Have I told you all lately how AMAZING my life is? My husband is just the handsomest man. I never thought I’d grow up to marry him! Everything is so wonderful, I can’t even tell you. It’s beautiful, just amazing. AMAZING. We had wood-grilled pizza the other night. It was just gorgeous. I’m so happy.
Yes, I am taking vitamins! Tom Cruise was right. They are AMAZING. What? I’m not supposed to take them all at once? Oh.
As I continue the grueling process of hunting for a job (day 2!!!), I’ve narrowed down my options to the following:
1. GeneralÃsimo, small island nation preferred
2. Writing whiny Chick Lit about how hard it is to be a chick/hip mother
3. Leader of spaceship religion, retaining all merchandise rights
4. Tony Robbins
I don’t want any of the jobs on Monster.com or Craigslist. I am too sensitive to work for someone who indicates they want to hire a “profetional” or commands that “salary commiserate with experience.” My heart, my heart. My Chicago Manual of Not Being a Douche Bag.
Shit. I am supposed to be using my time to write an episode of “Law & Order: They Had It Coming.” More vitamins, please.
Oh, Internet. You are looking sallow today. Go outside! There is a patch of blue sky. But you care not for blue sky. You wish to remain adrift on your own personal Raft of the Medusa. Young people today. You never finish anything you start. Uh huh, I am talking to you. Remember when you started that zine? And that eyebrow piercing, that was hot. Thai cookery? Wooo.
Tom Cruise, you crazy fucking Scientologist, you are the new David Hager. Apparently, one should use vitamins to treat post-partum depression, and Brooke Shields is a total washed up whore for treating her PPD with Paxil. (Not a) Dr. Cruise goes on to say that “when you talk about emotional, chemical imbalances in people, there is no science behind that.” I’ll keep that in mind, thanks!
Tom, you are a motherfucking lunatic: witness the hooting and leaping during a recent Oprah appearance. Or not, because it’s rather disturbing. His mid-life crisis seems to be right on schedule. Take some vitamins for that. Eat a raw pork chop and have a nap.
I am old, Internet. That freckle is a melanoma, I’m sure. My toe joints hurt when it rains. These white hairs are a sign of premature menopause. I rap children on the knuckles with my platinum-tipped cane, and my eyebrows are drawn on up to my hairline. It’s time to retire! See you in Pismo Beach. I need a chair to sit in while I shower.