If your kid is hungry, take him to McDonald's- don't whip out your boob in the middle of Party City.

I took this Multicultural Counseling class last spring at The University of Memphis where I had to read a book called It's the Little Things: Everyday Interactions That Anger, Annoy, and Divide the Races. Now, this book pissed me off a great deal because there was a lot of racist stuff in it, but at the same time, I'm realizing just how much I got out of it, because I've thought of it several times since I read it. Also, it wasn't your typical text book full of stats, so I actually read the book as opposed to skimming the highlighted terms and reading the end-of-chapter summaries. One thing that the author touched on in this book was how white people do not discipline their kids. This made me mad, because my parents were so hard on me and my sisters that we have seizures at the sight of a wooden spoon (My mom used to carry a wooden spoon around in her purse and she'd beat the crap out of us with it when we were bad. Actually, this is a complete exaggeration. She never even really had to use it on me because I was always a good kid. She used it on my other sisters, though.). The point is, we were well behaved kids because my parents disciplined us and backed up their threats with action. There was never this "I'll give you a time-out when your daddy gets home" b.s. You know what I mean. Those moms who make these stupid threats and then they never follow through. Well, I can't relate.

I was in line at Party City the other day buying some accessories for my Halloween costume. First of all, the drive to Party City was a complete nightmare for various reasons. Construction kept traffic at a crawl, people were driving like nut cases, there was nowhere to park, etc. Upon my arrival, I see 600 people crammed into this Party City in the hood, and we were all pushing past each other trying to get the last vial of fake blood or the last pair of fishnet hose or what have you. So I'm standing in line with my TWO freaking items, and there are about 20 people in front of me. The line wrapped all the way to the back of the store. I'm standing there with a bunch of slutty hairdressers who are buying hooker apparel for their Halloween costumes and I'm listening them prank call their friends at the salon and asking them stupid questions like,

"Do you do men's butt waxing?"

It was stupid. Anyway, this lady comes up right behind me with her horrible 3-year-old-ish son and her screaming baby. If there's one thing that completely turns me off to the idea of procreation, it's a screaming baby. I have no feelings of sympathy. I just want to take a bottle of Paxil and put in some ear plugs. I just can't handle it. Drives me nuts. I have no mothering feelings when it comes to that high pitched wail. So this mom is a complete ding-dong head, and her horrible toddler from Hell is running all over the store, tearing plastic wrappers off of Halloween costumes and throwing them on the floor. She also put him in charge of pushing the basket. Way to go, Mom. Way to use your noodle. This little Hellian starts bumping me in the butt with the basket. The mom sweet talks to her little crap kid,

"Awwww, honey. Don't push the gir... Oops, I mean.. Lady, with the basket!"

She says this in a baby talk voice. That irritates the ever living crap out of me, too. I feel like people who talk down to their kids pretty much destine their kids to be complete idiots. If you talk to people like HUMAN BEINGS, you will get human behavior. If you talk to kids like little tard pockets, you will get stupid, tard pocket behavior. It's just common sense.

I just about turned around and ripped his obnoxious little head off, but I refrained.

Next thing you know, monster child grabs some M&M candy dispenser, and repeatedly YELLS at the top of his lungs,

"MOOOOOMMY! I WANT THIS!!! CAN I HAVE IT?! BUT I WANT IT! CAN I HAVE IT?"

So, mother with the IQ of an eggplant says to him,

"Is that what you want more than anything in the whoooooooole wide world, sweetheart?"

An emphatic "YES YES YES!" follows.

She puts it in the basket.

This lady needed to be euthanized.

So as the baby is screaming its head off, and I'm picking at my hangnails and biting the insides of my mouth to try and keep from punt kicking the psycho family out into the Party City parking lot, the lady proceeds to abandon her ragamuffin toddler alone with the basket, sits down on a Halloween display (I think a plastic tombstone), and PULLS OUT HER BOOB.

No joke.

Yanked that thing right out of its holster.

Now, where I come from, if women are in an emergency situation for breast feeding, they at least have a little nursing blanket or something to keep themselves polite and private.

