I’ve started dating again. And by that, I mean I’m currently seeing a psychologist/ psychiatrist once a week and that’s the closest thing to a date I’ve had in years. Instead of calling her by name, I will refer to her as my ‘therapist’ because every session she rapes my emotions like a polar bear would a lone baby seal in the Arctic Ocean during mating season. Global warm THAT Al Gore. And she’s always looking at me whenever I talk. Just sitting there. Staring. Which I think is rude. Anyway, I’m not sure how this will affect my Tour of LaLaCrazyland Extravaganza 2009 life right now—because lets be honest, being crazy has its perks and I secretly like it. However, I’ve decided that having someone find you crying in a closet at 1am while cradling an empty bottle of Svedka is not “in” right now so I’m trying to take the path toward I’m_still_going_to_hell_regardless_of_how_I_try_to_improve_myself salvation by paying some stranger $100 an hour to medicate me and tell me once a week how I’m doing it wrong. This should be fun. As Oprah once said, “Red is Red, and Rum is Rum. Drink a lot of both and slap your bum. Always.”
Forever in robots,
Alegnangelina Shuffleface
p.s. HAI BI-POLAR MEDICATION! NICE TO METE YOUZ!
p.p.s. WHY AM I TELLIN THE INTERWEBZ ALL MAI SECRETZ?!
