I Hate Your Face

Have you ever been dating someone, and you either don’t really care for them or you’re falling out of love, and all you can see are their flaws? One day they’re handsome and charming, and the next day you squint at their face in total disgust and think, “Well, fuck me, you’re positively revolting!”

That’s mean, I know. But I can’t help it. My first serious boyfriend and I were that awful couple that never loved each other at the same time, so for the first year of our relationship I ignored him and flirted with every Tom, Dick, and Harry who smiled in my direction (which, let’s be honest, is a lot of Toms and Dicks). And then I finally started to like him as much as he liked me, and then BAM, he wasn’t feeling it as much, and then we both were matched in our misery and broke up. Boo-hoo, it happens, life goes on.

But let me tell you, during that year, all I could see was his Stupid Ugly Face. Due to the virtue of our locations I only saw him once a week, less if I could avoid him, but his mug was still a horrible shock whenever it came swimming into view on our weekly rendezvous. He had these horrid–tiny, miniscule, possibly the size of an atom–white dots near his eyes. And a giant nose that probably weighed 700 pounds. And his pores, his pores! His stupid rough hair and by GOD was his smile unpleasant, and why did his nostrils flare when he BREATHED?

You get the idea. I would literally sit in his crumbly apartment and stare at his face with confusion. But I guess this makes sense, because I didn’t really care for him and I had tried to dump him and blahblahblah.

The real problem lies in that I do this with everyone. Yeah, you heard me. Everyone. Close friends and my current beau get a pass, because my heart is fully of warm squishy feelings for them and therefore my brain cannot produce enough hatred to formulate mean thoughts about them. But strangers? Oh holy FUCK do I scrutinize you.

It’s not that I mean to. I fully realize what a shallow bitchbag I sound like, and in the interest of fairness, I do it to myself too. I could stand in front of the mirror with professional makeup on and just think about my face until I’ve magically morphed into a drooling, deformed troll. Blame the media or fashion magazines (or, if you want, my keen and observant eye) but it’s like looking at words and trying not to read them: your brain just does it. At least, my bitchbrain does.

So you know how your acquaintance asks if the hideous pimple on their face is noticeable, and you say no, because maybe you didn’t even look? Yeah, well, I saw it. And since I’m as sweet as apple pie, I won’t say a thing, but holy God is that a zit. And as for you, I see those bags under your eyes and the lint on your sweater and that weird tooth and the place by your jaw where the foundation isn’t blended right. But weirdly, I still think you–and most everyone, even after my brain rips them to shreds–is beautiful! It’s a rare gift. (Now fix that foundation, gorgeous.)

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Why Women Hate Samantha Brick

(Hint: it’s not because she’s beautiful.) I’m not sure if any of you have had the pleasure to read Samantha Brick’s columns in The Daily Mail, but she came out with a doozy, titled, “There are downsides to looking this pretty–Why women hate me for being beautiful.” This is Samantha, by the way.

I’ll just let that sink in. Now, in the interest of fairness, Samantha is British, so the semi-busted teeth are not her fault. And besides her mouth (and looking slightly like Sloth from The Goonies if you look at her really fast then look away), she is really not ugly. She’s pretty, even–look at this picture.


But holy mother of pearl, is she delusional. You really have to read the article, but I’ll spare you and just pop in some highlights.

“While I’m no Elle Macpherson, I’m tall, slim, blonde and, so I’m often told, a good-looking woman. I know how lucky I am. But there are downsides to being pretty — the main one being that other women hate me for no other reason than my lovely looks.”

“I’ve been dropped by countless friends who felt threatened if I was merely in the presence of their other halves. If their partners dared to actually talk to me, a sudden chill would descend on the room.”

“Unfortunately women find nothing more annoying than someone else being the most attractive girl in a room.”

Um…yeeeeeah. Sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t think people hate you because you’re so ridiculously beautiful that their husbands would fall at your feet and your smile makes them want to rip off their own faces in jealousy. I’m pretty sure the reason people actually hate you is that you’re more conceited than Kanye West.

