I woke up this morning annoyed at all the noise my boyfriend Josh was making. He burst through the door with a new MacBook, a ring light, and about $800 worth of filming equipment. I was instantly filled with dread and nausea. Not just from being hungover, but also from realizing he remembered our drunk plans to start a vlog together.
I hoped we agreed to something useful or interesting like home renovation, cooking, or working out, but then the motherfucker pulled out two puke-green ukuleles from some cheap canvas cases. I wanted to die upon remembering that this was for sure my idea. But upon sober reflection, I think I’d rather sleep in a coffin, drown in a pool of bong water, and eat a pizza with wood chippings before I learn the fucking ukulele.
I tried remembering our conversation last night. There were some vague memories of him saying, “We should start a hobby together,” and “I really just want to get closer to you.” I forget if that was before or after, “Jennifer, I fear alcohol is the only thing that gets you out of bed in the morning.” Not sure. It’s all a blur.
I love Josh, so I went along with it. I figured I could talk him into another vlog format. But my optimism ran dry quickly as his camera personality on our first day of shooting made me physically sick. First, he recorded 7 different intros before settling on making a weird whooshing sound and saying, “Hey! What’s up, party people?” Until now, he’s never once used “party” as an adjective. Now he’s throwing around these terms like “content,” and “hits.” Who is this guy? I don’t even know him anymore.
I guess it can’t be all bad. Music is fun, and it’s nice we’re doing something together. Still, I’d rather he remembered the time we got drunk and agreed to open a farm for all the stray cats near our apartment.