Category Archives: no i’m not drunk

my future self.

exercise class

Okay so I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go ’round and ’round but there’s really no wheels aside from the ones in my head and they are spinning. I cannot focus on anything except the wrong things, like how loud this typing sounds and how annoying those goddamn children are next door and how I don’t know if I’m hungry and I think that logically I must be as I haven’t eaten since 11:30 AM and it’s 6 PM now and that I’m not sure if I’m hungry really concerns me. I am completely overwhelmed to the point of just being stuck and unable to move, though clearly I am able to type and get this all out there. Every sound is way too present. They are talking upstairs too. Why are they doing this. Why are they walking around. Just stop and stay in one place. I was walking around too and it was making things worse.

Really, on the outside, everything looks fine and probably is fine. I love to take the fine in life and stretch and contort it into “kind of fine” and then “not very fine” and then “fuck, I’ve ruined my life.” That’s fun. I am getting better at not doing this but on days like these when you see the work piled up, it’s piled in your mind, on your computer, when you see it, you think there is no way I am going to catch up with my future self. I know she’ll be there, because that’s how time works, it is inevitable that at some point I will have made these deadlines and I will come out on the other end and try to use this panic as I reminder to myself that things are never as bad as they seem and that I always pull through but

 

THESE. GODDAMN. CHILDREN. NEXT. DOOR. Fuck this, I’m done, I can’t write anymore.

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Minor annoyances: Starbucks edition.

michael caine 60s fashion glasses

This is the face I have to put on when I go into Starbucks, otherwise they just FUCK YOU. (Not like that.)

Starbucks is full of minor annoyances that make my life really, really hard. It’s like, I have to return some videotapes and make my reservation at Dorsia and I don’t have time to deal with your fucking bullshit, Starbucks. There’s a Starbucks that knows me, and do you know what that feeling is like? It’s like being in the best relationship ever. There’s trust and understanding. And baristas, if you’re reading this, you’re going to want to throw a fucking hissy fit and talk about how I’m the worst customer ever, but listen up:

1. I am really, really polite. I never yell at anyone. I never lose my temper. I smile and say hi, and if shit goes wrong, I just put on my Michael Caine face. 2. I tip. 3. I worked in retail and wanted to kill everyone who walked into the store, so I get it, I really do.

THAT BEING SAID, FUCK OFF STARBUCKS, HERE’S WHY. (I’m taking the bullet of all of us here, I’m just saying what we all want to say, I’m like a hero right now, shine a pedestal and put me on it.)

It costs money. But, like, a lot. But I keep buying stuff. But l’m still going to complain in my head about it. No but shut up.

There’s no hot people. Again, nothing baristas can do about this one. Do hot people not go to Starbucks? I have never seen a hot person in Starbucks. This one time I was walking up to Starbucks and this chubby woman in stirrup tights in Tory Birch sandals with a Tory Birch handbag practically dove in front of me to get into the door first to get into line first…while I just casually strolled behind her. I’m not sure what her reasoning was there, for her to practically cut in front of me. It saved her maybe 12 seconds. This has nothing to do with the hot people thing by the way. I’m into guys. Guys who are so skinny it looks like maybe they have a drug problem or are severely anemic. And if it’s both? JACKPOT!

They get my name wrong, even when I spell it out for them. I know that my name is weird and different. Usually when I give my name I’m met with a blank stare. So to help everyone out, I just start spelling it (Almie. A-L-M-I-E.). I am very polite and patient throughout all of this because I used to work in retail and I understand how much it sucks to deal with people all day. And then I get a drink that says “Aelmie” “Elmie” “Elmy” “Almy “Almee” “Alli” “Alley” “Amy” “Ami” and even “Abby.” What the HELL? I’M SPELLING IT FOR YOU.

Or they do this, they start to write my name and then suddenly stop. This is a new one.

They get my name wrong, even when it’s spelled correctly on the cup in front of them. Barista at the counter spells the name right on the cup. Barista 2 makes the drink, looks at it, puts it on the bar and announces, “…AMY.” NO. THERE IS AN “L” THERE. Sometimes okay, the handwriting is bad, but dude sometimes the cup clearly says “ALMIE” just say “ALMIE” just because you’ve never heard the name before doesn’t mean it isn’t correct, don’t just stare at the cup like, “What is this sorcery?” JUST SAY ALMIE, because the problem is that there ARE women named Amy and sometimes when you shout Amy when you mean Almie, shit gets confusing for all of us. And then we have to do the polite customer shuffle of, “Oh, I’m sorry, I think this is mine” “Oh I’m sorry” JUST SAY ALMIE, IT ISN’T AMY, IT’S ENTIRELY POSSIBLE THAT THERE ARE WOMEN OUT THERE WHO ARE NAMED SOMETHING THAT LOOKS LIKE AMY BUT ISN’T.

