28 March
Every night this week I've been like, I'm going to write and work on my resume and look for a job and watch this movie. It hasn't happened.
Did I ever tell you about the time I started crying (!) while listening to "Firework" by Katy Perry? That was a shitty night.
I ate two double cheeseburgers from McDonald's yesterday (because I wanted to) and still weighed a pound less this morning than I did yesterday. That was a neat trick. Food issues.
I need more time.
Wow. WOW. That's some fucknasty shit The Sir just had. Jesus. I have to switch rooms.
Btw, I would totally snort coke off a dick. Just for reference. Know that I would do that. You're welcome.
I need to look at photos. Take photos. I wanted to tell stories, like I said in the last entry. But I haven't gotten around to that either. Addiction issues.
I have trouble writing honestly. Even in my personal writing. I can't let go. I haven't even been able to think well the last few days.
Ugh. Anyway. Day the next.
29 March.
Allen's birthday. We went to Salt tonight and it was ah-mezin'. Tim Robes ended up being our server, until he decided to buy us a round of drinks and disappear. That was very kind of him. I had oysters and lamb and bourbon. Allen had beef cheeks/tongue and sweet potato gnocchi, scallops and some oak-aged beer (i.e. high alcohol). Would go back. We talked about horror movies and moving and how "it's my birthday".
I still have dead roses in my bathroom from the anniversary. I like having dead flowers around. It's like living in a crypt. Or so I like to pretend. Dead, dry roses are the best.
Sneezing like a ma-chine over here. All god damn day. The allergy meds aren't working today. "This is my face," I just said to A., with my sad mouth-breathing self.
Sometimes your mom dies.
I don't like being a mouth breather.
Do you love me? Do you hate me?
Oh, then we went to Giant Eagle and tried to buy a cake in the self-checkout and of course we couldn't, and we were like, "we just want to buy this cake..." Nah, it wasn't *that* dramatic.
You're welcome.
Every night this week I've been like, I'm going to write and work on my resume and look for a job and watch this movie. It hasn't happened.
Did I ever tell you about the time I started crying (!) while listening to "Firework" by Katy Perry? That was a shitty night.
I ate two double cheeseburgers from McDonald's yesterday (because I wanted to) and still weighed a pound less this morning than I did yesterday. That was a neat trick. Food issues.
 |
| The best shiz evar. |
Wow. WOW. That's some fucknasty shit The Sir just had. Jesus. I have to switch rooms.
Btw, I would totally snort coke off a dick. Just for reference. Know that I would do that. You're welcome.
I need to look at photos. Take photos. I wanted to tell stories, like I said in the last entry. But I haven't gotten around to that either. Addiction issues.
I have trouble writing honestly. Even in my personal writing. I can't let go. I haven't even been able to think well the last few days.
Ugh. Anyway. Day the next.
29 March.
Allen's birthday. We went to Salt tonight and it was ah-mezin'. Tim Robes ended up being our server, until he decided to buy us a round of drinks and disappear. That was very kind of him. I had oysters and lamb and bourbon. Allen had beef cheeks/tongue and sweet potato gnocchi, scallops and some oak-aged beer (i.e. high alcohol). Would go back. We talked about horror movies and moving and how "it's my birthday".
I still have dead roses in my bathroom from the anniversary. I like having dead flowers around. It's like living in a crypt. Or so I like to pretend. Dead, dry roses are the best.
Sneezing like a ma-chine over here. All god damn day. The allergy meds aren't working today. "This is my face," I just said to A., with my sad mouth-breathing self.
Sometimes your mom dies.
I don't like being a mouth breather.
Do you love me? Do you hate me?
Oh, then we went to Giant Eagle and tried to buy a cake in the self-checkout and of course we couldn't, and we were like, "we just want to buy this cake..." Nah, it wasn't *that* dramatic.
You're welcome.
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