Friday, September 28, 2012

it's fall, y'all.

issue fourteen. is summer over yet?! september is a tricky goddamned month. in like a fiery lion cast out of the pit of satanic death and out like a cool, crisp lamb wearing a light cashmere scarf to ward off the chill, this first month of fall hearkens the return of all of my most favorite things: 1 the end of drunk, vomiting cubs fans fucking up the goddamned red line train 2 wool sweaters 3 drafting my fantasy football team 4 sons of anarchy and the good wife back on my motherfucking tv screen every week and 5 kids locked away in school-jail ten hours a day. as a person with a weekday off, there is no greater joy in my life than the witnessing of inaugural back to school commercials rolling out midway through every goddamned august. mondays, which during the school year are my sweet respite from the chatter of idiots and the dull roar of angry pet owners, are little more than an extra day to sleep holed-up in the refrigerated air of my apartment during the summer, because to dare to venture outside is to do so at my own peril. is everyone out of work these days? are there really this many children in the city of chicago?! every single time i tried to enjoy a leisurely brunch or take in a movie at 11:30 in the goddamned morning i found my plans rudely intruded upon by troves of sweaty, unsupervised children shouting and cursing and punching each other in the dicks.

like an asshole i tried to see "the dark knight rises" at that big movie theater on western and logan at ten a.m. on a monday, and as soon as i settled in with my popcorn and my industrial-strength imodium this rowdy gang of nine-year-olds ran screaming into the theater lighting explosives and touching everything with their sticky little mouths and hands. HOORAY FOR SCHOOLTIMES. i don't hate kids, i just hate standing in line at starbucks for forty minutes while yours orders seventeen mocha frappucinos and pays for it with her own platinum card. i'm jealous of these little assholes, being all carefree in their supersmall shorts and trying on makeup in CVS while i pick up cream to treat my third yeast infection of the summer. get back in a classroom, jerks. stop reminding me that you have your entire lives ahead of you while i'm desperately trying to pay my light bill, get my chin waxed, and scam my doctor out of a flu shot all on my LUNCH BREAK. jesus, how am i not dead yet. i'm not going to be invited to give any commencement speeches anytime soon, but if i were this is what i would say to them: "the worst part of being a grown-up is having to use the measly forty-five minutes you should be spending eating a cheese sandwich in peace at your desk trying to keep your lights on and shit. never leave college."

nerds rule, fashion drools. for a magazine whore such as myself, september is a dream made of kittens. nothing feels sexier than lugging around the heft of the september issue of your favorite rag with it's must-haves for the season and 9,436 pages of ads. all of that glossy shit i can neither afford nor comfortable fit into just feels so fucking good weighing down my day bag. the other day i rammed accidentally into this dude on the bus and nearly knocked him over with my bag, and he was like, "what's in there, a phone book?" and i scoffed, "NO, DUDE. IT'S THAT NEW ELLE WITH KATY PERRY ON THE COVER." i don't wear white shoes because they are impractical and i don't wear white pants because i would like to avoid looking like an actual bowl of walking cottage cheese, so those fall rules can suck my dick. instead of that outdated mode of thinking, i enlisted the help of harper's bazaar to find out what we should be wearing this fall.

1 dress like a lady. wait, what does this mean? wear lipstick to bed? no more overalls? little white gloves and pearls?! HELP.
2 carry luxe extras. the python clutch pictured with this rule costs more than the car you are driving. not kidding. next.
3 go wild. animal prints are in! which is good because inner me is SO GODDAMNED TACKY. i ordered a leopard-print wrap dress last week. i will be wearing that shit constantly.
4 mix in metallics. fat people in shiny clothing look like honey baked hams covered in tin foil, so i will not be participating in this. mmm, ham.
5 update classics. this is how i get away with buying the same thing over and over again. just call your look "classic." and stay away from neon jumpsuits.

community college 101. so, to date, i am 1/2 done with a degree in mathematcs and have 1/4 of a social work degree completed. and every year around this time, when illinois's many college campuses are shiny and clean and teeming with bright young things ready to make something of themselves and affect some change in the world around them, i become filled with the promise of a new year and get on the internet and start looking at classes, then i remember that i hate school and everyone in school looks and behaves like chief keef and then i give up on everything and go the hell back to bed.

