I have a friend who says that she isn't going to vote...one less thing to think about.

I know she's got problems, but to me, that's pretty much saying, "Fuck it. I don't care about the country I live in." I mean, if you want things to happen, and you believe either candidate can do what you think is best, then you should vote. Women didn't get beaten and thrown in jail so that you could shrug your shoulders and say, "It doesn't matter", because it does. It wouldn't matter to me which way she voted - McCain/Palin or Obama/Biden. It doesn't matter. You should vote. You live in this fucking country, goddammit, and you should exercise your rights. And if you're a random person who sees this post, VOTE DAMMIT. Like I say, it matters not who you vote for, you should vote. It doesn't matter whether you're depressed, are an idiot, or are the smartest motherfucker out there. Voting is a fundamental right for all of us. Eighteen or ninety, you should vote. Mansion or homeless, you should vote.

I'm not giving my rights up that easily. We could be going to hell in a handbasket. You can pry my right to vote from my cold, dead hands, motherfucker.

I guess I knitted a fucking magical hat, that everyone wanted to touch it, and it made people smile. An awesome fucking hat, I guess.

I've never had a hat do that for me.

So, apparently, I'm meeting a guy at a bar next week. The Viliage Pub. I think I will call him "Twist Boy" because he liked the Twist.

Life is okay. I still want to hold baby. BABY!

I'm watching Anne of Green Gables on PBS, and I really, really can't stand it. I want to light my TV on fire. Anne, you're a fucking moron. And a bitch.

Holding babies is the awesomest thing in the world. I especially like the part where I can give them back.

Well, things at the dentist went awesomely, and now my teeth look EVEN BETTER. I'm happy about it. In a couple of weeks, I get my upper wisdom teeth removed, thank god, and I will dance for joy! Now I'm wondering if I should even call B, seeing as how I'm prolly gonna be busy. It would be two weeks next week, and I've got stuff to do. Maybe I'll call on Friday, see if he wants to go out for an hour or two. Whatever.

I'm glad I'm getting a sewing machine on my birthday. I'll be able to sew! Well, after I learn how to use the damn thing. This will certainly be an adventure.

All in all, things looking up! Finally. September can suck my big minty dick.

Ah, all is right with the world.

I got to hold a baby for a long, long time.

I do not understand.

I was at the bar at 9:20, had five beers, then left after midnight.

I was still in control of myself, and could remember everything.

I still was in control of myself at 3 am, after two more "beers". WTF?

Why is it okay now, but not last Friday, or the Friday before that?

I know September is rough for me, but still, it shouldn't be like that.

I will begin the Church of Music on Sunday, out of songs on my iPod. I don't have Genius turned on, because that would require more trouble than it's worth. We'll see if it's the Religion of TMBG, but only because those are the songs that I most frequently listen to. Watch out, I might hurt you...see you on Sunday!

To the creator of this picture, I only have one question:

Why do you hate women?

I would call you, but I don't want to look like I have no friends and am in desperate need of companionship, even though that's the truth.

Appearances count and if I don't act like I desperately need friends, then maybe it will work out well.

It would be nice to have a drinking buddy, seeing as how none of my other friends drink, and I don't smoke weed but they do, but I've already proven myself a fool in that department.

Simple math. Three pints = four bottled beers. You would have thought that I would have grasped that concept much earlier, however, you would be wrong. And that's where my problems lies. If I have that fourth pint, it's over my limit, and then it gets bad. Sometimes I wonder how I manage to put on pants with this level of stupidity.

That, or that level of stupidity allows me to think of things like a leather bomber jacket emblazoned with a giant vagina on the back and the words "THE VAGENIUS" underneath it. Because if we're talking silly, I can outperform the best.

You still will not call, and I will be sad, but it's completely understandable and in fact, what I would expect. I would completely understand if you never spoke to me again. But see, I understand these things, and have no hostility toward you for it.

The only time I would be hostile is if you were like the douchebag that I encountered tonight that decided that our driveway was a parking spot. No one except me really knows how tempted I was to key that car. That reminds me, I really need to see if American Science and Surplus still carries douchebags.

Anyway, whatever. I should just fucking suck it up and be alone. It's hard to, and I wish I could live in a world where actions don't have consequences, but I can't pretend that for even a moment.

What I want to happen tomorrow:

*Phone Vibrates* It's B!

Me: Hello?

B: Hey, how are you?

*Chitchat*

B: So are you going out tonight?

Me: Oh, I was going to stay in and drink and play video games. You're free to join me or not. Don't care which.

B: You know, that actually sounds fun. I'll be over in a few.

What will actually happen:

The phone will never ring. Or, at least, it won't be him.

Either way, it's four cans of Strongbow (Damn Mr. Trenchcoat!) and Crash Team Racing, with TMBG in the background.

Because high school would have been so much cooler with cider.

I can't watch the debates.

I'm gonna wanna drink my ass into oblivion.

Woohoo...a whole 3 minutes.

You may not like what I have to say.

I don't care. No, it's not the decision you want. Unfortunately, there's really nothing I can do about that. Neither can the person above me. What you are asking for is, in fact, impossible. There is no real recourse of action. You can take it like a Real Man or a Real Woman, suck it up, and realize that you will not be getting commission for this case.

Or you can be a douchebag and argue on my phone, then hang up.

Fuckers.

