Wednesday, April 6, 2011


this one is for my single ladies. and not the ones beyonce was singing to when she tried to disguise BEGGING FOR SOME DUDE TO NOTICE SHE'D MOVED ON FROM HIM as a female empowerment record, either. "you know where i went since you dumped me, asshole? i'm at the fucking club. i'm doing my own little thing, getting other brothers to notice me. too bad you didn't marry me so i wouldn't have to participate in this pointless, desperate charade. oh oh oh..." we're not dumb, gurrrrl. that song is a goddamned jam and everything, but a galvanizing anthem for the feminist movement it AIN'T.

listen. i've had relationships before. good ones, bad ones, short ones, long ones, chaste ones, kinky ones, right ones, wrong ones. i've dated tall dudes and short dudes; skinny dudes and fat dudes; old dudes and young dudes; smart dudes and dumb dudes; broke dudes and BALLERS. and never once have i ever, in the history of my vagina's history, rolled over in bed one morning to rest my unfocused eyes on the smelly, dirty, hairy hulk of human flesh lying next to me farting in my good sheets and digging his uncut toenails into my calf and drooling early-morning gingivitis onto my pillowcase and thought to myself, "you know what, you lucky thing? i bet [enter name of single friend] is TOTALLY FUCKING JEALOUS OF YOU."

GROSS. jealous is one of those nasty words idiots use to make themselves feel better about their otherwise mediocre situations, and i hate it. mostly because, whether or not it is true, JEALOUS is one of those accusations that, once hurled, it is very nearly impossible to disprove. seriously, it sticks. despite the fact that the allegation is almost ALWAYS untrue and that the unimaginative bitch spewing that lie is a filthy snatchbag of horribleness, it's hard to convince some bystanding third party that you aren't, in fact, JEALOUS AS HELL. it's like if i'm wearing a dress and you're wearing jeans and a t-shirt and i nudge my homie and say, "that bitch is jealous because i'm wearing this dress," and the first thing he thinks is "YEAH, SHE PROBABLY IS." nevermind that the dress i'm wearing doesn't fit and the girdle i have to wear beneath it cuts into my soft meat and that her jeans look totally normal and fine and great, now that i've planted the jealousy seed it's nearly impossible for the fucking thing not to take root and bloom.

so the tricky little grapevine snuck up on me and informed me a couple times in the past few days weeks months that what i suffer from is an acute case of the jealous. which is funny because i didn't even know that i was sick! it's just like chlamydia! don't you hate that? you're walking around all happy and oblivious, having not the faintest idea that some grody disease is festering beneath your skin until someone says, "hey girl, you probably should go to the fucking doctor." i mean, i felt a little scratchy in the throat, but i thought that was just some seasonal allergy nonsense. i had no fucking idea i'd been bitten by the jealousy bug. goddamn it, i don't wash my stupid hands enough. i should probably wear a hat when i go outside, and sanitize before rubbing my eyes after touching train rails and whatnot. is there a cure for this shit? any broad-spectrum antibiotics i can take?! how do the rest of you lonely, cock-blocking ass broads keep from coming down with the green flu? does haterade have antioxidants and shit?!

what's hilarious is that no one has ever accused me of something i might actually be jealous of, like how she can stay awake past eleven pm on a tuesday or her ability to expertly use chopsticks. jealous of your passport full of stamps? MAYBE. jealous of that dude you hate banging who never picks up his fucking dirty clothes? NEVER. being jealous because some bitch has a dude is like being jealous of a goddamned stomachache: i've had one before; and while what i did to get it might have been fun, once i'm actually stuck with it it kind of TOTALLY FUCKING SUCKS. if i knew one single woman who was marrying UP i might change my tune, but everyone i know is sucking the dick of a regular, broke-ass dude. show me a girl who relationshipped her way to some prime property, and i might show you my "damn, i'm jealous" face. the first time i heard "sam's just jealous because i have a man and she doesn't" i almost shit myself laughing. you have a boyfriend, i have a cat. we're even. helen keller does everything a dude does: eats my fucking food, does what the fuck she wants, leaves her shit everywhere, ruins all of my nice things, and never cleans up after her fucking self. she doesn't tell me what she's thinking, she rarely takes my feelings into account, she doesn't pay attention when i talk, and she only wants affection on her terms. SOUNDS LIKE I HAVE A GODDAMNED BOYFRIEND. or, at least, it sounds like i have your goddamned boyfriend.

