Dear Diary: I’m A Weird Lady-Child.

I haven’t smoked pot in a while.

I like it, but sometimes when I’m high I worry that I’m not making any sense .

  I hear myself laughing like some kind of shrill,  giant chicken,  and silently plead, 

“Please no-one notice that I’m a fucking idiot”. 

I have adhd…so, I kind of already think as though I’m stoned out of my mind.
The other night,
I was laying in bed trying to go to sleep, and as I was laying there,

I could NOT stop thinking about puff daddy.

I have no idea why.  He was all up in there popping bottles and shit….wouldn’t leave . I’m a white lady in my thirties.  I have scented candles and fancy curtains. Where the fuck did Puff Daddy find an entrance into my brain?  That fucker.  Then I started thinking, “why did he change his name to P. Diddy?”  What does the P really stand for?  Did they call him puffy because of his lips? The curiosity went on a loop, and kept me up for another hour, because I was too proud to google search it and end the mystery.

  Google-Searching is a dangerous little game

I’m always awkwardly protective of my phone for fear that someone will see my recent google searches.  They’re bad.  I’m always afraid I’ve got some kind of fungus.  The other night I got curious about whether or not people could have fleas.  I don’t have them.
It is almost impossible to be cool once someone has seen your google searches.  I mean, I find it almost impossible to be cool once anyone actually knows me. Because I’m not cool.  But nobody knows that until they KNOW me.  Which is why I go out alone. And get drunk until I feel cool.

Sometimes when I go out, I’ll be strutting around and thinking to myself, “fuck yeah, you timed that walk so perfectly, everyone is looking at you. And you’re wearing a leather jacket–You’re so goddamned dangerous. ” 

And then, weaving my way through the bar traffic like some kind of  trite sexy comic book cat burglar, I head straight to the bathroom to  double check my look in the mirror– you know, before I reveal it to my public. And I go pee.  Because I’ve been drinking.
That’s something that bothers me about long,  intense action scenes in movies— I think,
“seriously…is everyone just holding their pee this whole time”?

“It would be farrrr more realistic if someone just pissed themselves”.

Let’s make this happen, Hollywood.

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