I stayed up all night again, listening to Little Barrie by Little Barrie on fucking loop, making coffee and watching the sunrise--feeling very pensive when I am actually super restless. Let me tell you one of the things that happened when Erin was in Los Angeles a couple of weeks ago. She shows up on Thursday night right before the bars close because her flight was delayed about two hours. If you for one second think that is going to stop me and Erin you are a dip shit.

I got a hotel in Hollywood and we bought a giant Costco sized jug of vodka and proceeded to drink like it was the end of the world. It was amazing really. At some point these dip shits were downstairs at their car, which happened to be right beneath our balcony & they were sort of heckling us, but mostly trying to be flirty, but barely getting away with being fat, disgusting fucks. At this point we were so fucking drunk it seemed like a good idea to piss on their car from above. Somehow Erin hit her mark and pissed all over that man's SUV while my sister mostly pissed on my feet. PLEASE DO NOT FUCK WITH US, I DARE YOU WE ARE INSANE TO THE MAX. Later on we lost my debit card while going to get smokes and some homeless person found it and went to FOOD 4 LESS and bought probably $80.00 of booze. I've never even been to a FOOD 4 LESS because I am from Los Angeles and I only go to gourmet grocery stores where things may or may not be organic, but they are more expensive and that makes them better. Then we went back to the hotel and the LADY UPSTAIRS SAID SOMEHOW THE NOISE WAS TRAVELING THROUGH THE CEILING, which only goaded me to become louder and then I am pretty sure Erin and I took some pills, but if you ask me which ones it was I will never be able to tell you because by this point I was on auto pilot and had drank about half that jug of vodka, and maybe more.

Around 8am, we went to Asia de Cuba for breakfast and mimosas because when you get that drunk the best plan of action is to keep drinking. So we took in the views and shit (check the photo above) and then I realized my fucking credit card was fucking gone & I think I might have flipped out or not, who knows? I do remember wearing red suede shoes because I am cool as fucking hell. After that I do not remember much. I guess we got back to the hotel and I blacked out. That's all I have to say about that until I tell about how we used the blow taxi because no one could get ahold of a coke dealer, and if you question wanting to start a lucrative business in your area, go with the coke taxi because you can really gouge prices when some fucking débutantes want blow at 3:45 am.

So I guess I can tell the story, which at this point is actually a lore, but we'll call it a story--THE STORY OF BUCKETFOOT. I went to Catholic school since forever. The stories I could tell. I bet you're thinking about the teachers and priests that fucked the students, and you'd be right, but really, the weird people are the better stories. I was in 8th grade. My sister was in 6th grade and Bucketfoot was in 3rd grade. NO MATTER WHAT BUCKETFOOT HAD HER FEET SOAKING IN A BUCKET. I am not even fucking kidding. You'd be walking down the hall and you'd see bloody crusty feet walking to the nurses office with her bucket in tow. That year I got scarlet fever FIVE TIMES. I was also in and out of the nurses office ALL THE TIME. Each time I would go in there and be like I AM BREAKING OUT IN CREEPY RASHES WITH A SORE THROAT AGAIN! I'd be confronted with Bucketfoot. She never talked, she just stared. Anyways, I am not sure why I brought this up in print cause it is way funnier when I tell it in person and hobble around like I have a bucket foot. Anyways, my friend Katie was in the same grade as Bucketfoot, and we were like I WONDER WHAT HAPPENED TO BUCKETFOOT? And Katie was stoned out of her mind and she was like BUCKETFOOT, SHE'S PROBABLY DEAD. I guess it is plausable, if your fucking feet bleed excessively and you always have to be soaking them that you could die from terminal bucket feet. Right?

Here is a terrible fucking transition. I found an old camera I thought I lost, I guess that is what happens when you suffer from alcohol related dementia and misplace shit all over the country. So I guess photos will return post haste, or as soon as I am not so fucking lazy that I start taking them. I am vexed about Halloween. If I decide to go out it will be awesome, and I probably should because I am not drinking all of stupid November because it is better to cut down on the drinking now rather than keep up the monster like stride into December where things get fucking scary due to the amount of parties I will probably want to attend. Whatever, back to Halloween. I cut my hair even shorter. It is in a very short bob now and I guess if push comes to shove I will dye it fucking black and hack some bangs in there and put on the gold sequins dress I have for no apparent reason and go as Velma Kelly from Chicago and maybe if you are lucky I will kill you and my sister, even if you are not fucking her, but just for continuity sake. Maybe.

