At A Glance

I felt eyes burning a hole right through me. I looked up from my book and met eyes with Mr. Corporate gazing fondly at me.

"What are you staring at!"

"You."

"You better stop looking at me like that right this fucking second or I'm...I'm.."

"You're the most beautiful thing I have ever laid eyes on."

"oh."



Sorry for the break. Real life stepped in and raped me of any creative energy. I am currently consumed by stress and with that comes the writer's block. My sister is in town for the week and I start work tonight. Two of us has to lead to something exciting and perhaps I will come home with captivating tales from Old City. Anything that I can do to further add to the garbage on this page. And maybe - just maybe I'll start writing with the enthusiasm I used to have.

Dixie Princess

I always grew up being treated as a royal litttle princess and i thought i was one, but lately it seems that people treat me like i am a royal pain in the ass. I have a definite idea of what makes me happy. I know what my engagement ring will look like, how i want the lighting in my office, and where i want my summer home. Sometimes my life doesnt seem to match my fairy tale so i need to express it in words so that you can finally understand where i am coming from.

I grew up in lavish homes and got whatever I wanted. I had a mother who aggressively, yet lovingly was always pointing out my flaws and how I should perfect them. I cannot remember having a meal without my mother telling me to only eat half or coming home and having her suggest starving myself for a week would do me good. I use the word cute to describe everything. From men to puppies.My whole life I have lived really knowning that I am secretly meant for fame and fortune. I cant help that I dream about how I can redo my closet. Lastly, I have entitlement. I drive waiters crazy asking for more lemon for my diet coke, I send my meal back if it isnt good enough. I deserve special treatment because I am beautiful and I dont understand why everyone else in the world can't realize that.

I take enjoyment in shopping. I feel better knowing I have a new pair of betsey johnson pumps to wear out just in case someone important calls to go somewhere important where i have to look ravishing. i used to act shameful coming home to my boyfriend after spending nearly his entire paycheck on a shirt, but i have learned to overcome that shame. I no longer try to smuggle the bags in without him noticing, but i proudly stroll in and announce how much money i saved from not buying the "extras" before he begins to get upset.

I must be pampered frequently.Weekend spa trips are a ritual for my mother, sister, and I. When I first moved to Colorado my mother had us fly to Chicago to get our hair done for the first two years because she refused to go anywhere else. I must get a mani/pedi at least once every other week. I also must have an orgasm daily ...mechanical or otherwise..

I only expect honesty from myself. I was born with a natural talent in ensuring I get what I want. I always know what I want. I irritate men when they ask me what i want for dinner and i tell him i dont know. I come off terribly indecisive, but the truth is i know exactly what i want it just may take me 20 or 30 minutes to phrase it.

I often manipulate people. Ok, only boyfriends. To ensure I get my way I have a few one-liners that work wonders on guys.

If I don't feel like doing the dishes: "Honey, I'd love to do the dishes, but I think I just got a little fluid in my lungs." (this works like magic!) Sometimes I sit around and give long drawn out sighs and sulks til he asks me what i want...or he already knows and then he does it. The best one is right after you both crawl into bed "say oh darn. I would just love lucky charms for breakfast. too bad there arent any in the house." He should hop right up and run down to the wawa to grab me a box. Another great thing to say if you have to let out some really bad news lead in with a really huge build up like say "Ok sweetie I have something REALLLY importnat I have to tell you so try and stay calm." (allow a long pause so he can think that you killed his dog or you have an alien child growing out of your ass) then say "i accidently washed your wallet." then he will be so relieved that you dont have cancer that he will not be mad and will just give you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

I knoow I am a spoiled brat so i have learned to give a little. In order to have a healthy relationship both partners must have certain jobs and roles.

Here are mine:

I am the social director, floral arranger, nutrition planner, fashion consultant, card buyer, gift buyer, call your mother reminder, blanket stealer, decorator, computer complainer, flower buyer, laundry lady, takeout caller, couch warmer, heat turner upper, bed hogger, and hot water user.

