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wastelandcatartist · 5 years

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Shitty things my mom does (feel free to add your own)

Me: Hey, mom, its my day off and I want to relax

Mom: Relax?????! You are so lazy!! All you do is sit on your phone!!!! You cant live through those yputubers go have a life!! Get out of the house once in a while!!! At your age I was woth your dad

Me: *rolls eyes bc ive heard it before* Okayyyyyyy sorry I asked to relax for once.

Mom: For once????! You give so much attitude!!! You are so.ungrateful!!!! You poor baby you dont know the stress i deal with with our money problems, ypu need to get a full time job or get a.second job!!!

Me: *nearly in tears, but handling it* Alright fine I wont relax. Geez. I just asked a question and you went.off on me

Mom: *proceeds to scream at me and get my dad to yell at me even though I am just sitting there taking it*

~~~~~~

Mom: *complains about millenials* *later says something i find offensive*

Me: Wow. That was rude.

Mom: Oh you poor millennial you want everything handed to you dont you? You want everyone to be happy froofroo nicey nice to each other dont you?

Me: Better than you generation.with their bullying and homophobic/racist stuff.

Mom: Oh that w a just being silly!!! And it.toughened us up!!! The world is cruel!!!

*later*

Mom: Why are you SO scared of.living on your own??? Dont be such a baby!! The world isnt so bad!!!

Me: *internally screaming*

~~~~~~

Me: *genuiniely forgets something*

Mom: Thats a poor excuse. You.didnt forget you just didnt want to do it. It wasnt something for YOU so you dont care you are so fucking selfish!!

~~~~

Mom: I was doing so.much more at your age. You are not an adult. You are a child. Age is nothing, it doesnt.make you an adult.

Me: *pissed off* Then how are you an adult?

Mom: you are so hateful! I go to sleep crying every night because.of the way you treat me.

~~~~~~~

Mom: If i do something that bithers you, tell.me and we can work ir out.

Me: (*thinking* wow! Things are finally turning around!!) Okay well *thing that genuiniely upsets me*

Mom: That bugs you???? Lol, you need to get over yourself.

Me: 🙃🤐

~~~~~~~

Mom: *once tore up any nsfw art I had at 15. Restricted anything or:13 or more and even cursing in comics* Why dint you like when im in your room? Are you hiding anything? What are you hiding? Drugs??

Me: ??!?!?!? You tore up.art you.didnt like because it was dirty even though I was a horny teenager and that was my way of working out those feelings????

Mom: I never did that. You are.lying. you.have always lied no one will ever believe you.

~~~~~

Mom: If you keep pissing me off I'm gonna punch you.

Me: Do it and I will call the cops on you.

Mom: you arent a minor anymore i can do it.

Me: ???its still assult??? Lmao

Mom: Do it. Your dad will defend me. He works for the jail. I will tell the cop that you are lying. You have lied so much to.me and your dad they will beleive me and not.you because.you are a.dumb kid.

~~~~~~~

Me: Hey. I'm 20. Can you treat me.more.like an.adult?

Mom: Sure. Pay this.much retn, this much bills, this much everything. You have to have it next week.or.else you will be evicted from MY house.

Me: You.know i dont make that.much a paycheck???? And this isnt what I was talking about???? You know this?????

Mom: I am.the parent you are the child. Get over it. No matter what i will be the adult and you will be the kid.

~~~~~~~~

Me: *shows my.mom something nsfw i did bc I was proud of.it, gave fair warning of what it wpuld be*

Mom; This.isnt talent. This is garbage. Why are you wasting.your talent

~~~~~~~~

Me: *draws fanart*

Mom: I wish you would make.ypur own works. Not cpoy someone else's creation. You habe potential. Use it. Go to.college.

Me: I cant.afford.college. I dont.make.enough to save.

Mom: Stop buying bullshit (art supplies to help.me). I know how. to save. I have taught you. I must be a failure.