So I finished that list about shitty movies I love and you can find it here. You all can go there and sing my praises because I am a fucking genius. Oh yea.

I am still bloated from being so drunk it was necessary to eat my body weight in shitty diner food. Gross. I also bought an entire fucking cheesecake that I took home and will have to donate to charity because I will never fucking touch it.

I hate Fridays and openly boycott them. I guess that's why I decided to agree to go on a date tonight. Now before you get your panties in a bunch over the fact that I make "plans" relax, I will probably get so drunk that the bartender will have to call my sister to take me home so I have to wake up next to a stranger. Amazing.

Anyways, I don't even want to talk about that, or the fact that I somehow got fucking wasted by 6pm, or the fact that I found a beauty salon open next to the bar that serves booze AND is open till fucking midnight. OH MY GOD, YOU HAVE TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME. Regardless, I ended up with a manicure, pedicure & bikini wax at 10pm. Living in Los Angeles is the best thing ever. And by the way, any woman that is like EEW A BIKINI WAX IS FUCKING STUPID. P.S. it doesn't even hurt and it hurts less than negative when you have a bottle of wine and then have someone rip off your vagina. Seriously kids, I should put digg on this blog only because I need phrases like "rip off your vagina" running rampantly throughout the internets. HA!

By the way, I don't do the total bare cunt thing because I am a grown woman and I should have SOME hair down there. Grown women get fucked by men because men know how to rape and rape is super hot in that sort of HI, I HAVE EMOTIONAL ISSUES WAY. Unlike molestation which is for priests and the creepy dude that invites children into his car and looks like the dude that plays Champ in The Legend of Ron Burgandy. Duh.

Oh god, why isn't abortion mandatory--seriously, some of the dumbest fucking guys I know are deciding to have children. Listen, if at some point in the last year you have been drunk with me you do not deserve to have children for at least a decade. PLEASE MAKE YOUR STUPID TRAMP GIRLFRIEND GET HER VAGINA SCRAPED OUT BECAUSE YOU HAVING A CHILD MAKES ABOUT AS MUCH SENSE AS FUCKING TOASTER STRUDELS. FUCKING FAT AMERICANS. Regardless, I advocate abortion and think everyone should get one--sort of like a fancy hat, it should be a rite of passage into adulthood or something. If you can manage an abortion, you too should be able to drive a car and eventually have your own child. Oh and if you have kids and you want to bitch about the fact that you have them and you are a cool person, YOU PROBABLY NEVER GOT DRUNK WITH ME TO BEGIN WITH--CHILDREN ARE THE END OF COOL. Maybe one day I will want to stay with one man and not because that man gave me herpes, which makes for the forced play, but because I actually love him. Surprising, I know, that I could have thoughts like that. And maybe after that I will decide to jump the boredom bandwagon and have a bunch of children that I can raise to be wild monsters that will paint their bodies and generally live like they're from Borneo or something. Regardless, I know two things about having kids and one of them is if you want one you need a garden, the other is if you plan to be a good parent you put your children first--but I am still busy finding places to get my vajayjay waxed at 11pm because I am my most important person. The end.

Around 5am is when I like to test exactly how quickly I can write my reviews because if I stay up past 6am I am going to fucking stay up till like 1pm and then backout and tomorrow ends up being a fucking waste. I am not sure why or how I continue to pull this shit, but it's probably because I like to fuck off and stare at the wall for hours on end. Maybe I am turning into the narrator from Charlotte Perkins Gilman's short story, "The Yellow Wallpaper"--as an aside I would like to bring up the factthat I thought Kate Chopin wrote that short story and that is because I am a moron. Due to the fact that I like to double check shit I caught that fucking mishap before it occurred. I think the point of bringing up the narrator of "The Yellow Wallpaper" was to indicate that I am going insane, but I'm not going insane at all so fuck you for nodding immediately.

Here is something that makes me feel like a fucking loser. I cannot stop listening to Viva Las Vegas. I swear to God, if I get in my car to drive to Vegas anytime in the next week I will end up embarking on a solo road trip all over the US & the only thing that makes me think of is getting raped in random gas stations. I am a perfectly adjusted adult.

I totally wrote this like 4 years ago. I have too much to do to write something. I have to get some sleep tonight. Fuck.

Dorkcus Clever. When she first told me his name I didn't think much. In fact, the first thing that came to mind was a thirty-five-year-old man that lives with his mother and masturbates to the underwear ads in the Sunday paper. Dorkcus Clever—fat, balding and impotent. Dorkcus Clever, immediately I imagine the love child of Marve Albert and Jackie Chan. When I think Dorkcus Clever I do not think attractive.

“When I met him I had flashes of our wedding and our children and our life together,” she clasps her hands together as if to punctuate her excitement. Her strait blond hair looks like a special wooden box hand crafted to frame her face. And as she says this I am silent. I'm busy contending with flashes of a hairy ape like man humping her and giving birth to a Neanderthal child. I realize her standards are kinda warped so I decide not to say very much. This is the same woman that used to write prison inmates because, “lots of beautiful mean end up in severe situations.” As if to say murder is “severe” not warped. I flash back from the looming thought of her child's protruding forehead when she becomes silent.

Usually, when someone pauses it’s not because they decided it’s time for a dramatic sigh, but rather because they want you to say something or show a little interest. I was most concerned with my thoughts of a heavy browed man grunting on top of her. She could probably do better. I decide to let her say something before I make a comment. That way there is less of a chance for me to sound like I wasn’t paying any attention. She tilts her head to the side as I cough uncomfortably. Karen picks up on my no so subtle body language and says, “So what do you think?” Well, in all honesty I think that spending the rest of ones life with a primate isn’t my idea of fun. I jump to flashes of future Christmas dinners. Dorkcus jumping on the table and ripping apart Karen’s carefully crafted turkey dinner. While their little barbarian children dance around in loin cloths, grunting at the wonders of fire.

“I think everyone deserves happiness.” I tell her this because it sounds like I care and I can avoid telling her he sounds like early mans answer to Corky from Life Goes On. “What’s that suppose to mean?” Honestly, I don’t know what it means. So I try to come up with something fast. “It means there is a shortage of good men,” here I pause and try to make it sound like I am being philosophic, instead of full of shit. “And he sounds like one of the last ones left. Besides, if you don’t go out with him how will you know if he is great or just a dick?” I intentionally refer to him as he. I figure in this case using a pronoun would work best because I’m not sure if I could keep talking if I have to say his name a lot.

“I suppose you are right.” I smile. Even when I’m not right—I’m right. This pleases me. “But I need to ask you a favor.” I stop smiling. This does not sound like the type of favor I am happy to do. Watering plants, feeding your dog, picking up a gallon of milk while I am on the way to your house. These are things I don’t mind. When I do them I do not become entangled in the details of the lives around me. I am free of friendship bondage. I like it that way. I want to let her know, but I don’t think she would take it very well.

“What kind of favor?”
“Well, I told him I would meet him this evening.”
“Ok.” I pause. She pauses also. “Do you need a ride?”
“No. He is coming here, to the coffeehouse. I just want you to wait with me and check him out and let me know what you think.” She says this and I can already see squatty little Dorkcus waddling into here and me having to smile and play nice when I want to vomit at the sight of his extra thick glasses and horrible hygiene. In a regular situation I would make an excuse regarding work, or ill health and talk my way out of becoming the third wheel on the motorcycle from hell. If I want to get out of this I’m gonna have to be honest and tell her why. That just isn’t a pliable option. Telling your friend that you don’t want to wait around and meet the chromosomally challenged love of her life because it’s impinges on your inability to become more than surface issue friends, probably won’t go over so well. I wonder if he is even housebroken.

“Are you asking me to chaperone your date?”
“No. Of course not. I’m not fourteen.”
“I know that, but it seems an awful lot like you want to use me as a buffer. If he is that bad then why bother to see him at all?”
“I’m not saying that. I just. I just wanted someone here.”

Things had suddenly taken a turn for the worst. Even if she denies being fourteen she made the basic plea that cannot be denied by women. It is loosely known as a cry for help regarding potential awkward situations. It means she likes you so much she doesn’t want to be alone with the guy. If Neolithic man was half as bad as I suspect she was gonna need some sense shaken into her.

