12.30.03 No spell check today, boys & girls. Deal with it. --- begin rant --- Why is it that every single night since my vacation started that I have had a housefull of guests? Every single fucking night I sit down on the sofa in my fucking pajamas, eating xanax - cookies - chips - whatever, and the doorbell rings? And I'm not talking like 1 person here, I'm talking a carload or two of BF's friends who are home for the holidays looking for a place to party. At our old house two fucking years ago, when I was always up for partying - this was a common occurance. Now - with my grown-up furniture, white burber carpet, and sense of responsibility, I don't like it anymore. I don't like people crashing on my three-thousand dollar sofa (I'm such a dumbass for that one) or drooling on my suede pillows, or PUKING on my white carpet, or laying out lines on my damn coffee table! But what people remember is that BF & I used to "throw down" every night of the week, with our broke-down futon in the livingroom and our milkcrate furniture... It's a constant battle. And I have become what I always hated - the overprotective possesor of nice furniture. Just "things"... just "possesions"... just things that I worked my sweet ass off to pay for. --- end rant --- --- begin rant again --- I swear to God, I sat in the livingroom and entertained two pregnant girlfriends of BF's unmarried buddies (who by the way, work at fast food joints with hopes of supporting thier new child) discussing the typical things. You know, having babies when you're not married or when you're barely 18, unemployed, and living with your BF's parents. They looked at me really funny - asking me when BF and I were going to procreate - and getting an answer of "probably never".... hahhahahahahaha. I was the oldest person in the room by 5 years, and at 25 years old, I was a total freak for not being "knocked up" by a complete loser. --- end of second rant --- |
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