And ok, he has a girl he's been shagging. So much for that. On to the next or maybe I'll just conform myself with having a cat as a boyfriend; he's by my side at night when its cold, at all the right moments. What else can I ask for? Maybe this is it, for now. A cat boyfriend. At least he is flexible (and by flexible I mean he can lick his balls, can your boyfriend do that?).

There is always something there,

something I am grasping at

but cannot reach.

It's 3am, shouldn't I be sleeping,

dreaming of things?

Occupying my mind

with important things?

Close my eyes and sigh,

the cat is on my toes,

and no one anywhere

is doing what I hope they would.

So, that was that. Let's give a little applause and usher in the next contestant (as if there is even a next contestant! They're all cowering in fear in the corner of the studio, crossing themselves repeatedly). I'm not saying that there aren't any pretenders to the throne, it's just that it blows chunks to go back to ground zero and start dating apathetically again. I hate pretending to care, pretending to be interested, and that is what people usually do on first and second dates (and barf barf barf). I just want someone fresh and exciting and different. I want to get slam dunked by pheromones and this crazy desire to get naked and feel each other and propel ourselves to greater heights. I want an a passion that doesn't consume, but creates.

The thing that I realized (and maybe I had realized it before, but had forgotten along the way) recently is that it has been nice to be on my own, to be this single woman, but I've also missed having someone to share my life with. The minutae, the ordinary, the sharing of unicorn dreams and glitter and Wayne's World and silly inside jokes and pet names. A partner in crime, an explorer of thoughts, a buccaneer of feelings. I'm co-dependant, but at the same time crave this independence, or this respect as a woman. I don't want to be tamed.

I don't want to be subdued, to be underestimated and under appreciated. R-E-S-P-E-C-T and all of that other suffragette chatter and bra burning, but at the same time I want him to open doors for me and think about me as this tender creature who does get overwhelmed at times and who does need male help. I want him (whoever this Make Pretend Dude is) to be a Man, capital M and not a boy, not a boy/Man either. All right, maybe 65% Man and 35% boy.

Whatever, truth is I don't know what I want and it wasn't more evident than this weekend when I got into a fight with The Creative Hustler (and we'll call him that because he free lances and gets his money where he can) over my indecision regarding "us". I sent him to hell at 2am and then he shows up at my house at 5am grabbing tit and kissing neck. I play dead like the good opossum that I am but he wanted to talk about us and our relationship and what the fuck has been going on all at 5:30am of course. I tell him to go to bed and that we'll speak in the morning, but he gets intense and I mumble something or other to his stupid fucking questions and he gets incensed, puts his clothes on and walks right out the door, which I lock angrily right after him, good riddance! He calls me a couple of times and it gets ugly. I don't go back to sleep til 7am. I'm done with this buffoon and his bipolarity and insanity. He's driving me insane and the drama is not worth it. The entertaining factor is gone and its getting messy and its time to bail the fuck out. Bail bail bail!

Hey so, ya wanna get high and watch a movie with me? Why the fuck does it seem like I am dating my cat. Fuck this shit. Let's cuddle.

A sudden sense of desperation set in. "I don't know what to do," she thought. Her mind raced over the things she should be doing, would be doing had she not taken that hit from the pipe sitting conveniently on her left hand side.

--------------------------------

The thing about the guy I am dating is the following: he never lets past issues be. He brings it back up in a joking manner, but the truth is I KNOW he isn't kidding. I know he still thinks about it obsessively. Why even bring it up at all if it is a subject that is not even relevant anymore? I'm searching for the EJECT button in a half assed manner, curious as to how far this train wreck of a relationship will go. It is my own little socio-emotional experiment.

Just found a pipe that I thought I had lost. It was in my glove compartment complete with some old weed stuffed into the hole. I'm smoking it right now hoping that I get high and not sick from it. You know you're a stoner when: you find yourself smoking anything that resembles weed, you smoke weed that you have "found" even if it is old/comes from unknown sources.

What the fuck is this shit that I am smoking? Waste not want not, so smoke it up even if it is kind of funky.

I just rolled what may very well my first rollie. I know, please, the appluase is too much, I am very humbled, thank you.

This video is a brief summary of my current so called relationship. This is the same guy that has a newly pasted picture of his ex girlfriend on his wall. I haven't brought the subject up because really, who gives? Nobody obvs. I just can't summon the ire and rage and care to broach the subject. I am not very excited about him either. Spent 5 days without seeing him, hanging out with my friends, getting stoned 24/7. I only thought of him once in awhile and only in passing, much like an annoying bee in your general area. Still, I have to wonder why I am with him, if only for the company because not even the sex is a good enough reason to remain (when in fact, it should be the first reason to leave him if I had my head set on straight).

so how long did that last?

A record, probably. Water and oil lasting as long as it did. Didn't want to tell you I (they) told you so, but I (they) told you so. Of course I was completely aware of what I was getting into, but still it stings. I feel like he was a bit like my little emotional science experiment; one more case that draws me ever closer to knowing exactly what I like in men. And what is it that I like in men, if I dare ask myself this.

The guy I re-met last weekend is a lovely specimen of the kind I like: a lovely British accent, dark brown hair, deep forest green eyes, tall, a little on the thick, manly side with what appeared to be a big schlong. Did I mention that he's a captain of an 80 foot sail boat? Total swoon inducing.

tyrant destroyer

He tells me I'm complicated, full of mysteries and surprises. I don't deny it; our personalities clash at times, our communication is not understood, misunderstandings occur. I get flustered and push the words out of my mouth much like Sisyphus pushing boulders up a mountain. I forget how to empathize, how to say a tender word, a soft caress... All the good things he does, has done, will do, wants to do fade and are replaced by hurt, anger, resentment, mistrust. I want to trust him, I want to trust him, I want to trust him, but he must gain my trust.

I went out last night with a guy friend who is in a similar situation as me (trust issues with the person they are dating, both of us have been single for awhile, etc) and we had our own little head shrink session. In the end my opinion was that love is worth the eventual heartbreak, because it makes you feel alive. You haven't really lived until you've gotten your heart broken, smashed to little bits, stomped and spat on then set on fire, blazing into black ashes.

We live our days afraid of feeling, afraid of experiencing, afraid of getting hurt or injured, afraid of falling in love. I don't think you decide to fall in love, but you do need to open your heart to the possibility in order to experience it. Falling in love is not a decision. You fall into it; sometimes you know it is happening as it occurs, while other times its a blindsided knock to the head, leaving you shocked at the sheer brutal force of it.

Apply

I'm such a moody, flip flopping individual. No wonder he thinks I am insane, but how much longer am I supposed to be his nurse, maid, mother, girlfriend? This isn't working for me and I am getting absorbed, forgetting the path I set out for myself. This isn't working for me, which is kind of funny because I actually put that I was in a relationship on Facebook and now I feel kind of silly if I take it down. He put it first, but what we have I wouldn't necessarily consider it a relationship.

