excuse me

tiz true, tiz true, i was forced to take a seriously long hiatus from civilized life. i will forego the details amassing my past 3 weeks because 1] i have yet to not get sweaty palms and a rock in my gut every time the thought of driving a car enters my mind and 2] as soon as i am ready to face it the story needs to be published in a well constructed piece of satire. but for now i shall share with you the basic structure of "the road trip, v 2.0": me, my accomplice, and my cat arrived in los angeles, not san francisco like planned, six days late and $1,600 poorer than expected. the cause of all this? still in phoenix, with my dignity, sitting in my grandparents empty garage.
as for the class of 2006, i still have nightmares thinking of other poor souls enduring that ridiculousness. as for that letter that miss [my bad, mrs.] lara and i so heartfeltingly [yes i'm allowed to make up words, don't question my art] promised to write and distribute, um, yeah. hasn't happened yet. and i don't know about lara, but i don't have it in me. as of now i would prefer to save it for a later project, and now that i think about it, that's not going to work either. *update into dome's thoughts*: film school is definitely in the future. so, by default, in my head i twist that letter into a film, then re-think it, and started puking on myself. who the hell would want to watch that? NOT ME. who would want to make that? definitely not me. i have yet to separate ann black from the world of interior design, yet to not find myself in a corner, rocking back and forth, every time i start to think about just sucking it up [my pride] and getting a real job to show my parents that i didn't move back in to mooch off of them [hell-oh!] but because i "enjoy their company".
this morning, right before i woke up at 8am [on a saturday, pathetic], i was dreaming that i was delivering pizzas. i went to this one house and dropped a big one off with a girl and two boys. the girl sent me off into the next room to look for the check that her parents had written for the pizza, "somewhere on the mantel", while they started stuffing their faces in the kitchen. the mantel, by the way, was covered with crap. candle holders and frames and figurines and just SHIT everywhere. there were a bunch of checks all strewn about, to other places, and i don't know what significance this has, but they were all printed on glossy photo paper. go fig. so, i realize i have no idea what i'm looking for and i pop my head into the kitchen and inquire, "uh, do you remember who you ordered pizza from?" meaning i'm a freaking idiot and i don't know who i work for. and the girl replied "uh, yeah, Blockbuster" with this DUH look written all over her face. so i nod my head and turn back toward the mantel because, of course, why would anyone order pizza from anywhere other than Blockbuster. irregardless, i forced myself to wake up at that second because it was all way too stupid to try to figure out.
[issues, i know].