Hey buddy, my cunt’s down here!

I will now christen this new blog with a survey from SuckMySurvey.com, which may or may not actually exist.


Never in my life have I:

been able to control myself in a craft store or an office supply store.  I’ve always been incapable of keeping myself from buying anything and everything that you could possibly make something or anything out of.  It’s a really really bad habit to have.  When I was a kid I’d spend my entire allowance on those little styrofoam birds covered with feathers, with bead eyes and wire feet.  I’d cover myself with them and pretend I was a princess in a Disney movie.  Now I just go into those stores and spend like $40 on pens and card stock and wire and paper hole punches in celestial shapes.  Then I drag the sack full of crafty junk home and leave it sitting on the couch next to me while I watch a prison doc instead of actually making anything.

The one person who can make any day better is:

I have to pick one??  All right, then I pick my sister, who has the talent of sending me a really funny text just when I’m about to guillotine myself to get out of boredom.  Like this one, which I got while work hours were inching by last week:  “I just had a great idea…when men stare at my tits, i’m gunna say ‘hey buddy, my cunt’s down here!'”

If you’d let me pick another one, I’d say my boss could make my day better by not showing up to work.  Or by showing up with a black eye.

My high school was:

always on the verge of being sued shitless by the ACLU for holding mock slave auctions, running up the rebel flag, and telling the dumbtard goth kids they couldn’t draw on their faces or dye their hair blue.

When I’m nervous:

I have to pee constantly.  There might not be any pee in there, but I still have that feeling like I have to go worse than ever, and the tank’s empty.  So frustrating.

The last song I listened to was:

Starless by Shiner.  My seventeen year old music tastes are slowly creeping back into my life.  Probably because I just listened to a bunch of blank CDs I’ve dragged around with me for 10 years, trying to figure out what to keep and what to get rid of.  They were all Keeps, I’m afraid.

If I were to get married right now it would be to:

I know everyone’s about sick of hearing me talk about it, but I’d marry the Corner Bakery dude in a second.  And if I were to get married right now, that would be the best option, I think, because he finally talked to me, for the first time in four years, last week.  I thought my pants were going to disintegrate, or get sucked into my vagina vacuum, or just burst into flames and look really cool on me.  Unfortunately, he was only asking me questions about work, which I found I couldn’t answer without checking my hair and face and not making eye contact because it was 8am and I was still wearing last night’s makeup.

Oh well.  I guess I could also marry Le Ex, who could not seem to understand why or how I could be in such total agreement that we should not hang out anymore, and therefore sends me a barrage of daily text messages and emails including attached photos of himself with his new girlfriend.  If I married him, I could get a trip to France out of it.

Then again, I’m sure Corner Bakery boy would bring home leftover cookies every day…dang.

My hair is:

long and thick and crazy and somehow the source of constant criticism, like when you borrow someone else’s hat and since it’s not yours, everyone feels okay about telling you how ugly it is.  Thanks but I grew this shit myself, and I plan on letting it take over.  It came to get down.

When I was 4:

my grandmother told my mom I was “confused,” because I put some Koosh balls down my pants and told her I was a cowboy.  So what?  Don’t all kids do that?  I swore I got the idea from an episode of PeeWee’s Playhouse, which made a lot more sense to everybody a few years later.

Last Christmas:

I wore the same pants for four days, because I’m sure that’s what they had to do in Bethlehem way back then, and I was just paying homage, yo.  Nobody said a word, if you’re wondering.

When I look down I see:

a green chair, a credit card that needs to be destroyed, and those little black marks that always show up on the wrist rest of a white MacBook.

The happiest recent event was:

when I found out that The Room is coming to Chicago.  A little jumpy-clappy dance was definitely performed in my kitchen.

If I were a character on ’Friends’:

I’d move them all out of that sweet ass apartment and change the locks and tell them that’s what “rent control” means.  And those dumb fucks would believe me, and get new friends.

By this time next year:

I will be a certified librarian.  Like Batgirl.  Only real.

My current gripe is:

I don’t have any groceries, and desperately need to make a trip to Target today, which not only ruins my Sunday because I have to walk by that stinky skate park, but also because Target on a Sunday in this neighborhood is like going to a fucking Cinco de Mayo block party.

I have a hard time understanding:

why that bitch at Origins told me that the gold liquid eyeshadow wouldn’t look good on me at all.  “Ohh noooo you don’t want that, of course!”  I miss the days when salesgirls would just lie their whore faces off, and you could just ignore everything they said.

This gold liquid eyeshadow looks hot as shit, by the way.

There’s these girls:

who live in Seattle and L.A. and New York and they’re so fucking cool and so fucking far apart that I wish I could mash them all together and make myself a little girly bouquet out of ’em.

The first person I’d tell if I won an award would be:

I’d probably get really nervous and have to pee, so I’d probably tell whoever was in, around, or near the bathroom.

I want to buy:

The Squidbillies: Season 2 on DVD.  I also want several books, a new dress, and a cheeseburger.

