Tuesday, June 6, 2017

summer beauty tips for the exhausted and situationally impoverished.

pinnae are we for real off shea moisture forever? because i'm nearing the end of my bottle of african black soap shampoo ($9) and i need to know if i gotta switch to something else before i run all the way out. i mean i'm down for the revolution or whatever but not if it means my scalp is gonna be all dry and disgusting in the meantime. i can't just be mindlessly scratching at the side of my head all the time. when i'm feeling fancy i buy malin+goetz dandruff shampoo, but at $26 a bottle it doesn't do anything special like folding your laundry or scrubbing that sticky grey dust from under your oven, so i would only spring for that if you just got paid and are feeling reckless. and that is how i feel every single time i get paid. i forget every promise i made to myself to "put a little something aside" because wow have you ever tried the laura mercier gloss sticks!? THEY ARE VERY PRETTY AND GLOSSY AND SMOOTH. but i'm putting the designer cart before the drugstore brand horse. anyway, someone at head and shoulders got the heads up that black people have flaky scalps too and released a line for textured hair, which is super cheap and smells good and you can get it at the same time you're grabbing wonder woman from the redbox. i like the moisture care co-wash ($5), and it's easy to know which one is for us because there's a brown stripe and some coconuts on it as if the words "co-wash" and "textured" weren't obvious enough.

snout i'm wild boring when it comes to face washes because as soon as i cruised effortlessly into my late 30s my face was like "nah, bruh" every time i put something new on it. also it started getting all patchy and dry and i don't especially care about that but i'm a picker with nothing better to do than flake off large pieces of the dry skin on my nose while watching star trek: tng and that's fucking disgusting. the relatively-cheap routine that has worked for the last few months is: cleanse with dove bar soap ($2), tone with thayer's cucumber toner ($8), moisturize with first aid beauty ultra repair cream ($12) after a thin layer of regular-ass coconut oil (i buy louana at the health food spot because carla hall is on the jar and i love her, plus it's $14 for a 30oz jar and that is an incredible value bc you literally just touch the oil and the residue is enough to cover your whole face). 

my eyebrows are wiiiiiiiiiiiiiild and it's just too much work to do anything with them so i stopped. threading hurts wax hurts tweezing hurts, oh my! so instead of ripping the hairs out of my face i just brush some soap and glory archery brow gel ($12) through them and convince myself that they look good. i used to use benefit brow zings ($32) until i lost the tiny brushes that came with the kit and threw a tantrum, but even though it looked decent it was more work than i ever wanted to do anyway. i think when this tube runs out (ie when i get bored and impatient) i'm gonna order the boy brow from glossier ($16) but also who cares because this is what oversized glasses are for!

i could write ad nauseam about lipsticks but i will try to contain myself so i don't bore you to death and limit my scope to just a few summer-specific beauties: 1 nars velvet matte lip pencils are my all-time number one fave (today) and at $27 apiece they ain't cheap but they are like the most perfect formula. smooth and creamy but dry to the touch and longish-lasting. dragon girl is my main jam but i also wear the shit out of walkyrie and bahama, too. and i know that matte lips aren't a summer thing but these aren't chalky and gross and whatever rules are for suckers. 2 colourpop blotted lip lipsticks are the moderately-priced dream of my life, because they're essentially the same texture and look of the nars except a little less dry and they cost $5 which means you could get five of them for the price of one of the nars and it wouldn't be a national emergency if you, like, left one in a cab or some shit. 3 idk what the fuck is up with maybelline ($7) but their color sensational lipsticks are so good now and i have a few of the loaded bolds and the creamy mattes and yes i looked like a dead body when i experimented with the ~greige~ shade but so what it felt really nice and the kid at the mcdonald's window could care less about ol' corpse lips in the mom car. 4 wet n' wild megaslicks balm stains ($3) are actually pretty good? but the caps cracked on the two i had and i tossed them out in a blind rage so i can't really tell you about the wear and whatnot. ps the nivea moisture lip care ($3) with the dark blue cap is the only lip balm you will ever need and that's real. *bangs gavel*

jowls face makeup is complicated for me because i hate the feel of liquid foundation and i don't really need it anyway so why go to all the trouble? and this isn't a humblebrag about my tight, youthfully glowing skin, i have pores you can wash your goddamn feet in, i just don't do enough things that warrant all the trouble that a proper makeup application requires. like i'm not blending a cream contour to go to the starbucks kiosk inside the grocery store. squeeze the beauty blender a few times under the faucet, apply and blend both up into the hairline and down onto the neck, highlight/conceal, set with powder: the high school senior shaking my iced green tea doesn't give a shit about all that. plus i came of age in the 90s, when your eyebrows were supposed to be thin enough to slice deli meats (i don't groom mine anymore whatsoever) and your skin was supposed to be powdered dry as the desert. and "creating a dewy canvas" is just not as easy as "leaving my face as shiny as it would be naturally" so that's just what i do. when i want to trick someone into believing i tried i'll use a little glossier perfecting skin tint ($26) or that old standby, and favorite of beyonce if the commercials are to be believed, l'oreal true match ($7). which are both JUST FINE, especially if you are a lazy person who doesn't have time for believeable full coverage. when i do get dressed up (lol what do those words even mean) i like to dab helplessly at my T-zone with a little make up forever pro finish powder ($37) in a vain attempt to look pulled together in case someone whips out a camera, but that shit is expensive so i mostly rely on milani pressed powder ($7) to keep me from blinding innocent passersby when my forehead catches the light from the sun on the rare occasion i am caught out of doors.

cheeks blush is the beating heart of my desire and thank u lord because you only need a little each time so the shit lasts foreverrrrrrrrrr. i prefer tubes of cream and bottles of liquid to powder blush because i'm trash and morally opposed to cleaning my brushes after every use, but i do keep one compact of nars taj mahal ($30) around because it is the silkiest burnt orange beauty you'll ever lay your eyes on and if i stretch it out for five years it's only $.0164 per day so it's actually kind of a steal. (oh the limits to which i will go to justify my ridiculous expenditures!) glossier cloud paint in haze and beam ($18/ea) is my shit and it spreads easily and dries perfectly and is basically everything you ever want in a cream blush, but don't sleep on sephora cheek gel in lotus, water lily, and plumeria ($7/ea) if you want something cheaper. i haven't done a thorough investigation but i do have a couple nyx cheek souffles ($6) sitting in the ulta.com cart i keep adding shit to and one day i'm gonna click that checkout button and as soon as i do i'll report back.

