Dear god, i have not been so classically drunk since forever. I love you all and my fingers love you all. fuck this my face has so much to say in the way of lonesome dove acceptance too bad my brain has lost the cognitive capacity to express itself.

the end.

Uh, now it is morning and I passed out after I wrote that paragraph. "lonesome dove acceptance" what the fuck was I talking about? Also, I like how it takes me an entire bottle of vodka to love EVERYONE IN THE WORLD.

Oh well. Also, somehow I ended up at Tara Reid's house last night. Too bad my sister decided I was beyond drunk and even though I was trying to steal shit she would carry my face out of there with such grace and poise that I am not even sure how we are related. Amazing.

Oh, and I do not love you all. Not in the least.

For the past 24-hours I've been chomping down on pills like they're the free trail mix at my local, seedy bar. Congratulations Sabrina, this is the first step. Step. Step, one, two.

Inside my head I am like MAYBE I AM GOING TO LOCK MYSELF IN THE BATHROOM AND NEVER COME OUT UNLESS THE SUN TURNS TO MILK. And then I realize I am inside my head and I am locked in there and even when I purge and the inside splats all over the outside I am still there. Too bad I cannot get trapped inside someone else's messy mind.

I am like that crazy hell cube from Hellraiser. There are an infinite amount of ways to work me--twisty, turny, bendy ways. Depending on who is playing with me there is the possibility that they'll have their hands ripped off or maybe they'll unlock the pathway to hell. God, the inside of my head is not even hell, but between you and me personally I like to think I am so fucking interesting that heaven (if you believe in that sort of thing) is entirely too boring to house my thoughts or my person and that hell is my best option cause everyone knows that's where all the cool kids go to hangout and smoke while waiting for the lunch bell to ring.

Today was my final day at work. This is the first time I have stuck it out and finished my entire two weeks notice. This is the first time I gave a two week notice and did not have my sister call my boss three days into it and tell them I fell off a cliff and died on impact, I got hit by a car or I stumbled down a flight of stairs and am in a coma. I am beaming grownupness all over the fucking place right now. I am not even drunk and having sex with a stranger to celebrate. In this moment, I exemplify everything I am not.

I used to home school a high school senior. It was like screaming OH MY GOD, I AM THE KEEPER OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE--AND IT IS SAVED RIGHT IN THE BOTTOM OF THIS BOTTLE OF WHISKEY! Mostly, I would show up and be hungover or still drunk and be like THIS IS NOT AN EXAMPLE OF HOW TO BE A GROWNUP, THIS IS AN EXAMPLE OF BEING AWESOME. And then we'd watch a movie and I would break down Old English text for him in layman's terms then race home to sleep off my hangover. Like everything else in my life, the glorious excess caught up with me and I woke up in San Francisco after a night of heavy drinking. Being fully functional in a blackout means making fully functional decisions about leaving town with other people loaded out of their minds and then escaping LA via the concrete coastline and waking up only to realize you've basically quit your job. I do the same thing with relationships. I am famous for breaking up with someone by merely disappearing from fucking sight. Only, I never make my friends call all the different men and tell them I am dead or dying. They have to decide that on their own.

The worst part about writing here is knowing I want to write here and then feeling like I have to write here. Then sitting in front of my laptop chatting to every fucking loser in my buddylist so I do not have to write here. It's like holding a gun to my head but making the bed and baking a cake at the same fucking time.

Anyways, seeing as how the last two days were generally pains in the ass I feel like I should say something amazing and prolific. All I can come up with is that my past is going to haunt me. I can be tired all day long and dying to sleep, but once I get into bed there is nothing I want to do less than sleep. This is a game I have been playing with myself for years. My sister is the same way, she sleeps on the couch almost always.

