You did not send me any electric bill. You were supposed to pay it, and then I would reimburse you for half. Please tell me you paid it.

Also, I was pretty pissed off at the disgusting condition the apartment was left in – it was obvious that no one cleaned anything in the month that I was gone and it looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in a year. The amount of human scum that I dealt with in the bathroom and kitchen was just abhorrent and made me want to barf. You left stuff in the fridge including a giant bag of potatoes. You left your moose mug. You left your Bill Cosby album. All have now met their end in the garbage. I had to pay some schizophrenic weirdo $80 to remove the air conditioner, because even if I could get the bolts out of it, there was no way I could carry that thing and no way I was going to touch it after it had been sticking out of that window collecting rainwater and pigeon shit for 6 years. Turns out, the bed frame was the least of my problems. If you show your face around New York City ever again, it’s going to meet up with my fist in a knuckle sandwich of destiny.

So please, tell me you at least paid the electric bill. Since all that, life’s been good.

So it seems like everyone has at least one person in their life who makes a sad attempt at being something other than American when we all know damn well they were born and raised in McBurgerland and putting on a fake accent ain’t gonna do nothin’ to change it. I know at NYU there was an infamous character by the name of “Fake British Rob” who I personally never encountered, and everyone’s got at least one (if not several) person(s) from their high school who wanted desperately to move to Japan so they could work in a Hello Kitty Factory, watch anime, be accepted by their peers (good luck!) and compete on Most Extreme Elimination Challenge (that is what they do over there, right?) But aside from those incredibly obvious (and somewhat desperate and sad) attempts to pull off another national identity, I’ve noticed an ever-increasing, yet subtle, trend amongst the speech and behavior of young Americans that I can only assume is meant as an effort to appear more worldly and learned, ipso facto*, British.

If there’s anything we’ve learned from Arrested Development, it’s that English people are smart, cultured, and have an innate fashion sense (and are not mentally retarded females) that could only demand envy from us slack-jawed American yokels across the pond. Popular media has also taught me that British people will use any excuse, a simple entrance or exit, for example, as a reason to hug and kiss you, and that they often address other human beings as “love,” “lovely,” or “darling,” when really I’ve only just met them, they’re actually Belgian, and I’ll thank them to keep their waffle-loving paws off of me. Case in point, I’ve noticed many blatantly American Americans referring to one another as “love” and also hugging and kissing for no good reason. That’s a great way to get mono, people, and I don’t know about you, but I can’t just be slobbering all over strangers and then miss a month of work. Now I’m told that in England, or “Great Britain,” if you will, there is no disease among the non-sailor population, unicorns are abundant, and the local chipper is flagrantly and intentionally incorporating as much trans fat as possible into their food. And let me tell you, I certainly don’t want to live in a hellhole like that.**

I’m sick and tired of fat lazy Americans trying to escape the reality of their dull lives by injecting some fabricated wonder and culture into their vocabulary and ends of typed messages or notes, with a stock “xxx.” If you’re not British and you’re not writing to someone British, please keep to the standard American closing message of “Fuck you, you dirty rat bastard.” Look, the fact is, we’d ALL rather be British, but we’re not and we’ve got the Second Amendment to keep it that way. I’m perfectly happy not paying an exorbitant tax on tea, and if you want to keep your arsenal of guns and dental insurance, well then you better stick to the good old American way of doing things – hurriedly, miserably, and without affection. Pretending to be something you’re not will only make you interesting, mysterious, and more attractive to the opposite sex. Thank you, and good day.

And for a closing disclaimer, I suppose all of this suppositioning doesn’t apply to people who are actually British and now living in America, residents of Little Britain, or Americans who have moved to England (you gotta talk the talk if you wanna survive in the rough streets of London.) And it doesn’t apply to me because my boyfriend is Irish, thereby earning me the right to use phrases like, “What are you on about?” and “Were the lads slagging you off?” and “Your fanny’s fookin’ deadly!”

*I’ve already proven that I’m worldly and learned by using the phrase “ipso facto” thereby exempting me from pretending I’m British.

**I wish I lived in Britain. Please someone take me away from this horrible place.

Reply to: see below
Date: 2008-08-25, 2:50PM EDT

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Me: How are you Grandpa?
Grandpa: Good. You call and visit just as much as I’d like you to, and I am in no way bitter or resentful. 

Me: What are all these investments in my name?
Dad: It’s stock in Apple that I bought in 1986.
Me: When do I get to have it?
Dad: Tomorrow.

Me: Dogs are so much better than cats.
Brother: I know!!
Me: Thank you for admitting that.

Me: I wish you hadn’t died.
Grandma: I know, me neither. I had half a tuna sandwich in the fridge I was really looking forward to.

Me: Oh man, it’s Sunday, you know what that means.
Garfield: Oh no, tomorrow’s Monday! I hate Mondays.
Me: Let’s go get some lasagna and then mail Nermel to Abu Dhabi.
Garfield: Agreed.

But this year, I know nothing of any parade in Manhattan, and I certainly won’t get to be grilling my own sparkler dogs. And how am I supposed to exercise my freedoms without dangerous illegal fireworks? I didn’t think far enough in advance to get a gun, so what am I to do? Well, blog, it seems like. And now, a brief and abridged history of our great nation.

