Saturday Apr 18, 2009

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I've found that only in a time of deep personal crisis do you find out who truly cares for you. I don't think I've ever realized how many people really do give a shit about me until now. And really, I thought that having so many people in my life and letting all those people know what's going on would scare me or make me feel weird, but it's the opposite .. I feel comforted. Almost cocooned and protected. It's actually a nice feeling. For once, I feel safe.

smile

Thank God for stupid boys and their stupid assholishness or I never would have found this out.
sirkka:
i coulda told you that, about people caring about you AND about boys being assholes. girls are not any better so don't bother switching teams. at least with boys you pretty much know what's up, like you're interrupting them playing halo or they don't give a shit if your ass looks fat in that skirt because it's time for monday night football or they're out of frozen dinners and grocery shopping is your job. but with girls, you have weird shit to contend with. my stupid ass has to deal with both: hayley told me the other night that she was jealous that my boobs were perkier than hers. i am a 36b, she is a 34dd... so figure out that jealousy thing for me and then let me know how the fuck THAT works. but then she proceeded to yell at me for half an hour about vitamin c and cats and gas prices, and something about biopsy needles and why are they so big except to rape your spine. all of these things were (apparently?) being blamed on my boobs. the next day she blamed the entire thing on period cramps but mentioned that, wait, yeah, she was serious about my boobs being perkier than hers. and started the entire argument over again. when i tried to offer her some midol, i might as well have asked her to have sex with old people for rent money. she locked herself in the bathroom for three hours and only came out when i promised her we could adopt a kitten. she hasn't brought it up since. jacob, on the other hand, only gets pissy when i leave my clothes on the floor instead of the hamper or i don't rinse my plate before i stick it in the dishwasher. it's like living in a sitcom... except it's horrifying and real and there are bruises to prove it.

also, as soon as i refill my goddamn vicodin, we need to go to the hookah lounge and throw away our money. (but more like MY money, but more like my DAD'S money, amiright? ka-pow!) but it'll have to be next week because

one - i cannot function without vicodin, anymore. stupid leg.
two - i haven't seen you since i moved to nashville and back.
and three - they have this badass blend of shisha called "california somethingorother" that is essentially a smokable fruit salad. and if there's two things i like in life, it's smoking things and fruit salad. and vicodin. okay wait three things... yeah...

i am serious though. don't date girls. it ain't worth it.

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