déesse - goddess, female deity.
saleté - dirty.
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
And yet again, I am here instead of working.
I've added a new section to my site: a bunch of those quiz results. I put up some good ones that I felt were accurate and substantial enough. I don't post them when I just get a word, or a graphic with a few words on it. They have to summarize some personality traits.
I added a new picture to my imood, too. (Click on the little face in the bar above, if you don't know what I'm talking about.) Well, it's not new, really - anyone who loads this blog will see it in the top right-hand corner. But it's new to my imood account. I had cut it down to 100x100 to use as my Blurty account picture, anyway.
As well, I've been writing. Working on a story I started two years ago and that's been abandoned for quite awhile. It's trite, but it's been fun to resume. I was on chapter five when I ditched it, and now I'm into chapter eight, and things are heating up. Woot.
"What do you want?" I asked flatly.
"A bit hostile at being pulled from your debauchery?"
"Maybe I was just enjoying the game."
His eyes slid down my body again, and then they and his lips joined forces to form a sneer. "Sure . . . the sporting event. That game, right?"
"If we're here so that you can rip into me, please," I begged dryly, my jaw thrust in his direction, "let me know now so I can unleash my urge to bash your nuts with my knee and return to my friend."
To my surprise, he laughed a little. "Good. Good. No, no, that won't be necessary. Regan, I was only teasing. I've. . . ." He circled around behind me slowly; I followed him the best I could with my eyes without turning my head. Quite suddenly, I felt his lips brush my neck. "I've only heard that that's how your conquests treat you afterward," he said softly, his breath humid on my skin. "I wondered if you liked it that way."
"Not particularly." My voice was low. My body was much preferring his new treatment of me. "So what do you want?"
For a long, silent, sexually-tense moment, I expected his lips to move, either in continuing his attempt to please and tease me, or in speech, but they did neither, and I said nothing. Finally, he murmured his request:
"I need a favour. . . ."
I need a new poll question by the end of today. Also, I want to start working on a slash. That, for the unknowing, is male-male pairing. And not the G-rated kind.
My online diary is accepting notes again. Wheehah! I hope that lasts. Perhaps I'll move the content of my other, dead FreeOpenDiary to my Blurty. If I do that, I'll give the address to those whom I wouldn't mind letting read the smutty trash I write in it.
One hour left until dismissal. And then I sit and wait here for two hours for my father to show up. I wanted to bring the car into school today, but Mom said I couldn't have it tomorrow if I took it today, and Adam and I have a movie date tomorrow night. Blech. So, I sacrifice two hours of possible Smackdown-playing time. I hope it's nice tomorrow, at least. 'Cause then he and I may go for a walk across the long pedestrian bridge, and I can take pictures of the city.
I reeeally wish Rae and Stephie were here to hang out with. It's odd, how I can miss people that I've not met even once.
Anyone who wants a LiveJournal, go to Blurty.com. They run exactly like LiveJournal but don't require the invite code. I just got one. I doubt I'll use it for anything, though.
Dear Aaron, you, as always, are an asshole. If you love her, you shouldn't even care what she weighs, not if you know damn well she's healthy, which she is, more so than skinny me. But you, as always, take it a step further by thinking that her two pounds a week lost isn't good enough. Why does he want you to be 160 by the end of June, anyway? Is he going to honour you with a visit from his beautiful self? (snorts) Bah-ha-ha. You already know how I think that word applies to each of you, I'm sure.
I'd like to poke him in the eye with this. My spiky ring. I wear it on my right index finger every day. I have that on today, as well as my spiked belt and a skanky new shirt. It's red, half-sleeve, and my stomach's really only covered by red mesh. A year ago I wouldn't have been able to leave my room dressed like this without a blush matching the bright red shirt. Speaking of which, I ordered those badass capris (linked a couple of entries ago) and thigh-high black fishnets, as well as something for Joel. I can't link to what I got him, not just yet. He told me to choose one of the three things he couldn't decide between, and surprise him with it. I chose only what he had already chosen in his heart. He just doesn't know yet what that is. But I do. You know how sometimes you know what someone else wants even before they know it... yeah. I'll shut up, because you probably all realize what a hypocrite I sound like now.
I wonder if anyone actually can tell what I want in that situation. Perhaps I should ask my mother. She's told me she knew that I'd lost interest in being with Joey many months before I came to that conclusion. Outside perspectives are helpful at times.
Inexplicably, the middle knuckle of my left index finger is skinned. And it hurts.
As you can probably tell, I got bored last night and started taking stupid pictures of anything but my face - my room, my ring, my toenails....
My mother says I have model feet. I see that I have long toes. The second one is almost longer than the big one. If you look close, you can see how far up the webbing goes between the second and middle. It's that way between my middle and ring fingers, too.
My desk wobbles. How annoying.
Myeh... one more for the road.
My sister informed me by e-mail that I was indeed christened by my former stupid church. My stupid mom lied to me, then, in saying that I hadn't been. I wonder if there's some form of anti-baptism I could go through. This is hitting me like an identity crisis - hurting and shocking so much you'd think I was told I'd been adopted after being conceived by a crack-addicted prostitute.
I should be working, but I'm not. I don't feel like it. I feel awful. I want to be home, sleeping, crying, or playing multiple hours of Smackdown. I get so violent at that game when I've had a bad day. My little blue-haired 5'3" female character is choke-slamming male superstars two feet taller and a hundred pounds heavier than her two, three, four, seven times before I decide to put my victim out of his misery and pin and win. Plus I'm mean to anyone I randomly encounter. I told Kurt Angle he was getting good at kissing the owner's ass.
