i'll never know...

i'll never know...

how it feels to have a penis.

and this legitimately really upsets me. not because i'm a big weirdo who wants a penis, but because i feel robbed just as i'm sure most men do when it comes to them never having a vagina or boobs. i just wanna KNOW, ya know? wait. some guys definitely have actual breasts, so TO CLARIFY, i'm talking about guys with regular chests here. i get so annoyed and eye  roll-y when guys claim they'd play with their tits all day if they had them, but then i say to myself "fuck you, emma. you know damn well you'd have your bare penis exposed all day long if you had one." and it's true. heavy sigh.

what it feels like to be super, super skinny.

allow me to first say FUCKING SICK WHAT? about this picture. but to the point of this paragraph - unless i get really, really depressed and stay really, really depressed because that's the only time i don't eat food, i will never know what this sort of "thin" feels like.  i will never know what it's like to have no body fat and protruding hip bones and little to no boobies (in most cases). but ya know what? i'm totally down with that. in fact, i'm happy about it. give me steak.

how it is to have vanity license plates.

because those things are for huge flamers and i would have no idea how to shorten "SEINFELDLOVER" down enough so you could understand what it meant.

what a threesome is like.

BECAUSE I WILL BE DAMNED IF YOU EVER ASK ME TO SHARE MY MAN WITH ANOTHER LADY. OR MAN. i don't share clothes. i don't share food. and i sure as SHIT am not going to share my sex. fuck you, weirdos.

how dusty the upper half of my apartment is.

and i'm okay with that, because dragging my step stool out from the closet and unfolding it and reaching so high i pull muscles, then having to REfold it and put it back sucks way too much and i'd rather just leave things dusty. sorry! the day i can afford a maid is the day i splurge on a top-of-the-line step stool for her and feed her chili.

what it's like to finish a marathon.

i have friends who know this feeling and, for them, i am happy. but this chick right here will probably never know what even a measly 5K feels like because homie don't do that.

how much wood a woodchuck chucks or why the chicken crossed the road.

and i think society likes it that way. these are infinite, unanswerable mindfucks and we should stop trying to figure them out. they just are what they are.

what the hell aretha franklin is saying in "RESPECT."

yeah, i'm sure i could look up lyrics but it's sort of more fun to just keep not knowing what the hell comes after "find out what it means to me!" ellen degeneres did a riff on it once, so i'm not the only one who feels this way. i'm pretty sure it's something like "chuck tah to tee see tee oh!" or something really, really close to that.

how it would feel to have a brother.

this makes me sad even though i'm almost POSITIVE if i did have one, he'd be gay. don't ask why - i just have a feeling. that or he'd be the coolest fucker in town and a player like his dad was. maybe in the future one of my parents will find out they have an illegitimate son roaming the earth? no? it's probably a bit too late in the game for that sort of discovery, huh? a girl can dream!

what most recreational drugs feel like.

i could barely handle pot - how the fuck would i ever handle anything more "extreme"? i'll tell you how: I WOULDN'T. if i convinced myself once that my boyfriend was in love with my best friend while i was high, i'd most very likely throw myself off a bridge after one taste or hint of any stronger drug. no thank you, sir. i will stick to alcohol. case closed.

what will YOU never know?

- emma


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