fantabulous!
12:20 p.m. on 2005-10-22
In case my ex-parole officer reads this, and I am to be allowed a paranoid fantasy now and again, I am not going to go out and fill my arm with some delicious, delicious heroin. I've gone on a shopping binge, instigated by my upcoming job and the need of things to wear therefore. That was the worst sentence ever. So I get all sorts of new clothes, little skirts and everything, because I've somehow lost weight, and new makeup. The mall is a foreign country to me, but I can see why all those mall chicks think they're so cute. Have you ever looked at your complexion in the makeup counter mirror? They put a light over it that makes you look like aphro-fucking-dite. So, I show up to band practice wearing one of my new little skirts and tight little mall-girl sweaters and Brian says "That sexy look really works for you. You should go with it." Like he's my marketing agent or something. That guy needs a girlfriend and a different job. He's probably going to give me wardrobe hints for our first show. Does anybody who happens to read this have any helpful sleep hints? I'm on another insomnia trip. I think 18 hours a day of hard manual labor would help, but I can't buck hay or chop down old growth pine by hand, with the baby running around. I could beat her until she helps with the axe, but that's not my style.
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