... in which i write to sarah steelman regarding her disappointment over obama's "support" (however weak and limp-wristed) for gay marriage...

Sarah--

I'd be curious to know why it is you think that me (a woman) marrying another woman would somehow cheapen or degrade the "institution of marriage."  If anything, given the history of marriage, wherein women were treated as property and either sold, kidnapped, raped, or otherwise handed off to men without their consent, allowing consenting adults, regardless of gender, to enter into civil commitments of their own free will would elevate an otherwise bloodstained and archaic tradition with very little to recommend it to people of the 21st century.  Please, if you can, enlighten me as to why my marriage might cheapen that of a heterosexual couple, and I would greatly appreciate it if you could do so without appealing to any deity, given that we live in the United States of America and do not have to check which way the smoke blows before making legislative and judicial decisions.

Respectfully,

Kvetchnik

so that's my brief missive to her.  i'll let you know if she writes back.  sarah steelman, by the way, is former missouri state treasurer who couldn't even defeat dillweed and prosecutorial-misconduct-er kenny hulshof for the republican nomination for the 2008 missouri gubernatorial election, and now she's running for claire mccaskill's senate seat (but first she has to beat todd akin for the republican nomination).  in 2008 (before she lost her primary bid), the new york times listed her as one of seventeen women most likely to be first female president of the united states (god help us all), but i don't know if they feel the same about her now.  sarah's support for traditional marriage is so strong that she's responsible for the bill banning gay marriage in missouri from back in her days in the state senate.  she's also the second wife of her divorced husband, david steelman, who faced allegations of not paying child support back in 1992 during his run for missouri governor, so you know her family values bona fides are super strong. finally, she's a creepy-looking harpy, and frankly, i think that speaks for itself.  let's hope she can explain gay marriage's harm to me without bringing up her invisible sky daddy.

edit (just a few moments after posting):  it occurs to me that sarah steelman would be an ideal target for my castration brigade, except that female castration would really just be, like, an oophorectomy, and that's way less dramatic and effective than chopping off a man's cock and balls.  so kerowyn and anyone else out there-- what do we do to women who end up on the list?  forcible hackjob mastectomies?

gentle readers, i have the first three targets for the castration brigade:

1.  jesse lee peterson
2.  sean hannity
3.  richard mourdock

first of all, massive props to kirsten powers for ignoring hannity and calling out peterson on his misogynist bullshit.  (also, if there's a national organization for women who hate men [is that nowhm?], where do i sign up?)  peterson is just one more bit of evidence that, if you're a nigger willing to toe the gop party line, it don't matter how goddamned batshit you are-- you will be glorified on the national stage as if you know what the hell you're talking about.

this is a man who says that most women are whores and that, left alone, women destroy families and that women should not be in positions of power and that women need to be guided by dudes.  this is a man who said that allowing women to vote is one of the greatest mistakes america ever made (i assume he didn't vote mccain-palin in '08 then).  this is a man that says that "black racism" is far more overwhelming in america than "white racism."  this is a man who thanks jesus that his ancestors had to endure the pain and indignity of slavery (something he's not really familiar with, i don't think) just so that he could have the fortune to live here in the good ol' u.s. of a.  (srsly, what's the suffering of millions over hundreds of years if it means jesse doesn't have to waste his time applying for legal immigration?  oh, and he compared the whole slavery thing to, like, flying coach on a plane-- it kinda sucks compared to being in first class, but at least you're happy when you arrive.  you know, to labor until you die, get raped if you're a chick, and be treated as less than a goat for all your natural-born days, secure in the knowledge that one day little jesse is gonna get his uncle tom ass on fox news and act like the slavery thing wasn't so bad in the first place.)

so for all those reasons, jesse gets the first spot on my list of people who need to be castrated (it's a list in no particular order, however, don't worry).  hannity and mourdock are on there now, too, both for simply being who they are and for not jumping in to help kirsten powers out when she requested they repudiate peterson's statements that, pretty much, women have ruined america and that everything that sucks here today is because women made it suck.  since they lack even the stones to say that women aren't all evil man-hating harpies, it's clear that this whole castration thing won't be too much of a change for them anyway.