Here are His:

bartender, tv setter upper, dvd setter upper, trash taker outer, bug remover, door holder, fire alarm fixer, furniture carpenter, vacuumer, vacuum bagger installer, internet service provider, car warmer upper, snow shoveler, ice cube maker, fuse box fixer, heat turner downer, newspaper retriever, wine opener, can opener, veggie chopper, food cooker, breakfast in bed maker, yell at me to do my work yellerer, back massager, bear hug giver, forehead kisserer, cold water shower takerer, and thats really all i can think of.

so i am still trying to break from my princessy behavior, but i am getting better.

Cat Calls On My Way To Class

I can't lie. Everywhere I go men let out little cat calls in my direction. At times I can't help, but love that guys drool over me. But on days like today it just gets really fucking old.

I was awakened at 5:45am by Billy's icy feet slipping into bed with me. After that I couldn't sleep and I didn't drag myself out of bed until the alarm sounded at 8:15. I managed coherence for about 30 minutes before doing any productive activity. I grabbed the first resemblance of an outfit I could find and dashed downstairs. I scrambled about for the car keys and my purse and rushed out of the house.

The second I stepped out of the car it started.

The Valet Guy:

"Oh damn girl, look at those legs."

(He always says something nice to me everyday so I don't mind too much.)

Guy In Food Cart:

"Ooh Mami, How boutcha come over here and I make ya somtin reeel nice."

"No, thanks I don't eat food from carts and I certainly don't date them either."

My walk to school was filled with offers for molestation and cock suckin. I was becoming very irritable. I knew I was going to flip out if anyone said anything else to me.

"Newports. Foh' Dollaz." And he waved a pack right in my face.

"I don't want any fucking cigarettes. Get the fuck out of my face before I rip off your testicles."

Can't these people just leave me alone.

Just when I thought I couldn't become any more irrate. I heard a whistle.

"Damnnn baby girl. You're hot baby. Real hot. baby! Cah'mere! Howa bout' you an' me get togetha. Make some saweet love."

I turn and stare at him right in his beady little eyes. Everyone within a 5 mile radius heard me scream at him.

"Ok darlin'. Let's go. Right here. Come on. I am waiting! Get it out!"

Long Pause.

He chuckled to himself.

"Have a good afternoon baby."

I turned away and a grin spread across my face and I knew.

I won.

Sometimes I don't mind the hissing it's a nice confirmation of my ravishing appearance. But some days you're better off just keeping your mouth shut.

In Over My Head

I have a boyfriend, a dog, and a mortgage. Life is so normal it hurts.

...I never knew that everything was falling through...

I’ve been sucked dry by this world. I’ve lost my enthusiasm, my humor, my words –my voice. It’s gone and I don’t know if I’ll ever find the passion to get it back. I had such energy in my old blog. Passion, stories, experiences, I knew what life was, and now I don’t know. I am slowly starting to adjust to the mendacity of this life. Staying away from clubs. Avoiding saying anything too offensive. Softening. Trying to be ‘acceptable’ in society. Maybe make friends. Trying to be me again.

...It’s coming down to nothing more than apathy...

But who am I anymore?

...I’d rather run the other way than stay and see the smoke and who’s still standing when it clears...

My shrink says I suppressed the hurt and now it is slowly leaking out of me like water from a rusty faucet. I thought I was clever enough to cling on grimly and let my life ride out, but I certainly was wrong. The hurt twists and writhes in my stomach followed by the tears. They come and they burn like hell. They come and they don’t stop – for days. The loneliness, the hurt, the disappointments come and go and I am often too overwhelmed by it all.

...Everyone knows I'm in over my head...

I'm tired of it. Exhausted from all the adjustment and change. The constant struggle to be normal again. But I am just desperately trying to see that the hardest thing and the right thing are exactly the same.

...And suddenly I become part of your past...

Blondes: What's all the fuss?

This is from November, but I feel its warm reviews (thank you. thank you.) made it deserving of a little spot in the blog. (i don't have the copy that went to print so here's the rough draft.)

Waiting in line to get into the Nine Inch Nails concert my best friend and I were swarmed with little cat calls and compliments. When I got to the front of the line I handed the guy my ticket and he needed to search my purse. He told me if I took the batteries out of my camera I could bring it in. As I fumbled to get the battery compartment open the guy looked at me and said “I guess those things don’t come with manuals for blondes”. I was horrified. I threw my batteries at him and stormed into the stadium.