Oh god, I just remembered what I was going to write about, it only took me like 2 hours. Jesus Fucking Christ. Anyways, this chick I grew up with--she moved to Tennessee, got knocked up and had that baby. ALL IN THAT ORDER. Then she went and named that kid BLAZE. Just in case you all forget, BLAZE IS THE NAME OF A FUCKING AMERICAN GLADIATOR. I clearly wish I had more to say about it than that, but BLAZE is a name you give your gay lover or your kitten--YOU DO NOT NAME YOUR CHILD BLAZE YOU FUCKING RETARD. In other news, I think she's coming to LA and bringing BLAZE with her--it will take everything out of me not to call that kid a retard--especially since she has been known to bring that tard to fucking bars with her and hope he passes out before 11pm. THAT MY FRIENDS IS GREAT PARENTING.

Turns out I started this post at 1am and now it is 5:42am--this is what happens when you become extremely manic after writing like a machine for a few hours. When I am writing like this I can give up sleeping entirely. God, at this time of the day whenever I am still awake--most of the time lately--I sit around like a psycho and wait for anyone I know on the East Coast to get online so I can fucking pester the shit out of them. Pester the shit. Until someone unboring gets out of fucking bed I will enjoy my break by watching LAW & ORDER: CRIMINAL INTENT. Holy shit, I love Law & Fucking Order. I usually figure out what is up in the first 10 minutes, but then I watch the rest of the show to see who's going to be badass and what sort of creepy characters they are going to introduce to justify their weird plot twists that are not even that fucking weird. LOOK AT ME I AM RAMBLING.

Right now I am finishing up my movie list for Critics Rant the website I write movie & television reviews for. Today the list I am working on is entitled Critical Mass: Six Movies You’re Too Embarrassed To Tell Your Friends You Love. These are some of my favorite fucking movies. Still they are movies you do not throw around when you are around your posh film buff friends for fear of them shunning you for your terrible taste. These people are usually boring and worthless friends anyways. Here is the list I started with. I had to cut it down to six, but let's check out how fucking awesome these sorts of films are:


1. Cocktail
2. Cobra
3. Roadhouse
4. Bloodsport
5. Clueless
6. Problem Child
7. Point Break
8. Street Fighter
9. Showgirls
10. Sidekicks
11. Three Ninjas
12. Over The Top
13. Bio-Dome
14. Drop Dead Fred
15. The Ringer
16. Necessary Roughness
17. Under Siege
18. Tremors
19. Better off Dead
20. License to Drive
21. Adventures in Babysitting
22. Weekend at Bernies
23. Jason X

Uh, someday I am going to meet a man that will know the utter importance of these films and I will fall madly in love with him and the two of us will hang out in bed all day long and try to perform some of Van Damme's fucking slick ass kicks on one another as though we are superior Muy Thai masters. Then we'll have spectacular sex and while screaming amazing one liners from ROADHOUSE like "I USED TO FUCK GUYS LIKE YOU IN PRISON!" And then I can die happy.

Let me explain my past 24 hours or so--I went out with this dude that does not understand that I am the devil and I am sure he is already in love with me because I got bored and was like I WONDER WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF I ACT COY, LIKE I COULD NEVER EVEN KISS SOMEONE LET ALONE FUCK THEM ON THE FIRST DATE. Turns out they decide you are even better than ever. Turns out I don't even care. And I left without even kissing this dude but somehow he was like I AM GOING TO GRAB YOUR ASS and I was like UH, WHATEVER. I like how I was like I GUESS I WON'T ACT LIKE A SLUT, but then I was like I GUESS I CANNOT HELP BEING A FUCKING SKANK EVEN WHEN I AM PRETENDING NOT TO BE A FUCKING SKANK. Oh man, I just took a sleeping pill, but I will get to that later.

Anyways, sometime before 2am I was like, I GUESS I SHOULD GET GOING BECAUSE I HAVE TO BAKE BREAD FOR THE ORPHANS or whatever I felt like saying and then I called up my sister and she was like WHOA, WE ARE HAVING AN AFTER-PARTY OVER AT THIS HOTEL--COME OVER NOW. So over course I head over there and we party till like 5am when I am like UH, I GUESS I WILL HEAD HOME BECAUSE I NEED TO DO SOME WRITING, PEACE OUT FOOLS. And then I go home and write (HERE'S AN ASIDE, I BET ALL OF THIS IS FUCKING BORING BECAUSE I AM BASICALLY FUCKING SPITTING BACK EVERYTHING TO YOU--OH GOD, I HAVE REACHED THE PINNACLE OF BORING I GUESS THIS IS WHERE I GIVE UP AND PRAY FOR DEATH).

