Dear Ryan Seacrest,

Dear Ryan Seacrest,
I need my own tv show. It's not so much a want, more a need. For both of us.
A bit about me: I am a typical 9 to 5'er (correction 9 to 6'er, that whole "9 to 5 bit" is a major falsity, I'll write to whoever started that lie later), who feels my talents would be better served in front of the camera of my own half hour (could be an hour if the editing was done right) television show. I am willing to do almost anything on my show (well except maybe bite the head off of a pigeon a la Ozzy Osbourne, but definitely don a unitard and walk the streets of Los Angeles with a midget a la Chelsea Handler - I love love love miniatures, but that's a separate letter). I am also great with people and can chase them down in 5 inch heels if necessary (don't ask). I think alcohol is 50% of the food pyramid and carbs should be the other 50. I used to be so ugly I had to sneak up on water to get a drink. I have a dating history that rivals "Another World" (RIP). I can also have an entire conversation with an answering machine or any other inanimate object.

Call me.


P.S: I don't eat meat.


Thursday, January 3, 2013

F**k you Mayans

So the world didn't end on Dec.21st. Meaning I didn't die in some Day After Tomorrow Epic fashion. Instead I'm left wondering what moment will cause my ultimate demise.

Today I almost choked on an apple chip at lunch...and then the power went out. No. Joke. I wondered if that was it (wouldn't be totally shocked if instead of going out in a fiery meteor shower surrounded by zombies, God decides to let me choke on some dried fruit).

Then I got back to work and walked into a conference call with my bra strap hanging out of my shirt. It had come undone unbeknownst to me and as to not draw (more) attention to myself I just shoved it into one of the cups and proceeded.

Is my world ending? No, just another day of me being an asshole.
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