Monday, June 21, 2010

i need a new bed.

1 you know what makes me uncomfortable? commercials for breakfast cereals. particularly when they feature a well-heeled, sharply tailored, impeccably groomed "family" carefully situated around a kitchen table. fully dressed and capable of carrying on a conversation at six-thirty in the fucking morning? yeah right, cheerios. i'd maybe believe it if bitches were slogging into the kitchen, hungover and in pajamas with runaway bed head rubbing the sleep from their eyes, slamming down a handful of advil migraine and mistakenly pouring orange juice all over their raisin bran. i'd also buy it if the commercial was a five-second blur of a bitch running half-dressed and shoeless through the kitchen and out the back door screaming, "i can't fucking eat i'm gonna miss my TRAIN!" at the top of her lungs. for every special k spot i see there need to be five commercials for starbucks, dunkin donuts, slim fast shakes, cases of diet coke, potato chips, turkey sandwiches, and whatever other convenient garbage we shove down our pie holes at the speed of light in the morning in lieu of those 42 vitamins and whole grains.

i also hate commercials for watered-down light beers. and any other ad for which creating a seemingly "fun" scenario seems like it took so much WORK. i hate all those contrived upbeat barbecues and faux club scenes. barf. not to mention that if a dude hollered at me while sipping a miller fucking light i would junk punch him. i know toddlers who drink better beer than that. idiot. but i would keel over with delight at the sight of a realistic beer commercial. i want to see bitches making bad decisions and dudes falling facedown into piles of vomit. yeahhhhh. use that to sell me a bottle of patron. not that i am an exception, mind you. do you remember that club ontourage downtown on ohio? (yes, with an O. shitfuckdamn.) is it even still there? anyway, in 2002 my dumb ass TOOK MY PANTS OFF ON THE DANCEFLOOR  there. fueled by a mind-numbing EIGHT bombay and tonics. some shitbag i was dancing with said, "let me see that booty, girl!" and my gin-soaked brain interpreted that as "take those pants off, sexy!" this is why i shouldn't be around impressionable young children or anyone else easily led astray.

sarah had taken my house keys so that i couldn't leave without her knowledge (and make one of those BAD DECISIONS, ahem), and ran over to grab me before security could and was like, "really, sam?" eyeing me up and down. "REALLY?!" dude was already settling up with the bartender so he could "give me a ride home," (ahahahahahaha!) and i wanted my goddamned keys. please keep in mind that I STILL HAD MY PANTS OFF. i had more gapers than a five car pile-up, yet i insisted on arguing pantsless with that bitch that i was lucid enough to leave with a complete stranger. a stranger who had encouraged me to remove my pants in the middle of a fucking disco. needless to say, we got KICKED THE FUCK OUT, and i almost got arrested for belligerent drunk going home with a douchebag half-nakedness.

she refused to give me my keys, but I SHOWED HER because i had a roommate at the time and HE would just let me in. so fuck you, you cockblocking whore! i don't even know how we got to my place. or how we got to the fourth floor. i can hardly climb stairs sober. i must have momentarily forgotten that i had a hardcore partying gay man living across from me when i spit in sarah's face about my keys (LITERAL SPIT; she would have been well within her rights to cut my heart out and force me to eat it), so of course he wasn't home at three on a sunday morning. i just slumped on the dirty carpet against the door, squeezing my eyes shut while willing the vomit back into my stomach. he got home and i showed my new paramour to my sexy boudoir (i had leopard sheets at the time, what?!) while i peed and tried to fix my runny eyeliner. i was such a raging whore back then that i kept a hot nightie hanging on the back of the bathroom door at all times, so i put that on and slipped into my bedroom. dude was naked and spread across the bed with an erection, RAWR, and i don't even think he was in past my incisors before i THREW UP ALL OVER HIS DICK. now put that in a commercial.

sales increased by a factor of ten. just saying.

