Thursday, December 12, 2013

christmas is bullshit.

WAIT DON'T KILL YOURSELF YET. save that economy-sized bottle of extra strength advil for until after you've scrolled through all of the 1,743 photos that bitch you hate from high school posts of her hallmark fucking christmas. jesus fuck, the holidays are so fucking terrible. if it isn't bitches stabbing each other in the aisles at wal-mart over the shiny plastic jesus that is the new playstation, it's an endless loop of commercials that remind you that YOU ARE FOREVER ALONE and that NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE YOU. as usual, my mailbox is full of the kinds of cheerful letters i can't believe actual humans sit down and actually write. fuck i gotta stop telling people where the fuck i live.

dear friends and jerks i wish would die,
the leaves are off the trees and the cold has hunkered down around us and so it will be for the next two or three months. it is always these times that bring out the seething hatred and soul-deadening regret. these thoughts begin as intimate and personal yet they should not stay that way. you need to share in the memories for it is your lives that make me feel terrible about my own. together we are forming a great tapestry of which this past year is yet another of the colorful threads, although my life tapestry has worn considerably thin between the legs.

last january started cold and sunny, but the glow from the christmas holidays was still upon me. i was up early to greet the new year with a nearly insurmountable loathing. as you know by now, the bright lights and colors of new year's eve celebrations have long since given way to spending weeks on end crying softly in the shower. i prefer to spend the last night of each year at home with my cat and a good porn i can watch on my phone. we'll talk, laugh, cry a little and wonder where the fuck our blessings goddamn went. anyway, the new year did dawn bright and promising and continued into spring much that way. business, for the most part, has been good and now that helen has grown into such a beautiful young cat i recognized that she was blossoming into adulthood as surely as the new buds on the leaves of our backyard trees. i could hardly believe she would graduate from doing absolutely nothing, all the goddamn time!

our summer bitching about the heat while lying directly in front of the air conditioner was a highlight. it was good to see almost no one, due to the nearly-crippling social anxiety we recently developed. you get all those boys together and it's quite exciting…and loud! we enjoyed seeing all two people who came over to the crib, even if they did wear us out with their constant energy. we should certainly acknowledge helen's new position with the sleeping and eating firm in chicago. she's apparently been quite a sassy little dirtbag who sneezes all over my clean fucking laundry. they've given her diet cat food and a nice bonus of more diet cat food this fall. i'm proud, but hope she doesn't critique my inability to regularly change the brita filter too harshly.

as i write this i realize once again how god is a lie and humans are mostly terrible. life continues to have its "ups and downs," but overall there is a great deal to be grateful for, like potato chips that magically taste like buffalo wings. we see again the truth that even in dealing with adversity we grow. the important things are still netflix, forgiveness, and al pastor tacos. as we celebrate another christmas and another year i know that we all hold dear in our hearts the memories and the petty, soul-killing minutiae of each endless motherfucking day. thank you dear ones for allowing me to reminisce and contemplate suicide when i realize how bleak my outlook is in comparison. may we continue to savor each breath we take while actively praying for death to come for us in our sleep.

or maybe that's just me. our hatred and vitriolic bile,
samantha and helen keller.

remember how we got through this last year? i want to try again. RENEGADE HOLIDAY SURVIVAL GUIDE, GANGSTER STYLE. 

1 let's eat some shit. my favorite holiday recipes to sadly eat alone in my apartment come courtesy of the homie martha stewart, who really knows how to raise a bitch's spirits on a cold winter's night. unfortunately for life, i am still gluten- and dairy-free, which means i have to adjust my usual holiday gorging to reflect my newfound commitment to emotional torture. I AM AN EATER OF FEELINGS, UNIVERSE. throw me a fucking bone already. preferably one with some meat on it.

pepper crusted beef tenderloin.

first get this: 1 tablespoon whole black peppercorns, crushed
some coarse salt
2 teaspoons sugar
1/2 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1 tablespoon extra-virgin olive oil
1 center-cut beef tenderloin (about 2 1/2 pounds)

then do this: 
1st preheat oven to 400 degrees. combine peppercorns, 1 tablespoon salt, the sugar, and red-pepper flakes. rub all over tenderloin to coat. let stand at room temperature for 1 hour.

