Please press play:

Like most evenings when I’m unable to take my sleeping pill, I lay in the neverending darkness of my room and try to make sense of my love life. CORRECTION: I try to make sense of my vacuous romantic existence.  The other night I began thinking about the early signs to the demise of certain relationships.  A friend of mine always reminded me of a saying her grandmother would tell her: “You’re going to keep pickin’ ’til you pick sh!t.”

Well ain’t that the muhfuggin’ truth. Catch all of the Ts from my last conversation with myself:

There was this guy I used to see, sleep with, let inside my home…however you want to slice it. All I can tell you is that we weren’t dating nor was he my man. Obviously. Here’s how my idiot mind works: I make a mental note of the thing that drives me batty about the person. I ask myself if I can see a lifetime of this anger-inducing trait without stabbing them in the throat. The answer to this question has never not been “No. No I can’t.”  Why don’t I listen to my gut? It’s clearly trying to tell me something, right? If some minute detail is bugging me about this otherwise normal dude, then I really don’t want to be in anything with them. Why do I stick around for the anguish? Pourquoi.

So back to this dude. The thing I couldn’t stand was the way he ate and drank. He was the loudest chewer/swallower in the history of time and also the land before that. I cannot stress how much this annoyed my insides. You may say, “Slow down, girl. Could it really be that bad?”  To which I reply:

"Yes, was."

“Yes, heifer…it was.”

He didn’t eat with his mouth open. He didn’t slurp his food or drink. He didn’t even smack his lips.  Yet somehow I could hear every tooth he had in his head grind the sustenance in his mouth into a dust and/or paste while the sound of his neck muscles pushed it down into his digestive system.

*single blink*  Guys. GUYS?! GUYS!  I couldn’t. Just typing this is making bile rise in my throat. (BUT YOU CAN’T HEAR IT so I win!)

When things finally fizzled between us (for other reasons, can you believe it?), do you know what I did? I victory-jumped off my bed because I’d never have to hear him crunch pasta. Yes, crunch it. How can I hear you bite into a stove-top boiled, soft penne tube? I’m eating the same food. Mine is silent and I have a direct speaker into my own body. If I can’t hear me, why can I hear you? IF-I-CAN’T-HEAR-ME-WHY-CAN-I-HEAR-YOU!?!!!!?!?  *faints*

Well, I’m still single so maybe I’ll work on this in the interim but in my defense, it was really gross.



Please press play: 

#9 – DON’T post photos of celebrities claiming it’s you or photos WITH celebrities and using only their face in your cropped thumbnail.

As I said on Monday, I have a slightly higher pop-culture reference point than the average person. My brain is where Nick at Nite goes to die and I’m happy with this.

I’ve seen photos from obscure to A-list:

  • Max Hodges (resident TMZer)
  • Chris Powell (Personal Trainer)
  • George Stroumboulopoulos (I EFFIN’ WISH!)
  • Will Smith
  • Adrien Brody

Are you Adrien Brody or aren’t you?! 

There’s not much to say here. Don’t do it. I’m the opposite of everything NIKE stands for and I’m okay with that too. Post photos of you and not someone who is not you claiming it’s you. If you look like a celebrity and you feel the need to mention it, it’s your prerogative but don’t use that celebrity’s picture.

DISCLAIMER: On few, and I mean VERY few occasions, I’ve called someone out on their photo and they were actually who they had in their image. We had a good laugh. But by few occasions, I mean two.

The odds will never be in your favour. *single blink*