So, I feel really guilty about slacking on my blog. I have no excuse. I'm simply lazy. I've been harping that I have nothing to write about but truth be told, that's complete bullshit. No matter what, I should always be able to crank out 2 paragraphs about riding a bus, getting my hair cut or running over a pigeon, all of which have recently happened and all of which I've recently denied you...due to sloth.
So, in an effort to make it up to you, because really, and don't let this go to your head, I motherfucking love that you read my stupid, stupid nonsense, I'm spilling my guts and telling you the three most embarrassing things about myself. Lo claims these are her favorite posts, when I detail my extreme dorkiness. So, I'm not holding back. I owe you.
Oh god. Here goes:
3: I interview myself.
In the mirror. In the car. In my reflection in the microwave.
In fact, in a recent moment of non-coital intimacy, I revealed this sad fact to the guy I was then-dating and he did not find it charming, which I somehow assumed he would. But fuck it. As New Chris once unwittingly discovered, I conduct entire, Letterman-esque interviews with myself. Deal with it. Oh! And they involve not only true, autobiographical facts and stories, but faux anecdotes about me and my pretend celebrity friends.
Fuck you. It makes me indescribably happy.
2: Sometimes, in conjunction with Number 1, I pretend I have my own Kathy Griffin-esque reality show. This extends to all aspects of my life. For example, tonight as I shopped alone at Safeway, buying discount diet food and sale wine (they cancel each other out), I kinda acted as if I was sharing this experience with my Bravo! watchers.
Relax. I get it. No one wants to buy Lean Cuisine Paninis with me. Obviously. It just, you know, makes the time fly.
1: And finally, and golly, this is sad, when I'm lonely or blue or just plain bored, I listen to my saved voicemails. Yep, friends. I save certain voicemails. For months. To revisit.
(Think about it. People leave great snippets of life on answering machines. You should save them and crack 'em open like a photo album.)
I did this last night. Before going to bed at 9pm.
Here's my current rotation, all of which delight me:
-BCFS, who in a late night drunk dial, simply sings "Bethy" over and over.
-Grey Cloud (2 concurrent voicemails) detailing the Burt Reynolds Friends and Family Museum online store offerings, which seriously, you should listen to. Pure gold.
-Pete, looking for a restaurant recommendation, expressing shock and delight of his brother's impending wedding and ending with "Love ya, babe. Call me. Let's get cocktails and make some bad decisions."
-Robyn, my PA mom crying into her phone about my Grandma blog posts.
-Jason, Pete's brother and my favorite architect, discovering Zoe eating baby shit in my kitchen on public access television.
-My day job boss, calling to tell me Carole Migden hates me.
-Mikey, bored and potentially drunk, rambling about nothing.
-And my mother, whose birthday it is today, calling to "gossip." Which defines the glory of our relationship.
There you have it, the three things about myself which, were I someone else and meeting me, would be dealbreakers.
I mean, my god.
I should be committed...