Sexier Than a Drunk Chimpanzee

Everyone envies someone, for something, sometimes.

If you pretend for a second that you don’t envy anyone, ever, then I’m going to recommended you get the fuck out of here and go look in a mirror for a few minutes until you can accept that you’re not a real human and your life is probably a pretty big joke.  I’ll wait for you to come back.

….

Back?  Okay good.

Now that you’ve come to terms with all of the people you envy all the fucking time, we can get down to business. While I don’t believe that envying is productive, I do believe it’s inevitable and ‘normal’. And shut the fuck up if you’re thinking of lecturing me on the use of the term ‘normal’. I don’t give a circlejerkingmonkeyfuck if it’s not PC to say “normal”.  I do what I want.

Now that I got that off my chest, let me tell you about some of the things I wish I could do.

Some might say I “dream big.”

I Wish I Could Draw/Paint

I don’t think people with drawing ability appreciate it enough. Sure, I can draw ridiculously awesome pictures of squirrels using MicrosoftPaint, but that took me more time than I’d care to admit, and quite frankly, these basic abilities aren’t enough. If I could draw, I’d draw constantly. I’d sketch everything, all the time, and everyone would fucking love it, OK? I’d drawn to explain myself, I’d draw myself punching the assholes on the subway, and  I’d draw what I’d do to your face if you fucking shush me.  I’d spend a lot of time illustrating my feelings.

For example: If I was hungry (yes, that’s a feeling, shut up), I’d sketch myself eating a giant burrito. I’d be sure to include some helpful arrows, pointing out the different components of the sketch so that people could look at the image and know exactly what the fuck was being shoved in my piehole. I would point out the burrito sauce dripping off my chin and the lone jalapeño that tumbled onto my shirt, celebrating its escape from my angry, chomping teeth.*  Oh, what a glorious life I would live. With my current amateur drawing abilities, there is just no way I could ever successfully draw burrito sauce dripping down my chin without it looking like I’m eating a jizz sandwich.

Damn you incapable, non-artist hands. My dreams=shattered.

*I’d just like to note that if I’m ever eating and a jalapeño falls onto my shirt, I eat the shit out of it. No jalapeño left behind!

I Wish I Could Dive

That’s right guys, dive. I’m talking about the diving that occurs off of a diving board at the end of a (probably) public pool. Easy, you say? Believe me when I say that I’ve tried. Believe me even more when I say that I’ve failed. Relentlessly.

As an adult, I don’t really swim. It’s not a ‘hobby’ or even really something I enjoy doing, but I’ll admit that sometimes I wonder if all of that would change, if only I could dive like a motherfucking mermaid. I’ll tell you this much: I can do that Ariel hair-flip move like no one’s fucking business. 

I Wish I Could Speak Spanish

Everything sounds sexy in Spanish. If I could be a Spanish speaking mermaid diver, I’m pretty sure I could rule the world. With sexiness.

I Wish I Could Punch Christina Aguilera

To my knowledge, I don’t have anyone in particular to be envious of for this one, per say, but I think it should be known that I’d really like to punch her in the face. And in the left boob. Why not the right boob? Because I don’t fucking know. The left one just looks like a giant asshole... Figuratively speaking.  

Watch your back, Christina. And your face. And your boob.

 

I Wish I Could Walk in High Heels

Ever wonder what a drunk chimpanzee looks like in high heels? Well look no further! I’m your girl! (... minus a lot of the body hair and feces slinging. Probably.)

The deceiving thing about heels is that for the first 2 minutes I wear them, I feel like a motherfucking diva.  I walk around like I could school Tyra Banks and my farts are made of glitter. But once those 2 minutes are over, it becomes painfully clear to me that Satan himself made my shoes and has plotted out my downfall in the form of numb toes, burning arches and throbbing ankles.  To the women (and men) strutting your stuff around in your fancy high heeled boots/shoes, I just want you to know that I want to be hate you.  I hope your heel gets stuck in a subway grate, bitch.

While I realize it’s a waste of time to long for the unattainable, sometimes it’s impossible not to. So, if you see me staring at you from across the street, or glaring at you on the subway, it’s probably because I want something you’re wearing, wish I could do something you’re doing, or I hate your fucking face and you need to learn how to shut your mouth before I come and shove my unheeled boot in it.   

Either way, you're going to get slapped. 

Or should I say... De cualquier manera, te vas a una bofetada.

Sexy. 


UPDATE!!!

When I started this blog, I decided to post my updates on Facebook so my friends could find out how truly annoying funny I am. 
BOY, am I glad I did! 
Today, the wonderful Madison Conlin surprised me with my very own portrait. Eating a burrito. 
And from the looks of it, that burrito is motherfucking hilarious. 

My hands aren't that small, that burrito is just MONSTROUS. The way I like 'em.