It's Sunday Which Means in a Few Short Hours My Life Will Officially Be Over

Until Friday that is.

I've been trying to think up a mean blog about my night with Cindy Lou and Roy Hobbs. I couldn't come up with anything though. Well I did come up with something and although it was hilarious it was also quite mean. I couldn't do it. I was afraid Cindy would think I was serious and cry. I of course would then try to apologize but she would refuse to accept my apology and thus would begin the the biggest blogger war of all time. I know where she lives, she knows my favorite hang out, this could get pretty dangerous. It would be like a scene from west side story. All her blogger buddies would show up at my hang out ready to throw down in the name of Cindy Lou, all my friends would scream and run away. Not good. She and her gang would be the jets, since I can't remember the name of the other gang I would get stuck with some crappy name like, the spanky bottom girls. This would really suck since half of my gang would be men. Drat. Why do men have to be so high pitched?

For the life and times of Cindy Lou click on the Sometimes I Just Talk link on your left. Enjoy.

In other news my cousin keeps calling. I made a promise that he apparently expects me to keep. Crap. Gotta go.

Found Poetry

Midway through Anne Sextons Biography I pulled down a book of her collected poems to browse through. For a second I couldn't find it and was afraid that it had been lost in one of my moves, but oh wait, there it was. When I pulled it off the shelf I noticed it was unusually thick and so grabbing the book by it's spine I gently shook it and sure enough a wad of notebook paper fell out. Poems I had written three years ago. This is what it's like living with me. I write on mail, receipts, coupons and then shove the products of my imagination into kitchen drawers, books, magazines racks, boxes. I can't imagine what my ex thought of me. Anyway, here is one of the poems I thought I had lost, and in fact don't really remember writing:

In my mind
We are still 21
Driving that one lane road
...pointing out sheep.
It's sunny and bright
the t-tops are off.
We are two single girls
getting over broken hearts.
I forget where we were going,
I forget a lot of things,
but I know that you were driving
and I was relaxing
in my own passenger seat
Watching the scenery
Counting sheep

It's a rough poem, it really needs some work. Still, I had forgotten all about that day and now I have it back. HA!

“Worry, but know that worrying is as effective as chewing bubble-gum to solve an algebra problem.”

Confession Time

I am such a control freak. It’s horrible. It’s not so much that I want everyone to do what I say, although that would be nice, mostly it’s that I hate when things are unclear/undecided. I analyze things to death, always have my life mapped out five years in advance, and I can guarantee you that if I have one plan I have at least ten back up plans.

The thing is that life is not always plannable and sometimes there is nothing to do but wait. I’m not good at waiting, I pace, pull out my hair, climb walls and in general, burn bridges. I hate waiting. It’s a huge character flaw.

Last year I read this quote, “Learn to practice the art of the open hand”. I’ve been trying to do that and let me tell you, it’s hard. I’ve never believed in luck, just hard work and determination, so when I want something I close up my fists as tight as I can. It’s a hard perfectionist way to live, or so I’ve learned.

I have so many things up in the air right now and everything, absolutely everything is taking weird bizarre twists, causing my body to tense and my hands to clench. Last night I couldn’t sit still, I paced the hallways, turned on the computer, turned on the TV, took a shower, read a book, got up and sat down at least a million times. This morning I am still struggling with the act of inactivity, the waiting game.

I know what I have to do, I have to sit down, breathe out and hand my life over to fate, the gods, the cosmos (I blame my Native American roots for my pagan tendencies). Sounds easy enough except that I don’t even trust the dry cleaners with my clothes! If I freak out over a pantsuit how easy do you think it is to admit that I am not always the captain of my own ship? Argh

Complete Randomness

Don't get a tattoo on your neck. It looks stupid and people like me will stare at you and think, "Idiot". Also, it probably hurt like hell.

If you have to go to court please dress in something other than an ill fitting pantsuit from Ross, especially when you are the lawyer.

