My most beloved pastime is not talking to people. My life is like a meme with the human version of Cathy sitting in bed with her phone on a Friday evening, responding to texts and pretending to be bummed about a cancelled girl’s night out, while actually thinking about chocolate, hair frizz, her thighs, or whatever.
I don’t think about my thighs, but I do think about chocolate and hair frizz.
That’s a lie. I think about my thighs.
Whenever I get that text message alerting me to a change in plans, I don’t get mad. I don’t get mad that I steamed my clothes, got dressed, put on makeup, and did my hair. Hell no. I think to myself, “Oh snap, looks like a reservation just opened up at my fave joint, Chez Daniela, table for one.”
Do you think that’s sad? Well let me take this quickness and shut that theory down, because I’m here to inform you there’s only one “I” in LIT.
Ain’t no party like a home alone drunk girl party, 'cause a home alone drunk girl party DON’T STOP.
And that is also a lie. It will stop at approximately 11:34PM, when I fall asleep on my couch in aforementioned steamed clothes, makeup, and did hair, with Bob’s Burgers playing quite loudly on the television, and a half bottle of wine with a straw in it sitting on the coffee table.
I am currently in talks about the revival of a millennial Cathy comic strip, starring me. I will keep all of you posted.