Blondes have always been considered over-sexed vixens with nothing inside their precious little heads. These lusty babes have been the subject of many jokes and references throughout the years, but thanks to young ‘heir’ heads in the media this poor reputation of blondes has been clinched.

These young bony homeless looking stars have made it so blondes have to put warts on the end of their noses to be taken seriously. Who says these media whores are really dumb, or are they faking it just like their virginity? Many blondes are actually really intelligent. Perhaps this 'dumb blonde' cliché is on the way out.

Sure Barbie is blonde and so am I (when I keep up with stylist appointments), but the last time I looked in the mirror I didn’t see 'made by Mattel' on my sexy little bottom. I sit in class amongst many intelligent blondes and we may all have our Jessica Simpson moments, but nobody has a right to start classifying us as spoiled heiresses.

Our culture may be ready to take a step in a new direction. Maybe America is sick of seeing starved over-processed girls in drunken stoopers all over news stands and television programs. Maybe we're ready to finally accept that blondes are sophisticated women too.

Random Thought

There was a semi truck blocking my path to get to WaWa. I contemplated walking under it instead of walking an extra 50 feet to get around it. Then thoughts of the truck taking off with me underneath it crossed my mind. I really would not enjoy to be dragged to my death. I also don't fancy the idea of bits and pieces of my body flying about and left to decay next to piles of litter in a gutter somewhere.

Fall Out Girl

In between bands I was left alone to slurp down my vodka tonic while my friends went outside for a nicotine fix. My mother called so I answered to drunkenly explain how I was the hottest girl in the joint. Three rows ahead of me two little girls kept turning around and looking at me while I rambled on about what designers I had chosen for the night. The girls whispered to their mother and then she turned around and motioned for me to come over.

My throat went dry. What the hell does she want? I stumbled my way over the best I could drunk and in 5 inch stilettos.

"Are you a celebrity?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, we saw you sitting over there with two body guards in a private box and well - we assumed you were a celebrity. We were just wondering who you were and maybe if we could get an autograph."

I was flattered. And yes she indirectly complimented Billy and Dean for looking like angry meat head body guards.

"Urrm. No. Sorry, I'm just a regular person."

She had an incredulous look on her face.

"Oh."

One of her daughters turned to me.

"You look famous."

I laughed.

"Why thank you, so do you."

She got a big grin on her face and giggled. I smiled and stumbled back to slurp some more vodka.

By the end of my evening and after quite a few vodka/tonics I managed to piss off the group of scary marys in front of me, dance like all the other 13 year-olds around me (screaming and gasping included) , and send hate e-mails to my stalker. All and all it was a wonderful time. I will never go to a pop-punk show ever again.

Well - only if you're buying the drinks.

Adventures On Canal Street

I was on Canal street for a matter of minutes before a tiny Asian woman gave my arm a death grip and pushed me into a panel in a wall. I was then escorted down a dark tunnel into another secret passage into a room full of stolen Juicy Couture sweatsuits and Balenciaga bags. How do I know they were stolen? Well, I don't I only had assurance from the Asians around me that they were.

"These real. Stolen goods. Very secret. Very good."

After attempting to leave I was pushed into another room full of horrible replications of Coach and Louis Vuitton bags. I finally managed to squeeze my way out of the crowded room without purchasing anything. Back on the street I reunited with my 2 friends. They were relieved to see I wasn't actually abducted and sold into slavery, but abducted and coaxed into nearly buying a stolen Balenciaga bag.

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I have acquired a new obsession with these. They are my new favorites.

Tonight I am going to the All American Rejects/Hawthorne Heights/Fall Out Boy concert. Drunk Dixie and 1500 screaming 13 year-olds.

At least it's a great excuse to use my new Chloe bag.

St. Patrick's Day

Growing up St. Patrick's Day was a day full of Irish Dance shows and scoffing if Trinity happened to be at the same place performing. Being Irish I feel that I have all the right in the world to vent my anger for the slurring of my culture on this absurd excuse for a 'holiday'. Since this Holy Day of Obligation has transformed into a day where non-Irish can parade around America from bar to bar drinking away without judgment I feel I must set the record straight.