PUT YOUR FUCKING HAMHOCKS AWAY. finally, ho. i am a sweater/jacket/poncho/cape/decorative scarf wearing motherfucker, and this crispy weather gives me SO. MUCH. LIFE. i'm sick of smelling all these roasting vaginas on the bus; put some pants on, bitch: IT'S KIND OF ALMOST COLD. man, thank goodness for fall. i no longer have to worry about my pantiliner detaching from my underpants and falling from under the ankle-length skirts that account for my "summer clothes." no more suffering the withering looks from people wondering why i have sleeves and a scarf on while they're catching skin cancer under the high noon sun. time to order my black turtlenecks sweaters for the year. seasonal affective disorder: OVER.

let's make human hibernation a real thing. sorry, magazines, but the last thing i want to do is figure out how to turn my kitchen into a makeshift racetrack and use my shower curtain rod to do pull-ups so i can keep my jelly tight during the winter months. don't you know that this is pot roast weather?! as soon as there is a chill in the air all of the cozy people i know (the kinds of people who actually make their houses a home and have shit like "extra blankets" and "more than one plate") start baking and roasting and i stop grocery shopping altogether. 'tis the season for this poor unfortunate soul, because nesting bitches gotta cook so orphan bitches gotta eat.

stew is my jam. seriously, there is nothing better on earth than cradling a hot bowl of fragrant stew close to your chest on a chilly fall night. now that i'm eating vegetables and shit i had to find some alternative comfort foods, and one of my new most favorite food sites is as opposed to my old go-to source now don't get me wrong. there is nothing on earth i would love more than to ladle something called "cheesy bacon hashbrown snickerspie" into my face hole in 1/2 cup scoops still bubbling from the oven. but i've already lost ten pounds in two weeks because i got divorced from sausage and am "on a break" from beef and cheese, so this vegetable shit is obviously the move.

1 large yellow onion, chopped 
3 tablespoon olive oil
3 cups chopped cabbage
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
1 tablespoon fresh ginger root, grated
1 14-ounce can vegetable broth plus 1 can water
3 small or 2 large yams, peeled and cut into 1/2-inch cubes
1 teaspoon salt, or to taste
1 14-ounce can diced tomatoes
1 10-ounce package frozen, sliced okra
3 tablespoon fresh lime juice
2 tablespoon fresh cilantro, chopped
chopped peanuts for garnish

cilantro sprigs for garnish (optional)

1 in a large stew pot, saute the onions in olive oil on medium heat for about five minutes.

2 add the next five ingredients, including yams. (i buy small ones, they cook better.) add water if necessary to cover vegetables. cover pot and bring to a boil. reduce heat and simmer on medium-low heat for 6-10 minutes, until yams are barely tender.

3 add salt, tomatoes, okra, and lime juice. simmer about 15 minutes, and then stir in cilantro.

4 transfer the stew into a decorative serving dish, if desired. (you don't really own one of those, do you?!) sprinkle with chopped peanuts and a few sprigs of cilantro before serving.