2 if it keeps raining, i'm going to need a wheelchair. not to get all septuagenarian on you, but these torrential downpours are fucking up my joints. in a big way. especially since i've been too cute (and perpetually late) to wear my brace lately. i fucking forgot it again today, and my hand feels like it's about to separate itself from my arm at the wrist. GODDAMN this shit is painful. i am almost at the point where i'd like to have this bitch amputated. except that would fuck up my handjob game. and i know what you're thinking: isn't your dumb ass celibate? and yes, asshole, right now i am. but i always hold out hope. just not with my left hand.

3 i'm writing a craigslist ad for a manservant. i am going to require that he be strapping, handsome, docile, and hopefully mute. i will let you know what i turn up.

4 here's what a fucking weirdo i am. i desperately need a new bed. DESPERATELY. right now. or maybe yesterday. but i'm too chickenshit to go buy one, because i don't know what purchases you're supposed to negotiate for. i mean, i just don't understand the concept. now don't get me wrong. I KNOW that i'm not supposed to stand in line at walgreens and say "are you sure you can't let me have this toothpaste for $1.99?!" but are beds something you can barter? i'm a pussy when it comes to buying things. i just pay whatever it costs and go the fuck on about my business. have you bought a bed before? i've been lucky enough to have fancy friends giving expensive beds away at the right time.

i feel dumb buying a bed with no one hot to put in it. by that same token, i just ordered a bunch of new bras online, and i bought ones that are maybe a little less than sexy this time because i'm tired of wasting all my hot bras on nobody. you know my fancy ass only buys bras that are fifty bucks apiece, so paying more to add embellishments is RIDICULOUS when i'm just going to have to remove it myself at the end of the day. now don't get me wrong, my bras are sexy as shit no matter what. because i have an amazing fucking rack. but this time around i bought basic black cotton and underwire rather than the silky gorgeousness i usually get. because helen doesn't give a shit about my underwear. besides, neither do most dudes. assholes.

so i am loathe to spend a ton of money on a new bed without someone to show it off to. what the fuck do i care if i sleep on a lumpy mattress mel gave me when i moved a few years ago? at this rate i'm never going to get laid ever again, and i'd hate to sink eight hundred bucks into what is going to essentially become a giant cat toy. because i'm never fucking home. the comical part is that i'm never home long enough at the right time of day to even have a bed delivered! i need to do something, though. things are devolving at breakneck speed. in a couple months it's going to feel like sleeping in a ball crawl. and while in theory that sounds like something i'd get hot for (i love balls!), in practice it's going to land my arthritic ass in traction.

it's time to change this bed karma. and rather than search for and pick better dudes, i'm going to swap out my mattress and hope they come to me. and let's be honest. i'm not really searching for shit. so if the mattress dude is hot and not dumb, maybe i can kill two birds with one stone?

5 man, i love drunk texting. and i want to MARRY drunk dialing. goddamn is that shit fun. if i texted you saturday night, I AM SORRY. unless you liked it, which a few people must have because i got a lot of hot texts in return. i called the asshole and literally shouted into his voicemail for five minutes. exhilarating! now i have one more reason to get drunk. as if i needed it. pshaw.

6 finally, some tips for men: a ponytail on a dude is an INSTANT disqualifier, under any circumstance. write that down, gentleman on the platform at morse this morning who kept asking me, "what are you reading? is it good? what book is that? do you like it? what kind of book is that? what are you reading? how far along are you?" blah blah blah would you ever fuck a dude with a ponytail blah blah no i never would blah. cut that shit off, asshole! and he was BLACK, which makes it doubly offensive. because it's not a smooth, curling tendril resting gently on the back of his neck (those are gross, too), it looks like someone wrapped a rubber band around a cheap goddamned broom. FUG. STOP.

ps, tongue rings and wrist tattoos are MOIST. ew. especially those encircling the wrist like a bracelet tattoos. barf. and bracelets on dudes are iffy on the moist meter, too. and some necklaces. be careful.

how hot would it be if that was my actual bedroom? damn. i'm totally fucking living wrong.