Spoiled Bitch...

Hi *waves*. I need a new fucking cell phone. The battery on mine has the life span of a goddamned fruit fly. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to fork over 60 bucks to get a new battery for this piece of shit. I hate the phone anyway and it was free! Why would I pay 60 dollars to replace a battery on a phone that was free? What would they want next, my first-born child? Fuck that shit. I’ll just have to bite the bullet and get new shit. I want a camera phone anyway.

So it’s what, Five days into 2006? I hate the New Year. I like New Year’s Eve and crap, but that first week of January just kicks my ass. I swear this has been the longest, most grueling week of my entire life. I just want to roll up in the fetal position and die until Friday at 5pm. Then I would magically rise from the dead (like Jesus), refreshed and renewed and ready for a blissful, fun filled weekend. Dude, if I was “the second coming”, I’d be too much rock for one hand. I’d totally abuse my “god status”, but who gives a fuck. There be no war or hunger. Just sex, drugs and rock and roll, baby… and hip-hop. I can’t dis my peeps, ya heard.

Yes, this is “selfish Tiffany” talking right now. I’ve been feeling really “fuck the world” lately. Which is weird cause what’s the fucking point of taking anti-depressants if they just make you a moody bitter bitch? As I recall, it’s supposed to do the exact opposite. Pharmaceutical companies lie… LIE I say!

Anyway yeah, if you haven’t noticed I’m a bit on edge. Probably because of weaning myself back on the Zoloft but also because another year has passed and I am, if not more, pathetic than I was the year before. I’m exceptional at being average and that pisses me off so freaking bad. I have no motivation. I get it from my mother. I am being rather anal about cleaning though, which is always a good thing. I cleaned my room. Yes, it’s true. I actually got off my lazy ass and cleaned my room. Amazing, I know. I also washed dishes without my parental unit yelling at me to do so. I know… hell is freezing over as we speak. But I see it this way; I work 40 hours a week to help keep all of us in the lifestyle to which we have become accustomed, so I don’t see why she can't wash a fucking dish from time to time. But yes, to prove my point and not go off on some random tangent, I do get little bursts of motivation. They are short and rarely sweet, but they do occur. I guess I’m not a completely lost cause.

Speaking of lifestyles to which one wishes to become accustomed. I’ve decided to be on the look out for a sugar daddy. A nice older gentleman to pay my bills and shower me with affection for barely legal, if not completely illegal sexual favors. See, I think I would be really good at being a trophy girlfriend. I know how to spend ridiculous amounts of money on useless shit I don’t need and I’m not afraid to “sing for my supper”, so to speak. I gotta earn that paper after all. You know, keep it real and shit.

Anyway, I’m going to leave it at that as I sense that I am frightening you, dear reader. Please, don’t be scared. Tiffany is okay. She just needs to steal a Valium… or two for her mother’s “candy store”. I’m so turning into a junkie, but I’m high class about it. No street drugs for this spoiled bitch. Only the prescription shit.

Yeah… I need to go. See you peeps on the flipside. Peace, Love and blessed it be.