"cabbage/yam/frozen okra soup" is NOT the same as "creamy beef enchilada layered cheesy meatball bake." let's not kid ourselves, this shit is sort of gross. just think of those hot, frustrated jealousy tears of deprivation as fat draining out through your eyeballs. full disclosure: i had a cheeseburger from edzo's yesterday but that doesn't count because it had lettuce on it. and ketchup, which is totally a vegetable. (i have no willpower whatsoever. now you know. judge me if you must.)

does this nightgown turn you on? damn, i gotta step my sext game up. that picture is the goddamned worst because OMG SO MANY CLOTHES. i was at caitlin's house dirty texting with some idiot who requested some phone porn, but i'm mostly lazy and he sort of totally fucking sucks, so i got up and went in the bathroom and took half a dozen pictures snarling at the camera in a nightgown and her mom's robe. i even have a towel on my head in a couple of them because i like to sext while deep conditioning my hair. taking pictures of yourself is embarrassing, so i usually crop my face out and focus on my bra, but i was pretty bored and uninspired by this gentleman plus people with nice bathrooms have mirrors that don't require i stand on a fucking stool to get my giant pepperoni areolas in the shot.

the first time i ever got a picture of a dick in my phone it was one i'd already seen before, taken by my boyfriend at the time as he was taking a shit in a bathroom stall at work with the caption "girl, do you know what to do with this?" WHAT A GODDAMNED DUMMY. i responded "wipe it down and spray some lysol on it?" during a later argument he said i had "damaged his self-esteem" when i'd written that, and i told him he damaged my life esteem by sending me a cock shot in which i could see his pulled-down underwear and feet. ps: YOU ARE MOIST. the next dude shaved his testicles and drew eyes on them and called his dick pen-occhio, and he got an A for creativity and originality but an F for being a kind person who didn't need to borrow money from me all the time.

in the sexting dark ages i used to just take my little flip phone and take a picture of my bent forearm and pretend it was my vagina, i'll wait here while you try that shit and laugh, but as phones got better my photography skills improved, and now i'm pretty good at leaning on my bathroom counter while jamming my tits together without dropping my evo in the sink to its death. i just got a bunch of new fancy bras (because they were on sale but so what, okay?), so if i have your phone number (and, if not, why don't i?!) you better warn your eyeballs. me and my stretch marks are about to get all up in your iPorn. lucky you, i'm due for a hot oil treatment. rawr.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

sleepless in seattle.

i don't own any goddamned polar fleece. as a matter of fact, there isn't a single item of clothing in my closet that serves any other purpose than draping as elegantly as possible over my rubenesque frame. i don't buy apparel that has dry-wick fabric or smart-weave technology. my clothes are just goddamned clothes, they don't "think" about keeping my core temperature cool while i'm running uphill wearing lead-weighted ergonomic toe shoes. despite hailing from the kind of town that had solar-powered houses before celebrities made that shit cool, high performance outerwear is not a real thing i own. granted, i have some REI shit and some marmot shit and some eddie bauer shit, but that's just so i can pass in these mean suburban streets. bitches in evanston probably won't shank you for your jordans, but they will give you a dirty side-eye if you ain't got them new north face chilkat II pac joints with the 200 gram primaloft eco insulation and the nubuck/suede uppers, son.

so melissa flew me and caitlin out to the pacific northwest as a non-refundable birthday gift for herself, and the minute we landed at sea-tac i was stunned by how few black people there were at the airport. o'hare is like a fucking episode of good times in comparison. on the ferry out to bainbridge island where melissa lives i kept yelling "give us us free!" and asking caitlin to call me toby, which she would not. what a party pooper.

