Hipster=MeAsQuare

Now that I think about my general aura that I exude to others (my dogs mainly I'm sure) I have come to the conclusion that I could have accidentally molded myself into a hipster without necessarily attempting to. I have compiled some of the evidence and will list it for you below.

1. Skinny jeans. The tighter they are, the better. I spent a good portion of whenever these things came into style making fun of them once I heard the term, "jeggings." Now if it comes with a zipper on it, I don't want it. This is due to the fact that I have a tendency *by tendency, see ALWAYS, to forget to zip my fly up. It's a good thing I don't have a dick, I would have been arrested at least 5,685 times by now for flashing people at local shopperies. In addition, all that junk I had up in my trunk, went on vacation. I don't know if it is old age, or losing all that sick weight, but I have no officially become your local plumber crack. So I had to get really tight pants that would not sag off my new lackluster of a bottom. I'm short. Not 2Short, I wish, he is awesome, but all jeans are seem to be made for this femmebot that has gotten off of planet tall, skinny, and hot, and they really don't fit this little hobbit body of mine. Jeggings tend to run short. My only beef with them is, why are they too fucking lazy to put front pockets on them??? I don't like jamming change or a lighter into my back pocket. You sit down and damn near accidentally get raped by inanimate objects.

2. PBR. Look. I don't want to pull the whole, "I WAS BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BLAH BEFORE THEY WERE" card. But I have to. I was drinking PBR BEFORE THEY WERE DAMNIT!!! I was drinking it, because i liked cheap shitty beer. Because I was poor. Because I always drank Bud Light and PBR because I wanted my beer to taste like carbonated water and my hangover to feel like a trailer park and my mouth to taste like the inside of one of Bret Michael's bandanas after a concert. After "they" started drinking it, the prices slowly crept upward, and suddenly PBR was no longer a viable drinking option for me. I have since rebelled & did a 180 and started to enjoy dark beer out of nowhere that is probably going to throw me into bankruptcy. Still, I cannot resist the sweet siren song of a PBR floating my way, and if I see one, you but I am going to lovingly cup that can and whisper, "Baby, I drink you dry because I love you."

3. Ripped clothing, stains on clothing, dirty hair, smeared makeup. Yup. My jeans get holes and stains in them. So do my shirts. And I keep wearing them after that, because it is always my favorite rock shirt or most beloved pair of jeans that gets that hole in the knee. How does this happen? you may be asking yourself. Did you take scissors and cut the whole in the knee of those jeans? Did you spill beer on that rock t-shirt at your favorite Indie rock concert? Nope. I am a klutz and a slob. I should just combine the words and we will say that I am a Klob. Jeans have been ripped by running drunkenly and getting caught on rosebushes, shirts are stained because I am a magnet for people dumping beer on me at shows, and because at some point in my life I was never taught where my mouth was when it came time to eat. Today, I found ranch underneath the armpit part of my shirt. I was eating french fries, and dipping them in ranch. I FOUND RANCH UNDERNEATH THE ARMPIT PART OF MY SHIRT. How does my food make it to these places? I have found food in my hair, down the front of my shirts, so many times on my crotch that I have started a list of "Things you shouldn't spill on your crotch lest someone mistake it for something completely and utterly different" that I am starting to wonder if I need a big and a high chair when I eat. I cannot even list the amount of times I have eagerly gone to take a nice hearty swallow of a beverage, and I somehow end up drooling it down my shirt like my mouth just had a stroke.

Well my hair, say whatever the hell you want. I can't afford a haircut, it gets thick, and I hate washing it all of the time. Besides, it's not healthy to wash your hurrr every day so technically mine probably stays healthier than yours. It may not look better, but underneath all this dirt and grime and grease is shining Sleeping Beauty hair, there has to be! I grew it out long again too so what does that mean? Oh ponytail, thank you for taking over my life.

4. Giant sunglasses: I wear giant sunglasses at night or during the day, due to the fact that I feel as though I have a very giantly disproportionate head. I can't look all cool in tiny RayBans like the rest of you populated awesome people out there, and well, I just don't look good in sunglasses generally unless they are filling out the rest if this jack o lantern that we call a face.

5. Tattoos: Fuck you, I got tattoos. And got most of them when I was a youngster. And really wasn't thinking about all of you douchebags when I got that free you can practice on me konji on my neck.

6. Greasy as all get out food. It's really all I can afford.

7. I cut myself: It's true. I do. I cut myself with knives. I cut myself with razors. I even cut myself with bottle openers. Not even those surface wussy I am just going to do it to see what happens cut. But deep within the realm I am going to leave unattractive scars all over your body kind of cuts. But this is not to see if I can still Trent Reznor feel pain. This was more along the lines of I cannot cut fruit, open a beer, or even shave my legs correctly. Proof in picture earlier tonight as I bathed and sliced a fresh new chunk off my leg and yelled OH FUCK OUCH WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK??? And then had to place 4 Toy Story Bandaids atop it. As I am fully aware than I can still feel pain, yet apparently I am not old enough to operate a razor.

So basically what it boils down to, is that I have all of the amazing attributes to be a full-blooded hipster, but I am far to spazzy to fit into this population that would most definitely not accept me if I explained all of the above to them.