Loving yourself is just ducky, and thinking that you are a hot motherfuckin’ tamale is also totally kosher. Even kind of secretly thinking you look better than everyone in the room is sort of acceptable. BUT YOU CAN’T ACT LIKE IT. That’s the cardinal rule. There’s confidence, and then there’s swaning around complaining in a newspaper about how tough life is when you’re sooooooooo beautiful. I mean, you just sound like a twat.

On one foot, I sort of feel bad for ol’ Sammy Brick, because she really isn’t ugly and the whole Internet has just gone insane with comments about how hideous she is. Her personality isn’t cute, but her face is–she’s just not drop-dead, knock-’em-over gorgeous, which is how she writes about herself. I mean, has she ever seen a model? Or a celebrity? Or, you know, someone with white teeth (stupid question, she’s English)? But still, she writes in the article about how “not one girlfriend has ever asked [Samantha] to be her bridesmaid.” She obviously attributes this to the fact that she’s so stunning, the bride’s husband would inevitably veer over to Samantha and give her the ring instead. But, tragically obviously to the rest of the world, it’s clearly because she’s annoying as fuck and has no real friends.

On the other foot, come on, Sammy. You get free champagne and have doors opened for you and all that, so shut the fuck up and enjoy it.

A Work of Living

Jobs are a bleak dreary horrible thing. If you are some kind of freak who likes their job, then you can just go sit in the corner with some construction paper and scissors and cut yourself some confetti. Otherwise, you are probably a normal person who wants to die for 8 hours a day.

Cats make the wanting-to-die thing a little better.

Do you know that movie The Island, where everyone lives on a secret hippie commune island and they all pitch in for food and shelter and get to live in a beautiful paradise together? That is what life should be. Instead, people work all day to survive, but they are wasting their lives at work. It’s a paradox, or a circle, or something smart-sounding: you work to make money –> you make money to enjoy life –> you can’t enjoy life because you’re working.

But what if you could have any job ever? What would you be? I never really gave this any thought because the obvious answer is “independently wealthy.” I am not at all ashamed to admit that I would gladly sit around and shop and drink tea and travel to exotic places and do nothing of value to society if I had the G’s. But if I had to have a dream job not titled “rich bitch,” I’ve figured out what I would be.

  1. A stylist. You get to shop for a living. And hang out with celebrities. And if you hated them and they were obnoxious and self-absorbed, you could put them in something hideous and call it “cutting edge.”
  2. A magazine editor. You get to put together a book full of shopping ideas. Plus, you get to make Anne Hathaway do your bidding, and I don’t care for her so I would make her do stupid things like fetch me lattes whilst on a unicycle.
  3. A museum curator. You get to shop for art for a living. And, you can help up-and-coming artists become the next Andy Warhol but less creepy and rude.
  4. An artist. I can’t think of a quip for this one because I would absolutely love making art for a living.
  5. A blogger, which if you get paid for it, is just like being independently wealthy while taking lots of pictures. (Hey there WordPress, wanna pay me?)

Rich and famous people always say you should “be what you love” and all that shit, and I am for chasing your dreams like a My Pretty Pony prancing through a field of daises, but in my opinion that only applies if you love garbage removal or difficult math. “I love to shop” doesn’t exactly translate into a stellar job.

So, the best I can hope for is the zombie apocalypse (totally not influenced by The Walking Dead playing in the background right now) so that I can steal all the clothes I want from abandoned malls and then go live in some former stylist’s mansion.

Let’s Hate Ourselves

If you live in America, you probably hate yourself. Don’t feel bad, it’s just a thing, like knowing the Pledge of Allegiance or owning Levi’s. (I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, and to the republic, for which it stands, one nation, under God, with liberty and justice for all! Is that right? I typed it out of memory, okay?)

Anyway, people react to this whole society-makes-us-hate-ourselves thing in two ways: they either pretend they love everything about themselves and that their every flaw is a precious adorable diamond, or they keep a secret mental list of everything they would change about themselves if they could. An easy way to find out which type of person your friend is is to ask one simple question: “If you could get plastic surgery, what would you get done?” Absolutely everyone is going to swear they would never get it and they don’t want it, but the fine folks in sector two will then say, “But if I had to…” and then launch into their I-Suck List.

