...Dear Diary, today I spent an hour and ten dollars at the Laundromat because my fucking appliances hate me and have decided to die....
Because EuroTrash is sufficiently snarky about Belle and her recent interview, I don't need to be.
And possibly, can't be. Sufficiently snarky, that is. Lately I wonder if miserable alcoholics are more funny than happy people. Query: Can I be both happy and funny?
(Sub-query: AM I funny? I mean, at all?)
Perhaps I need more misery to achieve that cunningly irresistible biting edginess known as 'wit'.
A foray into alcoholism may be in order, which won't be difficult, considering that recently my favorite phrase is, "Please fix me a little drinkie," which runs a close second to "only FOUR orgasms? What's wrong with you today?"
I seem to have some weirdly cosmic magnetism with those whose credo is 'I drink, therefore I am' and perhaps I shall assimilate. See what the big deal is.
I hope it's not like juggling, which I attempted for years (not kidding, YEARS) and eventually decided that there were enough jugglers that I did not need to add to their numbers, especially since I exhibit no discernible talent in that arena.
I may suck also as an alcoholic.
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