Thursday, September 30
Bachie makes me laugh.




I almost killed a baby today.

The field trip was okay. Took 2 fucking, excruciating hours of practicing back straightening in a bus seat, which I haven't done in well over a year, and only stayed at the fucking place for an hour and a half. I had so much to say while sitting there and listening to Guns n fucking Roses, but jeez, fuck all the typing.

At 6:00 in the evening (haha "In the Evening" is a Zeppelin song!) my mom and sibling and I got into the Nissan Maxima and drove to her co-worker's baby shower in Parsippany. I ate 4 plates of food.

This new layout is so hot.



Wednesday, September 29
Who the fuck drives a green Honda?

I was walking home from school, and this car suddenly drives by, honks at me, the 3 or 4 or so guys howl, and throw change at me. God, I'm worth at least 3 nickels, not two.

Learning from that experience, I am either really hot, really slutty, or it's my jacket that is overbearing my ugliness. It cost $128 dollars, beautiful denim wash, and is pretty long. Pretty long. Long coats and jackets. What hookers wear. Oh great.

Luckily I didn't buy boots yet.

Today was absolutely ordinary. Up until my payment. Which was in my last 3 minutes before I stepped into the house.

I have a field trip tomorrow. No one's going to cry that I won't be around, unless they need my sevices.

Watched Fight Club upon coming home. Crazy shit. Edward Norton is the man.

I just don't have the heart to write anything interesting.

Oh well, sucks for you!



Tuesday, September 28
I'm eating strawberry ice cream right now. It tastes shitty. So does the cheap sprinkles that my mom bought. Edy's, you have failed me.

I just made an account on heretodaygonetohell.com, my username is dancewmrbrownstone. Originally I wanted dancinwithmrbrownstone, but to them it's as long as the word pussy. My user picture is this.



I don't know why I just told you that. Put that in your book of useless information. Along with everything else written here.

It is excruciatingly difficult to eat the rest of this cup of ice cream. The chunks of real strawberries look like menstrual blood, seriously. Boys, if you're wondering what comes out of women's asses every month, or more than once a month if you're fucked up, just look in your strawberry ice cream. Can't get any closer than that. Haha, makes me think like I'm eating my own period. Or perhaps someone else's, like Carnie Wilson's or something. No wonder this ice cream tastes bad.

It's funny to just sit somewhere all alone and watch all the people that come by say hi to you. There should be more kind souls out there. But noooo, you all have to be like me and walk by like Billy Crystal is dying on my doorstep.

In french I colored the shiny side of a Starburst wrapper pack with green ink. Ink smells very not so quite pleasant. I'm almost done with it.

Maria didn't come to class today. Now I owe her even more.

Sat out in gym class. I can't stand humidity. And the class had to do jumprope. That is the only other thing that'll kill me besides Gwar and literally, freak accidents.

I had to walk home getting my pants wet. The entire street was a stream. I wish I had a little toy boat to play with. Dead serious about that, nothing more fun than toy boats, little streams, and all the oral sex you could want.



Monday, September 27
Photobucket isn't working, piece of shit. It does this just about every weekend, and this week it's listening to Gwar.

I can't believe I am reading magazine articles right now. Ones that are 10 years old.

Lauren might take me to see Conan O'Brien in February. Hopefully I won't do something stupid before then and get myself grounded.

I'm starting to gain weight again. For some reason when I do, my ass doesn't gain weight along with everything else, so I end up having less curves and just look like a giant bean sprout. But when I lose weight, my ass doesn't lose anything while everything else does. So in that case I do have curves. I have been eating nothing but starch and carbs for the past 2 weeks. French fries. Potato chips. Cake. Cheesecake. Cream puffs. Chex Mix. Bagels. While drinking Gatorade and popping orange, strawberry, and lemon Starbursts into my mouth like Jim Morrison took LSD. I fucking hate cherry ones, who the fuck wants to eat chewable constipation medicine that isn't even sweet?

Tomorrow Maria and I are going to have to present our presentation on colonial houses. That's as fun as doing the mashed potato to a Dave Matthews Band CD. Hopefully she won't come to school again on purpose. That would be awesome. Then the class would just watch a movie and I can eat popcorn. If the fucking fucktard classmates of mine would give me any this time. Maybe they really do realize I'm weighing down the earth a bit these days and are taking action.

Action. I want some action.

I made an asian arts and crafts book thing in art class today. It looks like shit with wet used toilet paper covering it. And I can't fucking sew or tie things together. It can just fall apart any minute even if it is sitting still in the storage locker. Except for my shoes and my pants. Other than that, I'm useless in a sweatshop. I'd probably lose my arm on my first day working in one. Or possibly just the day of my interview when the person is showing me around the machines.

I have been considering getting my schedule changed. Geometry is like trying to figure out how people think that Michael Bolton is so sexalicious and if Richard Simmons ever gets cold and why thongs won't be minty.



Sunday, September 26
Man, howcome every time I get on the computer I have to take a shit?

During dinner today, my mom told me about the most peculiar woman. Besides Ricki Lake. She has a friend, who has a huge ass and huge boobs but beyond tiny midrift. You might think that's a beautiful hourglass figure the woman has, but my mom claims it is way beyond tiny to the point of odd ugliness. And whenever the woman laughs, which is always quite heartily, her legs can't stand the weight so she falls down. So, whenever she laughs she has to stand up against a wall so she doesn't hurt herself. It took me a while to actually believe her, but I solely know that my mom never lies, even as much of a bitch she can be.

Does anyone want me to mail them a letter? I never knew writing letters would be so fun. And plus, I have absolutely nothing better to do in my classes than to masturbate, but it sucks when you don't sit in the back. I've already written Shaina like 3 letters within the period of one week, and soon enough it'll be 5 a week, for every school day. Or even more, because we have 4 classes of so-called masturbation practice a day. And I am deeply sorry if the letters are contaminated.

I think I just ruined the whole idea. Now I've taught you that you should always wear gloves when reading your mail. Don't rub your eyes, eat, or put your hands near your mouth, and discard the gloves afterwards.

This is pathetic to ask but, What should I wear tomorrow? My NIN shirt or my David Bowie shirt?

I asked that because I want to write a very long entry. Someday I hope to set a record for longest entry and another record for most comments to an entry. But I doubt that would ever happen, because nothing happens in this nonexistant 30 years of my life and I am not Miss Oh So Pretty Popular Girl. God I hate typing that word. It was a cool show though. The last episode, they only said it was the SEASON finale not the SERIES finale, Brooke gets hit by a car. Or so we think. Wow great way to end a series. Fucking WB11, no wonder I haven't watched it in years. I fucking despise that piece of shit channel now. Fuck you and your Gilmore Girls, fuck your Everwood, fuck your What I Like About You. Comedy Central and Bravo are where it's at.




I really wish I had that CD. All I have is a link to a website that shows a really shitty quality video of that song. Everyone's going to be an asshole and not donate money.

So yesterday we went to New York to get my meds. Boring shit. Not to mention that the meds taste like shit. While doing my usual thing and looking at the many flyers glued everywhere around the city, I want to ask, Is Interpol having a new album out? I'm definitely going to need that too. But I'll probably be only able to buy it in the next 5 years, when they'll have about 2 more out already.

What fucking pisses me off was when I just popped Appetite for Destruction into my CD player, the fucking piece of shit runs out of batteries. I was about to pull an Axl, but held myself back. For the sake of the other passengers, for the driver would have crashed into a telephone pole, on behalf of my hormone induced rage.

