How long do I have to be single before it’s required that I seriously consider (a) lesbianism, or(b) becoming a spinster who will be eaten by her cats?
-On My Own
Dear On My,
Guuuuuurl two things, 1. Aint’ nothin’ wrong with having some cats. 2. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with lickin some…ice cream off your spoon cause you’re alone at home with the afore mentioned cats.
Really though, here’s the thing re: lesbianism, would finding a lady-mate be any easier than finding a man-mate? Cause last time I checked love is love, and life-long love is hard to find regardless of whether you’re lookin’ for a man, a woman, a womyn, or a merman….mmmm…merman (not to be confused with Morman. They are very different things.). I don’t mean to be discouraging. I too am of the single variety, and the longer I’m out in the ring, the less likely it seems that I’ll one day be wearing one, but I’m gonna go ahead and get a little radical up in here:
What if we go ahead and say “fuck the fairy tale”? I’m not talking in some sort of angry, negative, “love stinks” kind of way. What I’m saying is that, as we’re all super aware, the success rate for most marriages in the US is not super excellent, and I think that’s because marriage (or even life-long non-marital monogamy) doesn’t make sense for a lot of people, and yet we’re all taught that that’s the way it’s supposed to be.
I’ll be the first to admit that I love being in love. Being in love is lovely, but I’ll also admit that I have loved many people who I knew were never going to be my “life-partner”. Just because those relationships “failed”, does that mean that they were a waste of time? To this I say “fuck no”. Does it also mean that the time I spent being single and mackin’ on some super hot people (men and women and womyn and mermen oh my!) was a waste of time? To this I also say “fuck no”. And FURTHERMORE, does this mean that the time I spent chillin’ with my cat, watching Parks and Rec, and eating Gummy Colas for dinner was a waste of time? This here is my BIGGEST “FUCK NO!”.
And now for my modest proposal (don’t worry, no Irish baby eatin’ in this one): what if we looked at our lives, and the time we spend with various partners, as well as the time we spend on our own, as the goal. All of it. The goal is not a live-in boyfriend that looks like Ryan Gossling and makes love like he’s playing Haydn on your hoo-ha. The goal is not a 50 year marriage in which you both die in each other’s arms at the exact same moment like that super sweet old couple in Titanic. The goal is not a series of super steamy affairs that leave you gushing about your “LOVERS” like Will Ferrell and Rachel Dratch. The goal is not the peace and confidence that comes from being truly happy alone (especially if you have good snacks and a Netflix account). The goal is all of these things, in whatever way they arrange themselves in your unique romantic life.
Everyone’s love-life plays out differently, so why are we all chasing the same damn thing? Gurrrrrl. That just don’t make no sense.
I want kids, but if I don’t meet my Ryan Gossling it ain’t no thing. I have met my Taye Diggs, my Javier Bardem, my Salma Hayek, and my Bill Clinton (that’s right…don’t judge me, he was divorced), so I think I’m doin’ pretty alright. I can have kids. I can adopt them, or I can get one of my gay friends drunk and convince him to “try girls…just this once” (we all saw how well this worked out for Madonna in the 90′s), or I can pay one of my poor but smart friends to jizz in a turkey baster and then practice some handstands in my bathtub.
The point is, I’m gonna go rogue on this shit and say my love life (and yours too) is exactly what it should be, even if at the moment it’s comprised of mostly you, Ben, Jerry, and Jerry.
Go forth young lover. Kiss a lady if that’s what feels right. But don’t do anything cause you feel like you have to do something.
You is kind, you is smart, you is important, and you is exactly where you should be.
Moving on, I’ll admit it, I find the semi-obnoxious ladies portrayed in GIRLS to be hilarious and shamefully relatable. I mean I’m a single girl in her mid-twenties, living in voluntary poverty, in a trendy neighborhood in Brooklyn, and I totally dance to Robyn songs in my room and go out wearing shirts that show my whole nipples. What’s not to love? Here’s the thing, GIRLS gets picked apart and put back together and discussed and discussed and discussed, but at the end of the day it’s a TV show and some people are going to like it and some people are going to hate it and some people (my mom) are going to not know it exists because they are too busy telling you how you really need to watch The Big Bang Theory cause that Sheldon character is just so funny when he says “Bazinga” or whatever the fuck he says all the time.
