I Want To Be Cool

I wanna be cool. (See also: I Wanna Be Bad by Willa Ford. But that’s a whole other post).

I want so much to be cool.

Look how cool these guys are. Look at her pink wig and her heart shaped sunglasses. Look how cool she is. Look at him. I want to be sitting next to him in a hot tub, he’s so cool.

How do I make myself cool?

Should I wear a pink wig and some sunglasses?

Because I can totally make that happen:

I am the love child of Elton John and Natalie Portman’s character in Closer.

Do I order cool drinks when I go out? 

I tried this. I ordered a Manhattan last weekend because I’m one of those girls who’s all like, “I love whiskey. I’m a girl and I love whiskey. I’m a rare flower. Make out with me.” So yeah, I ordered a $9 Manhattan. The first sip was good. The rest of the sips made me wanna vom. I saved the cherry for last and it was the best decision I’ve ever made in my life. After that, I think I tried to tie the stem with my tongue, but that’s also a whole other post.

I didn’t feel very cool drinking this. I just felt like an asshole.

Do I wear all black all the time? 

This would make me feel French, which would make me feel cool. I equate French girls with coolness. With their mod bobs, black sheaths, and the way they smoke their cigs in those long cigarette holder thingys. See? I don’t even know what those things are called. I’m so beneath them.

Look, I own a plastic cigarette holder from Spirit Halloween, so is that close enough? God this is exhausting.

Do I act more mysterious?

When someone asks me a question, should I answer with one word, no matter the question?

“Hi, what’s your name?”

“Hillary.”

“So what do you do?”

“Yes.”

“Sounds interesting. Do you like it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, bye.”

“Yes.”

Is that how this works? Because the above convo is par for the course pour moi. Is awkward cool, now? I heard that’s true. Or was that so Michael Cera ago?

You guys, will I ever be cool? Are you cool? Help me be cool.

On Wanting to Live Alone (Or Not)

I used to wish I had my own place.

I used to have visions of myself as this independent woman, doing whatever the hell I wanted when I wanted…in my own apartment. I fantasized about being able to walk around naked all the time. I imagined sitting there telling my cat how my work day was while eating a meal that I had just cooked for myself (filet mignon and a hasselback potato, seasoned with herbs  I had grown on my windowsill). I wanted to have dinner parties and invite all my friends and say sure, you can bring another friend, too. I don’t mind. After we ate the glorious meal I had prepared, we would all play Apples to Apples or something and it would be such a riot.

None of the above things are anything I would ever actually do. Except maybe the walking around naked part. Oh, and the telling my cat about my day.

Anyone who knows me well that is reading this is probs like, “Hillary??? Having a dinner party? LOLZ, Y’ALL.” I’ve always been a super private person. I don’t share a lot about myself and I can be difficult to get to know. I know this. Which is why even the idea of having a bunch of people, whether I’m friends with them or not, come over to my dwelling…my humble abode…the place I rest my weary head, is absolutely terrifying. The fantasy Hillary loves the shit out of this kind of thing. The real Hillary loves the shit out of the idea of this kind of thing. There’s a difference.

If I lived alone, I would probably never go anywhere. I’d pull the whole, “Well, if my friends want to see me, they’ll try to see me” and just wait for someone to ask me to hang out. And then find some excuse for why I can’t hang out. Like…I’ve really got to catch up on Downton Abbey, you guys. What if PBS is gone soon???? There’s also so much NOVA to watch!!! Why Mitt, whyyyyy?

It’s a slippery slope for me, people. The second I get the keys to my own place will the be the second I begin my descent into reclusivity.

Good thing I’m too lacking in the financial department to even have to worry about this now! Yay! Glass half full!

How to Talk Dirty to Your Man (If I Wrote for Cosmo…)

Whether you’re texting, emailing, talking on the phone or in person, here are some examples of what you can say to your guy that will get him so hot and bothered he won’t be able to contain himself…if you know what we mean…wink wink…you do know what we mean, right girls?