say bye-bye to your packages, gentlemen.

so here's the deal.  i fucking hate myself.  no, seriously.  fucking hate myself.  i'm a waste of space and oxygen, and the planet's shitty enough as it is without me shitting it up worse.  yeah, those are the facts.

so my mom's jerkass fiance gets into town tomorrow, and my mom's not at all ready to move, and you know what?  i haven't helped her with a goddamned thing, and i don't really intend to.  maybe i'm just a petty selfish bitch.  maybe i'm just a self-pitying narcissist. either way, not my fault she's not ready.  i didn't make her wait until six days before she had to leave to start packing up her entire fucking life.  right now, i could give a fuck what happens to her.  so now we're certain i'm in a bad state of mind.

so my sister's talking to me about apartments, and they all fucking cost too much, and oh, guess what, i'm pathetic and of no assistance whatsoever in, like, paying the rent or whatever silly little things you have to do to not live on the street.  all i really wanna do is beat myself to death for sucking so bad.  just... fucking be gone already.  why should my sister's life be trashed because she happened to win the booby prize in the sister contest?  i mean, she's a cunt and all, but she's not the one who's a complete and utter burden to all of humanity.  so why shouldn't she just keep toiling away at her life of mediocrity without me to drag her further down?  and when i start feeling bad for my sister, you know i'm not in a good headspace.

but i don't know what to do.

i don't fucking know what to do.

whatever i decide to do, somebody will tell me it's wrong, and whatever i end up doing, i'll probably fail, and according to my daddy, it'll be all my fault, because i suck so bad.

but it seriously takes too much effort to even move from my bed right now.  can i not just get an act of god or something?  i'm sick of this shit.  i'm sick of being here and being in the way and being a fucking load to shoulder and being fucking me.  like, i was just lying here, and i just started punching myself in the head, because i didn't know what to do.

and now kerowyn's gonna try to have me committed or something.

well, fuck you, kerowyn.  i'm not little orphan annie.  i'm fucking miss hannigan, drinking myself into oblivion and despising everyone around me.  what a life i've got ahead of me to live.  let's throw a party in celebration of my awesomeness, sitting here in dirty pajamas on dirty sheets surrounded by garbage and dirty clothes.  maybe i'll get really lucky, and one of my parents will die, and i can use the money i get from the insurance to pay daryl hannah to cut off my head.  too bad i can't meditate-- i could set myself on fire and make some kind of dramatic statement.

such a shame that i suck at everything.

and also my left hip has felt like someone's been stabbing me in it for, like, three days now.

why can't i be one of those cool epileptics who just dies for no reason during a seizure?  i'd stop choking down my pills for that.  of course, given my sad lack of funds, i'll be forced to stop choking down the stupid things soon anyway.  maybe no one will notice.

i seriously want to shove my head through a fucking wall.  my mom's house sucks so bad, i could probably do it, too.  but then she'd bitch at me about trashing the wall.  like it matters.  i don't expect to hear from her too much in the future.  she didn't want fuckall to do with me the last time she found her "true love" or whatever.  dunno why she'd give a shit now.

i guess i should just stop and go do something else, since i don't have anything to actually say.

so apparently, when you go on lj and bitch about how you haven't heard back on that one fucking interview you managed to get, you will then hear back.  except it'll be, like, a form letter from hr saying that unfortunately you can go fuck yourself.  not even a call from the guy you actually met with in person, who's apparently a much bigger pussy than you knew.

so yeah.  another day, another job i don't have.  ho-hum.  what's new?

tell mommy and all she can say is, "we'll figure something out."

tell reagan and she says, "i won't let you be homeless."

because it's so much less pathetic when you're just totally dependent upon people than when you're fucking matt foley or something. (i'd so be a great motivational speaker.  they should let me speak in high schools.  "hi, kids.  everyone they teach you here is a lie, except for the algebra.  also, do yourself a favor and just fucking kill yourself now.  you'll never achieve your dreams.  bye now!"  i'm, like, jennifer fucking schechter.  oh, wait, nm.  she could actually write.  anyhow.)

