You have got to be kidding me. Let me rephrase that. You have got to be motherfucking kidding me. I was subject to doing a shitload of “career planning” today, and I have come to the evitable conclusion that I might as well just kill myself or get used to saying “Would you like to super-size that?” I sat in a shitty computer lab overlooking what these idiots refer to as a “quad” for a half an hour, clicking little boxes about my likes and dislikes. Unfortunately, there was not a box that suggested I might like going home and getting drunk. After my index finger when numb, I watched as this dinosaur of a “computer” whirred, buzzed, and spit out jobs that would be good for someone like me. It spit out “Editor, Writer, Singer, Cosmetologist, Bartender, and Clergy”. I’m either going to be broke, addicted, or a priest. Clergy? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. If anything I’m an artist, a writer, a CEO of a wildly successful company that lets me wear Chanel suits to my big cushy office and sit behind a huge desk that overlooks a beautiful city skyline while I tap my perfectly manicured fingernail against some mysterious file that some jackass from some other department didn’t get to me on time. Then I’d fire someone, go to the gym and work out with a hot man named Edwardo (or Chris, if he’s up for it), and finish my night drinking a shitty $7 Cosmo at a swank bar while bitching about how hard my job is, although none of us at that point are really sure what I do besides drive a supremely nice car, fire people, and collect a gargantuan pay check. So let me repeat that. Clergy?! Again, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. There’s no way. Do these people NOT know that I’m destined to burn in a fiery hell? I’ve accepted this fact. I’m ok with that. I have found my spiritual place in the world, and happily it doesn’t require wearing a suit that makes me look like an overweight penguin.

On another note, I was wandering around college, basking in the glow of these people’s foreheads and stupidity, when I bump into a certain someone who I had the worst sex of my life with. And in a moment of very rare complete stupidity, I told him to call me. Hopefully it was some sort of acid flashback and my heterolifemate will kick my ass for this. It was like “Hi Mr.WorstSexI’veEverHad. How are you? I gotta go too, call me sometime so we can relive the horror and I can buy my shrink a new car!”
And it’s worse, because I know that I did it to myself and there is no one else I can blame for this.
Sarah, where were you when I was being a dumbass?!

Whats up hippies, its me again. Posting, once again, from the hell I refer to as Community College. Its a long, sordid story, that normally results in me being bitter, so as soon as I can control myself and my urge to buy a fire arm, I'll discuss it.
I was in my health class today, and was subject to a 15 minute lecture on why anger is a negative emotion and it's bad for you. The lecture continued on with more and more advice being crammed down my throat about how anger is not healthy and the best thing anyone can do is to forgive someone. It's healthier, apparently. Well, fuck that. No, seriously. I refuse to believe that anger is such a negative emotion. Although, I am a little "spitfire" (as certain people call me), I don't think I'm an angry person. But I do hold on to my anger like a motherfucker. It may be unhealthy but anger is an incredible motivator. The idea that anger gets you nowhere is a huge crock of shit. Anger is what is making me so insistant that I get back to Augustana. Anger is what got me a management position when I was 20 years old. Anger is an awesome feeling, and all those fucking fluff bunnies who claim otherwise should be slapped. Its when used incorrectly that it's bad. Theres a system to this, and I'll give it to you now.
1) Get mad. Get really fucking mad. Throw things. Cry. Drive too fast. Get piss ass drunk. Do whatever it is you do.
2) Regroup. Why are you pissed off? Some fucking scumbag hit your brand new 2003 Corvette Coupe and drove off, and you find out later your ex with no teeth is bragging about it? Remember that.
3) Plan. Carefully. Find out everything you need to know. Where the sonofabitch lives, drives, works, plays, eats, sleeps, shits, everything. If your really good, and know said person really well, you should also know their schedule, social security number, and birthday. If your REALLY good (And some of us are) you'll find access to their home, finances and know every single one of their pet peeves, favorite food, and allergies. (If your asking about the pet peeves and favorite foods, believe me, there is nothing worse than having your girlfriend steal every pair of socks and shoes in the house after opening every single one of your beers the night before, so when you finally get off your ass and go to the store to get more beer, you cant find any footware. Remember people, no shoes no shirt no service). Find a way to make this person's life a living hell. Hit em where it hurts.
4) Take no prisioners. Excute said plan. He hit your coupe? Establish a rock solid alibi with a good friend and key "Im a dick" into the side of his car, while posting an ad for him on a dating site announcing that your ex is a "White male looking for burly black man to tie me up spank me and treat me like his prision bitch". College kicked you out? Go back to the hell hole you call a community college, and show them exactly why you should be a professor there.
5) Smile innocently. When your ex asks what happened, tell him your sorry and if theres anything you can do to help, he should let you know. Don't forget your alibi. If its college your going after, that GPA should soar to astronomical levels.
6) Let it go. Drink with frat boys when you get back in to college, Laugh about your ex's lack of teeth with your heterolifemate, whatever floats your boat.