~~~~~~~~

Me: *age 16* Mom I think I have bipolar disorder.

Mom: If you.really think thst call a therapist and set it up yourself. I habe watched you and.you.dint look like.you do, you are always smiling.

~~~~~~~

Me: *accidentally says 'we' when talking about the lgtb++ community, even though i have come out at pan repeatedly*

Mom: We???? Lol you arent GAY I have seen the way you check guys out.

Me: No but im.not straight. Im.pansexual. I habe told.you this.

Mom: Whatever.

~~~~~

Mom: *watvhing some transphobic piece of shit* Well, they do have a point that once you are a boy you are always a boy

Me: Abd thats what horomone replacement is.for???

Mom: Thats dangerous i don't get it. There are only two genders.

Dad: Even after surgery you are still a guy. Even if.you.look like a girl and act like a girl.

Me: ????thats awful and transphobic?????

Them: no way!! We love everyone!!!!

Mom: the inly ones that bither me are the nonbinaries. I will call THEM 'it'. I dimt get how they can be nothing. Women that are nonbinary just hate women. I refuse to call them they.

Me: *explains it.in a way she can understand*

Them: Dont.understand. wasnt in my generation. Doesnt make.sense. there are only.two genders.

Me: *red flags for homophobes and transphobes*

~~~~~~~~

Mom: i cant wait until you finally get a boy friend. *stops* or girlfriend or ITfriend. I want to see you happy.

Me: ?????????? How do i meet people

Mom: put.make up on and make.yourself.look nice and.not.like a scrounge once in a while. *also tries to set me.up woth COMPLETE STRANGERS I DONT FIND ATTRACTIVE*

~~~~~~~~~

Mom: *got.pissed when i was 12 and chatted online, telling me everyone I talked to was pedophiles*

*now*

Me: *chatting with online friends*

Mom: What are you doing?

Me: Checking notifications.

Mom: I bet you are talking to.your booooyyyyfriends oooooooooooooooo

Me: Nope.

Mom: Uh huh

Me: no.

Mom: Whatever. You are chatting eith strangers. You are an adult.if you.dint want.to.listen oh well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mom: You dont love the pets like.I do. You forget to feed an water them. Thats how.your dog died. (She died of old age :/)

(Also note i feed and wster them when i remeber AND do the cat litter AND play with them. She cuddles them and.pets them)

~~~~~~~~~~

Me: I think i habe depression.

Mom: No you dont. I do. Look at my self harm scars I habe always wanted to kill.myself. you smile how arr you.depressed??

~~~~~~~~~

Mom: *uses stuff from when I couldnt do things in my own against me, like changing my diapers*

Me: Hey this makes me feel bad about being alive and makes me wish I was mever born

Mom: Oh I'm joking. Get over it you sensitive snowflake.

(Feel feee yo add your own! My dad is a gaslighter and mental abuser, starting to realise my mom isnt a poor abuse victim. Theres a reason she loves my dad. Too much alike. Anyways I wanna hear your own!!!)

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lindyhunt · 6 years

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Jenny Slate Gets Candid About SNL, Chris Evans and Being Lonely in Our November Cover Story

If you’re a professional funny person, you’re always looking for the comedic potential in an experience. When you find it, you repeat and refine it and push the anecdote through a kind of standup puberty until it becomes a real, honest-to-God joke, complete with punchlines and buttons where there weren’t buttons before. But during that evolution, there can be some exploitative one-sided conversations, where friends are turned into audience members against their will.

Jenny Slate is sensitive to this. And so at the end of our photo shoot, she checks in with some of us, making sure that when she was telling her story, between shots, about a visit to a surprisingly hot dentist, she hadn’t made us feel used or uncomfortable. Bless her heart. I’m not convinced she has the ability to make someone feel uncomfortable—even if her subject matter isn’t always PG. When Slate speaks—whether it’s directly to you or simply around and at you—it feels like she’s bringing you into her confidence; in that moment, you are her friend and co-conspirator, marvelling with her at the raw comedy of life.