tell daddy and he starts spouting something that sounds like a cross between a war movie from the 40s and some corporate motivate-y book of lies about why you're not a millionaire.  "network!  you've gotta network!  call people on monday!  tell them what you need!  it's time to get aggressive!  stop sitting around and pouting!  be aggressive!  you've gotta come out!"  (i correctly pointed out that i came out when i was 16 and that he thereafter didn't speak to me for about 2 years, and he called me an asshole.  ah, love.)  but wife no. 4 and the thuglet are occupado for a small window tomorrow, so he's going to pop by to see me "if [he] can."  which essentially means that i might get a free meal in exchange for the same speech he gave me on the phone, but with 100% more awkward eye contact and a 50% greater chance that i won't be able to get through it without crying.  which'll then make the awkwardness even more awkward.  yay for family.

went to mommy's going-away party today with reagan, except reagan brought her bf, so mostly she sat in a corner with him and ignored everyone.  oh, well.  i chatted with former colleagues and tried to pretend i'm not bitter.  ate some cake.  made fun of mommy.  guess it was a good time.  except everyone asked me about the job search and was just oh-so-totally-shocked when i said i got turned down for that position today.  couple people telling me, "oh, we need to get you a job!"  teehee.

yeah.  thanks.

we sure do.

meanwhile, molotov cocktails look better every day.

also, my foot hurts, and it's irritating me.  and i can't stop coughing again.  fucking weather.

i wish kerowyn was really serious about running away with me to miami in june.  of course, that would mean i'd have to wish she failed at getting a job, and that's wrong.  i want her to find her dream job.  there's no reason she should have to suck just because she made friends with a loser.  so bye-bye, kerowyn.  enjoy success.  i'll be changing bedpans for the golden girls under the table at shady pines or something.  here's to old people who can't control their bowels and to the society that won't allow them to die.  oh, and farewell to whatever shreds of dignity i might have been able to lay claim to.

oh, but if i'm willing to learn phlebotomy, my daddy might be able to get me a shitty low-paying job somewhere.  and i'm like, "i have seizures-- i wouldn't want me anywhere near my veins!"  i can see the lawsuits now.  so maybe i'll get near my own veins after all.  here's the plan: acquire a lot of illegal painkillers somehow, and then take a lot.  not enough to lose consciousness, just enough to be floating happily through bunnyland.  then do like that dude in my dad's old office and cut my throat with a scalpel.  according to my mom, he was dead before he hit the floor.  so i just have to do it at a time when i'm unlikely to be found, because i've learned from e.r. that those bitches can fucking bring you back from, like, almost anything.  and it'd be courteous to wait until mommy moves to oregon, so she doesn't have to be the one to find me.  that might ruin her happy-love-ness.  so that means a week i've got to wait.  can i acquire drugs, write a note, and say my obtuse farewells in a week?

(also, why is it when i turn on my itunes randomly, it's always playing some stupid song from glee telling me to keep holding on and sing it out and don't stop believing and whatever?  can't i get a fucking angry bitter death song once in a while?  i know i have them.  or even just a melancholy sort of what's-the-point tune... i have a million of those.  fuck you, itunes.  i don't want you to be my shrink.)

(oh, and on another note, the deal i made with bernadette peters via facebook was that i'd forgive her for perpetually avoiding me when she tours if i could get that stupid fucking job, so... fuck you, bernadette peters.  fuck you, and fuck you hard.  all this time kerowyn was telling me you weren't, like, magical or whatever, but... well, eleanor, where's my motherfucking steve buscemi?  and your hats were even fucking ugly.  oh, wait, no, sorry, bernadette.  i got the sun in the morning and the moon at night.  and i can see them from the lovely view of my refrigerator box underneath the 170 page overpass.  got no mansion, got no yacht.  still i'm happy with what i got-- i got the sun in the morning and a box under the highway.  sunshine gives me much-needed vitamin d so i don't get rickets, and moonlight gives me cover to forage through others' garbage looking for vaguely edible items to belay starvation for a day or two.  so with the sun in the morning and the moon at night, well, i'm not dead yet.  cheers for bernadette's sound advice [yes, i know, it's technically irving berlin's, but bernadette relayed it, so fuck irving].  life will always be worth living so long as there are celestial bodies visible from my position on this earth.  [and yes, i know, none of this is bernadette's fault and that she has no control over my employment.  i'm not that delusional yet.  but as a devoted atheist, i have no god to rail against dramatically, so i have to substitute something awesome and shiny, and i can't think of anything better than bernadette.  even if every other song i hear her sing is all cheer-y don't-give-up-y, too.  goddammit.])

