Now that I have written that I am super fucking jealous that I am a shitty writer and it's really set a fire under my ass.  What the fuck is wrong with me?  You can't even begin to answer that so don't even try.  I'm soppy with sweat and too lazy to shower.  I stink.  Hello, I stink and stay up all night avoiding the writing I need to do because I hate having to do anything.  What's worse is that I don't want to do anything unless someone is holding gun to my head and fingering the trigger.  DOES ANYONE IN THIS HOUSE HAVE THE HEART TO PRESS A GUN TO MY TEMPLE AND CAUSE THE KISS OF INSPIRATION?  Ugh.  I didn't think so.  
Here is the picture of the new kitten we ended up with.  I am not even sure how we ended up with it, but we did.  Here's the problem.  It was entirely too young to be separated from it's mother and the other cats here are fucking wild monsters like the rest of us--so we've had to fucking sequester it.  Seriously, you will know exactly what is up with your life when you realize that you've got to play mediator with your fucking animals.  I didn't even bring this cat home, but it got fucking confused and thinks this is some subsequent chapter in ARE YOU MY MOTHER and follows me around everywhere.

It's not really a surprise to my family that I am getting paid to write because finally I am.  Dur.  Anyways, my father brought it up over thanksgiving and was like HEY, WHY DON'T YOU HAVE ONE OF THOSE BLOG THINGIES?  And I had to be like ARE YOU CRAZY, I HAD ONE THAT I HAD TO KILL BECAUSE SOMETIMES YOU MUST KILL AND EAT YOUR OWN YOUNG FOR YOUR OWN SURVIVAL.  Then there was an awkward pause and my dad was like COULDN'T YOU HAVE MADE MONEY ON THAT THING?  And I guess he is right, I could have made money on it, but too bad I am a fucking shit head that was diametrically opposed to success.  FINALLY, I WAS LIKE.  IF YOU WANT TO MAKE A TON OF MONEY WE SHOULD INSTALL CAMERAS ALL OVER A HOUSE AND MAKE GIA AND I LIVE IN THERE.  And for one second my dad really gave thought to it until my mother was like YOU DO NOT WANT TO HAVE PEOPLE WATCHING YOU TAKE SHITS ON CAMERA.  And guess what, she's right.

"My heart is in the yard like snow"

I wish I could take credit for writing that, but then again, I really could since I am a diluted asshole. I didn't write that. For reasons I am not clear on--the only person this will make sense to will be Erin--but my sister has a friend and while Erin and I were hanging out with all them he casually mentions his brother is getting his MFA @ Iowa and I was immediately jealous and curious. So tonight after running till my body turned into a crash pad I decided I needed to know what was so special about this idiot. His name is Ben Kopel and I suppose you can look up his poems if you want and it's surely worth the effort doing an internet search. The mere fact that I looked him up and want to e-mail him gushing with complements makes me want to iron my face flat. This should be fun. Here is the poem in its entirety. I suppose if he called me up out of the blue explaining who he is and asked me to run away with him into the sunset--I totally would.

Tonight,
-- by Ben Kopel

My heart is in the yard like snow.
I do not want this world to end.
In the ashtray
A bit of filter nothings.

The day we put her in the earth
The marching band stepped
North
And refused to yield.

I can’t even think
About the things I did that day,
Alone with a girl, awkward
Like a Jew in a tattoo shop.

Hilariously, these are some of the photos I found while looking in the camera I forgot I owned.  They are from my visit to Chicago earlier this month.  Please take the time to check out the photo montage of the shit Erin and I can manage to get into.  Also, take note of the fact that I never even knew I took these photos because I was just so fucking wasted.  I'd like to call this collection:  Alcoholism as Art:  An American Bogie.

Holy shit, I have been baking all night long because not only am I the prime minster of good health, but I am Miss Mary Sunshine & Betty Fucking Crocker all rolled up into one. I bet you wouldn't even believe I've given up drinking for pills and hard drugs. Forever. Right.

You know what I am thankful for? All my disgustingly tragic friends that do not look like Crispin Glover in Back to the Future. I like it when people run into me at 9am in a manic tailspin. Do any of you even realize that Crispin Glover is a Scientologist? Didn't think so. I'm not even sure myself, but my old crazy scieno friend used to talk about Crispin so I guess he is and if he isn't I am not going to lose any sleep over it because when a crazy person that believes in fucking XENU has the balls to call you crazy, well, you have to be fucking insane to the max.

