| Miss me much? |
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| 12:04pm 29/01/2003 |
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mood:  sore
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It's an odd thing to go from The Princess Di of the internet to a reclusive freak in a matter of weeks. I feel like a fish out of water on the internet anymore. It's not a place I like to be. I feel very out of my element. I don't live one of those lives that needs recording. Would anyone even read this if I wrote what I wanted? I don't think you would even recognize me. I live in pajamas and hardly wear any make-up. I just don't have the drive it takes to get dressed up.
Eric and I are doing really well. We are with standing the distancevery nicely. I'm proud of us.
I've had a hacking cough for over a month now. It sounds like whooping cough. It's almost comical. The doctor won't prescribe any medicine for me. She said the cough didn't sound good (Really? I thought it was normal to gasp for breath?)and made me go get a chest x-ray (which turned out fine) and wanted to take blood (I put my foot down on that one). I gained weight. I was really proud of this. I still feel too thin. I am certain that all this coughing is tightening my abs. Eric thinks this is the funniest idea ever. Only I would be capable of getting a work out from coughing.
Oh! I finally got my license! I'm a driving girl! I'm still insanely nervous about driving. I actually sat in the parking lot of work for 40 minutes because there was "too much traffic". I'm pathetic.
We finally get DSL after I hate going online... Go Figure. |
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(13 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| It's that time of year again... |
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| 02:32am 21/12/2002 |
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mood:  nauseated
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This year my family out did itself with four Christmas trees. This either means that they really love the holiday or we falling down the ladder of dysfunction so rapidly that we can't even share anymore. My father has his tree (which has colored lights, every color Christmas ball, tons of tinsel which I am getting tired of pulling from the cat's mouth, and a very ugly Rolling Stones ornament). My mother got greedy this year and got two trees. One has been planted outside and is sporting white lights and red bows. The other has white lights, red balls, and these stupid cardinals. My mother wanted to house to be Classic Christmas (real wreaths, white lights, a candle in every window). My father wanted a Cheesy Christmas complete with plastic snowmen and a 20 foot Grinch. Conclusion? The house was split in two. My father got the family room and the side trees and my mother got the living room and the front of the house.
My dad's parents are arriving on Sunday. This always leads to very interesting stories. As you might recall, last year my mother pushed me out of the "closet" during Christmas dinner. I'm sure this year will be just as memorable. |
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(8 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| The other scare with Mum |
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| 02:18am 21/12/2002 |
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mood:  worried
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As if the spider bite wasn't enough, my mother also had to get this mole removed. It apparently has been changing color and shapes for months, but she didn't find it important enough to look into. Why the fuck is that? Because she has my idea of "As long as I don't know about it I don't care". I'm a nervous wreck waiting for these test results. She seems to have completely forgotten about it. I asked her if she is scared or nervous. She said she is a little nervous but not scared. "If it is cancer than that's just something we will have to deal with. I'm not worried about it. It's out of my hands". I told her that I hate this fucking "pre-destination bull shit". Close to everything in our lives can be altered by our own doing. Skin cancer is one of those things. She was quite for a little bit. Probably taking in what I said. She stared off into space, looking in my direction but not really seeing me, "For years I have been telling you that you need to get a tan. I laughed when you put on 55 SPF and made fun of you when you tried to buy 75 SPF", she than got a very funny look on her face, "Now look at where we are. The world works in funny ways", with that she continued to bake her cookies. |
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(4 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| Brown Recluse and Hobo Spiders. |
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| 01:51am 21/12/2002 |
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mood:  distressed
