It’s a jungle out there

Well, as you can expect, ever since Paris Hilton’s cell phone got hacked, I have been getting nonstop calls.
They were mostly, “*DID* you date Fred Durst?” and “How do you know Paris Hilton?” and “I don’t even exist!”
Trust me, I’m getting tired of it.
An ex-boyfriend of mine is becoming a daddy in about a month.
So that means, of the people who have dumped me:
Bastard Child? Check.
Abortion? Check.
Warrant out for arrest in two states: Check.
Became Gay: Check.
Became an Alcoholic? Check.
Well, unless you’re one of the witty watercooler comedians out there and “alcoholics go to meetings,” then scratch that last one to become:
Parties like he’s come down with Vince Vaughnian “Old School” syndrome? Check.
Since I like using colons, let’s keep going with this, eh?
(You thought I was going to say “let’s go to the bathroom,” didn’t you? No? You’re a better man than I, my good sir.)
Stupidist thing I’ve said in the last week: “My legs hurt so much, but I never do anything athletic! I think it’s muscle apathy.”
Stupidest thing Felicia has said in the past week: (After watching Ray Romano tell a joke about masturbating with soap) “Wouldn’t the soap have to have a hole in the middle?”
Irritating grammar correction of the week: People who pronounce NASA (nass-uh) as “Nassau” (nass-ow). Unless I’m crazy, NASA *is* in Nassau County, but still. Words are different for a reason. Otherwise dictionaries would be quite short.
Best detective show in history: Monk.
Times I went skiing today: 1
Times I fell: 2
People who laughed hysterically and clapped both times: Everyone in the chair lift above me.

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