Oh hello, Internet. I’m feelin’ extra vinegary and I don’t care who knows it. Indulge me by letting me momentarily forget that people read this thing as I proceed to embarrass myself, mmkay?
- First: (some… many, in my experience) boys are terrible. In recent ME news, my character and cup size were simultaneously attacked on Twitter by – you guessed it – A BOY. Furthermore, the rogue lunatic commenter I mentioned last week (different person, male) persists. He doesn’t actually read this GD blog, just barfs up narcissism all over the comment section. Boom. Spam. Suck it. Um, and the last three casj (caszzzzhh? casual) datingish things I’ve been involved in have ended with me wondering how the heck I manage to give men the impression that I’m consistently fun and easygoing and IDEAL for helping them get over/get back at/get back together with their ex girlfriends when, in actuality, I’m very high strung, INCREDIBLY difficult, and have my own sh*t to deal with. YOU HEAR THAT, FELLAS?! You’re not ready for this bitter, hardened jelly. #foodpuns
And in recent NOT ME news: the happenings of this trial make me want to dig myself a girl-sized cave and die there. That teacher: terrible. That judge: terrible. That verdict and the world we live in where women are blamed for the sexual crimes committed against them: so freaking terrible. This sh*t in Montana is linked to the pop culture phenomenon and general societal acceptance of Blurred Lines is linked to my perpetually feeling like everyone with a penis seems to think that I exist solely to help them work through their frustrations is linked to everyone hatin’ on Miley Cyrus. Guys, she’s just bein’ Miley. You all understand that linkage, right? Like sausages. #phallicfoodpuns
In the interest of continuing to make zero sense, the following is a brief list of things I am not:
- Casj. Caszzzh. Casual. In any capacity. At all.
- Especially forgiving.
- There to help you, scapegoat-y, theoretical Everyman, assuage all of your man-guilt. You’re not worried about me, Mr. EveryboyIveeverknown. You’re worried about how sh*tty you’ll feel once you’ve figured out what an asshat you are. Yeah. What.
- Trusting. See above.
In other, less venomous news: I’m drawing again. And painting a little. I’m working on two pieces that I’m really pumped about… maybe I’ll let you see them. I’m still really into my new hood. I’m still a wee bit stressed. I’m still writing a book. And I don’t really hate men. Just some of them. Sometimes. A little.
That’s all. Male readership, you’re exempt from my wrath. I love you with my whole black heart.