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I can't sleep. I'm letting my imagination get carried away yet again. I'm not sure if I mentioned this when it occurred, but a few months ago my mother got a nasty insect bite that turned pitch black, was extremely painful, made it difficult to move her fingers, and didn't heal for months. The doctors had no clue as to what bit her. Months past. The wound healed. All was forgotten. At least for the time being... a few months past and then the black wound returned. It continued to do so on and off for months. I began to do research and even though Eric found me crazy, I swore up and down that my mother was bitten by a Brown Recluse spider. The other day the scar returned. My mother went to the doctor and the doctor said that she too thought the bite might be from a brown recluse or a hobo spider, both of which are found in my area. When my mother came home we did some research into these spiders (mainly the hobo spider because we knew very little of it). Some of the bite pictures looked exactly like my mothers... The others, the majority, looked much much worse... People had to get limbs cut off because of these bites. The skin rotted away due to the venom. I have a very strong stomach and can take a lot of things, but these photos were just too much. For an example of what bothered me so much please refer to examples a and b. I must warn you; these are not for the weak of heart. This is what my mothers bite looked like. All I keep thinking about is how this spider was mostly found in my room... under my bed. I never had a problem with spiders being in my room. I really like spiders. I am actually a sick freak and think they are beautiful and interesting beings... But here I am, half a sleep, with visions of brown recluse and hobo spiders dancing in my little head, when all of a sudden a feel something on my face. I don't think I have ever moved so fast in my entire life. I moved faster than my battle with the evil earwigs. It turned out to just be my hair, but that is besides the point. I can't fucking live like this. I woke up my father right away and informed him that my room will be sprayed for spiders tomorrow. He told me to, "Shut the fuck up" (It is wise to note that I informed him of this at 4:30 a.m.)::shudders:: I shall keep you posted. |
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(3 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| On a side note: |
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| 02:06pm 19/12/2002 |
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mood:  confused
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Yesterday was my last day at B.C.C.C. ever. It was very anti-climatic and slightly depressing. Three years of my life, wasted. I don't know what I was expected though. Balloons?Clowns? ::shudders at the thought of it:: For my life to suddenly morph into something legible? |
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(5 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| A forgotten story of interest |
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| 10:19am 17/12/2002 |
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mood:  geeky
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Last Friday I went to a flea market with my parents. My mother has made a good business at selling things she finds for double what she pays (for all of you who asked where I get my "interesting" bags). I was doing some Christmas shopping there (I'm not that cheap. Money is tight this year.) when I suddenly felt someone looking at me. I gazed up and saw a short man with close to no teeth watching me. I nodded at him and continued to look at junk. He apparently took this nod as an invite and waltzed over to me. The first words out of his mouth and I quote were, "Ya legal?". I shook my head "no" and continued to look at junk. "How young?" I replied with the lie of "16". His retort, "Not bad... not bad...". I was flabbergasted and oddly amused. If 16 is not bad to a 40 year old man, than what is bad? 12? 15? 8? He than continued to try and pick me up until it stopped being amusing and started getting annoying. I ran away saying over my shoulder, "I have to go find my mommy". |
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(8 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| 10:10am 17/12/2002 |
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mood:  blank
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Yesterday I attended a Freestyle rap session. I found this insanely amusing. Most of the raps spoke of "ghetto living" and what not. All I kept thinking was, "Idiots, you live in Bucks County and attend college. How much could you possibly know of the ghetto".
I thought I finally fixed my broken space bar, but I was sorely mistaken. Apparently the huge M&M Heather somehow wedged under the key isn't the only problem. |
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(2 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| 01:44pm 11/12/2002 |
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mood:  cold
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Jen and I were planning on attending Nocturne, but this frozen rain put a damper on our plans. We still have next week, or the week after that, or the week after that.
