EVERYTHING ISN'T ABOUT YOU!

I'm pretty sure I have Premenstrual Dysmorphic Diet-Pepsi-obsessed Dayquil-swilling Distemper Disorder. Why? Well, I'm pounding even more of the aspartame treat than ever, my throat is fucking sore, my boobs have hurt for a week and I really can't stand anyone nowadays. Especially internet commenters.

Yeah, I know. "Who cares?"

I CARE. I work a boring desk job in which I have nothing to do half the day. So I read. A lot. I read Jezebel. All day long.

So the other day, this big Jez shitstorm hit, when one of the editors published an article on sexual consent that all the humorless feminists obviously wouldn't agree with, and the commenters lost their goddamn minds. You'd think they'd never encountered life outside of an encapsulated sounding board, where men can be total assholes and people don't always share your opinions. The idea that they'd even have to face a point of view not in line with their own - and ARGUE its merits - made these women more inflamed than a hemorrhoid.

The editor apologized, noting that she put the post up right before the holiday and wasn't as attentive to the reaction as she should have been. The commenters weren't going to hear it. Someone actually said, "You couldn't do your job because it was a HOLIDAY?" How dare she travel to go spend time with her family on a national holiday when people on the internet are MAD?! The editor then posted a counterpoint article. It wasn't good enough.

So anyway, the content of the original piece was fairly vague and stupid - some American guy goes to Paris, wonders why American chicks aren't as hot and easy as French ladies, and says that maybe we USians sanitize our sex a bit too much. I didn't much care for the article, and I thought it was poorly written. I thought the guy sounded like a douchebag with a fixation on European women. He could have had a point and started a real discussion, but fell short.

But more than anything, the entitlement of these internet lurkers made me want to vomit.

The world does not fucking revolve around you. Somebody wrote something you don't like? Tough fucking shit. The Gawker Media Corporation is not beholden to you and your opinions. The editors of a web magazine do not owe you anything. If anything, they're beholden to the people who buy advertising on their site and pay their bills. People were seriously saying "I am not satisfied with this. I am owed an apology."

Really. REALLY?! You're that mad about the fucking internet? Do you know how many people in the world don't use the internet? ALMOST FIVE BILLION. Do you treat everyone you encounter in your real life like that? Oh, wait, I forgot. You don't have a real life. You spend six hours a day asking people you'll never meet what you should do about that internship that you really wanted but didn't get. 

Maybe that's the scourge of the modern age - absolute and utter narcissism. There are actually people out there believing a company that's the second largest online newspaper in the world should bow down, admit defeat, and let the 200 people who comment regularly control the content that tens of thousands of people read every hour. It goes beyond this to every element of our lives - people who make kissy faces in their Facebook profile pictures which they change twice a day, friends who get pissed off because you don't respond to their text messages immediately, women who are average weight and height and attractiveness and think they're models. I'm just so tired of the fact that everyone in my generation thinks they're some big fucking star.

I'm truly sorry, really I am, but you're going to work a boring job for 45 years. You're going to pop out a couple of mediocre children, you're going to marry someone who's going to get fat and bald, and your idea of a good time will end up being white zinfandel and a U2 cover band. You're not going to go great places and do great things. You're not going to drive a Porsche, you're not going to attend fancy galas, and when you die, there will be but a small crowd of people there to see you into the ground. Just give it up.

Obviously everything isn't about you. It's about me.

it's the most whoring-ish time of the year.

I don't have a good track record with holidays. Usually on New Year's Eve, I'm trying so hard to have a good time that something inevitably goes horrifically wrong - one year I was robbed, one year I was stuck in my parent's basement during a blizzard when I was supposed to be on a romantic getaway in the White Mountains, and one year I got stuck playing Trivial Pursuit and drinking two glasses of gross Romanian champagne. I had quite a memorable Thanksgiving when I was sixteen and after an hour of driving around looking for an open restaurant, I had to eat at a dive while my father drunkenly called me a whore in earshot of the entire restaurant. When I was a kid, I would throw up every Christmas Day because I was so excited about getting presents.

Nonetheless, I still love all of those holidays. I get excited about them. One holiday, however, makes my guts churn and my cynicism boil over into open and gross rancor.

Dude, I know exactly how you feel.

Halloween blows. Asshole kids smash your pumpkins and throw eggs and shaving cream at your car. There's a steady stream of brats knocking on your door and asking you for shit. You have to spend ridiculous amounts of money on poorly made pieces of polyester that usually rip before you even make it to whatever stupid Halloween party you're trying to go to. It's going to take you three hours just to get all your makeup off, and no matter what, whatever you chose to wear is weather-inappropriate and has you either sweating or freezing all night.

But the worst part of all? The slutty costume enigma.