I have a canker sore. It hurts. I'm hungry. It's Wednesday. Tomorrow I'll see him - I'll see them both, if the other's agreeable. Adam didn't call last night. He always calls. He's working today. I kind of want to go visit him. And flip off his fucking stupid grandfather who was the reason Adam cut his beautiful hair off again. Yeah, you think Adam's long hair would have been bad for your business, asshole, you wait until I punk out and stand in front of your damn door smoking up with blue hair. I don't smoke, but I'd do it just the once to fucking hurt him. I haven't seen Adam since that day. I keep hoping that if I close my eyes and open them again, his hair will reappear.
I'm thinking of going for some professional pictures in honour of my upcoming graduation. Blue-haired professional pictures. Ones I can send little copies of out through the mail and such. Stephie, Rae, and Jack will get them if they want them, 'cause they're special. :) I also want to send one to my father's father, with a message on the back something like:
I have so many of these, I spared one to waste on you. Don't feel too terrible if I'm a disgrace to put up next to your other, "perfect" grandkids.
I haven't spoken to either of them since before I graduated last year. I haven't seen Rose, his wife, since the family reunion, to which I wore black and knee-high boots, at which they gathered up the grandkids for a "family" picture, and didn't even approach me to ask if I'd be in it.
I hate my family.
I made a tank top. I'd had a stretchy-clingy long-sleeved black shirt with a silver dragon splashed across the chest, whose sleeves were too short and too tight for my liking. I hacked them off, and am pleased with the result.
Tonight I'll get Mom to size me up and order the stuff I mentioned yesterday. I can't wait until summer, when I won't freeze my ass off for wearing clothes like that.
I'm going to put in my order for a few things from Hot Topic tonight. Summer is coming, and I'm tiring of being patient. Ordering in bulk saves me on shipping (there's a sixteen+–dollar up-front fee, and about two bucks for each item after that), so I thought of getting my thigh-high fishnets, these bad little girls, and something else. I've yet to decide what that something else will be.
Today's a drag. I'm sure Tyler heard bunches of my stupid fight with Adam last night. Blah. How embarrassing. I overslept this morning, had to come in with my mom, and I'm still tired. I'll be going to visit Joey and Joel later, though. Score.
I learned today how to make a rotating banner ad. Woot.
"It's just the way it is."
This is what they always say about my conviction. "It's not right that they discriminate against you for your hair colour, but it's just the way it is." Like I should fucking swallow that. No. No! I fight you, damn it. This is my fight. This is what I was born to change, I believe. What if women had just listened when people told them that not having jobs, the right to vote, being baby machines was "just the way it is?" What if black people had just accepted that people burning crosses on their lawns and calling them "niggers," and being forced to use "Blacks Only" drinking fountains and bathrooms and sit in the back of the bus was "just the way it is?" What if gay people just believe that it's "just the way" of the world that they be beaten and killed and refused jobs and marital rights and the right to adopt? These groups have all fought for, and won or are winning, the rights they deserve. And god damn it, so will I, or I will go down trying my damndest!
Or am I deserving of less humanity because I choose to be different.
It's gotten really nice out. So what do I do? I head over to meet Adam for lunch, in good spirits.
He's late. He's never late. I look around. I spot two of my classmates in line at one of the food-court restaurants. I lean over to look out the window. I see no red jacket, no black T-shirt, no messy mop of dark hair.
Finally, here he comes. And the first thing I notice is that that messy mop of dark hair is gone. Again. I point out the obvious when he sits down.
"Yeah," he says. "I got a job." Eyebrows cocked, I ask him where. He's working for his grandfather at the golf shop again. From where he was fired for dyeing his hair that dark shade in the first place. Fired. By his own grandfather. For dyeing his hair. And now, refused a job at a terribly short-handed shop until he hacked it off.
I'm angry. "Why'd you cut your fucking hair?" The response is the one I expected: he wouldn't have gotten the job without doing that first. I snapped, "god. The more I hear of your family, the less I want them as my in-laws," and took a sip of my drink. His eyes flared.
I'm pissed off, too, then and even now. In the coffee shop this morning, I'd gotten to feeling political and recalled my discussion with my mother about possibly sacrificing my blue hair for employment. I vow not to, instead to hold out for employers that, as they legally should and can not, discriminate against me for choosing to colour my hair blue while countless women colour their hair blonde and brown and red and purple. He was agreeing with me then, throwing in support points. Obviously he was just appeasing my optimism. He can be bought. He's a corporate whore. Not my ally, not cut from my cloth, as he pretended to be. I feel violated, betrayed. I feel the strongest things for the stupidest reasons.
Adam said something about me applying for a job for which all the other applicants are "normal." Irked by his implication that I'm not "normal," I asked him what got him to picking on my hair now, that my hair colour shouldn't and I'll make damn sure it doesn't hinder my success at the job search, because I have a brain. And then, seething, I added, "See, that's the difference between me and every other girl you've dated. I have a brain."
He promptly got up and left, grouching, "I don't have to take this shit from you." I just cheerfully replied, "See ya later!"
I make no apologies for that burn. His previous two girlfriends are slutty, air-headed, drugged-up idiots.
Must write rants on oil war and political campaigns.
I burst back into Adam's basement after a trip to the store for junk food with the stunned proclamation, They make salsa-flavoured Doritos. Joel's jaw dropped. I gave him one. I've decided that they're my new god. Salsa. Doritos. How could they not be!
