n o w p l a y i n g - s c r i p t b i n - f a n c l u b - s t u d i o

make love to the camera



November 30, 2001 - 9:36 am

Arsenic and Old Lace

Good Lord, people. There is a box on my coffee table filled with five Krispy Kreme donuts, courtesy of Sally, and I cannot bring myself to put the things anywhere near my mouth for fear that my heart will simply cease functioning. We went to Wendy's last night, and I decided it was a good idea to eat a Big Bacon Classic at 10 pm. After that, I was immediately forced to eat a Krispy Kreme to "test the freshness."

This morning, I feel fat, disgusting and greasy. It's time for massive amounts of ice water to purge the system. Will no woman ever love me again?

Which, actually, is a timely question, as Sally and I made our 'just friends' status official last night.

It took a long time to get there. Here's how my week broke down:

Sunday: Possible breakup talks

Monday: Anxiety and severe bouts of nausea

Tuesday: Nausea and severe bouts of anxiety

Wednesday: Blithe numbness

Thursday morning: Emotional exhaustion

Thursday afternoon: Massive spike of confusion/sadness

Thursday night: FUCKING RELIEF ALREADY THAT WE FIGURED OUT SOMETHING (also sadness)

So, we ate nasty food, wondered if we had just been poisoned, (unrelatedly) decided we were ridiculous human beings, said "OK, now we're pals," and then, incredibly stupidly, managed to not have breakup sex!

I know! We said we'd "maybe save it for later." This is very clearly proof that I am not as smart as I think I am and have no bloody idea how real life functions. Beh.

So, now that I'm a single man on the internet, I am aware that this makes me about 60% less attractive to everybody than I was before. And even a little creepy. According to the pamphlet I have, I now have to lose all my hair, grow a bushy mustache, and sit around in my studio apartment naked except for sunglasses while I use my computer to "hit the chats."

Alternatively, there are lots of elderly chicks in my apartment building. I've already impressed one of them by running to the store for her on two occasions. Maybe she's one of those old gals you occasionally read about who has $250,000 stashed away in her newspaper-stuffed, cat-infested apartment.

Only one way to find out.

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