My sister's birthday is in less than a week. Every year at this time I end up spending more money than feasibly possible because she appeals to my sense of fun and because whenever I get piss drunk she has to push me around in a wheelbarrow or whatever. I was going to throw her a fucking billionaire birthday bash, but I went crazy in san francisco and I just found out what my hotel bill was from there, and it isn't pretty. For a two day stay at the shitty Clift Hotel I got charged somewhere around $6,000.00 IN CASE YOU MISSED THAT I WASTED SIX THOUSAND DOLLARS CAUSE I WAS ANGRY AT A HOTEL AND THREW A BITCHN PARTY. Whatever else I was going to write about gets to be overshadowed by the fact that I am a know-it-all tart that has zero concept of the dollar. AMEN.

I guess now I will have to be like I GUESS I NEED TO GET MORE MONEY FAST SINCE I DO NOT LIKE TO NOT HAVE MONEY.  Also, I am watching The Last Kiss in the background and Jacinda Barret calls Zach Braff a slut and I guess I am going to start calling a lot of men sluts cause it is fucking hilarious.  Oh, and back to my sister, we're holding her party at the Sunset Marquis hotel cause we're young and I'd rather die with nothing to my name than zero fun ever.

I guess, now I am turning into Heath Ledger.  One pill to sleep.  One pill to wake up.  One pill to kick your mother's ass.  Too bad all of you fucks will pretend to care in the same way tons of morons are mourning someone they do not know.  So I am watching this terrible movie with Liam Neison and Edward Furlong.  I guess Edward Furlong and terrible are synonymous.  Anyways, Edward decides to kill his teenage girlfriend and not clean up the mess, when authorities come a knocking the father sends them away until they bring back a warrant.  That gives him enough time to burn all the evidence and make what may or may not have been more trouble.  Too bad I got fucking bored and changed the channel and now I will never know if Edward Furlong is a murderer as well as a terrible actor.  

I put a deep conditioner in my hair last night and now my hair is all fucking hard and nasty.  I would wash it out if I could morph myself into the fucking shower, but since I am a goddamned degenerate writer I probably won't.  Maybe I will take some sedatives and pain killers and float over to the front of the property and get more pictures of this never ending storm.  I am not even kidding, I'm going fucking stir crazy as hell.  I guess I won't even do that because I cannot remember where the hell I put my camera a few hours ago because I suffer from alcohol related dementia.  PLEASE DON'T LET YOUR CHILDREN TURN INTO THIS.

I've been trying to focus all day long, but the real problem is that it looks like night 24-7 and my body gets bored and goes to sleep whenever, where ever and I am getting nothing done.

I like that most of the time I start a blog and then get sidetracked by something shiny and come back to it later and have to be like OH, OK. HERE IS WHERE I PICK UP THE PIECES FROM MY LAST SCHIZOPHRENIC THOUGHT. I guess this means I will take some pills and then free write and read it tomorrow and question if I even wrote whatever was typed. That is always an interesting feeling.

Periodically, someone will find me online and tell me they used to read my old blog, or my reviews and then copy and paste a short paragraph to me. Usually, I am like, that is pretty good, did you write it? God, I can only wonder what their reaction is via the waves of the internet super highway, but I bet it is sort of like meeting Laird Hamilton and then watching him wipe out immediately. The thing is, when I blink, I usually forget exactly how I wrote something, so when it's sent to me later on, or if I am rereading it, I have to be like DID THE EDITORS REWRITE IT? I COULDN'T ACTUALLY COME UP WITH SOMETHING LIKE THAT. DID I COME UP WITH THAT? Then I check the original copy and am like HOLY SHIT, I WROTE THAT. Then I give myself tons of pats on the back and whatever else.

Earlier, I watched Eastern Promises. It's weird to watch a film that I am probably not going to get paid to talk about. Especially when the only reason I wanted to see it was VIGGO MORTENSEN NAKED FIGHT SCENE. I guess there really isn't a couth way to explain that the movie was pretty alright and mostly predictable but then Viggo has a mega naked fight that is actually sort of gay, but really sort of hot. Especially when the reviews are supposed to be pg-13. I don't think I was made to be pg-13 because most of the time I have trouble trying to be rated-R. Do I think Viggo will steal the award for best actor in a motion picture from Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood, not at all, but his performance is stellar regardless and now I want to have sex with him using a Southern accent as well as a Russian one. Creepily, he lives around the way from me on developed horse property (we never took the horse buying plunge), and he is one of the few famous people I would probably get flustered over and secretly hope to run away with. On a white horse. Into the sunset. At the end of the world. As a tsunami wipes out Malibu. Whatever.