When you are sitting in a waiting room with me don't give me a dirty look merely because you are trash and I apparently am not. Yes my vocabulary is large, yes I am educated and no I am not wearing a ton of makeup with Wet n Wild's logo on it. This however, does not mean that I am scared of you and/or won't kick your ass if you start trash with me. Also, please note that since I am obviously more intelligent than you (notice the tattoo free neck) I will most likely opt to have you arrested. HA!

If you do get a tattoo on your neck make sure it says, "I am an idiot and this hurt like hell".


**I spent part of the morning at the court house. This never fails to make me hate the general population.

General Angst

My suitemate has her door closed. Again. This is usually code for, I want to talk smack about Terra now.

It makes my nerves jump and for some reason my work pace always slows down to a six-month-olds crawl. Sometimes I alleviate this by taking a break and walking around the parking lot, sometimes I turn on my radio (which I am about to do) and other times I pull out a notepad and start jotting down random things I’ve been meaning to write about anyway.

I am also waiting to hear back about a position I interviewed for last week. Same company, same building but new and (hopefully) exciting position. One without a delightfully friendly suitemate. Oh, isn’t that too bad? I am sure I would miss her cheerful face each and every morning. My message box is disturbingly empty though. Yikes. Hate the waiting game.

So I have decided I am not going to worry about that. Onwards and upwards!

So what is left to worry about then? Oh. Cute Boy.

FYI: CB and I were in the very beginning stages when he was last mentioned. Meaning, we had met through mutual friends/acquaintances and had not yet exchanged numbers. Now we have… exchanged numbers that is. YAY! I may have accidentally done my happy dance before he finished exiting the parking lot. OOPS! I am really really hoping he didn’t see that. =O

But here’s my worry. Even though we didn’t have an exact meet up time for Saturday I was late. Very late. Mostly due to the fact that I had been caught in the rain earlier and desperately needed a shower. I smelled like rain and wet dog. Gross. So he was a bit distant when I finally did show and then proceeded to leave without asking for my number. I was pondering out loud whether or not I should have asked for his when Tracie flagged him down. He asked for my number, then he spontaneously provided his.

I’m a worrywart though. Today I am left wondering, “Did he only ask for my number because he was put on the spot? Is the number he gave me really the local pizza joints number? Does he think that when I call it I will get the hint that he is just not into me?”

Because I won’t. I’m dense like that. I’m a stalker in training, watch out! Crap. What’s that saying, “The bigger they are the harder they fall”? I never fall and when I do I fall hard. I think underneath it all that saying is trying to call me fat. Stupid saying.

California Dreamin

It was a beautiful day!


We decided to go for a drive.


We stopped at the park.


I took some pictures of geese... for future identification purposes... I hate geese.


Suddenly the sky grew dark.


Luckily we had an umbrella, which baby girl refused to share. Rotten little..


On the way home I poured out my heart. Telling my friends a deeply personal story. It involved tragedy, heart break, and geese.


My friends were obviously enraptured.


I love holidays aka days off where I sleep in before vandalizing public property.

I Always Wanted To Be A DJ

This is probably the closest I'll ever get. Not that it's that close at all, but hey. It's something.

"DJ, Play my motherfuckin SONG!"

-JLo

Some Days I Hate Girls

Today is one of those days.

This is one of those days where I screen all my phone calls and only accept calls from men. My mom doesn't even get through, unless I want to be apologizing later anyway.

Here's my general rant about women. WTF is wrong with you that can REASONABLY be explained by hormones?

When you are mad at someone, tell them why. Don't be quiet and explode a week later about some imaginary lint on the coffee table you never told them to dust.

NO ONE is psychic! So stop asking me questions and being upset when I don't provide the answer/opinion that you would like.

If you are mad, fucking admit it! It's stupid to slam doors stomp heels and then say, "Oh me? I'm fine". Fucking jesus christ.

Do not, I repeat NOT, get into a "I am prettier than you" competition with me, or any other female on this planet. It is dumb. I DON'T care if you are prettier than me, how many more guys you have or what size you wear in dresses, shoes or bra. I happen to judge myself on MY ideal. So should you! Stop being so f#@$ing insecure that you have to tear down other women to feel better about yourself.

