Wow. I haven't written for a long time. It feels so weird to be taking up the keypad once again. It's weird, ya know. The things in life that keep you going. They're always the little things, the ones you hold on to in a death grip. In my heavily tanned death grip, I hold on to a few simple pleasures of life. A best friend, herbal, orgasms and Netflix.
Amanda Lynn Ross is probably one of the best things to happen to me in a long time. She gets on my nerves sometimes, but I fucking love the woman. She's witty and charming. Hilarious and completely unclassifyable. She's the beat of my heart, this lady and I'm so happy to have her. She fills me up with best friend juice on the daily and it helps wash away the heavy stank of livin and being poor.
Herbal, is just that, completely herbal. It washes away the stress all stored up in my muscles from the long day and it cleanses my system of self deprication I've stored in there all day. It's part of my daily diet, along with Dr. Pepper, the second water, and Doritoes, which are a staple in any good American's diet. I particularly love herbal because it helps clarify my senses, purify them in a way. Everything I think and feel, it feels like it's the first time it's ever happened. Except sex, because the first time always sucks.
Speaking of orgasms, I have them. As often as possible. Sadly enough, usually by my own hand. It's the little things, you know. A paycheck instantly dissolved a few weeks ago entirely into Alejandro. A debonair young orange, battery-powered speed of thunder. He instantly dissolves every worry or doubt I've had all day that the herbal can't take care of. He knows all my sweet spots and know's exactly what to say or do to hit them. What more can a girl ask for from a lover that has no heartbeat? Not including vampires, of course. (If that's what you're in to.)
I.. am in to Netflix. A lot. It pushes all my dirty buttons. For being a legitimate site, that's pretty fucking incredible. I can watch what I want, when I want, as much as I want--for a low, lovely price--and not only that, but I get everything I wanted that I can't have instantly, sent to my doorstep, 3 at a time? I'm in love. If I'm in the mood for a little menage-a-trois, I can watch lesbians fucking each other in a variety of different ways. If I'm in the mood for a little Robert Downey, Netflix asks me, "which way?" Even if I'm the mood for some David Duchovny, Netflix won't tell anybody. Netflix is the ultimate dirty little secret. Nobody really knows what's in my queue, and I like it that way.
With all this great shit in modern America (including the internet), it makes it easy to slip into nonexistence, at least for a little while. Everything's not always perfect. I find myself choking on depression so thick sometimes, I forget how to breathe. Breaking down in to tears is getting less and less fun. To quote one out of the duo of hottest girls in America, "Nobody likes to, but I really like to cry."
