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9:56 a.m. - 03.11.05 OUTCAST DOESN�T FIT IN HERE. I�m the anti-Colleyville mom. Good thing I don�t live in that city anymore I suppose. I don�t have a cute blonde hairdo, I�m not a size 0-4 [anything more and you are a fat ass], I definitely don�t walk around in overpriced clothes, brand name shoes do not adorn my un-dainty size 10 � feet and my Prada is a total fake. These are the women I will never be. There children drink special water flown in especially from the south of France [k I don�t know if that�s actually true but I pretend that it is] and they eat macrobiotic meals prepared specially for them [this however is true, when I worked at the daycare we had nine [NINE!!!] Children that had these meals brought in especially for them, it was a really tiny daycare too]. The husbands of these women are doctors, lawyers, investment bankers, insert other corporate bullshit type job here. The weird haired, tattooed, pierced guys I tend to fall in love with will never be those husbands. Not because they can�t, but because corporations suck out your soul, because they are fucking fascists, and because they are totally happy working at the used bookstore, the coffee house, the art gallery, or playing their guitars at dive bars around town. And I�m okay with that. I don�t want to fit in with these cookie cutter women. It�s not like we�d have anything to talk about. I listen to music they�ve never even heard of, I read books for pleasure, and they on the other hand read books like �the South Beach Diet� or something that Dr. Phil penned. They own brand new kitchen appliances that have probably never been used, I have hand me downs my mother was using when she lived in New York 7 years before I was born. I do wonder though if someday I�ll turn out like them, my mother is one of them. She fits right in. Of course she has always been one of them, even when I was a kid. So hopefully not. I guess the point of this whole rant is that they drive me crazy, and I felt like a complete weirdo sitting out on the grass reading in my jeans and tennis shoes looking like shit while they stood around chitty chatting about what Louise has done to her kitchen/living room/ dining room/ master bathroom that is just fucking amazing, all the while looking put together in their jeans and tennis shoes. $150 tennis shoes. Bitches. I think I�m dating a girl. It�s scary. Last night/early this morning I dreamed that some guy died in my car and I left him buckled into the front seat for over a week, spraying him down with Off so bugs wouldn�t get to him. Then after a while he was looking really gross but it was too late to call someone and tell them what happened, it�s just weird to leave someone dead in your car for a week and not contact the proper authorities. So I enlisted the help of a couple friends and we dumped the body in this industrial part of town, amidst scrap metal and the likes. Two weeks later we hadn�t heard anything on the news about a body being found [by the way he was a stranger I just happened to pick up and as I was driving him to his destination he died]. We decided to go back out there to check and see if someone had found the body, and there was a rockabilly band playing right were we dumped �Fred�s� body. They had propped Fred who was pretty disgusting by now against the pillar and duct taped a harmonica in his hand. I didn�t even eat late. Suddenly while I was lying in bed this morning, right before I woke up I realized that something I had always thought was real was in fact part of a dream I had a couple years ago. This has scared me and also makes me wonder how much more of my reality is actually dreams I once had. Corky is getting married. Which I find incredibly amusing seeing as he is a retard and has only known the future Mrs. Thatcher for like a month. Idiot
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