I've been sick and haven't left my house, which is basically how I like things anyways.  I left my car in Hollywood when I took ill and haven't even tried to go and fetch it because I am a raging neurotic mess and because who needs a car when they can lie around in underwear and moan about being ill?  

Anyways, instead of being productive in this time I've sat around writing worthless blogs. I am sure each and every last one of you are super grateful. Here's the thing, tomorrow I am supposed to go to San Francisco and Sunday is when one of my friend's leaves Los Angeles to go back to Manhattan. Instead of being an actual good friend, I have refused to galavant her carless ass around because her car problems are not paramount to my entanglement with death. You know, there really isn't a problem. I am going to make her cancel her plans tonight to see me, and then I am not going to see her since I don't even have a fucking car. Man I am a spectacular friend.

Oh, and since I have been super close to death this week I've been having the craziest dreams ever. Last night, I dreamt I went to San Francisco and lost my foundation and went to Nordstrom's to pick up a new bottle. Once I got there I asked for a sample because I have more than enough at home and what is the point of spending another $50 on something I do not actually need? The sales girl does not give me what I want, but instead some shit ass product from Benefit but she takes it out of a magical case and wraps it in old receipts and tells me to go. Then I leave the store and putz around and am like IS THIS A SAMPLE, THIS DOES NOT LOOK LIKE A SAMPLE? DID I STEAL THIS SHIT? And I start getting really paranoid. Finally mall security picks me up and acts like I am some sort of FELON (I guess I really am in real life for some of the shit I have done, but I really am better than stealing because that is for poor people, for christ's sake). Then I get everyone I have ever known involved in it, including some kid I knew years ago that apparently never grew up and he is still 11-years-old when my mother has me call him for help and instead of being what gets me out of trouble, per the usual, my father makes some calls and hooks me up with a get-out-of-JAIL-free card. After that happens I tell myself to wake up cause I am sick of dreaming of being a goddamned thief.