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Aging Sexy Neighbors

My aging sexy neighbors are playing what sounds like jug music and batting a ping pong ball back and forth as loud as ping pongly possible. I know this because I opened my kitchen window due to the lovely breeze and even few drops of rain. I closed it promptly. I call them aging sexy neighbors because they're the type to have a cab stay in my driveway on Cinco de Mayo for a half hour before they tromp across my lawn in their sombreros and Patron shot glass necklaces.They also constantly park in front of my house and put their garbage cans where mine are supposed to be. I am trying not to say I hate people anymore, but these people really grind my gears.

It's hard to type this because I got fake nails after seeing my psychiatrist yesterday. I don't know what the correlation is besides the fact that she's trying to get me to occupy myself in the evenings or at least stay awake until a suitable bedtime. I did that yesterday by pushing my coffee table and gerbil pig out of the way and doing an On Demand step aerobics workout. I will never do that again for three reasons: 1) I don't like the pushy bitch conducting the session. She's too aggressive. 2) I kept slipping on my Kohl's rug, and 3) It's way too much work to push the coffee table and the gerbil pig out of the way. So I went for a walk around the neighborhood (in a straight line to ensure finding my way back) and kept my boyfriend on the line for company. I started out texting him, but was running into dogs, bikers, runners, fags, etc. So I Facebook called him which is really quite neat. Then I came home, slammed the door, lit a shitton of candles and incense, played some of Steven Halpern's Chakra Shit (unsure of title) and went to bed at 9:00, which I think is suitable.

Work has really been contributing to my depression lately. I'm grateful that it requires no effort on my part and they do things like give me a week off over Independence Day to go see my boyfriend, but I really resent sitting in a dimly lit cube listening to Chakra Shit on headphones (or NIN on blast) reloading Facebook (which yields nothing) and sighing heavily. The beginning of the day is not so bad. My face is intact, my hair is shiny straight, I've taken a caffeine pill and I'm clutching my Butterfinger flavored cappuccino from AM/PM. I enthusiastically say hello to Jesus Guy and my boss who I'm sure hates me 'cause I called in sick the last Friday and I take my seat in front of Windows 1995. I do my work which constitutes 4 hours and then lunch comes. Then it all goes to shit. My face slides off, my hair kinks up, the caffeine wears off and Jesus Guy has told me I'm going to hell at least five times. So who the HELL wants to be awake when they come home from this? I certainly don't want to do Prancercise or whatever. I'm lucky if I can concentrate on South Park.

I'm going to try to do that now.