No one in Ireland eats corned beef and cabbage. Green food? Green beer? Who the hell actually eats that shit? No one in my family would ever get excited over green buffalo wings. The idea of consuming green dyed beer and wings makes my stomach turn. I am utterly repulsed.

I also don't understand what makes Irish people a bunch of alcoholics. Yes, people go to bars more often that Americans would, but over there drinking isn't as much of a taboo as it is in this country. They also don't binge drink. I have friends and family in England who frequent bars and you don't hear how the English are a bunch of alcoholics.

I feel somewhat ashamed for being Irish on this holiday because of the way people celebrate it. I think it's especially disrespectful when Irish-Americans succumb to wearing absurd green tat and chugging 'car bombs'. They might as well parade around in Belfast.

I love taxis.

I had no idea how I was going to get to school today. Public transportation is certainly the last idea on my list so I outed that though the instant it flit across my mind. I opted for a cab ride. I thought I would give Philadelphia cabbies another chance after the time I almost missed hanging out with HIM. I walked out my door and slid into the cab.

I gave my cabbie theintersection and off we went.

"You go to college?"

"Yes."

"What you study?"

"English"

"Ohhh English. You goin to be scholar."

I laughed to myself.

"You scholar now?"

I laughed more.

"Somedays."

He chuckled and sang a long to his Indian music.

"I will say I knew you scholar."

"Ok."

"You literature?"

"Um yeah. I like literature."

"You writer?"

"No. One day. Maybe."

The fact is. I'm not a scholar. I will probably never be one. I'm a patently shit writer who vents life's rubbish to a blog. I don't have many friends so I make one in writing to you my dear blog. The only thing that listens and never tells me to stop. Maybe, I'll make new friends at my new school, but that is doubtful. For now I'll push reality out and drown myself in the internet until a reality I am ready for comes my way.

In other news, Bruiser might come home tonight. It will be nice to have my little man back to pissing about on the floor. I almost missed cleaning up after him.

To Look At Her

Outwardly, all one could see on passing by is a tan long legged girl on a pink blanket drying her dark blonde hair in the July afternoon sun. Dressed in a white Burberry bikini the sweat mixed with ocean water stands out in wet shining drops on her lean bare midriff and trickles periodically in sticky streams down under her armpits and the back of her legs. To look at her one could not tell how in one short month she has begun. she has loved. she has lost. she has quit a job. she has made and foolishly and voluntarily cut herself off from several unique friends. Taken her clothes off for money. Captivated a handsome college boy. Broken the hearts of many. Left home to try and find herself. Managed to put the pieces of her broken heart back together. Built a wall around it just to have it taken down. But there she lays in attempt to make her skin darker and her hair lighter. Tonight she will dress lovely and gaze winningly at her entranced date. To look at her you might not guess that inside she is laughing and crying at her own stupidness and luckinesses and at strange enigmatic ways of the world which she will spend a lifetime trying to learn and understand.