Do NOT play mind games! Especially with men, you will only hurt yourself. If for some reason you do this anyway (because you are stupid) do not continuously tell me about it. I don't care. I have something called a life. Also FYI: I happen to have graduated from Jr. High, I left the theatrics there.

Do not be bitchy to every woman you deem prettier or luckier than you and then be super sweet sappy to every jerk off man. This does not make you strong, this makes you pathetic and everyone, but you, knows it.

If the above line applies to you do not read it and then blithely laugh at it as if I have just described some other insipid female.

Learn to accept your faults without lashing out, or crying, or throwing shit.

Do NOT try to pull out the, "I'm a female and so I am going to say that I am too hormonal and stressed out right now to deal" card on me. I AM a woman. I don't fall for that bullshi#

Do not smile to my face and then laugh about my haircut when I walk away. I will slap you.

Lighten the hell up! Ride motorcycles, play basketball, baseball, learn to work on your car, get dirty, break a nail, buy a 4x4 and run random things over, don't be afraid to be single, don't be afraid to not wear make-up, encourage boys night out, keep old friends and make new friends even when you're part of a pair, learn the lesson that when you disrespect another female you are really disrespecting yourself.

When you are in the "I am prettier than you competition" with me (note: this is completely one sided as I could care less), do not make a habit of trying to steal my guys. Please reread the above paragraph about disrespect. Also, you are supposed to be my friend and therefore should know better. You should also realize that I am coming very close to smacking you down in a public place.

There is only so long I can put up with people chasing their own tails and trying to put me in the middle before I explode. Some days I hate girls. Some days I hate guys. Perhaps this entry would be better titled, "some days I hate everyone".

Go Go Gadget

I want an iPod



NOW

ok.. back to work. The job of a (key booming voice) SUPERADMIN, is never done.

I Don't Celebrate Valentines Day

Not for the past three years anyway. It's a stupid commercialized holiday anyway, and the truth of the matter is that I don't like any dates/events that have a lot of pressure on them.

The best date I have ever had was on a kick back day where we drove to the beach, played on the sand and stopped for an impromptu meal that cost a total of ten dollars. We wore jeans, sweatshirts, I made fun of my date for wearing sneakers to the beach, he threatened to throw my flip flops in the ocean and I watched kite boarders with a sense of amazement.

Too much planning and anticipation makes me nervous. On the same note the best gift I ever recieved from a guy was a case of bottled water. He noticed that I drank a lot of water and while at the store he thought of me. It probably cost five dollars but a gift like that screams thoughtful without any alterior motives. It's the kind of gift that I can accept without feeling bad about the sticker price or gushing my thank you. I'm not good at gushing.

So the funny thing is that this was probably the VERY best Valentines I have EVER had! It was really fab.

R called me to wish me a happy VDay. I thought I would throw up though when he said, "I hope all your wishes and dreams come true today". Gag. J texted me saying, "Happy VDay! I luv you! Even though ur ugly!". He's a jerk. And I had dinner with a gaggle of girls, Tracie, Dolores, Mom, A and M. M got the bus boys number. T gave her number to the waiter. I gave T her v gift. It was long, red, plastic, battery operated and vibrates. It was... (drumroll please)

A

TOOTHBRUSH!

Everyone laughed. Then in the middle of laughing I turned to T and say, "Hey, let's go to the porn store! We'll buy ourselves bf's!"

We were cracking up. D couldn't go because she had to take A, M and Mom home. Oh well. And so it was off to the porn store for T and I (not to be confused with T and A). YAY! We were laughing so hard in there we thought they would kick us out for sure, but they didn't. T dared me to buy something and then ask if they had a back room I could use, I said "No. I'm a lady, thank you very much".

Afterwards we headed down to the lounge where Andy wished me a happy VDay, carried my purse for me and handed me the keys to his new car because apparently I am hot like that. His car drives nice.

Andy is hilarious and long after the lounge closed down we were in the parking lot while he did the kings of comedy act for us. He has it down verbatim and is hands down the funniest person I have ever met. I thought he was going to make me pee my pants.

