4:30am looks way different when you're waking up and starting the day than when you are just rolling in and finishing things up. If I don't schedule a nap and an oversized omelet, I won't be able to bring the Cleveland mosh tonight and that would just be a tragedy of epic proportions...much like that time when I indirectly looked into the eyes of Medusa and my tits turned to stone. No wonder I don't get as many hugs as I used to. I don't lie when I say a woman's chest is a dangerous tool.
I temporarily turned "puss" yesterday and began missing...someone. I should have been stabbed in the neck with a makeshift shiv or shank or other low-class jailhouse weaponry. I'm going to ignore those itchy, rash-like feelings that are infesting my brain like crabs (you know the ones I mean) and keep on truckin'. No good can come from me thinking that positive attributes existed in that doofus. Hearing that earlier last month he "felt bad" about the situation because he "cares about me" makes me get all riled up. He has a weird way of showing it by acting like a nimrod. All this foolishness makes me feel like a bad banana. Kim Kelly is a bad banana. I'm no Kim Kelly. I'm Daniel Desario, if anything.
I am slowly introducing whiskey back into my diet. One shot at a time, people. Whiskey used to be my boyfriend but we had a falling out when I couldn't say "enough is enough" and kicked my real-life boyfriend in the junk and punched him the head. I was, as they say, a whiskey monster. But that's what happens when you're 19 and dating Jack Daniels. I think this will go down smoothly as I am (lucky) 7 years older, wiser, and attracted to Knob Creek, thanks to Queen La Tata. Shots of whiskey is "our thing". Slowly, slowly.
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