I have to admit, I’m a pretty avid Yelp reviewer. Most recently I tried the Truffle Beet Salad at Umami Burger, which I did not enjoy. I made a comment that I didn’t think truffle flavor really belonged on salads, and that it was better suited to traditional food items like noodles, eggs, and french fries. Here are the results of my review:
Some Random Yelp Asshole: truffle dont go with salads u must be pretty fucking stupid
Me: it’s true. the opinions of my taste buds do directly reflect my cognitive abilities. i apologize that i have offended what is clearly your overt passion for truffles. have you enjoyed the truffle beet salad at umami burger? you must have enjoyed it. sometimes i forget that i’m wrong about everything and random, aggressive strangers on the internet are right. i will keep this in mind for my next yelp review.
(I take a moment to ponder the asshole’s original message.)
Me: in retrospect, due to the poor grammar of your original comment, i realize i am now uncertain if you were agreeing with me, that “yes, truffles don’t go with salads, you must have been pretty fucking stupid to even bother trying that salad” or if you indeed disagree as I originally took your message. This is an important debate, so obviously I hope you respond soon.
INT. NBC Page Office
JESSICA CABOT sits at a computer. She blows her nose. A GIRL observes this.
Girl: Oh, Jessica are you sick?
Jessica: Oh, yeah, I’ve been sick for a while…
Girl: OH. GOD. Don’t get close to me. I mean, stay over there. My birthday is this Friday. I don’t want to get sick on my birthday.
I’m going to Paris for my birthday. My boyfriend is taking me.
INT. NBC Page Office
The same girl with the birthday sits at her computer. She looks up to make a comment.
Girl: Jessica, your page uniform fits you really well.
Girl: Really, it fits your body so well. What size is your jacket?
Jessica: Um, a four.
Girl: Oh. A four? Let me see what size jacket I have.
The girl RUNS to her locker. She checks the size of her jacket. She runs back into the office.
Girl: Oh! I have a size two! Oh my god my size two is just so big on me. You’re so lucky that your jacket fits you so well! Mine is a size two and it’s HUGE.
Jessica: I guess I’m fatter than you.
I laughed. I cried. I felt things. I smiled a lot. Honestly, seeing this movie was one of the best things that’s happened to me in a while. Maybe that is just testament to how draining work can be, but I also think in part it spoke to me. And I don’t mean that in some bullshit, “look at me I’m so profound, cultured, and indie” way. In fact, I wish there were a better way to put it.
This moment from the movie is exactly the way I’d describe the kind of life I’m looking for right now. So theoretically I know it exists, but so far it’s still fictional. Wondering how to find that. Let me know if you have ideas.
Dear (Hot, and preferably blonde) Bisexual Girls,
Are you really bisexual? Well, me neither, but I think we can both agree that this is a little irrelevant. I have a proposition to make, one which I think you’ll find is mutually beneficial for both of us.
I suggest that we meet up randomly at a bar and make out with each other.
Now, I apologize if I’m being too forward. However, wouldn’t you say that crazier things have happened? And hear me out, bisexual girl. I know your type. You’re just a fun loving girl looking to have a little fun! Redundant? Yes, but I must admit, I’ve been feeling the same way, and thus I hope you’ll fully consider the positive consequences of such an encounter.
First, I must reemphasize that we are of the same breed, you and I. Cut from the same cloth. You see, I understand your strife, for it is mine too. Beneath our cheerful, ditzy, and drunk exterior lies the heart of a very lonely soul. One whom desires companionship, and is desperate for any kind of attention.
We can provide both of these things for each other by making out aggressively in front of a group of rowdy bros at a bar. Though we’re want to admit it, it’s been kind of a while since either of us have made out with anyone. (Two weeks, am I right?) To address this issue, we can immediately solve it by sticking our tongues in each other’s mouths. Second, while you might claim to be attracted to me, I understand that you are not. However, the benefit of course is that the attention we give each other will gracefully transfer over to snatching the attention of boys.
