Mr. Perfect

You know who my perfect man is? A guy that lets me get so trashed out of my mind that I rant and rave, curse and smoke, talk maaaaaaad shit to him, about him and pick fights with him, but doesn't get his feelings hurt and still holds my hair when I puke and rubs my back until I fall asleep at the end of the night because he knows I'll wake up, take 5 advil and make him pancakes and steak to say thanks. And he's the type of guy that only tells me how much he loves me when he's drunk or falling asleep, and then, only like twice in one night, MAX. But he's still affectionate sometimes, and buys me really good presents during Christmas, like box seats to 10 really good Dodger games, or a trip to vegas to watch a fight. With a fancy dinner. And diamonds. And when he's ripped he can go off about why he loves me all he wants, as long as it's not "because you're SO F-ING HOT" becasue that's a sucky reason, and if he's screaming that he probably so drunk that he can't even really see what I look like anymore. Oh, and he never tries to make out with me during a movie, because that's SO irritating. Sigh.....I love that guy. I had a boyfriend like that once. We almost got married in Atlantic City. But lucky for him, they don't have chapels like Vegas does. It would've been a great story though. We literally committed GTA to get there too. We stole a van from work and drove up there from DC with a bunch of other people. I swear. I have pictures with people I do NOT remember ever meeting. So why not throw a drunken suprr of the moment wedding in with the night of debauchery, right? now THAT's a story for the grandkids. But I don't think my dad or my uncles would've let either one of us live long enough to see any grandkids if we came back with that tale. You know, I don't think there's anyone else in the world who could put up with my shit the way G did. Or still does, actually. But if there is, the only way he could top G is to be George Clooney. Like actually be him. All "Hey Al, get a few of your friends together and lets go to my villa in spain or wherever for your birthday. You girls just lay around, drink vino, eat carpaccio, and get rowdy, and I'll massage you with tanning oil, okay?. Sure! Go ahead! No, really, I don't mind! I go swimming naked in the riviera ALL the time! I'll go call Angie and Brad. Sure! I'll tell Julia to bring the twins over, too. Hey, did I tell you? Here, put these on, and now, every time you take a sip of alcohol this little thing will sense it and activate the muscles in your abs, so instead of doing sit-ups you just drink to get a workout." But he wouldn't use half the exclamation points I did becase he's way cooler than me. Man. THAT would be the life.

10th Street Blues

So. Know what I hate? Well, yes...but guess again. Okay, yeah, that too, fine. But that's not what I'm looking for, try again. Ug, yeah! but no! I hate moving! Yeah!!! Moooving! Seriously. It blows. I wish I had enough money to light my apt on fire walk away, and replenish a new apartment with all new "valuables". That would be so awesomely cathardic. Imagine? Every time you moved to a new stage in your life you could just light your shit on fire and get new shit to replace it??? That would be HOT. You know what, I think I just realized why obscene wealth is not written in the stars for me. Because that's what I'd do with my J-Lo money. That, and adopt literally 10 kids from Armenia and give them only two bedrooms to sleep in. But really big bedrooms. like big enough to actually be ten bedrooms, but knock down all the walls so its like one big ballroom split in two. One side for the girls and one side for the boys. And then as they got older they could build walls around their spaces, so it'd be back to ten normal sized bedrooms. They would love me. And be super appreciative of everything I did (like installing convertable bedrooms) because they spent their first 10 years scrapping out a living for themselves and their families in Gyumri, so now they're so happy to be able to go to school that they never ask for anything, and I'm so happy that they never ask that I buy them everything, and then we get into fights because they're like "HEY! Stop buying me stuff! I know you love me and want me to have everything I want, but I really feel like I need to work for soemething before I deserve it, and all I do is go to school and study!" and I'm all like "Honey, school IS your job, and you do so well that you DO deserve everything you want, and I WANT to give it all to you so stop arguing with me, strap on that hangglider and go get some fresh air right NOW before your brother comes in her and starts bashing you with his new NERF bat!!!". And then every summer we go back to Armenia so they can visit with their real families. Ahhh...I love my kids. They're so smart too. Damn, I need to get rich.

Okay, Listen...

