Tis The Season To Be DEAD

Someone told me that suicide rates are highest in December. So I looked it up. And I read that it was not true.

WELL WHY THE HELL NOT.

Oh, you don't agree? Well then, in that case I guess I will have to evaluate each and every month, and you will soon see why December SHOULD be the most popular month for people jumping off of buildings.

January

It's the new year! You can't kill yourself when it's the new year! This is finally your chance for things to get better, since I assume if you are contemplating killing yourself, things have not been so great for you recently. Give it one more go. See that giant ball in Times Square drop one. More. TIME. You can't miss out on a massive sphere of glitter slowing descending, now can you?! That tradition is one of the most thrilling traditions us Americans can come up with! YAY! A BALL IS BEING LOWERED! Let's toast a glass of champagne to that! And after drinking that champagne, let's all feel really depressed since alcohol, yes, is a depressant, but forget killing yourself! You'll be passed out soon enough!

February

Love is in the air! You can't kill yourself when love is in the air! How can you be sad when everyone else is carrying boxes of chocolates, and bouquets of flowers, and is going to get laid that night while you're lying in bed crying? Quit being selfish. Feel happy for others! So what you're alone! So what no one will love you for who you are! So what all of your past relationships have failed! Millions of other people have a committed relationship with someone they think is their soulmate, why would you kill yourself and ruin everyone else's happiness just because they don't give a fuck if you're happy or not? Because they're happy! Quit thinking only about yourself. Get a grip. Buy some Godiva truffles. Eat until you puke. Slitting your wrists may sound wonderful, but imagine how wonderful it is to puke AND cry at the exact same time!

March

Leprechauns, everywhere! You can't kill yourself when there are leprechauns everywhere! All you have to do to feel happier about life is to gain some good luck from a four-leaf clover! And we all know how easy THOSE are to find! Hey! Or maybe, just maybe, it'll rain really hard all day, and you'll feel even more depressed, but just as you finally decide to tie that noose, the rain stops! And a magical RAINBOW appears! And now all you have to do to find a pot of gold and be rich and happy for once in your life is to find the end of that rainbow! And we all know how easy THAT is to find! Or maybe you can find that list of 749 things you want but will never have, and you'll choose three that will take away all sadness for the rest of your life. Now, those three things can be granted! All you have to do is find a 3-inch man in a green suit! And we all know how easy HE'LL be to find!

April

April showers! You can't kill yourself when there are April showers! Because even though rain is dark and sad and depressing and it keeps you inside and inside is where you're most likely to overdose on sleeping pills, do you know what April showers bring? May flowers! Don't you want to live to see those flowers?!

May

May flowers! Again, you can't kill yourself when there are May flowers! May flowers are the best kinds of flowers! Because even though almost EVERY OTHER MONTH has flowers, as well, somehow May got deemed the one who has them!

June

The swimming pools are open! You can't kill yourself when the swimming pools are open! You have to go swim! And get sun burnt to the point where you can't put on a T-shirt without screaming in pain! And what about your hair? You don't want that updo you left the house with to turn into a frizzy fro the minute you step outside? Well that problem can be fixed; just jump into the pool! And get your eyes painfully stung by chlorine! And see a lot of half-naked people who you really, REALLY didn't need to see half-naked! Just keep those grotesque half-naked images in your mind all day, and you'll feel so much better in regards to your own self-esteem! Except for those people at the pool with amazing bodies...IGNORE THEM! Who needs them! They're ones who need to kill themselves, not you!

July

It's Independence Day! You can't kill yourself on Independence Day! Lots of people kill themselves; would it really be THAT independent of you to go shoot yourself in the head just like everybody else?

August

School is beginning! You can't kill yourself when school is beginning! This is time to reminisce, to remember those elementary school days, the days before your heart got ripped from your chest and that son of a bitch never bothered to give it back! The days before you could read and you aced every class just by scribbling with colored sticks of wax! The days before your parents screamed at you telling you what a fucking failure you are! Remember these days of innocence? Don't permanently open your veins in a month that represents the ABC's. It's just wrong.

September

You're only a month away from Halloween! You can't kill yourself when you're only a month away from Halloween!

October

It's Halloween! You can't kill yourself when it's Halloween! Hocus Pocus airs on TV! AND...this is the only time it's socially acceptable to accept candy from strangers!

November

Turkeys everywhere! You can't kill yourself when there are turkeys everywhere! Sure, these turkeys are dead turkeys, but don't their breasts taste delicious?

