It's a beautiful day

The last blog I wrote? I dont even remember writing that shit, honestly. I was too tipsy to know the difference. I apologize to Coral, Dave and Charlsie for having to deal with my drunk ass. hah. It was pretty pathetic. I threw up about five times, but I had the equivalent of let's say...ten beers? I didn't really act drunk (there were no homos grabbing my tits nor did I grind with Keri's girlfriend) but I threw up like I begged Dave for McDonald's. It was a good night though. Mel got sick so she had to stop drinking. Andrew got fucked up off of like five sips and Britt was quite impressive; for a girl who passes out after two Smirnoff's, she held her own and I was proud. =)

Jen, Britt, Andrew and I went out to eat tonight. It's nice when it's the four of us; we all just click somehow. I think it helps that we've all known eachother a long time. Or how pairs of us have known eachother a long time; Andrew and I have been friends for five-ish years and Jen and Britt go way back, too. Then we all worked together and shit just meshed. Jen and I played with sex dice tonight at the dinner table. She grabbed my boob, it's all good. haha. No pictures for Jon, but maybe at the New Year's Eve party, there will be fun ;p. I am on a quest to chill with one of Jon's friends. I like older guys (just look at my history) so it may work out well--they're all fucking cradle robbers (as Maz puts it).

Today is 31 December 2007. I doubt it, but this may be the last blog of 2007. I have well over thirty of these shits written. It's been quite an emotional experience. I have laughed, I have cried (not really), I have poked fun at myself and others and I've written complete bull shit which people love reading apparently. It's crazy that we're getting to 2008. I forget, but isn't this the year the world was supposed to end? or is that 2012? Eh. Whatever, we're all gonna die one day, right? What's the difference if it's now or four or fifty years from now.

Britt and I had a quick bonding moment yesterday and I told her stuff that I've been burning to tell someone since September, and it was a relief for someone to know. It wasn't my fault per se, but I didn't help it, and I like going to Britt for advice and telling her good shtuff. She and I are basically the same person, and it's easy to go to her; I know I'll get a straight answer, most likely what my perspective would be if I werent in the fucking mess. We bonded over Panera less than a year ago and just started telling eachother things from there. She still listened to me blab on and on even though she was sick of my "explosion of gayness" and always eased my paranoia. haha. Fat arms. Good times. She be a ho. And the other one? Yeah, she was giving birth. The other, other one? She's a step up, but still a mono loco.

Mel and I have to pick out paint for the room upstairs. I'm thinking a dark purple or a deep red. I like the idea of red, but I've always wanted a purple room. I've been living in blue since 7th grade, and I'd like something darker and more mature. The kind of color that makes the boys I bring over take their pants off the second they walk through the door....? Or not...I dont know where that came from, I just kinda said it. Don't judge me. Gawd. Purple it is. I'll call it the Barney experiment. Mel also wants to redecorate the basement as a hang out spot...we'll see how that turns out.

I'm a retard for leaving my guitar at Hofstra. I think I'm gonna go back to school soon and just chill for a day or two. I've been jogging, but I want to hit the gym and walk around naked (in my room, not the gym). I feel like the gym needs to hear the echoes of my sex noises and Ruby Blue needs me to touch her and play her every string. Maybe I'll write a new song? eh? eh? Maybe. I've been thinking about the kind of thing I want next. I have too much fun putting words to something and making it sound revamped. I'm no expert (not even close) but it's a good time. I miss my guitar so much though, especially since Andrew got one for Christmas. agh.

It's 3am. I should really sleep because I want to go running before Jon's party today. I gotta be all toned and amazing for the elderly tonight, eh? I dont think I'll drink a lot though...I dont want to do an overload of alcohol.

I have a room to myself which is loverly. It's been at least six days since I've had my own tranquility. I spent it walking around half naked, watching a great movie and...doing stuff (as in sipping water you filthy-minded freaks). Geez. I should get to bed and enjoy my silence.

Goodnight. In case this is the last blog you'll ever read from me (in case the world ends), just know that it's been a pleasure to tickle this keyboard and provide something for your ugly eyes to read. Just know that you're all fugly and Jesus hates you. Sweet dreams.

When the world ends

You’re gonna come with me

We’re going to be crazy

Like a river bends

We’re going to float

Through the criss-cross of the mountains

Watch them fade to nothing

When the world ends

You know that’s what’s happening now

I’m going to be there with you somehow, oh...

I’m going to tie you up like a baby in a carriage car

Your legs won’t work 'cause you want me so

You just lie spread to the wall

The love you got is surely

All the love that I would ever need

I’m going to take you by my side

And love you tall, ‘til the world ends

And even when I'm old and gray

I drank a shitload tonight and I just threw up. I haven't thrown up from alcohol since September. I actually had to stick my fingers down my throat to make myself feel better. I drank so much tonight. Holy shit. I felt sick while peeing and when I stood I up, I put my fingers down my throat so I could feel better. I'm still drunk but I dont feel sick now.

I drunk dialed Dave and the bastard hung up on me. pfft.

yeah, I'm sleepy onw. peace. Just thought I'd share.

Every dog has its day

Once upon a time there was a puppy named Rufus who loved cookies. He loved them so much, he wanted to change his name to Cookie. Being a puppy, this was hard to do because he couldn't talk to his human owners about a name change and his mother refused to listen to such a young, immature dog about such stupidity. So, instead, Rufus decided to change his name to Cookie without anyone else knowing. When he talked to himself, he called himself Cookie, when he thought he referred to himself as Cookie and he told his other siblings (Lyla, Jelly and Timon) to no longer refer to him as Rufus, but Cookie. As Rufus--I mean Cookie-- got older, he loved cookies more and more and was so happy to own the name Cookie.

Over time, however, he did not listen to his mother or his owners when they called him by "Rufus." Afterall, it wasn't his name, right? So day by day, his masters would say "Rufus, get your food!" and he ignored them, feeling that they should call him Cookie. Cookie ignored everything that his masters told him to do and this infuriated them more than anything (even more than when Janet Jackson's nipple was revealed on television). Cookie's mom was upset with him because he wasn't being an obedient poodle like the rest of his siblings and she feared that the family would get rid of a bad poodle. Cookie and his mother fought likes cats and dogs (or dogs and dogs) for days and days, yet the only thing that changed was their hatred for one another.

Cookie continued to disobey the rules of the family--not coming when they called him Rufus and not listening to orders--and his mother got so fed up, she bit him...and this was the final straw for Cookie. On the night of February 23rd, he packed his cookies in a bag and fled away into the cold darkness, never looking back at the house that wouldn't accept him for who he really was: a cookie loving poodle.

Cookie loved being liberated and doing as he pleased. His new found friends in the alley referred to him as Cookie and he finally felt as though he was accepted for who he was. He loved his friends, but not their habit of doing crack--on eachothers' cracks nontheless--and he feared they might try to steal his cookies for drug money. Cookie hid his beloved cookies in a dirty diaper (he was desperate) and hoped that they'd never steal the shit-infested treats.

Gus, Ranger, Bubba and Cracker Jack all became desperate for more drugs. They were low on cash and to make money, they started pimping their girlfriends Molly, Fender and Xena (Cracker Jack didn't have a girlfriend if you know what I mean) but they started giving them black eyes when they didn't come home with enough cash, so the three bitches ran away for ever. The only other currency that doggie drug dealers would accept were cookies...and they knew Cookie had them. Cracker Jack threatened to kill Cookie if he didn't hand them over, but his effeminate tone of voice didn't phase Cookie; Bubba ass raped him, but Cookie loved his cookies so much, he didn't care; Ranger beat him with a hockey stick and Gus went as far as to light Cookie on fire. He had a loose asshole, bruises and was bald, but he adored the fact that he got to keep his cookies--that's the only thing that mattered.

One night the boys got fed up with Cookie's disobedient ways and gave him the ultimate torture--they injected him with crack so he'd want to use his cookies for more crack. They injected so much crack into his system (they killed a crack cat for it) that Cookie did, in fact, sell his cookies. He understood the addiction so much, that he let the boys "borrow" the cookies for crack. The crack plan worked. Crack was good. Crack was love. Crack was life. Cookie loved crack more than cookies.

Over the passing months, Cookie was a desperate druggie. He shook from withdrawals, had mangy fur, bloodshot eyes and a short fuse--he regularly beat his girlfriend Daisy and ass raped his hookers when they didn't come back to the alley with more money for crack. Cookie was a desperate dog and he needed help. He was addicted to crack and doing it on the others' cracks. He loved crack more than cookies now. Cookie decided to change his name to Crack (when he was devoted, he was devoted) because he adored it so much. Crack consumed Crack's life, and since his new name was Crack, he desired it more than ever. When friends called for him, he wanted to do crack up the whazoo. He just couldn't stop.

One week, Crack hadn't had crack for a week--and he was desperate. Crack had no money, no cookies, no one to bum it from and/or steal it from. He shook and broke out in cold sweats. Crack couldn't take it anymore. What did the desperate poodle do under such circumstances? The only thing he could do...eat himself. Afterall, he was Crack. And that's what Crack did, he ate himself whole and the poodle was never seen again.

