Just to torture myself, I flipped through SFgate's photos of last night's snoozer Symphony Gala. While I was slumming it on my futon, watching Project Runway and eating pre-packaged salad and CrystalLite, people who think they're way cooler than me froze their skinny asses off and pretended to care about dead music for the sole purpose of making me feel left out.
No big deal.
I didn't want to go anyway.
But then, I saw this.
Um, oh my fucking god. That bastard is cheating on me. With some bitch that is wearing the fabulous shoes I'm sporting right this very minute. And I'm tanner. And smarter. With, like, things to say. Quelle horreur.
Because I've perfected the art of stalking, I googled this pointy faced freak, and to add insult to injury, she was a member of the 2005 Sonoma State Women's Lacrosse Team.
What's that make her? 12? And butch? And sweaty?
First of all, Sonoma State?
Second of all, she spells her name Brittanie. So, you know, nuff said.
Finally, I know what Jason is thinking right this very minute and I'm thinking it too. We happen to know a Sonoma State Lacrosse playing party machine. Don't worry. I just got off the phone with him. He claims to be calling me back with any and all info he can gather, as he "thinks" he "might know her." Stay tuned.
Seriously. What's my boyfriend thinking. This is just rude.
I give it 3 days and an uncomfortable voicemail before shellac comes running back to me...