"What are you doing still coming here? Don't you know I update my website every three goddamn months? Uy. Well dude, since January and the car accident I've been keeping myself busy with the three W's: work, weed, and writing.

I slowly teeter on the edge of termination at work. As for my other job with No Cover, my last interview was with Jordan and Jake of Strung Out. They'll be our cover story for May, and my last cover story for March on emo-pop band Student Rick turned out better than I thought.

Something which may be a bit interesting, especially for those whom I haven't seen in a long time (Tom, Loren, Jordan, etc.), is that "weed" is a main contributing factor to the list of preoccupations. Just so you know, I haven't become one of those stupid fucking--oh, what are they--those fucking types that draw bud leaves and write "420" everywhere and announce to everyone, loudly, when and where they smoked however many bowls. I hate that shit.

This is the obligatory disclaimer I have to give because everytime I update the journal page I've found a new hobby. My last nuance was the whole raverrific ordeal and this time, well, whatever. But if you must be so surprised, or even disappointed, that Gabe is slowly luring me by the arm into the quicksand that is his pit of stoner friends, rest assure that your girl gets high with the best intentions, and when I do, I only smoke chronic."

April 7, 2002

*sigh* My article is due on the 15th and I haven't started. Goddamit. So, I'm at Parky's house right now and drinking some watery beer. We just got done playing hack.. that was really fun. Last night we went over to King's house after they watched "the worst movie in the whole world," Overboard with Adam Sandler. Gee, imagine that. A bad Adam Sandler movie. I hate that guy. Anyway, I got mad at Gabe because I was telling him it was time to go home, but he didn't get up from the couch, but when Geoff mentioned smoking a bowl, Gabe's ears perked up. Fuck, I'm not talking about anything. I just thought I'd write something in here cuz I was feeling nice. Kay bye,.

April 2, 2002

Today was my first day back from my little Spring break vacation. Evil. All last week, while Gabe's mom was out of town and I didn't have to work or go to school, I lived at his house and loafed around like a new housecat. It felt like we were kind of, uh, married. You know, doing the things that every married couples do--sit around, smoke weed and watch the Food Network till the goddamn sun goes down. When Gabe went to work and I'd have to wait for him to come home, I'd clean up the house, pick up his clothes, and migrate periodically between the sofa-bed in the living room to the bed in Gabe's room. Thursday night, the 28th, he came home from work in the afternoon, we made a visit up to PQ to see Kings and get some purple V-8's, and took them that night. Unfortunately, Gabe's brass cracker was at my house, my cracker was at my house, and we couldn't get Richie's tank, so we couldn't do any whip-its. The evening went by really fast, but it was a nice, mellow roll, and these pills weren't speedy or make us sweat. We took them relatively early so that we could get a lot of sleep, and Gabe still ditched work the next day.

But that's all old news. Tonight while I was updating this site I looked through some of my older entries. I've probably said this before and it sounds really stupid, but I used to be funny. I made myself laugh. When I wrote, I wrote entries that were interesting. Witty. I was reading the entries from a year ago, on April 20, 2001. I don't know what it is, if it's because I've grown up, but I don't write the commentaries I used to. It must be one of those touches that you lose after time and don't realize it. I never update this page anymore, and don't expect anyone to see it, so I have no audience to play to. Is that why married couples have sex like, every six years or something? Do they just forget? From what I've heard, although guys get horny as hell if they haven't rid their bodies of that evil demon semen, girls in general don't think so much about sex if they haven't had it for a while. That must be why guys always wanna bang every goddamn thing they see on the street when they go out and leave their wives at home. Jesus christ. I'm striking a bunch of other issues I don't want to get into. I'm just gonna post some of my older entries now. In fact I'm gonna make another note to myself to never get married.

What the fuck. I'm gonna go masturbate right now goddamit.