This lady had her baby all up on her teet while her toddler ran wild. In front of everyone. This was NOT okay.

All of a sudden I remembered that line about how white people don't discipline their kids. It made sense to me. I wanted to beat the living daylights out of this complete white trash mother, her horrible toddler, and then I wanted to set fire to Party City. And this is why I need anger management.

So, moving right along.

The other day I went to Trader Joe's because I was having ice cream withdrawal. They didn't have ice cream. They had soy cream. Are you effing kidding me? I bought it because I was desperate enough. It tastes like sawdust and chocolate sprinkles. I'm trying to get used to it. I've been doing cardio for an hour a day every day, so I seem to justify the late night pizza binges and dates with Ben & Jerry. I have to stop this, though. Blah. Just because I have a regular exercise routine doesn't mean that I can eat burritos at 1 AM.

I also had another "L.A." experience when i cashed in a free coupon for "Hollywood Tans." I go to this ridiculously state-of-the-art tanning salon where I had to have my fingerprint scanned in order to "ensure that I am the only person with access to my tans." What the crap? People steal tans? That is retarded. I am not quite vain or rich enough to invest in tanning, but midterms gave me a nice 8th grade spread of zits, so I figured I'd use my free week to clear up. I look like the "Before" picture in a "Proactiv" commercial. That will change soon though, as I bake my ovaries into oblivion.

I went to the 99 cent store the other day to buy some basic stupid stuff. There was this man there who was absolutely livid that his cashier charged him an extra dollar for one of his cleaning products. He started out nicely annoyed, which was okay. Then he proceeded to yell at her and talk to her like she was retarded because she was Asian and clearly didn't speak English well and she had no idea how to clear up the mistake. IT WAS ONE FREAKING DOLLAR. I know that our economy sucks, but shoot. Is it worth having a massive coronary at the dollar store over one dollar? Is it worth assaulting a woman who barely speaks English over A DOLLAR?! People out here are nuts. Our dollar is worth like negative cents now, anyway. I wanted to give him a dollar just to shut the crap up.

I had my own crazy 99-cent-store-man experience the other day. I'm just more subdued when I get pissed off. I had to wait at the doctor's office at LMU for an hour past my appointment. I was pissed. The thing is, if you show up 10 minutes late for your apt., you get charged 25 bucks. Instead of yelling at them, though, I just wrote them a comment card that said:

"My time is just as valuable as yours. If you're going to charge me 25 bucks if I'm late, the least you can do is give me 25 bucks for being a freaking hour late." That irritates the crap out of me. Punctuality is a big thing in my world. It probably shouldn't be, but it is.

Last night my friend Robin and I had an incredibly weird night. We met a bunch of crazy people and wound up hanging out with a small clan of ultimate fighter heavyweight boxer men. They were a-holes. We ditched 'em after about 10 minutes. They were these huge, bulging, incredible hulk-esque guys. In my Lifespan Human Development class that I took last fall, I remember our professor telling us that early maturing males are often more aggressive, more prone to be bullies, etc. These guys seemed like they all went through puberty at like age seven. I think that will be one of my new official screening questions for boys who want to take me out. If they went through puberty before the age of 18, I'll just tell them I'm busy.

Night Hikes and Punkin Beths

Right now I'm cat sitting my friend Tiffany's kitty while she is in Vegas (While Tiff is in Vegas. The cat is not in Vegas.). Tiff invited me to go to Vegas with her and her friends this week. When I was younger, I never pictured myself morphing into a person who would pass up Vegas for academics, but I had to decline because I really can't miss class unless I am dealing with a life or death situation. I am an official geek. Who would have thought? I never saw it coming, that's for sure. Side note: Tiffany is a girl who adopted me after I moved to L.A. and didn't have many friends yet. I told her,

"Tiffany, you are so welcoming and kind. You always invite me to hang out with you. You remind me of someone from the South."

Tiffany's response:

"I am from the South! I'm from San Diego!"

