THIS POST IS BROUGHT TO you by Tramadol and apparently the caps lock key oops sorry

this is the story of my weekend: wifebeater, painkillers, yankees hat (to cover the nappy hair) and darkened room on couch.


ripped jeans from the dressing room in happier days when i could leave the house and do stuff like walk around and try on clothing. ripped jeans, yes or no?


and more from happier days before back pain: went out for a friend's birthday, shook our ass (collectively), drank almost too much but not quite, passed out on the couch and woke up in panic attack mode. i swear, even one drink and i am fucked the next day. not like i just had one. but you get the picture.

i went for my purse to heal myself with delicious xanax, my savior, and found that someone went in my fucking purse and stole my entire bottle! how fucking invasive. that means that someone had to go in my purse, find the zippered case that my pill bottles were in, look through them to see which one to take (and why not take them all?) and then re-zip the pouch and re-zip the purse. and of course they didn't take the tramadol that i haev a million of, they took the awesome cornicopia of pills i've been collecting for a variety of things. xanax, klonipin, adderal, all gone. =( frowny face. whoever you are, i hope you have fun with my carefully hoarded pills. asshole.

i keep it real at illconvoy. no photoshopping out my 15-year-old skin that somehow didn't get the message about breakouts ending in ONE'S TEENS. hopefully nicole's glowing complexion can at least shine a little light on mine.

i do'nt remember you falling, liz, but i'm sure it was hilarious.

blackberry, champagne, money, ass shaking, hoop earrings, and a scarf. my loves captured together in a photo for eternity.

i love the bananacure

so i've been sitting for about 20 minutes now, the longest i've sat since friday afternoon. feeling a little swervy. my couch is calling.