America is making me lose my shit

(I understand why square bagels make David Cross lose his shit)

Your breasts don't lift high enough! Your hair isn't long enough, shiny enough, bouncy enough, straight enough, curly enough! You aren't taking the right cocktail of vitamins! Your yoghurt isn't hip enough! Your underarms are discolored (what?!). And by the way, brooms are for pussies; you need the new scented wet-jet, extra cling Swiffer-picker-upper!

I don't know, man. I guess it might be the same everywhere, but I only have access to TV when I'm back home. How do we all not commit suicide after watching an hour of TV? During the commercials, we're reminded of what we don't have and what we need to buy to be fit for society. Then the commercials end and I have Piers Fucking Morgan telling me EVERYTHING I NEED TO KNOW RIGHT NOW. I have news that's too important to miss about the hottest murders of the year.

I really can't fucking take it. 

I know, I know, since I've been back this blog has turned into Molly's maladjusted musings, or something just as annoying and alliterated. 

I just got back from India where the streets are always crowded. People are always invading your space begging for money, asking you to buy their pens or flowers or fruit. Auto rickshaw drivers trying to get 10 more rupees out of you.

But I have felt more bombarded here that in Delhi.

I went to buy a phone charger today at Target. I got so angry at everything I saw for sale. New! Build-a-plane! This-isn't-your-grandpa's-build-a-fucking-plane kit! This is crazy and cool because of our packaging and typography! And I looked at it said, "It's just a cardboard fucking plane! Don't force this down my throat!"

I wanted to burn Target to the ground.

But I still bought the expensive toothpaste that swears to whiten my teeth in like a week, flat.

So who's the chump now?

America 1. Molly 0.