Another Morning Routine Blog
Your morning routine defines you. That’s why I don’t wake up until about 10 am most days. Other people start with meditation and yoga. Me? The first thing I do is check my bed for men. If I find one, I kick him out. No breakfast. What? I’m not running a charity here. He can grab a bagel from the cafe downstairs if he’s that hungry.
The second thing I do is pee, for a really long time, because I drank a lot of alcohol before passing out the night before. A long pee makes everything else possible. I simply can’t think straight on a full bladder.
The third thing is my pregnancy test, just to be sure, followed by a birth control pill. If I’m pregnant, I schedule an abortion. If not, I hop on Tinder and make my evening plans. The early bird catches the worms.
Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Once the fling’s gone, I always drink the rest of last afternoon’s stale coffee while subtweeting Donald Trump and Scott Baio. I’m usually out of milk, so I just stuff handfuls of dry Lucky Charms in my face for about ten minutes. If I’m hungover, I crush up a couple of Advil and snort the powder through a McDonald’s straw. That way, the pain relief literally goes straight to my brain.
After that, I comb my hands through my bed hair and pull out fuzzies. My hair’s like a bird’s nest. Sometimes, I find Oreo crumbs in there. One morning, I also found a condom wrapper.
What about my beauty regimen? First, I scrub my skin with the cleanest thing I can find in my laundry basket. Then I splash water on my face and pat on some pore strips. While they dry, I listen to the Wonder Woman theme song and imagine myself on a brisk jog at sunrise. Imagining things is way easier than actually doing them.
Once my heart gets pumping, I spend a long time looking at myself in the mirror and deciding which celebrity I look more like. Jaime Alexander, or Jenna Tatum? Depends on the angle.
Everyone should start the day with an Amazon shopping spree. I spend about 30 minutes every morning looking at shirts, dresses, and vibrators. The most successful people I know have Prime accounts.
Netflix plays a crucial part in my morning rituals. I arrange my queue and spend 10 or 15 minutes picking a new comedy show to watch while posting sarcastic life observations on discussion boards. Sometimes I alternate with harsh YouTube comments on videos I didn’t like. Work starts around this time, with me sending a mass email to my students reminding them to address me as “Professor” or “Dr.” and not “Mrs.” I hate that shit.
The next thing I do is check my social media stats. If they’re low, I lurch back out of bed and put on some makeup and take selfies to post. (Makeup takes me anywhere from five to thirty minutes.) Then I send a nude to one of my fuck buddies, before updating my feminist vlog. The last thing I do is try on a bunch of clothes and throw them on the floor. If it’s a weekday, I feel guilty about not making my bed. Once all that’s done, I’m ready to face the day.
