"I feel celestial."

I'm already bored with Lady Gaga. Am I alone in this Lady Gaga business? No? I didn't think so. I mean, I like what she's pretending to do but I just can't get behind it any longer. Sigh. I like Marina now.

Sooo. I've been having these panic attacks lately that are f-ing bru-tal-i-tar. Just out of nowhere I'll feel this tightness in my chest and then there's this pain and then my heart's beating much too fast and I'm hot and I need to lay down except I'll be at work or outside in public somewhere so there's really nothing I can do about it but hold on and wait for it to pass. The only answer is to get me back on meds and into therapy but I don't have insurance cos I live in the god damned USA (USA, USA, USA). And I tell you again, I'm not on SSI because we make too much money!!! And from what I've read it's hard to claim a psych disability anyway. So, as usual, I hold on and wait for it to pass.

Should I be ashamed to tell you this? Do you think I give a fuck? Straight Whiskey Tango up in here! Yet not whiskey tango enough to NOT realize these things. And not whiskey tango enough to truly NOT be ashamed that I tell you things. Or to refer to myself as AK-47. (A story for another time.)

Yesterday I was writing in my "gurnal" ("Yeah, whatever. Guess I'm not all smart like you.") and today what I wrote yesterday made me feel like a total ass. For example, I wrote: "I can't tell  how perceptive I am vs. how paranoid." Turns out I'm definitely more paranoid than perceptive. But I don't want to talk about that.

But speaking of paranoid: At Sharp Edge this evening I was followed into the ladies by a little person of the male persuasion who seemed drunk but may have been a little m/r. Not sure, but I gave him death stare that made him close the door behind him on his way out while I was locking the stall door behind me. It was surreal but then I had one of those "it would've been awesome if I had said..." moments. I could've been Chelsea Handler or Tina Fey. But alas, I remain myself.   

And it's hard to deal with anything when it's so f-ing hot and you don't have central air. I can barely function let alone do laundry or take out the trash. And there's nothing like the smell of hot trash. Mmm mmm! I just got a wiff of it in my kitchen. But you know what? Fuck it. Who cares? I'll go spend $70 online at Sephora instead of dealing with this shit. (I may also be drinking wine right now.) (But I'm also listening to the Misfits.) Eyeliner. Still your friend in this heat.

Still need a job in Philly. Hit me up. Yeah.

Working on the playlist for you guys. Allen may start a blog soon so look out for that. I'm totally behind it. You should be to. Encourage him in all things, I need him to support me.