Saturday, March 26
I got a postcard from Damien in the mail today. Supposedly it was written around St. Patrick's Day. Thanks a lot, postal service. I loved it, I love everything that I get in the mail from a friend. It made me weepy because my mom pissed me off before and I guess the pussy side of me was still lingering around. Haha, I love Damien's handwriting for some reason.

My mom fucking hated the Birkenstocks I bought yesterday and starts going on this fucking rampage of screaming about how bad they were. I at last, finally, after so many weeks of agony of looking at ugly shoes wherever I went, I finally got to have the one pair that won my heart. I was looking for some kind of rustic looking laid back sort of footwear that I could wear anywhere with anything, anytime. And what does she do? Act like a fucking lunatic like some people fucking shit their pants upon hearing Bush winning the election. Come on, shut the fuck up, Gwar isn't taking over the world and making you practice abstinence with a black plunger up your ass. How are you going to change that? And how am I going to change the way I look for shoes?

I'll provide pictures later. They're the only look that I want. It's practically impossible to find a pair that doesn't have a stupid groove thing on the sole, which is the only reason she fucking pulled an Axl on me.

Pulled an Axl! I haven't used that term in ages. Something's wrong with me.

Something is seriously wrong with me. Please tell me why fucktard "emo" immature total no-nonsense, no-sex, no-boys type of person like this has a boyfriend and I don't. The most sexually immature and nonsensical people get ass and well, you get the idea. A lot of friends ask me about this, and it bothers me also that I really don't have an explanation to tell them. It's hard to give one advice when you have the same problem.


Christina N. @ 4:08 PM