To my stalkers and fans and lovers and friends, my sincerest apologies for the blogging hiatus.
Currently, I am tanning on a gorgeous beach in Maui. You should all be extremely jealous of me if you aren’t already. I won’t be sorry for the excessive tweets and instagrams because I am the center of the universe and you should all be obsessed with me. Obviously.
I’d show you a picture of what I’m currently looking at, but I don’t know how to do that on the mobile blog app, so you’ll just have to settle for my tweets. Aloha betches!
Update: this is the exact location I was when penning that sad little piece above. Can you blame me for the hiatus now?
I didn’t go out tonight. In fact, the only thing I went out for today was breakfast in Brentwood. (Which was actually pretty thrilling since we had an Adam Sandler sighting outside New York Bagel.) Did Halloweekend take that much out of me? Am I sick? Am I dying? Or am I just aging, which is sort of dying? I guess aging is dying… just slower.
Staying in on a Saturday night wouldn’t be a big deal if I had gone through with the aggressive day drinking plans I initially had, or if I was staying in for a cozy, romantic night with my imaginary boyfriend. But no, tonight, my boyfriend is Louis C.K., because I’m getting old and I just do not care about going out or talking to anybody or attempting to look remotely photographable. I DGAF. At what point in my life did it become acceptable for me to choose being alone in my pajamas over a night out with my besties while looking totally banging? I’m not even 25 yet.
This frightens me, not because it’s happening – but because I literally don’t care. Like, this feels amazing. If I had to be out right now, I can only imagine that I’d be at an upscale bar, trying to impress or not insult people – many of whom I don’t even like. I’d be standing there, fake smiling and nodding my head, pretending to be listening to some former USC fratstar douchebag – when I’m actually just wondering how many more seconds I have to wait before I can acceptably check my Instagram feed again. Let me just say that I’m not always an anti-social bitch like that, but that’s absolutely how tonight would have gone.
Of course, I know tonight is only a temporary act of “maturity.” In a few days, I’ll be starved for a night out on the town and getting dressed to the nines. It’s just my nature. As for this evening, I’m remaining as unattractively comfortable as possible and making myself some mothafuckin’ hot chocolate in this bitch. Louis C.K. is hilar. Ehrmahgerd.
However, I would like to take a moment to complain about how disappointing this episode of SNL is. Louis, I am super bummed out. I could have rented Magic Mike. Your stand up makes me lose control of my bowels and you have several Emmy awards, yet why is this entire episode so lackluster? I think I only LOL’d once during your opening monologue and that just isn’t okay because that means you let Seth MacFarlane show you up. As talented as I think he is, you are my favorite comic – and so far, this rendezvous isn’t going so hot. You’re like a third date that won’t put out. If I had balls, they would be the bluest blue you’ve ever seen. Because Hurricane Sandy completely ass raped the East Coast over the past week, and you are aware of this, I’m going to assume that is the reason why this episode didn’t live up to my expectations. (In which case, I now feel like a huge asshole.) I forgive you and I love you. Let’s never fight again!
I leave you with some classic wisdom from George Carlin: