i hate it when i don't get comments.

i hate it when i care.

but, seriously...
people who say they ONLY write a blog "for myself"
are full of shit.
if it was just for you, you wouldn't POST IT TO THE FRICKIN INTERNET.
or at the VERY least, you wouldn't have a comments thinger.
people who say that are lying to themselves and lying to us.
so yeah, i do this because i LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE writing.
but i do it in this particular manner because i have a soul consuming, knee-shaking, heart-stopping, ORGASMIC love of human interaction.
it's an addiction, actually.
i've mentioned it before.
anyway.
leave some god damn mother fucking comments before i cry.

have i told you lately that i loathe you?
oops, typo.
i meant "love" instead of "loathe" and "J. Crew" instead of "you"...
so, the answer to that is, "no, no i haven't."
because i don't.

i am considering a radical new diet idea.
it consists of eating celery while standing on one foot.
reports claim that i'll lose up to 20 pounds the first day.
should be interesting.
okay, so maybe that's not it.
but i'm getting lardish and it's starting to affect my sex life.
don't laugh!!
it's not that i'm so fat he can't find the wet spot--ha bloody ha.
it's that i don't feel sexy.
ugh.
i just realized TWO things:
one, that sounds suspiciously like whining.
and two, it sounds like i'm asking for compliments.
so.
since this is still MY fucking journal, and i still get to say whatever the FUCK i want--
here's how we're going to handle it:
you don't say JACK SHIT about that.
just think skinny thoughts, or burn a skinny candle for me or something equally ineffective.
and we'll all pretend it never happened.
i just needed to vent.
that's all.

so.
maybe we could talk about something else...
goddammit, now i feel all awkward.
like the time i walked in on my brother peeing.
i was 14 or so, and he would have been...
27 or 28, i think.
oh.
that may have even been the last time i saw him.
i wish i could remember.
and i wish i would have known he would be gone so soon,
so i could know more about him.
all i know is that he was funny.
and that he drove a silver corvette, had a doberman pincer, did lots of coke.
maybe i would have asked him why he didn't marry maria.
their wedding invitations were so pretty...
i wish we had had a video camera (or whatever there was in 1982) so i could better remember that night when he tried on the survival suit...
an enormous contraption for his scallop boat--in case of a hurricane, or something.
if anyone's eyes have ever sparkled, it was him.

jesus christ.
if that wasn't depressing, i don't know what is.

tell me to go cook dinner.
tell me to relax.
tell me to spend some time doing something productive tonight.
tell me to get a fucking life.
tell me to take a leap.
tell me you love me.

p.s. did you love that tantrum?
i did.
it made me feel so young...
hahahahahaha!!!!
shit.
someone slap me.