J was at the lounge too, but basically he was pissing and moaning about his gf. What a downer. GO HOME LOSER! Andy asked him his name and when J told him Andy said, "That's cool, as long as I don't have to call you Delicious. I'm a grown ass man, I won't be calling no man, Delicious".

Everyone should know someone like Andy. Or at least Margaret Cho. They might be interchangeable.

Happy Valentines Day.

CL Said She'd Die Faster If She Hung Out With Me

Turns out she was right, though not by much. And hey, if the Mafia would just stop threatening me I might even live a little longer!

But I doubt it, I plan on snuffing out some of their guards next week. That's sure to piss them off.

Hey Cindy-Lou, wanna come along? =p

Perfect

All these years I’ve been trying to settle down
Breathe slower
Grow up
And I’ve been running from love
Thinking I wasn’t good enough
Thinking that love had to be
Perfect
Just perfect
But now I think it’s time I realize
That love is not
Working every day from 8 to 5
Making sure dinner’s ready by seven
Kids in bed at nine
Love doesn’t mean you wear a suit and tie
And we have 2.3 kids
That we raise just right
In our picket fenced neighborhood
Where no one ever fights

I was afraid we’d waste our lives
Walking the dog
Letting our dreams pass by

I thought love meant letting go of who I was
I thought my heart would beat slower
And my dreams would be quieter
Allowing me to wear tan slacks with flats
Push a stroller
Drive a sedan
But now I see
Love is a part of me
A part of my hopes
A part of my dreams
And it’s as loud as I want it to be
And every single bit as crazy
Because love doesn’t have to be
Perfect
Just perfect


We were driving the other day
And you turned to me and said
I always wanted to marry you but I never asked
Because I thought love had to be
Perfect
Just perfect
But you were always laughing just a little too loud
Talking too much
Driving too fast
And I couldn’t imagine being married to you
Always wondering what crazy new thing you’d do

I had this image of a woman in my mind
Who stayed home with the kids
Cooked dinner at five
And all my shirts were always pressed
My socks kept oh so white
By this grown up woman
In this grown up life


But I knew you were the kind of girl
Who would take the kids to the beach on a whim
Without towels
Without a change of clothes
Without regret
Letting them play in the ocean in November
Teaching them that happiness is not a sin

You’re the kind of woman who would
Cover the walls with pictures of us naked
Holding our newborn babies
Calling it memories in sepia
Taking pride in the sight of our skin aging

You leave
Keys in the door
Towels on the floor
Write inspirational messages
On the mirrors in red lipstick
There’s nothing in your refrigerator
You’re always on the phone
And when I complained you just smiled
Saying, “These are the things that make a house a home.”

Oh you might cook seven course meals
Hold lavish dinner parties
But you will never cook every night
We’ll eat cheese and crackers on the living room floor
While you read poetry out loud
Wondering what life’s about
And I think how every other woman is such a bore

No.
You were always too vibrant.
Too flighty
Too…
Too much.
And so I let you go
I let go of us
Thinking I would find that woman
Who was absolutely perfect
And fall completely in love
Never imagining that I would grow sick of
Manicured nails paired with
Manicured spirits
Subdued laughter punctuated by PC comments
I don’t want to live in a house that looks like the one next door
Arriving every day by six
To a wife who has everything picked up by four
Constantly reminding me to:
Lower my voice
Shut the front door
I want a wife who’s afraid she’ll never grow up
Dreams out loud
Lives too much
And always leaves more doors open
Then she shuts

It took me 32 years to learn this lesson
About following my heart
And I hope it’s not too late to share with you
Love doesn’t have to be
Perfect
Just perfect
To be a work of art
It just has to be
Love


-TerraT
10/7/04
(for all you commercialized folks who buy into v day)

Sister Day

My sister is currently rambling. Here's a transcript... I think it will be almost instantaneously obvious that we are related:

"Terra.. you will EAT MY DEAD CAT!

But it's ok... we shaved off the fur. Wait no we didn't. But it's ok. It tastes like chicken. Ha ha. I ate it before."

