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Listening to: From the Choirgirl Hotel. Not for long, though... it's not really matching my mood quite like I was expecting it too.

Currently Reading: Just barely started Jonathan Lethem's Gun, With Occasional Music. Kind of saving it for the train, as well as a stack of others (both fiction and non). Also, I recently read Laurie Notaro's I Love Everybody (and Other Atrocious Lies): True Tales of a Loudmouth Girl (again) in like two days, and peed myself laughing. Highly recommended. I also devoured The Broke Diaries by Angela Nissel in, like, a mere few days. Laughed until I peed. Also highly recommended.

Wishing: income. Lots of it. Other than that, life's pretty good.

I couldn't be more The current mood of ronkc@diaryland.com at www.imood.com right now.

Buy "Civilised Conversation..." Merchandise! Please? All the cool kids are doing it....

Please help me pay for college by purchasing items from Amazon.com through this link!!

Do you love me?

17 November 2003 | 1:17 AM

Sometimes in the middle of the night...

Sometimes in the middle of the night, when my bedroom is as black as death, and the sheets on half the bed are as cold as a five-day-old corpse, I think

All I ever wanted to be was someone's Old Lady.

I want to be the ball and chain.

I need to be somebody's sqeeze.

I float in this for a minute, in this bed that is too big for me, and feel a little bit lonely when all of a sudden the wheezing, flopping noise from my lungs wakes me up and shocks me back into Relationship Reality, and I realize

The empty side of the bed does not fart in its sleep.

The empty side of the bed does not attempt to sodomize me while I am sleeping.

The empty side of the bed does not make me look at the turd as big as my leg grounded in the toilet and then ask aloud, "Dude, do you think it will go down in one flush?"

The empty side of the bed does not wrestle me to the floor, pin me, and then straddle me, in order to do the Spit Torture, dripping saliva out of its mouth over my face, then sucking back up; dribbling it out, then sucking it back up; dribbling it out, then letting it fall right near my mouth.

The empty side of the bed IS NOT, I repeat, IS NOT a MAN.

And for that I am thankful.

I want a man as nice as my retarded dog, but one that doesn't crap on the floor. I want a man who will only cheat on me a little and who will call me once a week. I want a man who will buy his own drinks and who will hold back my hair when I puke....

But maybe it's just my destiny to remain alone, eating single-people food like Soup for One, collecting Precious Moments figurines and thinking that my dog can talk back to me. Oh, God. With any luck, I'll wind up living in a trailer park as a bitter, celibate alcoholic with a heart full of hate. I'd much rather be alone and make myself miserable than give someone else the pleasure. I'll die a graceful and glowing death when my cigarette plunges into the shag carpet as I pass out after my final date with Jack Daniel's, whowill be resting very comfortabley and very drained on the pillow of the empty side of the bed.

Laurie Notaro, The Idiot Girls' Action-Adventure Club

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