Girls, Girls, Girls

I remember at around this time last year I was practically pooping my pants with excitement in anticipation for the new season of Girls. This year there has been no excitement and very little poop. In fact, the trailer for the new season has been out for weeks and I only just bothered to watch it a few minutes ago.

The first season of the show was funny and relatable and that is what I enjoyed about it. Yeah, I thought Lena Dunham was kind of annoying but I thought she was annoying in a laughable way. However, after watching the second season I realized she was actually just annoying in a totally annoying way. Not to mention all of her annoying friends are, well, annoying.

Also, my impression was that this show was supposed to be a "more realistic" version of Sex and the City. Lena Dunham stripped us of the myth that STDs are nonexistent in (highly) sexually active females. That was great. I liked that. But that was basically the extent of her myth killing. Apparently, even today, people still believe that a person can support themselves in Manhattan (and with no roommate) just by working in a coffee shop. (Part time, I am assuming, considering she is seldom at work).

Instead, she is usually spending her time fucking Patrick Wilson on a ping-pong table. And here I thought Lena was trying to making things realistic for us. That just gave false hope to every basic bitch (myself included) that we too will some day make love to Mr. Wilson on a ping-pong table, or anywhere for that matter (a pool table will work fine). Quit playing games with my vagina, Lena.

Patrick Wilson will never like us. The sooner we accept this fact, the sooner we can get on with the healing process.

Let's see, what else happened last season? Marni banged that gay dude, Shoshanna cheated on Ray (who the fuck cares? Ray is annoying), Adam discovered that Hannah is the only girl who is into the kinky shit that he is into (Call me, Adam, I think I know of someone else), Jessa got a divorce and disappeared, Marni and Charlie fucked and made-up and, oh, Hannah has OCD (but don't we all?)

The final episode disgusted me with the unnecessary romance. Marni and Charlie live happily ever after and so do Hannah and Adam. If I wanted this bullshit I would watch Dear John. Like fuck me, that shit is disgusting.

In case you have cared as much as me and are just getting around to watching the new trailer:

As usual, the trailer includes the obligatory white-girlisms that we have grown so accustomed to. Too accustomed, in fact. I am pretty sure all of us can just go ahead and write the script for Lena Dunham. There was the whole "I am okay, I may not seem okay and I may not be okay now, but I am like okay," speech which seems to show itself in every season with one or two words switched around.

I think I am just over the concept. Privileged, entitled, white females who feel miserable because of their insatiable need for affection, drama and things.

I have my own privileged, white, female life to be miserable about, thank you very much. I do not need yours, Leenz.

XOXO,
Jules

Fresh 2 Death

Over a year ago, I wrote a post about my perfect funeral. I spoke in depth about all of the things that I required on my special day. Well, it is a damn good thing that Nelson Mandela went before me because his funeral inspired me to make my fiesta THAT much better. It is going to be PERFECT.

I want at least 4 fake interpreters at my funeral. In fact, I demand it.

Thamsanqa Jantjie's performance at Nelson Mandela's funeral was basically the equivalent of me standing in front of an audience in China, as an "interpreter," and just belting out "CHING, CHONG, CHANG, CHING" over and over. Pretty fucked up. Right?

The dude's defense was interesting. He claimed to of had a schizophrenic episode during the ceremony.

Been there, done that, sir.

I mean, honestly, who has NOT claimed to have schizophrenia after you royally fuck up something? I did after I lost my ninth grade debate. No one fucking believed me!

I think what is most curious (and ridiculous) about the whole story is that this was not the first time Mr. Jantjie stumbled over his signs. Apparently the same thing went down years earlier and he claimed that the same thing went down.

I think we all have the same questions:

A) Why, after fucking up the first time, was he hired for such an important gig? If I had known that this is how you move up in the world, I would have been fucking up a lot worse and a lot more often (if that is even possible...)

B) Does this gentleman even know how to speak American Sign Language? I mean, I am Italian, so hand gestures are basically half of my speech but... I would not necessarily say I am fluent in sign language. Maybe this guy was feeling very Italian that day and got confused? It could happen.

