dear friday night, suck it. Sincerely, the almighty almighty.

this is going to be almost but not quite as bad as Gigli
(cue part where the girl slits her wrists and goes "WOOOOOOO WOOOOOOO")

scene 1: murdering shari lewis' lambchops. (get some homicide up in dis biznatch)



scene 2: drinking baby lotion out of a tim hortons glass.
(all the cool kids are doing it)


scene three: wearing these sunglasses. when i put these motherfuckers on, i instantly transform into a gay Norwegian rave kid with green spiky hair and giant bell bottom pants and indoor soccer shoes.
or a futuristic ray charles on eurovision.
(flipping you off with the murder weapon.
if this were Clue. you'd be winning.)


scene four: superimposing this crazy bitch's head to my body.


ergo.
you know you wish you were me.
i even wish i was me.
and i am me.

in all fairness.
at least we know i MOST DEFINITELY wont ever be on a "who's the daddy?" episode of Maury.

i give this night a solid 8/10.

i may be a man

at heart
but physically and stylistically.
i am a beast.
a beast of fashion.

i'm not even kidding.
when i go shopping (especially in a different country..)
y'know those full-blown weather warnings that interrupt the view and you've got Al Roker all "HURRICANE. put all your shit away!!"
well in my case they're like "SHE'S COMING...hide your valuables"
but that's only because i'm a raging kleptomaniac (and al roker knows this).

shopping to me, is an art-form.
i'm VERY particular.
and VERY aware of what's nice and what's not flattering for my body type unlike A LOT and i truly stress and i will repeat, A LOT of other people in this city.
basically:
i walk into a store, carefully scanning every item in there and usually i'll notice maybe one or two really nice (expensive) things that i'll try on and most probably buy.
right before i turn into a deceptacon
in order to smash everything and everyone with my mean,metal devil feet.
followed by a mix of buyers' remorse and a bottle of sleeping pills.
(elapsed time: 10 minutes)

i wish i could live in the magical vortex that is ebay.
where everyone and everything is so pretty and unique and vintage.
the wonderful world of "buy it now" because god knows i cannot win a bidding war if my life depended on it.
followed by receiving merchandise in the mail and screaming
"FUCK TO THE NO"
when you realize that the item you bought was not a dress, but a dress shirt.
and then you have to write an angry letter threatening to cut people up but not really because i'm too nice to actually write that in an email.

meanwhile my credit card is on it's third attempt and fail at suicide.
because every attempt is followed by a trip to new york city.
where i literally go buck wild, not the slutty buckwild, and i can't even say "gay man" buck wild because that can be a lot of things that is probably inaccurate in relation to what i'm actually talking about...that of which you and i both will never know exactly.
for some reason the word "buck wild" reminds me of the movie coyote ugly.
but not as "buck wild" as that either.
because dancing on a bar in a haltered crop top and Gap long and lean jeans while waving around a bottle of jack daniels, my breasts and vagina is not particularly included in my list of fortes.

ALTHOUGH.
i would wave around a bottle of Courvoisier at all times.
and not only because busta rhymes made a song about it.
but more for the fact that i'd totally feel like i'd be waving around the "i dream of jeannie" bottle.
and where there's the "i dream of jeannie" bottle means that not far from that
is major tony nelson.
mmmmmmm...

ps.

since we're on the subject.

dear sarah jessica parker,
give me back my 5 dollars.
give me back my 3 hours.
and give me back my soul.
or i will be forced to come there.
sit you down.
and talk about menopause, bra-less nannies while shoving appropriate but not funny puns here and there.
for three hours.
right before i steal 5 dollars
from your wallet.