twothousandten

New Years fucking sucks. But, as much as I hate to admit it, I will be partaking in this binge drinking, false-hope-spreading, pseudo optimistic, excuse for excessive glitter, "holiday". I guess I am making what you would call "A Resolution". Barf. (Note To Self: Resolute the over-use of quotation marks).

No...I will not partake in the dressing-up-like-you-look-like-a-cheap-fucking-disco-ball-from-Forever-21 show of girls. I will not be one of the drunken twenty -somethings on the dance floor with their vodka soda bopping around to synthesized Lady Gaga; "Oh I LOOOVVEEE THIS SONG". I will not act like I can drop it low. I will not participate in the outspoken countdown from 10 to 1. I will not kiss someone at midnight and have naive misconceptions about what love really is.

Every New Years since I can remember has been shitty. From hair pulling, to break ups, to cheating, to jail, to failed friendships, to big mistakes, and many, many tears. New Years has always been bad for me.

But...I'm feeling sorta cheesy and slightly optimistic at the moment. So...as of now...I resolute the following:

1. To be me. Sometimes I censor my immaturity and cower away when I feel shy and vulnerable. But shit...thats me. I'm sick of making excuses for my awkwardness. I'm a little strange sometimes. I shouldn't have to make excuses for this. Accept the weirdo.

2. Explore. I've hardly been anywhere. I mean...In my mind I have been to planets that don't even exist yet...but here on what we call Earth (major restraint from quotations there), I want to see more. The farthest East I've been of the West Coast has been Arizona...(judging)....it's sad but true. I'm not afraid. I want to see the world.

3. Me. I want to take more care of myself. I can go weeks without flossing, a day or two without a shower, hair in a messy pony and out the door. Shaving? Who cares. Pick up wrinkled clothes off the floor and throw 'em on. I'm a lady...I should act like one.

Pessimistic veil: back on. Have a happy New Year. Just know that you can start new anytime.

"It's just that everything I try to do, nothing seems to turn out right"

"In high school, I thought you were a total bitch, but...you're actually pretty cool."

In 10th grade the volleyball coach wouldn't let me be starting DS the second half of the season because of my "attitude". I had no idea what she was talking about.

"If you don't get that look off your face you're benching it the rest of the game!" This was a phrase I was use to hearing on a weekly basis.

I truly believe I'm just one of those people who was born with a "bitch face". I realize we live in a society where we judge people based off their hairstyle, their clothes, makeup, car, etc., but aren't we suppose to get to know people before we start placing labels? I know I don't bleed sunshine on a regular basis, but I'd like to think that I'm a pretty friendly girl. Sure, I know how to turn on the bitch switch when needed but I generally don't unless; A) You're being really mean to one of my friends, B) You are shitty to me first, or C) I see you as competition in boy situation.

First impressions are bullshit. I hate the phrase "A first impression is everything". Not true. First impressions are either fake as hell or so honest that they come off as something fake anyway. I'm slightly socially awkward. Yeah I have friends and like to go out on the weekends, but I have to admit, I definitely know how to make the "wrong" kind of first impression.

I live within extremes. I'm always too much of this, not enough of that. Never a middle ground. Sometimes I'm too shy, other times I can't even stop my own word vomit. I guess it just depends on how I feel around you. Intuition? I can be shy, quiet and aloof around people I feel intimidated by. If I'm in a group of people who I don't really know and they're all talking about something they saw/did, etc., Im not the type of person to jump in the convo with my two cents. I will most likely daydream, cross my arms and glance awkwardly around the room. I see how this can be misconstrued. My intentions are not to look like a snotty brat. It's just that maybe I think you're a cool person, with interesting things to say, and I'm afraid of opening my mouth because of what you will think of me. I would rather get criticized by something I don't say than something I do say. Too self conscious? Maybe. That's just me.

I hate when people don't like me after only 30 minutes of knowing me. It's not that I feel the need to be loved by everyone, but I'm kind of a complex girl, there's more to me than the half hour you spent across the table from me...lets at least have a real conversation before you decide to not like me for one reason or another. Maybe I'm just being overly-sensitive about this but I can't help but feel hurt when people get the wrong idea.

Maybe I should just start speaking up. If anything, it makes sense mathmatically. Being mute and looking awkward = negative judgement. Talking = friendly = higher chance of looking "normal" = higher probability of making a "good" impression vs. defaulting to hair twirling and floor glancing. Talking > not talking.

