Quietly Hostile

by Samantha Irby

Have compassion for myself ? But I’m a dumbass who sucks at everything and is unworthy of love.

“hey u fuckin bitch if u put carrie back with aiden [sic] and ruin my favorite show i’ll fucking kill u.”

Also, honorable mention to this episode for teaching me one of the most important friendship lessons I have ever learned: never tell your homegirl to break up with her man, it will be your fault if she’s miserable afterward. Instead, practice noncommittal yet sympathetic nodding while murmuring, “Yeah, that really stinks.” It’s the only way to survive with your friendship intact.

It’s so deliciously sticky and awkward when your work friends meet your life friends or when your married friends meet your single friends and you’re stuck playing tour guide between the groups.

Also? Charlotte with the gay straight guy who maybe could’ve been a straight gay guy: we’re dumping talented pastry chefs because they don’t want to reach down with their precious, meringue-sculpting hands and pick up a gross, squealing, half-dead mouse stuck to a dirty, sticky glue trap? That’s really what we’re doing?! Not on my watch we’re not!

He was just a big ol’ teddy bear trying to make her floors nice and drive his raggedy-ass truck in the country, and she couldn’t stop being a huge bitch to him.

I just need to say out loud and in public that the idea of “He’s Just Not That Into You” changed my fucking life.

We could take the Hannah Horvath route and just have Sam talk a lot about being a writer without doing much of it on-screen, or there was the Carrie Bradshaw option: watch Sam type one sentence and read it aloud, then just smoke a ciggy and go to bed or whatever.

(I named him “Wrigley” to make fun of every single person in the Chicagoland area who has a goddamned dog named “Wrigley,” aka approximately 98.7 percent of all registered Cook County dog owners)

People always ask if my friends are nervous to end up in a book, and the truth is, no one cares because people don’t read. (Except you. You are handsome and literate with excellent taste in reading material.)

No! I have depression and rude friends!

“Oh no, Boris Kodjoe is gonna see that I look like microwaved dog vomit” to “He won’t even register my presence,” and you know what? I was fucking right.

This was gonna be like the time I washed my clothes with Gain because it’s all they had at the corner store, and I spent a couple hours covered in hives until the Benadryl did its job.

So, you’ll invite me, right? You’re gonna text me the address and your favorite brand of tequila, right? I need to be invited more than anything I’ve ever needed in my life. Because trust me, I really am great at a party. Seriously, though, invite me. I’m the greatest party guest there is, especially since I won’t come.