Hello again, friends! Here’s the 5th episode of Those With Class, written by yours truly.
Please “like” it on Youtube if you enjoyed it, and join our facebook group at http://facebook.com/thosewithclass
You can also watch all the videos and read more about cast/crew/characters on the website (that I made!) http://thosewithclass.com
As always: Watch, laugh, and share. Thanks!
-Mac
I’ve been extremely happy for months now, and it’s the pits.
How am I supposed to bitch and moan about stupid things that bother me if all that insignificant bullshit doesn’t catch my attention anymore? I guess I’ll have to get used to putting forth an effort to be constantly annoyed.
It wasn’t always like this. The dumbest things used to set me off! If you take a stroll done My Freaking. Awesome. Life. Lane, you’ll recall such classic nags as upside-down toilet paper rolls, merciless LA sunshine, and how much Pixar sucked my nuts with Cars 2 (I will never understand car bugs). It’s not to say that I never wrote about happy things, but even my most optimistic blogs usually had a sarcastic undertone, mostly because I probably thought whatever I was writing about was stupid or below me.
But now, I don’t know what’s happened. I can’t seem to find anything to bitch about. Is this the end of My Freaking. Awesome. Life.? Is my life nothing to brag about anymore? Am I not above it all anymore?
I blame love. Fuck love and all the happiness that comes with it. What a god damn drag. Ugh. Seriously, I’m so happy right now I’m pissed.
I know exactly who to blame: my boyfriend. Before I met him, I could pump out a hate-blog in twenty minutes. All I had to do was go on Huffington Post or see what my roommate was wearing and at least a dozen judgmental thoughts would bloom like a beautiful bouquet of stinky poo-poo roses. But I wasn’t above my own ass-holery, either. If the internet or my roommate’s wardrobe didn’t suffice (and thanks to moi his wardrobe has improved substantially. Not to toot my own horn, but… “toot toot.”), I could almost always look in the mirror and find something that pissed me off. The fat on my tummy that just won’t go away no matter how hard I don’t eat, the white heads on my cheek that always creep back, the fact that I look like a man-baby… Self deprecation was my drug. It’s how I got through the day. I was like Lena Dunham on “Girls,” except I’d never get naked that often in front of a national audience. And honestly, neither should she.
So to my friends that keep demanding new blog posts: blame my boyfriend. He bought me flowers the other day because I went to his music show. I went to his show. I should have bought him flowers! DAMN HIM.
So yeah. Looks like I’m done complaining for now. I guess I’ll have to look elsewhere for creative inspiration. Thank God for Florida.