C) If it was a schizophrenic episode, like he claims, and he saw angels flying around, why did he not just sign "hey guys, I see a bunch of bitches flying around. I am a little weirded out. I think I'ma bounce." Instead he just magically forgot how to sign everything?! And why does it always happen right before he needs to interpret an important speech?! How strangely convenient!

The only thing we should be grateful for is that Obama WAS NOT the one who hired this numb nut for the occasion. For just once we can blame someone else for blatant stupidity besides our own president. Just this once! YES!!!!

5 second dance party commencing...

NOW!

Okay, everybody settle the fuck down now! The dance party has officially concluded. Now it's back to me. At my funeral I would like four different interpreters, all of which, must be fake interpreting the entire time. All four separate languages should be completely massacred so that the person is speaking absolute nonsense. No one can know what is actually being said. Although improvisation is required, the person speaking "American Sign Language" is encouraged to draw inspiration from Nelson Mandela's funeral.

Also, I would like to include a photobooth. This way, President Obama and all of the other important celebrities who will be attending my special day can fulfill all of their selfie needs.

In all seriousness, this whole thing pisses a biddy right off.  It is bad enough that those who were watching the presentation that were deaf did not understand a goddamn word that was going on, but the bigger picture is even more disturbing. It is the fact that no one even knew (or cared enough) to check up on this fake interpreter. That, my good bids, is disconcerting. Still, in the year 2013, our culture cares very little about those who are differently abled and while some of us who are not deaf can shrug if off as a stupid mistake to laugh about, others will continue to be misunderstood, isolated and forgotten by our society.

Thamsanqa Jantjie, fake signer, and diagnosed numb nut (and to those who hired him), I think I speak for all of deaf culture that you are all buttfaces. Here is a sign that you may understand:

Much LUV 2 my haterZzZ
XOXO,
Jules

Happy Fucking Holidays

If you are reading this post then I guess it is safe to assume that you lived to see past Black Friday. Some were not so fortunate, including a cop who was dragged by a bunch of rednecks with a car outside of a K-Mart.

Can I hear an "oink, oink," ladies and gentlemen? But in all seriousness, what a drag for that po-po. Pun not intended... but actually intended.

Or how about the people who were trampled by a stampede of obese mid-western morons running to get their 25% off deal on Walmart brand jorts. Why pay ten dollars for them when you can pay $7.50? What a steal. Oh yeahhhhh!!!

Anyways, I completely avoided Black Friday. Being the intelligent and slightly tech-savvy individual that I pride myself to be, I decided to do the majority of my christmas shopping on what the kids these days call "the interwebs." That way I could have one window open ordering things on Amazon, one window for stalking my ex-boyfriend on facebook, one window for stalking my fuck buddy on facebook, one window for reading "Song of Myself" and another window catching up on some missed pornography (or what the kids call, porno). I am a millennial after all. What else are we good at besides completing five different tasks at once mediocrely?

So why do people insist on this nonsense of waiting in line the night before? All that work to get a toaster half price? The only time I wait in line is at the DMV (now that I mention it, fuck the DMV as well) and Chipotle. Fucking love Chipotle.

Also, when people refer to the "holidays," they almost always are referring exclusively to Christmas. We have been taught that the "politically correct" way of referring to Christmas in a country that is supposed to not be religiously affiliated, is "Happy Holidays!" However, let me ask you this: when was the last time you saw someone light up their house so abrasively with menorahs and Hanukkah lights that it made you want to slit your and everyone you know's wrists?

My point being, no one gives Hanukkah two fucking thoughts. And if you really think about it, Hanukkah is ten times more practical and useful. It seems wasteful and glutenous to open eight presents all in one morning. Is it not better to stretch it out? One gift a day for eight days? Not to mention the fact that latkes are fucking ridiculously delicious.  Hanukkah food far surpasses the traditional Christmas ham.

Can I hear another, "oink, oink?" On a related note, the competition between Hanukkah gelt and chocolate advent calendars persists. As we speak, many debate as to which is superior in delectability.

But no, when people say "Happy Holidays," they really are saying Merry Christmas. And if you are Jewish, no one gives a flying fuck about your holiday. It is those bitches who say "Merry Christmas" who are the honest ones. Oh and Hanukkah bushes do not exist. Stop trying to make it happen.