My dad farted in the car on the way back. The windows were up. It was 80 degrees inside the car. I think if I had asthma I would have died right there and then.

This picture hurts my feelings.

OH MAN OH MAN GUESS WHAT!

We might go to New Orleans for Christmas this year. Yeah fuck you and your snow and having to thaw out your car every morning, TRENT REZNOR LIVES IN NEW ORLEANS, BITCH.

I can just jump up and down right now like Liberace eating ruby lollipops. But the thing I'm worried about is, my mom said if no one's coming to visit, then we'll go. If someone does become a Gwar fan and visits, then we can't. I would shit my pants and cry for weeks.

After we got home from New York, I stayed home for a couple of hours and finished the Guns n Roses shit that you all love and cherish. Then I had to go to this thing. Which I hate with all my ass. But I don't feel like sharing with you my adventures to the funeral home and 7 Eleven, it will have to wait another day.



Saturday, September 25
Axl Axl Axl.

There aren't enough words in both of the chinese languages and wigger versions of the word "jewelry" to describe how much of a pussy he is.

but i still love him anyway.

It took me forever to do this one, deadlines aren't my thing. Upon people's request, enjoy, and clean up your chair afterwards.




Friday, September 24
Damn, I wish I had money. So I could get this.



And this.



That's Scott Weiland's ass if you don't know the difference between sex and Barry Manilow.

A guy with sexy dark hair waved to me and I think he meant to say hi, in a passing car yesterday while I was walking home. I'm not sure who it was. Sometimes I wish I had the power to make cars break down and run over more deer. And I think he smiled at me or something when I was going down the stairs and he was going up the stairs. Same guy? Maybe.

I just found a black lacy thong in the laundry. I don't want to know whose it is. If it's my dad's, then I seriously don't know what I would do.

But in conclusion, this whole week was absolutely horrible. Our first full week of school. I couldn't take it. Today started off pretty okay, because in french I was minding my own fucking business and writing a letter to Shaina while the retarded class who thinks French 2 With Miss Lyons is fun and presented their god awfully boring and pointless presentations about shit that is so important to me as Michael Bolton growing another yarn of hair on his balding head.

In history the teacher brought in munchkins for us. You know, I love those with a Jimmy Page passion and occasionally when I have the chance, eat an entire box in less than 20 minutes. But no, those fucking asshole hydrant humpers never passed either of the 2 fucking boxes to the fucker who sits in the corner whose stomach is growling like Ricki Lake in child labor. It was only passed to me once and I got 5. Not even fucking close to my expectancy. I'd like to drop that class, but the teacher is awesome and I wouldn't get to talk to Maria. My only decency in that class.

She was absent today, probably because of her ISS, didn't want to go to that added to presenting, and therefore we didn't have to present our boring ass thing on colonial houses. She makes me happy. I knew she did it on purpose. I really owe her one. Sometimes when I'm walking to school in the morning and see a cop car driving by, I think about smashing one of its windows just to get arrested and not present a project that day. I probably really would do something like that, but my parents would literally hang me upside down in the basement for 3 days and after that throwing a bucket of acid and ammonia on my face.

Gym is so utterly pathetic. I sat on the floor sticking my legs and arms up in the air, walked 2 laps around the track, and then walked back and forth on the field because I don't know what the fuck goes on in ultimate frisbee and I couldn't even give a fuck. Haha Velvet Revolver lyric again. Whenever my team runs to one side, I leisurely stroll with them to that side. Whenever they move the other way, I leisurely move my legs with them to that side. My pants were about to fall down, because we had to wear those ugly pinnies which I like to call red nets that they catch whales with, not wear them, but tuck them in our pants so that most of the whale net hangs out. But you see, I don't have 10 pounds worth of pork fat in love handles on each side like everyone else does so there's no layers of fat for the whale net to be stuck in between on, except a very flat ass. It's barely like a bump on a log. More like a ripple.



Thursday, September 23
Izzy Stradlin / Ex-Guns 'N Roses
Our source reveals he is a VERY good lay! Sometimes those guys who aren't the pretty boy of the bad are better lays than the good lucking guys. The pretty boys sometimes think they don't have to put any effort into anything. Just look at Vince Neil!

Good to know.


I drew an outhouse on my homework. It's so cute.

Why the fuck does it smell like cigarettes?

Been doing a lot of blinking today. From a lot of the fact that I am very tired.


Axl Rose / Guns N Roses
Temper tantrum boy has only an average cock but above average sized balls. We heard he had one of his famous models (Seymour) take a dump in a kitty liter box!!! I don't know about you girls, but my pussy ain't going anywhere near a litter box.

So he really is a pussy.



Wednesday, September 22
I guess nobody knows how many Baldwins there are. You fucking suck.

Not really, I just like saying that. To make myself feel superior, which I will never be.

Second time I got locked out of the house in a period of 3 months. No one fucking told me that my mom would be working late and wouldn't be there to open the door for me, so I didn't bring my adorable Pokemon Sandshrew keychain and keys with me when leaving the russian refugee camp. The sibling got home soon after I sat down on the steps reading the Sharper Image catalog that came in the mail today. Turns out her garage remote didn't work, nor did her keys fit into the goddamn keyhole. After using the neighbor's phone and the mother comes home, she yells at the sibling! NOT ME. I was so relieved. Thank you, God (Jimmy Page).

To be honest, I have absolutely no close friends. I guess I've lost them, they've ditched me or something, and I couldn't even give a fuck. Haha Velvet Revolver lyric. Ok, they were my last group of let's say, cronies (I've always wanted to use that word), and ever since highschool started they ignored me and totally isolated me to this world of, more shit than what they had already been giving me. Oh well, they can go fuck Barry Manilow's coiffe for all I care. It's sad to see people be such ignorant fucks and not care for you like that, even if you have devoted your worthiness to them. Since then, I couldn't care less about anyone around me, except for some exceptions, but I haven't had a best friend or anyone to talk to my entire life, and the last closest one was in 3rd grade. That's really depressing, but that's just Christina for you.

I hate to see people argue. Personally, I know fighting never works at all. And the best way in my opinion to solve a problem is just to try to understand one other, without losing your vocal chords and a cornea. I don't want a whole world of Axls and Mike Tysons around yelling the shit out of each other's throats and biting each other's ears off and spitting them on the ground. Because, frankly, even to the most sexiest of men, ears probably don't taste that good and who knows, some may have hair or earwax on them. And we don't want that. I don't know about some of you kinky kids out there, but that's just my thing about biting ears off. To tell you the truth, I have never been in an argument that involved yelling so loud that your blood cells in your face turn red like Rob Reiner's ass. Or slamming doors, hands, fists, or any limb that has the potential to snap in pieces. I'm a wuss and let the other person do all the yelling. And the only person who ever yelled at me that much was my mom. Oh man, does she yell. She yells for as long as it takes for me to recover from the pain of hearing a New Found Glory song on TV. Other than that, peers around my age just get bitter towards me because I am the asshole who never does anything and never moves, or moves very slowly. Sometimes including a little diss of love here and there because I feel like pissing some fuckers off. Unless I see an Izzy Stradlin lookalike somewhere beyond the horizon, then I get up off my flat ass so fast that I could be the long lost cousin of that running superhero guy with the red jumpsuit and lightning bolts on the side of his head.

Today was so boring. I knew it would suck. It's a fucking B day. In literature class I filled an entire paper with lovely little doodles and smelly black Bic ink. I'll take a picture of it someday, when I feel like it.

