Thursday, January 21, 2010

you jerks.

"on a scale from one to chris brown, how pissed off is he?"

our show was this past saturday, and it was raging. i'd hoped to see your sweet ass there. obviously, i am an embecile. because a lot of you heartless bastards couldn't be bothered to fucking show up. this isn't my first dalliance with the cruel mistress that is crushing disappointment, i am a heterosexual woman who has spent the last 12 years dating african-american men after all, but i took this one a little bit personally. how much motherfucking tap dancing do i need to do to get bitches to come out and listen to me read? i understand that for some of my (incredibly wack) friends, even taking five minutes to sit down and peruse this blog is too much of a commitment (and to that i offer a healthy, "WHAT THE FUCK?"), but too hard to LISTEN?! man, fuck them. and you, too, if you don't like it. fucking fuck everybody.

in the asshole. with a dirty screwdriver! why is it so hard to get you dudes to support my art? i would get it if it cost you a shit ton of dough or if it was difficult to understand or if you even had to leave your goddamned apartment to do it, but you fucking don't. you just have to turn on your computer. for which you will be rewarded with copious amounts of belly laughter. i'm going to try to reverse my visible support karma by going to everygoddamnedthing i am ever invited to. if for no other reason than to throw it in your fucking faces later, when you inevitably "can't make it" to some of MY shit.

i was like a sad little kid, man, waiting desperately at the window with her hands clasped beneath her chin and tears in her eyes for the arrival of santa claus or the ice cream man or her biological father. standing at the door with the sad eyes collecting the cover (everybody hates the bitch who's asking for money, even when they're warned!), freezing my snatch off, peering hopefully through the glass that a face i'd recognize from someplace other than goddamned facebook would light the path. dang! not a fucking chance. people who love me at least a little tiny bit were kind enough to break my heart via text message beforehand, but most of you didn't say shit. not a fucking word. what's extra hilarious is that quite a number of people who couldn't be bothered to come to the LAST TWO things to which they'd been invited had the nerve to ask ME to come to some shit. isn't that a dirty bitch?!

and it's no problem, honey! just know that i am keeping a mental checklist, and the next time you're in the hospital after suffering a savage beating or your child is having YET ANOTHER motherfucking birthday party i'm expected to bring a gift to or you want me to come over to make tacos and prank call hot ass dudes i just might be, oh i don't know, BUSY. i guess this is the upshot of having dated only horrifically shitty scum-sucking assholes, but disappointment goes down much more smoothly in my old age. perhaps i'm used to it. maybe i've been stood up turned down and fucked sideways so many goddamned times that little shit like THREE PEOPLE I KNOW SHOWING UP TO MY EVENT looks like a poppy seed in a punch bowl in comparison.

that's right, bitches. laura, corey, and mark (the three biggest stars in my sky until someone who burns brighter comes along and the chances of that are slim-to-yeahfuckingright) were the ONLY samantha people at the show. which is crazy to me. because i know at least a million times more people than that. rude fucking awakening, eh? all of these associates and not a single one of them wants to associate with me. boo fucking hoo. it's cool, though. for real. because i will conveniently remember and be "unavailable" at a time you really want me to do some shit. now, don't get me wrong. my intestines are fucked up and i'm always dyyyyyying of one thing or another and i'm totally caring and empathetic, so if you were sick or hurt or out of town or without childcare or at a funeral or broke or otherwise indisposed i totally understand. and extend my heartfelt condolences. i mean it. i really do.

but if you skipped my shit to fuck some bitch you met on the train or to watch a golden girls marathon or to go see avatar or to clean your apartment or because you just didn't feel like taking the bus or whatever bullshit excuse your teeny little brain comes up with: FUCK YOU. i mean it. i really do.

and here's what i want you to remember when i'm too famous to even consider talking to you ever again: i hope you are murdered by a bear. or some other wild ass shit that will rip you open and start eating your insides before you're all the way dead so you can watch. for real. i want you to gasp for your last breaths while you watch a coyote dig through your hot carcass to eat your liver or some shit. that'll learn you.

i'm scratching you off my fucking christmas card list.

thankfully, akilah has quite the selection of lovely and talented friends that got off their gorgeous asses and gave up ten bucks to come hang with us. we had a good time, a REALLY GOOD TIME, and you should consider killing yourselves, those of you who missed out on all the funnnnnn. akilah and simbryt looked good and sang good and moni might be the only poet on earth other than terrence that i don't absolutely hate with every fiber of my being. she was amazing. and chris, paul, and rico were dope. who are they, you ask? the band, bitch! because YES, we even had a live band. and the food was ridiculous. like i said, if you fucked up and missed out and you have a knife handy, you might want to drag it across your wrist. just remember to do it vertically, because that's the way to really DIE. none of that weaksauce attention-seeking two little slashes across the wrist business, the shit that ends you up in the hospital for a day or two and (momentarily) keeps your boyfriend from leaving. do it for real, you pussies.