February 12, 2002

Tonight when I went to the mall I sat with my laptop in the food court and drank Budweiser through a straw from a lidded soda cup. Gabe concerns himself deeply in curing my recurring Nitro cottonmouth and craving for beer. It’s also his laptop that I’m currently in possession of. I lie in bed with it right beside my head. When I’m typing I can get down so many more ideas for an article than I can with a pen and paper. My ideas have a shorter life span than whatever those goddamn bugs are that die like a second after they hatch. What are those, moths of some sort? Anyway, I was having fun earlier tonight wringing out a few mental notes from the Student Rick interview I mopped up last week. Finally, somewhere to begin. I’m a pussy when it comes to listening to my interview tapes. I haven’t yet perfected the art of conducting a solid interview and sounding cool. I’m not sure how much practice, if any, such a necessary skill requires. I’m a moron.

On the other hand, I can honestly say tonight that I’ve never before felt more like a true “writer.” It might even have to do with the cheesy No Cover bag I use to lug around the laptop. But most of all it’s the satisfaction I’ve gotten from using my abilities to help Gabe with his paper. I forget how great it is to not have to scour the entire English language for the right words to say what I’m thinking. He even told me how well he thinks I convey my ideas. To know that Gabe appreciates and acknowledges an ability that I find to be one of my own best abilities, especially as his girlfriend, I get the only validation I need to believe I can truly write well. I managed to crank out a really good week-long assignment in one day. I’ve never done that in my life. In tenth grade I damn near turned in eraser bits and pencil shavings whenever a paper was due after being given a month.

February 13, 2002

Being at the mall when you’re high is surreal as hell. Especially when you’re by yourself. Don’t ask me why. I’m high as I write this. It’s all the more reason to be paranoid if you’re alone. You’re walking around a crazy ass mall that goes in all directions, meanwhile you’ve got the attention span of a goldfish. I was sitting down at a table, I didn’t know where the hell I was. I just kept looking at people and thinking, “Someone that looks exactly like them just walked by a minute ago.” And then I’d be wondering maybe it’s because I’m sitting in one place, in the middle of a mall, where people walk back and forth all the time. Jesus. And then I’d go on thinking all kinds of shit. Crazy maniac shit. Don’t ask me what it is, I’m high as I write this. I’ve got the memory of a goddamn goldfish. A dead one even. This car is making me want to puke.

Speaking of which, I haven’t smoked in quite a while. So I got really funny off of the bowl I smoke. Gabe was making up a song out of a clicking noise he makes with his mouth, and I called it his “clam jam” cuz it sounded like little clams opening and closing. Then I extended the definition of clam jam to mean “vagina cheese.” Then I had to take it further and define “clam juice” as what a girl gets when she’s wet. I was on a goddamn roll. I called “clam chowder” a pussy with cum all over it. Gabe was just about to vomit right there in the drivers seat. Like I said, I was a real funny gal. I could’ve laughed till I pissed my pants. But I wouldn’t know what kind of clam product to associate that with.

February 14, 2002 Happy Valentines Day

Gabe got into his car this morning to find it broken into, again. Every last one of his c.d.s are gone, including his whole Beatles collection, and he has no passenger seat window. Nevertheless, we celebrated Valentines Day with Jed, Joe and Alexis, weed and beer. I gave everyone Nitros, and I think Gabe ended up yacking up alcohol. Other than that, nothing new.

February 17, 2002

I spent about ten bucks on clearance Valentines Day candy tonight cuz me and Gabe got the munchies. This is also after getting In-N-Out burgers for lunch. Goddamit.

February 18, 2002

God is it nice to sleep in two mornings in a row. For me that means waking up at 10:30 a.m. and feeling like a fat groggy fuckin asshole. I don’t remember what I did all day, but tonight I went to see Gabe at the mall, and I almost finished the New York Times crossword puzzle while I was all high and waiting for him to get done with work. Later on we digressed from our chocolate-munching habit and stopped by my house for Fruit Loops and grapes. There’s this thing that Gabe does, where he’ll play with his food and eat just the head off a gummy bear, or just somehow disfigure something he’s eating. And like a kid, he’ll stop and just show it to me. He did that tonight when he was peeling the skin off a grape with his teeth. He chewed all the skin off his grape and just stopped and held it in front of me as if to say, “Look what I did.” It’s almost too goddamn cute. I’m sure this is all relevant.