I know I say I'll eventually do a lot of things when I feel like it, but I actually mean I probably won't do it.

But what I will promise is, is an Axl Rose post for this weekend. If I don't make it by Monday, delete me off of your friends list because I am not the least bit worthy of being a decent friend. Even an internet one at that. I am that shitty of a being.



Tuesday, September 21
I took the Frampton background picture away, because I felt like it. I am very sad that something happened to the Scott background. I bet Gwar did this. Someday, somehow, something will be done about this layout.




How many Baldwins are there?

I have no idea. There's Alec, Steven, some more, I don't know. On South Park they bombed their house and there was quite a few Baldwins sunbathing, and after Mr. Garrison heard about their untimely deaths he got all sad and cried and stuff. Answer that and you get a free compliment.

Oh mah gawd. Today was like, so - like, good. Well not exceptionally sensational, but better than these antecedent days. Art was awesome, because Natalia and I glue-gunned various objects to the shelves. Including a pencil, roll of tape, blinds, a window shut, and a nickel to the floor. But I doubt the window would stay glued. The teacher being absent, I spent my free time and not wanting to work on my project by doodling fabulous Picasso works on the desk. I wish I could've taken a picture of the nazi pig, oh boy, it's adorable. By the time class was over, a rather sizable portion of my table was beautifully muraled with fruits, angry clowns, angry farm animals, Slash, and a dead man who has "pussy" written on his shirt. No, it's not Axl, but is indeed Maximilien Robespierre, a long lost ancestor of his.

We got quite a few papers back in chemistry. I failed a quiz and aced a homework assignment. One which I had to write food names and state whether they were homogeneous or heterogeneous mixtures. Being that I like to shorten long words so they could fit in the goddam boxes, I wrote "hetero" and "homo" for a total of about 15 times. It looked really funny, but scanning my green homework onto the Compaq Presario for people who have just a teeny bit less free time that I do is rather extremely pointless. More extremely pointless than I even stating what I wrote on it.

There have been no "fucks" in this entry yet. Here they come now.

I fucking hate fucking B days. That's why I am going to fucking hate tomorrow with all my ass, not love it with all my heart. Nobody likes to get half naked in a brightly lit locker room where it's fucking cold as a Lord of the Rings orgy bedroom in the Chateau Marmont, get changed, lie on the floor sticking your feet up into the air for 40 minutes, and running like a fucking ass outside in circles, which I don't know how so many of the potheads could not have already ran into the fence and cut themselves with rust, and not feel a fucking thing, and eventually dying of tetanus. But Mr. Wittner's cool, he doesn't make us push ourselves and induce heart attacks that could simply be cured by taking Bayer on our pubescent young bodies. Literature class with Mrs. LaFlamme is fucking pointless, more pointless than Britney Spears' clothing because we already know she's a 2 cent hooker. Oh excuse me, she prefers it to be called .002 dollars, because it takes longer to say, giving the illusion of a lot more money's worth of her services.

Guns n Roses was stuck in my head all day. As a matter of fact, all week. Izzy's voice is like ear infection serum for my ears.

Shaina's painting has been finished since last Wednesday. And today I find it fucked up on the drying rack. Well not literally fucked up, but some Gwar fucker almost bent the paper while folding the rest of the racks down, possibly causing it to crinkle, but it didn't. Do it again and I see you, you lose your vagina. I have the sketch of it to guide me for the painting of it, but I won't take a Kodak picture for you folks because I want it to be a surprise. I don't know when I'll be able to get it back to send it to her, because we have to fucking hang them up for the fucking students in our dear home of education. I have a feeling that they will have Dashboard Confessional CDs shoved up their asses all the way past their pelvises and perhaps throw gum or rip my gift to her. Do it and I see you, you lose your ass crack.

You know what? I love to sew with newly buffed needles and wire thread.



Monday, September 20
Greatest fucking album of all time.



Last night I finally got to listen to it and actually enjoy it. Because before, I was minding my own business and crap on livejournal typing my usual shit here and letting the songs play on the computer without acknowledging how great they really were. I may be starting to treasure it more than my Zeppelin box set. Not sure, Use Your Illusion II is that fucking brilliant to win me over Zeppelin. I'm really pathetic though, because I tend to listen to Izzy's rhythm guitar rather than Slash's beautiful solos. Yes, I am obsessively Izzy-crazy like that. And instead of saying that I will someday find my Prince Charming, I will someday find my Izzy Stradlin.

I just killed a mosquito on the wall with my french workbook. There's this nasty blackish brown smear on the wall that looks like the cover of The Downward Spiral. Good ol' Trent, so creative. Using 50 mosquito wall-smears worth for a single album cover.

No, I will not clean it up. It adds a nice texture to my wall. You see, I am quite the interior decorator.

I've got so much stuff to listen to, including all of this new Incubus. But I just can't set myself to fully enjoy it because I just can't get enough of Guns n Roses. Don't worry, I swear, eventually I will stop my Guns n Roses phase and move on. Like I usually do. For example, I used to be absolutely positively crazy maniacal about Korn. But then I grew up and found out there was much better stuff out there. That was when I was 10. I was a stupid kid.

So today was overall...a blur. I've got this gift of putting my brain off to another side, supposedly dozing off, and somehow making things go by faster. The bad side, I don't remember anything. But I'd rather have these years gone with than remember all the bad things. There are no good things. You've got to be a fucking idiot to enjoy puberty.

My mom is not talking to me again. Second time this week woo hoo! This time for saying that I don't like the stringy stuff in our dinner today. I was taking forever picking all the nasty stuff out and she started yelling at how it's supposed to be like that. God, even my dad doesn't like it. Then she starts complaining that I never come out to eat and neither does the sibling but no I get yelled the shit out of me and my eardrums get a nice solid beating of excruciating middle aged asian woman screams. Oh well, you can't force feed me to eat, or else I will puke out my oddly colored intestines into your face, bitch.

I can't believe Leah is still talking to me. Why couldn't the fascists have gotten her ancestors? After ignoring her for ever since this semester started, she still has no clue that I love Phil Collins' bald head more than her.



Sunday, September 19
Why do I feel good all of a sudden? Probably because after I eat a lot and the bloatedness goes down, I start to gain a lot of energy and not be my usual snail-like despising self. Or maybe it's just that period thing, and my emotions are going haywire. Beats me.

Hey, at least I'm not like Axl confronting Richard Simmons or Dr. Atkins. Oh would that be the day.

My light bulb went out. That's not cool. It's the second one today. Something's wrong with my desklamp. I hate using the long cool white bulb, because I fucking hate white lights. They make your skin look like Leatherface with 50 times as many clogged pores and create the most horrible atmosphere. Thom Filicia from Queer Eye hates bad lighting too. He said so on the show.

Yeah, this is boring. But take a look at this lovely icon Carrie made.



Isn't she HOT? Haha.




Yes, 'tis another layout. I'm not going to explain to you why I made another one, because you could tell that I am a sick, sad, depressing, person. But anyway, haha Robin looks funny I wonder if he's got a boogie in his nose or something, or is applying to his upperlip a fake Hitler mustache. Trent is just looking at his sassy self and I have no idea who the other unattractive guy in the picture is. I'm sorry if the entry boxes don't look very aligned or are the wrong size, but my monitor is set to 1024 x 768. So either change your piece of shit monitors to see it correctly or just assume that I suck at making layouts. Which I do.

I've been having another wave of bad dreams for the past 3 or 4 or so nights. That's really bogus, but they weren't that bad. That bad as in sexual orgy fantasies with Gwar and Chewbacca.

