Meet me in the back with the jack and the jukebox.

Is it time for Caribbean fun? Because I'm pretty sure I'm sick of laying around in my underwear because my mom is having major cold flashes and is CONSTANTLY turning on the fucking heater. If I'm going to be BBQed like a brisket, it better be somewhere tropical with my skin wrapped in banana leaves. If it were not for insane amounts of reading for my exams next week, I sure as Hell wouldn't be suffocating in my sauna of a house. I guess the good thing about sweating all the fucking time is that it helps with my weight loss. As it turns out, I've lost a shit ton of weight not doing much. Mostly boozing. I am the wonder woman that has miracle weight loss via alcohol diet, all while maintaining a certain level of sobriety enough to get work done. I was recently contemplating the The 3 C's Diet, which consists of coffee, cigarettes and cocaine. Unfortunately cocaine isn't plentiful and I don't care for smoking. Caffeine I have under control, no doubt. The only thing I really do is just dance naked to Shakira and now people are telling me my body resembles hers. I wonder if I danced to The Rolling Stones if I would somehow end up looking like Mick Jagger, because looking older than one should, having borderline emaciation and being of the opposite sex is the new look now-a-days. I no longer have a clue what this world is coming to.

Gurkle, gurkle, gurkle.

I would probably look healthier if I slept and ate like a normal person. I'm starting to look like a crackhead and I guess I'm ok with that if clearly I'm doing nothing about it. I don't remember the last time I was home for more than 12 hours, I don't remember the last time I went more than a day without at least a glass of wine or a martini (it's getting to the point where a dirty martini is my drink of choice, that's BAD!), I don't remember the last time I went a day with less than 6 cups of coffee, I don't remember the last time I drank water outside of FYH, I don't remember the last time I ate non-vegetarian food because apparently I live at FYH. I guess I ate meat a few weeks back when I made braised lamb when Mike was over? I don't know. Jason says I'm becoming one of the regular crazies that sit at the bar all day. Apparently the "regular crazy" doesn't apply to him even though his family owns the damn place? I have no idea. I can't keep track of my friends or my own life. All I know is that FYH is a portal to another world of some sorts and it's a nice escape from reality when my life is homework.

I guess that's my update. I need to finish some project crap that I've been slacking on. I have several hundred pages to read and I'm pretty sure that I might sleep with my linquistics professor if that means I will get an A and never have to show up to class ever again. What's sad is that I really like him, I just hate the shit that I'm learning and the fucking mountain of crap work. I get that as an anthro major I need to learn this but I believe getting my teeth pulled would be a Hell of a lot more exciting. Shit, I might even sleep with my socialist bitch bull dyke history professor if that means I don't need to show up to her class, too. All she can talk about is how badly she wants to dyke out with Rachel Maddow and I'm pretty sure her vagina is made up of rotten, maget-infested carcasses. Actually, now that I think about it, I might just offer sex to all of my professors and see if that gets me anywhere. I'm willing to run the risk of expulsion if there's a chance that I can just get naked once and get it over with. I probably should have done that with my archeology professor a while back. Not because I hated the class, but because he was just ridiculously good looking and his pompousness and arrogance was a complete turn on. I felt like that horny little slutty student in Indiana Jones that had "I LOVE YOU" written on her eyelids. See, I'd take it up a notch and write "FUCK ME HARD" on my eyelids. Why beat around the bush? That bitch didn't love Indie, she just wanted a load of cum in her mouth and that's ok. All girls need to eat some cum every once in a while.

Wah wah.

Blah blah blah... Honors class... blah blah blah... who knew community college had honors classes... blah blah blah... short paper with a million references needed, including "national" magazines... blah blah blah... unmotivated to write... blah blah blah... so happy my other classes don't ask this much of me... blah blah blah... brain is elsewhere tonight... blah blah blah.

Clairvoyancy.

When I fall asleep with my head in my books and dream of something completely unusual, then for it to happen verbatim a couple hours later, I don't know what to make of it. For the past month I've been really 'in tune' with myself I guess and I just 'know' things... I don't know where it comes from, what it means, or if it's just coincidence... I don't know. I'm leaving it all up to the cosmos and to do what they must. I'm done asking questions and trying to understand why. I'm just going to lead myself in my dreams and follow myself in my real life. I guess that's the best way to do it.

Because I like distractions from my linquistics paper...

Uncanny, isn't it?

Damn hippies.

