I Live Alone, Act One

Today my house got broken into. Fuck. I leave my windows open to get fresh air. All of them are pretty high up. But shitty people are more clever than we ever give them credit for. No big damage. Nothing was stolen besides some jewelry. Some jewelry that was completely worthless to anyone but me. Things I won't realize are gone until I go to look for them. I'm on my third "Kimmie pour" of whiskey, btw. I'm thankful the animal s are okay. To be fair, I could have had much worse intruders. They only broke a screen. The mess was minimal and they didn't even let the dog out of her penned in area. But stil...FUCK THEM TK DEATH! How dare you make me feel afraid in my own home. Okay. I feel better. Oh, and as much as I generally hate and disrespect the police; one of them was pretty kind to me today and I really appreciated it. But really. Fuck people. Fuck shitty ass people. And fuck the shitty ass people that make the shitty ass people they way they are. And fuck society that produces the people that make shitty ass people. Everything's fucked. I'm going to become and agoraphobe and claim disability and also write best selling crime novels (shitty ones) PEACE

Je veux bacon

Fun times on Cliffords porch with misss Kimmeeee drinking abundant amounts of wine

Guess Who's Back

A lot has happened. A lot of alcohol has been consumed. We've come a long way since this blog started. Tonight I started re-watching Gossip Girl and warm fuzzy memories of this blog came rushing back to me. It's not like we've sobered up, we've just gotten lazy about writing about our boozy adventures. So. Here we go. Reboot. I'm sitting on new furniture in MY HOUSE. Next to MY DOG. Who am I? Am I different? Have I changed? Remember when drinking alone was a novelty? Now it's a staple in my life. And my attention span has gotten shorter...so that it for me.