Finally, I crawl into bed, congratulating myself on what a good girl I am these days. And, not counting the booze, pot, pills, and porn, I really am. For me, anyway.
Read the whole awesome post on the joyous of unemployment, smoking way too much pot, and being faithful to your boy.
I loved this paragraph too:
After watching several spelunkers get disemboweled, we'll hit a bar where he'll spend the better part of the evening making fun of girls who look like American Apparel-bots. This continues until he makes me go talk to one for him. Usually, I'm too drunk to say no. This isn't to say that it's an easy social interaction for me seeing as my eyes aren't dead; I don't speak in a monotone drawl; and I actually get excited about things. And don't pretend not to be excited.
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