.

Why do we drop our lives to give everything we have to one person, when it turns out that person is just comparing you to someone else? How can we regain anything when we go all with the blind and wait for the other players cards to show? Why is it okay for someone to make you feel so little, while you put that person on a pedestal and praise everything they do or say? Why is it wrong when they say something horrible to get upset and call them on it?

How can that person just leave a conversation in shambles and have absolutly no quams about it? How does one person get enough power over you to take away basic daily functions like eating or sleeping, and drastically change emotions inside you in an instant?

Why don't they feel anything? Is it impossible for them to see the pain that they inflict on others? How do they fall asleep at night knowing that somewhere another someone is hanging on to the last threads of whatever security blanket they threw out? Do we expect too much from other people? Is thinking before you speak too much to ask?

Why is it that the people you care about are the ones that hurt you? Is it because we want so badly for them to feel the same way? Do we hurt them? Do they realise that they hurt us?

Why can't you change people? If I can change the way I act and think for someone else, why can't we convince people of their misjudgments and flaws? Do they not believe that we can see them clearer than anyone, especially when we are the ones that are subject to their manipulation? Is it possible to make someone settle?

Why does it hurt so bad?

So much for resolutions

You can pretty much disregard the last post because I know I have.


Basically right now, I'm feeling washed up like a beached whale. No it has nothing to do with PMS or the fact that I'm about as self confidant as a 400lb woman standing on the 28th story balcony with paper thin glass separating her from death.

You make me feel like shit. Yes, you. I've lived with you for 3 months now. I kinda wish I would have left you this weekend, after to told me that I was useless and I've wrecked your life and you deserve better than me; all because I asked you who that lard ass chick you were talking to in the bar was. Maybe you were thinking about how much you would love to fuck the rolls or something, because at that moment it became clear to me that I mean about as much to you as a ham sandwich.

Sometime you might want one, but you can always find something less boring and meatier.

literally.

Maybe if I gained 200lb you would find me more sexually attractive. God knows it's just a chore for you now.

But it didn't start then. I have spent a lot of my time crying over you. You don't care. Actually just yesterday, I was going to write you this letter, and I needed some paper, after about half an hour of me digging through all my boxes searching for something unaltered, you come in and start questioning me. Of course I don't want to tell you my intentions, I want you to fucking understand that I can't get through to you verbally, so I'm trying to find other ways to communicate. After harassing me for 20 minutes I break down, just like the WEAK FUCKING LITTLE BITCH that I am.

And what do you say when I finally admit to what I was doing?

here it is word for word in case you forgot:
You: what? you were going to write me a letter?
Me: no...Yeah. Ok. Yeah. you won't listen to what I say and I need you to understa..
You: You make me feel so good. (sincere tone not sarcasm)
Me: why? because you make me cry all the time?
You: yeah.


Words can't describe the hate I feel for you right now. You always say you want me to support you in what you do, yeah. I do. I do everything for you. I do you fucking laundry, I cook you dinner every night, I clean your fucking apartment, hell, I EVEN BOUGHT YOUR KID A BIRTHDAY PRESENT WHEN YOU COULDN'T GO SHOPPING. By the way, I still haven't got that money back. I guess it would be okay if your sonofabitch ex would actually let me meet the damn kids. We've been together a fucking year and you treat me like shit and I stay, so I'm pretty sure IM NOT GOING ANYWHERE!

I hate the way you look at me. Just because you're a fat ugly cunt and your ex has someone cuter doesn't mean you have to ruin my life. I have absolutely no problem with you as a person, I've even went out with you and your mom! We've been out together twice. I get along with you! Why do you have to make problems for me and mike? I can understand that I'm taking him away from you, but you left him and are with someone else... why can't he do the same? You still control everything he does, and get your fucking money so back off. I shouldn't have to change my number to get away from your phone calls, I shouldn't have to put up with your fat friends coming up to me and MY BOYFRIEND when WE ARE OUT TOGETHER and starting shit with me because you put them up to it. You know, 99% of our fights start because of you.

Get a life.

Why hasn't the world ended yet?

Well it's two thousand and seven.

This year, it's all me.

I am not going to starve myself for a month trying to loose my thighs, only to give up after one really bad cramp and a serious craving for lindor chocolates.

