thursday afternoon.

A glass of chardonnay with salt and vinegar potato chips. I have to go to work in about 45 minutes, but it will take an hour to get there, so I'm not sweating it.

The test wasn't awesome. Some of the questions were worded... well, badly. This wounded me. Normally on psychology exams, I am having the time of my life (really). Picture a puppy, exuberantly bounding over a grassy knoll in like, a meadow. That's me in a good test. This test was like the opposite. It wasn't that it was unduly difficult or that I wasn't prepared. It was just the wording and it pissed me off.

For the first time in my writing class, though, being a psychology major instead of an English/Lit./art major paid off. A girl was trying to use psychological theory to talk about the violent youth in some country in South America that I can't recall... maybe Brazil. But it was pretty clear that she didn't really know the theory, and she didn't mention any of the psychological disorders that we associate with criminality, like oppositional defiant disorder, conduct disorder, and antisocial personality disorder. It felt nice to be able to point her in a direction that she could do some research in to fill out her essay... mostly because she thought what I was saying was interesting and not assholey, which again, was nice.

Blah blah blah work work work weekend officially starts Friday night when Christopher's mom gets home. I might be going to a surprise party at a bar in Brooklyn that my friend, who is turning 32, is throwing for himself. I need someone who is either 21 or has ID to go with me though because it's in a far-away area of the BK and I need to make sure that I get home okay. Blech I don't think the cowboy has ID. Bastard.

tuesday evening.

I am maybe one of the worst studiers for cognitive psychology there ever was. I woke up to find myself having fallen asleep on the book, my cheek in the crease, glasses flung haphazardly over the back of the couch, sprawled. Studying indeed. I am a joke.

On another note, I think sometimes we need to think about the simple things in life that make us feel very happy and maybe just ignore boys who make us feel confused... and sexually frustrated. Food, for instance. I am a primitive woman. I am going to make macaroni and cheese and mix in sauteed vegetables tonight, and I can't tell you how thrilled I am about it. It's going to be amazing and I am likely going to eat all of it in one (long) sitting.

tuesday morning.

Pre-class glass of wine at 8:30 in the morning. I don't care if it's ridiculous -- it goes nicely with malt balls and I didn't feel like coffee.

And I am a trainwreck.

And the cowboy is going to be there. Ack. Ack. Ack.

big red.

Oh, so red hair drives you crazy, Frank? Well FUCK YOU. 

You make me want to dye my hair brown. And kill you.

Because I would still fuck you at any given moment. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck is the matter with me?

Maybe my hair drives me fucking crazy, too, Frank, or maybe it's Cuban stoner assholes like you, who knows?

SO glad you live down the hall and think that my roommate is like so fucking cool. Goddamnit.

Chardonnay.

damnit.

Does it say all kinds of terrible things about me that it bothers me a little that Frank hooks my roommate up with weed and that he has made it very clear that even though he dated me, he prefers her as a person? I mean honestly I just don't need this brought home to me all the time. I am not a less fun person because I'm not a stoner.

And that I am pretty sure she, knowing I wouldn't like it, wouldn't have even said anything about it to me, having only found out because I came home early and found him in my house. 

I don't want him in my house unless I'm fucking him.

fuck.

I'm tired, boys. Here's the thing that you should know before you come anywhere near me. As soon as you kiss me for hours and then leave saying we should just be friends and you're a mess because of your serious relationship that ended a few months ago still... or whatever your reasons are... I am going to sob for probably fifteen minutes the way I do every fucking time. Because I feel it as strongly as the first time every fucking time and I don't know how to turn that off. 

I know how to get over it. I know how to drink my way out of a bottle. I know how to tell myself it wasn't me - it was you. And maybe it actually was in this case. I know how to say it was just kissing. Everyone does that with people they don't even like. I know how to say you weren't even interested, really. I can say, you just wanted to fuck him because he looks like he would have a huge dick and you've never had sex with a guy who didn't have a pretty small one. I can say, you don't like him you don't like him you don't like him until the cows have come home and put themselves to bed. But those are cognitions - everyone's brains create cognitions to help them with the emotions they can't stop making.

