Thursday, January 31, 2013

instagram > whiskered meat beard.

january is that fresh shit. on 1/2/13 i: bought a new calendar, copped a big bag of organic vegetables from the indoor farmers market, signed up for something called "chair yoga," and started responding to emails that i'd read and dismissed last june. and by 1/5/13 i was: back to ordering takeout falafels+kebabs and sleeping for fourteen hours at a stretch is my party clothes. HAPPY NEW YEAR.

it's the end of the month already, but you can't be salty because i am writing this goddamned book still and watching season four of sons of anarchy and taking half-naked pictures of myself with my new iphone. besides, i'm sure you were all too busy counting your calories and becoming better people to notice i hadn't made one of these in a grip. don't worry, one of my easy-to-complete 2013 resolutions was MAKE MORE FAKE COSMO COVERS. i'm already off to a jamming start.

resolved! i don't make resolutions because i don't enjoy being cruelly mocked by those bitches two weeks after i write them down.

ten new year's resolutions that fail year after year because americans are shiftless, lazy assholes.

1 eat healthier. i'm going to, i swear. here is what i'm having for lunch today: fancy pretzels, expensive-ass yogurt from whole foods, and pre-cubed watermelon chunks because blackness. what i really want is a hot dog, with chili on it. and, if i close my eyes and put some yogurt in my mouth then shove in as many pretzels as will fit and concentrate really fucking hard then it sort of feels like that's what i'm eating. sigh.

2 get in shape. AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT. seriously, when i unfasten my shackle at the end of an eleven hour workday the last thing i am thinking about is exposing my delicate meat and cheese to the thin layer of fungus blanketing my local muscle factory. bitches is tired. and they never schedule zumba at a realistic time for me to get to other than nine o'clock sunday mornings and when i do drag this ham carcass out of bed i immediately undo all that intense hip gyrating with some soppressata and a kardashian marathon.

3 spend more time with family and friends. okay, but i have the type of famfriends who like to eat shit and stay round so this might not be the best advice for keeping my resolutions.

4 be more organized. WHAT.

5 spend less money. this is a joke. if apple would stop making gadgets i desperately need and stephanie izard would stop coming up with new restaurants i would totally die without trying (SOB) then "saving money" might be a thing i could actually accomplish.

6 learn something new. just this morning i found out that there is such a fucking thing as FART PORN. mission accomplished.

7 travel to new places. does milwaukee count?

8 quit smoking. smoking looks cool. man, i really do put my big hairy dick in everyfuckingthing, but the one way i haven't yet destroyed my pre-corpse was to start smoking. i have done EVERYTHING ELSE, but could never get with smoking. because eating is so much more fun and you can do it inside. so i've already got this one in the bag. the potato chip bag, but a bag nonetheless.

9 volunteer. even i raise money for charity, every day of every month, and i'm the meanest dirtbag there ever was. the rest of you have no excuse.

10 get more sleep. now this i will happily do! as soon as i finish writing thi-- zzZzZzzzZz

have you ever finished an entire bottle of nail polish ever in your goddamned life?! i was sheepishly lurking in the feminine products aisle at the fancy wicker park walgreens last week, trying to inconspicuously shove a giant bonus pack of overnight kotex pads under the newest issue of lucky magazine (which i shouldn't even buy because that shit is, like, the least relevant to my life of all of the magazines) when i overheard two stylish fashionistas having a RUL SERIOUS conversation about nail polish in front of the wall of shampoo. it went something like this:

kimmi: "have you seriously never gotten a gel manicure?! omg, it is amaze?"

brittni: "i know, right? but i just don't wanna, you know, commit to a nail color for that long? three weeks is, like, a rilly long time to have dark purple nails?"

kimmi: "pale nails are totally on trend for spring 2013? so you could, like, seriously try one now with no regrets?"

i glanced down at my own hands, nails bitten down to stumps with jagged bits of sausage casing trapped beneath what little remained, flecks of two month old sky blue polish (on trend circa fall 2010) slowly disintegrating beneath my cuticles. and i wondered, "why don't i know what the hot looks are for spring nails? am i even worthy of this withered old vagina?!"

