Brevity + alcohol = soulmates of wit.

Current mood: Vodka.

#DrunkSingleton

Vodka made me do it.

One more on this, and then, sweet baby Jesus willing, I think I’m done.

Possibly (erm, make that probably) inebriated conversation with a male friend…

Friend: “Does That Guy know you’re the one writing these posts when he likes them on Tumblr?”

Me: “Yep. I told him about it before I fucked everything up.”

Friend: “Before HE fucked everything up. Don’t get it twisted.”

Me: “Mutual destruction.”

Friend: “That’s weird, though.”

Me: “What, that he knows? Or that he’ll like posts about my body but turned down my many offers to do any naughty little thing he wanted to it?”

Friend: “Both. I mean, he made his choice, right?”

Me: “Eh. It’s fine. He doesn’t read often. If I don’t want him to like the posts, I’ll just keep writing about feelings. He never did like my feelings.”

Self-care

How to Care for Your Smug, page 17, section 6:

“In the event of a bad workday, allow your Smug to Ugly Cry alone, because she is emotionally stunted and can’t cry in front of people.

“When she calms down, apply one steak burrito with extra dairy products, and an order of Wendy’s fries with barbecue sauce. Repeat as needed.

“If possible, sit your Smug down in front of any Shonda Rhimes show (new or old) with any vodka-based beverage(s). This is her cognitive behavioral therapy. (See also: “Dance it out.”)

“Put Tipsy Smug to bed immediately with a George Carlin audiobook playing.”

Raise your glass, y’all.

Group text with friends:

Friend #1: 9:39 AM…how well does vodka go with donuts?
Friend #2: Donuts go with anything. Fuck, vodka goes with anything.