So yeah, like the show or don’t like the show. People have different tastes. I happen to think Charlie Rose is super funny, which is not an opinion most would agree with, but like…isn’t that why there is more than one show on the telly? (Sorry for the brit speak, I just watched season 3 of Downton and now I’m convinced I’m a Crawly) Regardless, I dig it. I think the writing is good and I’m always a fan of people being bold enough to show a little nip. Which brings me to my next point, Charlie Rose should have a cameo on GIRLS in which he borrows Hannah’s naked coke binge shirt! What do you think? He could play Shoshana’s latest love interest! I’ll guest write it! Ok…I’m going to write that spec script now. Gotta go. God I’m brilliant.
I got rhythm. I got music. I got my gal. Who could ask for anything more?
So I mean, I guess I don’t really understand you question. Are you literally asking me “who could want anything more than just rhythm, music, and your girlfriend?” Or is it more one of those rhetorical questions where you want to know “what more there could possibly be to life than rhythm, music, and your girlfriend?”
If it is the former, then I sadly must inform you that many people probably want way more stuff than just rhythm, music, and your super awesome girlfriend. Like…homeless people, or refugees, or people who need organ transplants. Hell, even Buttons needs more than just those three simple things.
Seriously though, I’m really glad that you are satisfied with your lot in life. Let me tell you, all the coveting I do definitely doesn’t contribute to my overall happiness very much. I spend so much time filling my cart with stuff I want onanthropologie.com, knowing full well that I can’t afford to buy any of it, that my Google Chrome history looks like I’m a teenager who just discovered porn, but the porn is sweaters…and kitchy knobs for things. He he…knob porn…which is basically just porn. He he…knob.
And don’t get me started on Pintrest! That place is a virtual cesspool of unfulfilled desire, room-envy, and reminders of how totally not-married-anytime-soon I am. But all this aside, when I really look at it, I’m pretty damn happy with my lot too. Yeah, I don’t have rhythm, and all my music went out of style in 1997, and I definitely don’t have your girlfriend, which is kind of fine cause I’m like 70/30 in favor of the men-folk anyway, but I do have a roof over my head, a cat named Patty Mayonnaise (toothless as she may be), and enough disposable income (open credit), that I can occasionally go ape shit on a drunk brunch. All in all I would say I’m doing just fine.
So, not sure whether this answers your question or not, but you have rhythm, music, and your gal, I have an apartment, a cat, and bloody-mary money, and we’re both doing just fine. So, I guess to each his own right? Unless you need an organ or something and then to each a kidney I guess?
Why is the middle finger obscene and not the others? Is the middle toe obscene?
All your fingers are obscene if you’re waving them at someone while shouting “fuck you, you dumb fucking turd fart!”, and yes the middle toe IS obscene because toes are disgusting. Even beautiful Buttons’ toes look like the baby doctor just glued a fistful of chicken nuggets to my foot and called it good. I’m even wearing red toenail polish right now so they look like the have Ketchup on ‘em (is it Ketchup or Catsup? What about Cat-soup? (#LifesBiggestQuestions #IsGodRealAlsoWhatsTheDealWithKetchup? #ProbsNotOnGodButKetchupIsDelicious)(Inception Parentheses). The point is toes are gross, and the middle finger means “fuck you, you dumb fucking turd fart”.
BUT, somehow I think this simple answer won’t satisfy your inquisitive mind, so let’s dig a little deeper, shall we?
Apparently (italics indicate snide tone of condescension), the middle finger was first used as an insult way back in the days of people with names like Aristophanes (I think I had a neighbor in Astoria named Aristophanes, and he seemed pretty fond of Mr. Tall Boy, at least when it came to flipping off “those goddamn kids” every afternoon as he sat on his stoop in a wife beater drinking Greek coffee from a tiny tiny cup…he was cool. Also he had a pet turtle.)
What I guess I’m getting at is that meaning is ascribed to things by people, and without that Aristophanes dude (the one from ancient Greece, not my weird old neighbor), we might be running around actually using our voices to say “fuck you, you dumb fucking turd fart”, instead of having a super convenient silent way of expressing such an essential sentiment. Things to consider: mutes, angry babies, and any time you have a sore-froat but still want to tell someone they suck; the bird is a pretty essential invention if you ask me!