as cool as they look when you post selfies of yours on insta, i don't use sheet masks because i'm too busy reading the yelp reviews of people i used to be cool with to spend twenty minutes just sitting around hoping my blackheads are dissolving. and also because i feel like each zone of my face has its own climate and weather system. my nose and my chin have entirely different needs, and no need to risk overhydrating one while drying out the other and then spending three days trying to recover. but i love a good ritual, especially if it involves sitting very still in front of the television without talking for an hour, so every now and again i'll use this queen helene avocado & grapefruit masque ($3) that i found under the sink but if there's a difference in my skin no one told my eyeballs.

loin since i don't have to interact with many people who have to smell me i've been experimenting with natural deodorants. i tried: le stick natural deodorant in sandalwood ($5), which smells like the back of a fat dude's delicious neck; tarte clean queen vegan deodorant ($14); meow meow tweet deodorant stick in lemon eucalyptus ($22); tom's of maine long lasting deodorant in maine woodspice ($4); kiss my face natural active life deodorant stick in lavender ($5). then i just went into the bathroom and flushed fistfuls of dollar bills down the toilet while sweating my shirts sheer, bc SAME FUCKING THING. dove dry spray antiperspirant in sensitive ($7) is my jam bc it doesn't leave white marks and you can spray it on even if you already put on your shirt and/or bra.

rump i was watching judge mathis the other day and one of those "call the ____ law group if you got cervical cancer from talcum powder" and, like, WHAT. i know life is hell and happiness is a lie but does everything have to be deadly!? i was rolled in ammen's medicated powder ($8) every summer day of my childhood, and the thought of not being able to sprinkle a palmful of shower to shower ($5) on all my damp places because i need my cervix to stay healthy fills me with a legitimate panic. lush silky underwear ($10) is okay but it comes in a tiny bottle with the kind of top that makes it hard to be as liberal as i'd like with my dusting; pussy powder antimicrobial bajo dusting powder ($9) from firme arte, my new fave place for candles/oils/smudge wands and other witchy stuff, and it smells like a dream and comes in a tub you can dab a powder puff into if you're dainty like that. body glide ($7) is a pretty good chafe balm, gold bond friction defense ($6) is real good too, and naughty bits and pits anti-chafing balm ($2) is the jam, especially when it's too hot for bike shorts or footless tights or however you keep your tender meat from catching fire under your dress. 

i enjoy having at minimum half a dozen bodywash bottles in various stages of use lining the tub to keep my showers spicy. i've spent 37 years in this rotting meatsuit so sometimes i gotta surprise her to shake things up. aveeno skin relief body wash ($7), kiehl's bath and shower liquid cleanser in coriander ($20), kiss my face bath and body wash in early to bed ($9) are in current rotation, but i just got some dove shower foam ($6) that is 100% a marketing gimmick but that's fine with me and also a bottle of plant apothecary bodywash in GET HAPPY ($20) that despite its price tag i ordered mostly because it's a lot cheaper than therapy.

hock body oils are still my thing and i know that you're not trying to be all greased up in the middle of july and risk sizzling like a kielbasa that's about to split open from the heat BUT i still use them anyway because i wear sleeves no matter what so who cares. i don't like feeling tight and dry all the time and what the fuck am i supposed to do, drink water? yeah right. neutrogena body oil ($8) is super light and smells very glamorous for a product you can buy at the grocery store. i'm also really into life-flo cocoa butter oil ($15) which is a teeny bit stickier but has a nice lemony scent and feels like it won't stain your clothes. but let's be real i only wear black and everything i own is like really nice pajamas so a couple conspicuous grease spots really aren't gonna be a problem.

i don't even really wear perfume that often because i can't wear it anymore without walking around with a runny nose and gross, boogery eyes all day. but i am a glutton for punishment, so i buy it anyway. my faves: kiehls musk essence oil ($35/.5oz), jo malone french lime blossom ($65/30mL), le labo 33 ($180/1.7oz), but mostly i just wear those $2 rollerball oils you buy from african shops and/or the beauty supply. as magazines often suggest i like to layer my perfume for maximum effect, and usually a base layer of generic zyrtec ($13) followed by a double nasal spritz of the new flonase sensimist ($17) keeps my fragrance lasting from the office to the dancefloor!

dewclaw i don't get manicures anymore because 1 who are we kidding and 2 i live in the kind of place now where i have to do shit like "carry logs inside to burn in the wood stove" so LOL NOPE NOT PAYING FOR NAILS. also can we just be real and admit that unless you are living the kind of glamorous life of someone who never has to type on a keyboard or pump gas or open your own bottle of aldi wine then your nails are definitely gonna get fucked up? i keep my nails baby short because i hate looking at them when they're dirty and the sound of nails clicking against things fills me with existential dread, and the only polish i use now is sally hansen insta-dri ($4). okay okay, now hear me out: do they chip within days? yes. are the colors sometimes a little streaky? also yes, but that could easily be blamed on my poor application techniques. but you could literally put it on then play the guitar thirty seconds later. no base coat, no top coat, nothing. PUT THAT ON MY HEADSTONE.

i'm also trying to do shit like stay hydrated and take vitamins and find a sunscreen that doesn't make me look ashy but i probably won't? ALL THAT SHIT IS SO TIRING. and who is trying to think about topical magnesium absorption when other people on the bus are literally adhering to your actively sweating flesh!? i did just order two bottles of fancy potassium capsules though, and clicking the checkout button is half the battle so i'm feeling like i got a pretty good head start. but really, how can i possibly find time to drink a gallon of water when there's so much tv i gotta catch up on? i just finished the first two seasons of fargo and am only behind a couple episodes of the handmaid's tale and as soon as i write this i'm gonna exfoliate my heels and watch the last bachelorette because thank god that whaboom dude finally got cut. good luck out there in this revolting swelter, and remember: a travel-size bottle of cornstarch in your purse can really fucking come in handy.

Sunday, May 28, 2017

i'm going on tour.

please come see me. mannnn i'm taking this show on the road. i just finished packing a bag that is 70% chargers 20% underwear and 10% toiletries i'm not 100% sure the TSA won't throw away, so i'm already off to a pretty sam start? can't wait to spend $47 on magazines i definitely won't be able to dig out from under the seat in front of mine! i haven't even gotten to the airport yet and i'm wondering which of my carryon items i will inconveniently forget!! who has two thumbs and can't ever figure out how to make the tray table work without disturbing the rightfully irritated businessman sitting next to her? this guy!!! wow o wow this is gonna be a breeze!

may 30 word bookstore at housing works 7pm, NYC. gotta pump the brakes on this gross-ass self-promotion for just a second to say that i am always super excited to go to new york and take many gorgeously filtered photographs of mountainous street trash and battle rats in the street for a cab because i'm terrified of the subway. anyway i'm still in wide-eyed disbelief that this is actually happening? but somehow we convinced my hero crissle from the podcast the read (if you don't know you fucking need to) to (host? moderate? hang out with me for two hours talking about the real housewives in front of a confused audience!?) join me for the launch, which i'm doing in new york even though your pizza is gross and i still don't have any idea how many brooklyns there are. buy tickets here for $20, which includes both a copy of my book and exposure to whatever communicable disease i pick up at laguardia.

