Eternal conundrum: Hating people but needing sex

Male BFF: “Where do you want to go for drinks tomorrow night? Something low-key like Barcade, or something more involved like dancing at a gay bar where you’ll be fondled by beautiful gay men and I will have an experience in the men’s room that leaves me questioning some very fundamental things about myself?

Me: “Any place I can get drunk and find a dude or two to make out with, but that is also magically not crowded/won’t have a wait on a Saturday night.”

(If y’all ever have the chance, being horny, lazy, AND socially anxious is, like, the BEST.)

Followup email: “Also, if I’m going to get fondled, I think I’d prefer hetero. I’m not sure I could convince a gay man to put his hand up my dress. But hey, dare to dream.”

I think My Default Bar wins—they offer bacon-y cheese pretzels, froofy cocktails, and cake. Throw a unicorn* and some books in that joint and I’ll be set for life.

*Please don’t really throw unicorns. They’ll fuck you up. Little known fact: Unicorns are actually total assholes.

Fat-armed and dangerous

I’ll give my self-hatred credit: sometimes it gets really good with specifics.

I put on a sleeveless shirt, because whoo hoo, nearing 80 degrees in Philly today! Suck it, seasonal depression!

But then I got a gander at my upper arms, and… Jesus Christ, can you get arm lipo? I bet you can. I should look into that. Arm lipo sounds much easier than hoisting my fat ass off the couch, popping in a Shaun T DVD and actually, um, WORKING on it. Pfft. This IS America, isn’t it? Suck out my fat and then give me a snack.

Joking. FINE. I’ll do a pushup. FINE.

P.S. If I could do those pushups on TOP of Shaun T, I’d be far more enthused. I know, I know — he’s gay, and married. Like I’d have a shot if he weren’t. LET ME DREAM, people.

Sinful sneakers

Via Huffington Post: Adidas Shuts Down Homophobic Commenters In The Best Way Possible.

…Right, then.

So we’re all gonna go buy at least one pair of Adidas shoes?

Good. Glad we had this talk.

The HELL? My brain saw “super-cute shoes” on “feet.” Not on “gay feet.” How does that even cross your mind?

Also? They’re SHOES. On INSTAGRAM. How do you have time to give even ONE baker’s fuck about this? Or does “being an asshole on the Internet” now count as “doing God’s work?”

Nabbing some free-range dick.

I think I’ve met my soulmate at work.

I mean, he’s gay, and married, but I’m clearly unfuckable, anyway, so I think we could make this work.

(Kidding. I know I could catch a dick if I tried.)

Getting Beyond.

Shopping for straight friends’ wedding presents, which suddenly seems so passé.