(What we mean is that all of these statements will give him an erection. Did you know that men get an average of 11 erections per day? Have we told you that fact yet? Do you even know what an erection is? Flip to page 45 for more secret penis facts!)

“What am I wearing right now? An old p.e. shirt and those faded cotton undies you love with ‘Huggable’ written on the butt. You like that well-worn look don’t you, baby?”

“Let’s do some role playing. You be Khal Drogo and I’ll be Khaleesi. Say I’m the moon of your life! Say it! Yes! Yes! YESSSS!”

“Whaddaya say we watch a litte porn tonight? A little food porn. I get Food Network with my premium satellite package.”

“Wanna come over later and we can finish that jigsaw puzzle of the Gothic cathedral? Medieval architecture gets me so hot, baby.”

“Tell you what I’m doing right now? I’m laying on my bed. I’m wearing nothing except black lace crotchless panties (I’m wearing sweatpants and  a giant t-shirt with holes in the arm pits). I’m imagining that you’re here with me (I’m trying to find something to watch on Netflix while scrolling through tumblr). Now, tell me what you want me to do (Tell me what I should watch on Netflix. Breaking Bad or Lost? And remind me to show you this gif of a bunny rabbit eating lettuce).”

“Ohh, I love it when you pull my hair….out of the shower drain when it gets clogged. Thanks, baby. That’s so hot, baby.”

“Let’s reenact that scene from 9 1/2 Weeks where young Mickey Rourke blindfolds Kim Basinger and feeds her all those different foods. But, like, minus the blindfolds because there’s a new episode of Revenge on tonight and it’s getting super intense and I can’t miss it, baby.”

“Oh! We can also reenact the scene from 9 1/2 Weeks where young Mickey Rourke runs the ice cube down Kim Basinger’s body. But, like, minus the ice cube because that would be really fucking cold, baby.”

“Sure, I’ll do a little striptease for you. How bout I cover my entire body in strips of bacon and we can eat our way to my naked flesh?”

 

Lunchtime Haikus

The Vending Machine

The vending machine?

There is nothing for me there.

Life is meaningless.

Twelve O’clock

Twelve o’clock oh twelve

o’clock oh twelve o’clock oh

twelve o’clock oh twelve.

Burger Guy

I want to be him.

The guy eating a burger.

That bench looks comfy.

Spending Money

Do I want to spend

money on food or do I

not want to do that?

She Sits Alone

Yes, she sits alone.

She’s busy eating candy.

Talk to her, you die.

A Tough Decision

A tough decision.

Is chex mix a healthy choice?

Better eat a grape.

Fall Day

Cool breeze in my hair.

What a beautiful fall day.

I need to buy milk.

Victoria’s Secret Owns Us

It’s symbolic.

I blame Victoria’s Secret for all of my problems. All of them. Financial. Emotional. Personal. All of them. Name a problem. It’s Victoria’s Secret’s fault. (Victoria’s Secret’s? That looks so weird, but I’m pretty sure that’s the correct way to write that. GRAMMATICAL PROBLEMS, SEE? Ughh)

Victoria’s Secret completely dominates the lingerie market. They have made the bra and panties business their bitch. And by extension, they have made women (and men idk) that shop there their bitch. My name is Hillary Scales and I am Victoria’s Secret’s bitch.

I tried to boycott. I said to myself, Ya know what? Screw you, Victoria! I’m going to Belk! And then Victoria laughed in my face, for two reasons:

1. Belk (and really any other department store) caters to two types of people: The Mommy Who is Too Tired to Care Anymore and The Girl Who is Buying Her First Bra. You want to pick up the dowdiest bra you can find in the most uncomfortable material you’ve ever let touch your skin? Belk’s your place. Do you wear a 32AAAAAA and love polka dots and starzzz? You’ll love Belk.

2. There are only two price and quality ranges: The $14.99 polyester blend that doesn’t really fit quite right and The bajillion dollar silk bralette, hand woven by small Bangladeshian children.

I was basically left to decide how much my breasts are worth to me. “Don’t make me go back into the Maidenform!” they shouted. “It’s itchy and we can’t breathe!!!”