I plan to visit:

Southern Illinois in 13 days.  My friends just won’t quit having babies and getting married and inviting me to the parties.  It’s cool, but can we have these parties in Hawaii or something?  Also, buy my ticket.  You will if you love me.

If you spent the night at my house:

we’d stay up and drink beer and wear my giraffe mask and eventually I’d make you sing into my computer’s microphone and put your drunken song online somewhere for others to enjoy.

Most recent thing I’ve bought myself:

a Gryffindor keychain.  That’s my team, and I don’t care who knows it.  Unless you’re a hot boy who isn’t smart enough to like Harry Potter, then I’ll probably hide it from you.

Most recent thing someone else bought me:

a Build-Your-Own Sandwich playfood kit from my sister.  The bread is wooden, the “meat” is rubber, the cheese is felt, and the lettuce is some kind of swishy fabric knit.

My middle name is:

Marie.  Apparently I’m named after some female California real estate tycoon.  Who happened to be my grandmother.

In the morning I:

get up just early enough to watch two episodes of Saved by the Bell, but just late enough to miss the awful Good Morning Miss Bliss episodes.  Ugh…those are so positive and cheesy, they will outright ruin your day.

Last night I was:

drinking vodka out of a Big Gulp cup at Do Division, getting in trouble with an e-freaking-normous crowd of hipsters by making fun of their dancing and drunkenly replying to Flosstradongus’ cry of “AY CHICAGO MAKE SOME MOTHAFUCKIN NOOOOOOIIISE” by screaming “FUUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUUUUUU!!!”

There’s this guy I know:

who looks EXACTLY like the cucumber from Veggie Tales.  And he does this little happy dance that makes me want to shit in my pants so that I have a good reason to be excused from his presence.  But he is my boss so I have to placate him and smile and pretend that a 6 foot, 26 year old male who looks like a cucumber doing a skippy dance in front of me is exactly what I want to see at 9 in the morning, every morning.

If I was an animal I’d be:

a cat, and my superpower would be starring in movies with Christina Ricci that nobody would ever, ever watch.

A better name for me would be:

Princess Supercake of Blade Island.

Tomorrow I am:

going to work and I WILL REMEMBER to return American Psycho on my way.  I don’t know why I watched that.  I mean, it’s a good movie, but it’s made all the more creepy when you’re sitting there watching it alone in the dark and realizing that you dated that guy.

Tonight I am:

writing about a million cover letters.  I am starting to think I am not very good at it, which destroys the old adage that practice makes perfect.  Practice don’t do shit.

My birthday is:

just the most awesome day of the year.  Too bad it ain’t yours.

How long have you been breathing?

Since my daddy caught me on my way out, held me up by my ankles and inspected me like a fish, then scraped the primordial goo out of my mouth and pinched me ’til I cried.  Well, that’s what I remember, anyway.

Have you cried today at all?

Um.  Yes.  From laughter.

Do you want to be in a relationship?

Sometimes, but then I realize it’s only for the naughty and fun bits, because I’m a growin’ girl and I need the sauseeeege.  There are tons of crappy parts I can do without, such as “Let’s go out for a drink.  Why not?  Why not?  What are you doing??  Well I’ll just come over.  Why NOT?  I just want to be with you!  Let’s go out.  Okay, then let’s go to sleep.  Well, fine, I have to go to this party, and if you don’t come it means you don’t love me.  Fine.  Fine.  I see.  So are you coming??  WHY NOT???”

Do you actually believe in perfection?

Have you even seen me do The Clock?  Put on some new wave and wind me up, motherfucker, and I’ll make you believe.

Would you rather it be sunny or rainy?

I prefer rain because that’s what Lil John’s always talking about anyway, and I try to be as much like Lil John as I possibly can.

Have you been to New York City?

I don’t need to buy a plane ticket to smell dirty air and step in puke outside of a movie theater.

Last time you did laundry?

Thursday night.  There comes a point in your adult life when you have to stop going to the mall and buying 99 cent polyester thongs out of that giant bin at The Rave, and just bite the bullet and pay a whole dollar to wash the ones you already got.

Do you fight with your parents?

Yes.  My mother and I constantly fight over my ability to change my mind.  I’ll say, “I think I want a red skirt.”  Then later, I might find a purple skirt that works just fine.  And Mommy said, “Well I thought you wanted a red skirt!!!”  And something about this change in skirt plans really gets under Mommy’s skin.  I think it just bothers her to have to cross “red” off her list of stuff in her brain and write “purple” instead.  I think it makes her feel like she doesn’t know me the way she did an hour ago, when the skirt color I wanted was red.

Have you ever just went out with a girl/guy because you were desperate and they asked?

I’ve done internet dating, and most people consider that to be pretty desperate.  I met really hot, stupid guys who worked in finance and had money for brains, and really thoughtful, sweet guys who didn’t own TVs and therefore had no idea what I was talking about, ever.

Where did you sleep last night?

