مجموعه داستان انگلیسی We Are Never Meeting in Real Life

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گاهی وقتها فقط باید بخندید، حتی وقتی زندگی مثل یک سطل آشغال آتش گرفته است. سامانتا ایربی ، وبلاگ نویس و کمدین معروف و نویسنده وبلاگ مشهور  "عوضی باید بخورند" ، در کتاب هیچوقت در دنیای واقعی یکدیگر را نمیبینیم ، مقاله جدی کمیک را به یک هنر تبدیل می کند.

We Are Never Meeting in Real Life by Samantha Irby

Samantha Irby writes a blog called bitches gotta eat

  هیچ‌وقت در دنیای واقعی یکدیگر را نمی‌بینیم  نوشته سامانتا ایربی

نویسنده:

Samantha Irby

سامانتا ایربی

ناشر:

Vintage Books

سال چاپ:

۲۰۱۷


We Are Never Meeting in Real Life by Samantha Irby


درباره کتاب هیچ‌وقت در دنیای واقعی یکدیگر را نمی‌بینیم  نوشته سامانتا ایربی:

 

گاهی وقتها فقط باید بخندید، حتی وقتی زندگی مثل یک سطل آشغال آتش گرفته است. سامانتا ایربی ، وبلاگ نویس و کمدین معروف و نویسنده وبلاگ مشهور  “عوضی باید بخورند” ، در کتاب هیچوقت در دنیای واقعی یکدیگر را نمیبینیم ، مقاله جدی کمیک را به یک هنر تبدیل می کند.

خواه در مورد این که دوران کودکی دشوار او منجر به ایجاد مشکل در بودجه “بزرگسالان” شده است ،یا اینکه چرا او باید لیسانس جدید بگیرد و یا چرا با اینکه او فقط ۳۵ سال دارد ولی شبیه ۶۰ ساله هاست!  بگذریم !  جزئیات یک سفر فاجعه بار، تعطیلات عجیب و غریب به نشویل برای پاشیدن خاکستر پدری که با او قطع رابطه کرده ،  حتی به اشتراک گذاشتن روابط جنسی ناخوشایند خود  ، یا ارائه توصیه هایی در مورد نحوه برقراری دوستی با دوستان سابقی که اکنون مادر هستند

سامانتا ایربی به همان اندازه که در مسخره کردن ارواح خود در گذشته بسیار ماهر است در به تصویر کشیدن مسایل عاطفی نیز قدرتمند  می باشد

عناوین  داستان ها:

برنامه کارشناسی من
موسیقی بلوز برای فرد
گوشت خوک معجزه گر
آیا شما قبض های لعنتی خود را پرداخت می کنید یا چه؟
لازم نیست از رابطه جنسی سپاسگزار باشید
سرود کریسمس
تولدت مبارک
موردی برای ماندن در خانه
حمله قلبی کامل
اتحادیه مدنی
ماویس
لعنت بر تو، عوضی ، چاق بمون
مرغ داغ نشویل
من عاشق هستم و خسته کننده است
احتمالاً یک بمب
خانه دار واقعی کالامازو
سیزده سوال قبل از ازدواج
بله ، من به کار نیاز دارم
احساسات اشتباه است

هیچ‌وقت در دنیای واقعی یکدیگر را نمی‌بینیم

 

We Are Never Meeting in Real Life by Samantha Irby

We Are Never Meeting in Real Life by Samantha Irby

Sometimes you just have to laugh, even when life is a dumpster fire. With We Are Never Meeting in Real Life., “bitches gotta eat” blogger and comedian Samantha Irby turns the serio-comic essay into an art form. Whether talking about how her difficult childhood has led to a problem in making “adult” budgets, explaining why she should be the new Bachelorette–she’s “35-ish, but could easily pass for 60-something”–detailing a disastrous pilgrimage-slash-romantic-vacation to Nashville to scatter her estranged father’s ashes, sharing awkward sexual encounters, or dispensing advice on how to navigate friendships with former drinking buddies who are now suburban moms–hang in there for the Costco loot–she’s as deft at poking fun at the ghosts of her past self as she is at capturing powerful emotional truths.

