Whoops...

When I am this hungover and did something that bad last night, I only find comfort in fast food, my cat and textsfromlastnight.com.
I came home today with a serious hangover, dropped off at my parents by an NFL draftee who just finished his last season at Wake Forest in my parent's town, Winston-Salem (yeah, I'm seriously bragging about a ONS...and yeah, I have abbreviated one-night-stand to ONS).
I had to go to church, since it was Easter and I stayed out all night partying so I had to crawl out of the hole I dug last night and hopefully meet sweet Jesus at the top. I walked in the back door and my dad said, "Put on your dress, grab some water and I'll be waiting in the car for you."I seriously wish that I were Catholic so I could go to confessional and make the priest squirm.
So I walked upstairs to change, feeling pretty crappy, and in came Charlie, happy as hell to see me, even in my worthless state. He rubbed against my calves and purred 'cause baby, his love is unconditional. He's like, "Hey! I missed you!", and I'm like, "Oh, you were the best thing that ever happened to me, sweet boy." And we are blissful.
I haven't been to church in years. I don't have much in common with the Worshiping Kind. I have never felt like I really needed to repent, and I actually didn't know what that feels like, until today. The expression, "sweating like a whore in church", well, I felt like it applied to me today. The sermon droned on and the house was packed. I think that this priest crammed in every original idea about life into his sermon because he didn't know if we'd ever be back in church. And he was right, we won't.
I don't really know what I did last night (aside from a bar and a football house -- ick in retrospect) but I know that I was outrageous with my vocals and probably the content of my vocals. In this state, I take such comfort in reading the submissions to textfromlastnight.com. I think that even though I don't know the people who wrote those, we're united in our hangover. It's hard to believe how often during most people's college career, they have outrageous nights that involve booze, sex and lots of shit-shooting. Or maybe that's just life.

If FML posted novels

As a form of therapy, I decide to have this awesome frozen yogurt, Mochi, which just happens to be owned by Bento where I worked for 2 years and left on horrible terms. Too bad I am completely obsessed with Mochi and have had it 3 days in a row despite the cold looks from the staff. At Mochi, it's set up for self-service and you are charged by the ounce ($0.45 per ounce). It's super delicious; the flavors are mostly ethnic sweetie flavors: Taro, Green Tea, etc. and then you top it with fresh fruit. So I do up my bowl, I call it MochiTherapy, and go to the register to pay my old boss who I never told I was quitting; just never responded to her texts. She weighs it and charges me.
$9.03. 18.8 oz of Mochi. That is over a pound.
I swerve all over the road eating my Mochi in the car.
There are times when I am driving and being alone in the car couldn't be lonelier.
My gas tank: empty, cell phone battery: in the red, check engine light: on, trash: everywhere.
Every song on my iPod is sadder than the last.
(Think Warning Sign by Coldplay)
Every song reminds me of being in the car with someone who I no longer ride in the car with.
I am so lonely because I have been abandoned by the resources that I surround myself with to keep me company when it's necessary to ride in the car alone.
Then I decide to go to Hollywood Video for a romantic comedy to cheer me up.
I choose Wasted which is on heroine use among American teens and Children of Men, on infertility in the UK set in 2026 and the struggle of a pregnant fugee.
I go to pay, there is a hold on my account for 9 late movies, totalling $79 in late fees.
I know that as someone who blogs, it's expected that I exaggerate. And sometimes I do. I wish this were fiction. This couldn't be more true. Except that I only had $60 in late fees, but still.
I've been in this haze of self-pity.
At a high school graduation party (I am a should-be sophomore in college), I am standing alone and who walks in but the loneliest mother fucker on the planet and guess what? He's had a crush on my for years. There we were, observing the high school seniors who have their high school skinny and their diplomas and 4 great years to look forward to in college. And here I am, a 1st year drop out with 30 extra pounds and a full time clerical position. It's not funny. It really isn't. But I can't stop laughing.
I was yelled at in the DMV today for going to the wrong room to get a duplicate ID, to replace the one that was in the beautiful Sabina bag that I lost when drunk last Monday. I went to the room where the driving tests are taken. I stood there and looked around in my jogging shorts and tank top like I was probably in the wrong room. Then the lady who calls the ticket numbers yells to me, "I said to go to the last room on the right, ma'am."
I don't miss anything in my purse except for my old ID in which I was 16, playing soccer and weighed 125 lbs. When I showed it to people, they knew I'd had a rough time and had gained a bunch of weight lately. Sometimes old black men in Chevron shirts who call me "Baby" would throw in a free lighter when I bought cigarettes with it.
One morning a few days ago, my hangover was interrupting my sleep so I decided to swim laps at the pool in my neighborhood. I had major hysteria because I couldn't even swim 2 laps without getting winded. I decided to lie down in a lawn chair and think because it was one of those days when I was nearsighted by my thoughts. I ended up in tears thinking of this tragic life that I have been living so I tried to pray for guidance and at the thought of myself in a lawn chair at a public pool, crying in a one-piece and praying to God at 9:00 on a Sunday morning, I ended up laughing and going inside to call my friend and tell her of my nonsense.
This is so unbelievably comical and so pathetically factual.
Sometimes in my mind, I am a Bohemian princess who casts spells on men with charm and makes my cat's life worth living.
Today, I am a train wreck.