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.

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.