As I venture into my late twenties I am coming to terms with the fact that I'm never going to be that charismatic girl. In high school I was nominated for some winter formal thing, but turned it down because of the fear of having to walk all dressed up in front of the entire school. I literally had to go to the principal's office and tell him I didn't want them to call my name over the loudspeaker in the morning announcements. I wasn't trying to be a stuck up princess. I genuinely feared the possibility of criticism from my classmates.

I realize insecurity is not the most desirable or attractive quality. Again...like I said...I live within extremes. I'm shy and awkwardly weird but then blurt out how shy and awkwardly weird I am. There's nothing like self depricavation. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make in a very half-assed, tangential way, is that I don't mean to be such a bitch. My shitty demeanor is not intentional. Next time I side glance at you or smirk as I stir the ice in my drink...take it as a compliment. It means I find you amusing. It means I think you're someone with something intelligent/interesting to say and I just can't think of a damn thing to say because I'm unimpressed with my own dialogue.

And for the record I think my "bitch face" is pretty intimidating. Coach should have let me start more games.

I'm a vegetarian...but I still love a Burger.

As I downed what was left of my 40 oz. Coors Light (yeah I'm classy) I checked my reflection once more in my toothpaste smeared mirror. Maybe I need more eyeliner? Should I trim my bangs real quick? Why the hell am I wearing this dumb hoodie to a bar? Should I try to dress more girly? Shit. I should have used Whitestrips today. I applied another unnecessary layer of $16 lip gloss and headed out the door. For some reason pricey, department store lip gloss fixes everything.

The carpeted halls muted my pathetic attempt to walk in heels. Heels and a hoodie? Again...pure class. As I entered the foyer of my rundown apartment building, my heels stuck to the vodka covered rubber floor. Of the two years I lived in the 525 Monroe, I don't think I ever saw anyone clean those rusty, rubber floors. They were the kind of floors that have 1/4 inch elevated circles everywhere that are supposed to emulate traction. I soon learned that rubber floors in rainy Oregon and 3:00 am stumbles back home equals bruised knees and scuffed high heels.

I opened the front door and prepared to brave the Oregon, February air. I heard chatty voices of girls to my left. Uh oh...people my age...eyes to pavement. I shielded myself from any possibility of social interaction by looking toward the illuminating lights of the bus stop across the street, creating a curtain of blonde hair which read: "Please don't fucking talk to me". I could feel their judging eyes burning through my makeshift hair shield. How will I ever make friends like this?

I decided to disguise my social awkwardness by making an attempt to half-smile. My eyes quickly shifted to a girl leaning against the crumbling building. She had waist long dark hair (which we would later refer to as "mermaid" hair), a white tube top, and a Marlboro Light between her middle and index finger. As she blew smoke out her smirking smile she cocked her head up toward the sky. She exuded confidence. You could tell she was the kind of girl who was always the life of the party. Someone who people were drawn to.

Two blocks North and I was at my destination. Cantina. The local dive bar which served cheap, over poured drinks to the binge drinking college kids. Being newly 21, unsure of myself and intimidated by all the girls in their halter tops and short skirts, I ordered a vodka cran and stood by the wall. The dark area between the dance floor and the tables. Perfect for creeper-lurking. After meeting up with some friends and a few more vodka crans later, I ran into Marlboro Light girl.

"Hey! You're my neighbor!" She shouted this over the ridiculously loud rap music. "We should go out together sometime!" We exchanged numbers in a drunken daze. "Burger! Make sure you put me in as Mary BURGER!" I remember thinking it was slightly odd and intriguing that she insisted on being called by her full name. And Burger? Just like I thought...this girl's got confidence.

The next day "Mary Burger" appeared on the screen of my hot pink Razar (which was at the time covered in duct tape). "Hey what are you doing? You want to go get some food?" We met in the musty hallway between her apartment and mine. Both nursing hangovers from the night before wearing, slippers, sweat pants and hoodies. Instant friendship.

