Tuesday, January 12, 2010

i don't like you.

so i went out with this asshole right before the christmas holiday and i totally hated him. TOTALLY. and i didn't write about it. shut up, i already know. all the more reason he should be verbally disemboweled across the internets. let's talk some shit, shall we? fucker.

so people effing love me. for serious, they really do. i don't even really do anything to try to make it happen, it just does. so i'm arrogant about a bunch of shit. not obnoxiously so, at least not in my humble estimation. and not arrogant in general, just in regard to a very specific number of things. but seriously, if you try to tell me that something i've written is garbage or that my taste in music is shit i will bring the thunder down upon you. because i am arrogant about both my writing and my well-appointed eardrums. and also because you are wrong.

school is about to start next week (fucking gross) and i am taking a writing class, which should fill me up with little soda bubbles of excitement. but it absolutely does not. because most bitches who teach writing have no fucking idea how to do it and they suck and are terrible teachers and i hate them. that's right, i said it. and i always wind up with teachers who are failed writers and resent the shit out of students with real talent. (i am about to get really obnoxious, and if that is annoying to you by all means skip this paragraph. really. beat it.) my first semester back in the smelly dungeon that is community college i took a writing class. and truman makes you take a placement writing test, and of course i tested out of all the dummy shit. so a bitch should assume you have a little skill, just by default. my teacher was young (strike one), black (strike two), and female (strike fucking three). now, because i am not a sociologist by trade i don't feel like i can scientifically break this shit down here, but i will say this: black bitches always try to cut down our own. not me, mind you, because i don't give a fuck about anyone enough to try to fuck their shit up. just leave me and my shit alone and we've got no problem. i only hate people who fuck MY shit up. and if you do you better watch out.

so the first day of class this bitch tries to play the "i'm black and smart and nerdy and no one understood me growing up" game and YAWN. totally boring. and unneccessary. just shut up and teach the parts of speech, for fuck's sake. i don't know...maybe that helps white people relax? all of that rambling and ducking her head and giggling, silently apologizing for her natural hair by batting her eyelashes and shit? fucking GROSS. and humiliating. stand up straight and quit talking about your failed attempts at writing a novel. really. because is that even a good idea? the first thing i thought while listening to this verbose moutharrhea was, "is she qualified to grade our papers?" i mean, because EVEN I wrote a NOVEL, and all i did was slide through and graduate HIGH SCHOOL. they should've let me teach that class, seeing as how i'm all writer-y and accomplished and everything. plus bitch, i grew up in evanston, where smart and black and nerdy ain't that big of a deal. you couldn't swing an advanced algebra book without hitting one of us in the face and knocking our glasses off. so your manufactured plight isn't that novel. AND you couldn't write one! zinggggg!

the first paper i wrote she gave a B, and that was purely out of spite. i write this raggedy ass bullshit blog while sitting at a desk in the middle of a busy-ass animal hospital, surrounded by barking dogs and bitching clientele while answering the goddamned phone and troubleshooting this ridiculousness with the smell of dog shit and cat pee wafting gently on the breeze around me. and you see how brilliant and hilarious this shit is. so IMAGINE what my real writing is like. i know, you can't. because your brain isn't big enough. well, i'll help you. IT IS FUCKING AMAZING. i can write a term paper while in a coma that's better than anything that bitch ever wrote. you want to know how i know? because she gave us examples of her own expository writing against which we were supposed to compare our work. PLEASE. she handed out her example and i corrected some of the grammar and gave it back to her and then my paper got a B. mm hmm. fine. whatever you say.

my paper on barack obama got a C because, contrary to popular belief, we all don't think he shits rainbows and walks on water. now don't get me wrong, i'm totally in love with that dude. he's smart and hot and knows how to wear a suit. AND he burst onto the public consciousness right about the time i was going through my skinny dude phase. so you know i was all over that. i'm just saying, there is such a thing as "devil's advocate." and maybe it's my fault for not echoing her much-repeated exaltation of him, but isn't that what grownup school is about? challenging the establishment? questioning authority? we had to read his books and watch his speeches and write poems about the pineapple in his pants. or maybe that was just me. i could see if the shit i turned in was like "obama sucks" with a smiley face next to it, but it was five thoughtful, incredibly well-written pages analyzing the gaping holes in his inauguration speech. you know, because he should have talked about being oh, i don't know...BLACK. and motherfucking PRESIDENT. OF THE UNITED FUCKING STATES!

