Drinking from the poison cup since 1998…
But some issues are ok to have, while others are not.
OK:
-Being “lost,” existentially speaking, is super-hip until you turn, oh, 30.
Not OK:
-Not having a job at 25 and calling your ex-girlfriend WHOM YOU CHEATED ON for money.
Sigh.
In my phone I can create specialized “quick” stock messages from which to send to people when I don’t have the time and/or the inclination to type a unique message.
Most people create stock messages that say “be right there” or “I can’t wait to see you.”
-i’m 2 cool 4 capitalization and full wrds
-You’re a scum bag.
-Don’t you care about anyone but yourself?
-Do you really want to do that?
-You are crazy.
And, my personal favorite…
-I’m really drunk. Like 4 rlz.
being the friend. I never thought I would say that. But I honestly, really miss being every guy in the world’s best girlfriend, going home lonely, imagining myself as the lovable, maybe sorta kinda cute to someone who likes low-maintenance types chick who helps everyone find the girl of their dreams at the end of the movie.
I kinda miss it. And god knows, I have no clue in holy heaven why.
I wrote this in an email (this was before myspace, kids) to one of my friends in 2003:
So, according to People magazine Talan from everyone’s favorite shallow pit of hell, Laguna Beach, is now engaged to marry everyone’s favorite nobody daughter of used-to-be-somebody Rod Stewart, Kimberly. The only claim to fame that I recall Miss K having is that she called Jen Aniston ugly last summer. Funny, I don’t really think anybody with Rod Stewart’s genetic code floating around in their DNA should be calling anybody else an Uggmo.
Anyway, the article in People goes on to say that Talan speaks highly of Kim, telling one of his friends: “I like hanging out with her. She is fun.” Unfortunately, he does not himself possess the capacity to highly speak. I, for one, hope to someday spend the rest of my natural life with someone who I really like to “hang” with and who I think is f-u-n.
It also says that Talan excels at volleyball, football, and surfing. Also, he has a new record that he is working on. Perhaps the lyrics to one of his songs will be about Kim: “Oh Kim/you are fun and phat/but not obese/because I wouldn’t like that/Oh Kim.” Or perhaps, he will just burp the alphabet for three minutes in 12 different tones to compile a 12 song album dedicated to his 2006 Pontiac SUV.
This is why I love Capitalism: Only the strongest, most capable individuals can make it in our rogue individualism, cut-throat society.
Oh wait.
“Do you talk about your boyfriend on your site?” one of my friends asked me the other day.
“Not specifics, I suppose. Not stuff I wouldn’t, you know, tell to a large a table of people I didn’t really know. Nothing more than surface aspects of our relationship.” I said.
“Oh,” she inquired, “so you’ve never blogged about how you guys met?”
“Um. no.” I said hesitantly. “we really didn’t meet in the most romantic way.”
“How did you guys meet?” she asked.
“Well we met at work. And for most of the eight months that I initially knew him I assumed he regarded me as inconsequential at best, and at worst, a nuisance to his existence.”
“A nuisance?” she said.
“Oh you know, he was super quiet around me and he’s like indie-hip guy. So I always imagined him with this inner-dialogue, saying something to himself like, ‘god. she is sooo irritating. she doesn’t even know who [fill in obscure indie-rock band] is. 20-something scatter-brains are such a waste of space.’ In, possibly, a detached French accent.”
She looked at her feet. “So, what you’re saying, is that it wasn’t love at first site.”
“Not exactly. But then I got drunk one night and asked him to make out with me,” I said.
“That’s sweet.”
“Yeah, I think so too.”
Boyfriend: Shit. I didn’t put my moisturizer stuff on this morning.
Me: You want some of mine?
Boyfriend: No. Sigh. Then I’ll spend the rest of the day smelling like a girl.
Me: Well…do you really need it?
Boyfriend: Double sigh. Yeah. Because if I don’t put it on then my eyebrows get dry. And then everyone stares at my eyebrows. Because they’ve got dry pieces of skin in them.
Me: Everyone?
Boyfriend: Yes. Whenever I see somebody with dry eyebrows, all I can do is stare at them. Stare right at them. It’s all I can think about.
Me: Hmm. Can’t say I even notice.
Boyfriend: Really?
Me: Well, yeah. (Pause) But not everyone is as adorably neurotic as you are, dear.
What am I doing here?
I know this is going to as a surprise: I’m bad at dating.
Shocking–I know.
What is surprising, though, is that I’m actually really good with men, in a platonic manner.
I have lots of male friends, I work better with men, I shoot the shit better with men, I’m less shy around men than women…etc. etc. etc.
However, I have always been terrible at dating them. And, quite frankly, I usually don’t even get (or want to get) that far.
Mostly I just find myself wondering what’s wrong with a man who finds me attractive. I know. I’m probably getting dangerously close to self-pity territory. But anyone who knows me knows that, self-esteem issues aside, most men find me (at best) an adorable, giant pain in the ass. Let’s just say, I’m not exactly beating them off with a stick.
So why is it that every so often one of these male creatures finds me, you know, attractive. In the sense that they want to spend an extended period of time with me. As in, date me.
If you ask me, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.
I just saw a post on the superficial that reads: Tara Reid is an adorable, sloppy drunk.
Sigh. How I miss singledom.
I made someone who was sick soup yesterday. Ironically enough, it was “soup for one“, which, I suppose has become soup for two.
