I had an odd dream the other day during a nap. In my dream, I was lying on my stomach on my bed, and I was flipping through local TV when I came across a familiar face. It was M's mom, she was talking about M and she was crying. Then the show cut to some of his friends. Everyone was sad and saying good things about him. Eventually I figured out that the show was some kind of tribute to him because he'd killed himself. I was relieved that no one mentioned me. I woke up with a feeling of guilt that lingered a little longer than it ought to have. It really disturbed me.

Last night, B's friends were over to play games. Near the end of their night, I joined them for some Kill Dr. Lucky--it's like anti-Clue and it's a rollicking good time.

On the day I had the Sears fiasco, I also applied at Bath and Body Works (a paper application--no personality test), but they haven't given a call. I'm going to pester them tomorrow when I run my errands.

The errands will consist of me going to my bank to yell at the people there about WHERE THE FUCK IS MY FUCKING NEW DEBIT CARD I WANT ALL MY MONEY GIVE IT TO ME FUCK YOU I AM GOING TO BANK OF AMERICA. In related news, they finally fucking figured out (after MORE THAN A YEAR) why I wasn't getting my bank statements. And guess what. It was not the post office's fault like they kept telling me. They had a no mail indicator on my account. So. For the first time in more than a year, I got a bank statement in the mail. It's glorious. I've been rubbing it on myself.

My other errand involves going to the aforementioned and wrongfully accused post office and sending off my dad's birthday card and a form to the Florida Department of Revenue that contains a signed statement that B did indeed sell the Camaro to me for $1000. Why do they want this? The sell price is less than 80% of the average loan and they need proof because without proof who's to say the $200+ in taxes I paid to the state of Florida on the day the title got handed over to me was the right amount? Heaven forbid the government didn't take enough of my money!

I am sick and fucking tired of being on my period.

I'm getting ownership of the Nissan. Grin, smirk, cackle. I won't believe it 'til I see it, but my dad should be sending me the title within 2 weeks.

I've enlisted my mom for help with my Halloween costume. She's making me a ratty old cruddy witch skirt. I have to forage for a top of some kind. B says I need a robe. I have one, but I don't think blue terry cloth is very witchly.