The End.


:)
I hope it was mildly entertaining.

I'd arrest you if I had handcuffs

I almost bought handcuffs tonight at Expressions. I came so close but I decided to go for the sex dice. For one, they were cheaper and two, they'd be a tad bit more adventurous than handcuffs. Maybe when I actually have someone to handcuff to the headboard, chair and/or tree, I'll spend the $30, but for now, the sex dice are good =). Yes, Matt, call me a whore...I guess I deserve it. All I say to that is... *rolls dice* Lick my question mark. ha! Have fun with that one ya freak. Ewwww.

Andrew and Brittany (in between making out in my kitchen) have made ghetto Shirley Temples. I dont recall Shirley tasting like cereal. Imagine Trix as drinkable and blood red...and there's their version of Shirley Temples. I would not be surprised if they slaughtered babies and wrung them out to dry in the cups and ate the skins. Ew. They gross me out. They're all like "Ewww, I hate you! Touch me now." G-rossness. Apparently they're sharing a bed tonight while the parental units are away in Pennsylvania. I will piss my pants if they come back early tomorrow morning and they find Britt and Andrew nestled nakey together in their bed =) Granted, I'll be slapped, but I'll laugh through my tears because that would just be funny....yes, the image is disturbing, but the idea of my parents' jaws dropping? Pricele$$.

Redtube is my hero.

Meatspin isn't.

Oh, the lovebirds are back from their sexcapades in the kitchen. Brittany went in the bathroom to spit the semen out and Andrew went in my parents room to hide his remote? I dont know what that means. Eh, he did buy sex dice too so maybe he had to kiss her nipples or he had to massage her lips....the ones on her face you nasty hos.

I want to go to Hooters. Werd.

My song is love.

I'll always listen to you sing your sweet song

The qualities you dislike others for is really what you hate in yourself. Sound true? I think so. Take a step back and look at those that you "hate" because they're too loud or lazy or immature and take a gander at yourself and you'll see that you probably have those same issues and you hate yourself for it, but you lash out at others. An old friend of mine explained this to me (she heard it from somewhere) and it's a philosophy to live by. I can't really hate anyone, ya know? I'm just not that type of person to hold angst and rage inside at someone; most of the time I pity their souls for being horse shit. But when I'm angry with someone I evaluate (like a fucking dork) what I'm mad at and see if I hold that contempt for myself. Most of the time it works...most of the time. I've been trying this exercise most recently (as in the past twenty minutes) and I guess I have frustration about the opposite as the person I'm mad at. I suppose it's easier to hash at their insanities rather than look at my insecurities. Psychological enough for ya? pfft. Welcome to my fucking mind! My left brain totally dominates the right, thus why I can solve mathematics and write analytical papers, yet I draw a quick "sketch" of Andrew and he looks like he belongs in a Where's Waldo book, Insane Asylum Special Edition. I'm glad I thought this out though. Hell, it doesn't change shit and there won't be a hop to my step now, but I'm definitely more aware of myself which is both good and bad. I most def know myself inside and out (I think TOO MUCH) yet I know a lot and that stops me sometimes. From what you ask? Well, I could tell you but I wont because I'm a fucking pussy. I suppose that's a prime example. Figure it out monkey dung.

A pleasant surprise: I saw Irina yesterday. I haven't really seen or heard from her since we left Pat-Med in June. She seems to be doing really well at Pratt. I'm glad she's finally grasping what it's like to be a teenager with drinking and boys and parties. I think it's funny how we have parallel situations with our love life. It made my situation so much more relatable and I suppose that I am not the only Freshman to be thinking what I'm thinking. What struck me though is when she asked, "How do you know when you're in love?" and I had no direct answer for her. I told her it's different for everyone as far as what makes them tick when in love, but it's just this feeling you get. I'm no pro and I'm not claiming to be, but I think it's kinda like when you had a really long day and all you want to do is sleep because you really haven't gotten any all week, but you're more content watching your significant other sleep and dream and noting how their tummies move up and down. It's like you'd rather be an insomniac than get the sleep you need, all to watch the person you love sleep. Like somehow that's more vital to your life and your functioning. I can't really explain that scenario very well, and that's not the only ramification to love, but it's a metaphor-like situation. I told her that she'll just know if she is and not to think about it too much because it ruins the beauty in romance. How do you answer that question? I was basically speechless and I rambled a lot (like usual). I've been thinking about love for the past month or so and what makes it so important to us. I know that I want someone to be in love with and someone to fall in love with me--we all seek that. But why? I'm coolio enough to chill by myself and have friends and family to love and love me back, yet I yearn for that someone to say "I love you, baby" to and cuddle with and kiss and spoil with my motherly ambitions. Yes, thanks Andrew, I'm aware that I'm a mush. I haven't met anyone so far that makes me want to give 100% of myself in that way. Well, that's not totally true, but I suppose that I'm still stuck in the mindset that there are restrictions, when I know there really aren't any. So who's to say that the feeling will or won't grow with time or passion? No one is telling me that but myself. So, I'm the one to blame. This veered...uh...so love is a many splendored thing? Yeah, it will also knock you down and make you feel like shit. I've been thinking about it and I think love is so broad yet so simple (we make it complicated) and it's the best feeling in the world; it surpasses any high imaginable because it is the ultimate rush. Yeah, I'll stop now only because this is a boring ramble of dumb shtuff. werd.

Andrew slept over last night because my parents are away and we're both geezers. Granted we both worked yesterday and we both had to work today, but we passed out around 2am which is early for a sleepover. I wanted to put ketchup on his hand and tickle his nose with a feather so he rubbed his nose and got ketchup on it =) but then I decided that it would be awful. Actually I just thought of that now, not last night...but I wouldn't have the heart to do that to my Andrew. He's special, he wouldn't understand why his big sister is so mean to him =)

What else? Not much. I'm gonna go shopping today then go to work...and have an oooooober awesome dance party/ sleepover with Jen and Britt and Andrew. yayness. Toodles.



And it's cold and darkness falls
It's as if you're in the next room so alive
I could swear I hear you singing to me

ABC, 123

Yes I'm aware that it's 3am on Christmas Day. I'm aware of this completely and I wish I could sleep, but obviously I can't. I took a nap with Mel before but the fact that I slept isnt the reason why I'm awake. I can't get some shut eye because of the dream I had while I was sleeeping. I've had dreams the past couple of days that make me sit and ponder things. Let's say it's person K who is causing such mini-dramas in my life. K has an idea, but no idea and I fear K wants me for different reasons than I want K. Let's say a bulk of my dreams have involved K and they're nothing but good and I wake up smiling and I'm happy. So why can't I sleep? It's because I'm happy from them and I'm unaware of the turn out. Then, to make it dandier, there's another element of Q which confuses the whole situation. Let me not even mention R. There's probably a Y and H somewhere, too. For Christ's sake (no offense, it is your birfday) I can't handle all of these letters involved in my life. It could just be Z (me) and K, that'd be peachy. I have my own outside elements such as G and the God-foresaken X...and how can I forget the A? Holy shit. I have G and X and A. K has Q and R. I'm not even sure I want K and Z together though. Sometimes I ponder the Z and G or the Z and A (:)) or perhaps the ever inevitable Z and X. But that'd be unhealthy as would Z and G. So maybe Z and K is perfect. Well, I've always thought that A and Z were meant to be, as do the stars, but that's beside the point. So far there's a lot of K and Z going on. My brain likes to remind me of this at night. I had one dream with K where I melted to nada and in this one, it was so good that I woke up in quick shock, unaware of my surroundings until a minute went by and Melany woke up. I was in lala land. What is it about K? No fucking clue. What is it about R and Q for K? What is it about A that makes me smile? And X that makes me burn with every fiber in my body? It sounds like a lot of complex algebra mushing in my brain. Fook. I dont fookin' know. I dont want to talk about it really. I'd rather marinate in my own thoughts for awhile and come to a decision. It doesn't help that Dave keeps on asking me if I have a boyfriend. I want to smack him only because I dont know at this point. Ack to you fucking K. But A, if you want to come and chill, that'd be cool. G? I could handle you if you wanted to handle me. And X? Well, I dont know. That's just a yearning. Maybe R can stay away and Q is chill, but I dont know about that one either. Everyone chants a different letter to me, but my voice is the only one that counts. Fucking dreams keeping me awake. Fuckin-a...haah. A! Yes? No? Wait...who was A again? Oh yeah. haha. The perfect one. K is not perfect, but it'd be good while it lasted. A and I go way back as do others. What the fuck do I know anymore? Stoopid, stoopid, stoopid dreams. And this did little for my ability to sleep at 3:30 am on Christmas morning. If I have one more wonderful dream where I wake up smiling and happy, I'll be pissed fo shizzle. I dont want to be happy, damnit, I want to wallow in self pity. Oh crap, don't even get me started on my dream with X. I don't want to go there either. That was a bundle of warm tingly feelings (as X could)...only followed by tingly feelings by K. Fuck you K. Fuck you X. Fuck me A. Goodnight and another Merry Christmas. I'll probably write in this bullshit again later when the day becomes a waste of space.

