Hello, everybody! I’m back!
I know, I haven’t blogged for almost over a day now, and it has been the worst day of my life because of Brad.
Yes, The Brad, The One, the man with whom I became deeply, irrevocably involved one week ago, and who has been the subject of my last five posts: 1) Mr. (W)right; 2) Cowboy Sex; 3) An Open Letter to Mr. Brad Wright; 4) Hello, Your Phone Might Be Broken; and 5) EXCUSE ME, BUT HOW COULD I CALL FIRST IF YOU BLOCKED ME ON YOUR PHONE?
That last post was one of my most popular, and thanks so much to those of you who left me constructive comments. In the future, please note that I will delete comments that impugn my intelligence because:
a) I am the star of Rodeo Girl, which is a real movie (look it up), and even though I didn’t have that many lines because I died in the first seven minutes of the movie, no less than Roger Ebert himself said, and I quote, “Rodeo Girl’s death in the first 7 minutes of the film is perhaps the only thing to be thankful for…”
b) I’m writing this blog by myself; I haven’t hired some ghostwriter to make me sound smart. I’m a writer, as well as the aforementioned critically acclaimed actress.
c) Fuck you, Anonymous! I am neither “lonely” nor “pathetic.” As soon as I figure out how to block you, you are so banned for life from this blog. Meanwhile, think about this: Only one of us has an IMDB page. Hint: It’s not you.
Back to today. This morning, Brad did not call me, but I was told that he called me, quote, “deluded and dangerous.” I’m sure that’s not exactly what he said, seeing as how Stephanie, at the gym, is the one who told me he said that, and everyone knows she has a thing for Brad as big as her ass, but still, I have sensed something was wrong between us. Especially after the little misunderstanding I discussed in my “EXCUSE ME” post.
Understandably, I was upset after my conversation with Stephanie. I went to Brad’s place of employment to see if we couldn’t straighten all this out over some wine and cheese, which I had packed in a picnic basket. I waited for him in the lobby because I know he goes to the deli across the street for lunch every Thursday and orders a bottled water (unchilled) and a California Veggie Sandwich on pita bread, no mayo, extra mustard, hold the peppers.
I stood up when he appeared, smiling warmly, but as soon as he saw me, he completely freaked out. I don’t remember everything he said, but the word “stalker” was bandied about freely, and color me stunned when I was the one who was escorted out of the building by security. Yes, you read that right. I was ushered out! As if I were the one causing the scene! Men! Am I right?!
And so, here I am, back home, an emotional wreck, sharing with you, my closest friends. I am flabbergasted, and truly my heart is breaking for poor Brad who has mental and spatial issues.
On the bright side, in my distraught state, I, like so many artists before me, channeled my angst to fuel a surge of creative energy. I am staring at the most incredible origami stallion which I fashioned out of the restraining order issued to me the day before yesterday. It’s very good, even though the consistency of a restraining order is totally wrong for origami; it’s a godsend that I’m quite skilled at the ancient practice. Just to bump my site stats and be the traffic-cowboy whore I am, I’ll get my camera and take a picture for you all. I’ll post it separately in a few minutes, before Anonymous tries to claim that I don’t actually know how to do origami. Get a job, Anonymous.
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