a country in which senators still use the paper bag as a visual barometer for your electability, harry reid.

well, she hated that shit. and she hated me. especially since there were a bunch of whiny kiss-ups who did shit like email her and ask her about her weekend making me look like as asshole. i don't give a fuck about your weekend, bitch, i want you to explain to this foreign dude next to me how to properly use a gerund so he can stop craning his neck to look at MY shit. (god, i'm a bitch. fuck! but it's true. and i can't apologize anymore.) but FOR REAL. teach these hoes about participles and auxiliary verbs so i can drink my starbucks in peace instead of telling miss know-it-all in the front row that you didn't really like the food at mia francesca. ps, that's crazy talk.

so i'm arrogant about my writing. thankfully, to pass the class you have to anonymously submit a portfolio of your collected writings from the semester (blank and ungraded) to a panel of professors NOT INCLUDING YOUR OWN. that's how i know there's a god of some sort. because guess whose portfolio got an unblemished A? i don't even have to tell you.

i'm also a supercilious asshole when it comes to music and what sucks, and i could spend ten posts berating you about listening to shit that's weak and unimaginative, but i'll spare you the misery. i will just suggest some things for you to download instead:
"shoulder to shoulder" little joy.
"make me over" bilal.
"street cred" drake.
"hejira" joni mitchell.
"conspiracy" paramore.
"hair" pj harvey.
"like a pen" the knife.
"back in your head" tegan and sara.
"BYOB" system of a down.
"hallucinex" stereolab.
have fun, kittens.

so this whole self-confidence business came up the other night because i said to akilah, very matter-of-factly, "everyone likes me." then she blamed my cockiness on my being an aquarian. not in a mean way, just in a "smh-you-damned-aqua-babies" way. but that shit is true! i can't help it. dudes just like me. i don't even have to do anything really. just show up and start talking, then bitches want to be president of my fan club and shit.

your mom would loooooove me. so many moms do. and so would your dad, for that matter. and your little brother, too. your cousins? for sure! and all your aunties and uncles and them. your sister will be texting me twenty minutes after she makes my acquaintance. your grandma will be IM-ing me and shit. i am LIKEABLE. i don't know why, i just am. people like talking to me. and they like listening to me talk.

it's because i'm funny, i know. BUT. it's not like i walk around with a bullhorn spewing hilarious shit all day. my usual public face is snarling and scowling and nasty and unapproachable. at least in my head it is. but there must be something about my face. because i'm like a fucking bitch magnet. more than half the people i know i met in some random ass way: they came up to me on the bus or the train or on the street or in a bookstore or at a reading or in a restaurant or at the movies or wherever. i have my theories.

1 i am goddamned interesting looking. note that i did not say "devastatingly beautiful" or "undeniably ravishing" or anything like that. i look weird. my hair is always fucking ridiculous. i have all these stupid tattoos. i have funny little kid buck teeth and a million pairs of retardedly hilarious spectacles. and i dress like a bag lady. and that is not a joke. a bag lady who, upon closer inspection, is wearing 200 dollar boots, but a bag lady nonetheless. i always have some crazy shit on and, despite societal evidence to the contrary (who ever approaches a bum?), people walk right up to my homeless looking ass and ask me all kinds of shit. they want to touch my curls and poke their fingers in my dimples, all pillsbury dough cheeks-style.

2 you know how some fat people smell like old cooking grease or burnt taco meat or rotten hot dogs or whatever? not so around here. i smell like jesus's scrotum, and that's why bitches want to get all up in my face. i don't take care of my clothes; fuck reading a label and hanging dry and all of that wackness. but i DO wash with tide, which cleans like the devil! and i've written extensively about my insatiable, incurable obsession with soap. and scented oils. and expensive perfumes. overpriced candles. akilah will testify in open court that my apartment smells divine. and smelling good = bitches rubbing all up on ya. plus, i wear a lot of soft clothes, and bitches can't help but to nuzzle all up on that.

