HER WEAPON OF CHOICE... - BETCHA DIDN’T KNOW

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BETCHA DIDN’T KNOW

So I’ve totally been a Debbie Downer for the last couple days, in case you couldn’t already tell by such Facebook status updates as “Don’t Even Think About Talking To Me” and “Fuck You, You Fuckity Fucking Fuck.” Okay, that last one I didn’t run, but I was totally thinking about it. Not only has there been a totally weird learning curve to this whole working-from-home thing, but I’m definitely crawling back into some old (slash bad) habits that I thought I had totally given up forever ago. No, it’s not hard-drugs, stripping, Botox or anything like that. However, I’ve been consuming potentially dangerous amounts of Diet Coke, which I’m positive are going to have a negative effect on my reproductive organs when it’s time for me to procreate. That said, the only thing I’ve had any desire to do is nap and take hot showers. But with a manuscript due to my editor in oh, say, six weeks, that doesn’t leave a lot of time to sleep and bathe.

SIX WEEKS! GAH!

I’ve been trying to write at my dining room table, but these godawful (yet incredibly chic-looking) dining room chairs are the most uncomfortable things I’ve ever sat on. Sure, I’m betting they weren’t made for people parking their tuckus on them for two to four hours at a time, but that’s besides the point. My bottom feels like it’s on fire!

Let’s see, what else can I complain about? I still have to pack for NYC and I’ve had this lingering migraine for the past three days. There. I just made my complaint quota for the day. Hooray! Luckily, I can now play the following song on repeat and experience nothing but pure joy while I scribble about such groundbreaking Long Island hardcore bands as Mind Over Matter and Silent Majority.

And, yes, I am the Leslie in the song. I can’t tell you how many times TMZ has called me to comment on this whole naughty bed sheet scandal. I just keep saying, “Oh, she’s just being Miley”