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i've woken now |
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Blurty for page six.
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| Monday, April 5th, 2004 |
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closed for business, movin' on out see you in hell |
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| Saturday, April 3rd, 2004 |
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Wow, ---- ------- is the shittiest lay ever. Word of advice to everyone: never fuck a fat guy. Just never do it. The motion of the ocean most certainly does not make up for three inches of pinkiefinger. I should feel some chagrin at being ditched, but then... I was kinda hoping for that exact situation to occur. 'Cause, ew. Also: "This is WAR, bitch. Me and my homeboys, a couple homegirls of mine, are gonna hunt you down, and whoever you're fuckin' staying with, and we're gonna fuck you up. You understand? You FUCKIN' understand me? This is no fuckin' joke, dude. I am NOT fuckin' joking. You're fuckin' DEAD MEAT, dude. You FUCK with me, you're FUCKED. And you KNOW that. And you've known that ever since you've been with me. Remember that. I am not talk. I will PROVE my fuckin' SHIT! You don't fuck with me, or you're fuckin' dead." - Love, Chad He also said he traded in my bike that he'd "rescued" for an eightball, but I found it at his casa, intact. Looks like somebody has trouble with his follow-through, considering I'm all alive and shit... Oh! And! Threesome! Good lord! Hoooooo boy. You ever have an opportunity to be handcuffed and sexually serviced by two horny young men, ladies, I say to you go for it. Morality vs. HOT SWEATY FACE-HUMPING, hands down, no fuckin' contest. Damn. |
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| Monday, March 29th, 2004 |
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Soooooooo––hm. Ok. Andree has found the journal, which makes me like, "SCORE!!!" and also this is kinda... well. I had to have Andree explain to me the part about how I believe Shout gets the stain out because I don't, really. I use Cheer. Anyways so Andree found the journal and decided to do the list thing, and I was pissed as fuck. I mean, if I tell you that I don't want you reading my journal, and you, like, sniff all over the internet 'til you find it and then post in your journal that ha ha ha neener-neener you've found it, I mean, god damn. But then what else can one expect from Andree Hunt? So I was bitching about it to Tera, and she was going "Yeah, yeah, no I totally understand, yeah, that sucks, yeah," about it, but then later on that night after she had left me to my own devices at Andree's house, this girl I had JUST MET by the name of Jessica mentioned offhand that Tera had told her I had a crush on her (Tera, not Jessica)! Of course! Hilarious, I know. I hadn't realized that I'd have to explain this, since I didn't know that people I knew would be reading my li'l chronicles, but I guess I will: this is not a crush. This is a wanting-to-fuck. Stephanie was a crush... Shakira was a crush... this? This is like, "Fuck you, I'll think about you however the fuck I want." And then masturbating out of spite. So if you're going to regale complete strangers with accounts of my private musings, babe, why don't you take a moment to get them right? Oh! Hornsby! You are my new chuggable friend! When I was lying on the couch at Andree's that night, trying to get to sleep but way too spun to do so, I was thinking... hm. Tonight sucked 'til Tera and Muni left, and I don't think Muni had anything to do with it. With Tera there, in the periphery but refusing to talk or even look me in the eye (so glad I found out why), I felt like I was holding my breath constantly, having to watch myself, watch what I said and how I said it, etc. And it was gay. Lying on the couch that night, I realized that this was the girl over whom I had been pining for what, ten months? This idiot? This cheap weakling? I've been idolizing her? Reading back over my journal entries, yeah, it does look quite a bit like a crush. An obsession, certainly. But I'm over it now. She's what she's become, and I'm who I am now, and that's that. And Andree ended up being not quite the bitch I'd expected. Wonders never cease. By the way... Rick? Awwwww, snap. Oh! And Saturday! Ran into Josh, a semi-friend from long ago whom I hadn't seen in forever, and we had an absolutely amazing conversation in the park about Life, the Universe and Everything, and then yesterday he and I and Khem and Liz went to Venice Beach and that was a party and a half. But it's cigarette time so I shall write more later, if I remember. p.s. Why am I a bad girlfriend??? |