Things You Need To Know

1. I don't understand girls who think a Coach bag is lavish.
2. When I was 3 my mother took my sister and I to visit my father at work. I broke away from my mother's grip and bolted around the Pentagon waving my hands and screaming and laughing. My mother was in a lot of trouble with security.
3. I have a real Louis(a small miniscule one), but refuse to use it because someone asked me where I got my "knock-off". ew.
4. I have an unhealthy obsession with Charles David shoes. Actually shoes in general.
5. You can't get a good Bellini anywhere in Philadelphia.
6. I think girls who participate in beer chugging contests are trashy pigs.
7. I only wear Dior perfume with the occasional exception for Vera Wang, Gucci, and Burberry.
8. The only things that will touch my naked body are from La Perla, Cosabella, Agent Provacateur, and Victoria's Secret (their bras are the best).
9. I have the sex drive of a 17 year old boy.
10. I'm 5'8" and weigh 115 lbs - yet I feel like I need liposuction. Then, I look at myself in the mirror naked and realize that my body is flawless.
11. Who's my doctor? Actually, they're real.
12. I love art.
13. I cry hysterically everytime I watch "The English Patient".
14. I can't go anywhere without getting hit on- and I love it.
15. Men always stare. Get used to it.
16. My I-Pod is my life.
17. I have never paid under $100 for a haircut.
18. I want to win the lotto and live my life writing and sipping tea.
19. I want to write like Sylvia Plath or Virginia Wolfe, but live more along the lines of Capote or Plum Sykes.
20. I hate cats. They should die.
21. Is it really too much to ask for a man in this world to surprise a girl with a new pair of Manolo's and a Louis bag?
22. I'm 100% Irish, but I loathe the way Americans celebrate St. Patrick's Day. (corned beef and cabbage isn't even Irish)
23. I love dressing a bit gothy on occasion to keep things interesting.
24. I love porn. It's fabulous.
25. I have never balanced a check book.
26. I have never paid a bill. Ok. I have paid a bill. Now. It's weird to say that.
27. I am excellent at baking.
28. I can not cook. I refuse to learn. I can call a caterer if need be.
29. I have never been to Vermont, Maine, Hawaii, Alaska, or North Dakota. I will eventually. Then I can say I've been to all 50 states.
30. Thunderstorms in the summer are best seen in Colorado.
31. Texas sunsets look like fire.
32. I love French Onion soup, but it always gives me a bad case of "rea".
33. I like sharing obscene facts via internet.
34. I was so overwhelmed by depression that I stabbed myself in the stomach on Christmas.
35. I go to California way too often. I hate SoCal. (sorry Kristin)
36. I make unrealistic demands.
37. I love daisies.
38. I cannot leave the house without sunglasses.
39. My favorite snack is an ambien and a glass of champagne. just kidding.
40. I have dual citizenship in both the U.S. and Ireland.
41. Did I mention I am exceptionally good at spending money?
42. I don't like the Jersey shore (with the exception of Spring Lake). It's swarming with hideous overwight people. I prefer Miami.
43. If a girl doesn't have Agent Provacateur in her lingerie bureau - we can't be friends.
44. Girls who go in tanning beds too often are going to look haggard and wrinkly by the time they are 30 -I can't be friends with them either.
45. If I don't get a mani/pedi every other Friday I become irritable and very difficult to deal with.
46. Male strippers make me vomit in my mouth. I see nothing appealing about hairy balls and penises smooshed into a polyester thong. Give me tits any day.
47. I love boobs. Nice perky ones only.
48. I have never had a boy buy me lingerie. Ever. It makes me want to blubber over a container of Ben N Jerry's.
49. I bite my nails so I have to have acrylics.
50. Juicy Couture is a separate wash load than everything else. Those pesky "J" zippers!
93. I hate airports and airplanes. But I still manage to love to travel.
94. I love pushing the limit.
95. I hate marijuana, but I don't see what is so illegal about it.
96. I like pin-up girls.
97. I love old cars.
98. Mexico is not a vacation destination.
99. I went to Las Vegas twice before I turned 21. One of the times I gambled and drank.
100. A lapdance is always better when the strippers cryin.
101. Some say I'm disturbed, but I prefer 'multi-faceted'. I am actually rather interesting and complex. I love me!
102. Mary Higgins Clark told me that I have the most beautiful name she has ever heard. She is using it in one of her upcoming books.
103. I like to nap from 3pm-6pm
104. I almost cried when I heard Ville Valo was engaged. Luckily, he is no longer so now we can get married.
105. I love to run 4 to 5 miles a day.
106. I like to get my way, but I have learned to compromise.
107. I love the prints on Tommy Hilfiger pajama pants.
108. Sharon Osbourne spanked me. (true story.)
109. I spent the evening over drinks with Mudvayne and came to the conclusion they are the biggest losers I have ever met. (trust me I've known a lot of losers.)
110. I like to do my make-up crazy and heavy when I go out at night, but other than that I never wear any.
111. I heart country music.
112. My first concert was 'Raffi' when I was 4. It changed my life.
113. I don't eat hot dogs, mushrooms, or peas.
114. I have an obsession with fish net stockings.
115. I love denim minis.
116. I love sparkles, glitter, and rhinestones.
117. I have a Chloe bag that I am in love with.
118. I like talking about vulgar/taboo things. Just to make you gasp and giggle a little.
119. I like eating peanut butter with a spoon.
120. I don't care for judgmental nuns.
121. I hate frozen drinks.
123. I love Mexican food.
124. I'm 21 and I am a published writer -yet can't get hired full time until I graduate.
125. I want a man who will whisk me off my Jimmy Choo feet into a little convertible mercedes all provided by him. A girl can dream right?
126. I love opera.
127. I love to read.
128. I loathe going to the laundromat and it isn't until I run out of clean socks that I realize I have to drag myself there.
129. I don't like doing dishes.
130. I have really expensive taste.
131. I am not materialistic. I just enjoy nice things.
132. I like to vent in my blog.
133. One time I had to miss a whole day of classes because I was up all night googling myself.
134. In my brief time as a model I have come to the conclusion that I hate all models(except myself).
135. The day my man brings me a Louis Vuitton Speedy 25 is the day I will decide to marry him.
136. On first dates I always choose the most expensive restaurant in the city with no intention of picking up the bill. If a man refuses to do that for me then I know he will not go get me kleenex at 3 in the morning when I am up all night crying about the fact I don't have an Hermes bag.
137. Often, I'm referred to as "That self-absorbed, pretentious little skank" by people who only wish they could be me.

