not a charity worker

[[Insane Clown Posse- See you in the killing fields]]

Well, Christmas is finally over, meaning it's time to get my lazy ass out of this house, hit the pavement, and go back to work. I finally got through to Greg, the guy who "stole" my money and dope on the 23rd and then turned his phone off. Yesterday I woke him up, apparently he was coming off a "huge coke binge." He didn't even have a full gram, which (if I remember correctly) goes pretty quickly if you're only snorting it and completely disappears from your body in a couple hours. I guess shit affects different people different ways. Either that or he was making an excuse so he wouldn't have to come give me my money. Today I'm working though, so I'll be right in his part of town. No excuses, motherfucker- just give me what's mine!

[[Kottonmouth Kings- Life ain't what it seems]]

On another note, I'm out of heroin! Argh! I tried to hold onto my last shot for as long as possible. I woke up at about 9am and managed to hold off sticking myself until almost noon. By then all I was doing was moving all over the couch in an attempt to get comfortable, and I found my most comfortable position was sitting on the edge of the toilet pushing the last of my heroin into my arm. It's almost 1pm right now, I'm leaving for work in about an hour and I'm actually looking forward to it. Sitting around the house is a luxury, but it's been 3 days and I'm starting to get cabin fever. Last night I took a ridiculous amount of pills just to get to sleep, in addition to the h. I miss weed, wish I knew someone besides Greg who could help me out with that. I hate asking him for anything besides a ride. It's not that I'm shy, it's that he annoys the fuck out of me and thinks that if he does anything at all to help me out, even something as small as letting me use his camper for 3 minutes so I'm not shooting up in the McDonalds bathroom, I have to suck his dick for free. Well fuck that! I'm a hooker not a charity worker, plus he's got money.

[[Disturbed- The game]]

I want to go see Erick today, the guy who lives over by the Blue Cricket. He's such a good guy, awesome tipper, but he's also one of the weirdos who wants me to move in with him and be his girlfriend. He knows I'm on smack, and still wants me there. Here's the problem: his apartment is tiny, filthy, and full of cats. He gets high, but not on the same drugs I like. There are actually 2 couches in the "living room," which is so small that the couches are practically on top of each other. He says he makes good money, but if he did, why would he live there? Seems to me that we have different definitions of what "good money" really means. If I'm gonna stop working and make some guy my sugar daddy, I want him to at least be a homeowner, and I want a guy who doesn't get high. Is that too much to ask?

[[Weird Al Yankovic- Confessions III]]

Perhaps so- rich, drug-free men aren't exactly the ones lined up to get with me. That's not to say nobody wants me. Lots of guys do, and that's not bragging, that's just a fact that's proved by the amount of money I make in a given working day. Mexicans, middle-income white guys, construction workers, ex-gangsters, musicians, artists, homeless guys, married men going through a mid-life crisis, niggers, junkies, crackheads, dope dealers... these types all love me. But that's not what I want. I want me a VIP, or a CEO, or someone who owns their own business and a house that I can go to because he doesn't have a wife at home. I want someone who I don't have to pretend I don't know them if I see them with someone because (shhhhhh) he could be with his wife or kid or some other family member or employee or boss who he doesn't want told that he picks up hookers. Ah, but I don't really mind. I brought it upon myself really.

[[D12- Keep talkin']]

God I love this song. We still smokin' crack, nigga! Speaking of smoking, I must now retire to the porch to burn a cigarette. I am getting some weed today. It's just a matter of where.

[[Marilyn Manson- This is the new shit]]