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.

It makes me kind of sad that John Cusack has such terrible grammar on his twitter. GRAMMAR NAZI.

I'm going out. It's 11:00pm. I'm wearing the craziest outfit I've worn in a long fucking time. I wonder what I am trying to prove. Bad taste? I'm wearing loafers. That probably says alot, but also, they're really fucking comfortable. But they do border on the line between straight edge republican lesbian mommy.

Why do the good girls always want the bad boys?

If I don't get fucked tonight I'm going to be mighty pissy tomorrow.

Am I what I do, or is what I do just a part of who I am?

I bought the funkiest romper today. It's like a Power Bitch romper. No sleeves, black, tight, short, with this deep furrowed V. If I wear it with high heels I could be the carabali version of Rihanna, fuck yeah.

In fact, I bought a lot of funky shit today. The style was all over the place. This is when people are going to start talking shit about my fashion choices. I guess the square in me is loosening up. Or maybe the more conservative I dress at work, the crazier I dress on my time off? Does not make sense as I have had other jobs where I had to wear uniforms and I never dressed too funky after work or on my time off. MYTH BUSTED.

Coughing makes me feel good.

It's taking me forever to leave this fucking apartment. The thing is, iTunes DJ is playing awesome music, the weed is good, I'm dressed like a crazy creature. In leggings. Gah!

I have the apartment to myself tonight. And I just shaved my chocha. It's party time.

Smoked myself a bowl. Bought $140 worth of clothes. Got no reason to call home.

My usual hook up is on speed dial, but I have no reason to go with him.

The night is young, but I still haven't showered and I'm high and naked.

I have no hot water so kind of feel like taking a cat bath and calling it even.

My hair is just so gross. I don't know how to pull off gross, dirty hair.

I might have to learn, though 'cause it's 9:42pm and I still haven't showered.

I'm so fucking lazy.

Coldest shower of my life.

My astral chart never lies part 2:

'Lord, I am grateful for the ability to respond to others with genuine, loving concern. You have given me the willingness to lend a sympathetic ear, and the moving stories I hear prompt me to help people in need. Also, Lord, I am grateful for a good memory, and for the skill to communicate my thoughts and feelings effectively. With these gifts, may I spread Your message of love to those who yearn for hope and understanding.'

Consider me now freaked out.

Astral charts never lie:

If you don't receive the stable emotional response you need, you could become obsessed with the material world and may develop a strong desire for possession that will lead you to buy things and to accumulate money.

'Cause I am a Material Girl.

My love life is currently null and void. Not a single spark anywhere. There are some guys, there always are, but I am interested in none of them, not even for a pity fuck. I had this flash of recalling the rendezvous with the Italian, the very size of his biceps and his fucking dimple. Not to mention, uh everything. His unexpected depth after the assumption that he was dumb as a doorknob. Dumb as a cocker spaniel. He wasn't and that was probably what did me in.

I had an unexpected visit from a guy I was briefly into a year or so back. He brought me chrysanthemum tea and raisin muffins. Cute, eh? This guy has a beautiful nose. Seriously, he has the nose of a poet (aquiline with flared nostrils). I like his delicate sensibilities but my girlfriend's say he's gay, way in the closet. He's rail thin, his mind articulated, his eyes wide. We talk about feelings and experiences and yearnings. He must be gay and yet why do I feel attracted to him?

"Y si me gustan las gorditas?"

Kind of hope he was referring to me, not because I consider myself chunky, but because maybe it was an underhanded piropo. I enjoyed his visit. The little devil on my shoulder wants to know what his weener looks like.

Things to never tell a guy #102:

Is it in?

I am drinking a tea concoction I've started drinking in order to boost my immune system. It's basically lemon tea, with a bit of honey and one lemon, juiced. It's a bit harsh, but oh so good. Only a shot of whiskey would make it better.

My nails are now longer than they have been in a long time (but in comparison to some, not long enough). I feel as if they are huge and already an impediment to normal nail boundaries. They click and get in the friggin' way. But I also enjoy pointing at things and clickity clickity typing. I feel more va va voom and dramatic. I'm missing the heavily painted eyes.

