many swollen summer ankles reminds me that some of my drinking time would probably be better served somewhere on a goddamned treadmill. despite the undeniable attractiveness of my instagrammed meat beard at left, i am currently embroiled in a bitter battle of wills between my stomach-eyes and my vanity-brain, and this shit is downright exhausting. here's how stupid i am: instead of doing things like "cooking at home" and "getting up early enough to make a nutrient-rich breakfast," in the past i have attempted to take care of myself using the "lean cuisine and crystal light" diet. and that shit obviously doesn't work, because toxic chemicals aren't nearly as filling as a cheeseburger and pork fries.
a couple days ago i met with this ayurvedic healer dude to talk about switching to an anti-inflammatory, mostly vegetarian diet. that's right: I HAVE TO BUY VEGETABLES NOW. and stop drinking like a fucking frat boy. i already have an attitude about it. my problem is that i'm never prepared. like, never ever. and when i get home at eight-thirty on a tuesday the last thing i want to do is stay up for an hour steaming kale and soaking lentils. i want to have a can of spaghetti-Os with meatballs and fall asleep sitting up and still wearing my work clothes. but i'm going to do it, because when hippies say shit in that magical hippie way i really buy into it. i'm such a fucking sucker. seriously, every advertisement you can thing of was made just for me. that dude was just so positive and gentle and he showed me the best ways to stretch if you need to get a big poop out, and while i ordinarily would be like, "this dosha shit is totally boring," listening to his soothing, smoked-out tones and watching him shake his dreadlocks lulled me into stupidity. i was all dreamy-like, "yeah, dude, i could totally cook tempeh in virgin coconut oil every morning." little does he know that i once had a sandwich with four different meats on it. is there such a thing as an ayurvedic taco?! *welp* this is going to take some goddamned effort.
if i am not third-world skinny and deliriously motherfucking happy after a year of steamed asian mushrooms, hot ginger tea, and fish oil on everything i am going to KILL A SMALL CHILD AND EAT IT. i hope they are low in calories and good for my chakra alignment.
hot sex on a platter. the absolute worst thing about mashing two heavily perspiring bodies awkwardly together on a sticky 87 degree summer evening, aside from that smell of cooked hot dogs, is that moment you realize, when he puts your feet on his shoulders or you get up on your knees and glance down to see if your breasts have slipped off the mattress and are dragging the floor yet, that you have disgusting summer sandal feet. i have been pedicured more this summer than i have ever before in my entire life, and this morning in the shower i started washing my feet only to realize that somehow the blackness has become semi-permanent. can't the temperature just drop already so i can put some motherfucking shoes on?!
everyone i know is embroiled in some silly friends with/out benefits romance, and the undercurrent running through every single one of them is "what happened to the goddamned friendship?" have you ever noticed that your beneficial friends are usually the least goddamned friendly? a few weeks ago i went to a singles mixer with eve hosted by her church. i wore the most sensible sexy clothing i own and i put in my fake teeth and everything. i even adopted a positive attitude, which was really fucking hard. especially since i wasn't interested in having "bible study" with a dude wearing a cardigan as his real clothes who probably lives at home with his mom. five minutes in, right some well-meaning gentleman asked me to "explain my satanic accoutrements," and it literally took me thirty seconds to realize that he was referring to my tattoed sleeve full of pistol-wielding grim reapers and not my amply sin-filled bosom.
eve met a dude that night while i was off in a corner somewhere trying to turn water into wine, and it only took two dates and a walk along the beach (gross) before he asked if he could fill her body with the holy spirit. and she hasn't heard from him since, even though they agreed to be friends. which isn't very christlike if you ask me. WWJD? call a ho back, amen?