I gave him a second chance to prove himself, to show me what he is capable of. It went well at first, but he quickly reverted back to his Neanderthal ways. Isn't that the clause I put on myself?One last chance but if he blows it, it is over. I don't care about material things, I didn't ask him to get a car, I just wanted some semblance of a relationship, one that is caring and loving and non-judgmental and one that makes ME a better person, where it is mutually beneficial. I don't want to be absorbed into a relationship, I'd like something relaxed and laid back where things aren't a complicated shit storm.

Simplicity.

And I build the road to your heart, blindly hoping that it will be a worthy effort.

I believe in past lives. I believe in suppressed memories, long forgotten and hidden away in some cob webby corner of your soul.

WHY CAN'T I TRUST YOU?

It's in you where I find my shelter,

in the hollow of your clavicle,

deep and encompassing;

in the essence of your skin,

masculine and lingering on my sheets;

in the stubble of your beard,

rough and assuring;

in the shape of your digits,

creatively gifted and elegantly tapered.

I should rush rush rush rush right now. I should work my ass off and kick the pavement, work my bone weary body and pulverize my bones. But all I want to do is lay in white sheets, your hands burning straight through me.

I fall and I embracing it, fall in love a million times, must be divine.

I'm feeling so incredibly positive and upbeat, almost giddy. I wonder how long it lasts till the little birdy slams into a plate glass window.

How many things I can blame on the full moon: lunacy, tender breasts, emotional awkwardness, over dramatization, forgetfulness, anger, lust, insanity, mood swings and many which have yet to be tested. Gives me an excuse to act all crazy at least a couple of times a month. A time to vent.

My family has always been a band of lunatics and took me some time to develop my own lunar tendencies which I am learning to embrace. Sounds very Mother Earth type scenario, but we are creatures that feel and we should learn to deal with that. I don't know if everyone gets sensory overload, but maybe that is what sadness is: a sudden sensory overload that we don't know how to process and which if not handled carefully can lead to depression.

I suffered from SAD while studying abroad in a colder climate. I had never suffered from depression before that, but was able to piece together my diagnosis without any help from doctors. I gained wait, slept constantly, missed classes, was overly sentimental. The minute Spring burst in, the cloud of sadness that had been weighing me down was lifted suddenly.

This is how unhealthy relationships start; its a push and pull of who can be more manipulative, who can get more, who gets or has the upper hand, control. I should have said no. I should have stood my ground and fought the on coming darkness by myself. But I'm a coward, an easy to please beggar, I have this insistent desire to please like a waggy tailed dog, so I texted him and he's coming back after he left not an hour before.

I blamed it on the moon which is not much better than blaming it on the rain. I still feel like crying. What an emotional mess I'm in.

I do research on the net regarding my personality type (ISFJ), agreeing on most of what they have to say. Am I vain for always trying to figure myself out more and more? I have always been curious as to why I do certain things, but to have it spelled out in such a detailed fashion is quite interesting.

Maybe I'm just dating him because he makes good fodder and by fodder I mean he gives me something to think about and chew on. I lie. I'm dating him because there is a stupid fucking connection that I am good at ignoring sometimes.

I just fell into the most hilarious time consuming vortex ever (that would be Facebook). A guy added me. I checked our mutual friends and it was a bunch of random people that I'm not very close to, so I clicked to see his photos and what I found was hilarious. The guy plays competitive ping pong, I couldn't tell if he was a pro or not, but he plays ping pong at tournaments and competitions. His house is filled with the oddest furniture, and he tends to smoke hookah in his livingroom while watching tv; he has no cable tv. He looks like a stoner and might even be one. His jet black hair is grown long down to his shoulders. I can't tell if he is Asian or not. I am almost certain I have never met him, so why would he even add me?

I feel like a huge fatass lately. It's like I'm going through puberty all over again; zits all over my face, sudden weight gain, fuzzy headed, irregular period, bigger tits, what the fuck. I hope I'm not preggo 'cause how much would that suck? I don't think I'd be the worst mother ever, but I would be sort of unstable and overwhelmed for sure.

And I would do anything for love... and I would do anything forrrrrrr, buttttt I won't do that. No I won't do thaaaaaaattttt (taking our the trashhhhhh).

A deserted street, the streetlights casting angels and demons around us. He stopped abruptly and faced me, cupped his hands around my face, whispered a question into the night. The smile didn't quite reach my eyes, my thoughts on a different smile, different eyes, different teeth. I said yes, but my thoughts blared a warning, something is off.

I won't lie and say there aren't brilliant moments when the very fabric of us is threaded around the world we create, are creating. Moments when your eyes laugh and you find life interesting again. Moments when you forget yourself and become the little kid hidden deep inside you somewhere. Moments when you catch me off guard in a moment of vulnerable openness and respond in such an instinctive, natural way that it's hard to think anything is really wrong with us.

I must publish a book, a novel and I must become an acclaimed author. Just so that a book about me can later be published (once I'm dead, of course), explaining this part of my life. How would it be described and would any of it be of any real importance when faced with the entire landscape of my life. Maybe this guy I'm dating would be just another dude I dated in the story of my life. Just another dude. And that makes me smile and take things with a certain grain of levity and rapid assurance. It somehow makes me feel better about everything. Every story has a beginning and an ending and that is assuring.

OK, so it isn't that I am a nympho, but Jesus H. Christ, if we're dating and it is the beginning of the relationship then I don't see why we shouldn't be fucking like rabbits in Spring. I want you all the time and I want you to want me all the time, capisci? Bend me over and fuck me stupid. I don't think I am asking for too much.

I met his family last weekend; mom and dad, even his grandma. "Hi family, my name is PJ and I'm fucking your youngest son. He's not my boyfriend, but we've been tangling since December.". Nice folks, down to Earth, practical people. I also met most of his close friends. What does this all mean? It means nothing and I shouldn't over think it. Instinctively my biological clock starts shouting shit and injecting my brain with images of children, happy endings, white clapboard fences. FUCK NO. How easy I forget to be the woman I've been steadily marching towards when a man comes into view.

I'm caught up in the suspense of it,

the aching moments spent holding my breath,

expecting a misstep and finding solid ground,

afraid of falling I hold my hands in front of me,

cradled in my arms like the infants I dream with.

Halloween costume: duck mask and bikini. Dance around a bit, freak people out.

This UTI is killing me. But I am going to kill it before it kills me. Drinking cranberry juice by the gallons.

I just had a really good idea, which in effect might be a really bad idea in the end. Right now it sounds just about fabulous. I've never had sex in a very public place, but today I am wearing a skirt with a red blouse and pretty little red shoes that would look real good in an indiscreet situation (up in the air, white thighs flashing).

How about I have an eating my words sandwhich right now along with some I could be wrong sauce and down it with a I might be falling for him milkshake all with subtle reference to the booty call. Yes, the same crazy, audacious, irreverent, fun, lying, creative, unnerving dude I've been boning on the side for the past 10 months. So, how have you been? Fuck me.

