Lately I’ve been suffering from two recurring themes.
1) Grumpiness
2) Fear of becoming a less funny version of Amy Sedaris
Ok, #1 is easy to explain. I’m grumpy. I have no vacation days, my house can never stay clean, there’s no food in my kitchen, and I have $8 in my checking account until NEXT FRIDAY OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG. (Thank you $300 emergency vet bill!!) People, I live three miles away from the beach and the last time I was there was over six months ago. I wish I had a good excuse like a severe and incurable case of eremikophobia. But I don’t. Drat?
So all this grumpiness has led me to the strange realization that #2 I am going to become Amy Sedaris. And not part of Amy Sedaris that is the funny, quick-witted comedienne with the killer rack. No no, my life would be the part where I live alone with a pet rabbit and have an imaginary boyfriend named Ricky who also happens to be a ghost. I think I would be ok with this if it came with the killer rack and biting humor. However, the rack never materialized (damn you recessive genes!) and while I seem to think I’m pretty funny, I’m no where near Amy Sedaris.
Pending a sudden onset case of eremikophobia, hopefully I can make it to the beach this weekend and eliminate some of this grumpiness. And paleness. Geesh, have I gotten pasty.
1) Grumpiness
2) Fear of becoming a less funny version of Amy Sedaris
Ok, #1 is easy to explain. I’m grumpy. I have no vacation days, my house can never stay clean, there’s no food in my kitchen, and I have $8 in my checking account until NEXT FRIDAY OMGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG. (Thank you $300 emergency vet bill!!) People, I live three miles away from the beach and the last time I was there was over six months ago. I wish I had a good excuse like a severe and incurable case of eremikophobia. But I don’t. Drat?
So all this grumpiness has led me to the strange realization that #2 I am going to become Amy Sedaris. And not part of Amy Sedaris that is the funny, quick-witted comedienne with the killer rack. No no, my life would be the part where I live alone with a pet rabbit and have an imaginary boyfriend named Ricky who also happens to be a ghost. I think I would be ok with this if it came with the killer rack and biting humor. However, the rack never materialized (damn you recessive genes!) and while I seem to think I’m pretty funny, I’m no where near Amy Sedaris.
Pending a sudden onset case of eremikophobia, hopefully I can make it to the beach this weekend and eliminate some of this grumpiness. And paleness. Geesh, have I gotten pasty.
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