Alright, so shit.

Bad things happen and my memory fails but now it's out there and fuck.

Balls.

Balls up my ass.

I painted my nails red, instead of pink, I don't know what that means but it sure as shit felt poetic at the time.

I woke up this morning with the unforgiving tickle in the back of my throat and I will be spending the evening in a commune.

My new tattoos are a semicolon on my sternum, and Aubrey Beardsley's emblem on the back of my left arm that I am devoting to my favorite art and literature.

I just want some potato soup.

I just want to have enough money to fend for myself.

I just want to be Albert Einstein for Halloween.

Class was a bit of a bust. I again didn't write something I was particularly happy with at first, but it grew on me, and I think when brought to life it might be kind of nice.

I feel disappointing, and disappointed.

I am so sick of the mess in my room that I am afraid I could cry for no reason at any moment.

I feel like a fucking idiot.

yup.

Dammit.

We had a conversation. I was nervous. It was almost as good as when you sat infront of me for that one play, and we made eye contact and my brain turned into mush.

This cannot go on like this. It's bad. So, MM, if you ever read this, and you figure me out, for goodness' sake, please be kind, I am just a sad little girl who thinks you are the coolest.


In other news: I have two new tattoos, done by a lovely gentleman named Dylan. He is pretty great. As far as dudes that aren't John go, he is extraordinary. I like him.

A lot.

I need to shower and get ready, it's time to party.

I ain't no poet

I am half trapped in this pretty abysmal sort of situation. I haven't felt this way about someone since Elisa, so maybe that wasn't love. I feel like such a child when I am around you. I blather and my jaw gives out. I smile like an idiot, and stare. You half smile, shrug, and dismiss me. I think you are cooler than cool. I feel like an idiot for looking in your direction, in the half hope you might say a single word to me. I don't want to kiss you, it isn't lustful or sexual or even emotional, but it's like some twisted big sister thing. Everything you do is absolutely flawless to me. You shit sunshine. It's preposterous. I just want you to give me the time of day. Maybe I am idolizing you, and if we got coffee one day, I would find out about your humanity, and I wouldn't feel this way. Maybe that would be a good thing. I don't know. I don't know. But when I read your blog, girl, I just get more and more enthralled by you.


I had the most magnificent morning.

I ate a well balanced breakfast.

I should have gone to sleep a long time ago, but I really like the Revolutionary Road soundtrack, and I would really like to have a good cry right now.


Damnit MM, one of these days...

Internal Conflict, y'all

I got a whole lot of shit to do, and while I wish one of those shits to do was to go see Fear again, I cannot. There is so much auxiliary shit do to, that Fear is not even an option.

I got a lot of things going on, and I keep using the word "shit" as a describer, but actually, most of the "shit" I have to do is pretty okay, minus pay my credit card bill and have little to no money for the rest of the month, but I got by in October mostly on tips anyway, after having treated John and Luke to dinner, which I really likely should not have done. In any case...

I am not too proud of the monologue I wrote for class. Not even a little. I think I tried too hard to impress Megan that I just ended up accidentally writing shit. But not like the shit from before, where shit means stuff that is pretty okay, but more like actual feces.

I might just write a new one about how much I hate the movie Jumanji.

That would be way better, I think. Don't you?

shit shit fuck shit

things are different now.

things are respect.

I have found a chance worth taking.

burrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrp

fuck.

I hate everything.

Me without make -up

I never like pictures of me like this, with all this chin, but I like this picture a lot.

That's all.

One Down

When it heals, and isn't puffy, it will just look like a white cursive scar. I am pretty stoked.

I love it so much.

It says "nolite te bastardes carborundorum" which is dog latin for "don't let the bastard grind you down."

It's from my favorite book, The Handmaid's Tale by Margaret Atwood, it's the second Atwood-related tattoo I hate gotten.

<3

THIEF!

I am listening to music I stole.

I did not download it illegally off of the internet, but I recorded it without the knowledge of the musician.

It is beautiful, and I do not regret it for a single moment.

In other news:

I like girls.

I like girls as friends. I used to be one of those girls that "gets along with guys better" but I don't. I love being girly and hanging out with girls. I like having girl friends.

I miss Beek. She is a girl and my friend and we shop and are girls and I miss her and that so much when she is gone.

I could watch this video over and over and over and over.

and I am.

I LOVE IT

That girl is cute. I bet she likes pink nail polish.

Lists;

INK I WANT:

1. "Nolite te bastardes carborundorum." in white ink on my left inner forearm.

2. An octopus.

3. The rest of my literary half-sleeve

4. My Modern Times shoulder piece

5. YES!? on my inner lip.

PEOPLE I LIKE AND WISH I SPENT MORE TIME WITH:

1. Brian (he leaves soon)

2. Emma (already gone)

3. Paula (always texts me at the most inopportune times)

4. Tim (I think he thinks I don't like him)

5. Jessica Anne (she is awesome)

THINGS I AM THANKFUL FOR:

1. Nomads

2. The gifts given to me

3. My mom being home

4. My grandmother not needing major surgery

5. Neo-Futurism

THINGS I CARE ABOUT BUT OFTEN TAKE FOR GRANTED:

1. My mom

2. My job

3. My friends

4. My room

5. My brain

THINGS I WILL MISS ONCE THEY'RE GONE:

1. My hair

2. Brian

3. My mom

4. Money

5. This glass of milk.

SONGS I LIKE RIGHT NOW:

1. Be Gentle With Me - Boy Least Likely To

2. Bookends - Simon and Garfunkel

3. Cecilia - Simon and Garfunkel

4. La La Love You - The Pixies

5. Skullcrusher Mountain - Jonathan Coulton