No one ever should have let me become an adult.
It was never fully explained to me, what all this adult business consisted of. I don't want this mess.
I don't remember clicking through any terms and conditions.
If I'd known it was going to be like this, I would have opted out of adulthood.
Wait, what? That's not an option?
Then I should have been euthanized at 18.
18 is coincidentally the age I got pneumonia. I fell very ill the day of my high school graduation. Most of the next few weeks is blacked out, I was so fevered and unconscious. That should have been a sign. That was the universe trying to euthanize me before shit got real. And what did I do but opt out of oblivion.
Oh, so naive.
At some point I started seeing a character from a book.
No, I wasn't hallucinating. That's just the best way to describe him.
For a time, my favorite person was a home-schooled, cross-eyed graphic designer named Huckleberry who had 9 siblings.
ONLY ME.
What can I say? I appreciate the ridiculous on an unprecedented level.
Also, he made me think I had become terrible at sex.
Sex with him was always super athletic and sweaty. SO sweaty.
Dude, I hate to sweat.
Neither of us could ever get off, really.
In the end, developed this stellar idea that he can simply exit the world of relationships and pop back in whenever he wants to.
Selfish much?
This bitch is way too needy for that shit to fly.
Son, if I say, "I need you to be here with a cheesecake. This is not a drill," you damn well better be at my door in 15 with some strawberry swirl creation before I hit that downward spiral.
'Cause let's be honest, my downward spirals can kinda ruin people.
Like myself.
Sometimes I still want to have sex with him though.
Shh, don't tell.
In October, I was a bridesmaid in one of my best friend's weddings.
She gave me three rules:
1. You cannot be drunk.
2. You cannot be high.
3. You cannot bring Austin. (Brother-husband)
Shockingly, I complied!
Later when we had a misunderstanding on what time our girl date was, she yelled, "THIS is why you weren't maid of honor!"
Somedays I can't tell if I'm really as big of a loser as I think I am, or if I'm just friends with a bunch of assholes.
Probably a 50/50 split.
Good enough for me.
My attorney has been staying with me for a few months.
I've viewed it as an extended sleepover with my favorite playmate.
Because I think of things the same way a 7-year-old would.
To her credit, she was sharing my tiny one-bedroom.
But to be fair to me, I ensured that we never ran out of weed.
Drugs have got to count for something, right?
Right?!
I don't want to live in a world where they don't.
I mean if they didn't, I'd never get to read about beheadings in disco clubs and mass graves of partially acid-eaten victims in desolate desert pits.
And I eat that shit right up.
#27 - Have unprotected sex with a stranger you met stumbling drunk in the middle of the street who entices you with cocaine.
It's been nearly a year since I moved from borderline white trash to hollow mediocrity.
It's been even longer since I've posted; I feel a touch of mental constipation from the neglect.
Just a flash of an existential cramp.
But you know, you've got to smoke that shit off.
(HA! If only it were quite that easy.)
My neglect is due to the selfish tendency to want to deny one's worst mistakes, to the inability to resist the temptation to spin the story to remove my character of that weighty blame.
But I'm not a character. I'm an actual person.
I'm only now understanding that I am not a character in a book.
I moved to Austin and wasn't able to give anyone much notice.
Because I do have an at least sardine-sized soul, I am able to feel bad about that. It nags at me like a recurring ingrown hair along my bikini line, the elastic of my panties rubbing against this tender, swollen, unsexy ingrown hair.
But I was drowning in debt and this job paid significantly more so it was hard to pass up.
Whatever. This isn't the first time people have ferociously loathed me.
Realistically, it won't be the last.
Like my adoptive brother always says, "If you're not pissing some people off, you're doing it wrong."
#28 - Move to a new city with no place to live and give everyone - including yourself - three days notice max.
It's been even longer since I've posted; I feel a touch of mental constipation from the neglect.
Just a flash of an existential cramp.
But you know, you've got to smoke that shit off.
(HA! If only it were quite that easy.)
My neglect is due to the selfish tendency to want to deny one's worst mistakes, to the inability to resist the temptation to spin the story to remove my character of that weighty blame.
But I'm not a character. I'm an actual person.
I'm only now understanding that I am not a character in a book.
I moved to Austin and wasn't able to give anyone much notice.
Because I do have an at least sardine-sized soul, I am able to feel bad about that. It nags at me like a recurring ingrown hair along my bikini line, the elastic of my panties rubbing against this tender, swollen, unsexy ingrown hair.
But I was drowning in debt and this job paid significantly more so it was hard to pass up.
Whatever. This isn't the first time people have ferociously loathed me.
Realistically, it won't be the last.
Like my adoptive brother always says, "If you're not pissing some people off, you're doing it wrong."
#28 - Move to a new city with no place to live and give everyone - including yourself - three days notice max.
At this point, counting my failures could take me years ...
... quite possibly longer than it took me to make them.
Right now, I'm uncomfortably drowning in debt like a drunk hooker without a life jacket. Sorry, we don't make rescue devices in size "whore".
Bummer.
Every time a bill collector calls I feel like I'm gargling the balls of a street-crusty hobo.
Those urea-flakes really irritate my esophageal lining.
At least I got a raise over the past year.
Oh wait, that was an insulting raise that was 1/100 what I asked for.
Ugh, someone told me at 25 I'd have it all together.
When really, at 25, I don't make enough money to support myself OR my alcohol habit.
I'd like to find that someone and repeatedly pierce their genitals with a staple remover.
How's that for justice for your liiiiies?
So, I mentioned the ridiculous ticket I received a few months back.
What I did not mention is that I was not able to pay it in full on time.
And instead of like, you know, saving any money, I spent it.
On food. On booze. On Christmas gifts. On bills. On life.
Anyway, now this genius has a warrant out for her arrest.
The constant fear of cops is not invigorating or arousing.
I gain no thrills out of being pursued by The Man.
The constant fear of cops is not invigorating or arousing.
I gain no thrills out of being pursued by The Man.
It just pisses me off that my tits couldn't get me out of that ticket in the first place.
If my breasts can't get me out of tickets, then why have I been enduring the back pain since I was 13?
Did I mention I got this ticket PULLING INTO MY DRIVEWAY?
Is nothing sacred anymore?
I already know the answer to that one is a resounding, "NO!"
Shortly before New Year's I suffered a horrible dental mishap.
I bit into an errant nutshell, piercing a molar to the root, like one of those dudes who feels like he's trying to poke your stomach with his dick when you're banging.
Except, this cracked my tooth and caused the worst pain known to man.
So yeah, dental work broke the bank for me before the year even started.
Also, I looked at my old livejournal and the last entry, dated 4 years ago reads, "Oh well I guess it could be worse. I could be toothless and have a warrant out for my arrest. Count my blessings, right?"
I'm like a fucking prophet here.
#29 - When faced with bills or tickets, ignore all phone calls and letters regarding them until you are faced with legal action. Jail is where all the cool kids are.
You know those people who couldn't wait to be an adults as kids?
Yeah, I hate them.
I never, ever - and I stress ever - wanted to be a grown up.
Grown ups looked like they had positively no sense of humor.
You know I can't abide by that shit.
The lives of adults seemed complicated and stressful.
And guys ... It's fucking true.
Turns out making money is only possible if you have legit skills.
My skills of sarcasm and mascara application aren't particularly profitable.
Living paycheck to paycheck is about as fun as having explosive diarrhea in public.
I'll be honest, I thought dating someone would be as easy as drinking - a little sloppy, requiring endurance, but ultimately leading to tha sex.
Unfortunately, the sex ended pretty quickly, which is alright because I'm on too many drugs to feel a damn thing.
But it's still fun, damn it.
Who doesn't like a good, hard fuck?
Perhaps I should on looking less like Jaba the Hutt naked.
Jesus, even Roseanne Barr has a hotter body than me.
I'm not sure if it's my less than stellar personality or my homely looks but I'm a boner killer.
But whatever, that dude was a yuppie who liked vanilla sex and had a pinterest.
That does not abide by my motto of, "What would HST do?"
And no, I'm never going to change that motto, bitches.
Maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't go on first dates with boys to do psychedelics in the forest.
That's a novel idea.
#30 - When your sister announces her pregnancy, be sure the first gift you give her is a diaphragm.
Yeah, I hate them.
I never, ever - and I stress ever - wanted to be a grown up.
Grown ups looked like they had positively no sense of humor.