I'm so bored with life. Does anyone want to hang out sometime soon? I need some new faces in my life. Let me know. |
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(13 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| 03:57pm 08/12/2002 |
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mood:  disappointed
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I used to use video games as a way to let my brain rot. I would sit in front of the old NES and waste away hours upon hours. My mind was blissfully blank. The only things I thought of was where to find the next mushroom. This sanctuary of stupidity is now endanger. Games today tend to be just too hard. They take much more time and much more involvement. Instead of 2 minutes until the next mushroom in Super Mario, I now spend 3 hours trying to find the secret passage ways in Metroid Prime. My brain actually hurts when I am done playing video games as of late. I miss the old days when video games were stupid, ill thought out, and just mind numbing instead of mind boggling. |
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(14 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| 08:10pm 06/12/2002 |
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mood:  horny
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I love stomachs. There is no other body part that makes me just melt. If I see a sexy tummy, it practically kills me. I actually get chills from the sheer excitement of it. Is anyone else like this with a body part? |
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(9 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| 07:39pm 06/12/2002 |
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mood:  frustrated music: Willy Wonka
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While watching 20/20 with my father we began talking about teens and sex (the topic of the show). Most of the people on this show were pre-teen and I wasn't so shocked that they were engaging in these activities, but I was shocked by the openess they admitted to their sexual encounter. My mother knows that I am no longer a virgin, but to the best of my father knowledge I am purer than The Virgin Mary. So, we began talking of this topic and I voiced that the statistic they were showing were tainted. The show was claiming that about 40% of teens are still virgins. There is no freaking way that can be true. I only knew two virgins in high school. I think the kids lied and tainted the survey. Once I told him this he started rambling about me not living in the real world and me having no clue what I was talking about. This pissed me off more than you can imagine. I told him that most of my friends are gay and I have to witness the injustice that they suffer. That more then half my friends have been addicted to some drug at some point and I have had to see them sweat bullets waiting for their next hit and I have held their hands as they came crashing down from a high. That I have seen dead bodies. A Teenage girl with a fucking needle sticking out her arm covered in her own vomit. That I have lost more friends than I care to count tot hings such as suicide, over doses, and even fucking murder. How the hell can he say I am sheltered from the real world? He then said that it "sucks" that I had to go threw all that, but I don't know what it's like out there. This infuriated me. No Dad, you're right. I have only been to hell and back, but since I live in the suburbs none of that counts. Fucking narrow-minded dick.
He also went on a rant about gay men being disguisting. I retored with, "What the fuck ever. What do you think about two girls going at it?". He replied with the stero-typical male response, "That's different". I actually wanted to hit him when he said that. I Hate Ignorance!!!! I wanted to scream,"I'm glad you think that way, because you know I'm bisexual right?". He knows I'm bisexual. As you might recall, that came out (no pun intended) on Christmas. He just likes to ignore it. Or maybe he just forgot. Neither would surprise me. |
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(8 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| 08:52am 06/12/2002 |
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mood:  pleased
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Everyone knows I am not a religious person. Nine years of Catholic school does odd things to a persons spirit. For years I have battled with the questions, "Is there a God?" and "Does Heaven really exsist?". After years of soul searching all signs began to point to "no". I just couldn't believe in something I couldn't see. All that changed this morning. I woke up and there it was. The answer I had been looking for. Ladies and Gentlemen, there is a god and its name is Krispy Kreme donuts. |
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(16 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| 05:24pm 05/12/2002 |
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mood: pessimistic
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I am trying out Heathers new computer yet again. I think it is beyond slow, slower than the piece of shit that rests upstairs. At least I will have my own computer back. ::sigh of relief:: I have missed my own personal misery machine.
If I get asked one more question about this fucking computer... AHHHHHH!!!!! My family seems to think if you can type mildly fast that you are fucking Bill Gates. I know nothing about computers. I know how to turn them on. I know how to type. I know how to connect to the internet. That is the extent of my computer knowledge.
My whole family had a snow day today. I locked myself in my room for fear that there would be a remake of The Shining staring The Marshall Family.
My dad is talking to me about sports. I have no clue what is going on. I am so confused. This is happening more and more often. My family either thinks that I am an Einstein like being and am very well educated in all walks of life, or just like to annoy the fucking piss out of me.
My cursing is getting worse. I'm a fucking red-headed sailor... minus the STD's.
The new computer doesn't have AOL. I love that. I can use the journal and not worry about being fucked with. I am so tired of my life being tampered by the internet. That is so pathetic.
Jen and I were planning on rocking the party that rocks the party next Wednesday. I was just informed that the store is now open until 10; which means I won't get home until about 11. We shall see what happens. I really wanted to go. I would probably be a huge dork and go incognito (Didn't I wear a wig and glasses last time?! LMAO. I rock.). Why do I do this? Because I can? Nah, I just want to go and dance with Jen. I hate being bothered by petty club psycho-drama. It went from being a fun experience to something unbearable so gradually that it was hard to notice until it hit you over the head. I know a few people agree with me. Oh well. I don't give a fuck anymore. I'm going to go, have fun, and be me. I'm not going to let the little shit bother me anymore. |
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(5 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| 02:04pm 04/12/2002 |
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mood:  calm
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The snow is falling. There is a beautiful red headed woodpecker perching outside my window. I have been watching him on and off for hours now. He looks so happy.He keeps fluffing up his feathers and singing. His little red mohawk the only color on this white day.
