Pee on my keys. Oh, and YOU ARE NOT WORTHY. I SHALL SWIPE LEFT.

This post required a self indulgent ‘selfie’ of sorts. LIKE IT. LIKE ME. LOVE ME MOTHER FUCKER.

In an attempt at cultivating some mystery around my persona, I found myself not making plans with anyone and hiding out at home pretending to catch up with Jon Stewart. ‘They’ll wonder what I’m doing if I don’t text or try to hang out and then reach out to ME.’ Tinder and OkCupid are clearly making me a narcissistic fuck tard. Or an insecure lawn gnome. The jury is still out.

Jon said something about Turkey and apparently we’re going to be putting troops on the ground but we’re not going to war. And something about Serbia. Or it may have been Syria.  I’d have learned more but the Craigslist missed connections section had a gem from a guy who wants you to pee on his car keys. I don’t drive so I’m considering the pros and cons of peeing on said keys and seeing if he’ll drive me to Costco so I can stock up on champagne. It’s only  6.99 for a liter of Cooks and at that price you by six because that’s what you do and I’m not trying to carry that much champagne on public transportation. Logistically this deal benefits both parties.

Back to the reason I was even lying in bed with Jon Stewart in the background of my social media binge: I am coming to terms with being a narcissistic youngish woman who just wants you to like her. REALLY like her. I come across very few people I legitimately give two fucks whether or not they consider me interesting or smart or beautiful. But am I or am I not writing my second blog about the EVER AND ALL IMPORTANT ME?

I find mediocre joy in swiping left on Tinder and only reply to OkCupid messages when I’m buzzed or drunk. I want you to find me fascinating and like me and send me a message so I can not reply. I’d rather use those red notifications on my phone to make someone else jealous. Those stupid messages you send? Hello screen shot and mass text. But occasionally, I am going to respond.

I’m going to come up with abstract questions to ask you so I seem intriguing and provide ludicrous answers you will find charming. I’ll get your number and it will never leave the app. Because I really don’t want to meet you and have you ultimately disappointed. It’s too easy to find something new and better. By that I mean for YOU to find something new. And better.

So I’m going to continue building up my self esteem and letting those notifications pile up for someone else to see. I’m likely going to miss out on meeting a few great people. I don’t care.

I’m still trying to figure out what the fuck I have to offer that will keep you interested. My half ass attempts at writing? My artwork? My word and memory association that leave some amused, most concerned for my mental health? We can’t forget my smile. That one fucking slays the boys until they see my crows feet.

Which reminds me I need to search for Botox Groupons later.

Hating work and trying to buy my contentment while acknowledging my disdain for the fact I still even think I can do such a stupid thing keeps pushing me to look for something: Happiness in my job. Stability in a romantic relationship. A bank account that resembles what I think a thirty-one year old’s bank account should look like. Better hair. A mani/pedi that lasts longer than twelve hours.

Searching to fill this void daily I must not forget the constant flashing sign in my periphery screaming in neon lights ‘WHAT THE FUCK DOES IT MATTER ANYWAY?!!???’ You will die.

I like love most. So I’ll continue along this path of trying to make you all love me because YOU NEED TO LOVE ME TO MAKE ME FEEL GOOD ABOUT THE MUNDANE EXISTENCE THAT IS LIFE.

Can I swipe left on being self aware?