There is going to be no running theme in todays post and probably very little continuity. Oh well. I guess I will let this highlight the fact that I am a hack & a poor excuse for a writer. Moving right along, I have been listening to the same song on loop for three days. I forgot all about it until I stumbled upon it Sunday afternoon. My sister made my listen to it all the way to San Francisco this past March. I think it was March, whatever. Anyways, I do not remember much about San Francisco. I got really wasted and had the highest bar tab I have ever had in my life. Ever. It was amazing actually that I even got it as high as I did. Shortly before I was presented with the bill I punched some British mogul in the forehead for bringing up my tits. I like how I will bring them up a trillion times, but if you bring them up before I bring them up I will slaughter you. I guess this song reminds me that I need to run away more often than I have been and maybe I will punch people in the face while I do it. Maybe.

I like waking up in strange places. I guess I should being that I do it often enough. Welcome to my palace Blackout Wonderland. God, I was going to write and be all magical and creative, but it turns out I am just hungover. HUNGOVER AT 6PM. It didn't even hit until sometime after noon. So now I am sitting here at work and watching the sun move and teaching myself to tell time from it. OH MY GOD I AM SO AWESOME THAT I AM A SELF TAUGHT TIME TELLER. Anyways, Erin and I were talking this morning. I guess I am not quite a whore. Not quite a slut. I guess that makes me a whut.

Since when did fucking on the first date become paramount to knowing someone? God, I hate to admit it, but I don't really want to keep knowing you if I don't hurry up and fuck you and find out what the sex is like. Turns out that sex is super important to me and it can keep me around even when I am technically already gone. Saying this doesn't even seem trashy to me. It just seems logical. Who wants to spend 10 consecutive dates with someone and then find out they fuck like skittles? That just seems like fucking stupidity. Someone else asked me if I really thought that sex was that fucking organic and maybe there was more to it than BANG BANG BANG. I think this person is an idiot. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Naturally, it is way better when it just sort of works and there is that sort of extremely intense sextime wave that covers everything when you fuck. Anyways, I am one of those people that bangs first thinks later. OH MY GOD, I CAN HAVE SEX LIKE AN ADULT AND NOT FALL IN FUCKING LOVE--WHAT A FUCKING CONCEPT. I guess the point I am trying to make here is that I hate women. And I hate women that are like I HAD SEX WITH WHATEVERHISNAMEIS AND NOW WE ARE IN LOVE AND PROBABLY GOING TO MOVE IN TOGETHER. Oh yea psycho? I guess it is no wonder men are leary of women. We're all fucking insane.

Sometimes when I am typing away I want to be like OH MY GOD! THIS IS A SYMPHONY AND I CAN SEE THE FUCKING NOTES BLARING AWAY. Every clickity-clack is like a stellar crescendo and I am the maestro. Nodding my head at the heavy rhythm I've started. I am building something wonderful. I am putting all the right notes together, letters become words. Together, they melt into a wonderful chorus of plop, clack, space, bang. ENTER. ENTER. ENTER.

It's building a brick wall. The splosh-slab of morter and klomp of the bricks being dropped into place. It's systematic, but flawed and never, ever perfect. It serves a function. I am not making sense.

When I type I hear magic. Letters, singularly being pressed & pounded. In the begining they function singularly, but eventually something amazing happens, they combine and thoughts are sprayed all over the screen. Cohesively, the right combination of two letters becomes one, plus more and more. Oh God, a language orgy.

I wish I was not so fucked up. I have to fucking work at 10 am. That is a literal plea. HELP ME.

Most of the time I feel like I am what happens when you combine the personality traits from the members of the A-team and give them a vagina. I love it when a plan comes together! It's true that I take each situation, review it and give it only enough thought to put myself in a situation where I can and will get what I want. I use charm, wit, brawn, good looks, my child molester/Uncle Rico van, my ability to smoke a cigar and pretty much anything else you can think of to make this shit happen.


Recently, I have been posed with an impediment that would fuck up my getting of what I want. It took me about a day and 10 cigars to implement a plan that would side-step these problems and eventually lead me to get whatever it is that I've been after. I guess now the only thing I have left to tell you is what it is I am after. On an unrelated note, a good day is when you can make a clever life analogy comparing yourself to Mr. T & the gang.

