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Pretending to Be a Drug Addicted Alcoholic Because I Live Alone and Have Nothing Better to Do

 When I was a little girl, I used to dream of growing up and becoming a drug addict. I’m not sure where this ambition came from. My family consists of strict non-addicts and all I watched as a child was Nick at Nite, Wishbone, and neighborhood children running from my house in terror. I was somewhat violent. No big deal.

“I steal money from the poor and give it to my bitches.”

But my desire for drug addiction was not as self-destructive as it may sound. I only sought it for the cinematic aspects – the shaking, the sweating, the twitching, the crying, the screaming, the gay bathroom sex…ok, so The Basketball Diaries

Even as a 17 year old heroin addict Leo is still hotter than the prettiest people I know

is my only frame of reference for drug addiction. Whatever. My point is, my desire for the dramatics of a life-ruining sickness led to many preteen hours spent over a sink, splashing water onto my face, slapping my cheeks and staring intensely at my own reflection before screaming and throwing a handful of loose Smarties at the mirror, only to panic and immediately grasp them all, shoving them into my mouth and swigging down a glass of water before collapsing onto the floor in tears of self-hatred. Yes, I have parents. Yes, they are great.

 

The disturbing part is that I never really grew out of this. Recently I’ve been drinking alone, not because I’m unhappy (although…I mean…yeahhhh) but because I like to cradle a wine glass in my hand as I tremble, ever-so-slightly, twirling long strands of pearls around my fingers, weeping silent tears, streaking puffy cheeks with mascara, as I sip from my glass and wonder where I went wrong in my career now that I am an aging alcoholic starlet. I vary the storyline from time to time, becoming energetic, flirtatious, and underwear clad as I traipse around my apartment with fake eye lashes, splashing wine all over myself, pretending to be Edie Sedgwick. I have yet to graduate to amphetamines. It’s only a matter of time.

 

But these are not lies. I actually do these things. I also have most conversations with my sister pretending to be a black pimp, conversations with my brother pretending to be a soul-less slightly retarded sorority girl, and conversations with myself pretending to be perfectly sane. Clearly I am none of these things.

 

I have found that my behavior is increasingly erratic when I live alone. When I live alone I am nothing short of a complete and utter mess, literally and psychologically. Last night I skipped back and forth down my hallway several times around 2:00 am. I’d love to know why. I really would.

 

I’d also like to know why I find this:

 

Google search: “hot homeless guy”

 

So much more attractive than this:

 

Google search: “Male Strippers are Gay”

Any thoughts on the subject would be greatly appreciated.

Love,

The girl who still doesn’t understand how magnets work, despite her many attempts to find out

42+ Days Since My Last Blog Post – Where for Art Thou Readers, Bitches?

Dear Literate Citizens of First World Countries,

The time has come for me to address you. I think it is safe to say I have lost all of the fans/organ donors I once had as result of this blog. It’s been a month and a half since I have posted something new and frankly I don’t blame anyone for jumping ship at my shoddy attempt at blogosphere stardom. I have let myself, my country, and my libido down.

I will not attempt to explain away my neglectful inaction; for there are no words sufficient in definition, or multisyllabic enough in pretentiousness to appease the disillusioned cries of my reader(s). I will instead use a method of defense learned only from experiencing the deeply trenched heartache of an abusive relationship: I will pretend that it never happened.

…So anyway, these past six weeks have been like, so totally, epic. I mean FAIL! What???? Oh no! Like everyone else I seem to have forgotten what those words meant before social media subculture belittled their worth and true definition. Are you lost? Get ready, suckers. I haven’t updated in 42+ days. Not much is going to make sense tonight.

