If it weren't for the alarm on my Windows Phone, I would've totally forgotten I'm at Brigett's TONIGHT at 8pm.
Then John Henry would've put me on his shitlist and done some weird ritualistic thing to a voodoo doll he made of me from greasy, spit-on bar napkins and his own belly hair, then all of a sudden a bitch got a backache.
So THANK GOD FOR WINDOWS PHONE!
I even put a note on my mirror, just in case I spaced it out again.
I CANNOT risk another DIY voodoo mystery illness during my "unconventional" employment; the Minute Clinic at the back of the CVS does NOT know how to treat such things, other than send you to the craft aisle to get supplies to make your own doll to battle back.
The American Health Care System, am I right? Always treating the symptoms, never the source. *smh*
Anyhoo, come laugh with us.
Just stare angrily at the back wall in protest of everything we are as human beings. Yeah, that's right, keep your back turned. You don't wanna listen to us. We get it. We love it. GIVE IT TO US!!! GIVE IT TO US!!!! YES!!! YES!!!! YES!!!! HECKLE ME, DICK!!!!! IT'S THE ONLY WAY I CAN FEEEEEEL!!!!
*collapses in ecstasy atop the accessible table at Starbucks*
BABY IN STROLLER: I'll have what she's having.
BABY IN STROLLER'S MOM: Don't worry, sweetie, I'll ignore you enough to read memes on my phone and internet stalk a man who isn’t your father that you'll turn into a stand-up comedian one day too.
Woooh! Sorry. That really went somewhere I wasn't expecting.
I really hope my set isn't like that tonight.
Oh hey, did I ever tell you how I ended up in San Francisco in the first place?
My cat had JUST died in my arms, and. . .
SEE YOU TONIGHT!!
In Case You Were Wondering . . .
Sometimes Ronnie D writes funny stuff. Sometimes she writes desperate teenage prose. Most times she just slams her feeble, little woman-hand onto the keyboard in an attempt to feel something, anything.