SELFABSORBED.ME

Look at these liars right here, all bullshitters disguised as long division

For as long as I can remember I have had a problem with numbers. The problem of course being that they are too “exact”. I don’t like to live in a world of exactness; I like to live in a world of grayness. I like to think some things look like they have semi- a lot of calories, or might possibly be too expensive, or are somewhat over budget. I don’t like to live in the world where 80 cents under at Bank of America is known to me as a 35 dollar charge. That world is bullshit.

Some of the scariest numbers of all being; my bank account statement… the scale… and of course the cost of living. (*cough* the amount of people you’ve slept with *cough*)

For starters, I don’t believe what numbers tell me. I choose to believe instead that the numbers are lying and in fact have gotten themselves mixed up along the way. I don’t think I have ever jumped on my scale before without weighing something else first just to PROVE that my scale is wrong. I will stare at it, take a Vogue magazine and throw it on top... 3lbs it read! Now I know Vogue has been looking a little hefty these days, but 3lbs, that is horseshit! So then, I deem my scale to be an outright liar and move the calibration at the bottom so it is about 20lbs under the 0lb mark...that way I figure it may actually give an accurate reading. See how I am tricking the numbers to actually do their job correctly? You want to know how much I weigh? Somewhere between 100lbs and 200lbs. You want to know how many people I’ve slept with? Somewhere between 3 and 300 people. Is that exact enough for you? Because that is the world I live in sista sally and it is a vast sprawling land of GRAY.

This goes the same for my bank statement. You know how some people get real jittery and have to throw up before they go out on stage? Well that’s exactly what happens to me right before I read my bank statement. And even then, I normally assume it to be lying to me. Every time I check my account balance I go in with the knowledge that it is probably wrong and someone, somewhere along the lines has way overcharged me for something! I will sit and scrutinize every charge, every cent, every time my card was swiped for 85 cent Trident winterfresh. And damnit if they charged me for two Tridents I will find out!

Much in the way most women consider all men to be liars, I consider all numbers to be liars. In fact, if it was up to me, I would do away with all numbers all together. Let’s start putting price tags on things that say, “Way Over Your Budget”, or “Not Unless You Marry Rich”…THEN I would be able to understand the costs much better. Or when I hop on the scale I don’t want a digital reading, what I want is for my scale to shout out, “YOU ARE A HANDFUL OF M&M'S AND ONE MORE LAZY DAY AWAY FROM THE GYM, FROM BEING A FAT ASS!” Then, I would finally understand my scale.

Even regarding time I do not enjoy numbers. I hate saying I will be there RIGHT at 9:00pm, because let’s be honest, who arrives at places right at 9:00pm? Well, except for maybe my dad and a few Navy Seals? Instead I like to say, “around this time”, or “close to this time”, or “if you’re lucky you will see me before the night is over and I am being wheel-barrowed down the street drunk in a turban” kinda time.

I don’t like giving out a number figure, too exact, too much pressure. And according to whose watch? And what clock? Which brings me all the back to the entire, Numbers Are Liars, theory which I have been promoting for YEARS.

Me and numbers, we are breaking up. It’s been coming for a long time now, and I think I am finally ready. I am just done with his games, his excuses, his “exactness”. It’s too much for me, I need something new. And I know it’s going to be hard, but numbers will survive without me, I think numbers even deserves better then me! It’s not numbers.. it’s me! But if that lying sac of divisions ever comes back again, I am going to tell his little numeric ass which Pythagorean theorem to shove it in.