Um, hey... Dickhead?
Way to fucking copy me...
I went to space first, you piece of shit.
Also, nice job on this track:
Guess what this person is dressed up as...
Give up???
Dina Lohan.
Last night was awesome, for the most part. By the time I got home I was really mad for a few reasons... fuming. Basically, I went to bed drunk and furious, which is a terrible combination. I had a nightmare. A really awful nightmare that has me on the verge of tears still today. I really feel like anything could push me off the edge into Crybaby City and I'm really hoping that my improv class this morning can get rid of this feeling, although I have a sense that it's only going to rub me a little more raw. Basically, I'm looking forward to today.
NOT!
(Yeah, I just wrote "NOT!". I'm bringing it back, don't be a jerk. I'm sensitive today.)
My nightmare is kind of hard to remember at this point, but this is what I know happened for sure: I was back at HBO for some reason, writing kind of the way I did at ThisJustIn, but things were A LOT MORE INTENSE and there was a big board meeting with all kinds of staff. As if it were real life, Dream Molls had literally not left the office for 30 days. I was wearing my BC hoodie and my hair was EVERYWHERE but I was really proud of what I had been able to pull together for this board of people to review. I went in to the meeting and immediately felt judged by these people for my appearance, and as the meeting went on, the kept cutting me off. Finally someone cut me off and I said really loudly, almost screaming "EXCUSE ME?! ARE YOU NOT LISTENING TO ME?!" and everyone in the room was like "GOD, MOLLY! He was finishing his sentence!" and I was all "I was finishing my sentence. Someone finally asked me what I thought about things and HE didn't even let ME finish." Then everyone in the room was all "We're going to have to take this back to New York with us", meaning the angry fit I had was going to be reported to someone of a higher authority than all of us. HBO responded not by firing me, but by having a slanderous article written about me in New York Magazine, with a headline that was something like "Molly McAleer-- HBO's Benedict Arnold"... which is just insane. I woke up shortly after that. I was asleep long enough to see how this outburst completely ruined my life and that's about it. I never saw if things got better or if I got to do a Barbara Walter's interview to clear my name. I mean, whatever. I have no idea what it means, but mentally/emotionally, I'm dying right now.
I went on a date with this dude like a month ago or something and we were in his car and he was all "Do you like the Pixies?" and I was all "Yeah, definitely" and he was all "Good". The way he said it really got under my skin. What if I didn't like the Pixies? Was I supposed to be dishonest? Had I said no was I supposed to get out of the car and never call him again? His investment in the Pixies bothered me. It wasn't even his personal investment that was the issue, it was that he cared so much about whether or not he liked them that I had to like them too. I had to meet his Pixie Approval.
What's funny about this is the dude I am talking about is not the only person to ask me about my enjoyment of the Pixies in recent months, so there are probably a couple people who will think I'm referring them. If you think I'm talking about you, I'm probably not. Unless you're an aggressive jerk... then I'm definitely describing you.
Hey Bill,
Well, I'm sure you're as familiar with me as I am with you, so introductions aren't necessary. Still, you're probably wondering why I'm writing to you. What could I possibly have to say? Well, Bill Hader... I'm writing to tell you that I think you may be my future ex-husband.
Here, look at this picture of you:
You've probably heard this before, but you look kinda like Michael J. Fox in his McFly years. Anyone who knows me (which I'm sure you do, loosely) knows that that Michael J. is my most favorite Michael J. and my number one crush of all time. So really, you have to understand that by waking up every day with that face, you have put yourself in this position. Fuck the fact that you're funny. Funny is a dime a dozen in this town. I'm looking for a man with the face of an angel.
So, good news: you've won my heart. Now what are we going to do about it? I'm thinking for our first "date" (really just an activity to keep us busy until it's socially appropriate for us to get married), we take apart VCRs and use the parts to build a robot/snow cone machine. Fun, right?
Call me!
molls
I'm not even going to pretend to know what I'm actually talking about when it comes to football or the Superbowl or anything sports-related, really, but I will say that while he's no Tom Brady, Eli Manning isn't too bad lookin'. At least from what I could tell while fast forwarding through his interview with David Letterman. At least he looks less like a moose in the face than most football players that come to mind.
Tom Brady is a really good looking man, though. Duh.
It's raining and I'm cold and hungry. For a period of about eleven seconds I thought to myself, "Gee, it would be really nice to have a boyfriend right now."
Do you wanna know what's really nice?
Doin' whatever the fuck I want.
BAM!
Friday night we celebrated my birthday.
These two won for Shit Shows of the Party: