In this riveting new series of lists that I’ll be curating directly from my mind, I’d like to share with you, dear reader, the most irritating moments of my day. Just some tidbits about me being cantankerous.
The first instance of irritability I encountered today greeted me immediately upon rising: my room was cold as fuck, as my roommate had turned off the heat at some point in the night, and the pale morning light was trying to provoke me. Heating the house in Ireland is ridiculously expensive, and if we actually left it on all night, I’d just wind up back here complaining about the electricity bill. Nevertheless, it got me all wound up as I scrambled for a sweater and some sweat pants—because, why would one sleep with pants on? The brisk morning felt much more like a bleak après-ski than the warm, après-sleep I had hoped to wake to. Earlier today though, I had an epiphany during my therapy session, and came up with a really insightful metaphor for my behavior prior to noon on a daily basis: my therapist, also, comically, a midwife (and an active member of the Catholic Church) explained that when babies are born they come out screaming and shaking because they’re scared, they’re in this new unfamiliar space and they instantly miss their cocoon. I could relate to this feeling, it validated me. So, next time you’re upset about the sunrise and the birth of a new day, just think like me: equate leaving your bed with the arrival of a new, beautiful life, and you’ll have a right to scream, shake—and hit snooze.
Aside from being forced to take part in the world of the awake, I had a mental feminist fit in a novelty bookshop while killing time before: you guessed it, my therapy appointment. In the middle of perusing the “adult” coloring books and pages filled with puppies and kitschy quotes, I came across a “sexy” coupon booklet. It was your typical French maid bullshit—each page designed with a fake lipstick kiss with “I promise . . .” doodled submissively, followed by something like “to do all of the housework in the buff for a day.” Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me. This is as creative as we can get in this day and age? We’re not even allowed to be progressive in our subservient, sexist coupons?! How about something real, something raw, something relevant: “I promise . . . to finger your asshole, and not discuss how much you like it later for once because it makes you feel emasculated.” “I promise . . . to humor you when you make me binge watch The Boondocks, and to keep quiet about my brain cells slowly crying and dying during it.” All jokes aside, what really irked me was that no reciprocal coupon book for women was displayed on the table. I’m pretty sure that almost every time a dude has sex, he orgasms. He cums. It’s awesome. And I’m also pretty sure that that does not happen almost every time a girl gets it on. I’d say the dude coupons are unnecessary, maybe even slightly insensitive. Dudes are covered; they don’t need to see your tits out while you’re making toast if we’re not also being served by a naked man, ass out with an apron on. Where’s our “sexy” coupon book? Where’s my “I promise. . . to slap you in the face during sex, but still respect you as my equal” coupon? Where’s the “I’ll go down on you just because” coupon? Where’s the “I’ll purchase a weed whacker to combat the deplorable situation that’s going on in my pants right now” coupon? Where’s the “If one of us finishes, it’s for sure gonna be you this time” coupon. Furthermore and finally: where’s the “I’ll play with your hair, make you mac n cheese, and fall asleep watching BBC with you” coupon? Now, that’s a coupon book I would be interested in buying. If anyone knows a publisher, our email is listed below.
Xanaxes & O’s