So, my weekend to myself got lonely, and when Adam invited the lot of us all up to his place for some videogames, I went. I got to watch some FFX, whose movie scenes are absolutely amazing pieces of animation. We played some Smackdown; I didn't do very well, though I did win a Royal Rumble. I've got to get a 'Suck It' taunt back on one of my characters. (I have so many now, I can fill a whole Elimination match with funky-haired freaky girls. I did this once, and upon the match's beginning, forgot which one I'd chosen to control.)
Joel hurt his left ring finger bad. It's hard to explain, but he sort of fell off a chair and it hit him at the same time. It was swelling and darkening when he left, and he couldn't bend it, and was yowling every time he had to use it in the slightest. I'm a mother hen - I followed him out to where he was putting on his shoes, tied the right one for him after he got his left one done before I got there, then opened the doors for him. Checked out his finger - I doubt it is, but it looked and felt like it could have been broken; there was a nasty bump on the left side of it, under the knuckle closest to his hand. Poor boy. I hope he's okay. (kisses)
"I think I cremated in my pants." Ahh, now if only I could remember the context of that quote.... Joel, help me out.
Look at who you loved before me. Bailey. Perfect dark skin, dark eyes, long dark hair. Extroverted. Unafraid. Andrea. Beautiful blue eyes. Short, cute, perfect smile.
Look at who you loved before me. Emily. Her hair wasn't ruined, her smile wasn't bitter like mine, her eyes actually sparkled when she did it. She wasn't ruined, like I am now, like I was then. That perfect combination of innocent and naughty, when all I was, when all I am, is broken, the trash bag that needs to be changed, the condom that broke, that wasn't made right, and now needs to be discarded.
Why would either of you follow that up with me?!
You don't even want to be with someone. You just want someone to be with you.
I hadn't been going to post this, fearing it too harsh, but now for those who care for the explanation, here goes. It will probably be less than what you were expecting.
***
May 23, 2003 - approx. 11:30 p.m.:
Tyler just cut me off the Internet at eleven-thirty, in the middle of my prime hours and a file transfer to Joel, so he could make a damn phone call. When I picked up, he was saying, "If you hear a clicking, it's probably Emily trying to get back on the Internet," and something like that he didn't care. The girl on the other end laughed. "You're being nasty, are ya?" "Well, I don't care. It's eleven-thirty, and I want to get this phone call done so I can get to fucking bed."
What the FUCK?!!!! He has a cell phone! You don't come into my fucking house, boot me off my fucking Internet when these are my established phone hours, after everyone's gone to bed, when you have a fucking cell phone you're perfectly capable and not too broke to use, and then say you don't care that I want only what I've always had. This is my house. If you're going to act like an asswipe, get the fuck out of it.
I'm shaking now. I feel like throwing my phone. FUCK, FUCK, FUCK. EVERYONE FUCKING WALKS ALL OVER ME I FUCKING HATE IT. GET THE GOD DAMN FUCK OFF MY PHONE! Yeah, and I heard what you said. It's so nice to hear that you have such respect for me, my habits, in my house, my conversations, and the late hours I keep. USE YOUR FUCKING CELL PHONE. BECAUSE YOU CAN, AND I CAN'T.
Oh, and if you want to go to bed so badly, why the fuck are you still talking on MY PHONE?! Why not make it a short call? Sure, go ahead and make a long call when you're putting it on my phone bill and eating into my Internet time. They've probably all logged off now. And you don't care. That's what you said!
***
Furthermore, after he finished with that call, he didn't "go to fucking bed," he went in the room next to mine and watched TV until long after I'd gone to bed.
I just finally got around to painting my toenails. Glittery purple. Yum, yum.
I've been watching Cole play Vice City, with great amusement. He was told that stealing a sweet, expensive car and honking its horn near hookers would pick one up for you, and that hookers give your player health. He stole an Inferno, pulled up by two hookers in cropped white T-shirts, and honked. Sure enough, they approached, cat-calling gaudy come-ons. One got into his car, and the tail lights started glowing red.
His cash stash started depleting, so he figured he was paying the hooker for the pick-me-up. However, his funds continued to drop with no rise to his low health. Finally fed up with being patient, he got out of the car. She followed. He beat the crap out of her and stole his money back.
I, meanwhile, laughed my ass off.
A few minutes ago, I deliberately put on the hoodie I wore to Joel's last night because while it reeks of tobacco, it also reeks of Joel. Yum.
Adam came to see me at school today. We went for a walk in the cool spring sunshine after school, and upon returning to the mall, I treated him to ice cream. Ah, I'm so glad for the month between spring and summer temperatures here. Cool breezes, no bugs, not too hot and not too cold.
Re-post:
godhatesfags.com/memorial.html
Upon reading this, I found myself so upset that I shook violently in my seat, hot tears stinging my eyes. I wanted right then to haul back my fist and smash it through my computer screen, and for that blow to somehow transcend its physical reach and strike hard in the face whatever horrible, horrible people are responsible for such a cruel 'memorial.' In fact, I'm finding it more and more impossible to describe the throbbing rage that only now is beginning to fade from me.
Some people take their free speech too far.