You know I can't abide by that shit.
The lives of adults seemed complicated and stressful.
And guys ... It's fucking true.
Turns out making money is only possible if you have legit skills.
My skills of sarcasm and mascara application aren't particularly profitable.
Living paycheck to paycheck is about as fun as having explosive diarrhea in public.
I'll be honest, I thought dating someone would be as easy as drinking - a little sloppy, requiring endurance, but ultimately leading to tha sex.
Unfortunately, the sex ended pretty quickly, which is alright because I'm on too many drugs to feel a damn thing.
But it's still fun, damn it.
Who doesn't like a good, hard fuck?
Perhaps I should on looking less like Jaba the Hutt naked.
Jesus, even Roseanne Barr has a hotter body than me.
I'm not sure if it's my less than stellar personality or my homely looks but I'm a boner killer.
But whatever, that dude was a yuppie who liked vanilla sex and had a pinterest.
That does not abide by my motto of, "What would HST do?"
And no, I'm never going to change that motto, bitches.
Maybe, just maybe, I shouldn't go on first dates with boys to do psychedelics in the forest.
That's a novel idea.
#30 - When your sister announces her pregnancy, be sure the first gift you give her is a diaphragm.
I've done it again, ladies and gentlemen.
I took a perfectly promising future, bent it over a crusty, Jim Bean soaked couch and fucked it over.
With my figurative disease-infected penis.
It's pretty much never gonna speak to me again.
I'm okay with that.
It can JOIN THE CLUB.
Over the past month I have learned some valuable lessons.
Such as:
Telling men you work in television does not get you laid.
Appearing on television sans Spanx will convince you the camera adds 70 pounds.
As a journalist, it turns out I am inept.
I'd call my persona flaccid and my interviewing skills chafing.
To say it was bad is an unjust statement.
My attorney actually showed it to her newsroom as a lesson on WHAT NOT TO DO.
It was awesome to be on tv, if only playing the bumbling idiot.
But that role is not much of a stretch for me.
A few weeks ago, thanks to my irresponsible, immature, and lazy sister I got a ticket in her vehicle.
Not just any ticket.
a $700 ticket.
BECAUSE I'M ROLLING IN THE DOUGH RIGHT NOW.
Some shitfest ensued where she (surprise!) took no responsibility or offer to help.
My mistake for ever counting on anyone.
I can only count on two things: my ability to fall on my face and my twisted sense of humor.
Thank god for that one.
And since that piece of shit wasn't really working in the break or steering department anyway, its not drivable.
So yeah, my mother was kind enough to let me borrow her new car, since I have quite a commute to my 9-5 at the station.
But guess motherfuckin what?
I drove up to the launch party for the zine I write for and managed to mangle my already nearly unrecognizable life.
The party had a great turn out but I felt unneeded and awkward as fuck.
AND THEN I FELL ON MY FACE.
Blood and all.
Wasn't even drunk.
Because I'm THAT girl.
But the kicker is that on my way back home that night, I hit some debris, swerved and hit a ditch.
This blew out all four tires, ruined a wheel, and possibly the suspension.
I have successfully screwed my mom out of a car as well.
I am just a golden god.
My favorite was how I stepped in a bed of fire ants waiting for the ($500) tow.
Then, like the god damned winner I am, I sobbed in the tow truck until I cried myself out and the driver had to shake me awake.
Also when my mother was in the hospital, she missed an insurance payment.
Seriously, baby jesus is just smiling fucking rainbows and unicorns down on me.
At some point I started seeing(?) a boy. ... a nice one.
Who reads.
But because I am a homely loser I'm 99% positive this will remain in friend zone forever.
It's nice to have another friend though.
My mind is continually boggled when people agree to hang out with me as if I have anything to offer but nuzzles, trouble, and unbelievable ridiculousness.
My life is not real.
#31 - Ask, "Can we make this Facebook official now?" before the 1st date is even halfway through.
I took a perfectly promising future, bent it over a crusty, Jim Bean soaked couch and fucked it over.
With my figurative disease-infected penis.
It's pretty much never gonna speak to me again.
I'm okay with that.
It can JOIN THE CLUB.
Over the past month I have learned some valuable lessons.
Such as:
Telling men you work in television does not get you laid.
Appearing on television sans Spanx will convince you the camera adds 70 pounds.
As a journalist, it turns out I am inept.
I'd call my persona flaccid and my interviewing skills chafing.
To say it was bad is an unjust statement.
My attorney actually showed it to her newsroom as a lesson on WHAT NOT TO DO.
It was awesome to be on tv, if only playing the bumbling idiot.
But that role is not much of a stretch for me.
A few weeks ago, thanks to my irresponsible, immature, and lazy sister I got a ticket in her vehicle.
Not just any ticket.
a $700 ticket.
BECAUSE I'M ROLLING IN THE DOUGH RIGHT NOW.
Some shitfest ensued where she (surprise!) took no responsibility or offer to help.
My mistake for ever counting on anyone.
I can only count on two things: my ability to fall on my face and my twisted sense of humor.
Thank god for that one.
And since that piece of shit wasn't really working in the break or steering department anyway, its not drivable.
So yeah, my mother was kind enough to let me borrow her new car, since I have quite a commute to my 9-5 at the station.
But guess motherfuckin what?
I drove up to the launch party for the zine I write for and managed to mangle my already nearly unrecognizable life.
The party had a great turn out but I felt unneeded and awkward as fuck.
AND THEN I FELL ON MY FACE.
Blood and all.
Wasn't even drunk.
Because I'm THAT girl.
But the kicker is that on my way back home that night, I hit some debris, swerved and hit a ditch.
This blew out all four tires, ruined a wheel, and possibly the suspension.
I have successfully screwed my mom out of a car as well.
I am just a golden god.
My favorite was how I stepped in a bed of fire ants waiting for the ($500) tow.
Then, like the god damned winner I am, I sobbed in the tow truck until I cried myself out and the driver had to shake me awake.
Also when my mother was in the hospital, she missed an insurance payment.
Seriously, baby jesus is just smiling fucking rainbows and unicorns down on me.
At some point I started seeing(?) a boy. ... a nice one.
Who reads.
But because I am a homely loser I'm 99% positive this will remain in friend zone forever.
It's nice to have another friend though.
My mind is continually boggled when people agree to hang out with me as if I have anything to offer but nuzzles, trouble, and unbelievable ridiculousness.
My life is not real.
#31 - Ask, "Can we make this Facebook official now?" before the 1st date is even halfway through.
Oh where did the time go?
To hell, I'm pretty sure.
Somewhere in the past few months my brother got married.
It was lovely. Highly segregated but lovely.
Of course due to a big breasted high-maintenance priss on her rag, I was late to my own brother's wedding.
Sometimes, other people are just a liability.
I think my attorney agreed.
Later I drove through a tornado hydroplaning and got in a fight in the middle of a Black Panther party.
Good times.
But I'm happy for my brother.
Somewhere before all that, I got a real job.
By real job, I mean one I can't show up to drunk.
It's been a real doozy.
They've kept me around mainly because I halfway know something about computers.
Which is really only because I grew up with computers.
Ah, the advantages to being a child of the 90's.
Other than having some sleazebag staring at my chest all day, its pretty chill.
Oh, and by some grand mistake by fate, they've actually promoted me.
My own accounts and shit.
My employers' faith in my make me sincerely doubt their judgement.
#32 - When a nice boy asks you out, get too fucked up to even show up as your shit show self.
To hell, I'm pretty sure.
Somewhere in the past few months my brother got married.
It was lovely. Highly segregated but lovely.
Of course due to a big breasted high-maintenance priss on her rag, I was late to my own brother's wedding.
Sometimes, other people are just a liability.
I think my attorney agreed.
Later I drove through a tornado hydroplaning and got in a fight in the middle of a Black Panther party.
Good times.
But I'm happy for my brother.
Somewhere before all that, I got a real job.
By real job, I mean one I can't show up to drunk.
It's been a real doozy.
They've kept me around mainly because I halfway know something about computers.
Which is really only because I grew up with computers.
Ah, the advantages to being a child of the 90's.
Other than having some sleazebag staring at my chest all day, its pretty chill.
Oh, and by some grand mistake by fate, they've actually promoted me.
My own accounts and shit.
My employers' faith in my make me sincerely doubt their judgement.
#32 - When a nice boy asks you out, get too fucked up to even show up as your shit show self.
