Fuck you.

I hate when people play mind games with me. Just come out and say how you really feel and stop going through the motions. It pisses me off ever so much when you can't just verbalize....IN ANY NUMBER OF WAYS your true feelings about me. I'll talk to you one day, but completely ignore you the other. That's such bullshit. Leave me the hell alone if you're going to go that route. Not as if it would make a difference since you neglect to share anything with me...and I'm the reason you're even there!

I hate people.

Why I Suck in a Paragraph or Less

I cried today.

I didn't just cry once, I cried twice.

Not only did I cry twice, I cried twice in the restroom.

Two different restrooms, I may add.

These two restrooms, however, did have several things in common:

1.) Toilet stalls, sinks, mirrors, trash cans, and the like.

2.) They were both on school campus.

3.) A girl crying in the stall, practically clinging to the shit stained door.

So, after I was done crying in the last stall in the first restroom, I spied someone I really didn't want to see at that moment, ran downstairs and cried in the last stall in the second restroom.

I waited until I had semi-decent composure. Since I felt the lump in my throat that is usually indicative of a heavy sobbing session, I heaved a large sigh and swallowed my pride. Persuading the lump in my throat into some dark hole of my heart, I no longer hid in the restroom. I walked outside in the cool night air and let the biting cold sting my cheeeks. My nose continued to run as I sat down at a table, ungracefully plopping myself down on the bench. I searched through my backpack for something that would make me forget what had just happened, but I found nothing. Instead, I pulled out my yarn and my ball-point pens to continue knitting as well as I could. My eyes were watering again; this time from the bitter whipping wind. This very wind invited a woman outside to the tables. She lit her cigarette, and the stench radiating from it was enough to sicken my stomach. I shoved my knitting in my backpack, hoisted my bag up, and quickly pulled it over my shoulders. Glaring, not at the woman, but at my own life reflected in the cars speeding on the street, passing each other, turning, stopping....constantly, I huffed off . Disgusted with people and thoroughly ready to give up, I continued to walk.

Hood up. Head down. Hands in pockets. Hole in heart.

Why is this relevant? It's not.

Cheer me up?

Shoulders.

This is going to sound ridiculous and creepy/gross at the same time. That's fine. I can manage.

I really like when guys touch me on the shoulder. I had two gentlemen do it yesterday, and I'm not attracted to either, but holy heck in a hand basket I was hot.

I think it was because their hand was warm, and felt foreign on my skin. Who cares!


Anyways, now that I've freaked out anyone reading this let's move on to better things.

I love fog, and cold, and getting warm. Do you?

Jinkies!

I didn't realize the appalling lack of readers I had until I was prepared to say, " I know you all thought you got rid of me" and backpedaled (a.k.a. put the brakes on). I backpedaled because well, I actually don't have many......any readers of this blog.

But just in case someone happens to stumble upon this, here's the latest of ramblings to myself in the shower:

No one I ever meet in life will be as satisfying romantically or otherwise, not even nearly, as a person I read of in fiction. This really depresses me. I want Hogwarts to be real, and I want characters from books to be real. I want to befriend those people. It is surreal how boring people are. If life was more like what I masturbate to and less what it is, this world would be better off. No bathroom breaks...(speaking of which, do they even use toilet paper in Hogwarts?) pure adventure, fantasy, and action. The storybook characters are more real to me than half of the people I've met in my very short life, and they certainly excite me a great deal more. Case in point, I want something I dream about and wish for to actually exist. Bring on the wands and send me my invite (to Hogwarts, of course), I'll be waiting (probably in the shower).

Suicide Is Painless

Bullshit.

I can't wait until I'm old and dead.

I'd Be Sleeping My Way Through Life's Troubles

if it was that easy for me to keep my eyes closed.



I love sleeping. I hadn't discovered how much I enjoyed sleep until I actually starting getting some. I want to die sleeping. Not because it's peaceful, but because I'd be most comfortable. Under some blankets, my dog curled up next to me, and me practically in a ball. Sounds magnificent.



Tired of life right now. I need a vacation....a permanent one, to a different country where I can be satisfied and stupid. I've only got halfway to go! I used to love exclamation points. Not right now.



All I do is whine and be negative. Suck suck suck.



Fuck blisters.



Fuck pubic hair.



More importantly....



Fuck myself. I'm truly disgusted.





Life is beautiful. Isn't it?

Just thinking about that movie makes me want to cry.

Lard

I know most of you are probably tired of me complaining about my weight, yet doing nothing about it. Well, guess what? So am I.


Starting Monday, the 11th of August, I am going to begin an exercise routine and be more conscientious about which foods I eat. It'll start slowly, but once I make it a part of my schedule I will definitely stick with it long term.

There it is. Written down. Now, if I don't follow through, can anyone think of a punishment?

Braces, Brackets, and a whole lotta Oh Bother!

For Anyone Who Got the Reference:

Q. Is there really a way to describe braces within the first few dats without using the terms painful, miserable, or excruciating?
A. No.





I've decided the only way to describe them differenty is if you've had a steady dosage of ibuprofen every 6 or so hours. Instead of whining further, I'll blind you all with pictures.

Turn That Frown Into A Hunk of Metal

Bare: Feet, Ass, and Hands.

Since I went through the trouble of signing up, I figured I might as well get some use out of this site. I'm really not a "blogger", but I am annoying like one. I'm not going to inform the one possible person reading this about every minute detail of my life. This is mostly a journal of stupid events that go on in my life because I'm droll, clumsy, well-mannered, and a downright fool. Running into parked cars, taking showers with my glasses on, and mental conversations that lead to my theories on life are the basis of this supposed blog. I want to look back on this in a few years living comfortably and laugh at my moronic 16 year old thought process. I'm not an interesting or noteworthy person by any means. (That is, however, a good thing; I'd have to be much more behaved and command respect if I were in a position of authority or high social status.) Perhaps,though, you will find some humor in my neverending quest for a future after junior college. Mistakes will be made, as is to be expected. The important part is to have fun. We have finally reached the goal of this whole spiel. Take everything said here with a gleam in the eye and a dash of paprika. Before I go, I would like to note my appreciation of feedback, but I do not anticipate getting any. No disappointments here.








On a significantly lighter and more hilarious note: