Frowny Face and Fishwrap

Last night, my outfit apparently got us into the White Lotus -- and out of the frustrated line out front that also contained an impatient Jason Mewes, who is shorter than I thought -- but not soon enough for my tastes. And a guy walking past me said, "Ooh, you're Asian and you're hot." I don't know if there's any point in keeping track of these incidents. Beyond having something I can look at to remind myself that sometimes people are nice and sometimes I feel like a pretty girl.

And then other times, Beulah forwards me news stories about German people wanting to be murdered and cannibalized and getting their druthers. And I am intrigued but grossed out and I want to tell my friends about it but I also don't want to talk about it because it makes me feel weird and a little afraid. Don't watch Fight Club in a moment like that. Maybe also avoid the Toy Story franchise.

I've never been as exhausted as I am right now. That's a lie, but I believe it at the moment. You don't want to know. Really. You don't. But sometimes it seems as if life isn't worth the paper it's printed on.