Saturday, August 21, 2010

My Giant Armenian Ass

Remember college? Did you squeeze every minute of fun out of it? Keg parties, BJs at the frat house, watching Brittany do the Walk of Shame from your place back to sorority row, sleeping late, skipping class, no responsibilities. That certainly wasn't my experience, but it's still how I'd like to remember my college days. Actually, that's not true; all my nostalgia revolves around the hope. Back in college, the world was my oyster, ready to be cracked open. But two years later, reality has set in and I'm now the cynical poster boy for giving up on lost dreams and the hope that the future is bright and shiny.

My alarm goes off every morning and each time as I hit "snooze" I utter a profanity, each one more vulgar and heartfelt than the one before: BEEEEEP BEEEEEP "Damn it!"...BEEEEEP BEEEEEP "Son of a bitch!"....BEEEEP BEEEEEP "Motherfucker!" until finally I've slept so late that I know I'm going to be really late to work, but yet I have to get up now because if I'm any later than what I'm already going to be at this point, I'm going to get chewed out when I get there, and, hey, that's no way to start a Monday.

So I shower and do a half-ass job of shaving. I grab a pair of clean boxerbriefs from the pile of laundry that I got out of the dryer and threw on the chair in my room. Wrinkled clothes, dirty glasses...most days I look like a hungover Drew Carey, even though I didn't have anything to drink the night before. I get to work and look at the clock every 10 minutes until 5:30 and ask myself 100 times: "You couldn't have figured out that you wanted to be a comedy writer 7 years ago? No clue at all, huh? A scholarship to NYU or UCLA wasn't worth giving your career aspirations a little more thought? No? Ok, well go back to filing now. Better hurry because your bosses' lunches aren't going to pick themselves up, are they?"

Then I'm exhausted, though I can never be sure if it's because of working hard or the fact that my spirit is gone, so I try not to focus on it and just pick up a burrito for dinner and go home to lie in bed and watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Maybe if Kris Jenner had been my mother, I'd be more successful now. Sure, I'd be pushing 30 and still dressing and acting like 13 year-old, but I'd have money and fame--the only things that really matter. Of course, I'd vomit every week when the credits ran and I remembered that I was on a show that was a Ryan Seacrest Production, but that would keep me skinny, except for my giant Armenian ass.

And then I start thinking that maybe I should just adopt a kid. I can't afford it now, but maybe if I cut out the Starbucks for two or three years. But then I think how I'd be a terrible father. If I adopted boy, I'd be completely screwed. I hate the outdoors. I know nothing about sports, video games,...what else do boys like?

And if I adopted a girl, I'd be fine until she got her first period; then I'd be useless. "Here are some tampons. Don't go swimming; you'll attract sharks. And don't go camping; you'll attract bears...and wolves. Congratulations, sweetie! Today, you're a woman!"

But I do think I'd be good when it came to talking to my daughter about boys. "Don't be a whore or no one will ever marry you." Sound advice. Concise. To the point.

And after all that, I fight the necessity for me to go on anti-depressants because I'm worried it might interfere with my "creativity" and prevent me from writing the world's next great dick-joke. Because I know in my heart that that's how I'll become famous: tweeting some joke about how my crotch is clean-shaven and ready for basic training or a court appearance. HBO will order a 13-episode season, and I'll be on my way to becoming the straight Michael Patrick King.

Tuesday, August 10, 2010

In A Contest With No One

None of my clothes fit me. Yesterday I wore stuff that was way too big--like I borrowed my outfit from Oprah--and today I wore stuff that was way too tight--like I borrowed my outfit from Oprah. I used to be a clotheshorse...or is it clotheswhore? I don't know, but the point is, there was a time that I would've performed sexual favors in exchange for quality fashion. But that little thing known as disposable income is now gone, so if I can buy something at a retailer better than JC Penney it's like that warm, sweet liquor for an alchy.

My finances are in the toilet. Food is my only really indulgence, but it's so damn expensive. And earlier tonight, I had a white trash moment, where with only $21 to my name and an empty gas tank, I decided to buy a chocolate milkshake and a six-pack of Coors Light (I know, like I'm a college sophomore) and then use whatever money was left over to buy gas. Klassy, I know.

I understand my financial situation, which is one reason why, even I were banging someone right now, I'd be sure that she didn't get pregnant. I can understand having one unplanned're drunk, you put the condom on your happens. But several of my high school alum seem to be in a contest with no one to see who can have the most kids without being married or being in anything resembling a monogamous relationship. Which is why I'm working on spreading my own public service announcement: "Condoms: Not just for balloon animals anymore." This will run concurrent with my other PSA: "Abortions: Not just for rich white girls anymore." Speaking of which, due to harsh economic conditions, I've had to close my abortion clinic. We just didn't have the volume of clients we needed to keep the doors open, which is surprising, because I ran a huge ad in the Yellow Pages in the "Pest Control" section. Silver-lining: I now have a huge surplus of wire hangers and knitting needles at my house. But let me know if you want the wire hangers, because I'm seriously worse than Mommie Dearest about those bastards. It's all plastic in my closet!

If I ever see a woman with a moustache, I have to wonder: if that's what the upstairs looks like, can you imagine the basement?! (I told that joke to my friend Eryn and she started singing the Chia Pet jingle: Ch-ch-ch-chia!)

So, I write a lot of liberal material (in case you haven't noticed), but I don't write too much political material because if I ever go up against one of the CNN junkies, I realize about 3 questions in that I don't know any of the details of the issues. That's why I like to get my news from Bill Maher and Jon Stewart. They've done all the research and they lean the same way I do (which is so hard to the left that we almost fall over), but then I get a false sense of security and feel ready to battle my right-wing friends, but--again--as soon as I quote Bill or Jon, I'm out of ammo. I tend to actually dig in and fact-find during an election year, but otherwise I just coast by with what I pick up from liberal political comics and common sense, and I manage to get by.

With that said, I have to say that I'm so happy that Prop 8 was ruled to be unconstitutional. I know there are a lot of prohibitive amendments in state constitutions (especially the bad states), but in the U.S. Constitution the only amendment ever added that restricts people's rights instead of securing them was prohibition, and we all know how that ended: bottoms up! (I think that was also the sentiment the day Prop 8 was ruled unconstitutional, but I'm not sure it referred to drinking.)

Well, folks, in continuing my white trash night, I was once told that nothing is better than drinking a cold beer while standing under a hot shower, so I'm about to go try it and go to bed :)