Today I opened the bathroom cabinet to find that a shitfaced KDD had shoved out all of my toiletries. She said she was working on her “method acting” by reenacting the trash compactor scene from Star Wars but I suspect she just passed out in there thinking it was her old bunk from rehab. Apparently she’s decided to resurrect her community theatre “career” after getting PLOWED on wine spritzers at the sing-along piano bar. Now all she does is practice her appalling cockney accent just in case they decide to do “Oliver”. She still hasn’t figured out that being a groupie is not quite the same as being a cast member and keeps believing that her name is never in the program because of a typo. And P.S. most of her “method” involves pounding a liter of gin and drunkenly hollering show tunes into the corner of her litter box because she claims it has “marvelous acoustics”. Oh PLEASE. This coming from the cat who once did an ear-mangling rendition of “Like A Virgin” from inside a port-a-pottie because she was so wasted she thought it was a go-go cage.