I'm your ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-cherry bomb!
At least that's how I'm trying to be.
In between my stages of public humiliation and self-loathing, I procured employment.
I have a real job now.
All I can say is "I work in television" damn well better help me get some men.
At work, among other things, I am in charge of ordering food for clients and office supplies.
Those fuckers didn't know what they were getting themselves into.
Giving me an AmEx and a Costco membership.
In a week I have already charged over $350 in office supplies.
I wasn't kidding when I said I loved office supplies in my interview.
Luckily, the last girl was incompetent so I automatically seem much more capable than I truly am.
BLESSING.
When I'm being extra inept, I make up for it by looking super pretty.
They're also giving me free tickets to shit.
I'll have to remember this when I get yelled at later.
The moral of this story is:
I now work at a place where my coworkers don't know I'm a drunken degenerate!
... yet.
God, however, has decided to temper this good fortune by making my mother super crazy this month.
Basically, my siblings are self-centered automatons with little metal hearts that can't love.
This leaves me to save my mother, as I am (surprisingly) the only one with a soul.
I've got to tell you, this level of stress makes everything else seem minor.
By everything else I mean: shitty car, mounting debt, crumbling relationships with siblings, too much time apart from legit friends, etc.
It does not, however, make my state of perpetual singledom sting any less.
Which brings me to my next point
My skin has never been better in my fucking life.
I feel like a motherfucking princess.
Its such a relief to be able to walk out the door without makeup.
It's nice to know that people are staring at me disgustedly because of my personality instead of my face.
Still, this glowing milky complexion has not helped me garner the attention of the opposite sex.
This may be due to my wardrobe of man-repellant items like vests and slouchy shits and brogues.
I'm not really looking to be a sex symbol.
What can I say? I like to look like Annie Hall.
Hey, it worked for Diane Keeton.
I should probably remind myself that I am not in a Woody Allen movie.
But what fun is that?
My new goals for the month are:
to send pieces to lit mags,
to be a better editor,
to work out before work,
to buy/sew better clothes,
to be as blonde as possible,
to get as stoned as possible,
to get fucked as often as possible.
Also working on this thing called "filtering" where I, you know, DON'T say what crosses my mind.
It's a long shot but I'll give it a whirl.
Also, worried about mediocrity.
However, I am SAMOAN so I don't think I can succumb to the corporate patriarchy for long.
Too rebellious. Too weird.
I don't think I can survive too much longer with a visit with Dr. Gonzo.
Vegas is a little far but I think we can manage to hole up in Fort Stockton for a little bit.
#33 - When you recognize a superior at your new job from an AA meeting, introduce yourself as "a friend of that housewife whose marriage you broke up."
At least that's how I'm trying to be.
In between my stages of public humiliation and self-loathing, I procured employment.
I have a real job now.
All I can say is "I work in television" damn well better help me get some men.
At work, among other things, I am in charge of ordering food for clients and office supplies.
Those fuckers didn't know what they were getting themselves into.
Giving me an AmEx and a Costco membership.
In a week I have already charged over $350 in office supplies.
I wasn't kidding when I said I loved office supplies in my interview.
Luckily, the last girl was incompetent so I automatically seem much more capable than I truly am.
BLESSING.
When I'm being extra inept, I make up for it by looking super pretty.
They're also giving me free tickets to shit.
I'll have to remember this when I get yelled at later.
The moral of this story is:
I now work at a place where my coworkers don't know I'm a drunken degenerate!
... yet.
God, however, has decided to temper this good fortune by making my mother super crazy this month.
Basically, my siblings are self-centered automatons with little metal hearts that can't love.
This leaves me to save my mother, as I am (surprisingly) the only one with a soul.
I've got to tell you, this level of stress makes everything else seem minor.
By everything else I mean: shitty car, mounting debt, crumbling relationships with siblings, too much time apart from legit friends, etc.
It does not, however, make my state of perpetual singledom sting any less.
Which brings me to my next point
My skin has never been better in my fucking life.
I feel like a motherfucking princess.
Its such a relief to be able to walk out the door without makeup.
It's nice to know that people are staring at me disgustedly because of my personality instead of my face.
Still, this glowing milky complexion has not helped me garner the attention of the opposite sex.
This may be due to my wardrobe of man-repellant items like vests and slouchy shits and brogues.
I'm not really looking to be a sex symbol.
What can I say? I like to look like Annie Hall.
Hey, it worked for Diane Keeton.
I should probably remind myself that I am not in a Woody Allen movie.
But what fun is that?
My new goals for the month are:
to send pieces to lit mags,
to be a better editor,
to work out before work,
to buy/sew better clothes,
to be as blonde as possible,
to get as stoned as possible,
to get fucked as often as possible.
Also working on this thing called "filtering" where I, you know, DON'T say what crosses my mind.
It's a long shot but I'll give it a whirl.
Also, worried about mediocrity.
However, I am SAMOAN so I don't think I can succumb to the corporate patriarchy for long.
Too rebellious. Too weird.
I don't think I can survive too much longer with a visit with Dr. Gonzo.
Vegas is a little far but I think we can manage to hole up in Fort Stockton for a little bit.
#33 - When you recognize a superior at your new job from an AA meeting, introduce yourself as "a friend of that housewife whose marriage you broke up."
Ladies and gentlemen, I have outdone myself.
I have earned the name "Samoan" and then some.
Before I go any further I must preface this entry with the following: I am clumsy. And an idiot.
There are so many fuck-ups in the past month I don't know where to begin.
By being uncoordinated at the river I managed to break 3 toes.
This resulted in both losing my beer salt and my floppy hat. True loss.
Somehow in this time frame I also fucked up my car.
Both the headlights malfunctioned and now only work on brights.
My fellow motorists are particularly displeased.
Also, I broke the rearview mirror off.
And because it's fucking sweltering everyday and every night, no adhesive will hold.
I feel this is a sign from the fates that I am meant for future doom in vehicular form.
Oh and I no longer have insurance and can't pass the inspection, for which my car is 2 months overdue.
Naturally, I am behind on all my bills.
Bills are for schmucks.
And real people.
Which I clearly am not.
I'm not entirely certain I exist.
But the real topper here was the epic failure that was karaoke with my coworkers.
I felt pre-bar drinking was necessary considering my financial status of BROKE ASS.
And because I am a giant creep I decided only to take shots.
Doubles.
Vodka.
10 of them.
I probably should have stopped drinking when I lost count but to me that just meant, "Do two more."
Katy Perry's "Waking Up In Vegas" is the last thing I remember ...
Until I woke up covered in blood, grass, and vomit.
Maybe some other stuff in there.
Not gonna lie.
The details of the night are still sketchy despite my attempts at gathering accounts but the basic story is this:
I'm driven to the karaoke bar where I'm to socialize with my coworkers.
Only, that's not possible because I can't even sit on a barstool.
After falling oh, 3 times I finally hit my head and naturally get kicked out.
I'm then driven home where I absolutely cannot walk.
Or really comprehend language.
I have to be dragged across my front yard into my house.
I proceed to vomit on my couch and laptop. (I have been vomiting on myself since exiting the bar.)
I become a complete and utter beast.
Like a man on ether.
I'm a slobbering, out of control imbecile thrashing around.
Of course I have no control over my bodily functions.
And because this is my life, I had to have Mexican food that day.
By this time, the coworker who brought me home and got me inside has decided I need to be thrown in the shower. (Rightfully so.)
However I stumble, hit my head and fall straight into the litter box, where the cat shit then sticks to the vomit covering me.
She eventually called my sister repeatedly, turned me so I wouldn't die all Hendrix stylie and left.
I can never look her in the eye again.
That morning I woke up covered in shit, blood, and vomit.
These things were smeared in many locales throughout the house.
My hips, butt cheeks, elbows, lower back, feet, hands, and face all bare bruises, some worse than others.
I have three lumps on my head from probable concussions and a cut beneath my eye.
When I finally was able to shower, my hair was positively fucking matted with puke and grass and twigs.
There are drag trails in my front yard.
My sister, who was told this was AN EMERGENCY said, "I'm so glad I wasn't there."
Thanks.
Because I didn't feel like the world's biggest tool in the first place.
The irony is I didn't even do any karaoke. I was only there for 15 minutes.
In retrospect, nearly 20 shots of liquor are too much for anyone.
My coworker said, "I thought it was a little excessive but I figured you knew your limit."
