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Dear Kindly Sergeant Krupkie: You gotta understand. It's just my bringing up-kie that gets me out of hand. My brothers all are bastards, my parents all were drunks. Glory, oskie, that's why I'm a punk.
EEk! Officer Krupkie, you've done it again. This boy don't need a job, he needs a year in the pen. He's not antisocial, or misunderstood. Deep, down inside him, he's no good!
I'm no good!
I'm no good, I'm no good, I'm no earthly good, like, inside the worst of us is good!
-West Side Story
Yahoo! never gives me the NewMail! icon any more.
"Como un durazno." La frase no existe, pero yo pienso de esa. ¿Por qué? No sé. Un durazno es como un albaricoque. Un albaricoque es como un durazno. ¿Qué es la diferencia? I don´t know, man. Peaches are fuzzier. Yes, peaches are most definitely fuzzier than apricots. Other than that, it´s pretty much the same thing.
I'm very easily distracted. An hour? Things don't take an hour to load. Not at this connection speed they don't. I´ll show you, mister. Forty-five minutes? What is up with this loser? Punk, you wanna fight? Is that it? Huh?
Bring it on.
"Sólo los muchachos?" At that point I definitely wanted to pick up a
and smash it into your head. Voy a matar algo, and it isn't going to be pretty.
"Helen, ¿cómo estás? ¿bien?"
"Te pareces un poco triste."
I'm sure I do.
Julie said she thought I would make a good teacher or counselor-type person. I have mixed feelings about that whole idea, but I take it as a compliment.
The refrigerator in my room is very good at keeping things cold in sub-freezing weather.
It's late, and I have no mail.
Good good things. Ski trip? Sure, but I'll break my ass. I'll break more than my ass. What the hell, sign me up.
Only good holiday song parodies allowed. These are good. I can't stop listening to them.
I have restored peace and order to the land. I demand a pat on the back from each and and every one of my royal subjects, and a box of Godiva chocolates. We will hold a solemn celebration of thanks, and then we will commence to get jiggy with it.
Oh, and Happy Hanukah. I mean Hanukka. I mean Hannukk--
I find it curious, and perhaps telling, that the word "dreams" has multiple meanings:
1) the garbage that your brain recounts at night via the random firing of neurons, and
2) that which the idealist aspires to; that which [supposedly] gives meaning to life; "hold fast to dreams, for when dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that..." Right.
I'm no superduperpooperpessimist. I'm just a little cheesed off at the moment.
I could tell you all exactly what I think of you, but censoring myself down to PG-13 takes time and brain power that I am not willing to spend.
Coincidences. Bolivia is landlocked, Bolivia is damned interesting. I re-watch that Fellowship movie in the room that might be renamed Geek Girl Central -- I had taken note of her Anakin Skywalker pencil cup on previous occasions, but I just found out she has the Star Wars bedroom set. I would have liked the choir better had they been a better singing group. Suggestion: recruit some baritones and bases. Their sentiment was cloying and their ideas were thin; but then, they would say I just haven't found the Lord yet.
Jesus was a cool guy. I would never dispute that.
not helpful are we we are almost going places too good to imagine i had a dream about two very fat men while i was asleep in the middle of the afternoon. i don't know why i'm still sitting here searching for a cool sound. eat a swedish fish on the veranda, don't bother my sorry soul. sing it out for no good reason. tell that to the man he keeps turning up the amp and my goldfish won't stop screaming,. Stuck in a room with a highly disgruntled goldfish help me out this is the longest second in history
He turned out to be such a nice-looking boy when we finally made eye contact that I regretted not having made eye contact sooner. We would have had an entire ten-floor elevator ride together, but I didn't acknowledge him until the last floor. Now I'll never know...
MY GOD when did they start this purple M & M thing? When I opened up the package, I was all ready to complain about the abundance of brown and blue and the lack of proper representation of orange and yellow and bam! what do I get? purple! and lots of orange besides.