I am okay now. All I feel is tired and drymouthed and lonely. And he is lonely too, he said so, which sucks. He shouldn't be lonely; he should be here.

this always happens.

FUCK MY LIFE.

HE IS ON HIS WAY OVER TO WATCH CASABLANCA AND DRINK WINE WITH ME OH MY GOD AND I AM NOT EVEN WEARING ANYTHING CUTE!

eeek

I have been so busy lately, the idea of, on a Thursday night, coming home from work, getting all dolled up, and going out to some bar or club kind of repulses me. I'd rather come home, have a glass of wine, watch some tv, talk to my roommate, and go to bed. I am such a homebody it's ridiculous.

In other news... The mountain man, whom I now think is more a like a cowboy, so I call him hombre, and I have been talking a lot... this morning we talked about kissing. Apparently he used to date a girl for 14 months and hasn't kissed anyone but her for the past year and a half and really wants to kiss someone... hopefully me... and he said something about biting. And I was like, Yeah biting can be fun. And he said, You seem like a biter. 

Oh my god. This never happens to me. I think I maybe like him. Maybe. It's uncertain.

And yeah we have exchanged phone numbers, to perhaps hang out this weekend. EEEEEK!

let's call the whole thing off.

I am going without alcohol today (I think) for the first day in.... probs two weeks. Embarrassing. I really need to buckle down with my draft for my essay and get caught up on cognition and treatment stuff. Anyway. I'm just tired I think. Of a lot of things.

Louis Armstrong and Ella Fitzgerald are owning my soul. I could listen to this song forever.

huh.

I've been sad a lot this evening.

v day fo realz.

What actually ended up happening after my very nice and not too depressing day with myself is that Joe called me and wanted me to buy booze with him. Then he had an idea that we should go to this sushi place because they give you lots of free sake. I was like, okay. On the way there, I started not feeling very good, so I just ordered like a plain yellowtail roll. I only had a piece of it and two little sake cups but I knew I was gonna throw up. So I went and threw up pink in a public bathroom and then drank a pitcher of water.

Then Joe and I went to his sister's apartment because she had left food for him and he didn't want it to go bad or something. So we did that and then we went home. Apparently this guy Dan I had hooked up with on Halloween was going to maybs come over, but then he didn't. He was a nice guy, I think. Joe said he was bummed that I didn't remember him. Woops.

Then Joe and I just watched Friends and drank a beer and I fell asleep and I was talking to him while I was asleep essentially and he went and slept on my couch.

The other thing that happened yesterday was that the guy whose mom my mom met at the party added me on facebook. And he's fairly cute. I would do it. He's like kind of a hipster fuck in Greenpoint, but whatever.

Also I may or may not have been flirting with a guy in my writing class yesterday who is kind of a mountain man.

Today it's homework, volunteering in Brooklyn, and maybs the animal handler. Back to reality....ish.

v day.

So last year, Valentine's Day was literally the reason my ex and I broke up. We're still friends, but like, that was the worst break-up I ever had (on the 15th). 

Today I drank a pitcher of sangria and did not get dressed until just now. I was drinking at 9:30 am. My friends tell me this makes me a legitimate alcoholic. At least I do something well.

I am going (by myself) to this bar Pourhouse tonight. If you bring a picture of your ex, you get free beer. I'm bringing the picture of "I never liked you and only dated you to get laid" guy.

Although speaking of exes, I am SO GLAD that Frank keeps asking Erica to smoke with him. It's so awkward. Even she is like, "uhm.."

Anyway I'm pathetic. No big.

fuck my life.

Why does everyone tell me to calm down? Why can't I just do my little... not-calm thing in peace? And why can't someone think it's cute that I need to calm down?

Fuck my life I made Valentine's Day sangria and I am drinking it alone for breakfast tomorrow.

sad.

