Bitch got issues...

Hello and happy Friday to you all! I hope you find yourself in splendidly high spirits on this lovely precursor to the weekend. May the lord shineth his rays of hope down upon thee and bless thine life with the splendors of his love. Amen. And amen.

Yeah, me neither.

So here I am eating miso soup at midnight. It sounds like the title of a melodramatic mid-westerner's really bad first novel. A "masterpiece of a work in which she recounts the trials of a young pregnant teen growing up in America's heartland". Was that a rant? I'm not even sure.

This miso soup was brought to you by a tube of mysterious paste-like substance and a bag of freeze dried tofu that I found in my pantry five minutes ago. And it is surprisingly delicious. I'm sure it has everything to do with my obscene cravings of salty foods for the past week and nothing to do with actual quality.

Back in Michigan again. Missing Texas like a bitch. A bitch dat gots issues. There's something about this place that's very lonely. It might have to do with the whole "big house out in the middle of nowhere" thing, but I'm trying to convince myself that that's not the case. I think it's mostly having no one to talk to. And nothing to talk about. Hmmm *formulates scheme to transport Bellami's house filled with everyone she knows and loves to Michigan* (Oh how I do miss the Bellami-ness). But enough of this sadness. Life is pointless and living is futile and Lester, Ester, Wyatt, Amelia, Apple, and Parsley seedlings have stopped growing because there's is no sunlight in this godforsaken house.

I've been looking for a job. So far I've applied to Victoria's Secret, Bed Bath and Beyond, Bath and Body Works, Maurices (clothing store), Claires, Barnes and Noble... and I think that's all. My pickiness with jobs and severe lack of credentials (haha... oh, waitressing years. How I'll never ever miss you.) make me think that I won't be getting hired any time soon. But I'm okay with spending the next two months sleeping until noon and living off of chocolate chip cookies. (God, I'm a spoiled brat.) Now all I need to do is get pretty so I can marry some over-ambitious investment banker and live like this for the rest of my life. Yay! for realistic goals.

Christians don't bother me. In fact, it really bothers me when people "Christian-bash" and assume that everyone that has any kind of religion is a bible-beating evangelical who worships George W. Bizzle... for rizzle. Because they're not. A lot of them are great people who I am only slightly jealous of for having more concept of who they are as a person than I will ever have. But not my sister. For she is one crazy biatch. Most likely, I will regret all of this later, but I predict that she will be the freakishly twitchy, over-bearing, nightmare of a mother by the time she hits forty. And for some reason she will have wild red hair and wear it all on top of her head in a rigid cocoon of hairspray and malice. And I will be the hippy aunt who slips her nieces and nephews hard liquor at new years and is still trying to get laid.