So this is Christmas

Merry Christmas, everyone. It's that special time of year where greed and giving are key components of the holiday. It's the time of the year where bragging rights of gifts gotten are the special parts of conversation. Christmas lost its meaning (whatever it is anymore) and became catchy Christmas tunes, expensive gifts and blinding decorations on every square inch of the lawn and roof. When A Christmas Story plays for twenty-four hours, you know its Christmas. It is the archetypical holiday and it's annoying as fuck. People Christmas shopping are annoying. The value of family time is unimportant when they dont have that video game or sweater or perfume to give. New College kids are gonna kill me, but love is made within the presents given...haha. Shopping is a social relationship, eh? :)

Maybe this will be a good Christmas. Maybe it wont be a useless day of awkward gift opening. I hate when people look at my face when I open presents. I feel like they're anticipating an amazing reaction...and if I'm not amazed, they're disappointed and I feel bad. I'm not expecting a lot this Christmas--I know my tuition is a big part of my present. I can't complain about that though, forty g's and the chance to make something of myself? That's more than I could ask for.

I'm watching Lifetime and The Golden Girls are on. I love this show. I think I am Dorothea like whoa. Not just because of the manly voice, assholes, but because she is just kick ass. Anyone who hates Bea Arthur hates puppies and kittens, period. The sound keeps on phasing in and out though and I'm ready to go back to the History Channel. Yes, I watch it for fun. My mommy says that it makes me special and unique, so shut up.

Red lights flood the landscape

And stain my hands like blood.

The music takes over my heart

And my brain converts religion

And I praise the cold sky above for keeping

Me safe and confined.

It's easy in this box.

It's filled with music that

directs the blood in my veins to flow to my heart

and it pulses with each word sung.

This song sustains my life.

A calm discourse takes over my soul

And I know I'm not alone.

Hands on my back,

Hands on my arms,

Hands around my waist

Hand nestled in mine

And I know I'm not alone.

Red to green

and my hands are stained clovers.

I dont feel so heavy now.

Red to green:

Just like you, lovely.

Have a Merry fucking Christmas.

Give it away now...

My yesterdays are all boxed

I'm tired of this bullshit. I'm just tired of it. I thought I was done with it and apparently not. How do I know? It's called the pit of fire in my stomach. It burned with so much anguish this morning, I thought I'd vomit up fire. So much jealousy was ignited inside of me, it dispersed to my chest, fingertips and forehead. I felt numb. I shouldnt though. I should be okay and, if anything, I've done the same to others more than once, but it's a shitty feeling. I guess it's one of those things where it's okay if you do it, but someone else does and causes that reaction, you freak out. I freaked out. I sought after the comfort of Jon in desperation, but he hasn't gotten back to me yet. I got a smack in the face early this morning. Ack. I hate that feeling. I've been realizing things and with that, other things have been flourishing and that makes me shudder. I'm vague? People will read this. I think I should get over that shit. It's okay, I'll talk to Brittany and everything will be okay. It's always okay after I talk to her.

I could be brown

I could be blue

I could be violet sky

I could be hurtful

I could be purple

I could be anything you like

Gotta be green

Gotta be mean

Gotta be everything more...

Everybody's fuckin' on the dancefloor

I felt like this should be in pink. I'm in a pink mood. There are color moods that I get in--green, purple, blue, black, pink, etc. I just felt pink. Not the evil connotation of girliness, but its brightness and bamness-like quality; no one can ignore pink. No one. Ew. That reminds me of that damned song that I truly dislike. Andrew and I slaughtered it in the car this weekend (we sounded like sick, Japanese hyenas with bad diarrhea)...and that was relieving =)

Christmas is almost here! It's Christmas Eve and I opened one present so far: Andre got me Nip/Tuck Season 1 on DVD. I'm mucho excited because I love that show and I haven't seen it in a long time. Oh, and you ARE Patrick. K. Thanks.

It seems that I have inspired mucho people to write in blogs. Not only do I have a growing audience of somewhat captivated readers, but followers who wish to be just like me. Granted, I got this all from Greg, but I started my own cult of bloggers. I feel like Charles Manson (I'll do without severe brainwashing) or Jesus (he got billions to follow his beliefs)--just cooler and with a vagina. Vagina, vagina, vagina. lalalalalala. A comedian once said that vagina sounds like a disease. "Hey, I can't come into work today--I have vagina, it's all over my face." That was an indirect quote from the comedian. There was another comedian who said that he and his wife were sleeping one night and they were spooning (aww) and he felt "a warm breath on his thigh." Yup, she farted. hhmmm...Karen, Sam and I were watching Oprah one night (more me than them) and apparently this woman hadn't passed gas in front of her husband of twenty-five years...ever. I think that's insane. Especially considering that I come from a household where both mother and father let one rip without thinking twice. I can't imagine being with someone for that long and not letting something pass, ya know? My parents probably have secret competitions without telling one another and try to out do the other...honestly, my mom would probably win sound wise...padre would win smell wise...it gets so bad that he even denies it after awhile and blames it on Tobie. I think everyone blames the dog at one point in their lives. Where's your homework? The dog ate it. Where did that piece of meat go? The dog must have taken it. Who let one rip? It was the dog. Who shit on the new carpet? It must...uh...have....uh been the dog...yeah, that's right, the dog. Poor puppies.

Goodnight ya'll. I have to work again. Just know that I'll be dreaming of you. Not. Well, maybe...

Look at you

Check you out.

You got a friend in me

There are some people that you have in your life and you're just happy that you have them. You wouldn't exchange them for anyone or anything else in the whole world, even a million dollars or all the clean, safe sex you want for free (some people would?) Around the holiday season, I am more aware of these people in my life. I like to take a step back and just watch those that I love and respect. The people that can make my day without even trying and the ones that I can always go to when I have a problem. It's easy to love someone, but it's hard to stick around, ya know? You can meet a friend and care for them, but if that caring, fuzzy friend feelings stays, you were meant to be good friends. I look at those that I'm close with and I have friendships that go back as far as kindergarten and first grade. It's an insane amount of time when thinking about it...that's at least thirteen years. And to stay friends with them is miraculous. There are just some friends, I believe, that you were meant to know and keep for a long time. Without the long and short friendships, I dont know what kind of person I'd be, ya know? Granted I have a kick ass family that I love and they love me back, but the blood ties don't compare to the friend ties that I have made with a select few. My family supplied the lump of clay and shaped the foundation, but the intricate details that make me an individual, come from amigos. A good handful I consider my own family--and if we were actually family, we'd be dysfunctional, yet loving and totally kick ass. Talk about a partay!! I don't want to give names because when I list people and other people read it, and they're not on the list, they freak out and feel left out, so I won't do that. I hope that whoever is reading this knows who you are.

What I love about making new friends is, that if the fuzzy feeling stays, it stays for a long time. I'm happy when I get along well with people because that means a new person who will change my life and add zest to my lumpy and awkward (yet chillin) clay pile. There is a handful at Hofstra that is beginning to add their own colors to my blob (werd) of clay. Each and every person that I've known (both good and bad) has had a profound effect on me and I'd like to say thank you to everyone. In this reflection I can also wish that I've done the same for others. I suppose that I'm generally a decent human being. I dont know what exactly makes a decent human being, but I'll pretend that the qualifications are not eating ceiling fans for a midnight snack. hhhmm...eh? Anywho, I hope I've had the same impact on others (both good and bad) as they've had on me. If other peeps are lumps of clay too, what imprint do I leave behind that makes them who they are? How am I important to them? Why do they keep me around? I wonder about these things, but in the end the answers to those questions have no words--they can only be expressed through giggles and jokes, smiles and tears, hugs and punches...and good ol' fashioned love. Love is what makes us tick. Without a love connection to any other human being, what would be our function in life? Why would we stick around so long? Wander around aimlessly, eating, shitting and breathing? What good is life without love? It's a terrible emotion that brings about more joy and pain than any other, but it's essential like water and oxygen. We need love, thus we need others to love. I think the best kind of people to love are friends. Period.

Ay ya ya ya ya

Once upon a time I wanted to pet Melany's hamster and the bastard latched onto my finger and I freaked and ripped my hand away...only for the thing to stay on my finger...then wind up on the floor. Kinda drop on the floor. Luckily it had a mini heart attack so it didn't go running anywhere (as in under my door where Tobie would have eaten it or in my room where it'd take milleniums to find the thing) and once it came back to functioning, I scooped it into the thing and now the two are plotting their revenge on me as we speak. Or I type. Whichever.

So. I just got off of work about two hours ago and I have to go back in at KB in seven-and-a-half hours. Yup. Working is fun. Especially at 6am. I remember Black Friday still being a little drunk going to work. I looked like a scuzzy cum guzzler, but what else is new? I was deathly tired after wiping up vomit all night and I didn't wear make up, so I looked like a nakey clown. That reminds me: Dave said that I was wearing more make up than usual today. What the hell is up with that? Am not. pfft.

