I Am A Green-Eyed Monster

So you all know that I’m a happy girl who loves everybody and is extremely self-confident, right? Boy, have I fooled the shit outta you.

I embody the first two qualities perfectly, yes. However, I will tell you something now that you might not know yet- I go through life with a Jealousy Monkey fucking me in the ass every single moment. That being said, it may come as no surprise when I tell you that the constant butt-drilling I get leads to Jealousy becoming my dominant personality trait.

One of the things that makes my jealousy acceptable is the fact that I do not begrudge people for whatever happiness they receive from whatever it is that makes me jealous of them. I am jealous of those in perfect relationships, but I would never wish them to NOT have a perfect relationship just because I don’t. They say Misery loves company; the truth is- I prefer solitude.

I will give you just a few examples of the things that I am jealous of:

I am jealous of Carrie Underwood and her perfect face and her perfect voice, and the fact that she gets endless commercial deals despite the fact that she has the inability to choose good songs to sing with her perfect voice.

I am jealous of my friend Delightful, and the fact that she possesses one of those tiny bodies that make you want to stick her in your back pocket. She also has amazing sparkly eyes that are not poop colored, like mine are.

I am jealous of the people that own Mustangs, because I haven’t one; and I am jealous of the fact that these people have the dollars to afford the Mustangs in the first place.

I am jealous that deceased celebrities such as Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston are talked about more than I am. Why can they not have the decency to share the fame they no longer need?

I am jealous of all the excessively talented pianists on Youtube who can play Chopin’s Fantasie Impromptu, because no matter how much I try to practice it, my timing is off and my fingers do not carry enough dexterity and speed to play it properly.

I am jealous of Nicole Kidman and her porcelain white skin, because though I possess the exact paleness she does, I just look pasty and all my veins show.

I am jealous that  untalented writers such as Stephanie Meyer have become household names because they had the gall to write about such ridiculous things as sparkly vampires and werewolves falling in love with infants.

I am jealous of the fact that my Rockstar’s Daughter received cuddling so much more easily from my Rockstar than I ever will.

I am jealous of Taylor Swift and the fact that her unimaginitive choices of subject matter for her songs has made her rich enough to buy a castle if she so chooses.

I am jealous of the fact that my douchebag of a former boss gets to continue working in MY bookstore, despite the fact that he hates books, and hates customers, and ogles young women, and sexually harrasses his underlings, while I slave away as a Pizza Slut.

I get jealous of people flirting with other people when I am readily available to be flirted with. This one is a bit confusing, because yes, I get jealous of the girls who are getting flirted with by men I don’t even find attractive. It IS all about me, you know.

I am jealous of those people that go around being happy all the goddamn time. I try that and find it utterly exhausting.

I am jealous of people that live in all the places that aren’t here. Sadly, if I were to move to any of those places, I would probably be jealous of the people that remained here.

I am jealous of those women (and men) who have perfect straight hair that can just wake up, run a brush through their hair, and go about their day. The fact that they can run a brush through their hair without creating an afro irks me most of all.

I am jealous of the fact that no matter how good of a writer I become, I will never be able to write lyrics as excellently as the band Black Stone Cherry.

I am jealous of Chris Meloni’s wife, and the fact that she gets to booby squish him whenever she wants.

I am jealous of women with babies, and pregnant women, and babies, and little children that are still adorable and not evil spawn from Hell.

One of the things that you all can be jealous of, though, is the fact that I have awesome readers who actually want to read this shit. 😉 XOXO

 

 

 

 

You

Because I miss my Rockstar…

You

VSFS Day!!!!

EIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! Are you ready to party?! It’s the most sparkley night of the year; another Sparkle Holiday- tonite they air the Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show!

Now for obvious reasons, (sparkles, underwear, boobies, and women,) there is really no reason why anyone should NOT watch this wonderful little gem. This is my favorite holiday, and I’ve been waiting all year just so I can see the most beauteous women prance around in their underwear and angel wings. I have made it a tradition to ask for the night off from work and get dolled up in my most adorable underclothes, (I say adorable because I can’t pull off sexy) and to watch the wonderful creations that float down the runway toward me on my 42″ high-definition TV.  

Now, from what I can tell, most men are not allowed by their wives and girlfriends to witness this little exhibition. I feel sad for these men, simply because the show is about everything beautiful and fabulous; I do not think it is the intent of Victoria’s Secret to make the insecure housewives of the world jealous in any way. To those women I say- if you are so insecure about your men watching beautiful women in their undies, why don’t YOU get dolled up and strut around in yours? I’m quite certain if your husband married you, he would not mind this at all. Show him that you can be just as sexy as those women! (I have a little secret for you. Those women ARE very beautiful, but even they don’t look like that in real life.)

Last year on this holiday, my Rockstar wanted to see what all my excitement was about. He actually got only 10 minutes into the show before he blurted out, “All of these women are WAAAY too skinny. If they put their legs together, you’d still be able to fit a fist in between their thighs.” (I thought his wording was a bit crass.) Yes, I admit, the models really are too skinny, but can you blame them? They are walking around in their panties for the entire world to see. I wouldn’t want my lovehandles recorded on film for all posterity either. I was surprised to find myself watching the rest of the show by myself. My Rockstar loves to talk and look at beautiful women, so I really thought he’d be thrilled to watch. C’est la vie.

I am a bit turned off by their choice of musical artists for these events. Instead of Katy Perry and Nicki Minaj, I think it would be awesome for them to have Black Stone Cherry singing Blame It on the Boom Boom, and Motley Crue performing Hell on High Heels. But that’s just me.

I suppose it would be a little bit excessive to make bra-shaped cookies for the occassion? I really think that once I have my castle, I’m going to have to host an annual Victoria’s Secret Fashion Show Party. And you will only be allowed in if you come in your skivvies. XOXO