You know what I'm really in the market for is a new female friend in the LA area. I was thinking about it today since I got rid of all mine by the end of last year. It would be sort of cool if this friend could get it together and be willing to go long distance running, be able to talk about books and painting, pay her own way, and from time-to-time drink grown men into acoma. It'd be double as sweet if she had other friends and didn't expect me to come and hangout on the daily since I hate leaving the house. You know what, these are basically my requirements for a boyfriend--so if you fit in either category drop me a line because I do a great job of screening people and would like to have the opportunity to reject you.

Today it's still raining. I guess for some of you a weeks worth of rain is not a big deal, but you idiots do not live in Los Angeles and have no desire to pay incredible prices to have perfect weather year round. Since I am doing this I have decided not to live wherever the fuck you are from with all sorts of terrible weather I am starting to go crazy. So here is a stupid video of me narrating the rain and that can hold you over until I decide to really post something worthwhile.

Last night my brother, sister and myself sat around telling my mother some of our drinking stories.  I especially enjoyed it when my sister said, "Sometimes you get so wasted that you think you can run anywhere, but after a couple of blocks you fall and get really angry at the ground and anyone that happens to see you and then you have to figure out your way back from where you came."  Yes mom, sometimes we wander the streets like wayward harpies begging looking for more than just trouble.  

This all started when my sister pointed out that we like to have drinking contests with men.  Actually, I think her exact words were, SEND ME THE MAN THAT DRINKS ME TO DEATH AND I'LL SHOW YOU THE MAN I CAN MARRY, which eventually lead to the discussion of the fact that my sister is a hard core whiskey drinker and I can probably drink your Uncle Yusef under the table when it comes to vodka.  You wish I was kidding.  I am perhaps the least confrontational of the group because I like to turn into a kitten and makeout and then lose my mind thinking about the fact that maybe someone is going to die.  Last week it was my dog and my sister said she almost had to beg strangers for some xanax because I began to flip out.  I guess it's true, I do love my dog more than most people.  My brother likes to get into really big fights and everyone knows it and tries to keep him out of them, too bad he doesn't give a shit that we do not want him to get knifed in a bar fight.  The best part of all was when my brother and sister had left and I was sitting there with my mother and she was like, "Some people are like OH, MY CHILDREN, THEY ALL GRADUATED WITH HONORS AND ARE SAVING THE WORLD, but I gave birth to a bunch of crazy lunatics that want to drink you under the table and beat the shit out of you."  I don't think she's ever spoken truer words.  

Welcome to my blog. Or not. God, the stories I could tell about San Francisco. I guess instead of incriminating myself I am just going to post a few random pictures and some video my sister took of our friend talking about how she is a cock sucker.  

Even I get tired and need to pass out with cute little dogs.

I think it looks like I have a mustache in this picture.  BEHOLD MY STACHE.  I guess this means I get my face waxed this week.

This is the photo taken immediately before I had my first drink in way too long.  

This is a photo taken sometime between  Wednesday night and Thursday morning.  I drank heavily for 18 hours and well into Thursday.  At some point on Thursday I made a lot of phone calls and fell into the streets in San Francisco.  I am a hero to all.

Gosh, I have been incapable of forcing myself to blog for over a week. Now, last weeks absence is understandable as I was in a massive five-day long drinking and drug binge. Currently, I am at home and trying desperately trying to catch up on the writing I didn't do and super need to complete especially since I got into a fight with an unnamed hotel where I was probably charged a couple of grand because of some of the unsavory shit I got into. Also, during a blackout I went shopping and ended up with a louis vuitton purse, a bunch of dresses from moschino, and a ton of other fucking shit that i cannot currently remember, but ended up with anyways. Later on today, when I get a chance I will upload the photos I took and you can see what I look like while sitting on a bed in my pajamas in the middle of a drinking binge while the former publisher of Jane magazine makes out with my sister and says too much about himself. Then the next day I do an internet search and find out way more about him than he would have ever expected probably because he thought he was dealing with a group of stupid whores--too bad we're not the stupid type.