Everywhere I go on campus, I seem to be followed by trucks. They're like stray dogs. Large, sinister stray dogs.
What did I do today?
I drank a frappuccino and laughed myself silly.
Methinks I was born with the gift of brevity. Life is too short not to be brief.
My brains are fucking leaking out my nose as I write this. They are red, they are squishy, and I could not make up something this gross.
I need another haircut.
They had broccoli salad in E. dining hall today. With onions and yellow bell peppers. I was quite happy.
I miss you already. You were quite warm, and fuzzy, like me; intelligent, but not pretentious; cute, but not outstandingly so. You are also, as far as I am concerned, banished indefinitely. I would like to bestow my affections upon your kind memory but I leave you instead, to fall into obscurity, lest I be condemned never to understand from where in my hormone-addled conciousness you came.
I know expectations are rising almost beyond my fulfillment but they won't hear a word about that or see signs of a weakness my royal impossible duty is clear
We spent all that time stuck in the elevator today, had about a half a dozen different meaningful conversations, and completely exhausted the possibility of that ever being interesting again.
gendered psychology, tostones, odd childhood experiences, and finally a power failure. so i rested on the fuzzy sweater in the dark. nice enough, but I wouldn't go back.
we have been sleeping with the lights on
just about every night
because we are afraid
what the dark might bring
Let's just leave this place
go to Summerland
just a name on the map
sounds like heaven to me.
a good book (not sure which), shoes, stuff to paint on, a new purse, a shoulder-type bag, a haircut, a blockbuster night, and a summer in Madrid.
songwriting for dummies, a guitar (or a piano), some doofus to tell me how to play it, people who don't get annoyed when I do, a dartboard with your picture on it, weezer (the band, but if not i'll settle for the new cd, which doesn't exist yet) and a million fucking dollars. To give to the poor. world peace, a time bomb, a few thousand extra brain cells, beanbag chairs.
Many years ago, creation of "verbs bad manifesto" by friend of mine. Winner of national award for humor. Concept: verbs bad. Erudition possible without verbs. Creation of an idea very intelligent. Confusion a possibility, but mastery gratifying.
Continuation difficult. My thoughts currently still in Spanish. English definitely best possibility for verbless communication at present stage of lingual development.
Strange violinists on web radio. What song? Title unknown to me. Very interesting. Retro. Return to school biology textbook necessary at moment. Not most desirable option, but most imminent one. No ending to hundred words segment. No story today. No verbs either.
There's a picture of a sort of rope on my Calculus book. I just realized it was supposed to look like an integral sign. All semester, it's been reminding me of a noose.
I went to the library to read about growth patterns of angiosperms but became momentarily lost in the leatherbound, embossed titles in a section of foreign language literarature. The vascular cambium versus Cervantes. A losing battle that would eventually wear itself thin.
I can't think about anything too long without being convinced of its worthlessness in the Grander Scheme of Things.
I think about myself a lot.
We spent more than an hour on the phone, discussing cool things that would sound impossibly strange to any evesdropper.
She said, when she took over the world, maybe I could get Madrid. If I stopped speaking Spanish. Doesn't that sort of defeat the purpose?
More bargaining. Crete was out of the question. Mongolia was too close to China, which she had already promised to someone else who would definitely declare war with me. Indonesia was spoken for, and the French were off-limits. I finally got my island -- St. Helena. Place of Napoleon's exile, with my name on it.
My life is on the line, and I'm browsing web articles on J-Lo. Is that really appropriate in such perilous times? Well, if you're me...of course it is. I found an extensive website of a diehard muppet fan, debated multiculturalism with myself, read Doonesbury and Odd News (man in a santa suit holds up a drugstore at gunpoint -- he did it all for the OxyContin). Trent Lott on BET, Al Gore on SNL, the Oscar buzz on LOTR. Ew.com describes Gollum as a "raspy crackhead" and "Shakespeare villain gone psycho." What's this about a "marvelously charming ancient talking tree?"