Regardless, I get home and I am like OH, THIS IS MY SECOND WIND and I am wide fucking awake at like 7:45 am, but I am too lethargic/tired/hungover to leave the couch. By noon I was like SOMEONE STAB ME IN THE FUCKING FACE. And when I blacked out around 6pm I hoped to sleep until sun-fucking-rise. Too bad for me sunrise starts at 11:45 pm. So now it's 2am and I am building you the stupidest time line in the fucking world because I just woke up and I am taking a pill to go back to sleep because my life is a series of events incorporated with the use of pills for every fucking occasion. TASTE THE RAINBOW.

Oh, I just remembered why I wrote this post, THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU FUCK UP YOUR SLEEP SCHEDULE SO BADLY THAT YOU HAVE TO TAKE A PILL TO GO TO SLEEP AND ANOTHER TO WAKEUP & YOU END UP WITH SCRAMBLED EGGS FOR BRAINS. Ugh, so last night my sister got really wasted and she was like ARN'T YOU HAVING YOUR PERIOD. ARN'T YOU BLEEDING LIKE THE REST OF US. Turns out I am not currently suffering from bleedings disease. I am sure all seven of you that read this are super happy to know this shit. And I am sitting in a chair and she is like OH YOU ARE GOING TO GET YOUR PERIOD IN LIKE 4 DAYS and then she started jutting her pelvis in my face as to give me period juju. And I am probably going to get my period and want to die. I like it way better when I forget I am going to get it unless I think I have to abort someone's baby like I am the DSL cable in the internet super highway of life.

"I'll fuck your dog for twenty nickels!" God, whenever I am suddenly nervous those are the first words that come out of my mouth. There are circles where I am clearly known as TWENTY NICKELS. I guess that's all I have to say about that, other than when I am super nervous I turn into Eric Cartman and go around screaming that I fuck dogs or touch my cousin's wiener. Whatever.

I was recently reminded of something that happened not too long ago. I was looking DAPPER, mother fucking DAPPER as hell in the cutest polk-a-dotted frock with bright red heels while walking down Camden Avenue in stupid Beverly Hills. There are times when I wish I just blended into the background and this was one of those time. A troop of photographers, paparazzi if you will, were camped outside the building I had business in & as I walked by it was like a frenzy of the most sordid sort. I mean, I have had men scream lewd things are me tons of times and I have screamed back, but then none of them were carrying a camera so it could be blasted all over fucking TMZ. So I had to just sort of keep walking, even though I could hear some fucking asshole yelling HEY TITS, TURN AROUND FOR THE CAMERA. Hey fucko, how about you suck my dick. Anyways, as my policy goes I avoid reality television cause that shit is for dopes and dickheads. But let me tell you something, I never wanted to be famous and that shit solidified for me how much I never want to be famous ever cause it makes total sense why people like Lily Allen go nutzo and kick down a photographer. Those motherfuckers can be foul as hell.

Erin arrives in Los Angeles on Thursday. I guess that's when the posting will halt. I'll return as soon as someone posts bail. P.S. Erin and I have decided the most hilarious thing ever will be to fucking patronize Dr. Aric the Armenian Pharmacist (not actually Armenian, not a pharmacist) because he is still asking me out even though he says he knows I can never love him and I showed up to his house last week and when he went to make me a drink I ran outside, jumped in my car and drove away--when he texted me asking where I went I told him to get fucked good and proper. That was Wednesday. On Friday he texted me asking me to come hangout. WITH THE POWER OF THE TWO OF US THIS MAN WILL BE REDUCED TO TEARS IN NO TIME. That will happen after I demand he pump us full of pills. Please read my blog to your children in the tone of a church hymnal or prayer. Amen.

I found this in an article about breast cancer:

Limit alcohol intake: Recent studies indicate that alcohol consumption, including the much touted "healthy" red wine, increases a woman's risk of developing the disease. Women who drink one to two servings of alcohol a day increase their risk by 10 percent and women who drink three servings increase their risk by 30 percent.

I guess that means I am going to die from mother fucking breast cancer. I was trying to do the math in my head to figure out my exact risk factor. I got pretty bored trying to figure out how many drinks I'll have on a casual night of drinking, but then I started to think about when I'd drink until I'd inflict a near death experience. That had to be somewhere between 15 to 20 drinks a night, maybe more. Well, think of it this way, I guess I'll need a double mastectomy by next year.

