It’s been a rough weekend, readers, and after watching episodes of the Wonder Years and getting blitz drunk, I’m starting to come out of my funk. Many thanks are owed to Fred Savage who is gorgeous and innocent and if he were at my house Monday night I would have wrestled that out of him.

Sometimes reality can be a real dick, especially if you’re totally delusional to begin with. Reality Bites is not just a saying, it’s a crappy movie from the 90s overshadowed by the much more popular and enjoyable Heathers. Reality sucks the poison out. No, that’s the wrong saying. Anyway, the things we tell ourselves sometimes to rationalize what’s happening are often incredible, especially from a mental-health perspective.

Work Scenario:
Crazy–The client was a bit quiet during the pitch but there was a lot of great content that I’m sure they haven’t seen anywhere else.
Reality–Shitting on the LCD projector is the only thing that would have made that pitch interesting.

Fashion Scenario:
Crazy–I love my curves and these jeans really show them off.
Reality–I’m on a direct flight to FUPA-town.

Dating Scenario:
Crazy–I’m sure he didn’t see me sitting here, he was with a lot of people when he walked by me.
Reality–I’m dead to him and the only way he’d acknowledge me is if I got down on some bath salts and zombie-gnawed a dude’s face off, at which juncture I probably wouldn’t be able to respond to his acknowledgement anyway.

Job Hunting Scenario:
Crazy–The position really just didn’t speak to me, I don’t think it would be a good job.
Reality–I am so unqualified for that position that I’m surprised and thankful they even bothered picking up the phone to hang up on me.

Friendship Scenario:
Crazy–My BFF only buys the same outfits as me because she wants to be me, it’s totally flattering!
Reality–I’m fat.

We fool ourselves for as long as we can, until one afternoon you’re sitting in your neighborhood bar and the long dick of reality slaps the drink out of your hand and charges you for a new one. After my latest encounter, I am vowing to check out of Hallucination Hotel, where I have been staying for the last five years, and finally get the hell out of Crazy Town: population me. As always, though, there are exceptions and just a few delusions I’m going to hang on to:

1) Cupcakes go straight and only to my boobs.
2) I hate reality TV and TLC’s new show Mertyl Manor looks like it would be an awful place to live.
3) My neighbor does not know I am the one who writes “cunt” on her windshield every time it snows.

Those seem harmless enough.


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