Photography by Arkan Zakharov. Styling by Anna Katsanis. Creative direction by Brittany Eccles. Hair, Rheanne White for TraceyMattingly.com/Living Proof. Makeup, Kirin Bhatty for Starworks Artists/Dior Makeup. Manicure, Rita Remark for Essie. Fashion assistant, Paulina Castro Ogando. Photography assistants, James Lee Wall and Ian Bishop.

She also asks if the story was funny. After we assure her that it was, she says she might use it as part of her set hosting an anniversary party for a popular feminist magazine tonight. I didn’t think to record the dentist story at the time, so here is a paraphrased version, based solely on memory (which is never the best way to hear a comedian’s work):

Slate goes to a new dentist, who is shockingly attractive. So attractive that she basically forgets why she’s there. Her brain instead decides that she is on a blind date or in the midst of a romcom meet-cute or something. He asks what he can help her with, and she’s all “Oh, whatever you want to do. It’s cool.” When they set up a return visit, she decides she’ll wear her cute underwear. You know, how you do when you’re taking care of your dental hygiene. Only then, when the day of her appointment comes, like Afroman before her, she gets high and totally forgets about her date.

She told it much better, but trust me: It’s a very funny story.

If Slate likes telling anecdotes in between shots, she loves wearing the clothes during them. It’s like each look inspires a role for her to play. An ’80s-inspired blazer by Stella McCartney, for example, transforms her into the kind of shoulder-padded shark that would intimidate Sigourney Weaver in Working Girl. “Where are my faxes! I fax and make stacks!” she calls out, miming a giant cellphone pressed like a brick against her ear. Of course, when it’s time to shoot, it’s all business.

The next day, we meet at a hotel bar in Brooklyn. She’s wearing a blank canvas: white overalls over a simple T-shirt. Her hair, possibly left over from the shoot she had that morning, is as flawless as a femme fatale’s. After ordering (roasted eggplant—“I would be so happy to have that” is how she asks for it), she gets up to hug one of the hotel employees finishing his shift. “That man is so nice to me,” she explains when she sits down again. “I stay here a lot.”

I ask her how the event went the night before. “It was OK, but it wasn’t what I wanted it to be,” she says. “I really should learn my lesson that I don’t like hosting. I like performing, but I really don’t like performing on a show that’s a mix of comedy and music.” She adds that her comedy is personal and that it’s like she’s having a conversation with the audience. “If I go up there,” she explains, “and tell a joke about how that dentist was hot and make a perverted but good-natured joke about him cleaning my teeth with his penis or whatever, and you’re there because you want to hear a feminist grunge-glam rock group, you’re going to be shocked. And I’m not there simply to be subversive. I reveal myself, and maybe push boundaries, but it’s always part of the very wide margins that I allow for myself so that I can be authentic in front of people and not feel like I’m tempering my experience so it will fit into a more normalized thing. It was still fun, but there wasn’t a way for me to connect with the room.”

“If I go up there and tell a joke about how that dentist was hot and make a perverted but good-natured joke about him cleaning my teeth with his penis or whatever, and you’re there because you want to hear a feminist grunge-glam rock group, you’re going to be shocked. And I’m not there simply to be subversive.”

I repeat this story to highlight a character trait that becomes immediately apparent while I’m speaking with her: What she likes, dislikes, wants and inevitably doesn’t want is a big part of Jenny Slate. Of course, it’s a big part of life, generally. What are we but the sum of our wants and interests? This means that the people who win at life are the people who have a preternatural clarity about those things and—this is essential—live their lives in religious accordance with them.

Probably more than she ever has, Slate seems to know what she wants; no wonder she’s killing it more than she ever has as well. “I’m more myself than I’ve ever been,” she says. “I enjoy my work. I enjoy my life. I enjoy myself. I’ve never been able to experience that holy trinity before. I have a very cool sense of gratitude and peace. I’m chock full of weird energy. I’m a lightning bolt you can shake hands with.”