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.

This is my sister Sam and I am pretty sure that she's some sort of child prodigy and I don't even care if you disagree because I know the truth.  Also, I am fairly sure she is slightly deranged, but I will go on to explain that in a moment.  Anyways, I do neat shit with her like explain the difference between ass and asshole and anything she asks actually.

Last week we were listening to the new Radiohead album In Rainbows and we were talking about the cultural significance of the album and Radiohead and then we get to the sixth song on the album, "Faust Arp" and she looks at me and is like OH MY GOD, THIS SONG.  I KNOW THIS SONG.  I WROTE IT IN MY HEAD LAST YEAR.  Honestly, I did not know what to say to that other than, REALLY, SHIT I GUESS YOU SHOULD SUE THOM YORKE.  I mean, really?

Yesterday, for reasons I am not clear on, I thought it would be a really good idea to read to her the F. Scott Fitzgerald short story, "The Curious Case of Benjamin Buttons." For anyone not familiar with the story you are fucking illiterate, but basically Benjamin is born as an old man and he lives his life as he ages in reverse and there's all sorts of really important symbolism and messages that talks about how people are basically insignificant unless they are between the ages of 20 and 50. So as Benjamin approaches the end of his life he is a young child and eventually an infant. The way the story ends is sort of ambiguous, but Benjamin sort of fades away into the nothingness that is infancy. And Sam wanted to know what happened to him DOES HE DIE? Shit, I dunno, can you die before you are born? I guess I sort of like to think that he just sort of fades away and disappears, but I mean, here I go having another super serious existential conversation with someone with a 2nd grade education.

Anyways, we have another sister and she is an asshole, no not Gia, but THAT OTHER SISTER OF OURS THAT IS A COMPLETE MONSTER.  Yes I have a million sisters.  Anyways, I am pretty sure that Talia is going to be the cause of my parents deaths cause she is such a fucking asshole.  And I happened to mention that I thought Talia was going to give our mother a heart attack and I was like GOD, I SHOULD JUST BEAT HER IN THE HEAD WITH A HAMMER AND BURY THE BODY IN THE BACK YARD.  And then Sam was like YEA, I GUESS YOU COULD PLANT CORN ON TOP OF IT AND NO ONE WOULD EVER KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BUT WE COULD FEED THEM THE CORN AND THEY WOULD BE EATING TALIA.  Uh, whoa little kid.  Did you just try to sell me the ending to Secret Window?  So I call her on it and she is like OH MAN YOU ARE TOO SMART! HOW DID YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS TALKING ABOUT.  Cause little kid, I made you.

There are two parts to this video that make it absolutely awesome. When the narrator has Aaron Burr tell Alexander Hamilton, "Hey you're giving me shit. We got a duel." And when he slurs that Alexander Hamilton shoots Alexander Hamilton. Seriously, I am so amused by this that it is sad.

First it rained and rained and rained.  Then I took ill.  I like saying things like I took ill and not that I got the flu and was about to shit myself and then came down with a terrible fucking debilitating cold that is irritating as hell.  At any rate, I knew I was getting sick and my sister's solution was to start drinking whiskey to combat the physical demons.  I mean, really, what's the difference between NyQuil and half a bottle of Jack Daniels?  I'm probably going to need to drink about as much of both and at least with Jack Daniels I can mix it with ANYTHING and it will taste better than stupid NyQuil.  I guess that means I should just go to bed and wake up early rather than stay up all night and write stupid reviews because I am sort of fucking dying.  I guess this is the price you pay for awesomeness.    

I never hate when guys I am flirty with read my blog until they question me about the fact that I have written about other guys.  Here is the thing, even if I am dating someone, I will always write about other guys on here and probably never write about them.  The only time I write about guys on here is after they are gone or if I hate them and do not know how to break it to them that the sex is great and dealing with them is like dating a rock.  In fact, when I am dating someone I barely admit we are dating.  If I do write about him on here it's usually because he does not know about my blog and even if he does I refuse to tell him the url.  I remember one idiot I dated was like BUT WHY CAN'T I KNOW ABOUT YOUR BLOG?  This was way back when I had the old one and I had to be like BECAUSE I SAY NO!  And eventually he went searching and found it.  I guess when you refer to someone in a degrading way to an audience of readers they fucking hate you.  By doing this I realize I am writing about the guy that started all this by-proxy, but I also know this is not how he wanted to be written about.  Oh fucking well, now I have written about you Justin so I guess this is where you get to be more important than like 765% of the guys I deal with, but seriously, what you said made me think and thinking makes me write so don't take it personally like writing about you makes me want to kill babies or anything.  