Chapter titles:

My Bachelorette application —
A blues for Fred —
The miracle porker —
Do you guys pay your fucking bills or what? —
You don’t have to be grateful for sex —
A Christmas carol —
Happy birthday —
A case for remaining indoors —
A total attack of the heart —
A civil union —
Mavis —
Fuck it, bitch. Stay fat —
Nashville hot chicken —
I’m in love and it’s boring —
A bomb, probably —
The real housewife of Kalamazoo —
Thirteen questions to ask before getting married —
Yo, I need a job —
Feelings are a mistake —
We are never meeting in real life

We Are Never Meeting in Real Life. Quotes

“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. It’s not a game you don’t understand the rules of, or a test you never got the materials to study for. It never leaves you wondering who could possibly be texting at 3 am. Or what you could possibly do to make it come home and stay there. It’s fucking boring, dude. I don’t walk around mired in uneasiness, waiting for the other shoe to drop. No parsing through spun tales about why it took her so long to come back from the store. No checking her emails or calling her job to make sure she’s actually there. No sitting in my car outside her house at dawn, to make sure she’s alone when she leaves. This feels safe, and steadfast, and predictable. And secure. It’s boring as shit. And it’s easily the best thing I’ve ever felt.”
― Samantha Irby, We Are Never Meeting in Real Life.


“I am a negative person by nature, and I typically shy away from anything that requires me to be having visible fun.”
― Samantha Irby, We Are Never Meeting in Real Life.


“But I was 22 when I started this job, and you know what? Sometimes it really is okay to just have a fucking job. Not a passion, not a career, but a steadfast source of bi-weekly income deposited directly into a checking account from which food, and medicine, and apps one totally forgot about having downloaded will be paid for.”
― Samantha Irby, We Are Never Meeting in Real Life.


“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.”
― Samantha Irby, We Are Never Meeting in Real Life.


“But I’m going to need you to love me on the bus, dude. And first thing in the morning. Also, when I’m drunk and refuse to shut up about getting McNuggets from the drive-thru. When I fall asleep in the middle of that movie you paid extra to see in IMAX. When I wear the flowered robe I got at Walmart and the sweatpants I made into sweatshorts to bed. When I am blasting “More and More” by Blood Sweat & Tears at seven on a Sunday morning while cleaning the kitchen and fucking up your mom’s frittata recipe. When I bring a half dozen gross, mangled kittens home to foster for a few nights and they shit everywhere and pee on your side of the bed. When I go “grocery shopping” and come back with only a bag of Fritos and five pounds of pork tenderloin. When I’m sick and stumbling around the crib with half a roll of toilet paper shoved in each nostril. When I beg you fourteen times to read something I’ve written, then get mad when you tell me what you don’t like about it and I call you an uneducated idiot piece of shit. Lovebird city.”
― Samantha Irby, We Are Never Meeting in Real Life.


“It’s so weird that adults in committed relationships have a problem with something so innocuous as flirting. I would never expect you to walk around with a paper bag over your head to avoid catching the eye of a stranger, nor would I discourage you making friendly conversation with whomever you might encounter during the day. And if you needed to fuck somebody else, we could talk about it. People change, our desires evolve, and it feels foolish to me to expect what you’ll want two, five, or ten years from now will be exactly the same thing that fills you up today. I mean, the way I feel about fidelity has evolved over the last ten years of my life. It’s a hard-and-fast rule that we don’t apply to any other thing in our lives: YOU MUST LOVE THIS [SHOW/BOOK/FOOD/SHIRT] WITH UNWAVERING FERVOR FOR THE REST OF YOUR NATURAL LIFE. Could you imagine being forced to listen to your favorite record from before your music tastes were refined for the rest of your life? Right now I’m pretty sure I could listen to Midnight Snack by HOMESHAKE for the rest of my life, but me ten years ago was really into acoustic Dave Matthews, and I’m not sure how I feel about that today. And yes, I am oversimplifying it, but really, if in seven years you want to have sex with the proverbial milkman, just let me know about it beforehand so I can hide my LaCroix and half eaten wedge of port salut. (‘Milkmen’ always eat all the good snacks.)”


“I feel my sexiness is a thing that creeps up on you, like mold on a loaf of corner-store bread you thought you’d get three more days out of.”
― Samantha Irby, We Are Never Meeting in Real Life.


“My alarm goes off at 5:50 a.m. First thing I do is check to make sure I’m not dead. If I am, in fact, still alive, I usually sob uncontrollably until there’s nothing left in my tear ducts but salt dust, then grope blindly through my apartment to the bathroom, where I say a little prayer for a hole to open beneath my building and swallow us all.”

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