just a few little journal gems to remind us what we’re fighting for:

“what makes my brain think its such a goddamn expert on hamster viscera, anyway?”

“warning: the below post contains monkeys and monkey related topics. any persons allergic to monkeys or any of the ingredients in monkeys should return immediately to the plastic bubble you were raised in and sterilize something or feel sorry for yourselves or whatever it is you bubble-people do”

am i the only narcissistic jackass that re-reads their own journal?

the bench and bar is the new home of the novice drag queen and the place, in fact, where your chaste and humble narrator got snookered out of her fucking mind the night before last.

oh, there was carnage, my friends.
windows were smashed. bottles were broken. puke was….puked.
(not by me, of course. i was just along for the ride.)

and things got a little “Who’s afraid of Virgina Wolfe”-core toward the end, if you know what i mean.

i spent the next morning in a near catatonic stupor, hot and headache-y, moaning some garbage about “never drinking again” (HA!) and occasionally shuttering upon remembering bits and pieces of the myriad of stupid things that fell out of my mouth over the course of the evening.

i’ve tried to keep it low key today, in a world of lost cats and eviction notices, p.j. harvey fans and boys being hit by cars, its proving to be difficult.

the bench and bar is the new home of the novice drag queen and the place, in fact, where your chaste and humble narrator got snookered out of her fucking mind the night before last.

oh, there was carnage, my friends.
windows were smashed. bottles were broken. puke was….puked.
(not by me, of course. i was just along for the ride.)

and things got a little “Who’s afraid of Virgina Wolfe”-core toward the end, if you know what i mean.

i spent the next morning in a near catatonic stupor, hot and headache-y, moaning some garbage about “never drinking again” (HA!) and occasionally shuttering upon remembering bits and pieces of the myriad of stupid things that fell out of my mouth over the course of the evening.

i’ve tried to keep it low key today, in a world of lost cats and eviction notices, p.j. harvey fans and boys being hit by cars, its proving to be difficult.

something just occurred to me….call it a repressed memory.
did any of you have breakfast at public school? and if so, did they try to pass off a paper ketchup cup with a glob of peanut butter in it as a side dish. and what the fuck is that supposed to acomplish? what the fuck am i supposed to do with a paper cup full of fucking peanut butter?
that’s not food! that’s what you eat when you’re out of food. you see, just now, i was eating peanut butter off a spoon*, and so i know.

(to be honest, it was peanut butter on a spoon with pineapple ice cream topping, but you don’t want to hear about my sordid late night culinary exploits.)

i’ve been unhappy.
i went to the store, not for this express purpose– but i ended up buying a package of Three “Happy Apples” …..or so the tag says. carmel coated, peanut covered: i thought they’d do the trick.
i’ve eaten two so far.
i’m still unhappy.
maybe i’m doing something wrong.

now,
you may ask yourself, much like i did, “what possible reason
in all of creation
would the local ‘Pet Club’ discount pet food store need a motor in the back tank of the womens toilet?” and you may not even want to believe it.
but,
then,
the evidence is there.