I Woke Up This Morning and I Could Snap
I woke up this morning and I could snap.
I couldn’t not snap before, but it was always pitiful, the faint shadow of a snap. Like my fingers were just keeping it going for the kids. A one-armed hug. A high five when you kinda sorta miss and think, like, we should really try that again with some more focus. A pizza when somebody blotted all the grease out of it. It’s still pizza, technically, but… ew.
Today, however, it is different. Remarkably different.
I can snap.
The sound is robust, clean, pleasantly shocking. Like a man telling you he’s gunna grab you and kiss you and there’s nothing you can do about it, and though you disagree with the idea of a forceful alpha male conceptually, and this situation delicately teeters on a mutual understood consent, the consent is, indeed, understood, and he kisses your face and the score crescendos and it’s awesome.
This is sudden and I don’t know how it happened but I’m not gunna ask too many questions. Life works in mysterious ways and I don’t want the mysterious life-goblins to take away my snap.
Please don’t take away my snap.
I’ll take really good care of it. Promise.
4:24 pm • 18 July 2011 • 23 notes
Things I’ll Believe Before I Buy That You Really Have a Concealed Baby in That Stroller
- A large firearm of some sort, perhaps a bazooka.
- Petite asian assassin (or asiassin as trademarked by me right now)
- A creature not yet accepted by society at large (i.e. the water horse, white person with dread locks, an ugly baby)
- Alien AND/OR Tilda Swinton
- Pinata filled with heroin
- Pinata filled with candy!
- In very tricky cases, a small boombox with a tape recording of a crying baby + any of the above items.
5:19 pm • 13 July 2011 • 13 notes
Yesterday after working a long shift at the restaurant, I was sitting with my favorite waitress, whom I secretly and affectionately refer to as my “chain-smoking work-mom”. We were discussing her blunt Southern opinions about rude patrons (always a treat!) when she paused a moment and said:
Y’know, I think I’d like it if my son brought home a gal like you one day.
I may never know a happier happy.
11:42 pm • 10 July 2011 • 24 notes
For spending the grand majority of my life “without boyfriend” I use the excuse/explanation/protection of an imaginary boyfriend lots and lots.
Whether this be about our recent messy break up, in sobs, to the police officer who was gunna give me a speeding ticket, but just ended up leaving a little nauseous from my cry-face, or acted superbly by my guy friends who put up with altogether too much nonsense for me on a consistent basis.
Yesterday, however, as I was getting a manicure from a lady (who spoke broken English so this next part isn’t racist, okay?) I was asked, “You have boyfriend?” and I responded, “Yes. Wait, uh, I mean, nope.” She just looked confused and continued painfully pushing back my cuticles.
My first instinct was to say yes. And though there are some feminist thoughts I could throw your way about societal pressure to be considered desirable by men and/or the probability of sexual aggression/assault lowered when perceived as “off the market”, I’m just gunna go ahead and say I need to learn how to be single. Actually, really single. Like I said, this isn’t some type of abstinence pledge because I’m not one of those girls who bounces from guy to guy. And to be even clearer, I don’t “fantasize” a boyfriend because I’m sad and alone at all. I just pretend to be taken so often because it’s easier. Because I’m lazy.
Too lazy to accept the consequences of my bad driving, too lazy to assertively but respectfully deny some guy’s advances, and too lazy to make up a more interesting manicure conversation.
From here on out, whenever Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” plays, I will unabashedly put my hand up, fully identifying myself as, yes, a Single Lady. And then I’ll have to take the responsibility of denying ALL MY SUITORS their queries to adorn my finger with a ring.
(By the way, this is my favorite song about a girl’s TOTALLY FAKE boyfriend)
The Angels - My Boyfriend’s Back
12:48 am • 17 June 2011 • 7 notes
I love this dude.
Allow me to explain. As a newly minted “gym person” I see a lot of annoyingly fit people around this establishment: perky stay-at-home moms fantasizing a lesbian chocolate wrestling match with ina garten on the treadmills, buff guys who I vaguely recognize as formerly playing on my high school’s football team at the bench press, and small groups of sexually frustrated and squeaky 12 year old boys tripping over their shoe laces on the basketball courts.