They don’t even try to pronounce my name. That’s just. Ugh. If they shout the order out correctly, then I get that it’s mine, but don’t just stare at the cup, set it down on the counter, and then try to disappear into the cappuccino machine.

homer simpson gif

Like this.

Children are allowed to go in there. Hey, protip, if your child is ill-behaved, don’t bring them into Starbucks. Starbucks is a place where people 1. Just want to get coffee so they aren’t cranky anymore and can then proceed to get the hell out of there 2. Go on awkward first dates. 3. Have awkward job interviews (which I NEVER understood). 4. Want to work on their laptops and leave each other alone. I could understand if there was a fucking ball pit or something in Starbucks, but there isn’t. Starbucks sells coffee, and coffee is not for children. “Oh but my children don’t have coffee, they drink that Frappuccino thing that has no coffee in it.” Holy fuck, do you have any idea how bad that is, nutritionally?  It’s healthier to give them a milkshake from a diner than one of those bullshit things. “What am I supposed to do, leave my kid in the car?” Sure, I don’t give a fuck. Leave your goddamn kid in the car, tie it to a post, put it in a Sergeant Pepper costume and have it beg for change on the sidewalk — those are all better options than bringing it into the store, IF it isn’t well-behaved.

Anyway, an independent coffee shop opened up just near me and their coffee is delicious and their WiFi is fast and free, so I’ll probably just go there most of the time. Except that they don’t have those delicious sandwiches that are 5,000+ calories even though the whole thing could fit into the palms of my small, chubby, elf-like hands.. DAMN YOU STARBUCKS!

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Why OKCupid is terrible.

fred astaire barri chase hollywood film set

Disclaimer because this post will probably upset people: to the guys I’ve been out with on OKC lately, who are probably not even reading this, this doesn’t refer to you, so calm the fuck down, even though you pretend you don’t care, but you totally do, because all anyone wants is to be flattered, especially on the Internet. This post is about OKC and my experience with it in general, not the exceptions.

I am tired of doing this. I am tired of dating. Tired of OKCupid dating, mostly. I can’t. This is getting ridiculous. Guys, hot tip: if you don’t look like Chris Pine, do not use the photo that someone took of you on that one day where the lighting was just right and you looked, for once in your life, like Chris Pine for two seconds. Especially do not use it as your main profile photo. You have to let us know right away if you’re ugly. (And maybe you’re not actually ugly, maybe you’re just picking terrible photos that you think are flattering.) And here’s the thing, before you yell at me: I have very specific, crazy standards. Most of the guys I consider ugly are men that most people consider attractive. So don’t get angry with me, like I just sent you an email saying, “Hi, ______, I was just looking you up online and you are ugly.” No. And I’ve been called ugly. And I get it. I look like Mick Jagger. I get this. I have a weird face. Some people consider my weird face weird enough to somehow work and be beautiful. Other people see my face and think that nothing works and it’s a mess and that it’s ugly. And that’s fine. I don’t give a fuck.

Everyone tells me to change my standards. No. How about you stop being ugly? Why the fuck should I change my standards? If you don’t like my standards, then don’t date me. Find someone else who sees you and wants you for you who are. I like men who look like this. Or this. And this. I do not like men who look like this. Or this. And those last two men are men that lots of women think are insanely attractive. See? I’m not asking for Ryan Reynolds-Gosling. That isn’t my type. Do you get what I’m saying here?

Be thin. Yeah, sucks to conform to the same standards we’ve had to deal with for years, doesn’t it? Go fuck yourself. Be thin. Be creative. Be smart. Be able to play an instrument, even if it’s just barely. Be able to have an awesome conversation with me. Be kind. Be generous. And I don’t mean just with money. I mean with your time. With your patience.

Almost every time I meet a man who fits these standards, they either 1. live in New York, 2. Leave me for an ex, or 3. Both. I’ve tried long distance. If you’re worth it, I’ll do it. I visit New York a lot now that my dad lives there. But you give up on me. And I go back to OKCupid and try again. And I don’t find anyone I like, and if I do like them, they of course do not like me.

Or maybe, I hate you. Maybe you hate me. But if you’re hot, and we have heated arguments, and then hatefuck each other, I’m okay with that. Because at least there’s passion in hate.

