I may just be the most dispensible person ever

Sat, 22 Apr 2006 21:23:30 GMT

I need to make $1000 in less than 2 months. Yes, it has already been suggested if you're dreaming up sex-work as the solution. Not going to happen.

Jobs? Short spurts of work? Selling drugs? Wait, no- financial aid is what is going to put me through college and I can't risk getting caught.

Dammit. P.S. Stacy- I'm going to rescue you at the nearest available moment.

When can it be over?

Thu, 20 Apr 2006 20:44:15 GMT

It would be really cool if I had a proper resource to bounce this all off of, but instead I am floundering amongst friends with advice that is only to make me hope and the root of the "trouble" which only hurts things because it is biased and can only really feel the emotions of one side of it.

I can't help anything. I am out of control. I am frustrated. I am jealous of the air that he uses to live. I'm not necessary. My love means nothing. I'd say it was a wasted effort, but there isn't any effort to account for. I'm not trying to persist. My heart is foisting it on me and am so fucking tired of crying about it.

I don't need affirmation. I don't need to be thought of as "something." I retardedly got that and found that it was exactly what I didn't need. Someimes I wish I wasn't so weirded out by human contact that doesn't mean anything. I wish that I wasn't so conflicted about it at all. But that wouldn't actually help matters anyways. Beacuse it's not what I want or need.

What I want is to not be wasting love and then by figuring out that it is just going into space- be able to abandon it. But I JUST FUCKING CANNOT. I AM NOT ALLOWED IT. MY MIND IS FUCKING WITH ME AND I WANT TO EXPLODE and get tiny fragemts of it on every surface in the vacinity and not be able to piece it back together AND JUST FORGET. ERASE. BE DONE.

I'm just so exhausted by everything.

I hate existing if it is for nothing.

Post: I don't need him to exist, he is NOT my reason. I hope nobody, includng myself, got that impression.

Wed, 19 Apr 2006 01:37:10 GMT

WEll, to say the least, I'm not doing mushrooms anytime in the immediate future. Holy Jesus.

Bellingham show, BUST. It was okay, but it sounded like shitt and I picked a needless fight with someone who came specifically to see us because myspace.

Ugh. Convaluded sense of existence. My mind is definitely floating elsewhere besides in my skull.

BAMF.

Why am I even posting? This is insane.

Short synopses.

Fri, 07 Apr 2006 18:58:17 GMT

A few things. . .

A.) Working at Evergreen is so fucking plush.
B.) I wish I could keep this job forever
C.) My heart is creating a ruckus that I thought it had since abandoned. Relapse.
D.) I'm still living and doing fairly well.
E.) I get to confront my deep, dark racism that is actually there because of my whole life spent with honkies.
F.) You're a gimp.
G.) SO MUCH MONEY WILL. . .cover my bills. . .
H.) Playing shows NOT IN OLYMPIA. (if you care, check the myspace)
I.) Recording for new demo . . .totally sucks (especially when you're as self-deprecating as I am)
J.)It's getting warmer here and I am so unbelieveably stoked considering how cold my existence has been as of late
K.)Science fiction is better than the Baby-Sitters Club, as I placed a moretroeum (sp?)on myself from the latter until I move to San Diego. (But all of you willing to part with your old collection, by all means. . .ME. MINE.)
L.) My hair is actually white now I am fairly satisfied with that, although the cut has GOT TO GO.
M.) I am still deeply in Love and that gets harder and harder everyday...

Tue, 21 Mar 2006 05:55:07 GMT

So you know how there are cars and trains and birds and grubs and Paris Hilton and pokemon in the world?

Well, not anymore. The world exploded, the apocolypse smashed open a void in the universe and none of the aformentioned exist.

And neither do I.

It all started with a 5 word question and a blank stare that means, "duh."

The answer to the riddle is: "You're breaking up with me?"

Yup, SMASH CRASH FWOOM. PPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Kevin broke up with me. I've been screaming since last Wednesday. My face has crevices where the tears have been turning up at every corner. I'm about 30% less water now. I'm crushed. Devistated. Barely dealing with my mundane life.

