Samantha Irby Quotes

I like to sit at home in mild terror as the world rages outside without me, hoping that no one is going to drop by and expect me to come up with a humorous anecdote or ask me to have an opinion on something.

Have you ever considered what a friendship is, or what any of your current friendships are, and thought about how to present that to a prospective new friend...How do you convince a stranger to give you their real e-mail when you are definitely going to litter their gmail dot come with dumb nonsense.

I don't know what an attractive personality is. I like charisma and charm, but what I really need to find is someone who doesn't get on my nerves but is also minimally annoyed by all the irritating things about me.

If I ever have more than $37 in my pocket I´m going to open a school for girls with bad attitudes where we basically talk to therapists all day while wearing soft pants and occasionally taking a field trip to the nearest elote cart.

Sure, sex is fun, but have you ever had a favorite contestant on Top Chef?

I am a negative person by nature, and I typically shy away from anything that requires me to be having visible fun.

No, I didn't make it to New York. I fucking love New York, even though my version of the American dream is impossible there and their gross, floppy pizza is like eating someone's post–plastic surgery skin.

I really wish I was the type of person who owned a Prius and didn't work fifty hours a week and could spend time in the grocery store reading labels to make sure that there isn't a drop of gelatin or honey in every single thing I put in my cart at Whole Foods.

No one ever tells good-looking dudes when they talk too fucking much.

Sure, sex is fun, but have you ever given a crying baby back to its parent?

I want to ride a camel to the club and valet that shit.

You know what makes me happy? Unexpected phone calls in the middle of the day. Remembering what I liked at that one restaurant we went to that one time. Half-dead grocery store flowers just because they were on sale. A good morning text that says, "have a good day and try not to burn anything to the ground in a furious rage.

I definitely come from the kind of people whose response to "Hey man, I'm pretty bummed out" is "Shut up, there's nothing wrong with you." Or how about "You just sleep all the time because you're lazy." Like, if it isn't broken or hemorrhaging, you need to bury it under these dollar-store snack foods and work it out by your fucking self. OH, OKAY, COOL.

Sure, sex is fun, but have you ever pooped on a reliable schedule?

Real love feels less like a throbbing, pulsing animal begging for its freedom and beating against the inside of my chest and more like, "Hey, that place you like had fish tacos today and I got you some while I was out," as it sets a bag spotted with grease on the dining room table.

When is the last time an actual human interaction made you laugh more than a meme did?

No one ever tells attractive children how much they suck, and then the rest of us get stuck with insufferable, narcissistic adults who can barely tie their shoes because someone else is busy either doing it for them or congratulating them on their effort. I

When you're a kid it's sometimes just easier to go along with other people's definitions of who you are.

I used to stalk this dude I went to high school with. I would close up the bread shop where I worked, take one of the loaves that was intended for donation to the soup kitchen, then drive my car to his parents' house and park close enough to see inside, but far enough away to be inconspicuous. Then I would sit there with the engine running, tearing off chunks of apple-cinnamon bread and listening to De La Soul while imagining our life together.
I am a deeply troubled person

I'm forty now, and the hilarious thing about being forty is this: I don't know anything. Before you try to convince me otherwise or try to make me feel better, you should know that I know that YOU'RE forty and trying to reassure yourself that YOU know something. You don't!

Loving yourself is a full-time job with shitty benefits. I'm calling in sick.

This is just how I am. IM FINE. For as long as I can remember, I've had this undercurrent of sadness that, if I'm being honest, I don't totally mind. It was easy to ignore because it doesn't bother me that much. And I don't want to be some shiny, happy idiot. This is gritty, this is real.

I approach most endeavors with zero expectations, which is a skill I have honed after forty years of fairly regular disappointment.

Physical attraction? Not a real thing. If, at thirty-six years old, I'm sitting over here talking about chiseled abs and perfect teeth, then I am undeserving of genuine romantic love.