Anyways, speaking of drinking and the excess of it, why's it whenever you get crazy drunk and say insane/provocative/embarrassing things people will be like HEY, DO YOU REMEMBER WHAT YOU SAID LAST NIGHT? Uh, sorry I don't, that is why they call it a blackout. And you tell them you don't even care what you said--as to hint around that you do not want to hear it at all. And then they will be like WHEN YOU ARE READY TO KNOW, YOU LET ME KNOW. Gee thanks, but I thought I made myself perfectly clear when I said I like filling in all the blanks myself because if I cannot remember parts of what went on, then it was not shocking or awesome enough.

Oh my God, let me take this opportunity to highlight you on the monstrosity that is alcoholism. I am so hungover that I cannot even sleep. I was lying in bed for like 80 million hours or something and then I finally had to be like FUCK THIS, I NEED SOME PEDIALITE, A LOBOTOMY AND TO DIE OUTSIDE BY THE POOL. So now I am outside by the pool letting the sun attempt to cook me but I am wearing a hat so fucking gigantic and leopard that it looks like I got it from the second hand, hooker rack from the day-after Kentucky Derby Sale. Fucking Amazing.

Let me highlight ya'll a few things that I am capable if you pump me full of enough alcohol and drugs. I can make my friend (and ex) try and leave his girlfriend for me cause I AM GETTING BORED at the bar. And then when I realize it is turning into some sort of sordid psycho-sexual drama I call up another ex that is scared to see me because I just about put him in the looney bin with my games and whatnot and make him come and see me. And then I get bored of that and act like I am going to take a phone call outside and I take off and pick up my sister and say things like WHOA, I AM DRIVING WITHIN THE LINES, THIS IS FUCKING RADICAL. And yes, I continue to use slang terms like "Radical" in my everyday lexicon. Tubular!

Moving right along, my sister and I find ourselves at mother fucking YumYum Donuts cause that is all that's open at 4am in the fucking creepy suburb I live in. My sister wants to know what to order and I rip a poster down and was like UH, I DUNNO, GET THE FRANKENSTEIN MIX IN THIS POSTER because the poster has a cute little Frankenstein with a million donuts around him and because at that stage of drunkenness pictures and pointing is pretty important in the communication game. While she goes inside to deal with that situation I go out and pis next to the dumpster behind YumYums. Apparently, it will take the little Mexican dude 20 minutes to figure out what the fuck a Frankenstein Mix is, but when he does you get like 8 thousand donuts that have orange and black sprinkles on them. What's even better is that brosef with the limited English vocabulary sees you between 3 & 4am almost nightly because it is the only place in fucking town to get a cup of coffee. The problem being, at 4am you look like the undead without makeup, wearing a baseball cap, probably smelling like ass and hell combined & are in man pajamas cause they are actually way more comfortable to lounge in. And it takes him even longer to realize the you in front of him in a leopard party dress and bright red hookerescent platform heels is the same person. Everyone high fives and then my sister tries to see if she can get him to get us high but he is ALL OUT. One of the many rockin traits about my sister is that she will solicit drugs from anyone in any way. Remember that time she got room service in San Francisco to get us high for free? Party time, EXCELLENT! It's around this time that I decide I am too drunk to drive or even walk and I insist on getting a cab because I am fucking cold and my sister is like UH, IT IS A 10 MINUTE WALK HOME SO JUST FUCKING DRIVE. So I drive home while my sister responds to a text from one of my exes that said something like DON'T DIE. I think her response was UH, I AM DEAD FROM TONS OF ORGASMS. THANK GOD.

I guess I will write another blog because I need to hurry up and write five fucking tv/movie reviews cause that is what I am getting paid to do these days. I am not sure if I should even mention the website here because the last thing I need are people going there and arguing with the idiots that comment about all the different shows I hate. Basically my reviews can go two ways. I talk about how I would like to have sex with one of the characters and this validates my viewing experience as great! Or I absolutely hate the show and talk about all the people watching it are fucking retards that need lobotomies. I get in trouble for this sort of shit all the time, but I like to think I am some sort of mother fucking rogue and I enjoy getting told not to berate the readers.

I super love the idea of living on an island. In fact, I want to know who I have to talk to in order to get someone to allow me to live on Alcatraz. That place is equal amounts awesome & creepy. I bet I could fucking isolate the shit out of myself, scare the shit out of my self & get wasted as fucking hell to function do to the isolation and the fear. Someone help me figure out how to aptly make this happen cause I would totally throw some fucking rocking parties and then Michael Meyers could show up and kill all the people fucking and getting loaded. It would be amazing.

