I haven't written in a minute and for that, my fan and a half, I'm sorry. I haven't had much good to write about and I don't think this will be any different, but I'm going to write anyway.
I think I'm broken. Much like Chumbawamba, I've been knocked down before, but I could always get back up again. This time, though, I seem to have the legs of a drunk baby deer with a prosthetic stiletto hoof two sizes two big ... I can't get my footing. (Enjoy that visual) :).
I've met a couple of guys over the past couple of months, but no one who interests me enough to talk to again let alone see again. I'm pretty sure I'm the dented can on the shelf this time and for that, unfortunate men I've met, I am sorry. I'm sure you're all very nice people, I'm just not very nice at the moment.
Also, I worry that I may be on my way to alcoholism. OK, that's not true, but I did seriously consider drinking wine before work the other morning instead of coffee. Seriously. I mean think about it! Wouldn't a nice wine buzz start your morning off nicely? I may have to make up a story about my red teeth (I like kool-aid) and slurring speech (I'm tired), but I could sure get through back-to-back meetings with less of an urge to punch someone in the privates!
Wow, I'm a big Debbie Downer at the moment. Oh well. I'll close with this: is it wrong to seriously consider having a poop cake delivered to my ex for his birthday tomorrow? Do you think I could put enough icing on it and mix it with Devil's Food to cover the smell? He wasn't a big sweets person, so I'm not sure he'd fall for it, but it makes me happy thinking about him eating a big piece of shit cake!
I told you I wasn't very nice at the moment ...
