the ish, not in the tionna smalls sense

i am much better today, thanks to a) a four+ hour crying jag yesterday, in which the ocd-choo drunkenly bewailed and berated, about, at, and alternately, the unassailable mountain of empty boxes in her living room, the insurmountable obstacle of STUFF which needs to not be wherever it is, and the robot she decided to sleep with, and the ungrateful-choo lamented to rightfully unsympathetic ears about her stress-related loss of appetite/not-so-latent anorexia and potential to fit into tiny, tiny pants if she so chose to go shopping, and b) moving another carload and having a roommates-all-in-the-same-place hangout/discussion/beerage/catch-up moment(s). oh, and c)? eating. because the choo didn't EAT yesterday even when sternly lectured to do so. something about blood sugar and being stupid, wasn't paying attention while whining.

apparently i need to go to PUNCTUATION/REFERRING-TO-ONESELF-IN-
THIRD-PERSON USERS ANONYMOUS. or you can nominate me for some sort of SXSW interactive symbol-overuser award next year. especially because i'm a tool and read two of the blogs that got a shit-ton of that crap this year (and last).

stay tuned for further stupid updates, in which i will complain about my non-iraqi life that is SO HARD, if you want even more detail than my whiny texts, emails, and phone calls provide. call me for friday/tomorrow night shenaniganery, if i didn't already tell you what's happening and you want to have mild-mannered age-appropriate social interaction with holiday (in)appropriate alcoholic beverages.