Two positive things:
1.)We played an incredible show on Saturday. Emotion. Cry faces. Basically I was bursting at the seems with anxiety, depravity and gooey build-up.
2.)the amount of food realted doting. I really appreciate what everyone has done for me. Kendra's talks (screaming does help, but perptuates the propensity I already have for migraines); LaurieLea's incessant material possession compensation; Pat's. . . everything.

Everyones' efforts are life affirming at the least.

When the world built itself back up and we finished catching up with the evolution process that has brought us back to our current mess of existence, I got a fish. I needed something to love me. Rambo Butler the Betta. Amazing.

HOLD ON. THIS IS SO FUCKING RATIONAL. It's a good thing I don't have access to the interweb infomatrix all the time, otherwise this would have been crude and full of angry hope, hope, hopes.

So in that vein, here I go.

HOW DO YOU JUST FUCKING FALL OUT OF LOVE WITH SOMEONE ONE DAY. NO WARNING. "No, I don't love you anymore," was the answer. WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK??????????

I feel useless, awful and really pathetically gullible.

What if I had stopped my diet of only Baby-sitter's club books, or tried to be a little more responsible about finding a job, or the band for that matter?

What if I wasn't crying so much already? What if I dealt with my depression in a not counterproductive fashion? What if? What if? What the fucking IF?

I just keep hoping that I'll wake up and he'll be there, smile puffily at me like he does in the morning and say, "I love you," and evrything will work out.

But in the meantime, I am horny, depressed and so very alone.

Why am I so not employable?

Thu, 23 Feb 2006 00:51:41 GMT

Omigod, I need a fucking job.

No more ice cream, no more telemarketing scam jobs.

Desire Video won't hire me, nor any screenpritning places, nor fucking SPSCC.

Where do I go from here, I'm underqualified for everything.

FUCK.

P.S. This is what you get when you search 'fuck'on google. . .

Night, Sleep, Dreams

Wed, 18 Jan 2006 22:59:07 GMT

Last to nights worth of dreams:

A.)Tried to kill myself by robo-frying and od'ing on pills. Freaked out when I tried to look at myself naked in the mirror and everything was all squidgy, someone walked in on eme and I was thinking," How am I going to take a shower? How am I going to drive to work? Then I was scared of dying and woke up.

B.) I rode the REAL greyhound and I could communicate with the dog telepathically and I had to let it on my back at some points (fair enough, right?) and Siousxie Sioux is good friends with Kendra and Laurie Lea and she has a "Magical" table dog. It was an end table with fur or an end-table shaped Dog. This all occured in the downstairs of my Grandparent's old house that I practically grew up in.

C.) More nights ago Kevin tried to grope me in his sleep. Not creepy, kind of cute, but more funny than anything else.

Two nights ago, I was reading with the lights on, went to turn them off and the heater and he muttered a question of what I was doing and I smartly replied,"I'm going to go jump out the window," to which he responded with, "no, you can just float down. . ." Totally in his sleep.

EXISTENTIAL FREAK-OUT! HOORAY!

Wed, 11 Jan 2006 21:54:36 GMT

Obviously I mean it, just look at that use of exclamation marks.

Okay, so is it really worth it? At all? I'm not saying what I really feel, not working hard enough for it to actually be my baby. Pat seems to be indiffernt to the whole operation. Something has to give.

I think I may be getting fired. My hours are dwindling because of my need for days off. HEY, I can't help being fucking sick. And I'm, sorry that playing stupid shows that nobody gives one tenth of a shitt about is more important than slinging ice-cream in to the faces of shitty children.

My room is in tatters, my clothes all can each individually eat one dick, and I don't want to to talk to ANYBODY.

So I visited my my old house ( the one on 9th) and there was a terrible party there because retarded Evergreen kids moved in. The floors are all parkay (that's a non-butter brand, mind-you, I can't spell the fake wood floor substance), the walls are all white and it all looked moderately clean- aside from the filth of the utterly awful party that was going on. I just kept stamping on the floor with my arms in the air screching about how thsi was MY old house and then ashed on everything I could and stole a picture of Chairman Mao.