Then all you do is find something else to be pissed about, and repeat 1-6. Anger is a negative emotion, my white ass. Its people who don't know what to DO with it that are the pathetic ones. If used constructively, anger is better than an army and a firearm. Anyone who tells you otherwise is a tree hugging bunnyhumping sprout eating crystal toting new age pussy.

*****The author takes no responsibilty for your actions. If any of my advice lands you incarcerated, admitted to a hospital or psych ward, or on Americas Most Wanted, I don't want to fucking hear about it. Use some common sense, and use your time in prision to look up the words "humor" "sarcasm" and "satire", and then get the fuck off my planet, because your an idiot.*****

Hmmmm. I was going to update about the joys of gambling ($600!), Booze (a midori margarita), and a hot blonde with a lebret peircing, but the blogger people decided to eat my words.
So this is what you get.
Yell at them.
Fuckheads.

I'd like to announce, that I didn't say the word "fuck" once in my last blog. I want an award, and a parade.

You guys are in for the world premier. A first ever! Clare is blogging, drunk. Not just drunk, stinking drunk. Drunk enough to constitute me taking over 5 minutes to write this much, even if I don't include the liquor induced cut and paste fiasco. I'll give you all a quick overview, before retiring to my parents easy chair to watch trading spaces and wait off my buzz (yay for my father, and his ability to get me loaded).
Gambling is not a bad habit, so long as I win $700 again. If for some reason, my winning streak ends, I will be changing my mind.
Hurricanes are good. Long Island Iced Teas are better. It only takes one to get me drunk, and anyone who knows me, knows that I can hold my own.
My 21st birthday sucked. I didn't get laid, I didn't barf, and I didn't go bar hopping. Shit, I didn't even find enough reason to shave my legs.
I may find a reason to shave my legs, go bar hopping, and get laid if Chris will come play like he's been saying he will FOREVER now (see Sarah! I promsied you that I'd stop before I told him that I'd love to run away to the Carribean with him and have 49 children. I mean...uh...nevermind...)

School is starting soon, so I have alot to think about. Namely, reasons to get laid, drunk and shave my legs.

Guess what? It's your favorite Bloggers birthday today. I am 21! I am legally old enough to do everything I've been doing since I've been sixteen! But what do you WANT for your birthday? You ask.
Heres what I want.
I want Chris to show up at my door wearing only a red ribbon and a smile bearing all sorts of booze, for me and me only. He will then take me to my new dodge viper that was given to me by a certain NFL player who promised me a car if he ever made pro (cough Ira Gooch cough cough). We will drive at obcene speeds to grab my heterolifemate and other hot men, and will return to my cute little loft apartment and get so drunk we don't remember our own names. I will open my gift, which will be a check for an obscene amount of money given to me by some celebrity (I know a few...pay up dickheads). Then, I'll never hafta work again and I'll be free to spend the rest of my days sitting around, watching bad TV and sipping on fruity alcoholic drinks served to me by a cute guy named Chris.

Thats all. No biggie. I decided to be reasonable this year.

This isn't going to be my typical blog. Fuckin deal with it.

To my little doggie with her dinosaur blankie: I love you, and I'm gonna miss you.

To Shawn: I love you. Alot, you know that. I can kind of see why you left, but I deserved a goodbye. A call, something. Because I care about you, because through everything I was the one who gave a shit. I find out on the day my dog died that my best friend moved in with his girlfriend hours away. Nice, really nice. Because with my family moving away, I might not need my best friend just for a hug, or to sit and catch a movie with. I would support you in everything. I always have. If you needed to get out, fine. And because I'm stupid, I'll still be here for you when you get back. Even though I shouldn't, seeing how you've been acting, I miss you so much sometimes I swear I can't breathe. You've been like an appendage to me since highschool. And believe it or not, I need you in my life. It hurts. More than I can even tell you. But do what makes you happy. I hope atleast one of us can sleep at night. Almost every memory I have here has you in it. So understand why I just cant' let it go. I miss you.