Today's Cafeteria Menu:
Roast Beef
Roasted Potatoes
Carrots

WTF is roast beef? By the looks of it at lunch, I'm glad I don't know. I had a burger and tots - the Sonic special.

The one thing I hate more than conversating in the ladies room is conversating while waiting in line in the ladies room. For some reason, there was a bathroom convention going on this afternoon as twenty women all piled in the bathroom all at once. There was a swirl of sights, sounds, and [ugh] smells.

The one thing I hate more than conversating while waiting in line in the ladies room is having to smile and nod at the person who went before you in the stall you are about to walk into. All I keep thinking is: did you wipe the seat after yourself? did you do number two? did you leave the seat warm for me? did you flush?

The one thing I hate more than having to smile and nod at the person who went before you in the stall you are about to walk into is having to smile and not at the person who is going after you in the stall you are about to walk out of. All I keep asking myself is : did I wipe the seat after myself? did I do number two? did i leave the seat warm? did I flush?

Well, now that the funny part of the post is over, I can only apologize in advance for needing to post the rest, which will be an angry, bitter, and depressed mob of words.

I'm a failure.

I know I'm a failure when I go to family fuctions on my dad's side. I am reminded I am a failure by my cousins. By their husbands. By their children. By their houses and new cars and elaborate birthday parties and weddings and holiday gatherings. I look around and see the same cousins I grew up with. Some older. Most younger. The eldest, now 27, started her life nearly 9 years ago. She birthed a fatherless child, got a boyfriend, got a house, got married, had another child, got another house, got a boat, and birthed a small infant last year. My other cousins soon followed. Birthing spawn. Getting married. Some divorsed. All remarried. Got houses. Got cars. Threw big parties and now live happily enough in southeast suburbia.

Maybe it's because I'm barren. Is that the right word? I can't birth a child. Well, atleast not without the help of an assful of shots containing highly legal birthing hormones. This is all in theory. I'm not sure it works. And I'm not sure I want it to work. I mean, God himself made it naturally impossible for me to have children. Why would I go against The All Knowing. Because he knows why I shouldn't have children.

Maybe the reason I'm not married or in a substantial relationship is because I can't cook, don't like to clean, don't like to shave my legs, and have an utter disregard to sorting laundry before washing. All this stems from the revelation I had this weekend when I found out that Secret LB has started seeing someone else.

Why did he lie to me? Why did I care? He said he didn't want a relationship complicating his life. What he meant to say was that he didn't want me complicating his life. He didn't like the fact that I didn't cook for him. He didn't like the time we went to the beach and I was so high that I forgot to shave. Maybe it was when I told him that I couldn't have children. I'll never know. He'll never tell me. I tried to confront him while doing some drunk dialing this weekend, but he only revealed the fact that he didn't owe me an explanation and hung up on me. He owed me more than that. We all know that.

This isn't meant to be a rambling about the asshole that is Secret LB, but rather a pondering about what makes me so unmarryable.

Is it because:
I never wear real diamonds?
I absolutely couldn't live without having mac and cheese atleast once a week?
all my clocks are set to different times?
if I had it my way, I would wear jeans everyday?
I don't like wearing pajamas to bed?
I hate the shows American Idol and Survivor?
I zone out at work and sometimes think of all the funny things I said to people the day before?
I am neither gracefull or petite?
I don't like to paint my nails?
I don't like to wear red?
I like the color pink?
I would rather go to a comedy club than a dance club?
I constantly fight with my lil sister?
I don't like to do things that I'm afraid I'll be bad at, like cooking?
I don't have a college degree?
I have moved more times than I care to admit?
I am a celebrity gossip junkie?
I am a reality tv junkie?
I believe in boppin' children on the butt is perfectly acceptable from the minute they are old enough to talk back?
I have a nervous habit of playing with my ear?
I can't count on one hand the number of boys I've, umm...kissed?
I don't have any plants in my apartment?
my lips don't always taste suggary sweet?
I don't like playing outdoors?
I cuss alot?
I have a pet rat named QuesaDilla?

What is it? This is really bothering me. So much so that last night, instead of doing laundry and cleaning my apartment, I drank the left over bottle of rum I found in the back seat of my car and cried myself to sleep.