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[11 Aug 2007|02:36pm] |
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"Close minded" is a most obnoxiously incorrect phrase.
Closed-minded = the correct phrase.
Commit this to memory, IMDB idiots.
Use of the phrase "close minded" immediately kills your credibility, no matter what.
Also, any mention of your age in reference to skill level immediately nullifies any credibility you might have had, e.g., "Keep in mind i myself am pretty cultured and even take private art lessons, i have a very open mind (especially for my age!!)". It, too, is pretty obnoxious, and makes you sound like you're bragging or exaggerating. And now I also think you're 12.
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|
| Socialite Summer |
[01 Aug 2007|03:50pm] |
|
I will not work.
I will not work.
I will not work.
It's really not my thing, anyway.
|
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| Wry Bread |
[19 Aug 2006|02:18pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
slithery |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Wild Colonials---Cure |
] |
I need a third arm to hold things together right now.
A thrid brain would be nice, too...
But I already have two, and the spare is collecting dust.
I'm afraid to tell Paul that I've lost weight, even though he's closing the pound gap at a rapid pace.
I am officially flat broke.
I hate you, Big Vanilla.
Running count of summers in which I did not work: Two, consecutive.
Both of my jobs and all four classes are going to start at the same time.
I'm going to become a weathy work-minded zombie.
I think my face lotion with sunscreen lied when it told me it was non-comedogenic.
My Betseys are bent as hell and I don't know how or why they came to be that way.
I am going to ask Nordstrom to fix them.
If they can't, I will do it myself.
If I break them, I will mourn my loss.
They don't make them anymore.
Thrift store find of the month: 1950's pale rose/champagne lace one-of-a kind couture dress. Fits absolutely perfectly.
It was fate.
Bought three records yesterday:
Pixies--Surfer Rosa
David Live
Shins--Chutes Too Narrow
May I please have my record player back now?
Meat cleaver.
Meat cleaver.
Meat cleaver.
I will order my sushi with extra ham next time.
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|
| Inferior Interior |
[16 Jun 2006|11:03am] |
I might be working as an interior design assistant this summer!
Like...that's going to be my job!
I am so excited.
I am breaking my way into the world of design, so don't be suprised if you see my name in lights.
If I get the job, I might cancel plans to work at Big Vanilla.
I'm not cut out to be "perky and bubbly" everyday, anyway.
I hope she calls soon!
|
|
| MEAT |
[26 May 2006|02:11am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
That was gross. |
] |
There I am, innocently watching a Discovery Health show about someone who was shot, when suddenly, there's a man with his hand stuck in a meat grinder.
In a MEAT GRINDER.
Who puts their hand in a damn meat grinder?
And then lets Discovery Health show it?!
Almost lost my lunch...a little too graphic even for me.
And I have seen pictures of a hand in a meat grinder before, so apparently this happens rather frequently.
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|
|
[15 Mar 2006|09:00pm] |
I get scissor happy sometimes and cut myself some eyebrow-length bangs.
My mom is making fun of me and calling me Cleopatra.
I convinced the girls at work today to play the "Chin Face" game.
I got three of them to draw eyes and noses on their chins, and then we got a couple Polaroids. Wee!
Carla is probably going to have to find a new job soon.
I ordered my Cigarette Leg Joe's Jeans today.
And I spent way too much at the MAC counter.
But now I have the whole spring eye collection!
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|
[24 Dec 2005|04:28pm] |
w00t.
I feel some drastic changes approaching.
|
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| Don't Mess Around with Slim |
[27 Nov 2005|09:30pm] |
|
So when Paul and I went to The Briefs show last week (or something), there was a kid there who looked just like a vulture. It was just like a trainwreck: my eyes were fixated as we stood near him. I...I had to draw him.
( Vulture Kid )
Yes, that's really what he looked like. Except he really had eyes and I forgot to draw him some.
Paul confirms: "Wow, that really looks like him or some shit."
I think it's time I broke up with him. I'm so tired of dealing with his shit:
-Late night calls (drunk)
-Wanting to do some shit and then never doing it
-Being a douche
That's generally it, and he's been doing it for ages.
Just try and redeem yourself.
I don't think I like my new haircut.
I am excited for some shit!
But I don't feel like telling you.
About it.
So ha.
10.39 Edit: Paul and I are desperately in love!
|
|
| Halloween and Slut Childreny Costumes |
[09 Oct 2005|07:30pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
Boink! |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Grease--Greased Lightnin' |
] |
The subject was an editing mishap, but I rather like it. So it will stay.