And that was how I found my intellectual soul mate. We soon discovered our mutual love for music, cynicism, Sex and the City re-runs, grape flavored vodka, writing, bad-boys and caffeine. We eventually made keys to each other's places which came in handy every time I couldn't remember if I turned off my flat iron and had to have Mary check, or when Mary wanted to borrow an item of clothing which was always scattered throughout my messy room. The next two years in that convict filled apartment building were hands down the best times I had in college. Sure, at the time we wanted to murder spandex girl upstairs, and demon hippie dude across the hall. My view of the dumpster was comical and proved to be perfect for people watching the rehab clinic next door. It was dirty and at times a little scary. The heaters sucked in the winter and the paper thin walls kept us up on nights we had midterms. My bedroom window which faced the ally way was often frequented by intoxicated boys too drunk to wait to find a bathroom. One time I actually woke up to a boy peeing on my window. Awesome. We found out nearly half of the town's sex offenders lived within a 50 foot radius of our rooms. Our mailboxes were always full because we refused to give any attention to overdue bills. The parking was horrible and nearly every day Mary and I had stacks of bright orange parking tickets on our illegally parked cars. Parking tickets soon became a game of who could get the most. Mary taught me how to cook orzo pasta and I introduced her to screamo bands (yes...we were emo kids...and damn proud of it). She bleached a chunk of her dark hair and I added black to mine. We refused to wear anything but black nail polish, caked on eyeliner and Chuck Taylors. She was there to comfort me after my first real heartbreak, and I was always eager to live vicariously though her ability to simultaneously date 4 guys at once, who were all friends and worked together, without them ever knowing...(this girl still amazes me). We may have wanted to bomb the place from time to time, but looking back, I had a lot of great memories in the 525 with Mary Burger. Even though I now live in the Southwestern desert and she lives in the Southeastern tropics, she has remained a close friend of mine throughout time and distance. Whenever I need to talk to someone who actually "gets" me...she's there to give me a dose of Oregon. It's really reassuring to know that even though you're so far away from home, there's always that phone call you can make to help keep you grounded. I'm convinced that one day we will live near one another again...but next time with a little less vodka and a little better fashion sense.

have a heart.

My brain hurts. Today was kind of a crappy Monday. Work was busy and I felt like I needed to be in ten different places all at once. I feel like I don't have the time to finish everything I start. Right when I sat down to write a progress note, someone needed a crisis appointment. Right when my client came in for his service plan appointment, someone needed their medication called in at the pharmacy. I know you're not supposed to take your work home with you...but it's hard not to do when you're a social worker. I truly love helping people; which is why I chose this career path. But, it's so hard to not feel guilty if you can't get everything done in your 8 hour work day. People are waiting on you to get them into a rehab center, to get their medication, a new doctor appointment, call you crying because they can't make their electric bill. Some days it can be really overwhelming. How could I not think about all the things I need to do tomorrow knowing that people are waiting on me? Professionals in behavioral health always say not to feel guilty for what you can't accomplish; if you take it too personal you're on the road to social work burn-out. So far I've lasted one year and I still love my job.

I could not ask for more amazing co-workers. I truly love everyone on my team. We all really pull together when one of us is having a shitty day or needs help. I realize I can be a little high-strung sometimes (something I'm working on) and I appreciate everyone for putting up with my panicked moments. There is a really good energy about the people I work with and I have to say I feel very lucky to be a part of the team. Not to sound cliche, but they are really my second family. I can always count on someone to send me a silly email, leave my favorite doughnut on my desk, or accompany me on a much needed Kombucha run. Small acts of kindness like these brighten some one's day more than you may realize.

The same goes for my clients. Giving someone a bus pass home, or picking up a food box for a hungry family may not seem like such a big deal, but when you see the gratitude on people's faces...it's what really makes my job worthwhile. Sure, not all stories are happy endings, but when you feel appreciated at least once throughout the day, it's a good feeling. I remember when I started my job and got my first hug from a client. It was from a woman who lost her best friend to cancer that day and she needed someone to talk to. By the end of our conversation she thanked me and gave me a big hug. It was really cool. Sometimes a simple thing like listening can really make a big difference in some one's day.

Anyway...not to get all mushy/gushy on you. Just wanted to remind people to be kind to one another. That's all.

Maybe I'd be better at interpretive dance...

It's official. I'm a hermit. For the past week I have avoided nearly all social situations. I'm not quite sure what's gotten into me. Maybe I just needed a break from the scene. Hanging out with friends and mingling with people sounds like fun, but I can't get the energy or motivation to actually do it. Talking and being around people at this point is exhausting to me. Maybe my phone breaking is like some sort of sign that I need this social vacation.

