The phone isn’t ringing.

Those guys were asking me an awful lot of questions last night.  I can just see myself following Henry around and pacing.  I’m such a geek.

Now I’m listening to “Love Line” everyone else has lame love problems and I can’t get anything.  The phone isn’t ringing.

I want hairless arms.  This is a very lame call.  How did she get on the air?  The screeners are fuckheads.  They think they have some lesbian love triangle thing going and the Poorman is being a geek about the whole thing.  What a sexist dork.  Shit, I just want to kiss someone.  Is that so wrong?  Is that too much to ask?  I think not.  Will I ever meet anyone else?  How will I ever meet a bunch of girls who like girls.  My hair falls out a lot.  Oh this poor guy has sex only two to three times a day.  Shit, two or three times a year would be great for me.  I’m so depressed.  The phone isn’t ringing.  I just want to die.  I want some sex.  This is depressing.  I don’t know why I get so hooked.  This boy’s driving me batty.


Why do I put myself through this?  Why do I have to think about him so much?  I hate this!  I get so damn frustrated!  Hey, what would happen if I put everything on the line?  I’m just afraid nothing.  But actually I have no idea how he really thinks or how he will really react.

It’s gorgeous outside.  Wonderful weather.  Apartment A has their air conditioner on.  I think I’ll get stoned and go run.  This is one of the best reasons to live in beautiful Southern California.  Why would anyone with naturally curly hair want to live where it is excessively humid?  Their hair would always be frizzy.

This chick’s on drugs.  Well, not any more, but she still isn’t all together.  The screeners are really fucking up tonight.  Now this guy as a “friend named George.”  Who gives a fuck.  What is the point?  Who cares?  Not me.

Listening to this depresses me cause people have two boyfriends or too many lovers.  Shit, I can’t even get one.  This chick is pregnant.  I’ll never have to worry about that.  I just don’t know about sex and drugs.  They make people act weird.  When I thought last night that Henry had done heroin I got knod of protective.  But he wasn’t doing heroin, he was snorting coke.  Maybe it’s some sort of dealing with his feelings.  Fuck, I wish I could help him.  I can see it now – everyone expects Maury to die from doing just a little too much heroin.  Henry acquiesces to Maury’s pleading for someone to “party” with him but Maury, because he’s so fucked up, sets him up with just a little too much and Henry dies.  But Maury’s just fine.  Irony galore.  I think I’ll have to go run off my depression.  I want to talk to [Step-Sister] about butt talk and boys.  She seems so well-adjusted and normal.  It depresses me cause I’m so fucked up.  At least I sure feel like it.  I don’t want to end up like [Sister].  She’s twenty-two not cause it’s May 6 but I don’t even meet any people so I don’t think I’m in danger of getting married.  She didn’t get married until she was twenty, I have two more years.  I better get a car now that my dumb mother has gotten my hopes up.  My eyes are always watering and I wish I knew why.  Fuck, I need my jacket back.  Maybe I’ll have to call Henry before he goes to work in the morning even though I know he hates me.

Why are guys do dumb?  Then again, girls are dumb too, just in a different way.  Why do my eyes have to water so much?  They have no reason.