And I do. It's somewhere below 10 doubles.
Maybe the percocets I took before dinner had something to do with it.
Who knows?
It reminds me a little bit of July, where I almost overdosed on morphine.
GOOD TIMES.
Then today, as if I weren't battered enough, I managed to cut a chunk of skin out of my pinky.
Not a cut mind you but a scoop of flesh.
Palm side. Knuckle.
To the bone.
Chaos ensued in the grocery store where I lost it on a man, yelling "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE FAT MAN?"
I procceded to drop my groceries, break my beer and run.
When I finally did buy beer, at the gas station, it came out to $6.66
Did I mention my mother is getting ECT aka shock treatments?
This is after she lost her shit, walked around naked at 4 am and asked when the brides were coming to pick up the dancers.
Feeling really great about that one.
So, scrapping my entire life as of now.
Clearly must quit my job.
The bruises may fade but the humiliation never will.
I'd be in Fort Stockton right now if my car could make it.
When people feel bad about themselves, they should cheer themselves up by comparing themselves to me.
#34 - When nice people ask you to house sit their awesome house, do all of their drugs.
I have earned the name "Samoan" and then some.
Before I go any further I must preface this entry with the following: I am clumsy. And an idiot.
There are so many fuck-ups in the past month I don't know where to begin.
By being uncoordinated at the river I managed to break 3 toes.
This resulted in both losing my beer salt and my floppy hat. True loss.
Somehow in this time frame I also fucked up my car.
Both the headlights malfunctioned and now only work on brights.
My fellow motorists are particularly displeased.
Also, I broke the rearview mirror off.
And because it's fucking sweltering everyday and every night, no adhesive will hold.
I feel this is a sign from the fates that I am meant for future doom in vehicular form.
Oh and I no longer have insurance and can't pass the inspection, for which my car is 2 months overdue.
Naturally, I am behind on all my bills.
Bills are for schmucks.
And real people.
Which I clearly am not.
I'm not entirely certain I exist.
But the real topper here was the epic failure that was karaoke with my coworkers.
I felt pre-bar drinking was necessary considering my financial status of BROKE ASS.
And because I am a giant creep I decided only to take shots.
Doubles.
Vodka.
10 of them.
I probably should have stopped drinking when I lost count but to me that just meant, "Do two more."
Katy Perry's "Waking Up In Vegas" is the last thing I remember ...
Until I woke up covered in blood, grass, and vomit.
Maybe some other stuff in there.
Not gonna lie.
The details of the night are still sketchy despite my attempts at gathering accounts but the basic story is this:
I'm driven to the karaoke bar where I'm to socialize with my coworkers.
Only, that's not possible because I can't even sit on a barstool.
After falling oh, 3 times I finally hit my head and naturally get kicked out.
I'm then driven home where I absolutely cannot walk.
Or really comprehend language.
I have to be dragged across my front yard into my house.
I proceed to vomit on my couch and laptop. (I have been vomiting on myself since exiting the bar.)
I become a complete and utter beast.
Like a man on ether.
I'm a slobbering, out of control imbecile thrashing around.
Of course I have no control over my bodily functions.
And because this is my life, I had to have Mexican food that day.
By this time, the coworker who brought me home and got me inside has decided I need to be thrown in the shower. (Rightfully so.)
However I stumble, hit my head and fall straight into the litter box, where the cat shit then sticks to the vomit covering me.
She eventually called my sister repeatedly, turned me so I wouldn't die all Hendrix stylie and left.
I can never look her in the eye again.
That morning I woke up covered in shit, blood, and vomit.
These things were smeared in many locales throughout the house.
My hips, butt cheeks, elbows, lower back, feet, hands, and face all bare bruises, some worse than others.
I have three lumps on my head from probable concussions and a cut beneath my eye.
When I finally was able to shower, my hair was positively fucking matted with puke and grass and twigs.
There are drag trails in my front yard.
My sister, who was told this was AN EMERGENCY said, "I'm so glad I wasn't there."
Thanks.
Because I didn't feel like the world's biggest tool in the first place.
The irony is I didn't even do any karaoke. I was only there for 15 minutes.
In retrospect, nearly 20 shots of liquor are too much for anyone.
My coworker said, "I thought it was a little excessive but I figured you knew your limit."
And I do. It's somewhere below 10 doubles.
Maybe the percocets I took before dinner had something to do with it.
Who knows?
It reminds me a little bit of July, where I almost overdosed on morphine.
GOOD TIMES.
Then today, as if I weren't battered enough, I managed to cut a chunk of skin out of my pinky.
Not a cut mind you but a scoop of flesh.
Palm side. Knuckle.
To the bone.
Chaos ensued in the grocery store where I lost it on a man, yelling "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE FAT MAN?"
I procceded to drop my groceries, break my beer and run.
When I finally did buy beer, at the gas station, it came out to $6.66
Did I mention my mother is getting ECT aka shock treatments?
This is after she lost her shit, walked around naked at 4 am and asked when the brides were coming to pick up the dancers.
Feeling really great about that one.
So, scrapping my entire life as of now.
Clearly must quit my job.
The bruises may fade but the humiliation never will.
I'd be in Fort Stockton right now if my car could make it.
When people feel bad about themselves, they should cheer themselves up by comparing themselves to me.
#34 - When nice people ask you to house sit their awesome house, do all of their drugs.
I cannot believe it is July 1st.
Time sure flies when you're self-sabotaging.
June was a complete failure.
Much like me.
Antibiotics have not cured me and thus my plague has lasted over two months.
The pills did, however, give me a sensitive stomach.
Which means I've stopped working out but lost 15 pounds due to a strong gag reflex.
No man will ever want me.
My dead end job is still going strong despite the fact that I call in more than I actually attend work.
Meanwhile, I'm using my super expensive college degree to wipe the vomit off my collar.
If you wondered, the only thing worse than getting perpetually rejected by grad schools is actually getting accepted ...
and not be able to afford it.
Today I missed my go-to school application deadline like a champ.
Despite the fact that I hate this curdling cess pool of a city, I figured I could stand living here two more years, going to school and what not.
I have successfully crushed that unpleasant dream.
Practicality is for chumps.
And people with futures.
Whoever said your twenties were the best time of your life should be shot.
Along with whoever said you look the best in your life around 18.
In between verbal beatings from my sister and carting my mom to and from the looney bin, my familial affections have somewhat died.
What I mean by this is: no one in my family will so much as look at me, let alone talk to me.
Admittedly, it's pretty fab.
The downside is having no one love you.
I'm getting used to it.
Its a lot like a yeast infection. At first the itching is unbearable but then it just becomes an uncomfortable crusty gash that reminds you you're alive. Unfortunately.
Also, I may have repeatedly gotten smashed in front of my friends and some coworkers these past few weeks.
My charm has quickly eroded in the face of my obvious alcoholism.
I'm down 3 friends in a week.
Having dinner with someone else's husband is never a good idea.
Oh, and I started seeing someone who promptly informed me I was "too intense" and that he didn't know how anyone could handle dating me.
Maybe my hobbies of braiding and competitive drinking threw him off.
I'm out of drugs.
I'm out of money.
I'm out of friends.
But I am rich in sarcasm and apathy!
I would kill myself if it weren't such a hassel.
But you bitches aren't getting off that easy.
#35 - Never, ever pay people back.
Time sure flies when you're self-sabotaging.
June was a complete failure.
Much like me.
Antibiotics have not cured me and thus my plague has lasted over two months.
The pills did, however, give me a sensitive stomach.
Which means I've stopped working out but lost 15 pounds due to a strong gag reflex.
No man will ever want me.
My dead end job is still going strong despite the fact that I call in more than I actually attend work.
Meanwhile, I'm using my super expensive college degree to wipe the vomit off my collar.
If you wondered, the only thing worse than getting perpetually rejected by grad schools is actually getting accepted ...
and not be able to afford it.
Today I missed my go-to school application deadline like a champ.
Despite the fact that I hate this curdling cess pool of a city, I figured I could stand living here two more years, going to school and what not.
I have successfully crushed that unpleasant dream.
Practicality is for chumps.
And people with futures.
Whoever said your twenties were the best time of your life should be shot.
Along with whoever said you look the best in your life around 18.
In between verbal beatings from my sister and carting my mom to and from the looney bin, my familial affections have somewhat died.
What I mean by this is: no one in my family will so much as look at me, let alone talk to me.