I am swwweeeeeeeepy. I want a cuddling partner though. I'm gonna shower and sleep by my lonesome self in my big, comfy, cozy bed and smell awesome and feel awesome and be awesome. In other words, be FRAN. I want to cuddle though. Any takers? =(

I want to go running after work tomorrow. If the snow (which is currently falling) isn't too trecherous, I'll do some laps around the ol' neighborhood. I can wave to my neighbors and pretend like I know who they are; I can dodge the bullets as I pass the homes of the crazies and run quickly from the dogs that get loose every once and awhile. Oh, and I can't forget the kidnapping! That dreary corner down the street from my house that loses all concepts of space and time for a good four seconds? Yeah. The ninth dimension is where I'll disappear for twenty years and become trailer trash and come out four seconds later the same person with no one knowing the difference. The amazing thing about Patchogue, I've noticed, is that it will never get better, only worse. Everyone from Patchogue likes to live beyond their means or at least portray that they have a wad of cash. But driving around P-town, things get worse, not better. I see more shitty homes than pretty ones and when I think Patchogue is changing its ways, I realize I'm in Holtsville or Medford and it doesn't count anymore. And the people don't change at alllll. This was apparent while working today. I miss the true Long Island women that wear way too much eyeliner and cover-up and who scrunch or tease their hair and carry faux Coach bags.Their outfits? They range from tight 90's jeans and loose t-shirts to ugly spandex and "cute" sweaters (or is that just KB customers?). And the accent. Oy. No one knows that r's exist on Long Island. And a's aren't proper without an "aw" or "ay" twang added to them. "Get tha buttah"; "Ayfter we're done shoppin', we ah gonna get McDawnald's"; "Where is tha nearest dollah stawr?"

There are roughly four days until Christmas and I haven't started shopping yet. It's sad but I have no desire to; I have no ideas for anyone and, an even better excuse, I have no money to get things for people. I love Christmas because of the feelings that people get, but I never have enough money by the time it comes around. argh. I dont know what to get anyone and that sucks mucho. I also have no one to kiss underneath the mistletoe. Talk about an empty feeling. It's chillin inbetween my living room and dining room and it chants my name everytime I walk by: Frank, Frank, Frank. I want to burn it, but then I think that maybe something will happen where I can use it and get a kiss underneath it. I know my dad has probably grabbed my mom and planted one on her. Ew. Tobie has probably grabbed himself and licked his ass underneath it. I dont know what to do. I wont make out with either parent and I wont lick my own ass (nor can I)...what is a single gal to do?

Get a boyfriend. Ka-ching! Any takers? 0:)

I regress to the age of nine sometimes. Today I spit in Andrew's hair. I also tease mercifully and make pouty faces and do cutesy voices. To really play the part, I even dress like I'm nine and wear a training bra for old time's sake. The days of the ant hills, the specks of flesh with no fleshiness, the bee stings, the mosquito bites, etc. I wonder what it's gonna be like when I finally hit puberty...maybe I'll develop to AA and think XXX, AAA (not the car care) or perhaps...a B (not the letter grade). I think boobs are the inverse of how smart you are. In our society, an A grade is considered the best while D is failing. From what I've gathered, those with small boobs (who shall remain nameless) aren't that smart...like at all. As boobs get bigger (Coral, Britt, Jen) the intelligence sky rockets. They're all D's and oober smart. Well, I am not a complete ditz (A) or of average intelligence (B) and def not a genius (D or DD) but a healthy C. Yes, that's right C. I am a C. Got beef? No? Well, apparently I got just enough of it, fooooools so sink yo teef in. Suck my left tit.

Someone once told me that when I say nipple, it's funny. I can't help it. I think nipple is a funny word anyway. They're fun, but also funny to say. teehee.

I gotta shower. Stop holding a gun to my head and forcing me to write in the damned thing. I hope I'm keeping my distant audience captivated. If I'm not, please let me know so I can start talking shit behind all ya'll's backs, ya'll.

I will sleep for about four hours tonight. Foo-ey.

And someone just went into the bathroom, so hold the trigger up to my temple again, I'll write some more. About what though? I'm basically dry of cool, concentrated things to say. Actually that's not possible--I'm a Gemini.

And they left the bathroom. So shut up crazy gunman, I'm goin' to shower and smell like dainty flowers again. Blah to work.

Get outta my head.

Sweet dreams to my readers. <3

She's watchin over me

8:30am on Friday morning. I can't sleep. I'm tired now but I decided to write a blog. When my head fills with words, I'm restless until it comes out. It's like having too much to drink with the need to throw it all up; I need to upchuck in this thing. I need to upchuck real bad. My blog puke is beautiful and you dont need to clean it up off the shower curtain either.

But what do I write about now? I have blank shooting here. Well, I have plenty to talk about, but nothing that should be published for people to read. Hey, I could stop being a pussy and say totally how I feel because, after all, that's what makes a good writer; but I'll be a cunt and keep those things to myself. I know some of you are dying to know what's going on this little head of mine. I must say it's a funhouse with mirrors that will make your face less deformed and your body sculpted like Demi Moore...yes, even the males. Tobie looks hot in a bikini on the beach, let me tell ya.

Speaking of Tobie, my parents want to put him to sleep and I can't handle that kind of pressure this month off. I remember putting my old dog to sleep a few years ago and I laid in bed all day crying. Arnold was the shit and I miss him terribly. I dont blame my parents for wanting to get rid of Tobie, but he's still my dog and I think he's nifty. All of the memories burned in my retina of the countless legs he's humped. I think one of my favorite humping occassions was like two or three years ago. Pretty much everyone was over that day and it was right before Junior year started for me and right before Billy's first deployment. A whole bunch of us played Balderdash (and asshole Greg won...) and right before Darlene, Greg and Billy were gonna leave, my grandma or something wanted a picture of Greg, Billy and Darlene. As they posed, Tobie crept from no where and latched onto Greg's leg. We almost pissed ourselves. Then, the second shot, I believe he tried the same with Billy. Yeah, my dog's a whore. But what kind of home experience will I have without cute brown eyes meeting me at the door? Come to think of it, no one else has brown eyes in my house! My mom, brother and I have hazel eyes and Mel and my dad have blue eyes. Well I can see who belongs to whom now... Either way, I dont want him to die. I'm not sure if I can watch another dog excited to leave thinking they're going for a fun ride in the car with madre, only to never come back again. ick.

Something nicer to talk about? Shit. Shit. Shit. I wanted to get up in an hour or so to go running. I want to run but I'm not sure if I want to do that if I'm tired. I have to go into KB at 1 today. Yippeee. Actually, I'm sorta excited, but I'm still 0_0 about some things. For my readers who have no clue, be glad you have no clue. For those of you who know, eeeeeeeeek. Some things are just awkward at work and no matter what is said or done, we all want to slice one another with box cutters and eat the remains with chop sticks. Since Andrew's ugly, he'd taste bad, so I'd need salt for him. I wouldn't kill Jen for shit (she's too cute!!) and Palma would get to me before I got to her. Actually, it'd be quick and out of nowhere. I'd just stand down aisle four fixing Star Wars toys humming like TJ Bearytales and she'd descend from the ceiling, call my name and when I look ed up, she'd slit me to pieces. Britt is a shortie so she'd have to come from up to kill me. If we were on the ground, I could simply step on her and lick her off my shoe. mhm. That's right. I said it.

Hey! I haven't heard this song in forever...sweeet. Now I wanna dance.

I was laughing so hard last night. Andrew, the poodle video is so much funnier with no sound!!!!!! Dave and Eric: I have a new youtube video to show you when we're back on campus.

Kitten vomit. Yum. Dance party tonight?

I want chicken
I want liver
Meow mix, Meow mix
Please deliver.

.You're a voice that never sings.

.You're freezing over hell.

.You can only blame yourself.

I ain't changed but I know I ain't the same

I am in the comfort of my Patchogue bed. This mattress is the shit. I always sleep well in it. I invite all of my readers to cuddle with me on this bed at some point in their lives. Melany has added lots of pillows too, so it's that more enjoyable. I also don't have to switch into rock climbing gear with boots and hooks and that lever/pully system to sleep. I simply sit down. It's nice.

Being home. What has that brought me so far? Well, pretty much the second I walked through the door, I was out going to Andrew's house. I had his mommy's lasagna which was delish and the garlic bread which was a fucking blessing from the gods. We hung out and laughed about dumb shit (like usual) then Britt came over and we went to Starbucks. Remind me to pay Palma back. Thanks. It most def felt like old days driving everyone around to crazy places. haha. Back at his place, I showed them things I have learned on youtube and even redtube. And meatspin. Yeah. It was a good time. Thumbs up, 6'5". Britt left and Andrew and I had a hella dance party and I discovered that I've misplaced lots of my old rythym. I say misplace because it's not lost; it's still in me somewhere, I just have to find it, ya know? It's good stuff. I didn't leave until 3ish and I went back home to shower the sweat and blood away. I then went on the compooper and talked to Billy for an hour. That was cool. Billy boy, I'm not sure what I'm gonna do about the dog situation. I told Tobie to chill and wait for Olive, but I dont know if he can. Maybe your leg is the only thing he's pining for and he wants you, not Olive. I just don't know.

