SelfAbsorbed.ME : ‘It’s Your Life, We Just Write it Funnier’

So. I think by now it’s pretty obvious that I am an extremely charming and attractive individual, and everyone who reads this blog is in love with me.

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If you couldn’t tell that was sarcasm, you need to wake the fuck up. Alright alright, harshness aside, I think it should be clear, without even knowing me personally, that I am a self-deprecating individual with low self-esteem, who often uses exaggerated (and fake) over-confidence to poke fun at my own flaws. For example, “If people got jobs just for being cute, I’d be a motherfucking CEO by now.” A lesson in hyperbole.

Obviously, a genuinely cute girl would not use such vulgar phrases as “motherfucking” or “CEO.” A genuinely cute girl would one day aspire to have cute babies and bake cute cakes for her cute husband in their cute fucking bungalow house that’s surrounded by a cute picket fence, and say cute things like “bee’s knees” to describe last Sunday morning’s sermon and “goshdarnit” when they’ve run out of farm fresh honey (i.e., Bristol Palin.)

All cute-bashing aside, what I was getting to is that by pointing out everything that’s wrong with myself in a humorous or sarcastic way, I become invulnerable to the personal attacks of others. “I look fat in this? No, YOU look fat in this. I look like fucking Gwenyth Paltrow after the week-long lemon rind and cod liver oil diet.” Okay that doesn’t really make sense, but you see what I mean. Hopefully.

All this rumination comes from a recent incident in which I was accused by a co-worker of being the kind of girl that “collects crushes.” Well that’s a first. Crushes? Really? What grade are we in?

I assume my crimes include being nice to people, including members of the opposite sex, and then continuing to be nice to them for prolonged periods of time even after they have been informed (from the beginning) that I have a boyfriend. I finish my victims off by then not being a bitch (hard to believe, I know) and possibly hanging out with them. Oh, the humanity! Who could stand to fall victim to such a fate at this.

This same co-worker also accused me of being a narcissist (well duh) but I’m told that everyone in their 20s is a narcissist. And if I am a narcissist, it’s only because I was an ugly, awkward child, so I’ve got a legitimate psychological excuse and stop raining on my parade. If the worst thing I ever do in my life is get some amount of satisfaction from knowing that someone of the opposite sex is attracted to me, even if I’m not available, well then call me Mother freakin’ Teresa (I heard she was a slut anyway).

Okay okay, the jig is up, truth is, I’m an evil genius and have worked hard, day and night, to make myself irresistible in every way. No one is safe from my charade. Ladies, hide your men, because I am out on the prowl and looking to trick them into having an ever-so-dubious and illicit “crush” on me, after which I will do absolutely nothing, aaaaaand that’s about it.

Actually, I felt somewhat violated by these allegations and that they were glaringly untrue. Collect crushes? Wouldn’t that make me some kind of sexual predator? This isn’t The Dangerous Game.  Nor is it an album by A New Found Glory (please tell me someone got that pop-punk reference. High school? Anyone?) And if I have this kind of power, why the fuck isn’t Justin Timberlake following me around? Or, any guy who doesn’t have a hint of mental illness, for that matter?

The truth is, I am flabbergasted and somewhat appalled at the thought that anyone anywhere had/has a crush on me. Is it because I was asked out on fake dates in middle school? It it because I have too much junk in the trunk? Is it because my role models as a teenager were Daria and Janeane Garofaelo? Yes on all counts.

So my conclusion is this: It’s not my fault if anyone actually truthfully in reality has a crush on me. I try my hardest to be unappealing to men, but I guess the white hot sexuality that I radiate from beneath my ill-fitting “skinny” jeans and stretched out, 100x washed grey sweater, and paint-stained Chucks from 2003 is just impossible to ignore. You are probably a freak and should seek professional help, and spend more time outdoors checking out normal chicks or these new “hipsters” I’ve been hearing so much about.