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Archive for August, 2001


I swear, I post some of the most grotesque and and scary images of myself on the ‘net. Why? So people can see my INNER beauty. ^_^

“If you know me…”

“If you know me! Don’t read this! It’s my private journal”… Yeah, right. If I know the person and I stumbled across something THAT juicy I’d totally read every single dirty little detail that’s in there. Don’t they know about reverse psychology? Maybe they do, and they’re just taunting me like that.

I mean, come on jigga. It’s published on the fuh-reak-in ‘net! Give me a fuh-reak-in break — Private. PSHHHHH. Between you and the other twohundred people a day that read your site, right? Right.

If you want a private online journal make it REALLY private… Like.. Don’t anybody your URL. Don’t sign guestbooks and leave your journal URL. Don’t put any information/name/other people’s names in your journal.

Whatever you do, just don’t put up a little freakin note saying “if you know me, please don’t read this.” because it sends the exact opposite message. :) Of course, if you’re doing it on purpose… That’s another thing.

The lounger

Boy oh boy do I have a mother of a headache. Thank goodness I have nothing to do today! Absolutely blissfully nothing. My computer came in. Joy! No case yet, though. So that’s kinda useless.

God I love being useless.

The Show

Mindless teenagers bobbing their heads to a throbbing, pumping noise that is supposed to be music. And it would be music if the four on the stage could keep beat with each other. Of course, they can’t. It would be music if the ‘singer’ stopped screaming and began to sing and stopped swinging the mic around causing feedback. The drumbeat is nice, though. Makes me want to dance.

Of course, I can’t dance because… Well, I was alone. So if I did dance I would have looked like a moron. The collective would have looked at me even more weirdly than they did then. “What is she doing here.” “What is a person like her doing here.” I can see it in the glances they give me as I pass them, coughing from heavy fog of smoke.

“Take a flyer, it’ll help your cough,” says somebody as I pass them. I look up and he starts hitting on me. Great. That’s just wonderful. I go outside to breathe — and end up getting hit on by a scraggly 25 year old with no life but local band music while breathing in a million toxants exhaled by people carring even worse things that I probably don’t want to think about.

I went back in. More head bobbing. I finally get earplugs and suddenly the music sounds decent. Oh whoops, it’s a different band. Oh well, here goes nothing. I sit through all their songs.

Nope, still don’t like it.

There’s a band that played tonight. The lead singer is the younger brother of the lead singer from Incubus. They’re called Vent. They just got signed. Maybe we’ll hear about them one day. Like Papa Roach when they played around here — haha, too bad they were ska before.

Anyhow, back to Vent. I should have probably stayed longer, since I had stayed for the rest of the shows — supposedly this was the piece a piece. However, along with bobbing my head with the masses, I was encumbered by a large amount of yawns. Attacked by a case of them, really. So I headed home.

And here I am. I had a great time.

Immunization Shots

If there’s one thing I hate… It’s getting shots. Who the hell wants to get a needle stuck into your veins and have foreign ish pumped into your body? Not me! But apparently I need to get it done to go to college. Major bummer!

Of the 7 shots required to enter college I’ve gotten 1. Sure I’ve gotten my polio and all that ish that you need to go to HS… But…

2 MM / Hep A / 3 Hep B / Meningitis… Nope. Well 1 MMR. Boy, my parents were resposible about those shot things weren’t they? :


I’m a fucking PORN STAR!.

“I do this for myself!”

“I do this for myself!”… “Sign my guestbook! Give me hits! Show me fansigns! Give me your internet LoOoOooVe”

How often do you see a situation like that? WAY too often in my eyes. I read profiles and they all sound like these… independant “fuck you” types… But then they end up being “Give me your internet LooOooOOve cuz I’m in dire need of attention” types. What is it with people and saying one thing in their bios and then acting completely different in their blog? It makes no sense.

You maybe thinking “Well, aren’t you a part of that hypocritical bunch, too? You have log! You have a bio! It MUST be true.” Well, go read my bio? See any inconsistancies with my writing here and my writing there? If so, tell me so that I can re-evaluate my dislike for people who portray themselves one way and act another.

Surfin’ Safari

This site called me a “hot site” — I’m loved!
I’ve been linked… By a revealing manifested angel! O_o
She thinks I’m cooool! WOOT.
Didn’t link me but… everything on this page is… tilted.
Awww! i got starred as a *daily*
Not only is it funny, it’s educational!
I love Japan… and I love Tokyo tales.

Messed up

There are people that are inherantly messed up. People that play with your mind even though they don’t know it. Or perhaps they do know it and find it amusing. It’s annoying, when you get pulled into their game and you find yourself trapped like a fly in a spider’s web. The more you struggle to get away the more you get caught in the web and the easier it is for the spider to eat you alive, barely moving because you’re so exhausted from struggling. That’s how their games work. They let you think you’re away from them and when you’ve stopped… they come and suck the life out of you.

The only way to escape is to quietly die before the spider reaches you.

What would you do?

Who’s beautiful? I’m beautiful!

I’m beautiful! I said to myself in the mirror as I looked at my reflection. Matted hair, sticking straight up in the back like a peacock. That’s exactly what I look like in the morning, too. A peacock. Not one of those strutting ones though… More like one that’s been shot and is half dead lugging itself to its death site. But it’s OK! My hair sucks but I’m still beautiful! Even with my eye boogers and dried drool hanging out of my mouth. . .

Boy, this self-esteem self-help book isn’t helping me very much. :

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