I've started doing Tarot again, and I guess the cards are none too happy at me for not using them, because the reading seemed rather dismal. That, or it was confused as to what I was asking, which is possible. I have other cards that loved me, and were uncannily accurate. But it's the Dragon Tarot cards, and I'll get them to at least accept me.

They're more befitting of someone who's more Wizard than anything else. Dragon seems so much more me. And I'm long past the point where people say that magic stuff is hooey, because if you've ever actually been hit by magic, you'd fucking know it. I never, ever thought it was possible until it happened to me. I never really thought it was real or anything, until I got bitch slapped by it, and in all fairness, I deserved it. Don't fight battles that aren't yours.

It's more reluctance on my part to say anything about it, because it does sound silly. But so does belief in God. Or belief in UFOs. And I'm not always right about things, but I'm willing to admit that and analyze it. Plus, the last time I ever said anything about it, I got kicked in the leg hard enough to cause internal bleeding, from my knee to my ankle, by someone I trusted not to hurt me like that. So you know, there's that. But I've run into a preponderance of bizarre coincidences lately, and I'm thinking that the universe is trying to say something to me. (Though of late, I was thinking that the message is "Fuck You!", though it's like, things that are almost as I want them, but not quite.)

I'm a different person than I was even just a year ago...if a Trisomy 18 baby has enough will to be born and live for 9 days, I have enough hope for living the next 60 years. And you know what universe? Right back at ya, babe!

Can't drink to save my life anymore, and it confuses me. I was fine when Mr. Trenchcoat came to see me, I was fine the time after that, but a few weeks ago, mid-September, is when it crashed. Suddenly, my body can't handle alcohol anymore. I don't know what it is. So I guess I'll just stop until my birthday. I'll go out on my birthday, drink a few, and then go home.

It's scared the living shit out of me that I just suddenly don't remember past a point in the evening. And that I get in my car and drive? Fuck that. Ain't drinking no more if it's going to be like that. Wish my tolerance didn't take a nosedive. It's really disturbing that that happens, but I know I've got to quit lest I do the horrible thing I did years ago. That's one "Keep Left" sign that will never threaten anyone again.

I'm actually surprised that I somehow found my car. Normally, I wouldn't and would just call a cab. That's why this is disturbing. I hope that I didn't scare my friend B or anything. Really, I hope not. That would suck.

The thing is, I just don't remember. We were talking about Dexter and Alcoholic Neuropathy, and I don't remember anything after that. I just have an image or two, but nothing...after...that. I have no idea what time I left, if he came with me, how I even drove. It's nuts. Fuck all, it sucks. I used to be able to drink more than that!

The only thing that changed between Mr. Trenchcoat and the middle of September was that my teeth were mostly fixed. I'm wondering if that had anything to do with it, like the infection gave me a higher tolerance. I mean, it was a MAJOR infection. So now I'm wondering what the fuck is going on that my alcohol tolerance plummeted.

Doesn't matter, though, as I'm through with drinking for the most part. If I had kept it together this weekend, I would go out next Friday, but I can't now because it's just not working. It really sucks.

Is there a 24 hour football channel?

Because I hear the WOOTS and WHOOHOOS going on in my neighborhood. I'm just curious. They were hollering last night, and now they're hollering at 2 pm.

What did I get myself into?

Here I go again, as hopeless as always. Random one on the internets. I want to see you again, want to have coffee and hang out. It would be nice. But I still have, shall we say, feelings for you. I need to keep that out of my voice, off of my face, out of my mind. Who knows what changes you've gone through? Best just to have a cup of coffee, long gone are days of...well, those days. I never wanted them to be over, and I curse the day that I ever said what I did, but in a way, I just had to know. And then I found out, knowing damn well that it may cost a friendship, and for a while, it felt like that. I can't make you ever like me or make you feel the same way about as I do about you, and I know this. I know this. But it doesn't stop me from hoping, or feeling the way I do. For once, I want that returned, from you, but I know it will never happen. We'll have coffee, and chat, and then say goodbye, and then you won't talk to me for a few years, and who knows by then...maybe you'll be married or I'll be married, and life will have moved on, with the part of my heart locked away from you that holds you in it. And I'll have to live with that, as much as it hurts. I want to call you back right now and talk because I really miss you, and dammit, you know miss me too, because you always say that, Friend. That won't stop me from wanting to kiss you, to hold you, to have sex with you, or any other thing that my imagination comes up with. You've always been a bit skittish around me, King of Mixed Messages, and I never know how to take that. Do you have feelings for me too, or are you just embarrassed that someone likes you that much? But see you I must, because I really need to see for myself how utterly hopeless it is, to have irrefutable proof that it is hopeless, so that my heart is convinced and I think no more of it. Perhaps you won't be skittish and we'll sit and chat like normal adults, and it will be very civil, except for the trashy confines of my lurid imagination, which I can live with. Always have, always will.

Fuck it, I'm gonna call you anyway.

Wow, it's been a year since I wrote here.

Crazy.

And if I call you B, will you answer? If you don't, I'm almost more okay with that. Then I can leave a guarded message, one which hopefully does not reveal how happy I was that you called. If I have to talk to you, my feelings may accidentally show through. I don't want that, you don't want that, the universe would fucking think it's hilarious and laugh at me, because it's been playing tricks on me for the past month...year...life.

Here goes nothing.