Anyway, Roxy the cat and I have been hanging out at my place for the past day, and I'm not exactly "The Creepy Cat Lady," but I sure have like having this cat purr and cuddle with me when I sleep. I told my sisters that I can probably hold off on having a boyfriend for a couple of years if I can invest in a pet. Last week when I was taking midterms, I got pretty down for the first time since I've moved here. Between my midterms and my raging PMS and insomniac sleep cycle, I was in a pretty crappy mood- but the weekend made up for it- and then Roxy the cat was delivered and has been keeping me company, which has been nice.

My favorite thing about L.A. is that there is always something to do. I felt like in Memphis, I was limited to going to Beale Street and consuming calories through beverages or BBQ. I am not going to be completely critical, because in the summer, there are a lot of fun things to do in Memphis--- i.e., Redbirds games, Jerry's Sno Cones, the Summer Drive-in, the zoo, etc. But out here, there are endless options.

My friends Neely, Christina, and I all went for a night hike at Temescal Canyon on Saturday night. Those of you who know me know that I don't "do" the whole "get grungy with nature" thing. I'd rather have a cocktail by a swimming pool. I'm not really a snob, I just don't like to sweat. I have started going to the gym every day though, so I guess I'm used to it. Anyway, this hike was awesome. It was pitch black, so we had to use our flashlights while we stumbled through the trail and brush up the mountain. We got to a point where we overlooked the city. What a view! We could see the ferris wheel on the Santa Monica Pier all lit up and tiny. It was incredible. I got a better view the night beforehand, though, so I'll touch on that...

On Friday I hung out with my Manhattan Beach friends. We carved pumpkins. I haven't carved a pumpkin in a long time. The whole process was fun. We got some tumpkins (as my friend Cayce called them) at Trader Joe's, carved them, put tea lights in them, and watched them glow. It made me think of being a little kid. Then we got a complete crap movie through amazon.com or something-- pretty much a garage-mixed horror flick. We wanted to play up the Halloween theme, but it sort of fell flat with "Hell's Gate 11:11." Regardless, it was a blast. At one point during the night, my friend drove us to Palos Verdes to catch the L.A. view at night time. The night was crisp and clear, so the view was amazing. We saw 12 airplanes in the air flying into LAX. You could see lights for miles and miles. I felt like I was at the make out point on "The Wonder Years." I've never been able to see anything like that because the places I've lived have been flat.

So I was freaking out about my grades on my midterms and I made all A's. How typical for me to have a nervous breakdown over nothing. One of my profs had me read my essays to our class because they were so wicked. She even pulled me aside after class and told me how well I did on the test. What the eff? I really thought I bombed it. Thank God He gave me a nice hope chest full of adjectives in my head. If I hadn't been able to fluff up my sentences, I'm not sure that I would have done so well. I'm telling you, I feel like God is the only reason I have any success whatsoever.

Last night my friend took me to a Clippers game. I was supposed to go to dinner with a guy who flaked on me and my friend was supposed to take a friend-girl who flaked on him, so after class we were "date"less. We went to this game at the Staples Center downtown where the Lakers play. It was a blast. We lost, but that's neither here nor there. I also found out that my buddy, who's in two of my classes, shares my faith. That's always cool to find out. I meet a lot of Catholic people, because I attend a Catholic institution, but I don't meet many people who claim their faiths as Christian and can separate their faith from their religion. My buddy explained it as this: "Christian is the noun. Catholic's just the adjective." Cool point of view. Anyway, after the game, we got burritos from some 24 hour Mexican place- and though I consumed more calories than Michael Phelps yesterday, the whole day was awesome.

Unfortunately, I now have to go take a TB test. I'm not a big fan of getting my skin pricked for a stupid reason. I clearly do not have TB (it isn't 1816, foks), so I deem this as unnecessary, but I have to have this for working in LAUSD.

No, no, no. His dad is famous.

There's this obnoxious fly scooting all over the place in front of my computer screen and I can't seem to catch his butt to squish him. Maybe I'll pull out some chop sticks and Karate Kid his ass. Probably not, though.

