This really has been an interesting break.
I've been stoned-a lot.
I've eaten seafood-a lot (mind you, for the first time ever).
I've watched movies-a lot.
I've been lazy-a lot.
I've been busy-a lot.
And for a spell had only showered once in 3 days (which is more than half of this break).
I hung out with Steve!
and saw Kurt again [which was really awkward, Katie] (and he remembered who I was).
Carl hung out with Steve (even as brief as it was).
I hung out with Natalie (including being in her house for the first time ever)!
This break dragged on forever. I loved every second. I feel fantastic, honestly.
And this week will be just as good.
Wednesday?
This weekend?
High hopes.
Nov 29, 2008
We're doing fine, we're doing nothing at all.
I just realized, I have no real connections anymore.
FUUUUUUUUUUUCK.
I need to start making some new friends.
But, good news!
I have birth control! And Carl is allowed over at my dad's house again! And we set up our Christmas tree! And that crazy little elf village with lights and trees and shit! And tomorrow I'm probably gonna get trashed with my dad's friend Dean and maybe Katie and/or Carl! AND next weekend Katie and I might possibly be hanging out up at Central and partying HARD with Steve and the gang! Although it's still sort of undecided as of yet because we need to get ride approval and then have a convincing lie for our parents, plus money.
Ahh well. Things are... decent? Looking up, though generally down? I'm not sure. I've been really thrown off by this break. It seems to be stretching on forever, but it's gonna suck really bad when it does end.
FUUUUUUUUUUUCK.
I need to start making some new friends.
But, good news!
I have birth control! And Carl is allowed over at my dad's house again! And we set up our Christmas tree! And that crazy little elf village with lights and trees and shit! And tomorrow I'm probably gonna get trashed with my dad's friend Dean and maybe Katie and/or Carl! AND next weekend Katie and I might possibly be hanging out up at Central and partying HARD with Steve and the gang! Although it's still sort of undecided as of yet because we need to get ride approval and then have a convincing lie for our parents, plus money.
Ahh well. Things are... decent? Looking up, though generally down? I'm not sure. I've been really thrown off by this break. It seems to be stretching on forever, but it's gonna suck really bad when it does end.
Nov 24, 2008
Nov 22, 2008
Die young and save yourself.
I love Brand New a lot. If love was eQual to an amount in tons, it would be 293,847,298,374,918,348,394,892,384x10^∞. Which yes, is two hundred ninety-three septillion, eight hundred forty-seven sextillion, two hundred ninety-eight Quintillion, three hundred seventy-four Quadrillion, nine hundred eighteen trillion, three hundred forty-eight billion, three hundred ninety-four million, eight hundred ninety-two thousand, three hundred eighty-four times ten to infinity. Which is a lot. I actually had to look up some of those prefixes for the number classification.
For example, I bet you did not know that 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 is called one novemdecillion? Or that if you add another three zeros, it's called vigintillion and that 10^99 is called duotrigintillion? The Greek-based name for the three previous numbers were: icosillion, icosihenillion, and triacontatrillion. And, 10^100 or 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 is one googol.I feel smart. Except not really. This is not practical at all.
I'm so fucking weird, but, I don't care. Not anymore at least.
I don't really have anything to say right now. There are maybe 6 people in the entire world who know what I've been going through, and now that it's over, only those 6 can really understand how I'm feeling.
Now it's just time to pick up where I left off. For a while there, time was standing still.
I have to wait until Monday to get on birth control. They are implanting something in my arm for 3 years, but they have to synch it to my hormones so I have to be on my period, but the office isn't open on weekends. Unfortunately, my period only lasts about three days, so Monday is pretty much our only shot until next month.
Now, Tuesday night is wide open, plus, we won't have school the next day.
^^
For example, I bet you did not know that 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 is called one novemdecillion? Or that if you add another three zeros, it's called vigintillion and that 10^99 is called duotrigintillion? The Greek-based name for the three previous numbers were: icosillion, icosihenillion, and triacontatrillion. And, 10^100 or 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 is one googol.I feel smart. Except not really. This is not practical at all.
I'm so fucking weird, but, I don't care. Not anymore at least.
I don't really have anything to say right now. There are maybe 6 people in the entire world who know what I've been going through, and now that it's over, only those 6 can really understand how I'm feeling.
Now it's just time to pick up where I left off. For a while there, time was standing still.
