12% BEER
I'm Just Complaining
  Is it just me or does it feel like 2003 is right around the corner?

Jesus, Susan, and Coswell.. These last two months have already kicked my ass. I'm so tired. I'm exhausted. I can literally feel my body aching from being alive the last weeks.

If I keep this pace up, I predict that I will be one of the following by this time next year:

A) Dead.

B) Not Dead. But really fucking close to it.

C) All of the above.

I don't even remember the last time I hung out with my friends. I haven't been wearing underwear for the last two weeks because I haven't had a chance to do laundry. My apartment looks like a pile of ants came in and couldn't find any dirt to build piles with so they used the left over reciepts, dirty socks, unopened mail, and old Newsweeks they found throughout my living quarters and used them instead. The roaches have now signed their name onto my lease. We're still negotiating the rent, but they're here more than I am, so it was only fair.

So that at least fills you in on the environment I've been living in.

Do you know how many hours I've been working the last three weeks? I go to work at 8AM and don't see the inside of my apartment until 11PM. In that time away from home I get about an hour as a break to eat, urinate, and remember to call my loved ones to let them know that I am alive, but unable to lift my arm because I've forgotten how.

Here's a couple of confessions:

1- I'm a smoker again. Well, technically NOT a smoker, but I am averaging about 4 cigarettes a day- which is really good if you compare it to the amount I was smoking before "I quit." However, and this is very embarassing to admit.....I've become a bummer. One of those people who don't even but their own cigarettes but are to stubborn to admit that they're still smoking. I'm ashamed of myself. This is so awful. I'm either going to have to get some more Nicorette or start getting my own cigarettes because this guilt is too awful.

2- I'm cheating on Diaryland with Adobe Photoshop. It's true. I've even started to learn the shortcut combos... I've learned the fingering that Photoshop needs to go faster. The thrill and pleasure it gives me when I Ctrl Alt D and choose what Feathering Pixel size I want- it's a guitly pleasure. But do not fear, Diaryland. I will not forget you. I'm sure that the flash, glamor, and flexibility of Adobe Photoshop will wear off and I'll return to your faithful, warm, loving arms.

3- I've somehow contracted PMS. I have no idea how I got it. I had a mosquito bite about a week ago, but you can't catch PMS that way, can you? I've only had brief encounters with PMS before, but for some reason, its symtoms have reared their ugly heads more than they have ever before. I've turned into a pile of weepy, bloaty, femaleness. I cried yesterday about 3 times- once at rehearsal- and that's just horrible. I hate the crying girl at rehearsals. She's so fucking pitiful. But I was her on Friday. God, I'm such a pussy. I'm so defensive right now. Here's a snippet of a conversation between Lipman and I from earlier today:

Lipman: Ba-abe, I love you.

Ladeeleroy: Why did you say that with that tone on your voice?

Lipman: What tone, schnukumms?

Ladeeleroy: What's your problem.

Lipman: Oh, Ladeeeela, are you feeling a little testy right now?


Lipman: You're PMS-ing pretty princess, aren't you?

Ladeeleroy: (crying.) No. I'm sorry. I'm going to take a bath now. ASSHOLE!

Man, I've been harsh. I need to stay away from others right now. Or, if I do, I should provide them with protective eyewear and some Triscuits laced with Tylenol PM.

4- I'm bought a book to help me with my posture. Yeah. I've got bad posture. What's it to you?

5- I have a mini-mullet. Please don't stare. I know. I haven't been able to cut it the last two months and my once classy sassy cut has turned into Miracle Whip on white bread. I promise that I'll cut it soon, but I have to keep it for the next three weeks. I'm sorry. I know it's offensive.. but I don't have a choice right now. Please, just help me through this and it'll be a great help to me.

6- I'm really a 48-year-old trapped in a 24-year-old's body.Yeah, I started an IRA. What's it to you? Yeah, I read a Fingerhut catalogue and actually dog earred some of the pages inside to peruse later. What do you care? Yeah, I'm following the Enron scandal, so what? Wha- a chick can't say "darn tootin'!" and can't be cool anymore...? Guess I didn't get that memo.

So that's what has been going on in my life. I'm now a smoking, computer geek that has PMS, a mullet, bad posture, and Hush Puppy shoes.

Oh dear God... please let tomorrow be 2003... because 2002 is sucking my asshole clean. END OF COMPLAINING.

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