Too tired

I have been too tired to write my blog lately. Which is sad. Well, sad for me. I don't think anyone reads this thing most of the time. Then I will randomly see someone I haven't seen in a while and I'll try to fill them in on my life and they'll cut me off with "Oh right, like in your blog." So people read it. And then they mock me. Bastahds.

I have discovered two things in the last 2 minutes that cannot possibly be interesting to anyone else but me but bear with me. 1) we are out of Diet Coke which means I have to go out in the wet weather because I'm thirsty but I'm already in my jammies but I want Diet Coke so I'm gonna stop whining. 2) Take my advice. Mix 1 scoop of fat-free chocolate ice cream with 1 teaspoon of fat-free peanut butter. You won't regret it.

I need a vacation guys. Or a massage. Or a diversion of some kind. Can you help? Any and all ideas, please send them my way.

I was in a car going down Queens Boulevard yesterday and there was a huge orange billboard that said "Clowns hate tangelos." If anyone has any explanation for that, I would greatly appreciate it. It's been eating at my brain since I saw it.

If this gives you any idea how deep I have dropped into my own pit of malaise, what did I do tonight besides get stuck in the rain and invent the aforementioned fat-free pb/ice cream concoction? I watched The Wedding Date. Now I will be the first to admit that Dermot Mulroney is a fine piece of man candy (his voice, dude. Soooooo very sexy. And he's married to awesome, rocking Catherine Keener, otherwise known as "who I want to be when I grow up.") But these movies are insulting to our intelligence as women. Yes they are, too! NO MALE ESCORT WILL FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU. Your boyfriend may well sleep with your sister or your friend or your brother or your cousin. This is reality people. No I am not bitter. Two people I know just fell in love... not with each other but still. I try not to gag when people go and do that but I think it might be involuntary at this point. I wish I was more of a Harlequin-reading, waiting for my Prince Charming, can't wait to wear a white dress kind of chick. Just not. Can't help it. Meant to be miserable. There was a great column about this in Metro this morning. If I hadn't thrown it out while I was dragging my retard ass up Fifth Avenue to work this morning I would tell you more about it.

I'm still holding out for John Frusciante so it's not that I've given up on love (cute photos of him here and here and here. Tell me you don't love him, too.)

I'm glad we had this time together. I have to put a bra on and go on a Diet Coke run now.