i know a handful of motherfuckers throwing shade at MY ASS while scrolling through their boyfriends' text messages in the middle of the night trying to figure out whether or not those dudes are seeing someone else. i'm jealous of that, eh? IF YOU SAY SO. (and you totally have been saying so, to more than one of our mutual acquaintances.) you know what i don't have to do? wonder where my boyfriend is all day. wonder why my boyfriend didn't answer his cell phone. wonder why my boyfriend didn't answer his work phone. wonder why my boyfriend's facebook is private. wonder who my boyfriend is texting during dinner. which totally explains why i'm so jealous and bent out of shape all the time. all of this free time to read books and go to shows and cultivate personal interests can really get to a person.

is it really so impossible to believe that a single broad can be happy? is a relationship really the female holy grail?! would i like to be getting laid? maybe. like i've said before, i would much rather get the occasional email from some interested party who would like to fuck me, because actual sex is overrated and uninteresting. (which i bet you mean girls with boyfriends already know.) all my self-esteem is looking for is some validation. it makes me way happier to continue not waxing my asshole and wearing boring cotton underwear that go from my kneecaps to just below my chin. and, like i said, i've DONE THAT BEFORE. i've had someone who swore he loved me not answer my calls and fuck other girls the minute my back was turned and never pay me back the money he owed me and not keep his promises. i might own up to a little seething envy if i hadn't already done the honeymoon-stage thing. oh, wait, i get it. now that it's happening for YOU it's different. okay then.

and i LOVE love, so i hope that for everyone reading this shit it IS different. unless getting laid on the regular has somehow stricken you with vaginal amnesia and you start saying nasty things about your fucking ladyfriends just because you've got a dick in your box. a pox on you people; for YOU i want nothing more than wilting erections and maxed out libidos. i was told that someone said "it's always the jealous friend who messes everything up" in reference to ME, of all people, and on that i call BULLSHIT. even you happily coupled girls know a bitch or twelve who got a boyfriend or planned a wedding and all of a sudden started treating you like something she scraped off the bottom of her shoe. what is it about being boo'd up that makes some bitches act like they suddenly know some shit? last week you couldn't tie your shoes without help, bitch, but now that fear of dying alone forced you to settle for that dude who works at the gas station you think you can advise me on what i'm doing wrong in MY life? yeah fucking right. and i'm an easygoing person, mostly because if i had my druthers i'd never ever have to get out of bed EVER, but i don't hold anyone to strict friendship standards because i don't want them to do that to me, so i climb on in the backseat or slide myself over to the back burner and give her some space to enjoy her mancake. and it isn't hard, because the more time my lady loves spend with their men, the more goddamned interesting i seem in comparison whenever they finally come up for air.

i love when my homegirls get dudes or my lesbians pair up. everything in my goddamned apartment was put together 1 by someone else's man or 2 by a woman with both a vagina and a full beard. i'm not fucking kidding. i can't be changing light bulbs and putting ikea dressers together! which is why i need your man and his toolbelt to do that shit for me. i throw a goddamned party when my girlfriends get guyfriends, because hanging out with couples means they are probably going to PAY FOR MY DINNER. that $37 they're saving by living together can be used to comp my roast beef, and why the fuck would i ever get mad about THAT? i know that it's easy and comforting to think that i'm sitting alone spraying helen with axe and dressing her up in men's suits while drying my tears on a painting of your man i had commissioned, but really i'm thinking of a way to convince you to bring him over so i don't have to get on a ladder and try to change the fluorescent bulbs in my kitchen. ain't nobody making no voodoo dolls over here. i want you dudes together FOREVER. because i need someone to take my metal bed frame down to the dumpster.

you know why else i love your man? because you have to leave the club and go home to him. which means if i try to slide my number to that laz alonso lookalike drinking moscato (gross) at the bar, you can't do anything but go home and tell your MAN about it. mwahahahaha. and i would accuse you of being jealous of my sex and the city (pfffft) lifestyle, but then i'd think about how you could turn around and make fun of all the single-serving healthy choice meals gathering freezer burn next to the seven half-eaten pints of ben and jerry's in my icebox and i'd SHUT THE FUCK UP. and let's not act like i have restraint; those ice creams have all the chunks and gooey bits carved out of them. once all of the fudge pieces and peanut butter swirl is gone i have no use for them. don't act like it's just me.

1 why i'm not jealous of that dude you're banging: because he doesn't take you out. you've never seen him in the daytime. you don't TALK about anything. you don't know where he lives. you've never met any of his friends. you haven't seen the inside of his car. i like not having to take STD or pregnancy tests unless i feel like having a laugh. i like not having to figure out "if this is going anywhere." or pretending to be okay with "seeing other people." and i could get anonymously banged if i wanted, and so could any other broad reading this, so let's stop pretending like you're sitting on a magic vagina over there, ladies. okay? and i can supply my own orgasms, and i don't have to shove all my dirty laundry in the closet and hide ten bags of trash in the shower before i consult my vibrator. so get out of here with that noise about how good he is in bed.

also? I'M PROBABLY BANGING MY OWN DUMB DUDE. the difference, though, is that i understand which dudes you brag about and which ones you don't. which ones might want to be your boyfriend and which ones won't even commit to a restaurant, let alone a future. which ones meet your friends and which ones you forget about sometimes because they only call you sporadically. it's so embarrassing when some broad climbs up on that booty call high horse thinking it's a stallion. WE PEEPED THAT JACKASS, GURL. now go sit your ass down somewhere and stop thinking you're the only one who got her back blown out this morning.

2 why i'm not jealous of that dude you're dating: because everyone you know, and even people you don't know, wants to know "where your relationship is going." you can't have three dinners and a movie date with some dude before the postman, your yoga instructor, the checkout girl at walgreens, and the bitch who cut your hair that one time three years ago want to know exactly what stage you two have reached. do you like him? does he like you? are you exclusive? are you sure you're exclusive? has he taken down his okcupid profile? does his ex still call him? when are you moving in together? when are you getting a dog together? did he give you a set of keys to his car? are both names on the lease? is he the marrying type? has he bought a ring? is he THINKING about buying a ring? does he want kids? does he want kids with you?!

having a regular sex partner just leads everyone else on the planet to believe that they have a vested interest in your relationship, and i prefer to tell my business to the internet, thankyouverymuch. i can't think of anything worse than having to fill everyone in on the state of my union all the time. and bitches don't really care, they're just waiting for you to reveal something scandalous or terrible to make themselves feel better. MYSELF INCLUDED. i have not, ever, in the history of ever, repeated a nice story some girl told me about her boyfriend. because i don't care about surprise flowers at the office. i have, however, told everyone i could think of, including strangers on the street, about the dude who took a dump in your hair or the other one who got your sister pregnant. because i'm a big fan of cautionary tales. and the opposite of jealous.

3 why i'm not jealous of that dude you're marrying: because i know a lot of divorced bitches. and a lot of broke-ass couples. listen, i can be regular by myself. i would like to get married for better health insurance. or regular access to a decent car. i need someone i could roll over and borrow fifty dollars from who understands that when i say "borrow" i mean "i'm never giving this back to you." every time a bitch on a budget turns her nose up about my not having someone to file my taxes jointly with i just think, "well what did yours come with?" bad credit? a mountain of debt that you're now half responsible for? none for me, thanks. and i would rather be dead then tell some dude my ATM pin, let alone give him carte blanche with my money. i'm thrilled to pieces that you have to sit down at the kitchen table once a week with a shoebox of receipts and explain to a grown fucking man why having money to pay the electric bill is more important than upgrading his game console, but please wake me up when we get to that part that makes me feel bad about myself. maybe the noise from that bouncing check will be loud enough to do it.

i've never in my life said that i want to be married. which is why i was left scratching my noggin at the assertion i might not be anything but happy for someone who is. i have very specifically said that i'd like someone to count my pills and make sure i end up in the best nursing home, but that does NOT have to be a husband. as a matter of fact,  it's more likely that my care will actually be up to my standards if it isn't. i like my name. i like being able to tell a dude to kick rocks without having to take him to court to do so. "til death do us part" is a BIG COMMITMENT, man. and i'm not ready for that. am i impressed and happy that some of you are? YES. am i dying inside because i haven't yet had the opportunity to plan an overblown party i'm too broke to pay for? ABSOLUTELY NOT. i'm not ready to sign up for having some dude be my problem for THE REST OF MY LIFE. if i wanted someone to nag and yell at all the time i'd have a goddamned baby. and besides, most weddings are just a parade of everything you couldn't really afford to do, and i'd much rather stress myself out trying to save up the money to spend my summer on a boat in the bahamas instead of catered crab puffs and shrimp toast.

so for all you gorgeous girls braiding your armpit hair and leaving shit in the toilet for a day and masturbating while you stand at the kitchen sink, this is for you. keep enjoying your alone time and only having to look after your own socks. and make sure you put a nuvaring on it.