I consciously decided to give him another chance. It was a blatant decision to either step it up or erase it all together. He kept chasing after me. He was phoning, texting, e-mailing me stupid fucking shit that I found terribly endearing. We've been hanging out non stop since last Friday. At this point I haven't slept alone for a week now. It has been so easy and so normal and it is scaring the panties off me because he is not what I envisioned in my life, for my life, but in a strange way I can see him in my life with me. I see it very clearly. There is this feeling I have in my throat and it feels like a pleasant nausea. Like a string pulling down into my navel and filled with jittery apprehension and happy unease. I'm walking on a tightrope and I'm afraid of heights. I'm about to fall and I am not heading the warning signs, speeding straight ahead into oblivion.

In your kiss I can feel the expansion of the universe,

I expand by your touch, a feel, a caress;

I expand and encompass and spread apart and become one again.

I am just a minuscule particle set to vibrating by your energy;

With you I can expand, with you I can vibrate, with you I feel myself.

How can I deny you?

How can I deny you?

Deny you?

I don't know if I want to anymore.

White Knuckles

I'm welcoming the spooky month of October by painting my nails orange. My nails are freshly painted and I have a horrible itch on my scalp and all I can manage to do is tap it. Tap tap tap. Found a small piece of driftwood and used it to satiate my needs (how incredibly kinky). Speaking of needs, am I ever going to get laid again in a meaningful manner? How about passion, attraction, chemistry and maybe even love. Yeah, am I really ready for that? Is there even space for 'love' in my life? I feel like Rapunzel or some such shit. Waiting in this fucking apartment for, who?

During the weekend I made my own little personal retreat and fled to a friend's house in the mountains. I was able to figure out more or less the little bothersome feeling I couldn't shake. Funny enough, it is unrelated to men. I've been living the last couple of years of my life in a limbo in the sense that I didn't strive towards any particular goals, drifting through my own life without any general direction. So, I was able to come up with some goals and things to strive for in general. Where I see myself in the next 3 years, where I want to go, my path. Bla bla bla, poor little me, I can't find my way waaah waaah waaah.

Fuck.

This.

Shit.

I've been falling asleep intentionally with the light on. I tuck myself into a comfortable, cozy little ball and then let my eyelids drop softly close, the light seeping through my closed lids. It is safe. I wake up in the early dawn and walk sleepily across the room and turn the light off. I sometimes wish someone were turning off the light for me. I wish that I would open my eyes and see only the encroaching sunrise through the window, the artificial light having been replaced by the dark encompassing night, the softest of creeping light.

There is an ever growing pile of clothes on my bed. I have a feeling I will be sleeping on some possibly worn clothes, socks, blouses. It feels like such a kid thing to do, to be sleeping wherever, however, in whatever circumstances may arise, prepared for anything. Now I travel with my orthopedic pillow. It doesn't get more punk rock than that.

I miss, I miss, I miss

Possibly the idea of you;

If the day is bright

I miss the smile of you, cheeky

slightly cynical,

jagged teeth on meaty lip,

I miss, I miss, I miss

my bright red chin, rubbed raw

courtesy of an afternoon shadow

I miss, I miss, I miss

And I am certain you are seeing other girls, that you can and will and want to. Why wouldn't you, red blooded macho man that you are. Terrible with emotions, direct and forward questioning, hedging, curtailing, making a run for it. I call you melodramatic, a soap opera in hushed suspense and anxiousness. Take me away, Calgon! My ever present practicality goes up against your romanticized ideas and yearnings. I want concrete while all you want is a feeling, an instinct. I am the ever frigid bitch who wants quantifiable results. Show me and I will fall.

I wonder if I can be the fat, caucasian version of Chun-Li for Halloween. Hey, I can't kill anyone with my subpar martial arts, but I can commando a chocolate cake in no time.

I can't wait to get to the point where I don't give a crap about being cool. I feel like it's such a waste of time. I am fighting it all the time. Don't be a lemming. Do you really like this or do you like it because people might like it? Blah, stand up for myself and like what I like and not what the world dictates I should like.

I'm tired of dating rando weird guys, rando nice guys, rando creepy guys, rando guys who only like my ass, rando nice but creepy guys, too nice rando guys... I'm kind of tired of being single but at the same time I do not feel passionate about any of the guys I'm dating to actually make it more serious. So, I feel the need for a serious relationship, but it doesn't occur and I feel like a DVD with lagging sound, the voices out of sync with the lips.

There is always that compulsion to be someone, something. Define yourself, who are you? What are you? Where are you going? What do you want? I am quite possibly the most oblivious person on the planet regarding this. I used to find it amusing. Oh, I just don't know what I want to do! But it has passed from being this pleasantly cute obliviousness, to this very severe and serious issue. I just don't know what the fuck to do with my life.

So I will tell you what I will be doing right now (not in order):

• Smoke a bowl of gifted pot (gifted because I said I was trying to detox when the reality might be that I'm trying to save money, so I'll just mooch some off my friends.
• I have officially become a mooch after years of hating mooches.
• Perhaps I'll take a shower.
• Perhaps I'll do Pilates.
• Smoke another bowl.
• I even might hook up with the Booty Call for dinner and a movie.

Now this is exactly why it is dangerous to be bored and listless without any possible masculine entertainment in the visible horizon. I recur to the Booty Call or he recurs to me. Someone will text the other one, or send a funny picture or just mention it in passing, 'I miss you' and then the fucking cycle is back and we both end up worse for the wear. Completely compatibly incompatible if that makes any sense whatsoever.

The Frenchman showed back up on the scene this very morning. A nice round of Skype sex and I'm good to go for a long long, well for a bit anyways. He's cute. We talk about serious business after he 'ejaculates'. I'm still nude on my bed, a content smile gracing my lips.

Would it make me the most evil of bitches if I mention that The Musician might be demoted to the nice musician that I've been on a few pleasant dates with but for whom I feel perhaps 25% attraction to. Ok, I lie. There are moments when that 25% surges to maybe 50%, but his insecurity pushes it back to 25%. He's ever so quiet. Sometimes we don't understand each other's sense of humor and it gets awkward. I laugh too hard, I try too hard, I want too much, I expect too much.

Depressed 'cause I have no money. Unemployed. Smoking out of a grimy glass bowl. Wearing the same pajamas as yesterday.

At least I'm thinner.

Exploding Interwebs and taxes

I asked a recently married friend if anything had changed and she mentioned that her last name and the ring on her ring finer. I asked her for reasons why I should consider marriage and she mentioned taxes. As romantic as it gets. 'Hey baby, let's get married for tax purposes!'. Fuck. No.

I don't want that in my imaginary marriage.

Give me passion, give me that oft misquoted and misunderstood idiotic feeling called love. Give me understanding and support and a damned sense of humor that does not belong to a twelve year old (all the time). Give me a creation, a space imagined where only we live, a world of our own, haven which you and I inhabit. Give me an exploration of tastes, of senses, of skin touching, molding. Two worlds colliding and for a brief instant (be it 10 minutes, 20 months, 15 years) truly communicating, everything understood implicitly.