Speaking of Chewbacca, I saw part of When Star Wars Ruled the World on VH1. And oh man, the guy who plays Chewbacca looks scarier in real life without the hairy costume than when wearing the hairy costume as Chewbacca.

Again, I cracked up while watching the "Fall to Pieces" video at 6:08 in the morning. Even if my eyes were barely open, I could still see Scott's failure to act. Why did I wake up that early? Because I had to pee really bad and after I was done with my business in the potty I couldn't get back to sleep. Possibly from fear of urinal tract infection.

I have this horrible craving for ice cream right now, and will excuse myself from typing more pointless shit that the New York Times would call, "more pointless shit from a pointless person". That would make a very, rather intelligible article.



Saturday, September 18
Remind me never to watch romantic movies when in a sensitive state. It leads to tears and depression. And so many emotions to make me look like a 13 year old pregnant prostitute. Serendipity. I want John Cusack so bad.

I just got the new Megadeth album off of winamp.com. I never knew they were that fucking great, because you know - me and my financial problems never allowed me to be exposed to the whole wide world of buying whatever the fuck you want. Business and I don't go together. Unless it's monkey business.

Wow, that sounded so dumb.

Well it helped me stop my weepiness. For now. I wonder what tomorrow's going to be like, whether I'm going to cry myself a toilet bowl for the neighbor's dog to lap up or I'll be angry like Axl singing in front of an audience of 100,000 bootlegging photographers. Now that's bad.




I was cleaning the mirrored bathroom cabinet with Windex and a rag, and knocked the tongue scraper into the toilet. Too bad nobody uses that one.

Man, I feel like I'm going through menopause or something. I think that time of the month where it looks like I slit my ass with a sharpened screwdriver is coming soon, and I always feel like crying over the stupidest things. It never happened before though. Like reading my last entry with some dipshit's diss about Izzy. Hahaha my eyes got moist. I also got sad when I watched X-Men this morning on ABC Family. Now I'm laughing at myself at how peculiarly odd and pathetic I can be more than usual and at the same time with moisty eyes because I'm thinking about Izzy hahahahahahahaha even that picture in the gnr community of him got me. Oh boy, and I've always been saying that menopause and mood swings were my worst nightmare and the one thing that I would never ever become, next to a Gwar fan; maybe I would rather be the least smidge likable towards Gwar, than be a crazy middle aged woman with flabs that flap like a 20 year old bulldog's cheeks. Because if I ever do live to the age of menopause I'd probably be an ass smoke up the entire Brazilian countryside or something, then die happy because I overdosed and knocked out while dancing with a tomato plant thinking it's Jim Morrison.

You know what, I even almost cried when I found out that my lunch was vegetable soup and rice. I hate that stuff! Wow, I'm such a pussy. Yes, a pussy. Like Axl. But hopefully not as pussyful as he, because that is just horrible.

Another tear trigger happened because I had been hearing that Izzy Stradlin sometimes joins Velvet Revolver at their shows. I wanna go so bad. And my mom is the devil lady.

But I did cry at last. Because I was making eggrolls with my mom, and I had to stand next to her mixing stuff while she chopped the onions.

I don't think you guys will ever get another pussy entry like this, unless it's about Axl.



Friday, September 17
Hahaha, I was reading this "Bad Apples" thing on a Guns n Roses site. It states more reasons why your parents should hate the members of the band.

Duff
-known to get really drunk
-accompanied slash when he cursed on national T.V
-is surprisingly smart
-on GN'R Lies he opened a few songs with "un-appropriat" terms
-did drugs at one time
-and again, is (or was) friends with axl

Izzy
-is the stupidest member/x-member of the band (not nice)
-too quiet for the most dangerous band in the world
-has a real bad singing voice, yet tries to sing
-WAS (thank God it's not is) friends with axl

Yeah, I don't have a life. So I read dumb stuff that probably everyone has read already or already knew was dumb. The site really sucked and bashed various people for sucky reasons. But I kept on reading anyway. This pissed me off too:

Izzy vs. Gilby

Izzy sucks and that's all I have to say. Gilby is more dedicated to his music and doesn't ride stupid motor bikes all day.




I had to get a new background, cuz something happened to the sexalicious Scotty too Hotty one. I am very saddened.

But Peter Frampton is awesome.




I can't stop eating today. Ever since I walked in that garage door from Wednesday's 8 hours of a slow death, my hands have been in practically nothing but bags of chips, chex mix, cake mix, and condoms. Just kidding, no chips.

Ok ok, that was a lie too.

Ewww, now my hand smells like cheese.

HAHA




I finally got around to hearing the new Cure cd. Pretty damn good. Ha, I seem to say that a lot. As opposed to my usual bitching.

100 Greatest Videos Ever Made was playing on MTV2 this morning and early afternoon. I only woke up to see the top 20. It was quite enjoyable, a fabulous break from the shit that they usually play. I could've sworn "November Rain" were #3, but noooo, it was "Smells Like Teen Spirit." I'm so fucking sick of that video, that I started to get sick of the song too. Not even Kurt liked the video, right? Some of the videos really did deserve their spot, like "Vogue." Oh man, I love that video, so artistic and shit. But #1, I don't really get why it's there besides its significance for the time it was made, and the fact that it's like 20 minutes long. The rap videos were painstakingly boring to watch, so I skipped along to watching more Full Frontal Fashion and pissing myself off about being jealous of my not being tall and anorexic deadly enough.

Oh yes, new layout. A lot like the Stone Temple Pilots one, but I just loved this picture so much and I'm a fucker when it comes to trying to make scrollboxes. No one would help me, so you'll just have to let your eyes suffer without my plenty of wonderful ideas of layouts with scrollboxes.

Wow, Robert Smith is a very angry man.



Thursday, September 16
Hear me whine
Hear me wail
See me get eaten by a whale.


Here goes.

It is Olympus Fashion Week in New York. I have been watching Full Frontal Fashion all day. My dream is to now become a Victoria's Secret underwear model. Seriously! Why can't I be tall? Why can't I have a small face? Why can't I be zit-free? Not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair not fair. I was watching the Betsey Johnson collection, and man, would it be real fun too. The models were dancing on the runway and stuff, so awesome. You wear the best clothes and get to show off that sexalicious bod of yours. If you have one, that is.

But the ironic thing is, some models these days are just stickweed thin and ass ugly. Makes me think that you can instantly become a supermodel if you're super tall and super skinny. No looks needed.

Why do I feel lonely all of a sudden? I need a man.

One that looks like Izzy Stradlin preferably.

I almost burned myself a couple minutes ago trying to light a candle. You must be thinking, "Aww damn she didn't die! Fucking bitch." Well, I like scented candles. They mask this mysterious odor in my room.




I made a cheesesteak today. It tasted hella good.

I also coughed in the refrigerator by accident. I didn't wipe anything off.

I also baked a cake. It tasted fucking good. But you know what was dumb? My mom hates food that is too overly sweet, so even if she did by a carton of frosting, she told me to only spread it on my own individual slices. I was like, "YOU AND YOUR UGLY CAKES!" and she's like, "WHO CARES!" Yeah, pathetic. So, my second professionally made chef's baked good is again bare and full of obnoxious holes.

Fuck, I thought the song "Think About You" was "I Think About You." Well excuse me if the cd doesn't have a case. Or a box. Because it's fucking burned.