being the only black person on an island is a trip. first of all, i thought it was a legal requirement for places like safeway to stock at least one dusty jar of TCB or murray's pomade in case a plane crashes and harold perrineau and his weird son need to keep their afros looking right, but sadly THAT IS NOT SO. what am i supposed to do with herbal essences, bitch? doesn't pantene have that new sista girl line in the brown bottle? would it have killed you to keep a bottle of emergency oil sheen in the back?! good thing i don't trust the man, because i packed seven things in my patagonia (I NEED TO FIT IN, HOOKER) messenger bag, and five of them were african-american hair products. i can't be out here working that telltale "i was adopted by a white family that has no idea how to style my hair" look. i need some definition, bro.
second, at the starbucks on the island the barista looked startled as i ordered an iced green tea rather than the collard green chitterling mochaccino she'd been expecting. same with the owner of the gift shop who marveled in awe as i chose to look at all of the lobster-printed dish towels rather than steal them. at the german bakery i was offered a sample of blackstrap molasses cookies (nice, but possibly racist) and the girl at the ice cream store insisted that i try a spoonful of the watermelon sorbet (hella racist, but OMG DELICIOUS). mostly i just got barked at by a lot of dogs while their owners made the white guilt apology face and pointed out the obama stickers on the backs of their subarus. it was totally beautiful there, and i didn't have to go to work or answer my goddamned phone, which put a song in my dried-up, useless heart. also, when i was standing outside etta on sunday morning in my plane-jamas this adorable girl named nora walked up to me and asked if i was samantha irby, and after running through a mental checklist to figure out whether or not i somehow owed that ho money, she squealed "i love your blog!" and that is everything. i'm totally about that life. so obviously i should move there?

1 nature is beautiful. bainbridge island is located within the cool puget sound basin and is characterized by an irregular coastline of approximately 53 miles (85 km), with numerous bays and inlets and a significant diversity of other coastal land forms, including spits, bluffs, dunes, lagoons, cuspate forelands, tombolos, tide flats, streams and tidal deltas, islands, and rocky outcrops. there are over 200 species of marine fish in the sound, including many species of salmon (YUM-O), steelhead, herring, and groundfish like pacific cod (TASTY), spiny dogfish, and many species of rockfish. the puget sound has hundreds of species of sea birds, shorebirds and waterfowl, including the tufted puffin (cuties!), bufflehead, western sandpiper, bald eagle (holy shit, SAW ONE), pigeon guillemot, common loon, harlequin duck, rhinoceros auklet, cormorants, scoters, and grebes. marine mammals of the sound include orcas, sea lions (adorable!), sea otters, gray whales, humpback whales, and harbor seals. also, sweet little coyotes and teeny tiny pond frogs that wake you up at dawn with all their melodious chirping.

2 seafood is healthy and delicious. self-described "foodies" make me want to chew off my own tongue and stab my eardrums with a pencil. i do like eating food, though, and i ate more crab and salmon and cod on this trip than i've had in the last six goddamned months. the midwest isn't known for its abundance of marine wildlife, and unless you consider dirty tampons and inedible smelt something you'd want to put in your mouth, all of our seafood (even the fanciest kind) just isn't the same when it's been shipped across the fucking country. and i drank a lot more water there than i usually do, which easily just serves as proof of my gross inability to function as an adult and should probably be withheld from this post.

3 flowers are so fucking cheap. sunday we went to pike place market, and that might just be my new most favorite place on earth. in my dream life i am totally the kind of person who buys fresh flowers once a week (or, better yet, has them bought for me by someone who is IN LOVE WITH MY FACE) and has a need for things like radishes and asian pears, and if i lived in seattle that dream would become a goddamned reality. what am i going to drag overpriced bouquets home on the bus in the middle of a blizzard? NO I AM NOT. but if i could get a brilliant bunch of five-dollar dahlias and sunflowers during a lazy after-brunch stroll through the market my life would be 1000x better. not kidding.

4 i could really get my hippie on. everybody knows i'm the most shoe taking-off bitch on the planet, and wandering around downtown seattle surrounded by all of those frisbees and grandpa cardigans really tapped into the part of me that hates having to wear deodorant and brush my stupid teeth so much.

5 i can un-seat al sharpton as the voice of all black people. or serena williams?  kanye west? that black science dude with the funny name? who the fuck is our representative now?! oprah retired and her network is wack, so is it steve harvey? that black lady on the view?! HELP ME OUT, brothas and sistas. in addition to my new position as "primary suspect for all current and future crimes ever committed on this island," i also would become undisputed Chief Spokesperson for all Black People Everywhere. i could rewrite our entire narrative! at lunch the first day, after the waiter took my water glass to lift my prints and swab for DNA, i turned my nose up at his suggestion of "our famous fried chicken" (oh, for real?) in favor of some clam chowder and half a salad. i totally blew that dude's mind.