- Written 11/14/2001 in my old FreeOpenDiary. Now, if I had written that today... and believe me, upon discovering that that fucking horrible, disgusting website is still allowed to exist, my hands are shaking, the rage has boiled up so strongly in me that my chest feels about to burst... but anyway, had I written that rant today, it would not be so intelligible. I was so much more verbose as a seventeen-year-old. Now, I would shamelessly let my rage consume me, and spit out something like this:
What... what the FUCKING FUCK! What a bunch of fucking sick fucks! god, I want to kick the asses of the so-called "Christians" who made this fucking sick shit excuse for a memorial. I hope their "loving" god kicks them in the asshole straight to hell and they're forced to pack and later eat the shit of the gay men they so obviously hate, for all of eternity. Fuck these pitiful excuses for life. I ought to hire Ross to hack their website, destroy it, hunt down their contact info and then hunt them down with baseball bats. Fuckers.
I lied.
I'm fuckin' sick of people. I'm sick of having to consider their wants and needs and feelings and fuckin' crap and I'm sick of it somehow all depending on me and sick of feeling obligated to mould myself to please all their mushy crap and sick of fearing hurting them when none of them seem to fear the same, I'm sick of feeling loved and so unloved, sick of my mushy crap, my wants and needs and feelings and crap not being considered, I'm sick of being the rope in their fucking tug-of-war and I'm sick of being seen as such an inanimate, unfeeling, insensitive object and being treated as such.
You. Human? Piss off. Thanks. I only want to snuggle with a damn stuffed lamb tonight. Anything even closely resembling a boyfriend to me can go wank off alone.
Tyler's still living here. He took my brother and me to The Matrix: Reloaded this evening. It was worth the money for the fight scenes alone. That movie kicked so much ass. I've gotta buy that trilogy on DVD, like the Lord of the Rings. Damn, though, the sex scene at the beginning was straight out of a porn... or rap video. Boner scene! I'm glad I don't have one of those things that stands up on its own. I was tempted to cover my brother's eyes, then remembered that he's seventeen, not the little dude I recall him being.
I re-dyed my hair. It's blue... but it's being stupid today. It was feathery and frizzy, I straightened it, and now it feels gunky. I'll just put it up tomorrow.
I have nothing more to say tonight.
My home computer's got worms. Four worm viruses, to be specific. Now I can't burn CDs. Barf.
I e-mailed my school's network admins, hoping they can help me out even a little since my cousin Scott was no fucking help whatsoever (he's a network admin, he'd agreed to have a look at it, and then didn't even turn the fucking thing on, just told us to re-format the drives and reinstall Windows, which will erase everything). But they're probably too busy and won't give me any help beyond what Scott did.
My cool cousin Tyler's living with us now. Temporarily, until he can find a place for himself. He's newly working at the swanky Holiday Inn on the highway fifteen minutes or so from my house. He'll be sleeping in the room next to mine. This means less PlayStation, probably less Internet time, no loud Buzzy, and no more indecent walks around in the basement for the time being. I don't mind - so long as I still get multiple hours of Smackdown every day for the next couple months, I'm good.
Tonight I re-dye my hair, tomorrow I skip school, and Thursday I go to Joel's for Smackdown. Yum.
I tried to write in this last night, but it didn't save.
It's been so warm out the past two days. Up into the thirties! Yesterday I wore a half-sleeve shirt and a glittery miniskirt. I can't wait until the weather permits me to start wearing these kinds of things to school every day.
I'm bored with my hair. I want a two-layer effect like Christina Aguilera had going on, but probably with the black on top and a colour underneath. It'll be easier to maintain than a whole head full of colour, and be less normal than one bright colour. I've gone so sour on caring for coloured hair, and having to bleach roots and dye hair every couple of weeks is such a pain in the ass. Plus, I'm tiring of blue in general, though it's now faded to a teal-green. I want bright ______.
Christina Aguilera is so beautiful.
I've been playing Smackdown all day. I made new characters, snitched some more from Joel's memory card, and unlocked a bunch of stuff. Joel and Adam were up today, and that's all I did. I cringe to think of how bored they must have been.
I didn't have school today, so it feels like a Sunday. I'm not going to school on Wednesday. I'm having nasty cramps. I end this now.
I've newly fallen in love again with the music of Matt Good, old Richard Marx, and N.B. native Roch Voisine. (Bonus: 'Chaque Jour de Ta Vie' is a duet with Richard Marx.)
I stayed up and watched the first half of the lunar eclipse last night. I'd never seen one before. I sat next to Joel on the log fence surrounding his horse pasture in the cool, dark night and we stargazed. It boggles my mind to think of all the people around the world who were watching the moon fade from view exactly as I was. I wish my boyfriend hadn't decided to have a snitty fit, though.
I haven't done any work this morning. I really ought to do some this afternoon.
Adam got me more flowers.... They're down in the lobby waiting for me. (sigh) He embarrasses me so! It's sweet, but so excessive that people in my class pick on me, even my teacher! I'm not really complaining, just so you know. I'm complaining with a smile.
Hmm... this is interesting....
US Secretary of State Colin Powell has said America and Russia have not yet solved differences over a draft United Nations resolution to end sanctions against Iraq.
Under the draft resolution, the US and its coalition allies will be afforded the right to sell Iraqi oil and spend the profits without international supervision.
Russia is opposed to a resolution that affords such wide-reaching powers and also says that UN inspectors must be sent back into Iraq to verify that there are no weapons of mass destruction in the country.
The US accused Russia of arming Saddam Hussein and Moscow in turn charged that Washington broke international law.
Russia wants a multi-polar planet, a balance of power, with the UN playing the key role of international referee, but the US will not be tied down to that.
[news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/3025945.stm]
Who said the war wasn't about oil? What do you think now?
