you will never in a million years guess who i ran into at telepan.
nan taleese. nan ta-fucking-leese. can you fucking believe it? wait a minute, biotch, do you even know who nan taleese is? unless you have been living under a rock, of course you totally know who she is. she’s james fucking frey’s agent, yo. i know, right? like what an amazing opportunity for me to get involved in all this james frey controversy and like implement my clever plans to steer the tidal wave of publicity surrounding it towards me and my own career.
i was halfway through my $15.50 side of cauliflower and DJTM had just passed out in his nicoise salad with watercress. it was really gross. as he was lying there, there was this weird stuff coming out of his mouth or the garlic lemon poppyseed aioli dressing was just really close to his mouth and looked like it was coming out of it. whit had left the table under the auspices of going to the bathroom but was most likely chasing this aging model he’s been trying to make into my my next soon to be ex-stepmom. i don’t know what she’s playing hard to get for, she’s not going to do much better than whit.
anyways, i’m getting progressively more drunk and bored and was about to nudge DJTM awake so he could entertain me when i saw nan. she’s freaky lookin’ huh? what do you think her surgeon has done to her to make her look like a fetal alcohol syndrome victim rabbit hybrid? how could he do that to her and still be board certified?
so i go over to her table to tell her about my plan to restore james frey’s credibility and, in turn, boost my own publicity. but nan, bitch that she is, wouldn’t even give me the time of day. almost as soon as i start sharing my plan to turn the publicity wave back in her favor, she fucking tells me to contact her assistant and makes this weird expression at me that i guess was supposed to be some kind of polite fuckin’ don’t call me, i’ll call you grimace. so i totally grabbed her water glass out of her hand and went to smack her over the head with it, screaming all the while that i didn’t take that kind of shit from james frey so why did she think i was going to take it from her. but before i could bring the glass down, for the second friggin’ time this month, i was restrained by the wait staff.
then the police were called and i was shipped off to the slammer, blah blah blah.
DJTM and whit just picked me up and now we’re going home. i can’t believe that once again the highlight of the festivities is car-blogging. i really do have to come up with another name for that. especially if i’m going to spend so much time doing it.
i am so completely and totally mistreated and misunderstood.
i just got out of jail.
why does this kind of thing always happen to ME?
i don’t understand what i’ve done to deserve this kind of treatment from law enforcement officials. i mean, i pay someone to pay my taxes for me and don’t litter on purpose unless i need to get rid of an open container in a hurry, so why am i forced to endure this kind of humiliation? i would think that i would be above this kind of thing, not because i’m like better than people like courtney love or nick nolte but because everyone knows that, for the most part, getting arrested is a function of age, disheveled looks and dwindling career opportunities and none of those things are factors that i have to contend with.
so there we were, me and DJTM, and we’re all totally waiting to get a table at little giant (which is like this whole other indignity that i won’t even get into to) and who should walk in with his entourage and like get a table with no problemo? none other than mr. i’m going to sue your ass for sexual harassment when i’m the one who initiated the full gluteal massages that i lovingly gave you on a regular basis during the development of the very starryshine xmas special. that’s right, biotches, that DICK aaron, the producer. so he totally sees me, right? he totally sees me and like nods at me like he’s not totally suing me and like he’s so much better than me because he’s got a table and me and my emerging rap star boyfriend are like not good enough. well, as you can imagine, i did not even stand for that for like one second and totally tarted beating him on top of the head with my fendi clutch.
so then i’m like restrained by the wait staff and some good samaritan ass wipe restaurant patron biotches until the police get there and aaron like freaks out and insists that they like remand me to custody and DJTM is like nowhere to be found in all the melee to explain that none of this was my fault because dickhead aaron’s lawsuit totally provoked me. then i get taken down to the station and had to be like booked and everything and finally DJTM comes with the car service to pick me up after whit’s lawyer posts bond for me.
it took DJTM far too fucking long to get there. you can bet i totally smacked him upside the head with my fendi so now it’s all bent funny. i’m totally not talking to him until he buys me a new one.