I have fans...

I have come to the conclusion that I have somewhat of a following. I haven't figured out why these people are so amused by me... All I know is, there is a demand for my ranting and it is my duty to give the people what they want! It sounds so courageous doesn't it? I am like a super hero, minus being able to fly, or shoot webs from my nuckles. I find that a little creepy anyway so, I'm over it.

I will use this space to entertain (or disgust). I will rant my pants off in hopes that it will heal my disfunction. Many counselors/psychologists/mental ward employees have suggested that writing in a journal can be helpful. I am not sure if they meant that I should keep these things in a diary with a lock, hidden underneath my bed. They didn't specify! They never specify! I will try not to rant about obvious things... Some examples include: ex-boyfriends, he said/she said drama, my crazy family, or the insane things that I do on a daily basis. Oh shit, did I just remove all of the possible hilarity? I guess I will be forced to write about those things. It's out of my hands. I have no choice.

I am having an aweful time trying to think of things to say right now. Part of the problem might be that it is 4:30 p.m. and I have yet to take a shower. Everytime I move my arms to type, I get a big whiff of my arm pits and the smell is almost too much to bare at this point. Thank God I am alone. This is embarrassing to say the least. Now that I am on the subject of being a sloth, I have come up with some subjects! WOO! This is a lot easier than I thought, let's continue.

I have no job. It seems wonderful at first... Having no responsibility, but BAM! All the sudden you start waking up in the morning with guilt. I start thinking about the 75 year old Walmart greeters, standing on those smiley face mats in the enterance of the store. Working for 8 dollars an hour. I think about how bad their arthritis is, and then wonder, can you get arthritis in your feet? I don't wish that guilt upon anyone. My dad text message harrasses me on a daily basis. "Did you find a job?" Doesn't he understand that he would be the first person I would call if I were to have found a job? "Dad, I found a job. You can stop setting 28 alarms on your phone to remind you to text harrass me throughout the day." Then trumpets would probably sound, and a huge party would be thrown in my honor. BUT, I do not WANT a job. I am starting school full time on August 25th. I have found out the hard way that when I over do it, I go insane. 40 hours a week in school should = Kristin doesn't have to work. :) If you agree, please comment on this, in hopes that my dad will read it, and see that I have back-up.

With no job comes consiquence. Main one being, I have no food in my house. Let me rephrase that... There is a LOT of food in this house, none of it belonging to me. I am slowly starving to death, and I dare not ask my parents for food money because I know what that includes. TORTURE TALK. "You are 25 years old, when are you going to grow up and get a life?" and somehow asking for food money reminds them of other money I have borrowed in the past or money owed. "When are you going to pay your car payment? If you don't give me 200 dollars by August 1st, I am taking your car, detailing it, and selling it on Craigslist." or better yet, money that my friends have borrowed. "Do you know that MOLLY still owes me 100 dollars that she has not even called to talk to me about?" As if I am the debt collector, and should have talked to Molly about this long ago. EYECORUMBA! << < I am pretty sure that is not how that is spelled, but you get what I was going for. So, you see my point. I would rather starve than ask for grocery money. *stomach rumbles*

This is enough for today. More ranting to come. :)