I am so immature. I keep giggling over the tufted tit mouse outside. ::breaks into laughter::... Poor bird.
I redid my wish list. I am now reviewing the wish lists of friends. I am playing Santa this year.
The snow always makes me feel so romantic. I wish Eric was here to cuddle under the blanket in a room only lit by candles. I wish he was here to build snowmen and igloos with. I can picture us wrestling in the snow all red faced and numb, but loving every minute of it. That, to me, is romance. That is what makes life worth living... Well, that and oral sex. |
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(9 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| 11:20am 04/12/2002 |
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mood:  depressed
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I've missed my journal greatly. Lately I have felt so cut off from the rest of the world. I talk to no one except my family and Eric. I feel like my own little island. I am growing to hate it. I feel so alone and left out. I wake up, go to school, go to work, go home. It's the same old thing day after day. I'm in a rut. School is almost over. Thankfully. I didn't think I could make it through this semester alive. Now to just get over the holiday. Speaking of which, please forward me your wishlists.
It's so pathetic that I have not written for about a month, but yet I have nothing to say. This means that life is going really well, or really horribly. It's odd to be the infamous "Drama Queen", but yet I have no real drama at this point and time. Umm... hmm.. I'm wearing a sweater with a penguin on it(?). Yup...yup...yup... It sucks falling from grace.
I'm suppose to be getting a new camera for Christmas. Heather got a new computer, so maybe I will have internet access again soon. Well, I suppose I could have internet access now. I am abstanting from the internet under my own "free" will. I never saw the internet as a dangerous place. I viewed it as a meeting ground. I have met some of the most interesting, sweetest, and amazing people thanks to the internet. A few months ago, however, it became obvious that the internet is all they say it is. Nothing is what it seems. "Don't trust anything that can think for itself".
I have really missed all of you though. |
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(16 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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| Happy Birthday Screw!!!!! |
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| 01:45pm 15/11/2002 |
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mood: irritated
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I was sitting outside enjoying the amazing feeling of a good book (Choke by Chuck Palahniuk) and unseasonal solar warmth. I love the feeling of sun on my skin (Remember to wear sunblock. I always dawn 55 SPF). The warmth is just so invigorating. It is one of the few things that makes me feel good and reminds me that I'm still alive (How fucking Goth was that?! *slit slit*). So, picture this if you will: Little old me, bundled in my winter coat, engrossed in a good book, and basking myself in beautiful sun light. Picture perfect afternoon, right? Well, it certainly had the makings to be. However, that was taken from me. Bastards. I'm on campus 3 days a week for about 7 hours. During this time, it's rare people come and talk to me. I sometimes get waves or smiles, but even that is unusual. Today, however, everyone feels the need to talk to me as I try to enjoy some sun and this book. If you notice someone is alone reading a book you do not go up to them. You can wave to them. You can smile at them. But for the love of all things holy, don't ruin their good time. What you do is this: Wave to them, smile at them, and then wait for them to continue further with the interaction. It's common fucking courtesy. I tried to keep conversation to a minimum. I even picked up my book a few times and tried to finish the page I was on, but these selfish bastards weren't having it. Keep in mind, I didn't even know these people! They just randomly felt the need to talk to me. Now, if I was sitting there, looking bored, and staring into space, than by all means, come up and "shoot the shit". But if someone is sitting there, enjoying the sun and reading a good book, you leave them the fuck alone. What eventually happened was I had to leave my warm little cocoon and head inside to read. It wasn't the same, but I was getting back into it. All of a sudden, they strike again. I than had to pick up and head to the library. I swear to god, if they come in here it's going down... I'm not sure what is going down exactly, but mark my words, something will go down.
It's Eric's birthday today. He is 25. My big guy. I am flying down to see him and look into moving down there next weekend. I want to check out the schools and look into apartments. I can't wait to see him. Eric was laughing at me last night because I was freaking out due to the fact that my flight number sounds like the number of a plane that can go down. Flight 402... This just in... Flight 402 Dallas to Philadelphia was crashed in an empty field. There appears to be no survivors. Once again, American Air flight 402 Dallas to Philadelphia has crashed. The full story tonight at 11. |
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(8 Dog Boy, Media Whores | carve your name into my arm) |
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thelastwonkabar's journal
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