Monday, September 14, 2009
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
"Soy un perdedor"
Met the Used today. It was...words cannot describe it.
They really fucking can't.
Okay, so we got there around two, waited on line till six--and all these kids were wedged between the aisles, and most of them were like me: short girls with lots of make up an dyed hair. But as luck would motherfucking have it, I wound up behind the ONLY TALL ASSHOLES IN THE PLACE. THIS KID WITH LONG HAIR AND A BASEBALL CAP, THIS OTHER GUY IN A LIGHT BLUE SHIRT, AND A LARGE BLACK MAN THAT COULD EASILY BE MISTAKEN FOR BIGGIE SMALLS' REINCARNATION.
They were all nice, but still.
"The bad news is, we're only playing one more song," Bert muttered into the microphone, "but the good news is I just saved a shit load of money by switching to Geicko."
Awesome.
Anyway, we went back outside, got on line for the signing, waited some more, and finally got in.
Bert told me he liked my shirt. I told him I liked his face.
Dan gave me the plastic black tablecloth, which I still have. I took it and told them I was a klepto. (They doodled all over it. I can kind of tells whose is whose...I know Jeph was the one practicing drawing Kanji...and then it's just all a guessing game from there).
I didn't really get to talk to Quinn (sad, unquinnified face), because he was talking to someone behind the table and I really didn't want to hold the line up.
But I ended up doing that anyway, because Jeph was kind of just SPACED OUT LIKE WOAH. He apologized and said it was one of those days. Which is cool, because I have those fucking days everyday. I said it was nice meeting them, and rushed out, kind of just...I can only explain it in the sense that it's like--you buy the CDs, love the music, hang onto every single word, note, beat, and essentially fall in love with these men. And I know it's not real love, it's more like idol-worship, but still. Point is you have this amazing band that you're so into, and it's mostly just hazy feelings centered around beautiful music and the band that makes it. And when you meet them it's like...it's real. It's not just CDs or posters or computer backgrounds. It's breathing, living, real, in front of you, speaking to you, smiling at you.
The idea of idol worship is stupid to me, because I don't know any of them personally. I don't know their favorite colors, or what DVDs they never leave home without, I've never hung out with them, I don't know their family or friends. They're just the faces I can put to the music. But at the same time I feel something because their songs mean something to my life. And what I feel is real. I don't know them, and to them I'm just another face in the crowd, but I still love them.
And meeting them is like--in this moment this is real, I know you, you can see my face, and I love you.
It's so stupid.
They came outside later, getting into their silver minivan (of what I assume is epicness), with Bert hanging out the door yelling, "Dan Whitesides--if you don't get your ass in this car in five seconds, you're out of the band."
Gave Dan a hifive with my non-eczema hand, asked him for his soul, to which he replied he didn't have one, and someone brought out their doggy, a little long-haired dachshund, and Jeph warned them with a smile, "you gotta be careful with their backs because it is so easy to hurt them..."
And that real feeling came back to me, because I can't count the times I've had to warn someone when picking up my dog to be careful with her back (she's half dachshund). And it's just like...I don't even know. It just made me smile.
And then I spent $105 for Bert's t-shirt that he wore during the performance and a used towel.
God I am such a loser.
They really fucking can't.
Okay, so we got there around two, waited on line till six--and all these kids were wedged between the aisles, and most of them were like me: short girls with lots of make up an dyed hair. But as luck would motherfucking have it, I wound up behind the ONLY TALL ASSHOLES IN THE PLACE. THIS KID WITH LONG HAIR AND A BASEBALL CAP, THIS OTHER GUY IN A LIGHT BLUE SHIRT, AND A LARGE BLACK MAN THAT COULD EASILY BE MISTAKEN FOR BIGGIE SMALLS' REINCARNATION.
They were all nice, but still.
"The bad news is, we're only playing one more song," Bert muttered into the microphone, "but the good news is I just saved a shit load of money by switching to Geicko."
Awesome.
Anyway, we went back outside, got on line for the signing, waited some more, and finally got in.
Bert told me he liked my shirt. I told him I liked his face.
Dan gave me the plastic black tablecloth, which I still have. I took it and told them I was a klepto. (They doodled all over it. I can kind of tells whose is whose...I know Jeph was the one practicing drawing Kanji...and then it's just all a guessing game from there).
I didn't really get to talk to Quinn (sad, unquinnified face), because he was talking to someone behind the table and I really didn't want to hold the line up.
But I ended up doing that anyway, because Jeph was kind of just SPACED OUT LIKE WOAH. He apologized and said it was one of those days. Which is cool, because I have those fucking days everyday. I said it was nice meeting them, and rushed out, kind of just...I can only explain it in the sense that it's like--you buy the CDs, love the music, hang onto every single word, note, beat, and essentially fall in love with these men. And I know it's not real love, it's more like idol-worship, but still. Point is you have this amazing band that you're so into, and it's mostly just hazy feelings centered around beautiful music and the band that makes it. And when you meet them it's like...it's real. It's not just CDs or posters or computer backgrounds. It's breathing, living, real, in front of you, speaking to you, smiling at you.
