Destroying My Mother’s Home, Getting The Cats High, And Giving Myself Arsenic Poisoning All In Less Than 48 Hours.

(Don’t worry, it wasn’t heroin like my other post. Just Valium made for cats. And possibly marijuana.)

I went to bed yesterday morning at 5:30 am and didn’t wake up until today at noon. At first glance, everything in my mother’s room (where I passed out) seemed fine. Then I rolled out of bed, my legs buckling under me, and the giant bruises all over my body yelling at me for trying to move.

There needs to be a “Do Not Serve” sign with a picture of me in every liquor and beer store in America. Perhaps the world.

It's better for everyone.
It’s really for the best.

So, [my boyfriend] and I had the best intentions. (The assumed joke here is how they pave the road to Hell, but I won’t underestimate your intelligence by explaining that. I’m just hungover.)

We bought some cheap vodka and made screwdrivers, and then started a relaxing bonfire for the evening to celebrate his 2 days off after 13 straight days of work. After a couple hours and 2 drinks (for him. I was on number 5 or 6, I always forget to count), he suddenly gets sick and has to go inside. Here’s where things get bad because I should never be left alone with alcohol and fire. That’s just common sense.

Instead of being a good girlfriend and nursing him back to health, I called some friends to come hang out with me and finish the liquor. (Except that’s never how it goes because once more than 2 people get together, shit. pops. off.) I finally got a few people to come over, only after lying to the question, “Are you sure you’re not gonna be wasted already when we get there?”

“Of course not!” lying through my goddamn teeth. “Maybe a bit tipsy, but I’ve only had like half a drink!” So my friend Crystal came over with her girlfriend (she’s a lesbian, but that’s just for background info) and also with 2 other girls who just graduated high school. I usually don’t hang out with children, but you can’t help who your friends bring over. Then my friend Ben came over with a couple guys and since it was raining, we all hung out on my patio drinking.

Crystal likes to play drinking games, so before I knew it, my mom’s glass table was in front of me covered in solo cups and I was bringing home my team in flip cup.

(I am the queen of drinking games. I will destroy everyone.)

Jump to next scene: more beer, more people, more solo cups. We’re all in my basement and I have my stepdad’s $3,000 acoustic, stumbling into everyone and playing “American Pie”. I’m making up my own lyrics in place of the ones I’ve forgotten and I make the mistake of noting how the one girl is winning beer pong because of her distracting boobs.

Suddenly, she and some other girls are taking off their shirts and my basement has become a weird, homemade version of “Girls Gone Wild”. (With the music of Don McLean in the background and everyone is smoking cigarettes.) I’ve never seen so many boobs in one place. At this point, I’m now more self-conscious than ever.

Later, we’re all outside dancing around the bonfire pit, after I’ve taken apart the actual woodbox and used the planks for fire wood. (I’m gonna get in SO MUCH TROUBLE.) People have sparklers and now I’m playing “Piano Man” on my keyboard (we brought it outside) with my stepdad’s guitar on my back, and occasionally pulling out his harmonica for those parts. People are smashing beer bottles against my siding.

Again… So. Much. Trouble.

Great fire, though.
Great fire, though.

That’s all I remember, but the scene from this morning tells the rest of the story. The bag of kitty-Valium treats is open on the kitchen floor and almost empty. The cats seem fine, but who really knows?

My house is a fucking mess, though. As usual, my alcoholism has gotten me in a jam, but hopefully more alcohol is the solution. (Also, I think the planks from the woodbox are pressure treated so I might have arsenic poisoning. My parents can’t be mad at me if I’m dead.)

Have a great day, everybody!

I Stepped On A Nail And It Went Through My Flip Flop.

(Is the word “flip flop” supposed to be hyphenated? The English language is annoying.)

This whole week has been like stepping on nails and misspelling words. (Note: I just misspelled the word “misspelling”. Exactly.) It’s been the kind of week filled with sadnosity and the quasi-suicidal-ness that only comes with being over dramatic.

Today for instance, I didn’t realize my pants were inside out until someone at the grocery store asked if I was really a size 7. I wanted to ask why they were reading my pants, but I’m nice so I said yes, and then proceeded to discuss the price of chicken for what felt like an hour.

Then yesterday, I had a “First Blood”-esque fight/manhunt with a spider that might literally have been the size of Sylvester Stallone. I hid in a corner for 30 minutes armed with a fly swatter and piece of cardboard that I made into a shield. Eventually, [my boyfriend] just came over and hit it with his shoe and then asked me to clean up the fort I made out of sheets and boxes because it was blocking his office area.

I reluctantly said yes, but Vietnam changes a man. That spider could have pursued me for weeks.

"Nothing is over! Nothing! You just don't turn it off! It wasn't my war!"
“Nothing is over! Nothing! You just don’t turn it off! It wasn’t my war!”

Then I found out that my ex boyfriend/first love got his girlfriend pregnant and I totally freaked. I realize I have no right to be upset, but we were gonna have a baby too and I lost it. (Pity me and I’ll stab you. Don’t make this blog sad.) Mostly, I’m pissed that everyone I’ve ever loved or been best friends with has replaced me with a fat and less-attractive redhead.

phone 466

Seriously, even my best friend all through middle school and high school dropped me for another redhead who was just a poop version of me.

(I bet Lindsay Lohan deals with this sort of thing all the time.)

So all in all, the nail-in-the-flip-flop-thing wasn’t so bad. Things could always be worse, like being hunted by a large spider or wearing inside-out pants to church.