am I using this wine rack correctly
manicdaisies said: How much weed do you smoke?
You ever feel like you’re being watched?
"How do you like living alone, Henry?" I ask myself.
"I’ve got a better question," I reply. "What if all my hoodies sat at the dining room table like they were friends?"
About half my Uber drivers in the last few months have been new to Chicago. I understand why I’d get a new driver sometimes, but half the time? That’s hard to believe. You can’t have a company where most people are new and confused and shrugging and saying, “Hey, go easy on me! I don’t know anything! Not even how to drive a car! what do i feed this motorized horse”
That sounds like a trick. Like Uber just unboxed a crate of fresh humans and told them “go forth!”and they all drove their cars into buildings and slowly backed them into Lake Michigan because what are these wheelboxes anyway. Then one day one of Uber drivers told a passenger, “sorry I’m driving us through an apple orchard; I’m new.” And that passenger made eye contact with the Uber driver through the rear view mirror as apple pickers dove out of the way of the Uber driver’s car, and apples and ladders thumped against the Uber driver’s windshield, and the passenger just kinda shrugged because you can’t just tell someone to stop being new.
Then word gets around among Chicago Uber drivers that you can just tell passengers you’re new and you can totally drive around town without knowing where you’re going. “Welcome to Uber, I’m your driver, I’m new, where is everything.” And when passengers get in you can just start driving in the wrong direction while punching an address into Google Maps even though your passenger is telling you, “Just turn around and make a right after two lights.” But you don’t have to listen, because you’re new to Chicago, and also driving and manners. You have a grace period, you’re just so goddamn new all the time.
Or maybe one day a new Uber driver was watching porn, and he or she saw some of those videos where people pretend to be virgins because some people get off on that, so they were like, “what if I told people I was a virgin… with a car. A car virgin. A naughty car virgin, horny for driving.” And they started telling passengers, “Sorry, you’re going to have to be nice to me, I’m so new to this! I’ve never been in a car before” and they turn around to face the passenger in the back seat, and they wink, and they kind of pull down their lower lip with their index finger all sexy-like while accelerating over a traffic cone.
Yesterday i overheard a guy who looked really upset tell someone over the phone, “She keeps snapchatting all these random dudes.” He was shaking his head. He looked so distraught.
"i’m insecure that a girl i’m seeing is sending single-view photos and videos to several other men" is what he was saying. "She is mass-distributing temporary content to other suitors," he basically lamented.
We live in the weirdest future.
And flirting in the future now involves sending very fleeting messages. They self-destruct, like Mission Impossible assignments, only the mission is flirting. “Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to totally like this cute selfie i just sent you ;-)”
The photo’s recipients don’t know who else got them, too. Like who else got that leggy photo of you in the dark? Just one person, or “all these random dudes” too? They don’t know. They’ll never know. Because it’s the future and everything is worse-defined than ever before. Like yeah you’re Facebook friends but are you real friends? Was that a real date or just a hangout? Why doesn’t anyone respond to my texts? i know you got the fucking text, debra. turn read receipts off if you didn’t want me to know, for fuck’s sake
new CAH guy Henry is a BAD INFLUENCE
oh hey btw I work at Cards Against Humanity now
hello, my little ravioli dippers. i am still a bad person
In February of last year I went with my then-girlfriend Amy to the Hotel del Coronado, an ocean resort near San Diego. It’s a lovely place, complete with sandy beaches, nice restaurants, and constant reminders that it’s where the Marilyn Monroe classic Some Like It Hot was filmed.
My first night there I ate some bad crudités at the bar and within hours I was showing symptoms of food poisoning. At breakfast the next morning - a special breakfast for all the guests of people there for the conference my girlfriend was attending - I made polite conversation with the other guests, who were mostly sweet older women there with their affluent lawyer husbands. Midway through a staff member’s breakfast lecture about The Hotel’s Storied History (Did you know they filmed Some Like It Hot there?) I excused myself to projectile vomit all over a locked door that should’ve been unlocked, that should’ve let me into the men’s room where I could projectile vomit privately, with as much dignity as one can have while shooting vomit out of their face like some kind of nightmarish sci-fi vomit cannon.
I spent the next two days in my hotel room, embarrassed, the sound of the tide gently lapping the beach taunting me through windows I’d opened partially to hear the calming ocean breeze, partially to air out my vomity, vomity room. The hotel staff apologized but never seemed to own up to the fact that it was their cauliflower and their veggie dip that reduced me to a pile of lethargy and barf. They dry cleaned the clothes I was wearing when I vomited all over that wretched door, they delivered me some chicken noodle soup and saltine crackers which I ultimately failed to keep down, they called to say they’re sorry I wasn’t feeling well, especially at the Hotel Del Coronado, the Beachfront Hotel Where They Filmed Some Like It Hot, and Golly, Marilyn Monroe Sure Was a Beauty, Wasn’t She? Sorry About All the Vomiting, Though.
So this morning Amy, with whom I am still on good terms, forwarded me an email she received from the Hotel del Coronado, an email saying:
We’d Like to Welcome You Back
Your conference stay was just the beginning of experiencing the historic Hotel del Coronado. We’d like to welcome you back for a relaxing stay on beautiful Coronado Island.
And all she added to the forwarded email was a little winking emoticon, as if to say “isn’t it funny how this promotional email is failing to mention how much you threw up that one time?”
So I cracked open Chrome’s Inspect Element and did what I always do when something needs new words. And you know what? Now I feel a little less bitter about the whole thing. Let bygones by bygoooooRRRRRFFFFF (vomits on pants) noooo you’ve done it again, Hotel Del Coronado!!!!!