Things that would be more romantic than my story.

If we were young kids living our dreams.
If he were a violent drug addict and I were his savior
If I was there before they were famous and every show was a small victory.
If this was all we ever wanted.

... And everyones the same.

I try to puke quietly as if not to wake you.
When I find that is impossible I can hear your voice in my head, asking if I'm ok.
It doesn't come.
As I stare into my own bial I feel a sick sense of serenity.
There is not a glimmer of shame in me.
I just puked up everything from the last 5 hours.
I could totally do this more.
Then I look in the mirror.
There is nothing like it.
My face is red and swollen.
My eyes bloodshot.
There is a rash on my chest.
Wow Sunday, is this what you want?

“Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night’s sleep again and will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake somebody else up, so that they can feel this way, too.”

—	Lemony Snicket

The sign said long haired freaky people need not apply.

TONIGHT we went to dinner at a Mexican place. It was just X and I. Though our waitress was ok she didn't offer us any free chips and salsa. I noticed the other tables had it. I wanted to say something, but what do you say? I also think our food took a long time getting there. I started this as a way to get out how I feel, not so much as to how we're actually treated in public. She didn't really talk to us, but when I asked for a box she said " yes ma'am" and was super nice to me. I asked X if he tipped, he said he did. I wouldn't over. I know getting annoyed by not receiving complimentary chips and salsa is petty of me, and I know my grandmother would say we bring this upon ourselves, with the black hair dye and tattoos and such. But for fuck sakes it's 2011. I can't believe people still fear us or look down on us. And for fuck sake my husband is a rockstar... I don't know if I've ever said that before. I sorta skirt the issue on here. But in all honestly you've seen his videos on MTV. 

Desolation Row

Tonight at dinner the hostess INSISTED on showing us the menu and when the guys weren't paying attention she stormed off. I wanted to get her fired. If we don't care to be showed around the menu then shut up and smile. We're tired and hungry and your a self important high school girl who thankfully ( or maybe not) has no idea who we are.

Our waiter is adorable, tight Sammy Hagar blond curls and bright blue eyes. Crush Crush Crush. He calls me ma'am and leans in close to talk to us quietly. I wonder if X can see the lust I feel for this creature. I wonder if this creature knows who we are. I smile and am polite to him. Z fiddles with his smart phone, X busies himself with dumping sweetner into both his and the singer's drinks. The other two are either outside smoking or at the bar.

I see other couples walk in and be seated. I wonder what it's like to be them. What it's like to live here, to go out to eat then return and park your car outside of your home. Go inside and go to sleep surrounded by your things.

I glare at the hostess as she passes. She should be scared of me. Soon she avoids walking near our table. For some reason I am starving lately. X jokes that I'm scavenging when I try to eat his scraps. I'm not sure what is wrong with me, or if there is nothing wrong at all.

I want to take the Waiter home with me. I want to do bad things to him. I want to go back to whereever he live and do whatever he wants. I wonder how old he is.

Cinderella - Gypsy Road