Well, hopefully Dinah will leave her own private snooze fest behind when we hit Rodeo tomorrow. I mean, she can’t start dragging him around like her latest designer purse, here, there and everywhere, can she? I love Dinah, but sometimes I think I’d like her to strangle her by the cord of one of those old timey phone thingamajigs.
No. 14
Diary, I feel like I’ve been hung out to dry like a used tampon. My BFF Dinah and I were supposed to hit Vegas this weekend for a girls only weekend, but instead she dragged along her latest butler turned paramour named Alfred. I was like, are you kidding me? First of all, who even dates a guy named Alfred? I mean, Fred? Really? Come on. Secondly, I was looking forward to some truly indulgent, child and beau free, endless bottles of Cristal, waking up and not remembering where the hell you are, unabashed and unapologetic fun. F-u-n. But instead Dinah had to drag along her would be janitor, and turn it into some formal party more suited to a senior citizen Austrian count out for his last hoorah. In other words, it was a snore fest part two. I think my hotel chambermaid had more of a time.