second post in one day... i'm getting a little crazy up in here, yo.

also, i've been on a zombie kick today.  (note: per the previous post, i'm also having fantasies about, like, shulamith firestone and anne koedt joining me on an assassination binge around the country, kill bill-ing our way through sexist fuckheads [and maybe we'll take out some capitalist fuckwits, too, just to satisfy the crazy anarchosocialist monster within me].  thus far, my terrorism fantasies remain simply fantasies, however; i haven't gone to acquire a firearm and/or katana yet.  no need to tremble yet, white male plutocracy.)  dunno what it is about the zombies that are appealing to me today, because i usually roll my eyes at zombies (not, like, actually zombies-- for real ones, i wet myself and run).  maybe i'm relating to the brainless purposelessness.  who knows?  but anyway, zombies.  yeah.  we'll see how long this lasts before i get back to the detailed plotting of my rom-com featuring myself and kerowyn (also, kerowyn, i know i haven't even told you about it yet, but i fear it's accidentally racist and maybe sexist or something, too... i need you to act as my objective perspective [hey, rhyme!] on monday, 'kay?).  on a related note, if ever i have money and insurance again, i may need to seek therapy for some sort of attention deficit problem.

maybe the zombies should be white male plutocrats as well.  i could kill two dicks with one stone.

anywho.

so i have applied for a ton o' jobs-- cast the net far and wide, babe-- and have gotten exactly one interview since i quit fourth circle insurance.  that interview was in an office where i knew half the people already because i worked there before my ill-advised attempt to move to canada and rise above my divinely granted station of prole and ball-washer.  two weeks ago tomorrow was when the interviewer advised me that i should expect to hear back.

i have not yet heard back.

monday, i called mr. procrastinator and left him a voicemail thanking him for the interview and asking whether he'd made a decision yet.  i left my phone number and requested he call me back.

i have not yet heard back.

at what point do i get to start blowing shit up or going to meet his wife and lying that he and i have been having a crazy sex affair during which he knocked me up, put me out on the street, and gave me crabs?  also, at what point do i get to break down in a sobbing heap at the realization that my life will forever be the choice between poverty/homelessness/unemployment and barely surviving via a job that makes me want to kill myself?  i just want to know the appropriate timeline-- no rushing, right?

tomorrow's my mom's going-away party at work, and reagan and i are going to toast her hopefully happy future in oregon.  frankly, i fear that this relationship will either be like her last few and fail miserably or be like my dad's current marriage and survive only due to inertia and an unwillingness to concede failure to the world.  but i hope i'm wrong and that she and the spelling bee queen are happy.  my dad certainly isn't.

and speaking of my dad, my aunt (who's currently undergoing chemo) is upset with him-- and, it sounds, as upset as reagan and i are.  so it's good to know that wife no. 4 is destroying all his familial relationships and not just the barely existent relationship he had with me and reagan.  (this is not to say that my dad, who is sort of a douche, isn't good at destroying these things on his own-- i don't think he'd even speak to his mother if various people didn't command him to.)  my grandma's birthday is coming up, and as per usual, we've all been invited to sedalia for the festivities.  except that daddy and wife no. 4 have a smaller car now and can only seat 5 people.  twin 1, twin 2, daddy, wife no. 4, and wife's son, the thuglet (so designated because he, like so many teenaged boys, thinks he's a badass and told me about a trap house he went to in webster groves [which doesn't mean anything to non-st. louisans, but seriously?])... that's 5.  no room for kvetchnik.  so sad.  so then daddy tells me that he and wife no. 4 have conferred and agreed that they can rent a car large enough for me to join the trip to see my grandma to which wife no. 4 and the thuglet are not even related and whom they have met only 3 or 4 times and barely spoken to in those few meetings, but i'm seeing myself in a pet taxi on the roof a la mitt romney, and i was in kind of a bad mood when daddy made the "offer," so my response was something along the lines of, "like i want to give her that to hold over my fucking head for the rest of my life."