Bush wants to liberate the people, my ass! Bush wants to sell their fucking oil and spend the money without anyone knowing what he's buying with it! Meaning, he'll probably buy some illegal weapons, or use the money to stage another bullshit case against some other poor non-democratic country. Fuck, I hope he isn't re-elected next year, though I know somehow, he will be. The "70% of America supports the war" polls and the very fact that he won the 2000 election in the first place have proved to me he's not above buying or bullshitting about poll results. 70% of America didn't support the war's cause - they support the troops getting their asses back home without new holes in them. And I have my own, rather offensive theory as to how he won the 2000 election which pertains to that Florida hand recount.
And another thing. When will Bush stop accusing every country that opposes his retarded whims, of collaborating with al-Qaeda, bin Laden, Saddam Hussein or anyone else he can somehow tie to September eleventh? It's going on again now, in Saudi Arabia. This is all getting very, very old.
Bush! Die. Please and thank you.
I will not get upset.... I will stare at the Matt Good pics and listen to his voice in my ears and be happy. Happy. Haaappy.
(See third picture in previous entry for Bush's obvious opinion of the planet.)
While everyone else in class is busy programming away, I, as usual, am wasting my time. This morning I've been taking screen caps of Matt Good's video, 'In a World Called Catastrophe.' Some of the yummiest follow.
In this scene, he's singing, "I'm a dog." I would reverse the D and G.
This video hints at Matt's anti-war sentiments. This scene apparently caused some controversy among the few Americans who are lucky enough to have knowledge of and access to Matt's media. In it, the map is slowly consumed by the red, white and blue of America's flag.
Adam got me more flowers! One red, one pink carnation. I've got them set up in my room this time, in a vase on top of my cabinet, by my alarm clock. (Good thing I don't throw things at that clock in the morning! - as badly as I want to sometimes.) They smell heavenly.
With his sudden, mysterious burst of wealth, he also bought me lunch at the Pita Pit. I got a Club with extra cheese, pickles, and hot peppers, though my burnt tongue wasn't in a banana-peppers mood, I soon discovered, and picked off most of them. It was yummy, nonetheless. Those things are so filling!
And... he bought Trojans. I'm shocked, and inexplicably nervous. He gave me ten of the twelve.
He just called. We're planning a weekend at his house alone together. Nothing like that! He's going to get us some takeout extra-crispy KFC and make tomato soup, and rent some movies, and we'll stay up late and snuggle and watch them and go to bed together. Squee! Just when I start to think the relationship's getting ho-hum, he pulls something like this out of his ass. Sweet, unpredictable man.
I sleeped all evening, again. My mother's officially worried. She's suggested that I'm either dehydrated or in desperate need of fresh air. I say both, and so many more. Need more iron, need more exercise. Stephie, c'mere and be my coach!
I'm hungry. Get your ass over here and make me a bagel with salsa and cheese.
I want to stress that my mother is really nice most of the time. I guess she was just having a bad day yesterday. She only hit me once - because I had gone postal and was literally screaming that I was going to kill my sister. Scene right out of a movie, I swear.
Just so y'all don't think my mom's abusive, or something.
I really need to cough up some cash for web hosting. Fateback is not a very reliable server. I can't get onto my site right now to view the changes. Bleh.
My TV's back - my dad picked up our three-prong PS2 adapter today. Cole and I switched the TVs back. I bet I couldn't even lift one. He's now watching the extras on my Spider-Man DVD. I'll have to pick up a controller (I want see-through red or green), a memory card, and a copy of Shut Your Mouth sometime this week.
I stayed home again today. I repeat: Fuck you, Project Management seminars. Booooring shit.
Speaking of boring shit, this entry is, so I'll be going now.
Posting again. My mother has just snapped my patience.
This morning, I told her I wasn't going to school.
"I hate it when I rearrange my whole morning to fit your schedule and you change it at the last minute without consulting me blah blah blah," she snips.
All she did to her morning was call some woman she had been supposed to meet at nine and tell her she'd be there before nine.
I felt like saying, "You're a Merrithew. You're Barb. You're always late. They'll understand." But I just went back to bed.
I slept all day. Quite peacefully. Adam left after kissing me on the forehead and the hand. Shortly after, my mom came into my room and started going on about how I was being less than Adam deserved, boring company, sleeping all day, blah blah blah. I told her truthfully that he'd been the one who kept telling me softly to go back to sleep if I was still tired. She left.
Then, over supper she took to bitching about the fact that Cole had switched the den and my TVs. "You could have just hooked it up in your room for a couple of days. She doesn't have any games to play on it yet. Now you've just gone and made a mess...."
Then, after supper, noticing the den TV on my floor that wouldn't fit on the shelf my smaller TV sits on:
"It's not good to have a TV on the floor, put it on your dresser."
I said no, it would require moving a lot of stuff.
"You can't even open your closet door!"
"So, put it on the pool table."
She snapped that someone might want to use the pool table. The only one that ever does is Cole, and he moved the TV on the floor in the first place, proving he's more than strong enough to move a fucking TV off a pool table if it's in his way. I told her so. She left.
Then, in a very snotty voice, while I'm typing and she's in the other room:
"Just so you know, I'm taking my car Thursday night."
"Why."
"I have a meeting. In the city."
I finally snapped at this point.
"Stop being such a friggin' bitch."
"I'm not being a bitch."
Whatever.
Nobody reading this will believe it. Because my mom is always sooo nice. She's never a bitch. At least not in front of anyfuckingone else. She treats my friends like fucking gods, she treats Adam like the long-lost solid-gold son she never had, as she did Joey when we were together. Whenever I'm the least bit snippy with my mother, or in talking about her, my friends stick up for her. "Aw, your mom's cool." They don't know shit.
