Disaster. Doom and gloom. I was supposed to get to go to Ohio for the Pinups for Soldiers and then financial disaster struck and I had to stay home and now nobody is speaking to me.

Except,

Sheila There should be a song about her. And not just that song that goes 'oh, oh Sheila' but a song about HER. You know what? Sheila is a song.

Me and that beautiful song of a woman went to Schlitterbahn, the hottest coolest time in Texas for those of you who don't know, and it was pretty amazing. We totally couged out on all the 15 year old lifeguards and got awesome tans, which nobody will ever see because I can't seem to find the time to shoot a set for my country. We really want to do a multoi but can't think of a theme as awesome as it deserves.

I've been so effing depressed lately, I don't stay online for more than a few minutes, I never want to go downtown again and all I do is listen to talk radio. I should be happy, but I'm not. The stripper show I have labored over for more than a year now is in production and I should be proud. School is going well, I made a perfect 100 on my first History exam earlier today. I got a job at the Town Lake Animal Shelter that I absolutely love and is the best job i've ever had, even if it can be depressing.

And I feel like a dumbass for writing a boring account of my life. I hate that. I feel like if I take the time to blog it should be interesting, i read this thing about blogs and about how the internet has made everyone believe that all the boring minutia of their day is fascinating to the rest of the world. But it's not.

So fuck it.

McCain will probably be president, i will always be poor, the ac in my car is broke and it september and still 95 degrees.
My stomach will never be flat, the director will steal all the glory for my show and one day my parents will find me naked on the internet.
All my ex-boyfriends will be famous and successful and last week an iguana carved the word 'KILL' and an arrow pointing...

Disaster. Doom and gloom. I was supposed to get to go to Ohio for the Pinups for Soldiers and then financial disaster struck and I had to stay home and now nobody is speaking to me.

Except,

Sheila There should be a song about her. And not just that song that goes 'oh, oh Sheila' but a song about HER. You know what? Sheila is a song.

Me and that beautiful song of a woman went to Schlitterbahn, the hottest coolest time in Texas for those of you who don't know, and it was pretty amazing. We totally couged out on all the 15 year old lifeguards and got awesome tans, which nobody will ever see because I can't seem to find the time to shoot a set for my country. We really want to do a multoi but can't think of a theme as awesome as it deserves.

I've been so effing depressed lately, I don't stay online for more than a few minutes, I never want to go downtown again and all I do is listen to talk radio. I should be happy, but I'm not. The stripper show I have labored over for more than a year now is in production and I should be proud. School is going well, I made a perfect 100 on my first History exam earlier today. I got a job at the Town Lake Animal Shelter that I absolutely love and is the best job i've ever had, even if it can be depressing.

And I feel like a dumbass for writing a boring account of my life. I hate that. I feel like if I take the time to blog it should be interesting, i read this thing about blogs and about how the internet has made everyone believe that all the boring minutia of their day is fascinating to the rest of the world. But it's not.

So fuck it.

McCain will probably be president, i will always be poor, the ac in my car is broke and it september and still 95 degrees.
My stomach will never be flat, the director will steal all the glory for my show and one day my parents will find me naked on the internet.
All my ex-boyfriends will be famous and successful and last week an iguana carved the word 'KILL' and an arrow pointing to my person on my arm with its back claws. No lie, folks.
A guy that jerked off on me when I was passed out at a party will get me thrown out of a bar when my friends throw cigarette butts at him and Josh Richey, the cutest tattoo artist ever, will come into town and my phone will be broken and my internet down so i won't know about it til he leaves.

I'm not whining, I'm just rolling around in the muck of all this reality.

And I hear you. And it's not that the glass is alf empty. It's that the glass is half empty and the liquid that is inside the glass is cheap vodka, and someone has dropped a fireball in it, resulting in a flaming shitstorm of glass shards falling around me.

totally non sequiterized, here is me with some farrah hair.




and how huge my mouth is.