The idea of idol worship is stupid to me, because I don't know any of them personally. I don't know their favorite colors, or what DVDs they never leave home without, I've never hung out with them, I don't know their family or friends. They're just the faces I can put to the music. But at the same time I feel something because their songs mean something to my life. And what I feel is real. I don't know them, and to them I'm just another face in the crowd, but I still love them.
And meeting them is like--in this moment this is real, I know you, you can see my face, and I love you.
It's so stupid.
They came outside later, getting into their silver minivan (of what I assume is epicness), with Bert hanging out the door yelling, "Dan Whitesides--if you don't get your ass in this car in five seconds, you're out of the band."
Gave Dan a hifive with my non-eczema hand, asked him for his soul, to which he replied he didn't have one, and someone brought out their doggy, a little long-haired dachshund, and Jeph warned them with a smile, "you gotta be careful with their backs because it is so easy to hurt them..."
And that real feeling came back to me, because I can't count the times I've had to warn someone when picking up my dog to be careful with her back (she's half dachshund). And it's just like...I don't even know. It just made me smile.
And then I spent $105 for Bert's t-shirt that he wore during the performance and a used towel.
God I am such a loser.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
"I wanna stop and grow up again"
Watched a clip from the last episode of Yu Yu Hakusho. Kurama and Kuwabara were sitting in a train station, just talking, and Kurama makes this statement along the lines of, "You really seem to be enjoying your high school life..."
And it's just kind of like--really? It's that simple? After all the things Kuwabara's been through--learning to control his spirit energy, Maze Castle, the Dark Tournament, being a part of something so much bigger than himself to save the world...and in the end, he just becomes normal. And he's happy about it.
Like it's just that simple.
It's like the quirky, loud-mouthed, honor-bound, carrot-top who's meant so much to avid YYH fans suddenly decided to give it all up for stupid girls in tight clothes and bad makeup. The geeky thug who wore his heart on his sleeve suddenly decided he was too cool to be part of the Spirit Detective team.
It's kind of like a good childhood friend growing up into someone you barely recognize.
Or a favorite band breaking up and all of the members going into politics or accounting.
This upset me more than it should've.
Whatever.
And it's just kind of like--really? It's that simple? After all the things Kuwabara's been through--learning to control his spirit energy, Maze Castle, the Dark Tournament, being a part of something so much bigger than himself to save the world...and in the end, he just becomes normal. And he's happy about it.
Like it's just that simple.
It's like the quirky, loud-mouthed, honor-bound, carrot-top who's meant so much to avid YYH fans suddenly decided to give it all up for stupid girls in tight clothes and bad makeup. The geeky thug who wore his heart on his sleeve suddenly decided he was too cool to be part of the Spirit Detective team.
It's kind of like a good childhood friend growing up into someone you barely recognize.
Or a favorite band breaking up and all of the members going into politics or accounting.
This upset me more than it should've.
Whatever.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
juicy like a liquid
My mom cleaned my room.
She doesn't understand why that makes me so upset.
Nothings where it's supposed to be. Action figures and books in all the wrong places. My CDs.
My fucking CDs.
Had to shift through the garbage bag she left up here. Pencils and papers and pictures that I still wanted to keep are covered in grease and grim. My bookshelf is perpetually fucked, and she put all my stuffed animals in s bag.
It shouldn't be that big of a deal. I know it shouldn't.
But it is. And no one gets that.
I cried. I ate Starbursts and got over it. Gonna rearrange my room tomorrow. Get it back the way I want it.
This shouldn't have upset me so much. There's something wrong.
Times like these when I wish I had a therapist...
She doesn't understand why that makes me so upset.
Nothings where it's supposed to be. Action figures and books in all the wrong places. My CDs.
My fucking CDs.
Had to shift through the garbage bag she left up here. Pencils and papers and pictures that I still wanted to keep are covered in grease and grim. My bookshelf is perpetually fucked, and she put all my stuffed animals in s bag.
It shouldn't be that big of a deal. I know it shouldn't.
But it is. And no one gets that.
I cried. I ate Starbursts and got over it. Gonna rearrange my room tomorrow. Get it back the way I want it.
This shouldn't have upset me so much. There's something wrong.
Times like these when I wish I had a therapist...
Sunday, August 9, 2009
IN UR BLAWGZ, EATN UR UNRED WERDZ
In Pennsylvania. Have been for the past week. Will be for the next. Not as bad as it sounds.
Missing my room, though. And my...alone time.
Y'know. REAL alone time.
Friends too, I guess. I don't know. It's nice to get away for a while. Plus I can only take so much of Caitlyn and the mall. Liz and the Alex.
JESUS CHRIST, HOW MANY FUCKING EPISODES OF DEGRASSI CAN THEY PACK INTO THE FUCKING DAY?
I watched Drake&Josh this morning (afternoon) and holyhell the homoerotic undertones. It's seriously ridiculous.
NO DARCY. NOTHING GOOD CAN COME FROM YOU POSTING THOSE RISQUE PHOTOS OF YOURSELF ON THE INTERNET. AND TRUSTING PETER? ARE YOU INSANE. DO YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT HE DID TO EMMA AND MANNY AND EVERY SINGLE GIRL HE'S PRETTY MUCH EVER COME IN CONTACT WITH?
GOD.
