Okay, so my descent into total alcoholism continues at a pretty fast clip. Last night I went to the bar with some friends to celebrate ye olde St. Patrick�s Day, and ended up getting drunk. Y�know, again. That makes five nights in a row, and I think maybe it�s time I slowed down just a trifle. Well, technically it was only four nights in a row, because I wasn�t drunk on Thursday, I was just�drinking. There�s a difference, people. Stop looking at me like that. And quit whispering -- don�t think I didn�t just hear that word �intervention�, mister.
But this isn�t a story about me wearing green shoes, slugging back shots of Bailey�s, and getting absolutely shitfaced to commemorate some dude who was allegedly responsible for chasing a bunch of snakes out of a country that I have no genetic link to whatsoever some hundreds of years ago. This is a story about Miranda.
You guys know Miranda. Well, you might think you don�t, but everybody knows a Miranda. She�s That Girl -- the one who�s always blowing into the office wearing those snappy clothes that are just this side of inappropriate for business attire, but she can pull it off because, dude, she�s Miranda! Leather skirts? Pshaw! Knee boots and crazy John Lennon-style sunglasses? Child�s play! And then she plops herself down at her desk and fires off an email to her best friend in London, and another to her bosom buddies in Japan, New York, and Rome, resepectively. And then spins around in her chair so she can tell you all about the night she spent closing down some bar in Hermosa Beach with a bunch of rowdy guys she met in a bar fight at a pool hall the night before.
You know Miranda. Your stories begin with things like, �So my friend Randy and I went down to the 7-11 for a Big Gulp,� and her stories begin with, �So, when I was living in the Swiss Alps,� or maybe �When I was living in Sydney,� or �When I was living in Tokyo,� or �When I was touring with the band�� And you just kind of stare at her in awe, because who has that kind of life? And then you realize just how pathetic all of your stories actually sound to other people who have real lives, and you try to come up with something at least comparable, so you start telling about the time you vacationed in Europe, but all of a sudden you find yourself totally lying to impress her, and it�s like you�re witnessing a train wreck because you just can�t stop yourself and before you know it, you�re telling her that Camilla Parker-Bowles tried to steal your table at a caf� in Eton and that you got in her face, called her a dirty home-wrecker, and ended up on the news. Or maybe that was just me.
Well, last night, she had an apparently amazing date with that reality show reject I told y�all about. I mean, what kind of life is that? I don�t know that life! That�s a life I�ve seen on the occasional romantic comedy starring Meg Ryan or Sandra Bullock or somebody. Just not J.Lo, because seriously, you guys. J.Lo. I don�t truck with those J.Lo movies. Well, except for, like, Enough, which was a prime piece of cinema for the ages. You know the scene where she finally faces off against her abusive hubby and she starts putting all of her training to use, like the Karate Kid or something? That�s awesome. But anyway, she went out for drinks with this guy, and they evidently got along famously, and he�s �really hot� and blah blah blah. I sort of tuned out after that, because happy dating people make me sick. Shut up, happy dating people.
Not that I�m still bitter about being fucking rejected or anything. Ha ha! Not me! Did you see how I laughed, there? It�s like I don�t have a care in the world! I�m laughing and getting on with my life in an entirely not bitter way! Ha! Ha ha ha! I don�t resent the fact that we�re all going to get bombed back to the Pre-Cambrian and I�ll die all single and alone and knowing that I�ve had more apartments than boyfriends! And I�m especially not bitter about the message he left for me and his new best friend, my roommate! Look! I�m laughing! HA! HA! HA! Dickhead. Whoops, that just slipped out! HA HA HA!
Whatever. He sucks. At least I ran into Camilla Parker-Bowles.