My friend Suzanne's dad passed away yesterday. He's been in the hospital for a while and she took the semester off to be with him, so I don't know if anyone, including/especially her, was surprised, but that sucks so hard. I feel pretty bad about it and don't know what to say. Bit and I are sending her flowers and we think that we will go visit her sometime. I would need Bit to go with me because I don't know if I'd be brave enough to visit the South without her.

Other than that... due to the outstanding challenge of a drinking competition between myself and Erica's cute friend whom I may or may not have a crush on, we are facebook shittalking right now. It would be adorable if we could then make out. Wishful thinking, probably.

Long day today. Thursdays are fucking intense! Saddle up, Castner.

the animal handler.

The animal handler might have grown on me. He did his regular every-few-days text to see "what's new in the land of Liz," and I found myself thinking, this is nice. A male gives a shit. I almost missed hanging out with him, drinking wine and beer and playing Uno and watching a movie.

TK's take: He has tamed you.

That's gross, Tim.

But yeah, maybe. We'll see.

I love buying beer. Hello Blue Moon. How are you tonight?

ridiculous.

I am a ridiculous little idiot who may or may not have blown it with Tumnus depending on how good a sense of humour he has (read: I got drunk. And tried to talk to him. On a weeknight.), so I am counteracting this by wearing my breasts to school today. Enjoy, all possible viewers. These are not committed to anyone!

pants.

A couple of things: my goal, in terms of career, for the past few years has been to be an occupational therapist specializing in children, meaning I would mostly work with children with disabilities, ranging from physical to developmental. Anyway... lately I have been considering being a child psychologist or psychiatrist instead. I have time and I am taking all the right classes for both anyway, so I don't have to decide or anything.

But... okay so I have essentially diagnosed myself with depression, social anxiety, and a specific phobia (of jeans). I am attempting to tackle the latter two with a treatment plan I have laid out. Basically... I am going to make myself wear the two pairs of jeans that don't thrust me into a (major) panic attack at least 3 times a week. Also, Erica and I are going to go shopping for high-waisted jeans (I have very big, child-bearing hips. They are bigger than the rest of my already overly large body.) so that I don't freak out about love handles or muffin tops or anything else unsightly. Or at least so that I don't freak out about them for a good reason.

So basically I am pretending to be a clinician with myself. And I am wearing black jeans. Erica says they are slimming and I look good. I don't believe her. That's okay. Baby steps.

not in narnia.

Is he going to call me or what?

my version of a critique.

I am not a movie critic. I don't even think that I am. These are two very different things. However, it does not take very much to get me to like a movie.

But... He's Just Not That Into You, while starting at passable, about halfway through became... well, abysmal, which, given its cast, is pretty depressing. The dialogue made me so sad. Just... simply the writing, not even the way the characters ended up. But the literal writing. I would have done a better job.  Or, as my roommate said, her sister (a high school senior) would have done a better job. Also, none of the women had any personalities at all. The only differences one could really pick up on between any women in the cast were their (slightly) levels of desperation... which was directly tied to their place in the plot. It is ironic that while one would have to be a woman to really enjoy this movie, one would also have to not give a fuck about any of the women in it enough to realize that every character is the same person at a different romantic stage in her life.

Justin Long is hot, though. I mean, really. His voice. Ohhh I swooned. Why on earth did you break up with him, Drew? I never would have. Jesus.

anonymity.

Today's my mom's birthday. Peggy is 47. I called her up this morning to say "happy birthday," which I think she appreciated. I think she is kind of bummed out, though, and who can blame her? Her husband turns 50 this year, her eldest daughter (me) turns 20. Her youngest child is in high school. Shit, I'm weirded out about being 20. I don't know if I really planned to be this age when I was younger. College was kind of an ageless time in my mind, and after college it was getting married, having a boring job, and birthing children. Literally. Even though I have become one of those girls that coos at babies on the street, I don't know if I will ever have one. Or if I will be married and have one. Let's be realistic, I am totally the kind of person to adopt a child at age 35 if I have the means and am still single. 

