Last night my sister almost made a really good looking man puke in his hand from what has been explained to me as the shortest drinking contest on earth.  We are all very proud of her.  Apparently, she's also been commenting on my blog via the name Boots.  I am not even sure what that means other than she is always wearing boots and her friend Josh started calling her that and she's taking it to that level where I was calling myself THE AWESOME all day long in my real fucking life.

I haven't blogged all week and not for lack of trying or lack of material, but basically because every time I open up stupid blogger I am wildly suicidal with the thought of having to write one more word, and one I am not even going to get paid for.  It is like a Shakespearian tragedy of epic proportions.  

Christmas is in a few days and the best part about that is the fact that I am making 50 million snowflakes and I am dousing them in glitter and hanging them all over the house.  Also, Christmas Eve is a bouillabaisse menu and I am not even sure what I am doing for Christmas, but my brother's friend Mike will be there because not only is he the cutest mother fucker ever, but he is the most gracious son-of-a-bitch.  He stopped by for an impromptu dinner and usually, no matter what we cook everything from scratch here or what's the point in eating and I made baked rigatoni with a meat sauce I somehow made from scratch in less than an hour, with minestrone soup that I stole from Everybody Likes Sandwiches with pork chops I baked in apples with this weird reduction sauce I made on the fly and some salad with a dressing I also made up but it was balsamic based and had honey & dijon in it.  Regardless, this kid got up in the middle of the meal and hugged me and was like THIS IS THE BEST PART OF MY WEEK.  YOU'RE AMAZING.  It was just, I dunno, nice.  I think I have a picture of him at the beach, I should go digging and post it and be like YES, AND HE ALSO MODELED IN MILAN AND PARIS LET'S ALL WORSHIP MIKE.  Whatever.

Everyone I know is showing back up in LA for the holidays and that's dandy and all, but really I just need to fucking write all day long for the next fucking million years to catch up on the work I am currently fucking missing because the writers continue to fucking strike.  This is fucking devastating as is freelancing.  SOMEONE GIVE ME MORE WRITING JOBS AND I PROMISE TO TURN THINGS IN ON TIME.   PROMISE.  Good thing we know I am a liar and a cheat.  I am going to have to leave my house and visit these people and act all pious and shitty now that I am not into drinking and they will be like OH MY GOD, SHE IS SO INTO HERSELF.  And I will be like OH MY GOD, I AM SO INTO MYSELF.  And it will be all sorts of awkward until I can get my hands one heavy duty pills with side effects like prolonged erection and euphoria and I take them all.

I made a bet with my father that I could be married in 18-months.  Worse case scenario I get married to ensure some idiot a visa or something.  Best case scenario I get married for serious and get super wasted after and use it as an excuse to tell my dad he is an idiot while realizing he tricked me into getting married because he is super old school and thinks being 26 and female is spinster territory.  Amen.