Sunday, December 12
I ran out of Haagen Dazs creme brulee ice cream. But alas, there are still five more bottles of limonata.

So my dad collapsed on the table last night from drinking. At 9:30. That's pretty fucking early. It's either he drank too much, or is a fucking pansy. He drank too much. My mom said he collapsed right in front of his friend. How pathetic.

He also cooked an oven mitt. Turns out while putting a pot of clams onto the water containing part of the steaming pot, the mitt was stuck on the bottom of the pot he was going to put on and he cooks the mitt. My mom couldn't find it until this morning while washing the dishes. How delicious, fabric essenced seafood. Fiber and calcium all in one.

My mom is making send Christmas cards. Because I am a big girl now and it is my responsibility to keep relationships between long-distance relatives - related and non-related. God fucking dammit, and she's making me pay for the cards. I was eventually going to plan on doing this myself, but she beat me to it for pushing me in the right direction. Also known as making me actually do it. I can never have the will to do anything on my own. I want to send each person something else besides a phoney piece of $2 recycled toilet paper, but I'll be completely dead broke from buying the cards alone. I saved up about eleven dollars total in five months, it's going to be gone. No books. No DVD's. No Izzy CD's. No t-shirts. Because I supposedly am supposed to love people. Maybe I should just make the cards. It's more personal and creative that way.

She's making me mail one to my grandparents in California. I was thinking of writing ANTHRAX all over the envelope, but maybe I should save that idea for someone else. For my grandfather is not the kindest of spirits and my grandmother likes to gossip on the phone like a bitch.

I know I've posted an entry before saying how fuzzy I was feeling, but today I've gone back to the usual mood of negative shitheaded asshole mode. Probably because I just ate all of my ice cream. Ice cream is very important to me, it's like sex. But nothing's inserted up my twat and sex is supposed to be hot. Alright, that was a bad analogy.

At least sending the cards will reward me with love.

I hope. Or else I'm going to regret not nagging my mom for the money.

I may sound cheap, but I have to be, for my budget is as small as the fraction of Axl's mind that is not egotistical.

She also asked me what I wanted for Christmas from her and my dad. I said I didn't know, and here was my actual answer in actual quotes:

"I don't know, I want a lot of things, but now I'll have to pick one that I want the most."

And this is what I said in my head that wasn't said with my vocal chords:

"What do I want is the most expensive?"

Yes, I am quite the asshole.

I really don't want to go to school tomorrow. I get more scared every day. More like every B day. Every person in every class dislikes me. I couldn't really give a fuck if everyone around me likes me or not, but it still makes the classes shittier than ever. It really fucking annoys me just watching everyone's stupidity day after day after day, their fragile dipshit minds never changing at all. Still being as narrow as the first day I knew them. Reminds me of the middle ages. People's minds never changed. They just stayed stupid like that for a thousand plus years or so. Fucking dumb shits, I'm fucking sick of them. Even in the advanced history class, no one has any fucking common sense. And to think these people are going to be running our country in the future. Much less driving a car, which probably common sense is more important in for the time being.

The sibling's TV habits have really been paining my ass for the past week. She turns that fucking thing on so fucking loud, I could still hear it through blasting shit like Judas Priest. I can hear every fucking word that's being said. I've even memorized practically every goddamn commercial that comes on Nickelodeon, Cartoon Network, and The Disney Channel. I've even memorized their promotional segment commercials. That's not fucking fair, for I could barely remember any lyrics in the music that I listen to. This shit is really getting up my grill.

I like saying "getting up my grill" because it sounds funny. My parents complain my music is too loud, and yet I could hear the fucking sibling's piece of shit television all the way from the dining room and you could only hear my music in the hallway. I'm clenching my fist right now in painful agony, even after turning the volume higher. The fucking Disney Channel is still heard. I'm on the brink of pulling an Axl. Stomping my feet into that Jimmy Page forsaken bedroom and yelling my ass off to turn that fucking volume lower so I don't lose my sanity. Which I have barely of any left.

If I close my door, eventually one of the folks will come in and ask, "What the hell are you doing? Why is your door closed? Are you looking at porn on the internet again?"

My nose is fucking up, I feel a nosebleed coming on. I love the figure of speech that Uma Thurman used in Pulp Fiction, where she said to John Travolta, "Now, I'm gonna go to the bathroom and powder my nose."

Jeannie came over earlier today to copy some stuff for her humanities presentation. We talked and stuff and the mother planned a trip to Philadelphia during holiday break.


Christina N. @ 7:33 PM