My apologies to those I've been flaky with. I'm usually a pretty reliable friend; if I say I'm going to be somewhere, I'm there. I realize this extreme isolation is a little out of character for me. And to those friends I have hung out with...I'm sorry for being on another planet. I've been way too much in my head lately. Yeah I'm there in the room, half-engaged in the conversation, but I haven't really been there mentally. I know it's obvious I'm off in la la land; staring at the wall. I'm hoping I get out of this slump sometime soon.

Maybe it's the full moon? Whenever I feel like I need some alone time, me and Ge'nene call it "being a Libra." I guess we're known for being social butterflies and then going into periods of hiding. I wish blaming it on the stars was an acceptable excuse. How come Shakira gets to turn into a "she wolf" on a full moon but I can't go on a social hiatus without being a total asshole? Yes...I just compared my life to a Shakira video. See what I mean? My social skills are MORE than lacking these days. I feel like I'm just sorting through a lot of shit in my head lately, and if I were to put myself around other people I may just say/do whatever is on my mind at the time, and then I would be left to deal with the repercussions of my more than awkward actions. Is this making any sense? I can't even form my thoughts into comprehensible sentences.

This avoidant behavior will stop eventually. For now I think it's good for me to disappear for awhile. I'm still on facebook attempting to keep in touch. It's the best I can do right now. All I feel like doing is writing, laying out by the pool and spending time with my family and my puppies. I don't feel pressured to be a certain way around them.

Well I've got a tomato sandwich and some sunshine waiting for me. Hopefully another day under water and under the sun will bring some clarity to my cluttered head.

New hobby: pillow bandit.

"Think of all the fun you had. The finest line divides a night well spent from a waste of time."

There's something about teenage pop-punk that just makes me optimistic. Boys singing with their whiny voices, acoustic guitar, lyrics about growing up and falling for the girl next door. I guess it takes me back to when I was a teenager; listening to songs about young love, making promises, all that corny fairytale shit you realize is a joke when you're older. Sort of makes me want to dig out my old studded belt, dye my hair three different shades, apply a massive amount of eyeliner and watch boys at the skate park. Oh those were the days. Still...all pessimism aside...reminiscing and playing make-believe is still fun sometimes. Which is why today I started my morning off with Acceptance, Anberlin, Cartel and Jimmy Eat World. Instant auditory optimism.

So here I am, sittin' here sippin' on my coffee and regressing back into my carefree adolescence. Although I'm going backwards down memory lane, I feel like I'm finally growing up. These past few weeks have consisted of a lot of self-reflection. I'm all about "turning a new leaf", a revelation, epiphany, whatever the hell you want to call it...I'm there. I've made a conscious decision to put my crazy party days and irresponsibility to rest. My friends and family know I've done some out of control partying and have enough insane stories to write a small book. I've had a lot of good times, and a lot of shitty times. I'm almost 25...time to get my priorities straight. Don't get me wrong, I'm always down to go out and have a good time, but it's time for me to take it down a few decibels. The bar scene is almost always a guaranteed let down anyway. Especially with the college kids back in town. I know I look like I'm 18 but I'm feelin' like an old lady 'round these kids.

Anyway. I'm still goofy, immature at times and completely awkward. I'm not morphing into some serious adult type so don't worry. It's just that I'm finally realizing what I want. I'm done wasting my time on meaninglessness. My early 20's were filled with way too much game playing. I'm ready for something new.

Man, this pop-punk has got me in a cheesy, mushy/romantic mood all the sudden. My apologies for the elated idealism. Fear not, I will soon return from my early 2000's flashback with cynicism in full force. Kitchy lyrics and simple melodies are only tolerable for so long. If I start rocking out to Taking Back Sunday and The Starting Line on a daily basis...someone please knock some sense into me.

P.S. I've totally rediscovered my crush on Jason Vena. Is it horribly tragic that I currently think "So Contagious" is the greatest love anthem of all time? Sort of makes me want to break out my studded belt. Okay...no.

The day I turned into Snow White...and then I threw up.

Today was a good day. It started off with me hurling out my guts into Amy's guest bathroom toilet, but turned out to be alright.

I am very allergic to Greyhounds. I learned that today. I also learned that I am a dog whisperer. Being at Amy's house made me feel like Snow White. You know...when she starts singing and all the forrest creatures gather round her? Yeah. I was totally in that moment. So, although I had an allergy/asthma attack and was dry heaving all night...it was okay because feeling like a Disney Princess was totally worth it. Did I tell you I'm a princess? Well I am.