Slate doesn’t inspire a cilantro-type binary. You don’t love her or hate her; you love her or you love her but don’t remember her name. Yet. (You know who she is. It’s just that you’re bad with celebrities and their names.) Mention Slate, especially among millennial women, and you’ll get a lot of “Ooh, I love her!” And as one who had beers (and roasted eggplant and an awkwardly robust pork sandwich) with her on a stiflingly hot afternoon in Brooklyn, I can testify that that is exactly the appropriate response.

Of course, the world being as partisan and angry as it is, there are people who aren’t on Team Slate. After all, she is a raging feminist who moved from the liberal mecca of New York City to live among the coastal elites in Hollyweird. And like a true snowflake, she will do infuriating things like acknowledge her privilege, admit to her own unconscious, socially ingrained misogyny and talk intersectional feminism as readily as your father talks about traffic. Not to mention she starred in a romantic comedy where abortion was a major plot point—and not in a negative way!

That film, Obvious Child, is an important inflection point for Slate. One of many, actually. After building a healthy, if local, standup career with her comedy partner, Gabe Liedman, Slate landed her dream job at Saturday Night Live in 2009. But she only lasted one season.

It almost feels lazy to include the SNL setback in her narrative, because almost 10 years later it seems so incidental. Only, of course it wasn’t to her. It was a lesson that helped her gain clarity about what she wanted. “After working at SNL, I remember thinking that nothing will ever be that hard again,” she says. “And I do still talk about it because it was such a dream and then it was not what I expected. And the worst part is that you’re like, ‘Am I just being bitter that I didn’t cut the mustard?’ But looking back on it, no. I had to understand that as much as there are so many opportunities for joy, there are a lot of bad deals out there.”

“The worst part is that you’re like, ‘Am I just being bitter that I didn’t cut the mustard?’ But looking back on it, no. I had to understand that as much as there are so many opportunities for joy, there are a lot of bad deals out there.”

Almost immediately after SNL, Slate and her then husband and creative partner made a little stop-motion animated video of a tiny talking shell, wearing sneakers, that exploded. “Marcel the Shell with Shoes On,” which is adorable and hilarious, gave her viral fame, the chance to write a bestselling book and creative freedom. But referencing it now also kind of feels like insisting on talking about Nirvana with Dave Grohl.

Besides Marcel, Slate is known for her work in Zootopia, Bob’s Burgers and Big Mouth, but it was Obvious Child that made people realize how skilled a performer she is: vulnerable, funny, smart and perfectly believable. Entirely real and completely herself while still, you know, acting. Slate credits this film, which talks frankly about abortion, with inspiring her feminist awakening.

Now, Slate is trying on a big comic book blockbuster. She’ll be wearing glasses and a lab coat in Venom. The role won’t earn her an Independent Spirit Award, but that wasn’t the point. “I love making indie films, and the more I work, the more I hope I can work with directors I admire,” she says. “But I also wanted to see if I could do work like this and if it would satisfy me. I think it’s really stupid to be pretentious. It’s like it’s jocks versus art. The people who make these movies and the actors who are in them work really hard and are making art.”

“I think it’s really stupid to be pretentious. It’s like it’s jocks versus art. The people who make these movies and the actors who are in them work really hard and are making art.”

Of course, speaking of jocks and superheroes, there’s one more reason people might know Slate. It’s a big part of her “True Hollywood Story,” but even more than SNL, it feels silly—maybe even a bit sexist?—to mention: For about a year, she dated Chris Evans.

It’s always awesome to define a woman by who she dates. But with Slate you feel like she’s your new best friend. And when your best friend starts dating Captain America…well, it’s like Meghan Markle becoming a princess. It’s not rational, but it’s like a curtain parts and the banality of fame is momentarily exposed: Celebrities become real, and life is charged with lottery-winning possibility. Plus, it’s just like, “Damn, you take that, girl.”

