I’M SPECIAL, RIGHT? By that, I don’t mean ’special kid’ who needs to wear a bib at the age of 21 to protect herself from her drool; I’m talking Avril Lavigne Like-I-Was-Special-Cos-I-Was-Special kinda special.

I’M A SPECIAL GIRL AND I WANT MY LIFE TO HAVE A FUCKING DRESS REHEARSAL TO PREPARE ME FOR THE REAL THING.

Yes. Helga The Weber fucked up. Again.

I knew this day would come, and I’m actually sadder than I thought I’d be. What a way to fucking greet 2007: drunkenly and intentionally spilling my drink on Austin’s (yes, that’s Chuchubells’ real name) cousin, being taken home, sitting in the back of the car with him in front— drunk and mad and blabbering, me intoxicated beyond coherence and just sitting there quietly (I fucking hope!), letting myself into our compound, sitting in the dark— in our driveway, beside the exercise machine, trying to figure out how I managed to fuck up.

I should’ve gone to Rockwell with my friends. They ran into Mark Herras.

And so it is over, and I had the gall to be the one to end it. “K, we’re done.” No reply, no acknowledgement. Fine. I’ll take what Ely said and accept that I might not ever get that. Allah called him up and a woman answered his phone. Yeahok, I AM LETTING IT GO. I am sad, I like the guy A LOT, but I am letting it go.

D and I are friends. At last. GOD, IT IS TAKING HIM FOREVER TO REPLY TO MY E-MAIL (but he e-mailed me first, okay) AND I NEED TO TALK TO SOMEONE WHO WILL MAKE ME FEEL LESS SHITTY. Aa couldn’t do it, neither could my housemates. I know D is the one person who can. And that’s just sad. 

Sit on the bed alone, staring at the phone.
He wasn’t what I wanted, what I thought, no. (HE IS!)
He wouldn’t even open up the door. (HE WOULD!)
He never made me feel like I was special. (HE DID!)
He isn’t really what I’m looking for. (HE IS!)
He never made me feel like I was special. (HE DID! HE DID!)
Like I was special, cos I was special.

NYE2007 photos to follow.