The best thing about staying up here is the television. It gets like seven different History channels. And DisneyXD which has X-Men: Evolution.
IT'S A NOSTALGIA THING, OKAY?
I kinda feel bad for weird Internet stalker guy. I mean, he really thinks him and Darcy have something. It's sad. I get the fact that these men are sick, and are probably just pretending in order to get what they really want and are using words like "love" and compliments to lure kids in. But maybe sometimes it's not just a lure. Maybe, in their own warped minds, it's real. Real emotions that because there's something off, psychologically speaking, turn into a sexual obsession. (?)
Whatever. I don't know. Sometimes I just feel bad for no reason.
I like the term empathetic.
In other news I REALLY REALLY LIKE LOLCATS.
BEST WEBSITE EVER.
Missing my room, though. And my...alone time.
Y'know. REAL alone time.
Friends too, I guess. I don't know. It's nice to get away for a while. Plus I can only take so much of Caitlyn and the mall. Liz and the Alex.
JESUS CHRIST, HOW MANY FUCKING EPISODES OF DEGRASSI CAN THEY PACK INTO THE FUCKING DAY?
I watched Drake&Josh this morning (afternoon) and holyhell the homoerotic undertones. It's seriously ridiculous.
NO DARCY. NOTHING GOOD CAN COME FROM YOU POSTING THOSE RISQUE PHOTOS OF YOURSELF ON THE INTERNET. AND TRUSTING PETER? ARE YOU INSANE. DO YOU FUCKING KNOW WHAT HE DID TO EMMA AND MANNY AND EVERY SINGLE GIRL HE'S PRETTY MUCH EVER COME IN CONTACT WITH?
GOD.
The best thing about staying up here is the television. It gets like seven different History channels. And DisneyXD which has X-Men: Evolution.
IT'S A NOSTALGIA THING, OKAY?
I kinda feel bad for weird Internet stalker guy. I mean, he really thinks him and Darcy have something. It's sad. I get the fact that these men are sick, and are probably just pretending in order to get what they really want and are using words like "love" and compliments to lure kids in. But maybe sometimes it's not just a lure. Maybe, in their own warped minds, it's real. Real emotions that because there's something off, psychologically speaking, turn into a sexual obsession. (?)
Whatever. I don't know. Sometimes I just feel bad for no reason.
I like the term empathetic.
In other news I REALLY REALLY LIKE LOLCATS.
BEST WEBSITE EVER.
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
suddenly it's '63 again and Hitchcock is livin' it up
There's currenty a swarm of birds perched on the telephone wires outside of my window, swooping back and forth.
Black birds, tiny brown ones, pigeions.
There's something in my neighbors backyard. Dead body, maybe?
No, wrong kind of birds.
It's gonna rain soon. Heavily, hopfeully. I'm looking forward to it.
Coveting a typewriter charm on the ebay. I kind of want it really badly. Hence the used of the term 'coveting'.
Thanks public school education!
Black birds, tiny brown ones, pigeions.
There's something in my neighbors backyard. Dead body, maybe?
No, wrong kind of birds.
It's gonna rain soon. Heavily, hopfeully. I'm looking forward to it.
Coveting a typewriter charm on the ebay. I kind of want it really badly. Hence the used of the term 'coveting'.
Thanks public school education!
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
hulk smash
I hate how youtube keeps filling my subscirption box with videos I've already watched.
I feel like I should say something more profound.
Um, when in doubt find Jesus?
Or Edward Norton.
Either works.
I feel like I should say something more profound.
Um, when in doubt find Jesus?
Or Edward Norton.
Either works.
Monday, July 20, 2009
so twirl around in your fuckin skirt and give us a curtsey we'll remember
Mm, Warped Tour season. A special time of year for many. A Christmas of sorts to those kids who anticipate it eagerly all year round, counting down the days on their respective calenders, packing sun block and water bottles in preparation, waking up early on their state's date to rush to the tour's new location, and partake in their own festive rituals of summertime punk-rock fun.
Whether it be getting stoned with some friends in the parking lot and crowd surfing to every band even if they don't know who it is. Waiting hours to meet worshipped idols in the burning sun just to get crumpled posters signed and take a flushed pics with cheap digital cameras. Running from stage to stage all day just to see everyone they want to see. Starting circle pits from eleven in the morning to eight at night.
Warped tour is it's own very special type of suicide. You basically pay $40 to run around in the sun for twelve hours, spend even more money on fucking water, lose your friends and spend hours trying to call them, constantly get approached by guys in bands who want to sell you their CDs and merch, get sun burned like a mofo, and watch every other person there walk around with FREE HUGS written somewhere on them.
But it's worth it. To see all these awesome bands just play for people. I got to see Less Than Jake, Anti-Flag, After Midnight Project, NOFX, Gallows, and Bad Religion. Plus, a little part of Flogging Molly and Escape the Fate (though I really wasn't listening to EtF, just waiting for friends).
I'm not even going to fucking talk about the ONE MEASLY SONG I got to hear from the Architects because it took FORFUCKINGEVER to find the motherfuckin' stage. NARG. AND THEY PLAYED AT LIKE, 11:15. I MEAN, WHAT THE HELL.
Also missed out on seeing Aiden and Madina Lake, but I'll recover. Not my fault the times conflicted.
Bouncing Souls weren't even there. Though I will get to see them in August at Webster Hall. Which was, ironically enough, the reason they didn't play the Long Island show. Still, it isn't any less soul crushing.
Never trust those Jersey bands, they'll just end up breaking your heart.
Whether it be getting stoned with some friends in the parking lot and crowd surfing to every band even if they don't know who it is. Waiting hours to meet worshipped idols in the burning sun just to get crumpled posters signed and take a flushed pics with cheap digital cameras. Running from stage to stage all day just to see everyone they want to see. Starting circle pits from eleven in the morning to eight at night.
Warped tour is it's own very special type of suicide. You basically pay $40 to run around in the sun for twelve hours, spend even more money on fucking water, lose your friends and spend hours trying to call them, constantly get approached by guys in bands who want to sell you their CDs and merch, get sun burned like a mofo, and watch every other person there walk around with FREE HUGS written somewhere on them.
But it's worth it. To see all these awesome bands just play for people. I got to see Less Than Jake, Anti-Flag, After Midnight Project, NOFX, Gallows, and Bad Religion. Plus, a little part of Flogging Molly and Escape the Fate (though I really wasn't listening to EtF, just waiting for friends).
I'm not even going to fucking talk about the ONE MEASLY SONG I got to hear from the Architects because it took FORFUCKINGEVER to find the motherfuckin' stage. NARG. AND THEY PLAYED AT LIKE, 11:15. I MEAN, WHAT THE HELL.
Also missed out on seeing Aiden and Madina Lake, but I'll recover. Not my fault the times conflicted.
Bouncing Souls weren't even there. Though I will get to see them in August at Webster Hall. Which was, ironically enough, the reason they didn't play the Long Island show. Still, it isn't any less soul crushing.
Never trust those Jersey bands, they'll just end up breaking your heart.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
danger will robinson, danger
Currently bleaching hair. Burns like a bitch. Nothing I'm not used to.
Psyched for the Green Day show in Chicago Sunday. So, so fucking pumped. I imagine this is how a suicide bomber must feel anticipating virgins in the afterlife.
Ah, it itches so fucking badly. I still have like an hour of waiting before I can shower.
I saw Green Day at Webster Hall back in May, the day after my 16th birthday. And I can't even really descibe how amazing it was. Maybe it was years of build-up from having wanted to see them so badly since I was like, 10 years old. Maybe they're just amazing preformers. Maybe both. I don't care. It was just...so epic.
Met so many cool people there. At a lot of shows I feel alienated, like everyone belongs to some exclusive club that I'm denied access to. Not the case with Green Day. Everyone just wanted to see a good show, and knew there was no reason to start shit or fuck with other people.
And you think, if you're going to a concert, then all the other people that are going to see the same thing will just want that--to see a good show and have an awesome time.
Not the case.
It may seem like such a small thing, but it's really hard to like some bands just because of their fanbase.
*cough*Mychemicalromance*cough*
It's just...I don't know how to decribe it, other than shows are like their own tiny microcosms (thankyou, ninth grade english class). Depending on where you are, your microcosm may contain x-amount of assholes. Like the Crazy Donkey--most shows there are at like, nine on a Tuesday night with most people just there for drinks on Long Island, so you're gonna have a lot of assholes. MSG, you're gonna have a lot of people going to the show just because it's at MSG in New York, so you're gonna have a lot of assholes.
Then there's Warped Tour at the Colliseum--where everyone's there for their own favorite bands and it's too hot to fuck with people. So there is significantly less asshole-age. Or a show at Webster Hall where a dude will pay two hundred dollars in quarters for a ticket that he stole out of his parents fishbowl of change.
My hair's done now--all light and blond. Kind of don't know what else to write about, so I'll end it with this:
Through love and honor only can your journey be worth the desitination.
Also, you will find prosperity in the stock market.
Thank you Ho-Ching Chinese Food for your words of wisdom.
Psyched for the Green Day show in Chicago Sunday. So, so fucking pumped. I imagine this is how a suicide bomber must feel anticipating virgins in the afterlife.
Ah, it itches so fucking badly. I still have like an hour of waiting before I can shower.
I saw Green Day at Webster Hall back in May, the day after my 16th birthday. And I can't even really descibe how amazing it was. Maybe it was years of build-up from having wanted to see them so badly since I was like, 10 years old. Maybe they're just amazing preformers. Maybe both. I don't care. It was just...so epic.
Met so many cool people there. At a lot of shows I feel alienated, like everyone belongs to some exclusive club that I'm denied access to. Not the case with Green Day. Everyone just wanted to see a good show, and knew there was no reason to start shit or fuck with other people.
And you think, if you're going to a concert, then all the other people that are going to see the same thing will just want that--to see a good show and have an awesome time.
Not the case.
It may seem like such a small thing, but it's really hard to like some bands just because of their fanbase.
*cough*Mychemicalromance*cough*
It's just...I don't know how to decribe it, other than shows are like their own tiny microcosms (thankyou, ninth grade english class). Depending on where you are, your microcosm may contain x-amount of assholes. Like the Crazy Donkey--most shows there are at like, nine on a Tuesday night with most people just there for drinks on Long Island, so you're gonna have a lot of assholes. MSG, you're gonna have a lot of people going to the show just because it's at MSG in New York, so you're gonna have a lot of assholes.
