If you’re trying to become less of a fat-ass, I suppose a beautiful day toddling around the Zoo isn’t the WORST way to start.
This seems like a perfectly rational response to a Facebook post by my fit, attractive local meteorologists.
But seriously, 9 miles? On your DINNER BREAK?! Go fuck yourselves. You ain’t right. Do you not KNOW about tacos?
Tonight I went to a Beyoncé-themed “Frisky Friday” striptease dance class at Philly Dance Fitness, and the 7 months’ pregnant instructor wore kitten heels and twerked circles around my tragic ass.
It was awesomely mortifying and I highly recommend it.
My therapist compared letting assholes get to me with the cops greasing the light poles in Philly after the Eagles won the Super Bowl so dipshits couldn’t climb them: “How do we make it so assholes’ comments slide off you a little easier?”
I tried to convince her that’s what I’m doing with all the mozzarella sticks and stromboli — greasing my psyche — but I don’t think she bought it.
I had FaceTime therapy this morning because technology is wonderful, but now I have to, like…think about things? Like, what I…want from my life? Specifically re: relationships.
Um, isn’t that what I pay YOU for? You have a degree in Life. I have a degree in radio journalism. You tell me what to do, I announce it in the fancy news voice that belies my shitty Philly accent.
Get on that jawn, yo. I’ll be over here eating Brownie Brittle for breakfast. Report back.
There’s a Chris Rock bit where he talks about men talking too damn much and ruining a woman’s desire to fuck them — “You say the wrong thing, them panties are comin’ up mighty fast. A woman wants to fuck you? Shut up, let it happen.”
(I’m QUITE sure this also happens when women talk too much to men — I have most assuredly DONE it, I know my own.)
But I went out tonight to see a friend’s band play at my local townie bar, and immediately wanted to bang one of the singers — hot, glasses, tattoos, super muscle-y arms that could throw me all around… UNF.
But then dude started talking. And during the course of his performance, he said someone had “killed hisself,” and he also dabbled in some light “jokey” homophobia AND as a bonus, mocked his friend for saying something kinda intellectual-like — you know how we hate all that book learnin’.
Also, he swore so much that even *I* was like, “GodDAMN, man. You wanna fuckin’ dial that back?”
So. Alas, tonight was not the night I lured an unsuspecting male back to my lair. But hope springs eternal!
I MAY have been OkCupid ghosted because I told the guy I didn’t watch the Eagles playoff game last weekend.
Which, you know…that’s fine. Enjoy waiting for the Eagles to wet your dick.
OK, listen, I KNOW there are colder places than Philly, but it’s fucking colder than it goddamn should be and we still have to go outside and that is horseshit and I am crabby and winter can eat a bag of dicks.
As seen on Jennifer Weiner’s Facebook page:
1. It’s not even a CLEVER rape-y poem.
2. Ladies, let us all encourage our youth to remember they are worth more than Natty Light. You hold out for Yuengling, girls. And also for men who don’t do shit like this.
(Is it clear I’m not making light of this but rather attempting humor so I don’t smash my computer at work in some sort of tiny white woman Hulk rage? OK, good.)