I am a performer like everyone else on the face of NYC, and I have a day job… like everyone else that isn’t getting paid for their fucking amazing talents! The job allows me to make my own schedule which is rare and awesome, but the job itself is a little strange.
It’s online clothing rental for women, sizes 12-28. It sounds interesting enough, however my specific job is to receive the rented clothing the mildly overweight to morbidly obese women return, and electronically check them back into our system. Again, doesn’t sound so bad until you realize what I do; I physically take the worn (AKA dirty) clothing out of a UPS bag with my hands and find the tag with the SKU and type that number into our database. I then separate it in to wash or dry clean.
By the end of my shift, I have touched around 150 pieces of dirty clothing. I try to think of it as building up antibodies to germs and diseases, but I can’t help but think I have obese particles all over my hands, even after I desperately scrub them following my shift. My question is, how do I make the most of this situation as my rise to fame is in the works? There are definitely pros to the job (flexible M-F schedule, Fresh Direct food all day, and better pay than retail), but I have to touch women’s dirty clothing all day. Thoughts??
I’m going to bullet point this shit because I feel like there are several important points that I need to address, and my public school education didn’t teach me how to organize a paragraph very well (thanks for nothing Mr. Hart), so I’ll just bullet it out to avoid having to properly punctuate.
1. Are your hands going to get fat? - Yes. Everyone knows fatness is contagious, but thankfully in your case it will only affect your hands. You’re going to look like Kristin Wiig’s Tiny Hand Girl…but like…in reverse. You know, I dated a fat guy for a while and I got really fat and I’m convinced that it was because I let him rub his fat self on my normal sized self all the time, and not because I always insisted that we lie around and eat takeout and not move our bodies at all. The good news is that my body got super fat, but my heart stayed normal and healthy, probably because I didn’t let him touch that at all (womp womp).
2. Are plus-sized people clothes dirtier than minus-sized size people clothes? – No. I am a size 6 and I am disgusting. If anything, bigger clothes are probably cleaner cause if they spill Moo Shu chicken on them (like I just did…and yes I’m eating Moo Shu at 10am on a Monday, don’t fucking judge me), there is more space for the Moo Shu spill to exist in. According to science, if a size 6 person spills a plate full of delicious Chinese food on their shirt, then that whole shirt is likely ruined, but if a size 28 person spills delicious Chinese food on their shirt, there is likely still some clean shirt left for them to wear. Something about area, and volume, and the quadratic equation or something. Science. Also, ten second rule! That Moo Shu is still good!
3. Day Jobs, how do you deal? - So, I’m also like trying to get super famous and stuff, but mostly no one pays me to write this blog (yet?), so I have to have a day job too. What do I do? I babysit. That’s right, I’m damn near 30 and I babysit for a living; same damn thing I did when I was 14 and saving up for a Tamagotchi pocket pet. I touch poop and pee and barf all day and I have ruined more than a few of my treasured Gap sweaters by literally having them covered in the excretions of another human being. Is it easy to feel like I’m stagnating in life? Oh hell yes! But here’s the deal Particle Hands, you live in New York, and you are actively pursuing your dream, and that makes you luckier, braver, and stupider than 90% of the world (yes…I know stupider isn’t a word, thanks Mr. Hart).
You have the privilege of ambition, and even though your day job might be a bit rough, its suckiness is incentive for you to keep trucking with the pursuit of your ACTUAL goals. There is no motivation stronger than discontent, and the fact that you don’t necessarily want to make a career out of fondling giant sweaters all day, means you’ll devote more time to fondling your giant dreams. I intentionally picked a day job with very little future (cause kids have no future (thanks global warming)(inception parentheses)), because I wanted to avoid the prospect of thegolden handcuffs (other kinds of handcuffs can be kind of fun), and it sounds like you’re doing the same.
I recently attended a baby shower where a major topic of discussion among the current, future, and former procreators (I am typing this on an iPhone and it REALLY wants to make that pro creators…I am not talking about surrogates (awesome! (inception parentheses!!)) or God, so thanks anyway autocorrect) was a new kind of fancy schmancy cloth diaper that costs $25, comes in all kinds of cute colors, and features a removable “microfiber insert” to absorb all the pee and poop and protect the $25 lime green diaper (it’s real: http://www.diaperjunction.com/bumgenius-one-size-pocket-diaper-4.0.htm).