june 6 bookbug, kalamazoo MI. this is gonna be a dream because all i gotta do is crawl out of bed and lint roll the cat hair off my pajamas and BLAMMO i'm good to go. i imagine the event will be real loose and casual and filled with people i coerced into friendship after i moved here; i'll read an essay or two and sign some books probably? and mavis will be there, so you can ogle her impressive upper arm definition while asking her intrusive shit like "so what's sam really like?" which is hilarious because the answer is definitely "TERRIBLE." anyway, it isn't ticketed but here is the bookbug events page which includes a handy link to enter it into your google calendar, a thing which i honestly don't know how to do or use.

june 8 women & children first at wilson abbey 7pm, CHICAGO. "country road, take me home, to the place i belong..." if you ever wanted to cram yourself in a sweaty room with all my friends and exes this is your chance. mel and i are gonna spend half an hour arguing about how annoying i was as a teenager, i'm gonna read something gross and short, and we'll probably field questions? plus i'll write something graphic in your book if you feel like hanging around for that part. get tickets here, which will also include a copy of the book. while i'm in town i'm also doing a panel at printer's row called "wise and witty" (lol what wisdom) but it's at 1030 on saturday morning and are you really coming to the south loop that early on the weekend? if yes, admission is free and you can find out more about it here you nerd. please pick me up a buttermilk bar at stan's on your way down.

june 13 literati bookstore, 7pm ann arbor MI. i'm hitching my wagon to my pal scaachi koul's book train and we're going to tag-team a bunch of college kids and their earnest professors. i'm pretty sure that it's free but i'm not wearing my glasses right now so please read the event page here in case i'm wrong. 

june 20 book people 7pm, AUSTIN. i remember being young and optimistic and thinking that one day i would move to austin and be a free spirit after reading about it in seventeen or wherever but FUCK THAT IT'S SO HOT. also, poverty robs you of your dreams. so now that i'm no longer a teen with hope in my heart i'm coming down for a couple days to pretend i live there and am actually cool enough to be seen in an austin bar. oh yeah and talk to a bunch of texans about my book. this chat is gonna be with my homegirl the bloggess herself, one jenny lawson, and even if you hate me you gotta suffer through my shtick to get to her so maybe i'll win you over? pretty sure this event is free too but there's more info here so read carefully. ps, please write down all the best air-conditioned taco spots and bring them with you i hate taking notes on my busted-ass iphone.

okay okay, i know: wtf are you gonna do if i'm not coming to your city!? first thing, understand that shaking my sweaty hand is definitely overrated so you aren't missing much. second, you might still have a chance bc i'm gonna swing through the west coast in september. so far i'm slated to come to SEATTLE, PORTLAND, and LOS ANGELES. and i know that's not enough, but despite the number of times someone has breathlessly rushed up to me squealing, "omg i looooooooved bad feminist!!1!1!" i am not roxane gay. i don't sell out auditoriums. I HAVE DONE READINGS SO SMALL THAT WE ALL WENT TO SUBWAY AFTERWARD AND THERE WAS STILL ROOM FOR A LOT MORE PEOPLE. and that was delicious but also kind of embarrassing? so if you want me to come to philly or atlanta or dc (or wherever you live) you and your moms gotta buy enough books to justify a hotel and a plane ticket. once we've got some dates and times nailed down i'll let y'all know, and after all this i am never leaving my house again!

omg just fucking buy it already:

barnes and noble

Wednesday, May 10, 2017

bitches gotta read: one day we'll be dead and none of this will matter.

boy do i hate these countertops. you know, like you can have all the fancy prep shit and vitamixes you want, but if you haven't torn out the cabinets and backsplashes you hate what is even the point of pretending you otherwise have good taste!? there are cupcakes being made in this house today but they aren't for me so who cares. i'm not even eating cake right now anyway, especially since i downloaded this app that you enter all your food into so you can see how many calories you eat and try to stay under the allotted number to get to the ~goal weight~ they've assigned to you. honestly i burn more calories scrolling the database in an effort to find shit like "purple flesh sweet potatoes" and "teff porridge" among all the dorito varietals than i do inputting how many minutes of senior zumba i've completed in a day. anyway it's too early in the season for beach backdrops (lol what even is a beach) so instead please enjoy this still life of these eggs laid by yard chickens down the street from where i still can't believe i actually live.

the rules
1 we are never going to meet in real life. that would require a bra and zippered pants and probably an expensive uber and no one is doing that. you don't have to worry about megan's dairy allergy or that vanessa doesn't like champagne. no cleaning the cat box or vacuuming the drapes or hiding the dirty laundry in the oven so your company doesn't realize what a huge slob you are. just you in your house glasses and gravy pants sobbing into your six pack of beer, the way rainbow rowell intended. getting together with people you don't live next door to is hella stressful. plus, a bunch of old bitches sitting around talking about fictional teenage romance is lame. OR IS IT THO.
2 we are never going to discuss this, ever. i mean seriously. i'm going to derive pleasure from knowing that people i might possibly enjoy spending time with if i ever could bring myself to meet new people and i are falling asleep and drooling on the same book we'll probably never finish. maybe we'll talk about it on twitter or something. but even thinking about organizing that is a daunting task and i'm already exhausted. mariyam suggested making a facebook group, but is that dumb? the internet is so hard sometimes. (ETA: there is a group! it's called bitches gotta read! and it is full of hilarious mostly-women people who aren't irritating! come find us!!) i also have a bunch of friends on goodreads but lesbihonest: i'm not, like, putting all these john grishams i read on there because i don't need you guys clowning me in public.
3 we are never going to shame each other about not reading the fucking book. this is the beauty of never having to meet or talk about it: i ain't gotta come up with "thoughtful questions" and you ain't gotta pretend to remember what happened at the end of chapter seven while a bunch of wine-drunk bitches you don't even like that much wait expectantly for your answer. i'll read the books for sure, but that's only in case i run into one of you at the co-op and you decide to ask how shocked i was by the twist no one saw coming at the end.

brief internet synopsis
In One Day We’ll All Be Dead and None of This Will Matter, Scaachi Koul deploys her razor-sharp humor to share all the fears, outrages, and mortifying moments of her life. She learned from an early age what made her miserable, and for Scaachi anything can be cause for despair. Whether it’s a shopping trip gone awry; enduring awkward conversations with her bikini waxer; overcoming her fear of flying while vacationing halfway around the world; dealing with Internet trolls, or navigating the fears and anxieties of her parents. Alongside these personal stories are pointed observations about life as a woman of color: where every aspect of her appearance is open for critique, derision, or outright scorn; where strict gender rules bind in both Western and Indian cultures, leaving little room for a woman not solely focused on marriage and children to have a career (and a life) for herself. With a sharp eye and biting wit, incomparable rising star and cultural observer Scaachi Koul offers a hilarious, scathing, and honest look at modern life.
i'm not going to pretend i'm not biased. i mean, my name may or may not be on the back of this book. and it definitely isn't YA, but we're going to have to make an exception every now and again especially since my book is coming out in a few weeks and i'm definitely picking it for book club even though i'm lowkey embarrassed about being shameless in this specific way. but what can i do homie I'M MY BIGGEST HYPE MAN. i don't have a street team! anyway the book is so funny and so good and scaachi might literally be the one reason i still have a twitter. seriously it's like ten million horrible opinions and then her. 

here is a handy amazon link to pre-order the newest fruit of my loins.

