January 29


Today was a bad day for two reasons. First of all, when I was on cafeteria duty with the eighth graders I somehow got ketchup all over my butt. Don’t ask me how. Maybe someone stepped on a packet on the floor and it squirted up. Maybe I backed into a ketchup covered object. Maybe the ketchup was subtly placed on my butt by a malicious 13 year old. The world will never know.

Regardless,  I didn’t realize I was covered in ketchup until my assistant principal walked by and pointed it out. I cannot decide what the worst repercussion of this incident was. Was it the fact that 300 8th graders witnessed my boss dabbing my ass with a paper towel trying to remove ketchup that I could not see because my booty is just that big? If not that, then it was definitely trying to teach about elements and compounds while my immature middle schoolers screamed period jokes at me every time I turned around to write on the board.

“Miss, miss, is it yo period? You gonna have a baby now miss??” (My middle schoolers do not really understand how periods work.)

I was explaining to Roomie how now I am an adult and therefore capable of handling these incidents (most of the time). I cannot imagine how traumatizing this event would be if it had happened to me when I was actually in middle school.

The other thing that happened today was I accidentally butt-texted Sam on the Snapchat app. Do not ask me how this is possible, for I do not know. My butt was having a busy day.

The worst part is, it being Snapchat and all, I do not even know what my butt said to Sam in this text. He just responded and was all “I think you butt-texted me, haha, how are you?” Turmoil. I flipped out and just responded, “Oops, the new Snapchat update is weird! Sorry!” and did not respond anymore after that. I think the fact that I cannot even handle seeing his name on my phone screen is a pretty good indicator that I am not ready to attempt to engage in normal conversation.

This is all I got. THANKS TO MY BUTT.

This is all I got. THANKS TO MY BUTT.

Anyway. I am attempting to rally because I have another OkCupid date tonight. I used to think online dating was weird and impersonal until I moved to this godforsaken city and discovered that almost everybody under the age of 30 does it these days. Out of my four closest friends who are in relationships, three of them met their significant others online. It’s just statistics. You increase the size of the pool of potential boyfriends when you online date. Anyway, these are all the things I tell myself when I am trying to convince myself I am not weird for having an OkCupid account.

I am just not feeling very winning and charming tonight though. My stomach is upset and I have hat hair, but I will trudge out into what’s left of the snow in search of my one true love. I’ll let you know what this one’s fatal flaw is.

The only thing motivating me is this guy cannot possibly be worse than Snakespeare. I seriously doubt there is a weirder guy in all five boroughs.


Was backing up admiring how good my hair looks in my full length mirror when I tripped over one of The Cat’s five fifty dollar scratching posts.  I forgot I put it in the middle of my room and covered it in catnip…my gorgeous expensive blue rug is the item of the week for clawing and shredding. The Cat has an appetite for destruction.

Fell on my butt like some comical representation of how people actually fall with arms flailing and an audible thump. Will likely have bruise the size of Brazil on my thigh for the weekend.


Well. I have returned. I had a really nice time, actually. We went to a cool place and had beers and listened to a band. He was very sweet.  There was a fatal flaw, though, everybody. And it was that he had a “philosophy” for everything. “My philosophy about drummers is that…” “I think when it comes to cars a good philosophy is…” I’m no philosopher. I took one class of it in college because I had to and that was more than enough for me. Why does anyone sit around and philosophize about anything anyway? I don’t know. I really have nothing to complain about with this dude other than his philosophies, which isn’t that bad to be quite honest. He’ll text me tomorrow. He wants to take me to dinner. We’ll see.

I’m beginning to think that the fatal flaw for all these guys is that they are not Sam. And that’s a fatal flaw that seven billion people have. There’s no fixing that.

Even though he was always indifferent to me, even though he slept with other girls for most of the time he was with me, even though I tried so hard to just be enough for him, I was never enough. But still, when I’m out and I’m dressed all nicely and wearing my new Mac lipstick, all I want is sweatpants on his couch. And I just don’t understand this about myself.

I always looked at people in bad relationships and wondered why they didn’t just leave. He’s cheating on you, I would think, don’t you value yourself more than that? He told me from day one he didn’t want a relationship and he couldn’t be that for me. And he never was. So why didn’t I walk? I have no idea, honestly, and crying and wine night and therapy and four months hasn’t gotten me any closer to understanding. Maybe it’s because he challenges me more than anyone ever has. Maybe it’s because I think that when he tries he really understands me. Despite what a shitty person he is, he always felt like he completed me. Like he was my other half. Does this mean my half is shitty too?

I don’t know. I cried on the subway the whole way home.

In positive news, I was sitting on my futon feeling sad when all of a sudden The Cat comes up and scratches her expensive scratching post right in front of me for the first time ever. Please note the fact that she did not scratch my door frame or my expensive rug or my sofa… she scratched the post. This has never happened. The cardboard of the scratcher is pristine except for the two square inches she deigned to scratch this evening. I took a video and showered her with treats.

Sometimes animals just get what you need.

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