THE BEST OF TIMES, THE WORST OF TIMES
[sitting in red, cushy chair, swirling an aged merlot in glass, looking at Gizzy]
Oh, Gizzy. I know our beloved blog has only been up for nearly 100 entries, but we’ve really come a long way. I guess ’tis true, time flies when you’re shit-faced drunk the whole time.
[Pouring a shooter on the floor.]
Yep. Think about where we were when we first started the blog back in May, single and cynical. Not much has changed, but we are way funnier.
Before we go any further with our masterpiece, we should take a moment to look back at our failures. You know, the ones that have ultimately become a success…which when you sit back and think about it, like I am now, it sort of makes you want to kill yourself, doesn’t it? Or hell, maybe I’m just not drunk enough!
[takes wine decanter and chugs the remainder of the merlot, wipes mouth with back of her hand]
[Shoves a handful of chocolate animal crackers into her mouth.]
HOTTIE MCHOTTERSON takes the failure cake for me. I still dream about what it would have been like to be his girlfriend and have an enginerd clan running around while he looks hot and brings home the bacon, while subtlety being the nicest guy ever. Every time my phone goes off I hope it’s him saying I’m not an alcoholic, or embarrassing, and he is finally admitting that it turned him on when I laid down in his elevator and unknowingly exposed my cooter, and he wants me back. But it never is. Sigh.
[looks toward the burning fire, removes her glasses]
Looking back, I’d have to say the short-lived relationship with Flynn ended up being pretty funny. I did talk to him after I told him to go fuck himself, but of course it didn’t go anywhere. Big shocker. Bastard.
[looking off into the distance]
Now that I think of it, I’m realizing just how horrible Leslie is at setting me up. Think about it—it was her idea for me to talk to Flynn, saying he was a really sweet guy. It was her who told me The Has Been Matt McFaggot was ‘the sweetest guy ever’ and it was HER who told me to give Marko Polo a fucking chance!
[stands from chair, reaches over to the empty decanter, throws it to the hard wood floor, shattering glass across the room]
Those were some BAD dates dude. I think the worst day that I created for myself due to this blog was when I took a look at Future Gizzy and saw that I was going to be a 45 year old, single, mother of 4, stuck in the 80’s. It really is a hard life, and you know what, I know that somebody has got to live it, and by the luck of the draw, I’m going to be that somebody. I need a shot.
[Snaps her fingers at the non-existent bartender.]
[walking across shards of glass with bare feet, wincing in pain]
I guess my dating past is partly my fault—after all, Leslie wasn’t the one to introduce me to Townie, and force me to invite him for a visit, only to be taken on the worst second date of my life that lasted a fucking month!
[makes it across the room to the wine cellar, reaches for the nearest bottle and proceeds to open it with her teeth]
[Is drunk enough that she begins hearing creaks and voices coming from the floor above.]
OH MY GOD! DO YOU HEAR THAT?! It’s The Demon Jack-Off Poonanis coming back to haunt me! He found out that it was me that wrote the anonymous Snooki/JWOWW letter before Snooki and JWOWW ever did it and he has come back to kill me by way of sleep depravation.
[ignores Gizzy, pours new glass of wine, hobbles over to the fireplace, picks up a framed picture]
Oh, foam finger. God, I miss you so much. I sure hope things aren’t too bad hanging out with that snot-nosed mini-McFaggot.
[puts frame down, looks at Gizzy]
SEE! That’s what fucking happens when you try to be nice in this world. Well that, or you get to go on a fucking vacation with a 40-year-old-Lezzie who is obsessed with Betty Boop and motorcycles!
I’m down with lesbians, remember when I thought about becoming one? It’s a good thing that didn’t work out, freshman year of college everyone nicknamed me BEANS for some reason and used to joke with some saying, “Flick the bean,” I know it had to do with lesbians so it’s good that I stayed straight, right?
[grasping the wine bottle by its neck in one hand, the glass in the other, takes a swig from the bottle]
What will these next 100 posts bring? A fucking man? A new job? Another fucking Mary Kay party? Dear God, let it bring me a white-girl weave and a best-selling novel.
Welp, my bottle’s empty, and I’m about to puke, time to find the bathroom and call it a night.