Samantha Irby - Meaty: essays

PRAISE FOR SAMANTHA IRBY

Blunt, sharp and occasionally heartbreaking, Samantha Irby's Meaty marks the arrival of a truly original voice. You don't need difficult circumstances to become a great writer, but you need a great writer to capture life's weird turns with such honesty and wit.

John August, acclaimed screenwriter and film director

Her candor in style and subject mattermostly sex, dating and the general lousiness of menhas earned Samantha Irby a cult following Honesty mixed with self-deprecating humor is what propels readers.

Timeout Chicago

The best thing to happen to passionate admirers since binoculars. Samantha Irby is a stunted adolescent who spends her free time drinking fancy beer, eating expensive macaroons and writing about smart ladies, dumb dudes, music, tacos and diarrhea.

The Chicago Sun-Time s

Sam Irby is honest so you don't have to be, spelling out all the glory and trauma that comes with being a grown-ass woman in such a way that you want desperately to have her on speed-dial so you can call her up and say, Me too, girl, me too.

Claire Zulkey, author of An Off Year

CONTENTS

AT 30

T oday, 2/13/10, is my birthday. I am excited because I am 30 years old and I don't have a man in my life. I haven't had any children. I haven't finished college. I don't have any major accomplishments of note. I don't own any property. I have a job and not a career. I am incapable of going grocery shopping. (In my refrigerator: Campari, club soda, orange juice, and High Life.) I haven't paid my electric bill in the last three months. I have a broken foot that won't heal. I'm not that smart. I have squamous metaplasia in my ileum. I can't see shit. The radiator in my bathroom is broken but I haven't called my landlord because I need to take the garbage out first (and pick up all of the dirty panties piled next to the toilet). I still don't know how to work my fucking phone.

I can't make pancakes. I busted my laptop and can't afford a new one right now. My novel is finished but unedited and unpublished because I busted my laptop and can't afford a new one right now. I don't have cable. The pants I'm wearing right this second have a hole in le snatch. My stomach hurts ALL OF THE FUCKING TIME and these drugs are making me too sick to properly function. Im trying to be a vegetarian now but I keep sneaking chicken. I can't hear either. Sometimes I'm just not that nice. I laugh at a lot of stupid shit. I have to wear a diaper sometimes at night when my Crohn's is acting like a bitch. I haven't voted since 2001. My hair is totally crazy. I am into way too much age-inappropriate music. It is impossible for me to listen to my voicemails. I snore. I can't do Sudoku. My nails are too long for my liking right now. I have an attitude. My neck hurts. I have weird patches of hair in unexpected places. I have a horrible sweet tooth.

I should fucking work out. I can't work out because my achilles and broken foot are ruined. I am irritated 99.8% of the time. I hate everything. I loathe everyone. I sleep in a full-size bed. I don't know how to fucking alphabetize hyphenated last names. I am constantly seething in jealous rage. I talk a lot of shit. I fight to the death. The smell of Christmas trees makes me sick. I can't stay awake in a movie theater. I am a cat person (sad). I'm ridiculously tormented and moody. I can't have multiple orgasms. I would eat Toaster Strudel every day if I could. Dudes don't promptly return my phone calls. I can't stand Alicia Keys. I have vomited on the train three times in the last eight months, and I fell asleep in a bar two weeks ago.

I need a therapist and I need a nutritionist. I need someone to style my outfits. I need a tall person to come over and change my lightbulbs. I need a cook and I need a maid. I need to go to the dentist and the gynecologist. I need to pay the podiatrist. I need to look into retaining an acupuncturist. I need to save up to go to a hypnotist. I need a financial advisor. I need a tax attorney. I need a car so I can go to more shit. I need a person to dig said car out of the snow in the winter and find me a parking space every night within ten blocks of my goddamned apartment because I have to live in Rogers Park where the rent is cheap and I can still get away with waking up forty minutes before I need to have my ass at work.

I need more people to describe me as the funniest person they know. I need some fucking PARENTS. And maybe even some godparents. I need a brand new MacBook Pro with endless gigs of RAM. I need a lint roller that actually works, OR I need a hairless fucking cat. I need Helen to stop sneezing on my clothes in unsuspecting places only for me to discover a dried glob of snot halfway through the day. I need some more friends. I need a fucking loan. I need braces. I need a massage. I need a pedicure. I need $465 to give to Mel so he will stop calling me every single day.

I need some hot dudes around who want to get half-naked with me (I like to remain semi-clothed during sex). I need some ugly dudes around to make me feel good about myself. I need some smart dudes around to help me cheat the government and take over the planet. I need some muscle-y dudes around to carry my shit for me. I need some angry dudes around to beat bitches up when they fuck with me. I need some literate dudes around to do my homework. I need some girly dudes around to keep my eyebrow game on point. I need some salty dudes around to talk shit and giggle with me, and I need some sweet dudes around to keep me from killing ALL OF THE OTHER TYPES OF DUDES.

I need to find a pharmacist who will exchange medication for blowjobs. I need to have the ability to kill someone with a look. I need to get a bike. I need a Comcast hookup. I need some manners. I need patience. I need a more effective approach to homework. I need a bottle of Maalox. I need a couple cocktails. I need an eye exam. I need a new gastrointestinal tract. I need to meet Quentin Tarantino. I need for someone to fall desperately in love with me. I also might need a sedative.

I want a piano, because I have played since I was four and it just doesn't feel the same on the keyboard I keep tucked away in the closet. I want to go swimming. I want to eat pizza without puking. I want a pet lion. I want a magic wand. I want to be able to murder in cold blood and not go to jail. I want a flat screen television. I want a couch on which to sit and gaze at that flat screen television. I want to learn how to dance for real. I want to do a one-woman show. I want to speak Italian. I want some comfortable shoes. I want 500 bitches to read my blog every day. I want to learn how to sew so I can try out for Project Runway. I want a harem of Asian-looking black dudes, or black-looking Asian dudes. I want medical marijuana for this raggedy belly (but only if it won't give me the munchies, because I can't eat shit anymore). I want to ride a camel to the club and valet that shit. I want ten tubes of MACs Spring Bean Lustreglass. I want cuter stores in my neighborhood. I want the new Peaches record. I want to see Muse in concert.

I want to get over all my old manfriends allfuckingready. That said, I want dudes to DROP DEAD the second they hurt my tender little feelings. I want more time to read. I want people to stop leaving me Facebook presents. I want some mixtapes from dudes who have hot crushes on me. I want the keys to the kingdom. I want some Fannie May Eggnog Creams. I want a Dilauded drip next to my bed. I want a Leopard Snuggie. I want Jeff Buckley to rise from the dead. I want to get more of my drinks paid for. I want to live with Nina in San Diego and eat hot carrots and rolled tacos every day. I want fresh flowers delivered to me every day. I want to sleep 18 hours a day and dance to La Roux for the rest of it. I WANT A WINNING LOTTERY TICKET.