She's eight.

"Oh yeah.. and the cat. It had no eyes."

Someone call animal protection please.

Oh Dear

(This is me the night of the Jill Scott Concert... Can you tell I'm Native American?)

Judging from some of the emails I have received and recent judgments I apparently must clarify certain key points.

* I am not, in fact, an alcoholic. In reality I am known usually as the designated driver and have many times spontaneously, and for no reason at all, given up alcohol.

* I am not a drunk driver and have never shown up drunk at a MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving) meeting. Although in theory this sounds like a hysterical way to waste away a boring afternoon, I am sure MADD members would be, well, mad.

* I am not, nor have I ever been, Keanu Reeves lover. He is chasing me though.

* I do not believe that all men are losers. Just all the ones that I date. Let me justify that comment for a moment. If everyone was great then we would marry our very first boyfriend/girlfriend. Of course I am going to kiss a few frogs before a prince. It is just the nature of the game, otherwise I would have been married off at the young age of 18 and this blog would instead be about my Martha Stewart home and adorable rugrats, and you would not get to read about my hilarious escapades in the world of dating. In addition many of my best friends are guys and I don't know what I would do without them.

* I often use cynicism/sarcasm for humor.

* I often make horrible, judgmental, prejudiced, outlandish comments merely for shock/humor value. So fuck off.

* I do not use men merely for what is in their pants... although the thought has crossed my mind. Hey! Get your mind out of the gutter! I was talking about their wallets. In fact one of the reason I cut men so quickly is because I think that it is cruel to continue dating someone you have no real interest in. See. I'm nice.

* I can be intimidating. I am a young female who is goal driven, outspoken, usually funny, educated, self reliant, quite well read, very opinionated and annoyingly honest. I can't really help that now can I? But, if you look very closely you'll notice I have freckles on my cheekbones. That should make me slightly more approachable.

* I have occasionally kicked my cats... but they deserved it. I swear.

Liar Liar Poet On Fire

Refer to the list on the left entitled, "The Cycle of Books". I lied. Am not currently reading The Good Earth, but instead reading Anne Sexton's Biography.

Which is, I must say, NOT as well written as Seabiscuit. Which was PHEEFUCKINOMINAL. Loved it.

So, Middlebrook isn't doing as good of a job on Sexton. In fact I think in some cases she's branching out into dangerous territory by giving her opinion of the facts. I don't really care about her opinion of Sexton's psychological state, unless it is substantiated by an expert or a witness. If it is she has not provided the reader with that info, which is really starting to irritate me.

Beyond that, boy was Sexton one messed up chick. She sounds like a woman I would avidly try to avoid. She's dead now though, so that takes some of the pressure off.

I guess what really bugs me is that Middlebrook presents Sexton's childhood as, "oh poor me, my dad was an alcoholic and I had a nanny instead of a mother". Grow up. Who doesn't have something wrong with their childhood? In case you haven't noticed we don't exactly live in Utopia. However I realize that Sexton viewed herself as a victim, so in some ways the book HAS to be written in this tone.

Sexton was gifted and also my favorite poet, this pretty much solidifies certain characteristic traits, such as insanity and alcoholism. So why am I bitching again? Nobody made me read this damn book so I'm just going to shut up now.

Jill Scott Representin North Philly Y'All

I went to see Jill Scott last night. It was the second time I have seen her live. Absolutely worth every single penny. She is one of the very few artists who blow me away live. You have only a hint of her vocal range from the cd's.

In answer to the much asked question: Why am I single?

The answer is simple. 99 percent of men are fucking losers and simply put, not good enough for me. I mean, look at me. I’m fabulous.

The other 1 percent are married, half of which are losers as well.

If you have found, and are married to, that .5 percent of men then I congratulate you. Bitch.

To illustrate my point let me provide some examples:

There was the guy who had a girlfriend. But hey, he was willing to trade up for me! Hooray! Freak.

Then there was the guy who wanted to jump off a cliff and kill himself. Seriously. Shit it’s just Starbucks. Calm the fuck down.