Packed up and moved back home. School is isolated, but home is in a much different way. Las personas hablan mucho de cosas que no me importa. I don't mean to be rude -- especially if I want to present some things in a persuasive manner -- but rudeness seems to come naturally. I'm too damn old to be a rebellious teen -- once you're legal, I think you're supposed to be beyond typical teenage bitchiness -- but I never worked through that at the appropriate time. I didn't want to be a cliché.
I travel with so much garbage
Back in the USSR
can't salvage this one so I censored it for reasons too stupid to explain it's impossible to gauge how silly the things are that bother me versus the things that don't, yet I think it's who I bother, not what I say, they are the meter stick and I hate them for it. Go metric, eat cheese, play the fiddle, speak no more, word salad. Never, ever try to impress anyone, I've learned this before but I hardly think to recognize the signals before I embarass myself without even a worthwhile story to come of it.
Life, and Peppermint Mocha, is Beautiful.
Christmas Chorus Concert (more than enough Holiday Cheer to go around), meeting up with old friends, meeting up with old acquaintances, unexpected invitations (alumni sing-along!), unexpected charities (generous mother gives free tickets!). Hugs, words, laughter, shipping out to Starbucks afterwards and causing a caffeinated ruckus, like old times, but better, with new faces and new stories, a new vibrance to everything. Riding home in the Audi the long way and talking, really talking, about everything and anything that matters the most and doesn't matter all at the same time. My wonderful friend and I.
This Critically Acclaimed Novel Is Pretty Skanky
Yes, I am home. Having been away so long I have forgotten that, despite whatever grand ideas I may have while I'm away, I am actually a quite contentious twelve-year-old without a nice word to say to anyone and not an idea worth repeating. It's an unrelenting, conceited,vicious, God-free cycle in which there is nothing but Work and its distractions, with flecks of phony, painted-on humor. This, the suburban breeding ground for coddled, antisocial, mock-suicidal middle-class white kids. From the inside the outside looks shallow, but from the outside, so does the inside.
Books: It Does A Body Good
Luck and a possible computer system foul-up saved my scholarship. By the skin o' my tooth. Preemptive freaking out is a good, if not foolproof, method of prevention.
Job-hunting tomorrow. An absolute necessity. My mother laughed at my woes. As well she should, but I'm too dumb to know it.
I should stay full o' caffeinandsugar so as not to appear unpleasant, but I'd have to spend money to do so. No, no school-charged bulk bags of candy here. Darn.
It's all about staying slightly above the level I'm at. Staying connected to humanity.
The first time I heard it, I thought it was the worst song in the world. Now I have to listen to it again just to make sure it's as awful as I think it is. Before I know it, I'll become attached to the darn thing, entirely against my will.
I skip it and listen to better Christmas music.
I have to whip up some madly creative christmas cards, and fast. I don't mean a witty line dashed off inside a Hallmark greeting. This is my family we're talking about. This calls for the one-of-a-kind, photoshop-and-iambic-pentameter hand-painted personalized whatnot.
She hates black nail polish, but I knew that already. She sees it as something to put up with 'round halloween, I see it as a no-thought-required, coordinates-with-nearly-everything option. It's not like black lipstick, which is still for supergoths only. Were I, say, a boy, I could understand her opposition to the black nail thing, but there's no controversy here. Yes, I'm re-polishing them a new color for Christmas, but that's because this one is chipping. "Just once, it would be nice if you did something because you were asked." I don't understand. These are my hands, mother. My hands.
The Hazards of Living Dangerously
Don't hang too many wire hangers on the gas line, the house will blow up. Sorry, mate, it happens to be a tradition of ours to put wire hangers on the gas line. You're invading my cultural space. I demand compensation. And some Polish ravioli, pronto.
"It's like drinking battery acid." No, seriously, I had never considered the hazards of over-consumption of orange juice. Not that I couldn't take it.