Wowzers, here is an unrelated and obtuse subject change, it is a weird phenomenon, when your parents start to get older and you start to get older and  everything feels like it shouldn't be growing so fast, so quickly.  My youngest sister is 8-years-old and I like to have her tag along when I do things most of the time because I enjoy her perspective.  But I also have to admit that I really like that she is a super tiny version of me that says absolutely introspective things and is a tiny asshole when she wants to be.  I also realize none of this has any flow and I should probably talk about this one time I set some dude's hotel room on fire after I did all his blow and got escorted out of the hotel and asked never to return by a security guard that looked like he should be called Biff.  But I rather enjoy walking with her, dragging my dog alongside me in a red wagon to get coffee.  That's really the best part of my day.

Oh my fucking christ, you know what can drive me to drink.  Men.  Holy fuck, if I stay at home non stop for two months, I am not tempted to drink once, but the second a man that I am like WHOA, HE IS ABSOFUCKINGLUTELY MANLY AS HELL--well, once I am invited in a demanding way to drink, I am getting wasted as fucking hell.  

If you can read between the lines, I am completely in lust with a man that isn't even living in LA. And when he was like DRINK. DRINK. DRINK. I wanted to bare his children and drink the blood of native boys. Too bad the native boys thing had nothing to do with him...AWESOME.  But I am in lust like I always am and I suppose the best way to deal with this is running and more self-induced starvation.  Praise Allah.

Well then, I took this stupid photo at the zoo in Waikiki.  It sort of looks like something you would find on a fucking postcard.  It took me like 45 minutes to remember the word for postcard so I guess you should all be elated by my awesomeness.  I leave for San Francisco on Wednesday, but before I do I should like to get a fucking bike rack placed on my fucking car so I can continue to attempt conserving fucking gasoline.  

Each time I go to the pump and I am confronted with $3.43 I just want to shank everyone in the vicinity.  Good thing I absolutely passed out while writing that so I can continue my post with such grace and ease that everyone reading can be like THIS WOMAN IS A FUCKING PROPHET.  

Now it is even later cause I had to go and run in the rain and yell at my friend so that she would do whatever I said.  Please note that I do not respect people that bend easily to whatever I say or people that own magical eggs.  THERE ARE NO SUCH THING AS MAGICAL EGGS.  Moving right along, I had this insane dream where I was watching this fat ugly Italian dude in the mafia, and he's suppose to kill his girlfriend's brother, but he wants to sleep with some chubby blonde.  So instead of killing her brother he tells him to keep his sister busy and somehow the guy does this by putting her in an electronics store in Brooklyn, but really it is just some brownstone building.  None of this is making any sense.  Anyways, the brother ends up preoccupying his sister.  The mafia guy is out back in his Lincoln Continental with his blonde girlfriend and she is naked and he is naked but over him is a black sheet that has fringe on the edges.  And he asks her if she is ready and when she nods suddenly the brother shows up and they announce they plan to double team her and then I was like WAIT, AM I REALLY GOING TO SUFFER THROUGH THIS DREAM BY HAVING TO WATCH FAT UGLY PEOPLE HAVE SEX.  And then I stopped the dream and rolled over and went onto something else.

I am mother fucking restless. I hate the rain. I hate this weather. It fucks with my entire body and I sit up and wonder if my bones are finally going to finish compressing into one another or am I just lucky enough to have this shit continue for infinity. Whatever. From time-to-time I like to go back when I am bored as hell and check the comments on my old blog and it is like A BAD ACID FLASHBACK. Here is a comment I got on January 3, 2008 and one of the leading reasons I ended that old blog, jumped ship and haven't really looked back:

44r "We make evil look good." Look how these wicked, immoral Manifest Destiny gangsters, the kind of individuals who planned WorldWarII, come across merely as businessmen. As they're doing with intentionally, strategically preditory personality baseball player, as they've done with Preditory Italian Company, who merely exists as a Manifest Destiny scapegoat for the blue chippers in the "eye of The Beast".
And they dirty up good, as we see with me, as we saw with Bonds.