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Soooooooo––hm. Ok. Andree has found the journal, which makes me like, "SCORE!!!" and also this is kinda... well. I had to have Andree explain to me the part about how I believe Shout gets the stain out because I don't, really. I use Cheer. Anyways so Andree found the journal and decided to do the list thing, and I was pissed as fuck. I mean, if I tell you that I don't want you reading my journal, and you, like, sniff all over the internet 'til you find it and then post in your journal that ha ha ha neener-neener you've found it, I mean, god damn. But then what else can one expect from Andree Hunt? So I was bitching about it to Tera, and she was going "Yeah, yeah, no I totally understand, yeah, that sucks, yeah," about it, but then later on that night after she had left me to my own devices at Andree's house, this girl I had JUST MET by the name of Jessica mentioned offhand that Tera had told her I had a crush on her (Tera, not Jessica)! Of course! Hilarious, I know. I hadn't realized that I'd have to explain this, since I didn't know that people I knew would be reading my li'l chronicles, but I guess I will: this is not a crush. This is a wanting-to-fuck. Stephanie was a crush... Shakira was a crush... this? This is like, "Fuck you, I'll think about you however the fuck I want." And then masturbating out of spite. So if you're going to regale complete strangers with accounts of my private musings, babe, why don't you take a moment to get them right? Oh! Hornsby! You are my new chuggable friend! When I was lying on the couch at Andree's that night, trying to get to sleep but way too spun to do so, I was thinking... hm. Tonight sucked 'til Tera and Muni left, and I don't think Muni had anything to do with it. With Tera there, in the periphery but refusing to talk or even look me in the eye (so glad I found out why), I felt like I was holding my breath constantly, having to watch myself, watch what I said and how I said it, etc. And it was gay. Lying on the couch that night, I realized that this was the girl over whom I had been pining for what, ten months? This idiot? This cheap weakling? I've been idolizing her? Reading back over my journal entries, yeah, it does look quite a bit like a crush. An obsession, certainly. But I'm over it now. She's what she's become, and I'm who I am now, and that's that. And Andree ended up being not quite the bitch I'd expected. Wonders never cease. By the way... Rick? Awwwww, snap. Oh! And Saturday! Ran into Josh, a semi-friend from long ago whom I hadn't seen in forever, and we had an absolutely amazing conversation in the park about Life, the Universe and Everything, and then yesterday he and I and Khem and Liz went to Venice Beach and that was a party and a half. But it's cigarette time so I shall write more later, if I remember. |
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| Thursday, March 25th, 2004 |
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i've woken now |
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| jesus motherfucking christ. | ||
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| Wednesday, March 24th, 2004 |
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| i'm sick of this shit. sick of poverty, sick of relying on drugs to get my shit done, sick of being mounted and cum in with no reciprocation, sick of lying, sick of failing school, sick of sucking at my job, sick of not being able to write anymore, sick of breaking out, sick of missing people who don't miss me, sick of the h.b. degenerates, sick of everything. something needs to change. it really does. 'cause i just can't do this anymore. it's too much. it's just way too much. | ||
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| Sunday, March 21st, 2004 |
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| so i'm tired of bending over publicbathroom toilets and taking it from behind like a dirty whore. i'm just fucking tired of it. i'm also tired of buying my boyfriend speed. what does he owe me now, seventy bucks? fucking asshole. and no, i'm not going to call you daddy. that's stupid. it's all stupid. when you say you can get me a gun why don't you do it? it's all i want. you can keep your seventy dollars. just one gun with just one bullet. then nobody will ever have to be bothered again, and i can have some peaceandquiet huddled in my own little corner of hell. | ||