See also: naive.

You took my pizza slice

and with it a little smidgen of my heart,

blood still pumping through the vena cava,

sucks to date a zombie.

I just went on a date with The Musician (yes, it is capitalized). We went for some nice reliable pizza. I was the carnivorous one who ate three slices of pizza and called it quits. Umm, yeah small please. This is the second day in a row where we hang together. I do find him cute and appealing. Yes, isn't that a fantastically bland word to describe someone? Appealing? He's quiet and introverted and an incredibly gifted musician, smart and kind of geeky cool. I'm liking everything so far, what can I say. He seems kind of safe and reliable. I wonder if he's sweet, the touchy feely type. I need contact, I realize this now, but my relationships need to include some sort of PDA. I am comforted by a soft hand on my leg, fingers on the neck, cupping of my lower back. He's got this quiet, dry sense of humor, slightly offbeat.

Me gusta.

I'll go to sleep and dream of you,

put me to sleep with a lullaby and

find me in the clouds.

'I am not ok' she said while smiling a valiantly white bright grin, her teeth shining, ivory tusks embedded in pink gum.

'I never thought you were'

'But... no one is OK. Point me to someone who is OK and I will show you a wall built of paper cranes'

'So, you're the philosophizer now that you've tried acid.'

'Oh, you're a fucking idiot. Expand your mind it might due your brain some good. Stuck in that room all the time, get the fuck out! You're driving yourself crazy and by consequence you're driving ME crazy!'

Eyes offended, hurt, he looks at her, barely knows her anymore.

'You've changed' he says, his voice hiding a break in the vocals.

'Everyone does.'

I changed my sheets and you are now replaced and forgotten, your scent disappearing behind a cloudful of lavender scented Lysol. Pppppppppppppppfffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt and goodbye.

The Musician happened into my life about a month or two ago. He plays the guitar, is incredibly introverted, but when he does bring out his self to play he's a lot of fun, surprisingly so. Very intuitive and sensitive, but at the same time kind of insecure and unsure of himself. He's so quiet people often forget they have met him time and time again. Until they see him on-stage and then he is remembered, engraved into the medulla oblongata, part of an exploding synapse somewhere in the left brain.

I'm dumping the booty call. I'm tired of the games and it's not really working for me. I thought I needed a bit of drama in my life but I am recalling that idea now. No, no drama.

El Club de Los Corazones Rotos. Maybe that could be the name of our band? We'd make really sad, slightly depressing music. Bittersweet tunes that move and console you. Bring you to tears and wipe them away and cuddle you. Sad Panda.

I had decided to call it off with the booty call. I was too emotionally involved, I was bound to get hurt. Nothing was clear, everything was blurry. Things got tangled, we tangled. I've been getting some off phonecalls from numbers I don't recognize. I thought for a fleeting second it was the booty call being funny, calling me and saying naughty things over the phone. I also got them as text messages. I decided to call him and ask him pointblank if it was him making the phone calls from an unidentified number, He said it wasn't and I believe him. Why do I still believe him after all of this? he has proven he isn't trustworthy, yet somehow I keep giving him more chances. When will I learn? He said he missed me, he always thinks of me. I always think of him as well, how can I not? He's been a part of my life on and off for the past 9 months. As much as I tried to keep him at an arm's length, he has found a way of infiltrating himself into my life and now it's so hard to extirpate him. I don't even know if I want to anymore.

Aural Orgasm

Salem - King Night from Sean Michael Pheanis on Vimeo

I absolutely fucking hate American Apparel's classic girl. Classic according to who? An 80's WASP advertisement?

This guy who I believe might be interested in me (and I say might because we've hung out a couple of times, and by hung out I mean listened to music and gotten stratosphericly high) called me just now to see what I was up to. I think he might have been trying to invite himself over, but I'm not really in the mood to hang out with anyone tonight so I dodged that self invite.

I usually don't mind people coming over and chilling, but it might be a bit weird because he's going to be travelling with the same rock band that the booty call is in this weekend. They're going to a different state that is eight hours away and I am kind of hoping my name doesn't come up, 'cause how awkward would that be?

Is it terrible that I am seeing a slew of different men? Keeping my options wide open. But not my legs 'cause I'm trying to be a proper bitch, not a 'ho bag bitch.

The Frenchman has been calling me at least once a day if not more. We chat about work, about golddiggers, about roommates. What the hell is going on? Je nais cest pas, but I am finding it enjoyable in some odd way. I absolutely love getting into these sorts of situations, eh? Internet affairs that go nowhere. Hey, do you live 30,000 km away? Why don't we start this incredibly meaningful Internet relationship where we'll both get frustrated, mistrustful and end up hating each other? Sounds like a fab idea! Count me in!

I'm sorta shaking the grey cloud that has been haunting my ass since last Friday. By sort of shaking I mean I haven't cried today (but then again, it's still early).

Blargh.

When I really, really, really get into a song I play it on a loop. Over and over till the grooves and rhythms are embedded deep within my cortex, never forgotten.

I brought on my cramps and I brought on the rain and who knows what else I have brought towards me with my super negative force activated. I feel like the anti-hero today. I'm in a fucking sluuuuuuuumppppppp. Slump schlump schlumped. I can't get anything done, I'm shit shit shit at work, have zero motivation or inclination, it's an abomination.

I'm back at not knowing what the fuck to do with myself, with my life; I don't know in what direction I am going, I get frustrated with myself and hate everything that much more.

Found myself rolling a joint on my passport application. The irony was not lost on me.

I somehow became entangled with old boots the booty call. We tangled and then he fucked me over and now I am on the fence about him. I won't lie and say he didn't screw me over big time, but I balance it out thinking/hoping/believing that there was something real that I saw briefly in him.

There was a moment the other day when he was cooking in my kitchen by the light of a candle and for a brief millisecond I could truly see what we could be and it was beautiful. It was cozy, and comforting, and creative and wonderful. In a millisecond. It gave me hope and sparked that stupid, idiotic warm feeling and I didn't smush it, squeeze it, blow the damn thing out in time and now I'm fucked writing depressing entries trying to exorcise the PITY ME demons crying weepily in a corner of my (insert where you believe the soul resides here).

Been listening to depressing indie dance pop and smoking Rastafarian approved blunts. I'm a real joy to be around. I've had a couple of really depressing days, even though I've been surrounded by friends, partying my ass off. Sad partying, masked partying, pretending. I passed out on the toilet bowl after puking my very guts out at a friend's party. Was woken up to loud knocking and questioning, who is in there? hello?