P.S. Shark is "Brandon" and sucks to ver, very much. Wamh-Wamh.

Punk Rock has desintigrated into awkward bullshitt.

I have to go read now.

I am an idiot. I am undereducated and that is my own fault. I try to not learn but leech onto others' knowledge. I am not articulate. I am stupid. I am not my own real person. I place immediate attention on trivial things and matters and that is fucking annoying. I am annoying. I am under-confident and put on a bad show. Insecurity running amok. I hate me.

Okay, that's all out. I feel. . . .better? No.

Sun, 25 Dec 2005 00:53:22 GMT

1.) At airport for approx. 8 hours
2.) In Sandy Eggo
3.) Half my head is red
4.) I feel disgusting
5.) Being in a band is weird

Tue, 29 Nov 2005 01:59:13 GMT

It's been awhile, eh? Well you get nothing as far as a real update goes considering I have 10 minutes left on the library computer.

A.) We finished our demo and now we just have to burn all the CD's, fold all the cover stuff and sell them/get them to you.

B.) http://www.myspace.com/thegaysciencethe

C.) Listen to me having a cold and smoking too much that week to be a real singer. I sound flat and bad, but no more self-deprecating.

D.) I hate my family. Nothing more to it. They are a bunch of juvenile, cruel people with bad social problems. Kevin described Thanksgiving (which I took him to, just mroe ammo for them) as "walking into America" as we had to "dodge emotional bullets."

E.) It's so fucking cold here. X-Mas in San Diego sounds so delightful in lue of the weather being a blood-sucking asshole here.

F.) You're a gimp.

G.)Greasy cockroaches and long hours working at the mall during the holidays make me want to auto-esphixiate (whatever).

H.) A crappy biography on Yukio Mishima made me retreat to reading the Babysitter's Club again.

I.)This is not a fish:

J.)
Have you seen her now? She's still incredible.

Water-cats nipping at my ankles once again

Tue, 25 Oct 2005 22:06:29 GMT

So Saturday. . .interseting.

I was called during my bus ride home from work and was alerted that the younglings that once lived at Senor's would be picking us up to go a teenageverse p-a-r-t-y. I say, "Uhhhhh," and then get ready to go.

Fist off it was in Littlerock, secondly, I recognized about 75% of the dipshitts there and thirdly: I went on a psychedelic hell trip in the middle of no-where for 3 hours plus.

Mushrooms. Grown from the corpes of infants that were laid to rest in "Babyland" in the Tumwater Mills&Mills Cemetary. I had apporximately 35-40 and we stole the house's peanut butter (by the by, the parents were there and the dad was my personal favorite with his long hair and "Fuck Yeah!" tee-shirt smoking pot on the back patio) we used said peanut butter and placed it back on the shelf with our fingerprints and mushroom bits still residing in it.

We drove away after giggling about putting Skeletor on the stereo and then upon realizing she was too high, Charmander pulled off of 93rd Ave. and we proceeded to engage in an emotional attachemnt of pupuae and worms and the plants all around us swaying in the non-existent breeze. I have enevr been that high on mushrooms before in my life and I have done them inumerable times. Christ.

I wish I had seen this.

I had a fucking hangover. Stoooooopid. I spent all Sunday moping around, getting awful and feeling that way as well.

Baby Mario.

I touched fuzzy and got dizzy.

I'm bleeding depravity out of my eyes.

Mon, 17 Oct 2005 18:58:28 GMT

HOLY SHIT.

Like biblical and everything. The world has such a nasty rift in it right now and I can't possibly explain how wrong everything feels.

But it all seems like it's in place. That's the quandry. How can the puzzle be together, but the picture is so fucked up?

I'm so confused about how uncomfortable I have become in my own skin and looking at all the other glistening skins around me.

The door opens and a spiny snake jumps out at a high speed trajectory and muffles my last cries of protest. Every door has said snake lurking behind it. The answer: Open no doors and death will not ensue.

Problem: No doors opening means no prgress. I just have to stay in the one room and sulk.

My stomache feels wretched with the vividness of how lost I am.

The brick wall was erected, sturdy and strong, every piece in place but me.

Thu, 13 Oct 2005 19:44:59 GMT

I really don't have anything interesting to say, so if you're looking for anything of substance scroll past this one...

So, I'm 20. No longer am I a bratty teenager in the pool of oldlings. I'm now a bratty oldling.

There is truly a rift in the universe right now. Nothing fits, nothing feels correct. I have to wear khakis to work. I have to see everyone from my past blink onto my radar because the ice cream hole is in a strategic vortex in the mall. I wish I was in the corner so I could watch people from afar, but not have them notice me.

9th noselbeed happened a couple of days ago. Really exciting stuff. When it hits ten I am celebrating by cauterizing my inner nostril.

Life is so full of activity, yet so fucking boring. I am involved with two musical projects right now (and it's supposed to be three) and being that I'm the voice of each, it's important to be clear and know all the goddamn words.

I'm working everyday until next Wednesday and believe me, if you thought that a job where you just stand around and not do anything is the life, pfffft, you've never done it. I am almost finished with a book due to the slow business of this period. Ugh.

It feels like the 80's working there, except my pants aren't nearly high enough. But I do wear large earings but my hair hasn't reached the standard 2 feet.

God, this is so mundane and boring. When did my life stop existing? I'm am going to keel over and have death engulf me due to lack of stimulus.

Watching Sixteen Candles everyday, sometimes TWICE is seriously unheathy.

Actually I think this ^ is unheathy. Eww. Age.

OMG, I HATE EVERYTHING. I'm actaully too bored to feel that strongly about anything right now. I'm just apathetic and this stagnance is dangerous because it leads right up to the fron doorstep of deep depression. Introspective time where I am bored and therefore boring and therefore self-loathing.

God.

Thu, 06 Oct 2005 18:52:24 GMT

Why is Jeromy Space Battleship Yamato still haunting my life? Only the fucked-up forces that drive him to know for sure. When I stopped talking to him, it was because I didn't want to deal with his whiny drama-laden life anymore. CHRIST. Now he is with my ex's older sister and has to ooze his way back into existence. I will move away soon and can forget EVERYBODY that ever existed. (Mainly people I run into from high school and a few unpleasant post-moving from home assholes).

Anyway. I don't know if my 7th and 8th nosebleeds can be construed as such because they were just kind of discharges of blood. Like the one this morning that just added more gore to my already blood-stained white glovelets.

In my pocket I have a half-smoked cig-a-ma-rette and it reaks and I think is making the people near me uncomfortable. It is certainly too smelly for even me to deal with and I coat my lungs with the stuff.

I am putting a moretoreum on two things. Harboring bad feelings for people that don't even exist on the Keeley Spectrum (i.e. Jeromy Dipshit) because it just makes me put a lot of energy towards being vengeful at a ghost of a person whereas I could be displacing that eslewhere.
And the other is gorging myself on the free icecream at work. I feel gross. It's bad for me and I find that it's just out of boredom and I should probably fight the demons of over-eating compulsion.

The world seems to be turning far more rapidly than usual and I have about fifty projects to complete or do continual work on. The daunting notion of my 20th doth approach and I am afeared of what it will mean. I new year in existence. Holy shit. I vow to never grow up, but maturation is different. I can be a complete human being without being an "adult" aside from chronologically and physically.

Enough bullshitt, Sean will be here and it will be good. I decree it so.

Mon, 03 Oct 2005 23:58:00 GMT

Nathan has been plastering this all over this site:

I'm not sure what to make of it. Masterbation fodder? Surely not.

I went to ye olde food bank today and I believe that I hyperextended my arms/neck on the walk home with generously filled bags of free food to gorge myself on. FREE.

Today is the Kaffrin's 20th birfday. For(r*81)est mistakenly called to wish me a good one. Not 'til Sunday, suckers.

I feel like a 30 year-old burn-out. Like I already went to college, got some bullshitt degree after wasting my time there on dope, and now have a j-o-b at the mall and do nothing with my spare time. Sure, sure, you say,
"but Keeley, I thought you were in a band."
To which I reply,
"Yeah, but we only meet like once, maybe twice a week and I just sing a little and don't participate with any other stuff because I am scared of learning."
"Well, that's something, now isn't it?"

