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Corrupting the youth

It�s been how long since I updated my diary? Jesus, how do you people do it? All of my favorites write faithfully every day or two, and here I am. The worthless slob, always thinking, �I�ll do it tomorrow.� If anyone reads this tripe, I apologize.

SP�s little sister stayed over at our house last night. Like the true friend that I am, I bought the girl alcohol so she could enjoy one of her last weekends before going to college. We drank and watched Vampire Vixens from Venus. I fell asleep at 10pm, like I always do because I�m an incredible loser. Always have been. It�s the reason I drink � to fall asleep. Alcohol is not for fun, it�s therapy. I drink to forget how depressed I am, I drink alone, but most of all I drink to forget all the stress from the day and fall asleep. You�d think I�m an alcoholic given that description, but luckily it only takes two drinks to accomplish that given my 120 pound body. Oh shit. I don�t weigh 120 anymore, I forgot. I quit smoking last year, and now I weigh 145 pounds. Well, that�s depressing� pass me another beer.

Well, even at 145 pounds, it still only takes 2 drinks to get me sloshed. Apparently, it takes even less than that for SP�s sister. I wandered into bed at 10pm, was awakened briefly by SP staggering into bed around 3am. And was awakened yet again at 4am by the sounds of SP�s sister howling at the porcelain god. That girl yacked up every bite of my Cornish pastries I made for dinner. Should I be this offended?

It�s amazing to watch another family work in situations like that. SP was right there, holding her and stroking her hair and comforting her. I wandered into the bathroom, eyes half closed, and said, �Everything come out ok? Good. I�m going back to bed now.�

In my family, a sick person was treated much like a menstruating woman in ancient times. They were banished to the woods until the ordeal was over so they wouldn�t anger the gods and contaminate the town�s water supply. I grew up in a modest house that had a furnished, but decidedly creepy basement. It was the ill family member�s fate to be locked in the basement for a few days while the rest of the family cowered upstairs with our Lysol and gas masks trying to ward off whatever germs had invaded the castle. And god forbid it was the flu. As soon as someone threw up, the house was evacuated immediately. There was no one there to comfort you as you knelt with your face in the toilet, only the vague sounds of keys rattling, feet shuffling, a door slamming, and the engine of the family van pulling out of the driveway.

And now for something entirely different. A co-worker told me this week that I looked exactly like Chris Kattan from Saturday Night Live. She�s worked with me for 6 months and said that everyday she knew there was someone out there that I reminded her of, and it finally hit her when she saw Kattan do a skit with glasses on. Again I ask you, should I be offended? I remember once wandering through the streets of Manhattan with my ex several years ago when Kattan came out of a cab directly in front of us with a very tall blond on his arm and walked into NBC studios as my boyfriend called out in girlish glee. �Do you know who that is? It�s Chris Kattan, he�s so sexy�� Do you think if he was attracted to the both of us, it gives her claim some validity? I just hope the resemblance is not born out of his work as Mr. Peepers (the half monkey man) or Mango (the sexually androgynous yet strangely alluring erotic dancer).

Because I�d look terrible in gold lam� shorts.