Friday, November 30, 2007

Many of you wrote to me furious that I didn't blog once this week. Well, here's why: I hate blogs about nothing! I don't care about how messy your sister's room is or how much you paid for your new figure skates or what that bitch C.C. said to you at the bar mitzvah that hurt your feelings. I assume you feel the same way. Isn’t life boring enough without me adding to it?

What if instead of taking the week off, I had told you the truth about my life? How I was so depressed about losing my job that I slept all day and watched as much bad TV as possible? How I lived on rice cakes, beer and little boxes of raisins, and pretended my pillow was Dan's chest? How I only went out looking for work once and after an hour I had to pee so I gave up.

Oh, I almost forgot to tell you about my nights! Monday I drank with Jade, Tuesday I smoked with Rory, Wednesday I drank with Jade again, and last night I drank and smoked with Rory. I have the worst bags under my eyes. Oh, yeah, and Tuesday night I had sex with Rory on the floor of my room. He came even faster than usual because it had been a while. Afterwards we went out to Beaowolf--a highly unimpressive film. We shared a large buttered popcorn. Is this really the sort of meaningless crap you want me to blog about? Yeah, I didn't think so.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Many of you are really pissed at me for not answering your emails. Why should I? All you do is rag on me, call me names and correct my spelling, punctuation and grammar. You think I'm going to defend myself to you? Neeeevvvver!

Only Airesinmo said something positive. She thinks my relationship with Dan is thrilling and romantic. She finds guys under 25 as dreary as I do. She wishes she had a brilliant sexy older man like Dan to love and learn from. Hang in there, gyrl. You'll find one. Just wear short skirts and don't be afraid to make the first move. Older men are weak! Love you tons.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

My obsession interfered with my job performance today. I was carrying Cole in his basket while daydreaming about Dan. All of the sudden the basket shifted and I came really close to dropping Cole onto the tile floor. Scared the shit out of me! I stood there for like 10 seconds, clutching the basket, while my heart pounded. Can you imagine if I had cracked their baby's skull open on the kitchen floor? People forget how scary it is to be a nanny.

LATER: 1:28 am

Rory and I just had the hugest fight. He recorded a new song inspired by our relationship called "Blue Balls in Blue Jeans" and he wanted my honest opinion. He sang it for me over the phone. I told him I thought the tune was extremely catchy and cute but that the lyrics were juvenile. Since he wrote the words and not the music he went completely insane. I cannot love Rory because I cannot respect him. He doesn't take life seriously. If he did he wouldn't write silly songs like that. Older men rule.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

I wish I understood my father. Every time I tell my mom another one of my theories about why he treats me like shit, she always says the same thing: "He's an alcoholic, honey. It has nothing to do with you. It's a disease. The only thing they love is their next drink." She's probably right. But I still look for theories, I can't help it. I wonder if maybe I don't build up his ego enough with compliments. Or maybe he thinks if I was never born my mother wouldn't have kicked him out. Or maybe my face and body look so much like my mom's when she was young that it freaks him out to be around me. It's like a ghost or something. A ghost he used to have sex with. Or maybe he is afraid that if he felt true fatherly love for me it would remind him of the good old days when we were a family, and his heart would break in two. Or maybe my mom is right and he loves only his next drink and hates everything else, including me and the drink he is still holding in his hand.

Saturday, January 19, 2008

Yesterday when I woke up I could not believe what I had done. It didn't feel real. It was like some thriller I had seen the night before. No way I actually starred in it! But one look at my scraped hands proved I was wrong. In the shower, as I was wondering why I did it and thanking god I didn't get busted, I looked down and saw that my period had started. No wonder! How did I not figure that out? It was the hormones, baby!

Sunday, January 20, 2008

I just rocked Joel Seidler's little Jewish world by calling him. Even though when we had dinner I promised him we would be friends again, I knew he didn't believe me, which was smart because I was blatantly lying. But now that I am a crampy, pitiful, lonely half-orphan, I can't be choosy. We're meeting at a bar with a heated patio where we can smoke ourselves to oblivion. Last one to cough up a tumor is a rotten egg!