And then there’s this guy. I don’t know his name, but he calls me “Miss” and has a toothy smile and wears would-be-retro-if-he-didn’t-buy-them-the-year-they-were-made glasses and almost exclusively uses the stairmaster. Finally, if you can’t read it, his shirt says “If I’m not sweating, call 911” and guess what you guys? He brings TWO of this same shirt to the gym every time he goes because he’s such a goddamn efficient dude. Which automatically leads me to imagine his cartoon network closet full of the same outfit neatly displayed on hangers and I love that.
Or he legitimately has some perspiration disorder and will actually die if he ceases to sweat. I should maybe keep an eye out for that.
4:16 pm • 14 June 2011 • 12 notes
Man on Wire: Running Commentary
My mom is watching Man on Wire across the room from me on her computer. I have never seen Man on Wire and before today I didn’t really know what it was about. Also, I’m not a huge fan of heights. Here are my interruptions:
What did he do?
He TIGHTROPED across the TWIN TOWERS?
Oh so it’s not a commentary on 9/11? Right. It hadn’t happened yet. Right.
Wait, but he had like a harness and shit so he wouldn’t die right?
ARE YOU SERIOUS!?? THAT IS SO DUMB.
Did he die? How did he not die?
They snuck into the towers!??? They didn’t even have cooperation with the tower people? Okay and so why did they want to do this? That is so dumb.
It came to him in a DREAM when he was 15 and that is why he is tightrope walking across two skyscrapers? I had a dream when I was 15. It was called “become a journalist/international spy who eventually hot balloons across america with the guys from Ocean’s Eleven as they fight over who is going to wife me.” You don’t see me trying trick Clooney and Pitt into a basket with me.
I know it’s poetic and beautiful mom, but it’s just kind of stupid! It’s so dangerous! Like, have they even thought about the wind up there!?
Frustrated, she has me watch the tightrope walk.
Oh. That’s amazing.
3:08 pm • 11 June 2011 • 5 notes
Hunting and Gathering
I went fishing today.
By fishing I mean I got a bright orange butterfly net from the dollar store and some slices of bread and when I would catch tiny lake fish I would scream and throw ‘em back and scream some more because I totally just got a fish look at me and then the gruff 40-something guys there who were actually fishing would just scowl at me with, like, superdisgust.
It is going to be a thrilling summer.
1:07 am • 6 June 2011 • 7 notes
Birthday Cakes and Repentence
I went to school, kindergarten through high school graduation, with two other people who share my birthday. Kristen and Sean. None of us are really friends with each other, we’re all pretty different, but I like them both just fine.
In 3rd grade, we happened to be in the same class and on our birthdays my mom brought in a cake. I was a selfish asshole of a 9-year-old and I had a tantrum about sharing my birthday/cake/attention with them and cried and then Kristen cried and then Sean cried. I have always felt bad about that.
As we all grew older at the exact same pace, there was never any more “shared birthday” issues. I’d see one of them in the hall on that day and wish them a happy birthday, and vice versa, or it’d just be a facebook wallpost. Nothing excessive, but always an acknowledgment.
This year on our birthdays, I did nothing. To be fair, I rarely wish people a facebook happy birthday anymore, and like I said, we’re not really friends with one another at all. Still, memories of that ruined 3rd grade birthday party immediately surfaced and I decided to do something special.
My version of “something special” is crafting a very shitty MS paint photo of the Three-Headed-Knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, except with our faces pasted onto theirs, and Sir Robin handing us a large birthday cake.
And as I was finishing up this something special, a light burst forth from the heavens, and a booming voice declared, “Not so fast, McElvain.” The first birthday cake picture I clicked on in google image search instantly gave me a nasty software virus, and after spending two hours at the Best Buy geeksquad counter, I discovered the tech support for that is not covered in my warranty.
And so, the universe, in it’s infinite and cyclical mystery, has balanced itself. Do something nice today.