1 nature is terrifying. bainbridge island is located within the cool puget sound basin and is characterized by an irregular coastline of approximately 53 miles (85 km), with numerous bays and inlets and a significant diversity of other coastal land forms, including spits, bluffs, dunes, lagoons, cuspate forelands, tombolos, tide flats, streams and tidal deltas, islands, and rocky outcrops. there are over 200 species of marine fish in the sound, including many species of salmon (oily!), steelhead, herring, and groundfish like pacific cod (greasy!), spiny dogfish (ouch!), and many species of rockfish. the puget sound has hundreds of species of sea birds, shorebirds, and waterfowl, including the tufted puffin, bufflehead, western sandpiper, bald eagle (holy shit, ENDANGERED LIKE A MOTHERFUCKER), pigeon guillemot, common loon, harlequin duck, rhinoceros auklet, cormorants, scoters, and grebes. marine mammals of the sound include orcas (murderous!), sea lions, sea otters, gray whales (killer!), humpback whales, and harbor seals. also, sneaky-looking coyotes and loud-ass pond frogs that wake you up at dawn with all their cacaphonous noise.

2 that fish smell. IT'S EVERYWHERE. and everything is so damp and wet and arthritic. these creaky joints were all "what do you mean, 'walk uphill?' the fuck you talking bout "leisurely stroll?!' we are in pain, idiot." plus misty cold just makes me feel like i have the flu all the goddamned time.

3 where the fuck would i get my hair cut?!

4 i'm not really into white people with dreadlocks and shit. in high school, because i grew up in a progressive community in which we were encouraged to embrace our gayness and our blackness and nurture our inner children, an alarming number of my weed-smoking, marley-listening caucasian classmates chose to sport their version of dreadlocks. OH MAN, i was so glad when they all outgrew that shit and started dressing like walking ll bean catalogs again. seattle hasn't yet gotten that memo. matted blonde heads everywhere, making me so very sad.

5 twilight fan fiction. it's the only goddamned thing i wanted to write! most of my jokes are fueled by the seething undercurrent of loathing that i call "getting through life," but out there in the middle of lush green wilderness all of the people and shit i TOTALLY FUCKING HATE all seemed to disappear into the gauzy fog that enveloped the towering treetops. my shit list grows exponentially by the second, yet gazing out from my cozy bed in the middle of the woods i was like "maybe i should consider poetry." bwahahahahahahaha. could you imagine if this dumb blog was full of twinkling manboys and smoldering wolfmen?! you dudes would drop me in a heartbeat. and i would expect nothing less, because AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT.

rest assured, chicago: i'm still here. but i came home to a notice that our new management company is cutting the shackles off all of our ironclad leases so they can turn the shit condo or whatever, so maybe not for long. you know black people don't know how to act once they give us us goddamned free. i might take my forty acres and my mule and go live on a mountain somewhere. with my shoes off. AND MY CURLS DEFINED.

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

how not to die alone in your apartment.

i live in a building full of children. at first i thought i was just imagining things, convinced that all of the natural ice cans in the communal recycling bins obviously belonged to some distinguished gentleman on a tight budget who might be an alcoholic considering his considerable beer consumption, but every time i come home lately i have to fight through a throng of college sophomores just to get to my goddamned mailbox. this is one of the drawbacks of choosing to live in the insanely cheap housing to be found on what is basically the extended campus of the jesuit university within walking distance of my front door. your building is subject to become what is essentially an unsupervised dorm. my old landlord was this crazy hippie who smoked weed while she snaked the hair out of the drain in my tub, but a couple months ago she sold the building to one of those faceless management companies who do shit like "issue receipts" for paid rent.