I am not going to force myself to tame my temper and pretend that everything is fine when I know damn well that I have every god dammed right to be pissed and YOU need to hear about it. Loudly.

I am not going to sacrifice my 300 dollar-a-month underwear habit just so I can spend my money buying you hot clothes because you have no style. Guess what baby, all the sexy get ups I pour myself into are for ME. Not you. I like going to bed feeling like a million bucks. And just because it's silky doesn't mean you get to fuck me. What happens if the house burns down? You can run out in your crappy boxers, I'm gonna slip on my lace stiletto slippers and wait for the firemen, thank you very much.

I'm also gonna let you buy me more shit. You make XXXXX amount more money than I do. And now you're sharing.

I'm not gonna let my friends push me around. I'm sick and fucking tired of being the angelic creation that swoops in and guides you in the right direction. To put it bluntly for Tracy: If you don't know how to stop fucking everything within a 10 mile radius, try closing your legs. I'm sick of hearing about your boy troubles. Actually I'm sick of hearing about your 15 different boy troubles.

Mom, I know that I'm your only daughter, but I'm an adult, and I'm sorry but I'm going to have sex, drink, and smoke the occasional joint. I listen to hard rock, I like blood and guts movies, and I have the worst drunken sailor mouth that you will ever encounter. But you should love me anyway. Don't change me because you can't. I stopped listening to you a long time ago. So what if I end up pregnant in a year, and married and divorced in two? It's my life. You lived yours. (Miss I-got-married-7-months-before-you-were-born) Besides, who would you worry about if you didn't have me?

Oh, and NO I WILL NOT TALK TO YOU ABOUT MY FEELINGS FOR MY BOYFRIEND OR THE SEXUAL POSITIONS WE HAVE TRIED. Yes, I'm mature, but that's just way too fucking weird.

Some days I'm gonna skip showering. You're gonna be fine with it. And you're gonna tell me I smell like candy.

I'm actually gonna tell you I'm not on the pill and we're just really lucky. And I'll actually go on the pill because I hate having to worry about it. I want kids. But not this year. And if you don't, I'm gonna leave because that's gay and I'm not wasting my time.

I'm going to girlify your house too. Boo hoo.

I'm going to watch some porn and master oral. Not for you, but because I feel bad when I get down there and get bored and just hover. I'm pretty sure I could have some fun doing it if I made it dramatic.

So basically, I'm acting like an egotistical stuck up bitch for the next year. Bow down.

Like Pink, I'm not dead, just ugly.

Long time no post.

Basically I neglected you because I've done a lot of growing up in the past year.
I realized that when I did post it was fucking retarded shit about how emo I was and serious depression was probably on the way.
I've got a new job now. Yes again. I'm half-ass managing a whoretel in this shitty ass town I call house.
Not home. That would be too normal.

I've decided I'm going to become a rock star and one day I'm going to play at the MTV awards and they're gonna tell me that I have to sing the song I got famous for that someone else wrote AND when I get on stage I'm gonna say "they want me to play that stupid catchy song with hip lyrics and lots of guitar solos that Lou Pearlman wrote, but if I'm gonna sing someone else's song I'm gonna pick one I actually like"
And then start playing Santeria and at the end I'll collapse to me knees and start rocking back and forth, and they'll have to drag my ass off stage.

Just because anything is possible when you think about it.

I've got a new boyfriend. He's 11 years older than me.
He treats me like a fucking goddess, which I don't deserve because I cheated on him. And the most hypocritical thing I have ever done is accost him about being faithful knowing full well that he has, and I'm the only trash he sleeps with. I don't even know how I managed to pull that off without bursting into tears and confessing the whole thing to him.
I'm a complete tool of a woman that needs an ass kicking to get her shit in line.
Guys, girls with any ounce of looks or chest will cheat because they have everything with a heartbeat throwing themselves at them.
Best bet, find a mediocre looking woman with a big heart and even bigger IQ when you're ready to settle down for a while.

Just remember, when you become rich, you can get divorced. That's the norm now a days. And marry some hot playboy playmate because if she cheats on you, she gets cut from the will when you die. That will keep her in line.

Money talks. Bitches walk. Jesus talks. Fuck the cops.

