Nobody better bother me because I'm mad.

Flimflammed! Bamboozled! Hoodwinked! Egads, I'm upset!

A friend of mine has seen fit to dangle in front of me a shiny golden trinket, only to reveal later that it resides behind an invisible web of DECEIT!

I was supposed to go to the premiere of There Will Be Blood at the Ziegfeld tonight. I have this spiff new outfit for the occasion (as well as for a show premiere in LA this weekend, but pretend that's not happening to enhance the indignation.) Anyway, it should be clear by the fact that I'm blogging that I'm not wearing my sexy outfit on a red carpet with Daniel Day-Lewis! Instead, I'm sitting at home on my couch ALL BY MYSELF IN MY VOLDEMORT T-SHIRT! Yeah, I was stood up. AM BEING stood up.

Here's a MySpace-style mirror self-portrait to illustrate my annoyance:

Can't you just feel the flames of wrath?

Actually, I'm not in as shitty a mood as I could be, but it sure is fun to pretend. FUCK YOU!

Anyway, since I never post pictures of myself, let's take this opportunity to examine how much I've grown. Here's a closer, less irate, but still slightly constipated-looking shot:

You will notice that my hair is quite a bit longer than it used to be. It has also stayed a vibrant shade of red instead of fading to the anemic strawberry blonde of yestermonth. But mostly, I want to show off my new Voldemort t-shirt that I got on the Internet.

I'd also like to point out my enormous Jew nose, proving my ancestry for those who may think I was born gentile like my "friend" did today.

Anyway, enough examining my face. Put it back in your pants. I'm lookin' at you, Bagel.) I'm in a bad mood for being stood up, so I don't feel like being the object of anyone's affection. Oh, and by the way, observe here the cherry on top of a fabulous evening:

OMG YOU AND I ARE SO HOT! WE MUST BE FRIENDS BECAUSE WE ARE HOT!

How is it possible that anyone thinks this will be an effective pick-up line? I'm paraphrasing, really, but I just got a message to this effect on myspace from some guy (not hot). I forgot to check the exact address, but I'm sure you can find him at http://myspace.com/giantgaydouchebag.

He's all "My mind is my best asset but everyone always talks about my other 'assets'" like yeah right. He's obsessed with his body so he tries to act all "Oh, I'm a person too" well then don't plaster half-naked pictures of yourself all over the place and then have 1,000 friends you've never met tell you you're hot because you copy pasted the same message to them all. Whenever people's myspace comments are filled with a bunch of glittery animated gifs that say "Thanks for the add" you can tell the person's collecting an album of strangers and trying to feel popular, not wanting to have a meeting of minds.

My mind is my best asset too, and I'm using it right now to tell you to fuck off, how much of yours did you use when you wrote that clever original personal message to me?

You said you thought my profile was great, well good thing you took the time to check it out. Pictures are nice, but one ought to look at the nice words as well, and the words in my profile say I hate you.

I have a headache and am in a really shitty mood, that's why I'm taking it out on this gotard meathead in Queens.

Don't Call Me Baby

I'm in a crabby mood because I'm tired and don't feel like working and also because everyone in the world is stupid and I hate them! Sometimes when I'm crabby, I take it out on strangers.

I sit by the office phone, so I'm always the one answering it and telling everyone they have a call. Sometimes it's annoying, but most of the time it's fun because I get to pretend I know everyone's business even though I honestly try extra-special hard not to listen to their conversations.

But lately, we've been getting all these calls with "Can I speak to the owner of the residence?" and I'm always all nice saying "Actually, this is a business" and then sometimes they apologize, and sometimes they just hang up and suck.

But it happened again today and I was in the middle of a conversation and feeling curmudgeony anyway, and so when he said "Can I speak to the owner of the residence?" I went into Bitch Mode 2.0:

Ok, this is a business. You guys have called a thousand times, and I always say the same thing. Cross this number off your little list and stop calling it.
Oh, this is a business? Well, does the building have a mortgage on it? [Fucking idiot.]
What? I have no idea, but I guarantee that you have no business with me or this organization. This is the wrong number. Don't call us again.

Then I hung up the phone and imagined ways to violently kill him. Does anyone else want to help me consolidate my mortgage today!?!!!