Then there's Warped Tour at the Colliseum--where everyone's there for their own favorite bands and it's too hot to fuck with people. So there is significantly less asshole-age. Or a show at Webster Hall where a dude will pay two hundred dollars in quarters for a ticket that he stole out of his parents fishbowl of change.
My hair's done now--all light and blond. Kind of don't know what else to write about, so I'll end it with this:
Through love and honor only can your journey be worth the desitination.
Also, you will find prosperity in the stock market.
Thank you Ho-Ching Chinese Food for your words of wisdom.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
do the hellen keller and talk like a deaf/blind/mute
Suuuuuurvey. That I found. Somewhere (possibly over the rainbow).
Describe yourself
If Chris Crocker and Mary Poppins had a baby.
Success is
"IIIIIITS THE CLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMB."
People say I look like
Marylin Monroe if she’d gained 100 pounds and was epic!Italian
My biggest fear is
Becoming my father. And Bill Murray in a dark alley.
What is the best compliment you've gotten?
I don’t know…there are just so many to choose from…god, I'm such a fucking BAMF.
Your celebrity dream date is
HUGH JACKMAN. OHMYGODHUGHJACKMAN.
My first ever boyfriend would say I am
Complete silence. Never had a boyfriend. My first girlfriend, however...
If your ideal man is a coffee, he'd taste
I want to say like French Vanilla but that sounds a little too gay. Then again, maybe that is my ideal man…
What's the biggest fashion turn-off?
Guys who go for that fucking Tokio Hotel-like shit hair.
I like it when a man wears
nothing...maybe a sock to cover his ugly penis.
What do you have in your grooming closet?
What the fuck is a grooming closet? Like a vanity or something? Eye makeup…tweezers…because I’m Italian.
If you could invent anything for men, what would it be?
attractive looking genitals
The last time I teared up was
FUCKING WATCHED MY SISTERS KEEPER THE OTHER DAY—SERIOUSLY FIVE SECONDS IN AND MY EYES FUCKING WELLED UP LIKE I WAS JUST KICKED IN THE BALLS.
The albums I have on rotation are
21ST Century Breakdown. ITSSOGOOD. And Bright Eyes I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning
My relationship deal-breaker is
vagina. That can be taken one of two ways...
Biggest turn-ons about a man are
intelligence. Abortion jokes. A covered penis.
I get fired up over
awesome porn. LOLJK. That’s an oxymoron.
Most people don't know I'm
not a lesbian. IKNOWRIGHT?
My guilty pleasure is
I have no conscious, therefore I can never feel this guilt of which you speak...maybe Gilmore Girls.
When I'm a mother, the advice I'd give my teenage son is
LITTLE GIRLS ARE THE DEVIL. FOOSEBALL IS THE DEVIL.
When I'm a mother, the advice I'd give my teenage daughter is
keep your mind open and your legs closed.
Most romantic thing you've done?
halfway through the salad, I went, “put it in? Now?”
What did you do last night?
Went to Blockbuster. On a Jake Gyllenhaal kick. Donnie Darko, Zodiac….
My best pick-up line is
Is that a mirror in your pocket? Because I can see myself in your pants…
My biggest regret is
that I did this survey
I think Rihanna should
never do this survey.
Fun times, right?
Describe yourself
If Chris Crocker and Mary Poppins had a baby.
Success is
"IIIIIITS THE CLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMB."
People say I look like
Marylin Monroe if she’d gained 100 pounds and was epic!Italian
My biggest fear is
Becoming my father. And Bill Murray in a dark alley.
What is the best compliment you've gotten?
I don’t know…there are just so many to choose from…god, I'm such a fucking BAMF.
Your celebrity dream date is
HUGH JACKMAN. OHMYGODHUGHJACKMAN.
My first ever boyfriend would say I am
Complete silence. Never had a boyfriend. My first girlfriend, however...
If your ideal man is a coffee, he'd taste
I want to say like French Vanilla but that sounds a little too gay. Then again, maybe that is my ideal man…
What's the biggest fashion turn-off?
Guys who go for that fucking Tokio Hotel-like shit hair.
I like it when a man wears
nothing...maybe a sock to cover his ugly penis.
What do you have in your grooming closet?
What the fuck is a grooming closet? Like a vanity or something? Eye makeup…tweezers…because I’m Italian.
If you could invent anything for men, what would it be?
attractive looking genitals
The last time I teared up was
FUCKING WATCHED MY SISTERS KEEPER THE OTHER DAY—SERIOUSLY FIVE SECONDS IN AND MY EYES FUCKING WELLED UP LIKE I WAS JUST KICKED IN THE BALLS.
The albums I have on rotation are
21ST Century Breakdown. ITSSOGOOD. And Bright Eyes I’m Wide Awake It’s Morning
My relationship deal-breaker is
vagina. That can be taken one of two ways...
Biggest turn-ons about a man are
intelligence. Abortion jokes. A covered penis.
I get fired up over
awesome porn. LOLJK. That’s an oxymoron.
