It goes like this
“New! Improved! Instant asshole... just add alcohol!” ~Author Unknown
Let me preface this by saying that this is what my inevitable dotage will be like save for the fact that I will most likely be entirely sober throughout the entire thing, which will manifest itself into super psycho HB v. 2.89. Actually I strongly suggest that you have a drink in hand and/or be seated while reading this. Also, try not to want to smack me in the head.
Arrive home after a trip to UStreet for hair product and the gym and Potbelly. Question how I ended up in Anacostia for 7 minutes. Also patting self on back for getting to the wine store minutes before it closes, for a bottle of Vila Malbec. (This will be crucial to the rest of the timeline)
Tear open wine. Begin watching Grey’s. Blind spots, eh? Interesting. McSteamy, yes, I will pick up your dry cleaning. Let’s have babies, yes?
Drinking wine, blah blah blah. George’s dad, blah blah blah.
Thinking I love my laptop. My shmoopie, baby cakes laptop that has been with me through thick and thin for the past five years and two months. Awwww. Lovey dovey kins doodlebop.
Hear noise coming from the foyer. Presume that it is the roommate coming in. My non drinking roommate who probably thinks that I am a lush, which, ummm yes. After hearing said noise, get up because usually she calls out and says hello. Am being burgarlarized. Contemplate last will. Run over with my wine glass (thinking: Malbec to the eye, will blind the fucker). And lo, it is my roommates boyfriend who calmly says ‘hey’. Like it’s totally fucking normal to be standing in the foyer like a robber.
9:34 PM WIIIIIIIIIINE.
Laptop status: flickering. Hmmm. Possible seizure? No. Possible flicker due to half of a bottle of wine consumption? Perhaps.
Restart laptop continuously. My precious baby couldn’t be dying on me.
9:39 PM Peg calls. Through tears, I say something unintelligible about broken laptop, broke HB. Drunkeness. (All a blur now) Recall that she says something smart about purchasing new Mac book now, as opposed to later, and she’d give me the money now for it. But cannot possibly listen. Too busy throwing temper tantrum to think clearly.
9:40 PM Frantically IMing my pal more non-sensical things about my laptop slowly killing itself. Needs CPR. Tracheotomy, emergency c-section and some sutures. All the while, the laptop keeps with the flickering!
9:45 PM Marlboro (oh shut it, dead laptop! You’d want drugs too)
9:55 PM Lament on how un-cathartic Grey’s has become. It used to be that I’d sit alone on Sunday nights afterwards and cry my eyes out because my god! Meredith was so right, even though she needed a filet-o-fish. Now, I’m all “blind spots? Judgement? Not knowing your child’s blood type? Wha?”
Barbara Walters. I would also enjoy interviewing George Clooney, as well as be interested in humping his leg and general licking.
More frantic IMing to the pal. Rampant use of emoticons to convey the dire need for help because woe! Pray over laptop (seriously) and demand its cooperation. But it’s too stubborn and I’m too ummm…drunk.
Admire reflection in mirror. Purple teeth and bad skin. Question why on God’s green earth, I could still be single. Whimper.
Fall face first onto my bed.
Alarm goes off (for the gym of course). Awake and question massive hangover. Possibly whimper. Possibly sleep until .
If I never, ever get married, I’ll look back through my archives, find this post and realize why, I never found the right man. Because I’m drunk all of the time and alone and rambling around my house with a broken laptop, yelling at it to please work. Also, I think I might have to wave the white flag and surrender to the NaBloPoMo.