"Define something."

I will mean something someday.

P.S. As of last night SIX NOSEBLEEDS

Kind of like this, but I'll bet this asshole got punched for being an uber-chode falcon and I just have a mysterious and nebulous problem.

Week from Sunday will either prove awful, or better than the last few & won't have to be called off

Fri, 30 Sep 2005 22:50:15 GMT

Good news:
My boss called and said that he wnats to make sure I get at least 35 hours a week at workington and that during the holiday season coming atcha' in 6 weeks
I will be working 40-fucking-+...Dude, way awesome.

Bad news:
Depression still lingers, holding my neck in a mock-strangle, whispering in my ear sweet nothings about how miserable life is and all the failures I have to anticpate. What a swell character. Going to sleep is a challenge as my mind races like a tweeker gerbil in one of those wheels, displleing all hope for the future.

+

=

Oh, and UPDATE on the medical predicaments of one Keeley Dean Nova:
This morning brought on the 5th nosebleed in 3 days and one has to wonder, "Duh-what?"

I have far too much shaving cream in my hair and it is of the variety that reeks of pre-pubescent boy attempting to whoo the ladies with his faux "clean-close-shave" and of middle-aged men going through a midlife crisis attempting to whoo the ladies. Point: "Smell bad."

I, at least look spledid today in my EGL best. Oh, and I had a very good converstaion with a Sir Big'n'Tall about American Psycho and the Columbine Massacre. Talking at great length and detail about all aspects of both. Very refreshing from the seemingly vapid chats I have with everyone else, or the ones that are me listing like the apt pupil, and feeling inferior. Such is life. Bley-la.

P.S. This is what Aushen's myspace holds:

Diddly-qua-qua

Tue, 27 Sep 2005 22:16:41 GMT

Oh, live gerbil. . .you keep me from "expanding my mind" by using other sources on the interwed infomatrix.

My hands are all fucked up and dry from too much contact with bleach and cold conditions that associate themselves with scoopong ice-cream.

Speaking of my job, I have devoured ice cream in such quantities that would make every glutton vomit with the mention of it. I feel like such crap. Plus I have developed a cold because every cocksmoker I know is ill, spreading their disgusting bacteria all over my poor body that is highly susceptible due to the above mentioned horrible diet and too much la smoka.

Musically, I am retarded. I try, I attempt, I leap and fall. My eloquence was once in prose, but has lately disintigrated into mere ramblings of crap. I was never cut out to be a poet (and I HATE poetry). I am floundering also because despite my musical background- it was full of structure and a large group I could climb into anonymity with. I refused solos with fervent tears and now that I am a focal point again (after the small period of the Gay Scince before) I am fucking freaking out.

Maybe the inferiority complex that was many years in the making has stunted my ability to overcome my intense stage fright. And fear of failing. And fear of being seen as a failure.

I don't have the moves, I don't have stage presence. Especially not in practice where my bandmates' eyes are all a flurry in cultivating how we are a as a group. I feel like I am not fulfilling mine duty and fucking up.

Performances are just going to have to be me plunging off the cliff and letting whatever fate keep me alive. Balls-out or it won't be worth it.

"I think you're being. . .an asshole."

THE FEAR CONTROLS ME

Maybe I need one of those absurd "finding yourself" missions where I go off into the dessert of Arizona and not die for a few days.

I am scared I am going to die before I prove my worth not only to myself but to all others that I have crossed paths with.

I don't want to die.

Danke-fucking shane

It may seem superficial, but it's all I have and it's important to me.

Fri, 23 Sep 2005 22:59:06 GMT

It's days like this week that I wished that I had gone to college and some rich relative would've bought me a digital camera. The creativity in my outfits honestly needed to be documented this week and now the make-up has long since been washed away and the clothes detangled from glamour and have been put away into mundane obscurity in my "closet."

Maybe it's the new room and the atmosphere as been making the juices of creativity spurt out everywhere and drench me physically. Seriously though. I can't describe them, and now you'll never see them. 'Tis a shame.

