I make 450 bucks a week.  You'd think I could afford a shit-hole apartment, but I still live with my parents.  I'm not sure what I spend all my money on, but between car fuel, H&M, and booze, I apparently can't save money to save my life.

Well, it's official: I'm addicted to the pumpkin spice.  I never thought this day would come.  Fuck.

I never feel witty or cute enough, but damn my vest was hot.

I'm re-starting this process of blogging for one major reason: I seem to have some neurotic tendency toward the confessional impulse.  It's not that I've sinned and need to confess, per se; maybe something sublime has happened, maybe I just need to get something unspeakably gauche off my chest, but otherwise I bottle things up and let out ruinous genies at inopportune times.

That said, lets start off with this:

People tend to think I'm pretentious.  I disagree.  I delight in things like Honey Boo-Boo (in small quantities).  I think it's just my tendency to say things like "Brechtian" that get in the way.  If I know a word, I use it, even if I have no clue what it really means because 99 times out of 100 I can use a word like that and no one will call me out on it.  And then I end up looking pretentious.  This usually happens when I'm drunk, which is quite often./