When all was said and done, more was said than done.

In the face of the pressure of an art show, a fucking tramatic break-up, a vagina problem (lets just say she's a little under the goddamn weather), the engagement of my younger brother, scraping the skin off my middle finger while trying to create the perfect hot chocolate by shaving actual chocolate, and a man who wears a tie-dye wolf T-Shirt trying to win my affection...what does a pretty kick ass, sorta broken woman do????

My gut response, actually my heart's response, is to drink. Why drink? Well, it numbs the pain and makes life great. Unfortunately for me and fortunately for my liver (and vagina) somehow I have matured. I have decided instead to work through the days and suffer through the nights.I started a job at an art gallery, where there are so many set ups for "that's what she said" jokes its not even fair. I have to be professional there so there are no jokes My humor is wasted on the boy who works for Americore in the office, and that doesn't even count because for the most part I think the things I say just make him feel uncomfortable. He's into the theater, so I got super stoked to talk to him about that. But I think it just turned into a conversation that seemed like I was hitting on him. He polietly mentioned his loving boyfriend. To which I responded "That's great, that's awesome, I don't have one of those anymore." I thought that would be funny, he polietly let me know that is was NOT with the painful silence that followed after I said that.

I'm talking to Brett again. God, I love that Jew. He's fucking awesome. He'll laugh at anything I say and tell me I'm awesome even when I tell him about all the shit that makes me this side of crazy. I will never get it, but he makes me smile like an idiot. I have dream about him on horses, big horses than run fast. Maybe I'll let him come save me one day when I'm not a douche anymore. I can never be sure when that day will be.

I talk on the phone a lot, though I don't have anything interesting to say. I'm getting good at rambling, better than before.
I have no crushes, no embarrassing sex stories, and no bitches or hoes trying to bring a brotha down.
Oh, but don't worry, I'm still watching Friends on a regular basis. The whole world hasn't changed just parts of it.