I am EXTERNING for a JUDGE this summer. EXTERNING is like interning. Which means I don't get paid. That, I am fine with. Because EXTERNING for a JUDGE is prestigious. That means it's impressive and will lead me to lots of contacts, and a better job when I graduate. Lots of people applied for and badly wanted the position I have, with the Judge I am working with, but they didn't get it because I am better than them. I rock. My resume says so, and my judge read it and agreed. However, some of you out there are under the impression that EXTERNING is like candystriping for the local hospital, or doing a ride along with the cops. Something that people with no life do to entertain themselves in order to pretend to be noble, and mooch off their parents for a little bit longer. WELL YOU'RE WRONG! YOU'RE SOOOOOOOO FUCKING WROOOOOOONNNNNNGGGGG! I DO NOT NEED YOU TO CIRCLE AVAILABLE SUMMER POSITIONS AT DISNEYLAND FOR ME, MOTHER!!! I DO NOT NEED TO GET A NIGHT JOB BARTENDING AT CHILI'S, PEOPLE! I'M FUCKING SMART! I'M ABOUT TO GRADUATE FROM LAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWW SCHOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLL SOON, I HAVE A JOB YOU'LL NEVER EVER BE ABLE TO UNDERSTAND, REGARDLESS OF HOW MUCH, OR IF I GET PAID FOR IT. IT'S CALLED EXPERIENCE (ooh, the hot guy across the way just came home. Damn he's hot. ahem...) THIS IS WHAT PEOPLE IN GRADUATE SCHOOL DO! THEY GET EXPERIENCE AND THEN THEY GET JOBS WHERE THEY GET PAID FOR THAT EXPERIENCE. BUT IF YOU HAVE NO EXPERIENCE, YOU CAN'T GET A JOB IN THE FIRST PLACE!!! AND GETTING AN EXTERNSHIP WITH A JUDGE IS THE BEST EXPERIENCE YOU CAN GET BESIDES INTERNING FOR THE PRESIDENT, AND MONICA MESSED THAT ALL UP FOR US HOT CHICKS, SO THIS IS THE BEST FUCKING THINK I COULD'VE EVER DONE FOR MYSELF!!!! Do you understand yet? DO YOU? GOOD!!!! NOW, GET OFF MY MOTHERFUCKING BACK AND GIVE ME SOME MONEY!!!!!!!!!

New Post!

well hellloooo......oh man, I am SO TIRED. but it's such a great tired...oh yes...suuuuuch a great tired. It's a 4 days in rosarito/waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too much tequila/came back and slept for 6 hours, then went to work/came home, did yoga/watched Carrie win prom queen, I mean Idol, and am ready to pass the FUCK OUT kind of tired. The yummy kind. Oh so yummy...like smooth, rich, expensive, dark chocolate truffles...mmmm..melting in my mouth, oh, wait, no, those are the smooth, rich expensive dark chocolates that my neighbor bought me for feeding her half dead fish. I should totally do more good deeds. Apparently, when you help somebody for no good reason, you get hooked up FAT for it. that's hot.
I started my externship with my judge today. He's cool as all hell. seriously. I know that sounds not cool at all, but that's the beauty of sarcasm, you gotta read into it. PAY ATTENTION, BITCHES!! Don't get all lazy just because school's out. Alright, so I'm tired as shit and have to go to bed, but just to let you know what's to come, the public defender in our court looks EXACTLY like Karl Lagerfield. No joke. I couldn't make that up if I tried. Ok, stay alert. We shall meet again. I hope...not...spoRADically!!!

Summertiiiiiiiimmmme....

Oh, and how easy the living is...

I'm sorry my bitches...I know I've been neglecting you. But it wasn't as hard for me to do this time as it was the last. Because, you see, I have been in a drunken stupor since Tuesday at about midnight. Yes, my friends, that is when I threw my hands in the air in disgust at the 12 page paper I had pounded out in no less than 4 hours--in order to fulfill my Islamic Law requirement--and headed on down to Q's with my girls. Well, actually, that's not entirely true. I threw my hands up and recieved a nice fat cold beer in one hand, and a bubbly blast of champagnie in the other, thanks to my Angel of an Energizer Bunny. That bitch makes sure I keep going, and going and going... And by going I mean drinking, and drinking and drinking. Anyway, after about 3 beers, 2 glasses of champaigne, and about an hour of useless banter later, we made it down to the bar and definetly made the best of our night. So, by Saturday night, even I was ready to take a fucking nap, which turned into a 12 hour grog-fest, since it's really hard to sleep with a blood acohol level higher than Charlie Sheen's, and, therefore, am only now, after a stunningly sober's night's rest, sufficiently coherent enough to face the world. And by the world I mean my computer screen.

Ahhhhh....how nice it is to have absolutly nothing to do....sigh........to sit around and watch, well, absolutly anything that comes on the tv...including reruns of good times and married with children...because there actually, really is absolutly nothing to watch on tv...pulling the shades down tight to block the increasingly annoying sunlight that persists in shinging relentlessly all damn day every day, searing my eyeballs, and turning my parent's house into an air-condition-less steam pit, so I have no option but to take 5 cold showers a day and soak through the 2 outfits that I brought with me from my apartment...OKAY, you want to know the truth??? THIS SUCKS. I bored out of my MIND, and there is nowhere cool to go drink out here! I miss LA, I want my friends, and I need some VODKA! My brother and sister won't stop fighting about missing underwear and t-shirts (I don't know, and I'm not asking) and I keep getting sent to the market every 15 minutes because nobody knows how to compose a GROCERY LIST. Seriously, people, I"m so bored. OUT OF MY MIND...and hot and sticky and hungry, but,despite the market runs, there's nothign to eat here except bread and mayonaise. Which sometimes sounds tempting, but I don't want to be that desperate. Oh God...somebody, please...help me.....

