Desperate Housewives Vs. My Budding Alcoholism

[I keep trying to stay away from the blog until my season premiere but I need to get this off my chest]

Marc Cherry, you little b*tch. All I want to do after a long day of not getting a job is drink my sorrows away. And now you go and film at the Red Garter. That's MY BAR. Okay fine, smartass, I don't own it. But it's pretty much the only one w/in walking distance of my apartment and it's by far the cheapest. So when the roomie and I head down for a cool pint and some pool to relieve the stress of a long day, what do I find?

F*cking Doug Savant.

And practically all the rest of the male members of the cast of Desperate Housewives doing some BS filming. Normally, I might be like, 'oooh, wow, Doug Savant, neat-o'-- actually, no I wouldn't ever be like that for Doug Savant--but normally I'd be cool with it. I've gotten used to the extra traffic and the parking headaches that film crews bring-- and I'm okay with it, really.

But when you get between me and my drinking-- that's when we have a problem.

Why on earth would you film at the Red Garter, anyway? It's not an actual strip club or even a hip, trendy divebar. It's pretty much just a hole-in-the-wall former strip club with two pool tables and some old-school arcade games. Why, you bastards, why?

Oh-- and to the striped-shirt crowd and you freeway-and-canyon kids-- this bar IS NOT worth checking out. There aren't hot chicks there and the trendy are far outnumbered by the heavily-tattooed, so it's not for the easily-intimidated either. There are never even D-List celebs and I'm usually the most attractive person there when I go-- and that is not me being hugely egotistical [slightly, maybe, but not hugely]. So don't come to the Red Garter. Everyone should stay away, except for my fellow locals.

And Marc Cherry, if you ever get between me and my beer again-- I'm going nuclear on your a$$, capisce?

You think Eva's a b*tch? Get between Atlas and his beer and you'll find out what a b*tch really is. . . b*tch.