I hate when I run out of food.

I hate when there's no food in my apartment. So far today I've had almonds, cherries, an english muffin and an apple.

I think I'm going to have to have red wine for dinner. Because this is all that's left on the counter:

I hate it when Megan posts about me.

I hate it when Megan posts about me and the embarrassing situations that I often find myself in two days in a row!

It's not my fault! I promise!

It was HER friends that bought me so many drinks that I got loud/obnoxious/screamy drunk and then decided to take a nap outside of the Black Cat at 2:30 a.m.

It was HER that encouraged me to buy the "cute shoes" that lead to my downfall and her subsequent photography session documenting my pain.

I hate Kelly's shoes.

All day long Kelly whined about her shoes. Then as we were walking down the hallway to my apartment after work, Kelly goes, "My shoes are suddenly slippery."

It was a bloodbath.


Megan was sad, too. Kelly's serious injuries meant we were forced to abandon our plans of a nacho-and-sangria dinner at Alero down the street. Defrosted cheesecake for dinner again.

I hate hurting my neck.

I hate when I dance so hard, I injure myself.

This morning I can't rotate my head.

I'm not sure if that's more or less distressing that the bruise Kelly is sporting on her eyelid. Yes, that's right. Her eyelid.

I hate vomit.

I hate when Kelly vomits in the bathroom trash can. But it was sweet of her to move it by the door. Because that way, I don't have to see it. Just smell it.

I hate Zach Braff and Spring Awakening. (Double whammy!)

I like musical theatre just fine, thank you, but I hate Spring Awakening. Maybe I'm just more mature than I was ten years ago and I'd rather listen to the soundtrack to Company rather than Rent. And possibly, I hate shows that are geared toward TEENAGERS because they're about TEENAGERS singing music that TEENAGERS like. Duncan Shiek? Fuck you.

Also, the juxtaposition of Spring Awakening and Zach Braff makes me want to die.



PS. Way to mispronounce "controversial," buddy.

I hate Sundays.

I woke up today determined to do something, but I really wanted to do something on a very low-energy level. So I went to the movies, where I saw Once and thought about boys and generally made myself miserable for no reason. Then I decided to walk around Whole Foods, where I can't afford to buy anything, so I just salivated over the hothouse fruit for a while. After the fake grocery shopping, I decided to check out the Container Store across the street. I've always thought the Container Store was a euphemism for something much more interesting. I thought it was like a pared down Pottery Barn or something, and I need placemats! I was wrong though. It's just containers. All kinds of containers. So I got bored and really tired and took the subway to a real grocery store where I bought pineapple and oatmeal.

I've walked up and down a dozen escalators today and it's hot and I'm supposed to go to a show tonight, but ehhh. Maybe I'd rather smoke cigarettes and read my book up on the roof all night.

I hate my neighbor.

No, really, I'm kidding. I love listening to him play video games for eight hours while I lay in bed, hungover with burning lungs and no air conditioning on.

I hate ironing and listening to sad music.

That's what I've got right now.

A list of hate, part two.

I hate running into my enemies at expensive open bar events, even if I can laugh that I did not pay fifty-five dollars for a ticket. But still, do not want enemy time.

I hate getting unsolicited text messages that just open flood gates for emotions I'm not prepared to deal with, especially after lots of free booze at said open bar.

I hate coming to the realization that I'm not a very good person, and that I don't treat people the way they should be treated.

I hate not being able to take compliments on my attractiveness, although I should really place blame on what was, I suppose, a twenty-year-long awkward stage which, apparently, I just broke out of.

I hate having five-hour-long drunk dreams about an ex, only to wake up with swollen eyes and a whole ton of confusion.

I hate being awake to see the sun come up, because the last time that happened was eight months ago, and I was feeling much nicer things about the person I've having such conflicted feelings toward now.

I hate having to hear I'm a genuine, good person, when it's so clearly difficult for people to figure this out from the beginning. I suppose To Know Me Is To Love Me, but I just wish it didn't take so goddamn long for people to come to that conclusion. After all, it definitely impedes my job search results.

I hate dancing.

It's all fun and games until your air conditioning turns off and you crash into a coat rack.

My head hurts.