the switch went over without incident. one day, insurance appraisers were standing in my kitchen asking about water pressure and the next i was signing a a lease that was NINE HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FIVE PAGES LONG. my old lease was written on the back of the vegan menu from heartland, and now i have to sign some shit that says if there's a hair clog in my sink i'll be charged a "maintenance fee" for some sweaty asshole with a visible ass crack to come get it out?! good thing i'm lazy, because otherwise i'd be sleeping on your couch right now. in addition to promising my new large and important MANAGEMENT COMPANY my firstborn child and several strands of my hair, the le
ase included an addendum in the form of a long letter informing tenants that the building was going to be smoke free, INSIDE and OUT. i have enough goddamned problems as it is without adding smoking to the list, and that shit is so motherfucking expensive i don't even know how real people do it. especially real people with a shitload of problems who probably smoke a lot. that's like if i bought three magazines a day. so smoking for me is out. so i breathed a sigh of relief because i do sometimes have mini panic attacks that the building is going to burn down one night with me inside it because some careless jerk dropped a lit cigarette in bed.

i'm totally fucking lying. my real fear is that there will be a fire in my building, at night, while i am home, and that i will wake up as the alarm goes off and realize that i am wearing some flimsy little nightgown that my dinner plate-sized areolas show through that is too short and covered in barbecue sauce and my glasses won't be on the floor next to my bed where i last saw them and i will be unable to locate a bra or my phone (because yes, i will look for those things) and i will be standing in the middle of my apartment perseverating over whether or not i have time to stuff the cat in a pillowcase and also find those yoga pants i could've sworn i balled up in the bathroom as the smoke and fire creeps closer and closer to my (one and only) door. THIS IS HOW I'M GOING TO DIE, burned to a crisp after trying to find matching shoes to escape a burning building in.

i just don't want to be that bitch on the news. you know the one, the one who breathlessly describes her daring escape to the television reporter with half her rollers in and crust around her mouth, eyes glued together with sleep. every time i see that shit i'm like, "you don't keep a hair brush on the night stand, sister?" i'd be the asshole trying to brush my teeth in the spray from the hydrant and asking the firemen to hold up a mirror so that i could tweeze my eyebrows before my debut on good morning america. this is the kind of shit i think about, whether or not to risk dying from smoke inhalation so that i can find my panties and some lip gloss before evacuating a burning building. remember that time i got trapped in the elevator and the fire department had to come rescue me? and the one thing i was worried about was whether or not they would be grossed out by how much i was sweating in that tiny sweltering coffin?! i didn't give a fuck about plunging to my death, i was busy freaking out that the hot firemen would be grossed out by my translucent t-shirt. DUMMY.

needless to say, odds are that i am going to die alone in my apartment. unless i buy a car, which means i am for sure going to die while texting and driving, because texting is my jam. and so will you, probably. anyway, here's how not to go out like a sucker. please don't let anyone find your ass dead:


1 with a dirty bathroom. listen, i'm the biggest slob pig there ever was. you know those people who can't go to bed with dishes piled high in the sink and food not put away? I AM NOT LIKE THOSE FUCKING PEOPLE. half my food goes bad sitting either on the counter or the stove because i was too lazy to get up and wrap some foil around it and throw it away. but my bathroom is clean, mostly because i'm mortified that once i lie murdered in my tiny apartment for three days and helen has started to chew on my dead face and the cops finally come to investigate the smell that one of them will have to pee and be mortified by the melted peanut butter splatter that i forgot to wipe from the underside of the seat. also, i want them to look at my neatly organized cosmetic products and think, "that beautiful woman didn't even need this stuff." also: fingernail clippings. these must be vacuumed regularly. barf.

2 in your period underwear. everytime i see a sexy nightgown or pajama set i always think, "i am not going to waste sixty dollars on some shit that no one else is going to see." then i think about how one of these days i'm going to fall over one of the piles of magazines littering the floor and just lie there until death overtakes me, then i purchase three of them. last night i put on this red leopard print babydoll thing and helen was like, "who the fuck is that for?!" and i defiantly pulled my nipples from where they grazed my navel and tucked my tits into the shelf that's not really a bra that doesn't really do anything other than make me wish i had a bra on and spat, "myself, you shitfaced little asshole." AND THE FIREMEN.