Funny story about one of my little Malibugers. My sweet little third grader is always talking about this obnoxious kid in her class named Paris. Upon finding out that this kid is a boy, I couldn't help but picture this little Peter Pan in the front row sprinkling glitter all over his desk. When I think of Paris, of course I think of that stupid blonde-haired hoe, so I never consider it as a boy's name. Anyway, my little client is always talking about how much she hates Paris- how he pulls her hood over her head whenever she's in class, she's moved desks because he's so annoying, how he stores his sandwich inside of his desk instead of keeping it in his lunchbox like a NORMAL kid, etc. Anyway, being someone who is often studying kids with various disorders/abuse backgrounds/disabilities, I've become hyper sensitive to external and internal factors. In essence, this means that I no longer hear that "Paris is an obnoxious kid." I hear "there are attention-seeking behaviors here that might be symptoms of a greater problem." Now, I don't go around diagnosing everyone that I meet, nor do I jump to conclusions and assume that everyone I know has some sort of presenting issue, but I try to cut people a lot more slack than I did prior to studying the DSM-IV. My response to my little girl was,

"You know, honey...Your mom and dad love you SO much. Your dad just made you your beautiful Halloween costume... Your mom just brought you a glass of water. That's because they LOVE you. Maybe Paris isn't as fortunate at you. Not all kids have such wonderful families. So maybe the reason he acts out is because he isn't happy."

My client says,

"Oh no, no no. That's not it. His dad is famous."

I say,

"Oh really? What's his dad do?"

My client,

"Well... I can't remember... But his last name is Brosnan."

Rachel:

"Pierce Brosnan?"

Client:

"YEAH! That's it!"

So apparently, other kids in the Malibu school system happen to think that 007's kid is a little twerp. Now, I have never met little Paris, so he might be fine. Or he might just be a typical 3rd grade boy. I constantly tell my client that sometimes third grade boys will pick on third grade girls because they actually like them but aren't sure how to show it. The point is, these are the people that I work with, and I always get a kick out of it.

I also think that it is funny that to some people, if you have a famous dad, you clearly do not have problems at home.

Last night my friend came over and made my whole week better. Midterms have made me moderately depressed. My friend and I watched "Napoleon Dynamite," and after that, I laughed so hard that I forgot about how much my week sucked. I have missed my family a lot recently. It's critical to have close friends when everything else you know is packed up in a cardboard box in an attic 2000 miles away.

I have felt a little bit overwhelmed and defiant this past week, like I sure as hell can keep up with the rest of the smarty pantses out here, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to prove it to you that I can--- but that attitude has made me tired really quickly. I also got a little note from one of my profs yesterday that told me to "watch it with the humor when discussing such serious topics." Though I understand the point for making sure that humor is used appropriately, I can tell you that I was absolutely careful and tasteful in my application during a presentation that I gave last week. This whole Catholic thing is still pretty foreign to me. My mom told me about the mean nuns that her family dealt with growing up in South Louisiana. The whole smack-your-knuckles-raw-with-a-yard-stick thing. I just thought that was old school. Let me tell you, it's not. Catholics are still pretty disciplined people. They are super stoic. I don't want to make a blanket statement and say that they are ALL like this, but I am seeing it more and more as time goes on. I think it's good to be disciplined and know when to be reverant. HOWEVER.... My theory is this:

John 10:10 - “I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.” -Jesus

Ok, if my Jesus came to bring me abundant life, then I don't understand why people think we should walk around with such a sense of "seriousness--" making life routine, clock worked, and structured to the point that all we have is traditional and schedule. Being a Christian is the biggest thing in my life. So, if Jesus came here so that I might have an abundant life, and He came to bring me freedom, then dad gummit, I'm going to live that, which means I will still be funny in my presentations. But try not to offend the priests and nuns. Life is short. I want to spend it laughing.

