siv

i'm not a flake; i'm just really, really broke.


i'm going to Dover this weekend for some sort of Halloween fun.

I'd be happy if I were more productive.

I need to clean my damned car.

The Catcher in the Rye is completely different stylistically from any other work by Salinger.

I wish I could get paid for lovin' without the completely grossout factor of having to do strangers.

My window fell on my face last week and cut my lip. It was a heavy glass window.

I now enjoy hot sauce and menthols. Separately.

Walgreens Pharmacy is staffed almost entirely by morans.

I may be a false eyelash addict.

My neighbors probably suspect that I'm either an exotic dancer or a drug addict. I come home almost every day at noon wearing my fancy clothes from the night before with eye makeup all over my face.

I am covered in bruises and bites.

I like Minor Threat and Go Team.

Randstad is a piece of shit.

I decided, on a tangential note, to refer to genitals with the pet name "them shits." Example for teaching imaginary children: "Johnny, stop playing with them shits in public!"

The Dunkin Donuts man has a crush on me.

I have a platonic crush on a bartender named Chubbs.

I have been drinking every night for two months.

I won a lifetime drink discount after a psycho ex banged on the window of the bar.

Twice, I have gotten drunk and given myself a haircut in my bedroom. Each time the ball of hair was the size of a human head. I have thick hair.

Everybody's wearing my head, but nobody loves me.