Oh my god, I am dapper as hell. See that hat, that is professional hat wearing skills at work. The entire cast of Newsies took a shit over my hat wearing abilities.

I started this blog on like Tuesday and now it is Friday afternoon and I am sure whatever it was that I had to say on Tuesday was not nearly as cool as what I am going to say now. Ok, that is probably a lie since anything I come up with is fucking brilliant anyways.

I have always wanted to be apart of the side-show at the circus. I have a mole on my chin that has a dark hair grow out of it. Maybe I can be the bearded, big titted lady with lots and lots of tattoos. Too bad I can find a lady like that at the coffee shop I go to and the idea of it is totally unnovel now that America has decided to accept stupid things like big tits, beards and tattoos as a fucking social norm. Way to shit on my parade America.

Speaking of shitty, somedays the happiest I can be is right after I take a giant shit. Hello? Who knew something so natural could become the enlightening catharsis that brightens my fucking day. I am like a proud parent taking their child to kindergarten's for the first day each time I flush the toilet. Fucking amazing.

In other news, I am 26-years-old & incapable of having a relationship. This is stuff we already knew. Probably because the seven of you reading know that I am basically against relationships. What I am not against is fun & taking pills. So what happens when you start seeing someone that has pills, mental issues, and a drinking problem? Probably severe co-dependency. I told him he has three weeks then I am dumping him. So unless he delivers me a '79 Firebird Trans Am--he probably has only 16 days left. He could however medicate me to the point where all the days get lost and I am crawling around like an infant. He did something like that to me on Tuesday to get me to spend the night--too bad I was fucking excited about it cause he was roofying me and there is basically nothing I like better in the entire world, other than having sex in public. Oh my god, I sound like a victim of abuse. Awesome.

Oh, here's something else, HE WOULDN'T EVEN FUCK ME THE FIRST NIGHT WE HUNG OUT CAUSE HE SAID THAT I WOULD PROBABLY DISAPPEAR AND NEVER SPEAK TO HIM AGAIN. What in the fuck? How did he know I would do that? What creeps me out even more is the fact that he wanted to know why I would do that and kept asking until I rolled my eyes and started throwing back drinks like I was David Hasselhoff and he gave up. I am not sure what planet he is from, but he cannot out psycho analyze me because I am the best at this game and he is fucking crazy and going to therapy a million times a week. I AM GOING TO BE CRAZIER, I SWEAR TO GOD. He told me I wasn't even that crazy and it pissed me off. I AM THAT CRAZY. I AM BETTY FUCKING FORD. I HATE YOU ALL.