2009-03-22

I am clearly not cut from the "grown-up" cloth today.

All weekend I've had my crankypants on, and now they're bunching up my asscrack.

Do you ever have those moments where you just deeply RESENT having to be an adult?

My cousin Katie summed it up thus: being a "grown-up" is overrated when you have to go out and buy things like tires.

And that's how I've felt for the past day-and-a-half, ever since I got back from my Saturday morning meeting to discover that the internet crapped out. And while I managed to solve the problem, I was not exactly a great big girl about it, either.

So by the time I went outside to get the newspaper this morning, I could really see the benefits of the Faustian bargain known as "celebrity." Because while they can't go to the convenience store and get Slim Jims and a Dr. Pepper like the rest of us plebes, they HAVE PEOPLE WHO DO EVERYTHING ELSE FOR THEM, like fix the fucking internet connection.

I would deal with paparazzi in my bushes if I could have a "personal assistant" who'd call Comcast for me. I swear to GOD I would.

I mean, Jesus H., I cleaned Foot Foot's litterbox about an hour ago and I'm still EMOTIONALLY DRAINED.

Did I mention that the houseboy is in Texas this week? This is a problem. I clearly am incapable of taking care of myself. Maybe that's a stretch. But it probably isn't. He's gonna come back and the place is going to look like something out of a Faulkner novel. Foot Foot will have gone back to her kin in the Carlysle Engineering parking lot, because going back to the life of a feral cat would be LESS hardscrabble than having to live with ME.

I just want to sit in my pajamas, eat cereal, and wait to get taken to someone's birthday party. Is that wrong?

Send help.

lisamcc at 1:54 p.m.

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