Suck my dick.

I'm trying to let stupid things roll off my back.  Just brush it off (ladies is pimps, too, don't forget).  But this shit is HARD.  I get angry so easily.  Wait, that's a lie.  I get annoyed easily.  I can't think of an adjective that describes that right now.  But I haven't gotten an adequate amount of sleep in over a week.  And when I did it was after getting no sleep.  So I'm not in the prime mental condition right now.  Which, perhaps, explains my severely limited tolerance for dumb ass mother fuckers.  (Like Barbara Walters and scotch.  You give that bitch one sip and she's telling you way more that you want to know about geriatric orgasms.)  

But, you know what, I don't know if I want to be more forgiving.  I don't think I ought to be.  So, yeah, as long as I'm not shanking bitches any time soon, I think I'm chill.

Three's Company, Too.

I've found myself shunning gatherings larger than 3 people.  Isn't that strange?  I guess I'm not cut out for orgies.  Even in platonic settings, I'm uneasy.  Well, that's not quite right.  I'm perfectly comfortable, it's just not fun.  I'd rather have 2 people that I love than 30 for whom I feel nothing.

Do you see what you do to me?

Dear Diet Coke,

I've missed you so much.  I'm so glad we've been reunited.  With two finals left and not much sleep, the stress was just too much to resist your charms.  Your chic silver can, that adorable cursive 'Diet,' and the fact that you're not pretentious enough to call yourself Diet Coca-Cola—Oh!—you just won me over.  I know that you're so wrong for me and this will just end in heartbreak, but I don't care.  Let's cherish the moment.

Love always,

Wally

Go on and cry, cry babayyyyyyyy!

So I finally got that cry I wanted.  After almost borrowing Terms of Endearment from the library, I decided to hold off.  And as luck would have it, I cried approximately four times during the Grey's Anatomy season finale.  

You know what, I'm proud of it.  I think crying is good.  While I look absolutely hideous during the process, I truly feel that it's useful once in a while.  It helps you cleanse some of the unhappy feelings you may have.  Even if you're crying over something frivolous (for instance, a tv series you are FAR too invested in), crying lets it all go.  

Let your hair down, get a box of Kleenex, and just cry.  

P. S.  Terms of Endearment rocks.

You say it's all in my head, and the things I think just don't make sense.

I don't know how it happened, but I haven't had Diet Coke in over 2 months.  I had seriously thought myself to be at least addicted to DC, if not soda in general.  But shouldn't an addiction be easier to quit?  I just stopped.  And I was done.

This kind of makes me think that I could potentially conquer my snacking habit one day after finals are over.  (Because, seriously, I am not giving up cookies during finals.  Suck it.)  And then I might actually get some semblance of good health.

Maybe it really all is in my head, which isn't really a relief, let me tell you.  That's really all I need:  more confirmation that I'm a bit off my rocker.  (Which, btw, I still want a rocker chair for my room next year.  Make that happen.)  But I think that should be fairly if not really really obvious considering I have an intense hankering to have a good cry.  And I just used the work hankering.  Lovely.

Unlucky

Sometimes I feel as if I am a bipolar single.  I flip-flop.  I'm the John Fucking Kerry of being unattached.  There are times when I truly do love it.  I like being free and I think the love I have for my friends and my family is indeed fulfilling.  But then other times I wish I could be more intimate.  While I'm close to some of my friends, I can never be that ultimate close.  I want that, badly, just once.  But I can't seem to find that elusive bugger.  

One of my best friends tells me that it's all about luck.  I don't know, but I can't help being jealous of her sometimes.  Today I knocked on her door while she was talking on the phone with her girlfriend.  And it was as if I was seriously interrupting, I was disrupting their own little world.  I crave that.

For as much as I can have my friends, I know that I am not number one in any of their lives.  Perhaps I'm up there for a few, but it isn't the same.  (Otherwise the [title of show] song wouldn't be nearly as effective, but that's a digression of sorts.)  

Well, maybe being some guy's somebody isn't that lofty of an aspiration.  All I know is that I'm feeling awfully romantic and also alone.  Except I'm not Bridget Jones.  (Lord knows I'm not Renee Zelwegger, though I can't say that it's too upsetting.)  Those kinds of moments don't just happen for me.  

I cannot resist associating luck with karma.  It's my guilt, I suppose...something along the lines of The Sound of Music's "Something Good."  What did I do to deserve not falling in love?  

Or does my desperation penetrate the olfactory glans of every available bachelor?  Does my utter want of commitment frighten?

It's a killer to the self-esteem, that's for sure.  I suppose I could just sacrifice my soul and my morals and become a slut.  I've thought about it many a time.  I really do feel, though, that I would lose myself.  I'd be hollow.  And so I know that while I could become a slut, I won't.

I know, I know.  Again, I'm warbling nonsense.  But my musings are all I have sometimes.  And I just keep hoping that maybe my analysis will yield something great.  I'll have a Eureka! moment about love.  

Until then, I'm stuck here in my tight pants and moccasins.  

The same friend often says that she feels less motivation to look especially dressed up since her love is in another state.  Whereas, I'm loveless and working on my shell.

Baby, baby, baby!

"There were things I'd never do again, but then they'd always seemed right.  There were nights of endless pleasure, they were more than any laws allow."

WAIT.  SAY WHAT CÉLINE!?  Things you'd never do again...seemed right...endless pleasure...more than laws allow.  I mean, I was thinking it had to be anal sex.  But sodomy hasn't been illegal for a while, right?  And I just never pictured Céline to be any kinkier than that.  A little anal sex can spice up any relationship, (Clean first.  Use protection.  And lube.)  but anything further definitely starts to get a little risqué.  Keep your electrodes to yourself Céline!

I Ain't Mr. T

I like myself, maybe a little too much now and then, but I really like me.  Thus when I see people act like unpityable fools, I just shake my head.  It's sad, if anything, that people don't have enough self-worth to conduct themselves with pride and respect.  Everyone has issues—my motto has basically become "Being happy isn't easy."  I don't understand why being a bully ever seems like a reasonable and logical step to take.  Hurting others because you're in pain?  Please, get over it.  One day you'll find yourself either unmarried or divorced and wonder where it all went wrong.  And at that point, what's it worth?  But when you're still 18-19-20-years-old, you have plenty of years to enjoy once you've grow up.  Let's start now, okay kid?

Rewind

So as I'm eating my chicken empanadas from Twisted Soul and some delicious multigrain bread, I've realize that I need to take a chill pill.  PLP would smack me upside the head and say, "STOP YOUR WHINING, who do you think you are?  Eponine!?"

I do love my friends.  And I'm sorry I'm not easy to manage normally, let alone when I'm in a bad mood.  I don't know where I'd be without my friends.  I don't want to get stuck at the Golden Palace!  I'm a bit too brash sometimes, but let's just chill on the lanai.

My First Break-up

Dear Vodka,

I think we need to see other people.  It's not you, you're just a lovely potato-derived liquor.  It's most certainly me.  You see, I can't control myself around you.  And I just don't want to a sorority girl again.  I think one time's enough for this kid.  I'll always love you.  And, sometime soon, when my tolerance is better or I'm with people who will reign me in, we can hook up again.  

Love,

Wally

P. S.  Do you have Champagne's number?