Admittedly, it's pretty fab.
The downside is having no one love you.
I'm getting used to it.
Its a lot like a yeast infection. At first the itching is unbearable but then it just becomes an uncomfortable crusty gash that reminds you you're alive. Unfortunately.
Also, I may have repeatedly gotten smashed in front of my friends and some coworkers these past few weeks.
My charm has quickly eroded in the face of my obvious alcoholism.
I'm down 3 friends in a week.
Having dinner with someone else's husband is never a good idea.
Oh, and I started seeing someone who promptly informed me I was "too intense" and that he didn't know how anyone could handle dating me.
Maybe my hobbies of braiding and competitive drinking threw him off.
I'm out of drugs.
I'm out of money.
I'm out of friends.
But I am rich in sarcasm and apathy!
I would kill myself if it weren't such a hassel.
But you bitches aren't getting off that easy.
#35 - Never, ever pay people back.
Today marks the first day in a month that I can breathe through my nose.
Yes, seasonal allergies have made a mockery of my enthusiasm but I will prevail with a giant fucking cocktail of drugs.
(I immaturely think cocktail is a hilarious word, as is any word with cock in it.)
Also, I somehow won over my coworkers after convincing one of them to throw a party.
Which I wore a gold glitter hair bow to.
People kept telling me how witty and hilarious I was.
(Which means my usual brand of awkward pithy diatribe finally succeeded.)
Obviously I am keeping those people around.
And now everybody wants a piece of this action.
Not the worst problem to have.
Did I mention that I drank at a mad man pace the whole night?
Including attending a pre-party party.
I drank an entire case of beer. And some vodka. And other unmentionable things.
I believe nothing is sexier than a woman who can hold her liquor.
A woman who is a lush? Debatable.
So yeah, I'm applying to psych grad school.
I hope their expectations aren't too high where I'm applying as I am thoroughly underwhelming on paper.
Probably in person too, I haven't decided.
But yeah, planning for one's future = fucking hard.
I need someone to yell at me to get me to do this.
WHERE IS MY ATTORNEY?
#36 - Just throw unopened mail into a big box with all your important papers in it and forget about them. Paying bills on time is overrated.
Yes, seasonal allergies have made a mockery of my enthusiasm but I will prevail with a giant fucking cocktail of drugs.
(I immaturely think cocktail is a hilarious word, as is any word with cock in it.)
Also, I somehow won over my coworkers after convincing one of them to throw a party.
Which I wore a gold glitter hair bow to.
People kept telling me how witty and hilarious I was.
(Which means my usual brand of awkward pithy diatribe finally succeeded.)
Obviously I am keeping those people around.
And now everybody wants a piece of this action.
Not the worst problem to have.
Did I mention that I drank at a mad man pace the whole night?
Including attending a pre-party party.
I drank an entire case of beer. And some vodka. And other unmentionable things.
I believe nothing is sexier than a woman who can hold her liquor.
A woman who is a lush? Debatable.
So yeah, I'm applying to psych grad school.
I hope their expectations aren't too high where I'm applying as I am thoroughly underwhelming on paper.
Probably in person too, I haven't decided.
But yeah, planning for one's future = fucking hard.
I need someone to yell at me to get me to do this.
WHERE IS MY ATTORNEY?
#36 - Just throw unopened mail into a big box with all your important papers in it and forget about them. Paying bills on time is overrated.
This is my life as a fuck-up.
I'm only taking a break from watching baby bat videos to say this.
I obviously don't pay anything on time because that would be like, responsible or something.
Also, I don't clean things, as I prefer a level of messiness and also because I'm inherently fucking lazy.
Oh and I have a complete inability to save money, making my social life ridiculously limited.
Which might be "best" as I wouldn't be inflicting my ridiculous personality on strangers.
Who might just call the cops on me.
I also never get to see my friends in other cities because I NEVER CAN.
I blame this 85% on my family - for bringing out ma craziness. (trust me.)
So this has all led to one conclusion: I have let other people dictate my life much too long. It's BULLSHIT.
I know for a fact that I would not be depressed and apathetic and as lame if I weren't around my family.
Basically, I am entering a fuck-it-all stage.
But I am tanner, blonder, and thinner. Winning!
GOING GONZO
My quote book reads, "Weed has taught me one thing: don't get sad, get even."
#37- Keep NOTHING private.
I'm only taking a break from watching baby bat videos to say this.
I obviously don't pay anything on time because that would be like, responsible or something.
Also, I don't clean things, as I prefer a level of messiness and also because I'm inherently fucking lazy.
Oh and I have a complete inability to save money, making my social life ridiculously limited.
Which might be "best" as I wouldn't be inflicting my ridiculous personality on strangers.
Who might just call the cops on me.
I also never get to see my friends in other cities because I NEVER CAN.
I blame this 85% on my family - for bringing out ma craziness. (trust me.)
So this has all led to one conclusion: I have let other people dictate my life much too long. It's BULLSHIT.
I know for a fact that I would not be depressed and apathetic and as lame if I weren't around my family.
Basically, I am entering a fuck-it-all stage.
But I am tanner, blonder, and thinner. Winning!
GOING GONZO
My quote book reads, "Weed has taught me one thing: don't get sad, get even."
#37- Keep NOTHING private.
Oh, hello world.
No, I'm not getting all Runaways on you, though that would be rad.
I realize I've neglected my blog like I've neglected my happiness.
Turns out you can only gain so much joy from drugs and alcohol.
And here I thought it was endless.
So after a great deal of rejection, I'm giving up on actually getting into a grad school for writing.
I'm applying to literary magazines to get published.
Due to my vanity and discerning taste, I truly believe my stuff is better than 98% of the fiendish maggot-infested bastardization of the English language that is other people's writing.
Oh yes, I'm humble too.
So this whole "Plan B" bullshit is starting up again.
I either:
A) take a couple of required classes to apply for psych grad school
B) take the LSAT and apply to law school
C) attempt to be a nurse
In the meantime, a new job is needed.
I do detest that a journalism degree doesn't get you a job anywhere, not even in journalism.
And especially not a good job.
The state of my life is that of deterioration.
I'm not a fan.
And I'm not about to take myself or life seriously.
"Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas ... with the music at top volume and at least a pint of ether." - HST
I suppose East Texas will do.
#38 - Drink way more than you should every single time. People be damned.
No, I'm not getting all Runaways on you, though that would be rad.
I realize I've neglected my blog like I've neglected my happiness.
Turns out you can only gain so much joy from drugs and alcohol.
And here I thought it was endless.
So after a great deal of rejection, I'm giving up on actually getting into a grad school for writing.
I'm applying to literary magazines to get published.
Due to my vanity and discerning taste, I truly believe my stuff is better than 98% of the fiendish maggot-infested bastardization of the English language that is other people's writing.
Oh yes, I'm humble too.
So this whole "Plan B" bullshit is starting up again.
I either:
A) take a couple of required classes to apply for psych grad school
B) take the LSAT and apply to law school
C) attempt to be a nurse
In the meantime, a new job is needed.
I do detest that a journalism degree doesn't get you a job anywhere, not even in journalism.
And especially not a good job.
The state of my life is that of deterioration.
I'm not a fan.
And I'm not about to take myself or life seriously.
"Every now and then when your life gets complicated and the weasels start closing in, the only cure is to load up on heinous chemicals and then drive like a bastard from Hollywood to Las Vegas ... with the music at top volume and at least a pint of ether." - HST
I suppose East Texas will do.
#38 - Drink way more than you should every single time. People be damned.
Today marks the first day in nearly 2 weeks that I haven't been a slave to my bed.
This whole flu/cold/sinus infection stuff is bullshit.
But I actually went running and worked out today, despite the cold.
Obviously, my vanity is my main motivator at this stage in my life.
As well it should be.
I am much too pretty to be this fat.
So in the next month, I'm trading in my loserdom for pseudo-loserdom in the following ways:
- Getting a car
- Moving into a new place with my sister
- Getting my Gonzo tattoo
- Finding out about grad school decisions
- Starting a photography business
- Taking various trips across the grand state of Texas
- Ruling at being editor of a book section of a magazine
I hope my future also involves new drugs and boyfriends, but I'd be cool with lots of booze and quiet admiration.
Also, I miss my friends like my left hand. PHANTOM FRIEND SYNDROME. I often turn to make a snarky comment only to realize my babes aren't there. :/
I even created a tumblr this past week, I was so bored. (Which you can check out here)
Creative but pathetic, I vow to change this state of loneliness immediately.