Yeah, my mom's cool most of the time, but she can be uncool. She has yelled at me, she has locked me into rooms, she has hit me. You're free to tell me what you think of my mom, but not what I'm allowed to think. So if I decide to show her a little anger every so often, don't assume it isn't justified. With me, she's not the wet rag she acts like to my father.
I know what you do to yourself
I breathe deep and cry out
isn't something missing?
I love that song.
I cut school today. FUCK YOU, PROJECT MANAGEMENT SEMINARS! I slept on and off until three-thirty, when Adam left. He showered and fell asleep on his wet hair. It dried all shaggy - shaggier than usual. I was going to take a picture but I was too tired to lift my arms to do so, much less get my camera.
My brother and I finally got our PS2. He's got it all hooked up in the next room - on my TV. He snitched the 20-inch from my room and put it in the den until we can get a three-prong adapter to hook it up to the den's TV. So I'll be TV-less until that happens. No matter. I only watch wrestling, and I only watch it here once, maximum twice a week. It'll be on tonight - hopefully not too late, as I won't be able to tape it.
He's playing Final Fantasy VII at the moment. I hate that game. I like VIII, IX, and X, though.
I got a lot of the truth off my chest, and reassurance from Adam that I won't lose him forever if we do split up. In fact, he's told me that he'll recover like Joey has: a bit of pain, but eventually he'll become a great friend, hang out with me, call, go to Smackdown and movies with me. Yay!
I called Adam from Joey's a couple hours ago. He said he was a little mad at me. I asked why; he said, "Many things."
I called him again just now, to worm it out of him what he's mad at me for. He said he's going to come down after he eats his supper and we'll discuss it face to face. I asked if I should be worried. He said, "Maybe."
So now I'm worried.
He'll probably kick my ass to the curb. Sheesh.
I hate this waiting.
I'll update later if there's anything of importance to report.
I need a shower. I feel yucky, in many senses of the word. Physically, to look at myself, I think, blah. Then I'm tired, and hungry, and don't feel like doing much else but sleeping today; however, I promised I'd spend tonight at Joey's. I'm hoping he can cheer me up.
I drove Adam home last night from the movie (which I rather enjoyed, to my surprise, but for the ending which I thought was a bit too drawn-out and overdramatic) and we proceeded to get in a fight in his driveway which lasted forty-five minutes and made me cry like a wussy. I don't even remember how it started. I think I made a snarky comment about probably having to pay for him when we go out next weekend, and then insisted, truthfully, that I wasn't mad at him while he insisted that I was. We fixed it before we went to our separate beds, though. He said softly that he "didn't want to leave it like this" and asked me to call him when I got home. I did. At two a.m.
He's at Driver's Ed today, his first day of class. Damn it, I can't wait until these guys start getting licences and I won't have to drive everywhere. Nay... anywhere. I intend to make them my little chauffeur-monkeys for about as long as I've been theirs. Muahahaha.
I have an idea for a short story. Maybe after lunch I'll get started on that. And burn some CDs. Yay for theft!
I see: A small classroom with brick walls and no windows. (My WeatherPixie tells me every few hours what it's like outside.) Leslie surfing the net, Selena typing a long e-mail.
I hear: Evanescence, 'Everybody's Fool.'
Random lyric: I can hear you in a whisper but you can't even hear me screaming.
I feel: bored and sleepy. Extremely grateful to Steph for the beautiful pics.
I am: behind in my schoolwork, but teaching myself PHP. Checking my laptop for viruses. Waiting for my teacher to respond to my e-mail requesting to leave school early. Going to see X2 late tonight and not sure if I even want to. Wondering if my e-mail to Joel got through. Missing Joel. Craving a maple-dip doughnut. Bitter. Complaining. Wasting my time.
I hope to become: more energetic, more confident, better with graphic design. A writer, a fiancée, a wife, a mother, and a resident of a big city and a peaceful planet.
There you go - the photo I promised of the bruise collection on my left thigh. I took this last night with my webcam. They're so nasty in real life.
It's two o'clock - I have two more hours to kill here at school. I have work I could be doing, but as usual, I'm not doing it because I'm a lazy fecking ass and I just want it to be seven p.m. already.
I'm bored. So bored. I feel like writing, but I hate the paranoia I feel sitting here, thinking Tom behind me might see my screen when I'm writing his name or worse, something extremely filthy.
I got my new layout up at sevengem.net. It's much simpler than my previous one, much sharper and cleaner, though. I'm not good with graphics at all. I want to get good with graphics, but as I said, I'm lazy and have no will to learn proactively.
I just added another item to my wish list. Someone love me and have access to a Hot Topic so I don't have to pay the $17 minimum shipping charge on anything I order!
Now it's two-ten. Shit, this day is crawling by.
Here, have another picture.
So I'm writing again. Because, quote of the night, "I'm a loser."
I slept all evening. It always happens that I get cold and crawl under my top comforter "just for a minute" to warm up, then fall asleep for several hours. I didn't stumble out of bed until nine p.m., and only then because I needed a shower. I didn't actually get in until ten, because I got stuck in front of the old That 70s Show rerun my brother Cole was watching.
I redid the layout of my writing site. It's dandy. I started on retooling my blog earlier but I got tired of it, the colours I was using weren't doing anything for me and my archives wouldn't repost in the new colour scheme, so I reverted to the pink again.
