Rent me a Greek
Hello darlings,
Yes, I am long overdue to update by fabulous diary!! I am so sorry to keep you waiting. But I have had no time to blog. I am obsessed with several reality television shows and on a weekly basis find myself overwhelmed, nay devastated, by the results.
Tonight, for example, I am crushed that Connie was ousted from Idol while ugly pig-boy wife-beater Scotty remains. I am literally lying on the kitchen floor, licking the linoleum. Yes, I am THAT upset. I spilled just a teensy bit of liquor and it doesn't go to waste in my house. I don't even have the energy to tell you that I am a finalist in a big time comedy competition. (No it is NOT on television, but hey wouldn't that be a great idea! Any bigwig TV producers out there, contact me immediately.) Or that my previous musings are about to become a book. (No really.) Or that I have a starring role in an upcoming-brand-new-knock-your-socks-off-Mega Musical. (Would I kid about something like that?)
I am not merely a Comedy Diva, I am my own reality show. I am very competitive in most situations, for example in the midst of a BOGO sale, I took out a four-foot tall Nun
who was between me and a pair of mandarin-floral mules.
Instead of celebrating however, I am crying a little inside, for where will I get my weekly eye-phuk now that Connie is off the tube? (And you do know what I mean, girls.) I only found out today that I am part of a gigantic tribe of Connie-lovers. Apparently there are millions of (ahem) slightly more mature women who are utterly infatuated with the Big Greek God. But for some reason were unable to dial his number with their damn little manicured fingers. Where were you ladies? You have let us ALL down.
Now I can only cheer weakly as elderly Grethedith make it to the final four on AR. Watching her ramble on and get lost while Hubby stands by stoically bewildered does not get me hot, but it does remind me of my parents, which is nice, because then I don't have to visit them.
Anyway, I have run out of Kleenex and am spilling hot tears on the keyboard - or is that cold vodka? Yum. Must go. Promise I'll write again and much sooner.
Yours,
Comedy Diva
Yes, I am long overdue to update by fabulous diary!! I am so sorry to keep you waiting. But I have had no time to blog. I am obsessed with several reality television shows and on a weekly basis find myself overwhelmed, nay devastated, by the results.
Tonight, for example, I am crushed that Connie was ousted from Idol while ugly pig-boy wife-beater Scotty remains. I am literally lying on the kitchen floor, licking the linoleum. Yes, I am THAT upset. I spilled just a teensy bit of liquor and it doesn't go to waste in my house. I don't even have the energy to tell you that I am a finalist in a big time comedy competition. (No it is NOT on television, but hey wouldn't that be a great idea! Any bigwig TV producers out there, contact me immediately.) Or that my previous musings are about to become a book. (No really.) Or that I have a starring role in an upcoming-brand-new-knock-your-socks-off-Mega Musical. (Would I kid about something like that?)
I am not merely a Comedy Diva, I am my own reality show. I am very competitive in most situations, for example in the midst of a BOGO sale, I took out a four-foot tall Nun
who was between me and a pair of mandarin-floral mules.
Instead of celebrating however, I am crying a little inside, for where will I get my weekly eye-phuk now that Connie is off the tube? (And you do know what I mean, girls.) I only found out today that I am part of a gigantic tribe of Connie-lovers. Apparently there are millions of (ahem) slightly more mature women who are utterly infatuated with the Big Greek God. But for some reason were unable to dial his number with their damn little manicured fingers. Where were you ladies? You have let us ALL down.
Now I can only cheer weakly as elderly Grethedith make it to the final four on AR. Watching her ramble on and get lost while Hubby stands by stoically bewildered does not get me hot, but it does remind me of my parents, which is nice, because then I don't have to visit them.
Anyway, I have run out of Kleenex and am spilling hot tears on the keyboard - or is that cold vodka? Yum. Must go. Promise I'll write again and much sooner.
Yours,
Comedy Diva
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