The answer is no. Where is my ginger ale?
My ginger ale, actually, is in fact under my desk. But considering it is nearly two weeks old (if not more), I refused to mix my drink. Today I cried for my bird for literally hours. I avoided going home because I refused to see my dead bird. But eventually, the night became unbearable, I went home, saw my dead bird, and cried some more.
I am not quite sure why I have been weeping so much. I am suspicious that it is because it's been a tough weekend. I just spent five hours watching chick flicks. That is what I get for having Jawsh back in my life. It's literally as if he inspires me to be a sap. I don't want to be a sap. It's annoying and it makes me sad in a soft way unlike my usual bitter and hardened way.
It's four am, and I don't believe I'm quite done drinking yet. If there's anyone who can make me feel badly about being an alcoholic, speak up now. But considering I shit on myself harsher than anyone ever, no one can touch me. So fuck all of you. I'm sad, but at least I'm not a slut. (There'd been a lot of slutshaming lately. Most of which [if not all] are by me).
(This weekend, I spread more rumors than I ever have before. Someone be proud of me).
PS. Season your meat well.
PPS. You don't want them to spit it out.