Oh my, what a wild ride these last few moths have been.
I work with bratty children.
I am going to make Ash-doggy-dog eat them.
Children apparently like my hair. And like to ask if I brush it--I don't.
They like to play cards with me and get all upset when I beat them.
They tease me when they win.
Sea monkeys like to watch when you play Chutes and Ladders.
Children will cheat at any game you are playing if they think they can get away with it.
The children ask why I wear weird sweaters...apparently children don't wear cardigans.
Kayla gives me her Chocolate Milk sometimes! School Chocolate Milk is the best.
I have pictures drawn for me about once a week.
I draw pictures and the children ask if I really drew them. Even though it's on letterhead paper and done with crayons. Even if they watched me draw it.
Children don't know the words "chartreuse" or "chenille".
Explaining the meanings of common words such as "jerk" and "dope" is really difficult.
"Sugar, Honey, Iced Tea!," spells "shit".
Little girls want to be Graveyard Faeries for Halloween.
Slightly older little girls want to be "Punky Dorothy".
I am going to be regular Dorothy, except I had to order a kids size. So slightly risque Dorothy it is.
I have been thrift shopping almost every week for a month.
I have lots of fun new things.
I like to get presents at thrift stores.
I found a '69 copy of The Godfather in hardcover.
I found a '74 copy of Helter Skelter in hardcover.
I found an Yves Saint Laurent tie.
I found a bunch of dresses. Skirts. Shirts. Records.
I haven't found shoes yet.
The other people in my Lit class are assholes.
We were doing group projects, and my group disbanded me and volunteered me to work alone.
Thanks.
I joined another group.
They didn't show up for class.
Thanks.
I am stuck working alone for good.
Go, go, Powerpoint!
I have a new Mammoth.
He survived La Brea.
And came vaccuum-packed for freshness.
Halloween is my favourite.
I set my Dining Room Table up for the occasion.
( Theme: Black, Orange, and Spiders )
Oh, and I totaled another Civic.
I'm 0-3 when it comes to cars.
|
|
| I Make Shirts... |
[21 Jul 2005|11:04am] |
It's true.
I design the shirts that I make.
I seem to have a knack for it...
I suppose I have some sort of obligation to post pictures of my creations...
I will.
...Right here/right now.
My very first creation. There are four (4) in existence; one of each House from the book series Harry Potter. The front is a transfer iron-on using printer paper. The back features a smaller emblem cut from Harry Potter fabric and hand-sewn on. The silver parts of the smaller emblem are sparkly, as were the gold/yellow parts from the other houses.
For my second creation, I butchered a deep teal cardigan. I cut the sleeves off, and hand-sewed layers of off-white lace onto the shoulders. I then hand-cut my signature heart shape from the shirt, and hand-sewed a square of lace on the other side of the heart. The cardigan was a size medium, so it is, overall, too large for me. I am most likely going to give away or sell this creation.
Third creation; most intricate and most difficult. Designed during a day-dreaming spell in my History class; the resulting sketch remains in my notebook. This was made a joke to specifically be worn to Sonar one night. It was worn with my red sequin ICL kitten heels, and a pair of tight jeans, rolled up at the ankle. It is a tunic/dress, but it is rather scandalous as a dress, so it was worn as a tunic. It was made from a sized Large black tee-shirt. The front features a peter-pan collar, with a baby-doll yoke. Both were hand-cut and sewn. There are five (5) red heart buttons hand-sewn on. The sleeves are unfinished as of yet. A little further down is a red-sequined heart patch that was ironed-on, and a pair of silver lam`e scissors that were hand-cut. I used silver embroidery floss to create a dashed line from the scissors, leading to the heart. Further still is a band of white fabric that encircles the entire shirt. The the band is double-layered, and the back of the band has a thick length of elastic sandwiched in between the layers. The inner seams were reduced with said silver embroidery floss. The back of the shirt features a subtle tuck/fold above the band (for a more form-fitting style), and two lengths of white fabric, to make a bow. I am more than likely going to sell this shirt, as I don't really plan on wearing it again. It was far too much trouble to give away. The resulting size is somewhere around a Small to Extra-Small (the waist band is significantly tighter than the rest of the shirt).