I am not enjoying work so far. I have severe stress and anxiety and I am going to have to go to the doctor soon and get a prescription or do as my doll popping girlfriends: find a loyal under the counter pharmacy and be forever grateful.

You don't get harmony when everybody sings the same note.
- Doug Floyd

Woke up with the Moody Blues singing over my shoulder, casting a grey pallor on everything. The day is overcast and quiet. I need a haircut, feel like a crazy, dreadlocked Yeti. Gross. Been flirting with the idea of getting a Brazilian Blowout or something similar to tame my fucking frizz. I don't know if a haircut would solve my problems, but it has already been three months since my last haircut (I remember asking her when I could come back to get more highlights and she said three months from now, which would be July).

The dude situation is just blargh. I feel like I'm hanging out with him because I have no one better to hang out with, but maybe I would have someone better if I weren't hanging out with a loser all the time? Loser is kind of harsh, he's not, he's just incredibly flaky and I can't deal with a lot of flaky in my life.

I had a headache and I literally smoked it away.

Last night's dinner was yum yum. Delicious Indian food the likes I have not had even in authentic Indian restaurants. Hung out with a couple of interesting, hungover people. Went home at midnight after four beers, passed out nicely on clean sheets, sleep enveloping me.

I fucking hate this posting. I am in such a great moment in my life right now and I am complaining about a little melancholy that I can't even pin point where it surged from, what situation set it off.

He's digging into the brown fuzz, his paws revealing sharp, pointed nails. The sun shinning through the windows makes his black fur shine. His motions are methodic, precise in nature. Mother nature ingrained it deep within his little walnut sized brain.

Whatever the fuck was that? Anyways, I think I'm through with the dude. I don't need the kind of stress and situations he's bringing into my life. Some kinds of stress and situations are good, but the kind he's bringing are a whole other ball field. I don't want to deal with his issues. Does that make me a terrible person? I don't think so. I just want somebody who has got his shit put together, who doesn't need me to mend him. I feel that a lot of the guys I have dated have all been guys who I mended, put together, made them feel good. But why do I have to be the nurse and put Humpty Dumpty back together again? Put your shit together men. It's not ok to be 29 and always broke.

I have to go shower now and go to C's house where they're having Indian food and beer and good, fun people and I am here, naked, high off my eyeballs writing on my blog and you know what? I would have been perfectly OK with that. Fuck. So, how about the fact I have no hot water affect the equation? Or the other fact that it's a cold friggin' night? Or my inherent laziness and refusal to be uncomfortable? Or more laziness? C-c-c-c-c-c-combo breaker -A series of unfortunate events: exhaustion, substance abuse, laziness, lack of sleep. I can't tell if I am high or exhausted anymore, it cycles.

As the thing with the dude. The thing is, I am so apathetic about him. The best feeling that I have about him is "oh, not bad" and the worst "meh". Whether I see him or not, my feelings never change and never am I suddenly overcome with a passionate desire, a burning flame, nada. I think I'm using him for his company. And even that is half hearted and half assed. Everything has changed with him since we started seeing each other on a non booty call basis and now its all weird and paused and I just wish we could go back to the way things used to be: drunken meetups in dinky love motels in ghetto neighborhoods. Is that too much to ask?

Work has been a huge pain in the rass lately. Glarble glarble gah. It's forcing me into being a responsible adult, and the irresponsible adult in me is all, 'chill dude, let's smoke a jay and think about it'.

Played soccer today. Okkkkkk, played soccer today in order to check out a guy I've been texting with. That's the sad, sad truth. As I figured last week, I am a hot mess while playing. Was goalie for about 5 hot seconds till the ball flew straight at me and I cowered and didn't even attempt to catch it with my hands. I do admit to being completely out of my mind high when I started playing.

Found a couple of really old mix cd's in a dvd pile, so have been grooving and re-discovering them. Good mix cd's are fantastic even years after the fact. Drove in a blissed out, retro state while driving to the artificial field in the city.

I think I might have bruised the fragile ego of the current boy toy. He's been awol, so I think he's either boning somebody else, or avoiding me because I ignored all of his calls on Monday. He's such a stupid typical Latin male, it drives me fucking crazy. I'm probably better off without him because if we were ever an item I'd be suspicious and always assuming he's cheating on me. Yes, he's that sucio. He once followed me shamelessly into the bathroom of a club, our alcoholic breaths intermingling.

