Tuesday, October 22, 2013

I Am The Devil, And I Wear Prada

What is it like to be me right now? Well, first of all, you have to go around the internet with the mostly false impression that anyone gives a fuck about what you have to say. That’s how I do things. Celebrity syndrome, it’s called. I’ve got celebrity syndrome in the same way that Hollywood zombies have the flu. Which is to say, it’s much worse than it looks.

Now that I’ve prefaced this whole thing with that, let me welcome you back to my blog. It’s been sitting here mostly dormant because I’ve been in the ruins of depression to such a degree that I can’t even bring myself to give a fuck about my own goings on long enough to write about them. However, recently, I’ve had a breakthrough in that I simply do not care anymore what my writing says about me. I have written some crazy stuff lately that I ordinarily would not have written for fear that someone might read it. Guess what? I plan to sell it. I plan to make money! And then I’ll dive into it like Scrooge McDuck, because coins are liquid. How did that crazy duck not break his bill off in his forehead? COINS ARE SOLID.

      That being said, I hereby present a list of things which have changed and which you may not care about, even though you obviously care enough to read my blog. I see right through your bored hipster act.

1.       I have decided that I am no longer a sexual person. It just doesn’t do anything for me anymore. I don’t know how else to describe that. I mean, that’s not to say that I won’t still have the occasional tri-yearly… um… well, I think after a while people just have eye sex. So maybe I’ll just do that. People are gross, and so am I. I have no desire anymore to combine into a larger gross.  Not to say that I don’t find anyone attractive. That’s totally unrelated. Definitely is.

2.       Following that announcement but not directly related is my next item: dating is for the birds. It continues to be. It always has been. People want to slam you into a commitment 3 days in, or they pretend they hate you so you’ll grovel, or they explode your phone every second of the day to the point that you start to actually believe that your phone is in fact a surrogate body for them. *Vibrating phone, dog looks up from the floor like AW HELL NAH* “Oh are you eating? Reading? Shitting? Bleeding to death? Did you see that new TV show you hate? Me either.” I guess I idealize people so much that when I actually find out how small and stupid and shallow and limited they are, I want to beat them to death with a pole. I’m sure that’s normal. Oh you don’t like my music? Well maybe I don’t like yours either. *smashes music collection off the stereo* Oh you think it’s silly that I write? I think it’s silly that you spent years before dating me as a human beer urinal and a criminal smoke stack, and now you want to criticize me for wanting to escape reality to avoid strangling you every second of the fucking day. You’re such a damn rebel with your baggage that doesn’t equal mine. Pinch me, Romeo. You spent your twenties looking for adulthood in motel rooms as a sentient sex toy, but you’re willing to settle down and withhold affection in my case so I don’t think you’re too easy? How sweet of you. Some gay men are bullshit, GaGa-soaked, dramatic adult children. Don’t ever become one.

3.       I live in Muncie. Woohoo. Don’t get excited yet. I’m already crashing and burning into red dollar signs, as expected. It’s only until January, though, so I think I’ll make it. After that, I’m going to be able to pay a few months of rent in advance.

4.       I’m turning 29 in December. I have already sent the black cars and the coffin to the grave, and now I’m ready to live life as a self-aware zombie. My thirties are going to be when I become famous and win the lottery and invent post-it notes. None of you bitches better fuck it up for me. I will cut you @vv@

5.       I have decided that I have a strange liking for music of the 1980s and the early to mid-2000s. I’m late, I know. Welcome to my life. I’m always late to things. I started listening to Franz Ferdinand after they released You Could Have It So Much Better, for god sake. I’m hopelessly behind, and I’m perfectly comfortable with that.

6.       There are people I haven’t spoken to in a while whom I need to start speaking to again. I’m terrible at keeping up. And then, there are those weird conversations where you suggest getting coffee with people you’ve never met in person, and you realize you sound exactly like all the morons on “To Catch A Predator.” This is related to the first item. No, no. I just want coffee, not peens. I have a peen of my own, I don’t need yours, too. Sorry if it sounded like I was being all coy like “let’s get some coffee and bang. I mean get coffee. I mean bang on a coffee table. I mean banging sideways with… I mean I… no…Well damn.” I like coffee, though.

7.       I am a Sagittarius. Oh god, run away. I’m bad. There’s this meme going around like “stay away from these people I’m 14 and know nothing about astrology LAWL ALL FIRE SIGNS” If you actually put faith in that meme, you are beyond lost. I might as well not even send you a life raft. Drown. Enjoy your date with death in the middle of the fucking ocean, as Jennamarbles once so eloquently said.

8.       I am an introvert these days, with some lingering extrovert tendencies. I can still walk into a room of strangers and act like a total idiot and talk about nonsense and walk away with new friends. I don’t know how I do it. Most days, I would rather stay in bed and sleep. I actively avoid people I know when in public. DO NOT ASK ME WHY. I WILL FREAK OUT.

9.       Why do I feel like everyone disapproves of me? My friends, my family, my teachers, my coworkers? And everyone takes everything SO PERSONALLY that my every word might as well be an ice pick in the ass cheek. No one knows the definition of venting anymore. I mean, I used to get all high heeled and dress in Prada when someone I knew and maybe even liked said something pointy about me, but anymore, I just go with it. Yes, I am a fucking wreck. I changed my hair color and appearance completely and without warning. I still do. And I used to show up at friends’ houses unannounced and annoy the fuck out of them by just walking in. You can either learn from people pointing these things out, or you can throw a tantrum and act like your privacy and person have both been violated in ways to which only rape can compare. LEARN FROM THE SALT GRAINS SUCH CANDID JUDGMENTS CONTAIN AND LAUGH ABOUT IT. Then you move on and are a better person. Have to learn to do it sometime.

Suddenly, everything is exactly the same! Everyone clap hands and sing. My goodness, I sure am doing well. I don’t need medication at all. Why don’t I go back to therapy so they can put me with another soulless, robot teenaged psyche student who blinks and stares at me when I make a joke and then asks if I think I mask my pain with humor?


I love talking to robots. I do it at work all day, why not tell the robots about how I sometimes think about driving my car into the pillars under overpasses, and it makes me giggle. Not that I would. I have too much to do in this life, and none of you are capable of imitating my work. You might be able to mime it, but I don’t want someone trying to guess what I would do or say. Plus I’m afraid of death, which doesn’t really jive with my mood most of the time.

Oh well. My life continues. Here we go, sliding down the late-twenties oil slick toward the grave.

I’m not bitter or anything.

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