i know i am, but what are you?-samantha bee

so, i have 12/60 outstanding holds. i received three items today, and the rest is in transit. the decision will be made between midnight tonight and the 19th so, fingers crossed….and i’ma probably have to enlist the help of a cab, or clear out space in my locker to house a shit-tonne of books that i can ration to carry home in loads that won’t break my arms. i’m not even going to lie about how great it was to stay home all day yesterday, making muffins and reading books. i didn’t really want to go to work because this book made me laugh out loud (literally) many, many times in my bed. here’s my favorite:

“In fact, much to the confusion of my parents, I was like a roving, one-teen anti-drug crusader around my own home. Whereas other kids were busy rifling through their parents’ stashes and gleefully diminishing their supply, I was deliberately and dramatically flushing it down the toilet and reprimanding my parents for their youthful disregard for drug laws. And drugs were expensive then, too. My parents did a really good job of hiding it all; they sensed that I was after it, but for all the wrong reasons. Nothing could compare to the youthful vigor I applied to rummaging around in their private stuff to find incriminating evidence against them. With the methodical thoroughness of a CSI and the maniacal determination of an SS, I ransacked whole rooms for evidence of their drug use-like a junkie looking for smack, except that if I had actually found smack, I probably would have called the police on them and initiated the process of emancipating myself, just to be a bitch about it.
By contrast, if they even dared to move my jacket from the banister into the closet, I considered it a personal violation punishable by a twenty-four-hour tirade of teen angst, concluding with a hunger strike and something nice and passive-aggressive like leaving the freezer door open overnight so that everything in it would melt.” (109)

in the end, i’m glad i went to work today

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2 thoughts on “i know i am, but what are you?-samantha bee

  1. inappropriate days with bridget:

    “At the time, their indifference barely registered with me. I was very caught up in these dirty games and didn’t have time to waste on my friends’ dolls’ babyish backstories. My dolls had rich social lives and theirs was bona fide squares-teachers, doctors, vets. Talk to me when your Barbie can work a double shift at the casino, hitchhike home because her car’s in the shop, throw together a quick tray of hot Vienna sausages for her friends, and have lesbian sex while her hair sets in rollers for the impromptu block party she’s hosting in the back room of the hair salon that night. /Then/ maybe we can play.
    My mother and her boyfriend would host dinner parties, and at the end of the meal, everyone would just retire to the living room to watch a classic porno instead of a regular movie.” (54)

    “Our family car was the antithesis of design and desirability. It was like driving Hitler’s mustache.” (105)

    “The place was a filthy, neon-lit hellhole that looked hideous and smelled sour, like a potent goulash of dirty dishcloth, Love’s Baby Soft, and taint.” (123)

    “Fresh out of management school and drunk on the smell of Cinnabon, the store supervisor insisted that I oblige her.” (152)

  2. rites of passage:

    “I slept with a dirty strip of squirrel fur that I had ripped off my grandmother’s coat and called my ‘rat’. It I couldn’t find my rat, I would sob quietly and moan ‘Ratty’ until my mother fished him out of the garbage again for the last time.” (7)

    i had a piece of rabbit fur called Caramel…and then there was Fudge.

    “Whenever the two of us got together, we had that weird kid smell that is reminiscent of Bubblicious but in the end is just the odor of unwashed clothes and sour prepubescent armpits. Innocent, but also gross.” (43)

    “Sex was my first boyfriend was a little bit like learning how to put in a tampon, but only half as enjoyable!” (99)

    “I took to calling him sensei any time he tried to tell me something I already knew and had actually learned by fifth grade. I don’t need my boyfriend informing me that the most nutritious part of the potato is actually the skin. Or that Michael Bolton wasn’t the original singer of ‘(Sittin’ on) the Dock of the Bay’.” (143-4)

    “First of all, I questioned the efficacy of talking to the poo and begging it to stop. It was just plain futile. I also questioned the relationship know-how of someone who would make a twenty-minute pit stop on his girlfriend’s toilet, battle loudly with the poo for supremacy, and saunter out as though nothing had happened, and then expect to walk right out the door and paint the town red. You can’t just yell at poo and pretend it never happened when the other person is ten feet away in a studio apartment.” (146)

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