I feel like I only update when something bad has happened but GODDAMN. Yesterday I was yelled at for about an hour and a half straight by a client until we finally had to call the police and today I had to break up a fight and give a statement to the police about what I'd seen during my lovely little shopping trip. What the eff, yo?

Due to assholes, most of my Photobucket pictures are no longer working. If you're here to bitch about lack of working pictures in a community, please go vent your anger elsewhere. ♥

Last night I had a dream I made out with Rob Coonrod in a bad part of LA while sirens went off all around us.

When I was little--six, seven, eight--I'd hide in my closet and pin cut out hearts and stars to the hems of hung up dresses. I liked to close my eyes and lay on my back under the floating cut outs and pretend I'd somehow gone into the future to get a glimpse of myself at sixteen, eighteen, twenty to see the way my breasts would grow, my hair would curl, the boys who would love me and how I'd succeed. I imagined the reason I didn't remember the details was that as soon as I came back from my travels into the future, the memories were erased to keep me from changing my path. Last night in my closet, searching for a favorite pair of Mary Janes, a wave of deja vu hit me and I closed my eyes, wondered if this was the moment I'd gone ahead in time to find.

I've always had this strange romantic view of eating juicy fruits with my fingers--melon propped up between index and middle, as if my fingers were chopsticks or the fruit a particularly sweet cigarette. I once saw a clip of Marilyn Monroe eating fruit this way, juice dripping down to her wrists, proving that even things like knuckles, nails and fingers could be sexual, espcially when paired with teeth and tongue.

Sometimes I think about where I've come from, come out of, things like that. My first apartment was a downstairs one bedroom and two small Honduran children upstairs threw banana peels off the balcony joyfully as if they were throwing confetti.

What would you do with $20,000?

This whole defending of Polanski by people I know is giving me a headache.

Got sick, bored and lazy and spent all day comfy in bed with my laptop, old Vogue magazines, scissors, construction paper and glue sticks. The result? Really cheesy, junior high level collages that I plan to toss as soon as I actually do get out of bed.

I need new things to do. I feel like I've reached the end of the internet, done everything there is to do in my city, done every social thing I can think of and I still end up bored. I wish I could work seven days a week.

When you're fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, it's assumed that you're going to whine about things, feel misplaced nostalgia for things you don't know anything about and wonder aloud about things that have nothing to do with you. I think when you get older you're not supposed to wonder about things as much. You're supposed to take it like a man or just shut up already.

Today at the grocery store I watched a man complain to his wife that she makes the same damn chicken every effing night and wouldn't he have been better to just never show up to the wedding or dinner--whichever it was that came first. The wife was literally biting her lip, keeping her head down. I thought, "If I was her, I'd walk. Never mind walk, I'd run." And then she spoke: "Well if you hadn't cheated on me in ninth grade, maybe I wouldn't make the same damn chicken every night." These people were at minimum in their late forties. Life is too short, people. Lady, shut up and take your chicken else where. Man, shut up already and move on. Maybe make yourself a steak.

I think after a while we just get tired of listening to each other so we revert back to the same stupidity we fed (no pun intended) each other years ago. Seeing the failures and almost failures of long term relationships makes me want to be alone for good. Sometimes I wish I had that thing in me that (it seems like) every other girl has--that desire to be with someone always but instead I keep thinking of all the things I can't do when I'm with someone. It's impossible to give into incurable wanderlust if you're married to an accountant, a real estate agent, a surgeon, a stock broker.

There are the desires to be at home and then there is the overwhelming need to set out on an adventure first thing in the morning.

Spent all morning playing Halo 3 to shoot the worries away.