I am fully aware that this is kind of depressing and sad and blah blah blah, but it’s also totally fun if you still generally like yourself but have some things you would like to change. It’s like a game, except you can never win! Me, for instance: I would have thicker hair and perfect skin with a perennial tan and a ten-digit bank account. You just have to be careful not to play too much, or you might find yourself sobbing on the floor and slowly cutting off sections of your eyelashes.

This uplifting message has been brought to you by the WildHearts! And, big disclaimer, whatever you hate about yourself, someone else probably stalks you taking photographs of and wants to lick (your big feet, for instance). So just roll with it like our hippie-dippy friends in Sector One!

Celebrities I Irrationally Hate

I basically love everyone, and that includes celebrities, because I pretend they are exactly the same as the characters they play in movies. Johnny Depp is an adorable, sweet, kind-hearted scamp a la Benny & Joon and Edward Scissorhands; Lindsay Lohan is the cute, basically average high-schooler who is NOT a coke addict like Cady from Mean Girls; Scarlett Johansson is sultry and smart like in every movie ever, except maybe that one with the horse.

But then there are just some celebrities that I hate, for completely irrational reasons that have absolutely nothing to do with acting ability. Usually, the reasons have to do with their stupid faces, or dumb things they say in interviews that I then judge them about forever.

1.) Ellen Page. I can’t stand Ellen Page so fucking much that she very nearly ruined Inception for me, and that is a great movie. I loathed Juno to the point where I briefly considered taking a Brillo pad to my friend’s copy after she forced me to watch it, and it was all downhill from there. Part of the reason Miss Page is not my favorite is that she is the exact. Same. Character in every movie, and that character is the extremely played out “tomboyish, outsidery indie girl who boys inexplicably like even though she has a man voice and the body of a 10-year-old boy.” If you’re thinking, Whoa, psycho, slow your roll, she can’t really help her childish frame and her voice isn’t really that manly, is it?  than a.) I suggest you go re-watch Juno (just kidding, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone) and b.) listen to reason number two. Which is like 90% of the reason I hate her: she looks, dresses, talks, and acts exactly like an insane stalker I had two years ago, and every time I see her that is all I think of. So it’s sort of rational, right? Right?

2.) Alexa Chung. If you don’t know who she is, it’s because you’re not British/into fashion. She’s a model and hosted some indie-ish TV show that had to do with music, I think. She seems annoying and confident for someone with such freakishly large feet, but that’s not why I don’t like her. No, this is another case of the She Has One of Those Faces: she reminds me of a real-life person who I don’t like at all, to the point where they could literally be twins if someone chopped Alexa Chung off at the knees (this person has their whole legs, they’re just short).

3.) Madonna. I never had an opinion on her until she started doing all this press for her new CD (although I must admit the title, MDNA, is pretty clever, even if the cover looks like a 15-year-old made it on Photoshop in ten minutes using one old stock photo). But holy cannolis, does she ever come across as a bitch. She is so smug and confident that I just want to slap her. She could literally sneer so hard a tsunami happens somewhere. Besides which, she’s like 87 and apparently sleeps wrapped in plastic to preserve her youth: MADONNA. IT’S GONE. YOU ARE AN OLD WOMAN IN LEATHER PANTS. MAYBE LET THIS ONE GO, MMKAY? And now I get to see her sneer at the Super Bowl…on the plus side, maybe she’ll trip?

I’m trying to think of a male celebrity I hate, to kind of even this out, but usually their attractiveness and/or accents make up for any other flaws. I don’t really like Zac Efron because he is a terrible actor and has a womanly face, but he seems so earnest and nice that hating him seems harsh. And Jude Law is a cheater, my big dealbreaker I-will-hate-you-until-the-end-of-time thing, but dear mother of God, look at the man. Even I am incapable of hating pure beauty.

Not quite as pretty as Jude.

I promise, I’m not a negative hateful person at all, but come on. Madonna cut her own daughter’s acting scene out of the film she’s making, a quick Googling of Ellen Page revealed these two gems (“I’m a tomboy from Nova Scotia,” and, “I don`t really want to do the Hollywood thing. I think you ought to try to say something with your movies.” Yes, I wonder what she was trying to “say” with X-Men: The Last Stand), and Alexa Chung just has that damned look-alike face. What can I say, haters gonn’ hate.