2nd heat a large ovenproof skillet over high heat until almost smoking. add oil and brown the meat, 1 to 2 minutes per side. transfer skillet to oven, and roast until an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part reaches 120 degrees, maybe 16 minutes? remove from oven, and let stand for 10 minutes before slicing.

grainy mustard aioli.

first get this: 1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon dijon mustard
1 large egg yolk
2 teaspoons fresh lemon juice
coarse salt and freshly ground pepper
1/2 cup olive oil
2 tablespoons grainy mustard
2 teaspoons prepared horseradish
1 tablespoon water, plus more if needed

then do this.
1st whisk together dijon mustard, egg yolk, lemon juice, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and 1/8 teaspoon pepper in a bowl. pour in oil in a slow, steady stream, whisking constantly until emulsified and thick. whisk in grainy mustard, horseradish, and water. (thin with more water if too thick.)

listen. the only courses worth bothering with are meat and dessert. and the only gluten- and dairy-free desserts worth eating are ciao bella dark chocolate sorbet and good quality macarons. you can just holler at whole foods to get your sorbet on; the process of putting together those dainty french almond pastries is arduous and frustrating and godspeed if you attempt to do it in your ill-equipped, regular person kitchen. i have, literally, all of the tools: pastry bags and mandolines and sifters and funnels, and i will never yes i mean never attempt to make my own macarons ever. MAKING THAT SHIT IS HARD AND IMPRACTICAL. PREPARE TO CRY AND SLAM SHIT ALL AROUND YOUR KITCHEN. better yet, this is precisely what the internet is for. buy them shits online and fucking relax.

2 give in and watch all that christmas miracle garbage. the commercials make me want to hurl myself off the nearest building, for real. there's one this year, for some shopping mall jeweler i can't recall right now, that features a young black couple kissing the kind of kiss that NO ONE EVER FUCKING KISSES: this dry-ass, lips barely touching no tongue no saliva no groping virgin mary kiss, while her grandparents or whatever sit on an adjacent couch admiring the charm bracelet he bought her. i can't articulate why, but that shit makes me want to cut the top of my head off and pull my brain out and stomp on it. it's just so weird and uncomfortable and i cannot imagine my grandmother insinuating that i'm about to give up the pussy right there under the tree because this birdchested lame got me a hundred dollar bracelet with fake rubies in it. NO MA'AM.

don't get me wrong, i would suck a d for a decent present. ESPECIALLY IF THAT SHIT WAS HELLA THOUGHTFUL. shit, get me some papa john's giftcards and a starbucks and i'll make you a sandwich and give you a handjob (if you let me keep the tv on). but whoever comes up with these commercials is going to have to give us a fucking break. every single one makes my eyes roll so fucking hard that i nearly collapse in a frothing hate seizure as soon as i hear that twinkling music, ugh. speaking of television, come over so we can snuggle in my bed and cry through some made for oxygen christmas shit. it's cathartic, sister, and impossible to resist. plus how will you know what happened to all of your favorite 90s stars?! the other night i watched "christmas in conway" on the hallmark channel and was like OH SHIT, ANDY GARCIA WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM I LOVE THAT DUDE. doesn't that sound like a jam?! besides, if all else fails we can watch dmx singing "rudolph the red-nosed reindeer" 437 times on youtube. WIN-WIN.

3 buy yourself something really fucking cool. I ALWAYS KNOW WHAT I WANT. look, regular motherfuckers are not going to buy my tom ford lipsticks. i don't need to listen to you chastise me for spending $60 on a diptyque candle, i really don't. i also don't care how you feel about my overpriced snow boots or this stupid laptop i have to buy because i just trashed my other one. i have to have my oyin handmade hair creams and my emily jayne skin butters and that one dress from monif c and those new frames from see that i am obsessed with. so i'ma buy those things for my star player and place them gently in a manger and cover myself in frankincense oil and that will be the end of that, and i won't catch an attitude when you re-gift me those gloves your mom got from the kardashian kollection at sears because i will be totally satisfied with the fancy shit i already bought.