Most people don't know I'm
not a lesbian. IKNOWRIGHT?
My guilty pleasure is
I have no conscious, therefore I can never feel this guilt of which you speak...maybe Gilmore Girls.
When I'm a mother, the advice I'd give my teenage son is
LITTLE GIRLS ARE THE DEVIL. FOOSEBALL IS THE DEVIL.
When I'm a mother, the advice I'd give my teenage daughter is
keep your mind open and your legs closed.
Most romantic thing you've done?
halfway through the salad, I went, “put it in? Now?”
What did you do last night?
Went to Blockbuster. On a Jake Gyllenhaal kick. Donnie Darko, Zodiac….
My best pick-up line is
Is that a mirror in your pocket? Because I can see myself in your pants…
My biggest regret is
that I did this survey
I think Rihanna should
never do this survey.
Fun times, right?
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
i'm taking home a baby bumblebee...
The rain is coming back. I can hear the thunder. It's in time with the beat of my heart.
Somewhat depressed. Hopefully a good thunderstorm will do that whole turning of the frown thing.
I have to organize my bookshelf--get everything in order. Today might be the day I'm finally killed by a serial murderer, and when the news crews film my room (semi-monotone female newscaster talking about how much of a beloved and talented girl I was at only 16) I want America to see my awesome book collection in it's full glory.
Lightening comes in bold flashes--dancing bodies against Dumbo-gray skies. I hope it pours.
I just reread his entry--mygod, how fucking teen angst can someone cram into one blog? Christ. I'm not that dark.
First rain drops are falling. A heavy drizzle. The thunder's getting closer, and now it's only a matter of time.
Fucking bumblebee--go back under the shed. You're going to drown if you stay out in the open. Please Mr. Bumblebee? Please?
The drops are heavy enough now that they ting against the metal of my air conditioner.
Thunder boom--the floor of my room just shook. I could feel it in my bones. Intimate. The storm is my lover.
It's really pouring now--it's got this town by it's neck. It's suffocating it. Drowning it. And I'm front and center to it all.
But just like any good lover, it'll be gone by morning. Wandering to wherethefuckever for it's next stand. To caress someone with rain, make them tremble with thunder, penetrate them with lightening. So perfect, so good, so wet.
...Shit, where the fuck is my Plan-B? Allergic to latex my ass.
Somewhat depressed. Hopefully a good thunderstorm will do that whole turning of the frown thing.
I have to organize my bookshelf--get everything in order. Today might be the day I'm finally killed by a serial murderer, and when the news crews film my room (semi-monotone female newscaster talking about how much of a beloved and talented girl I was at only 16) I want America to see my awesome book collection in it's full glory.
Lightening comes in bold flashes--dancing bodies against Dumbo-gray skies. I hope it pours.
I just reread his entry--mygod, how fucking teen angst can someone cram into one blog? Christ. I'm not that dark.
First rain drops are falling. A heavy drizzle. The thunder's getting closer, and now it's only a matter of time.
Fucking bumblebee--go back under the shed. You're going to drown if you stay out in the open. Please Mr. Bumblebee? Please?
The drops are heavy enough now that they ting against the metal of my air conditioner.
Thunder boom--the floor of my room just shook. I could feel it in my bones. Intimate. The storm is my lover.
It's really pouring now--it's got this town by it's neck. It's suffocating it. Drowning it. And I'm front and center to it all.
But just like any good lover, it'll be gone by morning. Wandering to wherethefuckever for it's next stand. To caress someone with rain, make them tremble with thunder, penetrate them with lightening. So perfect, so good, so wet.
...Shit, where the fuck is my Plan-B? Allergic to latex my ass.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
some serious black creek corssing shit went down
I miss the rain.
For the past couple of weeks New York had become the new Seattle. Mornings would start off with cloudless, steel blue skies and end in nights filled with drowning streets.
Everyone just kept complaining about how much the rain fucked up their days. Didn't stop to realize that it made some people smile.
It's pretty much gone now.
I hate everyone. Everything.
Except for Morrissey.
Morrissey is the only one that understands.
For the past couple of weeks New York had become the new Seattle. Mornings would start off with cloudless, steel blue skies and end in nights filled with drowning streets.
Everyone just kept complaining about how much the rain fucked up their days. Didn't stop to realize that it made some people smile.
It's pretty much gone now.
I hate everyone. Everything.
Except for Morrissey.
Morrissey is the only one that understands.
Monday, April 6, 2009
its time for animaniacs
After your 20th peice of Swedish Fish candy and second can of root beer you can suddenly taste the transfat.
My ovaries tell me it's so worth it though.
Head pounding, can't breathe, can't think straight, wishing the Swedish Fish would swim faster so I could just have a heart attack and die already. Imagining that this is what it must feel like to be a mime in an old 90's cartoon.
Sleep would be good. Unfortunately I just can't do that. There's so little time and so much dirty Harry Potter fanfiction, and even though I tell myself not to bother and read every single one-shot because it'll just slow me down in my quest to get through Harry and Draco's Loveshack! I do it anyway because there's nothing like a good quickie.