My mom was telling me about the 50th birthday party she and my father went to last night. She met this woman there, who asked her where her oldest (me) was. My mom said, Oh she goes to school in New York. Apparently this woman became very excited at this information and said, My son just moved to Brooklyn! The woman asked my mom how old I was. My mother told her I would be 20 in August. The woman apparently said, What day? My mother, thinking this odd, said, the 18th. (By the way, this is my birthday. August 18th. Put it in your crackberries.) The son's birthday is of course on the same day as mine. He is 22 (currently) and thinking he is going to go to med school. He is also tall and, like myself, enjoys sushi. His mother then proceeded to text him with my phone number. My mother loved his response, which apparently was a rambling text message paragraph about how there was no way he was going to call some random girl, essentially just because she had a nice mother, was from Orange County, and had the same birthday as he did. I thought this was pretty funny. My mother apparently has his phone number, if I'm interested. I'm gonna pass, obviously. 

There is a huge part of me that is kind of sad that I am apparently old enough to be set up for dates now. I'll get over it.

I revel in the anonymity of Manhattan on a Saturday afternoon. Though NYU is such a big school, it usually feels kind of tiny, mostly because on a weekday during the day or a weekend during the evening, I always always always run into someone on the street. At least one person, typically more. Today after our Valentine's Day party, my best buddy Gilda and I went for a walk, ostensibly in search of cheap jewellry, though I knew that since she had no idea where the intended store was and that it probably no longer existed, we would just walk. And we walked all over school neighborhoods.

In my mind, I pictured running into one of my friends or acquaintances, any of them, and how that would go. They would stop, say hi. I would say, So-and-so, this is my friend Gilda. Gilda, this is So-and-so. They would be polite and I would say, Oh, see you in class, or just plain See ya. I don't know why I had to plan out this interaction. Maybe because they've never seen me walking very slowly with a 70 year old woman with MR and a walker... and the only people who have seen me do that are people who also do that.

But we walked around for an hour and it didn't happen even once. I didn't see anyone I had ever seen before in my entire life... and I am pretty good at faces. It was interesting. It was cool.

Tony and I are kind of in a fight. He's the kind of person who can't admit to being an asshole without being called out on it. And if you call him out on it, you're an even bigger asshole. So I didn't call him out on it and simply owned up to my portion of assholeyness. I'm so over it. In my opinion, if a girl says to you, Sorry I did that - I was drunk, that is your cue to say, Oh okay no big deal. Even if you don't really believe her and just think that's a silly excuse to get out of awkwardness, EMBRACE IT. You don't need to call her out, ask her how much she had to drink and how it was possible that she was drunk when you were totally sober and how much it usually takes to get her drunk. On this point, he and I diverge. Obviously.

So here I am listening to "Annie Waits" by Ben Folds, embracing my alcoholism and thinking I am probably going to drink one-glass-too-many and go see He's Just Not That Into You by myself because my friend Derek is sick and we had had plans. I think I am going to keep up my no-men, alone theme. The only people today who could corroborate that I am alive are my roommate and the people at the Best Buddies party... let's keep it that way. I'm having an anonymous Saturday. 

I bought a different kind of wine today - not Woodbridge. It was a dollar cheaper. It is called Walnut Crest. I kind of like it. A lot. I wonder if I am switching from Woodbridge. This would be a life-changing decision for me.

still tired after a night of sleep.

Yesterday highlighted to me that my life is kind of insane. After Tumnus and I went to bed at 6, I was like... awake. At 8:30. I got up, had water, lay back down, guzzled more water, went and talked to Erica around 10... you get the picture. I woke him up at 10:45 because I wanted to clean my room and do some homework and shower and stuff and not have him wake up and be like, what the fuck. But then he wasn't ready to wake up -- because he is a normal human being and also went to bed at 6 -- so I let him nap while I took a shower. Then when he left he kissed me goodbye and said I would hear from him soon. I was like, okay.

