In Which I Admit I Suck At This Blogging Thang Lately
I don't know what's up, but lately I've been really scattered. I can't seem to focus on something...anything entertaining to write about. My muse has apparently motored south for the winter, to bask in the glory of the warm sun and sip Mojitos poolside in that skimpy little leopard bikini that used to look so hot on me until, you know, excess stuff started settling in around my mid-section, but of course it still looks fantastic on her because she's a freaking "muse" and therefore immune to getting fat or cottage cheesey in all the wrong places (not that there are any places on one's body in which being cottage cheesey is acceptable). But is she happy with merely mocking me by looking uber sexy in my own bathing suit... No!! She has to rub it in by sending postcards of her antics with young, muscular pool boys named Sven and Gunther. AND if that's not bad enough, she stabs my very heart by getting my one, true, fantasy love, Rhett Miller to kiss her!?
Stupid little skank. Do you see how she taunts me? I miss you, Muse. Please come back.