i felt like such a dirty filthy slut, though. i mean, during the show. not my usual dirty sluttiness. because reading five dirty whore things in front of a room full of veritable strangers kinda does that to you. i'm not one for disclaimers, but i sort of wanted to say, "uh...these stories are spread across years, remember." i don't want anyone to think i'm a disgusting tramp. i'm still single, you know, and trying to get laid on a regular basis, and talking about all of my ho shit in public might scare off the faint of heart. really dudes, only a handful of the earth's finest (pshaw) has hiked my mountain range. i'm just sayin'. i didn't want anyone to be afraid to shake my hand or eat off my spoon.

the tagged photos from the event kind of reminded me why i need to be on a treadmill more often than once a month, but other than that i was fucking fabulous. i really am hilarious and talented, and my ssssssexy lissssssp and i are big fun to listen to. i made a whole lot of new friends, and that is exciting for me. because, contrary to popular belief (though evidenced by the lackluster showing by my fanclub at saturday's soiree), i don't have that many fucking friends. really. my phone just doesn't ring that often. which, when compounded with the fact that i live with a little raggedy jerk cat, sometimes feels very lonely.

i used to have sprint's cheapest fucking plan, the one where you get 7 anytime minutes a month and 42 free text messages for $29 bucks or whatever, and i NEVER went over my fucking minutes. it was all i needed. serrrriously. i would have some left over! when all the kids started texting and shit i had to upgrade to unlimited texts, but even then it only added ten bucks and wasn't a big deal. it was mostly useful because those hoes would text me when my shit was about to get cut off (i am WAY TOO SCATTERBRAINED to deal with monthly bills; i need a guardian or whatever the fuck britney spears has so someone else can write the checks and make sure i keep my fingernails short enough that i don't scratch my face in my sleep). i upgraded a couple weeks ago to the unlimited all day all night email facebook phone sex extravaganza package because i got this swanky new phone that does shit my other one totally couldn't. and nowadays the first thing a bitch asks you upon making your acquaintance is, "does your phone get internet?" goddamn. and as much as i hate to admit it i CANNOT be the bitch that says, "no."

i was at the shrine monday night with akilah and my new favorite hot shit on legs, tonya, and i met 137 new motherfucking people. in addition to all the ones i met on saturday. and bitches can barely finish shaking your hand and patting you on your back fat before they're whipping out their iberries and adding you on facebook. and i would feel like such an asshole if i couldn't immediately add them. imagine all the disbelieving looks i'd get! so thank god i got this fucking thing. i already broke it (i can't get the back to stay on properly...are any of you dudes cell phone handy? i need some help), but thank the lord nonetheless.

moving on.

i'm about to get my period.
and maybe that's from where all this venom hath sprung forth, but let's roll with it. this may weird you out, but i'm kind of in love with my period. no, really. i'm serious! i don't mind it AT ALL. maybe it's because mine have never been particularly arduous or painful, but i kind of like the feeling that my body is working. grinding. churning. doing what the fuck it's supposed to do for a change. it could also be because it signifies that there are no babyfriends growing inside and robbing me of my life force, but i don't think so.

this little slut is late, and for a minute there i had a calendar and an abacus and a graphing calculator and a solar chart and my smart-person glasses and was hunched over my desk sweating bullets trying to figure out if it was humanly possible that i might have a terrorist hijacking my uterus. omfg. but i peed on a stick and a clot fell out so i think i'm in pretty decent shape. crisis averted, call off the bloodhounds!

sex while the old bloody faucet is running is more fabuloso than i can say. all those little ladyparts moving and working make it feel 1000% more excellent. if you girls aren't doing this you should be, and fuck it if you can't find a dude who is willing. all you hoes should be masturbating anyway, and if you use a vibrator while you have your period you might just die of happiness. a certain gorgeous vampire friend of mine recently expressed his disdain for swimming the red sea (prude), and i TOTALLY get that. if the situation was reversed and some asshole was waving his oozing flagpole in my face i'd pepper spray him and kick him in the junk. i get it, but when you find a dude who's into it you'd better tie him to the bedpost and never let him leave. not even to pee.

it amazes me that there are still people who "don't do that" in bed. i mean, for real? in 2010?! you bitches still aren't giving head? you dudes are still reluctant to stick your face in a vagina?! what the fuck? i will do pretty much anything that isn't degrading or illegal or involves more than one other person. i'm not even kidding. my don'ts are pretty much limited to: shit, vomit, children, animals, needles, fire, threesomes, swinging, being hit in the face or spat on, public places, and videotape. everything else is pretty much golden. i have a collar and binds and paddles and all sorts of shit. and i don't need them, i'm just not scared of them. and if a dude returns my phone calls because i let him blindfold me and put a ball gag between my teeth, that makes it all worth it, no?

thank goodness i got that upgrade. i bet my phone is about to start ringing off the fucking hook.