I guess if you were ever planning on getting me a gift and had no idea what to get me A CAMERA SOUNDS LIKE A PRETTY GOOD IDEA. The new camera I got myself in May came to an untimely end in June when I accidentally dumped a fucking bottle of water in purse when I was in a mega hurry to weigh myself because I am obsessed with my weight. Anyways, help a bitch out and purchase her a fucking swank camera.

I guess this is where I tell you about the time I had to visit the Los Angeles offices of the ACLU. My boss decided it would be a swell idea to send me on some sort of wild goose chase that included dropping off some package to the ACLU. In case you have never been to the Los Angeles division of the ACLU it is located about two steps from the skid row part of LA. Fucking fantastic. Anyways, it was around noontime, so it wasn't like I was going to get megaraped or anything. It was just a plethora of vomitous surroundings and junker cars. So I park and enter their offices through two glass doors. This is the one thing I can tell you about the ACLU. They obviously take no chances. Their waiting room is a tiny box that looks into the reception area. The reception area is closed off and you can see it via the top to bottom window of double paned glass. You know, the sort of glass that protects the pope mobile and that sort of thing. There is also one of those magic trays that they have at gas stations so the attendant doesn't have to open the door to get your money and consequently get shanked to death so you can rob the fucking gas station. At any rate, the receptionist presses a button and greets me. I tell her I have a package for "so-&-so" and she smiles and gets up. I walk over to the magic tray and she says that it's ok and she opens the fucking door. SHE OPENS THE DOOR. I mean, I realize I was wearing a dress so short and tight that the only place I could hide a fucking bomb would have been my vagina, but that lady took it into her hands to decide that I was safe because I was a sweet looking white lady with giant tits. LADY THIS IS THE SAME MISTAKE THAT MEN MAKE WITH ME ALL THE TIME!!!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING???? And then I walked over and handed her the package and left. On my way to the car I realized that the ACLU participated in an underhanded game of racial profiling and I started it. So guys, the moral of this story is that even the most highly regarded groups defending equality and shit is still your run of the mill dumb fuck when it comes to a sweet looking white lady with nice tits.

The end.

Here is a widely unknown fact about me--I was raised as a kept woman. I have never really paid my own bills, I have never had to pay for an apartment or a place to live and if I have a job is not really that big of a deal as long as I am not going out and dropping loads of money on shit I never needed in the first place. God, I am little Miss Muffet & my life is a tuffet. Now the tuffet is on fire and the children are all running away, or something. That sounds nursery rhyme enough for me at least.

So the drama starts and I am like I GUESS I WILL JUST DRINK UNTIL I DIE OR MOVE AWAY, CAN ANYONE UNDERSTAND THAT. And now I have made my drinking the leading cause of why I should leave Los Angeles & not the fact that I just want to leave. What makes it even better is the fact that somehow this has reignited the fact that maybe I should seek help in the form of REHAB. HILARITY.

Sadly, I am going to leave here anyways and if I end up hating New York I'll go somewhere else. Then somewhere else. Then somewhere else. Even if I fucking love the weather here I hate basically everything else. Once I am gone I bet I am going to glorify this stupid city in print. Los Angeles should be thanking me ahead of time.

The only thing I hate worse than having a job is looking for a job. I guess quitting your life and moving across the country means you'll be getting a new job unless your last name is Hilton and you have no tits. Then you can do that bi-weekly while trying to avoid flashing off your fucking cooter to the entire world. Thank God for the paparazzi--they level the playing field and at this point I know that my vagina is in no way worse looking than most of the starletts in Hollywood. This might also be because I have yet to contract herpes, but we have the future to look forward to, right?

God, I guess I will go running at 12:47am and then think a lot while trying to minimize my obesity impulses and come back and have something brilliant to say. Maybe I will just keep typing, sometimes when I am running I get bored and pretend someone has jumped out of the shadows and is going to chase after me. Ok, I lied I really did go running and now we can play the time lapse game where I continue my previous thought, but expand on it with the super highlights vomited from my brain while jogging in the dark.