It is November, for which I must say I am pleased. September and October were straight up bitches, headed for the must kill shelter. Here are just a few things that went down:

-I quit my job. Yeah, that’s right. The one I formerly bragged about with my great salary, private office, and increasing self importance. I quit. Why? Because when you live in a nation with a 10% unemployment rate, and you move 900 miles away from home and find a well-paying, professional job in three weeks, the only logical thing to do is quit without finding another one first.

this girl is clearly just a ho

-I left Tennessee and moved back to Pennsylvania. Yeah, that’s right. I threw in the towel on my Southern adventure right in time for winter. Why? Because when you live in one of the warmest regions of the country, the only logical thing to do is leave the everyday sunshine of a 70 degree fall

climate and move back to the north; the place responsible for your semi-annual contraction of bronchitis and daily weather-related depression. My tongue sticks to everything during a Pennsylvania winter and not just because I’m promiscuous, wink, wink ;)…sizzle.

-I found God in Kentucky. Yeah, that’s right. God resides in Kentucky and let me tell you, he is busy at work. Not only did he arrange to have several billboards of the Ten Commandments erected along the h

...as I cross into Ohio

ighway, but like the great debater he is, also followed up with a reminder of what is to come if we do not follow said commands with 10×10 billboard images of Hell and a “Welcome to Ohio” sign.

-I drove through Ohio. Yeah, that’s right. ALL of Ohio. First night I stayed in Cincinnati. Oh, Cincy. What can be said about thee? Cincinnati is like my waist: bigger than you would expect, but not something anyone is going to enjoy. Next stop Cleveland. For those of you who are not well-versed on Ohio geography, Cincinnati is in the southwestern corner of Ohio, directly diagonal to Cleveland in the northeastern part of the state. I had to drive five depressing, rainy, hours through Ohio, because I insisted on visiting the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Now when I say I “insisted” I am lying. I didn’t insist. There was no one to insist to! I was alone, as I often am in life, love, and the bedroom…. FAIL! Lolz. What? Anyway. I arrived at the Hall o’ Fame, or “the hall” as the locals call it (no locals call it that). I spent 3 ½ hours there only to find an entire hallway dedicated to Jimi Hendrix and not a single window display for Bob Dylan. I am still composing a strongly worded letter to this so-called “establishment,” hoping to disembowel them of their title. Now don’t get me wrong, I like Jimi Hendrix. His seven minute career was very impressive. But Bob Dylan has penetrated the holes in my heart, impregnating my soul with his words. No person has ever loved another as much as I love him, not even Kim Kardashian and Kris Humphries. Fail!

Edie Sedgwick

-I have started to wear leggings, tights, or as I like to refer to them “fat highlighters.” Yeah, that’s right. I am “trendy.” However, before the unfashionable tar and feathering occurs, let me explain. I like to wear dresses. I wear them all the time, along with pearls, leopard print shoes, and 74 coats of mascara, so I can walk around pretending I’m a fat Edie Sedgwick. But during the winter months, my pasty legs can’t handle the elements. So I did the only logical thing – bought black tights! After all, nothing is more Edie than black tights, aside from highly toxic amphetamines and Lou Reed’s penis; both of which I am yearning to acquire.

As for the other 42+ days I was not writing, I can only account for some of them with the following activities:

-30 hours spent at Occupy Nashville

-2 hours spent watching “Kim’s Fairytale Wedding.”

-14 hours spent watching reruns of “Kim’s Fairytale Wedding.”

-Undocumented amount of hours spent smoking hallucinogen

-15 hours driving to Pennsylvania

-30 minutes eating a gas station taco salad in Cleveland.

-1 ½ hours a day watching Judge Judy with my mother.

-Infinite amount of hours regretting my TV watching and wondering how anyone could find me lovable.

But now that it is November, things are bound to change. I am applying to graduate school for next fall, have joined a gym, have rejoined the local writer’s group I rely on as my sole social outlet, am attempting to finish my novel before the year’s end, and spend my afternoon’s crying to reruns of One Tree Hill.

Still unbalanced, still writing, still the girl with the blog.

Love,

The girl with the blog that is never updated because the girl happens to be a lazy a**hole.