SELFABSORBED.ME

Because he cooks good macaroni motherfucker!

If God was to be aged in years…that would make him what?... 102? 103? And if God were to know all the humans on earth and want to communicate with them, via Verizon (it DOES have the largest network)….would he have to use an old-man cell phone like the Jitterbug?…with large scale numbers and display? Would Jitterbug give God a cell phone plan for free? Does God get a mail-in rebate? Where would the rebate be mailed back to?... And more importantly…does Verizon sell Jitterbugs?

For those of you who have not read Chuck Klosterman, there is a theory he has that transcends most theories I have on life…and no I am not talking about my ‘men in Birkenstocks’ theories, although that comes close. The theory suggesting that women function better in society because they recognize they have a nemesis and an archnemesis. The nemesis most likely being their best friend (clearly) or someone who has been their best friend (pillow-fight mishap perhaps); and their archnemesis being the girl they have hated for many years (essentially someone better looking). As women we like to think, “Oh no Sally will be a nice girl and get along with everyone…” But the truth is, no matter how lady-like Sally is, deep down she is willing to kill one woman and have the other woman mangled by wolves… the one mangled and still surviving of course, being her nemesis.

My Nemesis is as predicted, one of my good friends. Or more so one of my ‘seemingly’ good friends. If you knew us closely you would know my deep seething hatred for her. Or possibly jealously. Let’s call my Nemeisis “Hessica”… or as I like to call her “The Bitch that ruined my 22nd Birthday” . Now “Hessica” is one of those girls who gets away with anything. She can be a full out prick everyday of her life, because she is one of 'those girls'. And by ‘those girls” I mean- she is “hot and selfish”…two traits I have long desired to attain through many years of hard work.

She does all the normal best friend things…tell me how to style my hair…questions my job changes…tells me my uterus will never support babies…the usual. And as much as I hate her , I secretly long to be Hessica, long to be carefree enough to say what’s on my mind, wear what I want, think what I want….And some nights I sit awake wondering what might happen if a taxi cab ran her over. But truth be told, I don’t want that cab to kill her…just to mangle her up a bit, maybe give her a funny wink or smile or something. Maybe just hit the side of her leg just hard enough for her face to plunge into the cement street and break that perfect tip of her nose. Without her though, I wouldn’t spend so much thought into the clothes I wear going out at night, or the way I style my hair, or my overall attitude. And when all is said and done, she makes me strive to be a better (looking) person.

My Archnemesis is quite the same, except when I sit in bed awake at night dreaming of the cab hitting her I dream of it actually running her over and over again. I then imagine standing at her funeral while people talk about now they never much liked her to begin with. My Archnemeis of course being the first girl to ever take a boyfriend from me. I actually watched her walking out of his apartment building at 4am ...and no, I was not camped out in a bush carrying an extra large purple flashlight bought from the LLBean camping section (pg 24)…JEEZ! Not only did the cunt take my boyfriend, but she got some great job and some amazing house and even bought a car. I haven’t thought about buying a car since the subway system was invented in the 1600’s. I haven’t driven one in the same amount of time either. And the most expensive investment I have made this yet was in a bottle of percoet.

However my archnemis makes me want a get better job…rent out a bigger apartment…learn how to punch a nice uppercut to her face.... Either way, I actually work harder to become a better person by outdoing her. And stay motivated. And when all is said and done; having her around makes me a better person.

And one day when I am married and carrying babies, I may not care about either of these women. I may not care about any woman at all. But most likely I will just have new women to loathe in my life. Evil women such as, “PTA Members” or “Choir Singers"...regardless they all will make me a better person, forcing me to wake up every morning stating, “Kim, you woke up today to outdo that bitch.” Which, as I believe, is also a quote said by someone named “Jesus”.
Just sayin.

Dear Christmas Cookbook Gift,

Wow it was such a surprise when I opened you. I was so excited at first looking at the packaging thinking I was finally getting a signed copy of 'Where I Came From'. But then I disocvered you, an entire book, filled with Betty Crocker's best.

Now I don't know who this Betty woman is. But I do know one thing. She seems like a pretty selfish bitch to me. Telling me all about having to make "torts" and "cakes" and "boiling water." Making me feel like I am the kind of woman who should invest my time and energy into things like "baking" . Well Betty, let me tell you, the more you try and tell me how to bake, the more I realize I am going to figure out exactly which book store you came from so I can return your red colored ass and get something more useful, such as a book on how to kill myself with rubber bands.

The problem is Betty, your instructional guides require me to do things that I refuse to do on a normal day, things such as 'go to the grocery store'... 'make lists'... 'be prepared'....I consider showing up to my ex boyfriend's house fully sedated on percocets, 'being prepared'.

I tried to make your lemon bunt cake only once and I was halfway through writing down 'lemon' when I realized, what am I doing? I bake the way Anna Nicole solves math equations in Heaven....pretty much never. And I refuse to feel pressure just because a woman named 'Betty' tells me to go do so. I don't even like the name Betty. I knew a Betty once and she was the biggest cunt I'd ever met. So excuse me Betty if I don't feel like ripping open your magical paper pages and discovering just one more thing I have failed at learning in life. You know who used to cook? Dinosaurs. Dinosaur wives used to cook along with people in the BC era and women with names like 'Pearl'. So if you don't mind Betty, I am going to go order myself a nice plate of California rolls from Haru, right after I go give you to some poor homeless kid of the street who needs a cook book way more than I.

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