Spent a couple of hours in Borders yesterday. Got some thrillers to tear through during the break and started reading the Walking Dead (good stuff, that zombie apocalypse) in the store. I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of Glen and that the new baby is gonna cause more trouble than it's worth. I don't know how they're going to make that work, but we'll see. I only got a small part into the third issue and they're in this prison looking for provisions and find these inmates and so on, so forth.
THEY KILLED MY FAVORITE CHARACTER LIKE, FIRST THING. I'LL REMEMBER YOU FOREVER JIM <33333333
Also, I don't think d-bag Chris can be trusted. Must keep eye out for him.
I'm a little late getting into it but really? You read it you read it. Doesn't really matter when.
Going to be reading Catcher over the break as well, for English. It's one of my favorites and it'll be nice to read it again. I was looking forward to getting to discuss the book in class but I don't know how much time we're gonna have for that once we get back. That and this is the first thing in English since the beginning of the year that hasn't been Greek or Shakespearean.
So yeah.
Hallelujah to that, sister-man.
My ovaries tell me it's so worth it though.
Head pounding, can't breathe, can't think straight, wishing the Swedish Fish would swim faster so I could just have a heart attack and die already. Imagining that this is what it must feel like to be a mime in an old 90's cartoon.
Sleep would be good. Unfortunately I just can't do that. There's so little time and so much dirty Harry Potter fanfiction, and even though I tell myself not to bother and read every single one-shot because it'll just slow me down in my quest to get through Harry and Draco's Loveshack! I do it anyway because there's nothing like a good quickie.
Spent a couple of hours in Borders yesterday. Got some thrillers to tear through during the break and started reading the Walking Dead (good stuff, that zombie apocalypse) in the store. I have a feeling we haven't seen the last of Glen and that the new baby is gonna cause more trouble than it's worth. I don't know how they're going to make that work, but we'll see. I only got a small part into the third issue and they're in this prison looking for provisions and find these inmates and so on, so forth.
THEY KILLED MY FAVORITE CHARACTER LIKE, FIRST THING. I'LL REMEMBER YOU FOREVER JIM <33333333
Also, I don't think d-bag Chris can be trusted. Must keep eye out for him.
I'm a little late getting into it but really? You read it you read it. Doesn't really matter when.
Going to be reading Catcher over the break as well, for English. It's one of my favorites and it'll be nice to read it again. I was looking forward to getting to discuss the book in class but I don't know how much time we're gonna have for that once we get back. That and this is the first thing in English since the beginning of the year that hasn't been Greek or Shakespearean.
So yeah.
Hallelujah to that, sister-man.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
debbie gibson, eat your heart out
I had this dream last night. A lot of things happened in it, most I can't remember. Running through a dream version of New York City with my grandparents, parents, and cousins, shaving my head, running from something I can't remember.
And then there was Janna.
In the dream Janna comes over after almost a year of us not having seen each other, and we sit at my kitchen table and we're...making something, I think. Like an arts and crafts project. And we're having fun and laughing and she's saying how glad she is that we're friends again. But on the inside, in the dream, I can't stand any of it, because I can see myself getting trapped into a relationship with her again, just like I had been for the past seven years.
Janna and I became friends in second grade until last year when she got shipped off to boarding school when her parents caught her doing something they didn't agree with and thought she was going to end up getting pregnant (something to that effect, I don't really know the details) and for about a year before this happened I felt myself steadily growing to hate her and everything she did. Every time we got together I felt her...judging me. Tearing me down. And she'd tell me about doing all this crap like getting messed up on cough syrup and partying and skipping class and just all these things that I didn't agree with. And didn't believe. It was to the point where I dreaded her calls and never wanted to hang out with her. And leading up to her leaving I remember my mom and I sitting in the car arguing about why I never wanted to see Janna anymore. The answer was something I wasn't comfortable saying out loud. How do you tell someone you hate your best friend?
Looking back on it now, her getting sent to boarding school was perfect timing. I haven't spoken to her since and I'm glad.
I guess, in my own rights, I was just as bad as she was. I lied to her, about the things I did. Just because. I knew that if I told her I didn't do those things the worst that could happen was that she would think I was boring. I knew she wouldn't stop being my friend. We were each others' security blankets, to an extent. I would lie to her...to defy her. As a silent "fuck you". I didn't want her to know anything about my life, just as much as I didn't want to know anything about hers. I felt I was justified, in some weird sense. Because somewhere along the line we'd stopped being friends and just started being there.
The dream was one of those real ones, where everything seems plausible and everything is felt. On the outside I was laughing but even though I was genuinely having a good time with her I hated it all so fucking much. I didn't want to be her friend. I don't want to be her friend again. The thought that she could just walk right back into my life and just...I hate it.
Dreams are your mind's way of trying to solve whatever's going on inside of it. You dream every night, whether you remember it or not. I don't really understand what my brain's trying to deal with here...maybe fear that she might come back. A few days ago I deleted her mother's phone number from my home phone. Maybe that has something to do with it.
I can't put myself through that again. It will destroy me if I let it.
And then there was Janna.
In the dream Janna comes over after almost a year of us not having seen each other, and we sit at my kitchen table and we're...making something, I think. Like an arts and crafts project. And we're having fun and laughing and she's saying how glad she is that we're friends again. But on the inside, in the dream, I can't stand any of it, because I can see myself getting trapped into a relationship with her again, just like I had been for the past seven years.
