I was dying on Saturday night. I shit you not. My internal organs were going to break out into war with my costumes if they didn't loosen the fuck up.

Matinee came, I was fine.

In between shows? Fine, too.

Night show? Oh no. Of course not.

So I laid down on the couch in the green room and almost missed my entrance because I wouldn't wake up. I was practically dragged onto the stage where I performed fine but with very little vigor, if you know what I mean.

Besides, Psycho-Stalker Joseph showed up on Friday night. He came backstage after the show and was saying stuff like, "How about that kiss, eh? having fun? How long was that? I didn't bring my stopwatch." I was all, "Great, great. Go away." He went away.

That was just too easy, I thought to myself. Too easy.... *twilight zone music plays in the background*

On Saturday night, (read: Sick Night) I didn't even go to grete my adoring throng of fans after the show. I was much too, I don't know, um....squeezed to death? I mean, I had about four different prescriptions drugs crammed down my throat so I could keep going onstage. It was no even close to funny. They had to extend intermission so I could compose myself. I was hocking and gagging and spitting up my kidneys so I ran outside, and of all people, who do you think was there?

Yep, there he was, leaning up against he car, acting like James Dean or some shit. He started to casually tell me about his car, and I kept saying how I really needed to be going. So he kept talking in this threatening tone of voice, but I wasn't listening because I was too busy imagining how he would look with a pencil sticking out of his forehead. Then all this drama went down (so to speak) and I ended up almost getting thrown in the car and I was threatening to kill him (not that I actually could) and stuff like that. I was deathly ill and didn't feel like fighting his stalker ass. So Gavin heard me screaming at him and ran otuside, where he grabbed my arm and threw me inside and locked the back door so Joseph couldn't get it.

It was just plain fucking scary.

So it's taken me a day or two to recover, but it's all good. After they called the cops on this psycho dude and I now have a restraining order, I feel much better. Not really, but I am mentally relaxed.

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My mom's boyfriend just pulled up on his new motorcycle. I am not even close to kidding.

"Come see!" my mother yelled not five minutes ago.

So I get up off my lazy ass to see what she was so excited about. I walk outside and she is sitting on it.

Great. Now she's not only a ditzy beauty-queen with five boyfriends, but now she poses a potentionally fatal health risk to herself every time she wants to go out on a date. She couldn't even get on and off of it without injuring herself. her foot got caught on the brake, or something, as she was getting off, and she tripped.

Great. My mother is now riding on a motorcycle. Her boyfriend is a moron. He is now officially on my Shit List, even if he did bring me flowers on opening night.

If you're wondering what my shit list looks like, here it is:

Alexa's Shit List:

1. Mom's boyfriend, for the whole motorcycle thing.
2. My father, for being a generally shitty dad.
3. My mom's ex-husband, for screwing up both of our lives and making us live in this crunched-up apartment for a year.
4. My mom's other ex-husband, for stealing her jewelry.
5. Jack, one of my mother's many boyfriends, for scratching and rearranging in, um...certain places in front of others, which is completely disgusting. I really need to just buy him some Gold Bond and be done with it.
6. Joseph, for stalking me.
7. Brandon, for stalking me.
8.Scott Thomas, for moving away to be the butler at Hugh Hefner's mansion.
9.Stefani Fontana, for being the evil whore she is, even though she is a year younger than me. She's quite the evil bitchy one, dears. Stay away.

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Strawberry-melon Margaritas are the greatest thing ever. Don't let anyone tell you differently.

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Oh, by the way, did you notice that my shit list contains mostly people who were, or are, romantically involved with my mother? That just goes to show you: When you were in the top five for Miss Teen USA, be very careful who you marry. You will probably become pregnant with your Future Least Favorite Husband, thus becoming attached to him, in some sense, for the rest of your life because of said child. That child would be me. Gosh, I feel so loved. Egads.

Shit. I'm sounding just like Brooke. God, I've really got to lay off those ninty-nine cents margaritas. But they're good, dammit.

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Jessica and I have recently developed an obsession with South Park.

SOUTH PARK-ISM O' THE DAY!: Oh (shit) my (shit) god (shit), you (shit) killed (shit) Kenny (shit)!

On one episode, they tried to break the record for saying "shit" on television. When they reached a certain number, a bomb explode and Pink Midget Christina Aguilera Monsters invaded earth. It was quite humorous.

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Damn, I have to go pee now. It must be from all those drinks earlier.

Hot shit on a stick.

Tee hee.

© alexa

The counter keeps breaking and pissing me off, so NO MORE COUNTER! Mwahaha!