writing against the quiet

Tangled in the stark white heavenly abyss where we rest our heads every night he lays sleeping. Angelic and soft.

I can hear him breathing over the tinkling of the neighbors wind chime. I’m pressing softly on the keyboard hoping not to wake him. He stirs. I draw my fingers back. Shh, sh, be quiet. I think to myself. Don’t wake him. I breathe in softly. Exhale. It’s quiet now – just the gentle sound of the wind coming in through the window. The tapping of the blinds against the window sill. The television whispers up the staircase. It’s not often I feel this quiet solitude amidst whirling city life. The cold air brushes against my arms – sharp like needles, leaving tiny bumps in its place.

I creep in. The floorboard creaks under my naked feet – purple toes and chipped black polish. I mutter under my breath. Piss. I reach onto the dresser and scoop up my Kiehl’s lip balm. The sunlight seeps through the blinds. I swipe the wax onto my lips lightly rubbing them together. Be quiet He stirs. I freeze. My thought was so loud I almost believe he heard it.

I creep back across the hall and sink into the chair. My stomach gurgles. He breathes in deeply. I haven’t eaten in over a day. The computer lets out soft hums. Something about it is almost calming. Click. Click –click. I swivel the mouse across the desk. Click. Click. Click. Reading away messages over and over. Checking site meters. Reading e-mails. Obsessively refreshing myspace. I faintly hear birds chirping in the distance. I let out a long sigh.

I’m cold and I’m tired. I shimmy into the space next to him. His eyes flutter and he cracks a sleepy smile. It’s comforting. He leans in lovingly and kisses me on my forehead. His warmth settles around me like a coat. Next door, an infant is crying. An ambulance speeds past with sirens blaring. Exhaustion sets in and like two heavy garage doors, my eyes sink shut.

Just another Tuesday afternoon.

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Bruiser Update

Most sick puppies go to the hospital with a fever of 102 or 103, Bruiser has a fever of 105. There's a chance he is going to need a serum transfusion to help his immune system. Everyone keeps telling us that even if he gets through this he will still probably die. So I can pay $4,000 and still have our dog die. Boy, am I hopeful. (that was sarcasm)

By Thursday if his blood cell count isn't up we are going to have to put him to sleep.





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Sick Puppy

Standing out on the sidewalk in the cool night air I still managed to sweat profusely from the amount of stress I was undergoing. My friend was puffing away on a cigarette ever so cooly and he turned to me and said "This is a perfect example of why the American healthcare system sucks". My darling Greek friend is more than correct.

I knew Bruiser wasn't feeling well when I grabbed his treat bag and shook it for him. Generally, with this action my 4 month old rottweiler goes flying in all directions around the kitchen, instead of his usual antics he look up at me from his bed and sighed. I immediately called my beloved Billy at work trying to figure out a way to get my very sick puppy to a hospital. Luckily, a more than generous friend stepped in and took me and my sick furry little baby to Penns vet hospital.

After, sitting in a waiting room with chairs so slick I had to hold myself up to keep from sliding off and a binder full of thank you letters, the ultra cocky vet student came out with the news.