When we were kids, my sister and I started recognizing a trope in the shows we watched. We called her the Have You Ever Thought Girl. She was, and remains, similar to what would years later be labelled a Manic Pixie Dream Girl, only she was never concerned with rescuing a male character. The Have You Ever Thought Girl was always the lead. She was Anne of Green Gables or Vada in My Girl. The archetypal HYETG is always balancing on a fence next to a shy farm boy or lying platonically beside him on the grass, staring at the stars. “Have you ever thought,” she begins, usually with a slight British accent, before laying out some absolutely absurd theory, “that every star is a crumb from one giant solar cookie, and if we could follow them, we’d find that God is really terribly messy?”

Slate might just be the real-world incarnation of the Have You Ever Thought Girl, only grown up and full of real wisdom. Slate often peppers her speech with phrases that feel too poetic to be improvised. Only, I’m sure they are. It’s just rare to talk to someone who is as creatively extroverted as she is introspective and has seemingly removed all the clutter and criticism between her heart, her head and her mouth.

I ask her about loneliness, which seems to pop up in a lot of her interviews. It’s her nemesis—hated but also maybe essential. “It’s like I have so much I want to be able to give,” she says. “It builds up in me—it’s like colours or light that has to come out. I feel swollen with myself, and I need to be able to shine out.” “It almost sounds positive,” I say.

“Oh it’s very positive; it’s weirdly, achingly beautiful,” she says, leaning back in her chair, arms folded, but somehow not closed off. “But also, I don’t fetishize it. I don’t like being lonely, but I’ve learned to accept it. I would much rather be lonely and missing the man I love than be with a man or a bunch of men who don’t do it for me. I’m so lucky to love really hard.”

Have you ever thought…

“I don’t like being lonely, but I’ve learned to accept it. I would much rather be lonely and missing the man I love than be with a man or a bunch of men who don’t do it for me. I’m so lucky to love really hard.”

Which brings us back to where we started, where the crew has gathered around Slate to listen to her tell a story that can’t be appreciated in a 10-minute set between musical acts. Here we’re caught, like happy deer, in the light that’s beaming out of her as she describes exactly how hot her dentist was. She’s the centre of attention, but it’s not because she’s performing. Not exactly.

“Standup helps with it [loneliness], but so does just going outside,” she explains as the waiter delivers the bill, right before we both check the time and realize we’re both late for something. “I alleviate my loneliness not from accomplishing some big feat, like going on a date and getting someone to admire me. I walk around the reservoir where I live to see other people’s faces. I smile at strangers. That’s all I need to do. I also need to prove it to myself every day, not because I lose faith quickly but because faith needs maintenance and that seals the deal for me. I smile at a stranger. They smile at me. I’m good.”

1/10

Jenny Slate

Top, $1,775, Dior. Pants, $1,710, Etro.

2/10

Jenny Slate

3/10

Jenny Slate

Dress, $9,080, bra, $1,775, briefs, $1,710, boots, $2,300, and belt, $1,250, Dior.

4/10

Jenny Slate

Shirt, $3,305, skirt, $2,090, and belt, $1,680, Versace.

5/10

Jenny Slate

Jacket, $2,470, Stella McCartney.

6/10

Jenny Slate

Jacket, $16,625, and skirt, $14,845, Gucci. Shoes, $2,175, Jimmy Choo.

7/10

Jenny Slate

Top, $1,775, Dior. Pants, $1,710, Etro.

8/10

Jenny Slate

Top, $1,775, Dior. Pants, $1,710, Etro.

9/10

Jenny Slate

Top, $520, Mara Hoffman. Pants, $3,750, Chanel.

10/10

Jenny Slate

Top, $1,775, Dior. Pants, $1,710, Etro.

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