I'm hella tired. I didn't go to sleep until 7am. Granted it's 3pm, but I be sleepy. I want to go running today. I kinda want to go back to Hofstra. I think there comes a point for all Freshman where school is home and home has less significance. When the year started I loved going home and seeing friends and all that nonsense. I'm happy to be home and I'm sure after a day or two, I'll be pro-Patchogue, but for now I'm all Hofstra because of the friends I've made. I had Dave withdrawls last night which is kinda sad, especially considering that I can't stand him :) and I wanted to chill with Karen and Sam and have Matt smack the shit out of me and put me back in line like the bitch I am. Oy. Is this sad? Or is this growing up?

Last night/ this morning I had a dream where I woke up and went "oh snap." Ever had that dream that was so real that you could feel it in and on your body? So real that you could have sworn that it happened? Well, that feeling happened twice. I'm assuming that this dream is triggered by feelings somewhere. Oy. Someone just slap me around and call me a Silly Sally. I wont go into details (like I ever do) but I was certainly swept off my feet and I felt a burning in my chest which traveled to my toes. Sad? Sorta. Crazy? Most def. Scary? Fuck yes.

I smell so fucking amazing right now. Like holy shit. I showered last night (which helps, I suppose) and when I finally put clothes on (after sitting in a towel for an hour) my shirt smelt so fucking amazing. Then I added some lotion and I am bangin. I am so sorry that you all can't sit next to me so you can sniff the wowness that is Fran. I'm a fucking boquet of flowers, bitches. Shakespeare could write a sonnet about my scent. Seriously. I'm making these sheets smell beautiful. I dont want to excercise in fear of losing the great sniffs I get from myself-- I'm turning myself on. Wow. I feel famous like the Queen or Julia Roberts or Mikhail Gorbachev.

I hate paid programming. I slept on the couch for a bit this morning and tried to find a good movie or show to watch so I could fall asleep. We have crazy channels and not one thing was on. Well, that's not true...but nothing good (with the exception of The Magic School Bus). There were hella crazy advertisements for bullshit that no one wants. I only have one favorite paid programming...program...and that's for the Magic Bullet. Does anyone know what I'm talking about? The overly animated Australian and the cracked-out lady with teeth like a picket fence shoving mixtures into something the size of my fist and making gourmet meals with it? And the "random" people that they gathered to taste what they made. The fat, bald guy in a robe and the old chain-smoking lady who sounds like Frank pre-op? It's absolutely hysterical because they put anything in the Magic Bullet: brocolli, cheese and milk; carrots and zucchini; pretzels and dog food; cigarette butts and pig knuckles; period blood and beans. Just crazy. I bet a baby would be delicious in a Magic Bullet. Add some oregano and Pepsi...and feta cheese! Yummmmmmm. Wow. Now I'm drooling. I haven't had a good baby to eat in a long time. Hofstra's Student Center doesn't sell them; not even on the Chinese food line.

I want to get drunk soon. Jon, can you take care of that? Thanks.

I guess I should go and stop smelling so wonderful. I'll ruin the wonderfullness and be productive. I have slept the day away.

Thank you to all of my friends who have been there for me and have listened to my bullshit and aren't dumb and crazy. Love you all.

Someone remind me to wish my bro-bro a Happy Birfday.


If you want to destroy my sweater
Hold this thread as I walk away

It seems like years since it's been here

I'm in class and I am ready to eat chalk and die. I am tired and hungry and I just want to curl into blankets and be surrounded by pillows and someone else's warmth and just sleep the day away. I cannot wait for this bullshit to be done. It's like we've all been running for three and a half weeks straight and now we're struggling to get to the finish line. Just one more day right? Eh. Fuck you. It's fucking torture. So someone please get me some chalk (maybe some string) and let me die with white stuff all over my face. Just like Jesus intended it to be. haha. Conrad just asked Dave about Keynesianism economics and I'm about to burst out laughing. hahaha.

Yesterday marked two years since my grandma died. It's pretty weird stuff. I guess it was good that I didn't make note of it until the day was over or else I would have been sa-ad and o_o. The wound is still fresh, it's only been two years. I miss that woman and I can't really explain why. I guess it's just knowing that I will never talk to her again. Wow. I dont want to be morbid and write stuff that depresses people. I'd rather make you all laugh talking about my fight with 'No one' and toilet paper and my daily annoyances with bitches. They ain't shit but hos and tricks. foo'

I have $5 left on my meal plan. It's quite pathetic. I went home and got $75 from my parents and suddenly, a week and a half later, I'm going to eat grass and pigeon. Yummy. Hofstra would find ways to tax me for that, too. Fuckin-a.

OMG. Sam, Karen and I took Hofstra Pride pictures last night. I can't wait to walk around campus with them and make unnatural poses like we're having a grand time at Hofstra.

Have the wage be the variable that produces the adjustment. Some crap like that. Yeah, that's what we're talking about and it doesn't matter. Wages would go up, wages would go down, wages would go up, wages would go down, wages would go up, wages would go down. Yup. New York elite decided wages must go down. What the hell do ya know about that?

I hope Karen does her presentation soon. She's been freaking out over her Kula Ring shite, but she'll be wonderful. I just want her to go so other people go and then we're all happy and warm in bed with the blankeys and pillows and someone to cuddle with.

I JUST REMEMBERED THAT I HAVE MY OWN ROOM TONIGHT! Chances are I won't because people will walk in and out and sleep in Allie's bed so it'll be like sharing again. But I can dream of dancing in my underwear and chillin naked and sacrificing little babies on the wall. Hey, a girl can dream.

Billy's right: watch Snoop Dog's new video sometime soon. It's so fucking retarded that you laugh at it's fucked up chromosomes.

Peace. I should go and pretend like I'm paying attention and that I give three-and-a-half shits.

Little darlin' it's been a long cold lonely winter

'cause you asked for it

This one will be short because I dont want to be rude in Karen's crib. Sam and I are sleeping over her place tonight even though we have class the next day. We're all tired but a nighty night moment was a good idea. There was free breakfast tonight in the Student Center and it was awesome because it was free! We all know from the ice cream experience that I love free things. I wasn' too happy that Karen didn't get food that was vegan...it was a sad moment in history. It was crazy busy and stuff. I saw my futon friend which was slightly awkward and Dave liked to point that out. Well, Dave and his touch of the flu can suck it.

When Dave snored I laughed because he had this girly snore that was high-pitched for about five minutes and it reminded me of the "one more drink" voice and "umm...maybe tomorrow?" mocking me. So I laughed.

This class is almost over and I can't wait. I actually want to stay on campus and just hang out with people, and not go home. I dont think I want to go home at this point. I dont really know why. I mean, I can't wait to see people and hang out, but I dont want the worry and weight that comes with being at home. Here I am free to do what I want when I want it. Back home, I'm afraid I'll fall into the same traps. Oy. I dont know what I'm saying, it's 2am.

I want to watch a cool movie with the girls. It'd suck so bad if we wound up staying all night.

Oprah is cool. What other show will talk about pooping and farting and nose stuff. Probably every other show on the planet...

The party this weekend entailed this dude Greg whipping out his dick for five bucks. It was a challenge for me to get his belt off though. And I invented the Fran drink: sprite and beer. K. Thanks.

Who love orange soda? Kel love orange soda.

Rummaging for answers in the pages.

So. You're looking for something else to read. Something new to entice your eyes with. Something to laugh at. Something to smile at. Something to be disappointed in or be embarassed about. Welcome?

I did something last night that I thought I'd never do in a million years. It involved me, Dave, Karen, Sam and Eric...and a whole lotta lube. Yes, that's right--I drove a stick shift. Except not. I drove it but I didnt want to kill people (mostly us in the car) so I didn't continue. hhhmmm....I got to Karen's place around midnight and everyone was sitting in fucking silence with their hands placed in their laps listening to church hymns and rocking back and forth. I got the party started (what else is new?). Some good ol' M.I.A and those fangled Gravy people made it less religious and we all hung out. Nirvana, of course, is God and that helped. Then the moment of truth: Dave said I could drive his stick. Yup. That's right. I was finally allowed to drive his stick...shift. We all piled in the car and went to the back of the Netherlands. I really don't understand the concept of the stick shift still. I understand the clutch and the break and the different gears but not all of it together. I am not Puerto Rican and/or negro and I dont have that kind of rythym. 6'5" drives the Green Dragon like a Latino dances the salsa. I was like Britney Spears--it was impossible for me not to mess up. I did well at first and then it all crashed and burned (not literally) because Dave eventually shut the interior light off and I couldn't see what gear I was in. Nor did I understand what gear I was in unless he told me. He started doing crazy shit, showing me what gear five and reverse was. I just didn't get it. So, eventually, I got the car rolling and I did a little loop around the parking lot and heading back toward the turnpike, he wanted me to speed up and shift gears. TOO DANGEROUS! Do you blame me? Like forty feet away on the other side of a fence were people walking. What if, by chance, they decided to hop the fence and come running toward me while I was about to go like fifty mph?! I can't handle that kind of pressure. Or what if I lost control of the car, crashed into the fence and killed me (fuck everyone else)? I can't tolerate knowing that I died. The most that I learned from Dave's car: stick with automatic transmission.