In my bed, cuddling my computer, which was playing The English Patient.  I had no idea that bullshit was three hours long.  I thought it would be a good fall-asleep movie, though, and it was, it was.

Do you want kids?

I want them in the way that I want them to hang out with me, teach me all the hand signs and tell me the good books to read, ask me to cut grilled cheeses in certain ways and pour apple juice into certain cups, and then I want them to go home as soon as they get complainy or want to watch Madagascar.

Do you have any expensive jewelry?

All of my jewelry is the kind that you have to stop wearing after a few weeks because it’s not the color it’s supposed to be anymore.  But that means it’s expensive to Ethiopians, so you tell me.

How many close friends do you have?

Thirty-seven.  No, four.  I added wrong.

What is your brother’s name?

Noah Richard, whom we have always called Noah Balboa, but his friends call him Woah Nipple.

Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?

I would feel weird if I didn’t.  It’s essential to get a male perspective on current films and books, how my lip gloss looks, and whether I will ever hook up with Ira Glass.

Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?

Well, yeah, but it’s usually a dumb shit reason.  Like there’s got to be a reason that they gave a whole TV show to that big-titted idiot shitface pussywaste Daisy from Rock of Love, but I refuse to believe it’s a good reason.

What are you listening to?

The Presets, and my neighbor mowing his tiny rectangle of grass, when he could actually just cut it with scissors.  It would be way quieter.

Would rain actually stop you from going somewhere or ruin your plans?

Yeah, but I’m kind of a homebody, so I would most likely welcome it stopping me from going out.  Then I could be like, “Awww, it’s rainiiiing…now we can’t go watch hipsters rub their bare assholes together all night.  Dang.  Maybe next Tuesday?  If it doesn’t rain.”

Last time you saw your parents?

I’m not sure they’ve even been in the same room since they artificially created me in that lab.  See, they both had to be there because they had to turn their keys at the exact same time to get into the vault where my microchip was being stored.  Then I think my dad got back on his futurebike and my mom put me in a little tube and shot me back to the past, which is now.  Does your brain hurt?  Sorry.

What woke you up this morning?

My stupid piece of crap Blackberry phone.  There are a hundred ways to turn this thing off, but unless you take out the battery and hide it somewhere, the whole thing powers up by itself and gives you all the Facebook updates you’ve missed between midnight last night and 6am.  I will be happy to bury this shit in the yard.

Is tomorrow going to be a good day?

Not if I gotta use my AK, I must say.  I’ll tell you later.

Who was the last person you rode in a car with?

Patrese, who I think only picks me up so she can play a Ludacris song and watch me turn around and stick my butt out the car window and wiggle it around when he says “shake shake shake ya moneymake-UHH!”  It makes her laugh.  It also makes dudes in vans follow us for a long time.

Do long distance relationships work?

I guess if you’ve got a phone with a penis attached.  Tell me if you do, because I’d like to borrow it.  Did you get it at Urban Outfitters?  That’s pretty cool.

Who is your number one on myspace:

I don’t even knowwww anymoooore.  That whole site is like a ghost town, and anyone who hasn’t migrated their web presence over to Facebook is a waste of time.  Or they’re just from Southern Illinois.

Do you listen to music everyday?

Yes!  But it’s harder now that they’ve outlawed music, and the radio, at work.  I wrote a haiku to the dead radio but that didn’t bring it back from the dumpster.  Wahhh!

Are you in a bad mood?

I’m in a pretty great mood, and it ain’t goin nowhere.  No, it ain’t.  Get back here!

Are you a jealous person:

Yes, only in those circumstances where people have things they don’t deserve, which I want.  Then I remember who I am and just feel really, really sorry for all the poor fucks who can’t be me.


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6 responses to “Hey buddy, my cunt’s down here!

  1. Is this your new blog? Because I APPROVE.

  2. There’s too much hilarious stuff here to acknowledge it all individually but I can list “exactly like Larry the Cucumber” and Whoa Nipple.

  3. ioncehadpartedhair

    I agree with Stephanie/Stephy. But I don’t know who you are and it’s making my head explode slowly. You mentioned Southern Illinois. I used to live there. Worst year of my life. And YOU commented on MY bloggity boo earlier and then I “randomly” noticed your twat on Stephanie’s twat on twatter and wound up here and what’s happening???? It’s probably nothing big.

  4. misstamryn

    hey. you’re funny. i like that.

  5. Andy Michota

    Love your blog! Two questions that you should have added that I would love to see you answer, 1. When was the last time you had sex? 2. Do you like to be on the top or bottom?

    • cupcakeheartbreak

      Those are actually pretty stupid survey questions, “Andy Michota.” I mean, who would be interested in the answers to those questions when they could just go directly to xtube or youporn? Unless it’s like your thing to do random Google searches for words like “fuck” and “cunt” and “cream” and “panties,” then leave anonymous comments wherever your search engine leads you. Yeah, anonymous blog comments sound super hot. I guess that’s how they get down in Florida.

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