I bought black ankle boots with a kitten heal and fake button-up front. I am in heaven aside from the unfortunate blisters that are associated with rad shoes.

PLUS, I get to be Adam Ant for Night of the Living Cover Bands at OFS. Kevin, Chris, Heather and HAyes and I are them for a night.

I alos have been asked to sing on a Manowar tribute album with Rueben's new band. Fucking strange.

I am so bored all day. Kevin works/goes to school and now with my hours cut and little excuses to make so I won't have to find a second job, what's a fabulously dressed girl to do?

P.S. Not eating and having the pukey-illness that I do, I have lost a noticible amount of weight and I feel disgusting to be happy about it. Maybe it was all that time in school when I was called fat and ugly. Hmmm. I finally am within the realms of having an acceptable body and now I am caught in a catch 22. Go against my morals and be excited, or say fuck everyone and be scared?

Maybe this is why I just want to be ugly. The clothes, the frighteningly loud make-up. . .although the scared girl lost routine is a deterent, I wish I wasn't so terrified of the world.

Thu, 15 Sep 2005 21:36:14 GMT

Not all of us are holier-than-thou good typists/spellers.

But in NO way am I defending Jeromy's lack of ability, not-quite-perfection and totally retarded-ness are different.

I am getting my hours cut and I now cry.

I have to pay $250 to Stevenson,Washington, but miraculously they overlokked my warrant and the fact that I am of 19 years. Stoooooopid.

Yes. Yes. Thank-you.

Fri, 09 Sep 2005 20:53:22 GMT

I revoke the last entry, but I am leaving it for posterity and because if anyone can find another means of obtaining said videos, I'd be much obliged.

Plus I need a complete list of ther movies to be able to figure out which ones to aquire.

HELP HELP HELP

Fri, 09 Sep 2005 18:44:32 GMT

Okay, I have searched and searched. I can't find how to purchase the Babysitter's Club TV series ANYWHERE.

All I can find are forums talking about it and places to buy the movie(which I have, thank-you.)

IT'S ALL I WANT. EVER. HELP.

Oh, no. . .you're a victim of reversion. . .

Fri, 09 Sep 2005 18:28:39 GMT

My last post said that I worked at Coldcocks & Snakebites. But I did't go that day, or the next, or the day after that. I quit after 4 hours. Pathetic, or saving my soul? Hmm, the corporate atmosphere gave me the willies and now I just work at the franchised ice-cream hole. I'm getting a substantial amount of hours, so I am fairly content. But I drew up a budget pertaining to the last 8 months I will live here and I need to make at least $700 a month to do anything. Ugh.

Kevin up and went to Minneapolis a couple of days ago with Josh. I cried like the fucking delta I am and threw an enormous temper tantrum as per usual and I feel like an asshole. But then again, I always feel like an asshole in some way or another.

My mum reminded me that it's exactly one month until my 20th today. I have been overjoyed for several months to finally escape teenagehood, but today I am pretty morose and the novelty seems to have worn off. Birthday, huh? Like it really means anything. I have nobody that cares enough here to do anything special anyway, but I probably would have found some way to make myself miserable. I have realized that nobody has an unfortunate vendetta against me and that the sourse of my unhappiness lies in my own insecurites.

It's been 2 years since I was a senior. Shouldn't I be in college, or something? No? Well, I feel like I am obligated to make others proud but honestly, school scares me because it will cost a fuck-ton of munnnnnny to finance an inevitable failure.

We went to a movie that I thought was going to be some sappy romance set in Africa- and to some extent it was filled with such themes, but mostly it was violent, scary and for the most part a terrifying glimpse of reality. That with that fucking hurricane and Kevin being gone and my propensity for depression have put me in such a place.

I have received a few phone calls from a beloved and newly old friend. I am just not ready yet to put everything I felt behind me and forgive, appologize, and forget. It's too much effort to delevope a new friendship and I am not willing to go down the same path we have before, where we "break-up" and then just gloss over it like she didn't feel anything and I compromise how I felt to make the other happy. I was hurt too. And the wounds from before have large nasty scars. But oh, well. One day.