December

It's Christmas time! You CAN kill yourself when it's Christmas time! FINALLY! A fat man is going to come down your chimney and eat the cookies you stayed up all night baking and there's no escaping him! Except to kill yourself! Your mom is going to make you sit on some fat fraud's lap in front of millions of strangers and take a picture that will be the new Christmas card and there's no escaping it! Except to kill yourself! The weather is freezing. Your nose won't stop running. You got your two front teeth years ago so there's really no more gifts to look forward to. You have no idea what to buy anyone. You have no money to buy anyone anything, anyway. You've gained 10 pounds in a week from drinking egg nog that's going to take 2 months of eating lettuce to lose. Starbucks will soon take the Peppermint White Mocha off of their menu. Frosty the Snowman is due to melt sooner or later. And this all seems impossible for you to escape...oh, but you can. Just kill yourself! (Just make sure you do it before the Christmas card picture is taken. You don't want THAT to be the last picture taken of you ever.)

Words of Wisdom From Someone Not-So-Wise

I've gotten over the fact that experiencing my first semester of college has not made me look any older. I've finally admitted to myself that I will always have baby cheeks and I will always be asked for my ID and once I give the cashier my ID they will always make some obnoxious statement about how young I look and then always tell me how lucky I am to look so young. Yes, I just love being attracted to guys who look older and older everyday while me and my cheeks stay very much like that of a baby's. It's whatever. I really don't mind it. At all. Not a bit. I REALLY DON'T GIVE A FUCK, OKAY? Maybe I would feel a bit older if I didn't eat with Gerber baby spoons, but that is just never going to happen because rubber spoons that come in multiple colors are the best kind of spoons out there. (Sporks not included.) So now that I've moved on from college changing my physical appearance, I have been thinking of the ways it has changed me intellectually.

It hasn't.

Look, I've tried. I've tried to participate in the intellectual conversations of college students, but really I've just spent those conversations intellectually thinking of how FUCKING STUPID everyone else is. See? These should not be the words of a newly-changed college student. I should be nodding my head while simultaneously squinting my eyes and stroking my chin while I sit and listen to "college conversations" that go something like this:

"Why does this world exist?"

"But what does it mean to exist?"

"Like why are we humans here?"

"But what is here?"

"In this world."

"But who says this is even a world?"

"It's all how we perceive reality."

"But what is reality?"

"Who knows if we are even having this conversation...we're only having it because we say we are having it."

"Everything we do is only because we think we're doing it."

"But what does it really mean to "think?"

"It doesn't even matter. We'll all be dead one day."

How genius of you man. To realize we're all going to die. BECAUSE I THOUGHT WE WERE GOING TO LIVE FOREVER. I really could write a "How-To" guide on how to have an "intellectual conversation."

1. start nodding

2. begin to stroke chin

3. when a noun is stated, such as "cat" or "nickel", ask what that noun really is

4. when a verb is stated, such as "jump" or "speak", ask what that verb really is

5. do not listen to anything anyone else is saying, just be thinking of the next brilliant thing you're going to say when they finally stop

However, I have learned to be grateful of a lot of things I took for granted in my high school years.

Toilet Paper

My house is always stock-full of this tissue of goodness. Never once did I have to "drip and dry," or use some substitute for it to cleanse my private areas. (Said substitutes will remain unnamed.) (Oh, did that just make you even more curious? Too bad.) Then, I get to college, and it becomes this rare gift...I never have money to buy it, my roommates are either just as broke or once they get it they secretly hoard it all to themselves. What is this shit? Cartoon bears can have it, but not me? Whoever said "out of sight out of mind" was NOT considering toilet paper. That Charmin roll of heaven is always on my fucking mind. It's soft, it's cushiony, and it feels nice on your crotch. I am beyond grateful.

Gasoline

When getting into my car, most conversations go like this:

"Your gas light is on."

"Yeah. I know."

"That means your tank is empty."

"It's really not even that empty."

"How long has that light been on?"

"Like three days."

"Three days?!"

"Maybe four."

"Four days?!"

"LOOK. I KNOW MY CAR IT CAN GO FOREVER NOW GET IN."

I wouldn't be nearly as grateful for gas if I had not blown 90 dollars off of my dad's credit card in 3 days on gas, and gotten a phone call a day later that ended in no more gas for Natasha. So now, I am beyond grateful.