My roommates have this notion that 6'5" and I should be fucking eachother's brains out. I came home this morning and they were both nearly passed out drunk in Mernelis' room and the first words from Allie's mouth were, "Did you hook up yet?" I just walked in the room and was like, "Yeah, we totally had sex." She didn't believe me though. I don't understand the fascination with my friends and their interactions with me. It's been an ongoing thing; for the past few days, everytime I come home, that's one of the first things they ask me. *sigh* Sorry to ya'll who hate the asterisks, but they're needed here. Ya'll better bring ya'll books next week, by the way...ya'll.

I talked to Billy today. He called me while I was sleeping at 1pm. I heard my phone vibrating on the radiator and I woke up blurry-eyed and I couldn't read the screen. When I picked up I was all "huh?" and he didn't help by saying "hey" and not much more than that at first. I was confused out of my bloody mind. Then it was clarified whom I was speaking to and then it was shwatevs. It was nice to hear from him though; it's been about four or five weeks since I've heard his voice and that was nice to wake up to...plus he woke me up in general. It was a good idea to be up around then. I had Christmas cards to write out and procrastination to handle as well as beating those rugs outside by the creek and fighting off the stoopid Mongolians. My life is SUCH a struggle.

Have you ever stepped in ice cream before? Do it. Do it. When I say do it, you do it. Do it. (I finally referred to you, Eric).

Uhh...what else? I fucking hate this class. I abhor it. I would cut it up into little pieces and burn it and dump the remains in the dumpster then toss the fucking dumpster in fucking New Jersey and live in Mexico so the cops could never find me. That's how much I hate it. I kinda wish our professor was so exhausted from boarding windows and collecting string that he suffers from temporary amnesia and doesn't make us hand in the paper that's due. Maybe I'll be the one to show up with an eye patch and tell him that the extremely dangerous precipitation from Thursday poked a hole in my eye and I've been in the hospital all weekend...hospital as in hanging out with Dave, Karen and Eric pretty much every night. Fuck, I'm making Dave write my paper for me. It's his fault. ha-ha-ha.

I have decided on a new profession. I want to major in music with a minor in flaming homosexuality so I can make a cover band of Queen. I'd LOVE to be a member of Queen. I figure I'm man-ish enough to count as a man, yet I'm a girl, so that counts as being gay. I can stomp my feet during 'We will Rock You' and snap my fingers during 'Killer Queen' and I can ride a bike plus I'm always under pressure. Random? Yes. Genius? Yes. I want to be the Indian though (def not the construction worker) ;) <--please take that as a joke.

I watched re-runs of The Office last night and it still makes me laugh. Dwight, Jim, Mike and Toby (I think it was Toby) at the sushi place and poor Dwight at the end of the table not able to hear what theyre talking about. And Dwight singing karaoke and Michael listening to James Blunt over and over and Pam and Jim all jealous. Actually, what made me laugh the most was Phyllis. I am most def Phyllis. I'm glad Andrew and Palma made me realize this. It was the Christmas party and when someone was singing karaoke, she was swaying back and forth with her margarita. I'd do that. Hell, who am I kidding? I've done that. Except it was probably something a tad bit more hardcore (shirley temple). I just laughed at that. Laugh bitch! Laugh o' I kill ya!

I'm gonna go saw down some trees for dinner. Don't forget readers: A watched pot never boils.

Q: What happens when you stick you hand in a jar of jellybeans?
A: The black ones steal your watch.

Please don't stop

It's kinda funny how you can sit back and watch things fall apart. It's like a fucking train wreck waiting to happen. Inevitably all good things come to an end. I guess it wasn't good from the start but I'm always optimistic. I see things and hear things and it's all going to burn to pieces. The best part about seeing things and hearing things is that I actually don't see or hear it. It's prophetic, but it's true. Obviously I'm being vague for specific reasons; venting with names is not an ideal way to open this discussion. I kinda think that nothing will result from what I say anyway because I'm usually "wrong" until I'm right...then I'm right. Go figure. Then I'm left to clean up the mess. I've known these people long enough to know how they operate and what will be said and/or done. It makes it easier to sit back and anticipate the worst. It's bad yet the worst is yet to come. Mostly I'm sorry for myself because I don't know what I'll do in the end. Yes, I'm being selfish with someone else's issues; I can't surround myself with dead weight. I try and try and pull and lift and drag-- I get exhausted and drop it so I can keep my sanity. I hope that's not what it comes down to. Fuck it. This is all indirect venting but it's easy when you're in the fucking dark about everything. Sometimes it's "easier" to keep things from me because I get "angry", but it's only disappointment. I know you can be better and smarter and I dont want those that I love to fuck up. So sue me.

The feeling grows

I haven't written in this fangled thing since Wednesday and I'm sure that makes some dedicated readers quite antsy. Apparently I have a growing audience and that excites me. Somewhere like ten people are reading it and two people have been read to. It's good stuff. I am currently in a towel eating breakfast consisting of mixed fruit, a granola bar and a Fiber One bar. I decided that I need the fiber. It was kinda dumb to shower now and then go to the gym in four hours, but I looked like a greasy monkey--I don't want to look like a zoo animal if I can help it.

I have a new gym partner, Sam. She's awesome. Sam totally shows me up at the gym running like fifty miles in ten seconds but that's okay. We went on Wednesday and stayed for about an hour and a half. I'm not sure if Sam was initiated into the secret club of Hofstra gym sex screamers, but maybe one day she'll make me proud.

I know a Dave, Karen and Sam here. Just like KB. Freaky. Now I need a Brittany, Andrew, Jen, Dawn and Linda.

Wow. I have nothing to write about in this blog. I apologize to anyone who wanted to read something fulfilling and wonderful and perfect and funny--just not right now. Maybe when I'm not eating or cold or about to kill the people that I live with...I'll be witty.

I want a chicken wrap from the Student Center. I can get carrot sticks with it. FIBER. Just like oil and beans and string have fiber.

I'm so glad that the little storm yesterday didn't kill us all. It was great that we got out of class like two hours early because our professor was on the verge of a panic attack. Not really, but he emphasized how dangerous it would be to drive in it. I walked outside into the frozen rain and just went, Cool. Dave and I took it upon ourselves to elaborate last night. "It's so DANGEROUS!!!!!"; "KIDS, GET IN THE CAR"; "FUCK THE DOGS, THEY'RE ALREADY DEAD"; "TWELVE BOTTLES OF WATER?! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"; "WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!!!" Good times had by all, but mostly me and Dave.

Uhh...hhhmmmm....I have another paper to write this weekend. I cannot wait for this class to be over. Fuck it. I'm so fucking done. I can't stand it anymore. After this paper there's another presenetation that we have to do. I have some crazy ass topic that's like twenty feet long; Iv'e never even heard of it. That should be fun. Fifteen minutes on pure bullshit. Did any of you ever watch the Wilford Brimley clip on Youtube? You better have or else I'm telling Santa.

Peace out girl scouts. Enjoy the gravy train.

Under my thumb

Lucky number fifteen. Can you believe it? I just started this thing and I already have fifteen fucking blogs. It's insane. It feels like just yesterday talking about Scott toilet paper on my vagina and Dave raping me up against a wall. Oh, the good ol' days. I have many new advancements but I don't remember them all right now. I will say though, I will not apologize for what I write in these blogs. They are a form of expression for me and I don't appreciate the "what the fuck is wrong with you?" comments that I get sometimes. I have a lot of garbage being tossed around in my brain and the only way I'm sane is if I write. That's the way it's always been. My own words on the page is liberating and I am in a better mood because of it. Granted, I could just be happy from the exercise or the fact that school is almost over. Maybe because I had thirty-eight orgasms in a row last night. Wow. Not true. hahaha. If that happened, I'd still be sleeping. =p

