Tuesday, May 22, 2012


My friend Amanda is mad with power. She recently celebrated a birthday and then got up on her high horse and demanded that I write a blog post of her choosing. Her request? Happiness. That’s right. Turns out my blog has been depressing poor Amanda and she asked me the following, horrifying question, “what makes you happy?”

Amanda asked me this and I was stunned. Clearly, she's a soulless monster. I was also in traffic, chain-smoking and swearing a lot, so she had caught me in a vulnerable moment. The fact that I couldn’t immediately think of anything that brings me joy ultimately depressed me, proving that Amanda is a witch. Regardless, she had me stumped and I could not shake the question. I then did what I always do when I’m trying to work something out in mind – I went home, watched several episodes of Glee, openly sobbed and ordered a delicious bowl of carbs from my local Italian eatery. This was, as usual, a recipe for success. After a considerable amount of television chased by numerous Marlboro reds, I finally came up with a few things that thrill me.

#1 Musicals. Any time I’m sick and have to call-in to work, I become secretly elated. I always spend this time watching old musicals. No amount of whiskey or promiscuous sex could bring me the deep-seeded joy that watching Gene Kelly slide across a dance-floor brings me. This is a deep, dark secret of mine and, upon further consideration, it is possible that Amanda does not want me to be happy so much as she wants to embarrass me at a public level. I am so overwhelmed with joy by thoughts of Liza Minnelli Fossying her way through Berlin in "Cabaret," nothing can get me down -- not even the burgeoning Nazi regime aspect of the movie.

#2 Football. I was inconsolable this evening while watching an episode of Glee that included a state championship football game. Somehow the stars aligned and brought together three things I love dearly: men banging into each other at incredible speeds, a series of choreographed dances and cheerleaders.

#3 Cheerleaders. I fucking love cheerleaders. Had I spent less time at buffets growing up, it’s possible I could have been one. (mmmmm….buffets) I particularly love adult cheerleaders. There is nothing more pathetically amazing to me then watching an NFL game and seeing grown women on the sidelines with face-paint and pom poms. It does not pay well to be a professional cheerleader, which means that those broads work their day jobs all week, run to the salon to get their grays touched up and then roll in on game day. That is conviction, and I salute it.

#4 NAPS!!!!!!!!!!!!

#5 Things That Are Funny. I really like making people laugh. I like making people laugh so much that I absolutely don’t mind if they’re laughing at me. My co-worker Mike turned to me the other day and said, “Alison, I love your blog because once I’m done reading it, I’m just so glad I’m not you.” That was basically one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to me. If Mike can laugh at my HORRIBLY PAINFUL LIFE, then I have made him happy and my job feels complete.

My friend Nikki got diagnosed with Leukemia last year, and I went to visit her in the hospital. I went into that hospital room with guns blazing. I was loud, and obnoxious, and talking about L.A. and all the ridiculous men I had been stalking and my terrible acting career. And of course all my other friends were there, and they were ripping on me, and teasing me, and then Nikki glared right at me and said, “Honestly Alison, drinking Drano is less abrasive than you.” And then…she laughed. That bitched laughed right in my face. She was so proud of herself and it was at my expense. And I couldn’t have been more delighted. Nikki passed away last Christmas. I won’t go into the horribleness that we all went through and I wish her story would have ended a different way. But I like to believe that maybe I was able to offer her a little bit of relief when she was in incredible pain.

So Amanda, you horrible monster, you killed my friend Nikki.

Ok, you didn’t, but you have brought her up and that was heartless. If I have to spend the rest of my life breaking my legs in blackouts, dating men who are wrong for me and getting admitted into the hospital, I’ll do it. As long as it makes you smile. Happy birthday, you shrew.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

50 Shades of Suicide City

I’m thinking about taking 800 aspirin.  One of my friends tried it once and while she didn’t manage to kill herself, she claims she hasn’t had a headache since.  I blame my newfound suicidal tendencies on every trilogy I’ve ever read – the most recent being Fifty Shades of Grey.

You guys…seriously?  How am I supposed to keep up?!  After reading Twilight I learned that if you’re a virgin, you’re going to meet a hot, rich man and then he’ll bite you (cause he’s a vampire…obviously) and you’ll get to live forever.  In Fifty Shades of Grey I learned that if you’re a virgin, you’re going to meet a hot, rich man whose only goal in life is to make you happy, buy you clothes and occasionally gag you.

Spoiler alert: I’m not a virgin.  While every other woman in America is at home right now furiously masturbating to Fifty Shades of Grey, I am freaking out! Listen, I lost my virginity a long time ago.  If someone would have explained to me how important my chastity was going to be, it’s possible that I would have paid more attention to where it went.  It’s sort of like when you’re in line at a fast-food restaurant and right after you order they give you that little ticket with the number on it.  If you’re me, you find yourself sitting in a booth, five minutes later, wondering why the fuck you’re holding garbage.  After that, people start screaming numbers at you and you realize that the little piece of paper was wildly important.  Now you’re accidentally eating a kid’s meal when you could have had a Whopper.

Also, how do both the women in these books get men to aggressively stalk them?  Is it the virgin thing?  I can’t even get a guy to pick me up from my apartment.  These books are making me feel inadequate!  You think I haven’t tried to get men to stalk me?  I once told a diabetic that I live in a candy store and do you think that mother fucker ever stopped by?  Ugh….

In Fifty Shades of Grey, Anastasia spends all her free time eating pancakes and bacon yet a constant theme of the book is how she’s super thin and can’t put on any weight.  IN WHAT WORLD?!  When I was in high school I caught anorexia from a friend and I weighed 130 lbs.  That means that with full-blown anorexia I remained a regular sized person.  In the meantime, my show-off friend only weighed 89 lbs and kept getting called into the principal’s office.  Cut to me in detention where my teacher is screaming, “Yo Royer, you look great.  Don’t stop doing what you’re doing.”  Oh you mean continue to not eat food?!  Real nice detention teacher.  I can’t even do an eating disorder correctly.  I wish I was dead.

Listen, I have enough reasons to feel sorry for myself. I’m dying, I have an out-of-control drug addiction and I drive a Daewoo.  Isn’t it possible that an overweight Midwestern girl can still find love in this world?  I am young (31), attractive (boy haircut) and single (desperate).  I should be enjoying myself! Instead I spend my free time Googling “How to become a vampire” and “Is macaroni and cheese a carb?”  I hate everyone.  I hate vampires.  I hate flashy CEOs who have a panache for S&M.  And I hate men who can’t give me a simple reason to file a restraining order against them.  As soon as I can figure out how many bottles it takes to make 800 aspirin, I’m outta here.