Sometimes Netflix requires too much effort.

Jesus, Netflix, YES, I am still watching Scandal. Didn’t you INVENT the binge watch? Let me hide from humanity in peace. I don’t feel like moving my arm to find the damn remote — what am I, a triathlete?

Judgy bitch.

Shut up, vending machine. You don’t know my life. 

Let the record show that I just got up to get cookies from the office vending machine, and I had to extract my belt buckle from the fat on my belly. (“Buckle” makes it sound like I’m a big burly cowboy swaggering into the saloon through swinging doors. It’s more of a “loopy bit,” but that’s not as clear.)

And then the vending machine took my dollar, twirled its swirly metal ring around my Famous Amos cookies, pushed them ALMOST to the front, and then just let them sit there. As if to say, “Hey, fuck you, fattie. Did you really just pull your belt buckle out of your fat and have the massive, chrome-plated balls to come to me for cookies?”

I know, right? My vending machine is a judgey whore.

“What really matters is what you like, not what you ARE like.”*

Reasons I’ve Clicked “Pass” on OKCupid Profiles: Entertainment Missteps Edition

— He doesn’t read. One guy in particular blew my entire mind when he said, “i don’t read much. I’d like to fix that but its hard to start reading when you dont read much.” Um. No, it’s not. At all.
— He lists “Footloose (circa 2011)” as one of his favorite movies. How dare you, sir?
— He said “The Hangover was superb.” The Hangover was fine, but that sentence tells me you have terrible judgment either of movies or of words, and I cannot abide either.

* Subject line from High Fidelity, by Nick Hornby.