Splenda

Honestly, I have always been grateful for Splenda. Without it, many foods and drinks I consume would not be nearly as sweet, and therefore, not nearly as delicious. Splenda has always gone splendidly (more like "splenda-ly"...oh my wit.) with cottage cheese, milk, yogurt, strawberries, chicken...anything, really. But it wasn't until I left home that it hit me that I was obviously not the only one who bought Splenda, since it costs about 8 fucking dollars for one box. What are they thinking? That broke college kids can live without their daily intake of sugar substitutes? WELL NOT ME! I have found myself going into gas stations just to nab a handful or two of Splenda to slip into my pocket and discreetly take it back to my dorm. Same goes with restaurants. A strategy I have found most successful, in case any of you out there are having trouble being able to feed your Splenda addiction, is to go into a restaurant, empty all of the Splenda out of those little plastic containers they have on the tables with the pink, blue, and yellow packages, and then ask the waiter if they have any Splenda. Now, he will look at that plastic container on your table and see that it is empty. Then, he will go to the most near by table to grab some from that plastic container, but this is exactly why you already took all the Splenda form the nearby tables when you were walking in. Now, he MUST go to the back and get you more. Then you will take all of it. And leave. And maybe tip. But not with Splenda. That Splenda is your Splenda. Or maybe you could give it to me and then it would be my Splenda. Then, I would be beyond grateful.

Then again, this is only my first semester. Maybe by the end of my second semester rolls around and I am officially done with my freshman year, I will be wiser, and look wiser, and be able to spread more wisdom than I have spread today. But at least, because of the wisdom of mine I have been so wise enough to bestow upon you, you now know not to take toilet paper for granted. And for that, you should be beyond grateful.

The Pilgrims Must've Partied

What am I thankful for on Thanksgiving? I am thankful for the fact that I only have to celebrate this fucking holiday one day a year.

A Pilgrims-meet-the-Indians dinner somehow turned into an Invite-All-Your-Mother-In-Laws dinner and that just doesn't make anyone feel thankful at all, especially as they're eating brown mashed potatoes topped in marshmallows, which, by the way, is DISGUSTING. How about we just grab some cream corn and top it with licorice? I mean, really? What kind of sick fuck thought of putting marshmallows on top of potatoes? One who died of a heart attack early in life, that's who. But I'll get to the food later. Back to the fact of WHY we celebrate Thanksgiving. Hmmm....well, I don't really know why. Does anyone know why? Because we befriended the Indians? Hmmm....so was that before or after we enslaved most of them? Was that before or after the Trail of Tears? Was that before or after John Smith raped Pocahontas? Is that what we're celebrating? RAPE THE ATTRACTIVE INDIANS DAY! But wait...we can't celebrate that now, can we? Not anymore, not since we wiped out a majority of the whole Indian RACE. And Thanksgiving is supposed to be the "family-oriented" holiday? Come on now. The pilgrims must've partied.

I miss my childhood days of Thanksgiving dinner that lacked a turkey, lacked the stuffing, lacked the gravy, lacked EVERYTHING that everyone else was eating that Thursday night. (I actually love stuffing, but that contradicts my thesis of this entire paragraph so we’re going to pretend that I don’t.) My childhood Thanksgivings were filled with Chinese take-out and a grocery store run that involved the words of, "Pick out anything you want, girls!" The Turkey Days of my past were filled with lo mein, double-stuffed Oreos, Fruity Pebbles, cottage cheese and jello, and some sesame chicken. Oh...those were the days. But now? All of a sudden I've succumbed to a Thanksgiving dinner filled with dishes that I have to stare at for quite some time, trying to figure out what it is exactly, that is until someone comes up and says, "Try the BlahBlahBlah, honey, it's delicious," or, "Try the SoundsDisgustingWhoTheFuckNamedThisAndThoughtItWasAGoodIdea, sweetheart, I know you'll like it." Why? How would you know that? I'd like it because YOU like it? Because me and you have the EXACT same tastebuds? I'd like it because you made it? If you're so good at making things then go make me a PopTart, kitchen bitch. (Not referring to anyone specific here; my stepmom is actually QUITE the chef, but that contradicts the whole point of this post YET AGAIN so we'll just pretend like her meals are not incredibly delicious for the sake of my argument.) Seriously, why do we all eat the same dishes on Thanksgiving? Is it really possible that every single American loves the taste of cranberry dressing on their turkey? Because I sure as hell don't. Why can't I prepare the Thanksgiving dinner one year? I'm pretty positive I'd have a large following, too. Who wouldn't want to come to my house and feast on Gummy Bears and sip on Shirley Temples and munch on cheesecake and follow that up with some Pumpkin Spice lattes and snack on ravioli (Chef Boardee? HELL. YES.) and not only would all those scrumptious entrees be on the list, I would take requests as well! (As long as they were anti-Thanksgiving oriented. Like, "GoGurt." "GoGurt" would be acceptable, whereas as "squash" would not.)

I've had some pretty interesting and yes, that means interesting in a bad way, Thanksgivings in my time. But this year? This year tops them all.

It all started the morning of Thanksgiving, and when I say morning, I mean at 4am.

Thanksgiving morning: 4 a.m.

"WHERE IS YOUR SISTER?!"

My parents moved me to the guest room when I moved out for college. I wouldn't mind that at all if my room had a LOCK on the door.