I have to wait until Monday to get on birth control. They are implanting something in my arm for 3 years, but they have to synch it to my hormones so I have to be on my period, but the office isn't open on weekends. Unfortunately, my period only lasts about three days, so Monday is pretty much our only shot until next month.
Now, Tuesday night is wide open, plus, we won't have school the next day.
^^
Nov 20, 2008
Your skin attached, this fragile cliche of my broken heart attack
You should swallow your teeth and hang out and stay for a while.
I'm sorry for earlier today, before the show. The stress is getting to me, more than you can imagine. I've just got so much to deal with right now, any little thing can set me off. I just need you to be there to help me out of it. I'm sorry I got mad at you, because I know I hate it when you get mad at me. But even you could see that you make me smile even if I'm upset. I know everything will work out fine in the end, but it doesn't help that we have to go through so much shit to get there.
I'm not sure if it's because I'm hormonal or I'm just freaked out, and that doesn't help either. You know. Those thoughts don't go away.
Anyhow, I'm sorry. I hate getting mad at you because then I always feel bad afterwards.
P.S. I made another one of these, but I don't think it's as good as the first.
I'm sorry for earlier today, before the show. The stress is getting to me, more than you can imagine. I've just got so much to deal with right now, any little thing can set me off. I just need you to be there to help me out of it. I'm sorry I got mad at you, because I know I hate it when you get mad at me. But even you could see that you make me smile even if I'm upset. I know everything will work out fine in the end, but it doesn't help that we have to go through so much shit to get there.
I'm not sure if it's because I'm hormonal or I'm just freaked out, and that doesn't help either. You know. Those thoughts don't go away.
Anyhow, I'm sorry. I hate getting mad at you because then I always feel bad afterwards.
P.S. I made another one of these, but I don't think it's as good as the first.
Nov 18, 2008
You say you want a revolution, well you know, we all want to change the world
Study shows men riskier drivers than women
SAN FRANCISCO, Nov. 16 (UPI) -- Men drive more dangerously than women and are more likely to be at fault when involved in a traffic accident, a company's analysis reveals.
Quality Planning Corp., a San Francisco company that validates policyholder information for auto insurers, said in a Friday news release it has determined that men are cited for reckless driving 3.41 times more often than women. Men also are pulled over for driving under the influence 3.09 times more often.
Men are cited more frequently for seatbelt violations (3.08), speeding (1.75), failure to yield (1.54) and stop sign/signal violations (1.53).
Women drivers were about 27 percent less likely than men to be found at fault when involved in an accident, Quality Planning's study of 12 months of 2007 policyholder information for U.S. drivers found.
The differences held true across all age groups, the company said.
Dr. Raj Bhat, president of Quality Planning, said because men are more likely to violate laws for speeding, passing and yielding, the resulting accidents caused by men lead to more expensive claims than those caused by women.
© 2008 United Press International, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
p.s. I win. *snicker snicker*
Nov 15, 2008
I don't know how to wake myself either
One Kiss by Tess Gallagher
A man was given one kiss, one
mouth, one tongue, one early dawn, one boat
on the sea, lust of an indeterminate
amount under stars. He was happy
and well fitted for life until he met a man
with two cocks. Then a sense of futility
and of the great unfairness of life befell him.
He lay about all day like a teenaged girl dreaming,
practicing all the ways to be unconsciously beautiful.
Gradually his competitive spirit began to fade
and in its place a gigantic kiss rowed toward him.
It seemed to recognize him, to have intended itself
only for him. It's just a kiss, he thought,
I'll use it up. The kiss had the same thing
on its mind—``I'll use up this man.''
But when two kisses kiss, it's like tigers
answering questions about infinity with their teeth.
Even if you are eaten, it's okay—you just become impossible
a new way—sleepless, stranger than fish, stranger
than some goofy man with two cocks. That's
what I meant about the hazards
of infinity. When you at last begin to seize those things
which don't exist,
how much longer will the night need to be?