Heart/scissor/line detail:
Scissor detail:
Inner band:
Detail of inner seams with silver embroidery floss:
Back tuck detail:
...Continued:
Back band detail:
Detail of fabric in a bow:
My latest and most detailed creation also came to me whilst day-dreaming in my History class. It is sort of 80's inspired, and sort of Lilly-prep inspired. I cut three (3) of my signature hearts from fuschia fabric, and one Alligator from lime fabric. The hearts are balloons, attached at Ally's (the Alligator) tail. Ally wraps around onto the side of the shirt. Ally sports a pink gingham bow, and a black sequin eye from my black mesh-and-sequin scarf. Everything is entirely hand-sewn. Note Ally's detail: he has a chest, legs, feet, toes, and teeth. I may be selling this shirt in the near future; it was too much work and is too sentimental to give away.
Detail of Ally's features; note the teeth:
Bonus: I couldn't find anything to wear this morning, so I threw together an impromptu self-made shirt. I grabbed a plain green tee-shirt I had bought at Michael's. The "broach" is made from two pink polka-dotted ribbons, tied in bows, and pinned together.
Double Bonus: It features use of the pin (by the company Gentle Fawn) I jacked from some shirt in Ocean City.
The pin:
I don't own my favourite work, but perhaps my darling Willy would be so kind as to take a picture of his and send it to me?
Also, so far I am to make:
One (1) shirt with an alligator, for Willy...
and...
One (1) shirt with an alligator, for Shaun.
Requests? I'll do them!
It takes a full week to do it, at the very fastest.
So don't expect it to be instant...
That would require a crew of Malaysian children.
(As posted on Myspace. Request conditions apply.)
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|
|
[13 Jul 2005|02:12pm] |
Spider Crisis!!
And a bee named Laura...
I have the weirdest dreams of all time.
Ever.
No, really.
Last night I may have woken up around four times and gone back to sleep; that makes time for at least four dreams.
There are at least two I remember.
Something involving driving while severely intoxicated.
I was obviously extrememly distraught.
We went shopping with a friend, and she tried to comfort me.
We bought sweater vests.
We ran into another friend.
He was a wreck; clothes askew, hair dirty, unbrushed teeth.
Publicly destroyed.
A strange pain.
I am suddenly in my car: driving in the rain, still devastatingly intoxicated.
She-friend calls me.
I had left her at the mall.
I decide against going back to pick her up.
I really don't care about anything.
Another call, from the male friend.
He verbally abuses me.
I run the car off the side of the road...
I wake up, and am receiveing a phone call in real life.
I answer it.
Talk.
"I am sorry. Are you ok?"
I am not, but you must be.
You are.
You will call later.
Good-bye.
I go back to sleep...
I can remember one other especially well, the very last one I had before I woke up.
Vans, cars, motorcycles.
All tagged with the name of an internet dial-up service.
An adventure of escapement, the four of us.
We wore black in the middle of summer.
We ran in the Cape, and ended up in New York.
I was the slowest, yet I was not out of breath at any point.
A bus, an ant, a bee.
In a random kid's house; we did not let him join in our endeavor.
A tiny terrarium.
I may have smooshed her once or twice, but she was resillient.
Suddenly, she was very large(and very fuzzy).
Around 16".
I am holding her in my arms.
I petted her as we ran.
I do not know for what reason we had to plan such an elaborate escape.
I did not know what was to be our destination.
We ran.
A friend of his, we meet up.
A map of the subway system...
I wake up.
My dreams have strange effects on me.
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|
|
[06 Jul 2005|11:10pm] |
| [ |
music |
| |
The Foundations--Build Me Up Buttercup |
] |
A few good days.
In a row...for once.
Amazing.
We did nothing, and everything.
Beside those few good days, terrible.
I quit my job.
Stupid, stupid job.
It made me get sick, and then it made me angry.
I quit in a rather interesting way.
Nothing extreme; instead, rather covert.
Blue loopy words, and an unhappy face.
Bent staples.
A poorly-drawn poodle.
I hope she found it...
For practically the first time in my life, I have no day-to-day structure.
Nothing specific that I must do every day.
Nothing to do that I hate but am forced to do anyway.
It is nice, I suppose.
My mother, however, has made sure that I know that I am now worthless.
"What, is it more fun just doing nothing?!"
You tell me.
I have been going on "wandering adventures", where I drive someplace and wander alone sort of aimlessly.
Yesterday it was at the Harbour Center.
Today it was in the Cape.
They can be quite interesting; I will detail my Cape adventure.
My Adventures in Cape
I leave my house with no clear destination, except for a return to my house eventually.