7:51 pm • 1 June 2011 • 7 notes
I’m Hugging You on the Internet
Carl: I’m just sad and there’s no one here I can talk to, you know I don’t usually do this. Sorry about complaining. This is stupid.
Mac: Shut up. You know I don’t care. How can I help with the sad part?
Carl: Thanks, but I don’t know. I don’t think you can.
Mac: No, I got it. Okay, right now I’m making a real silly face. Like, it’s all scrunched up and puckered, you know, my rumplestiltskin face? I need you to picture that. Are you picturing that?
Carl: I’m picturing it.
Mac: Okay, now in a goofy voice, the weird friendly alien one that kinda sounds like kermit but kinda not, in that voice I’m saying “Let’s turn that FROWN upside DOWN!!”
Carl: Oh jesus.
Mac: And then I finish with a stupid little jig, with high knee steps, and arm pumping. With the face. Still picture the face with all that.
Carl: So dumb.
Mac: Ugh. Aaaand while dancing I slip on a comically placed banana peel.
Carl: Alright I feel better now.
Mac: Good. Stay that way.
7:12 pm • 31 May 2011 • 12 notes
1. let’s be honest
bobby: wassup? lol did we meet at sara’s party last weekend?
marissa: no, i wasn’t there. you friend requested me randomly. we just go to the same college.
bobby: haha woops! it must’ve been a girl who looks like u
marissa: it’s cool
bobby: so anyway we should rage sometime, u seem pretty cool haha
marissa: yeah, probably not
bobby: haha ouchhh ur funny. well here’s my cell hit me up sometime and we’ll chill
marissa: i am never going to call you so you should probably find another random girl on facebook who wants to be your fuckbuddy! you smell like roofies and sweat and two bouts of gonorrhea! bye!
bobby: lol cool i’ll cya l8r
2. bored, u?
tim: hey, sup bro?
craig: nm, watching some time-lapse monarch butterfly metamorphosis youtube videos, trying to see a metaphorical connection to my life, but finding none. u?
tim: lol what
craig: lol nvm, g2g, but i’ll see u at lax practice later
3. great party
tiffany: heeeeeeeey girl, i think i left my jacket at your house last night!
claire: yeah. i think you did.
tiffany: lol thanks, sorry, i was sooooo drunk!!
claire: um, you can come pick it up whenever. but uhhh… do remember last night?
tiffany: hahaha barely! omgg what’d i do?? i’m sucha hot mess!
claire: tiff. ok. why is your jacket soaked in blood?
tiffany: fuck. that answers some questions. i’ll be there in 5 minutes with bleach. tell no one.
1:30 pm • 27 May 2011 • 7 notes
Washing the Goddamn Dishes
1. Avoid eye contact. Wash what dishes? I don’t know what you’re talking about. Hey look! I just swirled something around on my dish, obviously I’m not finished with dinner.
2. Get into argument about why no one else is expected to wash dishes. Lose quickly.
- Mom works, does everything else for the family, and cooked dinner.
- Dad works and is otherwise grumpy.
- Brother… eh… maybe he walked the dog last? Oh look, he’s gone now.
- Me, lazy and useless, PUT HER TO WORK!
3. Gather plates up, glaring at everyone as you do so. Make loud sighing noises as you put the plates in the sink. Pretend to hurt yourself washing a sharp knife. No one hears/asks if you are okay.
4. Slowly get intensely engrossed in washing every speck of food off each dining utensil. It becomes not just a chore, but an art. Yeah, there’s a dishwasher, but everyone knows those machines are hack jobs waiting to give you salmonella. I WON’T LET A SALMON DISEASE BE THE END OF ME, OKAY? Stupid fish trying to stupidly swim upstream.
5. Put last plate into dishwasher, lovingly. Realize you’ve just spent 25 minutes washing dishes and now you’re late to something. Curse loudly at your family and the world. But, oh no, they hear you this time! And they disapprove of your disgusting crude language.
6. Pack up some valuables into a red bandanna, tie it to a stick, and run away forever.
8:11 pm • 30 December 2010