I'm KIND of okay with being a semi-celebrity in Tulsa. By semi, I mean that all the DJays and all the artists...and all the party people know me. I am okay with that.

HOWEVER, fuck this place. I am tired of being here. Everyday I get hammered at a shitty bar is another intellectual year lost. No kidding. Everyday that I drink or do blow or WHATEVER, I feel more retarded than I did the day before. Plus, no one knows how I live. I have no REAL friends that live here.

Yes, I am being obnoxious and just talking on my blog AGAIN. I know everyone subscribed gets irritated with this, but since all my friends that I talk to daily are A.) MARCUS or B.) MARRIED with CHILDREN aka JAMIE...then I am kind of fucked as far as outlets go, aren't I?

Anyways. I don't really care what people in Tulsa think of me. I know who I am. I know what I do. Lately, that has been work, but previously, it was drinking.

I did get to hang out with my "bro" tonight. I actually do enjoy his company. It's like hanging out with my biological brother...Okay...Exactly like hanging out with Bio Bro. There's not much of a difference.

I had a blast. Spent too much money as usual.

I WANT OUT.
I hate it here. HATE HATE HATE.
I love my family, but here? NO. Save me.

I'll probably reopen this post shortly.

Yuck, yuck, yuck. Yellow Tail is NOT a decent cheap wine...By any means.

I am not blogging tonight...Just like I never use this as an actual blog. I just pretend it's mydiary.com from 1995 and roll with it.

She's bothering me. She's not talking to me because I told her to fuck off, but she's still bothering me.

I want Marcus back as badly as she does, but I am not delusional. I've figured him out.

Ugh. Cheap riesling, expensive headache. bye

He's engaged to Laura. He's cheating on Laura with Ambre. I wish this whole building would collapse and kill Marcellus and I.

I may ACCIDENTALLY drive my car off a bridge on the way to work.

Should my car lose it's brakes, thanks to all of you that have put up with me since '07.

It's pathetic really. I know why I am in this mood, but I can't get out of it for at least three days. Meh. Who gives a fuck?

I've got $10 to my name. Even when I get paid in five days, I'll still have nothing to my name. I owe Clay, Grandpa, Jess, Paula, Mandy, Freddie Mac, Sallie Mae, PSO, Peter, and Paul every dime that I'll earn for the next 60 years.

The only things I own mean nothing to anyone else. No one wants a tailless dog and a shoebox apartment in the hood...Hell, even the apartment doesn't technically belong to me. That's, of course, in his name...

Basically, all I've got is roaches. I don't want those either, but I've got them.

It's pathetic. Even the roaches are less lonely than myself. At least they have friends...Fucking millions of friends.

Blame isn't something I can place on another. The whole ordeal is my fault. My depression deepens with each hour. There was a time I could drown it, but the monster can swim now. I've learned nothing and I've only succeeded in being exactly where I was pre-him.

Blame is all mine...Yet, I blame him. I blame my sister. I blame everyone else, but myself even though it is apparent that doing so is illogical.

I'm not fooling anyone. I can't write worth a fuck. I want to be Chris Rose or Anthony Bourdain. As much as I loathe Stephenie Meyer*, at lease that bitch has duped millions of Americans into buying her shitty novels.

I can't think anymore. I am so embarrassed about where I am working that I won't even tell anyone. I am in such a hole. I doubt every step I take. I worry about what HE would think if he could see the apartment...if he could see the weight I've gained....If he could see that the Christina he once loved died when he left.

It won't ever be over. Cutting it off would be like New Orleans without Second Line, Mardi Gras, and Gumbo...I would surely die.

It doesn't matter. I pick up the keyboard in hopes of creating some grand masterpiece, but only this comes out.

I can't sleep. I need a drink, but I am not doing that right now. Self-control is something I am going to learn the hard way.

Blahs. Fuck this. I am going to lie (lay? See? I suck.) back down and hope that I don't cry....Hope that, for once, I can sleep without him and without alcohol.
*Who fucking spells their name like that anyways? The bitch can't even spell her name and she's better off than I.