Anyway that's not the important part. The important part is the part about how I cleaned my apartment and tried to read my book on prescribing medicine for children with psychiatric disorders for my treatment class and drank coffee and before I knew it, it was 2:30 and time to go to Brooklyn to have my ass kicked. Chris did totally kick my ass yesterday, as he did on Thursday, but in a different way. Whereas Thursday was very emotional for him, yesterday he was just trying to fuck with me. Cute, but annoying, after a few hours. I took him to Barnes & Noble, or rather, he took me, and it was really crowded with parents and really small kids. Chris is like 10. He's a tall kid. And I am a short girl. He kept doing this thing -- until I caught on -- where he would break free of holding my hand and RUN, usually running into or over some person in the process.

The bathroom was the most ridiculous part. He needs my help in the bathroom. Were I to have a choice to take him anywhere, even though he is an older child, it would be the women's bathroom. Both times he needed to go, however, apparently it was such an emergency that he found it necessary to run breakneck (yes, I had a horse phase when I was a little girl) into the men's room and straight into a stall. Would this have been my choice of venue? Not really, but whatever. Fine, I'm mature enough to go into the men's room with you. I don't really give a fuck about what men look like when they're peeing. Anyway, so I am clearly with him, holding the door of the stall closed for him, and he has just started going number two. This middle-aged man walks in, gives me this horrified look, and I'm like, "Sorry, I'm babysitting and I have to help him." He's like, "That's quite alright," and turns around and goes and waits outside this bathroom that has an empty stall and two urinals. Someone apparently asks him why he's waiting or if there's a long line or something because I hear him respond, "There's a woman in there." 

At this point, I have figured out that Chris is going to be a while. We are going to be in this restroom for another 7 minutes, approximately. I say to the guy, "Look, he's going to be a while. There is no real sense in you waiting for him to be done. I don't know what you think is going to happen if you use the bathroom while I am here, but I would stop worrying about it and just go for it." The looks I got when I had to go into the stall and wipe this kid's ass were unbelievable. I hate men.

When I got home at 9 pm last night, I watched an episode of The Office, set my alarm for 8, and went straight to bed. I would have let myself totally sleep it off, but I have shit to do. The laundry's in the wash, the coffee's on, I have a bed to make, groceries to buy, laundry to later fold and hang up, huge amounts of homework to attempt, videos to drop off at Blockbuster... and I have a Best Buddies event with Gilda that is going to take up my entire afternoon.

I'm already tired again.

am i in narnia?

So after Rob and I had our extremely womanly evening with wine and When Harry Met Sally and tubs of hummus, Tumnus came over last night at like 3:30 or 4 am and we watched The Pagemaster and suddenly we were like... hooking up. I managed to keep all of my clothes on, which for me, is quite a feat. And he spent the night, but he slept in the spare bed and then I kicked him out this morning so I could clean/get ready for work. He is a really small man. Like he is just very narrowly built. I think that I am larger than he is.

So I think we might be going to... go out. I am wondering where this is going to go. I am also wondering where the fuck this came from.

tumnus.

I have no idea what the fuck is going on. Apparently he is coming over soon. It is 3 AM. What the fuck.

intimidation tactics.

So my alternative breaks trip to Ohio (we are going to work with homeless people over spring break) had a bake sale tonight to raise money. I didn't have time//feel like baking anything myself, so I had Erica pick me up a cake when she went to Trader Joe's, since everything they produce is reasonably-priced gold. I had a Best Buddies meeting in the same building during part of it, but our bake sale was in the lobby, so I was able to get a bunch of people from BB to buy things... I think I intimidated them a little bit with my officer position and big words. Who knows.