If you want help with your OKCupid profile, I can help you. Because I really just want you to find someone who loves you as you are. I don’t want you to be an asshole like I am. I want you to be happy. I want to help you be happy. I won’t judge you. I will find the most attractive and awesome thing about you and amplify it times a thousand. And why? Because I am sick of these stupid, inane, misleading, diabolical online dating profiles. So help me help you.

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FUCK YOU, KOREA MAN.

This post was written last Friday around 10:30 PM.

bob dylanHave you felt that moment when you look up someone you had a crush on and they have a girlfriend and live in fucking KOREA I AM SO FUCKING LONELY? What the hell and why do I ruin everything? This was in college and I had my moment and I didn’t resist the shining adventure and we had sex in my bathroom while my friend was sleeping on the couch, it was a studio apartment, I’m not really sure what you want from me, and it was New York (!) and I was young and blonde, I mean, that’s just going to happen. He wanted me, I wanted him, and then, the way things happen in New York City when you’re on your own for the first time, he became a bisexual drug addict and left school.

AND, BECAUSE HE DELETED HIS FACEBOOK ACCOUNT, I NEVER HEARD OF HIM AGAIN. Until now. Until this sad moment, when I stuffed my face with meat and cheese and chocolate and then almost did Wii fit but stopped to look up this ASSHAT on Google and now I’m sitting here in a push-up bra and sweatpants BECAUSE THAT’S HOW I WORK OUT, FUCK YOU, and I discover that he still exists, has a girlfriend, and lives in Korea. This is the same boy who once adored me. The same boy who once came into class, excited, and said, “Last night was crazy. I slept in an arm chair man,” the same boy who couldn’t afford to buy a GAP shirt so instead he went the a thrift store across the street and bought a GAP shirt from there.

FUCK YOU, DUDE. FUCK YOU FOR MOVING ON WITH YOUR LIFE AND BEING HAPPY AND MOVING TO KOREA. Even though I only remembered your existence about 20 minutes ago. How could you do this to me? How could I let you do this to me? What is this? Why am I so sad and lonely and pathetic and undesirable to those I desire? DAMN IT. WHY DO YOU LIVE IN KOREA???

HERE’S A PICTURE OF MAYOR STUBBS, FUCK YOU.

cat mayor

AND FUCK THIS, I’M GOING TO A PARTY.

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Shit that I am so into right now (part 1).

Here are some things that I’m ~~really into~~ lately. I found all of these photos on Pinterest and Instagram.

10. Me.

almie rose child actress

I am just soooo into me right now. Look at what an amazing child I was. Not much has changed. I’ve had bags under my eyes since I was six and I have the same stupid bangs and my lips have gotten bigger but that’s it, I am still incredibly, wonderfully, unscathed by time and by the harshness of people just, like, not getting me.

Continue reading

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I suck at everything.

http://instagr.am/p/fOkZe/

Good news, everyone! I suck at everything! I want to cry and throw things and scream and laugh all at the same time, but I can’t. And you know why? Because I suck!

I usually talk about how even when things suck you have to find a way out because the more you say and believe they suck, the more they will.

SUCK SUCK SUCK EVERYTHING SUCKS I DON’T CARE, COME AT ME UNIVERSE. WITH YOUR MAGIC SUNSETS. I DARE YOU. Throw a sunset in my face, see if I give a fuck. I don’t. Spoiler alert GONE because I just said it. I DON’T GIVE A FUUUUU

How many times have I written that it’s okay to feel bad and it’s okay to suck as long as you realize it and then you can rise above it? So why can’t I? I am terrible at taking my own advice.

It’s so much easier to suck at everything than to try hard at anything.

The frightening truth is that I am not happy or okay with who I am, and I may never be. I was drifting along, like a plastic bag in the LA River, when I felt hate and loathing slowly pulse throughout my veins. For myself. People are like, “Shut up so many people would love to have your life” and I’m like, “So what who cares” and they’re like “You’re acting like a child” and I’m like “Nu uh I’m an adult” and then my mom hangs up the phone.

WILL SOMEONE HOLD ME?

I keep trying to work on my book. I take one step forward and two vodka shots back. It’s hard! It’s hard you guys! And what’s the point, anyway? Who cares? “I would rather watch somebody buy their underwear than read a book they wrote.” – Andy Warhol (true story).

There are so many people out there who are so much better than I am. And by better, I mean famous.

Guys life is hard. These are worse than White Girl Problems. These are Apocalypstick Problems. Or even Uncle Almie Problems.

Why do you suck?

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