Wednesday, November 21, 2012

first world problems.

issue sixteen. IT'S PIE SEASON, omg. my white friends always forget a bitch is black until i'm all, "where that sweet potato pie at?!" i'm not trying to holler at that gross pumpkin pie with the shiny pool of condensation grease oil-slicking the top, son! i need that stringy orange lumpy shit made by somebody's houseshoe-wearing big mama. and greens with a hamhock in them. except i don't want to, like, sit at your aunt's house or wherever to get it. which means most holidays i spend in my tiny apartment trying to make the bowel disease version of whatever it is normal people eat. and the menu typically looks like this: dry piece of reheated store turkey, boiled potato mush, box stuffing mix with canned cranberry wobble, football game, asleep by seven, work on friday. i need a new life.

call me maybe. i don't give a shit about christmas. and birthdays only serve as a reminder that i should probably get face surgery. easter is for children. halloween is for people who think slutty nurses are hilarious. basically, the only holiday i get hot for is your phone is eligible for an upgrade!!! day. i check that shit like a kid keeping her ear open for reindeer hooves on the roof, my little stockinged feet pitter pattering over to the glowing laptop as i refresh and re-refresh sprint's website with visions of a samsung galaxy ($0 with a 2-year contract extension) dancing in my head. man, this evo and i have been through a lot together. we've laughed, we've cried, we've sent 3,726 ill-advised pictures of my tits, but it is 9:23 on saturday morning and this asshole says it's 3:14 on sunday afternoon. she is refusing to properly sync my gmail. she fucked up six of my words with friends games. i made a phone call an hour ago and it sounded like i was calling from inside the belly of a whale. i have to set two alarms at night and use a (just in case) paper calendar! what is the point of this fancy phone, again? give me another month with this thing and i'll be be forced to use carrier pigeons and send smoke signals.

so i need to get a new phone, y'all. and until i have to decide whether to get the fluke or the baby octopus at mk, this is THE TOUGHEST DECISION I'VE EVER BEEN FORCED TO MAKE. seriously, i've been known to waffle over a brunch menu (see what i did there?) but this phone thing is stressing me out. oh i know i know, first world problems. and that's a fair criticism from those impoverished and malnourished among you who took precious time away from farming impenetrable soil while fighting insurgents for control of your developing country's government to read this frivolous-ass fucking blog. in other words: SHUT THE FUCK UP WITH THAT. the other day at work i turned to laura and said, "today is going to be a challenge." and this crotchety goat, to whom i was not speaking, replied, in a horrible attempt to shame my ass, "18,000 people at hostess lost their jobs today." well then i suppose it sucks to be a bitch who makes twinkies. 

i didn't snark, "man i hate work" or "having a paying job is totes the worst" or "gee those ding dong makers are really living the dream" like some spoiled fucking brat. but even if i had, so the fuck what? what is this incessant shaming people are doing all the goddamned time? if you have a private jet, it is well within YOUR rights to vocally complain that fueling that motherfucker is hella expensive. it is also MY right to hope you and your loud mouth and your millions of dollars die in a fiery crash. but what i won't do is hold up a picture of a helpless puppy somebody kicked while giving you some bullshit speech about being grateful. if you try to shame people, you are a total asshole. bitch, you don't know my life. now go get me a new iphone so i can tweet about my $300 highlights and instagram my dinner at alinea.

you can find me in da club, wit a bottle full of bub. recently i made the mistake of thinking i am still young enough to unironically be in a nightclub. as i stood in my closet trying to figure out which of my dressy mom-shirts revealed the most cleavage helen lounged on the bathroom rug eyeing me scornfully. "bitches who take prevacid have no business out at the disco." and yes, that cat is right. but some things you have to just see for yourself. a hard head makes a soft ass, i guess.

here's what i hate now that i'm old:
-music too loud.
-rapper i came to see three hours late. AND COUNTING.
-so many promo fliers!
-young girls too naked-looking, provoking my mothering instinct.
-not enough seats for my hurting ass legs.
-who the fuck is flo rida? and why does he have so many similar-sounding songs?
-paying the bathroom lady just because she happens to be blocking the paper towels.
-not doing coke anymore makes things way less fun than i remember.
-FIFTEEN DOLLARS FOR A DRINK, BRO?
-watching people text on the dancefloor.
-going to the one place i don't know the bouncer and being hijacked out of a cover.
-did i mention the music is deafening?
-and that motherfucking talib kweli is now three and a half hours late?!
-posting up at the bar to see if anyone notices me or the gravy stain on my shirt.
-sadness upon realization that no such noticing is happening.
-counting the hours until i have to get up.
-cab fare, with which i could have bought lunch for a week.
-judgment from the cat, who is visibly annoyed that i've stumbled in and woken her up.

