You’ll have to excuse my lack of posting yesterday; I had quite the traumatizing day. In the morning, my landlord sent some men to fix our oven (because we will use it sooo much…not). Upon rattling and shaking this rusty piece in our kitchen these men seemed to unearthed some, err…critters. Well, critter. Ok, it was a cockroach. And you know, where there is one, there is…a lot. If there is one thing you must know about me it is that I HATE these things. I am absolutely 110 percent terrified of them. Mice, fine. Snakes, bring it on. Rabid dogs that are foaming at the mouth, sure. These a-holes noooo thank you. I know I live in New York and it is expected that I will bump into one from time to time, but still, every time I see one I curl up into the fetal position crying and start sucking my thumb. Yesterday was no different, as I literally yanked my roommate out of the shower and forced her to find our little friend and hunt him down. She failed, so I spent the remainder of my day at the hardware store buying traps, goo, spray and anything else that will prevent this little guy and his posse from showing up in my hood again.
And little, this guy was not. He, or she to be fair was big enough to have a purse and maybe a few small accessories (don’t you all want to come over and visit me now?!). So now my apartment smells like Lysol and poison, but I’ll take it over having an infested apartment any day.
But the mental trauma didn’t stop there. I came home from some birthday celebrations downtown to make it home for the second showing of Real Housewives of New Jersey, aka the only reason I wake up on Tuesdays and act like a productive citizen in society. But again, trauma struck. I turn on my favorite ladies only to find out that next week is the SEASON FINALE! WHAT!? This show has been on for about 30 seconds, I am displeased. If I had to watch Ramona go cross eyed for 26 episodes, the least Bravo could do is give me more than 5 episodes of these outstanding excuses for human beings.
So as you could see, I was just too mentally exhausted to blog yesterday. I’m surprised I can even function today.
Today is already proving to be a better day however, because I think after 22 years of roaming on the planet I have found my soul mate. And his name is Hugh Grant.
Many people loveee Hugh Grant in Notting Hill because he is a sucker for the glitzy actress played by Julia Roberts. Not I, that Hugh Grant is a tad soft for my liking. I like my men to have balls, or at least kick others in their balls as this case may be. The paparazzi found Hugh last night outside of the Waverly Inn in New York, where Hugh darling seemed to be a little bit intoxicated, as he talks about “wanking” as he leaves the bar with his man/woman/I don’t know what sex this person is friend. What is funny is that the paparazzi are actually super nice here and tell him what street is easier to catch a cab. Hugh thanks them in the proper, English way, by picking him in the nuts.
Not only did this make me want to bring the term “wanking” to the US for good, I think we all should thank people this way from now on. Just get drunk, wind up and give it to them right in the family jewels. This is hilarious, and I’ll be honest, I’ve wanted to do this to at least one guy on average any night I go out. It looks like I have finally found my match. So what he was arrested for getting busy with a Hollywood prostitute, we’ve all got skeletons in the closet, geez. Hugh Grant, will you marry me?