I Can't, Vol. 57

If you're new to my blog, allow me introduce this series called "I Can't." In these posts, I wordily explain why I can't with, well, just about everything. However, as we all know since it's become such an integral part of today's vernacular, "I can't" isn't always negative. In fact, a lot of the time it's extremely positive. It's like when you love something so much and it's so good and so on point that you just CAN'T (find the words to express your emotions toward it). But of course, this holds true for the negative connotation of "I can't," too — i.e. when something is so wrong, so disgusting, so ugly, so outrageous, so much that you just CAN'T. 

So, without further adieu, I present to you volume 57 of I Can't.

I CAN'T

when people opt to top their ice cream or frozen yogurt with fruit. Like. What is this? What are you doing? Why are you ruining a perfectly good cup of delicious frozen sex with FRUIT? It just doesn't sit well with me. The last thing I want along with my well-deserved ice cream that I probably worked out at least 3x this week for is any form of health. Strawberries? Blueberries? BANANA? GTFOOH. Gimme oreos, sprinkles, heath, brownie bits, fudge, caramel — ANYTHING BUT FRUIT. Now, the actual ice cream/froyo itself being fruit-flavored is one thing, even though I still raise an eyebrow to it. But I will order the hell out of strawberry ice cream WITH oreos mixed in (have you tried this? You need to). But if you waste your trip to the ice cream shop with some sort of fruit sorbet topped with fruit, it's like why not just go to the store and grab a Chobani with fruit on the bottom? SAME DIFFERENCE, GUYS. Give me decadence or give me death. And speaking of fruit...

I CAN'T

with this outfit.

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Yes, I know I'm loving hard on myself right now but, like, do you SEE this lewk? Does it not deserve to be revered even by its wear-er? This strawberry blouse by Madewell (that knots on the bottom, which you can't see in this pic) has given my summer wardrobe life as well as these white shorteralls from Abercrombie. So many combinations. So many summertime vibes. So many strawbs. Also, I most definitely ate half the container of strawberries while trying to get this shot BUT I DIDN'T EAT THEM WITH ICE CREAM, SO WE'RE SAFE.

I CAN'T

that people still say the word "bestest" or, worst yet, "my bestest good friend." Nah, y'all. Just nah. Stop it. Bestest makes me queasy and my butthole clenches. Baby talk is only for dogs and babies and sometimes your S/O's genitals if you're being weird. Other than that, can we please retire "bestest" indefinitely?

I CAN'T

with how foul this combination is and the cashier's perfect response. Also, if you don't follow Overheard New York, you should.

I CAN'T

like physically fucking CANNOT when companies don't have free returns or send you a prepaid shipping label in the box. I know I've written about this before, but I can't with it so much that I felt the need to rage about it again. Like. It's 2018, people. 79% of people shop online (that's 8 out of 10). How DARE companies not cover our return shipping? So, you want me to blindly order items from you then be punished once they arrive, I try them on, decide they don't work for me, and want to get my money back? THE HORROR. To add insult to injury, you're going to put it on me to pay for the innocent mistakes I've made? It's just wrong. And, often times, results in people saying "Fuck it" and never turning said items or getting their money back, which I'm guessing is WHY some companies do this. You weasels. I see right through you.

I CAN'T

speak for everyone but, for me, I'd like to see a corporate rule initiated that prohibits all offices everywhere from scheduling meetings any time before 9am and after 4:30pm. America needs more work-life balance, and I believe this rule could possibly aid in bettering quality of work-life. Now, I understand that this sort of regulation wouldn't work for some companies (what with time differences and all). So maybe we (me and corporate America) could compromise at least for Fridays. Fridays = no meetings before 9am and after 4pm (because 4:30 on Friday is just sick). WHO'S WITH ME?

I CAN'T

that so many of you lost your shit (and hopefully your facial hair) over my Instagram story last week talking all about the Finishing Touch Flawless facial hair remover.

I've already had some readers reach out and say they've received theirs via the mail (probably with a prepaid return label, I hope), have used it, and their lives have been changed (as well as the amount of facial hair they're working with). If you missed my plug, basically this thing is $20, takes the place of any waxes/threading/laser you need to get, gently and effectively removes unwanted facial hair (mustache, side burns, rude peach fuzz), and DOESN'T GROW BACK THICKER OR DARKER. It grows back the same way it would with a wax or threading, but doesn't cost you money and you can touch it up yourself literally whenever you see it coming back and need to smooth things out. Truly, it's wonderful and that's coming from my hairless upper lip mouth. 

I CAN'T

that Apple developers had to be bothered to REMOVE THE EGG FROM THE SALAD EMOJI TO APPEASE VEGANS. God, vegans. Y'all are truly the worst. But, I get it. I would be the worst too if I no longer ingested queso, meat, or bread. Thinner? Yes. Nice? FUCK NO.

I CAN'T

with people who walk like they have nowhere to be. Sure, if you're taking a leisurely stroll on a trail, around a lake, or through some sort of string-lit neighborhood, I get it. But if you're moseying at a snail's pace in Target, the grocery store, busy streets, or anywhere that you shouldn't be walking leisurely, I WILL PASS YOUR ASS. PICK IT UP, SHIRLEY. SOME OF US HAVE THINGS TO DO AND PLACES TO BE.

I CAN'T

that, a few weeks into owning my fresh to death, all-white adidas sneakers, I wore them while my lazy ass was finally taking out a super heavy, super full trash bag THAT HAD LOOSE TOMATO SAUCE DRIPPING OUT THE BOTTOM. Yeah. Can you even? When I saw it happen, I screamed "NO! FUCK!" very loudly in my neighborhood just as a dad, his dad, and his baby were strolling by. "Are you okay???" he asked, very concerned. "Did you hurt yourself?" "No," I had to tell him. "The reason for my screaming is very vain. I spilled on my white shoes." The conversation swiftly ended after that.

That's all for today, folks. Go out there and walk with a purpose, get some shorteralls, and don't say they're the bestest you've ever gotten or I'll find you.

xox,

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