JackASSED

OKAY. JACK FM SUCKS ASS. Who the fuck's idea was it to play Funky Cold Medina after Nirvana's HEART SHAPED BOX?????? Kurt GoBang is clutching his chronically pained gut and writhing at the pain of having his EARS BLEED somewhere in the afterlife right now. The only thing that would perfectly top off this schitzophrenia plagued joke of a lineup is if they played Eddie Murphy's "Party All the Time" followed by something off of GWAR's greatest hits and finished up with the theme song from Ducktales. And I swear, if they did, I would not be suprised. I could totally see them having a "theme songs of the 80's weekend" where we'd all have to suffer through the opening jingles of such classics as "Just the Ten of Us" "Small Wonder" "Teenage Mutant Nija Turtles" and "Out of this World", intermittently peppered with hardcore NWA, Anthrax, and Megadeath, just for a chance to win tickets to the Pico Rivera Half-Breed Dog Show (longhaired cats okay), hosted by none other than the principle from Saved by the Bell. Yeah, I know, I could just turn this noise off. But you see, then I'd be left alone with my Model Rules of Professional Conduct book, and would have nowhere to focus my rage, except on the contents of said text, which I need to push through and retain some of, in order to not fail completely out of law school. Or I could aim my rage at my mother, but that just doesn't seem right, what with it being mothers day and all. Although it might be a cute nostalgic throwback to my entire childhood....hm....oh, and of course, Falco just came on...

It's okay...I'm here....

Hello my beautiful babies. Shhh...shhhh....I know....it's been hard for me too. I don't like being away from you. Really. It's true. Whether you know it or not, these bi, tri, sometimes quadra-daily obscenity/profanity/angst spewing sessions of ours are muy preciouso to me, much more than you'll ever know. Especially since I don't show appreciation to, pour affection over, nor ever thank the ones I love. But I do. I love. And how. You see, these hate fests we share are like cardio for my brian. They increase my heart rate while flushing my system of the nasty buildup crammed into my poor body during carb binges, alcohol-laden-rebellions against overloaded brain functions, and the law. Oh, how I hate the law...sigh...but I digress. These past few days...maybe even a week, I don't know, I have no concept of time anymore, I have been trapped away in my rat's nest of an apartment, desperately tryign to be all that I can be by learining tax, constitutional, islamic, and healthcare laws, while repeatedly attempting to make contact with the outside world, through this, my portal, but, alas, to no avial. On any of my missions. But most importantly to us, you see, to my utter horror and shock, I came to find out that my upstairs neighbor, who I've been stealing wireless internet from for the past year, has very incosideratly moved, and taken my free internet acces with her. That BITCH. I have therefore been forced to move back to my parents home for the weekend, where I can reconnect and paruse the hours of power I have neglected for so long, brought to us by the Fug Girls themselves, catch up on disturbingly raunchy e-mails sent to me by my alarmingly inappropriate Auntie KK, instant message with the likes of the adorable and intellectually stunning Private Parlow, and make feble and emaciated attempts at writing a paper and studying for Ethics, all while gorging myself on pizza, rice krispies treats, tortilla chips and creamy dips, unidentifiable pasta dish leftovers, hot dogs, ramen noodles, generic supermarket brand cold cuts,various frozen sugary treats, and random splatterings of tapatillo and tobasco. ug. I think I'm going to throw up.

I just wanted to let you all know how much I miss you all. You mean the world to me. You are my everything. I swear, the only thing that matters...that matters...to me. Oh baby, baby, baby, baby....baby, oh.

Nevermind.

Ok, I was going to write something, but I hate myself, and listening to the voice inside my head speak these words while I write and read them back is torturous, because it reminds me of my own existence, and that's seriously how much I hate me. Today my self loathing mainly stemms from my glorious scheduling skills, thanks to which I now have a Federal Income Tax final tomorrow, for a class taught by the man who still holds the record for graduating with the highest grades ever in the history of my law school, followed by a Healthcare Organizaton and Financing final on Wed, which was taught by a pulitzer prizewinner with no people skills whatsoever, followed by a Constitutional Law: Individual Rights and Liberties final on Friday, which was with a prof whose name is consistently floated as a likely candidate for the Supreme Court, and who uses the word "flummoxed" regularly. Yeah. GREAT IDEA, AL. Because these are totally guys who are looking for the bare minimum, and will totally let you get away with BSing your way through three of these tests in 4 days. SOOO FUCKING SMART. Seriously, though, I have a question...WHO THE FUCK LET ME INTO LAW SCHOOL????? Fuck this. GOODNIGHT.