the real first-world problem with shit like this is that by the time i've bloodied my fingers trying to peel the plastic wrapper off the $12 bottle of OPI i just purchased at the nail shop yesterday it's ALREADY NEXT FUCKING SEASON and the shit is goddamned obsolete. can we just talk for a minute about how i have never in my entire life finished a bottle of nail polish? i'm not sure that i have ever even seen the bottle half full. because after i used that go on green two or three goddamned times all the fashionable bitches were throwing shade on my out of style nail wardrobe and politely hinting that the cool girls had moved on to pale vomit for fall. HOW IN THE FUCK CAN I STAY WITH THE TIMES, MAN. those bitches are amazing.

i'm ahead of the curve now, though. stepped up my mani game, and this season i'm going to set the fucking trends. "greasy salami residue." don't sleep. 

i'm on a diet, except i love getting drunk and eating food. the other night over a ricotta+bacon white pie and nineteen pints of beer angie turns to me and says, "how come i haven't seen you working out at cheetah?" BECAUSE I'M TOO BUSY EATING PIZZA AND GETTING SHITFACED WITH YOU, BITCH. thank goodness i'm amazing, because most of my friends are the kinds of people who wouldn't even blink if you served them a KFC double down with a side of piping hot krispy kremes. ain't nobody counting calories at olive garden; they make eating things fun.

BUT MY BIG ASS, THO. "making better choices" is a thing i pretend i'm doing right now, and it's kind of working. for instance, i chose to boil a bunch of okra and eat it with a can of salmon according to the tenets of this anti-inflammatory thing i'm trying, and then i chose to go to bed at four in the afternoon to keep myself from putting my pants on to walk down to the tamale cart posted up in my hood. i've figured my problem out: 1 i just can't buy things that are horrible and expect that i will have even a delicious cupcake crumb of self-control and 2 if i am in a restaurant, and i have money, and there is a bar, and no one judgmental is watching i will go apeshit. skinny model with a trust fund apeshit. yep, gimme that cassoulet and the duck pate and the escargot and the cheese plate and half a dozen gin smashes and imma worry about that silly "diet" and that pesky "phone bill" tomorrow. then tomorrow comes and i wonder why i got a disconnect notice from the electric company and realize that i consumed 76,239 fat grams in one evening and basically what i'm saying is that if you weren't inviting me out all the time i would TOTALLY BE A THIN MILLIONAIRE.

weight watchers. i'm doing it. shut up about it. i get it.

funny face. i have this weird, dumb asshole friend who is always texting me weird, dumb asshole shit like this: "another date with bald guy. took me to avec, totally paid. too bad he's hideous or i would bang him." remember that time you fucked that dude with the eye patch and the missing front tooth after he took you to a movie and rolled through the drive-thru after and he kept calling you stephanie even though your name is sam? yeah, neither do i, which is why shit like this is wholly infuriating.

because sometimes you have to fuck the funny people. or the people who helped with your car note last month. or the awkward people who bought you a cheeseburger. NOT EVERYBODY CAN BE GORGEOUS. don't the marginally-attractive deserve a good bone-down every once in a while, too?!?!! damn, lady! maybe i'm just bitching because i met dude and he was chivalrous and asked me real questions about my stupid cat and how poorly my fantasy team did this season and then he paid for everything and i thought for that alone that young man deserved a firm, moderately-paced handjob at the very least. i should've just given him one under the table before the dessert course. poor fella.

instagram is a miracle. "the problem with life is that we compare our behind-the-scenes footage with everyone else's highlight reel." REALEST SHIT I EVER READ. that's why my favorite thing from the terrifying future is instagram. my face through the magical x-pro filter, with its harsh edges softened and its imperfections blurred, is a gauzy dream made of mewling kittens. instead of my real face, which is a goddamned horrorshow made of deli meats and flop sweat. i could stand arm's length from a mirror for the rest of my life, gazing lovingly at my pastel reflection. i'm throwing out all my makeup. AND NEVER MEETING ANYONE IN PERSON EVER AGAIN.