Friday, April 21, 2017

block people and pretend they died.

dearly beloved: we are gathered here today to mourn the loss of that irritating girl you vaguely remember from the art class your mom made you take junior year of high school so your course list would look good to potential colleges. she earnestly shared a lot of FAKE NEWS and poorly designed inspirational infographics, and every time you posted about a tv show you liked she hastily chimed in with "i don't watch that show, but i heard--" oh yeah? you have a casual opinion on a television program i faithfully invested seven actual years of my life into? just shut the fuck up and scroll past. or maybe she's the first person to reply "sorry i don't use [frivolous consumer item you'd trust the internet to suggest]!" to your tweet "hey guys, which is the best [frivolous consumer item you'd trust the internet to suggest]?" maybe she posted the nutritional information for those unicorn frappuccinos trying to food shame people who knew they weren't buying health food in the first place? come on you snotty asshole, let people enjoy their purple calories! or maybe you just remembered that time in third grade she said your pound puppies shirt was ugly. YOU LOVED THAT POUND PUPPIES SHIRT. one time i blocked a dude because every day he would post the grossest looking actual food he was eating, two seconds after another who was always trying to sell me his mixtape in the year of our lord 2017 wow sir no fucking thank you! i could go on and on about her adding you to various lularoe legging groups or spamming your instagram with links for "free iphones!" but listen, you know who i'm talking about. and you shouldn't feel bad for even a second for blocking that hoe and throwing her a funeral in your heart.

every time someone's internet presence feels like a personal attack on my life i first try to have compassionate thoughts like "what if something terrible is happening in her life?" because even though we know it isn't there's still a very slim chance hell is real and i'd like to have a plausible defense of my actions on earth should there be some sort of way to argue my way out of damnation. but then i think, "well if she were actually suffering there's no way she'd be spamming me links to all these pyramid schemes" and my guilt evaporates just long enough for me to click that block button so i can move on with my day. i'm a patient person and hesitant to alienate anyone who might have fifteen dollars lying around to buy my books, but it dawned on me the other day that for me, the internet has to be a meticulously curated digital space in which your uncle's vaguely racist tweets have no place.

i hate fighting. i'm sensitive and no good at it and if the consequence of bickering online means i gotta spend the afternoon feeling bad because a kid i don't remember from high school called me a fatass kelly price over a reductress article please murder me. and if i get on your goddamn nerves: BLOCK ME FIRST. kill me with your powerful brain! there are too many places in real life where blocking is not a viable option to tolerate someone ruining your many secret lives online. you can't block the coworker who won't stop fucking talking while hovering nearby as you're just trying to put half and half in your breakroom coffee, but you can block that friend of a friend who says shit like "i'm not prejudiced, i don't care if a person is purple or green or blue." lol blue people SHUT THE FUCK UP. you can't delete the neighbor whose eyesore of a car is parked on his front lawn whose cat keeps shitting on your deck, but you can delete your cousin who earnestly believes that rap music is reverse racism and vehemently comments as much on every kendrick lamar video you share. no mute button for the woman at the grocery store who won't stop asking where the shampoo is even though you're pushing your own cart while wearing both sunglasses and a coat, but you know who you can mute? everyone you hate on the internet!

PROTECT YOURSELVES. YOU DON'T NEED THIS SHIT. and to prove i'm not the only piece of garbage scrolling through instagram unfollowing people whose gorgeously filtered lives make mine look like trash, i crowdsourced a bunch of actual experiences from my interface friends of their smallest, pettiest, aint-shittiest reasons for hitting a bitch with the mutombo block online:
-checked in at golden corral
-remembered that he told me i looked bad in the sixth grade
-blocked a guy who agreed with me because i didn't like his tone
-my grandmother has been sitting in my requests for three years. (which is a genius method of preemptive blocking that often comes in handy)
-tagged me in pajama christmas dinner picture even tho i said don't tag me in pajama christmas dinner picture
-any post starting with "89% of facebook users wont repost this" gets a HOTTTT block.
-blocked my ex-wife cos she found jesus.
-all their posts have no periods yet all their texts have periods? nah. blocked. way too positive, you love your life that much B, then get off facebook. blocked.
-unfriended and blocked every bitch trying to sell me ugly leggings or fat wraps or supplements.
-made a status saying we should "lead with love" and "try to find what unites us instead of divides."

-motherfuckers who bang on about how blessed they are. the more you gush about how great everything is, the more i hope you fall into an open sewer and die.
-i blocked someone who said they liked french toast more than waffles.
-blocked a relative for always posting pics of dead people in their caskets.
-talked shit about eddie vedder.
-for liking "sam's club" not "costco."

-overuse of "just sayin'."
-i don't like my friend's husband's haircut and their dog is honestly the ugliest thing on p
lanet earth.
-blocked a local lady for creating a fb group dedicated to pictures of her child's lunches.
-one of those facebook game invites. no i don't want to play candy crush but i do want to crush your soul.

so yeah, even if people are relatively harmless it doesn't mean you have to, like, be assaulted by their terrible memes. you don't owe them shit! they're not your mom! and if they are, you are not obligated to deal with her either! if my mom was alive and on facebook, SHE WOULD BE BLOCKED. i can only imagine how hilarious her timeline would be: her profile picture? definitely a blurry photo-of-a-photo of her circa-1989 face; multiple daily shares of every "iyanla fix my life" clip posted on oprah's fan page; quotes from steve harvey's books, posted in earnest and definitely mentioning how "handsome" he is; blackamericaweb articles about celebrity news she heard about on the tom joyner morning show; and public posts in which she tags me asking how to dvr "the bodyguard" on BET or saying something like I Need @Samantha Irby To Go To Target And Get Some Tide Detergent It's Buy One Get One Half Off Until Tomorrow!! THANKS BABY!!!!!!!!! Love, Mom. how do you expect me to live my carefree, profanity-laced online life with that terrorism happening every day!? i would get one of those kid divorces in a heartbeat.