America by Tony Hoagland
Then one of the students with blue hair and a tongue stud
Says that America is for him a maximum-security prison
Whose walls are made of RadioShacks and Burger Kings, and MTV episodes
Where you can’t tell the show from the commercials,
And as I consider how to express how full of shit I think he is,
He says that even when he’s driving to the mall in his Isuzu
Trooper with a gang of his friends, letting rap music pour over them
Like a boiling Jacuzzi full of ballpeen hammers, even then he feels
Buried alive, captured and suffocated in the folds
Of the thick satin quilt of America
And I wonder if this is a legitimate category of pain,
or whether he is just spin doctoring a better grade,
And then I remember that when I stabbed my father in the dream last night,
It was not blood but money
That gushed out of him, bright green hundred-dollar bills
Spilling from his wounds, and—this is the weird part—,
He gasped “Thank god—those Ben Franklins were
Clogging up my heart—
And so I perish happily,
Freed from that which kept me from my liberty”—
Which was when I knew it was a dream, since my dad
Would never speak in rhymed couplets,
And I look at the student with his acne and cell phone and phony ghetto clothes
And I think, “I am asleep in America too,
And I don’t know how to wake myself either,”
And I remember what Marx said near the end of his life:
“I was listening to the cries of the past,
When I should have been listening to the cries of the future.”
But how could he have imagined 100 channels of 24-hour cable
Or what kind of nightmare it might be
When each day you watch rivers of bright merchandise run past you
And you are floating in your pleasure boat upon this river
Even while others are drowning underneath you
And you see their faces twisting in the surface of the waters
And yet it seems to be your own hand
Which turns the volume higher?
Old Joke by Alan Shapiro
Radiant child of Leto, far working Lord Apollo,
with lyre in hand and golden plectrum, you sang to the gods
on Mount Olympus almost as soon as you were born.
You sang, and the Muses sang in answer, and together
your voices so delighted all your deathless elders
that their perfect happiness was made more perfect still.
What was it, though, that overwhelmed them, that suffused,
astonished, even the endless aether? Was it the freshest,
most wonderful stops of breath, the flawless intervals
and scales whose harmonies were mimicking in sound
the beauty of the gods themselves, or what you joined
to that, what you were singing of, our balked desires,
the miseries we suffer at your indifferent hands,
devastation, and bereavement, old age and death?
Far working, radiant child, what do you know about us?
Here is my father, half blind, and palsied, at the toilet,
he's shouting at his penis, Piss, you! Piss! Piss!
but the penis (like the heavenly host to mortal prayers)
is deaf and dumb; here, too, my mother with her bad knee,
on the eve of surgery, hobbling by the bathroom,
pausing, saying, who are you talking to in there?
and he replies, no one you would know, sweetheart.
Supernal one, in your untested mastery,
your easy excellence, with nothing to overcome,
and needing nothing but the most calamitous
and abject stories to prove how powerful you are,
how truly free, watch them as they laugh so briefly,
godlike, better than gods, if only for a moment
in which what goes wrong is converted to a rightness,
if only because now she's hobbling back to bed
where she won't sleep, if only because he pees at last,
missing the bowl, and has to get down on his knees
to wipe it up. You don't know anything about us.
A man was given one kiss, one
mouth, one tongue, one early dawn, one boat
on the sea, lust of an indeterminate
amount under stars. He was happy
and well fitted for life until he met a man
with two cocks. Then a sense of futility
and of the great unfairness of life befell him.
He lay about all day like a teenaged girl dreaming,
practicing all the ways to be unconsciously beautiful.
Gradually his competitive spirit began to fade
and in its place a gigantic kiss rowed toward him.
It seemed to recognize him, to have intended itself
only for him. It's just a kiss, he thought,
I'll use it up. The kiss had the same thing
on its mind—``I'll use up this man.''
But when two kisses kiss, it's like tigers
answering questions about infinity with their teeth.
Even if you are eaten, it's okay—you just become impossible
a new way—sleepless, stranger than fish, stranger
than some goofy man with two cocks. That's
what I meant about the hazards
of infinity. When you at last begin to seize those things
which don't exist,
how much longer will the night need to be?
America by Tony Hoagland
Then one of the students with blue hair and a tongue stud
Says that America is for him a maximum-security prison
Whose walls are made of RadioShacks and Burger Kings, and MTV episodes
Where you can’t tell the show from the commercials,
And as I consider how to express how full of shit I think he is,
He says that even when he’s driving to the mall in his Isuzu
Trooper with a gang of his friends, letting rap music pour over them
Like a boiling Jacuzzi full of ballpeen hammers, even then he feels
Buried alive, captured and suffocated in the folds
Of the thick satin quilt of America
And I wonder if this is a legitimate category of pain,
or whether he is just spin doctoring a better grade,
And then I remember that when I stabbed my father in the dream last night,
It was not blood but money
That gushed out of him, bright green hundred-dollar bills
Spilling from his wounds, and—this is the weird part—,
He gasped “Thank god—those Ben Franklins were
Clogging up my heart—
And so I perish happily,
Freed from that which kept me from my liberty”—
Which was when I knew it was a dream, since my dad
Would never speak in rhymed couplets,
And I look at the student with his acne and cell phone and phony ghetto clothes
And I think, “I am asleep in America too,
And I don’t know how to wake myself either,”
And I remember what Marx said near the end of his life:
“I was listening to the cries of the past,
When I should have been listening to the cries of the future.”