daddy was less than thrilled.

i learned, however, that i can get to sedalia from st. louis via amtrak for $25.  i was surprised, as i thought amtrak was a bit pricier.  so if i can just get to the amtrak station (not too hard in st. louis) and then get someone who's not my dad to pick me up at the station in sedalia, i can give him and wife no. 4 the ol' fuck you.  i'm sure i've got an aunt or cousin in sedalia who'd love to pick me up at the train and then lecture my dad about what an asshole he is.  (i don't think my family much cares for wife no. 4.)

in a semi-related note, there's the crosspost option down at the bottom of this here page, and i thought amusedly about what would happen if i started posting my lj entries to facebook, too.  i think my lj's linked on my facebook, but who notices?  if my ramblings were popping up in people's feeds, there could be amusing results (or chaos).  at the very least, my fantasies about castrating and decapitating men might make for interesting conversation, yes?  but then i remembered that my mom, my sister, my dad, my aunts, and various other relatives are all my friends on facebook.  even though i don't use my real name or my lj pseudonym on facebook, i'm pretty sure most folks in the fam have figured out that princess periwinkle is yours truly (though i did get some fun inquiries along the lines of "who the fuck are you?" immediately following my name change [and the latin teacher calling me her princess, which we won't discuss further, lest i die of something embarrassing]), so if they came upon a post wherein i, for example, referenced one of them as a douche or speculated that someone's upcoming nuptials might end in tear-filled disaster, well... that wouldn't be good for your beloved kvetchnik.

sigh.

i guess this means no poking the idiots on facebook (or inundating kerowyn with more of me than she can handle [and no, that's not a dick joke], which is always my ultimate goal).

so i'm still unemployed and near homelessness.  fucker won't even return my calls to tell me if i didn't get the motherfucking job.  but who cares about that, right?  what really matters is that, due to my life of leisure, i was chilling today and reading an article at the spearhead about the vatican's coming crackdown on ladies who don't bow to their manly superiority.  if you don't know what the spearhead is, it's a men's rights 'zine for those dudes who feel that their wittle penises are being threatened by the women's rights and feminist movements (whatever the hell any of that means anymore).  remember that episode of ally mcbeal when billy basically told georgia that he was sick of being a sensitive man and he felt castrated because he had to, like, be polite and not sexist?  yeah.  those kind of dudes.  but way bigger assholes.

so anyhow, they've got this article about the vatican preparing to kick out feminists.  because they're, you know, behind the decline of the church and some bullshit like that.  w.f. price, author of the stupid article, describes the crackdown this way: "this will truly be a time of reckoning for the sisters, who have been growing increasingly bold in recent years."  yeah.  bold.  that's not coded language.  and how dare those bitches, like, question the patriarchal structure of a religion operating on rules instituted back in the days when the earth was the center of the universe and leeches were cutting-edge technology.  dude.  progress, what?  tell me one thing that's better than when the catholic church was "established" (whatever that means in a bullshit church in a bullshit religion that stole all its shit from other cults and then picked its canon based on which texts would keep the penises at the top and the proles at the bottom). can't do it, can you?  who needs modern thought?  the devil, that's who.  that's right, bitches.  the devil.

but the real fun of the article isn't the author's intelligent commentary on how the catholic church destroyed communism or something or about how this gesture by the vatican is the first step in the destruction of feminism everywhere ("what is remarkable is how long it took for the fight against feminism to finally get started.  it remained unchallenged for decades, destroying countless families and fomenting war between the sexes before people finally began to stand up to it.")-- rather, it's the comments (aren't they always the best part of anything on the net?).  you know how i love comments.  especially comments from men's rights movement-ers.  (note: i maintain my policy of not using capital letters, but any errors of grammar in the comments quoted below are not mine but belong to those penises who rule the world.)


