I'm convinced far too many people are bullshit. And I guess when you finally come right out and tell them they are bullshit, they end up yearning for you even more. Part of me knows it's one of those "I can't handle you not liking me" situations.. another, more vain and self-absorbed (yet altogether oblivious) part of me wishes it was what it seems to be. Wishes it was as simple as "you don't know what you got 'til it's gone". Rather exhausting, if you ask me. But for some reason, for some fucked up reason, I love hearing "sorry". Maybe it's due to months and months lacking apologies, who knows.

My stomach is hurting over the new Death Cab for Cutie album. (In a good, great way). It makes me want to make memories that I will reminisce over when I replay song after song.

I went with Ian to watch him get tattooed by Erich. It was nice spending time with two of the most down to earth guys I know. Entertaining, genuine conversation immersed us for 3 hours. It felt comforting.

I've been sleeping about 15 hours a day. What is wrong with me?

I am confident that if I quit drinking I would lose the 20lbs I've been packing on like some grizzly bear anticipating hibernation.

Such a shame that I don't know how to have a good time without a drink or nine. Kidddddding, right?

Oh well, maybe I can meet up with Joey from the Real World and we can go kayaking or take some long walks in the park sans alcohol.

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).

I'm okay with doing whatever floats your boat.. just don't make waves in my sea.



(I only want the good waves that jolt your stomach and flood your heart and don't let two ships solely pass in the night.. and maybe even shoot you ridiculous looks that are filled with weird intentions across a dirty bar at 3am because I can see you are unhappy. Maybe I am crazy, maybe you need to stop having a girlfriend and I need to stop letting undeserving people take tiny parts of myself.)

Since when does skin color matter? Seriously, it's 2008, get with the fucking times! Ah, the transition from "third room" to "la luna" was basically three white girls getting murdered. Yikes. Annnnnd Luna bartender can quit calling me by my first name and/or acknowledging my presence because I am donnnnne with it. Done as in.. yeah sure I will check out your ass, but you are a bartender aka Buffalo Celeb with a girlfriend and I will not participate in the game.



On the contrary, today was kind of fucking really awesome. I liked it. And I love Sara and Courtney because we moved from hustling to balling to dancing like ethnic bitches.

Ohio was fantastic. Ohio was home, in fact. Everyone and their Southern drawls, lazy days and awe of Buffalo. I'm growing to let it grow on me. I detoxed for a few days and actually felt alive. Shame that I came home and ran to a pack of Senecas as if it were my life support, but to each his own.

I officially missed people while I was gone. I understand it was only a few days, but I've crumbled my wall and in return built up some amazingness that I enjoy. Some solid ground, if you will.

I get myself into pickles often. A persistent pickle in the middle is how I feel. I'm testing the waters on one end of the pickle, but I just absolutely cannot bring myself to give up the other, sooo so far away, end. An end that could be a great beginning if I were still a dreaming, hopeless romantic. If I wasn't so goddamn cynical. If I shed my skin a little and got a tan. But this other end, shit, it's been good. Great, even? I hesitate to say great because after great things get ambiguous and iffy and.. why not stay at great? I shall. A pickle, indeed.

And, bluntly, why does everyone have a problem with great? Well, only a problem that my back has had the leisurely pleasure of overhearing. hah

Spring fever has gotten so many people riled up. Negatively and positively, but more heavily on the downside. I wonder about many individuals. I've always been a sincerity skeptic, but come on. Or rather, don't. Way too much "sweating the small stuff" when, in fact, there is not nearly enough heat to warrant perspiration. I know too many chronic perspirers (is that a word?) who love sweating the small stuff and actually enjoy making others yearn for a fan and cool drink of water. How do you do this to "good friends"? How do you purposely try to make people feel bad by resorting to the most petty of tactics? Who knows. I sure as fuck don't know, but I'll play along if that is what floats boats around here.

I'm cutting ties, apron strings even. If you're not know you never were. And if you never were, I'm ashamed for trying. And if you were trying, we wouldn't be having this conversation.

Marley, here I come.

I'm going to miss some. Others, not so much. Drama, certainly not.. drama would fit into the "not so much" category.