Wednesday, June 21, 2017

What if Stella had never gotten her groove back?

I’ve recently realized something pretty important about myself…I am a lone wolf.

People annoy the fuck out of me. Seriously. I get that everyone finds human interactions annoying, but I honestly really really hate them more and more. I hate having to make small talk, I hate the pleasantries with strangers, I hate responding to text messages and fuck my life if I have to actually answer the phone.

I had just decided that it was because I’m a bitch, but I think it’s more than that.

Having to move back home and interact with human beings all day, every day, has really solidified that I will go into serious, serious credit card debt before I ever have to live with people again. I am legitimately losing my god damn mind. All I want in life is to come home to a house empty of humans with only my furry children waiting for me. No noise except for my cat screaming at me to feed him and the puppy crying because he’s so happy to see me. They would never ask me about my day because they can’t. And god bless them for it.

I just adopted a puppy, Pierre, two weeks ago so I’m pretty much hanging on by a thread in general right now. I love him so much but mother fuck a puppy is exhausting. Have you ever tried to make dinner while running back and forth between two rooms to make sure your puppy isn’t shitting and/or pissing on the rug or eating someone’s shoes? All you end up with is burnt food that you don’t even get to eat because right when you sit down the puppy has to go on his 330th walk of the day. (Sidenote: If you’re trying to get back to your birth weight, get a puppy. You never have time to eat and you don’t get to sit down either.) (Other sidenote: someone please help me.) Also, trying to do laundry while your puppy pulls your clean clothes out of the dryer and drags them into his water bowl is super fun. You should try it sometime. Even better is getting to “sleep in” until 6:00 a.m. on weekends because Pierre is sick of his crate and wants to do sprints up and down the street. I have to say the most inspiring moment of puppy mom life so far is when Pierre pantsed me during a walk. Little fucker yanked on my sweat pants and boom, there it is. I’ve been humbled to the extreme these past two weeks.

I think when I have a dog my retreat from humans becomes even more necessary. Why would I want to hear about your boring ass day when I can watch my puppy do bunny hops chasing after crickets? Oh, you’re tired? Cool, I’ll call you every time I have to get up in the middle of the night to take the puppy out and see how tired you feel the next day. I don’t have time for your bullshit Susan. I need to watch Pierre on the dog cam at daycare for fucks’ sake.

There is something to be said for why we need to leave the nest in our 20’s. The theme of my 30’s has been “leave me the fuck alone” and that’s not really vibing with my roommate situation. I don’t think anyone in their 30’s wants to be asked where they are going and what they are doing.  Where am I going? I’m going to participate in a condom-less orgy in a crack den on Skid Row. See ya roomies. It’s gotten to the point where I wait until they’re both away from the front door and just sprint out so I don’t have to hear people’s words and respond to them. I would love to receive the silent treatment. It would be a Christmas fucking miracle!  

I’m hoping that when I move to Seattle, and I won’t be forced to constantly interact with humans, that maybe I’ll actually want to. Or maybe I’ll go completely feral and get a job working from home, get all my groceries delivered, and hiss at humans if they try to interact with me. I can legitimately picture that life and I don’t hate it.

If you don’t hear from me after I move, it’s fine. I probably just left my cell phone in a gas station bathroom and disappeared to go live my life. Don’t worry, I’ll keep my Amazon wish list updated so you can send me and Pierre shit. Byeeeeeeeee!     

Friday, March 31, 2017

The cure to catching feelings is Alcohol and Xanax.

For those of you who know me personally, even though I have to say I love those of you that read this and don’t know me a little bit more, you’re well aware of my plan to get the fuuuuuuck outta California. Yup. There’s a reason that I’m albino, hate the beach, have never had a bikini body and have never fucked a surfer and that’s because I am not meant to live in California. (In retrospect I probably have fucked a surfer but not at the beach or at a beach related bar so I’m not committing to that as a truth.)

While I try to get my shit together so I’m not one of those assholes that moves to a new state with nothing and then finds themselves giving HJ’s in a Burger King parking lot or showing their tits to high school kids for pocket change (I don’t know if people really do this, but it would make a great scene from a movie), I’m obviously not on the prowl for a man friend. Being in a relationship forces me to expend a lot of time, energy and money. All three of those things are now focused on one goal and no one is gonna fuck that up for me. Seriously. I will paper cut you until you die. Mama’s got a plan and it doesn’t involve any boys, bitches, or babies!  

Side note: I recently had my birth control implant taken out and am petrified that I’m going to get pregnant. This is only an interim issue until I have that blessed IUD shoved into my cervix to ensure I live the life of my dreams. Side note part two: I have not touched a man in a while so this fear is unfounded. Side note part three: I will literally pepper spray and/or taze a penis that comes anywhere near me right now. My male coworker snuck up behind me in the kitchen this morning and I nearly murdered him with a bottle of Ranch dressing. The final side note: I was not actually using the Ranch dressing it was just the closest thing to me and I don’t want to be judged for eating Ranch dressing in the morning.

Dating has been less than a priority for me for a long time anyway. Namely because dudes are fucking lame and my roommates gave birth to me and I just really, really want a dog and can’t commit my affection to anyone else. But since it could be a yearish until I’m actually pulling my uhaul into my sweet new place in Seattle, I wouldn’t mind hanging out with some dudes to remind me why I’ve committed to dying alone. But I don’t want to be accused of being one of those assholes that gets someone’s balls in a twist and then peaces out and causes some man tears. So on my dating profiles I’ve made it very clear that I’m only in California for a little bit longer and then I’m out. And no one is invited to come with me. NO ONE.

Turns out, all these assholes that pretend they don’t want to wife down, ARE FULL OF FUCKING SHIT. I’ve never had people try to wife me so hard since I made it clear ain’t nobody got time for that. Mother fuckers are coming out of the woodwork with weird ass professions of commitment desiring. Seriously? GET AWAY FROM ME. All I’m trying to do right now is not get pregnant, not buy shit I don’t need and stockpile my parent’s medications so I’m good for at least the first year in Washington. I have DREAMS and GOALS people. I thought going the casual route would be smooth sailing. NOPE.  Anyone who doesn’t look like a rapist/pedophile/bunny murderer is super bummed out when I confirm that I’m here for a good time, not a long time. I am so fucking confused.

Is the new trend in 2017 catching feelings? Are we all trying to husband/wife up so when the Tangerine Tyrant gets us involved in nuclear war we have someone to barricade ourselves in a basement with? Did we all give up our medications for lent? Also, should I be trying to nail down one of those doomsday preppers so I have a place to hide and eat canned Spaghetti O’s in? Oh shit. I’ll have to ponder that after a couple of vodka tonics tonight.

But for real. Are all the other assholes like me who are not shitty people, but not trying to find love or commitment, gone? Have they all succumbed to STD's or gotten married or come out of the closet?

I do want to clarify though that I’m not trying to find some douchebag dudes to hang out with. I’m not looking at being named in someone’s 401K disbursement, but I’m not signing up to be treated like a goldfish a kid won at the fair but then got sick of. I’ve been in too many relationships where I’ve tried to mend the wounded bird and then the bird took off and spewed diarrhea all over my car. In my thirties I’m done dealing with little boys that never grew up. Bye Felicia. Bye Ferdinand. Bye all you cunts.

All I’m saying is that I’m a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him not to get attached. Also pay our fucking tab and be nice to your mother.