But how could he have imagined 100 channels of 24-hour cable
Or what kind of nightmare it might be
When each day you watch rivers of bright merchandise run past you
And you are floating in your pleasure boat upon this river
Even while others are drowning underneath you
And you see their faces twisting in the surface of the waters
And yet it seems to be your own hand
Which turns the volume higher?
Old Joke by Alan Shapiro
Radiant child of Leto, far working Lord Apollo,
with lyre in hand and golden plectrum, you sang to the gods
on Mount Olympus almost as soon as you were born.
You sang, and the Muses sang in answer, and together
your voices so delighted all your deathless elders
that their perfect happiness was made more perfect still.
What was it, though, that overwhelmed them, that suffused,
astonished, even the endless aether? Was it the freshest,
most wonderful stops of breath, the flawless intervals
and scales whose harmonies were mimicking in sound
the beauty of the gods themselves, or what you joined
to that, what you were singing of, our balked desires,
the miseries we suffer at your indifferent hands,
devastation, and bereavement, old age and death?
Far working, radiant child, what do you know about us?
Here is my father, half blind, and palsied, at the toilet,
he's shouting at his penis, Piss, you! Piss! Piss!
but the penis (like the heavenly host to mortal prayers)
is deaf and dumb; here, too, my mother with her bad knee,
on the eve of surgery, hobbling by the bathroom,
pausing, saying, who are you talking to in there?
and he replies, no one you would know, sweetheart.
Supernal one, in your untested mastery,
your easy excellence, with nothing to overcome,
and needing nothing but the most calamitous
and abject stories to prove how powerful you are,
how truly free, watch them as they laugh so briefly,
godlike, better than gods, if only for a moment
in which what goes wrong is converted to a rightness,
if only because now she's hobbling back to bed
where she won't sleep, if only because he pees at last,
missing the bowl, and has to get down on his knees
to wipe it up. You don't know anything about us.
Nov 14, 2008
On and on we sing our song
It's 11 at night. I'm dropped off at my house to find everyone in bed. They ask me where I've been, expecting me to have been home much sooner, so I'll recap:
Carl and I went to Laurel Park to see a movie. The intention was to just skip around the theaters and watch multiple movies, but after we finished the first it seemed kind of too late to watch another. Since it was 8:40, I figured it would be fun to fuck around and play around in the parking garage. We spent time walking ramps and running around in the rain and trying to get goldfish to "swim to the ocean," until about 9:20. At which point, we were going to call home. Well, my phone is down at my house, I don't have a cell phone because my mom took it away, I don't know my dad's cell phone number, my mom didn't call us back when we asked her for it, Carl's parents weren't home and didn't answer their cell phones either, leaving us stranded at 6 and Newburgh. We waited a little and Carl figured it would be best to start walking home, so off we went. Originally, we thought we were on 7 mile, but after walking aways we realized our error and had essentially cut a mile off of our estimated trip. When we got to 5 and Newburgh, we went to the CVS and I bought some sparkling water because it was cheap and we only had $1. We were pretty close at that point and made the rest of the journey to Carl's house to find that his parents had gotten home at the same time we did. After explaining our dilemma, I got dropped off and you know the rest of the story from there.
I mean, all in all I had a good time, but for fuck's sake. At least it wasn't cold, even if it was raining. Because of this, I'm going to petition to my mom for my cell back. Obviously I need it. That was the fucking reason she got it for me in the first place.
Mon Dieu!