Yeah, I don't have a drinking problem. It was called to my attention with a very pointedly directed-at-me statement: She doesn't know how to not party hard. I'm very good at it. Too good at it you might say. I spend a lot of money going out and getting my drunk on. I spend a lot of money on clothes, on eating out. My savings, what savings? I need to a)marry a rich stupid asshole who will drive me to popping pills b)work hard (yawn) c)make it as a creative uh, artist (i.e., one of the following: painter, actress, singer, writer, even a stupid fucking blogger) d)be a slacker forevs and not be a materialistic bitch e)seriously go off the rails and become a budhist monk.

I hate all of those options.

You don't know what you're missing

my charm and ease and ever love;

you lost, you fucked up one too many times.

I saw it coming and played the fool;

bad boys with bad habits with bad histories

a weakness of character that has not left my side.

my achille's heel is guys like you,

so I cut myself loose and float up to the sky.

Just a speck in the distance

looking over my shoulder, hoping.

And for my next trick I will attempt to roll a joint! Seriously awful at joint rolling. I seemed to have skipped that class in Stoner High. Joint Rolling 101. I had a friend who could drive his car and roll a joint, while another one took it a step further; he could drive his scooter and roll a joint. Oh hey, multitasking dangerously AND getting high. Talented friends. My ex used to roll the most perfectly made cone shaped joints. He'd roll about 10 of them and stick them in a tin can and take them to parties where he kept producing ready made joints out of thin air. It blew some friend's minds. Nowadays I usually smoke out of a bowl, but on the terrible occasion where the *ahem* quality goes down, circumstances must be worked with.

Today I choose not to torture myself by looking at my ex boyfriend's photo albums on Facebook. His happy, bucolic life with his lovely, foreign girlfriend is just too much to handle today. Too much to handle, too heavy, too emotional for me. Leave me with the raunchy texts I've been having with the Frenchman. Hot and heavy, rather base and to the point and over the internet, just how I like it. Bend me over and make me forget. Place some detailed scenario in my head and watch the cogs turn. Turn my brain on and the rest is yours.

The booty call is back on the scene. I became the nurse, the love giver, the nurturer. I liked it. I like him. I should not fall for my booty call. Not the right move, man. The thing is, his father has terminal cancer, he's going through a rough moment, I felt bad for him and the truth is, I like the guy. He might be all fucked up, he's not the most reliable person out there, but he makes me laugh and he has a certain je ne sais quoi.

I lie. I know what it is. His energy draws me to him. He's an incredibly talented musician, he's an incredibly talented artist, it's just all scattered and in some small part of my being I feel like, I can be that person who makes him into this amazing creature, this amazing being, this talent.

But who am I to be the cure? Why should I be the person that helps him. He's attracted to me because I am this warm, comforting being. He was all fucked up, bags under his eye, emaciated, a yellow pallor coating his skin when he came over on Monday. He didn't leave my side for three days. He shaved for the first time in a long time today.

------------------

Been having completely R-rated chats with a Frenchman of unknown origin. I don't even know how it started, but please don't stop. We chat on blackberry chat, he's always demanding my attention, regardless of whether I'm driving or not. He barely respects the boundary or the cease chat I place when I'm in a meeting. I'm enjoying it all in some peculiar, odd way. It does turn me on, how could I say no? I doubt he's coming down, so what is a bit of internet flirting, teasing? he sent me a picture of his dick, how could I not enjoy that move? I sent him a couple of myself in my undies, half naked, hair disheveled. Those pictures were not intended for him, but what does he care? All he sees is an attractive woman with a huge ass. Bingo!

-------------------

Odd confession of the day: I look at people's profile pictures on Facebook and then when I feel I've had enough (usually a gut feeling or a sudden inclination) I look through my own profile pictures, in a way trying to decode myself, my intentions with certain pictures. What was I trying to say, to convey?

------------------

I've seen my bosses penis, but the other boss has handed me toilet paper after I've been caught on the throne sans TP with my pants folded at my feet, so I guess we're all even steven karmically speaking (i.e., awkward situations).

Welcome to the club. We should stock up on tampons and kotex.

My 'reliable' and 'steadfast' booty call just canceled on me. Waaaah waaaaaah. Says I'm too active, go out too much and that he's old. He just turned 29 and has been going through some semi-serious bouts of depression. I don't want to get too involved with him because I am not in the mood to be anybody's nurse or nanny. He wants me to be that salve and I am just sick and tired of being the friggin' Lemonade Lucy, the angel that helps every broken boy/man. I can't put you together. I can't put anyone together anymore, I refuse. Me first and the Gimme Gimme's; selfish and all about myself. I refuse to blend into another relationship. I don't want to become one with somebody. I want to be perfect halves complimentary.

That might not make sense, but I just don't want to be overtaken. I want to be seen as a whole who is married, not a half of a whole.

I'm going to eat McDonald's right now and cry into my Big Mac..... I don't eat Big Macs.

I've listened to Rude Boy 537 million times by now. I dance to it in my underwear and pretend I can move like Rihanna (not happening but I forge on anyway).

She's a nasty bitch! I don't know who is nastier, Rihanna for singing it or me for relating to it.

How I adore Har Mar. I want him to grind his filthy huevos smothered in elastic gliterry spandex in my face. I want to get sweaty and nasty to his tunes while the crowd gets down. I want to dance and grind.

I think my next tattoo will be a tetris block. I'm still thinking about which block it would be. Probably the T block because it is so adaptable.

I'm having feelings and shit for a guy friend of mine. Yeah. Tricky fucking territory and he feels it as well. We were both kind of thrust into this situation and now we're both trying to back out without hurting each other's feelings. We're both not ready for this, completely unprepared. But somehow it also feels like we've been dodging it for awhile. Maybe all guy friends are just waiting for that moment to stick it to you.

I was chatting with him on Facebook and I started heating up, my face was on fire, a wave of nausea hit me and I couldn't tell if it was love or if it was food poisoning. 'I feel nauseated' I wrote and two minutes later he calls me. 'I decided to make it more awkward', he's really fucking clever, almost too much. But it would be much like falling, having no real clue where something is leading but being brave enough to take that step or hiding in the shadows, always afraid to make a commitment, to take that step.

I hang up the phone and walk into the living room where my roommate is working on her laptop. She looks up at me, says she puked. The cheese or the tortellini was expired. Shit wasn't right and we both got food poisoning.

It's not love.

White hand amid the brown sea,

smiling teeth like Galilee.

Oh, don't you bring good news for me,

A chance of love, of dreams to be?

----------------------------------------------------------

I close my eyes and I'm transported

to a little burb in new york city

how the big apple calls to me

come here come here

come waste away amid the raucous city

The never sleeping city

with lights that blind and chains that bind

let go, let go of me,

I'll leave, I'll leave, I'll never leave.

Dear Universe:

Today I looked nice. I was dressed in dark colors. My mother told me I looked nice. And yet today that I looked nice and put together, I did not run into not a single cute guy. And yet, Lawd forbid I go out looking like a run over rag on the road and I bet that I will run into plenty of cute guys. When I am sweating my ass off I run into cute guys who just happen to find me in the most awkward of moments or situations. Universe, this is no good. I want to look my best when I meet a cute guy, I gotta be at the top of my game. Don't want to look like an old flip flop.