Do not even get me STARTED on the forever overrated New Years bullshit that every year I put up with.

Okay, you got me started. New Years is a mean joke. It is just a fancy excuse to make losers (like me), who have no friends, feel like absolute poop on a Triscuit cracker. Last year I spent New Years making out with my German Shepherd (well she licked my face a lot...) The year before I made out with a guy who, coincidentally, had an uncanny resemblance to a German Shepherd. They do say girls are usually attracted to guys who look like their dog. Do they not?

Who knows what this New Years has in store for me! I am thinking big things. I am thinking maybe I will buy some sprinkles for that gallon of ice cream this year. Whipped cream may be pushing it though.

Happy fucking holidays!

XOXO,
Jules

The Working Class

Paul Walker's death got me thinking about something important, something deep, something bigger than us all. As you may have guessed, it got me thinking a lot about hot people. Paul Walker was, indeed, a member of the hot people tribe. He left way too soon. I did not even get a chance to fuck him for the first and last time...

I was forever robbed of that passionate, tender love making. That is a burden I must bear for the rest of my waking life.

Rest in Peace Paul Walker, but this brings me to my main order of business. This brings me to this idea of "hotness." What exactly it is, what exactly it means and what exactly the ramifications of it are. We live in a world that values hot people above all else. Who cares if you are smart? Who cares if you are kind? And who the FUCK cares if you have been to space? The answer is: absofuckinglutely nobody. Unless you are in the boner making business you are virtually useless.

I have noticed something very interesting that is very close to me, something that is something that is very near and dear to my heart. I am talking about the struggle of the average looking biddy. I consider myself a slightly below average looking biddy, (and on the rare occasion when I choose to brush my hair, I'd say I'm an average biddy) and let me tell you, it ain't all sunshine and rainbows. Let me put it to you in words that you may understand. I like to compare it to economics. For the purposes of simplifying this complex, ground-breaking idea, let's just say that society is broken up into three classes. You have your upper-class, aka, your rich, privileged motherfuckers. You have your middle class (commonly and rightfully referred to as the working class) and then you have your lower class bitches. You know, poor people.

Now, our society obviously values wealth and those that are rich get whatever they damn well please. The rich stay richer and all of us make sure of that. Capitalism, bitches. Then, there's the lower class. Although they are in an unfortunate economic place, many do pity them. That pity (or what our society likes to call "charity") is seen in programs such as welfare or food stamps. It is basically the reason why rich people are able to sleep at night in their comfortable beds while homeless people sleep in the cold, on a park bench. Rich twats clear their conscience by throwing them some pity dollars and perhaps a loaf of bread for Thanksgiving. However, the working class? The working class does not even get that pity party. They get jack shit.

Yeah, that's right. They are like a hamster on a wheel. Just working and working and seeing little to no profit. This is exactly like the hotness hierarchy. The hot biddies get to bang all the dudes they want because, well, they are hot. The ratchet biddies, on the other hand, at least get the pleasure of a couple of pity fucks once in a while. No one pities the average to below average looking biddy. We are invisible. We practically do not exist.

In bars, no guys even look our way. Who needs a fucking invisibility cloak when you have small boobs and are as bland as piece of fucking wonder bread? To get any sort of action we need to do serious work. We need to make ourselves seem ten times more interesting than we really are ("Yeah, I, like, only listen to, like, underground music. I doubt you've heard of it.") We need to make ourselves seem ten times less crazy than we actually are ("No, I've never mailed a decapitated squirrel to my ex-boyfriend. That would be crazy.") And, above all else, we need to wear thirty times more make-up than everyone else ("Yeah, I just put a little mascara on. I like to keep things natural.")

 The truth of the matter is, no one will ever hear the average looking biddy's story because no one gives two fucks. Our story is not sad enough or happy enough to be heard. We will go on living in the shadows of biddies who are either more fortunate or less fortunate than us. *Sigh* I just hope one day that we too will be shown some pity.

If you feel bad for me: text/call/Facebook OR worse comes to worst, hit me up on my Myspace (I'm under the username: Iamnotokay).

XOXO,
Jules

P.S. The same hierarchy applies to diddies (male biddies). I did not forget you poor, somewhat-fortunate souls.