reading rainbow. i don't know if anyone has already ruined the surprise for you, but: I AM WRITING A BOOK, NERDS. it will be out october 2013 and will consist entirely of new essays. that's right, i'm not just packaging a bunch of these old bullshit blogs in pretty paper and selling that shit to you when you can get it for free. would i do you like that?! NEVER. it's going to be jammed with new material, for cheap. and i promise to fart on one page in each book or something. now all you have to do is wait a goddamned year. FAIR TRADE, OBVIOUSLY.
it's too hot to be cute. here's something i forgot to mention in that beauty post: disposable feminine wipes. oh, i know. that moist, hot bacteria factory between your legs smells like fresh laundry dried in the sun after being outside for twelve hours on a ninety-degree day. LUCKY YOU. for the rest of us these things are a totaly fucking godsend. i use the always brand because they come in individual packets and have fake raised water droplets on the box and that is totally an indication of how fresh my taco will be feeling after i use it. man, i'm a sucker for advertising. every dumb ass ad you see that makes you think, "who the fuck would by that shit?" can be answered with the words SAMANTHA IRBY. every useless thing that comes in a bright and/or shiny package will make its way into my apartment. don't believe me? i bought one of those neon green brita filtration systems despite the fact that i am only one person and already own a brita simply because OMG YOU GUYS IT COMES IN GREEN NOW. i will also purchase anything that comes in miniature, even if it is ridiculous. all of those tiny cokes and baby water bottles?! they are my sex.
has your face melted off? has that patch of summer acne cleared up yet? just hang on for a few more weeks, then you can dig out all your heavy creams and cakey concealers and start looking like a normal person again. welcome back, mascara! good to see you again, matte lipstick! at sephora last week i bought some fancy new blood red lip lacquer, and every night before i go to sleep i caress it gently while praying for some partly cloudy mid-60s to GET BACK IN MY LIFE. all of my beautiful capes and coats are just waiting to go to the dry cleaner next week, and the bottles of body oil it's been too hot to even think about are just dyyyyying to be put to use. i pulled all my jeans out, bought my new north face moon boots from zappos, ordered a new crop of turtleneck sweaters from talbots. 'tis the season to start being attractive again.
MOMMIE DEAREST. you know what i'm totally ready for? the kind of attention bitches get when they are pregnant. and i don't mean all this negative rape-baby attention, i mean the other day i was in line at magnolia and watched a woman who appeared to be gestating a seven month old honda civic get hit on by a dude handsome enough to play the villain in a lifetime movie and I WANT THAT TO BE HAPPENING TO ME. a few weeks ago this smoking hot ups driver got out of his motherfucking truck to help a pregnant lady wrestle a laundry bag out of the trunk of her car, and WHEN IS IT MY GODDAMNED TURN? i have this excruciatingly beautiful merino wool wrap coat, and sometimes after a taco and nine beers i'll belt it right up under my tits and poke my belly out in the hopes of tricking some asshole out of a seat on the bus. but one of the handful of times that shit worked successfully i heard some bitch on her cell phone whisper, "oh my god, this pregnant lady smells drunk." so i stopped doing it as much as i used to.
EVERYWHERE THERE ARE THESE BABIES. and my facebook timeline is ready. my internet clock is ticking and all my fucking friends are posting nineteen flickr albums a week, so why not me? i mean, right?! i'm totally fucking qualified: i am a relatively young 32, i am mostly made of hate and refurbished titanium, i have absolutely zero patience, there is $51.93 in my ING savings account, my insurance is sorta like "meh" when it comes to covering expensive shit, and i have access to a high-speed internet connection five or six days a week. i'm about to be uploading my ass off. i faked being pregnant 1 to take an easy yoga class and 2 to get out of this weird jam back when i was studying graphic design. (it's a long story.) real babies keep you up all night; i just want the sweet, sweet perks: 1,274 likes on the photo of a tiny bald alien covered in bloody cottage cheese! people coming over to entertain me or hold my things so i can take a poop! six weeks away from this motherfucking job! now all i need is for someone to send me a realistic-looking sonogram for me to pretend is my own. the baby should be holding a taco.