3 with your porn out. there is a hitachi magic wand hanging out on top of the dog crate helen sleeps in next to my bed. every morning i look at it and think about putting it away, but then i think about how it's so much easier to masturbate when you just leave all your fap accoutrements within arms reach and never put it away. but i'm not sure that monstrous electronic white cock (um, i mean, BACK AND NECK MASSAGER) is the first thing i want to coroner to see. is he going to smell it? will he have to take it to the CSI crime lab and see if it has any foreign alleles or petrie dish amoebas on it?! (that's right, i'm dumb. and fuck science!) can he tell that i was watching a squirt bukake clip on the internet while using it?!?!! (google that gross shit and GET YOUR LIFE.) so i compromised, and now i just delete my browsing history at night before i lapse into one of those masturbation comas. because no one needs to know my dirtbag ass watched a goddamned roman shower right before the heart attack that took me out.

4 with embarrassing groceries. if i ever found out i had an incurable disease i would, after destroying the happiness of every single stupid motherfucker who had ever stuck his dick in my life and burning all of my enemies alive with no remorse, go to fox and obel or treasure island and blow all of the money i'd solicited for the cancer fund i started online on really amazing shit to go in my pantry. so that people will think i'm fucking FANCY, and not the kind of motherfucker who makes kraft macaroni and cheese in the blue box with water due to lactose intolerance and sometimes cuts up hot dogs in it when she feels especially extravagant. I WANT TO LEAVE THIS EARTH WITH CASHEW BUTTER IN MY CABINETS, HO. no one celebrates the life of a bitch with a tombstone pizza and frozen sweet potatoes in her freezer! i need to die with some fresh lobster tails in my shit, on the real.

5 with a dirty cat box. man, i really want to give helen keller a fighting chance at being adopted by someone cool after she cuts my throat intentionally during the night. and there's no worse way to do that than letting that asshole's box look like a battlefield dotted with toxic poop mines. it's already the grossest because i use what looks like deconstructed breakfast cereal as litter, so i don't want to further ruin her chances at looking like an adorable new addition to a better home than the one her recently-deceased mother could provide. that's why i still brush her despite her repeated attempts to mangle my good hand, because the day i suffocate in my sleep when my head accidentally rolls into the dorito bag i fell asleep eating i want to make sure her coat is lustrous and sparkling when they take her picture at the anti-cruelty society. everyone knows that the only old, shithead cats who get adopted are the ones with pantene smooth hair. quit playing.

6 without an updated death list. shit changes. people grow and mature and evolve. it's all part of the adulthood process. and sometimes that means you have to kick a dumb bitch out of your motherfucking life and thus find someone else to entrust with the list of things you need to happen when you drown unexpectedly in two inches of water in the bathtub because you passed out in it while drunk. i mean, yeah. so, since i had to give the list and my spare keys to someone new, i decided to update it as follows:
a the song i want played at my funeral is "we are never ever getting back together" by taylor swift.

b cremate me, and make sure the ashes get dumped at _____   _________'s house and in _______   ____________'s car and put a tiny little bit in __________  _________'s dinner.
c burn those fake positive pregnancy tests i keep hidden in my sock drawer for "emergencies."
d cut all of the size tags out of my clothes.
e arrange my body attractively if you get to my apartment before the authorities do. make sure i'm dressed like i just had sex.
f cut up all of my unpaid bills so people think i died rich.
g take out the garbage. throw away anything that looks remotely like garbage. try to arrange a garbage pick-up. i'm really paranoid about my fucking garbage.
h don't get a new best friend for, like, four years. MOURN MY SHIT, BITCH. I'M GODDAMNED UNFORGETTABLE.