Remind me to show you my mysterious bruise formation tomorrow. Or don't, if you think it'll be gross. But you know I'm gonna do it anyway, if I don't forget.
I'll get two films of my wrestling pictures back tonight. The third has yet to be finished, but now has a bunch of pictures of me, Adam and my baby cousin Kevin on it, courtesy of last night when I first met the little boy. He's so quiet, so fascinated by the world around him. He's got my colour eyes, big and brown.
Adam says he doesn't want kids. According to my mother, I say I don't like them but secretly do. I respond that I like kids when they're someone else's - temporary visitors in my life and to my lap. When they start smelling like shit, I like being able to hand them off to someone else.
Speaking of that lovely stuff, it's spring in the country... there's a field behind my house... and they've started spreading manure. Not in my field, yet, but it's inevitable. Bleeech. The first thing I noticed when I pulled into my driveway yesterday (after shedding the nasty headache I'd had all day by blowing cold air from the vents into my face) was that smell, and slamming the door of the car on my way out, I announced, "Yay! Chicken shit."
Yeah... I know the difference.
I forgot my headphones. I'm going to go insane today. I think I'll go make a new layout for one of my websites.
WRESTLING KICKED ASS.
Hmm, who did we see. Aside from my friends Misty and Karla, both of whom we met up with and chatted up at intermission.
Funaki, Crash, Shannon Moore, Matt Hardy, Brian Kendrick, Shawn O'Haire, Jamie Noble, Dawn Marie, Nidia, Chris Benoit, Big Show, Team Angle, Eddie and Chavo Guerrero, John Cena, Brock Lesnar.... Oh my GOD, he was delicious. I took a bajillion pictures of him. He is so ripped, looks way more so in life than on TV. They all look better in life. I even took pictures of Cena.
Heh. He made fun of us, as I'd hoped he'd do. In his free-style rap, a line that went something like: "I want a hot lay, I can't get none / 'Cause there's nothing but ugly fat chicks in Fredericton." Yay! We're famous! We're in a Cena rap.
I dreamed about Lesnar last night... (drool) And something else. I didn't do anything with Lesnar, just so you know.
The night before last, I dreamed I'd seen a really creepy movie. It was a tragic cartoon about a mouse, dressed like Alice of Wonderland fame. She was being held captive by men who wanted to do terrible things to her, and at the end (come to think of it, this reminds me strongly of that Britney dream I had awhile ago), she opted to open a big set of doors and escape through a mysterious portal. She changed her mind, of course, at the last minute, but her little claws digging into the floor couldn't keep her from being sucked in. And when she was, she was in the dark and alone for moments, but, knowing she would die, started giving a death speech. Like, "tell my mother...." I waited, and waited, seeing the silhouetted heads and glowing eyes of two cats, and seconds later, pieces of the dear mouse flying toward the "camera," like they were being flung at us.
When I went home from the movie, a girl was sitting on my basement floor, outside my bedroom, crying. I asked her first what was wrong; she said I'd called her ugly during the movie. I got snippy: "No, I told you to shut up 'cause you and your damn friends were being so loud." She continued, and I tried a different tactic: I sat next to her, touched her arm, and softly insisted, "No.... I would never comment negatively on someone's looks unless they did it to me first. I look for the beauty in everyone."
She smiled, her eyes wet and red; pieces had fallen or been whipped by the wind out of her long dirty-blonde ponytail. She was beautiful. "Really?"
"Yes...." I nodded, smiled back.... "I love your eyes...."
And then I woke up. Damn it. Of course, I get to see mouse chunks in graphic detail but not make out with a chick. Grrr!
Anyway, the Lesnar dream was just that Karla and I ran across him at a high school and pranced him around, then we were at my aunt's house gossipping on the couch and he was shirtless in the rocking chair right in front of us and we didn't notice and gabbed about how ripped he was, while he smiled.
Oh, and the other dream.
I don't even remember where we were, only that I was with Joel, Adam, and Joey. Joey's attention was fixed on something to my right; Adam's on something to my left. Both had their backs turned to Joel and me. And Joel, out of nowhere, cupped my face and laid on my lips a short, sweet, soft kiss. Then dodged me and walked away without so much as a glance backward, though through that "dream perception" that lets you see everything, even that which your character can't see, I saw the small smile at the corners of his mouth.
Hmm.
More on that later, I guess. I have to go.
Quotes to explain at a later date:
"Screw you, Doyle's friend!"
"Fuck you, fatboy."
"Can I sharpen my toilet?"
Now I have seminars to be off to.... Adios.
My day was alright. (Yes, you get a boring my-day entry.)
I got up at 12:47 and watched taped Family Guys (I miss that show) until Adam showed up, when I ran to the porch and hugged him the second he set foot in the house. We watched more episodes, and I got around to showering at around 3:30-ish. The foam from my shampoo was very blue, but my hair dried looking well. We ate pasta and cheesy garlic bread and Adam wanted to go out for Subway, so we took my car to town.
We stopped off at the mall first, stopped in to San Fran to see Joey. He showed off all his hickies - two on his neck, one on his hip, and I'm sure there were others he couldn't whip out in the store. Soon, his new lady stopped by. She has wavy red-orange hair with black at the ends, and lots of black eyeliner. She was even more of a looker than in the picture he sent me. He introduced me - she greeted me enthusiastically. I like her confidence, compared to Renee's lack thereof. I hope this works out for him. She definitely seems to be boosting his spirits, and his confidence, he admits.
Yeah... Joey got a new girl, by the way. Not a girlfriend, by any means - not yet, anyway. But they're having fun.