the most effective strategy i've found for dealing with most relationships that have successfully ground themselves to a halt is to continue living my life as if that other person has died. that way, i can honor the memory of what we had without stressing myself sick over whether or not she's taking someone new to my old favorite bar. and, rather than delicately scrolling through her feed on my phone trying not to accidentally like any of her life achievements while seething in anger over what we used to have, i can instead just not do anything BECAUSE THAT ASSHOLE IS DEAD. anyway sometimes you just gotta help people make their way to the graveyard of your life. especially since he already knows you unfollowed him because you never ever comment on his posts. and you should never ever ever feel bad about it. because even if their rotting corpse rolls the digital stone away and you just happen to run into that twitter zombie at the coffee shop then just signal to the barista that you're gonna need to take that americano to go and give that guy a nod that says "dude, sorry not sorry but i really hated all those buzzfeed tasty videos."

click here for a handy primer on living your best social media life.

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

bitches gotta read: a good idea.

birds are chirping, flowers are blooming, and sleeping with the windows open at night means i've got a 2 benadryl 1 zyrtec 3 blasts of flonase a day habit right now: HALLELUJAH, SPRING HAS SPRUNG. fuck winter for real. i used to love the cold but i'm sick of it being dark all the time and the wet chill in the air makes my joints ache and remember when we were young and thought we'd never be the type of people to consider moving to a sanitized bedroom community in new mexico to avoid leaving our brittle bones to chance skating across the grocery store parking lot on sheets of february ice? i do, too. but i get it now. winter is :( and i'm already :( enough on my own without adding cooking dinner in the pitch-dark to the mix, so thank goodness for this sun hanging around at least until survivor comes on to reignite my will to live.

a brief rundown of some good shit i've read recently that doesn't technically qualify for our club because it's not YA:
"startup" by doree shafrir: super fast and engrossing soapy novel about NYC tech people that was insanely compelling considering that you really should hate these people?
"all grown up" by jami attenberg: hilarious vignettes about a 39-year-old named andrea who is kind of terrible and fucks terrible people but seriously there are some of the best sentences i have ever read in this book, omg.
"marlena" by julie buntin: okay so i read this because it's one of those books that's on every single goddamn list and i hate being late on the zeitgeist, and it took me a little while to get into it. but i liked it, i think. i really wanted to like it. actually, i need someone else to read it and talk to me so i can decide if i did.
"the dry" by jane harper: i'm a sucker for mystery books but also deeply filled with shame about it because a lot of them aren't ~literary~ and smart people make fun of me for reading them. but this one is good and juicy and literary, but it's set in australia and i don't have a good mental grasp on australian accents so trying to hear it in my head drove me a little nuts. i just imagined the dude from the fosters commercial narrating it for me.

the rules
1 we are never going to meet in real life. that would require a bra and zippered pants and probably an expensive uber and no one is doing that. you don't have to worry about megan's dairy allergy or that vanessa doesn't like champagne. no cleaning the cat box or vacuuming the drapes or hiding the dirty laundry in the oven so your company doesn't realize what a huge slob you are. just you in your house glasses and gravy pants sobbing into your six pack of beer, the way rainbow rowell intended. getting together with people you don't live next door to is hella stressful. plus, a bunch of old bitches sitting around talking about fictional teenage romance is lame. OR IS IT THO.
2 we are never going to discuss this, ever. i mean seriously. i'm going to derive pleasure from knowing that people i might possibly enjoy spending time with if i ever could bring myself to meet new people and i are falling asleep and drooling on the same book we'll probably never finish. maybe we'll talk about it on twitter or something. but even thinking about organizing that is a daunting task and i'm already exhausted. mariyam suggested making a facebook group, but is that dumb? the internet is so hard sometimes. (ETA: there is a group! it's called bitches gotta read! and it is full of hilarious mostly-women people who aren't irritating! come find us!!) i also have a bunch of friends on goodreads but lesbihonest: i'm not, like, putting all these john grishams i read on there because i don't need you guys clowning me in public.
3 we are never going to shame each other about not reading the fucking book. this is the beauty of never having to meet or talk about it: i ain't gotta come up with "thoughtful questions" and you ain't gotta pretend to remember what happened at the end of chapter seven while a bunch of wine-drunk bitches you don't even like that much wait expectantly for your answer. i'll read the books for sure, but that's only in case i run into one of you at the co-op and you decide to ask how shocked i was by the twist no one saw coming at the end.

brief internet synopsis
Finley and Betty’s close friendship survived Fin’s ninth-grade move from their coastal Maine town to Manhattan. Calls, letters, and summer visits continued to bind them together, and in the fall of their senior year, they both applied to NYU, planning to reunite for good as roommates. Then Betty disappears. Her ex-boyfriend Calder admits to drowning her, but his confession is thrown out, and soon the entire town believes he was coerced and Betty has simply run away. Fin knows the truth, and she returns to Williston for one final summer, determined to get justice for her friend, even if it means putting her loved ones—and herself—at risk. But Williston is a town full of secrets, where a delicate framework holds everything together, and Fin is not the only one with an agenda. How much is she willing to damage to get her revenge and learn the truth about Betty’s disappearance, which is more complicated than she ever imagined—and infinitely more devastating?

i'm embarrassingly passionate about mysteries and thrillers so this one better be good. i should probably be more ashamed than to admit this but i've spent more money on those $5.99 pocket murder novels than is healthy and i 100% got a kindle just so i can hide how much totally predictable and unchallenging garbage i like to read on public transportation. and sure, i read lofty literary works that make me look like an interesting person who cares about smart things (i hope) but i'm also a person who once spent an entire weekend in a denver hotel reading james patterson books because the altitude made me sick and i didn't want to go outside. i contain multitudes.