And courtesy of M&A you do business with this evil every time you patronize corporate.
The Amish in Pennsylvania is the clue:::Set a goal of simplicity, strive for purity.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Their "cheap tricks" are preditory:::poker, cars, boss, movies. Every item of the $50 billion is all designed to prey on the disfavored, a clue regarding modern popular culture and society. Perhaps not so "cheap" after all.
"You're going to throw this away. We're not going to be blamed for this." Yea, right. Like their assumption of culpability has got value.
The Final Prophet is merely a formality, like they gods are required. It's kind of like "Black off the books.wav":::An event designed to merely meet some policy requirement while ensuring the disfavored have no real hope:::Life in the ghettos of California.
The god's efforts to minimize my impact is consistant with their methodology, ascention becoming increasingly harder as time progresses, suggesting we really are approaching The End.


"We're going to enforce positioning." You better make them get their hands dirty AND BRING BACK THE 20TH CENTURY FOR THIS. Killing fucking niggers in celebrity clone hosts AIN'T no fucking fun.
I want guinea meat.
I merely want the same preditors who willingly hurt the people I try to help. I realize there was lots of magic employed, enabling things like monster arena tours, other all-consuming offerings to happen. But too many in these clone hosts were active preditors.
The Situation is VERY 20th century. Maintain consistancy, please.
But I won't hold my breath.

Brokeback Mountain says you understand:::Fuck off god.
Things I've ruined::::Midnight Madness. Note that to the gods both are merely cheap tricks.
Denying money is one of the goals of positioning in the Italians::::The gods used this evil to ensure the Final Prophet was not financed.
The gods took special but played for commoner. Now this Situation passes without affect because special is a one-way street. The gods instructed AI to deny my ability to be articulate. As a result people weren't receptive::::The "back-hand" was very real. The "help" was not.
I won't invest when absolute power must CHEAT to win. This IS the event. Learn.
I am disgusted the gods position absolution for themselves because it is their technology conducting this evil upon the disfavored. When the disfavored unders

If any of you ever wondered why I felt the need to start new just get halfway through that first paragraph and you will know for sure that I just got fuckin sick and tired of dealing with the goddamned crazies.

I was going to talk about how I am supposed to drive up to San Francisco on Monday, but now it is going to rain until well into Monday and everyone that knows me knows Homie don't play that game.

God, I am a grownup and I really just typed that. I might be overusing stupid italics, but I guess I hardly give a shit so it doesn't matter.  Does anyone here remember when blogging and bloggers were not fucking tragic and boring, but insightful and entertaining.  Jesus, I haven't found a decent new blog and I probably never will since everyone sucks.

I do not drive in the rain because I am lame and neurotic and mostly because I choose life. Anyways, it is raining like the great flood here in Los Angeles, so I am sure that the news will be flashing end of the world warnings all over the place to indicate that SHIT IS WET.

I remember, earlier when I decided not to write about San Francisco I was going to write about something else that I cannot even remember anymore.  I guess I should write about my total loss of memory, but that is without saying, ya know?  Oh it doesn't matter cause I get to brag about how that physics professor is telling people that I am ruining his life because now he wants to leave his stupid girlfriend that looks just like me only she has absolutely no interest in quantum mechanics like I do.  I guess I will busy myself with fucking up his world since I am fucking boring.

Holy shit, I remember what I was going to write about now--THE PERFECT RUNNING PLAYLIST.  Don't get me wrong, but good music, the sort of stuff I like to listen to while writing is not what gets me pumped up for a 15 mile run or anything.  Campy shit like Barry Mannilow's Copa Cabana is actually right up my alley, but really by mile 8, you don't actually care what you're listening to as long as it is loud and fast.  I've been giving a lot of thought to the perfect song to start a run to and I've narrowed it down to Cherub Rock by Smashing Pumpkins.  I guess all I have to do is figure out the correct order for the next 5 to 6 hours worth of songs and I'll be set for the L.A. Marathon in March, right?

