Lucifer son of da morning i’m gonna chase you out of earth

Things that annoyed me this week.

1. Channel surfing and hearing a brief note about: “COMING UP, Mike Tyson speaking out finally about his daughter’s death.” I know schadenfreude, I know that extra tingly sensation that comes with US Weekly and shit, I know it’s a business. When did we degenerate to  this point where everything warrants a note so public, so without tact? Ya’ll, I shed two tears for Mike.

2. Polyester pisses me off every week. This week, this H&M “Collection” was especially heinous. Now, I know, the pieces aren’t exactly extra horrific, per se. For whatever reason, the faux satin/silk pencil skirt number triggered a pretty unreasonable inner diatribe about polyester and the state of attire today. At first, I presumed the blame on the obvious culprits, H&M, Zara, Forever 21. One of those is more obvious than the others… It’s a damn shame really, because a good 40-50% of H&M and Zara is totally wearable. Which means their existence doesn’t necessarily imply a world where polyester puckers across crotches, stretches across bosoms, causes eczema…is pretty much the root of all evil [jk]. And then a even scarier thought came to being: what if these people actually like the look of faux silk/satin pencil skirts. It’s inconceivable to me, but I suppose there are people who come across this material, and say, now, that, that’s what I call poppin’. That idea pissed me off.

3. My mom decided that since I’m turning 23 this year, it’s now ok to openly discuss the possibility probability of my marriage and reproduction of offsprings. No BIGS, until she segues into candidates referred by a woman I’ve never met. From the matchmakers of the Dark Ages to the advanced algorithms of online match.com quizzes, that business has come a long way. There’s a reason why it still won’t work. Why would I walk into a situation where I already know the failure rate is 90%? I don’t, dunny. I only win.

4. Bitches [inclusive of women and queens] that watched the entire series of “Sex and the City” and the movie, before ever setting foot in New York, who then move here. I have a problem with people who are too far removed from reality. In fact, I think I would venture to say, I have little to no tolerance for the aforementioned. Don’t get me wrong, I like a beautifully contrived daydream that involves me, 200 pairs of shoes I can only wear under door to cab circumstances, writing bullshit for a living and having retarded sex with my man who isn’t even  supposed to be sexy, but inexplicably is to me and 20 million other women. But I also like the ability distinguish between the reality and products of my overactive imagination. [PS my daydreams are far more interesting than that trite mess.] 1. When I was 17, I cried with Carrie when she got slapped across the face in the most perfectest place in the world and then fulfilled her womanly destiny when she looked up and saw Mr. Big on a white horse with his black card and got saved. Now at 22, I blame her for everything that is wrong with New York. From the polyester/pleather mock Carrie get-ups to the manic pressure to go on virulent dates with noxious men to the free pass to overshare gratuitous tales of sloppy sexcapades that no one else wants to hear about and should have never happened in the first place. Like, why do women think that, by sharing and attempting to commiserate with me about some weird shit about some nasty man’s tendency to lick between toes, 1. I will be amused/impressed/intrigued, and 2. we’re supposed become better friends. I can’t commiserate with you, because I tend not to do things that will cause me exorbitant distress (later on) and when I do, I don’t share it with other people  [see first part of the sentence.]; thanks to that little bit of discretion, I’m not a raging alcoholic who depends on substance to deal with myself. 2. The portrayal of New York is as skewed as Lil’ Kim’s face. Trust me, I know the truth to both New York and Lil’ Kim’s face. Neither of which is what you think it is. I’m mostly upset, because people don’t realize that SATC removed all negative traces from the backdrop that when something less than ideal does occur, it’s quirky. Much like how most transplants see the city. Oh, that kid waving the shank with the crazy eye? HOW CHARMING, so New York. Carrie would like you to believe that only beautiful people who shop at Barney’s exist in New York. You know, I’d like to believe the same. But reality is, the gap between that New York and the other 95% exist like it did 100 years ago. Thank God for PR people though, we can all be just that bit more gullible.

5. Reality shows. I don’t watch any, because I hoard my brain cells. But I read/hear enough about it [damn that passive involuntary learning that I can’t turn off] that I think we, as a society, should all blame ourselves a little for having enough issues to produce so many strings of a truly toxic disease. It’s mortifying. I’m not sure which one pisses me off more. 1. that there are people who willingly subject themselves to utter humiliation. 2. that there are people who are being paid to be producers of these shows who are paying people to do this. 3. that there is enough of an audience to perpetuate this whole mess. There was a segment on GMA on an upcoming show about a family that hoards stuff. Ok, I know it’s a recession, so why do the producers/whoever thought of that horrible show still have a job? While other more productive positions in society remain vacant?

6. People who choose to remain ignorant and jump on whatever wagon it is that the media wants to sell this week without actually knowing what the fuck they’re talking about.

7. The media for the dumb shit that they sometimes choose to cover.

8. This. I complain relatively little about the transformation of Brooklyn, because I’m honestly grateful that I can stay out late without great danger of being raped, robbed, sold into a dark world of perverts and sadists. But at some point, you just have to draw the line. If you want to contrive a new faux community, then go somewhere such a community would be desired/possible. Somewhere that requires such an obnoxious conception is needed to create a sense of community, somewhere anything more than being residents of Brooklyn is needed for you to feel like you are a part of a fucking community. In fact, bike there. I hope you starve and die, because no one will take your dumb fucking “currency” you fuckwad who wasted $100k on a liberal arts education and have no lifeskills/concept of the functionings of reality.

9. That article in Marie Claire. Why does she still have a job?

That was extremely cathartic.

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