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Tuesday, April 4, 2017

practical uses for drake's new record.

i don't think i'm supposed to publicly admit that i like drake. right? i mean, i'm not sure who's buying the millions of records he's selling because no one i know will admit to their willingness to spend actual money on his music but i love him, like, unabashedly love him. he hits all of my major marks for non-garbagehuman consideration:
-doesn't take himself too seriously
-sculpted facial hair
-maker of mid-tempo jams
-dances kind of weird
i know it's not cool to like him or whatever but you're just gonna have to work with me here. i hope he never stops making adult contemporary raps that are the perfect accompaniment for the kind of activities people of a certain age (37 and 1 month, for example) are into: performing at home "anti-aging" spa treatments; reassuring the directv online specialist who insisted that you communicate over text that, in fact, you have already tried going outside to clear nature's debris from your satellite dish; replaying your many shortcomings and failures while waiting for the occupants of the yukon idling in front of you with the don't tread on me sticker on the back windshield to finish ordering their many complicated drinks at the starbucks drive-thru. and also:

1 filling up your daily pill box.
recommended soundtrack: "passionfruit"
i'm not kidding i wasn't even paying attention to the first two tracks and then this came on and i was like HOLD ON BITCH WE'RE GOING HOME. goddamn, this is a smooth jam. i remember being a kid and rolling my eyes when my mom put betty wright on the record player and swaying in the middle of the living room, eyes closed, cigarette burning between her lips. i only wanted to listen to music that was fast and aggressive, shit that mirrored my internal pre-teen torment. but now that i'm dead i like songs that sound like a nap. okay fine i'll take some bass every now and then but i like jams that feel like putting a sweater on your ears. this is good early morning music, that fuzzy yellow time of day when you've just woken up but haven't yet remembered all the reasons you wish you hadn't. the kind of soothing record that makes the metamucil go down easy.

2 organizing snacks for game night. 
recommended soundtrack: "portland"
cards, checkers, travis scott, tic-tac-toe, 20 questions, a looped recorder, trivia, charades, jenga, quavo. now that i live in a space big enough to hold two couches i enjoy having people over all the time. which is to say that i am uncomfortable outside of my crib and i'd rather slice the tip of my finger off making an instagram-ready charcuterie plate that might fool a normal person into thinking i care enough about them to buy imported salami than dig a pair of shoes that don't slip on out of the back of my closet and go somewhere loud. so instead i tell people to swing by the cottage and before they get here all the chipmunks and birds and dwarves and i throw portland on the hi-fi while we tidy up and make snacks. as soon as i heard that recorder on the track i lost my fucking mind. and i know, his fake patois bothers people, but i like to pretend that maybe he's me after i first heard "flex" and "murder she wrote" and spent all of eighth grade walking around my quaint little suburb pretending i was patra. also how could you hate a song where a dude says "toot" at the beginning what are you a monster.

3 zumba gold.
recommended track: "get it together"
i've dated more DJs than any sane person ever should and i know a goddamn deep house track when i hear one. i had to check my computer to make sure i hadn't accidentally slid a ron trent record into the rotation when this came on. i turned it up and was transported to the darkest, stickiest corner of smart bar on a hot night in 2005, the only person sitting on a folding chair in the middle of a disco, waiting for my boyfriend dj jazzhouse or whatever his professional name was to finish his set so i could drive him and his battered crate of everything but the girl remixes home. i have a shoebox full of mixtapes with titles like "beats 4 my sweets" scribbled on them featuring a bunch of miguel migs tracks and every conceivable remix of "golden." I KNOW A GOSPEL TRACK WITH A HOUSE BEAT WHEN I HEAR ONE.

4 "lovemaking."
recommended soundtrack: "nothings into somethings"
i love a slow cut. i especially love these tracks that sound all hazy and dreamy and listen, if this dude is gonna sing all the time that's fine by me. he has a good voice and, frankly, sung lyrics are just easier to understand than rapped ones. ugh except the lyrics to this one chap my ass because as much as i love relaxing and popping a top i just can't abide by the whole "girl why didn't you wait for me?" narrative, no matter how much i enjoy drake's upper register. because what was she waiting for, young man, for you to fuck people until your dick got tired and you came crawling back to her while she was busy going to college and thriving in other meaningful ways? i'm projecting here, but motherfuckers always wanna hit you with the WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU GOT A WIFE NOW when your last conversation three years ago was about how they wouldn't leave theirs. but anyway um just fuck your new boyfriend to this. *paints fingernails*

5 going to a restaurant in the mid-afternoon when it is not busy and sitting there for three hours.
recommended soundtrack: "sacrifices"
laugh if you want but two in the afternoon is the best time to go to a restaurant. first of all, it's nice to get a buzz on while the sun is still out. being drunk at night makes me feel like i'm about to die. but having a drink with the sun streaming through the brewery windows is exhilarating. no kids to fight with over the one intact connect four on the game shelf, no having to watch boozed-up singles sloppily paw at one another, no just leaving your credit card behind because the bar is too fucking crowded to close your tab and you have to pee and your uber is waiting out front. if you feel awkward doing this by yourself, i like to take a book that i can stare at until the words pleasantly start swimming before my eyes. but i also wear headphones so no one gets the wrong idea and thinks i want to make conversation. my preference for real life is always super-emotional jump off a building music (aimee mann, ry x, sharon van etten, beirut) or surf rock slash dream pop but i also love a downtempo stoner jam and this fits neatly between all the kid cudi and mac miller downloaded on my phone. i know it's cool to shiver in the doorway of the hot new restaurant that can't seat you for two hours, but it's also pretty awesome to watch the receptionist from your dentist's office down an entire beer flight by herself after the lunch rush on a wednesday. i'll save you a seat if you promise not to talk to me.

6 posting CAPS CAPS CAPS nonsensical comments on news articles you don't understand on the internet.
recommended soundtrack: "fake love"
i mean, fake news fake love what's the fucking difference.

7 cooking healthy recipes that use cauliflower instead of rice as if that could ever be an acceptable substitute.
recommended soundtrack: "madiba riddim"
i don't know exactly what it is about turning into a corpse that makes me consider shit like "pretending cauliflower is rice" but lol here we are. my favorite vaguely-mexican version:
1 large head shredded cauliflower
1/2 white onion, diced
2 cloves garlic, minced
1 tbsp olive oil
4 tbsp tomato paste
1 jalapeño or serrano chile, diced
1 tsp salt

1 pulse cauliflower, onion, and garlic in a food processor using the s-blade until finely ground into pieces slightly larger than cooked rice. openly weep at the mere suggestion of a rice-shaped food, and to mourn the loss of your youth.
2 heat a large sauté pan or skillet over medium heat and stir in the tomato paste, chiles, and salt, then cook for a minute or so.
3 increase the heat to high then add the cauliflower, onion, and garlic. stop to wonder if whatever you were hoping to accomplish by eating this way is actually worth it.
4 cook for 6-8 minutes, stirring often, until the moisture is evaporated and the cauliflower is light and fluffy.

