well...that's that

I keep on saying that.

Does it mean anything?

It is my mantra for the forthcoming week.

This week's joy: I have an apartment. It has gas and electricity. I am a grown up.

This week's pain: I need to get my shit back from a control freak. The sis' boy is suddenly attractive to the open market. The boy who broke my heart in a million pieces is now blogging. I am overwhelmed and numb and alone.

Other than that- really I'm great.

OH! New resolution. No more relationships.
I would like a harem of boys with good stories and good drugs who can give me some. I could be like some kind of hostel for irresponsible cute boys everywhere. And they have to be good kissers. And they would never ever be allowed to tell me how terrible I am.

On the other hand, I'm 31 - so that's not going to be so easy.

p.s. hey soon to be ex-husband - do not debate the origin of any book in that damn apartment with me....my drugs of choice are caffine, nicotine and boys. Nothing there that kills brain cells. Therefore i remember this shit.

p.p.s. hey guy who killed all my cred and then dumped my ass - stop linking TAL and talking about wolf parade - i gave you that TAL story. Shit I wore a TAL t-shirt when you started making out with me on clark st. TAL is mine and not yours.

p.p.s.s. OH MY GOD - i so need to get over all this shit. i hate pms. maybe this is the week to go back on the magic pills.

p.p.p.s.s. where do I meet these irresponsible boys?