I hear a firework or two as I reach the middle of my street, traveling westward away from my house. I am going to proclaim my driveway as facing north.
I notice my shadow begins to blend in with the pure darkness of the pavement as I pass by the lone street light in the middle of my street.
I pass by the sketchy house at the far end of my street.
There is a car parked in the backyard.
I reach the stop sign; a white Volvo that may or may not have belonged to Willy passed by, followed by a louder sports-type car.
I cross the street to the sidewalk-encrusted side of the street; I reminisce back to the days when this street (or most any streets in Cape) did not have a sidewalk.
I realize that elementary school was very fun and care-free, and I realize that I miss recess and a stone-set lunch time.
I walk toward the elementary school.
I take the second street on my right, traveling north.
I make a call and leave a bland message.
I know my way around Cape even in the dark and with a profound lack of street lights.
A white Explorer passes by me rather quickly; I walk in the grass.
I turn down the first street on my left, a side-street that is very familiar (especially around Christmastime) to most children that grew up in Cape.
I walk slowly and think.
I cough.
I can see into a window of a ranch-style house on my right: I see a boy walking around inside.
He doesn't see me.
I look away and keep walking.
I can hear the sporty-type cars and regular cars pushed to their limits speed by on other streets.
I can see to the end of the street, and I see a few cars pass by.
It seems that later at night is the most enchanting time to speed through Cape.
Where are the cops?
I always see at least one cop on a long walk through Cape; he usually pulls over, puts his window down, and asks me what I am doing.
They always think I have drugs, or I'm on drugs, or I'm drunk.
I suppose taking a walk in Cape after dark is sketchy, but I'm sure he could find something more interesting if he only cruised down the road a little further, made his second right, and stopped and watched the first house on the left corner of the street.
I continue to walk uninterrupted.
I reach the end of the street and cross to the sidewalk on the other side, the sidewalk next to the elementary school.
I walk with my hands in my pockets.
I can see the car lights coming up behind me, throwing a stretched shadow of myself across the sidewalk.
I reach the first parking lot of the elementary school.
I look to cross the street and do so.
The same white Explorer pulls up to the stop sign on the side of the street that I am approaching.
The Explorer stops for an inordinate amount of time; I become slightly curious, but keep walking.
After continuing a short way down the street, I turn to look at the Explorer, and it's still there.
I walk a little bit more quickly.
I can see in the window of the small blue house with the black spiral staircase.
I always have imagined that room has black and white tiled linoleum floors.
As I walk through an intersection, a car that was speeding very much and seemed to be out of control is moving toward me.
I moved so that I was positioned behind a large tree and a car parked in a driveway, but I do not stop walking.
The car makes the turn right behind me with screeching tires.
I continue walking slowly.
I hear a sound like keys jingling.
There is a dog of indeterminable size running toward me.
I remember the instructions that elementary schools gave about a dog attack: stand very still and do not run.
I did so.
Just before it reached me, it ran off of the sidewalk and out into the street, around a parked car.
It was a medium-sized white dog.
I crossed to the other side of the street a bit after the dog passed me; I could see the shadow of what I assumed to be the owner approaching me on the sidewalk.
I walk quickly now.
Another car speeds by me from behind, this time a white RAV4.
I am being haunted by white cars.
I turn left onto my street and approach my house from the west.
There is a different car parked on the street next to the sketchy house.
I think there are people inside, but as I walk by, I see that there are none.
I make it the rest of the way to my house without any other interesting occurrences.
I come up to my front door, and there are many different sorts of insects present, basking in the luminance of my porch light.
One in particular catches my interest: a spotty brown and black spider blocking my entrance.
I tap on my door, and my mother flips the light off.
I yell.
She puts the light back on.
She comes out with a green crowbar-type appliance.
She smooshes the spider.
I receive a phone call and answer it.
I walk west toward the edge of my driveway.
The phone call ends.
I walk back to my door, and into my house.
I decide that my walk was rather uneventful, after all.
The end.
I went thrift shopping with Amy the other day.
I obtained many pretty things that I am very excited about.
I will go again on a Sunday.
Behbeh?
No behbeh.
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|
[21 Jun 2005|06:20pm] |
There was a pinata.
A cheery, smiling Sunshine.
They beat it ferociously with a plastic baseball bat.
It took 15 midgets 20 full minutes to break it open.
It was filled with Rolex and Cartier; contents scattered upon impact.
A midget dog-pile.
Expected injuries, but none came to be.
Disappointing, really.
Drug paraphernalia.
