It'll be a hot, hot summer in Hell.

Quick update--
The Dark Horse gig didn't work out for Adam. It's for the better, I'm positive, but we can't move into the Camp Crystal Lake apartments. There will be other neat apartments sans cheesy horror references, I'm sure. I finished the El Bravo drink from OTH. It came in a bowl with the longest straw I've ever seen. I sort of thought maybe it was for sharing, but I'm hardcore. It mostly tasted like juice, and was overall disappointing. My resume is working on a job transcribing police interrigations and entering police reports. Dad will probably get his truck repossessed. Mom is selling the house. I'm mostly really tired of my family right now. Hell, I'm tired all of the time anyway, maybe I accidentally sedate myself with one of the fifty pills it feels like I take everyday. Life feels like juggling. I watched Hard Core Logo. I fell asleep, though. I wanted to get an Amy Winehouse CD, but then I just felt ridiculous about it and didn't. A lady at work asked me if I wished I could go back to school, and I never thought about it. I guess if I could get back into Reed College with enough scholarships to have it cost $1000 a semester again, I would. Sometimes I feel like I've blown opportunities, but then I think of all the fun I would have missed. I could have dissected ancient Roman texts, or I could have lived with a crazy Canadian punk rocker and a cat. I could have studied sociological theory and been fluent in Spanish right now, but failing Spanish 110 twice is a character-building activity. There are things more important than traditional benchmarks of personal success, like experiences. You know, "Life is like the surf, give yourself like the sea"? But everytime I get too wrapped up in that glorious thought of thesis writing and studying and neglecting personal hygeine so I can study more, I remember those kids in their designer clothes and their dorm fridges stocked with Smirnoff Ice and I remember all things end for a reason. And damn, what a reason it was. I think I cited social class differences on my withdrawal form. It just seems funny now.

I'm in love with a man, he rides a dark horse.

Last Saturday, Adam and I made plans and got bailed out on. This is very typical of the party involved, so it was no big deal. We ended up on Craigslist, as Adam has been pretty worried about the job market. I found a job for Things from Another World as an internet customer service representative. TFAW doesn't even list their employment opportunities on their own website, so it was an awesome fluke. Adam applied with his resume. He wrote a letter explaining how he loves comics and would do anything to work there. He interviewed Monday and was hired on Tuesday. He'll work for TFAW at the Dark Horse headquarters. They asked him to get his license within 60 days. One problem: Adam has never driven before. He asked me to teach him to drive, while his parents stood by with their eyebrows raised. "Teaching someone to drive or to play pool really tests a relationship," his dad said. I took Adam to a parking lot on Wednesday, and he did pretty well. He only scared me once, and did well driving my car around the concrete islands with bushes and trees. We're going to get his permit tomorrow, and I'm sure he'll get that no problem. We're having a cram session tonight with pho noodles and beer. YES. So, things are really working out. Soon, we're thinking of moving to downtown Milwaukie so he can be close to his job. I really don't want to move anywhere near my workplace.

It was my sister's 21st birthday on Wednesday. I bought her some vodka and martini mixes, with a cocktail shaker and cups. She wanted to have dinner at Portland City Grill, but everyone had to pay for their own dinner. There is no way I'm paying $30 just for dinner, so I kindly declined. My parents were going to go and meet my sister there with her boyfriend. Unfortunately, my dad came home so drunk he couldn't walk before dinner, so they had to bow out as well. You would have thought it was my dad's 21st birthday.

It is inexplainable how happy I am that today is Friday. I really need a day off. I need a week off. I need a permanent vacation. I need to go back to bed and spend the day watching cheesy movies. I need to get some tattoos and win the lottery. I need to go to Vegas, get that Continental I've always wanted, and get lost in the desert.

Lovelies

Abby



Squid Vicious



Rufus



Hughie



Couldn't get her to sit still, not even for a minute!

I'll see you on American Idol

This week, I took a vacation day to rest and get some yearly medical shit out of the way. I was getting my blood taken, which is a very stressful process for me. I haven't done it since I was 16. I cannot look at the needle, I cannot have it taken out of my elbow because my veins aren't and have never been, big enough for that, and if I get poked more than once, my likelihood of passing out increases dramatically. This lady opted for the pediatric method and took the blood from the back of my hand. I was squeezing this stress ball that looked like grapes to make my veins pop. All of the sudden, she goes, "YOU LOOK LIKE THAT GIRL ON AMERICAN IDOL. GLOCKSEN." My parents got divorced and live in the same house. The only time they are not at each others' throats is while watching American Idol. The night before, my boyfriend was telling me how cute Gina Glocksen is. I thanked the phlebotomist lady, and was standing up to leave, and told her to have a good one. "You too," she said. "I'll see you on American Idol."

Gina got voted off that very same evening. Ha.

My boss told me to stop using the internet at work. Apparently I was flagged for internet usage. I guess this is against the rules, but I've always been a rebel. God, how lame, how ridiculous, how sad. I also found out she looks up MySpace profiles for people at work. I made my private no more than 5 minutes after learning that.

Last night, darling and I went to the Hungry Tiger. I had some bad vodka crans and we talked about history. A guy with a bad combover had too much Bud Light and was talking really loud about how he was unjustly fired from Wells Fargo to some old tweaker. It's like how Erasure inspired bands everywhere on how not to be: I hope I move on with my life, from everything awful, all of the time.

I should call Angele and see how Allister's doing. I have never seen a cuter little kid in my whole life. I wonder if he's big enough for his Marilyn Manson onesie yet. That kid will probably grow into a devil lock and a shit-eating grin, and although I've only seen him a few times, I'll adore him for it.