If It Were Fiction, I'd Have a Book Deal

There comes a time in every girl's life (in my case, hundreds of times) where she does something that she's not particularly proud of. I won't be time-specific here, because, well, I don't want any documentation...nor do I want anyone to be able to create a time-line of my shenanigans. We'll just say it was long ago and far away...fair enough? Great. Let's continue.

Soooooooooo, there are many, many times in my life when I do things that don't bring me a great sense of pride. For instance, there was a time, either recently or a long time ago, I was mad at someone(s) I was dating. To relieve myself of the frustration, I decided to out with some friends. We went to a bar where the men outnumbered the women at least 5 to 1. I began to drink alcohol...and ...

all hell broke loose.

I was the wildest woman ever in the history of all time. Drinking and dancing and dancing and drinking. Nothing could stop me!!! I was Queen of the night!! I suspect that there were many who thought that quite possibly I was a "lady" of the night as well.

Anywhoodle, there was lots of drinking and dancing and all manner of things! What fun! Caution to the wind and all that! Who needs a man?? ! I don't! No!! (Why have just one when there are soooo many??!)

I gave my number away at least twice and danced like there was no tomorrow. I nearly broke my toe during a slight stumble because of my heightened klutziness. I ripped the leather on the heel of my favorite stilettos.

And naturally, the next morning, I woke up with a magnificent headache and a fantastic sense of confusion. Because, upon reflecting, I was almost positive that at one point I was upside-down.

But, how was I upside-down??? And why?? In my memory, which by the way was fuzzy, I could see a man in a green shirt. We were dancing, and then suddenly, I was upside down!! My fuzzy memory would then fast-forward to the same green shirt handing me a phone and my fingers punching my phone number into it.

Interesting.

As the days stretched on, I became increasingly obsessed with the status of my upside-downness. There had been two unfamiliar numbers that had appeared on my phone several times. Like any reasonable girl, I ignored them, because...I mean...a guy from the bar?? Really?? That's gross. But, I couldn't let it go! I had to know: was I really upside-down?? I had to know.

I called the first number. It was awkward. Mostly because I didn't know his name, and also because I had to act like I wanted to talk to him and not just ask: "Hey, um....was I upside-down whilst dancing with you??" A hard question to ask indeed.

Long story longer... it wasn't him. *sigh* That means I had to call the other guy. Distasteful.

I decided a text message would be the easiest way to begin the conversation. Unfortunately, the other guy was quite the eager beaver. He wanted to come see me. *sigh* He did. It was gross. He stuck his tongue down my throat after I asked him not to. He had over a gallon of cologne on. He thought he was really hot and that he could woo me with very little effort. He was a fool.

However, and this is the good news, I found at that I WAS upside-down after all!!!! Turns out there's a dance move that is not unlike one of those fancy swing-dance moves, but that you can do to songs by Kanye West and Mystikal!! No fancy dance steps required! I got him to demonstrate between attempts at getting his hands up my shirt.

The bottom line is this: I solved the mystery. Now, yes, I did have to have more than one uncomfortable conversation with guys I would never go out with in a million-kajillion years, and, yes, I did have to suffer a creepy guy who had no idea he was a horrible kisser, but I solved the mystery!!!

And we all know that I've made out for less. At least this time I had an objective. I think the government should really consider using me as one of those really hot, sexy spies that slip important communists mickeys and then take pictures of important documents with an exceptionally tiny camera. I would be awesome. And at least I'd be serving my country. Instead of, you know, serving....well, do we really want to analyze that??

No, we don't.

Letter to Myself from Myself, part xxo

Dear Queen the third,

*sigh* You know, I really am ashamed of how undedicated you've been to your blog as of late. The thing is, you entertain me! I love you so, so much. And I know that you can't blog at work anymore - and, really, that does suck. But, let's be serious for a minute here: how long does it honestly take to write a funny, witty, clever blog entry that I will want to read over and over again?? It's not as if you spend much time proofreading!! (Possibly, none at all.)

Additionally, your ridiculous and frivilous actions make everyone feel better about their lives, and you have not been very diligent in sharing as of late. For example, there may be people who have really crappy boyfriends who don't buy them Tiffany's as often as they should. Those people can just read an entry or two and realize, "Well, hell! At least my man isn't in jail!" and all the pain and frustration of their inadequate realationship goes away!

Or, when they have to wake up at 7:45am to get to work by 9 am, they can say to themselves, "At least I don't have to wake up at 6:30!!!"

So, you see, Queen, what you do is closely related to the work of Mother Teresa and/or the Pope. And of all the sins you commit on a daily basis, not sharing what a fool you are with everyone else is by far the biggest!!

I chastise thee, Queen, III!! No more chocolate Dr. Pepper floats for you, Missy! You're punished.

And remember, I'm only doing this because I love you.

With all the sincerety I can muster,


Queen, III

A Little Pity, Please

Does anybody know how early 6:30 am is?? It's so early. So, so early. Incidently, it is also the hour that I have to wake up every morning. (Besides Saturday and Sunday.) And it doesn't matter how much sleep I get either, because I always feel really crappy when that alarm goes off. To put it lightly, I am NOT a morning person.

So, I'm asking you all to feel sorry for me. Really, really sorry. Because while the rest of you were working all summer, I wasn't and I got used to doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted, so you see...it's just so much harder for me!

Now, do you feel sorry for me?? My burder is SO much heavier because I only work 9 months out of the year! It's like being married to a rich man who buys you things and then he divorces you suddenly and oops! you signed a prenup! Darn the luck! But, if you had been poor the whole time, you would never know the difference, so it wouldn't be sad if you stayed poor. Don't you see?? I'm just like the woman who's rich husband dumps her for the younger bleached blonde with bigger fake boobs!! And I thought said rich man was in love with me and we would be together forever, so I signed the prenup!! The only difference is, I'll get married to another rich man next summer. But, it's still sad!!!

I imagine you're probably crying right now out of pity. Well, keep crying, honey! Cause it only gets worse! I have to work for 8 more months and 2 more weeks.

OH! And I only get 30 minutes for lunch.

So, please, oh please, cry me a river.