"...whaaaa...."

(that's me, half-asleep, trying my best to respond to my father who had just barged into my room yelling because one of his daughters was missing)

"IT'S. FOUR. A.M. WHERE. IS. YOUR. SISTER?!"

"What?!"

(that's me, still half-asleep, but suddenly completely aware of the fact that it was 4am and my sister who should've been home three hours ago was still not home, and my father was expecting me to have the answer as to why not)

“I don’t know...”


“YOU DON’T KNOW.”

“Is she not at home?”

“NO, NATASHA, SHE IS NOT AT HOME.”

SLAM!

My door, the one that lacks a lock, is slammed shut and I am left alone in the dark. But not for long.

Thanksgiving morning: 4:03 a.m.

“And WHERE is your car?!”

My lockless door is swung open and there is my father, noticing more and more missing pieces in the puzzle by the minute. Damn.

“What?”

“Your CAR, Natasha. Where is your CAR. It’s not in the driveway. I’m asking you where your CAR is.”

“...it’s on the side of the road.”

“WHERE ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD.”

“Down the street.”

“WHY is your CAR not in the DRIVEWAY.”

“Uhhhh...”

Shit shit shit.

“Bleh....”

Think of something, Natasha, think of something, Natasha.

“Ahhh...”

Oh fuck it.

“There’s a boy in the back seat of my car.”

“What. WHAT.”

“He’s asleep in the backseat.”

“And WHY is THAT.”

“He’s drunk.”

“He’s drunk?”

“Wasted.”

“He’s wasted?”

“Really, really drunk.”

“Let me get this straight, Natasha. You came home without your sister. She’s missing AND IT’S FOUR IN THE MORNING. You have an INTOXICATED BOY PASSED OUT DRUNK in the backseat of your car. ARE YOU ON DRUGS.”

“What?”

“You are acting like you are on DRUGS.”

“I am not on drugs. I was ASLEEP when you came in here. I am not on drugs while I am sleeping in my bed. I am not on drugs PERIOD.”

SLAM!

My door, yes, the one without a lock, my lockless door, me no have lock, is slammed and my phone then begins to ring.

“Hello?”

“Natasha?!”

“WHERE ARE YOU.”

Thanksgiving morning: 4:07 a.m.

“IS THAT YOUR SISTER.”

My father has impeccable hearing. Or he was just standing right outside my door with his ear pressed to the glass. Either one.

“Yes, it’s her.”

“WHERE IS SHE.”

“Where are y---”

“GIVE ME THE PHONE.”

“Dad wants to talk to y---”

“WHERE IS SHE.”

“Hey Dad wants to know where---”

“GIVE ME THE PHONE.”

“Hey I’m gonna give the phone to Dad because---”

“WHERE IS SHE.”

“Where are you right n---”

“GIVE ME THE PHONE.”

“OKAY! Here.”

“WHERE ARE YOU.”

I do not hear what is said. I only hear the front door open, the slamming again of my lockless door, and my sister begin to talk to my father. I hit the pillow.

Thanksgiving morning: 4:19 a.m.

“GIVE ME YOUR KEYS.”

"I don't know where they are..."

SLAM!

Goes the door.

SLAM!

Goes my head on the pillow.

Thanksgiving morning: 7 a.m.

“WAKE UP.”

“Whyyyy...”

“Because THERE ARE TWO COPS OUTSIDE OUR HOUSE, NATASHA.”

“What?”

“Your FRIEND that you decided to bring HOME last night is sitting in the back of a COP CAR outside of our HOUSE.”

“WHAT?”

“He tried to BREAK IN to our NEIGHBOR’S HOUSE this morning thinking it was OUR HOUSE and scared THE SHIT out of OUR NEIGHBORS and they called THE COPS.”

“Nooooo...”

A.k.a. FUCK...

"What were you thinking? What was he thinking? Who IS this boy?"

"Uhhh..."

"NATASHA."

"Blahhhh..."

"NATASHA?"

"Wahhh..."

"NATASHA!"

"My boyfriend."

"Your boyfriend."

SLAM!

I think we all know what the "slam" entails by now.

After creepily peering out of my bedroom window for quite some time, I got very paranoid that someone would look up and see me and know for a fact the creeper that I truly am, so I stopped and walked to the front door to find my father and Boy standing in my foyer. Hey! I just can't get enough of these awkward moments! LOVE 'EM!

Thanksgiving morning: 8:32 a.m.

"I'm back!"

"Did you take Boy home?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Yes."

"You're grounded."

"What?"

"Give me your keys."

"What?"

"You'll have your car back on the 26th of December."

"WHAT."

And that was Thanksgiving 2009 for Natasha Ferrier. We'll see if I can top that next year.