Do NOT eat the jalapenos in the refrigerator at work. I know...I totally asked for it. Everyone knows that the fridge in the break room is one giant petri dish for bacteria. There are science projects going on in there. Who's Snack Pack is in the door of the fridge on the left? Because I really want to eat it. It's been in there for weeks. Anyway, the jalapenos...BAD idea. Throwing up jalapenos is as painful as it sounds. Never again will I eat food from the fridge that is not mine. Except for the Snack Pack...

3am: "Oh shit, I'm going to be sick". Amy you and Greg have a lovely bathroom. So lovely that I actually slept in your bathtub and could not keep my face out of your toilet. On top of the jalapeno sickness and my allergies, I overdosed on my inhaler and felt like I was having a mini cardiac arrest. Awesome.

BUUUTTT...turned out to be an alright day after all. Work was busy but I felt like I got a few things done. A soy chorizo breakfast burrito made me feel tons better. I got employee of the month which made me smile (I know, I'm cheesy but I get really excited about being employee of the month). My therapy session was good. I love my therapist (got a new guy a few weeks ago and he is awesome...so much better than chicken dinner lady). He's like the older brother I never had. We basically just talk shit about our lives to each other for an hour and a half. He gives me good advise about life in my 20's; money, career, boys, etc.

Being at home with my family is fun. I love my fam. My little bro is all excited about this play he's in (he's a drama kid). It's super cute. He showed me some artwork for the play and played a Beatles song on his guitar. My little bro's gonna be a heartbreaker one day.

Well, me and my sis are on a mission for some Tofutti Cuties and a cruise around Oro Valley. I love spending time with people who know me best.

Oh, give me a home where the buffalo roam...

When will Green Day just shut the fuck up? Hearing a 15 second clip of "21 Guns" officially ruined my day. And it's only 11:00 am. On a happier note, my step dad just made some bomb ass vegetarian breakfast burritos...and I never use fratty phrases like "bomb ass" so you know it was good.

So why buffalo? I get this question a lot so I thought I would take this opportunity to elaborate on my love for this drooling mammal. I will start with the totem pole theory. Everyone has a totem pole, you know, like a spiritual hierarchy of things you feel connected to. Buffalo are my totem pole animal. In the past few years I have had some strange coincidences with buffalo. It's like my good luck charm. For example; the other day at work I went to the break room to heat up my soy chorizo only to find that someone stole it out of the fridge (someday soon I am going to post a picture of our fridge at work...people actually carry their lunch in luggage...it's bizarre). Anyway, right when I was about to track down this tofu thief I looked down and there it was...a necklace pendant with a buffalo on it. Fate. Things like this happen to me all the time. Over the past year I have collected buffalo memorabilia that I've stumbled upon accidentally.

Besides the fact that buffalo are freakin' cute and cuddly, they are also considered to be very spiritual animals. Just Google "buffalo totem meaning" and you can read about the different beliefs associated with them. Buffalo represent strength, selflessness, sacrifice, wisdom and patience. The buffalo bring people confidence to achieve their life goals, and it is said that buffalo come to those who are going on the right path in life. Yeah sure, it may sound cheesy and maybe I'm slightly delusional, but it brings meaning to me. There are some days when I feel a little lost and confused (yes, I know I'm a natural blonde so the "confused" part is just in my blood) but it's affirming to me to know that at the end of the day...Mr. Buffalo's there to let me know I'm doin' alright.

So that's it. The meaning behind the buffalo obsession. One day I want to ride a buffalo. Preferably off into the sunset with a rainbow somewhere in there, amongst centaurs playing wooden flutes and owls flying overhead (owl are another totem animal but I will save that for another day).

Below is a photo of buffalo falling off a cliff. Quite tragic really...but a powerful photo none the less.

Jesus don't want me for a sunbeam, sunbeams are never made like me.

Tucson sunsets are so damn beautiful. Sort of makes a girl want to shake off her cynicism, grab the hand of a nice boy and live happily ever after. Now if only I can find one. Kurt Cobain is on TV right now. GOSH I forgot how much I love Kurt Cobain. Now that's a guy I would walk off into the sunset with...well, I suppose it would be more like a drug induced stagger into the sunset. While I wait for my deceased, imaginary boyfriend to be resurrected, I will just watch the sunset from my front steps.