I wish photobucket weren't being a piece of Gwar shit as opposed to it's shittyness. Because I was going to start something that you all love. Onlinerock.com works, but it's much slower to organize.



Wednesday, September 15
I wish.

I've got good news for those of you who actually read and enjoy my crap to the utmost pleasure. I'm thinking about making more picture posts. Yes, it will be the highlight of your Jewish holiday weekend. And no, I don't have anything better to do than to amuse myself with my idiocy.

I can't help but do another Guns n Roses one. When I feel like it I will. Because when you do something and you just don't have that spark, it turns out like green Gwar shit and it ends up looking that you're trying way too hard.

Wonder what the parents have planned for my weekend. Probably nothing. Which describes my use in this world.


I wish I had Photoshop. To make it into an icon.


Kurt thinks you smell like pickles.




It's about time I got a new belt. I've been wearing this black Calvin Klein one for well over 3 years. The poor thing has white scuff marks on the back of it from leaning on walls and chairs and sitting on various nouns. I'd always like to wear a studded belt, but over the years it seems that a lot of assholes who don't have good style are wearing them - 20 horrible asswads per 100 feet. From what I see, barely anyone I know can pull them off at all. I'm willing to try, but that'll just make me look like a pussy like everyone else.

Hollywood Rose is pretty damn good. People have been sending me so many files I either don't have time to squeeze in with all of this...nothing that I do, or that I just don't feel like organizing all these new files and figuring out who the artist is of the unnamed ones. I'd really like to hear Izzy screech out a guitar solo someday. Just, show us some of that talent boy! Another cd on my list of getting in the next 30 years is his solo stuff. Ok, cds. Listening to samples on cdnow.com just doesn't cut it. It's like having sex for 30 seconds then putting your clothes back on and going to work at 7 Eleven, where they sell brown lettuce to the school.

Shaina's sending me A Crow Left of the Murder. Damn good shit. So our dear Incubus isn't selling out.




Okay, a little Damien here.


Today I Ate:

curly fries
2 packs of starburst
water
cream puffs
cheddar chex mix

I dragged my sore ass home, sat on the couch, and did the famous Al Bundy Sit on the Couch Like a Lumpy Ass thing. Except no hand down my pants, because my mom was around and the front door was open. Instead there was a nice brand spankin new bag of cheddar Chex Mix on my lap. My hand was in that. Added to that, I was watching Married...With Children and overly simultaneously really enjoying the theme song more than usual.

Today was better. I'm glad. Probably because I will finally have time to bake my beloved cake mix that's been lying in its little box in the cabinet for the past week.

My nickel the element t shirt I was supposed to design for chemistry ended up looking like a Nine Inch Nails t shirt. It was hot. Better than I expected. I used actual paint-the-house paint instead of the special fabric paint shit. Who gives a fuck, it works just fine and adds nice texture. Plus, I'm not gonna be wearing it anyway. And it costs money. Something I never have.

This morning before leaving this Russian refugee camp I call my house, my mom said my Zeppelin shirt that I was wearing looked as crappy as my custom professionally made nickel shirt was. That's not nice.

Some dude, I think Domingo, commented that I looked violent or something I really couldn't hear and "model" or some shit I heard like that. Because of my hair? He mentioned something about it. I couldn't hear because a certain pussy was screaming into my ears.

Karla and Lauren dragged me to the metalshop again at lunch. In actuality I don't want to go, because it's fucking lunchtime, why the fuck would you want to spend it in a classroom? And seriously, by now they should know how important indulging in heart disease causing delectables is to me. They complained that I eat too much. What the hell it was only fries and Starburst. Oh so send me to Richard Simmons so I can wear white short shorts and do the hokey pokey with a giddy little Jewish man.

Plus, the only view outside the window is of a litte shitwad named Troy. Now that's an ugly panoramic view.

About that last post, I am again disappointed in you folks. Maybe I shouldn't write anymore then. You know, it's just so nice to see that so many people love you and care for you on a day that just really sucked. Well, I love you too.



Tuesday, September 14
I come home and my mom yells at me for leaving cheese all over the counter. After that she didn't speak a word to me at all ever since. I didn't do anything and I really do need her bullshit along with another useless shitful 8 hours in confinement. And I come home to this. I did not kick a child in their spine, I did not smash eggs into her underwear drawer, I did not call my father a dickhead, I did not put a rabbit in my pants and yell at people to suck my balls.



Monday, September 13
I cried today. It really, really hurt.

Because I was chopping onions.

To put on my pizza.

Ellio's Pizza fucking sucks. I told my mom to never buy it again, and I hope she keeps her word. If I remember her saying she wouldn't buy that brand anymore. She said she bought it cuz it was cheap and didn't buy it for me, but for the 10 year old sibling, who doesn't know the fucking difference between anatomical crotches.

This morning while getting dressed, the "Fall to Pieces" video was on tv. I couldn't stop laughing at how Scott seriously cannot act. For some reason I never did that before, but this time I was cracking up while I was trying to get my shirt on and then I couldn't get it on because snot was about to come out of my nose from laughing. That may sound be pretty disrespectful to what the song is really about, but I'm an asshole.

If I had a prettier face I'd record you an expression of how I think of today's 8 hours in useless public schooling was. But unfortunately I don't. So you can save your laughter and facial malfunction jokes for later.

I need a better person to talk to besides Lauren. She's a decent person but is just so blah. Screw that, I need friends.

Haha that sounded really dorky. But it's true.

Last night I listened to Use Your Illusion I before sleeping because sleeping is not cool for me and Izzy has one hell of a kick ass singing voice. Not to mention looks but I should just shut up about that. Anyway, yeah, that stuff is good. Sometimes I think Guns n Roses would be great anyway if Axl were never in it, but that's really shitheaded to say. I probably think that because I'm crazy for Izzy and that's it. I never got time to really listen to the second one and fully analyze it, except for "Civil War," well you know obviously because Izzy sings a verse in it and I'm a 100% shallow-minded whore.



Sunday, September 12
Why have I been seeing so many chipmunks this year? Of all the 12 years I have been living here, I had only seen a maximum of 4 chipmunks. And this year, in 2004, I see one at like every single house I go to. It must be the year of the chipmunk, not the monkey. Fucking Chinese people can't get their mammals right.

I know I don't go to many houses, but I do go on a lot of car rides. I forgot to where though.

Oh shit the side of my head hurts like someone's pounding it with a meat tenderizing hammer.

VH1 has been showing so much crap. They played VH1 Goes Inside The Surreal Life at least 5 times a day and the same episode at least 7 times a day. I've totally given up on the other music channels, if I keep on checking them anyway I'm going to lose my cornea. And what little sanity I have left.

It's a fucking Sunday. I'd rather be in a coma that's being watched by a guy named Buck than be hungry and looking at pink pieces of homework paper on a Sunday.

I hate when someone IMs me and asks what's up and then I say nothing; vice versa then the conversation ends. There's no point to that when you have nothing to say to me, you're supposed to have something stupid to say then I make fun of you and then we laugh and then I make fun of you some more. IM me with a picture of Gwar and it'll be the end of your pancreas.



Saturday, September 11
Ok so I'm leaving this shitty livejournal of mine with this old Axl layout I did a few months ago. Until I come up with a cool Izzy one and get the fucking scrollbox Gwar shit figured out. Until then, I will never expand my horizons in web design. It's going to take me forever, let's say as long as it'll take me to love Gwar.

I hate Sundays. I always feel weird and this odd random feeling of guilt goes over me the entire day. Probably because it's kind of like the holy day of the week, when everyone goes to church. That's right, another punishment from the almighty.