My birthday is next weekend and I have very little in the way of ideas for making it stupidly fun.
I would like to get ridiculously rowdy but I'm at a loss.
So far all I can come up with is:
- A cake with joints instead of candles
- Absinthe at a posh French restaurant
I'm taking suggestions, but no one has offered anything of the caliber I'm searching for.
#39 - Refuse to give the clerk your ID when carded for alcohol saying, "What? So you can stalk me? No way." Explain that to the manager.
This whole flu/cold/sinus infection stuff is bullshit.
But I actually went running and worked out today, despite the cold.
Obviously, my vanity is my main motivator at this stage in my life.
As well it should be.
I am much too pretty to be this fat.
So in the next month, I'm trading in my loserdom for pseudo-loserdom in the following ways:
- Getting a car
- Moving into a new place with my sister
- Getting my Gonzo tattoo
- Finding out about grad school decisions
- Starting a photography business
- Taking various trips across the grand state of Texas
- Ruling at being editor of a book section of a magazine
I hope my future also involves new drugs and boyfriends, but I'd be cool with lots of booze and quiet admiration.
Also, I miss my friends like my left hand. PHANTOM FRIEND SYNDROME. I often turn to make a snarky comment only to realize my babes aren't there. :/
I even created a tumblr this past week, I was so bored. (Which you can check out here)
Creative but pathetic, I vow to change this state of loneliness immediately.
My birthday is next weekend and I have very little in the way of ideas for making it stupidly fun.
I would like to get ridiculously rowdy but I'm at a loss.
So far all I can come up with is:
- A cake with joints instead of candles
- Absinthe at a posh French restaurant
I'm taking suggestions, but no one has offered anything of the caliber I'm searching for.
#39 - Refuse to give the clerk your ID when carded for alcohol saying, "What? So you can stalk me? No way." Explain that to the manager.
As of today, I am still the last person I know (of my peers of course) who has yet to start a Real Life.
I still live The Life I Want, which primarily involves sleeping till noon and drinking whenever it strikes my fancy.
I can't say I'm particularly hurt by my stunted growth.
Also pretty sure one of my friends has cancer. At least I think so. Nonetheless, he's on radiation.
Which begs the question, what illness other than cancer calls for radiation?
Probably lots. Things to Google. When I have nothing better to do.
Today I found out my only living grandparent has taken a turn for the worse.
Papa Daddy, as we called him, has had Alzheimer's for a while and finally moved back to Waco to be closer to family.
My mother threw a shit fit saying, "No one TOLDDDD me!"
Which is ironic because she hasn't returned the man's phone calls in 15 years.
If I had a father who gave enough of a shit to call me, I'd pick up the god damned phone. But that's just me.
Basically, if I'm dying, my mother is probably the last person I'm going to call. She would make my death all about her. Kinda like she's tried to make my life.
BUT TO NO AVAIL.
My future involves lots of karaoke and approaching men at random.
That whole fear of rejection thing has totally died down in the event of my complete and utter boredom.
And because I face rejection everyday in the damned job market.
And most likely with my grad school applications.
I think it will make me a more rounded person.
(That's just what failures say.)
Also starting to spam major magazines in attempt to get published and fulfill Life Goal No. 9. I'm doling out essays with classic titles like : My Life As A Fat Girl.
This should go well.
Here's to the return of the Kinks in my life and pretending I live in the 60's.
#40 - After a date, be sure to call the guy at least within the next 6 hours just to say "...it made me think of you."
I still live The Life I Want, which primarily involves sleeping till noon and drinking whenever it strikes my fancy.
I can't say I'm particularly hurt by my stunted growth.
Also pretty sure one of my friends has cancer. At least I think so. Nonetheless, he's on radiation.
Which begs the question, what illness other than cancer calls for radiation?
Probably lots. Things to Google. When I have nothing better to do.
Today I found out my only living grandparent has taken a turn for the worse.
Papa Daddy, as we called him, has had Alzheimer's for a while and finally moved back to Waco to be closer to family.
My mother threw a shit fit saying, "No one TOLDDDD me!"
Which is ironic because she hasn't returned the man's phone calls in 15 years.
If I had a father who gave enough of a shit to call me, I'd pick up the god damned phone. But that's just me.
Basically, if I'm dying, my mother is probably the last person I'm going to call. She would make my death all about her. Kinda like she's tried to make my life.
BUT TO NO AVAIL.
My future involves lots of karaoke and approaching men at random.
That whole fear of rejection thing has totally died down in the event of my complete and utter boredom.
And because I face rejection everyday in the damned job market.
And most likely with my grad school applications.
I think it will make me a more rounded person.
(That's just what failures say.)
Also starting to spam major magazines in attempt to get published and fulfill Life Goal No. 9. I'm doling out essays with classic titles like : My Life As A Fat Girl.
This should go well.
Here's to the return of the Kinks in my life and pretending I live in the 60's.
#40 - After a date, be sure to call the guy at least within the next 6 hours just to say "...it made me think of you."
Today ends my string of days off.
Or as I like to call them, "Romantic Evenings With Myself."
Because let's be honest, no one wants to go to parks and museums and watch foreign films with me in bed.
I fill my own void of a boyfriend.
I told my boss yesterday I couldn't come in and help them out because I was out hiking.
On a rainy day.
Like I even hike.
That's so Bella Swan of me.
But it seemed preferrable to "I can't come in because I'm too busy getting mercilessly stoned and working on my novel."
But I don't regret my lies because I've been something foreign to me ... productive.
Tonight is a meeting for an underground magazine Hillary-Anne is starting.
How could I resist being part of a magazine called VAGINA?
Naturally, because I want to be there, I cannot go.
But I wrote a decent personal essay for it already.
Oh yeah, I also decided to declare myself a writer and take it seriously in the past 2 days.
That is until I crash and burn and find myself drowning in loans.
But here's to hoping it goes the other way!
Somehow the only friends I have now are all men.
Which is ironic because men are usually a little afraid of me.
Fuck who am I kidding?
Everyone's usually a little afraid of me.
My birthday is in about a month and I'm planning something spectacular for it.
You only turn 24 once! Plus, once I hit 25, I will be convinced I am old.
Hopefully all those people creeped out by me will attend.
If nothing else than from sheer curiosity
My life is perpetually that moment where you go to wash out a head of hair dye only to discover the water has been shut off.
#41 - When faced with any confrontation, burst in to tears and begin yelling about how your father molested you as a child.
Or as I like to call them, "Romantic Evenings With Myself."
Because let's be honest, no one wants to go to parks and museums and watch foreign films with me in bed.
I fill my own void of a boyfriend.
I told my boss yesterday I couldn't come in and help them out because I was out hiking.
On a rainy day.
Like I even hike.
That's so Bella Swan of me.
But it seemed preferrable to "I can't come in because I'm too busy getting mercilessly stoned and working on my novel."
But I don't regret my lies because I've been something foreign to me ... productive.
Tonight is a meeting for an underground magazine Hillary-Anne is starting.
How could I resist being part of a magazine called VAGINA?
Naturally, because I want to be there, I cannot go.
But I wrote a decent personal essay for it already.
Oh yeah, I also decided to declare myself a writer and take it seriously in the past 2 days.
That is until I crash and burn and find myself drowning in loans.
But here's to hoping it goes the other way!
Somehow the only friends I have now are all men.
Which is ironic because men are usually a little afraid of me.
Fuck who am I kidding?
Everyone's usually a little afraid of me.
My birthday is in about a month and I'm planning something spectacular for it.
You only turn 24 once! Plus, once I hit 25, I will be convinced I am old.
Hopefully all those people creeped out by me will attend.
If nothing else than from sheer curiosity
My life is perpetually that moment where you go to wash out a head of hair dye only to discover the water has been shut off.
#41 - When faced with any confrontation, burst in to tears and begin yelling about how your father molested you as a child.
Kinda decided I am not a fan of feelings.
The good ones never last as long as the bad ones do.
Not worth it.
Let me explain the current crisis: I love my family.
However, I have never met more manipulative, cruel people.
Guilt is the weapon of choice. If you know guilt, you know that it feels like a dark cloud is following you so so closely until the sky feels heavy on your shoulders, and somehow the weight begins to permeate your being and sink deep into your bones like a poisonous fog.
