Are you talking to me? I said, are you talking to ME?

Well, well, well. Roomie came home early from work last nite - something he's been doing a lot since he got a girlfriend, but I digress. And we had it out. Major. I let loose 2 months of frustrations and complaints. So why do I feel like a gigantic bitch? Who cares, that will pass. However, I do feel so much better having partially convinced him how wrong he is for all the bullshit he's put us thru for the last few months.

But, alas, my happiness is short-lived and fades quickly. Once an issue is resolved, another one is always there waiting to pop its ugly little head up in my face to remind that for some reason, the universe doesn't want me to be happy, not even for 5 fucking minutes.

I had an argument with my daughter at 4:30 this morning. Luckily, I'd been up since 3:30 AM, so at least I was awake for it. Apparently I'm mean and selfish and she hates me. Yeah, that's right. I have done everything for that child for the last 17 years, and at this point, I give up. I have been there for her, every minute of every day. We've made it through a suicide attempt and truancy. I have covered for her on many occasions. I've lost jobs because of her. We've been to court, counseling and community service. I've spent countless hours and dollars just to try and give her a decent life, or at least a better one than I had growing up. Maybe she'll see it and appreciate it when she's older, but it's not looking good right now.

If you don't have kids, keep it that way.

If you do, and you have a guilt complex like I do about your child not having a father because he was a loser heroin addict who spent most of his time in jail or in a gutter somewhere shooting up, do the kid a favor and don't try to be both mom and dad. Don't try to be their buddy, or their friend, because it will backfire on you and you'll never know what hit you. Then one day you'll wake up and realize that you've raised an ungrateful, inconsiderate spoiled brat. Yay me.

My horoscope today told me to "rejuvenate my soul".
I don't have the first clue how to go about doing that. I'm not sure I even have a soul. The only proof I have is that the doors open automatically for me at the supermarket.
Thank you, Door!
(Simpson's reference.)

I'm tired and cranky.

I just really want to hit someone or something with all the force I can muster.

I watched "Last Comic Standing" the other nite. Saw some friends on there, which was cool. Paul Varghese, Chris Dodgen, but they spelled his name wrong. But I'm still kicking myself for not auditioning. So few women were there. Women are funny too dammit, why aren't they out there? Beth, I'm looking in your direction. A certain short blonde comic we know (ahem, you know who I'm talking about) made it onto television - I'd say we have a shot. Dammit, we need to get together and write some stuff.

I don't like teenagers.

My hair looks like shit today.

I had very little sleep and my eyes are all red and puffy.

Why is it that at my age, nearly 40, my face still breaks out?

My medical bills and lost work from the accident are well over $5000.00 and I'm pissed. Temp workers don't have health insurance. Ahh, that's nice.

I don't care if the Mavericks win. I really don't.

I'm surrounded by people at work who think Larry the Cable guy is the pinnacle of comedy.

I am writing some new material. Actually, Evan and I have written a couple of new jokes this week. God knows I need to write something. I seem to have a vague memory of a time when I did that a lot.

I need to hit an open mic soon. Gotta practice for my gig next week. And the week is almost gone. Dammit.

Pity party for me today. Boohoo and fuck you. (no, not you.)