We're going to have Thursday and Friday off. With all my free time, I am going to bake a cake. This time my mom did buy the fucking icing and I am planning to sneak into the fridge and eat it with a spoon.

I can't wait to wear my new pants. It's the only thing I'm happy about at this moment. Other than that I'm like a richter scale that's of no use.

This afternoon before leaving the house I checked in my closet. I have only 2 dollars left. The other 8 or so I spent on a fucking magazine. A fucking magazine.

A magazine with Jimmy Page on it!

Wow, I said, "leaving the house." That's something that never happens. I'm so astonished.

Seriously, I am.

I think I'm still grounded. Hopefully the folks forgot.




I'm starting to hallucinate a lot for some reason. At the mall I thought a large wrinkled piece of paper on the floor was a fluffy white dog. And another time I thought an old lady was a little boy. Sometimes I really confuse myself.

So I got more socks. Plain white socks. Fuck patterned socks. They're fucking ugly. And no one's gonna fucking see them. Because I like to wear long pants. Some dipshit on MTV's RoomRaiders said colorful socks show character. My ass they do. They only show that you want guys to put their hands up your pants or skirt. Well I do want that, but the socks would add 5 cent whoreness and I'm a 6 cent whore.

And I also got red pants. Hell yeah red pants. One of my wishes in life was to get red pants. And I finally got red pants. Red pants that my mom paid for.

Before going home we stopped at Toys R Us so the sibling to get a toy that she wanted. Oh man, they have horses that are soft and you can sit on and rock back and forth on it or even hump them they're so cool. My eternal dream in life is to own a light saber, but they only had the shitty kind that was like 2 feet long and didn't light up at all. Then why the fuck do they call it a light saber? I wish someone came with me, so we could have a fight and I could yell, "I AM YOUR FATHER." and cut their hand off so they'll have to get a golden robotic one.

Oh god, I saw one of the most gorgeous men today. His face and hair looked a hell of a lot like Eddie Furlong. The face also had a little of Jon Bon Jovi mixed in so that's HOT. He was also wearing a Queensryche t-shirt, so if he likes 80s stuff that's awesome. But his friend wore a KISS t-shirt. Not good.

Speaking of which, a lot of asses were wearing KISS t-shirts. What a fucking shame.

This other bitch was wearing this beautiful Jim Morrison shirt, with The Young Lion photo on it. She doesn't deserve it.

I finally stepped into Hot Topic. Hoping they'd have the Zeppelin or Bowie shirt I want. They didn't. But I did find something else that sort of knocked me off.

They were selling my red Ramones shirt. Gwar must have cursed the store. (again) Now as the weeks go by, I'll be going to see more and more pussies wearing it. Making me look like a pussy along with them. I don't get it. I bought it from this little secluded store all the way in Hawaii, how the hell did it get to New Jersey?

Jamie cullum is a boy with a peppery demented face who cannot sing.



Friday, September 10
I made a new friend today. Her name is Maria.

We met in history class, and neither of us talks to anyone else in that class because we don't know them. Well at least she doesn't know anyone, so she says. I know them, but you know, I just about loathe 98% of the population of Rockaway Township. My loathing of Gwar is 370%, probably the highest I can count up to without committing suicide.

Those other fucking idiots are so fucking lame. When this dude put childish elementary school GOOD JOB! stickers onto his silver book sock everyone started cracking up. They cracked up and gloried even more when another girl showed off her other so-called "kick ass" stickers to stick on her pad commercial testing substance blue book sock and handed some out. I have no pity for them at all. And no one laughed at my Jesus calligraphy the other day. They were like, "Who wrote JESUS?" "Why would you bring Jesus with you?" "What the hell?"

My mom and I are going shopping tomorrow. PRETZELS!

So Mr. Wittner will be my gym teacher this quarter. I admire his pessimism. But he could be an asshole in certain ways. Kind of like me, but I'm an asshole in all possible ways. I guess that comes with being pessimistic. They go hand in hand. Like bees to a hive. A tree to the ground. A bird in a nest. Izzy's cock in my garage.

Another hole got ripped into my jeans. I lost count of all of them already.

Today was a shitty day. Nothing happened. And it was shitty because nothing happened.

Alright onto good things. If you could call it that. I think I'm starting to gain .005 grams of confidence in myself, with this new philosophy of seriously not giving a fuck about anything outside my little world of aviator sunglasses and nothing else. I don't need to socialize and make peace with the people around me. 3 years from now it won't fucking matter if I'm not Master Popularity Sovereign of Bright Colors.

Maybe someday I will sell out and move to California instead of my long awaited New York City. Maybe I'm just going crazy or something, but at least that's where 80s hair metal originated, and if you buy a music t shirt there won't be at least 5 other people you see wearing it in the next 3 days.

"Bron-Y-Aur Stomp" is such an awesome song.

This entry is so boring, I feel like I'm still numbing my ass and eroding away my tailbone writing an essay on the Cold War. But anyway, I feel like making another layout. No, I don't have a life. Yes, it will look a lot like my other past ones.



Thursday, September 9
I'm hooked on Mr. Brownstone.

Someone waved and yelled my name in a car that passed by while I was walking home. I'm not sure who it was, some blonde. Ferris did that a few days ago too, yelling "ASIAN!" or "WHORREEEEEY!!" or something like that. Hey, I can't help that my aura of sex is just too overwhelming.

I have horrible hearing.

I can't fucking breathe. How could people like rain. In other words they must like the part of a heart attack when they can't breathe. Or the part when they're drowning in toilet water and they're about to die. Then I guess a lot of people are rain-loving suicidal maniacs.

Hurricane remnants are not fragrant. Then again, the folks in Florida must've lost their lawn knomes. And their houses too, but those don't matter.

I'm gonna go blind. My eyes are going to melt off of my face like malted milk balls, without the chocolate coating.



The way those lips are puckered, the sexy look in his eyes, the length and color of the hair. No I'm not talking about Axl. I swear, if any of you chickenshits know any guy who looks like Izzy Stradlin and not tell me about it, I will track you down, cut off your genitals with a gardeners' shovel, and spray moose sperm all over you.

People bore me at A lunch. Tom that fucker told me to meet him in the back and he never came. I knew he wouldn't. But I stayed there anyway because I don't want to asphyxiate of wigger cologne and rotted ketchup in the front of the building. Another reason to change my schedule. But I don't have the energy to walk to the guidance office. Lauren talks about stuff that I never care about, added to the fact that I couldn't give a fuck about anything that anybody tells me, and Karla's obsessed with going to the metalshop and hanging out with Mr. Stead while making jewelry. While no one would ever let me feed my appetite and go find something to eat. Nooooooo, "I gotta do this," "I don't wanna do that," "I don't wanna go there," "Christina, stand your fucking ass up." I should get my A lunch and geometry class changed, because mathematics of any kind is useless Gwar shit and so is being bored even more during the only 45 minutes when you're supposed to eat greasy potato shit to your heart's content and die of ulcers in the next 30 years.

In geometry I sat drawing the most precious portraits of our dear Slash and friends. David Lee Roth looked like Mary Lou Retton, Izzy looked like a lollipop, and Axl looked like Naomi Watts. I'm so talented.

No one seemed to like my japanese moonlily sketch on a 3 x 1 foot piece of paper. Not even the teacher. No one fucking understands simplicity and cheating out of extensive work. There's the picture I drew it from.