And yes, that is a picture of me trapped in a glass box that I put over my head while wasted at a hotel and wearing their bathrobe because I was too trashed to figure out how to put clothes on. Those were better times. Anyways, Happy Thanksgiving and I'll see you once I have finished all the pills in the bottle.

I wish I knew when I took this picture. I guess drunken blackouts are good for more than just forgetting anything you have done. THEY FILL YOUR LIFE WITH SURPRISES YOU WON'T EVEN KNOW ABOUT TILL LATER.

So my laptop has seen better days. By the time you read this I will have hopefully woken up from my stupid pill induced haze and dropped it off. I totally dropped off inside my head cause I started writing this Monday morning and now it is Tuesday morning and I am wide awake and crazy as fucking hell. KILL ME. KILL ME NOW.

God, I guess I will finish writing my stupid review and then I will blog about how I never have time to blog anymore. The worst part is that this stupid thing is basically a labor of love so I write here cause I like to and cause I can talk about things like how I took a ton of vicodin once and got scared, while high, that I would get constipated and took so many fiber supplements that I nearly shat myself. This is my blog and I can rant if I want to--even if the subject matter is gross, especially when it is. Fuck, I should be running right now, but I bet I am just going to lay down and pray I die since it is already 8am.

Oh, I guess I should mention that every guy I have had a crush on in the past 50 years has been showing up and being like HEY I AM BACK, WHAT'RE YOU UP TO? Too bad I have not had any such run-ins with that evil attorney I wanted to sell oranges on the side of the freeway with. I am not even sure if that sounds romantic to the universe but I guess it does to me. But yea, these dudes are still in love with me. Good thing too.

Christ, I found this picture of myself after I had been drinking nonstop for a year and I was like a trillion pounds and I basically look Kathy Najimy. I am giving serious thought to posting that picture cause it turns out I am not embarrassed about the fact that I have battled my weight my entire life and being a fatso is something I've been. Also, the picture is hilarious and I had to be drunk while it was taken cause I am trying to ride a bicycle that is chained to a pole and I look like I am going to ride it rodeo style.

Now that my days are night and my night are days my entire life is fucked up. I have to keep it this way because I review these stupid shows immediately after watching them. The problem is, sometimes I don't even bother to watch them till 2 or 3am and I have to have them turned in by dawn, so I stay up and keep writing after I finally force myself to fucking write. I am sure you have stopped reading by this point due to the sheer boringness. I do not blame you for your lack of interest.

I am still in love with that Physics teacher. Last week he got high and told me his feet stunk and I considered it endearing. I think he's even still with his girlfriend whom he commented to someone I know when asked about her "OH I BARELY EVEN SEE HER." Too bad I barely even comprehended she ever existed. Truly the best part is that he once commented that he could never have a one-night-stand with me because I am the sort of girl he'd marry. I think he bases that on the fact that I get really drunk and fall down in front of him but am still able to talk about the theories behind quantum mechanics.

God, now that I am the world's most healthy human being please bow down to my total greatness. Here is something that you should be jealous of--that dude from John From Cincinnati is in love with me--and if he isn't in love with me he is in love with my tits and that is enough for me. God. Anyways, remember how I said I was going to spend my entire life writing, well I guess I was a liar. I figure with a few fucking uppers I can catch up on my life, unzip my head and write until midday tomorrow. Too bad I hate fucking sitting still. Who said writing had to be done in one place. How long will it be until stupid Mac decides to create a device that hooks up to your brain and shovels the shit out of there into fucking print? God, that would be helpful. Regardless, I have two short stories in the old bean & a ton of tv & movie reviews to pen. I also have two different lists I would like to get done today, but let's face it, OK, I AM FACING IT AND I LIKE MONEY SO I GUESS I AM GOING TO WRITE THEM BOTH BEFORE I ALLOW MYSELF TO SLEEP AGAIN. AWESOME.

Anyways, I love this picture because I took it in San Francisco last year while on the drinking binge of the decade '06. Remember when I tested the powers of my liver to check and see if I could drink more than ten men and then I could. Yea, that was the year. Awesomely, I showed up in San Francisco on a whim because I am a nutty drunk that gets into cars at 2am after leaving a bar & agreeing to go on a road trip to God-knows-where. The first night there we had to subdue a man so drunk that he had pissed himself and allowed him to sleep outside in the fucking cold. Idiot. The second night we got so drunk we ended up wherever-the-fuck, taking a taxi because drunk driving in a city you do not know is almost as dangerous as drunk driving. On the way, the gentleman in the picture/city worker/Mexican man was making lude comments and gestures at us and then we all took out our cameras. Either he was afraid of flash photography or very famous in Mexico. Either way, he did not want to be photographed.

