What has happened to me? I am not funny anymore. I used to be. I can’t think of a funny tweet, can’t write a sample, funny 200-word review for a job I actually want that might get me out of this catatonic rut-of-blah I seem to be in, or write anything for work, or myself that isn’t silly. I feel like I’ve lost it.
My best friend gave me this really cool hand-painted leopard print chopping knife a year ago. When I first got it, it was sharp and as chopperific as an Amazon instant video stream when I’m trying to watch the season finale of The Walking Dead. And after a year of wasting its sharp blade on cucumbers and onions instead of on zombies’ nippy faces, it’s become dull. Just like everything I’ve written in this post up until now.
GALILTH! Now that’s a name that makes you want to dump a bowl of macaroni and Velveta cheese down your pants and squish it around your thighs, isn’t it? And that’s kind of exciting. And gross. Speaking of gross.
I wore a new blouse today I bought from a thrift shop. Although I washed it, it smelled like some other person’s BO and gave me a headache. It’s balled up under my desk at work now and I think I may keep it as a pet. Name it Steve. Feed it bananas. Kick it when it’s fresh.
So, this is a sample restaurant write-up I stated and quit up front, just like most of the guys I go out on dates with from OKCupid:
“Word association time. When we say ‘Red Hook’ you think: a) some place in Brooklyn, b) warehouses, c) a sunburnt, one-handed ginger whose hook is on fire from stabbing sample, lava-infused habanero peppers at a Fairway. And he’s pissed because they were organically grown by free-range dragons and he CARES about the environment and global warming but this hurts especially because his tears taste like Saracha.”
I didn’t even mention Ikea. Or the restaurant. I am a failure.
Time to watch Bob’s Burgers and go to sleep.
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