8 painting flower still lifes with the girls at one of those wine and painting mom classes.
recommended soundtrack: "blem"
"no one wants that painting of a generic night skyline, judy. but margaret thinks it'll be a fun way for you to get out of the house since you've kind of been in a funk since you and tim got divorced. she and kathy have been meaning to talk to you about how worried they are that you haven't come to silver sneakers cardiofit in weeks, so they thought getting a few of the book club regulars together for happy hour to sloppily write their names on ceramic bowls sounded like fun! you don't have to get dressed up, just put on that shift dress that you got at ann taylor. you know, the blue one you wore to the junior league luncheon last week. we're just going to drink a couple bottles of rosé and gossip about how phyllis can't keep her rose bushes looking nice even though roberta walked in on her feeling up the gardener. let's plan ladies' trip to jamaica this summer. we haven't traveled as a group since pat broke her ankle dancing on the bar in cancun three years ago, and now that tim and his boyfriend moved across town and opened their bed and breakfast maybe it's time for you to get your groove back? just like in that movie! i love the islands, the people are so lively and musical! anyway, we can probably get a good deal on one of those apple vacation packages if we book it soon! anyway, instead of listening to this blem song all day (is that what he's saying?) while crying as you scroll through tim's linkedin you can listen to some actual reggae music in the caribbean on a hot beach with a bottle of rum and maybe try to bang a sexy young porter at the resort. okay hon, i gotta go get through my tennis lesson while trying not to drool too much over bradley's abs. see you tonight, bring percocets!"
good morning, good afternoon, goodnight.

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Friday, March 10, 2017

bitches gotta read: the hate u give.

i'm creeping closer and closer to the beginning of the month with these book selections. and one of these months it's gonna be on the first or maybe even at the end of the month prior and you guys are gonna have a goddamn heart attack. to prove my newfound dedication to this group, i went to my local independent bookseller and purchased seven or eight interesting-looking YA novels so i can get ahead of the curve, even though i had to withstand the irl scrutiny of real human eyes who were definitely thinking "bitch you don't have this many kids." or any, but whatever. maybe it's not even embarrassing to buy YA books anymore?

when i'm not busy giving into the anxiety wrought by my 126 unanswered emails, i read as many book lists as i can remember exist: book riot and vulture and indie bound and ew and bustle and the millions and bust and the times and newsweek and buzzfeed and elle and refinery 29 and nylon and i'm pretty sure i bought everything off the new teen vogue list, and the hate u give was on basically all of them. i get nervous when i see a book everywhere that i actually really want to succeed because man that's got to be a lot of pressure? but also HOORAY FOR ALL THIS PUBLIC PRAISE. expectations are tough. i mean, if mister young adult john green said my young adult novel was "stunning" i'd shit my pants (who are we kidding, i'd probably do that anyway?) and then wait for everyone to tell me that it's actually trash. but i read the first few pages and am already in love so angie girl i hope this sells a million copies and you get enough money to put new tires on your car or whatever your realistic goals are.

the rules
1 we are never going to meet in real life. that would require a bra and zippered pants and probably an expensive uber and no one is doing that. you don't have to worry about megan's dairy allergy or that vanessa doesn't like champagne. no cleaning the cat box or vacuuming the drapes or hiding the dirty laundry in the oven so your company doesn't realize what a huge slob you are. just you in your house glasses and gravy pants sobbing into your six pack of beer, the way rainbow rowell intended. getting together with people you don't live next door to is hella stressful. plus, a bunch of old bitches sitting around talking about fictional teenage romance is lame. OR IS IT THO.
2 we are never going to discuss this, ever. i mean seriously. i'm going to derive pleasure from knowing that people i might possibly enjoy spending time with if i ever could bring myself to meet new people and i are falling asleep and drooling on the same book we'll probably never finish. maybe we'll talk about it on twitter or something. but even thinking about organizing that is a daunting task and i'm already exhausted. mariyam suggested making a facebook group, but is that dumb? the internet is so hard sometimes. (ETA: there is a group! it's called bitches gotta read! and it is full of hilarious mostly-women people who aren't irritating! come find us!!) i also have a bunch of friends on goodreads but lesbihonest: i'm not, like, putting all these john grishams i read on there because i don't need you guys clowning me in public.
3 we are never going to shame each other about not reading the fucking book. this is the beauty of never having to meet or talk about it: i ain't gotta come up with "thoughtful questions" and you ain't gotta pretend to remember what happened at the end of chapter seven while a bunch of wine-drunk bitches you don't even like that much wait expectantly for your answer. i'll read the books for sure, but that's only in case i run into one of you at the co-op and you decide to ask how shocked i was by the twist no one saw coming at the end.

brief internet synopsis
Sixteen-year-old Starr Carter moves between two worlds: the poor neighborhood where she lives and the fancy suburban prep school she attends. The uneasy balance between these worlds is shattered when Starr witnesses the fatal shooting of her childhood best friend Khalil at the hands of a police officer. Khalil was unarmed.
Soon afterward, his death is a national headline. Some are calling him a thug, maybe even a drug dealer and a gangbanger. Protesters are taking to the streets in Khalil’s name. Some cops and the local drug lord try to intimidate Starr and her family. What everyone wants to know is: what really went down that night? And the only person alive who can answer that is Starr. But what Starr does—or does not—say could upend her community. It could also endanger her life.

SOUNDS DOPE RIGHT. for my real life book club aka a perfectly acceptable reason to buy overpriced dips and snacks from the wine store, we just read that book the vegetarian that garnered tons of accolades and awards last year and ayo: i didn't really get it. like, i knew it was good because a lot of people said it was good but then i read it and was like "WHAT." mavis read it and loved it but that bitch went to grad school. i kept waiting for the part that would show this simpleton why it was good but even on the last page i had to ask myself if i'd accidentally skipped a chapter. then i had to admit to all the people in my living room eating korean catering because WOW O WOW DO I ENJOY A THEME that i don't really get symbolism and nuance. i mean i got the whole becoming a tree thing but i didn't feel moved by it. or excited about it. or whatever response award-winning literature is supposed to elicit from the reader. it helped to have a bunch of smartypants explain things to me while i smiled like it made sense, then as soon as they left i started reading this murder mystery called the dry that had blessedly zero complicated themes or metaphors and it was excellent. shame-filled online reading club 4eva.

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Friday, March 3, 2017

viva suburbia!

i drove back to chicago last week to do an interview and goddamn that shit felt weird. not the interview, that was dope, despite the fact that i described my personal style as "fat ninja" and ordered 1/3 of the food i would actually eat in case it's one of those interviews where the writer goes super in-depth into the mannerisms of the subject. you know what i mean? like when you read a vanity fair piece about emma stone and they describe exactly how much almond milk she puts in her extra-hot coffee, like down to the motherfucking ounce. this is not to compare my hulking, mouthbreathing self to emma stone, mind you, it's just that i am an excruciatingly self-conscious person who will die upon reading "irby lumbered slowly into the restaurant, eyes darting nervously behind oversized black sunglasses as she surveyed the space for enemies, then squashed her bulk into a booth to order the first sixteen things on the appetizer menu." LOL FUCK THAT. i can promise you as long as i live that my secret fat shame will stay right where it belongs: hovered over the trash can searching for a food item thrown away in haste that i couldn't stop thinking about for several hours. 