If you have a vagina, even if you wear jeans and t-shirts every day, you are expected to wear the shortest, tightest piece of clothing you can find that reflects some theme. The point, I guess is that traditional costumes tend to make women look "unattractive." At least in the beginning, sexified Snow White and the like sort of made sense. The costumes found a way to actually reflect the concept. But the shit now is ridiculous.

Apparently, even the private parts of child-aged cartoon characters can't be left to the imagination.

This is allegedly a beer pong costume. The text on the skirt says "Don't forget to wash your balls!" Let's just make an outfit that says "I'LL SUCK YOUR DICK" and get it over with. Better yet, just get it tattooed on your forehead. America - where subtlety went to die.

"This is a costume, right? I'm wearing one of those cute little top hats!" If you need context to even explain to people that are going to buy it what is actually is, it's fucking terrible.

Sexy lumberjack! REALLY. REALLY. What's next? "Sexy lumper!" Or maybe "Sexy person who delivers my heating oil!"

God forbid a corporation in America NOT take something unique and badass like roller derby and make it into something shallow, sanitary and meaningless. SHE'S NOT EVEN WEARING ROLLERSKATES. I weep.

Here's a tip: Before you design a costume, why don't you do a quick Google search to ensure it doesn't reflect a well-known, relatively fucked up sexual fetish. I feel so sorry for any woman who ignorantly wears this out, because there is definitely going to be some creepy ass guy ejaculating onto her.

Do you know how many people in the world would look good in this costume? Probably about eleven. Do you know how many women are going to wear this and look like a bloated sausage? A number possibly in the thousands. And how is "being a naked woman with sushi strategically placed over my breasts and vulva" a fucking costume? I give up.

I spend pretty much every day trying to look attractive. I just want one day out of the year where I can go without wearing a bra. Which is why my Joan Jett costume this year will be to the top.

giving up the ghost.

At least the majority of the American people don't think I'm an unqualified moron. Yet.

This morning, sleepily, after hearing extensively about my menstrual woes, my husband remarked:

"You make being a woman sound like the worst thing, ever. It seems like you're barely holding it together all the time."

He's right.

I'm quitting, you guys.

I guess you could say this is a long time coming. Since I've gotten married, my hygiene has slipped significantly. I don't wash my hair nearly as much as I used to. I cut it off for a bob, which I intend to gradually snip away at until my hair resembles Edie Sedgwick's. I only wear makeup if I'm actually going somewhere (anywhere public any time before 6 pm doesn't count as 'somewhere'). I've worn high heels two times in two months. I'm just fucking tired of being female, and I don't care anymore.

I'm tired of not being able to shit regularly. I'm tired of haranguing my breasts into a wired felt-cotton trap every morning. I'm over worrying constantly if I'm knocked up. I'm sick of concerning myself with how I look and wondering if I should censor what I say.

You see, women are in a constant pursuit of looking as attractive as possible. Always. We are told from childhood that our purpose is to decorate the earth, to light up men's faces as they leer at our chests and appreciate our delicate features. We are on display 24 hours a day, seven days a week. We're supposed to diet and keep up with trends and have huge breasts and no wrinkles and not be smarter than the men we're involved with and we should be mild and passive and motherly and cheerful and just fucking perfect. If we're not doing everything we can to impress dudes, then we're under fire for being fat, ugly, man-hating feminazi lesbian shitasses (Scott Baio's wife's words, not mine - though I wish I could take credit for such a zinger). And if we happen to be too attractive, it's our fault that we led men to rape us, because we're sluts and whores. We have to be slaves to a society and then get backhandedly fucked by said society just for doing what they tell us.

But you know what? I'm not doing it anymore. I have a nice place to live, a job that's tolerable, an awesome cat, and a man that loves me even if I have chipped nail polish and have been wearing the same bra for four days in a row. Even so - what is the point where we say enough is enough? Is that aging? Recognizing that you're not the hot chick, the ingenue, the demure doll who men bend over backwards for? Or is the recognition that you don't even care enough to try to play that game anymore?

Women deal with enough blood and shit and tears. We owe it to ourselves to be honest. And to love ourselves for that honesty alone.

why I need to stop drinking.

Yes, that's me. With a Budzilla. I don't want to talk about it.

I could basically write a tome about all the reasons I need to cut back on my alcohol consumption. If you know me, you know that I drink (and often cuss) like a sailor. I'm a firm believer that everyone has a "kicker" substance, something that once they try it, they find it's the perfect fit, and don't ever want to stop. Some people, unfortunately, find that to be heroin. I would say a good lot of people are content with weed. For me, liquor was it. At age 15, I knew I would be imbibing spirits for the rest of my life.

This affinity for hooch has made me notorious for being, well, a total lush. I am consistently named in online surveys as the "friend you drink with." and I was proud of that. for a while.