A post I need to write in the very near future is where I take all the "draft posts" I started that end up going no where and are like two lines and put them together as one post. I was looking at them and the total lack of continuity would be like my usual mindless rants, but on PCP. Awesome to the max. God, I am so fucking tired I should just take a nap till 6am and then get up and write and then go running. That sounds like a sound idea. Too bad I am totally against good ideas. I was hungover till 10pm and then I went to see Darjeeling Limited. I wanted very much to like this movie. I have to review it so I will keep things short, but you get to a point where shit stops being clever and eccentric and it is just like I GET IT, YOU THINK YOU'RE CLEVER. Really the best part about the movie for me was the fact that I went alone and I am absolutely terrified of going to the movie theater, let alone going alone. Oh my God I am a level of unstable that is both nifty and endearing. I am sure this is why men fall in love with me even when I am shouting that they are stupid spineless morons and I ask them to do shit like punch me out.

I am not even sure what the fuck went on in that rambling mess from last night, but I will say that's what happens when I start taking pills and decide that nothing I consume to alter my state of mind is going to be ENOUGH. That being said, I guess I am going out with my sister to get wasted tonight.

I got wasted last night. Now it is today MONDAY I forgot to finish writing this and traveled far and wide. I guess will tell you about how children are creepier than humans. I do not know this from experience, but because my sister told me so. I guess last year she went to this daytime haunted house and all the monsters were like 8-year-old kids dressed up with fucking red corn syrup dribbling from their mouths. Turns out that undead kids are about the craziest scary shit ever because they take scaring the shit out of someone super seriously. They make hyper creepy noises and they touch you with their tiny hands and you have this urge to kick them because you are filled with the FEAR! But it turns out if you kick a kid as hard as you fucking can you will kill them and then they really will be the dead, undead. Oh fucking well. The part where my sister says that children are creepier than humans--well, I am not sure but I guess children are no longer classified as humans to us. Tah-Fucking-Dah.

Anyways, now that's out of the way. So Erin is coming to Los Angeles in like a week or 10-days or whatever the time line is. Regardless, she's coming here and I guess we are going to do what we always do and memorize millions of our viewing audience. And by viewing audience I mean the people that stare at us while we do amazing bizarre shit. Amen.

Sometimes I am not as drunk as drinking 4 bottles of wine alone is drunk, but right now that is my drunk--fuck your mother. This is where I am both hostile and sexual at the same time. In this moment I miss the old loser I used to fuck not because I liked him and expected to spend QUALITY TIME with him forever, but because that moron knew how to fuck angry and hard. Too bad I deleted all the numbers in my phone or I would make him fuck me and tell him I still loved him and then erase him from my fucking life. Idiot. Yea. But as a drunk no one knew that I had his phone number would be so readily available in my bills.....

I have no idea what that even says before I made mention of the idea of calling him--which if you are a moron, means I called him--oh Christ, he is still in love with me, and I still miss the sex. GOD I SO MISS THE SEX SO MUCH IT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL. Ok I don't want to have to miss someone to feel like something is wrong or right FOR CHRIST'S SAKE I JUST MISS THE SEX. THE BAD, DIRTY ANGRY HARD-CORE SEX. How am I going to make up for how I am dragging him back in--when I know I am running away for as long as that will take me--expect to make great sex in big anger and I will be back. God, I love great sex with anyone and anything cause I love great results. HELP. HELP ME. YES!!!!

Tomorrow I won't miss anything. Tomorrow I will be like OH MY GOD, WHY THE MOTHER FUCK DID YOU CALL ME-- BUT HE WAS ALREADY LIKE AHHHH CRAZY BITCH (he never said any of that) BUT I SAID MY TOTALLY HORRIBLE PIECE AND HE WAS LIKE "These are the things that you held back, why are you so angry?"

God, someone help me find an angry--fucked up man in Los Angeles to blame all this shit on--and some other man to help me pretend to want to get over it cause there isn't anything at all to talk about.

Oh god, sometimes when I am alone I listen to the Lambada as loud as fucking possible and remind myself that I am truly a fucking loser. How amazing is that? Fucking amazing. I spent the evening watching shows I need to fucking review, but I am completely not in the mood to review them. Probably because I am still lagging from my master hangover. Jesus, WHERE DO YOU HAVE TO GO DRINKING SO THAT A STRANGER WILL BE LIKE, LADY YOU ARE FUCKING PISSED OUT OF YOUR MIND--HOW ABOUT YOU PUT ONE OF YOUR THREE DRINKS DOWN! Cause I would happily put that drink down all over his/her head.

