I’m Hungover

You know what’s fun? Bar-hopping and flirting with all the tall manly bouncers. You know what’s not fun? The morning after, when it feels like the chestburster from Alien lives inside you, except it’s made of puke.

I would like to kill myself just to not feel like a giant brick with a stomachache, but if I did, I don’t know how you would all survive without my beautiful posts to get you through the day. And being the wonderful girl that I am, I just couldn’t let that happen, so I guess I’ll live to write another day.

But seriously, vodka cranberries and Bahama Mamas, you are vicious and I hate you. (Until next weekend, and then we can kiss and make up.) And as for you stupid lucky non-hungover Readers: THIS.

You Missed Me, Didn’t You?

So, you know when you have a blog you really, really love, and you check it all the time to see if they put up new stuff, and they don’t? And then you’re kind of like, “Well, fuck you too. You could maybe post something before it’s 2012 and the world is over and I’ll be too busy drowning in lava to follow any blogs.”

Yeah, I’m that guy. Except that no one really, really loves my blog, so it’s okay. But I still feel bad when I go on a million-year hiatus and leave my poor, like, eight faithful readers in the cold (I love you all). I’ve just been a smidge busy doing that whole summer thing, and working my new job in hell.

Seriously, though, I promise to write something besides this shitty post promising to write more stuff. Really! Maybe I’ll write a story about a half-zebra half-giraffe mutant baby. Or perhaps I shall interview Michelle Obama with fun questions like, “If Bar was out of the picture, who’d you rather: David Beckham or Johnny Depp?” You never know, maybe I will even put a picture of an adorable cat on here! THE FUN JUST KEEPS ROLLING!

Cat-Owning Apartment Pimp

I can’t wait ’till I have my own apartment. I don’t even really mean my own own, because living with housemates is fine by me. Rattling around in a flat, even a tiny one, with myself and my overactive imagination, is not a good idea. I’d prolly end up killing a Jehovah’s Witness or some Girl Scouts in a fear-induced rampage, and nobody wants that. (Although, hey, free Samoas!)

But seriously, people of the Internet, if you are reading this from the comfort of anywhere that isn’t your parents’ house or a dorm room, feel happy. Just think of all the advantages you have!

  1. You can be naked ALL THE TIME. I am partial to strolling around in my panties, personally. (And also alliteration. Ha, I did it again!)
  2. Speaking of being naked, sex! Whenever you want! On your kitchen table, perhaps. Or the couch. Or the floor.
  4. You could have bear-wrestling contests in your house, if you were so inclined. Or if that’s not your thing, you could run a brothel. Apartment = instapimp, just add ladies.
  5. You can smoke! I don’t mean ciggies, although I suppose you could, except that’s a bad call (forecast: heavy coughing with a severe chance of lung cancer. Unless they’re Blacks, and then mmmm). I mean something a little greener.

When I have my own place, I am going to make it really cozy, with lots of rugs and squishy mismatched chairs and possibly a fluffy gray cat named Felix. And hopefully a balcony.

Oh, yeah, and maybe a special bear-fighting ring.