Lots of love,

PJ

Fuck. Yeah.

You badly want to believe you can achieve your goals. In order to do so you have to believe in yourself and this is where the problems lay. Recent setbacks may have caused you to doubt your abilities when you really don’t need to. You may be putting limits in place that don’t need to be there. Don’t back down from this challenge. Embrace it – overcome it!

Hmmmmmmphhhhhhhhh. I'm pretty terrible at reaching my goals. I'm fickle. A goal one month can change radically in the next month. I can't focus on what I want, what I should do, what would make me happy, what would make me money. I haven't finished my degree though Lawd knows it wouldn't be too difficult; I'm just lazy and so comfortable. I get into a cozy spot and it soon becomes a rut, but one that I am not aware of.

I'm having a good moment right now in my life. Things are not 100% perfect but they are pretty damn near it, so of course I'm not going to want to change it. I'm comfortable and for me comfort is everything, but one doesn't learn from comfort. One doesn't learn by going soft and accommodating. One doesn't learn by taking the easy way out. Well, that is what society says. Go after something that everyone else believes you should have foregoing what might make you happier as a person.

It's all a balance. A balance act and we have things mid-air threatening to fall at any minute. So many facades and masks and artifices. Hard to believe if we ever really get to know any person, even those we believe we know well. We only know as much as they allow.

What the fuck July?! You're such an overachieving little bitch.

Both friendship and material benefits may well come to you at this time. You feel very sociable and gregarious, and seek conviviality, especially with people who really know how to have a good time. Charitable and philanthropic impulses are stronger now, also, and should be followed with positive action on your part.

i.e., PARTY!!!!

Which is exactly what I have been fucking doing for as long as I can remember. My mother says that my uncle was very much a socializer (i.e., parties alot, eats terribly, slightly irresponsible, but ever so charming and gosh darnit oh so fun).

This is a good time to spread your wings - perhaps travel, vacation, or get involved in something new. This is a wonderful time to socialize and meet new people. Unless other astrological influences at this time indicate differently, you will be in a relaxed, tranquil mood during this time.

i.e., PARTY!!!!

I have been trying to take it easy and drink less and party less and socialize less, but it's not coming naturally and I am thinking that hey, maybe this is just not the moment for that. Maybe you should just go with the flow and not fight against the current all the time. When the moment is ripe, it will happen.

I do want to save money because although I fucking hate the concept of it, I still need it and thus it makes me hate it more. I think that if I am not careful I tend to fall into very materialistic lifestyles and I don't want to be tied to that. It's like being tied to a sinking rock, you only want more and more. There has to be a point in my life where I am just content. Contentment is so important, and yet as humans we always want more and more.

Physical thrills and excitement have a strong appeal for you now, and you want to do something new and out of the ordinary. You also have a lot of energy and quick reflexes. A vigorous game of racquetball or tennis, or some other fast-moving competitive sport would be a good outlet for you now. Acting on your spontaneous impulses and following through on some of your more unusual or 'crazy' desires will yield surprises, mostly positive.

i.e., PARTY!!!! and DANCE!!!! and sex. Lots and lots and lots of sex. It's too bad that now that I have such a high level of sexiness going on there is absolutely nobody to share it with it. To partake of this beautiful moment with me.

Median number of male sexual partners in lifetime, for women 25-44 years of age, 2002: 3.8
Percent of women 25-44 years of age who have had 15 or more male sexual partners, 2002: 11.4%

Well, ain't that funny.

"Elaine is mostly a victim of fate throughout the series. Storylines involving her would typically have her caught up in the machinations of the other characters, or coming into conflict either with her inadequate boyfriends or the arbitrary requirements of her eccentric employers. She grew progressively more cynical and acid-tongued as the series progressed."

Am I the Elaine of my friends?!

Today I am thankful for yuvutu and my bug eating cat.

The booty call got arrested. Yes, arrested. Now I don't know if this confirms or validates that little thought in my head that always thought he was just a bit ghetto and crazy.

(The cat just swallowed a spider. I like how self reliant he is, "Fucking bitches won't feed me, I'll feed myself.").

The booty call also informed me that he was on drugs for his little head (his words, not mine). And so I mentioned three that he could definitely partake from (prozac, ritalin and valium). I got 1 out of 3 right.

He was supposed to come over last night, but then some girlfriends came over and we started smoking and gossiping, time flew by. He called and said he was running late, if I mind if he arrived at 10. I said it wasn't a problem, but that if he wanted to stay with his friends it was fine. I jumped into the shower and a thought crept into my head: go out, have a beer, enjoy yourself. I peeked my head out of the bathroom door, my hair dropping puddles on the floor, 'I'm going out tonight!' I commented loudly. The room erupts into laughter.

I should call it off with him. In fact I tried. I want to go back to those days when I'd ignore his phonecalls for days on end, my thoughts tied up in some other situation/guy.

I got wasted last night. What was supposed to be 2 beers turned into 5 or maybe 6. Sloppiness ensued. I was also high, naturally. Got walked home by two friends because of my wrecked state. Wrecked Tuesdays!

what. a. fucking. day.

I haven't stopped crying since 5pm. Every single song on the radio, in my mp3 cd's, in the motherfucking Office Depot; all were sad songs. Time After Time came on as I was paying for my new external hard drive, and it took all of my focused energy to not start bawling right there. The cashier asked me, "Savings or checking account"and I wanted to die. I had an excuse made up in my head if anyone deign to ask me if I was OK. "My eyes water when I get allergies."

I don't suffer from allergies.

I did not get laid for my birthday and in fact called things off with the booty call. It was inevitable and I did say that I wanted to be single and free on my birthday and I was. He keeps saying that he had the intention to make things more serious, but I say why force things? If they are not flowing and if there is no real interest on either part to make it serious then why do it? I don't want excuses that I am not even demanding.

He shows up at the party last night, bites my neck and grabs my ass and then goes on to make out with his ex girlfriend in a corner. I mean, come on, really? After half an hour he tells me he's leaving; I ask him straight up if he is leaving with his ex. He hides his shock at the fact that I knew what was happening. He responds that he is and so I tell him to have a good time (I refused to let this whole stupid situation affect my good times).

As I am leaving the club I send him a text basically calling things off. He's still heavy into his ex and I don't want a flake in my life anymore. He calls me from an unidentified number (of course, for he is the man of mystery after all) and says that he never left with his ex, that he wants to go to my place and spend it with me. Things don't work that way, I tell him incredulously.

Can I get a new booty call already? It's about time. Either a new low maintenance booty call or a boyfriend, but I don't want a high maintenance booty call, which is what I currently have. He whispers sweet nothings, makes promises he keeps only half the time and then disappears for weeks at a time. Comes back worse off than how I left him. He's much like an alley cat, the kind that comes and goes and when he comes back he's beat to shit, scratched up, exhausted and spent. You don't understand why he just wont be a house cat, but you also don't give up all hope with him yet.