Awesome.

Shitty writing at 5am while watching Hope Floats and Feeling Lame

I’ve been riding the bus two and from work for the past four weeks. Today, across from me sits inside out wig lady and in front of me, pee your pants guy. My car went missing a month ago and earlier the insurance company called to tell me they plan to continue to investigate the matter. I think about riding around with the inhabitants from the island of misfit toys for at least another month when the bus stops and people file in.

The first thing you learn as a young female using public transportation in the Los Angeles area is you’re better off having herpes. When people hear you’re stuck on the bus or the less-than-stellar metro they treat you as though you’ve acquired the ebola version of a social disease. It also doesn’t help that you smell like bus people at the end of your ride. Nothing says I have social magnetism like the stench of hobo piss.

While I run away with my thoughts a man walks up and tells me, “Move over, lady.” Actually it was more of a command. Usually, I would pretend to be deaf, dumb, mute or bitchy, but today I scoot over and make way for quite possibly the world’s rudest human.

I look out the window. The world is a magical swirl of colors and sunshine. I smile at passing cars. My face, a rarely watered sunflower, screams RESCUE ME FROM THIS HELL. I try vigilantly to ignore the man next to me, but he persists, “Where you stay at?” He asks. I turn my face to him, pouting slightly and say, “At home.”

As I say this, I finally get a good look at him. His neck’s covered with a huge tattoo of a spider. He seems to need a delousing comb and a good wash, as the collar around his white t-shirt is a brownish-grey and looks like it used to be the outer ring of a crop circle. Half of his front tooth has been snapped off & his eyes are flat, wide and alert. He licks his tongue over the missing shutter in his mouth, grinning at me, “Too bad you're cars gone and you're stuck riding the bus with people like me,” he places his hand on my thigh while flashing a knife with his other hand. He waits to see my reaction, pausing a beat, “Dontcha think?”

Yo yo yo! What’s up? Hello! I like to eat pie and get spanked with a spatula. My name is cigarette taker. And that’s they way it is. If you fuck with me I’ll fuck with you. Yes ma'am. I’m done with this document because it sucks.

FUCK YOU ALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

That my friends is a special message I found on my laptop from Erin. I was so busy being drunk or hungover that I didn't even find that until I left her house. Erin, do you remember writing that--did I write this? I fucking don't even know--the spatula thing sounds like something I would write, but I have no fucking memory of writing it. HELP ME DECIPHER MY ALCOHOL INDUCED DEMENTIA. I guess that is all I have to say about that cause I have been so fucking frazzled all week that I haven't even had the time or desire to blog--CAN YOU BLAME ME? Uh, I have no idea what that means, whatever. I guess this is where I tell you what I am up to these days and the bullshit ideas I am toying with. I bet you will all be elated beyond human comprehension.

I guess it is final. The news is in, I've decided to run the stupid LA Marathon. I like how in my own head I am like THIS CANNOT BE HARDER THAN BREAKING MY NECK OR LIVING THROUGH A TWO DAY HANGOVER. Really, it cannot. I am not even sure if that is big news or what. What is big news is that I am actually going to try and see if I can't start writing a short story a day for the rest of the month starting tomorrow. This means I am going to have to actually force myself into being productive and I have no idea how that is going to work out around the fact that the rest of my life is amazingly important and I have other shit to do & absolutely none of that shit will be getting drunk.

I guess if anything that will change my blog minimally cause I might actually end up posting the hack versions of the short stories or at least excerpts of them. Maybe. And maybe I will just post about the fact that I can spend 24-hours sitting on the couch, watching Law & Order re-runs instead of doing anything of importance.

These are my real thoughts. Somehow I got a free trip to Chicago and I am taking advantage of that because I am not a fucking moron. SO I go to Chicago tomorrow in the morning and continue the chaotic bliss that is Sabrina anywhere near Erin--does this already sound like a love story or what? You guys are all idiots. After that I wanted to go to fucking Boston--take the train to Boston and fuck off over there, but it turns out the entire city of Boston is completely fucking booked and I cannot find a fucking hotel from the 6th to the 9th and that is fucking retarded as hell and I would like to kill all sorts of people because that is stupid as hell. So then I was like I guess I can fucking stop in stupid fucking Pittsburgh or maybe I can go down to New Orleans or something. Now I am sitting around trying to fill in a fucking time void and it is making me crazy. Fuck it, I am going to wing this entire next couple of weeks and who knows where I am going to end up. Amazing. I guess I am going to blog minus anger later, retards.