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| so i'm tired of bending over publicbathroom toilets and taking it from behind like a dirty whore. i'm just fucking tired of it. i'm also tired of buying my boyfriend speed. what does he owe me now, seventy bucks? fucking asshole. and no, i'm not going to call you daddy. that's stupid. it's all stupid. when you say you can get me a gun why don't you do it? it's all i want. you can keep your seventy dollars. just one gun with just one bullet. then nobody will ever have to be bothered again, and i can have some peaceandquiet huddled in my own little corner of hell. | ||
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| Verymuch full of ice cream sir, I said, when he asked how I was feeling about the belly, and also, the tongue did burn a littlebit with the fire of frantic conelicking. Wherefore shall I find another one of her sort? Bring me the chickenstrips forthwith. And Pedersen, what does she in Baltimore? Going there by Greyhound bus, many stops and breakdowns upon the travelway? The deal with an invitation to Andree's big party: what is it? Does she not know that I shall be all dead with crosses for eyes upon that dripping date? My dream involved the same as always. I haven't the control of the self needed in order to say no to anything, or to do my best in my many ventures outside the home. This day I slept for many an hour. Mayhaps one day I shall be over this verybad time. Now, though, I shall brush the dientes and huddle in the corner, waiting for the flatline. Man oh man. | ||||
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| Wednesday, March 17th, 2004 |
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so then, i failed the driver's test, for the third time. i couldn't back up straight. i mean let's face it, i was fuckin' spun. i've been awash with nausea all day and the freaking out over the test wasn't helping. so when he told me i failed, i started crying, then sobbing, then gagging... ah, good times. so now it's gonna be me calling the fuckin' DMV tomorrow to set up yet another appointment, although this time i have to retake the written test, 'cause them's the rules and they get to squeeze twelve more dollars out of me. so, yes. and david (my ex-boss from taco bell) called up his boss about me coming back to work there, but company policy forbids rehiring after four months, and so... yes. starbucks, though? we shall see. i mean it's not like i wanted my license anyway. it's not like i was shitting my pants over it or anything. it's not like i couldn't sleep the night preceding the test (mostly) 'cause i was so fucking excited about it or anything. no sir. and it's gonna be months now. months 'till i can go in for another test. 'cause the DMV is prostyle like that. sleepy-sleep time, if that's possible in my current state (no). |
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| Tuesday, March 16th, 2004 |
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Good Christ. So then, it was sobriety for the past four days or so. Not a puff of the pot. Not a sniff or a twist of the shit. Not a pill. And it all comes back, the pain I've been trying for the past ten months to anesthetize. Big surprise: it's not like I healed anything by ignoring it all. She's back, with her pointy little face and her mary jane eyes. I can't take it -- life sans-Mami is hell. Life with her was hell too, but at least I had a fellow buttcheek, ya heard? Taco Bell, Starbucks. Two viable job options. I hate Vector worse than anything. Worse than anything in the whole world. I want to join the Army. Then I'll be like, "Yeah, bitch, what now?" And kick some ass, jack-booted thug style. YOU KNOW HOW WE DO. Britney Spears "Toxic" world tour stop, Verizon Ampitheater, August. Me and Pro-Pitcher and Sandra, the Britney Is Hot Club. T-shirts? Hats? Posters? Websites? Vibrators? I think so. (Can we discuss the part where she's got black hair and she bursts into the room with the flowy thing, all in slow motion? Let's just pause to consider that. Let's just pause to consider what I want to do to her... is she the new Shakira?) Enough. Bus, here I come. |
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| Sunday, March 14th, 2004 |
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| So, "Secretary." Maggie Gyllenhall. James Spader. A bit much. Can't handle it. "Cock. Place your prick in my mouth. Screw me." Ah, salivate. Three masturbation scenes, four if you count the anticlimactic self-spanking. Too much to take. Force it upon Alan. You asked for it. Holla back, nigga. I never make sense anymore. I never do homework. I never sell knives. I never am sober... 