Speaking of intimidating (and perhaps the point of what I was going to write about), while we were in the lobby bake-sale-ing, Tumnus and his friend come in. I call him Tumnus because I think he looks like Mister Tumnus from The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. If you haven't seen the movie version, he's played by James McAvoy and is basically a small goat-man. I mean, don't get me wrong, I thought the guy was cute and really liked him at the time. A comparison to James McAvoy is never a negative in my book, no matter what.  We say hi, what's up, all that. I haven't really talked to this kid in months, since spring semester LAST year when we had two classes together and used to flirt via text message. But when it came around to hanging out in person, which we did one time do, it turned out that he just wasn't that into me. He basically told me I intimidated him. I wasn't crushed... which is rare for me, so that's why I remember. I say something silly like, "Hey want to help the homeless? This is an option you currently have." And he's like, "YEAH!" And I'm like, oh cool. It was a donation-based bake sale, so mostly people gave us like a dollar and walked away with like, a brownie bite or two, no big. My cake was like the big seller. Anyway, so this kid goes over... at this point on the table we mostly have donuts, and I was doing my selling-thing and was like, We have some great breakfast fodder at this trough and he was like, I love breakfast and I was like, Perfect. Anyway we had one tiny baggie of three mini cookies and he took that and put 5 bucks on the table. 

Why I thought it was weird at the time, I don't know. But I got a text from him like an hour ago, after I have gone to bed, and months after I have deleted his number, saying, "Well it certainly was a pleasure to see you today."

WHAT THE FUCK.

TK's take on this: "Your life amuses me."

Thanks Tim.

writing assignment no. 5. should be fun//easy to read.

The first assignment for my writing class that I feel even vaguely confident about because it's a scene, and not like analysis on something I don't even understand. The prompt is to write a scene putting yourself and the film you chose to write your midterm essay on in a relationship with each other. The movie I chose is When Harry Met Sally and this scene is pretty much one of the many reasons my life could/should be a fucking sitcom.

My cell phone vibrates on the couch next to me as the movie ends, cuts to the menu screen. It's Frank. A text. "Hey can i come over and talk to you about something for a minute?" I have to leave for school in ten. "If it's quick," I reply, and down the rest of my cheap wine, Woodbridge, nectar of the goddesses, my fourth glass. 4:15 on a Tuesday afternoon. I reek of class and sass, depositing my empty glass in the sink as the bell rings. He was always one for promptness.

I hope he can't smell the wine on me

"Hey," we say in unison and sit on the couch, the site of first debauchery that I don't even remember and have only been told about. I stare at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. He stares at my roommate expectantly, waiting for her to slink out of the room. I didn't even know she was there. She obliges him, and he clears his throat portentously.

"What's going on?" I say, not bothering to hide the impatience in my voice.

He hesitates, then decides to tell me. It's what he came over here for, anyway. I flash back, watch Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan argue on-screen in my head. Harry didn't go over there that night to make love with her, you know. And every time I watch him show up at her door, I cringe. But that's not why Frank is here, and we both know it, snapping me back to the present, out of the 1980s.

"Well, here's the thing. I kinda noticed these... bumps. On my dick. You know?" He waits for a response, but as I have none to offer other than a blank stare, he trudges on unencouraged.

"So I went to the doctor, and he said it wasn't a big deal or anything. Apparently they're the common cold of penis bumps."

What the fuck does that mean? 

I am in a happier place, cutting back to one of my favourite parts, the airplane scene. Harry tells Sally what all men are thinking after sex -- "how long do I have to lie here and hold her until I can get up and go home? Is 30 seconds enough?" Frank was the same way. Everyone I've ever been with has been the same way. Ironically, this scene still makes me happy. Sally's naive disbelief that a man would not want to hold her all night. I could have told her at the ripe age of nineteen what she did not believe at twenty-six.

Back to Frank, I look at him as icily as is possible in my haze and say coolly, "I didn't give you anything. And believe me, the wrappers in the trash the mornings after are enough to make me feel confident that you didn't give me anything either."

He nods, saying, "Yeah I know. I don't know. I just thought you should know, or something."

