Writing Is Serious

So I said I'd post something every month. Then I didn't. I skipped July. In August I did 30 days of drawing. Then I skipped September.

There's not really an excuse. One blog post a month is incredibly manageable. It's not like I'm writing theses or tomes. My last post was a list of imaginary parties I'd skip to sleep! But even though I pretty much only write jokes, I take it somewhat seriously. I want them to be funny and new and actually good. 

Sometimes my standards for "funny and new and actually good" are too high. Sometimes they're not really standards at all, they're just a list of reasons not to write. Sometimes they're stifling. After all, I'm only a writer for the attention. 

Recently, one of my Creative Directors asked me if I write every day. I said no. He said I should try. I said "great idea!" and then I did not try. Not that day or the next day either. But then I was bored, so I decided to try. I wrote a haiku about my water bottle. Then I wrote a haiku about every single thing on my desk. Here's a sample:


Getting to 10k

Is really NBD

My pants still don't fit

Easy Mac

Easy Mac 'n Cheese

In my second drawer always

You would fuck me up

Anti-Phishing Certificate

Don’t click the spam links

IT is tricking you, duh.

Can’t reel me in, bitch!

I actually wrote about 15. I wrote one about the Paddington Bear my mentor gave me for basically no reason but that I've kept on my desk for 3 years and 3 jobs anyway. I wrote about my empty lunch Tupperware. I wrote about my headphones. Several about messy stacks of paper. They were silly but they were fun and I felt better. 

But then I got tired of writing haikus, so after my long 2 day streak of writing every day, I stopped writing for approximately 20 days. And then today I decided to start again. Not with haikus, but with limericks. This time about the contents of my backpack.


A bottle of a drug called Vyvanse

Helps me do things, like water the plants


Does not control me

Thanks to the concentration this grants

Bills Bills Bills

Like 12 crumpled up unpaid bills

Ironic, because of those pills.

Don't worry, I'll pay 'em

I just checked. The grand sum?

Twelve dollars. Incompetence kills!


A lot of snacks that I just won't eat

Mostly, they're just not a good treat.

I don't want a raisin

I'd rather be grazin'

On some sour candy so sweet.


The keys to my Brooklyn apartment

Tucked into the small front compartment.

This rhyme scheme was bold,

Nonetheless, behold:

I’ll finish by using “department”

I wrote 7 more of these. Some of them were funny. Some of them were sort of bleak? All of them made me want to clean out my backpack, which I won't do until next time I want to procrastinate writing, I guess. I spent way more time trying to wrestle with this squarespace template than I did writing the poems and this blog post combined. But at least I did it. Maybe tomorrow I'll write a sonnet. Most likely, I won't write anything. But there's always the day after that!

11:15 pm

I've left every party I’ve ever been to at 11:15pm. Sharp.

I’ve ghosted events both big and small. Housewarmings and happy hours, corporate christmases and particularly long birthday dinners. On a few occasions, this Cinderella tendency has burned me. Once, I left a college formal mere minutes before Shwayze made an inexplicable appearance. Just last week, I left a big warehouse party right before Nelly put on a surprise performance. What I'm saying is that you've never seen me and any popular 2000s rappers in the same room at the same time. Am I the Hannah Montana of aughts Hip Hop? Maybe.

Anyway, I've recently started wondering what I'm missing out on. I might actually never find out, but here are the parties I assume happen after I Irish Goodbye:

1. An intimate but high energy cocktail party wherein Certified American Treasure™ Tina Fey circles the room gracefully. One by one, she offers each guest individualized validating statements. Everyone feels both warm and worthy.

2. A reunion of every nice drunk girl I've ever met and immediately fallen in love with in a bar bathroom. Everyone is so friendly and so pretty. Lots of compliments are shared. Everyone leaves with 100 new iPhone contacts with names like "Sarah Buckshot Bar" or "Beth NewFriend."

3. Something like speed dating with all the ex Bachelor contestants I love to Instagram stalk. They're handing out Fab Fit Fun boxes as party favors. Those gummy vitamins that give you shiny hair are in bowls all around, like Biotin-enriched bar nuts. In a corner somewhere, Ashley I. and Jared are whispering together. Are they or aren't they? Had I stayed, I might’ve found out.

4. A secret performance by Beyoncé's newborn twins, feat. fellow celebrity baby Luna Legend. This would take place at whatever the rich version of Chuck E. Cheese is. Surely celeb babies aren't sharing a ball pit with common children. They only get E.coli from kids with 300k+ instagram followers.

5. A masquerade party where the masks are actually terrifying. To make matters worse, everyone invited went to my high school or a surrounding high school and they haven't changed at all. It's just like prom, but I can't leave early to watch my terrible date smoke synthetic weed and play video games for 3 hours.

On second thought, I'm good.