So how about this election? I am so burned out on seeing these idiots on TV. I'm burned out on the whole she-bang. I've always hated the news. Especially those programs where people get on TV and yell over each other and you can't understand what any one person is saying. That drives me nuts. It sounds like a bunch of mumbo jumbo. So here we are with this life-changing election right around the corner, and people keep hollering at each other and making claims about who's right and who's wrong. Well, I understand the whole democrat thing, though I am not a democrat. We have all of these social problems and ordeals with poor people and bla bla bla. Then there's the whole republican thing, where moral issues are concerned. I think that the republicans and democrats need to have a baby. This party can be called the republicrat party. It will be just like going to Piccadilly Cafeteria. I will pick all of the nice things about each party and put them onto my tray. I will leave the crappy things in their prospective hot plates under their heat lamps. Welcome to the Republicrat party. Our icon is a Pomeranian.

My butt is flat because my midterm just kicked it.

I just took the worst test ever. I have no idea how I did on it. The study guide was completely unrelated to the test. I'm depressed. I ate some cookie dough and watched "South Park" when I first got home. I don't feel any better.

Onto more interesting topics...

I was in Malibu today working with one of my kids. There were ashes flying all through the air because all of California was on fire or something. I wish you could have seen these kids running through the campus with their shirts pulled over their mouths and noses. I live in a methane-infested apartment complex and have never thought twice about how my kids will be born with hooves. These little barbies were flipping out about getting cancer. Not sure if this is a geographical or child-rearing thing, but I thought it was funny and weird. My parents grew up tearing asbestos siding off of their houses while drawing pictures on the pavement with it. Ah, the ongoing nature vs. nurture issue.

I had a great weekend. I didn't feel like I had to put myself under house arrest to study because I go to the gym every day and review my notes. Every effing day. Too bad it didn't pay off on this test I just took. Well, maybe it did. Who knows. To hell with catastrophic thinking. Anyway, I went out with one of my guy friends and a bunch of his buddies on Friday and had a blast. Woke up the next morning and went to mentor orientation not feeling too coherent. Then I had to have my picture taken so my mentee would know what I look like before we start meeting. Wish I had known that prior to rolling out of bed with the previous night's makeup on and feeling like my head was made out of concrete. Anyway, Saturday night I went to my best L.A. friend's party by the beach and had a flipping blast. Crashed some rocket scientist parties and acted a fool. Went to church Sunday morning wearing my party clothes from the night before and stole someone's nasty drink at Starbucks on accident. I was waiting patiently for my non-fat, non-flavor whatever the crap I got, and somehow I walked out with some froo-froo girly drink. I drank it 'cause I needed the caffeine but it sure made me grouchy to have to drink something so sugary. It irritates me when they don't write names on the cups. Grrr.

Today while I was exiting the grocery store/Starbuck's parking lot in Malibu, some crazy, burned out, tan 40-some-odd year old man approached me and said "WAIT! YOU FORGOT SOMETHING!" Me, being the naive and somewhat tard-pocket person that I am, said "What is it?" because I was afraid I'd forgotten my wallet. Anyway, he gave me his card, and said, "You caught my attention in there. I wanted to meet you." Uh. Okay. Then I told him I had to go because I was meeting my client. He asked what I did and I said I worked with LD kids. WHY, RACHEL?! WHY DO YOU ALWAYS TALK TO CRAZY PEOPLE WHEN THEY FIT THE SERIAL RAPIST PROFILE?!?! I always give too much information. I'm my mother's clone. Then he starts going on and on about how I have "such good energy" and I am "so patient" and then he said, "You are a really kind hearted person." Right, dude. Since you know all about me. Then he tells me he's a surf instructor. I might have admired this when I was fourteen. I'm not going out with anybody again unless they have a real career. I'm sick of wasting my time. Don't get me started. He tells me to look at his card when I get in my car. I look at it, and on the back it says "There was just something about you. Aloha. 420. Mike." But I think he spelled "there" like "their," or something stupid like that (the card is out in my car), because immediately I judged his misspelling by him being a pothead. Probably not correlated, but whatever. These people and their weird ass fascination with "energy." I hear people tell me ALL THE TIME that I exude "good energy." What the crap does that even mean? In Memphis I make people want to take naps. In LA I give them good energy. I don't get it. And why do people always talk to me about drugs? 420. Really? I don't feel like I fit the druggie bill. My neighbor started talking to me all about drugs the other day. I DON'T DO DRUGS, PEOPLE! I barely even take Advil. I would rather suck it up and deal with the pain than have medicine head.