After a night of heavy drinking I am like a fucking detective. I am not sure any of you other homos are like this, but I can wake up anywhere or even scarier I can wakeup in my own bed. Than I really have to be like HOW IN THE MOTHER FUCK DID I GET HERE? Then I have to be like what did I do and where did I go? Usually the quickest way to figure that stuff out is to check out what is going on with my shit after I take a giant dump that probably smells like vodka or whiskey. On particularly treacherous drinking binges it can smell like both. Then you really have to check out what is going on in there. USE YOUR SENSES. I mean, the texture of the poop can have a lot to do with why you are fucking dying on the inside. A good drunk shit is worth it's weight in gold. GET THAT POISON OUT. At any rate, I always find myself checking out what is going on in my poop so I can know what the fuck I ate. One of the things I notice when I get super wasted and am hyper-hungover the next day is how a lot of the food isn't even chewed. This means I probably got drunk like all hell and turned into a fucking gremlin and knocked shit over and shouldn't have been drinking or eating after midnight and when I decided to anyways all hell broke loose. Later on, it breaks loose in the fucking toilet. Oh lord, I am Captain Sabrina--Shit Inspector. I guess I will go back to writing my reviews now.

Yesterday I went running and I came home with this cute-as-fucking-hell bicycle. This is what happens when your memory is photographic and you are not suffering from alcohol related dementia all the time. You run by a bicycle shop and see THE BLUE BOLT with it's cute little basket (not pictured) and you tell yourself YOU NEED THAT YOU IDIOT. So you rattle off your credit card number from memory and then brag that memorizing it prevents you from saving yourself from shopping on the internet. Then you laugh and tell the kid working behind the counter that you are like a 30-year-old lady and he says something like THERE IS NO WAY YOU ARE THIRTY. And you are not so you shrug it off and tell him that you are going to look so fucking hot riding this on the beach to get wasted on, or you know, to and from the coffee house where you say you are going to write, but really you are just going there to meet men and get fucked in the parking lot or maybe the mens room. God, you are too fucking classy for words.
Ahh, and my hangover just kicked in so I guess I will get up off my ass and drink an incredible amount of pedialite cause that is what grownup drunks have to do to get through their day when they spend the entire evening double fisting drinks like they are Robert Downey Jr. On a more serious note, I am going to spend my entire day writing on this stupid computer and praying for the moment I visit a gossip website and they tell me that Britney Spears's bloated fucking head went into a store with no shoes or underwear and she melted into a giant fucking pile of meth. And if you try to tell me she is a drunk and not a meth addict--take a look at her. That bitch has the worst case of meth face I have seen since the last episode of Intervention. Amazing.

I am a fucking dirtbag. No, seriously. Last night I went to the bar to meet up with friends and I did not even have to get drunk I just sort of fucked around trying to drink only two drinks as slowly as fucking possible when I noticed some tatted up dude with a blond chick and I turned to my friends and was like I BET YOU THIRTY DOLLARS THAT I CAN GET THIS DUDE TO LEAVE WITH ME BY THE END OF THE EVENING. And my friends were like UH, SABRINA, YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DO THAT--IT WILL MAKE SHIT UNCOMFORTABLE. But while they were bitching and moaning about how I am an improper sort of whore I was walking by said duder and grabbing him because OF COURSE he was in my pathway. Anyways, I will spare you the details, but I had this dude leave the girl he was with and come outside and talk to me for an hour while this dumb bitch sat around waiting for him to finish his cigarette or whatever. Anyways, tonight he wants to meet up and I am like WHAT ABOUT YOUR STUPID LADY FRIEND. And he said OH, THAT IS JUST MY NEIGHBOR. And I retorted HOW CLEVER, YOU FUCK YOUR NEIGHBOR OR ARE YOU JUST OK THAT SHE IS FUCKING IN LOVE WITH YOU WHILE YOU SPENT THE EVENING TALKING TO ME OUTSIDE. And he just laughed. Oh God, he is a dirtbag too. Praise Allah for him having gotten my number.

I am too lazy to copy what I wrote for XTX and paste it here. Read it there.