You are funnier than me and I hate you for it: a love story.

One of the books I read on vacation was So Sad Today by Melissa Broder.

I remain faintly annoyed at how good and funny it is, because I didn't write it.

(This is just from one chapter; the whole book isn't lists of "love stories.")

The most recognized song about tequila is misleadingly jaunty...

Ha ha ha… “Craptain.”

Also, um… yeah. Thankfully I don’t have anxiety, but I am having a Thing this week.

Go away, Thing. No one likes you. 

(Except tequila. Tequila LOVES you. Evidently.)

"I'm not trying to land him, I'm just using him for sex."

I don't know what it says about me that I officially lost interest in a man when he said the hooker-client relationship was too impersonal: "There's no love there, no little notes on your car windshield."

So...your degree is not in rocket science, is it? That's the POINT -- professional fucking and no ridiculous feelings. Not all of us enjoy romance via vehicular litter.

Star-Kris-Krossed Love

Happy Valentine's Day, my loves. Have a splendid and safe day.

I'll be spending mine orally fixated on a trough of manicotti, and later making sweet, sweet love to an irresponsible number of Godiva salted caramels. (Candy-based promiscuity is the best promiscuity.)

See also: watching Friends with Benefits again, because Justin Timberlake singing Kris Kross is EVERYONE's Valentine.

Love and many kisses,
Smug  

Floral Sex

A horrible ad has been popping up on my Pandora Radio lately, telling me, "This Valentine's Day, give your man a not-so-subtle hint: Tell him to order flowers from Such-and-Such Place."

Tell...TELL HIM?!

Wow, what a spontaneous and romantic gesture that'll be for me. Should I go select the exact bouquet I want and just send him a link, or does he at least get THAT much credit? Because OMG, men are SO clueless, amirite, ladies?!

I once had an ex tell me I "hint with a hammer," because I usually just say what I want, but I've never pulled THAT shit.

Jesus Christ, if Valentine's Day is that important to you, your Person should know to get your fucking flowers.

I like Valentine's Day. When in a relationship, I personally like to spend it at home with a movie, pizza, and nudity, because I've generally felt loved every day in my relationships and don't feel the need to make it such a Thing. (I am also cheap and lazy.) But still, I like love and celebrations thereof. I like flowers and hearts and pink crap and on-sale candy the next day.

But I hate the implication that all women are whoreticulturists and all men are inept.

...It's possible I have too many feelings about this.

All about that baseline

I don't remember where I heard that the way you bring in a new year sets the tone for the entire year. And I know, the way some people celebrate New Year's, that would be ridiculous: "I want to spend 2016 drunk and freezing my balls off in Times Square, wearing a stupid corporate-branded hat and squished against a bajillion other people!"**

Still, if that idea is even a little true, I'm kind of OK with spending this year employed (two jobs, even), well rested, well sheltered and warm, reasonably attractive, and having a group of bad-ass, supportive people who love me.

See also: coffee, bourbon, hugs from friends' kids, lipstick, and cookies. 

Sure, there are elements of my life I'm trying to change. But if the above is my baseline, I'm not mad at it.

Happy official new year, you guys. I'm glad y'all are here. 

** From a less snarky perspective, "I want to spend 2016 having memorable, once-in-a-lifetime adventures in exciting places with people I love" isn't such a terrible plan. 

Those hats are still the worst, though.

Merry Muddling!

Merry Christmas, you guys. May your liquor, ham, and patience be plentiful. 

And remember, even if Jesus is the boss of you, this day isn't. So if you're just muddling through one way or another, high-five, 'cause we're muddling together. Let's make today our bitch. ("That's what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.")

Have fun and be safe. I love y'all. 

Kisses,
Smug

Unexpected Pixar rage.

I'd steeled myself to feel all the feels and FINALLY go see Inside Out.

But what I did NOT prepare for was the bullshit short cartoon they showed before the movie. It was about a lonely boy volcano, with a face, looking for volcano love, singing an insufferable song about being a lonely volcano and not being able to find a lady volcano.*

Now I have a goddamn VOLCANO reminding me that I'm dying alone?! A VOLCANO needs a soulmate?

Thanks for reminding me I'm at the movies alone, Bitch Volcano. Maybe you need to look inside yourself for validation -- did you ever think of that?

Pixar can go fuck itself. In 3D.

* "Lady volcano" is my new favorite euphemism for my vagina.

Thanks, y'all.

I'm not a "never forget" person, mostly because I think it generally sounds like sanctimonious finger-wagging.

But I do remember, in the days and weeks following 9/11, thinking we were finally going to come together and stop being so shitty to one another, and... well, we see how that worked out. It tends to make me a bit weepy and introspective.

So. Life is short. Please don't be shitty. Tell someone you love them. I love you guys. Thanks for hanging out with me.