My fellow diehard SBM fans will recognize the title of this post and think I’m topic-jacking, but you guys should know me better than that by now. For one thing, those guys have written about everything under the fucking sun at least twice. And for another, since an epic lack of modesty is one of [...]
My fellow diehard SBM fans will recognize the title of this post and think I’m topic-jacking, but you guys should know me better than that by now. For one thing, those guys have written about everything under the fucking sun at least twice. And for another, since an epic lack of modesty is one of the very few qualities I share with the author of the original post, it’s only right that
I was born to use mics I pay homage to that most amazing of posts by writing about my love affair with myself.
So yeah – I’m in love with myself. Not the most attractive quality for a woman to have, but some of the world’s most attractive people are pretty unattractive when you examine them closely. Plus I’m in love with myself so I really don’t give a damn what anyone thinks about that.
Vain people such as myself have a bad reputation for being vapid and self-centred, but it’s not really fair. For one thing I am neither and for another, those qualities have absolutely nothing to do with attractiveness. There’s a whole lot of ugly-ass vapid and self-centred people in this world. You know it’s true.
As far as I can see, those of us who love ourselves are winning at life. Not just because we’re amazing, but because we don’t waste time worrying about dumb shit. If a man rejects me, I don’t sit around and wonder what I did wrong; I sit around and wonder how he could be so stupid as to let me go. If girls are bitchy to me, I don’t attempt to ingratiate myself to them by squelching my amazingness – I just give them a “haters are gonna hate” shrug and go on about my business. And the best part? No one can ever blackmail me with naked pictures of myself because I don’t care who sees them – I look amazing naked.
Me? Wrong? Never!
Here’s a little secret between me, you, and the lamp post: I never do anything wrong. Most of the arguments I get into and all of my failed relationships are because the other party failed to pull his weight, or misinterpreted something I said or did, or didn’t give me the benefit of the doubt before jumping to conclusions. It’s never because of a misstep I took because….I don’t do that. Sounds incredible right? But I’m just that good.
The wall of love and the book of love.
I’m not one for decorating my home – I don’t even have curtains so any asshole who looks can see me in all my naked glory (which of course I don’t mind since – as previously discussed – I look amazing naked). But what I do have in my home is a wall of love and a book of love. The wall of love is actually my refrigerator and it’s covered with every card or letter I’ve received since I’ve lived here from a friend or a fan telling me how much they love me. Or how awesome/funny/amazing I am.
Just in case that doesn’t gas my head up enough, I also have a scrapbook I received as a gift from my family for my 30th birthday. It’s filled with letters from friends and relatives telling me how wonderful I am and how much they love me.
I read these shits on a near-daily basis. And while a mere mortal’s modesty might prevent him from fully appreciating all those superlatives, I just say yup. Fucking right.
Have mirror, will stare.
You can try to speak to me when there’s a mirror around, but don’t tell me anything too important. I’m listening, but I’m also fascinated by the vision of loveliness that is before me. I’m just so fascinating to look at; the way my lips move when I speak, the way my nostrils flare slightly when I’m angry, the way I raise one eyebrow when I think you’re full of shit. My reflection is the greatest show on earth, how could I ever not watch it?
Damn I’m a fucking great writer.
I’m the first to admit that when it comes to writing I’m not on my A-game all the time. But when I’m hot, I’m fucking hot. I know when I’m writing something if it’s going to be amazing and when that happens, it takes me twice as long to finish it because I keep stopping to marvel at what I’ve written thus far. I peruse my favourite posts on probably a weekly basis and no matter how many times I read them I say – yup. I’m fucking wicked.
Clothes don’t make me man.
Take a peek in the “nightlife” section of my closet and what will you see? Jeans, tank tops, and hot shoes. That’s really all I need in my life of sin. All neutral colours because I don’t need my clothes to draw attention away from me. The way I see it, fancy clothes, fancy colours, fancy makeup, that shit is for girls who are innately lacking and need to jazz things up. I’ll dress nicely if the occasion warrants it; but I’m just as hot in $15 Forever 21 jeans and a $7 Joe wifebeater as I am in a $1000 Gucci dress. So I just keep it simple and let my innate gorgeousness shine through.
What can I say? I love myself because I am amazing. But what about you guys? Are you in love with yourselves? Count the ways in the comments.