Mr. Right isn't exactly a stud, he could be zitty, or short, or even a little scrawny for your tastes. He doesn't look anything like the last guy you were having sex with for an extended period of time. Yet, you wanna get to know him. Mr. Right is a talker. He's into you and you know it. You know you like him too, just aren't sure if you could hit that with a straight face.

Mr. Right comes to see you at work. You set up a meeting. It's not a "date" because you're not dating. You meeting ends up turning into a evening formal. Where he opens the doors for you and buys all your drinks. You go for a drive. Drive ends up as parking. Parking turns into conversation, and then he asks to kiss you. You're already drunk and agree thinking.. "I'm so fucking hot right now". Kiss goes terribly for the first two minutes, you use your teeth to get your bearings, and then remember what you're trying to accomplish and back those pearlies up. Kiss gets better, and then you lean in a little more for some tongue action. Ohhh what's this? A tongue ring. Yes a tongue ring. You spend the next ten minutes hoping to hell he'll make a move so you can get a little metal ball action elsewhere.


So after makeout comes more beer. Beer beer beer. Not quite as good as sex but it does the trick in a pinch. You're still thinking about the tongue ring, by the way.
Time to pack up and haul out. Mr. Right leaves with a promise "so tomorrow night?"
You giggle and smile, "definitely".


You're still thinking about the tongue ring. You've never made out with a guy with a tongue ring. Women with tongue ring, yes. Nipple ring, yes. Small penis, yes. A tongue ring, never.

tomorrow comes. And goes. The next week rolls around. Oh it's Friday and I'm going out with the girls. I'll call him so we can (you're thinking tongue ring right now) party. He says he'll try to make it. You wait an hour, call again to ask what's up. He says he'll be there. You wait 8 more beers, three more marriage proposals, two ass slaps and 5 pool games and go home. (unlaid.) lesigh.

You talk to your friend that knows Mr. Right. She says that he thinks your mad at him, you tell her you are but aren't because women never know what the hell they're thinking. And then you call him.
"hey what are you doing tonight"
"nothin"
"how was your weekend"
"pretty good"
"well I'm going out partying and I don't want to be the only one there that's cool" (You're thinking tongue ring. And how smooth that was)
"yeah Sherry told me, and I was thinking about it"
"oh"
SILENCE
"well you should come"
"yeah I was thinking about it"
"so yeah, how was your weekend"
"pretty good"
SILENCE
"well we're going at nine, so see ya later"
"yeah I'll probably come in"


That went swimmingly. Then you hit mental replay. (toungering) Yes, you did ask him how his weekend was two times within two minutes. (awkward laugh and sigh)

You go to the bar, with less friends than you expected, and less unknowns than you hoped. You sit there and drink and drink and drink. Then your friend calls Mr. Right, arranges a ride so he can drive us all home. Shitty deal because you wanted to get drunk with him and accidentally fall onto his erect penis. Then someone starts buying you drinks. Oh boy! It's not Mr. Right.

It's ugly 40 year old to the rescue!
"waitress, gimme a round of shots"
Shots come, and you know you puke instantly the hardbar hits your tummy. You do the shot anyway. Shaking it out like a pornstar. Mr. Right didn't notice because he's too busy conversing with the bar's own 65 year old male regular alcoholic. Oh well. You do a 3.2.1.go countdown to yourself, a little loud for attention, then slam your beer and clam to was the hardbar out of your kisser. Mission accomplished. (run to the bathroom now) You know what's coming.

You come back and spend the next ten minutes watching everyone around you spin. You feel left out because everyone is having their own conversations about stuff you don't comprehend. Then before you know it, Mr. Right slides his hand over your thigh, (toungering)and announces that he's way behind on paperwork and needs to go home. You give him the best puppy eyes you can muster with the inebriated state you've been given from ugly 40 year old. Statement still stands. Dammit all to hell. You get up, grab your coat and leave.

Silent car ride home.

No hug.

No peck on the cheek. You don't have the balls.

And most of all, no tongue ring.

Mr. Right calls you, sets up another "meeting" and then calls you more to say he'll call you back. Never does.

So where does that leave the woman? Bitching to mutual friend about how much you don't know if you like him even when you really do because if you didn't you wouldn't care. Then a day passes and you bitch to mutual friend some more about how you stayed up til 2am waiting for the phone call when you had to work in the morning and were tired to begin with. (toungering) Then you have a deep conversation about Mr. Right with mutual friend and explain to her that you don't know what's going on, but it's fucking with your head and it's pissing you off. Mutual friend assures you that Mr. Right doesn't know what's going on either and wants to talk to you.