The teacher played Z100 on the radio. They played ACE OF BASE. If it's one thing that I almost hate as much as Gwar, it's 1990s techno dance music.

Oh and in conclusion, there are a lot more pussies in this world besides Axl. Because only 3 beautiful souls answered me about who they thought was more badass - Duff or Slash.

I'm ashamed of all of you, very ashamed.



Wednesday, September 8
So I had a wonderful shower. The shampoo smelled of heavenly oils and caressing it's delightful ingredients into my mane of hair with my fingers felt oh so good. And the bar of soap, it helped me gloriously masturbate.

I fucking hate bathing.

In french class I sit behind this girl with an exceptionally hairy back. It is quite unpleasant. Seriously. It runs up her neck, coming in contact with her hairline on the back of her head. I'm starting to hate that class more and more. More than I already do. More than I already did.

I've been wondering, who's more badass - Duff or Slash? Personally, I think Duff is. But it's just Christina, that bitch's opinions never count. What do you folks think?

Reply to that or I officially call you a pussy from now on. And you know how low that is.




I had part of a bowl of pasta in school today. No drink. No breakfast. No thing else good to eat in that god (Jimmy Page) forbidden place.

So in history today, there was an exercise we had to do that we had to each get a marker from the back and walk around the room filling out a piece of paper on the wall (6 in all) answering the corresponding question on it. In the end everyone should have at least one answer on each paper. Well, one paper asked, "If you were going on a journey to the New World, what would you bring with you?" My so-called "honors" class were dipshitted enough to write "cell phone, tv, people" or some ass shit like that. I wrote, "JESUS."

I swear, they have no fucking sense of humor and whenever more "gifted" students came to that question paper, they started complaining. Of course, I had already sat my flat bony ass down on my excruciatingly painful metal and plastic seat and laughed at how full of shit they are.

Guess what sport I'm going to be playing in gym class for this quarter of a beloved dearing school year? DOG IMITATION LEAGUE. That's right, ultimate frisbee. What a dumb name. I doubt it's going to live up to its name. Highly doubt. But hey it's better than football, which is FAT MAN PORN IMITATION LEAGUE.

Lunch is improving. More time to talk about anal sex and garlic breath with Molly.

English was booooooooring. I kept moving in my seat. And since all the desks are touching each other front and back, I guessed I kept bothering the person behind me with all of my fidgeting. Well I can't help if the SATs are something that I couldn't give a Gwar fuck about and that I'd rather be giving head to Florence Henderson.



Tuesday, September 7
First of all, click on the fucking link.

click to be rid of that 8 month old tampon

Today was better. No one was uptight and wore thongs 3 sizes too small in their pants. Lunch was boring though.

So I reunited with Tom today. Haven't seen him in over a year, that bastard. But anyway, he's taller than me now. And his eyes aren't as vibrant. It feels weird. But oh well. I'm glad to be friends again.

Yeah, that's it. I used up all of my creative juices for a mostly water watercolor painting the size of one square of toilet paper in art class.



Monday, September 6
Thanks to my dad, the entire house smells like shit. He took a major dump in the bathroom and didn't spray aerosol or turn on the fan or anything, and after completing his planting, leaves the door wide open and walks out. It's worse than cocaine, because just one whiff of that you'll burn off all of your nose hairs. God I need to open a window.

Meanwhile, I just put a cake in the oven. Hopefully it'll distinguish my dad's horrid shit cuz it's absolutely killing me. Killing me softly with his stench.

My mom put like 2 large spoonfuls of sugar into the mix, added to already what was in it, thinking the box didn't come with any sugar in it. In the end, careless of the extreme diabetical risk involved, I'm glad because she didn't buy any fucking icing, saying that on this medication I should stay off of sugar.

But I triumphed! And it wasn't even my fault.

There's a bunch of homework on my desk. And I couldn't even give a fuck. I'll leave it there until I recognize I need the grade to be successful in life and actually do it.



Sunday, September 5
I'm going through another phase. Yes, another dreaded obsession. This time it's Guns n Roses. Been spending the last few days at home false shopping for GNR stuff and came across a lot of odd images. Carrie, this is for you.

we're in da gadda da vidda.



Saturday, September 4
So, I drank milk, took a piss, brushed my teeth, showered, and here I am. Again. When I went to the mall like two weeks ago to get a pretzel, I saw this incredibly sexy dude who looked almost exactly like Izzy Stradlin. Man did I want to hump him so bad. The hair was perfect. The legs were perfect. The torso was perfect. There should be more guys like him around here. Instead of wiggers with tennis headbands on their head even if they barely have any hair and it's cut short like they're cancer patients with horrible worse than orange tans.

Who the fuck keeps signing on and off? My computer keeps freezing. It's either you stay online or you don't. Easy as knowing that Gwar is yellow and orange colored Billy Crystal shit.

No offense to Billy Crystal though. I mean, he got to screw Meg Ryan.

The folks are planning to get the kitchen completely remodeled. It's going to kick ass. Kick more ass than coughing out a t-bone after you'd been turned purple as an anorexic Barney the Dinosaur while choking on it for 10 minutes.

Shit, I smell like soy sauce.




"That nice round butt, they're like apples."

Gotta love Carson. It feels real goddarn fabolicious to watch Queer Eye for the Straight Guy after weeks of being way too drab flab to watch the Fab 5.

Days have been going fast. Except for the times when the plastic on the chair hits a sensitive spot on my ass and it really starts to ache while I listen to people talk about their supposed "amazingness" and how proud they are of their sexual roundabouts, and how much they love the teacher and the class while they dance in the aisle, showing off their $5 pair of jeans with a wash the color of used toilet paper that I made after eating Quaker Oatmeal and bananas.

That last thing was hypothetical.

The faster these days go, the better. I will soon find out how it feels like to die, and if you float up to heaven like an LSD trip or whether you wear black boots and take that Macy's escalator to hell. The plus side about the escalator is, you'll get to shove tropical prickly fruits up Hitler's ass while laughing at his hairy legs and plaid skirts.

For some reason I've been contemplating on how others think of my fashion style. I don't really have a particular one, so don't try to fucking stamp me with your clique labels. Labels only go on complaint letters to the PTA and censorship groups. Stamps go on regular letters to your long lost love that you lost in a wishing well. I know it's very shallow to worry about how others think of you, it's just that I'm curious if I saw from some other asshole's point of view and what they would think of a useless piece of shit such as I. Sure, I could hire a stalker to videotape me all the time and watch it later, but that's just plain creepy. Because I just hired a stalker.

Yeah, enough of rambling. We'll leave that up to Robert Plant to sing "Ramble On."



Friday, September 3
This made me laugh my ass off.

What a pussy!

I went GNR false shopping online ever since I got home. Tons of Izzy. It was good.

Just in case you haven't already guessed from every single other shitful entry I write, I don't have a life.




My ass is seriously, severely sore. No one wants to walk to school - up and down a hill, around the school, up the stairs, and sit on nothing but rigid plastic chairs, varnished wooden benches with metal knobs in them, and cement garages. Is this supposed to lead to a nice, firm buttocks, or one like cottage cheese?

Added to the risk of a peaceful death by having your body parts splattered all over the dark grey pebbly road. One of your lungs smeared across the stop sign, your head pierced on the side through one of the rudders on the little windmill in the neighbor's yard, and your legs stuck and spnning around in the wheel of the car that killed you on purpose. And your kidneys staining the windows of the little girl's playhouse, with her chihuahua licking the blood and flesh off, thinking it's beef.