It’ll be fun. Maybe we can even pretend that we’re annoyed with all the dudes trying to make out with us after we make out with each other. Hell!, maybe we can just keep making out with each other, and see where the night leads. At this point I suspect we’ll both be so wasted that anything could happen, but isn’t that really part of the adventure?
And this leads me to my next point, which is boning. Now, being bisexual and all, it comes as no surprise that you’re a horny motherfucker. Who is to blame you? Not I. Again, I understand your needs. Our downfall as women, of course, is that whenever we are with guys we immediately fall in love as soon as they stick it in us. Silly us! But let’s not forget that we still have needs. Sexual needs. So let’s just see where all this making out leads us, as I suggested. What if it lead to us getting it on in my apartment? Again, I’m normally not one to be so forward, but I think we’ll both only feel awkward about it in the morning. In the moment it’ll be exciting and liberating, and then later, a great story to tell prospective boyfriends on first dates. Also, we won’t run the risk of becoming emotionally attached to each other, which as we both know can be just so fucking annoying. Well, unless you’re a crazy psycho bitch, which is totally possible, because you’re bisexual. If you’re wondering if I’m a crazy psycho bitch, that’s a risk we’re just both going to have to take. However, to clarify, I really doubt I’m going to give a shit about you the next day, and I expect the same in return from you. Indeed, a mutually beneficial situation.
So think it over, bisexual girls. This is a great opportunity that could lead to numerous positive outcomes, and so I hope you’ll take me up on my offer. If you act now, I’ll include free facebook-tagged pictures of us getting it on at the bar!
(I am not one of the girls in this photo. I’m actually hotter.)
It has recently come to my attention [it hasn’t] that the people most likely to read this blog are Dudes Who Want to Fuck Me So They Googled My Name. To these dudes I say, “Hello! Welcome. This post is for you.” Perhaps you were hoping to learn a few facts about myself so that you could impress me on a date (aw, how sweet!). In that case, I think you’ll find you really enjoy “Tucker Max Can Suck A Bag Of Dicks.” Or, perhaps, you came here hoping to find a picture of yours truly to jack off to. You’re in luck, because a google image search for Jessica Cabot yields these results:
Us Jessica Cabots sure are an attractive bunch.
Last, if you are my ex-boyfriend, then, ‘HAH! Made you look! You’re thinking about me, sucker!”
It has also occurred to me that the second most likely group of people to read this blog are my family members. And to these people, I apologize, because this post obviously creates a conflict of interest. At least we can all breath a little easy knowing that my great-grandma doesn’t use computers.
But I digress, back to you, men! As you may already suspect, I spend the majority of my time and brain cells thinking about you, yes you! Well, maybe not you specifically, especially if you’re…. well, you know who you are, that one guy. Stop asking me if I want to see Jumping the Broom. To answer your question, yes, I do, but not with you.
I digress, the 10% of my life I’m not devoting to you, men, and the pursuit of you, I am focusing on wondering how to develop a relevant online presence. I might even S your D* if you bring that fact up in a party setting!!!
Now boys, I just want to thank you for coming here. And to make this trip on the Internet worth your time, I have compiled a list of “the types of men I am likely to bone” just so you can see how your chances stack up. I hope you find this helpful and enlightening!
1. Loser Stoners
You are probably too fucking stoned out of your mind to read this right now, and I love that about you. Did you ever think about, like, how drugs are for people who just want to open their minds? I did too. We have so much in common.
I bet you’re an aspiring creative type, loser stoner, am I right? For example, you probably want to be a DJ. I think that’s cool, because like, life is just about the experiences, you know? Sure I’ll take a hit, why not!
Yeah, I don’t know, I guess like, um…… OH SHIT. I totally forgot what I was going to say. Um… yeah, well anyway, the point is like, I think I just feel really connected to you, because like, we’re just two humans and we’re just like, you know. SHIT. We’re just like. Um. Fuck. Hahahahahhahah. Yeah. God I’m so fucking horny right now, is that weird? Am I weird? I think I’m weird. Do you think I’m weird? Oh my god shit, you think I’m weird.