I had a dream that Pat and I lived in this weird commune house that was often plagued by an unruly group of thugs and then when we were to confront them, their leader was Jason Conde and we were going to be spared because he is our friend and I was pissed that everyone else had to Die (?)and I got to live (?). My mum woke me up before the conclusion.

I miss that boy. His bed is cold and smells like decaying mutt and that usually goes away when I sleep next to him. God, I sound IN LOVE. Eww. But I am and whatever.

I have to look like a chump EVERYDAY.

Mon, 29 Aug 2005 19:57:07 GMT

So I started working at Coldcuts & Snakebites, or whatever that awful place is actually called. All I know is that I have to transform myself into a soul-less selling machine and not buckle under the pressure to sell, sell, sell.

This is what I have to get middle-aged ladies to eat up:

They also want me to buy their merchandise to fucking promote it. Jose says no-way.

I am going to quit real fucking soon. I guarantee that if I don't do that they will can me before I get the chance to save my dignity.

On the other hand, the ice-cream hole is surprisingly delightful. Lax, no pressure. . .sure I have to wear and ungdoly large polo shirt and khakis, but I get an apron and a name tag. Nobody cares about anything there, it's fabulous. . .aside from the minimum wage and 15 hours a week, and the need to take out my lip thingys. . .

BUT- Josh Hymen is in town and that makes things considerabely better.

AND- Pat is coming in like a week. Holy shitt. Excitement Galore. Boo + Yah.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I have to move this week, and paint and not get a fucking day off until Sunday. Adam's here today to say good-bye to drunkened mornings after smashing up my old house with Isaac. I got home this morning to find him stupid-drunk and yelling "Nigger, nigger, nigger," at any passerbys and having Joey calmly attempting to shush him. Yeah, right.

I hate today. I have decided. The Last Monday in August 2005 is a shitty day.

Mon, 15 Aug 2005 21:55:39 GMT

Oh, Bubble Bobble. My heart swells everytime I hear that redundant song through-out all 99 levels only to fluxuate when the ghost-y whale descends to kill you.

Oooh, oooh, updates.

I have a fucking fabulous court date on teh 6th of September because evidently I "violated Dougan Falls." I was nowhere near the booze when rookie power-hungrey cop came from hell to get in trouble. But running probably wasn't the best tactic. . .And the fucker didn't even pick up on my warrant when he ran my name.

Oh, well.

My 4th interview occurs tomorry and if I don't get this shitty j-o-b, I will throw a huge tantrum in the middle of the mall on a date to be determined. I loathe it there anyway and wouldn't mind making a spectacle of myself- especially in front of cock-smoking Wet Seal where they think I am just some poverty stricken girl striving to be cool and fashionable in their shitty clothing options.

I cried after that interview. I may be poor, but that's my own fault and when I am not forced to appear "normal" I look pretty very. VERY RAD. Anyone who contests that will just have to deal with teh fact that I firmly believe that I look swell.

10 weeks on Thursday. That's how long I have been involuntarily vomiting after every meal. I have lost approximately 10 lbs. and I am not particularily stoked on it. Sure, I have bosy issues and sure, I maybe even wanted to lose weight, but not in this sickly, unnatural way. Especially because I could potenially be accused of bulemia. Not true.

They also say pregnant. NO FUCKING THANKS. No baby. Not now, not ever. Plus, I have had ye olde' P-Wing 3 times and have been losing weight, not gaining that, or a disgusting parasite ridden glow.

Also, I got my bill in the mail today from scamming some hospital in Oakland, CA. $333 to "Kelly Brooks." Ha. Ha. HA.

Thu, 28 Jul 2005 22:39:37 GMT

Well, back in cock-smoking territory numero uno.

Moving to Californ-I-A will be the best thing ever.

I was especially pissed when upon driving back I saw the spanish names of towns, streets and what-have-you slowly turn into native american ones.

I HATE IT HERE.

I guess I better go funnel my rage into desperation for a j-o-b. SOON.

Fuck Allah, y'all.