You know what I hate are people that are not filled with trickery.  I bet you think that I'd want people to be simplistic and straight forward, but I actually enjoy people that are a lot of work.  Actually, I love everything that is more work than it is, which is why I fucking hate most everything around me, which is why everyday Britney Spears continues to be my hero.  HERO.  God, the people that are like MY MOTHER IS MY HERO BECAUSE SHE NEVER GAVE UP, those people are fucking idiots.  Britney Spears also never gives up cause that bitch was high as hell, fighting with the cops tonight about her giving her creepy children back to K-Fed for absolutely no reason.  

God, check this out, I am not even all that great since I basically take a grip of sleeping pills if I want to get to sleep and now I am battling sleep I cannot control in a race against time so that I can finish two reviews and a fucking stupid blog.  Oh man, I was just reminded of something I fucking hate.  Christ, I hate it when anyone touches any part of me with their feet or if they touch my feet.  FUCK OFF WITH YOUR FEET.  This does not apply to pedicures or massages.  In any other case do not fucking touch my feet or I will rip your head off with my teeth, I am not even kidding.

So I have finished my daily reviews and now my brain is shutting off since I took all my stupid sleeping pills and the inside of my head is as vacant as the end of the fucking world.  Oh man, i super need to piss right now but I wonder if I can just fall asleep while sitting here and pee later when I wake up.  God, if I try to do that I will pee and then wake up in a puddle of my own piss.  This is getting old kids, and it is awesome.

You can wonder.  I can wonder too, right?

Happy New Years to everyone I am happy that reads this crap and to everyone else I don't know and don't care about. This is not my annual YEAR-IN-REVIEW post, but more of a quick reflection. 2007 was an interesting year. I guess that is all I really want to say. 2007 was the year that blogging became more of a burden than a joy and bloggers everywhere started to become fucking infiltrated with lame shit like marrying other bloggers and bombarding the internet with lame shit like recipes. I am one of those people. 2007 was the year I decided to cut all ties with my old blog cause I was sick of my readers and my subject matter. 2007 was the year I gave up on giving up and decided to kill myself or write. 2007 was the year I realized I was not suited for a desk job and might as well buy a pole and start practicing for my stripping career before I ever go back to sitting behind a desk and taking orders from someone not nearly as good looking as I am. 2007 prompted me with the fact that I can no longer date men that are alcoholics, complete messes or bi-polar because I absolutely need some stability in my life and that has to start with the penis I worship. 2007 was the year where I decided I didn't want to be a drunk anymore because it was killing my body, stomach and mind. 2007 also brought upon the realization that all the men I loved had girlfriends and I never slept with any of them because the idea of complicating things seemed like less fun than fucking someone I absolutely hate. 2007 was the year I decided I wanted to get up off my ass and be something rather than sit around wasted talking about things I have done wasted that didn't get me any closer to being something other than a Britney Spears reject. 2007 was the year I decided I need people like Britney Spears in the universe so I can be reminded of the fact that I acted exactly like that lunatic for longer than I care to remember because I simply could and no one can talk me out of acting like a monster. 2007 was also the end of looking like a slut for me, sometimes walking around with your ass hanging out and your tits flashing the entire universe gets really old cause there is nothing left to flash when the time comes to flash it. 2007 was also the year I got sick of all my friends and they got sick of me talking about how much better I am than them to their faces and we all decided that we probably shouldn't be friends anymore--it was also the same year these friends were telling people I had all sorts of plastic surgeries because I started running and my fat ass melted off. 2007 was the year I realized I was sort of sorry I had 2006, but I needed 2006 to make 2007 a possibility. 2007 was also the year I realized my parents were getting old and that I have an 8-year-old sister that I might need to raise as my own and what sort of role model wakes up in a pool of her own vomit on the daily? In 2007 I turned 26-years-old and decided that I was getting too old to have abortions so I might as well stop having sex with idiots because I might just keep their idiot baby and later on get upset about it and drown that idiot baby in a sack down by the river. 2007 I finally got fed up with my PC and converted to a Mac and do not miss my PC at all. By the end of 2007 I realized I was happier being boring and calm than dancing on bars and waking up with a new idiot each time I went out. In 2007 I decided to dedicate myself to my art rather than to self destruction. 2008 is possible because of 2007 and viewers like you.