Wednesday, September 14, 2016

balding men with mustaches

I haven’t written in a minute. I wish I could say it’s because my life has been super awesome and I’ve been TFDing into the wee (or god willing not so wee) hours and living life instead of writing about it. But that would make me a dirty fucking liar, and truth is my thing. The gritty, dirty, possibly STD-covered truth is what I’m about.

So the herpes truth is that every time I’ve started to write it’s gotten dark. Like real dark. Like Fairuza Balk wanting to get penetrated by the devil in The Craft kinda dark. Basically, my dog died and I lost any sliver of happy I had in me.

I get it. There are refugee orphans drowning in the ocean and terrorist attacks and innocent people dying every day. But honestly for the past few months I don’t have any sad to give anywhere else. Friends and family have gone through shit and I’ve got nothing. Stupid boys with beards hit me up and I didn’t care. Not even a little bit. Basically, like RIP my vagina. No one will ever disappoint you again.

I realized sitting in my roach infested oven of an apartment with my blind cat who was equally depressed about losing his BFF/heterosexual life partner with no family or friends in Long Beach to bring me sadness burritos was legitimately going to cause me to take a Whitney Houston bath.

So, guys, you’ll be happy to hear that I’m back with my roommates that birthed me. My mom wouldn’t let me get back into the womb, selfish bitch, but I did the next best thing and moved into the lady cave at my parent’s house. AND I’M NOT FUCKING SORRY ABOUT IT.

Oh, your roommate doesn’t offer to bring you a breakfast burrito before you even get out of bed? SUCKS FOR YOU. Oh and you have to buy your own toilet paper, paper towels, peanut butter, bread, etc.? Not me mother fuckers that shit is just magically there for my use. BOOM.

I mean real talk, I struggled with the decision to take a few steps back from adulthood by moving back home. But here’s the thing, I won’t be broke anymore. And I’ll be forced to be a human being by interacting with people other than my coworkers that make me want to stab my eyeballs out of my head. And I’m motivated to take some huge steps into adulthood by saving to buy a house. BY MYSELF. MY HOUSE BITCHES. I mean I already have the super sweet bar cart and wine fridge so I’m halfway there.

Also I won’t have to share my dinner with roaches. Or hear my neighbors scream at each other, and at their children, and at their dogs, or just for fun. And I have air conditioning. Like all the time. I mean basically I’m going from hell to a cool 70 degrees kinda hell. That’s all I ask out of life man.

Oh and your probably wondering what’s going to happen to TFDing now that I live with the people that birthed me. Well, let me tell you this. Nothing encourages you to go out trolling when your other option is watching 65 hours of COPS re-runs, the history channel, or HGTV with two old people that have the TV on so fucking loud your eardrums start bleeding. I would even go home with a 3. My standards have infinitely dropped since I hit 30.

I mean I already have 3 okcupid dates lined up for the next couple of weeks. Personally, I’m rooting for the single dad with a mustache. But the chef who might be balding could definitely pull ahead if he cooks me dinner wearing just an apron.

Don’t worry. I’ll keep ya’all posted.

Cheers bitches $$$