Not Just Another White Girl

This whole “journal entry” is an illusion that I can’t yet grapple with and totally understand. I’m doing it to capture my thoughts and observations at this point in time in my 23rd year of privileged white girl living, imitating that of David Sedaris, but in that structure it’s ultimately flawed. He wrote entries as mere expression of his own thoughts not at all thinking these diary entries would one day be published — when the element that keeps me going in writing (besides further self-exploration and discovery) is to hopefully one day be published to the length and status of David Sedaris. This all goes back to the fact that my life and everything I do is a paradox. Knowing all this from the beginning, please read carefully. This is your warning. No children, please.

SZA continues to be my idol. She understands me. — wish I was the type of girl I know my daddy he’d be proud of. Normal girl, I wish I was a normal girl. I texted a guy I'm sleeping with today. Besides having a normal conversation to make plans, I told him that I really just wanted to fuck him, and of course, I got hit with that no response. I knew it was coming, it always does. It just shows that I’m too much, once again. No one can ever handle me. When will this ever end... will it? I dare someone to tame me. Ugh unintentional Miley Cyrus reference.

Snap-chat-sexting this fucker who’s name doesn’t matter used to thrill me. Seeing his perfectly proportional pink dick used to get me excited, but now I just want someone real. I’m sick of all the virtual shit. Fuck Bumble. And FUCK Tinder. If it’s not real I don’t want it. Fuck all these boys. I want love but I feel like I don’t deserve it. We don’t really deserve anything out of this life. Do we? Do any of us deserve anything? What is this life? Time to smoke a joint.

"You would look good with a pit bull" said my semi creepy yet weirdly attractive neighbor. He owns the worst trained doberman I've ever encountered, going in one second for my crotch then the next has me in a headlock bearhug.

The Verizon Wireless guy on the phone named Justin also told me to "be careful and grab a glass of water" when I apologized for coughing profusely — I was smoking a roach. I am the self-pronounced Roach Queen of the West.