Bunch o'Junk

Well my kitties, I am more nervous than a bridegroom on his wedding night in the good ol'days. Whether they were truly good is anyone's guess, but then again I have a Xanax prescription in my purse. It's for the good people, it is.

I have had another marginal day from hell, culminating in the realization that my password for my FAFSA online thingiemabobber is gone because government fuckers won't supply me with one. Of course, anyone with a passing brain in her noggin might have written it down, but I guess I wasn't really thinking that day. Happens to the best of us. In the meantime, my superlative need to control every aspect of my compulsively driven existence has landed me halfway to madness land. Here, Anna Nicole Smith hands out Xanax prescriptions, and abusive fathers and religious fanatic mothers are forced to toil for the rest of their lives as Walmart greeters to cruel biker gangs. It's a fantasy to me, folks, it really fucking is!!

I am still happy that Britney shaved her head, and still upset that the blue-eyed doctor will, alas, probably never be mine. In the meantime a good friend of mine continues on her YAHOO quest to meet a soulmate, which culminated in a strange evening spent with an incredibly effiminate straight man. If he wasn't a closet homosexual, my name isn't Mr. Rogers! Well, you get what I mean. The man was definitely not on the female train, but rather riding the caboose. That particular description is as crude as you want it to be.

So that's that. What a strange, maddening, irritating, violent world this happens to be. I will be much happier once I am out of the parental abode, working, and no longer maddeningly anxious due to close proximity to said parents and a complete lack of change in my pretty little purse. Speaking of birthdays (was I? oh, sorry) I had a cutesy card from an cousin of mine showing a fireman holding an extinguisher. To put out ALL the fucking candles! Ah, how subtle our relatives are. He's just mad because I refuse to bone him. Sad, but true. He likes to hit on me, and I like to pretend that his face is melting into his soup when I am forced to interact with him. You know, like the poor bastard in Poltergeist (kinda).

What else to say? I loathe cellphones and have decided to get rid of mine. I agree that we need to get rid of our cars to save the planet. I think the world needs a lot of help, and I cried buckets a couple of nights ago when I saw a methadone baby in its bassinet with the shakes. That is the kind of thing that makes me think we are past all hope, all redemption, all light up Virgin Mary statues that sit on your dresser in the dark. You get the picture. Speaking of religious fanatic mothers who want you to speak to your abusive father, it is funny how you are always a frightened child in your parents' house. It never changes, those who know of what I speak. And it's funny how guilt plays such a huge role in it still.

Tennis, anyone? Oh, to not get a box of creepy truffles from your father, and if only love would find me.

I hope it finds you. Until we meet again, my pretties.

Where was I again??