Imagine: Dozens of chipmunks, beady eyes glowing like Christmas lights, encircling your house and chanting these words at an ever-increasing volume. “We won’t go until we get some.” You have no figs, no pudding in your cabinets. Only a packet of instant mashed potatoes, a can of beets, and a half-eaten bag of Doritos.
Look, Mom, the “most women are probably too intimidated to approach him” thing is a myth, just like Zeus, getting AIDS from toilet seats, and simultaneous orgasms. Beautiful girls literally throw themselves at him all the time. Literally. They, like, jump off trampolines and go hurtling through the air.
Drinks are good. Real good. And as a girl, drinks are also often free. How can you say no to good and free? You can only accept. And that decency/ common sense is, after all, what separates us from the animals. Also, opposable thumbs, which are necessary for tending bar.
So, you finally earned that fancy degree your parents were all up in your grill about. But alack. The celebration was short-lived as you soon discovered that your “education” and “internships” proved no match for the “skills” and “experience” possessed by your School of Hard Knocks – and ITT Tech-attending counterparts.
I usually begin with The Etch-a-Sketch, in which I frantically shake my entire body until my short-term memory is completely…Who turned out the lights? Who downloaded “Livin’ La Vida Loca”? Is that a noose hanging from my ceiling?
If your dad does try to embarrass you in public, imagine he is not your father at Target, but a creepy pervert who has been following you through Target. Once you method-act your way into stalked-mode, you should use your best outraged-lady voice to declare something in the vein of, “No sir, not for twenty dollars, not for any price!”
I wasn’t crying, okay? Sometimes my eyes just water. It’s called Juicy Eye. And it’s a condition. And everyone should really get off it because the thing about conditions is that if you make fun of someone with a condition, karma will see to it that you later develop a worse condition.
Thanks so much for inviting me to sleep at your house. I never would’ve been able to fall asleep at my own house what with the comfortable and familiar bed, the lack of snoring, and the wholly reassuring thought that my own parents would be sleeping a few rooms over and would protect me if sex-offenders picked our locks or if ghouls arrived and tried to eat my bones.
Every time I go to the gym and everyone else is fatter than I am: As I currently live in one of the tubbiest states in the nation and work out at a very small gym, this is the primary source of superiority feelings at this particular point in my life.