Gabe was telling me, “When I was a little kid I used to have a contest with my mom to see who could fit the most grapes in their mouth.” And then I told him, “I know that game. Except I play it by myself, and I do it with testicles.” I was falling over in my goddamn chair. Gabe didn’t find it as funny.

Before he left he stuck yellow marshmallow Peeps onto his car antennae for decoration. It was a big Peep-kabob. “That’s what my car deserves,” he says. It looked like shit. Like a float that belongs in an Easter parade. The Peeps eventually flew off while he was driving on the freeway.

Even marshmallow chicks don’t like his car.

February 19, 2002

I showed my new $48 dollar man-purse to Liz this morning after I got to work. She freaked out about the price, so I started doing the whole Show and Tell routine with all the pockets and zippers. “Screw pockets,” she said. “For $48 bucks it better give me head.”

February 22, 2002

I was so exhausted when I got home tonight that while I was trying to work on my article in bed with the laptop, I rested my head against the wall and fell asleep sitting up. My neck was almost folded in half when I woke up. I kept having these weird dreams of hitting a wall, from the pressure on my head. It was like a weird acid trip. I got at least ten hours of sleep, and in the morning I still couldn’t wake up.

February 24, 2002

I wake up at 6:30 six days a week, so when it’s Sunday and I can finally sleep in, I never do. I woke up at 9:30 today feeling like I slept forever. I always wake up in the middle of the morning and worry about having to go to work or school, and then I can’t go back to sleep. So I tried working on the article from 11:00 to 2:00, and then Gabe called me. I was already falling asleep at the computer again. So I told him I was considering just staying home and doing the article instead of going out like we do every Sunday. I went back to sleep and napped till 5:00, only to drag the laptop out again and stare at the screen for another couple of hours, going nowhere. It never ended. I woke up from my nap super sweaty, but I stayed in bed and just opened up the laptop, dreading it. Finally I just said “fuck it” and asked Gabe to pick me up. I was going really insane listening to the interview tape forever and typing and retyping and rephrasing every single goddamn word I had down. I just couldn’t do it anymore. So we went to Joe’s house together, got high and watched a COPS marathon on Court TV. I got back home at around 1:30 and couldn’t sleep because of the Nitro I also took at Joe’s house. So I cranked out whole new paragraphs and pieced the article together like I’d been trying to all night. It was so easy, and fit so perfectly all the sudden. All I had to do was take my mind off it for a while.

February 25, 2002

I got to school this morning, bought a paper and a cup of tea, and finished my Student Rick article like it was nothing at a bench next to the cafeteria. I even read it back and made myself laugh. Then I sent it off to Rob, hoping he wouldn’t butcher the 2600 word composition, and had nothing to do for the rest of the day but smoke.

Speaking of which, Gabe and I and our friend Chris got high before they went to English class, just on the bench in the middle of campus, as people walked by. I’ve never been in a class stoned, but being stoned on campus is still pretty interesting. I was drinking iced tea like a maniac.

Gabe got his English essay back, the one I wrote for him, and he got an A-. It was supposed to be a letter grade lower because he turned it in a day late, but the teacher thought it was so good he couldn’t give it a B. That’s excellent. I’ve been doing some good writing recently. The Student Rick story I finished this morning is the best goddamn article I’ve written yet.

March 1, 2002 More stoner thoughts

I think it’s kind of funny how I look now when I’m stoned as opposed to how I looked when I first started smoking. Right now, I look exactly like the way people draw cartoon characters all stoned. They give them the half-closed bloodshot eyes, the raised eyebrows, the stupid grin. I look like one of those cartoons, because of all of those things. Back when I first started smoking, you wouldn’t even be able to tell the way I looked...I’d be lying face-down on the floor. I just think it’s funny how that stony facial expression is so common in everyone, how weed so automatically gives everyone that look, that if everybody were to draw a stoner, the faces in each drawing would look exactly the same.

It's me and Gabe's 13 month anniversary. I didn't remember until he'd dropped me off at 1:00 a.m. and it was already over. No one really keeps count after a year I guess. Except me.