Even though I may not have someone to fucking frolic in the wind with doesn't mean I'm not happy. I'm loving Tucson more and more everyday. I have to admit, after moving here from the progressive Northwest, I was a bit skeptical of this desert town. There are parts of Oregon I miss but I'm finding beauty in this mass of dirt. Even though I finally feel at home in Tucson, Arizona, I would say the thing I miss most about Portland, Oregon are the people. Not to bash on Tucson (I cannot say enough about how much I really love living here) but Portland totally one ups you on the quality of people. That is NOT to say that I haven't met some amazing people in Tucson, I'm just sayin'. Kind of like how New York is known for it's fast paced, jaded jerks; Portland is known for it's friendly, environmentally aware, hippies.

Now I know every city has it's fair share of douche bags, yes Portland, even you have a handful of d-bags running the streets (they're usually located at Dirty and McFadden's). But why is it that I seem to meet EVERY douche bag in Tucson? I swear someones playing a bad joke on me. I must emanate some sort of pheromone that attracts assholes. Or maybe I just have really awful taste in guys. This desert heat has got me seeing mirages.

I'm taking a little hiatus from the bar scene. It's just getting more and more disappointing every time I go out. And now that the college kids are back in town there's even more d-bags running wild...I feel like I'm in an Ed Hardy/Affliction nightmare. Have I mentioned how I love referring to people as d-bags? I'm so mature. I miss going out with a group of friends and meeting new people who are actually genuine. It all seemed so much easier in the city of roses.

Tucson, you may get a 6.5 on the dating scene scale, but I'm in love with your sunsets. Who needs boys when you've got a gorgeous view of the skyline, a good book, and a box of Tofutti Cuties? I'm happy just daydreaming of dead rockstars.

Intro yo.

Here it is. My first online journal entry (I refuse to refer to these things as "blogs").I guess this is an attempt at a modern-day therapy. I am well aware that posting your journal for the world wide web to see is slightly narcissistic .I debated on whether or not to publicly display my tangential thought process for several reasons. First off it puts you in a vulnerable state. We already live in a society where people put on artificial facades and hide behind their emotional walls; posting your innermost thoughts only exposes you to ridicule and judgment. Well....bring on the salt. Second off, what ever happened to privacy? I remember in grade school I had a diary with a lock on it. In bold purple crayon it read: "Stay the fuck out!" Even as a young girl I understood the importance of privacy (and the importance of the F word which I've grown to love and appreciate very much). Thirdly, I'd like to think of myself as an old fashioned girl. I don't own a microwave. I still check out books at the library. I collect antiques and old trinkets I find at thrift shops and garage sales. Transferring my journal from paper to screen is just me succumbing to another modern-day trend. Damn you new millennium...you've won again. So with the whole technology and convenience aspect aside, why is it that people these days feel the need to online journal? It's not like people fifty years ago wrote in their journals, tore out the pages and posted them around town.

One time at the Portland International Airport, security took me aside and put me in a plexiglass box for twenty minutes. It was right in the middle of baggage check and everyone who walked by stared at me like I was a giant Barbie Doll on display. I felt exposed, embarrassed, laughed at, judged, accused.

Overall, I would say I'm a pretty open person. I don't really believe there is such thing as too much information (or "TMI" as my generation calls it). I'm honest. I'm blunt. I rarely sugar-coat things and often lack a social censor. I'm very impulsive and say what's on my mind. My mother says I never think of consequences, that I would rather just deal with them. I wear my heart on my sleeve and spill my guts to just about anyone. I have few secrets and if you're my friend for the day you will probably know all of them by midnight. Although I am very open with my thoughts, I am very uncomfortable with being in the spotlight. I love being in social situations but become paralyzed if all eyes are on me. I was one of those chatty, social girls in school who morphed into a deer in headlights when she had to give presentations in front of class. I don't like talking in front of crowds. I don't enjoy being on stage.

I'm putting myself in the virtual spotlight. Like I said before, it's my therapy. I already used up the ten free sessions my insurance plan allows. My therapist was an overweight bitch who was always in the middle of some chicken dinner or pasta extravaganza when I came to my appointments. That, and she used outdated therapy techniques from the 80's. No one digs for repressed memories anymore....there is a reason they're repressed you idiot! So my options are to pay someone $50 an hour to pretend to listen to me, or journal my thoughts and post them online using the WiFi I steal from the old guy across the street. I think it's important to sometimes go out of your comfort zone; step outside the box (or...inside the plexiglass box) in order to learn something new about yourself.

So...hi. I'm Crystal.