Oh wait, am I forgetting to tell you about the rich kid who almost killed himself doing drugs and lost his wife in the process? He was a year into sobriety by the time I met him and only dating Hispanic and/or Asian women because they were so much “warmer” than Caucasian women. Retard. I asked him if he was looking for a mother and he told me to grow up. It might be fair to say we were equally unimpressed. Me with his inability to wipe his own ass, him with my possession of something called a backbone.

I did like A. He was intelligent, educated, sarcastic… but also depressed as hell. He kept quoting Ayn Rand and searching for the meaning of life. First of all, I took ANCIENT philosophy, second, cheer up man!

X was just plain stupid. Stupid as in, “I am so smart. S – M – R – T … I mean…”. I told him all I wanted in life was to get married and have babies. LOTS OF THEM! He said, “maybe that’s what I want too”. Not quite the response I had envisioned. I screamed and ran away like the commitment phobe I am.

So I have come to the inevitable conclusion. Like renegade T-Cells, men’s penises are eating their brain.

If you are a man, good luck with that.

This Is A Game Called Cat and Mouse

Which one am I though? Not quite sure just yet. Give me a moment.

Just got off the phone with R. R asks a lot of questions, this is dangerous because I am blatantly honest and also tend to talk too much. R, by the way, is not Cute Boy. Have not seen CB recently which can be attributed to either one of two things. One: bad timing. I have been quite busy lately. That's my excuse, what the hell is his? Or two: I have already worn out my newness... also quite possible. At any rate, R is quite funny. Also a big time player. I love the challenge of bringing down men like this. They get caught when they're least expecting it. However, I know from experience that this is about the only appeal they have for me. Sigh.

So have decided to keep R as a "strictly friends" friend. He's cool. But I realize I'm going to have to maneuver him into friendship corner. Meanwhile he's trying to maneaver me into friends with benefits corner. We're both trying to outmaneuver each other and we're both quite good at this game. STALEMATE! Crap. All his questions and my big mouth could be my downfall. Curse a man with a memory. Must now resort to lying. The only way to stop the questioning is by giving conflicting information.

Somewhere in the back of my head I know I'm only killing time until, and if, CB comes round. Then R is dead in the water. Crap, am I the mouse?

I am.

I'm the fucking mouse.

Great.

Bad Days Should Be Outlawed

Yesterday I'm in the grocery store and it suddenly occurs to me that my life is a train wreck. Why the sight of cat food prompts this reaction I have no idea. Here's the lesson I learned though, friends get married, move cross country, have children, obtain boyfriends/girlfriends, but moms always answer the phone. Thank goodness.

When I got home I turned on Tivo and watched The Apprentice, which made me feel better because although occasionally I may earn the title, "loser", I have never voluntarily aired that information on national television. Congratulations Magna, you have purchased a college degree, too bad you didn't add common sense to your grocery list.

How did these losers get here?

Remember that bet we lost?

Baby Girls' Baptism

BG's Baptism was beautiful.

K cried. T cried. This is what happens when you have a baby. Afterwards everyone made fun of K, "Men don't cry" blah blah blah. Personally I thought it was sweet.

No one made fun of T. First off she is a girl, second, they know better.

That's not the really important part though. The important part is that some people asked for my name and number AND an interior decorator was looking through some of the digital pics and asked if I would be interested in taking her portfolio pictures and designing her website!

Of course I said yes. Do I look drunk? Well, I am drunk but that's beside the point.

J/K.

Ode To Bill Waterson

I loved Calvin and Hobbes.



It was the most witty, touching, intelligent, hilarious comic strip ever. Bill, wherever you are hiding, in Ohio of all places, know that of the top ten things I miss in life, your comic is one.

A Picture is Worth?

Apparently nothing. My friend is having her baby's baptism tomorrow morning and I am the official photographer. My payment is in the form of... oh. Nothing. (That's ok, I actually love being asked to photograph important events) I have a list of all the necessary pictures and all of my photo equipment was cleaned and packed last night. I have added a new weapon to my arsenal, a canon rebel 2000. We will see how it performs under pressure. There will be a small test run today, hopefully all goes well.