So by this point I have like 30 cards from a bunch of creepy Californian men and I'm trying do decide if I should:

A. Get them laminated and make a dress out of them,
B. Start a bonfire on the beach,
or
C. Be California green and recycle.

Men out here are so freaking weird. I got a card last week from some guy who was driving through my boss's neighborhood and asked me for directions as to how to exit the premises. There's only one main street. Surely he could have come up with a more creative pickup line. I was turned off by the baby seat in the back of his car.

Yesterday I ate delicious sushi after hanging out at the beach. I also ate pancakes after church at a guy's house whom I met on Saturday during the great rocket scientist party of oh ate. Something about living by myself has made me extremely social. I think I spend enough time alone to really appreciate other people when I'm with them. Things to ponder. I just recognized that I made two references to food in this paragraph. I am not that into food. I am no snob when it comes to caloric consumption. I think I like food because of the "sharing a meal" aspect. I enjoy the relational dynamics of eating with other people. I don't really care about the food part.

So I hung out with new friends yesterday and had a lot of fun- HOWEVER COMMA--- there was this completely obnoxious girl with us whom I almost stabbed about four times. I hate obnoxious people. Well, I take that back. I actually love most obnoxious people. I hate self-centered, bratty, high maintenance, stupid people. This girl was super loud, kept saying the same stupid stuff over and over again, was very flirty, and kept rubbing all over every guy around her. She also kept making crude comments. I am the queen of crude comments, but I always pair them with humor. She was just plain gross. Not a big fan of attention-seeking hoes who make crass comments trying to get men all riled up. Especially when these girls are dense and have nothing to contribute to society other than their reproductive organs. Depressing.
People who think they are soooo hot irritate me. I mean, looks only last until you're in your 30's (if you're lucky), then you have to rely on other assets. Blah. Stupid women. Hate 'em.

Well, I guess I better get back to my note cards so I don't flunk out of grad school to become a go go dancer. Wish me luck. One midterm down, two to go...

Sarah Haley is a Playa Hayta

Because my sister told me that my blogs have been depressing recently, I've decided to implement an upbeat one as to not make my audience cut themselves.

First off, a bug has bitten me on the butt. I keep sitting down at an angle because this thing hurts. I think that my hiney became bug-lunch when I was at the beach a few days ago. Anyway, I look like a gangsta. I'm on tilt all the time. As I write this, I'm at a 45-degree angle.

Thinking of yesterday... I am a big advocate of eating peanut butter straight out of the jar. This usually occurs as I sit on the couch in my unmentionables and dig into that jar of heaven while watching "Snapped." I don't eat a lot of meat, so I think I get my protein from peanut butter. Oh man, the best is dunking a spoon full of peanut butter into a bag of mini M & M's, but I try to avoid the extra calories. So anyway, my third grade client was running around the house scraping the last little bits of goodness out of the Jiff jar the other night. The kid had peanut butter all over her. I told her I like to spoon it out and eat it straight, too. Nice bonding moment.

Today was one of the best days ever. I woke up early (no I didn't. Why did I even say that?) and went to my friend's place by the beach. First of all, though he's only my friend, he looks like a god, which makes looking at him a somewhat euphoric experience. He's got this beautiful, all-American, Chris O'Donnel thing going, like he should model for Polo and play tennis and go sailing. Not really the type of guy that I've been attracted to in the past, but that's his look- clean and polished and wholesome. He's completely oblivious, too. He's such a normal guy. So anyway, he and I went to the beach this morning and body boarded, and it was a blast. Who wakes up, chugs coffee, drives to the beach, body boards and nearly drowns until one o'clock, goes to an interview, and gives a presentation in night class? I can't believe I live here. I wake up every day and think that same thing. I just can't believe it. So Hunkalicious and I hung out at the beach all morning- and I only lasted until my top threatened to remove itself a couple of times, so I'd drop my board to adjust my top, and then I'd get knocked down into the surf and stand up with seaweed all up in my huuur and a mouth full of salt water, so yeah, eventually I just slept on the beach like a fat crap and let hunk do his thing in the water. I'm not the best body boarder in L.A., but I sure had fun.

