I Demand a Recount.

Guys, guys, guys! My birthday is coming up. It's a big one and, as usual, I haven't made any plans. Story of my life. No plans.

I mean, there are a couple of big ones I'm working on. Moving back to Philly being the main plan right now. Yeah, yeah, yeah. We've been here before. 2 years ago. I think it's all about Wawa. But I've updated my resume (last week), made an application on Penn's website (this week), maybe next week I'll actually start applying for jobs. Five months isn't a long time. You get used to living in PGH and it's hard to get out... you get lazy and used to paying your bills.

But I'm getting old. And I know it's overly dramatic but the other day I literally wrote that if I don't get out of here soon it's going to be a death sentence. I can't die here. I have better things to do.

I'm in a panic about bringing it up to my boss, though, because he's an old man who has told me and everyone else repeatedly that I can't leave him because his dead wife sent me to him and if I leave her ghost will haunt me. He says this. I think he's only half joking. But the thing is, I could really use his help with finding a job. GRR!

And I know I'm kind of PMS-y right now. And I have to pay taxes, another reason Pittsburgh has been fucked up. We've never owed money until we came here. Trying to find a job stresses me the fuck out. Our clothes dryer stopped working. I'm blaming Heather and all the weird shit she puts in there like boots and stuffed animals. No one's called about it being broken, though. Why would we? My birthday, needing a haircut, grocery shopping, driving to Philly at the end of the month, all these things are stressing me out. And I'm tired, very, very tired. Don't even get me started on the drinking, or rather the trying not to drink and the cake and the McDonald's, potato chips...

Yet I'm feeling strangely optimistic right now.

I know. 

Status Retort

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.

The best shiz evar.

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.