From one infected eye to the next

"Hard to be confident talkin about my losses and bruises"

You are expecting the next chapter to my tale of a one night stand? I am too. I have become attached to the young narrator of the story, and if I can be my twisted self, I am even beginning to grow a crush on him. It is a shame he does not exist, but is rather a fusion of all the men in my life. I sat in the glow of my computer screen late last night fighting with my muse. He did not want to come out and play. I dismissed his lack of interest, scanned my itunes for a replacement; finding none, I unwillingly played a "borrowed" 112 album, and found myself cursing my boyfriend-less status rather than writing a chapter two. I believe that it was my pervasive self-doubt playing its evil tricks. I spent more time in the backspace than I did in the alphabet.

Marissa: (typing) Oh my, I am on a roll.

Twins: No, that was shit. Delete.

Marissa: (index finger of right hand glued to backspace button)

If it is any consolation to you, I currently resemble the love-child of Esmeralda and Quasimodo. My left eye is experiencing an allergic reaction to some allergen in my life -- (coughs) Men. As a result of this allergen I have a red and swollen left eye that looks like it is about to burst. The doctor (my mom) has assured me that it will in fact burst. I, in an attempt to ease the pain, have rubbed ointment into my left eyelid. That, coupled with my inability to wear eye makeup, has left me looking even more the hideous monster. I am disgusting. I am sorry to the male readers who held the belief that I was actually sexy; recent evidence argues to the contrary.

My late night writer's block may also have been the product of my knowledge of the early rising to come. Summer school has begun today -- at 9:00AM to be exact -- and this sat like a heavy cloud over my laptop last night. For some 9:00 is a late rising, but do not be fooled my early birds. I have to be on campus at 9:00AM, but I must wake from my slumber at 6:30AM in order to shower, dress, eat, and dabble. The drive is another 45 minutes of "beautiful" scenery. If you add all of the above numbers you should reach a total of 150 minutes. You must add on another ten minutes as I am rarely on time. Adhering to my fashionably late nature I arrived on campus today 5 minutes late -- to find not a student present in classroom D346. Either I missed the memo or better, the class has been cancelled. As you all know I mumbled a "fuck off" instead of a "rabbit rabbit" on the first of this month. This will certainly mean only bad luck, and no cancelled class.

In the event that you think I am an innocent law abiding citizen, my issued warrant will drop from the ceiling. Please fix the masks tightly around your nose and mouth -- the masks will not inflate, but the truth is still flowing. That's right folks -- a warrant. It was for keying my ex-boyfriend's car. I didn't serve any jail time on account of this cute and loveable face, but I am still a hardened criminal. Well, if I am to advocate honesty, I must admit that I exaggerated for effect. The warrant was issued after I failed to appear in court for a traffic ticket I received while in the pancake of shit, or also known as New Mexico. I was in England during my scheduled appearance before the court, and my loving parents "forgot" to fax proof of my insurance to the courts. My only option upon my return to the Motherland was to please guilty to the warrant and pay the $259 fee. I guess I will not be getting that job with the CIA.

The state of New Mexico has taken my money. As a result of their "laws," and my inability to ration, I am now in the red. My mom assures me that I can "float," as she calls it, through this summer before tightening the buckle and getting a proper job. I disagree. I like things, I like pretty things, I like money. I considered a job at the local strip club. I was assured by male friends that I could make , if not honest, then at least a decent living, but I was threatened with eviction and heartbreak -- and so I declined.

The silver lining in this very dark cloud is that I have a new girl crush.

For those unfamiliar with this term I will define.

Girl-crush: to possess feelings of adoration and love, but not those sexual, for a member of the female sex. Marissa has a girl crush on her neighbor's girlfriend.

My girl-crush is beautiful, with skin the color of 100w light bulbs, and not a trace of skin cancer on her. She had a raven colored mullet and emo fringe. Her eyelids were shadowed with black, a screen for whatever color lay underneath. There was a tattoo of an eagle spreading from her shoulder to collarbone. Her nails were painted the burgundy color of my grandma's sofa.

I discovered her yesterday afternoon while sat by the window daydreaming of money, cars, and bitches. She remains unnamed. All I know of my girl-crush is that she writes on the side of her red converse, that there is a rip in the right knee of her jeans, and that there are five lines on each wing of the eagle.

Creepy right? I know.

I found myself giving my stormy Monday afternoon to girl-crush watching. I sipped a southern comfort and lemonade; taking notes in my journal as I watched the mating behavior between the female and male. I didn't really, but I did drink a southern comfort and lemonade. I cannot be in the fault for having box seats to the show. I may have refrained yesterday, but the orange cushioned window seat is patiently awaiting my return.

Alright gentleman, I can sense that there might be some friction in the pants from the sight of my words. I would like to make clear that a girl-crush is not a sexual crush. It is only a crush of adoration for a female from a female. This is not the girl on girl kissing you witnessed at Ted's kegger. This is a desire to spend time with the object of the girl-crush; to go to the movies, watch her tease her mullet, and know her emo secrets. She can hold my hand but not with the fingers entwined. That is for my boyfriend.

I am a stalker. Issue me a warrant for that.

P.S. I am in love with a bumblebee.