Drugs aren't cool so stay in school.

A conversation about a musucial number and a walk down beautiful winter time memory lane and I realized something. It was something strange, and awake, so sad, and mostly just a warm comfy feeling that you have no idea its reason. I will definetly not hate Mr. B Smalls forever. I do now and I have to. But later down the road I will look back and not remember all the hateful, ridiculous things that there said in the end. I will instead remember walking down the street, with the snow and the Febuary air, with a hot pizza in hand, going to our "home" together. The first home I started on my own.

And then there were none. And that's when the music starts.


You can sign me into the mental institution now. I always look slimmer in white jackets. Oh yeah, and tan.

As we stumble along.

"So that was the Drowsy Chaperone. Oh I love it so much. I...I know it's not a perfect show. The spit take scene is lame and the monky motif is labored but it does what a musical is supposed to do. It takes you to another world. And it gives you a little tune to give you to carry with you in your head for..for when you're feeling blue....you know?" -Man in Chair

This is the end of the show i just saw. And this is why i fucking love all theater, musical more than most things.

I will forever be a slave to a glass of wine. Bob and Cindy invited me over for dinner. The feed me wine like I was a starving gerbil. I stumbled home and tripped a little. By a little, I mean for real. I have a nice little wound on my knee, a perfect wound. It didn't bleed, it just hurt a little. Luckily I was to drunk to feel embarassed I just laughed, I laughed so hard that when I got home I had to pee so bad my body was shakin. No matter how pathetic...I love my life on most days.

I'm figuring it out. So everyone just chill th fuck out.

eyes of glass will break and then you can't see. fact.

The day after the holidays. People are everywhere on the highways, little ants from hell.

Brett will not be coming to Vemont this week. He called yesterday and there are many reasons he won't be here. The biggest reason, my life is unfair. Its not unfair in the woe is me sort of way, its unfair in the fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck way. There may be a reason I don't get these things. There may be a reason that when I think things may be getting really good, they suddenly take a turn that make my life feel more and more like chore. A stupid chore like washing dishes or mopping. With all these chores you'd think I'd have the cleanest life ever, squesky clean. But its not, it is messy and ridiculous and smelly and changing and for the most part I enjoy the ride but sometimes I feel like someone let me on the ride before I was tall enough. People who work on those rides need to be better at their fucking jobs.

i had a wonderful holiday week even though I'm bitching. But I can't help thinking I should have been in Boston this weekend, enjoying an awkward dinner with Mr. B Smalls family. A part of me feels a little jipped because other people get laid during the holidays. Whatever those people suck balls.

Still, I'm not crying. I veto tears.

The Drowsy Chaperone inspriration.

Holy shit people, I just saw a musical tonight. It was awesome. It was colorful, loud, funny, and basically kick ass. I want to be on stage with a glittery dress, long legs, tight hair, and a voice like magic. I would prefer to be with my friends, they would all know the words to the song. It would be a catchy song, so catchy that even people who like slow deep emo bullshit would come around and realize that life was but a song. And also realize that if you are sad you should sing and dance not slit your wrists. We'd all just be there and wars would stop, no one would be hungry and Friends DVDs would be handed out like bibles. Then there would be fireworks. a lot of fireworks. I would suddenly appear as if I was born from the colorful flame of the largest, loudest firework. In the end people would jump up screaming because it was so good. I would be the only one with the solo bow. I'd practice a humble wave before hand so as not to look as though i was expecting all of this.
So this is probably gonna happen.

Jesus was a streaker...he had super hairy balls.

Well ladies and gentlemen, I'm here. And this is what is happening.
I'm sitting on my couch, watching Sex In the City, drinking the last of my whiskey, smoking a cig, and screening my calls like its my job. Screening because the woman who lives above me has become strangely obsessed with me. And obsessed with telling me about Jesus and blessing me with God's love. I listen to her scream at her husband every Jesus lovin night, and then she comes down in the morning to tell me how great she feels, how's she high on God's love, and how Jesus is telling her to do things. She has also gave my numebr to her friends, so they can call here if she's not in her apartment. Um Helloo????
This leads me to question, what's the difference between God and the voices in your head that seem to be left over form a few to many acid trips? God=Drugs.
May I add, that this is the same woman who a week before told me of her secret childhood, and pretty much blew my mind away with truth, truth could paralyze a young child. She immediatly followed that conversation with words that made me feel like a failure because I lived alone and I was single. I truley believe that most people would rather be in an unhealthy relationship than no relationship at all. This woman screams at her drunk husband everynight but there was a sweaty fear in her voice when she warmly refered to my "lonely, scarey life".
In real real real reality I am not lonely nor am I scared. She is, however, insane. Listen to the heavy breathing she leaves on my answering machine if you don't believe me. People love me. This is a fact I have come to accept, but its a curse sometimes. One weird, old, tatooed. jesus loving, repeat calling, scarey curse.
So thats my story.
Somebody call me thats not her. Please.

In a world of hopeless posibility there's gotta be somthing.

November 11th....there I said it.
Moment of sadness today=would have been a year today. But it is not.
Not that I'm one of those people looking for pity, but I am. So yeah, feel sorry for me because I'm going through something millions of people already have. A break-up. How do you make that shit funny, its just too hard...that's what she said.
Well know we know. Lesson learned

Said good-bye to the deli life today. That place has been an interesting scene in my life. It has lead me to social situations that I never thought I would ever be in. Like sitting in the back on my break, smoking a cig, and taking a swig from a flask that Kenny and I were sharing....Kenny the guy who rides his bike around town a little drunk every day. I love that guy. Or Bob waliking into the bathroom, after I had just had a great experience, and was wiping my fun parts. He saw my gynie the second day I worked there. I think that's when we knew we'd be friends.That day led to our secret handshake.

