Book Review: we are never meeting in real life by Samantha Irby

AUTHOR: Samantha Irby
TITLE: “we are never meeting in real life.”
TYPE OF LITERATURE: a collection of essays
GENRE: Humor, autobiography
PUBLISHER: Vintage Books 
DATE: May 30, 2017
RATING (1 – 6 stars): ⭐⭐⭐⭐(4)

Back page:
With heartfelt candor and her usual side-splitting bite, inimitable humorist, essayist, and blogger, Samantha Irby captures powerful emotional truths while chronicling the disaster that has been her life. An ill-fated pilgrimage and romantic vacation to Nashville to scatter her estranged father’s ashes, awkward sexual encounters, a Bachelorette application gone awry, and more— sometimes you just have to laugh, even when your life is a dumpster fire.

The Review
What can I even say about We are never meeting in real life by Samantha Irby… I can not think of anything else to say but ditto. (Too 2010? My bad). Life is full of embarrassing moments that we try our best to obliterate from our memory, but that unrequitedly keep coming back at two in the morning while trying to sleep. (I still audibly cringe while I remember that time in 4th grade when I puked an outdated Danonino all over my teacher). The thing is, Irby typed her unmentionable memories out and then published them for all the world (with good taste in contemporary literature) to see. And heck did we see. From public diarrhea-pooping-on-a-bag-in-front-of-college-frat-dudes to serious subjects like dealing with addicted parents, Irby beautifully captured the hell-hole of modern American life… also known as the ultimate wompty-womp-womp roller coaster ride that occurs before we caput into oblivion.

I *DO* RECOMMEND THIS BOOK BECAUSE… although not as intellectually planned as reading A Vindication of the Rights of Women by our clearly unstable goddess Mary W, it holds a position of relevance in today’s perspective of feminism and whatever humanism has become. An anthropogenic laughing stock piece for those who would like to stop feeling sorry for themselves while allowing themselves to feel sorry for that awful first kiss you had to experience in 8th grade at a Capri-sun-fueled party. Modern genius.

Favorite quote from the book:
“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.”

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