'cept now, and yesterday, and the day before, although I was supposed to be spunnnnnnnnnn. If you're spun you stay up but I was down four hours after my last line. Must not've been what I was told it was. My hair. Handfuls out. Again, too much to handle. Chad's birthday. Idea: leave eighteen messages on my phone in one day, whydon'tcha. You're toxic, I'm slipping under. Hook up with three different boys in one week... Chad, then Jon, then Raul... hoo boy. Buy lesbian porn, lick a neck and call it a day. Menthol and meth. Two of my favorites which sound like my very own maiden name. Although I'm not much a maiden anymore, am I. No. You do not love me. You don't even know me, so stop, just stop. Where is she? I need her bad. It was Bad Religion yesterday that did it. Number six and number eleven. She was there in the car. Sitting in the back. The seats bumped. I touched her cheek. She closed her eyes. We whispered beautiful secrets cheek-to-cheek, eye-to-glowing-eye. Then I dreamt of Doumani in a wedding dress. I tried not to look but she was right there. Right fucking there. | ||||
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| Monday, March 8th, 2004 |
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this love has taken its toll on me |
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| sometimes instead of doing what i should do (selling knives, reading schoolbooks, doing at least some homework, etc.) i go and have playdates every night like the little shithead hedonist i am. so yeah, there's me the failure, but you know, i'll look back on this and laugh, i will, i'm sure. alan: "i'm just a walking fucking ailment." why does everyone say such good things? oh and later on i told him i was so excited about something or another that i had shat my pants and he thought i was serious, and then i remembered that not everybody says those things, just the connelly kids. how up was i yesterday? very up. all day, so up. and now, should i not be down? i am not. i slept last night and came to school and took a test and i am a mite drowsy but it ain't no thang. i hated him, but now that i know what he has for me maybe i can like him some, a little, a trifle. SHEEEEE-IT is how it's said. let's go faster. spin the teacup; you can do it. put your ass into it. bend over a little, just like that, yeah, there's something on your shirt. have a soda outside because my mother is home and i need to paint the bathroom some other colors, just wait outside and then we can go down to the park and maybe our lives can involve a lollipop for awhile, although the shit tastes like shit. damn and a half. | ||
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| Sunday, March 7th, 2004 |
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| Dude, I'm fucking spun. That is it. | ||||
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| Monday, March 1st, 2004 |
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here is some pork for you |
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with keef and ian from maine and tanner and kyle bernard i went, and there was (in no particular order): bothering mexican waiters (me only), the mandatory coffeeshop, jumping off the lbc pier (me feasting on sand), a playground (butt too big for the babyswing, i'm a ninja and he's spiderman, asian playmates), "can't we just make out a little?", screaming this, bacon debates and masturbation books in barnes & noble, and many, many semi-pornographic parkinglot dancing pictures with a pink x-terra and trees and sprinklers and sublime, TOK, blink 182 and sir mix-a-lot. also i put a pen cap in kyle's buttcrack. how i love life some nights. how i loff it, i loif it, how i love it. that was two nights ago, and then last night it was me and ::uncle steve:: alan, and we went up to some hills and spent about forty days and forty nights (wandering jews) wondering where we were--"well is that the 405? no. that's pch. where is the spectrum? there is that over there, no but that's a car dealership. which way is long beach? let's walk a mile down-mountain and see where that leads us." we decided to turn around and head back to the car when we saw a shirt-jacket (nike, =expensive, =why would someone just leave it?) laid out on a bench with a water bottle on it. OHMYGOD. why was it just left there? it's not like somebody forgot it, not in that weather. and why was it laid out? creepy creepy. maybe you had to be there but we were both scared so we walked briskly away and kept looking behind. after that we went and drove around some more and ate a LOT of food, since i am an ex-catholic school girl and he is an ex-army man we can both eat quite a bit, especially when . "i think the only strange people on the planet are the ones you don't know yet." too true, o girl in english class. too true. and i, i am still , like thirteen hours later. |
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Blurty for page six.
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lonely.
pissed off.
listless.
