It’s 6:55, I just ate orange chicken from Trader Joe’s, and the only thing I’ve done to prepare for this blog in any way is screenshot and alter this photo from the new Ina Garten Facebook page I joined recently. The level of intensity is something I can relate to.
So when I have no ideas, I really like to do this rambling, sexy, elusive, elegant Human Centipede of a blog post—ew—called “Things Happening RN”. It’s a quick and easy way to disappoint and lower expectations when you’re in a time crunch.
I’m watching HBO’s Westworld and I’m so obsessed with it that I sometimes just scroll through Reddit and look up words like “simulacrum.” I’ve brought it up in conversation with at least two different people, and I badger the girl in my class who told me about it constantly. I’m beginning to think that she probably feels like Dr. Faustus or Dorian Grey—you thought the thing you did was a good idea and now all you want to do is die but you’ve you’re your soul to the Devil (me). I haven’t been hooked on a show-show in a long time, especially a thriller. Between KUWTK and the entire Real Housewives franchise, I’m a very busy TV watcher, but there’s not a lot of substance in the stuff I consume.
Westworld is sci-fi and Western and has this really hot old guy, and thrills and twists and turns. It’s so good; I might do a “recap” or “review” for the finale, BECAUSE THERE’S ONLY TWO EPISODES LEFT, POTENTIALLY UNTIL 2018. I’m gonna start looking into cryogenic freezing a la Walt Disney so that I can go to “sleep” and wake up in 2018, having skipped over the strenuous process of “finding a job” and “figuring out my life.” Such a drag—I’d rather be a frozen carcass for two years. What was I saying again? I’ve lost my train of thought.
2). Kylie Jenner is a grandmother
On Sunday, I was in a coffeehouse with Shelby and she mentioned that Kylie Jenner’s dogs—Norman and Bambi—had babies. At the time, I didn’t believe her, and pretty rudely told her she was a liar and a phony and a fraud. I said this because no news source was covering it, and I could see no baby bump in any of Bambi’s Instagram photos (I don’t follow @normieandbambijenner on Instagram, but obviously I know the name). However, later I discovered that Shelby was—for once—correct about something and that the two dogs had procreated and brought forth two new miniature Italian greyhounds into the world.
There are two things I find unbelievable about this story. Number 1: that Kylie didn’t have her dogs neutered. If you have dogs of opposite sexes, GET THEM NEUTERED. And if you have dogs of the same sex, also get them neutered because otherwise, they’ll fall in love, get married, and adopt the squirrel from the neighbor’s yard. Either way, get your dogs neutered and spayed. Number 2: that Kylie is now a grandmother! She looks amazing, her skin is amazing, and I can’t believe that she’s old enough to have grandbabies. God, time really does fly.
3). Ina Garten
I joined an Ina Garten Facebook page because the Real Housewives fanpage of the Real Housewives Fan Podcast page that I was following has been deleted. It was deleted for good reason, because within the course of five months, it had turned into a self-hating, anarchistic hellscape, and had already splintered off into warring secret faction groups. I literally wish I were kidding. I’m not. Anyway, hopefully the childless gays and middle-aged women in the group can be my new Facebook fodder. Judging from the aforementioned screenshot, I would safely bet that I’m in pretty good hands.
Let’s celebrate the colonists giving smallpox to the Native Americans by overeating undercooked turkey and liquid-y mashed potatoes. Or as I call them “mashed potitties” or “mashed potatas”. Just kidding. I love Thanskgiving. I love eating (watching people eat), I think I’m going to a “football game” with my high school friends (I’ll dress cute and spend the entire time trying to find good lighting despite the early morning gloom), and my family is obsessed with me (they tolerate me). But most of all, I’m excited for the Gilmore Girls: A Year in the Life revival. There is literally, and I say this with no hyperbole, no more important thing in my life than this revival. I would let civilizations burn to the ground just to see the revival a few days earlier.
It’s 7:13 and I really don’t think that I can write anymore or get even darker than I already have. I’ve discussed pop culture, television, anarchy, and arson. What else is there to discuss, when you actually think about it? NOTHING. THERE IS NOTHING LEFT. I’ll probably post something on Thanksgiving, but in the meantime—send me some cash on Venmo. I could use it.
It’s here! It’s here! Christmas is here. And as happy as we all are, I know that we’re all desperately sad that Holidannys 2015™ has come to an end. I know that you’ll miss me posting every day, but take heart in knowing that, like, I’m not dying and you need to back off and not be so smothering. God.
This Holidannys has really tested my strength, my beauty, my resolve, and my blog-writing abilities. Obviously I did amazingly, but I’m glad that it’s completed. Now we can go back to our regularly scheduled blog posts.
However, there are going to be a few changes. Or at least one that I can think of; I think I’ll continue doing Celebrity Sundays. They’re fun as fuck to write, and don’t really require a lot of additional willpower. So, if it’s okay with you guys—just joking, you have no opinion in the matter—I’ll up the number of posts to three times a week. For right now, I’ll still do my Monday and Thursday posts, but if I decide that I hate writing posts Sunday and Monday, then I might #ShakeItUp.
But moving away from the boring logistical stuff. CHRISTMAS IS HERE. As I’m typing this, I’m sitting in my Christmas pajamas, listening to slightly oppressive Christmas choir music with a mug of tea and an already-consumed gingerbread man.
I hope that everyone—regardless of if you celebrate the holiday or not—have a nice day today. Even though it’s kind of hot today, it’s still Christmas and I’ll still be dressing like it’s cold because I have a very specific #holigay outfit planned and I have no time for adjusting for global warming.
I hope that if you hate the holidays, this regular Friday is cool and fun and nice. And if you love the holidays, then congrats—this is your Olympics. And if your family doesn’t “get” you this holiday season, know that I get you. We’re two peas in a pod, but maybe two pods? Idk, one pod just seems very cramped. No, it’s not because you smell. Why would you say that? I mean, now that you brought it up…
I want to wish a very Merry Christmas to all of my friends—home friends, study abroad friends, college friends—and my family—extended family, my sisters and parents, my secret Canadian mistress and our kids—and to you guys, my fans. No, no, no—don’t say anything. You’re my fans. Let me have this holiday fantasy.
I’ll be sad to see Holidannys go, but she was a fun ole bitch and I know that I haven’t seen the last of her. She’ll rise from her grave like the Ghost of Christmas Past and I’m Scrooge but young and hot. So, from Holidannys and I, have a nice Christmas and see you next year!