With the impending arrival of my 22nd birthday just months away, I've been thinking a lot lately about my future. I would say that I've been thinking a lot about my present as well, but the present is too depressing. My career involves me artistically crafting exotic libations and distributing said libations to the affluent and enchanting a.k.a. I make coffee for people who have too much money. And I had to use thesaurus.com to write that sentence. And I had to use dictionary.com to figure out how to spell thesaurus. Anyway, back to my pathetic life. I feel like I've been in school since Paris Hilton lost her virginity and god knows when the hell that was. I have absolutely no idea when I'm graduating, and I seriously doubt me sitting here writing this and watching Full House reruns is doing anything to help that. I have no money, which leads to a lot of internal debates over whether I really need to eat this week because there's this really cute shirt at J. Crew that I just have to have. I try to write them off as business expenses, I don't know what exactly that means, but it makes me feel a lot better about spending the money.

I don't date. The closest thing I have to a relationship is with my roommates: they always nag me, if I'm out with other people they call and whine about how we're not spending enough time together and in these past few months, the sex has seriously dwindled. The most romantic thing anyone has done for me lately was this past weekend when my roommate Erik paid for the movie we rented at Blockbuster. 86. Is that how many dollars Harsh Times cost to rent? No. Is that how much money I have in my checking account? It might be, but I'm too afraid to look. No, 86 is the number of days since I last had sex. With an ex-boyfriend. And since I've pretty much accepted the almost certainty that Ryan Reynolds is not going to wake up one morning and realize that the love of his life is living in a rundown college house in Cincinnati, Ohio, with the Christmas lights still up because we're too lazy to take them down, this number is only going to continue to grow.

Aw, man. I told myself I wasn't going to talk about my present in this entry, but rather my future. Oh well, now there's nothing left to do but go buy an entire gallon of ice cream, lie in my bed and catch up on the storyline of Days of our Lives all the while promising myself that I won't masturbate again for at least another two hours because lets face it, anything less is just pathetic.