Dear Diary,
My life has always been ridiculous. I tend to surround myself with only the most interesting of characters, and together we can make some epicly bad decisions. My best girl Blakely is always there to remind me how absolutely absurd my lifestyle is, and convinced me to write some of this shit down.
I moved from California to New York City for an internship, and decided not to leave once that ended. Finding a job fucking sucks, but I have the luxury of living on a great salary with amazing vacation days and fantastic benefits. Thanks Daddy.
Speaking of Daddy, I have two. One is my Dad, and the other is my roommate that we all call Daddy. He’s a New York native and he is the fucking MAN. Everything he does is larger than life. I thought I knew how to live extravagantly beyond my means, but I have met my match.
Daddy and I have one huge thing in common: We are both Geminis. Naturally, we are both overindulgent with terrible spending habits and are generous to a fault. We are known to be the social butterflies of the zodiac and have vivacious personalities. Geminis are the twins, which put nicely, means we are “dual natured”, in other words-- we are fucking crazy.
We can experience the highest of highs, and hit some pretty dark lows. We may stress out about how in the hell we are going to afford our next glamourous vacay, but I can tell you one thing for sure--you are going to want to party with us.
My life has always been ridiculous. I tend to surround myself with only the most interesting of characters, and together we can make some epicly bad decisions. My best girl Blakely is always there to remind me how absolutely absurd my lifestyle is, and convinced me to write some of this shit down.
I moved from California to New York City for an internship, and decided not to leave once that ended. Finding a job fucking sucks, but I have the luxury of living on a great salary with amazing vacation days and fantastic benefits. Thanks Daddy.
Speaking of Daddy, I have two. One is my Dad, and the other is my roommate that we all call Daddy. He’s a New York native and he is the fucking MAN. Everything he does is larger than life. I thought I knew how to live extravagantly beyond my means, but I have met my match.
Daddy and I have one huge thing in common: We are both Geminis. Naturally, we are both overindulgent with terrible spending habits and are generous to a fault. We are known to be the social butterflies of the zodiac and have vivacious personalities. Geminis are the twins, which put nicely, means we are “dual natured”, in other words-- we are fucking crazy.
We can experience the highest of highs, and hit some pretty dark lows. We may stress out about how in the hell we are going to afford our next glamourous vacay, but I can tell you one thing for sure--you are going to want to party with us.
Dear Diary,
I am becoming a housewife without a boyfriend at 24 years old. My day starts with Daddy strolling in my room needing an Adderrol. The every once-in-awhile-little-treat has now become a necessity.
I could just give him some for the week, but I get way too much pleasure out of him coming in my room acting as if he just wants to shoot the shit for five minutes, then kissing my ass for a couple more, to eventually, awkwardly asking me for one.
When you give a mouse a cookie... He’s going to want another one, and another one, and eventually NEEDS one to start every day that doesn’t begin with a joint and a Bravo marathon.
Anyways, I try getting Daddy out the door at about 10:00a.m, but he usually finds a way to push it back to about 10:30a.m. I’ve never seen someone hate their job so much that they will literally walk around and find something to take care of before they leave.
Once he’s out, I clean up the ash and the cig butts from the night before, and run the Swifer to get some sort of fresh smell in the apartment. I always pick up the two Sriracha bottles that are without fail on either side of the couch; why he needs two around him at all times is a mystery. Must be a comfort thing.
After I put our apartment back together, I search for jobs until I am thoroughly depressed. This turns into online shopping for our place, and looking up various vacays and concerts. I might be unemployed, but I’m not poor.
I squeeze in a workout, and then Daddy usually has some sort of miscellaneous errands for me to run. I pick up his dry cleaning, call the cable guy, and Daddy conveniently schedules the weed guy to come by when he’s at work.
I gotta get this all done just before I hit the grocery store for dinner. I judge my success on if I am cooking before Daddy gets home. Jesus. Christ. I need a fucking job.
(insert me here ^)
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