Here's the thing about me and cameras, I friggin love them! Except for point and shoots. I would rather throw them into the gutter than use them, especially cameras without any zooms. WTF is the point of that shit? The only point and shoot that I ever loved was my little XA, which is out of production and has to be bought used. That thing is a beauty and many camera aficionados swear by them. Unfortunately I lost mine when my car was stolen (it was in the trunk) and the one I bought to replace it kills all batteries within two hours. Weird. Car stealing bastards!

So, at current time I have a small digital camera in my purse, two cameras in my car (one is stupid defective XA), the digital z1 is at home in it's nice protective case and the rebel is sitting by my side waiting for it's outing and new batteries.

I also own and read obsessively books on filters, creative techniques, shooting methods, digital vs. film, etc. I haven't taken a course in photography since high school but all my friends and family call me for photos instead of hiring someone. I'm even starting to do weddings which is pretty cool. But, well, I'd like to start getting some paid gigs. It would really make this seem worthwhile.

Which brings me to my main point, I NOW HAVE A PAYING GIG! I am taking pictures for a famous makeup artist! He has celebrity clients, and that's right, I am taking the pictures of his models for his portfolio!

I'm getting paid! Does that mean I can have business cards?! Does this mean I now have license to buy more lenses? How about filters? Can I wear all black and run around downtown calling myself an artiste while smoking long cigarettes, drinking brandy and cursing men with five syllable words?

This is the best hobby EVER!

Me Drunk

Isn't it funny how when you're drunk you feel like you're going to fall asleep? Very pleasant feeling.

By the way... drunk driving is fun. Ha ha. You get to swerve at random pedestrians. I am assuming since they are out at two in the morning that they are coke addicts anyway. Who misses druggies? NOt me. Maybe their dealers but that's about it. Thats why you can mow them down. NO one really cares.

Hmm. My speling seems to be a bit offf. Alcohol is fun.

And for all you peopole who are apalled at drun k driving... well. Who cares? I personally like taking up five lane.s I would do it sober if I had big enough balls! Which obciously I don't or that stupid jack and coke wouldn't make me throw up..

Jack and Coke...

... burns a hole right through my stomach.

Why am I so damn competitive? I see men doing something and I have to do it. Absolutely F#n HAVE to do it. This has prompted me to learn how to shoot, how to drag race, how to ride a motorcycle, to swear with the best of them, pull punches with the best of them, and always always smile and laugh where any other normal girl would cry. And let me tell you, I have loved every single second of it, except for jack and coke.

I hate it! It makes me throw up! I wasn't even drunk last night and I had to throw up as soon as I got home. GROSS!

Here's what happens, me and Tracie are at home when my friend Jon calls me, "Come down to the Mission Ale House. I'll buy you a drink." Ok. So we head down there, Jon is hanging out with two of his friends, Chuck and James. Once we meet up though we decide to head down to Los Gatos where another friend of ours is DJ'ing. At the new spot Chuck buys a JnC that Jon refuses to drink. Everytime I see this drink one word appears in my head, "yuck", immediately followed by the thought, "stop being a girl. A silly little drink can't beat you! You're tough!"

So I drink it. I don't wince. And to Chuck's raised eyebrow I refuse his offer of a chaser. I can handle it. I order a second. I finish it. I still don't wince. I get home, I throw up.

So the moral of the story is: I'm a pink MAC brush owning, panty wearing, whiny girl who got beat by a little glass of jack and coke. This story sucks.

Counting Sheep

Terra. My new movie will be out soon. It's called Consta... Consta... something. Anyway, as usual I am looking hot.



Yeah... so how's your acting?



WTF are you doing here?!!!



Quit changing the subject fairy and answer the question.



None of your damn business! Besides... I can't remember the question.



That's because you're too busy imagining having sex with a man! Look, just tell Terra that your new movie sucks and that I am a better actor than you. Confession is good for the soul.



I WAS NOT THINKING ABOUT BRAD PITT!!!!!



What?



... or sheep.