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.