The Long, Hot Summer

I'm beginning to think that this summer is never gonna end. It's hot, it's difficult, and it's going to keep grinding me into the ground for the rest of my life. At least that's how it feels.

I'm continuing to work for the slumlord. I've never talked to so many crackheads, prostitutes, retards, assholes, and ho-bag skanks in my life. That's all this guy rents to! Jesus, deliver me from low-class human beings. I keep an economy-sized pump bottle of Purell in my tote and pat myself down after each interview. I wish I could wear a hospital mask and get away with it. Michael Jackson might have been onto something.

Everything else in my life is on hold. Mark and Kurt (remember my next door neighbor?) have been spending the summer on a new-relationship pink cloud and neither one has had much time left over to hang out with me. How pathetic is that? I'm jealous of my gay friends because they left me. Aurora has had nothing to share, evidence-wise, because Barney and Harmony are in Machu Picchu. As in Peru. He's so out of shape he can barely climb the stairs, let alone a high-elevation mountain in the Andes or wherever the hell it is. Harmony would have to find some high-heeled, wedgie hiking boots before she'd set foot on the trail.

I need to take a brisk walk and drink a green-energy smoothie. Unfortunately, my favorite Juicy sweats are wearing out and have a huge run in the seat. I think I'll drink a mudslide and watch 'Dancing With the Stars'.