The 4th of July party was good. Everyone liked my Lois Lane costume (which was just me in normal party wear, flashing my press pass at people whilst saying, "Lois Lane, Investigative Reporter"). Lex was dressed as Hunter S Thompson, which meant we began the night arguing about whether or not he killed himself. I was, of course, the winner, insisting to Lex that he'd shot himself in the head a few years ago, and Lex was all, "no that was William S Burroughs" and I was all, "no, he died ages ago but he didn't shoot himself". He didn't believe me until someone else confirmed it, but that's okay because I was right.
This morning was terrible. For the first time since I got him Charlie didn't turn up for breakfast, so naturally I freaked the fuck out and spent the morning crying and panicking and fearing the worst, only to go home at half eleven to find the little sod perfectly happy and fine and pleased with himself. So now I'm back at work and in a much better mood.
Enty revealed his blind items this weekend on Crazy Days and Nights. For scandalous tales of celebrities behaving like douchebags (and occasionally like diamonds), scroll through the first several pages and feel better about yourself.