Harriet Miers: A Retrospective

Lookin' rough.

Lookin' crazy.

Yowza!

Long, loving glances...

I want!

italian leather luggage (brown, please)
my old job back (I'm sorry, baby. I was wrong.)
to transition from black leather accessories to brown (gloves, bags, boots, all of it)
dinner at a chinese restaurant
to dance with the V's at soul nite
10 fewer pounds

dining room chairs
grizzly bears
state fairs
kitchen wares
bartlett pears
blank stares

Who cares?

Love, Fluffy

How dare she?

SLUT.

Girlie Cable

Dear Diary,

What I learned from watching cable last night with the future Mrs. P:

- Metallica didn't get along so great.
- Brooke Shields is my new idol.
- You can now have your butthole bleached at a salon. Seriously.

I gotta get cable.

Love, Fluffy

Dear Diary,

Forgive me for being slow on the uptake (I try not to keep up with the latest Gwen Stefani hits). But what is this "B-A-N-A-N-A" thing? Is she serious? I know she's no gifted lyricist, but still. Spelling out "banana"? That's just sad. And inane. And annoying.

And STUCK IN MY FUCKING HEAD.

Thanks, Gwen. Mission accomplished.

Love, Fluffy

Exploitation! Meow.

Dear Diary,

Maybe the cat with two tongues just wants some privacy. I don't think it was her idea to alert the media. I've found that cats generally shun media attention. My cat is terrified of microphones. I know because I tried to interview him once, and it ended badly. Hey, my dog humps his own face. I could probably make some money off that. But as of yet he hasn't expressed interest in inviting Stone Phillips over to do a Dateline expose. If he wants to one day, that's fine. But it's not my decision to make.

Poor two-tongued cat.

Love, Fluffy

No, seriously.

Dear Diary,

I am seriously considering staying home tonight and watching the Dateline NBC about that woman who married her shrink and then killed him. The story is riveting.

Love, Fluffy

Have Tap Shoes, Will Travel

Dear Everyone,

I need a new job, stat. This place is making me a grumpy, depressed, lazy alcoholic. I'd jump out the window if I was up higher than the 2nd floor. Then again, if I jumped I'd likely land in City B's harbor, which would basically be a death sentence anyway.

If anyone has any job leads, please send them my way. Here's what I'm good at:

correcting peoples' grammar
writing end-user documentation
writing instructional documentation
writing in my blog while I'm at work
socializing

Here's what I'm bad at:

lifting heavy things
serving food
math
atari

So if anyone can get me a job, that would be really cool. I'd probably be a really good celebrity gossip columnist, or a celebrity publicist. So if there are any famous people reading, I'M YOUR GIRL. Especially if you're Jude Law or Johnny Damon.

Love,
Fluffy

A Disconnect?

What I need:

- sense of fiscal responsibility
- healthy relationship with alcohol

What I want instead:

- digital camera
- bicycle
- olive trench coat with matching rain hat
- vacation to Thailand
- a self-renewable liquor cabinet

And she has a mullet.

Dear Diary,

OK, I'm not obsessed with the Supreme Court or anything, but seriously. This woman is a crusty old hag. She looks like her body is stuffed with hay and dried-up twigs. My 91-year old grandma looks better than that. Hey W, if you're going to appoint subversively evil supreme court justices, could they at least be attractive? Thanks.

In other news, the M's and the Windovers are no longer allowed to dine in public together. We apparently cannot be in a restaurant or bar together without one of us:

1) making obscene hand jestures
2) going into inappropriate detail about our sex lives
3) having a confusing conversation about flounder fishing
4) spewing oysters (as a result of #3)
5) making fun of old lady arms
6) making fun of chinese people

I think dining in is the best choice for us, for now.

Love, Fluffy