Tuesday, January 15, 2013

God Hates Me

I mean…it’s not a big deal or anything I just think we should acknowledge that he literally hates me.  For like 30 seconds I got confused and thought maybe he liked me.  I had just spent 10 glorious days in Chicago where my mother, Mimi Royer, doted on me and every meal included country fried steak.  I returned to Los Angeles fresh and renewed.  I felt confident that I was on the precipice of greatness.  Over the holiday break, I had taken the time to remove all the dicks that had been inserted into my asshole previous to my departure and was confident that they would stay gone for good.  Unfortunately, it quickly became clear that God put those dicks there for a reason and by removing them I had inadvertently pissed him off.

The night I returned to Los Angeles I was committed to finishing season 2 of Homeland which had unequivocally changed my life.  I became obsessed with it (deep-rooted addiction problems) while I was at home and was anxious to get back to it.  Unfortunately, when I sat down to fire up my super trendy Dell Inspiron, the screen literally just started spewing an array of numbers and letters indicating to me that perhaps it was not working.  I don’t know a lot about computers so I just turned it on and off 40 times, to no avail.  Day one in LA = non-functioning laptop.  Insert dick into ass.

I reasoned that this was a slight annoyance, nothing to be alarmed about.  I have a tech guy at work and I’m certain that his sole job is to accommodate my needs.  While my ass was slightly sore from this minor setback, I would not be deterred.  People in Africa are dying of AIDS, my laptop doesn’t work.  No big deal. 

The next day my email was hacked and I sent what I have to imagine was a virus to about 400 of my closest friends.  The day after that, my Blackberry (I get it…I should get a new phone.  I’M NOT GOOD WITH TECHNOLOGY!!!) stopped sending and receiving emails.  In the interim, I realized that I was freezing to death every night only to find out that my heat was broken.  I’m not sure if you’re following but this is now several dicks.  I hadn’t even been home for a week and there were so many dicks in my ass I could hardly see straight.    

I was beginning to crack but I would not break.  NO BIG DEAL GOD!  I’VE GOT EVERYTHING UNDER CONTROL!  YOU WON’T WIN THIS ROUND YOU SON OF A BITCH!  But God would not be deterred.  It was obvious he would not be happy until my ass was brimming with dicks.  At around 10:30pm last Friday, I had just completed a 3 and a half hour improv class and was exhausted from a long day of being a legal assistant and pretending to be an actor.  I was walking with a friend, back to my car, when I noticed that my back window had writing on it.  I turned to my friend Allie and said, “Um…does my back window say asshole?”  Well ladies and gentleman, it did…obviously.  Luckily there were several helpful messages written with wax all over my windows.  After the asshole message, which was uninformative at best – creatively lacking at worst, the next message read, “Die.  Never park here.”  I looked around to see if maybe I parked in a driveway or if there were any signs suggesting that I had done something wrong.  No, on both counts.  I read on, “Turn off your fucking alarm.”  Now that struck me as interesting BECAUSE I DRIVE A 2001 DAEWOO!  WHY THE FUCK WOULD I HAVE AN ALARM?!  Right then, the alarm went off.  An alarm that I had not encountered in the 3 years that I’ve owned that wretched car.  Apparently the fucking Daewoo has a secret alarm that goes off when it’s parked in front of a house inhabited by psychos. 

So I got in my car and drove home.  I drove through the streets of West Hollywood in a 2001 Daewoo that had been vandalized to the extreme, every window accounted for, expletives galore and I headed back to my tiny, freezing studio where dreams find a place to die.

The thing is, I believe that God exists.  It’s just obvious that he literally wishes I was dead.  At least he didn’t impregnate me with his stupid son.  If I was Mary, I would’ve been pissed.  He must have really hated her.  In the end, I ended up kidnapping my friend Allie and we spent the next two hours dousing my car with vinegar and trying to get that fucking wax off.  The next day I went to work, attempted to get a cup of coffee and instead, immediately broke the espresso machine.  I barely have time to take one dick out of my ass before another one gets jammed up there.  For a moment I thought the silver lining was that my IT guy fixed my laptop.  This was until I noticed that when I open the stupid thing, my name is visible with a cat next to it.  A CAT!  I fucking hate cats.  And of course I have no idea how to change it.  So now every time I open my laptop I remember that a) cats are stupid, b) I am West Hollywood’s bitch c) God fucking hates me and wants me to die.  My ass runneth over.    

Friday, January 4, 2013

Belated Christmas Post

I love Christmas.  I realize it's politically correct to call this time of year "the holidays" but I think we can all agree that's just code for Christmas.  I don’t claim to know a lot about this Jesus character that everyone’s always talking about but I appreciate the fact that I receive gifts on his birthday.  I believe we should all follow Jesus’ lead, which would allow me to receive gifts on literally everyone’s birthday.  So Christmas it is.  All remaining holidays are subpar.  Don't think I don’t notice them trying to sneak themselves into the fray.  Each year, I enter the lobby of my office building where a glorious Christmas tree is illuminated in all its glory while somewhere nearby a menorah tries to inch its way in.  I call bullshit, menorah.  You're just a candelabra in disguise.  Stop trying to steal Christmas' thunder.  Hanukah isn't the only culprit.  Each year, more and more fake holidays try to take center stage.

Let's start with the most obvious fake holiday – Hanukkah.  This fake holiday is also known as the festival of lights.  I'm pretty sure that's the deal with all the candelabras.  I want you to know that I did extensive research on Hanukkah and I still have no idea what it is.  (It should be noted that "extensive research" entailed G-chatting my friend Orit who I'm pretty sure gave me an exact definition but in Hebrew so quite frankly, I'm still lost.)  Anyway, I think it's just the celebration of wax candles…lame.

Black people.  That's my only point of reference on Kwanzaa.  Apparently it was made up in 1966.  Made up…literally.  It was created (made up) by a man named Maulana Karenga (fake name, fake holiday…makes sense) who said that Jesus was psychotic and that Christianity was a white religion that black people should shun…oh boy.  Simmer down Maulana…Jesus was a hero who gave everyone a gift on his birthday.  The only gift you've ever given is a fake holiday with too many consonants.  I see you've taken a page from our friends the Jews.  I'm not impressed.

Quite frankly, New Year's Eve is a holiday I can get behind solely because it's ripe with drinking and debauchery.  Sadly, I have an out of control drinking problem, therefore, this "holiday" no longer applies to me.  Furthermore, the only gifts I've ever received on New Year's Eve have been D.U.I.s, S.T.D.s and a lost car.  I lose my car a lot when I'm drinking.  I used to have a close relationship with the Chicago Police Department because my first assumption was always that my car had been stolen.  After a thorough wake-and-bake, I would then trick a friend into driving me around the city until I found whatever piece of shit car I was driving at the time.  As you can see, NYE is a lot of work.  It often results in several different blood tests, a pregnancy scare, and about an eighth of weed.  Not for me. Not anymore. Fuck you, New Year's Eve -- Plan B is expensive and frankly, I don't appreciate your attitude. 

The one thing I like about New Years is the resolutions part.  As I look forward to holidays ahead, I resolve to find out who Jesus is.  I resolve to not be racist.  I resolve to know the whereabouts of my car at all times.  Most of all, I resolve to accepts the gifts the world gives me.  In the name of Jesus Christ, that wonderful man who bought me a Burberry bag last year, Amen.