Thursday, March 28, 2002


The quote of the day comes from my very own, self-updating "Tina the Troubled Teen", who's quote for today, March 28th is, quite ironically, "Spare me your pathetic online journal."

:-) So fucking great.

On with it.
Yesterday, I was very, very sick.

I presume it was the same cold I have over a week ago, fuming back up at me like an irritated flame...this is me talking through my ass, I have no idea what I am getting at.

For the better part of the day, after I actually got out of my bed (anticipant of the my seemingly fucking LOST reply from Eugene lang- which, if I don't get today, may lead to a criminologist's investigation of why those thousands of innocent people were massacred......except that doesn't look like the correct way to spell the past-tense of "massacre") I laid on the recliner downstairs, feeling the intolerable chills in my skin and trying to ward off total delirium. When I got up at one, my father, Tony, and Austin were the only ones in my house, and I sat there, decided that I officially do not fucking like the movie "Sweet November" (Charlize Theron's- or however the hell you spell her name- character is fucking annoying and Keanu Reeves voice makes me want to claw my eyes out) which is a vaguely notable distinction becuase when I saw it in the theaters about a year ago, my first instinct was that I didn't really like it, but I decided that I probably would if I ever saw it again, as my expectations would no longer be as high, and then began waiting for my mother- the only time I ever want to be around my mother, that I can think of at any rate, is when I am sick. And I have to be pretty damn sick.

Before I continue, I'd like to take a moment to comment on how entierly fucked-up that second-to-last sentence was. Check it out again.

When I started waiting for my mother I was in such immense discomfort that I wanted someone to come and knock me unconscious. I figured it was past one by then, and since my mother normally arrives home from work sometime between 2 and 2:30, I wouldn't have much longer to wait. At that point I realized that my mother had warned me on tuesday that she was going somewhere after work that day and wouldn't be home until approximately five. I was desperate, and must have been delirious, because I actually harbored the hope that my father, who was upstairs, playing his new guitar would take care of me. I began to cry- sort of. My eyes were watering from the sickness, so my sudden burst of emotion had relatively little to do with it. Nevertheless, when my father finally came downstairs my eyes were tearstreaked, my hair was gnatted and in my face, and my head was the only thing peaking up from behind the blanket- I looked, quite systematically, as pathetic as I could have possibly hoped to. My father's instinctual reaction to the sad sight of his daughter, his offspring, someone to whom he has a biological drive to proetect and care for, sickly and seemingly on her deathbed was: "Where's Austin?"

Mustering all my stength to answer him, I said in a weak voice "In his room." and proceed to cough so violently as to jar most of my internal organs. This, I suppose, would have been well-timed for other daughters hoping to seek the pity and care for their parents. For me, however, it was worthless- my father, saying nothing else, left the house, and left me for dead.

I bathed and felt a little better, then Andrew called. Actually, he called while I was bathing, but I was able to call him back being that he ACTUALLY left a message on my machine- so few people actually do that anymore, and I, for one, am pissed off by it. Possibly because we're the only family in the world without caller ID. We had it for a while, but my mother, quite wrongly, decided it was worthless and did the family a favor of saving us nine bucks a month. Talking to Andrew was refreshingly pleasant, though- I don't know if I should mention recent events in his life regarding his health, but I'd like to point out that he's coming along nicely. Watched a hell of a lot of TV after that. And, surprise surprise- I did NOT do the creative writing portofolio that was due yesterday, very similar to the way I'm NOT doing it now.

Tomorrow. Right.

3 minutes to next class and I must powder my nose- oh, how I cannot wait for the time when I'll be so caught up as to describe the events of the CURRENT day again, instead of constantly bringing you all up to date.

On with it.

Tuesday, March 26, 2002

Frank's Pit of Eternal Darkness could easily be considered a cyber training ground for the overly sensitive. Stepping foot at all gives the posters there complete license to degrade, insult, and openly mock people, their emotions, and everything they could possibly value for no reason other than one- it's the pit. And that's what it's fucking there for.

Seriously, though- you've heard of peope sending their kids to fat camps? This is like a sensitivity camp, where, by constant and unending criticisms and witticisms from the dregs of human life, all human emotion is breeded out of a person.

Hidden behind the anonymity of meaningless tags (screenname-like things) or, sometimes, the lack of a tag at all, people on the pit are free to let loose the absolute scum of their being without fear of having to ever face consequences in a real-life situations. And, if you aren't among the few that have ever been to the pit, allow me to explain to you what this does to a person- makes them into an unabashed bastard, basically.

