It's 10 p.m., Do You Know Where You Are?

Of course you do! Because you're reading my blog, you jackass!

What the hell are you doing at home on a Friday fucking night? It's Friday night for cryin' out loud! Only Anne has nothing better to do but laundry, choosing clothing to donate to Goodwill and yelling at the cat! Alright, a huge part of me would be psyched if you were reading my blog, even if you could be dancing and drinking and being seen at NYC's hot new club Log* or whatever place is hip this week. But that's only because I'm selfish and terrible. I never said I wasn't. You were just fooled into liking me because of my amiable nature, my new-one-ripping-hilarity, and last but not least, my cherubic girlish/boyish good looks. But, in your defense, you're fucked up. You don't know why these things attract you, but they do, and it is a constant source of conflict. Just ask my almost-Anne-thew. He knows all about it; all about half of pain.

Anyway, leave the house at once! Grow up for fuck's sake and get out there amongst 'em! Get laid and whatnot while you still have the chance! You can always get a cat. Please, they're givin' 'em away, remember?

And you smug marrieds and smug "in-a-relationship" peeps? I don't care what you're doing tonight. You can fuck off.

But you knew that.

You know I love you.

In a way.

xo,

Anne


*Ok, so there's no club called Log. But I bet if it were new and cool, Paris would be there and then everybody would too, no matter how much Paris pisses in the banquettes while she's sharing a bottle or whatever the name of the joint is. Look, I can be your man on the scene and do real research, but that's going to require going out of my way, and that's going to require cash. So, that's the deal. Decide amongst yourselves what kind of resource Two Can Anne is for you, and go from there. Thanks. Bye.

PS Love you!

PPS In a way.

PPS But you knew that.