Bigger fish?

I'm sure you are all trying to wash the bitter, coffee-ground taste of yesterday's blog out of your mouths. Don't fear, today is much more mellow thanks to a hilarious conversation I had with Whitney yesterday, as well as the giant slab of bread and chocolate I plan on eating for dinner with a glass of Riesling.
So, last night, post-Christmas, 10 p.m. Whitney called me because, well, who else are you gonna call? I'm up, I'm funny, and I appreciate the perverse humor of my friends.
The conversation started:
"Hey Prozac Girl, how was Christmas? I'm still f***ing tired."
"Seriously. Just call me PG, although I'm pretty sure that's not every going to be my rating again. I'm to jaded and mean. You sound energetic by the way, what's up?"
"Oh yeah, I stopped taking Clonapin. It's just not doing it for me. Every morning I wake up with a f***ing monster headache and then I have to take like 800 mg of ibuprofen and drink 5 cups of coffee. Then the Effexor."
"Nice breakfast."
"Yeah, it isn't bad."

And so the conversation continues in this vein for about 40 minutes, with various references to dumb ex-husbands with tiny "material" and ruined boyfriends with big "material" and how size does matter, etc., etc. Then we rounded the corner to talk about the giant crap her 3-year-old took in the tub.

"I'm glad she's relaxed, but then I had to clean out the f***ing tub so that she could take a bath. God, is there a bigger fish?"
"I don't think so. We are the biggest fish I know."
"Maybe you can shoot me."
"No, because knowing our luck I'd get it wrong and you'd die just as slowly as if a shark ate you."
"Right. Well, wish me luck, I have to have an unemployment hearing tomorrow."
"Oh, definitely don't wear your new Uggs then."
"I won't. I'm trying to think how I can look professional but pathetic."
"I'm sure you'll be fine."

I sense a philosophy book on the horizon. Co-written, of course. Maybe a spoof on "Eat, Pray, Love".

"Starve, Cry, Hate" might be a good one.