Apparently these diapers are adjustable to fit any size of lucky baby so you’ll get all kinds of use out of them and easily recoup the high sticker price (which doesn’t include the microfiber maxi pad, btw). Now, I’m not judging – I imagine I might procreate too one day, either by accident or as a tool of manipulation – but I’m wondering, is it now necessary to love your baby AND the earth so much that you stick your hand between two layers of poop covered organic cotton? What’s Buttons’ take on maternal love??
So, I don’t know a lot about parenting, but I do know a lot about drunk sitting (though usually I’m the one being drunk-sat), which I feel qualifies me to properly answer your question.
Here’s my take on the whole thing, I love my friends, more than anything ever, probably more than I’ll love my own children when I one day accidentally have them, but barring terminal illness or crippling spinal injury, there are very few circumstances in which I would willingly touch their poop.
I also love the earth, again probably more than I’ll love my own children (I mentioned they were going to be accidents, how much can you expect me to love them really?), but my favorite Thai delivery place uses styrofoam take out containers, and even though I really love the earth, I also really love delicious Pad Thai (DEFINITELY more than I’ll love my little accident babies). Yeah, I feel a little guilty when I put that empty styrofoam container in the trash, but if I’m being honest, the brunt of my guilt comes from the fact that I just ate an entire order of Pad Thai, 4 spring rolls, and a crab rangoon (Also the judgmental fucking delivery guy put in 4 fortune cookies, which is his passive aggressive way of saying ”slow down fatty, this is enough food for a small family”. Well you know what dude, maybe one day I’ll have an accident family and we’ll order 4 orders of pad thai and 16 spring rolls and still tip you the $2.00 minimum tip on Seamless.com, because you’re a judgmental prick and we don’t like you!).
P.S. If she makes it, and she is strong enough to handle having her mitt repeatedly sandwiched between two layers of shit soaked cotton, well then, she is a better parent, and a better environmentalist than both of us will ever be…but definitely avoid shaking her hand.
As a guy in his mid 20’s I find it odd that I’ve never found myself as part of a relationship where I live with a significant other. Part of me feels like couples who move in together after a couple months of dating just happen to be two clingy people that have found each other. What are some of the steps, signs and contrastive topics that couple’s engage in before one moves in with the other or do they just look for and co- sign a lease?
Sheesh! Ok, so this one’s a biggie.
Here are the reasons you should move in with someone:
1. They are your parents and you are broke.
2. They are a craigslist rando who seems cool (for a 55 year old anime “artist” with 40 cats), and they have a room in a KILLER apartment in the W. Village for only $500 a month and the promise to let them be little spoon.
3. Your relationship is ready.
Here are reasons NOT to move in with someone:
1. You feel like you should.
2. Money - 1 bedroom? 2 People? WAYYYYYY cheaper, but unless you’re buying bunk beds with your Buddy, I would advise against it.
3. Pressure to commit from either party - Shit or get off the pot? Why no thank you, I brought a book and I can sit here until I’m ready.
4. Everyone else is doing it - Well if everyone else fucked a rhinoceros horn with their heart muscle, would you? Cause that’s what it’s gonna feel like when your relationship crashes and you have to find a new place to live while trying to pick up the shattered pieces of your obliterated soul.
Here’s the thing Ox…which…alright, kinda random pseudonym, but I’ll take it. You seem cool, and not like TERRIFIED of commitment, which is pretty damn rare for a guy in your mid-20’s. I don’t want to be bold here, but I say find the girl first (or guy…we’re progressive like that). Yup, find someone, fall in love with them, and then date the hell out of them for a LONG ASS TIME. I don’t care if they live in Queens and you live in Brooklyn, or they live in Jersey City and you’re in the Bronx (well…ok I do care. Why are you dating someone who lives in Jersey City? Seriously, have some standards Ox.), get on the muthuhfawking PATH train, and make it rain in your heart club.
Moving in with someone is a big ass deal. Apartments are small and poop smell wafts. They are going to know. They are going to know when you blow your nose in the shower, or when you accidentally pee a little on the floor. They are going to know when you eat almond butter with a spoon while standing in the kitchen watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and crying because it’s like really sad when Merrick dies. These are all things that will no longer be private. All your special little secrets are going to go flooding into the public domain, and in some relationships this ends up making the couple (or tri-ouple…we’re progressive like that) stronger, but you have to be really ready.