I had an epiphone as of yesterday: there is a God. There is such a thing as God. I've seen God. I've touched God. I've spoken to God. Yes, that's right, God lives amongst us in human form. God's name? Mrs. Tice. This woman is still one of the most influential people that I have ever gotten the pleasure of knowing. I owe so much of my knack for writing to her. Granted I'm a fucking genius, but she helped to fine tune my skills. No, I'm not perfect, but I've improved from my first AP Lit essay to now. Why do I mention God? Well, I'm going to tell you, of course. Yesterday I had my writing workshop with the professor, Aaron and Megan. None of us had writing to submit so I got to print out the last paper that I handed in for Conrad. Yes, that's right, I was lucky enough to the be the one who was butchered. I knew the paper wasn't bad, but I hate being critiqued by people my own age. The three of them read in silence while I sat there tapping my foot. I excused myself to pee and when I came back the professor left to use the bathroom. Of course, Aaron looked at me with that face of his, read aloud a sentence from my paper(pinpointing my use of commas) condescendingly and shook his head. Then he told me that I sucked. I just stared at him -_- like that. Yeah. That was great, right? So, they go over my paper, picking apart grammar and punctuation which I blame on one in the morning and writing for five hours. Overall, I did well; the professor said that I had a strong macro, so it was only my micro that needed working on (which is good apparently). She also added that it sounded scholarly and professional. Megan said that the paper was so good that the only thing to pick apart were the little details. So, yesh. I suppose I did well. While I was being told that I sounded smart and cool (as if I knew what I was writing about?!) I could only think of one thing: Tice. In my head I thought, Thanks, Tice. She taught me all of that bullshit with her red pen and snide remarks out of love. Now I can write decent-ish papers. Oh gawd there is a God. She is it. I am starting a new religion Ticeism. Any takers?

hhhmmm...what else is new? There are other things. Oh! I finished reading Running With Scissors. Definitely a good book. I smiled a lot and related to Augusten's character in ways that I didn't think I could considering my father isn't an alcoholic professor with psoriosis and my mother isn't a chain smoking manic poet with a black girlfriend, Dorothy. All of the characters had something about them that made me smile. It seems that crazy is the way to live. It's what makes you most sane. I laughed the most at the sneak peak at the next book where Augusten got drunk and fell because "the floor tripped him." It felt good to finish a book that I wanted to read. That hardly ever happens.

I went to the gym last night and I was not a screamer but a heavy breather....and a heavy sweater. Yeah, when I work out like that, I tend to sweat a lot. It's kinda nasty. There was this one girl at the gym (a long time ago) who had on a light grey shirt and it was stained dark, dark grey from her sweat. Absolutely drenched in sweat, she was. I didn't want to touch any machines she worked on but I commended her for her hard work and dedication. I hope she showered. That'd just be nasty. Shyeah, I may not have screamed like I was in the act of fucking, pure fucking (emphasize that in your movie announcer voice, Dave) but I sure looked like it. I had sex hair and it was stuck to my forehead and I had semen on my face and then some dude gave me pizza to eat. Extra creamy.

I think pimples and lost remotes are up there with genocide and starvation, don't you? It seems that two or three pimples on the face is the end of the world for some while others haven't eaten in three weeks and are homeless due to their skin color or religion, yet find reasons to love life. J. Christ.

Uhhh....uhhh....uhhh....hhhmm...lalalalalalalalalalalaala Elmo's world.

I guess I should get ready for my writing workshop. I get to watch other people make asses out of themselves when making their presentations. I have to pee like a fucking race horse which is odd because I haven't talked to Billy at all today. I'll brush my teeth too. Yeah, that's right. I have teeth. I'm clean. I'm white. I'm a woman. I have a callous-free vagina. Hear me rawr.

It's the time of the season...

I'm in class. I'm tired. I don't want to pay attention anymore. I want to nap, go the the gym, read and eat and sleep. Breathing will come into play somewhere. I am bored out of my fucking mind. Somebody kill me. Please? Four days until the semester is over. Hallelujah, amen! No papers, dumb fucks, campus food for a month. I think I'm most excited to not be around the dumb fucks on campus--there are a lot of them. We are supposed to leave class early today but I have a writing workshop later so I can't be chillin like a villain. I really should go. Maybe I'll choke on my water and die. Is it possible to die from jumping off of a desk that's three feet off of the ground? Probably not. I'll dive head first. WIsh me luck.

I got one hand in my pocket

I felt like writing again. So sue me.

I just got out of the shower and I feel clean on the outside. On the inside, I feel unkempt. I'm not sure why. Something isn't ticking the right way. Well, at least if I die in my sleep tonight, I'll be clean and smell pretty. That's all that matters. Who wants to croak looking like a pig who took a dip in a mud pile...or someone who smells like...a Communist. 0_0.

Today was an okay day. I wasn't thrilled at all. I had to wake up early because the printers at the lab shut down last night and my paper had to be handed in on paper. So, I went to bed late after writing that piece of turtle shit only to wake up early to print out the turtle shit. Fook it. I was tired and lethargic. The only thing that made my morning semi-decent was when I got kisses from Keri. Class started and it was bullshit. Our other paper got pushed to Monday after debate (and talking to Dean Nass). I talked to Billy this morning in class. I'm not too content right now. I won't go into that though...it's none of your business. As of current (and it probably won't last very long) Matt and I aren't speaking. I flicked his hat off and refused to pick it up unless he apologized. He told me not to talk to him. Oh well. Hi Matt. You're probably reading this right now going, "you cunt." We're both stubborn fucks, eh? haha. Well, what else? I was pissed off in class and when that happens, I text Cindy's phone through AIM and we solve things that I already know the answer to. She made me laugh when I was being serious, discussing my love life, and she told me my problems would be solved if I just made out with her. She continued to say that she had a fast tongue and fingers...I wonder what they'd be used for. It was the funniest thing and it made class hysterical...especially when Conrad knew that I was laughing and not paying much attention to bankers after the Civil War. Cindy wants me. She says that I want her, but she wants me. lmfao.

I like pink lemonade. No. That's a lie. I love it. If it had a penis, I'd date it. Keri once told me that pink lemonade causes cancer. Here's to a tumor in my tummy!! Keri, Karen, Sam and I all had lunch today downstairs in the Student Center and it was a good time. We wound up talking for two hours, just hangin' out. Two favorite parts: when Keri ate his rice through a straw and when Sam and Keri made the same head movements, facial features and said the same thing at the same time without even trying. It was good times.

I want to go to England. Any takers?

I read Greg's blogs and I only hope that mine will one day be 1/6 as funny as his are. Everytime I read them, my kidneys fall out. Luckily I live with geniuses who know how to sew me back together. pfft =)

I go home soon. I can't wait. I know I bring that up a lot but I'm tired of thinking about writing papers and bullshit. I'm still thinking of transfering to Geneseo. It seems like a better idea everyday. It's cheaper and I'd get more bang for my buck...I hear the prostitutes Upstate are much cleaner ;p No, that was a bad joke. If you laughed, you're going to die.

December is a rough month for me. Since my grandma died, it's hard. She died two years ago a week before Christmas and I can't shake that feeling around the holidays. On Sunday, my parents and I went to Calverton to leave a wreath on her grave and I was so upset but I did that shit where I yawned everytime tears came to my eyes so I could blame watery eyes on yawning. It's just difficult. We went to my uncle's wife's grave (where a family friend is also buried) and we left a wreath. Shirley died nine years ago, but it still stings somewhere deep inside. Like I said, it's December. I love this month, but it's also hell to get through. Two years in a row I've had two people who practically raised me, die--not to jinx anything, but I dont think I can handle someone else dying this year. Seriously. There will come a day where I will snap and not be okay. Not now though. I'm okay. It's just December air and December snow. December life within its own death. I think, What if this person dies or that person dies? and I become terribly sad. Losing someone is an empty feeling that can't really be described beyond empty. Over time, the void does fill, but there's always that tiny hole where it hurts sometimes. What makes me a bit happier is thinking that if there is a heaven, my grandma and uncle are together, hanging out and playing cards with Shirley and Debbie. Maybe they even met some other cool people. I've thought about a book idea where people lose loved ones and when they go to heaven (if it does exist) they meet others whom have died...and when they become friends, those that they left behind find eachother and become friends. A sort of destiny. That makes me smile. Wow. Andrew's right: I really know how to put a damper on the party. Hey Andrew, what's it like to have a grandpa? =p

I'm still in a towel and as much as that turns you on, I should really change into clothes. It's getting nipply in here.

Goodnight. Sweet dreams. Peace.


