Oh, how the mighty have fallen!

Facebook is getting kind of lame. Like, slow, or something. Stale. Maybe it is outdoing itself. Maybe it's advanced to its fullest possible potential, and then some.

Plus, I don't seem to be getting as many notifications, which i think may be affecting my self-esteem. (previous post = evidence?) I realize that this has probably has nothing to do with the application itself, but could be possibly contributing to my feelings of subtle disdain.

gloomies

"You need to get out!" Bryan says. "You are spending too much time in bed, and also indoors."

"I'm not letting you have a rest cure!" he says.

I tell him that I am homesick. That I am tired of being so poor. I hate being poor. He is understanding, and he says, "Well, you better keep busy. It's about to get real rainy."

Yeah, yeah. Just turn up the Weezy.

Grade A

Here is a picture of Lady Gaga wearing raw meat.

I Want To Burn Down Don Draper's House

I mean, his cavernous bachelor pad. Because he doesn't have a house.

Spoiler alert.

I get so mad when he is mean to Peggy. So mad! She is the talent around there. The lone shining star in a company full of slobbering baboons.

Tonight she spent her birthday dealing with two drunk old perverts. Then Don took her to the fucking Waffle House for dinner. She wasn't really all that upset about losing her man to her mother though. With good reason. That guy's a pussy.

Pegs does a much better job dealing with those pigs than I would. She is much better at playing their game. Like when she and this fucking guy had to work all night in the hotel room, and he told her she should feel bad about her body and she took her clothes off. I would have started throwing my fists at him in a blind rage. She did make fun of his teeny peen, though.

We got to see DD cry tonight, which was cool. I'm surprised he didn't short circuit. I did enjoy that little minute of tenderness at the end there, when he and Pegs shared a moment over the new Samsonite sketch. He'll be back to his old robot ways next week, no doubt.

Argh I hate him!

Fucking Square One

It's a play on words.

I mean, God! I just feel so alive in the mornings! Like a newborn puppy before its eyes open to the world, squirming along, finding the coffee on instinct alone.

I keep wanting to post this in my "About Me" on facebook:

"Can't see you lil' niggas / The money in the way"

but I don't think I can. I mean, I don't think anyone will get it, is all. It's an excerpt from one my all-time favorite rap tunes "Stuntin' Like My Daddy" by Birdman & Lil' Wayne.

Get me out of here.

Does Anyone Have An Ice Pack?

I am thinking about people that I love. I wish I could talk to them all at once, get them all in one room for one night and bask in the glow. Roll around in the glitter.

Bryan's chapbook got this really great review. Please read it. He is very talented.

Last night I learned that the proper medical term for snorting things is insufflation. But there are religious connotations to it, too, I guess.

I am coping. I am eating all the ice cream and getting out of bed.

Yes, I would like to see the desert menu, and no, I cannot spare any change. Leave me be, please. Just turn the game on and leave me alone.

Is anyone reading this? Or is it just like last time?

Making Sauce

No, I am not making sauce. I am pouring it over noodles, because that is the only thing I know how to do with sauce.

3:23 pm is an interesting lunch hour.

I am staying positive and feeling great. Right? Is that what I said I'd do? I'm doing it, I swear.

I let my boyfriend read that story that I wrote in college about the guy jerking off in the Wendy's bathroom because that's the only story I'm comfortable sharing with other people.

The noodles are probably soft enough now.