First OkCupid message from a 19-year-old: “If a thousand painters from the last 200,000 years got together and decided to paint a picture, their creation wouldn’t be as beautiful as you!”
Wow…I guess it’s better than just “hi”?
Actually, with that many painters working on it, that painting would probably be pretty busted, so it probably WOULDN’T be as pretty as I am. I don’t think I’m “beautiful,” but I’m probably cuter than Picasso and Renoir getting into a slapfight while Jackson Pollock just goes batshit and sloshes around on the canvas. So points to you, Toddler.
My friends often make fun of me (lovingly, I think…) for my discomfort in showing cleavage. I try to wear clothes that complement my body, but I’m kind of a freak about things being too low-cut, especially at work.
So today I texted a selfie to my mammary managers:
Me: “This is me, uncomfortable with, yet accepting, my office cleavage.”
Friend: “Well done! I’m proud of your acceptance. Consider your cleavage a public service, like an outdoor mural.”
My breasts are basically Banksy.
So I went to a sex shop last night. Like ya do.
And I think I figured out what I want for my next birthday. And how I want to decorate my apartment.
This is amazing. It’s like a Color Run. But instead of running, you get to roll around naked, which is just SO MUCH BETTER than running! You’re naked, and you throw paint on each other, and you tussle around on this blank canvas, and then it’s ART.
Fuck you, Degas — your silly little dancers totally should have done this.
Da Vinci, you bush-league bastard! Why didn’t YOU think of this?! Mona Lisa would have had a WAY bigger smile!
If you guys get this for me, and then also bring me a playmate (Wait! Make that an “artistic collaborator!”), I’ll SHOW you “Expressionism.” My birthday is in a couple of months. Make it so!