Sinderella

I was getting ready to go to a Halloween party at Jack Nicholson’s house with my friend Pygar last night when I received a Robo-Call from Ticketmaster telling me that I needed to call them to correct a problem with my Miley Cyrus / Hannah Montana tickets [don’t judge, I mean how often do you get to see not one but TWO superstars on the stage… I wonder if they’ll do a duet…]. Of course I immediately put everything on hold in order to call back. I had front row seats after all. Well, let me just say, dear readers, that the US Government is doing this whole “Gitmo Interrogation” thing all wrong. They don’t need to be blasting Van Halen's “Panama” or doing water-boarding torture to these suspected terrorists… they just need to have them call Ticketmaster customer service. Now that’s freaking torture, I tell you what. After being on hold for four hours, turns out the show has been moved to another venue and I no longer have front row seats. Bullocks to that, I say, I didn’t really even want to go anyway… I was just talking it up so that I could jack up the price when I scalped them to Roman Polanski [I was even going to throw in some ‘Ludes…].

After getting off the phone, Pygar is all pissed off because he’d been waiting the whole time and we’re totally late for the party, but whatever, he was dressed all Ren-Faire. Which is totally weak, because he goes to Ren-Faire every year, so it’s not like he really even put any thought into a costume, he just pulled it out of the closet. Lame. I do have to hand it to him though, he may be a blind angel, but at least he isn’t totally affected like those other Ren-Faire people, fucking Ren-Faire, I swear. Actually, I take that back, instead of Ticketmaster-boarding, we just need to stick terrorist suspects in a room with Ren-Faire people, oh man, that would be torture. Gives me chills just thinking about it.

Anywho, so we finally get to this party, and yeah it was totally bumping, but by the time we get there, all the booze is gone, and everyone knows that “All Cranberry and No Vodka makes Frau a dull girl!” So I need to play catch up, but all they have is freaking Coors in a keg [Really. Coors. In a keg]. So I pop the ‘Ludes that I was going to give to Roman and everything is going pretty cool. I’m all mellow yellow, and this hot guy dressed up as Lindsay Lohan come up to me and starts putting the moves on, and I’m all cool, and we totally go out to the hot tub and start making out and he is a super hot kisser. Just as things are heating up, Pygar comes over and he wants to leave because he’s bored and he hates Coors [not that I blame him, but still, he makes a horrible wing man]. So then I’m off like Cinderella, I don’t bother to give my snogging partner my number or even tell him my name, I love to leave with an air of mystery. Though I don't leave a slipper behind, clearly Cinderella wasn't wearing Pradas, otherwise that bitch would have made sure she didn't drop no slipper.

This morning, I rolled out of bed around, well, who am I kidding, it was just half an hour ago [I can’t miss Oprah], and I’m reading the paper but when I see the headline, I nearly choke on a Boo Berry. Turns out that the guy dressed like Lindsay Lohan wasn’t a guy dressed like Lindsay at all, it was Lindsay Lohan. And there, on the front page, above a picture of Lindsay giving me a tonsillectomy is the headline “‘Samantha Who?’ Lindsay makes nice with new gal pal!”

"Scissor-me-timbers!” I exclaim to the Boo Berry Ghost, who says nothing. Though I can feel him silently judging me with those sleepy eyes of his. Well I certainly hope she wasn’t having a flare up… thats the last thing I need...

When life hands you lemons...

I was cold chillin’ at the local Coffee Bean with Angie talking about our plans for Halloween. I had asked her what she was going to be, and she said she was going to dress up as “Octomom.”

“Ah, a little ‘Victor/Victoria’ there. That’s fun,” I said, but she just stared at me as if she didn’t quite understand. “Julie Andrews?”

“No, Frau, Octomom has nothing to do with ‘The Sound of Music.’ Surely you’ve heard of her,” She said. I paused for a moment then sucked up the last of my Blended Ultimate. “Isn’t that your third one?”

“Yeah,” I answered sleepily. I explained to her that for the past month I had been staying up all night trying to capture some activity of the paranormal type on my fancy new digital camcorder, and it had started to really take a toll on me the past few days, so I was hitting the caffeine harder than I usually do.

“But you told me that you already knew that the ghost of Michael Jackson was haunting your place.”

“Yeah I know, but I was just trying to get some footage that I could sell to include in the final cut of ‘This is It.’ So far the only thing I got was some ghostly footprints when Michael moonwalked through some baby powder I put on the floor.”




“But, Frau, the movie came out already. It started playing yesterday.”

“Dang it, seriously?! Hmmm… well maybe I can use the footage and make like a total low budget horror movie out of it.”

“Uhm, Frau…,” she started, but then trailed off. Clearly jealous of my freaking fantastic idea. It’ll be like the “Blair Witch Project,” only better! I'll show her... I'll show all of them *MWAHAHAHAHA*