Panic Shmanic

"Hey! I'm in the neighbourhood! Mind if I stop by? I can be there in 5." Are probably the words I fear most in this life. First of all, it's a serious fucking scramble to delete the porn I've rented from my cable company and even worse than that, is waiting for my computer to load so I can delete my internet browsing history. What happens on google, stays on google. Or is immediately and shamelessly posted on my blog for all the world to see.  So next time you come over, know that I've been swamped with hiding/deleting search history like THIS: 

When I'm not googling really weird shit and melting cheese on all the contents of my fridge, I host Thirsty Thursdays at my house. By "house" I mean a hole in the wall bachelorette pad with plethora of dirty dishes in the oven and hair product on the ceiling. And by "Thirsty Thursday"  I mean I pick up a magnum of Pinot, go home, drink it, send very creepy text messages to 50% of my male contacts and get very dehydrated, hence the thirsty. Get it? Got it? Good. 

Last week's Thirsty Thursday event was a real rager, I was partially drinking to help calm me down from the panic attack I suffered in a food court after I bought a $100 anti-aging cream. Who am I kidding? I am not a Hilton and I am constantly trying to convince Visa I died in a fire, just to avoid paying my bill, so why I thought I could afford this is beyond me.
I mean seriously, I could put that money towards the cocaine habit I've been contemplating OR I could put it toward the support group I've been thinking of starting...I've named it "Vaginosity!" Essentially, it's a safe place for women with a chip on their shoulder and women who happen to being going through a serious cock drought. We can hang out, drink, dust bust our vaginas, go to Home Depot, you know, the fun stuff. 

I was inspired to make this million dollar anti-aging cream purchase as I caught a glimpse of myself on the subway. You know those double takes you do of yourself in a mirror? Those 'what the fuck' moments? Yeah, I had one of those. Have you seen the God damn lighting on the subway? It doesn't do anyone any favours and it has incredibly, incredibly bright lighting. I imagine it's that type of brightness only astronauts experience while traveling DIRECTLY TOWARD THE SUN. I'm betting it was some porcelain skinned pore-less, zit-less, hair-less whore who designed the lighting for public transit. I suspect she's on some beach sipping Mai Thai's, just giggling her tits off as we commute around the city looking sensationally fugly. 

Panic has to be my least favourite feeling on this planet. Unfortunately, it happens to me a lot. The sweating, the shaking, the gasping for air. So much fun! Thankfully the mustache I'm growing shields the sweat on my upper lip during a panic attack. (Seriously, I've been diagnosed with a panic disorder a few years ago and it fucking sucks. I think it was triggered when I found out the Pizza Hut by my parents place turned into a Sushi restaurant.) 
You name it, I get my panties in a twist. At work, I often panic that I accidentally forwarded a dick joke to a client. Not everyone enjoys a dick joke, but I'm pretty grateful for them. 
I'm also left breathless and panicky when I think about the thought of my cable going out while I'm watching The Bachelor. THAT'S A REAL FUCKING NIGHTMARE. 

Speaking of nightmares, the taste in my mouth from last night's drinking escapades is truly, sincerely, truthfully, honestly overwhelming me right now. No toothbrush or breath mint can rectify this. Thank you Ian, Mel and Marino for assisting in my self destruction, and Mel I do apologize for trying to open mouth kiss you. I heard guys like lesbians so I thought I'd give it a shot. 

I'm far too hungover to be writing right now. I must go, but before I do, I want to give a quick shout out to my physiotherapist Charlotte who listens to my ridiculous stories and constant complaining. AND also a friendly shout out/welcome to Charlotte's sister who follows my blog, thanks so much for reading!!!

Over'n out
Nanners