by: Samantha Irby
Because her relationship is about me. And what i want. And my happiness. OF COURSE. Fine, I’m thrilled for her. Especially since that dude made her bacon-wrapped filets and is smart enough that he totally beat me and Rachel down at trivia a few weeks ago. For which I blame Rachel, because I knew almost every single one of the hair metal bands in the photo round and that ho is a teacher who didn’t know the world’s longest river. WHAT THE FUCK? Is this why american kids are so goddamned dumb? Okay, I didn’t know that shit either, but I went to public school and dropped out of college to sell doughnuts and work on political campaigns, so the best I can do is make change for an apple fritter without using a goddamned calculator and compare your signature on my petition to the one on your voter card. They only invite me to trivia to answer all the questions in the obligatory black round, anyway. One time there was a round called “famous rap hits” or some shit and everyone was like, “Sam…?” knowing full well that “obscure indie fanboy twee” is more my fucking genre. Destined to lose, i guess. Our team name is pretty awesome, though.“Sucker and fucker.” I’ll let you decide which one is which. But then again i might be lying about being thrilled, though, even though ginger’s new dude is seriously nice. Plus he was pretty sappy and lovey with her which, after i discreetly emptied the entire contents of my stomach into my handbag, was quite endearing and adorable. Despite the fact that he’d TOTALLY STOLEN MY GODDAMNED FRIEND.
It’s not like I’m threatened or anything (I’m totally threatened) and it’s really not like I’m jealous AT ALL (I’m also seething with envy), I’m just wondering why she hasn’t responded to my email yet (because she’s getting fucked sideways and eating fancy bacon meats all goddamned day).
Cockblocking for dummies. Speaking of being a hating-ass piece of shit, let’s talk about how to wrest the attention of the hot dude that’s drooling all over the dumb broad in your entourage away from her and onto you. I’m pretty goddamned sexy, obviously, so I’ve never had to resort to any behavior like this. Everyone wants to fuck me all the goddamned time. But occasionally I’ll run into a dude who just so happens to be interested in the broad who’s only at the bar because I asked her to designated drive me, and for those rare circumstances, I have no other choice than to BLOCK HIS COCK. Isn’t it my humanitarian duty to save a dude from fucking my lame-ass third tier friend when he could be back at my apartment eating cheese and watching HBO instead? I’d be doing him a disservice if i just stood aside and let him take this ridiculous woman home! oh, just kidding. I’m the perfect wingman.
But I will cockblock the shit out of a wack dude, though. Every single time Jeff and I hang out I just sit at the bar singing, “herpes herpes syphillis aids!” under my breath and every woman in the place immediately steers clear of wherever we happen to be sitting. It’s not my fault that his pimping is so weak that my STD song scares off the ladies. Seriously, though, I have some dirtbag male friends: the married dude who pretends he isn’t, the player, the “sensitive thug,” the surly misanthrope, and any time i catch them hitting on some unsuspecting young woman in my presence I break that party up real quick. “He’ll cheat on you, girl” is my usual line, or “his crazy ex-girlfriend will totally blow your car up,” and even if she bangs him once that seed has been planted there’s no way she’s going to let this dude fuck her over. That’s what you get for being friends with a hating-ass broad, gentlemen. Game over.
1 benefit brow-zing. The salesgirls at benefit really know how to get you to spend your rent money on bullshit, and I fall for the game every time. A couple months ago this very pretty blonde complimented my “striking eyebrows” and insisted on “just shaping them up with a little powder,” and after i finished blushing from head to toe and trying not to breathe with her face so close to mine, I spent $187 on ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Seriously, I got home and was like, “What the fuck is this goop for? Who in this house uses primer?” That eyebrow shit is my jam, though. There’s a soft wax that you use a hard angle brush to apply, then you follow it up with a little powder to fill it in. And I’m not kidding, it makes you look amazing. Dudes will walk up to you and ask to suck your toes, just because. It’s a little miracle.
2 some of the other crap i got at benefit. Of all the other fruity shit I bought, I am most happy with the cha cha tint and sun beam, and I feel like such an asshole even typing those names but I didn’t make them up. I like bright orange cheeks, and that cha-cha is like liquid mango for your face. I also let that girl talk me into getting a tinted moisturizer, which makes me feel like I have geisha face unless I put it on with a brush. And standing in my bathroom brushing light brown shit on my face makes me feel like a SUPER DUPER asshole. So it’s in the cabinet, right next to that primer. And the eye-brightener. Sigh.
3 neutrogena rainbath and body oil. If you invite me over, chances are I will leave a grease spot on your couch. I can’t fuck around being all itchy and dry, so I use oil to keep my leather supple. It’s 100% of the reason I am late 100% of the time, because I’m dripping wet in front of the fan trying to get some scented crisco to sink into my goddamned skin. But I’m soft as a motherfucker, thanks to that grease. You could fry a chicken in the small of my back, real talk.
4 Mac ruby woo lipstick and devil blush. This shit isn’t for the faint of heart. ORANGE CHEEKS and BRIGHT RED LIPS are probably too drag queen for most people, but so is this penis I’ve been tucking next to my butthole for most of my life. Seriously, though, I might have to wear red lipstick every day of my life. Except you can’t eat with that shit on. And the only people who want to kiss you are girls, and even then they don’t really want you to get that shit on their nice white blouses. Dudes are NOT EVEN TRYING to get near any of this, unless you’re playing that blowjob game little kids get into while their parents are at PTA meetings or whatever. This shit is matte and, if you do anything other than nod politely and open your mouth at brief intervals to take tiny sips of air, you’ll have lipstick crumbs and be so grossed out. It’s pretty, though. Sometimes beauty is suffering.
5 sunshine, exercise, and plenty of rest. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA (gasp) AHAHAHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHA AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
According to magazines, you’re always fat for some new goddamned reason: hidden calories in your nail polish! not scrubbing your ass fast enough in the shower! And I’m the first one making a list of all of the hair conditioners that might add five pounds to my hips when what I really need to be doing is throwing out that box of girl scout cookies I keep in my freezer “in case of emergencies.” Have you ever had a motherfucking cookie emergency? NEITHER HAVE I, but there they remain, that three-year-old green box of thin mintsicles, tucked behind the ice cube trays and that bag of whole shrimp I can’t seem to find a use for, just in case duty calls. Those are the real hidden calories, the ones stored at the back of the pantry in case that date goes badly or your promotion doesn’t go through.
So, what they really should tell us to do is toss out those bad day snacks we keep hidden in dresser drawers and the bedside table rather than convincing us that our toothpaste, and not that chips and guac you had for breakfast, is the reason our collective pants don’t fit us anymore. Maybe they’re right. Everybody knows avocadoes are fucking good for us, isn’t that shit a vegetable?!, so I’m pretty sure this new face wash I’ve been using is the real reason i’ve been looking so bloated lately.
It’s about to be summer and, aside from hating being hot and having bugs feast on all my soft bits, I dread having to walk around looking at everybody’s exposed meat and cheese. There’s no way you can convince me that it’s cooler walking around in labia-slicing denim cutoffs than it is to slip on a breathable pair of cotton-blend culottes. Science tells me that you are lying, sister. You look uncomfortable, that chafing noise is making me uncomfortable, and you smell like a yeast infection. Now go put some real pants on and air that shit out.
As of right now, I am officially too goddamned old and/or smart for the following items:
- booty shorts.
- impractical non-cotton panties worn anywhere but the inside of a bedroom.
- bras that fit weird.
- light-colored denim.
- pink lip gloss.
- shoes that hurt.
- spaghetti strapped anything.