The car is in the shop again, this time for new brakes. APPARENTLY, one should not have to slam the brake pedal to the floor in order for it to do anything. Once again, the more you know (rainbow). So I’m left to my own devices today until the car is ready, which of course, will lead to no good end. Left on my own in the apartment with the cats and my own insanity with no means of escape? Always a grand idea.
So what happened this weekend? Charlie Sheen had a disaster of a show in Detroit, and Twitter exploded, causing me to lose my temper and write 140 character diatribes about how you get what you pay for and everything involving Charlie Sheen makes me want to take a Silkwood shower, and then this happened in the Hollywood Reporter the next day.
I was quoted in the Hollywood Reporter! About what a misanthrope I am and how I hate people! How fancypants is that?! What they left out was my constant pottymouth, which included such bon mots as “What the fuck were they expecting, Shakespeare?” and other classy things that I enjoy plastering all over the internet. Because I am a LADY.
But enough about that. Let’s discuss things of great import, like the fact that Finn has been scaling my window blinds like a spider monkey, and although Finn is quite slim, there is only so much fragile window blinds can take before they are torn asunder, and I swear to dog, if that cat ruins my one source of privacy and the only thing that allows me to saunter around my residence buck ass naked whenever I please, we are going to have serious problems. Problems that will be solved by duct-taping Finn to a rocket and sending said rocket to Jupiter, where he can ruin all the window blinds he pleases. However, the next time I catch him splayed out in mid air like Spiderman on my blinds I will, without prejudice, punch my cat right in the mouth. Yes I will.
In other news you can use, since I am single again and will be forever alone and miserable, I’ve been re-acquainting myself with my old pals Ben and Jerry and their delightful ice creams and let me tell you, if you’re heartbroken and full of anguish and feel like eating your feelings, Messrs. Ben and Jerry are your new best friends. I cannot say enough about their fine product, and since I am doomed to walk the earth alone, I might as well do it with a pint of “Bonnaroo Buzz” ice cream in one hand and a big ass spoon in the other. A hearty thumbs up to this magnificent foodstuff.
Okay, I think that’s all for now. I’ll come back and edit this entry to include a link to the article I wrote for MamaPop today, because I totally lose my temper about that twat Snooki and the idiots who keep giving this waste of DNA money in exchange for her presence at events, and I’m pretty pleased about how the article turned out, so stop by after 10 am ET and I’ll have the link up. Until then, I will be
cleaning my closet watching bad daytime television (have you SEEN what’s going on over on All My Children? Jesse switching the babies? That shit is off the RAILS, man) and thinking of other things I can get angry about and then post on the internet, because every day I grow a little older and a little more like Andy Rooney in my foul temper, and that’s always fun to watch. I leave you with a picture that makes me laugh every damn time I see it, and I love to share, so here you go.
It’s the insult to her croquet playing skills that makes it art. UPDATED to include the MamaPop link. Toodles!