Echo

Here’s mine:

Dear World:

You have given me 25 years of shit. You stingy asshole. Couldn’t even give me a lifetime’s worth so I’ll MAKE it a lifetimes worth.

First off, I just wanted to say thanks for nothing regarding my irregularly-shaped bottomless pit of a belly button. I think there are 12 miners down there who died of starvation back in the late 70s. It was fun to yell down there, “It puts the lotion back in the basket, or it gets the hose again” and listen to the subsequent resonating echo for all of five minutes, but now all I can do is look in the mirror and watch that ugly gaping hole stare back at me. No, not that one. No, not THAT one either. Still talking about the belly button.

Furthermore, thanks for not giving me enough ego stroking during my adolescence. Not only did I have to be fat, did you really have to give me a moustache, too? What am I, Mexican? Fuck you.

Now for personalized curses:

Mom: thanks for not telling me that the back of my skirt was tucked into my underwear that first day of 5th grade when you dropped me off. And thanks for picking out the tightie whities with the little green apples for that day’s outfit. The ensuing teasing did wonders for my self-esteem.

Dad: Thanks for not loving me enough. I have managed to find asshole boyfriend after asshole boyfriend and tried to psychologically/emotionally heal them in a misguided effort to connect with you.

9th Grade Spanish Teacher: You suck. You asked me if I was chewing gum in class and when I said no, you asked if I was chewing crud. Well, yes. But that’s none of your business.

Vijay: Yeah, you’re a boy and I beat you up in the 8th grade. In public. Sorry. I guess I had a crush on you and it was somewhat inappropriately expressed.

Anna: My downstairs neighbor. You got liposuction then went on a cruise and got fat again. That’s awesome.

Dr. Miller: You’re a fucking psychiatrist. And you made me feel bad about myself. Isn’t that ironic? Don’t you think?

Boy George: Fuck you for sharing my birthday.

To all the people I like, who have supported me through all these years, just wanted to let you know that I appreciate all you’ve ever done for me. Rie, we made a pact years ago that if anything ever happened to me, that you would get to my place first and hide my porn. So bring a big box. And you can keep whatever you want. I know you said that you want the boy-on-boy action videos.

Goodbye cruel world, and if I can manage it, I will be sure to come back and haunt those of you who were total dicks.

Alright, so I’ve been depressed over my not-so-recent anymore break-up with a not-to-be-mentioned porn-aficionado. So in an effort to understand why I am not in his life but his porn still is, I downloaded the best that the internet has to offer in terms of coming to a better understanding of why porn is more engaging than I am.

Now, for the record, I have a reputation as being one highly sexed gal. But goddam, that shit was BORING! It was the same shit over and over, with these really slutty looking chicks and these really dumb looking guys. About 5 minutes in, I found myself continually checking email and being drawn to a riveting game of minesweeper. Trying to further concentrate on the task at hand (no pun intended), I watched several clips to “completion,” and my most prevalent (as well as anxiety-riddled) thought was, for the love of God, don’t get that stuff in your eye! That’s how you get AIDS!

Needless to say, I don’t fucking get it. I don’t fucking get why guys would rather watch porn than be with a girl with whom he can make a porn.

A little poem by my mentor, m loncar to leave you with:

writing a poem about the girl should never be better
than the girl than being with the girl

don’t write the poem about the girl
unless you’d rather be with the girl