3 once they're drawn in by all that hot messiness, then i get to knock them dead with my smarts and my funnies. and then they're mine forever. YOU are mine foreverrrrrrrr. so buckle up. settle in.

here are a couple things that suck about my stanky ass:
-i absolutely cannot stand to not get my way. i just won't tolerate it.
-it baffles me completely when someone does not like me.

it's unbelieveable, right? and the gist of this ridiculously awkward dinner with the aforementioned ridiculous asshole is that he didn't like me! which is excellent because i didn't fucking like him. i tried to, i really did, because he is the brother of this nice woman who reads my blog and thought we'd hit it off because i'm so, you know, likeable. and while i appreciate the gesture, when it doesn't work it makes me want to drop kick a bitch off the top of a building. i wasn't going to write about it, because i am a sensitive person and i didn't want this bitch to read about what a gaping bloody asshole her godforsaken sibling is. and i left that shit alone, for almost a month, and then he called me again. FOR REAL. and that means the gloves have to come off.


at first i thought it was strictly a socioeconomic-political thing, as i arrived dressed like an upscale street urchin while he had on a suit and shiny wingtips. i should admit that i was already skeptical because he'd suggested elephant and castle as a meeting spot and everyone knows that place is for cunts. loud ass cunts who think drinking shitty imports equals "class." CLASS, despite the fact that they are drunk and shouting and lousy and red-faced. i went to a political function there with pat (how i love and miss my pat SO MUCH) in 2002 when i was working for schmidt and it was so awful i vowed to never return. it's full of fucking young republicans and bitches too goddamned dumb to know any better than to date them, assholes who couldn't hack wall street so they end up banking here. fucking gross.

as i expected, we were the only negroes in the place. now i don't have any problem going ANYWHERE. i am instantly comfortable, no matter where i'm at. i know who the fuck i am. i know what i have. so i have no trouble at all relaxing, no matter the situation. everyone who knows me knows what i said the day i met bill clinton. and if that isn't a bitch who's comfortable with herself, i don't know who is. he said it was close to his job and he liked it, so i conceded and crossed my fingers that he wasn't a raggedy fuckstick.

i know how to fucking dress up. and i ALSO KNOW that chicago is cold as a motherfucker in winter. in addition to that, i know that my broken foot will neverrrr see another high heel in its life. so. i wore my requisite tight dark jeans, big hulking filthy boots (it's winter, you dirty bitches!), and a slinky black thing on top from which my entire rack HANGS OUT. and i put makeup on and shit! gelled my goddamned hair! (that's how to really know if i like your ass; if you see gel in the hair? that means i lurve you.)

i found him quickly (uh...it was easy) and when i shook his hand he said, "did you forget we had a date?"
i had no idea what the fuck he was talking about, especially since i was EARLY. "what do you mean?"
"i was looking at your shoes. are those really first date appropriate?"
oh, of course they weren't. "they are WINTER appropriate. are you always such a stupid toolbag?" i figured we would just part ways after that. you know, the name-calling insult-hurling thing.
not so! "not always. only when i'm awake."

i didn't even take my fucking coat off (which cost me $500 last winter, mind you). but i believe in scamming dudes out of shit more than i believe in anything else, and this asshole was going to buy me dinner whether he wanted to or not.


if i coulda had an abortion while sitting at the table i woulda. and shoulda. i cursed like a fucking sailor, chewed with my mouth open, and did that open-mouthed drooly thing i do when i'm bored to make myself laugh. he commented on my "healthy appetite" (twice!) and asked how far i planned to get in life with "all of those irresponsible tattoos." i was obnoxious and moronic, argumentative without cause, belligerant, belittling, mean-spirited, pompous, and insufferable. just like every republican i've ever met. except judy, because i love her.

when i told him not to call me again he just smiled and walked me out to get a cab. the cabby was young and energetic and talked my fucking ear off (i TOLD you bitches love me), and when i told him about the boot thing he said, "you shoulda put one in his ass." word.

so tell your brother not to call me anymore, because he is a cocksnot with fucked-up sensibilities. and i don't need his elephant anywhere near my donkey.