Yo Shawty, it's my birfday...

So I turn the big 2-9 this year. Way harsh, cuz I totally expected to be somewhere else at 29.

I will celebrate the end of my 20's with Wing Pong 2.0.  God I'm fuckin old...

Also, the girl's birthday is coming. We have planned a winter luau. Leis and coconuts and...I don't know, more leis. I have a bunch of decorations and crafts and shits, they'll have fun.

My mom called. First time since showing up at my door in December drunk with gifts. I answered WITHOUT LOOKING AT THE NUMBER. Because, you know, I'm still all "That's it. I'm done. I have no parents. I quit." I would have ignored that call had I fucking looked at the number. But no. I answer and I'm like, "Oh, it's you." She was just asking me questions and I was answering and all monotone. She eventually hung up. I'm not answering again. I swear it. For real this time. Stop shaking your head, I really mean it. OH SHUT UP.

The girl vomitted in my bed the other night. Like, in her sleep, vomitted. Like, she's laying there and I'm laying there and we're sleeping cuz I let her sleep in my bed and she pukes. In her sleep. So anyway I get her to sit up so she won't drown in chunks and she pukes again, projectile kind. Yay. Then I'm like STAY HERE AND I'LL GET THE PASTA POT! So I run and get it and she's gone and puked again...so she's sitting in MY bed in a pool of puke with eyes closed. Possibly still asleep.

Where does one begin? How do you clean this? I put her entire self, pajamas and all, into the shower. Then I bagged up the (vom) puke blankets (vom) and washed the floors (vom) all while trying not to vomit myself. THERE WERE CHUNKS OKAY?

Damnit...I just don't like vomit. That's why I'm a fat ass. Bulimia is just too damn messy...