( cut for lengthy and mocking anger... )

goodness... it's been a while, hasn't it?

some news, i guess... the issues i had working at 4th circle insurance and specifically working for duckduck (coupled with the impending return of winchester) built and built and built for a very long time, as i'm sure anyone who read my lj could tell (if anyone actually read my lj, which, no).  it got to the point where, a couple weeks ago, i... sort of broke down, i guess.  it was a sunday, and i was thinking about having to go to work the next day, and i actually just started crying in the car with my mom (who didn't seem to know what to do, told me to stop crying, and then mostly ignored my distress for a few hours).  i consulted my mom and my friends (well, friend) and even reagan, and at the end of the day, the consensus was what i had been feeling for a while-- that duckduck treated his employees and perhaps me in particular extremely disrespectfully, to the point of accusing me of trying to sabotage his business and quasi-jokingly suggesting that kc and i pretty much defraud clients to make more money for him, and that no one should have to endure treatment from a boss like i was.  i spoke to kc, and i think it was readily apparent to her that i was heading toward a nervous breakdown, and she and i met that evening to transfer passwords and do a quick briefing on what i had pending.  monday morning, duckduck was still in florida, and i paced around the office waiting for mumbly joe to show up, and when he arrived... i resigned effective immediately.  he seemed to understand my reasoning, and i don't think my emotional strain was a surprise to him, either.

unemployment, we meet again.  i've been eyeing jobs and applying for things that i think i can do without going insane.  but i've also been thinking about school again.  and it's stupid-- it really is.  i have my b.a., and twice i've gone to a new university with the intent of obtaining another degree, and... twice i've failed.  (yes, kerowyn, i know-- failure is not the word i should use, but whatever.)  setting aside issues of money, is there any point in trying again?  and what the fuck do i try for?  i just... i feel like i want to teach, but... i'd probably be a terrible teacher, yes?

yes.

so there it is.  i'm doomed to a life as my mother, minus the spouse, children, and human companionship.  my guinea pig is likely entering his final years, so... after that, i'm alone.

kerowyn's assaulting me with her mindpowers as i type.  all the way from tokyo, she's beating me.  (which reminds me, bitch-- i'm forgoing sleep so that you don't have to be bored in whereverthefuckistan or whatever, and yet, you're ignoring me.  you owe me a cookie or something for the headache i'm going to have later.)

in other news, my petulant irritation at bernadette for failing to come perform for me in st. louis (or anywhere nearby that i could easily get to) has not been strong enough to overpower my unceasing obsession, and thus i watched, with dread in my heart, last week's smash.  and oh, was my dread justified.  i have no idea, really, what the hell's going on or who all these people are-- morticia addams and grace adler and i think that was christmas eve from avenue q sitting in the background being a piece of furniture and that was definitely roger from rent looking all constipated and not at all dimaggio-like-- but the random soap-opera-esque drama was overwhelming.  i mean, bernadette was sensational-- as she always is (and as i told kerowyn, the woman could play richard nixon, and i'd be in love and telling her to napalm the hell out of cambodia after breaking into the watergate, so... yeah, i'm not objective in the least)-- but was she only there to throw megan hilty off her game?  i mean, if that was her purpose, she was super-sensational.  (aside: i read an interview with her about her appearance on the show, and the reviewer asked her what it was like singing "rose's turn" on the show, and she actually sang "everything's coming up roses," and i twitched, and there was no correction in the interview, so i can assume she didn't correct, and what the fuck, bernadette, really?  majorly different songs!)

all that said and bernadette's fabulous voice (and ass) aside, and ignoring the fact that i don't know who anyone really is or what is supposed to be happening, how is there any dilemma for the producers/writers/directors/stage managers/cast/anyone on earth on who should be starring in this weird little musical they're trying to mount?  seriously?  katharine mcphee is a mostly forgettable pop tartlet, and megan hilty is one of the most powerful young presences in theatre today.  i won't comment on acting abilities, in part because katharine mcphee was in so little of the one episode i saw and in part because the writing was just atrocious, but based solely on voice and stage presence, how can you not cast megan hilty?  there should be no dilemma.  none!  (and i'm pretty damned sure that megan hilty is a better actress, too.)  i mean, ivy versus karen... whatever.  no contest.  ivy all the way.  through the whole workshop montage, i just kept getting irritated when they'd switch from ivy actually performing to karen's little fantasies of herself singing lead, because... bleh.