I drank vinegar once on a bet. The thought is a bit sickening now, but at the time all I got was a slight headache.
First White Christmas In, Like, A Decade.
I loved it. Bunch of third-generation Italians yelling at each other, in that friendly way. That was dinner. That was awesome. The impossibly cute toddler, the hullaballo because nobody's cheating at Yankee swap, the best dessert table in recent history, all while the fake(?) yule log keeps going in the corner. [I always wondered what happened to the karoake machine of years past...I probably should not ask.] Then the ten-year-old squirt hiding in the pickup truck bed gets me dead-on with a snowball. I think he felt a snowy fraction of my wrath.
Happy Boxing Day
For the record: The Arrogant Worms do sing The Last Saskatchewan Pirate, I am not making this up.
I did not get to see the peoples of Middle Earth in their epic peril today, but was promised its time would come in the near future, perhaps Saturday, Sunday afternoon?
Tv-watcher's Thursday...Will's Grace put off Leo (again) in a rerun...then a moviestation splicing of Dante's Peak, kudos to Mr. Brosnan for predicting Mt. St. Helens...
Opted against reading an enourmous antiquated novel and instead picked up the one about the telepathic conservationist philophisizing gorilla. Pretty good so far.
Bungee Jumping Across the Generation Gap
fell asleep to Sgt. Pepper for the who-knows-how-many-ieth time, woke up, got my teeth aligned, listened to lots of Nirvana, made plans to maybe see 'Gangs of New York' on Sunday, discussed having a muppet as a significant other, looked up that song that AJ likes and found out it was by Emerson, Lake & Palmer. Moved shopping trip to Monday, argued with someone (don't remember who), took an incredible power nap, woke up when I imagined a voice calling my name. RSVP'd the Girl Scouts, read the Times' Obituary Highlights of the Year.
Hobbit Realizes Ring Of Power Will Claim His Life
My first impression of Gollum was that he moved far too nimbly to be made of anything but pixels...but then Smeagol won me over. I honestly couldn't tell which was right, Samwise's suspicion or Frodo's hope in the pathetic, mangy creature...and Gollum/Smeagol's Jekkyl-and-Hyde-ing shows that he doesn't really know if he can trust himself either. Favorite scene: Gollum/Smeagol's first face-off with himself. Other good things: the Legolas/Gimly rivalry, the wraith-dragons, dead things in bogs, Pippin's face, and Aragorn in general.
Wonder if fairy necklaces will be a hot item next year...
I remember what bothered me throughout
...I fail to find fabricated alternate history fascinating when I know so little of actual history, actual reality.
I don't know when I made the transition. I've been looking for the magical connections between things for as long as I can remember. As soon as I discovered there were magical connections between things (they do exist. I know this.) I've been trying to decipher a meaning behind it all.
Whatever those netherworld princesses were trying to tell me then, their message now is loud and clear:
Ours is not a place for you.
Juliette Binoche and Johnny Depp are making out onscreen and what do I hear from downstairs but one damn big belch.
This new random rock album may not be my café con leche, but it's good, and will come in handy, like almost every random rock album I've bought (Seven Mary Three can rot.) I hadn't bought a good rock album at random since the Strokes (before anyone had heard of them...). I'm seeing an inverse correlation between lovability and price (Pinkerton, $9.99. Golden Hum, while not entirely unlovable, full price.) This new one was cheap. Me gusta.
New Year's Eve outfit: rainbow stripey toe socks, fuzzy pink sandals, black silver glittered flares with rhinestones up the ankle slits, beads and bangle bracelets, a spandexy shirt best described as "electric turquoise," the purple top to some silky pajamas over top of that, jacket-style, a holographic eye necklace, 3" dangly star earrings, holiday-inspired eye makeup, one-of-a-kind happy people hair clip, and to top it off, the notorious Flamey Hat From Six Flags. They say I had too much sugar, but I don't believe them. Say what you will, but Dick Clark has aged since last year.
Happy 2003, World.
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