4 volunteer, you selfish bitch. i already signed up to do some soup kitchen work and yes i am actively dreading it but SO WHAT. i will put on a happy face and show up early and once the organizers figure out that i am not actually homeless (these pajamaclothes can be deceiving) i am going to serve the shit out of some soup and probably hit on a couple of winos and feel like a good person for an afternoon. which is plenty.

5 go to one party. don't do it if your nasty ass is just going to scowl in the corner with your cup of eggnog the whole night, but if you can temper the grinch for long enough to try to trap some unsuspecting party guest under a shriveled clump of mistletoe GO DO THAT. i fucking hate parties, man. especially in the winter, when whatever work you've done to make yourself presentable is immediately undone by the motherfucking ice and snow. WHAT NICE SHOES. like, i can't even fucking hang, all that salt and snow crusting the hem of my one pair of party pants before i even make it to the train. somebody buy me a goddamned subaru for christmas, please.  

anyway, sometimes it's nice to see people. especially people who spring for catering and a decent minibar. and no one will get mad if you want to leave after half an hour awkwardly hovering next to the buffet because everybody knows that guilt trips are not christ-like. holiday parties are easy because you know all the songs and there's probably some sort of white elephant gift exchange and those can be pretty hilarious, PLUS EGG NOG. 

6 take a facebook break. i'm telling you, that one bitch you hate is totally about to pretend all over your newsfeed that she has the perfect little family and that those hallmark-quality photographs are totally not staged. if everyone posted pictures of their kids vomiting on santa and their maxed-out credit card bills stuffed to overflow with their overcompensation, i would be like, "to the internet, friends! let's go feel haughty and superior!" BUT THEY DON'T. nope, these assholes want you to believe that that brand new xbox isn't going to get them fucking evicted, and f them forever. i can't be paying for the thai food i had to walk through a blizzard to get with laundry quarters and also looking at your land rover with the christmas bow on top. i will die for real. 

so no more comparing your behind the scenes to everybody else's highlight reel. which is super fucking important to remember during the holidays, which is the loneliest time of the year (fact) especially if your mom is dead or your kid is hurt or your ex-best friend got highlights that really bring out her eyes and she looks totally fantastic. go to the movies, homie. read all of those old new yorkers you let pile up next to the toilet. check some shit out of the library, catch up on all the shit you need to watch on netflix, call a bitch you haven't seen in a while and take her out for a drink: whatever you gotta do that isn't "sitting home staring wistfully at your twitter timeline" is what you need to be doing. second week of january? dip a toe in, make sure all those engagement photos are safely put away in those albums you'll only see if you are hardcore stalking a bitch, then start posting buzzfeed listicles again like your very life depends on that shit.

here's mine:

12/23 working all day, dreaming about snacks.
12/24 working 730-12, then probably crying. soup kitchen work. party at akilah's at 7 and i don't have shit to wear but i am going anyway and avoiding all cameras.
12/25 wearing my pajamas to laura's place so we can eat an assortment of dips and watch elf, contemplating suicide but resisting because CAT.
12/26 working all day, disgustingly picking through everyone's gross leftovers secretly in the breakroom when i think no one is watching, shitting later.
12/27 another full goddamned day of work?! okay, fine. better than lying next to the humidifier reading gone girl for the third consecutive time hoping to be murdered but not really. um, spoiler alert.

bah humbug. this is the most miserable time of the year. downtown is crawling with old broads lugging bags of uggs and victoria's secret panties around and i hate it. it's pointless to get a tree so i haven't bought one, yet putting a string of lights on my bookcase is thoroughly depressing. christmas muzak is ubiquitous, not to mention horrible. we'll be cool when shit gets back to normal tho, come january 17th or thereabouts. until then, fuck it. eat whatever the hell you want and watch "a nanny for christmas" on lifetime. HOLY SHIT, WHAT UP DEAN CAIN.

give my book to someone you love, hooker.