- fingernails. and toenails. but especially fingernails and the way they get all long and girls are expected to have long pretty fingernails but i hate them and i grow them out because in certain situations they are terribly useful, but ultimately i gnaw on one until it bends if not breaks and then i compulsively chew the rest off and become increasingly more anxious until the moment i can properly cut them all off. fucking fingernails.
- closed doors. i'm peeing. why does the door have to be closed? because if it's closed, then i'm going to have to touch that doorknob with my just-washed hand, and really... who knows what the hell lives on that damned doorknob? what's that? i periodically wipe down every doorknob in the house with anti-bacterial wipes? AND?
- nose-pickers. nose-picking. boogers.
- BIG-ASS STADIUMS and auditoriums where music goes to die. leonard cohen, you brilliant, you magic, you lovely old man you WHY are you playing at the goddamned nokia theater? why in the name of all that is holy why? you're a fucking singer-songwriter not goddamned justin timberlake, i don't want to pay $150 to sit a mile and a half from where you are and watch you on a big screen because HELLO if i wanted to watch you sing on a screen i'd stay home and pop in "i'm your man." grrrrrr.
- writers who excessively and unironically use exclamation marks! like for everything! omg!
- linda, from my class, who granted is in third grade so cut the kid a break- my fucking ass. no i don't read twilight, no i don't want you to look at what i've just written because it's none of your goddamned eight-year old business, no i don't think it's cute that i'm your idol. i'm a terrible person, leave me alone.
- ariana! from my class, who embodies everything that is annoying about my grandmother while also displaying everything that is annoying about eight year old girls. don't be a fucking know-it-all, no i can't make the other kids play with you, ever think about not being a tattle-tale? because no, it's not cute and neither is the baby voice you use to speak to me and while we're at it, NO i don't want to be best friends with your damned mother because really she must be awfully annoying to be raising a kid like you.
- how i'm a terrible person! god.
- deeply unfriendly service people. because i'm really nice to you, cashier-person, because i've been where you are and so i always smile and say hi and wish you a nice day- but not in an excessive, annoying way- so can you pleeeease pull your head out of your ass and give me at least a wan smile? i'm not making your life suck.
- not knowing where my phone is/ when my phone malfunctions. it's the same kind of low-level but constant anxiety i get when i break and nail and don't have a file. why am i insane?
- my ridiculous dependency on my cell phone.
- my nocturnal tendencies.
- the way my eyelashes refuse to curl properly because i have my dad's eyelashes and they are like perfectly straight little eye-curtains or the eyelashes on snuffalupagus from sesame street. and yeah they're just eyelashes but dammit, i'm a girl and i want to be pretty.
- that this fucking weather can't pick a fucking theme and stick with it.
i love:
- haircuts! getting my hair cut instantly makes me feel attractive and lovable. the shorter my hair, the cuter i feel. it goes deeper than plain vanity, too, it's my secret little fuck-you to society.
- small, yappy, mutty dogs. little dog, are you ridiculously dinky? are your yipping little barks similar to the noises a broken child's toy might make? is your fur all matted and crazy and do your bottom teeth stick out a little weird and ugly? because i love you, and while i know enough to be ashamed that i love you, i would still bring you into my life in a heartbeat and love you more than any dog has ever been loved ever. i'd even let your stinky, dinky little self sleep in my bed with me. and i hate sharing a bed.
- emotional honesty. because if you're insane, i would like to know. i promise i won't get scared, i won't gossip behind your back. i'm the mayor of crazytown, dont'cha know? so let's be ourselves as much as possible.
- WHITE CHOCOLATE CRUNCH BARS. this is the love that dares not speak its name. because white chocolate? is gross. and crunch bars? unremarkable. but put them together and what you get is pure magic. i'm no longer allowed to eat this, by my own decree.
- wall-e. and mo. and burn-e. and wall-e. and the cockroach. it's almost unhealthy, how much i love this movie.
- speaking of unhealthy, there's babo. like, dude, i know he's a stuffed animal, ok? a stuffed imaginary creature, if we're perfectly frank, because he's not a real animal. but this changes not the fact that i can feel my heart beat a little funny when i squeeze him because he is SO DAMN CUTE and i wish he were real. he can steal my cookies any day.
- cookies? everyone loves cookies. and i don't actually eat that many cookies on like, a regular basis, but occasionally i'll have a cookie- and this happens a lot with oreos, which is why i avoid them like the plague unless i'm really happy or really sad- and then i just can't stop and i morph into the cookie monster (who is now the carrot monster or something? as if carrots are sooo delicious that people/puppets regularly become obsessed with them. pshaw.) and the moral of the story is not pretty but it is this: i love cookies because cookies are amazing.
- the one girl who works at the library and is there pretty much everytime i go? she's so cute, and she totally recognizes me now, and she's always complementing my taste in books, although i partly think she thinks i'm crazy because i'm always at the damned library. what can i say, i'm a quick read man.
- kissing. "french" kissing for hours, pecks on the cheek, kissing upside down, in the rain, in a house, near a goat, in a boat, after eating green eggs and ham (on second thought, ew, get some gum), with boys, girls, trannies, space aliens, etc. etc. what better way to get to know someone? ahhhh.
- bill watterson/calvin and hobbes. i think if i ever got psychoanalyzed, like really in-depth, it would turn out that deep deep down inside i am calvin.
- that i am a six year old boy. like, most of the time i think this is one of the best things about me? not when i'm in a bar with a bunch of people my age, of course, and all the girls are dressed like vegas whores and the guys look like fraternity brothers-come-yuppie scum and rihanna is blasting over the sound system... then i feel like a scruffy little boy in a bad way... but mostly, yeah, it's all good.
- going clubbing/barhopping/drinking at a big douchey party, etc. do i hate the music you're playing? yes. do i hate the types of people who go to bars? yes. do i hate fruity girly drinks where you can't taste the liquor for the sugar content? yes. do i hate being hit on by guys in bars? yes. do i hate not being hit on by guys in bars? yes. i hate bars. i get dragged out to these things by people who are ostensibly my friends, people who know for a fact that i hate the whole desperate-20-something-emptiness of bars and clubs, and it's just like they say, you know, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. i'm not going to sleep with some slick jerk i met in a bar. i'm not going to sleep with a nice guy i met in a bar, for fuck's sake. i'm not going to have a good conversation with anyone in a goddamned bar, unless it's practically empty, unless it's a hole in the wall, unless there's a jukebox playing tom waits and bob dylan in the corner, barely visible through the haze of cigarette smoke, basically unless it's a very very unusual sort of bar full of unusual sorts of folk. fuck, man.
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