I'm about to start cooking some chicken that may or may not be rotten as it has been sitting in the freezer of my dying refrigerator. Hi salmonella!

past life romantic thought of the day:

I'd make home made pancakes for you every Sunday morning. Chantilly cream beaten to perfect peaks and fresh cut strawberries. I'd wear my cooking apron and not much else.

You know you're high when:

You start contemplating on getting bangs again.

Don't.

So yeah, happy 4th of July, even though my celebration clearly did not have enough booze and drunken insanities. Well, I was high the entire time, but not boozed up enough. Sober Sunday for once. I did eat a shameful amount of chorizos and hamburgers the size of my head and bbq chicken and PORK AND BEANSSSSSS and brownies and pound cake. Enough sodas to start a little cellulite colony on my thighs. It was all delicious and I had a bad case of the munchies, so I attacked everything without shame. Fantastic Mr. Fox style.

I still think about the Aussie, which means that after a million hours of writing, listening to entire albums of sad fucking music and consistent fucking my pain away, the Aussie still haunts me. A little bit pathetic as the dude wasn't even in my IRL for more than a week and a half, how was he able to posses my brain so quickly? I call voodoo. Hexing my vagina. Was that love? Love is kind, love is bla bla bla, love is a big salami. My roommate says that we are here to fuck. Her words, not mine, though I might start subscribing to her RSS (oh, Church of The Here To Fuck). It wasn't his big salami. That was just a perk. It was the chemistry. The intense moments, the constant desire. If someone could bottle that and sell it, people would go wild. Maybe its the smell of lust, lusting, lust and love and love and lust and maybe it is one and the same.

The booty call has strike number 2 on his record right now. I think he feels it. He's probably going to call it off before I do. He'll call me all, look, this isn't working, I'm going to go pick up my guitar and markers tonight, k? And I'd be like sure dude, but can I have my $20 back first? He's such a shameless little turd. He's very charming and can be very slippery that way. He'd be a great politician with his silver tongue. The reason I don't take him seriously ever, is because he's flaky and unreliable. His words are worth half their value. I didn't even get upset with him today. I couldn't muster the energy and a certain part of me felt relieved because bringing him to a bbq with all of my closest friends is a big step, it is a test. I wasn't ready for this, but my friend invited him and I wasn't going to impede him if he did want to attend (which he said he did).

We met briefly on Friday night and he mentioned that he had told his ex that he was dating someone. I hid my surprise as I wouldn't call our hook ups precisely dating, but it is a bit relationship-y. Watching movies and OH GOD I MUST STOP THIS. Jesus H. Christ, I cannot fall into a relationship with this guy. He's super connected but he could also be super bad news. Alarm bells ringing but the other side of me is all, what's the worse that could happen?

Desperation had me smoking twigs the other day. What kind of fuckery is that? How badly, how desperately do I need to smoke that I will get to the point where I think, "Gee, sure, smoking twigs isn't so bad. No, not at all.". Is there a point where smoking twigs is ok?

It's raining a shitload right now. There is a heavy cloud above the city and I need to buy groceries desperately and the cat meows at me like a little starved urchin and I just smoked a bowl and the very last thing I want to do is dodge rain while I run to my car and my feet get wet and it's a whole friggin' ordeal. I'll have to wear a sweater.

I also need to go buy weed with the guy I've been boning on and off for 6 friggin' months. I tallied it up in my head and indeed, we had been hooking up on and off since December. When I got back from the Caribbean we hooked up. I had been trying to get over the Aussie miserably and thought that I could get over him by shagging the other guy. Wrong move. Horribly awkward meet up. I slept over at his house; he cooked for me and treated me sweetly, but my thoughts were on the Aussie the entire friggin' time. I was in a drunk and high mindless stupor watching senseless national tv as if the survival of the world depended on it. My head bouncing on the wall, I might even have drooled a bit. I had to pull my consciousness out of the entire situation. It refused to take part in the spectacle. It's like I was watching myself from afar, this determined, adamant person foolishly trying to wipe someone out of her mind, out of her body, by letting another man posses her.