Hamburger Paraphernalia.
Midget Sidecar?
I have permanently canceled out Red-Eyes of Death.
For-ev-er.
Ever.
A perfect spiral, streaky pictures; a hidden grin.
Brilliant white smudges.
A tear.
A tear.
Bad angles and a bit of a face.
A flash before your eye.
A gray blur; lightning.
A car.
A dream.
Two dreams.
Nuclear holocaust.
My holocaust.
A loft, a deck.
Orange light.
Melting.
Bleeding...never falling.
Two poems.
A bag full of...
I am crying.
Umbrella.
Green, teal...crosshatched.
Swirls, curls, and a bit of a tilt.
Pretty, and purposeful.
This one does not cost me $80.
A perfect idea never carried out.
Well, semi-perfect; I would have made a few amendments.
But it got my hopes up.
Nevertheless...wasted.
There is a tree...it smells of pickles.
It is also in slices, much like a pickle.
A red car.
"Write".
...Ok.
And so I did.
1.30 edit:
Additionally:
Nightbuster 4000.
Does the job.
|
|
| Life in a day... |
[07 Jun 2005|01:48am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
Woah, chaotic. |
] |
Monday, Monday.
Up late.
Late arrival.
Hot.
Bright, bright.
This doesn't have sugar in it.
A kid named Chase. I think?
I know the system!
Strange food choices: oyster crackers, Sun Chips, chocolate mini rice cakes.
New chairs.
Tiny umbrella.
The Bell Jar.
Red pen.
A rainy park scene.
Stolen.
Crackers, too.
We are sisters.
Comfortable positions.
Forgot to turn it off; it burns off quickly.
I don't know the system.
Pink glittery keys.
Carabiner.
Late, late.
He is locked out because I was forgetful.
We are not sisters.
Good bye.
Intermission: Stress, cold, pasta salad, screwdrivers; leave early.
Early, early.
Everything is alright.
No harm done.
How do I never get in trouble?
Why are they in at 3?
I will not sit.
I help anyway.
Lay down.
Hot, bright.
Splashing; a ball that could glow.
A threat.
Counter threat.
Reverse-hold threat?
I succumb.
Too nice.
Early still.
I do not go up yet.
Talking.
A pool rat.
Leave me alone today.
Eat ravenously.
A bloody nose; no freezer, no ice.
He is alright.
Consideration, very kind.
An offer of goods.
Momentary release; supervision.
She likes me too much.
I get to do what I choose.
Chaos.
The team; an army of children.
Four masterful fighting styles.
Too many, too much.
Anger.
A larger umbrella.
A 40-minute abandonment.
Anger.
Irresponsible.
Lame backlash.
I feel badly; I do not apologize.
Nice kid, not mine.
A large green mess.
Anger.
Assistance where it is necessary, however small.
Intense concentration on what would be trivial; here it is not.
I must clean it.
Intense hosing session.
Glass shatters.
I know.
Anger.
I yell, as if they were my own.
Don't touch it, it's sharp.
Stop it, don't touch it.
Anger.
I must clean it.
Why are you touching it again?
I feel like a matron.
Anger.
It's my turn.
Anger.
Talking.
Joking.
Being a kid was blissful.
A low rumble; I am unsure.
I whistle, and miss the next.
A third, certain.
Clear everything.
Don't touch it.
Gray and ominous.
Rapid approach.
Cold.
Dim, dull.
Why are they still here?
I am afraid; they will not leave!
Hurry home!
Clearly, clearly.
Dark, dark.
Hectic.
Go home.
I must clean it.
Moving quickly.
I am not forgetful today.
Everything is in readiness.
Slam, click.
Slam, click.
Slam, click.
Slam, click.
Slam, clunk.
You will not ride with me.
I volunteer another.
Accepted.
A calling of things unheard of.
The sentiment keeps me coming back.
Good bye.
|
|
|
[31 May 2005|09:21pm] |
The intricacy of my life right now is astounding.
We traveled a long and lonesome road, for hours, into the dark.
We spoke of things unheard of and obscene; we spoke of light and dark, life and death. Abundance and utter devastation. Past. Present. Future.
There was a sort of ominousness that hung in the air all about us.
It felt like there might be an abrupt end to the night, to everything, and an awkward trip home in the morning.
There was nothing of the sort.
Although fun wasn't really the word for it, either.
Interesting; perhaps adventurous, rebellious.
Memorable.