Where the fuck is my bed? That's where I should be now.

And then they all shut the fuck up.

Jesus fuckin Christ, I am exhausted.

Mpnday was so busy. I was at the gallery most of the day. I was so nervous to go back there because this weekend I made a fool of myself and I will tell you how.
I was helping serve food and drinks at a gala to raise money for the art center. I took a shower, I shaved things that haven't been shaved in a while, I put on make-up, a slick outfit, and toped it off with a very nice scarf. I looked good. They told me to be there at 5, and I got there RIGHT ON TIME, but everything was already set up. The whole thang didn't start till 6:30 so I stood around for an hour and a half doing NOTHING. Well not doing nothing, I was also walking around awkwardly looking and feeling like a jack-ass. 6:30 finally came and I was given a tray full of glasses of sparking white wine and told to give them to guests. "Be Pushy" they said. So I was excited to finally have a job to do and I was thinking "hell yeah, everyone here is gonna love me. I get to be the one giving them free alcohol." Well within 10 minutes of this great job, I dropped that tray like it was my only purpose, broke the beauitful glasses, and spilled the wine all over the floor. Oh, and did I mention also all over myself. I was quickly demoted to "coat girl" and spent the majority of the night with wet tittles, wet stomach, wet thighs, and a wet crotch. No one cares who you are when you take coats, and they completely forget about you by the time they meet up with the person giving out the free booze.

Now its today. Wednesday at the gallery, yuck. Today my job was hauling all the pedestals, one by one, to the attic. Three floors and a small winding stairway....15 times.I was sweaty and my legs felt like jello, Being out of shape is so cool. All the popular people are doing it. After I was done with that I got to sweep all the floors in the buildings, the 7 galleries. Then I cleaned the art studio....and swept more floors. The day was like an endless messy hallway. I just kept sweeping and getting more sweaty by the minute. And the I actually died for a second.
While I was driving home, I saw Mr. Biggie Smalls. Well at least I think I saw him. And with that small glimpse into the past, I threw up in my mouth. So by the time I got home from the gallery, I was exhausted, smelling like old dried sweat, and there was throw up on my shirt that sneaked out during my moment of the ultimate unsexy Angie.

I think I'm done for the day. Yes I'm spent.

Voluntering. It doesn't pay.

People tell me things.

This morning I chatted with a neighbor of mine. There were some things shared that I listened to with an understanding grin but inside my head I was thinking "Holy Shit, I can't freakin believe someone is telling me this...I must be awesome. I must be the shit. I have no idea how to react...Maybe I'm not that awesome." In the end I still felt like a champion, but in comparison I don't have problems. However, I am self invovled for the most part, and I will continue to think the world revolves around me for a least 10 hours of each of my days. This is how I roll.

Saturdays are the worst. I used to have really great, chillin out, getting laid Saturdays. I didn't even have to get drunk before hand. It was this precious day when I felt my most beautiful, my most settled, my most happy, calm self. Well those days a long fuckin gone. For the most part I spend Saturdays entertaining myself with meaningless tasks that fill the day. I usually have a point of feeling so anxious that my mind literally jumps out of my head and makes bad desicions without reality being a factor. Then i have a point where I need to cry. If someone says to me one more time "You're not alone, your just going through a hard time, it can only get better." I will serioiusly punch them in the crotch life a professional ninja and say "It doesn't really hurt, you're just being a pussy."
End of story. Jeesh.


I am getting more angry as time goes on, my skin keeps gettin thicker. I will win....I am the champion of the universe for life.

Don't have sex or you will get pregnant and die.

Walking is a thing that a person can do when they DO NOT want to feel good about themsleves. Next time I'll just shot myself in the foot because it is equally as awesome and takes less tme.
I walked and when I was within a block from my place, already on Bentley Ave, a truck full of high school kids drove by in big, stupid, made-for-Poultney pick up truck. Ignoring their screams, I kept walking...walking. And then a fun size Snickers bar came flying from what I thought was heaven, but instead was from the hand of a dirty teenage boy. And than peice of hard chocolate, caramel, and nuts hit me in the side of the face, knocking my glasses half way off. I took the glasses off and cried the rest of the way home. Like one of those movies when the dorky girl gets dumped at prom. FUCK WALKING....and halloween. Jack-O-Latterns are stupid, Black Cats look like whorey animals, and witches can eat me.
This experience equaled the horrible moment I had last week, when i sat in the back of a theater alone, wathcing a romantic comedy on a Friday night. I kept thinking if anyone looks at me I'll just stand up and tell them how okay I am, how strong I am, how I always got picked first to be on every team, how I was the fuckin prom queen, how I am bigger than them and I could kick their ass with one shot of vodka and metal rod, that I am feeling great about being single. Thats a true story with things made up within it.
I was gonna refer to the person who broke my heart as Mr Big. In reminded me of Sex in the City and i always wanted a Mr Big...who doesn't? But then I realized Mr. Big and Carrie ended up together. So he will be called Mr. Biggie Smalls. For short I may say Mr. B.Smalls, or Mr.Biggie S, or Mr. BS. Whatever comes naturally to me. I should have know it was gonna end on a bad note. When he asked me to be his girlfriend, I heard a different question and yelled "I'M NOT A LESBIAN!"
i have the secret name because I may have posted about a certain man, about the act of riding, and a fantasy including a helpless pony. And that may have lead to him googling his own name and finding the online public confession that I thought was less public that the world wide web. I'm usually the last one to get the joke.
And so, bed time will come sooner than I expected tonight. I am merely a child of a night full of pepsi, pizza, the office, and one other thing that makes me vission blurry...but generally happier than the moment before.
I still hate dogs though....and nothing will ever change that.