Rambling that starts with the topic of "Oldness"

You know what, I've been thinking about how old I am and it's scary. Since my 22nd year of being on the planet, I've hated birthday's. I mean, after 21 there is not one God damned thing to look forward to, except maybe renting a car at 25 and now you can do that underage, you just have to pay more money! I mean, fuck! Life is just a fast track to Alzheimer's after 21. I hate my life. I'm turning 25 in a few months and that is a freakin' quarter of a century. It might as well be 50. I have no boyfriend, I have no job, soon I won't have a place to live and I'm really thinking my friends will remember how boring I was when I return to the States. That's my most terrifying thought: that my friends will have missed me all this time I've been gone, come to find out that when I'm back, I wasn't really that good of a friend (I never listen) or that much fun (because after 12 drinks I just become a waste to everyone and just a plain, old burden to those lucky enough who are responsible for my well bring), or EVEN WORSE, I wasn't that funny. That is honestly my worst fear in life (after paper cuts on my eye ball, and pigeons and rats oh and crushed velvet. Man, do I have a lot of fears!) but I'm so scared someone will think I'm not funny. People could tell me I'm fat, because that's true, or a bad dresser, because we all know that's not true or ugly because that's kind of true, but someone telling me I'm not funny, that has just crossed the fucking line partner! Also, sorry for the over-usage of commas, but I've always had a problem adding too many commas into sentences since grammar school. Like I think having more is better then forgetting to add them in. Whateves. Oh also, I used to add an "e" to the end of every word. Like I would add an "e" to party, so it would be spelled "partye". I guess this really could have worked for me if I lived in the 10th century and we spoke Ye Olde English. Wow, was that a rant. I barely know where or why I started.

Oh, ya so I'm getting old. There's that. Also, I'm broke. Broke out of my mind, but I guess that's what happens when you don't have an income for 6 months and you have an addictive/obsessive personality and high tolerance to alcohol, drugs and dairy products. This makes things expensive when you're ready for get wasted on cider and you drink chocolate milk intravenously by the gallon. Things get expensive & scary. Never ever piss off a drunk girl who is high on the chocolate milk (or "mud" as I call it on the streets). It can get violent and messy, with all that chocolate milk and brie.....yikes. Damn, brie is good. I could really used some warm brie with cranberry sauce on it smeared onto a water cracker. Sounds like heaven to me. That and a never-ending fountain of Strong-b. That would be sick-ass awesome!

Well everyone, sorry for the let downs when you check this here blog religiously everyday and you get nothing new for a while. I'm pretty fucking busy okay, and probably sober, so there's two reasons why I wouldn't be posting.

love you all!

P.S. I still haven't found Ed....stupid bastard must have missed my e-mail about meeting in London. I bet he's still waiting in NYC for me....and you think technology would help this problem...sheesch.