If I were 20 lbs lighter I would cut my hair short and start all over again. I wouldn't dye my hair, or highlight it. I'd take better care of it. I feel as though my hair went to shit when I started fucking around with it. It grows, I know, but still for a person who likes instant gratification waiting for her hair to grow half an inch each month is a bit much to wait. Rapunzel locks activate! BAM!

Numershmuckology, you had me at "The number 3 Life Path is one that emphasizes expression, sociability, and creativity as the lesson to be learned in this life. Here we are apt to find the entertainers of the world, bright, effervescent, sparkling people with very optimistic attitudes.".

Completely surprised at how un hungover I am today considering the massive amounts of everything I drank. Smoked a bowl in the bathroom, giggling at the absurdity of the whole situation when a girl walked into the bathroom and mentioned out loud how pervasive the smell of reefer was and that we should share the wealth. We opened the bathroom door and handed her the pipe and crowded her in. She happens to live in my same neighborhood and gave me a totally fun/cool vibe. New funkstatic neighbor, yeay!

I'd love to live in a funky cool alternative neighborhood with cool shit happening every weekend at people's apartments, block parties, pool parties, music playing, people becoming friends, everything within walking distance.

Trying to score some extasy or acid tonight. Hmmmm, acid would be bombastic tonight.

Me: "Yeah, I accidentally tripped on acid last Sunday."

Him: "Uhh, how does one accidentally trip on acid? Was your drink spiked was it in food or what?"

Me: "No, no. The thing is, it wasn't planned and thus it was accidental"

Totally checking out guys everywhere, my eyes won't stop roaming and checking out guys from head to toe. The radar is on and is taking no prisoners. Please keep your hands inside the car, this ride is about to start.

You know you're in a weird mood when:

- You find yourself listening to Fuck Buttons.

What the fuck is this music? Distorted static with creepy squeaky monsters chattering.

Can someone change that cd? Its scratched, oh no, that's what the cd sounds like, it's on purpose. KIDS TODAY.

I've got my outfit for the dance party on Saturday (this is also my birthday outfit, but that sounds corny as shit). It's a tight fitting romper. Deciding whether to sacrifice my feet and wear heels or go in dance mode and wear sneakers. Oh, the worries of a soon to be 27 year old. I'm also deciding whether to trip acid or extasy on Saturday. I know, highly responsible adult, for sure.

My night has been fan-fucking-tabulous. Watching Fantasia completely stoned out of my mind. When was the last time I allowed my fantasy to get swept away? Fab. I'm going to change the title to Faptasia and get swept away. That was gross.

It's funny how I allow myself to get worked up over the simplest shit but, how about you let Auntie PJ tell you a story?

It all started last Friday. I was running late for the pleasure party I had been invited to at a friend's house. I had gone home after work to get high and change and then head over to the party. I didn't want to go empty handed to the party (as I had promised to make brownies... which I never got around to actually making), so I stopped by a gas station and ran in to buy beer; grabbed two six packs of beer and was about to check out the munchie section when I scanned a semi-recognizable rather cute guy in the checkout line. I got in line right behind him and decided to forgo the munchies.

Turns out we had gone to school together, he was a year or two younger. He's a bit preppy nerdy (which I could get in to), but what sealed the deal for me was the fact that he was buying an apple. Which he was not intending on eating. Match made in stoner heaven.

He paid for his things and we parted ways. In the back of my mind I thought he was cute and endearing, witty and something obviously piqued my interest. The only problem was that I didn't know his name. Thus I couldn't stalk him. I couldn't add him on Facebook. I could only hope that he was more determined than my half-assed effort.

He added me on Facebook tonight.

He must be into crazy, addicted alcoholic stoners.

The booty call is still in the picture, but why? Yesterday we whispered drunken nothings into our cellphones, after parting ways at the first bar I visited on Monday evening. He was waiting for some friends and I had already scored my weed, so I was ready to go outsies. Working all day had left me exhausted and I was feeling odd in my Lesbian Power Mommy issued clothes (Now with more brown leather loafers!). Got a call from Frida who wanted to go out and suddenly I was tired no more.

I bid the booty call g'bye, mentioned I was going to a bar on the other side of town. He was apologetic about not being able to leave, but I didn't really care. The thing about us is that the less we see each other, the better the sex, everything. The dynamics. We go through these moments where we see each other continuously for three, four days and then we burn out and we go back to not really wanting to see each other, or making the effort necessary to meet up. Things are always forced with him, they never flow freely and always require planning. Nothing spontaneous.

I've decided that I need to be single for my birthday. Sans commitments.

I don't want a "because I have to/because I should" type of love. I treat you right, but I expect nothing in return. I also treat you right, but I don't invest myself in you, and I don't believe you. Your words are empty half the time. You keep explaining, apologizing why this, why that. That we "should" make this official. This? What? This is nothing and can we possibly make it even less complicated. This just is, but it is nothing.

My roommate just showed up with three of her friends. I am stoned and in my bra and had twenty milliseconds to react to the fact that I am rather topless. I just smiled and pretended it was no big deal. It really isn't as this bra is like a sports bra.

I'm a bit sunburnt from today's beach jaunt. Took off for the beach yesterday afternoon, my brain a box of hazy smog cushioning the drive over.

A flamboyant gay friend of my roommate's just complimented my ass. I will take pride in my ass from now on. Gay guys don't lie.

I did not recall posting anything last night, but apparently I had shit I had to get off my chest. So, how hungover am I right now? Slightly, and the milk is frozen in the freezer, the fridge is kaput, does not cool and I dare not open it 'cause the smell wafting out of it scares me and I'd rather not know what biological creatures I have unexpectedly helped create. Accidental scientist, score!

I have to work right now. Translate a curriculum into English, though Lawd knows my translating skills rely solely on Google Translate (this has been confirmed at work) and are sub-par. When did people start taking me seriously? I was speaking to a friend about what we wanted to be when we were kids compared to what we are now and I mentioned that I never really ever felt a driving need to be anything at all. I've always been whatever it is I wanted to be. My family never really instilled in me a need to be anything, just to be happy, I suppose. But that doesn't help much when you have no idea what you want to be when you grow up. I wonder when I lost that awe and wonder of fantasizing what I wanted to actually BE. Apart from a mid twenties slightly promiscuous stoner working as a pretend adult behind a title that she really can't handle. Which is probably going to be the title of this here blog. Maybe I should want to be something. Maybe I should want to be a writer, or an actor or something. I should aspire to something. I have very little aspirations and they likely focus on a) do I have weed and if I don't have where can I score, b) am I getting laid tonight and if I'm not, how can I make this happen, and c) is there a plan for tonight and if not, where can I find some.

The stars don't lie:

You instinctively know how to have fun. This encourages others to do the same by bringing out the kid in them. You enjoy everything you do because you do only what you enjoy. Life is a game and you love to play it. Your creative and artistic talents flow naturally and express themselves in everything you do.

