Dear Diary...

***This post must be read in a "Debbie Downer" tone and would be a real diary entry if I had one.***

Dear Diary,


What a day I had. I woke up with the extreme urge to pee, but still, I lay there in bed out of pure laziness thinking about all the dishes in the sink and how much better the sheets would feel if I actually shaved my legs this summer.


After peeing and counting the wrinkles on my neck in the mirror, I walked into the kitchen to look at the dishes in the sink then I slowly walked over to the couch and turned on Maury Povich. Most look at Maury as a trashy show, I look at it as a gift of sorts. It allows me to be thankful that I don't have a baby daddy, a terrible weave and the urge to wear a mesh off the shoulder shirt AND most importantly I don't have to worry about someone throwing a chair at me when they find out that they are my baby's father.

Diary, thank you for letting me vent today. I have been thinking a lot about how my vagina has been in a recession just about as long as the economy and I really need to do something about this. Prostitution is an avenue I have considered more than once when I saw my phone bill last month but I just can't go through with it. That's a good thing right?


I am thinking something that would help get me out of my funk while looking for a job and casual sex (just kidding mom) would be going to the gym. My inner thighs have been rubbing together since 2006 and I fear I will be featured in one of those obsesity clips you see on the six o'clock news only showing the unsuspecting person's lower body. You what I mean? When you only see their torso and their shorts riding straight up to their crotch to create a serious case of camel toe. Don't let me be a part of the obesity epidemic.


Diary, it seems like all my friends are getting married. I am thinking of immigrating to Russia so I can be featured in a male order bride magazine so some rich, hopeless American can purchase me and I can just live the sweet life. The only thing is, I fear that I will end up on 48 Hours Mystery as these types of courtships tend to end up with someone dead in a forest. Oh what to do!

Well I must get back to Twitter and Facebook, uhhh I mean Monster and Workopolis.

Good talking to you Diary.
Smooches,
Nanners