Then Adam and I went to Dairy Queen for Reese peanut-butter cup Blizzards and then to Subway so he could get his sub. Anyone who ever takes the chance to come up here and meet my stupid self, remind me to take you to DQ. It's awesome and ridiculous at the same time, but the view of the other side of the city, across the river, is nothing short of beautiful.
When we got home I put my kitty out and we crashed in my room to watch Most Extreme Elimination Challenge, a hilarious, American Gladiator-like Chinese reality-TV game show. Fucking hilarious. Joel! Watch it, seriously. And now I'm talking to Joey and downloading Otep.
Goodnight, all.
Oh yeah.
Last night Willie and I were talking about Def Jam Vendetta, and I made a comment like: "Rappers, in the ghetto, wrestling. It's violent and funny. How could this game not kick ass?" Then said I'd like to see a version full of heavy-metal bands.
He laughed. "Yeah. Evanescence."
I came back with this, mocking a future version of myself playing this game: "Can you take off her clothes? No?! Shit. This game sucks. I want my money back."
Then I busted up laughing, realizing what I'd said out loud, screaming the obvious: "I said that out loud!"
Despite his homophobia (which, I guess like that of most homophobic males, only applies to homosexual males - though Willie's, even on that front, is slowly waning away), Willie burst out laughing, too. It's so rare that he actually laughs, though he snickers and chuckles a lot. Then he said, and I took this as both a most flattering compliment and a statement over which to ponder: "That's why we think of you as one of the guys."
I'm honoured... I'm like an honourary member. To Willie, now; he's never said that before. Adam's previously inducted me into their guyhood, and even bestowed upon me "proverbial balls." Now Willie's accepted me. Rah. Welcome to the brotherhood.
Joel used to be homophobic. I just remembered that. Heh, it's funny how people change - I used to be anti-goth. "Marilyn Manson's a freak! Ooh! Nick Carter. (drool)" Ahh... what a little moron I was.
I was watching him sleep last night, with a blanket over his head, mussing his already-always-unruly dark hair. Eyelids softly drawn over big, bright blue eyes, breath soft, steady and calming to me, heart pounding against my shoulder. I was... fascinated, for lack of a better word. I kept moving the blanket, couldn't wrench my eyes from his, though they weren't looking back. Every time the other in black would toss a comment my way, I would have to wrench my I'm-sure-mooning gaze from my sleeping love, so as not to let on to his intuitive self that there was something more, something much deeper than amusement in my eyes. But as I said, he's intuitive. Even only not being an idiot would have allowed him to clue in to the situation between the three of us right now. Not that I have any faith that the one I'm with's kept quiet to the one in black, his best friend.
The "one in black" is Willie. Damn that man - he sees all, I swear.
He and Adam were playing Def Jam Vendetta until one in the morning last night. Joel and I were both drifting in and out of sleep, curled up in a blanket on his twin bed. I never would have thought a twin bed could be so comfy with two people in it, nor did I think I'd ever be so warm in Joel's log house.
I re-coloured my hair. I tried to take pictures this morning but the massive bags under my eyes (from my arrival home at two a.m.) were glaringly visible at any angle I tried. I had four and a half hours of sleep. So I look like hell today.
Ugh... Hogan is back on Smackdown, and even more annoying than he was before! Now he's "Mr. America," wearing a stupid mask and waving a fucking flag and spouting "God bless America"s left and right. As if he needed a gimmick to get the crowds to cheer for him. They love him enough as it is. Leave appealing to idiot patriotism to a wrestler that has no means of getting that kind of support otherwise. Just not Shawn Michaels. Man, I remember when he used to hump the Canadian flag and ride it like a pony. That was hilarious. The glory days of Michaels were in his feud with Bret Hart.
Speaking of which... WWE, live, this Sunday, in my city. Fourth-row tickets. Creaming pants now.
Damn it, Adam's been looking up porn again. In my WordPerfect Recent Documents list, among others:
Shower Girls.wpd
little tommys boner.wpd
Cum to me.wpd
Haha, I'm making an ass of him.
G'mawnin'.
I finally got this bad girl all set up with a stylesheet. It's been no small amount of work, compiling the similar-but-different style declarations of my blog template and my comment-page template into one common stylesheet I could link to both. The declarations of one sometimes conflicted with the other, screwing up text or border formatting, so some actual hard-coded template adjustments were needed. But it's done now, with one slight difference: Now, in the comment page, the B, U, I, and Hyperlink boxes are inside the actual comment box, rather than above its top border. I can't fix that without hard-coding the border colour into the comment-page template, and since I want to be able to change the colours outside of the templates with the stylesheet, I'm leaving it the way it is.
I'll be redoing the layout of my blog soon. I'm craving light purple and white.
I get to see Joel and all his kitties tonight! He promised me he'd work out the sore kink in my left shoulder.
I'm never taking Ryan to another Smackdown night. The one time he's come, last week, he called his bitch and talked to her pretty much the whole night. I call her that because she won't let him hang out with his friends. He claims he called her and told her he was going out and not to bother calling, and obviously she knew he wasn't home, by Joel's report that she called his house at quarter to one in the morning looking for him, so why did he have to call her and talk to her while he was with us? It made me grumpy - like we're not worth the mere few hours of his time we've gotten since he met and started fucking her.
Ugh. I have an ASPX test in minutes. I haven't studied, as always. I've really got to pick up my ass. I don't want to write a test! I don't really want to do anything. I'm ragging. I want to go home and lie down.