I always like how in movies where everyone is doing an incredible amount of coke how no one in their right mind takes the time to have the fucking cokeheads do that annoying thing with their mouth where they grind their teeth and act like their brain is about to emerge from their ears and nostrils. Why can't everyone just be like me and have the ability to party like a monster and have amazing blackouts where everything you do is basically more awesome than the last thing until you fucking wake up naked on a bathroom floor cause the only thing better than puking is puking naked. My greatest goal is to become a "real adult" holy shit, I'm on my way.

Some days you wake up and realize that nothing matters. Not being poor. Not caring about the Chinese. And definitely not staying at your shitty job. I knew, even before I took this job, that I would probably move to NYC in October, but I took it anyways cause I like buying shit and not having to give handjobs in return for cash money. Then I realized I was working for Ursula the Sea Witch and she was grossly under paying me, but I am willing to work 75 hour weeks and make an incredible amount of money via the magic of overtime.

I guess working that much isn't worth the drama of listening to a fat person condescendingly tell you everything wrong with what you're doing, even though it is her business and her prerogative. From now on I only want to work for companies that are huge as hell and everyone has to memo everyone else before they can tell you that you are sucking at all. GOD, WHAT I NEED IN MY LIFE IS SOME HR BUREAUCRACY SHIT. I bet that will be the only time for the rest of my life that I end up writing that.

I once started out writing a short piece about how I would kick Morrissey's ass if I ran into him at a bar. I started it about 7 months ago. It remains unfinished. Sometimes, it is nice to just sit at home and be disgusting and shove as much food into your body as possible so that you begin to feel like your skin is going to burst and rip at the seams you never even knew you had. I guess this is my blue period. Really, what I need is a red period so we can stealthily avoid the abortion period. And not because I am intimidated by abortions, but because I do not want to have to dig into my secret savings and get the money to make it happen. It turns out I am very not secretly a fucking Jew. I know this to be true, not because I am cheap (I'm not), but because I am heavily into crucifixions & stonings. On that note, I guess I will need to be stoned and crucified for being a temptress and an adulteress. Amen.

I am moving to New York. It seems like my best possible option. Last month I had dirty angry sex with a man that went to jail for shop lifting. This man had more pills than a pharmacy and would become emotionally distraught when I'd ask him not to call me his girlfriend. We were lying in bed and he told me he really liked me and maybe he could love me. While he was doing this I wondered to myself if I jumped up and ran into the mirror, attempting to shatter it, if he would stop talking or continue trying to romanticize the situation as reality rotted away like my sliced up corpse would begin to do in the future. ANYWAYS that sentence obtained a lot of words and horrible punctuation. I just wanted to mention that. Long story short, after that conversation he turned to me with stupid hearts growing in his eyes and said, "So what do you have to say?" I did what any sane woman that does not want to get tied down to a fucking emotionally imbalanced alcoholic would do--I simply retorted with the fact that he had a beautiful dick. He is the value of his best parts. I hated everything about him, and secretly wanted to beat him in the face with a golf club whenever we were in public. ESPECIALLY IF WE WERE DRINKING. Oh my God, he was the world's most obnoxious drunk. EVER. That man made me consider annexing the bottle from my life FOR GOOD. Thank God I opted to annex him instead. I guess the best way to end this is to say that he made me wait over a week to have sex because he was afraid I would run away. Man, next time a guy does that to me I am going to put him in a sleeper hold and dump his ass in the desert to fucking die while he's passed out.

I am a wonderful Siren. I fuck like a rockstar. I am mean and leave in the middle of the night. I hurt the feelings of men. I leave them feeling sad, lonely & inadequate. I never love them back, but they always, always want to cheat on their new girlfriends when I come calling. These are all things I have been told by ex's in the last 2 days. I guess they'll never learn their lesson. Thank God for ADD.