The problem with having one of my bestfriends work at Follow Your Heart means I go there a lot to visit. The more I visit, the more I get to know the staff. The more I get to know the staff, the more I want to spend hours and hours sitting at the bar drinking coffee talking to people like they're friends from way back in the day. As it turns out, I'm drinking at least 4-9 cups on a regular visit and I'm a full blown insomniac again. The picture above is my face after a pot or two of coffee spread throughout the day, a dirty martini from the martini lounge (about 30 minutes after I left FYH to meet Josh, INSTANT headache - I can't follow caffeine with alcohol, but I can the other way around), two glasses of wine when I got home, another cup of coffee and 120 pages worth of articles, essays and interviews from 1880-1920 on political reform because honors classes are a fucking bitch. Now I cant sleep, my mind is racing and I'm a mess. Awesome. Oh well, at least my life is still fucking awesome.

Smeagol.

The most brilliant piece of music I've ever had the pleasure of listening to is "Dougie" by California Swag District. If you haven't listened to it, stop what you're doing this very second and look it up on youtube. This song was written by a lyrical genius and I honestly don't think the hip-hop world will ever top this. Because of my undying love for this song, I insist on playing it for everyone. Case in point: The other day at my friend Jason's house, I looked at him and said it was time to Dougie. Of course he looked at me like I was nutso, which is nothing new, but after I played it he too had fallen in love with the dance that is known as the DOUGIE. Again, if you have not looked this up by now you should stop reading my blog and look up that fucking video.

At some point things got weird when I was wound up on 8 cups of coffee and I decided to Smeagol instead of Dougie. I was caught up in explaining how I look like Smeagol in the morning (see picture posted above) and that somehow translated into a song and dance in my head. I crouched over like a creep, pulled my hair back and hobbled around the room like i was in search of a precious ring. It was pretty amazing and I'm 99% positive Jocelyn pissed her pants. She got up and said IT'S AN EMERGENCY, I REALLY NEED TO PEE. Jason later checked his couch for pee stains and he questioned a couple of wet spots but nothing was confirmed to actually be pee.

So with said dance came the lyrics:

Teach me how to Smeagol,
Teach me, teach me how to Smeagol.
All my precious love me
All my, all my precious love me.
YOU AIN'T FUCKIN WITH MY PRECIOUS.

I highly suggest everyone do this, record it, post it on youtube and make it an internet phenomenon.

My Valentine.

I couldn't believe the shit going on in Malibu today. What's normally a 20 minute minute drive from Agoura down Las Virgenes over by Moonshadows to get to Josh's took just over an hour and a half. Was it because it's Valentine's Day or because of the long weekend? Well, whatever it was, I saw a million papparazzo's over at the Country Mart on Cross Creek. If I had a battering ram on my Cadillac it would have been very reminiscent of Woody Harrelson in Zomebieland. I just hope that Jennifer Aniston was getting publicly railed by Brad Pitt with a huge FUCK YOU ANGELINA t-shirt on because it was a fucking zoo and a half.

Depsite me being a raging hormonal bitch because it's 'my time' right now along with the extreme frustration from the traffic, Josh made everything better by having an ice cold margarita with my name on it waiting for me by the time I got there. After I downed my margi and took a cat nap, Josh and I made homemade pizza. Dough from scratch, too. Homemade sauce + fresh mozzarella + proscuitto di parma + paper thin onions + chiffonade of basil and garlic oil drizzle = yummmyyyy. We had a pretty fabulous dinner. It was really nice.

Jamon.

I'm probably the luckiest girl on this planet and I couldn't be more grateful.

Blah blah.

I think it's really cute that I have a couple of regular readers now that read my blog to check in on me or to see if I have written about them. What's sad is that under normal circumstances, my blog would be an excellent way to track me and my wrongdoings down. Since my life is no longer mundane, it's been a struggle to keep up with this blog. I'm at a point in my life where I can't keep track of myself. I'm forgetting people's names, over-lapping plans, drinking too much (in caffeinated and alcohol form) and I'm NEVER HOME.

The past two nights I've made a conscious effort to be home early. I've been having to grapple my own brain to make decisions that would be better for me. Thus far, I've only succeeded in keeping up my diet (excluding mass amounts of alcohol) and my work out regimen (mainly because one of my best guy friends is a personal trainer and I see him all the time and he helps me out greatly), along with my other success being the ability to focus on my love of becoming a pedantic bitch. I'm failing on the whole "coming home" thing; I'm not entirely grasping that concept yet but I'll get there. There are some other issues I'm facing on a crazy-level but that I cannot elaborate on and will unfortunately need to be completely vague on these matters. I know, I know, but I can't write what I want to JUST yet.

All in all, my life is completely chaotic but this is the happiest I've ever been. :)

Cheshire Cat

The view from Josh's deck is pretty amazing in the morning.

When I'm happy...

I take pictures.

Stuck to you.

I think I need to spend some time at home for a while and start waking up in my own bed.

I'm driving myself up the fucking wall.