Deuces

Typical drill.

I'm out.
Hopefully I don't suffer some stroke or other unfortunate bullshit... but come back ripped as fuck and a total beast.

Chances are, I'll return a grumpier, sadder bitch... but eh, whatevs.

I'll definitely miss my mom, though... that little lady.

speak louder

Something  I learned today:
Rather than be upfront with those inviting him to go out, my Gson has gone around using ME as an excuse.

Apparently it's much easier to blame the quiet homebody for him not going out ("Sorry, I'm staying with them and AnoMALIE doesn't want to go out." I don't?) than telling the truth ("I'm broke, so unless it's free, I'm not doing it.")

Last night I was supposed to go to my friend's birthday dinner at The Cosmo. I had told her I'd be there without a doubt.
Gson had been steam-ironing his clothes when minutes before I hopped in the shower he backed out of going to dinner.
Instead of staying home and pouting, I hopped in my car and jetted to the other side of town... anything to keep me from blowing up.

This morning, as I made myself some breakfast in a nearly empty home (only Mom was still here), Mom talked about yesterday. Apparently it was MY idea not to go to dinner.
Great.
Fantastic.
Rad.

Gson has backed out of at least four social events this week... and people aren't very happy about it.
But guess who's getting the heat for at least three of those events-- me.
L.O.L.
D-ohhhhh-pe.

It's pretty remarkable how EASY it is to blame a quiet, shy person and have others believe that quiet person is wrecking the life/fun of the "extrovert."

I'd probably cry about it... but after a few minutes of chill time, I'm left sort of entertained by the observation... even if it all happens to be at my expense.

The manner in which physically beautiful people manipulate others sure is fucking mesmerizing. 

golden

Still going crazy.

My godson has been living with me for the last week... and I'm ready to jump from a skyscraper.

I have done and seen so much bullshit in the last week than I have in... years.

Saturday night I attended a party (mostly to give my 25 year old godson a nice Vegas experience) where, in my attempt to be NORMAL and SOCIAL, I took a seat on the closest bed to the group of people (this was a hotel party at the Wynn). It took me about two minutes to realize the seat I had chosen in the entire room also happened to be the spot where the prettiest, most popular chick in the room, had decided to set her eight ball of yeyo.
Seriously.

Moments like those make me realize just how fucking WEIRD I am.
While everyone in the room was acting as though this was normal as fuck, not batting an eye, I felt sick to my stomach.
Is this normal? Does EVERYONE have fucking COKE at their parties?! Am I really THAT weird for fucking hating drugs the way that I do? IS THIS NORMAL?!
Shit like this makes me have a massive existential crisis. It makes me feel like I'm living a lie. Am I really that much of an anomaly... such a rare human being... that my parties, and my example of fun is just... good music, laughter... games... a nice alcoholic buzz... and that's all? Like... is being "clean" really that fucking weird?
Even before stepping foot in the room, the smell of weed permeated the air. I walked in, and so much drug paraphernalia was in plain sight, I found myself staring at the motherfucking alarm clock the entire night... because I felt like shit if I saw the activities taking place.

As I sat ON the fucking cocaine, I saw as all the girls in the room swarmed my godson, and offered him an orgy. Right there.
Wait, wait, wait... what, what, WHAT?!

I still feel a little panic attack just remembering.
This can't be fucking normal. It just can't. No, man. No. I can't be THAT anomalous. I just can't.

Am I suffering these horrible depressive episodes because I'm one of the few imbeciles NOT doing any sort of drug? Would my life be THAT much more fucking bearable if I just went ahead and aimlessly fucked any and all guy who wanted to? Is all of this the secret to NOT wanting to put a bullet through your fucking brain nearly every day of your adult life?

It was hard to keep my composure... not burst into tears the moment I realized I was such a weirdo.
I don't do drugs. I don't smoke. I don't fuck. I hardly drink.
I don't like any of that shit. And this makes me a weirdo. A loser.

So, as we were going home... and I was driving my very lit godson down the strip... we started a conversation on this subject.
I came clean to him after he made a comment on how all girls are whores and all girls love some drug (his words, not mine).
Not all girls are whores-- I have yet to fuck ANYONE.
Not all girls love a drug-- I have yet to do ANY.
And then this ensued:
"OH MY GOD. You're like... a fucking... you're a GOLDEN..."
Me: Unicorn. I'm a unicorn. A mythical creature.
"But... OH MY GOD! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH POWER YOU HAVE RIGHT NOW?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT I'D DO IF I HAD THE POWER YOU HAVE RIGHT NOW?"
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHA. AHAHAHAHAHA. "Power." HAHAHAHAHA! No. None of that.
"Do you know what any man would give if he found you?"
Me: Apparently not a damn fucking thing. I AM perpetually single. I'm 30 now. 30.
"But you're the.... you're the... you're the top... the maximum. A good looking, athletic, intelligent, tall, kind, funny, selfless, rich, chill, drug-free, VIRGIN. It doesn't get better than that. It's what all men look for."
Me: No. No it's not. It never is.
"If I were to find a girl like you right now, at this second, I'd marry her instantly. Instantly. I would give her the world."

... Marry her. Marriage. That's the ultimate prize? I'm supposed to be... to feel... to uh... aspire to MARRIAGE as the ultimate reward? Marriage? For real?
I sat in my car, once again, fighting the urge to cry... the urge to "ugly cry" with screams, violent trichotillomania... all that shit.
I don't want marriage. I never have. I don't want a commitment of that nature.
I just... want company. Kindness.
In a world where I can't find a guy who literally wants to hold my motherfucking hand for a few seconds, I want something as fucking SIMPLE as kindness. Simple company.
Just stay. Just... stay.
But that has proven to be difficult... damn near impossible... definitely undesirable.

Instead of a marriage proposal, the only thing this girl gets is heartbreak, humiliation... disdain.
I am forgettable... meaningless.
I am the lame nerd who sits on the pretty, cool girl's coke at a party... and spends the night observing the boys swarm the coke fiends... as she quietly drinks water all night by herself.

What all men are looking for... lol lol lol.

"Anxiety" my fucking ass

There is a feeling that I hate more than any other feeling in this world-- when someone I hold in high esteem fails me... and fails me HARD.
Disappointment sucks dick.

While I AM crying with rage about it, I can say I'm still relieved at realizing these tears do not carry as heavy a weight as they did a few months ago.

This is how I know I'm no longer depressed...
I'm just really fucking pissed.