Today has made me want to vomit.

It all began this morning, with brown browns. I rolled out of bed looking like I was Fraggle Rock's biggest star. (A fraggle is pictured above) Then I thought to myself, you know what sounds just delicious for breakfast?
A three day old sub sandwich from Winco.
So I walked the two and a half feet to the fridge from my blankets and unrolled the plastic wrap to reveal three more succulent inches of bread and turkey. How nutritious.
(And curse you Alec Chunn for leaving all this food in my shed. I think it is quite rude and that you are NOT a gentlemen.)
How did I complement my rudimentary sub? With brownie batter BJ's!
(Ben and Jerry's for those of you too skinny to be in the know)
This is where I ran into a slight roadblock. All of my spoons were dirty. Not only that, all of my dishes were dirty and relaxing in the sink.
"Well Tipton, I guess I should clean these while I'm washing the spoon..." I remarked to the ant that was perched by my toothpaste.
He nodded in approval.
First thing in the morning and already doing housework? By Scott, it's a sign of the end times!
Anyhow, I dumped some dish soap in the sink and got to it. As I was dumping the stagnant water from my cheery red bowl I found myself facing the first nausea attack of the day; grey-green mold came slopping from the dish.
It smelled rank. It looked vile and rather malicious. I had to urge myself to continue my work. With a face towel pressed against my nose and swallowing bile, I scrubbed at least half of my dishes clean.

Then my dear sister called.
And I remembered, BADMINTON. Don't get me wrong, I love the sport. But today my stomach was feeling discontent and I'm truly a lazy bastard at heart. A promise is a promise though, so I went willingly with little complaint.
As we dashed around the backyard volleying, my stomach threated rebellion again. Apparently Monster and cigarettes are not so in line with physical activity. Oh well.
Haley then treated me to the biggest spectacle of gluttony I had been involved in since I moved in to the shed and quit my job. Thai food, butterflies drenched in oil and full of cream cheese. How fantastic. At least until the car ride home, whereupon I was clenching my swollen belly and caressing the food baby within.

Currently I imagine that I appear at least three to four months pregnant.

So ends the day. Hopefully cat-man managed to start his tractor and Haley has worked on the Apria Delink story that I love. We can only hope.

Yay optimism!

A New Life Form? Also, my nose is fucking huge...

Isn't it? And as an extra bonus it is extremely crooked. I thought this picture illuminated that.

Is it pathetic that I am afraid to open my fridge? There is some raunchy Panda express in there. Stephanie brought it over when Nick still lived here.

Speaking of Nick, I hate him every time my mother knocks.

I wish he hadn't left me. I can't be with him on Friday nights again. I can't pretend I'm sixteen and forgive him for leaving me here in the whale's belly. He is heartbreakingly sad though.


I went to bed at six in the evening today. Then woke up at eleven p.m.
No one wanted to do anything with me.
I find that I do not give even half of a flying fuck about it. I feel that I will probably return to my bed soon and have more dreams about traveling to fantastic places.
Oh, UPDATE: I have five dollars left in checking, and seven dollars in savings.
I need to get a job. But I hate working. I also hate being marooned here because my car is out of gas. I also hate not having a cigarette. Or coffee for that matter.

Food today:
half of nasty english muffin turkey sandwich. (Kayden said it tasted like the sandwich took a poop. Mother was not pleased.)

a cup'o' noodle

five cigarettes

snapple

Needless to say, poverty is making me more attractive. I know it's bizarre, but I'd rather have my happiness back...

On the Recent and Distressing Demise of Francis T. Culbert

I live in part of my mother's garage. The only company who frequents the residence are a sizable colony of ants and one Simon V. Hunter who I escorted out. (A stinkbug)

I was taking my second shower of the day (damn the stifling summer weather) when I noticed Francis the ant climbing up the vinyl. This irritated me. I let them eat portions of my ramen noodles, leave them the decaying garbage to munch on, tolerate them crawling on my laptop, but quite frankly Francis, I will not tolerate your voyeuristic intentions.
I am a lady after all.

I watched him climb the shower head so as to assume a better view.

"Francis, you need to evacuate with urgency. I will not let you gawk at me and such."

