Tonight maybe the anti-whatever of a few nights previous. I am sober, I am eating whole grain pasta, I am in my own wifebeater, the couch is empty. Frankie confessed his lust for me, hot bartender fell in conversation love with me. I feel like I won. I should win. I ultimately feel like a dirtbag that needs to be more honest. No real winning. Tomorrow I will be more honest over a cup of coffee.

Speaking of honesty.. you are bullshit. You pushed so many friends away. You're desperate and rude and it shows so blatantly obviously that I feel sorry for you. I hate feeling sorry for people. HATE it. Despise it. When you come back, I'll still love you.. but until then.. is it your heart that has been so large for the past 6+ months.. or rather your head?

I hope Sara had the best birthday ever. (I love you, Sara!)

I feel slightly guilty and I can't help it. A guilt that an only (semi) selfless person can truly feel, I suppose. I've been encompassed in nights that end with quiet thoughts of "I can't wait to tell my offspring and their offspring about this." And then I think "Wow, I can't wait to tell Laura's unborn child these things." And that excites me, fucking real life. I hope it's a girl so I can tell her to slow down and never settle for anything but this feeling.. the feeling of beautifully adoring friends and loves of your life. So I can tell her to have an open heart that is wise beyond years, yet never guarded in any sort of defensive barbed wire. I hope it's a boy so I can tell him to be reckless in life, but extraordinarily careful in love. So I can tell him to be the best brother and son and father and boyfriend ever. Some boys haven't ever been told that. It's not their fault, they just never knew how fragile such a silly little organ could be.

What a giggling mess I've become. Grateful is an understatement. I can slap my best friend across the face with such force that both of our eyes lock in maddening shock.. and then we laugh. We laugh like we were watching some sort of amazing sitcom in which we both got the punchline. I can be tough with a side of love and a boy understands that I mean business. That I will slap him harder than her if he chooses to get on my bad side. I ride home on the back of another boy's bike, treacherously weaving in and out of the cracks of Elmwood while I try to puff on a Seneca and simultaneously hang on for dear life. I quietly think "What a good story.. I am living in the movie Now and Then and riding home on the bike of a wormer." We have good talks about life and how small Buffalo really is and we secretly tell eachother we never want to leave. I run inside and strip down to underwear, being greeted graciously by sassy Peterbilt. He reluctantly follows me around as I make my nightly routine of over-buttered, over-cheesed grilledcheese and I unconsciously dress into a dirty, gigantic wifebeater that has been left behind. Without much thought, I inhale it's fading smell of sweat and brash soap and I smile. Part of me is mad that I've become one of those girls, but the less rational part of me can't get over the way it fits perfectly in an odd manner. In 4 hours I will awake to drive my little, yet constantly growing brother his spare set of car keys. It's nice to know that he still needs me. That I should be annoyed and inconvenienced and aggravated, but I still need him too.

In a few days I will be on an epic journey, fleeing Eastward to the smell of an ocean and dirt and grime. I love this summer. I think I'm happy.

Stefffffan, hush up.

Oh god. It seems as though the treacherous weather, my broken digital cable box permanently stuck on Discovery Channel and the tattered and ravenously chewed computer plug are all in cahoots to ruin my day. Or to make me realize how much my body is going completely wild right now. How bad it hurts all over and how I'm in desperate need of a massage of sorts. Yikes, being a girl has been kind of awful recently and that is honestly the first time I've uttered such a phrase in all of my menstruating years. Alas, I am going to try to lay off the chemicals for a bit. I'm doing enough harm by drinking and smoking in a fashion nowhere near the term moderation, so maybe I'll give Alan's holistic methods a shot.

A woman outside of my apartment complex is making herself look like a real maniac right now. I can't say for sure that she "issss" a maniac, but she definitely is acting as though she has a few screws loose. And to an outsider, they'd think that.. but I heard her confrontational conversation escalate to the heights of her screaming "Shut your fucking fucked up motherfucker mouth, Steffffan!" I mean, he was really bugging her like a gnat divebombing on your last, tasty meal. All she wanted him to do was be quiet, calm down, take a step back and get out of her face. Now here they are, riled up on North St, causing a ruckus. She looks crazy, and he looks battered. Story of my life.

Last night was entertaining. Marshall and I created a non-Monday-Monday for ourselves. I got lectured on racism and reverse racism by a boisterous black man named Abraham who had the ability to take out all of his teeth in one swooping hand motion. Quite the party trick. I, as per usual, asked Marshall invasive questions and begged for advice on certain topics. And, unfortunately, I got quite an eye-opening view on things. Bummer, maybe. Not really, sort of. Ohhhh well.

I honestly don't even feel the slightest bit bad or remorseful because I have a few great great great things to look forward to. Even if they are "me me me" things. (Or silly unattainable, yet fun things).

How many times can I think and realize and know I am happy before it becomes cliche?!

I just spilled beer onto my laptop. Read between the lines..

So tonight I spent half of a previous paycheck on a bar tab, but it was worth it. It was worth it to be filled with familiarity and laughter and love that I've wondered about for so long. I won't be replaced, ever. It's validated. I am fucking happy.

I don't know how I all of a sudden hit the jackpot of life. Yes, I'm broke. Yes, my sister might go to jail and I will care for her unborn child. Yes, I still have a closet full of skeletons wreaking of past relationships and fucking cancer.. but fuck, I am happy. It's Nick's birthday and I am just bursting with a feeling I want him to feel. Fucking happiness.

And texts from Steph all of a sudden put everything into perspective and make me feel okay about life. About everything. About my situations and previous situations. I love her. Ya know, Because we could die tomorrow and so why the fuck shouldn't we live today?! Exactly.

If you're not now, you never were.

Hustle.

Shit. When did I turn into the bitch that cannot sleep alone? Seriously. I even deleted 98% of my phone contacts, which in turn means 100% of my shitty dude contacts are gone. How did I call you? Ohhh because you text me with super dumb hook up things. Blah. Delettttttte. Anyhow, tonight was fucking awesome. Even though Megan lost her camera and I unsuccessfully screeeeamed at the cab driver to "take me back to my English loverrrr!" I feel like it was a success.

Stephanieeeee.. I successfully "eye-fucked" someone. I owe the ability all to you. He was English (aka totally NON-BUFFALIONIAN) and tattooed and up my alley. Although I eye-fucked him and pretended I was not interested. I am dumb. English men have bad teeth though.. right? Fuck, I need something to justify my "hard to get" shitty attitude.

Ah, I am still in love with the bartender/bar back. But he "has a girl" in West Seneca. Meh, that whole scenario ruined it for me. It kind of made everything too real. A little crush first of all and now I am picturing his white picket fence and chocolate lab. I want to take it back to when he called me "babe" and "doll" and leave it at that. Oh wait.. tonight, yikes. "Nah, these drinks are from the boys and me". "You never know"- Sara. So true!

Oh well, this whole jam is null and void. Because I have decided that from now until I am 30 I am going to fuck like a dude. For real, 30 is my scary (even terrifying) age. 30 is when my life has either been successful or not. 30 I will (hopefully) marry and have beautiful babies named Ramona, Antoinette, Milo, Luca and Liam. 30 I will have settled into a fantastic job. Orrrrrrr 30 will just be the year when I reflect on the previous 8 years and realize how awesome it was to FUCK LIKE A DUDE.

Ah, total trainwreck.