Good evening ladies and gentlemen.
Thanks for coming to see the show. However, it seems to me that I have misplaced the programs to hand out. And the scripts. Costumes. All I have is the the fake, sunless tanner smeared all over my torso, arms, face, and the parts of my back I could reach on my own. I should really take out my contact lenses to make myself more presentable, but I'm so terribly not in the mood. So they shall remain in and my contacts case shall remain empty...my contact lens solution container with just as many ounces in it as there were this morning. Current Mood:
I'm accustoming to SD pretty nicely. I could use a few more friends and a tad bit more cash in my pocket, but what can you do? That's what I get for the outrageous shopping sprees my Visa card endured these past couple weeks. I'm sure my liver's not to fond of the escapades I put it through since my arrival in California. But I've been down. I have no friends with the exception of my algebra book and my TI-89 plus, which I actually sold on eBay a few hours ago. I didn't know the original 89 was going to be so fucking prehistoric. I want my gadgets new and up-to-date.
Think that's all I got for now. I'm fucking exhausted. But I decided earlier this evening that I want to start saving the world, one gay young man at the time. And no, not my penetrating them with my penis: that would be wrong, but by providing a shoulder on which they can cry/lean on and provide excellent advice free of charge.
Lucci comes back tomorrow. I don't know how I feel about that. Hope to god it's not all going to be "I love my girlfriend" this and that. Because if it does turn into that, I'm fucking hanging myself. Throw myself out of this 3rd story window. I wouldn't necessarily feel the greatest about leaving a cesspool of a mess for the Mexican janitors on base to clean it up, but I'm sure they'll find something in my wallet they'd enjoy as payment.
C'est la vie.
I'm too exhausted to fix typos right now. And I don't think I'll find it necessary to do it later. It's my fucking journal. I'll do what I want.