I’m not dead! I’m okay! I work for the Lawyer Police! Yesterday I went to a bake sale and they gave me two cupcakes and two cookies for a DOLLAR. ONE DOLLAR. GO AHEAD AND READ THOSE LAST TWO SENTENCES AGAIN. Kristie is getting married and me and Brian are going to go to her wedding in “Jouvence” aka “QUEBEC” aka “I better brush up on my french.” Merde. Also I’m using Micah’s laptop right now, he is visiting. He showed me THE MOST OFFENSIVE THING I HAVE EVER SEEN. EVER. IN ALL OF TIME. I mean, look at this shit. Can you believe this asshole put this out RIGHT AFTER 9/11? Where are his social skills?
I was literally staring at the screen, like, oh my god, this is really happening. WHO HAS ALLOWED THIS TO HAPPEN? This is THE WORST of America. The very worst.
In other news, I’ve been bantering about abortion on facebook and getting incredibly frustrated. I’ve also been wondering if I’m retarded, relationally speaking. I’m the only one who fights with anyone. No one else gets into fights with their friends but me. I’m always arguing or working through something with someone. Is it me? Is it them? I don’t know. We may never know the answer to these questions that plague us.
I’ve been considering purchasing the following : matching pyjamas. A one-piece snowsuit. A megaphone. PLANE TICKETS. AMIRITE? PLANE TICKETS. But I probably won’t buy any of those things (except for the matching pyjamas, because THAT, my friends, is a win-win situation) but I will buy tons of “Business Casual” clothes. Dressing up every day is SO HARD. Can I just take a minute to bitch about this? Because it is seriously burning my toast. And no matter WHAT I wear, I always look like a scabby ragamuffin. It just oozes out of me. I’m a short and untidy waif and I always will be, no matter how much I try to dress it up. But it doesn’t really matter.
I go to therapy once a week now. We talk about my feelings on a Feelings Wheel. We haven’t talked about anything specific to my life yet. I want to talk about my life but I assume there’s a reason why we haven’t. Maybe she doesn’t want to hear about my life. Well, too bad, sonny. Cause that’s why they pay you the big bucks. To listen to Megan talk about her “life problems”. Which at the moment include a certain ginger-haired frolicker and a fat tummy. There are solutions to these problems, and they are readily available to me, so don’t give me a lecture because I don’t want to hear it.
Now I’m going to do other internet-y things while I still have the chance. Vive le France.