Neurotic Much

My brain is fried for multiple reasons:

1) I have been drunk for the past 72 hours.
2) I had the most emotionally draining phone convo with my mother earlier today.
3) I live in New York.

Manhattan is a city filled with personal battles, millions of people struggling to overcome themselves and the demons around them. We are all at the mercy of this god-damned universe. This city is a blunt instrument dementing my mind. New York will fuck you and leave you and talk about you behind your back. And the most fucked up part, it will leave you desperately wanting more.

New York is not America. New York is not reality. She’s one giant concrete and steel amphetamine. We as New Yorkers feed off scattered conversations and drugs and smiles and those dying the slow death of alcoholic tuberculosis. Neurosis is the air this city breaths. The city breeds more neurosis than she breeds rats. New York makes people smaller then they are; lops off limbs and chokes arteries; makes people impotent and atrophied and callused and limp. We thank her for every lashing.

A sometimes great and often disturbing thing about this city is that it’s packed-full of an unlimited supply of short stories waiting to be created and told and repeated. The borderline disturbing part about this is that people come and go, in and out of each others lives, most of them never at any point possessing intentions to stay for a substantial amount of time.

If you're not a New Yorker, than you don't understand. But you might agree that I have been in need of Therapy for a long time. Last night it came in the form of a trendy gay bar in Hell's Kitchen. I started the night off with a Psychotic Episode and chased it away with Delirium.

And two nights ago I found myself in Brooklyn. Don't worry, it was Williamsburg where the locals are pretty harmless! Long story short...David + vodka + fratguy = ya gotta love Brooklyn!

In conclusion, thank goodness my boyfriend Boone from ABC's Lost got killed off of the show this past week. He now has more time to spend with me! And can we please talk about how funny I find it that after all the Desperate Housewives cat-fighting about Teri Hatcher being in the middle of the pool-side photo for the cover of Vanity Fair, that bitch is still in middle of the cover due to some flap-cover trickery that I'm sure has Marcia Cross wanting to break into killer-lesbian mode. Did I mention I have a fetish for pop culture?!

Oh, an I'm addicted to Grey's Anatomy. Big suprise! Paging Dr. Shepherd...