But he doesn't. No phone call. No stop in to see you at work. No tongue ring.
By now, you're trying to convince yourself that you don't care and you don't want to call him, and he wasn't that cute anyways. But in your head, you know you've fallen and want to hit it so bad that it's killing you a little more inside each day. You can't concentrate on anything, and he's always playing in your mind. The geeky laugh, the undershaved, almost pubescent mustache, two millimeter difference in height. He's with you all the time, but not the way it should be. You want commitment, you want closeness. You want to call him up and go have endless fun. You want someone to be there to talk to, you want a guy to take you out and stand up for you when ugly 40 year old starts sweet talking his way into the invisible pants that he thinks you should be wearing.


You're in like. Well LIKE LIKE. You know now that you could hit with a straight face. You know now that this guy could make you very happy (toungering) if he ever calls you again. You know his number, but don't have enough time to put what you want to say into a two minute chat. You're thinking this can't happen to me. I'm the level-headed straight-shooter. I'm too cute to be 21 and single, and you always get your questions answered on the first "meeting".

To make yourself feel better you're thinking about the way you promised yourself at 14 that you would never date someone scrawny, or geeky, or short. In case (toungering) he doesn't call.

XOXO

Heated discussion about cows.

Me: why don't you just have a steak.
Amanda: because I don't eat meat.
Me: so tell me then, why do cows exist? If we didn't eat them do you think they would live in nice little cow houses and send their little calves to cow school and work infront of a computer all day? Would there be famous cows? With multi-million dollar movies, would cow mom sit at home all day reading "cow weekly"?
Amanda: no.
Me: exactly. The only thing cows are good for is smackin over the head and throwing on the grill. Maybe leather jackets too, but they're not cool anymore.

IM BAAAAACK!

It all started Christmas eve.

I went out with my friend Amanda and got just a little drunk. I have a Christmas tradition which consists of me and a friend going out in the snow and taking down all the pink and blue lights in town and smashing them/eating them. I used to do this with my college roomie Tracy,(you all remember good ol' trac right?) but seeing as I'm a million miles away from her now, I convinced my hicktown friend Amanda to come help me. So, we both agree that something needs to be done about the huge (by my standards) lighting display downtown in Rycroft. I took a picture. oh yeah. its dark and my cam sucks so fucking sue me.


So we get to work. After about ten bulbs and three more beers we decide that its way to much fucking work and just UNPLUG the whole fucking thing. I took a picture.



ya see that light in the distance? Turns out that's some old guy that works for the town out walking his dog. He sees what we did, and starts yelling at us and chasing us. (as fast as he could)

At this point I should mention Amanda's fear of anything with four legs and the ability to bark.

She sees this fucking mutt and freaks out and runs off screaming, until she slips on a patch of ice and falls on her ass.

I'm like 30 feet behind her just standing there laughing, not comprehending the fact that this guy can get me put in jail. Amanda's fucking yelling at me and trying not to laugh too, because she damn well knows it's funny. So I catch up and we hide in this little old train station that's still standing. High school kids go here to get stoned. Well, ok maybe drunken ex-college students use it too.

Anyways, it's snowing, two girls are hiding in a small ass shack that's about to cave in any second, drunk out of their mind. Ask yourself, what would I do if I was in that situation?

If you answered go back and turn the Joseph and Mary statues into something out of a porno, you think just like me.



after that little diddy, I'm tired and drunk, and want to go to bed. But first I wanted to tell you guys about my little adventure. I go home stumble to my desk, fall into my chair, and turn on my old computer. I then try to plug in my USB cable. Unsuccessfully.
So I turn it around and shove as hard as I can, and then I hear this "dit dit dit dit dit" noise, so I reboot, and it wont do anything, not even go the DOS shell.

So let's do a recap, I've went through 2 keyboards, 3 towers, and 2 monitors within 8 months.


I AM FUCKING AWESOME.

so that's where I've been. Getting drunk and breaking stuff.
Don't you miss me more now?

It's my new radioactive mouse! HURRAY FOR DEFORMITY!