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.