All in all, today sucked. And it's only the second day. French, oh man I had to sit between Chelsea Kowal the oversized chippendale chipmunk and someone else who kept talking to herself. Or maybe she was trying to talk to me, but I didn't listen. Who knows. But I swear she was talking to herself. No, not into a headset plugged into a cellphone, she was really talking to herself like a schizo.

I have C lunch. Fucking C lunch. Mike and I had a nice long talk about our fucked up uncles and guns and drug overdoses and B cups it was cool. I hadn't talked to him all summer. I'm glad someone still talks to a bitch like me. I'm wondering about Andrew. He's the coolest dude. I'll have to smack him someday, he hasn't said hey once yet. I'm not surprised.

I'm considering getting my schedule changed. Well I have been since like a month, I knew it would turn out crappy. If you don't want me to, write an entire essay about why you'd like to do me in the back of a classroom on a pile of candywrappers still not cleaned up from last year and maybe I'll reconsider.

The english teacher made me sit in the front, in the center, right where she stands and lectures. That is the worst fucking seat possible. Wow that would suck if you got your period and it stained through your pants and you stand up, showing everyone your lovely new dye job if you sat in the front like that. And you were wearing white pants. Not that I ever wear white pants. Only when I become a lesbian, then I'd wear ass-tight-panty-line white pants. But as long as men like Scott Weiland and Izzy Stradlin are still around, you will never see me wear white pants.

I think "Tangerine" is my new favorite Zeppelin song.

They aren't selling cheeseburgers. What a real goddamn shame. The cafeteria has lost a valuable customer. For if I am really hungry enough I'd buy TWO cheeseburgers. But noooo, they don't "cook" or whatever they do to make them - slaughter a few raccoons or possums here and there and put them in a baked sea sponge, anymore.



Thursday, September 2
"Bron-Y-Aur Stomp" is the bluesiest and most fucking awesome song ever written.

Maybe I'm having mood swings or got something up my ass that I still don't realize is there, but I'd been pissed off pretty much throughout the whole fucking day in school, and if I hadn't controlled myself, I probably would've been the spitting image of Sid Vicious and his crazy snarl. Or maybe I've really sunken into the belief that everybody sucks. No, that is a fact.

I had to give quite a few people the magic finger today. Including Leah and Mauricio. Leah because I fucking hate her and Mauricio because he's fucking awesome. People were despised, hot men were stared at, friendships were rekindled. I hung out with absolutely no one over the entire summer since July 12th or so. That's pretty fucking long. And AIM isn't my most favorite thing. Not as personal. And you won't be able to laugh at my hyperventilational sort of laugh either. I laugh like I'm dying of the bubonic plague. And 90% of all the times I laugh I laugh real fucking hard and my abs start to hurt like you're taking two cow ass branders and searing both sides of the bottom of my ribs. Kind of ironic when I always look like this, huh?

I hate cameras, so I use the same pictures over and over.

One of the most horrible things that can happen is - Well, I am going to explain it to you uneducated little darlings. When you see this really hot good looking guy, and you keep staring and marvelling at his beauty, then you hear him talk. He turns out to be the biggest fucking jerk in the world, next to Gwar times two. Wow, that feels good, I haven't dissed Gwar in a long time. I hope I'm not going soft. That really ruins it for me. I think that happened twice today, but I don't remember who the second dude was, or what he looked like.

Overall, my classes turned out alright, no one bothered the shit out of me and causing me to kick them in the crotch no matter what the gender for it will hurt either way. Except for Leah, but thank goodness to God to cheesecake to Jimmy Page that she wasn't in any of them or my lunch. As you guessed, the teachers' blah blah talk/bullshit/Gwar/Dashboard crap was indeed boring, and I should've had my chefs' cookware catalog with me to waste the time by and their worthless safety hazard warning speeches. I want to order that homemade ice cream maker and glass, yes glass, frosted glass actually, toaster.

Lunch was blah, at least it was A lunch. A lunch was better last year though. Like you fucking care. Don't worry, I don't either. So I'll keep my fingers folded into a fist and rest my hands on my lap. No typing about shit neither of us cares about.

When I get home, my mom starts complaining why I don't like anything and that as long as people don't bother you and you don't think about other people there's no reason to hate school. True, but part of it. You are forced upon to interact with other such fuckheads. And some bitches make a big deal when you are called on by the teacher against your own goddamn personal egotistical will for the answer to the useless bullshit algebra question. I got it wrong, and all these 2 cent prostitutes in my class are begging, "No, but I got this answer, sir!" to the teacher. Fuck you, all I need is a 20 year old porno mag, Led Zeppelin box set, a solar-powered calculator that came free with a fancy Five Star binder, and I'm set for life. Fuck diplomas and doctors' degrees and green wood panneled station wagons. I got my porn, and I'm happy.

So the mother starts complaining through the entire time I'm cooking Eggo waffles in the 50 year old rusty burnt up looking toaster oven, none of which are factual in the least bit. Shit like, "Nobody likes you and never talks to you, that's why you're so angry looking," or "You're the queen of talking, you never shut up, you talk all the time, and in school no one wants to talk to you." She takes me as a valley girl who everyone wants to gag with a red hot spoon that's just been up Phil Donahue's pedophile ass.

Wow, that was long, and I doubt anyone will read all of it.

It's pretty dumb that I get more comments for my shorter posts, and not my longer in-depth ones about mindless cowshit. Whatever, suit yourself, and be shitful people and not comment on stuff that really does matter. Well that matters more to me, that is. Come on, someday my hands are going to fall off from the severe arthritis from typing all this.



Wednesday, September 1
Hahahaha, Best Week Ever Blog. Read it. I'm the commentator named Ziggy.




I've been listening to the Led Zeppelin box set all summer, and between the 4 discs I seriously cannot decide on a favorite one. They are that fucking amazing. Even a picky choosy shitty person such as I can't decide. I used to be obsessed with the first one, but then I started to analyze the others, one thing led to another and then I'm crazy for all of them. And you know what starts tomorrow. We will be separated for 8 hours every weekday. No, saying like I love them like my children will not cut it. Because I hate children. I love them like, I don't really love anything or anyone, so I'll say I love my Zeppelin box set like -

Fuck that, I love it more than anything.

New set of mood icons. The other was cute, but doesn't match with the layout. I finally noticed that. It didn't really match with any of my other layouts either. What a shithead.

It doesn't feel like summer's over. Probably because of the way I've been thinking for the past few months. Or yeasrs. I don't know, I can't tell time very well, mathematically and psychologically. I haven't been giving a shit about anything (well not giving a shit about anything more than I usually don't give a shit about anything) and not, like lots of people say, "Stop and look around, for life goes by fast." Hopefully I will keep this up for the rest of highschool. Things have been rocky at home and some friendships and I'm not surprised if they will be at school.

After all the thinking that I do, I've come to the conclusion that people suck. Yes, you fucking suck. I was reading someone else's journal, and they were talking about how people could turn on your back at the drop of a hat. That is true. Because I'm also one of those shitful people. Yes, I admit that. And it's about time for the rest of you to admit it too. I don't want to sound old and wrinkly and dated, but admitting your problem is the first step to solving it.

Wow, I learned something! But I probably won't fix it.

"It often happens that I wake up at night and begin to think about a serious problem and decide I must tell the Pope about it. Then I wake up completely and remember that I am the Pope."

- Pope John XXIII



My favorite thing to do during my spare time is skinning my neighbors' pet pomeranians and trading their fur to crack dealers in Newark.




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