December 25th, 5:00 PM.

Christmas. Received roll of paper towels from Roger as a present, as bastard is too cheap to buy me something. Not that I am; he got a toothbrush.

Hope he takes subtle hint. Doubt this. He ought to end this addiction to Starbucks he has. It is not good for his teeth and I rather like this teeth minus the yellow. Perhaps his stubble makes up for it. Am not sure. He is hot. Not that I care.

And apparently using a roll of paper towels is a social faux pas, as I am informed by Maureen. Perhaps the memo was written on a paper towel sheet and the offender was shot before it could be delivered to me. Intriguing.

Texture on paper towels not good for writing on. Am writing on it anyway, as I have nothing better to do. As I have no inspiration and cannot film for shit today. Knew this. Do not care.

Bounty commercial suddenly stuck in head. Great.

It's better than Musetta's Waltz, though. Why can't he tune his guitar? Or maybe learn to play a new song. Eyes are not a fun subject.

His look like the ocean after a storm, with bits of seaweed and dead fish floating in it. Am waxing poetic, obviously.

Not that I care or anything.

Am straight.

Hope Roger does not find this. Might have to kill myself or cut off his coffee supply. Mimi is getting irritating, too. Perhaps offing her would be ideal, but then she's probably going to die soon anyway. Bitch.

And then Roger will be all mine.

Should cross that out.

Might scare people.

Hee.

9:47

Cannot sleep. Using bed as surface for writing on. Not working, as writing looks like chicken scratch. Do not care.

Wish Collins would stop smirking at me.

Wish Joanne would get her hand out of Maureen's shirt.

Wish Roger wasn't such a dumbass. Also wish he would get the newspaper hat off his head, as it does not suit his complexion. At ALL.

Wish Benny was not an asshole.

Wish all my wishes weren't so impossible. But honestly, wearing newspapers equals fashion faux pas.

Think Roger might possibly be drunk.

Roger has just crashed into the coffee table, and is sprawled on the floor.

Cussing abilities evidentially aided by alcohol. Interesting.

Maureen, having torn herself off of Joanne, comes to sit next to me and blow in my ear. I laugh at her. Doubt she can read, so not worried about her finding my dia -- chronicles. Believe chronicles is a stupid word. I should find a dictionary.

Believe the only dictionary is being used to prop up a chair that is like to fall apart and second anyway. Oh well. Perhaps later. A library visit? That would be very risque. Will sleep on it.

Going to sleep, as throwing toothpicks at each other is not high on my list of entertainment. Sorry, Roger.

So much for high class entertainment.

Hello, America.

December 27th. Morning.

Ugh. Want to sleep. Cannot sleep. Clock is broken. Go figure, as everything is bloody broken. Broken broken broken fuck you I'm going back to sleep. Ugh.

Later.

Had a bit of a piss off there. Can guys get PMS? Well obviously not the same thing but similar? Should ask Collins, ask he seems to know everything.

Maybe tomorrow.

December 30th. 6:02 PM.

Asked Collins. Arched his eyebrows at me. He's always doing that. You'd think I'd asked him something strange. Whatever.

Gay people are so weird.

Not that I am.

Because I'm not.

Jeez.

December 31st. Afternoon.

Apparently there's to be a party. Oh the joys of being a wallflower and having a horny bastard with an exotic dancer girlfriend for a best friend.

Hate life. Will fix my camera all night. Am excited.

Really.

Later.

ahahah i like voddka whoops a stain o wel is not too badd look at the prety fre works oooh hi maureen oh that's definitly not normal