on the menu last night we served the infamous months old savory thins, two sliced roma tomatos soaked in balsamic, two spicy hot links wrapped in genuine intestine, ketchup and of course dijon and radish on the side for the main dish, followed by frozen chocolate mochi to tickle your taste buds. we're rinsing tonight's two course meal with 9 year old knob burboun on rocks, and trust me it's the perfect complement for the mochi. on the scale this morning we suffered on the painful realization that the pounds are back, all of them.
she said she's over the douchbag, i said she's not, or else she wouldn't refer to him like that, said she's not indifferent. i'm not indifferent, i'm not over her. sh and m said they never email their ex's, good for them, i think noone should, ever. what's gone is gone. rubbish. nothing's ever gone before i die, which by the way is rescheduled again. due to minor technicalities the suicidal plans are postponed for the time being. unmark your calendars.
on the menu this morning we're serving a momentary lapse of reason by dawn, paranoid self-destructive thoughts by sunrise and agony for breakfast, topped off by a nasty double shot of espresso. parents. los angeles. women. dreams. solitude. sister. passion. money. happiness. failure. void. whiskey. machines. coming soon to a theater near you in black and white superscope, my suicidal dreams are back.
