1 i have to tell you kids about the most BADASS SHIT i have ever heard secondhand. yesterday i was bemoaning the bleak and dismal state of my current romantic life to cari, and she told me a story about a lovely friend of hers whom she'd brought to the sex show sunday night who is adorable and made me laugh and was pretty fucking perfect in the five minutes i got to know her. her friend is currently slogging through the overpriced clusterfuck of bullshit that is eharmony. she had a date last week with an awful dude who didn't look anything like the handful of pictures he'd posted online, and before they'd even ordered she excused herself to the bathroom, then immediately began looking for an exit.
now this is the kind of bitch i need to learn how to be. fuck sitting through the most agonizing lunch in the history of time, picking listlessly at a dry, overcooked potato. next time, i'm getting up and straight BOUNCING. so she goes to the bathroom, comes out and bumps into a waitress, whom she asks where the back door is. the waitress gives her a little shit (making thirty-five cents an hour would make me want to kill a motherfucker, too), forcing her to explain that she is on a terrible date that she would rather not continue so please just tell me how to get the fuck out of here? then the waitress walked her through the kitchen and let her out into the alley, filthy and gross and teeming with rats. after wrestling her purse away from the rat king (if you kids don't watch 30 rock go gouge your eyes out please), she walked to get a cab and texted the dude, STILL SITTING INSIDE, that she had left. this shit makes my heart sing. totally rad. she's my hero today.
i talk a lot of shit, but i'm empathetic. and squirmy and uncomfortable in situations such as this. my heart dropped out of my butt and i felt all sick and weird when i was writing that "thanks, but no thanks" email to herbal tea, and he SUCKED. it wasn't like i was ending a ten-year relationship or something. it should have been quick and painless, like ripping off a band-aid. instead it was like chinese water torture. and i don't overestimate the value of my presence in someone's life, i just hate the whole song and dance. and weird anticipation of the "fuck you" response email. so i'm going to work on growing my long balls out.
2 speaking of eharmony, rachel read a piece last sunday that was so smart and so funny and so good about her abysmal experience with online dating, and it made me love her so effing much it hurts. maybe she'll let me post it here. it was the greatest. everyone is fucking people on the internet these days, but that doesn't make it any less depressing. it might be less weak if people weren't such ridiculous liars. you know when you need to check the "stocky" body type box, asshole. AND i wish you hadn't added three inches to your height. if your pictures could be a little clearer that might rule, too.
ginger and i talk about this shit all the time, and i'm about to try one of the tools in her big bag of male seduction techniques. the "have a drink alone at the bar" trick. apparently it's the only way to convince a swashbuckling young gentleman to approach you out in public. maybe they just need to see the self-loathing desperation pouring out of me? but i'm a borderline fucking alcoholic, and when i'm nervous and alone i drink one after the other until i'm totally shitfaced. which might lead to some sort of herpes-related decision-making.
3 do i have to have sex with the dude who bought me a brand new coach bag?
4 you know what black people like talking about? FRIED CHICKEN. last tuesday senam, akilah, kimmah, kim and i went to matilda-baby atlas for dollar tilapia tacos and three dollar tecates. i drank club sodas. you can kill me at any time, you know. whenever you feel like it, okay? seriously. when you are sick to death on my behalf of reading about how it feels to be sober in a sea of drunk, hunt me down and find me and rip my throat out of my goddamned neck. or something else similarly dramatic. i want to ride out on a wave of pure excitement.
asshole drove out of his way to just "drop by" (pfffft) on his way home from the office and we had a rollicking good time, even though his beard was greasy. except he took out his phone and started talking about these dates he's been going on (what?) and showing us pictures of the women he's been going on them with (WHO?!) and, despite myself, i was getting a little jelly. imagine that. and some of these broads are really sort of cute. cute-ish. pretty-like. which just goes to show you how fucked up the universe is, that kinda hot chicks have to lower themselves to dating the barely-evolved. and pretend to like it even.
before he got there we were having an in-depth discussion about dudes with foul-tasting sperm, and try doing that with a mouth full of sour cream and not gagging. then we had to talk about jerkballs and all his new ladies and i had to hold my vomit back AGAIN. he can't get serious with a chick because 1 dudes with girlfriends are totally boring and 2 he can't be my reserve stunt penis. because even though he breathes with his mouth open, i can't reasonably rule it out. especially if we ever get out to the champagne lodge. the minute any of my manfriends gets a steady i wash my hands of him almost entirely. they get so boring and their girlfriends get so suspiciously jealous and blah blah blah not worth it blah. so let's hope i can sabotage his shit and keep my homeboy.
we were standing outside the bar at one in the morning arguing about harold's versus uncle remus (what else?) when this hipster in a shrunken cardigan tried to walk by. akilah accosted him and said, "can i ask you something? what is your favorite type of chicken?" now i HATE to reinforce anything stereotypically black, because we can't catch a break as it is, but this was quite possibly the negroiest situation i have ever been in EVER. but this dude made my night and answered, "what do you mean? like, breed?" HILARIOUS. and maybe the whitest answer in the universe. love.
5 i looked like a hipster lumberjack last friday. laura and i were going to see paul f. tompkins at beat kitchen, and that morning when i got out of the shower and was staring at the clothes i'd actually hung in the closet after having slept for twenty-five solid minutes, nothing was really speaking to me other than this butch lesbian plaid from the gap. and i have all these stupid glasses and pretty accessories and by the time i was standing on the train platform sweating into my leopard-print sandals i was already over my ensemble and wishing i could go home and get a new shirt.
i don't know how to dress for something like that, and ordinarily i would give a shit because i'm lazy and just wear a variation on the same theme 99.9% of the time, but i've already told you how incredibly EDGY i've been lately. like a raw open wound. eek. so i was hoping not to stand out too much at that thing. and i need to work on my "don't make fun of me from the stage" face. now is NOT the time. i can't promise that this roid rage wouldn't have catapulted me from my chair and made me start pulling his hair out in clumps. i was also nervous because we sort of know the opening act dude, and i was going to try to jog his memory and see if he remembered and gush about how hilarious he is, even though i have zero evidence that will support making such a bold leap. then i was like, "fuck it, i'm just going to sit in the back and think 'i know that dude' to myself and try to hide this garish plaid from pft's line of vision."
how did i solve this conundrum, you ask? by falling asleep first in the show, then out at the bar, then inside at the back of the room while sitting in paul's autograph-signing chair, then outside in a booth near the bar. i can't go to shit that starts at 9:30 anymore. unless i sleep the entire afternoon beforehand. this is the proof that i'm fucking old, man. i can't get to work at 7:30, leave work at 6:30, then do anything other than snore half-awake on the train andbefore retiring to my bed at 8. what a fucking loser.
6 um. i got an OVERWHELMING response to the asshole's contribution to my blog, more than i've ever received about anyone else and totally overshadowing any of the adulation and praise i've received MYSELF, and if you bitches were trying to hurt my feelings congratufuckinglations. trollops.
7 i've got a shit ton of hot weekend plans, and hopefully i won't be too tired to get to all of them. lollapalooza-related shit and backyard parties and smoldering dates with a dude who sent me an email attachment of his sweaty torso and its rippling musculature. barfapalooza. but i have to go, because you kids need something to read. be good, don't get in too much trouble. happy weekend!