Monday, November 23, 2009

Round 1

It took about 24 hours before she went in for the hit. Have you lost a TON of weight?! You look like you have lost a TON! A TON! I may in fact still be bleeding from the eviscerating.

Bitch, please. Don't you know that I no longer suffer from *that* kind of body dysmorphia? Where you see a beached manatee, I see one skeeeeeeny mama. You reminding me that there are 10 extra pounds laying around does not endear me to you. In. The. Slightest.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

One more time

The problem is that since I have been talking so much (to such rapt and attentive audiences) I don't have a whole lot swimming in my brains that I need to squeeze out onto the keyboard and spray across the internetz like amniotic fluid after the head delivers (that was for you; and YOU know who I'm talking to).

I love to write. Love, love, love it. But with my perfection complex and all, if it ain't gonna be great, it ain't gonna git done. I used to make a lot of proclamations. I called them MY UNIVERSAL WISHES. The one I have now is for all the ladies out there to be expunged of their need, their drive to do every.thing.fuck.ing.right. It's a goddamnned ball-buster of a chore to drag around, let me tell you. And after a day of falling short, the last thing we want to do is give someone a blow-job (ironically, a task that even done poorly, is received with standing ovations). Can I get an amen?!

Fuck.

So usually, once the three kids are asleep and I'm reasonably certain my other "services" won't be required and I ostensibly have *time* to write, I'm so flippin' tired that all I want to do is pour a drink and settle in to a few hours of "Say Yes to the Dress" reruns. Either that or I'm snoring by 9:15.

Ten years ago, if anyone had told me this would be my life, I would have sneered in their eye and ordered another Wild Turkey on the rocks. Bitch.

Anyway, if you're lucky enough to catch my live show now and then (best seats @ 3am, 3rd floor of VBMC) tip well. I have a lot of kids.