SELFABSORBED.ME

The last time I visited a well known WJ, or whore-joint as it is known to the Bible followers, I was halfway through my Corona when I looked around and thought, “Wow, I look pretty…mature…for this crowd.” Every girl in there was wearing her sorority t-shirt and daring her Delta-Gamma-UV-Ray sisters to hop on the bar with her to perform that dance routine they learned to Christina Agulera’s Diiirty. All I could think was, “You will never be able to dance in those shoes! You need good comfort shoes… with insoles like mine! And why are your jeans so tight! Those are some damn tight jeans ladies!”

I used to live in an apartment on 80th street that was about the size of a cubical and my roommate Molly’s and my bedroom were separated by essentially a sheet of poster board. Lifestyles of the rich and famous for sure. Molly had a boyfriend at the time who was a merchant marine who used to come over to our place and turn on the Discovery channel and watch shows about ships…and water…and things made with screws and metal…it was all very upsetting for me.

For some reason though whenever her boyfriend came over I was always doing something that seemed to clarify the fact why I was the single one, such as being in bed watching the reenactment of the Michael Jackson Trial on E!, eating massive amounts of those yellow chickadee marshmallows. They would be in her bedroom right next door to me, kissing and cuddling, while I sat in my green face mask, practicing how to take photos of myself with my digital camera.

Walking up my apartment's treacherous two flights of stairs last night with my roommate, I went on what can only be called a typical ‘Kim Tyrant’, or ‘Temper Tantrum’ for the Harvard graduates out there. I was yelling all the way up the stairs about something that has bothered me since the dawn of time, and that dawn of time clearly being October 29th, 1981 when I was born. Hello people, pay attention here.

So over the weekend I had a little bit of this done:

But luckily my surgeon looked a lot like this:


So it was ok for me to get naked in front of him, obviously.
And I am still suffering, but I have a lot of things to help me cheer up, like lots of this:

And being that the pills from the good doctor leave me with not appetite, I am close to looking like this:

All in all, well played weekend.

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Oh and final thought:

My Anesthesiologist looked like this:

So I am sure he practiced opening his first veins on this:

Saturday nights are what I call a “blood bath” …it is a war scene with every man out for himself…the last Saturday I spent out in the city I was greeted by a long line of people. A line? People apparently didn't know this was Murray Hill and not fucking Studio 54. Then inside it was so crowded that trying to walk to the back of the bar was more like passing through the receiving line at a wedding; you stand there, moving slowly, passing people nodding and smiling, sometimes bowing like a small Chinese man. And without fail one of your friends somehow gets lost in the crowd or falls behind the ranks, you leave them and don’t stop to look back….you can never stop to look back! You wait until everyone is back outside the bar and then figure out who is going to go back in and retrieve the man-down. Whoever is “the chosen one” ventures back into the bar like a soldier going back onto the combat grounds…. her purse flinging everywhere, chest puffed out, hands pushing away people on all sides, stilettos crushing rolling beer bottles like tiny land mines.



During this time, the friends waiting outside have their own heroic duties to perform. They are put into high-texting mode. This involves everyone texting simultaneously, “Where are you?” to the girl left behind. If she does not respond within a calculated minute and a half, then there is another, more angry text sent out. “You better get outside before we leave without you...” In this text sometimes CAPS are put into use… because as we all know CAPS MEANS BUSINESS. If the mission becomes too much for one person to handle, a 3rd girl be sent in to retrieve both Girl A and Girl B. This is done only under severe circumstances …and by “severe” I do mean,one of the girls waiting outside has to pee.

I have this small problem. I have a tattoo, one I got a long time ago, in fact I don’t even remember when I got it, probably amidst some drunken night back freshman when things like ‘going to times square’ were cool. The tattoo is imprinted directly on my forehead and reads ‘I Love Douchebags’. Now I know what you’re thinking ‘Kim why would you want such a tattoo put on your forehead’. And to be honest folks, I don’t ever remember it being there in the first place, but without fail every time I go out, I attract assholes better than free lube night on Fire Island.

ahh Mel, such a brave warrior