i can’t believe i haven’t posted about samantha irby before

Posted: May 30th, 2017 | No Comments »

i had an icon thing on my PHONE directly linking me to bitches gotta eat for like, 2 years, but yet somehow i never posted on bookbinder, how can it be? until now when i’m drinking bailey’s irish cream at 6:40pm on a lame day and reading her blog  and she is just so good, this is just the tip of the iceberg:

i drove back to chicago last week to do an interview and goddamn that shit felt weird. not the interview, that was dope, despite the fact that i described my personal style as “fat ninja” and ordered 1/3 of the food i would actually eat in case it’s one of those interviews where the writer goes super in-depth into the mannerisms of the subject. you know what i mean? like when you read a vanity fair piece about emma stone and they describe exactly how much almond milk she puts in her extra-hot coffee, like down to the motherfucking ounce. this is not to compare my hulking, mouthbreathing self to emma stone, mind you, it’s just that i am an excruciatingly self-conscious person who will die upon reading “irby lumbered slowly into the restaurant, eyes darting nervously behind oversized black sunglasses as she surveyed the space for enemies, then squashed her bulk into a booth to order the first sixteen things on the appetizer menu.” LOL FUCK THAT. i can promise you as long as i live that my secret fat shame will stay right where it belongs: hovered over the trash can searching for a food item thrown away in haste that i couldn’t stop thinking about for several hours.

man i hate talking to people in person. first of all: WHAT THE FUCK DO I KNOW. not much! i’m not actually 100% sure about anything! i once did a book talk and this dude i knew i shouldn’t have called on stood up and quoted my own words back to me and i was just standing there flummoxed like “wait did i actually write that.” i made him pull out his copy of MEATY and hand it to me and then played it off on some “lol if i wrote it i guess i meant it” type shit, why o why am i still interacting with human fucking beings!? but this seemed like a good opportunity to end up in the mailboxes of the childhood homes of all of my friends, so i decided to make a trip of it and rent something called a “compact suv” so i wouldn’t risk anyone busting out a window to steal one of the many pairs of crocs i keep in my real car and so i could go 90 on the highway without worrying that the muffler was going to fall off. i haven’t rented a car in a while, but apparently at enterprise now they get in the car with you to make sure that everything is to your liking? so this poor fucking kid trevor and i go out to the car lot and he has to sit there while i squint at and fuck with all the knobs and buttons to connect the bluetooth and raise the steering wheel and at one point i raised the seatback from chaise lounge to high chair and he exclaimed “my mom drives just like that!” and if the insurance they made me buy would have covered it i would have murdered him.

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