truth: never enough paper

beep bop bop boop.  yesterday my brakes stopped working in the left-most lane on the freeway during rush hour 20 miles from home.  i docked at the shoulder and flashed my hazards for a while, called my parents and boyfriend and told them all that i just love them and promised everybody that i would stay at the side of the road and wait for help.  and then all these cars kept driving past me, making me feel bad and anxious and jealous, and so i drove home without brakes and it was such a thrill.  when i got home, dad finally decided that his 24 year-old daughter was ready to know some things about cars and we popped the hood together, at last.  and now i know a few things, but i still need to find money to have my piece of shit car repaired.  again.

and i was offered a job yesterday morning.  it is a real job.  it is not a minimum wage, smile-and-shake-the-tip-jar, greasy apron job.  it is for adults, like me, who need some serious cheddar.  i am going to take it because no one knows what's going on and i might as well say "yes" to the whole production.  i am talking about the biggest picture.  i am going to write about exquisite and mediocre pieces of furniture in exchange for paychecks.  i am going to move to NE minneapolis with my good, nice friend.  i am going to reattempt the GRE, continue to stitch cigarette boxes into the shape of a dress, and dedicate my income to student loans and my 1999 Buick Regal, who i have decided to rename Rickety Cricket.

i went to lewisburg, pennsylvania for a week.  it is the home of my professor/mentor/friend/homegirl who i had not seen since 2009.  i had my first dunkin donuts donut.  i had my first pedicure.  i also had my first experience being gawked at by a woman - a female store owner who talked about my legs at length and made me feel like a meatstick.  i think that people in pennsylvania are not used to seeing legs or maybe body parts in general.  at the philadelphia airport, a 60-something year old man crossed the food court to tell me that he liked my stockings.  maybe they just knew that i was a foreigner and wanted me to know that they knew.  as far as minnesota is concerned, i don't even have legs.  i once dropped my pants in the middle of the woods, mid-run, to correct a wedgie.  at that precise moment, an Elderly Gentleman dressed all in white, riding bareback on a White Stallion rounded the corner and saw all of my southern belle and did not even blink when i stated that i was lost and asked for directions.  it may be that minnesotans are conditioned to go cross-eyed in the presence of nakedness because it's rude to stare.  sexuality repressed edenward.  i had a very nice time in PA and i can't wait to be able to travel without my bank account buckling under.

it is the last major piece of news: i am seeing dwayne michael carter jr. aka weezy aka lil wayne aka weezy f baby at the excel center tonight.  he joined cash money records when he was 9 years old.  guess what?  wikiwayne says: At age 13, he accidentally shot himself with a 9 mm handgun, and off-duty police officer Robert Hoobler drove him to the hospital.  also, he has 4 kids.  i do not belong at the excel center, or anyplace, and my sister (who won the tickets for us) has been preparing her face and hair and outfit for over an hour already.  so i have to take a shower and put powders and cremes on my face and put my stockings on because tonight i am a popstarstruck teenybop and no one can stop me.

bless you, robert hoobler

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