You see, now that I'm out in the "real world," I drink every day. It used to be that I'd spend the weeknights studying, or, when I was living with my parents, watching TV and passing out at 10 pm. Since I've moved in with the Stairmaster, life has been all rainbows and pinot grigio. More often than not, I can't remember how I ended up in bed when I wake up the next morning.

In no way has this problem manifested more than DRUNKEN FACEBOOKING. Oh yeah, you all know what I'm talking about. I've found recently that I've left messages:

- yelling at people for not watching movies with me (?)
- incessantly asking people for their addresses to send them invites to the WEEEDDDINNGGG (gross)
- outwardly making fun of family members (okay, moderately funny)
- giving very poor reasons whilst trying to explain why I didn't call someone on their birthday (I suck)
- admitting that I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown and cry incessantly (crap)

Of course, many of these sad attempts at communication were, you know, misspelled.

There's nothing really quite as mortifying as alcohol-related guilt. Maybe when you were stoned you said some dumb things, but mostly, your statements were just insanely obvious, slowly vocalized, and bookended by giggles. On cocaine, everything you said was so brilliant, so genius when you thought of it, it amazed you. Although most likely, whoever you were talking to wasn't listening, because they were just wishing you would shut the hell up, because you thought you were so goddamn smart when really you were just reiterating something you heard on that stupid Wolf Blitzer show.

But the whole not knowing what you said thing is really scary. The internet leaves, essentially, a click-trail for you to follow, read the insanity you typed, and gasp in horror. It was a lot simpler when all you had to do was assume you left some slurred message on your friend's answering machine, and call them with a half-assed apology, while remaining once removed from your moronic comments.

So I have to stop drinking. Not because I'm missing work, or because I'm on my fourth DUI. Not because it's bad for my liver, not because it makes me beat the children. Because of the internet.

brides are f**king crazy.

Since I've started planning the wedding, I've been looking at a LOT of stuff online. It's been really helpful and the internet is responsible for my awesome self-designed wedding postcard invitations, our paper lanterns/fans, my parasol, and my DRESS! (which is still in the works).

I never realized all of the things you have to think about when it comes to a wedding - where people are going to sit, how to decorate, how to do vows & readings, music, thank you cards, etc. I've spent a lot of time looking at different sites for advice, checklists and the like.

As a result, I've come in contact with maybe the greatest site ever, and the site that maybe the signifier of the coming of the apocalypse.

Offbeat Bride is soooo bomb. They celebrate unique weddings that stray from the original rules, which is exactly what I'm going for. Their associated ning community, the Offbeat Bride Tribe, is a great community where people can share their weddings *without judgment* and get inspired by others' creativity. There's lots of DIY, lots of people with ridiculously small budgets (like my own) and lots of like-minded people who don't buy into the WIC.

The WIC, or wedding industrial complex, if you're not familiar, is otherwise known as the wedding industry and its completely fucking inane constructs. The diamond engagement ring is a product of the WIC and the invention of a female copywriter from the 1940s. A diamond is forever? Not really, only about 65 years.

Another invention of the WIC is the concept of lavish white/ivory gowns which you HAVE TO WEAR. White was only made popular by Queen Elizabeth I; prior to that, gowns were blue. Blue was actually meant to signify purity, while white was used to show wealth (ie., you could keep a white item of clothing clean). The furthest any bridal magazine will stray from white/ivory is a light champagne. If you are getting married, you will be told by society that your only option is white. Too bad for those assholes, because I'm wearing black.

But the whole idea of the WIC - spending $20,000 or more on a super-formal wedding that includes elaborate flowers, three course meals, videographers and giant fondant cakes - is crap, in my opinion. And no place is a bigger cheerleader for the capitalistic, material shitshow that is the modern wedding than theknot.com.

To be frank, the women on The Knot are evil. Okay, so maybe they're not possessed by Satan, but if you dare to speak on their community and do not have professional engagement photos, they will proceed to call you tacky and cheap and try to get you kicked off the site simply because you are not a spoiled little bitch with daddy paying for your $4000 Vera Wang gown.

I am not resentful of these women with unlimited budgets and dyed-to-match bridesmaids. I'm really not. I am happy to have a small, intimate, casual wedding. That's exactly what I want. I just don't understand why these women have to be so fucking mean to people who don't like what they like. It's like high school, all over again.

These women spend all day on The Knot's community forum, asking about whether or not they should buy chocolate fountains. These grown women make avatars of themselves in their wedding dresses and write bios about their relationships, as if anyone gives a shit. They are pretty much the most self-absorbed, bitchy, stereotypical wedding-and-baby-obsessed female products of our patriarchal, greedy society that exist. If you meet a woman and she says that she's getting married and then goes on to spend 10 minutes talking about her "colors" and whining about how her maid of honor actually has a life, RUN. Just run. These women make me embarrassed about being engaged. They don't care at all about marriage, just having their "perfect day" that they won't even remember when they're fighting over the china during the inevitable divorce.