anjelica huston kept reminding me of meryl streep in the devil wears prada, but i thought her character was awesome when she was bludgeoning things with a wrench.  debra messing was weepy and ridiculous, but i've always thought debra was not suited so much to drama as comedy, so... meh.  the men all seemed like assholes with various personality disorders.  and on an ordinary day, with an ordinary show, i'd never so much as glance at another episode.

but bernadette will be back, folks.  she will.  and... i will spend all of eternity in the flames of hell if i miss a bernadette appearance.  or something.

(also on the bernadette front, kerowyn seems to think it would be a good idea for us to see bernadette perform and then for her to drag me to the stage door or wherever to piss my pants in front of bernadette.  she thinks i'd enjoy it.  i think i'd have a seizure and traumatize poor bernadette.  you are indeed evil, kerowyn.  all because she gives you the creeps.)

and the last thing i have to say is this:  i am in love with tabatha coffey (though to a much lesser degree than i am in love with bernadette peters, who is the closest thing i have to a deity, or even naya rivera, whom i can't even watch the only place i could see her perform, solely due to my damned ethics), and if she weren't all committed and whatnot, and if she suffered a traumatic brain injury that rendered her incapable of making rational decisions, i'd totally seduce her and all.  i was looking up something about her run on shear genius earlier, and i happened upon her facebook page, and... oh, dear lord.  the grammar/punctuation made me cringe.  i can only hope that she has some sort of personal assistant pretending to be her commenting on things and that she is so busy and awesome that she has no time to facebook at all, because the posts/comments were massively hurting my already injured brain.  but i love you anyway, tabatha, and i'll be happy to proofread anything for you whenever you'd like.  now i'm going to go watch you yell at people, because it turns me on.

so...

hmmm...

pretty sure tyr knows i'm a big fat homo, and pretty sure she's not a real fan.  but we're peacefully coexisting, at least, thanks to my incredible ability to bite my tongue when necessary, and that's what matters.

also, the bronchitis/not-bronchitis/asthma/holy-shit-my-lungs-are-on-fire/whatever-the-fuck-it-was was, like, doing incredibly well, and then the weather shifted, like, three different ways in three different days, and now all of a sudden i'm back to being wheezy and gross and hacking so hard that i piss myself.  good times.  and i went to the ghp website to look for a doctor, but there's, like, 17 different networks, and just judging by the names, any of four of them could be mine, so i have to make time to call and be stupid on the phone rather than just finding someone online.

dammit.

kerowyn's done with the california bar, but i'm still having faith in her.  she says she's coming to the lou on march 16th/17th-ish.  i hope she doesn't mind st. louis on st. patrick's day (and it falls on a saturday... boy, do i wish i was a drinker).  i also hope she's been joking for the last six months when she's threatened an infinite number of times to beat me nearly to death when she next sees me.  (i also wish i was going to see her in l.a. this summer and going to see follies with her, but... no.  bernadette's still on my shit list, because she's a selfish bitch who doesn't care about me at all [ps, bernadette-- i still love you for reals, i just miss you, and i can't understand why you would take away from me possibly the very last chance to see you in a broadway show {even if it was gonna be in los angeles}, and i really can't understand why you'd go drinking with people in indiana but not with me here in st. louis... like, who in indiana {or anywhere else for that matter} could possibly love you more than i?].)

i think there might be something wrong with me.

ooh, and i had a seizure on february 17th, and apparently i faceplanted into a pillow when it started, and if my mom and reagan hadn't found me, i would've suffocated!  i turned blue/grey (depending on whom you ask)!  it kind of sucks to think of how close i came to having all my dreams come true... and then reagan came rushing in and rolled me over.

so sad.

