Yawl go to church this mornin'?

Everything sucks. I want to be at that god damn house warming party sooooooooooooo bad although I'm skeptical if people could hang with a nocturnal one like myself. Last stripper party I went to one of my favorites was incapacitated on the stairwell by the time I arrived.

Lord knows I ain't made any friends in this city. I almost did one night. The night I got fed up with the "all ages show" Courtney got us into. I left and ended up at a girlie dancin' bar called Outlaws and some old man came up and asked me "why don't you go home where people love you?" He gave me ruby slippers and now... I've decided to go to Georgia.

Atlanta is at least as interesting as Portland, not quite as foreign to me and full of old memories but still... interesting.
All I want is a big and juicy steak. I'd fry it up with some Worcestershire sauce and butter, leave it pink in the middle. Oh and some okra, yeah and squash.

I talked to Kiah (the kinder-gardener) when I was in Brooklyn. I told her I was hungry and she told me she'd send me a plate of food. Said she'd send fish and potatoes and even a dessert of chocolate pie. It sounded great but unfortunately five-year-olds are not good at following through with the ideas they conceptualize.

and I'm off to enter another hell. At least it's a hell where all of my clothes and books are. I've been living with the same clothes all summer and losing panties along the way. In the old days I would write more about the panties but this estrip thing has grown to frightening proportions. I'll have to save some stories for when I visit Buffalo.


What's sad is I have Courtney's apartment to myself this weekend and I'm not even enjoying it. I've been depressed. Every movie I watch or book I read makes me tear up. Faulkner's Two Soldiers almost killed me. Anything that involves the disillusionment of children, I find especially upsetting. Usually media bounces right off of me but lately all that emotional shit, I've been absorbing it like a maxi pad and the illusion of pain, whether masterfully rendered or poorly, briefly becomes my own real pain..

and no, it's not PMS. I'm just crazy. It must be that I miss my vibrator. Water pressure is getting boring. maybe I just miss my space and solitude. yeah, I really miss those things. I dreamed I was being chased by these two men last night. I had to do all this ninja shit to get rid of them. Then I had to explain to Donnie and Chante what I was doing in their house watching the flat screen. and for some oddly disturbing reason Marc Bohlen was there.

The saddest part... I lost Bruce here in Portland. He was a little yellow action figure who followed me from elsewhere. I plan on making a commemorative video.