Dec 28, 2009

Hey Nice P.J's...Do You Still Live With Your Parents?

Sorry I've been away for awhile. I have been yet again busy hating my life on many different levels. But it's getting better...the pharmaceuticals that I am taking are causing me not to feel dead inside. Although they come with the side effect of me wanting to make out and rip some random strangers clothes off. The problem with this is, I have no potential suitors at the moment and making out with my pillow is getting old.

Christmas was alright (besides the vicious hangover I had on Christmas day.) I got some great gifts...I was spoiled...well that was until I opened the box with my pajamas in it.( Also included were Granny panties but I don't want to touch that issue.) These are the pajamas that solidified my fear of living with my parents the rest of my life may actually be a reality. I think my parents have become aware that it is quite evident I will rot in their house until at least my 50th birthday...so why not bundle this bitch up in some wacked out cotton pattern 'cause our daughter sure won't be getting any. 

Anyway, the new pajamas I just got are what I have named "The unfuckable spinster classics." They are cotton and blue and have tons and tons of flowers all over them. I would definitely equate them to an old wall paper pattern that our parents had in their kitchen in the 80's. Either that or something you would see on elderly woman in a nursing home. I asked if I could return them and get money for an iPod but that didn't go over so well. (I'm actually sitting in my room and writing this as I am wearing them...they are comfy.)

So the holidays became busy afterall...today I just got back from a dinner party in London with my University girlfriends. 4:30am was bedtime and 12:43 was my train time. When I arrived at the train station I went to pay for my ticket. Ticket man was staring at my wrist intensly. I was thinking "what the fuck is this guy looking at." I have a tattoo on one of my wrists but this hand wasn't the one. So I looked down at my wrist as I was passing him my money only to realize that I had forgotten about  the giant penis and balls my friend drew on my arm after our drinking game. (Yes, my maturity level is not where any normal 28 year old's would be) I immediately tried to snatch my money up with my left hand (this hand goes a little spastic sometimes and it becomes hard to hold drinks or trays of food without throwing them on the floor) So as the line up builds I start sweating like a whore in church trying to get my money and ticket off the counter while hiding my penis hand behind my back. That was nice.

Well, I really don't feel like writing anymore and coming into a writers block or as my parents call it "just plain stupidity."

I will write again in the new year-until then folks....I'm just livin' the dream

Smooches.
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