Well, shit. That sounds way better than what I WAS gonna do this weekend…
Tag Archives: priorities
Eeewwww… Look, I can either focus on dinner OR vaguely threatening hairless douche-bros, but not both.
Feed me OR fuck me. My ADD can’t handle the multitask.
P.S. Fuck me first, so I don’t have to worry about birth control for food babies in addition to regular ones.
It’s possible I just need a pet.
I’m not saying I wouldn’t be talking to this OkCupid guy if he didn’t have an adorable black dog with blue eyes named Oliver who likes to snuggle.
But I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.
Making time for what matters
Texting a friend:
Me: “I just turned down paid overtime work for this weekend in favor of sex and ice cream. #priorities”
Friend: “Those are the clearest priorities I’ve ever imagined.”
Perfectly rational excitement tally: Waffles, 55%; Man, 45%
Perhaps my new favorite sentence ever: “I have an ice cream & waffle date tonight.”
“What would we do, baby, without us? Sha la la la…”
I just got called “cold” and had Sad Singleton noises made at me when I mentioned to coworkers that I consider Thanksgiving weekend a short vacation, not family time, and that I hoped my family didn’t host dinner, because I’m looking forward to relaxing alone.
“Jeez, some people LIKE spending time with their families.” Hey, good for them. I am not one of them. Sorry, is my childhood trauma bothersome to you?
For me, Christmas is the family holiday. I will happily (well…) attend. But a pregame four short weeks BEFORE Christmas? Having my parents insist on family “closeness” now that they’re older, not realizing they were my age 25 years ago while they were inadvertently teaching me NOT to value family? Sorry it’s not my top priority as an adult.
(I know I don’t have to attend either holiday, but skipping both is more of an emotional hassle than it’s worth. Plus, ham.)
Thanksgiving weekend is for me to sleep, watch movies, and cook something delicious, not to drive 2 hours to make shitty small talk or silently ponder which mood medications my father should be on.
I can be thankful and reflective by myself. It’s better than being asked if my ex is seeing anyone, hearing how much my family misses him, and explaining to obscure relatives looking at me quizzically that I “recently” ended a long relationship. Oh, and don’t forget what a good mother I would’ve been, and how maybe I’ll change my mind — that is not at all like being punched in the uterus. (Also, c’mon, my eggs aren’t exactly fresh from the farm. They’re, like, Walmart eggs at this point.)
Besides, I promised a friend who’ll be spending Thanksgiving with HER family that I’d be her on-call getaway car if she needs an extraction (SEAL Team Smug!). So I’m not the only one not singing “Kumbaya” for family time.
BTW, yes, if you know me, “cold” is exactly the right word. I am a complete, dead-inside asshole, and people I love mean nothing to me. You nailed it.
Priorititties. (See what I did there?)
Reasons I’ve Clicked “Pass” on OKCupid Profiles: General Profile Infractions, Part 3
— He looks like he’d be Guitar Guy at parties.
— He talks shit on his exes in his profile.
— He has a photo of him and his ex in his profile. He acknowledges it’s poor form, but did it so all us lesser females can “see the type of woman I generally go for.” Because the detailed verbal description of your ex wasn’t enough.
— He’s in an open relationship. Sorry, no. I’ve already wasted too much time playing Lewinsky with a guy who placed me second. (Or, let’s be honest, like 50th — as priorities go, I seemed to rate above laundry, but below watching “The Last Action Hero” edited for time and content on TV.)
— Among the things he can’t do without: “Titties.” GOD, I hate that word. (Damn shame, too, because that’s my best feature. Sucks to be you, sir — should’ve been a little more tactful.)
In which the Universe can eat a dick because I can’t.
I realize your goal in screwing up my non-romantic world this week may be to make me realize I should stop thinking so much about men.
But the joke’s on you, Asshole — all I want is to have the men hug me, or alternately have them fuck the holy hell out of me so I can feel something else besides sad. And then I realize no one wants to do those things, and it makes me sadder. So you? Can go fuck yourself.
P.S. Yeah, yeah, I’ll learn that I’m stronger than I think and can get by with a little help from my friends and all that happy horseshit. FINE. You’re still an asshole.
P.P.M.S. It’s possible this may be hormone-driven.
My vagina is not an extreme couponer.
I got a Groupon email for a $12 Brazilian bikini wax.
You know… I’m fairly cheap (that’s probably obvious). I hate spending money, but I don’t skimp on the important things: food, skincare, coffee, condoms. (I’d say books, too, but I usually won’t buy those without a coupon.)
And I’m pretty sure anything that involves applying hot wax ‘twixt my nethers should cost more than $12. That’s like a $20 minimum.
Fuck a recession; my vagina is worth it.