I Guess I’m Just a Douche Bag

So I’ve been thinking about the last blog I wrote about Ben’s perfect family, and my anxiety over my lameness and overall lack of tact or breeding. And I understand that I’m being a complete ass. I should be overjoyed that the problem I have with my boyfriend’s family is that they’re too nice and too awesome, and that next to them I feel dwarfed and retarded.

After all, I could have Fairy Princess Holly from We’re Mean Because You’re Stupid‘s in-laws who are terrible, hillbilly, present grubbing creations who don’t discipline their children and are grand marshaled by her morbidly obese, hover-round equipped mother-in-law who seems to delight in calling poor Holly fat, and telling her how awful she is. Of course, if I did I would be able to have an awesomely hilarious podcast about it like her, and not just sound like a spoiled rotten ass hat going “oh, Ben’s family is too fabulous! Poor me!” all across the Internets.

I honestly don’t have anything to say aside from what I already said, it’s just that I don’t have a lot to do right now as we’re basically just sitting around waiting for our 3 hour holiday lunch to begin, at which point most of my co-workers will probably eat like pigs and then complain about how much it sucked. Don’t complain about free food, people! I mean, we live on the same planet that the holocaust happened on, like, 60 short years ago, and you don’t approve of the free Chicken Parmesan? And this from a girl who’s last blog was about perfect in-laws being too perfect?

There is no hope for any of us. Although this is making me think that there might be:

Tell me, is this obsessive linking good for you? Because it’s really good for me, and I’ll probably keep doing it no matter what you say.

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