(Not Live At All)

      This is arguably the most inappropriate thing I've ever written from the middle seat of an airplane.

      In case either of the two men that are within two and a half inches of me are reading this, thanks for not blowing it -- this could be much worse; we could all be vomming right now.
      It should be almost halftime by now in whatever CVCMMXIVIMCVDLL Super Bowl, which means I'm missing Prince. I'm less than pleased, and I've got another few hours on this flight, so I'm taking the opportunity to start blogging, because T asked me to. And maybe a little bit because I think I'm totally clever and adorable and really, much funnier than I come across right off rip.
      R (of T&R, which if you didn't know, is kind of like a mix between T&A and G&R) asked what "snarky" was over a delicious nacho bowl. Well, I'm snarky, and here's why:

I do not
  - need a fucking haircut, for christ's sake
  - appreciate your sass
  - want to hear your art-scum babble

I am not
  - impressed

So I guess SnarkCity is wherever I happen to be.


      Anyway, before this obnoxiously long plane ride, I had a connection from Cincinnati (which is actually in Kentucky, or what I like to call the motherfucking cut). It was okay; I don't mind flying, even on those little puddlejumper things. I'm a little bit slanty-eyed, so I already know they'll thoroughly check my bags and then strip search me. But CreepCity (similar to SnarkCity, only much less endearing) at Security was physically abusing my beauty products. Listen. I don't have a job –- and that’s sort of one of my defining qualities: being amazing at doing next to nothing -– so I cannot readily replace the hundreds of dollars worth of makeup and hair products (I can't just turn all this off, you know?) that you put your rat paws all over and then tried to throw out. Yeah, I checked my bag over an absurd amount of eye shadow.
      So I followed your stupid rules -- you effectively eliminated the threat of me making some sort of incendiary device out of a quarter ounce too much face lotion. But I would thank you from the bottom of my tiny, black, cold heart of stone if you could not uncap my deodorant. Germs, guys. Germs.


In other news, buy me this amazing SuperFly Monkey:



P.S. Ringback tones are ruining my reputation and my life; stop calling me. And as it turns out, I caught Prince's halftime show, and it was the best thing I've ever seen, ever. The scarf and the sheet -- so much fabric, so much love.