I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her
And its been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell my myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass

Heart-shaped box

I wanted it to flow all into one big thingy, so pardon the lack of paragraphs:



We sit on the couch, our thighs so close it's like theyre glued together. We sit and contemplate the song playing in the next room like it's our life and downfall. I sip my vodka and smile to myself thinking of times past with friends and family. You drink your vodka and hum the music and I see your soul float across my face. You ask me what I'm thinking about and I tell you that it's not important. Somehow we manage to get even closer and I chug the rest of my drink, hoping it'll make the pressure disappear. It's bullshit. There's fire in my chest, not just from the vodka, and I have no extinguisher. You have that power over me. I feel gasoline in your thigh and it makes my body burn for you. You laugh at the words to the song and how it reminds you of a dollar store where old people fight over the last ten pack of Christmas cards. I laugh at your imagination and say that it reminds me of fucking, pure fucking. Straight up fucking. You stare at me puzzled because the words are romantic and airy--not necessarily something linked to the pace of fucking. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in my own mind. I have no answers for you, sorry. It's what comes to mind. That's how my body feels when I hear the song. Music bleeds from the speakers so eloquently. I can't believe how perfect the volume is in correspondance to my mood--to our conversation. I breathe in deeply and take in the words and feel the ocean wash over my face. I swear I can taste the salt, too. Maybe it's the vodka. Maybe it's the song. Maybe it's you. You lovely boy, you fill my cup with more vodka and finish the rest of yours of f and fill your cup too. We celebrate the roof over our head and chug the fiery water. Maybe things won't be so awkward now. Vodka always makes everything better. I love vodka. I feel my blood hot through my veins and my legs are softer. But I still feel you pressed close against me. I wonder if you feel it too. Music changes lives. I want to climb on top of you and fuck your brains out. Pure fucking. I'm pretty sure you're just thinking of the song and how it relates to you. So I sit and do the same and forget fucking your brains out. What does the song mean? Pain and love. What else is new? It's a favorite topic in music. When I write lyrics, that's what it's about: pain and love. Love and Pain. Two entitiies that couldn't be more different, yet come together like peanut butter and jelly. I hate peanut butter and jelly. I know you love it. That makes me smile. I think we're like peanut butter and jelly. Can I be the jelly please? I laugh and you ask me what's going through my brain and I just say "grapes." You roll your eyes and tell me to lay off the liquor as you pour me more vodka. I think you're getting me drunk for some reason or another. I'm probably wrong though. Wow, this is a good fucking song too. A slow fuck. A deep fuck. Meaningful with passion, not cold. I only sip my drink and you chug it and take another cup full. You lean back on the couch and breathe out slowly as you cover your face with your hands. I love it when you wear that red shirt. It makes me laugh. You remind me of a big tampon. I laugh again and you laugh too. Only I dont think you're laughing at the fact that you're Tampax or something. I have no idea what we're doing on this couch. It's a Wednesday night and there's work to be done. I should be reading. You should be writing. But we'll just sit and sip liquor until homework melts away. Nirvana. What a good band. They melt away the homework. Or Maybe it's the vodka. It could be you. My legs feel mushy now and my fingers are numb. I love vodka. Did I mention that? I should really stop here. Get some water and sober up a bit. I feel mushy, but your hand is on my leg now and slowly moving upward. I just look at your hand, too afraid to stare into your eyes--that consequence is something I can't handle--I might actually fall to pieces. We have no actual glue between us to put me together again. Up, up, up your hand goes and I only stare at your knuckles. The music is slow now. It makes me calm. Coldplay is good like that. Now I just want to make love. Our eyes finally meet to see if you're feeling it too, but they're closed and your neck is tilted back. I stop your hand and get more to drink. It's water this time. I need to drive home. I could just stay over but my parents wouldn't appreciate that too much. Eh, who gives a fuck. I'm almost legal. No. I need water. You meet me in the kitchen and apologize. My back is to you and pressed against me we're like peanut butter and jelly. I don't like peanut butter. I'll be jelly. Want to be peanut butter? I chug water like it's going out of style. It's a distraction from you. You disturb me in a good way and I want more. The music is louder in here and the ambiance is gone. It's just harsh now. I want to feel good again so I go back to the couch, ignoring the fact that I'm your leaning post. You fall into the sink and laugh your ass off. I love your laugh. I feel on top of the world for making you laugh. I feel my body becoming a solid again and you're off to the bathroom. You broke the seal. Stupid tampon. I laugh again only really hard this time because you as a tampon is really funny. You as peanut butter isn't so funny. Because I'm your jelly. We are nothing to laugh at. Maybe we'll make babies and they'll be the combined peanut butter and jelly from the jar. I love peanut butter and jelly. I'm pretty sure I'm in love you. Yeah, that sounds nice. Just like I'm in love with the sand between my toes and good music. Sitting next to me on the couch again, you seem different. Not like twenty minutes ago. You tell me that I should leave when I don't feel so tipsy because you have work to do. Fuck. My heart sinks a bit because being next to you is the best pleasure I know. You sit away from me now, our thighs aren't stuck together anymore. I don't feel like peanut butter and jelly right now. That's okay. I never really liked peanut butter all that much anyway.

I'm not like them, I can pretend

I'm disappointed with people. It's just sad how things don't work out. In the end most things do, but as of now it's a fucking disaster. Unfortunately it's the calm before the storm though things have turned to shit anyway. Fuck it. I don't know what to think anymore. It's one of those things where I want to have faith and I want to think that things will work out for the better but they're not. I can't dictate what happens and that kills me. I sit on the sidelines and watch the tornado rip apart the once peaceful town and the inhabitants are tossed to the wind--along with their sanity.

Fuck it all. Sorry there's nothing funny in this one.

You're a sad individual.

I was down at the New Amsterdam

Well, well, well. I've been productive. Not really because I haven't started the paper that's due on Monday, but I have been doing stuff in other ways. Thursday night, Andrew came to Hofstra and it was fun from the start. We went to Stop & Shop and we got lots and lots of goodies--Jones soda, cookies, ice cream, pink lemonade, grape soda, Doritos, and Christmas cards. We didn't consume the Christmas cards though. Andrew was all mushy and bought Britt a random card and that was really sweet. Dumb, yet mushy. We brought all of our food home and sat on my bed and ate awesomely delish junk food and talked about random stuff. My favorite part is when Allie came back from dinner and she was still a little tipsy from the wine she had and was talking about this little girl's deformed middle finger--apparently it's like three times bigger than the average middle finger--and she found it hilarious. Allie was going on and on about how she was trying not to laugh at the little girl and thinking about the things wrong with having a finger that large such as nail polish consumption. Andrew added his two cents:

Andrew: What size ring [would] you wear?
Me: Funions.

It was absolutely hilarious and he couldn't breathe. Mean, but it was a Gemini moment fo sho. Later I felt fat and we walked around campus at 1am in the cold weather for a bit and then we fell asleep...in my bed, not in a pile of wet leaves outside. The arrangement for that was funny too because we shared a bed and my face was by his feet and at some point in the morning I woke up to his hairy legs and I thought I next to Chewbacca. I'm slightly scarred for life and will never think of his ankles the same way again.

We got to the city and hung out for four hours until the MOMA was free. Our day started off with gyros!! How much better could life get? The gyro wasn't half bad for not being from The Old Olive Tree and we smelt of fat people, as Britt would say. Maybe I smelt like a fat whore who enjoyed onions and feta and yogurt sauce, but I enjoyed it. Fuck you, Palma. Andrew and I made our aliases Kate and Willy (I wonder why). Then we walked about twenty blocks and just hung out. We went into St. Patrick's Cathedral which was gorgeous but it made me sad. I wanted to dedicate a candle to my grandma, but I had to pay $2. Since when do you have to pay to dedicate a candle to the dead? It's bull sheeeeet. I love old churches and cathedrals (even though I'm not religious) because the ambiance is so calm and safe. I lived out my childhood fantasy and finally got to visit The American Girl store. Good stuff. We went to the NBC store and I got a poster with Dwight on it!!!!! I could have died. If any of you almost faithful readers out there want to love me even more, get me a Dwight bobble head!! Andrew and I even saw the tree and all that shit, too. The MOMA was whatevs--I'm apparently not one for "art" consisting of a blank white piece of paper hanging on the wall, nor do I love "art" made of rope hanging from the ceiling. I don't understand modern art...so sue me.

Getting home was dick because Willy and I made it to Hempstead around 7 and the next Blue Beetle wasn't coming until 8, so we took a redonk cab to the campus. It was scary and dirty and dark and I felt like old fecal matter caked on to the rim of a toilet seat after being in that cab. Andrew and I encountered a homeless guy in Hempstead (no diggity) and he wanted us to buy him food. Granted he and I looked rich in our pea coats and kempt clothes, but we couldn't afford to buy this dude food. He made a checklist of what's wrong with his life and it sounded like he was reading off a prepared list from his mind. I'm sure underneath his dirty clothes he had on a a tux from Versaci and he was going to take his lady friend Barbara out for a spin in his limo around Manhattan and then make sweet love to Barbara and her friend Corrine in his penthouse. I'm hoping that was the scenario, otherwise I won't be able to sleep very well knowing he is cold and hungry. But shyeah, the cab ride was g-ross and I felt like a dirty adult diaper. On my way to Patchogue, 'No one' came on twice and I rolled my eyes. I just can't escape the song. I'm starting to think it's a conspiracy against me. Played backwards 'No one' is the music played when one enters the gates of hell.

As of now I am home and I'm going to take a shower and put my clothes in the dryer and then get some much needed sleeeeep. Tomorrow I go to Brooklyn to do research at Fulton Street Mall. Not. I have a bridal shower to go to. It should be fun but this fucking paper will be poking at my brain all day. It's such a pain in the ass. Cunt rags!! I shake an angry fist (and I did it without the asterisks). *snickers* ;p

My heart is broke ButI have some glueHelp me inhaleAnd mend it with youWe'll float aroundAnd hang out on cloudsThen we'll come downAnd have a hangover