Glitz & Grammar

Life and Times of a Wannabe Writer

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To the Girl Whose Facebook Cover Photo is a Close-Up of Her Tatas

I try really hard to be accepting of all people—to find the good in someone before allowing myself to makes judgments based on things I might initially consider offensive, obnoxious, or downright ratchet. As someone who has been described as all those things at least once but probably way more than once, I kind of have to put the judgment aside.

But people like you make it very, very difficult for me to maintain that awesome, nonjudgmental quality of my personality. Which sucks because it’s like, one of the few really great qualities of my personality.

So why are you screwing this up for me?

I mean I get it. You’re a bartender living in Las Vegas. I am too and yeah, sometimes it’s hard being the only one at my place of employment rockin’ her OG titties. Walking with half of what the other, ample-boobied bartenders make. It’s not like I’m not drowning in a sea of awareness of what an asset a nice pair is when you’re working in this industry. I get it.

But can’t you just have a nice pair of fun bags to work and own the hell out of without making that the primary aspect of your being? The main reflection of who you are as a woman? As though you have nothing else to offer the world aside from your magnificent rack?

On Facebook, we have two main photos that, like it or not, give a first impression of what kind of people we are. These two photos—our profile photo and our cover photo—can be seen by anyone who does a quick search for our name.

i.e., These two photos are not limited to just your friends, who can be like, “Sure Karlie’s cover photo makes her come off as a skanky dumb hooker with zero self respect, but whatever. I know her well enough to know she’s actually a really nice person.” No. They are for everyone to see. Everyone including me, who is not your friend, but a friend of a friend who happened to stumble upon your page when I saw a funny comment you posted on our mutual friend’s photo and I was like, “Oh man, this chick seems pretty funny and intelligent. Maybe we could become BFFs one day and have sleepovers where we read joke books to each other and laugh for dayz!” So I clicked on your pic to stalk you a lil bit and WHAMMA!


At first I was like, crap, did I accidentally click a porn link again? A sexy singles in your area ad? NOPE. I did not. That was just one of the two photos you chose to use as a representation of who you are on the most popular social media site to ever exist in the history of the internet.

Now let’s get one thing clear, I have not done the best job in terms of accurately portraying what kind of human being I am on the internet. And even after the rant I just went on about the judgment I have passed upon you, I in no way think I am better than you.

I am simply suggesting that, for the sake of womankind, you change your Facebook cover photo to something a little less stupid than your giant sweater muffins.

I’ve got your back, girl.



Side note: No, I am not jealous of this chick’s awesome tits. If I really, really wanted an awesome pair of tits, I’d buy them. I’ve had men offer to buy them for me. I’ve considered buying them, actually. But then I’d lose my position as Prez. of the IBTC and frankly, I like power.

Another side note: I have absolutely nothing against giant fake tits or the women who choose to flaunt them. In fact, I really enjoy looking at them and if you want to show me yours, I’m all for it.

But it’s just like, be more than your boobs. You know what I mean?

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Day in the life

6:00 a.m.
Alarm goes off. Hit snooze button. Twice, maybe three times, depending on whether wine was consumed night before.

6:30 a.m.
Shower. Wash hair. Never mind washing hair. I’ll just wear it up again.

 7:15 a.m.
Check email. Check Twitter. Check Facebook. Check clock. Shit. I’m late.

7:55 a.m.
Get in car. Hopefully it starts. Turn on radio. That same fucking Adele song. Turn off.

8:00 a.m. – 8:35 a.m.
Fuck Las Vegas traffic.

8:40 a.m.
Utilize James Bond skills to stealthily sneak past bosses and into cubicle. They’re too busy to notice I’m late anyway. Clock in.

 8:41 a.m. – 4:59 p.m.
Stare at computer screen while considering least painful ways to commit suicide.

5:00 p.m.
Never mind the killing myself thing. Life is awesome!!

5:02 p.m.
Get in car. Turn on radio. Adele. Turn off.

5:03 p.m. – 5:50 p.m.
Seriously with this traffic?

6:00 p.m.
Pour self a cocktail. Feed self.

7:30 p.m.
Sit down to computer. Time to get some writing done. Open Safari instead. Check email. Check Twitter. Check Facebook.

8:30 p.m.
Think about all the things I should be writing about.

9:30 p.m. – 10:30 p.m.
Go to the gym. It’s literally only a two minute walk from my house, so why not?

9:30 p.m.
Pour self another cocktail.

11:00 p.m.
Get in bed. Feel exhausted despite having accomplished nothing for the day. Think about all the things I should have written about.

11:30 p.m. – 6:00 a.m.
Dream about the day I’ll have enough time and energy to actually write something worth reading.

6:00 a.m.
Repeat. Unless it’s a Saturday or Sunday, in which case…go to second job.

6:00 p.m.


James Franco is not a tool, but this guy is

For the most part, I love pretty much everyone I meet. I’m sort of naïve in general, which is both a blessing and a curse. If you even believe in things like blessings and curses, which I don’t. But I still like to use the expression because I can never think of one that means the same thing. So anyway, I’m like this totally naïve and mostly oblivious human being who thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to start unprompted and often unwelcome conversations with random peeps because, quite frankly, she was never really taught you shouldn’t talk to strangers. PS: this character trait is exponentially more prominent when I’m drunk.

Anyway, that was all a really long and somewhat irrelevant introduction because this is actually going to be a post about someone I think is kind of a tool.

To get straight to the point, I’m just going to insert a screenshot of a recent Facebook blabbering I had with said tool. See if you can pick him out. (Please notice I’ve blacked out names in an attempt to trick people into thinking I have at least an inkling of decency.)

Does this not boggle your mind?! I wasn’t kidding about the fact that I only know this guy because when I was 16 I got drunk for the first time at his house. Since that day ten years ago, I’ve encountered him like, maybe three times. And then WHAMMA! This shit!

I just can’t imagine what could have possibly happened to give this dude such disdain for James Franco. Like all I could think was, “Geez, did James Franco bang this dude’s wife or something?” But then I was like, “No way! James Franco would never pull such a dicked move.” Because if you know anything about James Franco, you know he’s a super cool and moral dude. (And smart, and talented, and sexy, yadi yada.)

Second and foremost, where the fuck does this guy come off saying James Franco’s smile is anything less than beautiful? That’s simply not true! In fact, I’d go so far as to say James Franco has one of the best smiles I’ve ever seen in my life. And I’ve seen a lot of great smiles in my life!

Sorry I keep getting so worked up about this, but seriously. If there’s one thing in this world I love more than Kevin Spacey (and writing), it’s a Gosh damn JAMES FRANCO!

So listen here, Mr. Name-Blacked-Out-For-The-Sake-Of-Bullshit-Decency. Listen here real closely. You can take your stupid “Fagko” and halitosis comments and shove them right up your stupid butt!

I hope your baby pukes and diarrheas all over your house tonight.

Peace and love,

Oh and on a side note, have you guys ever realized how no matter what you are doing, it’s the most epic thing in the world if that song Bittersweet Symphony comes on while doing it?


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