I do a lot of stupid things these days to try and dignify myself, but the fact is, I’m still not a grown-up quite yet. Sure, I work and pay my rent and buy my own underwear, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a mad-hot mess underneath my near-flawless exterior. Here are some examples of my quasi-classy behavior:
- My boyfriend and I bought Disaronno the other night to make Amaretto Sours and feel like rappers. However, amaretto sours led to whiskey sours which led to whiskey rocks which led to pulling swigs of Jack Daniels on the way out the door so we could “save money” at the bars we didn’t even intend on going to when we first bought the Disaronno. All I’m saying is, I don’t think Kanye West has ever blacked out in a gay hipster night club and then fallen asleep in the back of his roommate’s Ford Taurus. But I’ve never met the guy.
- I recently saw a very impressive production of the hit Broadway musical “Avenue Q.” They rented the original Broadway sets and puppets and everything! In order to feel upscale, I dressed up in a nice pair of skinny jeans, a stylish and slightly see-through V-neck (promiscuous, but hardly revealing)… and a pair of inside-out boxer briefs, because it was laundry day and I was out of clean underpants. My boyfriend had to keep tucking the tag back into my pants.
- When I’m really hungover, I treat myself to irrational purchases that make me feel highbrow and better about myself. Two times ago it was an online shopping spree, last time it was an iPhone, and this weekend I spontaneously bought myself a Disneyland annual pass. Fact: Disneyland is not the best place to cure a hangover. I was constantly reminded of two things: a) Why I hate children; and b) That I had to barf.
So maybe my web series Those With Class is more more truth and less fiction than I care to admit. Maybe my character Mic has more in common with me than two shared consonants. Maybe I have participated in placebo drug trips and witnessed a killer clown stab a douche bag to death with a carving knife. Maybe that’s why I fucking hate FaceTime, so stop asking.
Or maybe I’m just too hungover to look at your face right now.