I go to the pit because I find it amusing, because I like the way it works, because I like having a place to put my thoughts online that isn't here. But let me be perfectly clear of one thing- most of the people there take their oppurtunity to be jerks. And they take it proudly.

When I am a successful, well-known writer- and I WILL be- there will be critics writing meaningless negative bullshit about me in papers. And after years of the pit, it will roll of my back like water in the shower. Because nothing that someone ever had to put their name on would compare to this crap.

(I do love the pit. I go there faithfully. It's not for anyone that can't take the heat by any means, but I can. The reason I post what a bullshit trap it is is because of the recent pit discussion trashing my site. The pit attacks You Must Be Very Bored, You Must Be Very Bored retaliates to the Pit. Granted, this site is rather small, proportionately, but fight fire with fire, fight worthless online dribble as written by bitches and assholes with worthless online dribble as written by the bitch/asshole. I can hold my own.)

On another note, I like the way the new soap in the school bathrooms smells. On with it!

Monday, March 25, 2002

Okay, I took the same roadkill quiz as Jacquie, but my result had a really disgusting graphic- a mangled possum. So it's not going up....but now you all know that I'm a possum. A disgusting, dead, rotting at the side of the road possum. What did I take that quiz? (You can get a link to it on Jacquie's site.) Like Jacquie, I got Gobo on my fraggle quiz.

So, which Fraggle ARE YOU most like? Click here to find out.

For the Doc Marten test, I got Pink- Fuck that! Just because I like Ally McBeal, Gone with the Wind, Rose Tatoos and frilly-looking drinks doesn't mean I.....oh, god.


I'm the pink Doc Marten...
I'm sassy and always in touch
with my feminine side

Which Doc Marten are you?
(by *coffeebean*)

Got this one off of Turtle's website...he got Gonzo...
Hmmm...Gonzo and Kermit......sounds like our next sexual role-playing adventure.

You are Kermit!
Though you're technically the star, you're pretty mellow and don't mind letting others share the spotlight. You are also something of a dreamer.

And those are all the banal quizzes I have time for today, folks.

The word "folks" comes so much more naturally on websites than in talking.

On with it.
In desktop publishing yet again- oh, how I mourn for the loss of my computer! Soon it shall either be fixed or replaced, and this page will reign least relative glory yet again.

Janet, my ex-employer from Dairy Maid, has already put out her advertisement in the school announcements for needing students to work. Which means soon, I will be getting a call. And I'm going to have to explain to her why I can't work there. (The reality is basically that I'd rather die of penniless starvation, but I can't tell HER that.) My inability to quit last year translates into my inability to refuse her job offer this year- I don't like telling people things they don't want to hear. I had planned to be employed by now so that it would be easy to turn her down, but thus far I am not. I plan to apply to the credit union tomorrow- an after-school job that might be fucked up by my massive amounts of detentions...I wish I knew how many I had. Damn me, damn me. I'm probably booked until, like, two weeks from now.....I'd be willing to skip them for a job and get fridays, but then I'd be screwed if they needed me to work on fridays....ugh, frustration. I guess I'll have to figure that out later on.

I *adore* these new computers in the lab.....they make me feel all warm and tingly inside. Dells. Black Dells. Ahhhhh.

Quote of the day yesterday:
(Referring to the fact that Turle is the most easily aroused person on the face of the earth:)
Linda: You're so easy.
Jeff: Are you doing that (can't remember what it was I was doing, but I'm fairly sure I wouldn't share it anyway) to make me less easy?
Linda: Yes, that's it. It's all part of my plot to make you harder....oh my god! (Laughter- referring tot he previously discussed fact that I have this strange tendency to constantly say things with unintentional double entendre) I swear I don't mean to say these things.
Jeff: Sure you don't!
Linda: I don't! I don't even try, but they just keep coming and coming....oh, jesus.

It's possible that you had to be there, but hopefully you'll be able to recognize the humor.

I still haven't brought in the Chad's animal magnetism (etc.)'s not really about animal magnetism, just the simple fact that he's less-than-expectedly attractive, and talking about how all my male friends are (in their own ways).

Speaking of attractive in their own way, some chick is hitting on Turle- big time. She fucking baked him cupcakes the other day. IN general, I find this way more amusing than threatening, but I don't know- should I puff out my fur, extend my claws and....well, be generally, inactively pissed?

Nah....poor, pathetic wench is probably on meds or something. (Just kidding, Turtle.)

Thinking about changing the title of this webpage shortly.....I've asked the pit for their opinion, but I'll ask you, my beloved readers, next. You just watch out for that.

On with it.