First, I should probably tell you guys (all two of you who read this) that I have ADHD, so the chances of me sitting down to read an entire book and then write a comprehensive review of it like some type of neurotypical Susan are non-existent. If you follow my blog, you can expect that I will, undoubtedly, have bursts of semi-witty enthusiastic feedback about what I'm reading every few chapters, and I will want to share with you as I go. Because if I don't, I will completely forget everything I loved about that book, and the only thing I'll be able to tell you is, "I dunno, it was just, like, really good, and the author is my imaginary BFF now." This is just how it works, and I think we both need to accept that and move on with our lives.
Anyway, I'm halfway through this book, and, like I said, Samantha Irby is my new imaginary BFF. I'm on Day 5 of Texas Snowmageddon, but this bitch has made me laugh out loud so many times that I almost forgot how much Ted Cruz still sucks. Almost.
Here's the thing Samantha Irby does exceptionally well in Wow, No Thank You:
Samantha Irby is really, crazy, stupid talented at putting you right there in the middle of her entire-ass vibe. She isn't one of those writers who uses lazy metaphors to make a thinly-veiled observation about what it feels like to be an awkward teenager. She straight-up tells you, and provides a literal mixed tape to listen to while you read her story. I really admire authors who write like they think, because real life is not carefully-constructed dialogue, you know? And that's what I really appreciate about Sam. (I can call her that, because she's my imaginary BFF now. I've mentally given her the "ST ENDS" half of our broken-heart "best friends" necklace, because everyone knows the "BE FRI" half is the stupid one, but that's how much I love this bitch.)
I love this book because her stories are so relatable, and who doesn't love to read a book that makes them feel like there might be other awkward, digestively-challenged weirdos out there? Seriously, when is the last time anyone you know admitted that they, also, enjoyed a deep, abiding love for Sassy magazine? (This was literally the only thing I studied in 8th grade, ever. That, and my Delia's catalog.)
AND SHE LOVES DAVE MATTHEWS BAND. If you ever come at me with anything less than utter, dumbfounded appreciation for DMB, I will actually probably say nothing rude to you about it, because I'm polite like that, but secretly I'll wonder what in the actual shit your problem is. I have manners, and everything, but I'll still judge you.
Anyway, the list of things about Samantha Irby that made me gasp, "BITCH, ME TOO!!" continues to grow. I'll try to remember to post a final review of this book (which, let's be honest: of course I won't remember), but in the meantime, I can confidently tell you to read this book because Samantha Irby is a goddamned genius, and she should be your BFF, too. After me, of course. I got dibs.