"It is neither beast nor man, nay, it is but the face of a frosty betch."

There are two types of people in this world.

Can you name them?

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*chirp chirp*

*chirp chirp*

*chirp chirp*

  

Okay, I'll just tell you.

1. The people who look cool until they prove themselves to be assholes.

2. The people who look like assholes until they prove themselves to be cool.

(there is a small, enigmatic colony of people who actually look like what they are, but they only exist in poorly written and poorer-ly cast ABC family teen dramas)   

It took me five years of sitting at home alone on weekends watching That '70s Show and eating whole cartons of CalSmart ice cream, wondering why I had no friends, to realize that not only do I belong to the second group, I AM THEIR LEADER. 

This is because when I was a baby a wicked witch cast a spell on me that I would forever be cursed with what has no medical term but what I refer to as bitchface. 

Which means that regardless of how I feel on the inside, I have approximately one facial  expression that looks more or less like this:

RESTING FACE

HAPPY

SAD

BORED

PENSIVE

SOMEONE JUST BURPED REALLY LOUD AND IT WAS HILARIOUS

If you think I'm exaggerating, please note that this has been substantiated by a large body of evidence. Check out this caustic bitch:

It's a good thing this is blurry because high-resolution bitchface could put holes in your MF retinas

As if I weren't already painfully aware of the heavy cross I have to bear, lately all these adorably tactless fools have been crawling out of the woodwork and telling me some derivative of:


"Yo Brett, before I knew you, I thought you were the biggest stuck-up whoreskank, but once I was involuntarily forced into X-arbitrary situation with you, I learned that you're actually just a lovably awkward and clueless spaz who I will probably never be able to take seriously ever again!"


To which I respond:


"I am so grateful you were involuntarily forced into my life lest you still carry those awful misconceptions."

I don't think anyone realizes how hard I have to try to make myself appear like I don't want to go shanking bitches all the time. It's so exhausting, in fact, that I have to eat an extra meal every day to compensate for the calories I burn contorting my face and struggling to come up with something funny to say so the person next to me will stop shaking uncontrollably and avoiding eye contact.  Something like:


"HI I'M BRETT I LEFT MY SHANKS AT HOME TODAY SO YOU CAN CALM DOWN OKAY."


"BE MAH FREN PLZ." 


"LOVE ME NOT MY FACE."


I'm still trying to work it out. 




And I mean, sure, bitchface makes people want to hate me, but  it could be worse. My face could have gotten stuck like this:

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en reminiscence...

For some reason this story came to mind the other day...

The year is 2008 and I'm about to go on my first college tour at Pomona. I'm getting ready and Matt is loitering around the kitchen of the condo we rented for the week and eating all the raisins out of the trail mix.

Matt: Tell me again what Mrs. Porter said about your essay writing?

Me: She said I'm an excellent writer because I notice things that other people miss.

Matt: Huh. So how is it that you didn't notice your dress is tucked into the back of your underwear right now?

Moral of the story: Cheekiness is hereditary.

OMG "CHEEKINESS" THAT'S SO PUNNY LOLZZZ.

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