Date night

I think maybe someday I'll have an actual date that involves leaving the house, on the weekend, but maybe not until after I'm dead. Don't ask me how that would work, logistically, because I have no idea. It made sense when I wrote it. Honest.

Anyway, after my snarky moment that produced the last post, I decided to share with everyone the Softer Side of Mir and give you a view into what has become my traditional Friday night. Uncut and uncensored! Wooooo!! Cover your children's eyes cuz this is gonna be wiiiiiild!

Or not. But it will be less bitchy than some of my previous stuff.

My wild no-holds-barred evening started with... a salad. I tried to warn you. I just get all freaky on the weekends. Well, the truth is that I have eaten so much candy this week my body staged a revolt and demanded something green. And I thought it best to give in before my brain got the brilliant idea to throw out the remaining candy. And anyway, it was necessary to have something semi-healthful to prepare myself for the veritable orgy to follow.

Deep breaths.

Okay, here's the truth of my wild and crazy evening. I popped a bag of kettle corn in the microwave. I grabbed a beer (not a bunch of beers, or even some nice wine... one. single. lite. beer). And I turned on What Not To Wear. Did you know that it's been clinically proven that there is a limit to how sorry you can feel for yourself while watching Stacy and Clinton tell some poor sap how fashion-retarded they are? It's true.

Also? Being single means you can eat popcorn in bed. (It also means that's the most exciting thing that happens in bed, but I'm trying to be positive, here.)

Watching this show totally makes me wish I wasn't such a sharp dresser. I could get behind having $5,000 to spend on a new wardrobe. But--alas--although my shortcomings could fill several volumes, I could actually be a poster child for "The Rules" that Stacy and Clinton are always trying to drill into people's heads. Carmindy would scold me for generally eschewing make-up, though. And the very fact that I am sitting in bed drinking beer, eating popcorn, and fantasizing about being on a television show aimed at the style oblivious, is a sign that I need a whole lotta help.

Don't all be jealous at once, now. I worked long and hard to attain my glamorous lifestyle, you know.