 

 

Things I Hate, Part Hatey-Two

Sometimes I hate things. These are some of the things I currently hate.

Not tigers. I love tigers.

1.) People who call women “females.” A girl cat is called a female cat, a bitch is a female dog (or your mother), and a chinchilla with lady parts (ew) is a female chinchilla. A female human is called a woman, or a girl, or any-fucking-thing you want besides female. It sounds weird, and kind of degrading considering the only other time it’s used is for animals. This fellow, Mr. Treat Women Right of Twitter fame, posted a tweet that said, “#Females have a bad habbit of holding on too long, #Men have a bad habbit of letting go too easily.” Dear Mr. Treat Women Right: First of all, I don’t know what a “habbit” is, and second of all, tweeting “females” and then “men” instead of “women” and then “men” is retarded. Would you say, “I’d like a peanut butter and preserves sandwich” or “Bread and margarine”? Well, you probably would, because you’re a weird freak who reads Cosmo, turns the advice section into mushy tweets, and then probably gives STDs to one of your 314,116 followers.

2.) The ridiculous, overgeneralizing, sappy, feel-bad-for-me quotes on Tumblr. SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP. I am not really sure when teenage girls are going to realize that 100% of people–even other teenage girls–would rather be around happy people than miserable people, but for the sake of my brain, I hope that time comes soon. I would just unfollow every single Tumblr who posts that shit, but then I would offend a lot of friends and also be following no one.

3.) Stare-ers. Put your eyes back in your head or else I will do it for you using something spiky. I absolutely loathe being stared at. I know that I am a ridiculously sexy, gorgeous person, but when people look at me for longer than, say, ten seconds, their eyes have worn out their welcome. The world is a large and glorious place with much more interesting things than me to look at. This weird girl who looked like the Michelin Man stared at me for so long her head kind of turned around like an owl’s. I hope it got stuck that way and now she has to spin in a circle to do her full creeper stare.

4.) Not coming during sex. This only happens in circumstances where being interrupted or cockblocked is involved, because the Boy knows how to do his job, but I firmly believe there is a lady version of blue balls. Blue boobs, maybe? It makes me feel like a tingly pent-up bomb. (Except diffusing me is a lot more fun…ooer.)

5.) Feeling like a dick because I hate things other people like. I don’t like feeling like a ranty neurotic nitpicky weirdo. So now I double-hate all the things I hate!

I still love you, though, my faithful delicious readers. If I could I would send you all bonbons for Christmas, although I have never have bonbons, because they sound delightfully French and fancy, and those are two good adjectives.

 

Things That Would Make People Hate Me

Nobody’s perfect. I mean, I come pretty damn close, but I still have some qualities that make certain people hate me.

Okay, no one hates me, ’cause I’m great, but have you ever told someone how much you loved Flight of the Conchords and they replied in disgust, “Worst. Show. Ever.”? Or said, “Gosh, I’d love to go to Bonnaroo this year,” only to have them say, “I can’t stand that kind of music”? And then even though you felt bad about it, you kind of liked them a little less? Yeah. So this is my list of things that, once I admit them to certain people, I can see them kind of going, “Mmm, yeah, this girl is not quite as cool as I thought she was.”

  1. I don’t like Scooby-Doo. Never have, never will. It is the most boring cartoon ever created. And I hate their stupid voices. You know who likes Scooby-Doo? Everyone ever. Hate on, haters.
  2. I hate cherry-flavored things. This includes lollipops. You know how many times people have given me a cherry Blow-Pop and I have to be that dick who’s like, “Nahhhh, gross”? A MILLION.
  3. I don’t think Megan Fox is that hot. If I had to go rouge, I would not pick her. Objectively, I can see that she is a very pretty girl, but I don’t think she is THE PRETTIEST. Again, you know who thinks she is THE PRETTIEST? Everyone ever.
  4. The Saw movies? Not for me.
  5. I am weird about going bowling. Like, I abso-fucking-lutely hate it if it’s not with the right group of people. You’d have to drag me by my hair to the bowling alley if you’re not going with a really solid crew.

Oh, man. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. Maybe the beloved People of the Internet are all currently eating cherry Blow-Pops while watching Saw IV and planning bowling dates, and now they’re gonna be mad.

But what can I say:

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