I started the day with a skin crisis. No amount of lotion seems to provide salvation from the ashiness. And it itches. So gross. So I ask my step-mom what the hell I'm supposed to do about it because I'd like to think that she possesses some brilliant beauty secret that has not yet been revealed to me. But what she gives me is fucking udder balm. She's never quite recovered from growing up on a farm. For those of you who aren't acquainted with udder balm, it's this putrid, greasy, yellow something-or-other that looks like a conglomeration of crisco and pudding that I believe is meant to keep cows' udders from chapping. But my step-mom is convinced that it is the cure-all for all ailments of the skin. Dry hands, wind burn, diaper rash. Oh yes, diaper rash. She wants me to put this nasty shit that goes on my sister's ass on my face. And I thought for a moment, "You really hate me, don't you?"

And then going to school, I almost hit a car in front of me. And by almost, I mean that a flatworm might have been able to slide down in the space between our bumpers. But that near miss wasn't quite the shit your pants situation that the second crash evasion after school was. I'm changing lanes, looking behind, not forward, stopped truck right in front of us, Kim hyperventillating. Not good.

But we lived. Picked up my check, put it in the bank, then off to the library. In case you were wondering, the library here sucks. They never have the books I need, and today was no exception. What respectable city library has only ONE copy of 1984? Fucking idiots. But I suppose it's better than the library in the shit town I used to live in. They took the Kinsey Report and ripped all the pages about anal out. Psycho christian freaks. But then I lost my library card which pissed me off, even though the librarian still let me check out the books I wanted. And then we went to leave and I couldn't get the ignition to turn. I almost cried. Car ownership has proved to be far too stressful for me. I was going back inside to call my step-mom when and behold, Cedar appeared. And I pleaded for her to unleash her mad mechanic skills on my dear Evelyn (yes, my car has a name) and she tried, but she failed me. We had to wait for twenty minutes to be claimed by my step-mom. So we just sat there and sat there and sat there and then Kim grabbed my breasts and then threw herself at me in front of the unsuspecting young mother and her small children. Sorry. But in the end, the car was fine and we were fine and Kim was spasing all the way home and made me laugh again.

My final stress of the night was the argument I had with the three-year old about which one of us gets to blow out MY birthday candles. I, of course, know that she reigns supreme and will inevitably extinguish the fire of my 18th birthday. And she'll spit on the cake while she's at it.

Now I'm eating a giraffe.

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