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I Gave up OJ Simpson for Lent

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engrossed in an OJ Simpson documentary made in 1998

Lent.  Up until a day year ago I thought it was just one vowel off from the shit you can find in your belly button. As time has gone on, however, I’ve learned that it’s so much more than what I did with my sweater.  It’s the commemoration of the period before Jesus H. Christ rose to heaven AKA Easter AKA the day I eat all my nieces’ chocolate eggs from her easter basket and drink too much.  It signifies a time where one’s self-control is put to the ultimate test; the fact that people can abandon one or more of their chief vices for 40 days is not realistic for me remarkable.  Never one to not drunk text copy people, I’ve decided I will jump on this Lent bandwagon, if only to feel less cold and alone.  I initially thought about giving up small talk but can you believe it’s finally raining?   We sure needed the rain.  Where are you from?

Behold my list of things I am going to say good-bye to in the name of the resurrection of Jesus Christ Lord Almighty the Greatest Lambchop ever in the world.  Or whatever.

1. Saying sorry.

I say I’m sorry a lot…even for the littlest things, like aggressively shoving someone out of the way as I’m trying to exit Muni.  I say I’m sorry for spilling scalding hot soup on my fellow Uberpool passenger.  All joking aside, I do say sorry more often than I should.. sometimes I even say I’m sorry for saying I’m sorry.  I guess I worry that one day it will be too late to apologiiiize (you know that song, right?).  I’m a recruiter, and I work a lot with HR ladies.  I find myself saying I’m sorry to them the most.  Some people are scared of spiders and STDs.  I’m scared of HR ladies.  They tend to always get frustrated with me, and make me feel like an abused, mangy mutt who has just been sent to the pound. The other day I sent an e-mail to an HR lady and forgot to include the attachment, which was my sole purpose of sending said e-mail.  I quickly sent a follow-up email with the attachment and vehemently professed my shame for my catastrophic blunder.  I asked for forgiveness and HR lady coolly replied “No worries.  It happens.”  It would have been so much cooler if I sent the attachment and said “Here it is.  I forgot to send it a few minutes ago.  Move the fuck on, Rhonda from HR.”


image from themuse

2. Instagram.

I scroll through instagram more than Kanye West jerks off to a picture of Kanye West. Instagram has the power to give me FOMO, anxiety and major life-envy.  It’s like with each photo I see of a giggly baby girl with a monogrammed bonnet sitting on a beach betwixt her mom and dad the more I feel behind in life. Especially when I’m sitting betwixt a king-sized bag of Nacho Cheesier Doritos and blow-up doll a bottle of buttery chard on a bean bag chair.  Giving up Instagram will no doubt be harder for me than Pee Wee Herman at an adult theater, but sometimes that’s life.  Here’s to developing Carpal Tunnel Syndrome as a result of my Insta-abstinence!

3.  Drunk texting.

I never thought at my age this would still be an embarrassing issue but it is.  Waking up after a night out, looking at my phone and not seeing multiple texts to ex-boyfriends is rare for me.  When this does happen, I feel like skipping through a dewy field of ambrosia, twirling and batting my eyelashes in celebration of my remarkable, not oft-seen self-control.

4. OJ Simpson

The new show called the People VS OJ Simpson on FX has reignited my intense 20 year fascination with the OJ Simpson case.  In addition to watching the show I’ve taken it upon myself to watch every fucking documentary on the case known to man.  Said obsession has caused a rift between my mother and me and has made me miss out on fun social events.  I know more about the case than Judge Ito does. Hi, I’m Alexandra and I’m an OJ Simpson case-aholic.  (Hi Alexandra.)


Alright, wish me luck.

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Alexandra Bunting

Alexandra Bunting

I write a comedy blog called Toe Pick SF. I am deathly afraid of flying and snakes (I suspect there's some kind of Freudian explanation behind that). I speak Gibberish fluently and quite often. I love 80's love songs...if anyone ever got ahold of my Pandora account I'd move to Bangladesh and change my name to Rhonda. I can blow bubbles bigger than Donald Trump's ego. I lose my shoes, debit card and keys a lot. I'd venture to guess they're all on an island somewhere mocking my predicaments. Okay, that's about it.