Carl and I went to Laurel Park to see a movie. The intention was to just skip around the theaters and watch multiple movies, but after we finished the first it seemed kind of too late to watch another. Since it was 8:40, I figured it would be fun to fuck around and play around in the parking garage. We spent time walking ramps and running around in the rain and trying to get goldfish to "swim to the ocean," until about 9:20. At which point, we were going to call home. Well, my phone is down at my house, I don't have a cell phone because my mom took it away, I don't know my dad's cell phone number, my mom didn't call us back when we asked her for it, Carl's parents weren't home and didn't answer their cell phones either, leaving us stranded at 6 and Newburgh. We waited a little and Carl figured it would be best to start walking home, so off we went. Originally, we thought we were on 7 mile, but after walking aways we realized our error and had essentially cut a mile off of our estimated trip. When we got to 5 and Newburgh, we went to the CVS and I bought some sparkling water because it was cheap and we only had $1. We were pretty close at that point and made the rest of the journey to Carl's house to find that his parents had gotten home at the same time we did. After explaining our dilemma, I got dropped off and you know the rest of the story from there.
I mean, all in all I had a good time, but for fuck's sake. At least it wasn't cold, even if it was raining. Because of this, I'm going to petition to my mom for my cell back. Obviously I need it. That was the fucking reason she got it for me in the first place.
Mon Dieu!
Nov 13, 2008
That's not a riot, it's a feast; let's eat
I've been all over the fucking place today.
I'm hoping what comes next is blood.
My mother says that you are not allowed to come home with me tomorrow. She said she is going to drive by and check. I'm going to tell her that I'm going to Katie's.
I'm hoping what comes next is blood.
My mother says that you are not allowed to come home with me tomorrow. She said she is going to drive by and check. I'm going to tell her that I'm going to Katie's.
Nov 9, 2008
Nov 8, 2008
So shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye...
It would probably be wise of me to tell you that I don't have a cell phone anymore either. You'll have to call my Dad's house, because this is apparently where I'm going to be for a very long time.
I'll be getting my shit from my Mom's tomorrow. A lot of it anyhow.
367-9408 (for those who don't have the number) It will most likely be me who picks up the phone, because no one else ever does.
I'll be getting my shit from my Mom's tomorrow. A lot of it anyhow.
367-9408 (for those who don't have the number) It will most likely be me who picks up the phone, because no one else ever does.
Nov 6, 2008
America (FUCK YEAH!)
LOLZ. I feel really good about myself.
Go to my other blog. Go to the link towards the bottom called Today On the Interwebs. Read today's post. Then, proceed to read where he found out about today's post.
(hint: HE GOT IT FROM ME!!!!!)
Go to my other blog. Go to the link towards the bottom called Today On the Interwebs. Read today's post. Then, proceed to read where he found out about today's post.
(hint: HE GOT IT FROM ME!!!!!)
Nov 5, 2008
Guaranteed to blow your mind, anytime.
Hush, hush.
No frustration. No worries. No stress. Out of sight, out of mind.
There's a slim chance, and I'm banking on that.
You were right. They were right. Everyone was right. But we can't afford that.
Now it's just a waiting game.
No frustration. No worries. No stress. Out of sight, out of mind.
There's a slim chance, and I'm banking on that.
You were right. They were right. Everyone was right. But we can't afford that.
Now it's just a waiting game.
Nov 2, 2008
I don't see anything now, so just say what you wanna say.
It's kind of funny how I'm not listening anyway.
I like having problems with myself. I'm not going to deny that I get a rush when people tell me that I shouldn't do things and that it's not good for me. I like the feeling of doing dangerous things. I mean, it almost feels like my duty to let you all live vicariously through me. At least it means that you won't have to go through what I do, plus I get all the kicks.
But I feel like I've been shaping up. I feel clean. Frankly, I don't like that. Problem is, I can't afford to be problematic. I don't like that either.
I miss it. But I'm also afraid of losing certain things that I've worked pretty hard to get.
Does that make me a coward or a hero?
I like having problems with myself. I'm not going to deny that I get a rush when people tell me that I shouldn't do things and that it's not good for me. I like the feeling of doing dangerous things. I mean, it almost feels like my duty to let you all live vicariously through me. At least it means that you won't have to go through what I do, plus I get all the kicks.
But I feel like I've been shaping up. I feel clean. Frankly, I don't like that. Problem is, I can't afford to be problematic. I don't like that either.
I miss it. But I'm also afraid of losing certain things that I've worked pretty hard to get.
Does that make me a coward or a hero?
Nov 1, 2008
Spring keeps you ever close, you are second hand smoke
You are so fragile and thin standing trial for your sins
Holding on to yourself the best you can
I wish you'd just leave. For good, anyhow.
Holding on to yourself the best you can
I wish you'd just leave. For good, anyhow.
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