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.