I enjoyed the drive up, the talking, except for the parts when I thought there was nothing left.
A moon roof.
Emotions stirred.
Issues were resolved. At least, I think one or two were.
I had only been there once before; it had been a very structured and exhausting day.
A vacant condo remained as it stood.
The sand was cold and damp for an earlier rain; it would have been refreshing had the air not been so cold itself.
The water seems to have an air of chaos at night, whilst during the day, it seems to be more controlled; less self-sufficient.
Deep blue, maybe greenish-blue.
Loud, intoxicatingly volant; it's repetitive crash entrances.
Metronome.
A moonlight embrace.
Coversations of beauty and romance could no longer be contained.
I felt like I was alone.
A curiosity about the temperature of the water triumphed, and I was emboldened enough to stand where the water would wash ashore.
It was warmer than I had guessed; temperature retention was detailed.
A white throne; difficult to scale.
We emerged the victors over the tower, and claimed out stake.
A past event, photographic evidence; I had seen this very thing before.
I keep it to myself.
I become giddy, if only briefly.
We go on speaking out minds, then disembark.
A silver chariot.
A long drive, studded with deliberation and confusion.
We are both too tired, nervous.
We do not enter.
An agreement.
We continue our search.
A destination reached; poorly chosen, yet defensible.
Electricity flows, suddenly intensified by the prospectives.
Comfort without comfort.
Everything gray; muted.
Walden speaks to me; a single line chosen from many.
It embodies our plight.
We embrace the circumstances.
"Do you feel homeless yet?"
A feeling that already was instated.
Anxiety; it felt positive, however possible.
A certain sense of voyeurism, mirrored.
Sleep; only a state of mind, one that would not enrapture us.
Beige towers surround us, and my envy has not yet made an entrance.
A sense of safety.
Early, we rise, our habitation in a haze.
We have encountered nothing to eviscerate our sense of being alone.
Serenity within; bedlam surrounds us.
We do not disembark but for two quick stops.
Once we have returned, everything is hectic and stress.
A longing for what was just lost.
Momentary changes are the most significant.
Another embrace, and I leave.
Now exists only forceful misdirection.
I am enlightened.
|
|
|
[26 May 2005|11:47pm] |
I gave Paul a haircut.
It looks fine.
We were both impressed.
He can finally do the "hair up" thing he does again.
Or so I hope.
That was my intention.
I'll have to trim it again if it is too long to be put "up".
Have I unearthed yet another new artistic talent?
Oh, the cleverness of me.
(10 Bonus Points if you got the reference.)
|
|
|
[17 May 2005|04:33pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
suprised, perhaps? |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
The Fiery Furnaces--Blueberry Boat |
] |
I miss you lots, but I have a feeling you're not coming back.
Not that I would expect anything different; I'm so used to it.
I bought a cardigan that I know you'd like, but you probably won't get to see it.
I also obtained a gorgeous new dark green sparkly eyeshadow that you'll also probably never see.
I listened to that CD, and it kind of made me have a reminiscient episode of sorts.
I brought the DVD to Meg's house and we watched it together. It made me smile.
I unplugged my amp today, knowing that my guitar will be getting a lot less attention now than it had been.
I uploaded the pictures from my camera, and remembered that there were pics on there that would make me nostalgic.
I'm changing my background on my computer later, because I am sick of the neon white sperm chasing the neon pink egg.
I am making myself late for work. I keep asking myself what I did that messed things up, because I always mess things up. I know I'll think of something.
I speak too soon sometimes.
I told you I was good at acting, I'm sure you've figured that out for yourself by now.
I cut my bangs. They were unruly.
I needed some change in my life, anyway.
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[22 Apr 2005|12:54pm] |
They didn't let me keep my tonsils.
But I got to see them, and they were pretty big and all scarred and bloody.
I would have loved to had them.
Goodbye, my infected little non-vital organs of hate and torture.
You will be missed.
I miss solid kinds of food! Commercials for food are killing me.
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[20 Apr 2005|08:21am] |
Surgery today at 9.30 am.
Tonsilectomy.
I get to take the liquid equivalent of Percodan.
I will ask for my tonsils to keep in a jar...so I can pretend that they were my testicles, and that I really had a testicle-ectomy.
I will be out of the commission of life for about a week and a half.
If you send love, don't call...text or IM or comment.
And expect mildly interesting conversations due to said liquid Percodan.
I'll do just fine!
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[10 Apr 2005|09:52am] |
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Most Interesting Night of My Life. Ever.
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