Bah, Humbug, Ken Kesey, Hmm

IS there love in the world? Does Tom Cruise have big shiny white Hollywood teeth?? There is, my dear ones, there is! Even if in my entire 34 years it has yet to find me! Yet, don't let my sad stories deter you from seeking out your happiness.

I recently spent a number of days in the hospital. Yes, the One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest variety. And there is very little to say about this other than that A. it was needed B. I am depressed, not crazy, and is anyone TRULY crazy besides power-hungry Republicans and that one guy on the corner who keeps asking you to talk to his invisible friend? (I would actually advise that he has an alternate reality, really, just to be fair!) and that C. I am now on anti-depressants. Not to mention I fell in love with the young, hunky doctor who was my case manager (and you know, folks, God is cruel, just to stick me with THAT unsolvable conundrum when I am feeling my utter lowest. Plus, it's not fair that they hire shrinks who are attractive -- I assumed they'd all be old and crotchety, or young, dynamic fresh out of grad school types. I mean, dynamic, but not HOT, you know what I'm saying here, people?). Anyway, so it goes.

So life is very, very, very strange, and I am feeling very, very odd, and have about 18,000 things to do to jump-start my life, including finding permanent safe housing and, like, a job. Which is much easier when you are not huddled in a rented room contemplating suicide while a scary woman keeps banging doors. But, I digress!

The only problem with the meds is that I am now having to pee every six seconds. I am hoping this is a temporary, not long-term, issue, as it is getting damned annoying. I also need to eat something, as I am currently starving, which makes me type that much faster.

Ah! Life! We love you, we revere you, we beg for safe harbor in a choppy, choppy world!

May all your days be merry. And may we all find just a little bit of that elusive thing called freedom.

Tears in the carpet, stains on your soul

Changed my mind about the antidepressants and have gone straight to heroin, much like straight to video. Ah, I'm joking, people, needles scare me worse than Dick Cheney's huge shiny bald dome.

Anywho, the biatch from hell i.e. the landlady had the nerve to charge me for a "tear in the carpet" (cheap-ass ugly fucking thing that was already shot to hell about fifteen years back) and to charge me for a new pillow because there was a "red stain on it." Indeed, it was my fault, and the fact that she is this anal should not be surprising. Yet, it still is. She also wanted to know about her bedsheet, which I accidentally ripped, then replaced. She will get that information when hell freezes over. Out of sight, out of mind, dear sweet ones!

I was trolling the craigslist, kind of the way you do when you're online and need another place to stay fast, and saw another room for rent. The dear woman stated that "If you call me after 8pm, your chances of getting the room will be shot." I think she had this in all caps. Are all women renting rooms in their houses motherfuckers? Apparently yes!

Which is why I eat potato chips and dip and pray for sweet oblivion.

I hope your Father's Day (greeting card companies are geniuses, no?) was a happy one. My father was sort of like the one you see in bad TV movies about girls who end up in juvenile hall, but don't let that stop you from having a better one then I did. It made me who I am today, a blogger with only a minimal chip on her shoulder.

And boy, am I cute.

God bless.

I Am Gone

I have left the lady from hell's house, and here is hoping that I can get, just maybe, a decent night's sleep. Moving, of course, devoutly sucks, but what doesn't, I ask you?

I am now baby-sitting my younger brother, one geriatric dog, and hoping that the Next Step will present itself in due course. My parents, luckily, are gone for a week, and I have plenty of time to nurse my bent back, wounded emotions, and take care of a few pressing details. One of which involves the next step, another antidepressants, and hopefully receiving the deposit from fair Cruella very soon. If she doesn't send it soon, it ain't gonna be pretty.

So that's my life, folks! Ah, worry worry worry. Where would we be without fucking worry?

May all your days be as graceful as swans floating on a silver lake, surrounded by hippos wearing tutus. Fantasia was something else, wasn't it?

Goodbye, Cruella De Ville

Yes, I did, then deleted the information! Didn't think that entry fit in with the rest of Bloggerland. My sad, pathetic, yet so bedraggedly adorable version, that is.

I went to Starbucks this morning and couldn't abide the sight of cute frolicking twenty-somethings milling around in Barista Heaven (apparently they lace Starbucks with some appealing chemical substance besides good old-fashioned caffeine) and so I left to come to the library. I am PMS'ing like there is no tomorrow, and could use something to calm me down, like a valium or several xanax. Anything to make the pain go away, God! Oy, vey.

Life has been Sucky Out the Ass, but there is hope that even in this depressed 21st century world that we could all make our way to salvation. Without an I-Pod, even! I think those are kind of cool, although they are so small that I fear for our sanity in regard to tiny technological items demonstrating our prowess.

God, I must say I am so sick of the library and seeing the Same Pathetic Persons (Like Me) here every single day. And at the moment, hormonally imbued as I am, I also am under the delusion that I Could Fly. Sad, is it not? Oh, so sad.

I watched some of the MTV Movie Awards yesterday and lamented the sad spectacle of Jessica Alba trying to act in skits. Scorchingly Hot she is, yes -- a gifted thespian ah! Come again. I did enjoy hearing Christian Bale's Real Accent, and his horse-mouthed wife seemed full of genuine joy. I know, I'm so very catty. Gay men love me for a reason. Anywho, I couldn't take anymore of the Envy Fest of Fame, Fortune, and Tanned Taut Bodies, so I decided to watch old episodes of Buffy. Nothing like Buffy to cheer ya up. Or me, at least. Buffy Summers will forever live in my heart as, like, the coolest woman on the planet. Geeks, Unite! We love our Buffy still, we do. Angel ran a close second, but Buffy Saves The Day.

So that was my exciting evening. I am so tired I cannot think, but writing sometimes release the inner demons to the point at which you no longer need to think about pharmaceuticals. Including Starbucks Coffee, heh heh. I don't know why the baristas there are so happy, but it's supposedly a good working environment and they get health insurance and all. So, good for them! And good for me, BECAUSE NEXT WEEK I AM MOVING OUT OF MY LANDLADY'S HOUSE!

Ah, and you thought my life wasn't full of joyous surprises! I kinda created this toy surprise on my own, but it had to happen. My landlady was incredibly happy to be rid of me herself (a nastier witch I shall never know), and in general we can only surmise as to why she rents rooms to women in the first place. Just to make their lives hell, no doubt. The subconscious mind wreaks its violent havoc upon unsuspecting mortals! In short, I'm fucking happy to be leaving the bitch, and may she rot in hell forevermore. Now that's something like.

I wish you happy rooming situations, good coffee, and a lifetime supply of Xanax.