Goodbye, Justine. We'll Miss You.

First thing's first:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, NINA!!!!!!!!!

(blog family, say Happy Birthday to Nina...)

Okay, now on to the post:
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I really hate therapy. I do. I don't like this woman trying to convince me that my grandmother was not a real substitute for my mom... she must not know who I am.

But one good thing that has materialized from this weekly thorn in my side is an honest look inward, at who I've been and who I want to be. The latter is still kinda fuzzy, but I do know who I don't want to be.

I've really given this a lot of thought and decided that I don't want to be that girl at the bar who doesn't know when to say when, and then decides, "Sure, I'll take a hit, why not?" and then wakes up at 4AM thinking, "This isn't my bed..."

Yeah, I don't like that girl. Even if The Webmaster says I look "cute" when I'm drunk, or that I know how to pull it off without looking pathetic... yeah, right! My 33-year-old liver begs to differ. Besides- that's just code for "One day I'll get you drunk enough and then we can fuck!" I know this game... this ain't my first time at the rodeo, buddy!!

(I kid, I kid... I just know he's gonna read this and blow a gasket or two... I guess that's why I said it. HA!)

So The Voices and I got together and staged a coup and kicked "that one" out- the one who craves whiskey and weed and sex. We kicked her drunken slutty ass out of the band and told her to NEVER come back. It was about freakin' time we broke up with her anyways.

We even dedicated this song to her:



I mean, I'm damn near 35- what I look like tripping over myself outside the club like some trailer trash wench from Louisiana? I'm somebody's momma, dammit, I gotta start acting like it...

*smooches...certain that my liver and lungs and girly parts thank me profusely*
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but please, feel free to have a drink; I'll be here in the corner with my camera waiting patiently for the money shot...