I’m weirdly arrogant. You might assume with all of my self-deprecating hate speak I am a licensed wrist cutter, but no. I actually suffer from crippling arrogance. I might be upset about it if I wasn’t so busy blogging about it. Thank God for the Internet. And Bill Nye. That’s unrelated.
Anyway, here are a few things I brag about, that no one should brag about.
My weird relationship with body hair.
I have a weird relationship with body hair. People don’t get it. I don’t get it.
It’s like, I want to find it disgusting, but I can’t. Like how I feel about Russel Brand or used Q-tips. Unhygienic and riddled with bodily fluids, I’d still let them penetrate my ears. The Q-tips, not Russel Brand. Katy Perry sucks.
But, it’s hard to explain my attraction to body hair.
On the body…
When I think of guys with body hair I think of two things:
1. Shaving the Superman logo onto his chest and
2. That in the right lighting, I would probably have sex with an orangutan.
Instead of acknowledging this as a fetish with a 1987 expiration date, I brag about it. People just don’t get it the way I do. Which leaves me no other option but to belittle those who disagree with me, accusing the women of being lesbians, and the men of being mid-transition transsexuals. Like Khloe Kardashian.
Jk, Khlo! *Kisses*
How Infrequently I Urinate
I was born with a massive bladder. At least that’s what I tell people. While this sort of statement may not impress in the same way as, say a vestigial tail or second vagina, I still find the words “internal fanny pack” escaping my lips whenever I participate in long road trips or conversations involving Chuck Norris.
Such an asset leads to an excess of useless conversation. At least once every 72 hours, I say one of the following things:
- I’ve only peed once since Thursday.
- Wow, I haven’t peed since 6:00 am.
- Some people really pee a lot. I don’t pee a lot.
- Use the bathroom? Girl, please.
- You can get pregnant from that?!
Eh hem, yeah. You can.
Reasons I Have Ended Relationships
Much like an early 20th century Appalachian family, every time mine convenes we spend our time entertaining one another with folk tales of the crazy ass bitches we recently dumped. Since I’m like, so totally unhinged, I tend to lead these conversations.
I like to open with my story of Bernard, the Waffle House casa nova, follow up with Jehovah the 5’6 cuddle monster, and close with Pedro, the divorced –er, I mean separated, whoops – I mean separated but still living together, yikes – I mean married with an open relationship, damn –I mean married and talking kids, dude I briefly considered.
I pantomime this humiliation, the crowds go wild, and I am left feeling proud and in serious denial of how pathetic my life has truly been.
Man alive, I’m on top of the world. I better do something to knock myself off of this high horse.
Oh, wait. I woke up today. Done.
The girl with hips that lie