Fine, I’ll go to that place which shall not be named. And the second I walk in, I become all wide-eyed like Charlie in the Chocolate Factory or something. I brush my hands across the ruffles and lace and oh! Is that a French maid outfit? Might need one of those. But no, I remember what I came here for. Eye on the prize. (HAHA @ a French maid outfit, though. “Oooh baby, your place is soooo dirty. How bout I slip into something a little more comforable so I can clean it. Ohhhh baby. You like it when I clean, don’t you? Sooo dirty, baby.”)

But then I get distracted again by this corner that has me contemplating the purchase of a bright purple lace bra covered in sequins, and full of about two inches of padding. I don’t need any of that. I don’t even want any of that. But something about this store makes me think that I do. What kind of mindfuckery is going on, here? I need answers! I completely lose all sense of self in this hot pink wonderland. Even in the checkout line I’m thinking that I should probably buy this lip gloss for $15 even though lip gloss is so sticky and feels weird and I hate it. Ooh look at this glittery body spray stuff! But this is not middle school. Step away from the glitter.

Anyway, I end up buying more than I need to, thus spending more money than I need to, but whatever ’cause look how awesome my boobs look! Yay!

You win, Vicky. You make me feel like a Dream Angel and I like it.

Things I Like Right Now

I like liking things, so here are some things that I like liking:

This huge-ass tusk I can wear around my neck

What animal does this belong to? Elephant? Mammoth? Warthog? I hope it’s from a sabertoothed tiger because the yellow power ranger was always my favorite and isn’t that what she morphed into? I’m too lazy to look it up, so if I’m wrong then whatever.

Marina and the Diamonds

I tried to fight this one. I fought so hard, you guys. I would see this chick all over tumblr, with her blonde hair and black roots and that little heart tattooed on her cheek and gifs of her music videos where she’s dramatically looking outside a window while it’s raining, with the caption “Love will always be a game.” So stupid! Scoff! I’m too good for this “music”! I had already gotten sucked into the Lana Del Rey vortex and I wasn’t ready to let that happen again. I’ve been hurt too many times. But the force was too strong. Next thing you know I’m driving down the road singing, “I’m Miss sugar pink, liquor liquor lips. Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss. I’m Miss sugar pink, liquor liquor lips. I’m gonna be your bubblegum bitch.” What even is that? I don’t know, but I am weak.

Jon Stewart

I already loved this man, but after watching his debate with Bill O’Reilly, I was like lay me down and take me now, Jon. Seriously. Some of the Rumble  is a litle fuzzy because I found myself drifting off into a fantasy land where I was running my fingers through his salt and pepper hair, whispering “Talk politics to me, baby. You’re so smart and funny. Let’s have a small army of children so the world will be smarter and funnier” in his ear. The Gonna Girl said it best with this tweet:  “The Rumble 2012 should be renamed ‘Jon Stewart Making My Panties Melt.'” PREACH.

Tom Hardy

Speaking of panty melting, I’m mad crushing on this dude. So I wrote this about his manly manliness.

Jim Gaffigan: Mr. Universe

He has a joke about McDonald’s that lasts like thirty minutes, but you don’t even care! He’s so dry and deadpan and I love it. This special is on Netflix so watch it because I said so.

 This Pear and Cranberry Crumble.

My apartment smells like straight up Fall now because of this. It’s sweet and tart at the same time, just like everything that is great in the world. Just like me! Just kidding. It is the most important thing to me in my life. Not kidding. My whole life. I’m probably going to eat it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the next few days. And then I’ll probably continue to make other ones to eat for the rest of my days. Actually I won’t because peeling pears is my least favorite thing ever.  Here’s the recipe. Sorry the picture is so shitty. I don’t owe you anything.

The Mindy Project

This show. This show. Mindy Kaling is my hero. In a mere three episodes, she’s managed to reference everything that means anything to me. Like, Michael Fassbender’s face and penis, Amelie and red wine, Voldemort and Hermione, chocolate fountains…and the list goes on. Plus, Chris Messina = Rawr.

Okay that’s all. Bye.