Mom bought some Valerian Root for me a few months ago when I was telling her I couldn't think straight. So I rolled my eyes at the fact that she spent $12 on herbs, made some sort of sarcastic comment about dependencies on medicines and how I don't subscribe to this new age hippie crap, and put it in the cabinet above my sink next to my Kool-Aid man plastic pitcher.

I think I'm going to start subscribing (or at least preview) to the new age hippie crap and take a couple of the pills tonight. Does Valerian Root expire? I hope not.

I've got a million ideas racing around my little head and I can't get anything done as a result. I'm eaten up with worry. I'm nauseated at the thought of having to confront any of the issues that are staring me in the face. I am such a wuss. I should be a fearless adult but I'm not.

I thought I was going to scream this morning at my desk. Not only was my boss hovering and asking me to help because Deb was out sick (I'll get to that later), but the phone was ringing off the hook, people were standing right beside my desk talking LOUDLY, and the lawn care people were outside weed whacking. On the other side of my window. Probably 2 feet from my desk. Loudly. I got a voice mail from the apartment complex saying that they wanted that two months worth of rent (which they lost in the first freaking place) NOW. Plus interest. So I'm in the hole $670 X 2 plus whatever kind of bullshit they're trying to get away with. Jefferson apartments (at least MY location) really need to get their act together and start hiring people that understand how to run an office instead of an 18 year old high school homecoming queen. Because I know for a fact that the girls in the office are way more concerned about their nails than the fact that one of them was stupid and lost my money order for nearly $700. Twice. OR it was stolen. I dropped it off in the night drop, so there's no telling.

Finances period make me nervous. I'm horrible with money. If I have it, I spend it. I love buying things for my friends and treating them to whatever I can. If I CAN afford to take them to a meal or a movie or pay for a concert ticket, I will. They do the same for me all of the time. And even if they don't NEED the extra help financially, I'll still pay because I like the way it makes me feel. I like doing things for people, especially the ones I care about. I absolutely despise bills and freak out when I see my name in print on an envelope. I'm paranoid and refuse to purchase an answering machine because I then feel obligated to call people back. I usually return calls but if I don't feel like it, then I ignore it. I have caller ID and when the spirit moves me is when I make my social check-ups. But I regress. Back to money. I hate it. Haaaate it.

And the thought of it is making me want to throw up. Can anyone suggest a way to make some FAST money?

Speaking of throwing up, when Deb called me at work this morning to tell me she was out sick, I got a nice surprise. She's sick because she went this past Friday night to the Wildflower Festival to see KENNY LOGGINS and bought a corn dog. And it made her throw up as soon as it hit her stomach an hour later. So she "yarfed" (her word, not mine) into a trash can and went home. She's been running a fever and is becoming dehydrated because she can't keep anything down. While telling me all of this, she whimpered "oh shit" and I heard her throwing up in the background (which was right beside the phone) and then another "oh shit" ... she came back and said she had to go because "that time it came out of both ends at once". GROSS. I am going to buy her a book about Jane Austen and try to teach the woman some manners. How she's gone through 43 years of life acting that uncouth is beyond me. I can't imagine being THAT crude.

So that did a lot for my mindset. Right before lunch too. Mmm.

I met Amanda up at Denny's because I really needed to talk to someone about my stress, and wouldn't you know it? I ended up with the rapist waiter. He scares the hell out of me, and I normally am not bothered by people. He's got a slicked back hair cut (which is actually receding so it looks really ... nice.) and walks with a limp from a sports injury and winks a lot. He makes me want to wash my hands.

Amanda told me that for every shitty day I had, a good one would follow. This is Amanda, the Manics fan, telling Chrissy the eternal idiotic optimist, to be hopeful that things would pick up. Irony rules once again.

In a few minutes, I'll be heading home to my beautiful apartment which overlooks the industrial plant of Plano (dubbed "Manchester" by yours truly) and will try to figure out some sense of how to wade through the crud that my apartment complex is throwing at me. I really hate money. I really hate them more though.

In May my friend Ryan and his buddies are coming down from Oklahoma to spend the weekend in Dallas. The occasion? Semester is over and Trans Am are going to be in town. Ryan looks remarkably like Alex James and is really cool. His friends are also cool little indie dorks but I don't know them as well as him. I know they like most of the same music as me and were all at the BJM show last summer and JAMC in the fall. And they like cranberry and vodkas. And the Flaming Lips. So I should hope it will be a fun weekend if nothing else.

On a lighter note, I saw 10 Things I Hate About You last night. Rock and roll and teenage melodrama and lots of riot girl angst a la McBlaine Castle High in Seattle. If you watch it you will know what I'm rattling off about it. My favorite parts of the movie were the oneliners, like "A FENDER STRATOCASTER!" and "She probably has beer flavored nipples."

The night before that I saw Never Been Kissed and although I hate Drew Barrymore, I love David Arquette and that teacher guy and that bad-ass kid was even cute. And the main boy in The Denominators just killed me.

Tonight the shit is going to hit the fan on Felicity. Last week I think she gave it up to an artist that was painting a picture of her and her "boyfriend" (though they were not with each other last week because his ex was back in town! eek!) was getting his groove on with the piano player.  But he didn't have sex with her, no siree. He loves his little impatient rigid anal bony girlfriend Felicity. And what's not to love? With a mind that questions everything and a cute little pointy face like that which scrunches up into a big ball of confusion whenever a new person enters the room, I would be ga-ga too if I were a strapping young lad.

I hope he bitchslaps the ho.

I'm really avoiding going home. sigh. I have to go home. Go home Chrissy, go home.