Wine and Zoloft

Hi everyone! It’s been a while, and February flew by faster than five bitches in a Honda.  Let’s dive in.

Ozempic

As I’m sure many of you (none of you) are wondering, I’m doing about as well as can be expected (not well at all). Despite shedding approx. 30 pounds and inching closer to my target goal of weighing what I did when I was 11, the physical and subsequent mental effects are taking their toll. My right eye has been twitching for three days and sometimes at night, I can feel my heart rate slow to the point that I think every breath just might be my last. But, as Susan B. Anthony once said, beauty is pain.

Work

I am still employed and have been trudging along at work in absolute despair, which I suppose is to be expected for someone who simply does not want to have a job. As I have explained time and time again to anyone who will listen (again, no one) I simply was never meant to work a 9-5. I was not born to be another cog in the corporate machine, churning out emails and having to answer to “superiors”. Also, despite what I have put on all of my resumes, I shockingly do not take constructive criticism that well. And finally, as my elementary school principal once said, I have a problem with authority.

That being said, I do have to admit that my job is cooler than most and much of my time is spent zipping around to luxury hotels and “conceptualizing”, which I have come to realize is just business jargon for “thinking.” I admit that it’s nothing to shake a stick at, except for a deeply unfortunate incident that happened recently. And lucky for all of you, I have decided to once again indulge my masochistic tendencies and share it publicly on this blog.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears

During a recent photoshoot at one of the hotels, I was asked to stand in as a model and pose on one of the beds in a robe whilst holding some spring florals. Naturally, I jumped at the chance to have professional photos taken that I could also exploit for attention on my own Instagram, so I promptly disrobed/ re-robed and got ready for my close-up. After about twenty minutes and 30 of the worst photos I have ever seen in my life, the shoot came to an end and I was left alone to get my clothes back on and get the show on the fucking road.

Once everyone had left and the coast was clear, I was juuuust about to take some artistic shots of my own with azaleas covering each breast when I made the grave mistake of looking down. Much to my surprise, dismay, and HORROR, it appeared Aunt Flo had come to town early. The 1000-thread count Egyptian cotton (nananananananana, iykyk) robe was covered with blood, and I had a decision to make. And I had to make it fast.

On the one hand, I had the option of shoving said robe into my Louis Vuitton Neverfull (yes, I know it’s tacky and yes, I am planning on riding it until the fucking wheels fall off) and escaping out the back door like a thief in the night. But, seeing as I was the last one in the room and subsequently the last one left with said robe, it would be obvious to everyone that I had taken it and then everyone would think that I was either a kleptomaniac or some type of impoverished vagabond in desperate need of free bath garments. So instead, in a “Sophies Choice”-esque moment, I kicked the robe off onto the floor and hightailed it out of there like my hair was on fire.

I was just clearing my way across the lobby at the speed of Usain Bolt when the hotel’s Sales Director Britney started waving in my direction.

“Hey! How did it go? I like your-“

“Can’t talk now Britney, I’m late for a meeting!” I interjected. It was 4:53 p.m. What meeting that would be, neither of us knew. Regardless, I sped out the door as quickly as my legs could carry me and never looked back.

Brief Hot Topics

I know I have babbled on long enough, but there are 2 (or possibly 3) things that have been weighing heavily on my mind that I need to get off my chest.

1. Khloe Kardashian’s Erratic Snapchat Posts

I, like everyone else on the face of the planet, left Snapchat behind in 2019 and moved onto greater pastures. I only open it on rare occasion to check my “Snapchat Memories” so that I can be reminded of times when I was younger, prettier, and more full of life.

That is why I cannot, for the LIFE OF ME, understand why or how Khloe Kardashian feels the need/finds the time to post on Snapchat approximately 476 times a day. At first, I thought it was some sort of imposter fan account and I said ok yeah that adds up this person is just deeply disturbed and has no life. But then upon further inspection, I realized that it is actually Khloe Kardashian’s verified account and that either she or her Social Media Manger are actively making the conscious choice to post 7874946546516518949843265148949841861 times every hour on the hour.  And the fact that the photos themselves are so personal and the captions are so specific honestly leads me to believe that she is posting them herself. This raises two questions, 1. How? How does she find the time or the strength to post THAT MANY motivational quotes and throwback photos while raising two children and running her Macy’s jeans empire? 2. (and most importantly) WHY? WHY? She must be getting paid for it, right? Like, it has to be some type of promotional partnership where Snapchat pays her to post excessively (ahem, psychotically) right? Someone please just tell me she’s getting paid for it so that I can sleep easier at night. Because the thought of her holed up in her mansion in Calabasas thinking “I’m really gonna WOW EM with this one” as she presses post now on another generic quote from R.M. Drake is just too much for me to bare.

1. By now, unless you live under a rock, I’m sure you have heard about the Willy Wonka Shitshow in Glasgow (which I am just now finding out is in Scotland and not spelt GlasGLOW) that has gone viral because it was all around terrible and basically like a FyreFest for unsuspecting children. The event, put on by a company called House of Illuminati (which should truly have been a red flag in and of itself) has the internet in an uproar because a group of divorced dads thought it would be a good idea to use the one day a week they have custody to ignore several red flags and take their kids to an “immersive experience” in a parking lot. And to that I just have one thing to say. Inside me lives two wolves. And both of these wolves have been brought to life and can be found at the Glasgow Willy Wonka Immersive Experience. Photos below.

3. Mea Culpa

As a patron of the arts and African American Film (movies created by African American filmmakers consisting of a predominantly African American cast) I was excited to see that a new movie starring the second most talented Child of Destiny, miss motivation herself, Thee Kelly Rowland, available to stream on Netflix. I again have many many thoughts on the ummm.. shall we say ” creative direction” of this film, but for the sake of brevity I will get straight to the point. Although I was pleasantly surprised by Kelly’s acting ability, the source material left much to be desired and the movie itself was all-around terrible. But there was one thing that stuck out to me that was far more sinister than a flawed plotline with more holes than a block of Swiss cheese. And that is the fact that in one particular scene, Mea (why they couldn’t just spell her name Mia, I’ll never understand. But I guess it was for the sake of being able to use the humdingerrrr of a title “Mea Culpa”) gets mad at her husband for allegedly cheating on her and goes into the apartment of presumed murderer Zyair and hops RIGHT UP on his penis after kicking another girl off, without so much as a Lysol wipe or maybe even a spritz of Clorox disinfecting spray. To quote Whoopie Goldberg, Mea.. You in danger girl! At worst you can get murdered and at the very best, you have one hell of a yeast infection coming your way.

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