2. Weird Old Men
Speaking of weird, I have my eyes on you weird old men. Let’s be honest, you are never attractive, weird old men. You are often very large, or very balding, or even Asian. I’m cool with that, because God, there is just something really weirdly sexy about you.
You’re usually pretty old, Weird Old Men, like, at least 35, but perhaps more realistically you’re going into your 40s. (Keep in mind, us young people like to over-exaggerate what age constitutes being “old”.) Your age makes me feel really fucking young, and the older I get the more important it is for me to feel like I’m still in high school. I like to imagine that if we dated we’d be kind of like Scarlett Johannson and Sean Penn, except on a much less attractive scale. Well, especially you, weird old men, you’re like, way unattractive. But no offense, because there’s something about you that I’m super into.
Is it your world-weariness? Your unapologetic intelligence? Your dry sarcasm? Your obvious experience with the opposite sex, where you can just kind of say all the right things to make me swoon? Yes, perhaps it is because you know that I’m young and have low self-esteem and so you know how to manipulate my baggage and obvious father issues. Well, whatever it is, it’s totally working. If we hook up I’m going to feel really important and dangerous, and I don’t say that to just anyone.
Mmm, yeah. Now that’s what I’m talking about.
There’s not a lot to say about you British men, because I don’t know anything about you, except that you are British. Are you smart? Are you nice? Are you attractive? Are you funny? Do you have a good job? Do you come from a good family? Do you love your mother? Are you a serial rapist?
Who knows! I sure don’t. But also, who cares. You’re British. Say something in British, like, “I want to go to the loo.” Oh my god I can’t believe you just said, loo! That’s so fucking hot. Say something else. Actually, can you just read this tax document to me while I touch myself? Thanks.
5. Ambiguously Not Gay (Or, in some cases, Gay)
This is going to be embarrassing, but I totally thought you were gay when I met you. No, no, no, I don’t mean it like that! It’s just that you were really adorable and sensitive and sweet and you sing so well. And is that sweater from the Gap? That’s a pretty sharp outfit. I love it.
But when I found out you were straight, woah, was I surprised! And in love! You are the perfect man. I mean it! Seriously. Kind, caring, adorable, talented, loving… are you sure you aren’t gay??? Wow. And you cook so well and you’re so likely to be devoted to your wife and love your children. How did I get so lucky? Oh wait, I didn’t. Because I haven’t met you yet. Haha, get it? Because that’s a Michael Buble song, and I totally can’t believe he’s not gay. I love you, ambiguously not gay man. Please don’t be gay.
6. Suave, Handsome Douchebags
Now I know what you’re thinking, suave, handsome douchebags. “What about us? ALL girls want to bone us!”
You’re right. Why should I be so special as to be an exception to that rule? I confess, I most certainly am not, and as such I’ll definitely bone you. The caveat, of course, is that I will want to bone you, and only you, and you will want to bone everything that moves including that stupid skank we work with, but that’s life.
I am fully prepared for you to make a move on me and break my heart in one fell swoop. God you’re handsome. I can’t believe I get to make out with you! Oh, I get to do more than that too? Oh. You want me to do THAT!? Well, okay, for you I’ll totally have no boundaries. You deserve it.
You have many guises, suave, handsome douchebags. Sometimes you are wearing business suits. Othertimes, you are a bro. Who knows, perhaps you are even a professor of Philosophy, just because you fucking can be. Regardless of your persuasion, your overt confidence and couldn’t-give-a-shit-about-anything-or-anyone attitude really appeals to me. Knowing that I can anticipate you not calling me back before we’ve even made eye contact gets me hot. What can I say, a girl wants what she can’t have. And I totally want you.
Well men, thanks again for stopping by. I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors to fuck me. If you’d like some advice, I might suggest constantly comparing me to Amanda Seyfried. If you lie and tell me, “but you’re much prettier” I’ll tell you you’re lying but then give you secret bonus points in my head.
*soothe your depression.
[ETA]: God help me, but now I’ll never find a husband.
Grandma: My hair looks nice too! but my skin isn’t doing good. Hope all is well. Love you
Me: Sorry to hear about your skin… Glad your hair is ok though. Love you.