man i hate talking to people in person. first of all: WHAT THE FUCK DO I KNOW. not much! i'm not actually 100% sure about anything! i once did a book talk and this dude i knew i shouldn't have called on stood up and quoted my own words back to me and i was just standing there flummoxed like "wait did i actually write that." i made him pull out his copy of MEATY and hand it to me and then played it off on some "lol if i wrote it i guess i meant it" type shit, why o why am i still interacting with human fucking beings!? but this seemed like a good opportunity to end up in the mailboxes of the childhood homes of all of my friends, so i decided to make a trip of it and rent something called a "compact suv" so i wouldn't risk anyone busting out a window to steal one of the many pairs of crocs i keep in my real car and so i could go 90 on the highway without worrying that the muffler was going to fall off. i haven't rented a car in a while, but apparently at enterprise now they get in the car with you to make sure that everything is to your liking? so this poor fucking kid trevor and i go out to the car lot and he has to sit there while i squint at and fuck with all the knobs and buttons to connect the bluetooth and raise the steering wheel and at one point i raised the seatback from chaise lounge to high chair and he exclaimed "my mom drives just like that!" and if the insurance they made me buy would have covered it i would have murdered him.

first thing on my agenda? the mcdonald's drive-thru. i wasn't even three blocks away from our house before i was like THANK GOD I CAN GET SOME NUGGETS FOR THE CAR. the thing about living with a healthy person is that, even if they never come right out and scold you for your choices, it always feels like there is judgment inherent in theirs. liiiiiiike it is mavis's natural inclination to order an undressed kale salad at lunch and while i support that i will never understand it, especially if there are also chicken wings on the menu. i have never been hungry for a salad. i will eat a salad, especially if that's all there is, but i have never thought to myself "you know what would be fire? chopping up that old radicchio wilting at the bottom of the fridge and throwing some radishes and cold green beans on it then squeezing a lemon wedge over the top and letting that be the only thing i eat for the rest of the night." NO, THANK YOU. as an idea that's fine or whatever but as a person with a yawning emotional void that can only be filled with snacks i'm gonna need that lettuce to have a cheeseburger on top of it.

okay so the weird part: how long does it take for you to feel like a stranger in the place you moved away from? i am neither smart or reflective enough to tackle an in-depth analysis of my own experience, and maybe it's because both the pace and the location of my life have changed, but the second i hit traffic coming off the skyway onto lake shore drive i was like "coming back to this overcrowded, disgusting nightmare was a mistake." i was in detroit a couple weeks ago, and i'm not trying to sound like some wide-eyed brooklyn hipster who moved his artisanal biscuit company to corktown and can't shut up about how he's revitalizing the city or whatever but: detroit is almost as fancy as chicago but with, like, 1/3 the population and cars. which means that you can get all of the tiny overpriced foods the part of you that knows you're into that shit desires, without having to wait in an interminably long line for it after you've circled the block 137 times looking for a parking space.

donald trump says "chicago" and i'm like don't you dare talk about our city! but let's be for real, I'M FROM EVANSTON. and i lived in chicago, i know where not to party and which streets your car will get towed from, but i've been gone for a minute and yooooooo i might not need to ever go back. i can't deal with traffic anymore. or people. or pretty much anything that takes longer than five minutes and doesn't move its mindlessly texting ass out of the way. i thought i was committed to being a city person but i've been in both new york and los angeles for work (LOL) over the past few months and rather than being like "hooray! look at all of the expensive juice options laid before me!" i've instead found myself thinking "shit, have there always been this many people on earth?" i thought moving away for good was gonna be hard but let me tell you something fucking amazing: mavis and i went to a 4:05 showing of get out the other day and we left the crib at 3:50 and didn't miss a single preview. ARE YOU SHITTING ME. i would've left chicago twenty years ago if i'd known that never again would have to hover in the freezing doorway waiting for a dinner reservation.

don't get me wrong, there are things i miss:
-all night delivery
-overnight delivery
-laundry delivery
-stan's delivery
-amazon prime delivery
-cat litter delivery
-some of my friends (kind of)

i mean chicago is great and there's nowhere in my new home to get a quality hot dog (they don't use celery salt or sport peppers here man what the fuck) but in seven months i've realized that ordering fancy coffee that takes a week to get to my house is better than waiting in line for that same fancy coffee while worrying that someone is gonna snag that table by the window i want as mallory (i think?) lovingly steams some guy's foam for seven real minutes (probably) and the lady next to him tries to decide whether or not to tip because everyone behind her in line can see the total on the ipad she's checking out on. (this is a real thing that happened last monday afternoon at the la colombe in andersonville and i tipped 25% on a latte because everyone was watching me brooke can back me up if you need proof.) anyway my point, if i ever had one, is that my conversion from city mouse to country mouse took approximately three days. i thought i was going to hate it and be crying every day and miss having good stores fifteen minutes away, but girl i'm wearing a gap sweater right now and i got it on the damn internet. same with these headphones. and my shoes. i'm reading the vegetarian (i hate it) for my irl book club downloaded on a kindle. i mean, what do i even really need the city for. WHAT IS EVEN A STORE.
i was almost sad about how absolutely not sad i was to watch the gross, dirty diaper-filled lake get smaller and smaller in my rearview after i filled my rental tank with gas that cost $2.89 a gallon and put on my driving mix (it's basically a bunch of super smooth male r&b like carl thomas interspersed with ~alternative rock~ i listened to in high school) and hit the road with a trunk full of oily bari subs because i haven't yet found an italian delicatessen in michigan with a comparable prosciutto and fresh mozzarella sandwich, but as soon i was going west on the empty highway making a mental note of every single casino concert i would definitely buy tickets to (kem at the four winds with two drinks and a seafood buffet? sign me and your mom the fuck up!) advertised on passing billboards i was like NAH NOT SAD.

i don't miss:
-sitting awake in a frothing rage because the people upstairs won't shut the fuck up
-getting everything delivered to my job because motherfuckers steal
-your racist uncle's unprovoked uber sermons
-conversely: THE TRAIN
-so many other people trying to eat at longman
-honking car horns
-that pile of unidentifiable liquid waste on the bus seat next to mine
-the three week wait to get into the doctor for some shit that's hurting right now
-crowds of people who just walk in front of your car downtown because fuck you
-awkwardly navigating the sidewalk with dudes on skateboards
-nightly news that involves actual crime
-waiting in line for things
-paying rent on a studio apartment that is double my current mortgage
-cubs fans

okay fine, i love complaining about things and pointing out when something is horrifying. so i guess i do kind of miss being mad all the time? but rest assured that eventually the veneer of tolerance i've constructed for all these trees and grass and weather will get chipped away and i'll start rolling my eyes at every chipmunk who has the nerve to scurry across the deck, because home is where the hatred is.