I am an attention whore. Always. However I usually keep it under wraps. Except when I'm drunk. And then I talk. A lot. Usually to men. About sex.
I went to happy hour with people from work on Thurs. I wasn't going to drink. But I did. And then we did shots. And then I drank more. And the IT guys took an interest and since I've had a hard time getting any IT support I felt the need to cultivate that relationship. So I talked. A lot.
And then more guys took an interest. So I talked more. I think I stopped breathing at some point because I can't breathe and talk at the same time.
So I haven't drank since then.
In fact I've had a hard time introducing myself to people because I'm so ashamed of myself and afraid of what will come out of my mouth. It's been a very quiet weekend.
Waiting I don't have any plans for this weekend. I have a few options. Some have iteneraries, others do not. Some involve hopes, others do not. All will be fun. And yet I find myself waiting. Waiting for the day that I will not be wondering. Waiting for the day that I will know. When I will know that what I have is what I want. Knowing that joy is derived simply from being instead of anticipating. Enjoying each moment in its purest form.
Good sushi is not deemed as such simply because it taste good. After all, how often do you get "bad" sushi. The real test is if your bowels explode two hours aferwards. And if they do, is it controllable or is it painful? Sushi does not qualify as good sushi if you run to the toilet in pain, explode, and the pain has yet to subside - only to have you back on the seat 15 minutes later.
THAT'S WHAT DADS ARE FOR M: So what did you do today?
G: Played GameCube.
M: What else?
G: That's it.
M: What did you have for dinner tonight.
G: Ramen.
M What vegetables did you eat today?
G: The seasoning on the noodles.
M: Did you eat any fruits today?
G: I had grape jelly on my peanut butter sandwich.
They won't die of malnutrition in two months will they? After all, they aren't doing anything taxing either.
My baby sister is 22 today. She's not really the baby, but thanks to the funky layout of my family she was my baby sister. She's a beautiful girl who has never been afraid of speaking her mind. A little harsh around the edges but you never wonder where you stand with her. Whenever it seems like no one understands me, I know she will. She knows not to coddle me. She'll think out of the box with me. She's wild and crazy and soft on the inside. She's recently single and not looking, but if your a young Wildcat let me know and I'll hook you up with the hottest non-sorority girl on campus.
Love ya sis.
Malisa are you ok?
Yeah, I'm just tired.
You sure?
No. I'm tired, I went house hunting yesterday and considered spending $300K on a 2 bedroom condo or buying a $200K nasty stinky 1 bedroom that is overgrown and has dark hallways.
Oh, I see. Well, don't worry, things'll be ok.
What the fuck could be ok? I don't have a place to live. I don't have a 401k so I'm paying the government 30% of my income which means I'd be living in LA on $35K/year with two kids BY MYSELF. What the%$##%$$#^%!?
Well, maybe you should look further inland.
Oh yeah, because a single mom can raise two white children, one of which is ADD, in the ghettos of east LA as she's dying of emphizyma.
You don't have to live here.
I know.
You could go home.
I know. But I won't have a career.
You won't need a big career.
But I deserve a big career.
You can't have one. You have children.
It's not fair.
It was your choice.
I take it back.
Do you?
No, I can't.
You could if you wanted to.
The alternatives are not options.
Then you have your decision.
I don't like it.
Tough.