America! The United States of America was founded in 1492 when Columbus sailed the ocean blue. He vanquished all native peoples with his Italian charm and rampant case of super-crabs. Once he had all those damn people out of the way, his fellow guidos hopped on their motor boats and arrived in the New World. In 1500, they opened the first pizzeria, Famous Original Ray’s Pizza on Lexington Avenue in Italyville, which later become known as “New York” and more specifically, the borough of “Manahatta”. That had too many syllables and was easily mistaken for “Man Hat?” by the Italians, so it was changed to “Manhattan.” 

Then it was discovered that Columbus didn’t vanquish all the native peoples of this new land. In 1980 it was discovered that Texas was chock full of real Americans, with old school values like the necessity of firearms and Weber grills. These people, much larger than Columbus’s band of scrawny Italians, waged a war against the Manhattanites and won. They installed their leader, George H.W. Bush, as king of the land. The Bush dynasty spread across the land and is still prevalent today. The end.

But let’s just say I was cruising Craig’s List personals for entertainment. Here’s some stuff I’d hope to find in the “Strictly Platonic” section…

Fellow feminist sought for partner Halloween costume. Let’s get started early: human-size papier-mache fallopian tubes don’t build themselves! (East Village)

Burly bear needed for Boy Scout training sessions entitled, “When No Means No” and “How to Escape a Bear in the Wild” (Chelsea)

Let’s share a giant glass of milk! (Williamsburg)

White, English-speaking, female friend desperately needed (Harlem)

Double amputee seeks companion. Can you lend me a hand… or two? LOL! (Battery Park)

Friend and caretaker wanted for elderly woman. You help me use the toilet and medicate my bedsores and I’ll regale you with stories about Lyndon B. Johnson. (Astoria)

Narcissist seeks self-loathing yes man as gym spotter and ego masseuse (Financial District)

Members wanted for adults-only Strip Cranium Team (Coney Island)

- Been sized up by long unseen relatives at party celebrating my graduation from college, or more appropriately, my father’s release from the financial shackles of NYU. Insert grandparents-boob-touching scene from Sixteen Candles. Haha just kidding. My grandparents are dead.

- Watched Rosemary’s Baby, and was so inspired by Mia Farrow’s portrayal of a pregnant 10-year old besieged by geriatric devil-worshippers that I decided to get matching haircut. Have not met similar fate (yet).

- Attempted to attend Vampire Weekend concert at Central Park Summer Stage, but was promptly rained upon and utterly soaked in thunderstorm. Suspect it’s part of Bloomberg’s plan to de-gentrify Brooklyn and lower rent by eliminating hipsters in lightning strike “accident”.

- Knitted a tampon cozy.

- Played with puppies at pet store, all of which bit me mercilessly. Contracted rabies, sued pet store. Settlement pending.

- Read an article saying that global warming (caused by humans) isn’t real. Agreed. Drove around IKEA parking lot for hours.

-  Bagged over 15 lbs. of leftover meatballs. 

- Began reading Dubliners by James Joyce. Envisioned future boredom.

- Considered purging closet of all unwanted clothing, was too busy to take further action. Spent two hours writing article on “How To Pick a Blue Crab.”

- Received June electric bill. Crapped pants.

“Can I interest you in some… meat?”

“Meat. Wiener. Penis! Get it?? Ha ha! Seriously though, wanna fuck?”

“Hey I hear okra is an aphrodisiac.”

“This bratwurst is pretty big… but I mean, Vienna sausages are good too…”

“I came to this thing last year and had wicked diarrhea for about two days. Can I get your number?”

“I’d like to get my mouth around those hams.”

“If I were a superhero, my superpower would be meat vision. Want to go back to my place and watch X-Men 2?”

“This place is kind of a sausage fest. Wanna hit my place for some tacos?”

“Yeah, smoked ribs are good, but I prefer smoking pole.”

“Would you like to finish my brisket? I like girls with big asses.”

Now this may come off as hypocritical, seeing as I myself am a blogger currently blogging on my blog, but I like to think that this blog has a purpose: to be original and funny. Or interesting. In some way. Vaguely. Blog! At the very least, I observe the rules of proper grammar and punctuation. So that’s what I am offering – an example of good English. And I have a unique perspective on life as a middle class, unemployed, white, female, college graduate living in New York who doesn’t like Sarah Jessica Parker. Who knows what I’ll say next?! And sometimes, pictures. Who doesn’t love a good picture?! Blog BLOG BLAGH!!

Picture from someecards.com. Credit where credit is due.

*Number of times “blog” used: 13

That’s what she said (huhuhuhuh…). It gets better:

THANKS TO THE MANY SMART ONES WHO HAVE RESPONDED AND THANKED ME….THE FOLLOWING IS ANOTHER EMAIL i RECEIVED…
“i realize your point, that the BEST time to transplant bushes is in
the fall, BUT you can successfully transplant bushes n o w….and
some of us are on a serious budget, and we cannot afford to go out
and buy the plants/bushes we’d like!”

ANOTHER 80 DEGREE DAY….GO OUT THERE AND BUST YOUR HUMP TRYING TO GET A SUBSTANTIAL ROOTBALL BIG ENOUGH FOR SURVIVAL….”YOU CAN SUCCESSFULLY HIT A HOME RUN AT SHEA STADIUM GIVEN ENOUGH TRIES….”

THE ODDS ARE AGAINST YOU !! THE POINT IS –> YOU WANNA GIVE AWAY A BUSH? OR JUST USE SOME SUCKER TO TO YOUR LABOR? GIVE TREES AWAY IN THE FALL—ENOUGH SAID

Giving away free bush is hard.