It was wonderful. I ran through the seagulls on the beach like Sean Connery in "Indiana Jones & the Last Crusade" and watched them fly away. I took a shower when I got home and had to get all of the sand out of my ears with Q-tips. What a wonderful problem to have.

I had an interview with one of my professors for a research job today. I got the job! I love research. I never saw myself morphing into a Type A Dork, but here I am, happy as a June bug. Does anyone know what that means? Happy as a June bug? That makes no sense. Happy as a clam? Really. What the crap. How about Happy as Pollyanna. I hate her. What an obnoxious girl.

Speaking of obnoxious girls, I'd like to share a story that occurred last week- it pertains to an obnoxious girl in my class who thinks that she is just as important as our professor. Most of the time, I want to stab her, but I refrain. She's always texting or typing or chewing something loud and she always interjects and takes over the class. She's ignorant and loud and always tries to brag about how intelligent she is. She's a dumbass. That's all there is to it. So we were talking about AD/HD and she gives this lengthy uninteresting monologue that went a little something like this:

"I heard that people who have AD/HD, if untreated, wind up having adjustment disorder, which brings oppositional defiance disorder, which brings conduct disorder, which can develop into personality disorder, and people who don't treat their AD/HD can develop severe personality disorders and can be really, really disturbed."

Me, being the b-word that I am, said,

"Hey, did you know that Charles Manson had AD/HD?"

Stupid girl: "Yeah, I know."

Me: "Oh really? Because I just made that up."

The whole class came unglued. People laughed hysterically. I felt like I held a small glimpse of victory in my hand. I think that I shall make it my personal goal to make this girl's life miserable for the rest of the semester because she's made me so effing miserable during the first two months of school. I hate ignorant people. Blah!

Adam Sandler Wants to Marry Me.

On Monday I saw Pam Anderson driving through the grocery store parking lot in her Range Rover in Malibu. Today, I was driving down the PCH, and Adam Sandler pulled up next to me in his ginormous SUV. I started waving to him like he knew who I was. He waved back in his nice-guy way. Then I blew him a kiss. He laughed. I love Los Angeles. It's weird how you see these people running around town when you've seen them your whole life. It's like running into somebody at the grocery store that you went to elementary school with or something. You feel like they should know you since you know them. It's kind of nice to have this Malibu small-town feeling even though it's a completely different planet. I.e., I saw a bunch of 14 year olds at Starbucks chugging triple venti lattes and talking on their Blackberrys the other day. WTF? I'm approaching mid-twenties at light speed and I still can't handle a venti . Plus, I'm stoked that my phone can take pictures--I don't know what I would do if I could get the Internet on it.

I have a new client who is a third grader. It's so weird to for me to think about how I have no real ambition to become a mom or to settle down, but I get really maternal about my clients. It's like I have this weird "mom feeling" or something as I see them learn and grow. One of my kids asked me tonight if I'd home school her. Haha. I love these kids. I love their outlook on life and their creativity. I love their innocence and their quest for autonomy. Working with them makes me realize that I'll probably want to have kids someday, even though I still have no clue what to do when someobody hands me their baby. I always just hold it out at arm's length and try to dodge prospective projectile vomit until someone who likes to coo and baby-talk takes it from me. I think my lack of interest for child bearing in the past has had a lot to do with the fact that I've dated people that I could never fully see myself being with for the rest of my life. That shifts the goals, I think.

What else, what else. I feel like I have a lot more to write about, because so much stuff has happened recently, but I'm exhausted. My hormones must be bonkers right now. I had a big long cry the other night because I was watching "Intervention" and the guy they tried to get to go to rehab refused to go and wound up dying. I didn't just tear up. I was hiccup crying and completely devastated about this. Maybe I like counseling because people are already there. They've already admitted that they need help. It's the people who refuse to go or refuse to acknowledge their problems that really hurt me or annoy the crap out of me.

I'm going to bed. I got 5 seconds of sleep last night.