Janna and I became friends in second grade until last year when she got shipped off to boarding school when her parents caught her doing something they didn't agree with and thought she was going to end up getting pregnant (something to that effect, I don't really know the details) and for about a year before this happened I felt myself steadily growing to hate her and everything she did. Every time we got together I felt her...judging me. Tearing me down. And she'd tell me about doing all this crap like getting messed up on cough syrup and partying and skipping class and just all these things that I didn't agree with. And didn't believe. It was to the point where I dreaded her calls and never wanted to hang out with her. And leading up to her leaving I remember my mom and I sitting in the car arguing about why I never wanted to see Janna anymore. The answer was something I wasn't comfortable saying out loud. How do you tell someone you hate your best friend?
Looking back on it now, her getting sent to boarding school was perfect timing. I haven't spoken to her since and I'm glad.
I guess, in my own rights, I was just as bad as she was. I lied to her, about the things I did. Just because. I knew that if I told her I didn't do those things the worst that could happen was that she would think I was boring. I knew she wouldn't stop being my friend. We were each others' security blankets, to an extent. I would lie to her...to defy her. As a silent "fuck you". I didn't want her to know anything about my life, just as much as I didn't want to know anything about hers. I felt I was justified, in some weird sense. Because somewhere along the line we'd stopped being friends and just started being there.
The dream was one of those real ones, where everything seems plausible and everything is felt. On the outside I was laughing but even though I was genuinely having a good time with her I hated it all so fucking much. I didn't want to be her friend. I don't want to be her friend again. The thought that she could just walk right back into my life and just...I hate it.
Dreams are your mind's way of trying to solve whatever's going on inside of it. You dream every night, whether you remember it or not. I don't really understand what my brain's trying to deal with here...maybe fear that she might come back. A few days ago I deleted her mother's phone number from my home phone. Maybe that has something to do with it.
I can't put myself through that again. It will destroy me if I let it.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
fuck off aryan nation, you and texas
The sky is a rain-spat gray, bright over the horizon like the sun didn't go down too long ago. In reality it's ten at night and the sun's probably somewhere close to California right now, wher it's probably still light out with people ordering Chinese food and watching ABC Family.
Stupid timezones.
Feeling close to people I don't know--like empathetic or whatever. Or maybe just obsessive? Wondering what it's like to be in one of those Polygamist cults. People will do some whacky things for God's approval. I kind of find it funny that a group that condemns homosexuality is all for underage marraige and child molestation. Shows that maybe breeding isn't the answer to the world's problems, or to God's.
Happiness, maybe?
But then again--what the fuck do I know?
Silly me and my frowning upon the pedophelia.
Stupid timezones.
Feeling close to people I don't know--like empathetic or whatever. Or maybe just obsessive? Wondering what it's like to be in one of those Polygamist cults. People will do some whacky things for God's approval. I kind of find it funny that a group that condemns homosexuality is all for underage marraige and child molestation. Shows that maybe breeding isn't the answer to the world's problems, or to God's.
Happiness, maybe?
But then again--what the fuck do I know?
Silly me and my frowning upon the pedophelia.
katy perry is my wife and our wedding song is the bad touch
I never learned how to make gum wrapper necklaces when I was little.
I was watching this special on the History channel--something about how some atoms move so quickly they're two places at once. That because of this, an infinite number of alternate dimensions exist just beyond our reach. Dimensions where anything could be different from what socks you chose to put on this morning to JFK having never been assassinated. Your ethnicity to whether or not you ever learned how to make jewlery out of gum wrappers when you were a kid.
The way they explained it was confusing and scifi-esque, seemingly as realistic as space aliens (I mean like UFOs in the sky making crop circles suspiciously shaped like penises, lazar guns and probes and blah blah blah). But still, it's kind of cool to think about. To an extent. At some point it just gets weird.
Like, what if there's a dimension where the Holocaust never happened?
Or where Hogwarts exists?
What if there's a dimension where Neil Patrick Harris likes vagina?
Weird stuff man, lemme tell ya.
But I guess the point I'm trying to make in all of this rambling is--haaaaaaay, welcome to my blog.
Stay kosher. Or at least sober,
chimmi
I was watching this special on the History channel--something about how some atoms move so quickly they're two places at once. That because of this, an infinite number of alternate dimensions exist just beyond our reach. Dimensions where anything could be different from what socks you chose to put on this morning to JFK having never been assassinated. Your ethnicity to whether or not you ever learned how to make jewlery out of gum wrappers when you were a kid.
The way they explained it was confusing and scifi-esque, seemingly as realistic as space aliens (I mean like UFOs in the sky making crop circles suspiciously shaped like penises, lazar guns and probes and blah blah blah). But still, it's kind of cool to think about. To an extent. At some point it just gets weird.
Like, what if there's a dimension where the Holocaust never happened?
Or where Hogwarts exists?
What if there's a dimension where Neil Patrick Harris likes vagina?
Weird stuff man, lemme tell ya.
But I guess the point I'm trying to make in all of this rambling is--haaaaaaay, welcome to my blog.
Stay kosher. Or at least sober,
chimmi
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