Have you ever laughed super loud at something and heard the laugh play back in your head, thinking, It’s 10p.m., did I really need to laugh that loud? Do I always do that? That was so loud and obnoxious. Why would I do that?
Anonymous said: In regards to your post about people's possessions on their blogs, just read GOMI. You can vent all that shit out there. That's what I do and damn does it help!
What does GOMI stand for? Get Off My Internet? I’m gonna Google it. It sounds cool… Oh, I was close! Get Off My Internets! I love it. I love to bitch. I love it when others bitch. It is the only appropriate response to anything that occurs in life.
I’m just mad because I’m broke. I haven’t bought a pair of underwear in my entire adult life, not exaggerating at all. So today I bought some frivolous $5 panties from Target, some frivolous blueberries. Then I was broke. That was it. That was what broke me. I can’t even pretend to be someone who buys underwear or blueberries. I’m three months behind on my payment for my parking garage at work. The IRS finally found me, too. They called my cell. They’ve never done that before. Next, they’re going to show up at my apartment. I’m just fucked, man. It could be worse, though. I could have a child. Or I could not have Chris. If I didn’t have Chris, life would be a pointless hell. There would be no point for me to live in this hell. When I think about that, I feel fortunate and I’m not worried or bitter at all. I feel lucky and I can go to sleep.
So, I found this girl’s blog today. She is in her early twenties, goes to design school, and has a lot of froufrou possessions. I don’t even know how to describe it. Each blog post is about, like, her “perfume tray”, or like, “Outfit of the day!” (Kate Spade, Chanel, Anthropologie, etc.) The blog is just cataloging her possessions, or her talking about how much she loves rompers or something, but no mention of where this stuff comes from. She runs ads on her blog, and has a good follow-base, with other girls commenting how jealous they are, but no one is asking the real question, “Where the fuck did you get all this shit? What do your parents do for a living?” How could anyone have a blog that is just showcasing how supportive her rich parents are of her taste, whatever it may be? I would be so ashamed of myself to be doing that, I just don’t understand it. I feel the same way about that girl, “ceedling”. I know she’s a feminist because she doesn’t shave her pits or whatever, and may be a cool chick, but one day I started to look a little closer at her vast shoe collection, and started looking some of them up. They’re all hundreds of dollars per pair. Her clothes and handbags are the same way. Costly. Her parents must just let her use a credit card to buy whatever she wants online. What the fuck? I guess there are a lot of people like this. I have a hard time seeing young people flaunt their parents’ affluence on the Internet without acknowledging that that’s what’s up. I just wish they’d keep it real. All their pictures and posts say, “My new bag came today! I’m so in love with these, they are my new obsession. Here’s more pictures of these things. They kind of match my other things!” As if these things just fell out of thin air. Just say, “My dad let me buy yet another cool whatnot with his credit card! Isn’t it awesome? Shout out to my dad, who doesn’t know who Betsey Johnson is, but buys all her products for me! I’m so fortunate to be born to two doctor parents. Without them, I would never know what it feels like to have little Tory Burch tea parties.” I just am not impressed at all. Yeah, okay, good for you. I’d be dressed like that, too, if my parents had infinite money for me. Not cool. Not even all those assholes in LA who are in bands or whatever else. They don’t know what work is. They don’t know what it’s like to be working class. Those people aren’t even real. They don’t even exist to me. Rich young people. What the fuck do they do? They don’t do anything. They don’t value anything. How could they? They don’t know what it’s like to be too broke to go to school, too broke to get a different job, too broke to die, too broke to live. That’s real. That’s the realness I know. Broke realness. I’m impressed if you finagled something cool out of your brokeness. Or if you worked for something cool. Everything else should just be confiscated by the Gestapo or something, give a fuck. Take it all. Take all this stupid shit away so everyone has nothing and we can see what we’ve really got.