"Well, looks like you have one sick pup. The thing is he has Parvo. You either treat him or he dies. It's going to cost $3500 dollars. I need $1200 tonight. Sound good?"

"Um, erm, well, maybe tomorrow I could transfer some savings money and um.."

"Tonight. The receptionist needs it now. Make some calls and get the money."

My heart sunk. So, I have to go Lindsay Lohan on my bank account or my dog will die.

I only have $200 in my account. What do I do? Not pay? Will they kill Bruiser? I began to panic. I'm about to cry. Darling Dean stepped in and wrote a check, but what if Dean wasn't there? What if I really only had $200 tonight? It really upset me. A woman was pacing in the lobby crying into her cell phone "They must have $3,000 to keep him here tonight or he'll die". It's truly a shame the way our healthcare is. I'd get more in depth, but its 1am and I am exhausted. I have class tomorrow. I doubt I'll go. I won't be able to sleep.

$3,500. I don't have $3,500. I don't start working until the end of the month. Any donations will be gladly accepted. I am considering setting up a "Save The Bruiser" foundation to come up with the funds to pay the bills. I do have some lemonade in the fridge - perhaps selling some delicious country time would help with finances. Bikini car wash? If anyone has any ideas I am open to suggestions.

Thanks again my lovely Panic! at the discoer. Words cannot explain my gratitude for your help. I am going to try and get some sleep. Goodnight for now.


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Spring Cleaning

It's funny that when I first gave college a go round I was a totally different person. Kind, giving, studious, compassionate. Now, my edges have hardened up a bit. I offended people, rubbed their noses in it, swirled it around in my mouth a bit and spit it out into sentences. I've fucked up a lot on my road of life, but I leave the clutter of it behind me. I was really on a path of destruction and I am now trying to change that about my life.

I'm 21. I know that I tend to piss people off with my ruthless behavior. I know that my past experiences made me grow up a little bit faster than I had liked to. I'm so bloody in love I don't know what to do with myself sometimes. I have a grave inability to save money. I have a place to live, a dog, a wonderful boyfriend. But sometimes I get so lonely I can hear myself crying.

I am attempting to become a better person. I am trying to curb my spending. I want friends that I don't offend. I want to be able to say what I want instead of faking a facade. I want a little responsiblity. I want to learn how to cook and how to balance a check book. Well, at least learn what catering company to call and at least look interested when Billy discusses finances with me.
I want a life that maybe for once I can call my own.

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The dog is sick. I think perhaps tomorrow he will need to go see the vet. I have an outline to do and brackets to fill out. I haven't the faintest idea how I am going to get home from class tomorrow. Surely, not public transportation? I desperately need a pedicure and a tan. My stylist has been calling me for the past 5 days and I have been avoiding her like the plague. I think there is a possibility I may have a heart attack if I don't get a new handbag soon, but I am trying to curb my spending, so last season's coach bag will suffice for now. I am also beginning to think a bout of amoebic dysentary or a parasite would do my body good.

I'm starting to overwhelm myself. I think I am going to go lie down.





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Philadelphia - 2 years later

I came to Pennsylvania 2 years ago as a wide eyed college freshman hoping to explore the excitement of the East Coast. An English major with a passion for reading and writing, Vice President of her class, Dance Team, Sorority girl - nothing could stop me. I was so naive.

Somehow I let it all go wrong. I let someone take control and watched them destroy me. What happened was no one's fault except my own. I let it happen. I let my life slip out of my hands. At the end I crawled out black and blue -alone. To pick up the pieces of my broken life and heart by myself. No friends left to help me.

And now here I am. Sitting at a computer in a Philadelphia row home. Do I regret what happened? No, because to regret all the pain and suffering would not make me who I am today. I learned a lot. About people and most of all about myself. I am stronger, more mature, centered, but still terribly naive. I can certainly say that I value myself more than ever and I am only too careful when choosing friends.

There has been a cold sterile, desperate devouring, and not the warm, full flowing over in loving laughter which is now. This is all still too new. To be comfortable, not scared, loving someone without constant fear. The beaten black and blue soul of this girl being nourished by love. Satisfying without quite fulfilling.

Hopefully, this blog will become an outlet for me.

All while remembering to keep my dreams.