i quit. meet me at red lobster at 4pm for dinner. shit.

lipstick on his collar. i am obsessed with wearing red lipstick lately. like, all the time. you can't tell in this shitty saturday night cats on the prowl bathroom picture that caitlin and i took, but i'm wearing it here, too. jessi and i got makeovers on monday done by my beautiful friend larae at water tower MAC. makeup is so dumb sometimes. i somehow managed to look both older and younger at the same goddamned time. teenager on my lips and grandmother around the eyes. and not because she didn't do an amazing job, it's just that these baby crow feet are like eyeshadow depositories, and the shit just SITS IN THOSE CREVICES MOCKING ME. larae taught me how to do a smokey eye with browns/bronzes instead of grey/black, and it was gorgeous for approximately thirty-two seconds, at which point my extra virgin face oil started to turn that shit into two brown smears and all that sparkle powder started settling into those gutters at the corners of my eyes.

i'm not getting up at five in the morning to put a face on that will have melted into my neck meat by lunchtime. it was nice to have a lovely woman half an inch from my blackheads and chin whiskers, though. i bought nearly everything she used on me, because i haven't yet given up all hope. so if you see me out with large shimmery brown raccoon eyes and sloppily applied liquid liner that looks like someone attacked my face with a broken ink pen you better pretend that shit looks amazing. i mean, come on. if i use a lip pencil, lipstick, and contrasting gloss for dimension, i want a motherfucking award. or a pity smile. it's the least you can do.

caped crusader. i don't like wearing shit that makes me feel like ursula from the little mermaid. there, i said it. my closet is full of long black drapey shit that i never wear because i'd rather just put on a fucking hoodie, but my solution (as well as evidence that i really am your goddamned grandma) is the cinched, belted cape. magazines have convinced me, friends. you fat broads better get with it. MAKE SURE YOU PUT ON A BELT, THO. skinny girls look cute in voluminous bedsheet outerwear. your ass needs a goddamned belt. to make a waist. because that shit looks hella sexy. now run out and get one before it starts snowing out here and we all turn into homeless-looking blanket people.

fakesgiving. every november i try to compile a list of reasons i have not to jump off a building yet. then in december, when everyone around me is brimming with holiday cheer, i write a list of everything i absolutely hate and it's usually three times as long. i'm tired and i have an inflamed joint in my back that is pinching my sciatic nerve and i really am not feeling thankful for shit, but here is a mini-list. because manners.

1 i am grateful that i live in a first-world country. what? it's in poor taste to say that or something? I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU PEOPLE WANT FROM ME. i can't complain about my ridiculously expensive internet phone but i also can't give thanks for living in a place where even toddlers get to have them? make up your minds, jerks. i like knowing what kim kardashian ate for breakfast. and the tawdry details of that elmo puppet sex scandal. no one blew up the bus i took to work, i can walk outside with my titties out while burning an american flag, and if i want to i can marry a lady provided that i do that shit above the mason dixon line. this country gets so many things wrong, but if the halted production of a $2 snack cake makes front page news for days at a time i think we're all probably going to be okay. at least until we can hitch a ride to sweden and live the fucking dream.

2 i am grateful for pharmaceutical companies. the only people who hate big pharma are people who aren't chronically ill with some shit that makes life not worth living. their price-gouging and patent bullshit? you bet your dick i hate that. i tried to get some nexium last week and that shit was two hundred and thirty motherfucking dollars, and i am lucky enough to have adequate health coverage! that's outrageous! the pharmacist and i clutched our midsections, incredulous laughter shaking through our bodies. after we wiped our tearing eyes and tried to recover from astrazeneca's hilarious practical joke i puked on her, because acid reflux is a dirty whore bitch. then i bought some prilosec and decided to double the dose and hope that worked itself out. natural remedies are cute until they start talking about cutting your guts out. bring on those big blue pills. and the purple ones. the  tasty yellow ones, too. ooh and those good orange ones...

3 i am grateful for cable television. you bitches who just have computers or whatever are going to really have to sell me on that shit. i want all of the channels. what on earth rules harder than twelve hours of back to back SVU? or watching entire seasons of the real housewives in their various cities? nothing, that's what. maybe sunshine, and fresh air, but i am allergic to those.

3.5 i am grateful for my friend and pal girl vs. whale. she is the cutest. and the smartest. and she is helping me turn these fucking essays into something readable. while also being a constant reminder that everything is stupid but it's okay, WE'LL LIVE.

4 i am grateful for my internet friends. especially YOU. be safe out there. happy thanksgiving. then, dp.