He didn't even grace my firm command with a reply, simply clung to the shining metal and flicked his antenna suggestively.

"Well really Francis!"

And here is where the story takes a sad turn. I was rather angry, so unthinking I splashed him with water. He became dislodged and fell many stories to the shampoo shelf. I shuddered as I imagined my own body plummeting an equal distance.
Still he moved.
Spurred by some satanic impulse, I splashed poor Francis T. Culbert once more.
I was really quite disturbed when he insisted on pretending that he had drowned.
I crouched down on my knees and prodded him lightly with my index finger.
"Francis...Francis...stop playing around."

He was dead.

So today I murdered my good friend, and trust that I have endured loads of remorse about the matter.

Goodbye, Francis Tiberius Culbert, we will miss you always.

Coming Soon: X-Files Season Ten!

With the help of my associates I plan to produce at least one X-Files episode.

I'm thinking nuclear mutants and Argentinian gnomes.

Also Sondre will be singing his creepy song, "You Sure Look Swell."


Oh My Jesus!

I just had the idea. Imagine dear friends, if you will, an evil yard gnome. He becomes animated at night and murders the family members with his gardening tools.

Mulder will be there of course. And Alec, aren't you getting a gnome for your upcoming birthday? I can just see the stars aligning for the episode.
Perhaps it will include a vindictive pink flamingo as well?

Haley, feel free to be in the show. We could incorporate the demon knocking at your bathroom door and walking down the hallway. What if it was the gnome...?

(If you haven't noticed, I'm addressing the only two people who read this personally.)

I'm thinking that the yard ornaments are getting a taste for blood after they kill off their oppressors.

Anyways, you'll just have to tune in to see the finished product. Don't hold your breath though, production has yet to begin and I foresee plenty of setbacks and delays.

Well off to guitar class to suck it up in a stuffy little room.

Bye now.

Hello, Welcome to the Third Circle of Hell.

I know I'm not the best human being. I fucked with people's lives and their heads. But, honest to Jesus, do I deserve the current standard of living that I am enduring right now?

My mother was recently abandoned by husband number four. She has no money, college education, or real work experience.

I moved into her backyard right before he left. I had spent five years trying to stay away from her. My boyfriend got me to move into this place with him.

A day after my mother's fourth husband jumped ship, Nick (the boyfriend) followed suit.

He didn't really give me a reason.

My mother took this as ample invitation to knock at my door three or four times a day and ask me to do favors. She cried on me. I can't get out of this place now. It is morally wrong to leave a person in her situation.


I couldn't blame him for leaving; I have been making his life miserable because of my persisting (romantic) obsession with my best friend. Nick would go out drinking to spite me.

So he moved away. And we still loved each other and tried to stick it out.

Tonight he called and asked me to do something with him. I called back five minutes later and he decided to ditch me in favor of Colin and Brett. I was okay with it. I wasn't even angry.

I call him at two in the fucking morning. And what do I hear? Laurren's voice drifting through the speaker.
He didn't invite me. He was lying in a bed with Brett and my female friend.

And guess what? He had been drinking again.

I don't do that. I may hang out with Alec. I may fantasize about him inappropriately. I do not lay in bed with him and drink. I don't even touch him very much. Just a goodbye hug. I do not deserve this.

I'll say it again, because I have always blamed every issue on myself. I blamed myself when my stepbrother molested me. I blamed myself for Nick drinking. I blamed myself for the fat girl in Pullman that rolled around with MY boyfriend as he fumbled with her bra in a drunken fucking stupor.

Not this time.

I do NOT deserve this.

I don't.

But I am so afriad of losing him. I feel sick imagining it.

Alec doesn't call. I have no friends.

But should I let those things spur me to hold on to him when he treats me like shit?

No.

I called back and dumped him.
I hope I can keep from losing my sanity over this situation.

Also, there is a colony of ants in my half of the garage.
Also, I have no money.
Also, I quit my job like an idiot.
Also, I'm going to sleep alone again.

Oh well.
What can you do?