This is your brain on drugs, kids.

I have a growing suspicion that I am not enjoying what I am doing right now. I'm in a weird spot in my life and I am trying to troubleshoot it (like a really bad technical support agent). The three consecutive days of hanging out and sleeping with the booty call has not helped my well being. I sound like a new age hippie, but I really do feel a bit out of sorts right now. It's been a really long, mentally draining week and I'm exhausted. The thing is, I've been running around like a maniac and I've come to realize that I really need to unwind each day. And by unwind I mean listen to good music, smoke a bowl, laugh, drink tea, typical new age hippie shit.

I held him in my arms, the weight of him on my lap. With one hand I lit the pipe and inhaled deeply. He nuzzled closer to my lips and I exhaled gently on to his face. This is not the first time that he wants to get high. I just found him staring at himself in the mirror. He's hilarious.

A friend's MSN got hacked by a bot who has been asking sending links to test my intelligence. I respond with stupidities and the bot answers back with weird quips. Right now I am trying to find out if there is an actual human typing that or if it is some kind of automated script.

Things I need to DO right now, that I am probably too high to get done:

- Get a new cellphone to replace the one that was stolen (yet another reason why I've been feeling weird.... I have the Blackberry disease and I'm currently going through withdrawals, it's a bitch).

- Take a shower

- If I don't take a shower at least put some pants on

- Stop by my mom's house

- Pick up a bbq that I left at a friend's house

-Translate a curriculum into English

- Get my thoughts in order regarding next weeks work routine

- Do all of this by 1:00pm.

Oh hahahahaha, how funny. I was just thinking how I hate rushing and I really don't want to rush during my weekend, but it appears that I will have to step my ass into gear.

In case you were wondering if my increased paycheck has gone to my head, I'm just going to sit here and sip daintily from my $20 dollar a box French tea. Yeah, that was probably not a wise investment, but hey, I'm sipping one called Detox and it tastes much like fresh mown grass would. I hope it can detox my ass into gear.

My ex's father died. He's an orphan now and what are you supposed to say then? Hey, sorry your have no parents left? Kind of sucks 'cause I refused to speak to him for three years and now when we're finally on OK terms his dad kicks the bucket. It's too bad. His dad was a nice guy.

I'm wasted right now. Went to a so called pleasure party where they sell sex toys, creams and whatever you can use to penetrate/titillate you. I got there late, so wasn't able to enjoy all of the possibilities. Only half. Still was able to shove down at least four jello shots and many many a beercan.

The booty call has slept over three straight nights. Now that he is not here I can't help but miss him. I still can't shake the feeling that he is sleeping with twenty one million other girls. Maybe he is. I'm just retarded.

Met the cutest guy at the fair. He reminded me a lot of my ex boyfriend; don't know if that is a good thing or not. He really was so sweet and obliging. I gave him my card with my emphasized position which I have no deal way of handling. It says "manager" but I manage nothing, no even myself.

Random research session of the day included:

- Pinup girl

- Zoe Mozert

- Gibson Girl

-Jane Russel

- Marilyn Monroe

- The Feminine Ideal

- Plus Size Models

- The Judgement of Paris

I am now considering going into plus size modeling. My big ass can make mama some money.

Halfway through Sunday's unexpected acid trip I had a thought "I'm sober now." which I blurted out. I wasn't anywhere near sober and in fact it was just starting to kick into high gear. Acid is fun, I recommend it. Only did a quarter of a paper and it was enough to give my Sunday a little kick in the head. BRAIN DAMAGE IS AWESOME.

Spent the weekend in various forms of sedation: alcoholic, illegal substances, exhaustion, and hung overdness (it's a word now). Saturday was particularly awesome as I didn't have a single concrete moment of sobriety. Sunday got picked up for a ride that was almost exactly like falling into the rabbit hole that swallowed Alice up. More hallucinogens less psychedelic rabbits, please.

Today's work day was crap. Just killing time till I can get out of here and smoke a bowl and do some yoga. Any sugar daddy want in on this? Taking bids now.

For only $1,200 a month you too can sponsor a an irresponsible adult and help them not reach their full potential as a person.

I caught a glimpse of the heavy gold crucifix hanging off the thick chain-linked necklace around his thick neck. It turned me on. Typical Latin flavor. He knows how to fix shit with his hands, he can probably dance salsa really well, enjoys fishing, speaks English with a slight Scarface accent. He thinks he knows it all and hunny, I am here to tell you that you don't. I felt like drunk dialing him yesterday to ask him point blank, "How do you feel about one night stands?" but felt it was way too forward (I was also not wasted enough to pull it off). I don't know if those are his types of flings (Lawd knows they can be mine).

I'm having the day to myself. Re-charging my batteries. Haven't left my room all day and somehow the little scrap of weed I had has managed to extend itself mercifully. Miracles happen in my weed! It happened to me some other time when I was given a special little bud and I was able to make that shit last because it was so good and so powerful that one hit was enough to set your mind a blaze. Magical, mystical ganja.

The older I get, the more inappropriate. My liberties are every day expanding. I become more me, more the person I am going to be, with each passing day. I'm getting to know myself and I like it. Getting to know youuuu, getting to know all about youuuuuu!

Kind of flirted with the manager of a store I frequent at the mall. I towered over him, and yet I found his demeanor appealing. Maybe I'm just fucking horny and lonely for attention like an attention starved child. No wonder some kids get molested.

Drinking a beer, waiting for the mp3 to finish burning all of my illegal music. This is the life of a 21st century woman. Books have been written praising the lifestyle.

I'm going to go back in a couple of weeks and flirt with him again. Yes, the man behind the counter. Name of my next novel. The new Shopgirl.

Today I also had an unexpected lunch with a guy I see on and off. The thing is, I don't know why, but I tend to attract these very square men types. Guys who would probably keel over if they knew how much I smoke (a lot) and how blase I am about drugs. Oh, and my ability to drink and drink and drink. The lunch was nice, bland, boring. What I picture our life would be together, Nice. Pleasant. I almost texted him saying, "That was pleasant, let's do it again some time". PLEASANT. Zero sexual attraction or curiosity. He walked me to my car and when we crossed the busy street, he put his arm around my lower back protectively. I found it kind of hilarious. I am capable of crossing the street and walking to my car. I wonder if guys are like that at first and then morph into the motherfuckers who don't open any damn door ever again.

At the mall today a mall guard that tours the parking lot decided to escort me to my vehicle and then he tells me this story of a girl getting handcuffed, robbed right there in the parking lot. It was his way of saying, hey baby, a pretty girl like you needs taking care of. Maybe he was my mahfakin guardian angel.

Truth is I just need to get laid. I have to drive my car to this fucking club thing which I am not dressed appropriately for. I'm feeling lazy. I look like an insane ballet teaching wino, but 40 lbs heavier.