In Which The Printer Doesn't Work But I Keep Looking Busy and Efficient

At work, starving, and unable to print. I could ask the computer guy, and I'm sure he could fix it, but he just stepped out and I don't feel like being productive. Which brings me here, with an empty stomach and constant fretting.

The hunger, unlike the fretting, feels good.

I decided I'm running away next week. Three weeks will have passed since I last got to see Matt, and Jesus H Christ on ice, I'm losing my damn mind.I miss him (like the deserts miss the rain).

The closer this wedding gets, the higher my anxiety levels go. My contract will be ending right around the time of the bachelor(ette) party. Of course, the plan seems to be going to Vegas. Which I really can't afford, between saving and drinking (which is the only thing saving my sanity right now) and overall living expenses, that doesn't leave too much to play with. Unfortunately right now, getting out of Michigan is more important than going to Vegas. I can save and go to Vegas anytime. And there's still the whole matter of who do I take to the wedding? Is this going to be about my sanity or hers? I'm probably going to be a drunk sour Sally already because having photographic evidence of me standing next to striptease falcon gazelle amazons is already going to be enough to send me over the edge. Not to mention that I can't even properly celebrate my birthday, which will at least put me on the sad sack bus and make it have a layover in pissy town. But I feel like shit because this is supposed to be about her and not about me. Read as: minimal drama. Things may or may not get shitty if I bing Matt, so I have Richard as a backup date. *gasp for breath* Aaaaaaaaaand let's not ignore that I have to buy my dress, a present, my shoes, my hair, crash diet like hell...I'm going to try to have a chic, economical wedding, because this is absolutely bonkers.

I've considered writing to an etiquitte column for guidance on what's appropriate. Upon consult of my peers, they seem to advise against low-cut dresses with sky high heels. The heels are non negotiable. I'm going to need a 4-inch minimum.

I am a bad daughter. I didn't forget my mom's birtday, but I forgot a card and a present. I also forgot that offering to buy dinner doesn't fix that. I also forgot that my mom is psycho about cards and forgetting one is on par with forgetting her birthday.

I'm thirsty, but I'm drying out. Thursday is the only day I'm allowed to drink until the end of March. I gotta go to Name That Tune at the Bench Pub and dominate. It's like joining a soccer team, only its getting drunk with Katy. And I'm good. Really good. Like Alliance offers good. Like the only thing I'm excelling at good.

I got invited to the gym. I don't know if I'm flattered or offended. Or maybe people were just tired of hearing me bitch about my weight.

Pretty sure once April hits, I'm undergoing a metamorphasis. Can we say pixie cut?

Pixie cut.

And once summer happens, this shit is going to be pink and/or blonde.

In Which I Break Stuff

...mostly dresses.

I broke a dress and couldn't fit into others. I didn't cry. Well, I didn't cry at the mall. I told myself no, and for some stupid reason, I listened. Maybe it was my sober voice of reaason. Instead of crying, I ate a whole pizza, plus chicken dumplings, smoked a cigarette, and crawled into bed feeling more than a little sorry for myself.

It's just one of those fat, lonely failure nights.

I just found out that one of my best friends from childhood got accepted to go to school in England. Bad food, worse weather, Mary Poppins, yeah, that England. It just sucks that everyone gets to move forward with their life and here I am, a size 14 (or 16, depending on the store and the dress), living at home with a two something GPA, no letters of rec, a long distance boyfriend, no steady paycheck after july, and an overwhelming need for outside validation.

At least I'm not pregnant.

Jesus H. Christ on ice and Mary in the peanalty box, I would kill a child if it meant someone would hug me and tell me it gets better and mean it.

Where's the celebrity campaign for that? I'm first in line.

Ugh. I'm grossing myself out with this pity party.

off to do something that will make me forget, or at least make my brain go shhhhh.

In Which I Wake Up and Cry For No Reason

I know I am not perfect. I swear I've been aware of this for quite some time. I can't shake this feeling that I'm less than because I'm not perfect. Everyone seems to be disappointed, even though I'm still trying.

I like steady paychecks. And insurance. That's the only thing keeping me at this job. Yesterday I had to come in, even though the kids had the day off. I did about five minutes of actual work and then proceeded to bitch like Dante from Clerks about how I wasn't supposed to be here today. It doesn't look good for my grad school fund.

I still have today off and I am going to shop and remind myself about how drunk I'm going to get Saturday. Saturday is the official bridesmaids meet and greet, and I can solidify what I knew all along: beached whales are my spirit animal. We are all shopping together, and the only way this will not end in tears is if I have enough rum and wine in me to kill a large dog. I just have to be careful if I try on shoes. The last thing I need to pay for is a pair of shoes I barely like because I drunkenly toppeled off a pair of 4 inch heels and broke them.

Things with Matthew are still good, even though I can't help but wonder how attracted he is to a fat girlfriend. We're still talking about moving in, and I'm still wondering how I'm going to explain that one to my mother. Everything I come up with sounds like a bad sitcom/ romantic comedy plot. I miss him always and today is particularly bad. Another year of this is not going to fly. Just once I'd like to live in the same city as someone I'm dating. Give that a whirl and see what the fuss is about.

My hair is growing out. Slowly, but surely.

Now I'm going to play Animal Crossing and wish someplace delivered bagels.

In Which I Don't Mind When Shit Happens

I started my car this morning. The engine turned over, I swear. My mother as my witness. This was early, before I had to leave. Then I actually had to leave and the fucker wouldn't do what it just did less than an hour before. I called AAA, because during my last roadside assistance call, they said I couldn't do anything until March 1, 2011. Lucky me. I get on the phone with AAA and they told me that I can't do anything until I pay the renewals for all three accounts. I wasn't gonna. So I call my mom I don't even know how many times, and all by bumass friends are working, so I am stuck at home. I called in to work, said I was going to try to make it, but I wasn't going to promise anything. Mom finally gets back to me...TWO HOURS (after the initial call) LATER. She calls AAA and gets things straightened out. I get the green light to call AAA and use a service call. So here I sit, waiting for AAA, watching MTVHits and preparing to get the fuck out and by a new battery. I don't mind, because I'm in counting the days until the end of my contract mode.

Also, I enjoy the playlist on MTVU way too much. How was I unaware of the awesomeness of "Barbara Streisand" by Duck Sauce and the absolute party known as the LCD Soundsystem video for "Drunk Girls"? Sheeeeiiiit.

Feeling so fly like a G6.

I can't wait to be done here, so I can move out and call somewhere else home.

Why? Because I love him. Why? Because I can excel acedemically there. Why? Because it's time the future quit taking its sweet ass time.

Dear MTV: why must gyrating children make more money than i ever will with any kind of advanced degree?

...awkward.