Sunday, October 10
God I hate Sundays. And I hate advertisting and promoting shit. I'm in a writey mood too, so I will be irritating all of you by filling up your Friends pages.

Playing the pear shaped piece of japanese wood seems to get easier and easier by the second. This may sound dumb, but since I was a kid I had a knack for dexterous work and by the time I was 7 started typing like a maniac. Maniac as in Beethoven on crack and playing his 354th symphony. Maybe this is coming naturally. But I highly doubt it.

It's pathetic that I have never met a single Peter Frampton fan in my entire 15 years of shitful life.

One thing that's bitterly irritating is, I've started to wear blouses and white shirts again. Not the corporate or preppy way with all buttons buttoned up to your Adam's apple and Polo Ralph Lauren sprizted on my neck before leaving the mahagony-walled colonial mansion though. If you were thinking that you might as well cut off communication from me and go sit bare-assed on top of a lizard den in the Saharan wasteland. The thing that irritates me is that just when watching Fashion Police on E! Friday night, they said shirts and blouses were back in style. Why the fuck does that always happen? When I first got my leather jacket and started wearing it, I kept seeing leather on the runways shown on Full Frontal Fashion. Is there a fucking stalker stalking me every time I step out of my house or make a purchase at a cheap store? Well, if you're seeing this, I advise you to fuck off and go stalk my 46 year old 200 pound neighbor next door who can't even lay on her stomach because of the false pregnancy filled with blubber instead of being filled with fetus in her abdomen.

Un-ironed white shirts unbuttoned just above your undergarments with totally fucked up ripped jeans and aviator sunglasses is sexy.

Good Eats is one hell of an awesome show. I wish Alton Brown were my best friend. And I'm dead serious about this.

I need Live Like a Suicide and Izzy Stradlin & The Ju Ju Hounds right now asshole.

Around more than a month ago I promised I would start to read more. Wrong. I never keep promises. So I never read anymore. Now I'm being forced to do a book review for history class about the Revolutionary War. The book I chose because it looked cool is Valley Forge by MacKinlay Kantor. It has an entire, rather amusing, paragraph about frozen testicles only 6 pages into the novel.

Rigid imagination had reached the point at last of examining the soldiers' loins and seeing them for what they were: balls blunted and dwindled, the pricks seeming puny and worthwhile only to poke and spear but never to achieve the pulse and delight of youth and power again. the balls - snowballs in truth. So you got down to the lower limbs and there they were, all scratched and bludgeoned and chillblained, some hairy, some hard, all seeming frozen, and - below them - the feet.


Christina N. @ 5:43 PM