speaking of reagan, she and i have been discussing getting an apartment together and getting the hell away from my loony mother (who's getting married in august or something, but we won't even discuss that stupid crazy shit, because she's living in a fantasy world).  i told her we'd have to have rules and be respectful of our differences.  and she has to pay her rent.  tentative date for being out is july 1st (wedding is in august), but that can be changed, depending on when mother's one true love shows up (or if she moves to oregon, because yeah, that's where he lives, and they've spent a total of, like, six days together since they started talking, so of course they should get married).  really don't want to live with her and another of her asshole boyfriends.  (i don't know he's an asshole, actually, but i'm fairly confident he's not brilliant, given that he spelled prejudiced 'prejadist' or something similar [personally, i'm a post-jadist.  but not a post-modernist.  those bitches suck.].)

also, my dad is apparently checking out of everything that doesn't involve his self-righteous, self-centered, self-important, hypocritical bitch of a wife and her d-bag of a son.  so reagan and i are going to try to pick up his slack where the twins are involved, at least.  i'm not, like, severing ties with him or anything, but i'm done holding out my hand and hoping he grabs on. 

and now it's, like, time to work or whatever, and all i can think about is the abs/hips/ass combo on one heather morris.

and breathing.

it's gonna be a long day.

so i'm sitting here in the denver international airport, one seat between me and kc, and... i'm feeling totally old and worn out and useless.  she's on the phone with someone, regaling whomever with tales of her exploits in las vegas, and i'm like... i saw glee
in concert and the hoover dam.  yeah, i'm cool.  woot woot!

seriously, someone should just kill me now.

the latin teacher is back in my head, because kc got me all nostalgic about college earlier, so we all know i'm gonna be melancholy all night anyway.  terrific.  i'm so awesome.  and also pathetic and stalker-y.

and speaking of pathetic and stalker-y, on our flight from st. louis yesterday, one of the flight attendants was hot.  she wasn't, like, blake lively, but she was pretty and she smelled nice and she had great hair and i couldn't decide if she was indian or maybe west asian or perhaps even hispanic, and while i'm wondering this and also trying not to stare at her ass only six inches from my face (i was on the aisle), suddenly and without warning, i get an extremely explicit image of eating her out.  like, extremely.  and i don't know why.  and goddammit, am i pathetic.

and kc and kerowyn both say i need to, like, get out and meet people, like that'll solve anything.  setting aside the logistics of that for a moment (because seriously, i don't make friends), i just wanna scream, because what's the fucking point?  like, "pathetic and alone" is always going to need to be appended to my name in my obituary.  people may come into my life, and maybe it's even for a reason, but the ultimate lesson i learn from every one is that no matter how the relationship feels or progresses, i will do something to destroy it in the end, and i will end up alone.  and not in some spiritual sense-- literally, i will always end up alone.

and well i should.  no one should be subjected to me for any period of time, because there's nothing here but a pathetic, bitter, and delusional spinster with nothing new to offer.  i'm the one note samba without the rhythm or charm.

i'm toying with the idea of writing a letter that i would never send to get off my chest all the things i can never say, and i may do that next, but first, let this be my notice to the world and everyone in it:

i will fail you.  it is a certainty, beyond dispute (unless you're a stubborn pain-in-my-ass taiwanese attorney).  i am nothing but a disappointment, and i will fail you.

oh, dear naya, i'm so weak.  so, so weak.

i... well, i'm weak.

i changed my name on facebook to something princess-y, because why the hell not, right?  and my profile pic is now of the gayest (read: most rainbows) my little pony i could find (i think her name is rainbow dash, and she has wings!).  and i changed my name without announcement or fanfare.  so people may have been confused to see a my little pony with a princess-y name suddenly appear on their news feed.  but i continued my usual postings-- random observations with lots of bad words, links to and comments on crazy radical political awesomeness-- so people wouldn't have to think too hard to figure out who i was (am?), so i wasn't worried.

and i posted a few things today-- rick santorum via badlipreading, my donation to planned parenthood, an article about teacher salaries upon which i commented that god is an asshole, and an article about israel's nuclear program about which i said that i hate israel and don't you dare call me an anti-semite-- and then the latin teacher commented on my wall 19 minutes ago, "ah, now i recognize my little princess..."

and okay, "princess" is a part of my name now.  and it toes doesn't mean anything, prolly, beyond, "quit blowing up my wall with your liberal shit."

but still, i've gone all squishy at just three little words.

fuck me, i'm weak.