When my family goes in for a cut, they go for the jugular.
And honestly, I have to fight not to do that myself.
So they can back the fuck off.
That being said, I really enjoy dressing up everyday for no good reason.
Sometimes I enjoy rubbing it in my stay-at-home sisters' faces that I'm free and stylish and they have stretch marks and all those dreams they had have died on the vine.
Hey, at least I don't deny that I'm vindictive.
Gimme brownie points for that.
#42 - Make sure most of your day-to-day plans involve skipping out on responsibility and procuring liquor. Preferably early.
Oh, the New Year is upon us. I know this because everyone keeps talking about their shit resolutions.
For a whole 30 seconds, I thought about changing my life.
Because I am just a tad unhappy with where I am now.
(Turns out doing whatever you want when you want to DOES indeed have drawbacks.)
But then I remembered that life is unpredictable and short and decided to do whatever I want to all over again.
In fact, my biggest problem is that I'm not doing enough of what I want.
If I had a resolution, it would simply read: MORE SEXY.
At work, I'm the designated breaker of things.
Because:
A) No one gets more joy out of breaking shit than I do.
B) No one can ruin something good as thoroughly as I can.
C) No one is more content with themselves afterward as I am.
Needless to say, my coworkers now know that I am a freak.
What can I say? My supreme patience comes at the price of a lot of pent-up aggression.
I'm thinking of going all Lizzie Borden on those retards who raised me.
I may be famous yet afterall.
This week I learned that Sunday evening is when all the attractive single men do their grocery shopping.
Unfortunately for them, that is not when the attractive single girls do theirs.
It's when girls like me come in.
My biggest vice is probably self-love. To me, all that's important is that I think I'm fucking funny and sexy. And you know I do.
#43 - When you get paid, frivolously spend away on petty grooming products, new clothes and drugs. Forget bills. Fun comes first.
For a whole 30 seconds, I thought about changing my life.
Because I am just a tad unhappy with where I am now.
(Turns out doing whatever you want when you want to DOES indeed have drawbacks.)
But then I remembered that life is unpredictable and short and decided to do whatever I want to all over again.
In fact, my biggest problem is that I'm not doing enough of what I want.
If I had a resolution, it would simply read: MORE SEXY.
At work, I'm the designated breaker of things.
Because:
A) No one gets more joy out of breaking shit than I do.
B) No one can ruin something good as thoroughly as I can.
C) No one is more content with themselves afterward as I am.
Needless to say, my coworkers now know that I am a freak.
What can I say? My supreme patience comes at the price of a lot of pent-up aggression.
I'm thinking of going all Lizzie Borden on those retards who raised me.
I may be famous yet afterall.
This week I learned that Sunday evening is when all the attractive single men do their grocery shopping.
Unfortunately for them, that is not when the attractive single girls do theirs.
It's when girls like me come in.
My biggest vice is probably self-love. To me, all that's important is that I think I'm fucking funny and sexy. And you know I do.
#43 - When you get paid, frivolously spend away on petty grooming products, new clothes and drugs. Forget bills. Fun comes first.
Well, I for one am super excited that 2010 is no more.
It wasn't a particularly good year.
Maybe if I'd gotten laid more I'd feel differently. As it is though...
Do hate New Year's Eve and am so glad I sat at home and watched movies instead.
It's paradoxical because I love parties, glitter, and drinking.
But I'm a drunken asshole every other night of the year.
I like to give it a rest for at least one day.
Stupid New Year's Day. It's always so drab. Just an arbitrary calendrical marking.
Yet I love list-making.
Which is all resolutions are.
So I'm making my own New Year, you know, for when I need to start over.
I'm obviously not ready to give up my slovenly ways right now.
However, I do have one immediate goal:
GO GONZO.
And, like, getting laid.
#44 - Wear the clothes you slept in and get ready in the dark.
It wasn't a particularly good year.
Maybe if I'd gotten laid more I'd feel differently. As it is though...
Do hate New Year's Eve and am so glad I sat at home and watched movies instead.
It's paradoxical because I love parties, glitter, and drinking.
But I'm a drunken asshole every other night of the year.
I like to give it a rest for at least one day.
Stupid New Year's Day. It's always so drab. Just an arbitrary calendrical marking.
Yet I love list-making.
Which is all resolutions are.
So I'm making my own New Year, you know, for when I need to start over.
I'm obviously not ready to give up my slovenly ways right now.
However, I do have one immediate goal:
GO GONZO.
And, like, getting laid.
#44 - Wear the clothes you slept in and get ready in the dark.
I am thisclose to running away to Mexico.
Or packing up my bags and heading back to the safety of Fort Stockton.
That's right, my plan here is to shirk all responsibility and be holed up in a hotel in West Texas.
WELCOME TO MY LIFE.
So I learned that Christmas is about family.
And that's cool and all, unless you have my family.
In my family, it's like a competition over who gets to ruin Christmas FIRST.
I'm like, congrats guys, you all did.
Ever wonder what's worse than having dead parents?
Parents that you kinda wish were.
Turns out I'm behind on my student loan payments.
Which wouldn't happen if I could get a real job.
But that's not an option for people with those illustrious Communications degrees.
We're reserved for more important things like waitressing and retail.
Oh, and I can pretty much never move out of here.
This is why I'm really set on grad school.
I lack other coherent options.
But if that doesn't work, I'm going to become a nurse.
I don't even feel my usual despair.
Not in the fetal position listening to Stephanie Says or attempting to slit my wrists to the Beach Boys.
Am I dealing with adversity with maturity?
Nahhh.
I'm just super excited that I now own several Tim Burton movies.
#45 - Borrow way too much money that you're not smart or talented enough to pay back. Come up with grandiose plans to pay it back. FAIL AT THOSE.
Or packing up my bags and heading back to the safety of Fort Stockton.
That's right, my plan here is to shirk all responsibility and be holed up in a hotel in West Texas.
WELCOME TO MY LIFE.
So I learned that Christmas is about family.
And that's cool and all, unless you have my family.
In my family, it's like a competition over who gets to ruin Christmas FIRST.
I'm like, congrats guys, you all did.
Ever wonder what's worse than having dead parents?
Parents that you kinda wish were.
Turns out I'm behind on my student loan payments.
Which wouldn't happen if I could get a real job.
But that's not an option for people with those illustrious Communications degrees.
We're reserved for more important things like waitressing and retail.
Oh, and I can pretty much never move out of here.
This is why I'm really set on grad school.
I lack other coherent options.
But if that doesn't work, I'm going to become a nurse.
I don't even feel my usual despair.
Not in the fetal position listening to Stephanie Says or attempting to slit my wrists to the Beach Boys.
Am I dealing with adversity with maturity?
Nahhh.
I'm just super excited that I now own several Tim Burton movies.
#45 - Borrow way too much money that you're not smart or talented enough to pay back. Come up with grandiose plans to pay it back. FAIL AT THOSE.
Let me tell you a little story about the holidays and retail ...
While it doesn't seem humanly possible, it both sucks and blows.
It, like waitressing, is one of those shitty/stressful customer service jobs that everyone should have to endure.
Just so that they know what it's like.
To have 10 tables and the kitchen got the order wrong or you can't work a fucking computer menu correctly.
But back to what it's like to work 40 hours a week in retail.
Christmas shopping brings out the motherfucking worst in people.
It's soul-crushing how rude and generally put-out people act over everything.
All these bitches on their cell phones, being all condescending to me like I'm some sort of degenerate. I have a degree, thank you. I'm very proud of that.
So working has sucked up all my time.
Time I would have spent doing fun things, like sitting by the fire and drinking eggnog or watching movies with my family or seeing lots of friends, or looking at Christmas lights. I didn't even get to watch The old-school Grinch.
But I'm kinda grateful too. Some days I just get to see how fucking dope life is. Plus, I get by with a little help with my friends, too.
And it's cold. And no matter what, I fucking love Christmas.
Today I pinned a fluffy feathered owl to my shoulder which stared longingly into my eyes and referred to it as, "My friend, Stockton."
Yeah, that's so my life.
#46 - Pretend that blinkers are optional and that stop signs are only suggestions.
While it doesn't seem humanly possible, it both sucks and blows.
It, like waitressing, is one of those shitty/stressful customer service jobs that everyone should have to endure.
Just so that they know what it's like.
To have 10 tables and the kitchen got the order wrong or you can't work a fucking computer menu correctly.