Unemployment

I quit my job at Hastings on Thursday of last week.
It was vaguely crazy because I just didn't want to work for THIS weekend. I can't say that I (always) hated it there. I quit a job I have worked at for...nearly a year, so I could go on a trip to Bellingham. I grabbed my last paycheck and put it in checking. Nick and I stuffed random clothing into backpacks and stole some chicken out of my father's fridge. We scarfed it and fled to the open road.

During the first stretch of the journey I silently watched the numbers on the CD player tick closer to my scheduled shift. I writhed about nervously and breathed a sigh of relief after four 'o' clock rolled by and Hastings failed to call me.

Nick and I are struggling. It's all directly linked to my afflictions. We seemed to do okay for the first while. He was brimming with excitement for his new job. He even listened to my music in the car. (Whoa.)
The mood took a serious plummet as we stepped onto the Western Washington University campus. It was beautiful. The trees tried to graze the old sturdy buildings. The WTF statue glistened in the sun. I could see the Puget sound from a balcony where I imagined myself lighting cigarettes between classes. I wandered up a trail behind one of the buildings and I got into a forest in less than a minute. I loved the campus dearly. I began to talk about all of the things I would do in each respective spot.
"Oh I'll get coffee in the Underground Cafe and smoke on this whimsical staircase."
"I could go on adventures through the woods"
"Look at that music building! I could try to take classes there."
Etc. etc.
Nick was not digging my enthusiasm.
Because to go to college is to leave him.

We found a beautiful little beach with an odd table and chair set. I think he felt better sitting under a train track overlooking the ocean playing Spanish guitar.

Anyways, we slept in a flimsy tent surrounded by hundreds of obnoxious people in Larrabee State Park. I heard a cougar eating what sounded like a wild boar. It was horrifying and Nick slept through it all.

I dreamt I had been beaten and had egg shaped bruises on my hips. It was just my mind's feeble protests against the rocky soil.

We roused ourselves early and set off again. After a tasty breakfast at The Bagelry we set off to Canada. Vancouver specifically. Canada was awful. He went there to drink alkie. I went there unenthused but willing to be a good sport after the Belligham depression.
The border agent was a skinny blonde bitch. She seemed like a dominatrix and all I knew of was her voice and skinny forearm. (I was in the passenger seat)
We decided that Canadians enjoy triangles more than other shapes because the roofs were all fashioned that way.
Vancouver was huge and a strange combination of friendly and apathetic. The people all looked happy, like in their shopping bags and large purses IV drips of serotonin were trickling into their veins. No one looked at strangers though. I didn't understand the currency at all. Gas said it cost 105.3. I though I must have been confusing something...
A man was lounging on his apartment balcony butt naked. I stared.
We found an enchanting park, but then we got very lost. After harsh words and many dehydrated hours of hiking through the streets, we finally made it back to the red ZX2. We hightailed it out of that country and headed for the USA border. I played angry Nirvana music.

Then the story goes from intruiging to just plain wacked out. I come up with the brilliant idea of stalking my friend across Washington to Forks. (It was supposed to be a joke.) Nick latched on to the plan though and starts driving as I complain about my nausea incessantly. We finally get a hold of Alec and he tells me to go home.

So we do. After many hours of driving we pull up to the lovely shed called home and collapse into a real bed. Sure we have a slight ant infestation currently, but it beats the living shit out of camping without a sleeping bag.

Strange times. And I wonder, will I get another job?

Insomnia is not Glamorous.

I slept slightly under five hours last night. Or should I say, this morning? Now I'm already too awake and probably going to head down to the Columbia River to burn a letter and smoke. I can't shake the feeling that there is vomit crawling up the back of my throat, I've been on the verge of puking for most of yesterday evening, last night, and apparently this morning. My head is pounding.

But all of this complaint is nothing. It is meaningless. Why should my discomfort matter in the larger scheme of destroying everything I can get my hands on? You should all go listen to Rilo Kiley sing "Absence of God". Jenny Lewis describes me perfectly in the last verse.
Oh wait, no one reads this except my sister and my former best friend. Isn't this just a pathetic cry for sympathy or forgiveness? Possibly. I think I might have made (one of) the worst decisions in my life yesterday.

On the brighter side of life, I lost some weight from all the trauma.