Archive for July, 2010


Alright my lil chickin’ nuggetz its time to put on your weekend pants (assless chaps?) Have a wild one.

Dinner with Portland boy tonight… he mentioned moving back to DC during his invitation. Welp.

In the meantime:


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Rep. Anthony Weiner spoke on the House floor tonight in support of H.R. 847, the James Zadroga 9/11 Health and Compensation Act, which was blocked from passage by House Republicans. Rep. Weiner addresses some of the false arguments Republicans were using in their opposition to the bill. The vote was 255 to 159 in support of the bill, short of the 2/3 needed for passage; 155 Republicans voted against the legislation, which provides medical monitoring and treatment to World Trade Center responders and survivors who were exposed to the toxins at Ground Zero.

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Or some greasy fries because I am still hungover as a mofo. So I’m gonna go get some fries, come back, and stare at pictures of Alexander Skarsgård.

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Sylvia <3

I like people too much or not at all. I’ve got to go down deep, to fall into people, to really know them.

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That, my friend, is what a McGriddle tastes like. I never get them because they make me feel like I should moo at the cashier and rename myself Bessie the Heffer, but since I’m hungover, fuck it.

Best decision ever. GODDAMNIT I can’t even stop thinking about how good it was. Sausage+egg+cheese+pancakey syrupy deliciousness? Makes me proud to be an American. I dare say its one of our most patriotic foods.

I think I’m getting McDonalds again for lunch. And then I will stare at myself in the mirror and ask myself “Why?”

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I am in a world of hurt.

I was most definitely wedding reception drunk last night (if not worse). It was one of those drunken nights where you make the weirdest friends. This is accelerated by the fact that when I drink I want to smoke cigz. I don’t smoke cigz when im not buzzed+ so I never have them. Thus I bum them. Thus I talk to strangers.

Thus I befriend people like Beverley, the middle aged 1st grade teacher with the Camel Light 100s. Thus I tell her my life story and she is enthralled. “OOOOoooo girl you do not need to be puttin’ up with that bulllllshit. He needs to step up off and you need to hit the bricks you know what I’m sayin’??? Find you a stallion and keep ridin’ gurrrrl.”

Because Beverly and I are OMFG LIKE TOTES BEST FRIENDS NOW BIFFLES FO LYFE I took her advice and invited Portland to the bar. Then things got a littttle hazy after the Campari and orange that the Italien does-something-to-do-with-the-world-water-supply bought me hit me. His name was German (sounds like Herman). Portland showed up… I remember trying to introduce his friend to my girlfriends… then I vaguely remember making out with him in the bar…. and then he drove us to my house.

Thats right. He drove. He was sober enough to drive YET AGAIN. You may recall that the last time he was in town I was quote unquote “wedding reception drunk” and he was sober enough to drive.


Fuck it I’m getting McDonalds and callin’ it a day.

Nashville Boy:  hows work?
 me:  well im aggressively hungover so its a bit like squeezing lemons over some fresh rusty knife stab wounds.
when life hands you lemons

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Oh I forgot to mention…

Portland boy is indeed in town. He called me one hour after he landed last night to ask if I wanted to see him late night or if I’d rather see him today. I had just crashed from my post Inception high, and I declined. To be honest, I didn’t feel excited at all. Last time he was here I wanted to rip his t-shirt off like a Jersey Shore guido but right now I can scarcely imagine even making plans to see him.

Ugh I’m still caught up in the Swede.





Song: “The Owls Go” by Architecture in Helsinki

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