But back to what it's like to work 40 hours a week in retail.
Christmas shopping brings out the motherfucking worst in people.
It's soul-crushing how rude and generally put-out people act over everything.
All these bitches on their cell phones, being all condescending to me like I'm some sort of degenerate. I have a degree, thank you. I'm very proud of that.
So working has sucked up all my time.
Time I would have spent doing fun things, like sitting by the fire and drinking eggnog or watching movies with my family or seeing lots of friends, or looking at Christmas lights. I didn't even get to watch The old-school Grinch.
But I'm kinda grateful too. Some days I just get to see how fucking dope life is. Plus, I get by with a little help with my friends, too.
And it's cold. And no matter what, I fucking love Christmas.
Today I pinned a fluffy feathered owl to my shoulder which stared longingly into my eyes and referred to it as, "My friend, Stockton."
Yeah, that's so my life.
#46 - Pretend that blinkers are optional and that stop signs are only suggestions.
Feelin' weird lately.
I've spent quality time with a very strange array of people lately, most without the aid of alcohol or drugs.
I think I'm feeling something, too.
Like I'm highly aware of the frailty of life.
It's all very unusual.
Definitely going to drink that off.
Because if there's one thing I've learned from my esteemed client, it's that there's only one thing you can't drink off, and that's alcohol poisoning.
And mayyyybe lack of self respect.
Working 40 hours a week is dumb.
And people are really mean during the holidays to us lowly retail workers.
Ma'am, I'm sorry you haven't learned to check a computer to see if we carry shower curtains. We, indeed, do not. But you might find one lodged up your fat ass.
Way to fuck up #47 - Get ridiculously drunk or loaded before work. Or school. Or church. Act like this is perfect acceptable behavior. Let them all know how privileged they are to have you there at all.
I've spent quality time with a very strange array of people lately, most without the aid of alcohol or drugs.
I think I'm feeling something, too.
Like I'm highly aware of the frailty of life.
It's all very unusual.
Definitely going to drink that off.
Because if there's one thing I've learned from my esteemed client, it's that there's only one thing you can't drink off, and that's alcohol poisoning.
And mayyyybe lack of self respect.
Working 40 hours a week is dumb.
And people are really mean during the holidays to us lowly retail workers.
Ma'am, I'm sorry you haven't learned to check a computer to see if we carry shower curtains. We, indeed, do not. But you might find one lodged up your fat ass.
Way to fuck up #47 - Get ridiculously drunk or loaded before work. Or school. Or church. Act like this is perfect acceptable behavior. Let them all know how privileged they are to have you there at all.
Today, I am at a tolerable level of crazy.
See, sometimes I think I've "gone normal".
But really it's just that I was batshit crazy before and now it's just an endearing quirky kinda crazy.
Or at least I keep telling myself that.
Also, turns out being around sober people makes me impulsively talk about drugs and alcohol.
Compulsively, even.
Well, I am nothing if not inappropriate.
But I imagine it's not too helpful to recovering smack addicts.
God knows, being helpful is not my strong suit.
There's a week of retail work and shopping ahead of me.
But a weekend of seeing people before that.
It's always so surprising when people like me.
Kind of an acquired taste.
Also, killer allergies.
They make me want to crawl into bed with a bowl and a book and not leave for days.
Stay tuned for that action-packed excitement, kids.
You know I deliver.
#48 - Make up ridiculous tales about your life and tell them to other people. When you slip up and contradict yourself, cry and run away. You know, before they can call you a liar to your face. Then pretend it never happened.
See, sometimes I think I've "gone normal".
But really it's just that I was batshit crazy before and now it's just an endearing quirky kinda crazy.
Or at least I keep telling myself that.
Also, turns out being around sober people makes me impulsively talk about drugs and alcohol.
Compulsively, even.
Well, I am nothing if not inappropriate.
But I imagine it's not too helpful to recovering smack addicts.
God knows, being helpful is not my strong suit.
There's a week of retail work and shopping ahead of me.
But a weekend of seeing people before that.
It's always so surprising when people like me.
Kind of an acquired taste.
Also, killer allergies.
They make me want to crawl into bed with a bowl and a book and not leave for days.
Stay tuned for that action-packed excitement, kids.
You know I deliver.
#48 - Make up ridiculous tales about your life and tell them to other people. When you slip up and contradict yourself, cry and run away. You know, before they can call you a liar to your face. Then pretend it never happened.
Today I decided to pout like a fussy child because I couldn't go out drinking before noon.
Ignore that in the previous entry I illuminated the fact that alcohol is waging war on my body.
Destructive or not, alcohol is my friiiiieeeend. I realized sobriety is simply not a goal for me.
Let me repeat: SOBRIETY IS NOT A GOAL.
Beyond that though, I'm pretty psyched for payday tomorrow.
You know, so I can blow it all on petty Christmas gifts that people won't appreciate and be left with nothing to pay my student loans with after.
Because that's eternally smart.
My niece took her first step yesterday. It was pretty precious. And sad too.
Sad for me, I mean.
I wish someone would be that excited when I manage to coordinate my limbs.
Which isn't very often.
I think I'd have to buy Graceland for people to be that excited over me.
Or have a bacon-flavored vagina. Either or.
Ways to fuck-up:
#49 - Sleep with all your male friends, every last one of them. Even the gay ones. Make sure you say something super creepy like, "What should we name the baby?" when you're through.
Ignore that in the previous entry I illuminated the fact that alcohol is waging war on my body.
Destructive or not, alcohol is my friiiiieeeend. I realized sobriety is simply not a goal for me.
Let me repeat: SOBRIETY IS NOT A GOAL.
Beyond that though, I'm pretty psyched for payday tomorrow.
You know, so I can blow it all on petty Christmas gifts that people won't appreciate and be left with nothing to pay my student loans with after.
Because that's eternally smart.
My niece took her first step yesterday. It was pretty precious. And sad too.
Sad for me, I mean.
I wish someone would be that excited when I manage to coordinate my limbs.
Which isn't very often.
I think I'd have to buy Graceland for people to be that excited over me.
Or have a bacon-flavored vagina. Either or.
Ways to fuck-up:
#49 - Sleep with all your male friends, every last one of them. Even the gay ones. Make sure you say something super creepy like, "What should we name the baby?" when you're through.
Today my graduate school application was due.
Did I check to make sure the printer had ink?
Of course not.
Did I run to Kinko's at the last minute to print off my 40 page manuscript?
Yes, yes I did.
Did I only bring $5?
Yup.
It cost me nearly $30 to print that shit. I'd rather have printed it with my blood.
But the important part is that I actually mailed it off.
So that in 4 to 6 weeks they can mercilessly reject me and still keep my money.
God bless the American educational system.
In other news, turns out my body is currently rejecting alcohol.
Which works out because I have a weekend of seeing sober friends. I always feel guilty being on drugs or drunk when I'm with sober friends.
Then again, I'm pretty much always on something. So if I'm sober, they will think things are amiss.
That's right, I'm justifying my drug usage by claiming that people associate me with my high persona.
And it's pretty much true.
So in honor of myself, I am now giving tips on how to be a giant fuck-up.
#50 - Do not balance your checkbook. In fact, don't even check your bank balance. Just spend freely. Drink and smoke and drive like its going out of fucking style. And if you've got loans? Ignore 'em. Bills and jobs are for corporate slaves. Resist.
Did I check to make sure the printer had ink?
Of course not.
Did I run to Kinko's at the last minute to print off my 40 page manuscript?
Yes, yes I did.
Did I only bring $5?
Yup.
It cost me nearly $30 to print that shit. I'd rather have printed it with my blood.
But the important part is that I actually mailed it off.
So that in 4 to 6 weeks they can mercilessly reject me and still keep my money.
God bless the American educational system.
In other news, turns out my body is currently rejecting alcohol.
Which works out because I have a weekend of seeing sober friends. I always feel guilty being on drugs or drunk when I'm with sober friends.
Then again, I'm pretty much always on something. So if I'm sober, they will think things are amiss.
That's right, I'm justifying my drug usage by claiming that people associate me with my high persona.
And it's pretty much true.
So in honor of myself, I am now giving tips on how to be a giant fuck-up.
#50 - Do not balance your checkbook. In fact, don't even check your bank balance. Just spend freely. Drink and smoke and drive like its going out of fucking style. And if you've got loans? Ignore 'em. Bills and jobs are for corporate slaves. Resist.
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