I sigh hard, accidentally. "Well, that's nice of you. Thank you for letting me know, I hope it clears up. I have to go to sign language now. Sorry."

Not.

We walk out my front door together and to the elevators where he leaves me, continuing on to his room with his bumps, and me to class with a travelmug of wine, as if I really need any more. I slide my broken headphones over my crazy red hair and put on Ben Folds, though, for the first time since I fell in love with him, his piano, and his lyrics, I can't even listen.

Instead, I channel Avril Lavigne, of all people, thinking, "So much for my happy ending." Cut back to the happy ending I prefer, the happy ending that involves Billy Crystal running from the arch in Washington Square, right by all of my classes, up 5th Avenue to the New Year's Eve party Sally is attending to tell her that he loves her, to say his most cheesetastic lines about how he loves that she "gets cold when it's 71 degrees out," et cetera, and most convincing line, "When you realize that you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible." This is how I would want someone to think of me, to love me for my ridiculous idiosyncrasies, cheesetastically enough, though I don't happen to get cold when it's 71 degrees out. This is how Frank will never think of me, and this bumpy situation is what I needed to ensure that I will never, ever think of Frank like that again.

Finally I can listen to Mr. Folds serenade me... with only a block left to go until I reach the Waverly building. Oh well. You keep your bumps, Frank-who's-not-looking-for-a-relationship. I will keep my DVD and my Woodbridge.

i need a fucking drink.

My roommate just moved all her shit into the spare bedroom. And I guess she is a closed-door bedroom person, which I'm not, so I guess it makes me feel awkward whether or not she means it to.

I skipped my cognition recitation as it is a waste of time and ASL 4 because it was fucking snowing really hard and I didn't feel like venturing back into the world. I don't feel that guilty about it.

I think I am going to ask Erica's friend Zack out. I don't know when.

Sounds like I am going to drink some wine and watch The Pagemaster tonight. I do have some homework, but not too bad, so fuck it, I will just DO IT ALL. And try not to feel awkward. And drink wine.

feeling shittier.

I am an up-and-down, up-and-down fiend, bobbing my head in time to the insanity.

My roommate is going to transfer from NYU to UMass to be closer to home, to cost her parents less money, and to be around people she actually likes. While I should do the same and transfer to like, Berkeley, or something, so that my parents won't have to be assraped with NYU prices, I wouldn't be able to bring myself to do it unless my mother actually told me that I should. I can't. I like being stressed and depressed in that New York kind of way. That kind of depression doesn't happen for me in California. When I am in California, I am mostly extremely apathetic. I mean... I want to live in New York, maybe forever. If I were in California, it would have to be Northern California, so it would have to be USF/SF State, at which I would be with my friends in a very cute little city but absolutely never academically challenged (sorry guys, but I mean really), or Berkeley, at which I would be academically challenged but... I would be in a college town wearing a Cal sweatshirt probs hating my life.

I LIKE TO BE SAD HERE MORE THAN ANYWHERE ELSE.

And this is why me and Erica are different. And I think it is my fault that she is sad, not her birth control's, and I can't fix it.

Today I cried about Paul for the first time in a while because we were talking about getting kicked out of housing, which reminded me of that time in October when that almost happened to me because I was a depressed alcoholic who cut herself one time, which reminded me of the fact that the main thing that saved me from major repercussions was the fact that I USED his death as an excuse... which is one of the shittiest things I have ever done.

feeling better.

Apparently all it takes to get me through major emotional hardship is a party populated exclusively by gay men, with the occasional female, a long subway ride with Ben Folds, and an afternoon having my hair pulled out in Brooklyn by a very aggressive girl with autism.

Also there is a guy I volunteer with and I think he has a crush on me. He's cute in like a goofy football player kind of way.

What's the problem with this?

Oh, he's 17. No big.

I just want to scream at him, "Stop it! I'm old and dried up!"

...except I would probs do him.

I'm a rapist. Excellent.

I think it's pretty funny, actually.