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Saturday 19, March + 2005+06:51pm |
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) niicoly
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Sunday 13, March + 2005+09:47pm |
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I can't believe I've never watched this movie before. It's wonderful.
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Sunday 13, March + 2005+08:04pm |
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I'm watching Silence of the Lambs. I helped with the kids in preschool at Church. I'm trying to go on a diet. I've wanted to be a filmmaker for three years now and I have nothing to show for it. Not a reel of crap shot with my friends, not anything. HULLO CLARICE.
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| @#%*!OUR NEW NEIGHBOR |
Saturday 12, March + 2005+09:29am |
Fate moved into our neighborhood last week. We don't mean that in an allegorial sense, as though this person was a child, or businessman, or grandmother who had helped changed our lives. No, Fate only had a question mark for a body, and recieved calls from the police at 3:30am for playing his German techno music too loud. He stayed up until all hours of the night, sitting by a computer with Doritos, Sprite, and whatever else caused Fate to be fat and smelly. He made harassing phone calls to everyone in the city, leaving them with extreme paranoia. After a phone call, they constantly worried about what direction their life was going in. They would spend their days never enjoying life, but only wondering if their family members would be hit by a car or if their dog would eat poison, and if there was any way to avoid this from happening.
We all held a grudge against him. Fate was the kind of guy you'd expect to find living in his parents' basement. He had no job. Where did he get the money to live in such a big house, with such an envious sound system?
A bunch of kids were playing baseball in the street one day. The ball crashed into Fate's mailbox, sending magazines and bills everywhere. Shit! the kids exclaimed in pefect unison. Knowing that they'd have to spend their lawn-mowing money on getting the mailbox fixed instead of candy and Playboys, they picked up Fate's mail. As they picked through it, they became curious as to all the envelopes addressed to Fate. The letters were all in different envelopes, but the envelopes were uniform and had Fate's address in the same font, size and color.
They grew suspicious and opened an envelope. There was a letter written on semi-wrinkled white paper with gray pencil marks. It read:
Here is my $5. I don't trust myself or God anymore.
It turned out that Fate had set up an email scam. Fate sent out emails claiming that for only $5 a week, a person could learn how to become superstitous bags of flesh that weren't even alive anymore. They'd be dead, spiritually and mentally, but at least they wouldn't have to trust theirselves or their rich uncles or God to make their choices. They'd just have to depend on barbeque season turning into autumn arts and crafts season, turning into the season of visits from in-laws and more therapy sessions, turning into allergy season in the spring. They would just stare out their windows with their faces in a frozen cry, their screams not audible to hear. But at least they wouldn't have to worry.
So THAT'S how Fate could afford to live, we reasoned.
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Monday 7, March + 2005+04:51pm |
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"Depression is when you could walk over the other side of the room, flick a light, and things will work out, but you're too tired to get up."
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Monday 7, March + 2005+04:45pm |
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You really, really get into it and it's so pathetic because you're mad at the sun for causing a glare.
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Saturday 26, February + 2005+02:40pm |
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Ha. This is pretty cool.
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Thursday 24, February + 2005+09:04pm |
....wow.
Just. wow.
My school is NOT closing. Oh. my. gosh. This is a MIRACLE. Yesterday, my principal and biology teacher were talking about what they'll do for jobs now....
I really don't know how to decribe this relief.
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Monday 21, February + 2005+07:28pm |
Every place I love goes away. Fuck you. My school is closing. There's no way we can get $200,000 by Thursday, and even if we do, what the fuck happens then? Four months later, we'll need $500,000? We make it through the school year, and in September, this happens again? And again.
I am so fucking pissed off right now. I'm pissed off at whoever's in charge of money, or funding, because they've seriously fucked up. I'm pissed off at all the assholes who deny us funding. I'm eternally grateful but still angry at the parents who think they can raise money by having fucking bake sales. Fuck you. Close the school, if it just means my hopes won't get trampled on over and over.
I have a horrible headache. It's another fucking MissGirl, and that sounds so stupid and pathetic, but it is. And I know I'm bitter and whiny, and you know what, fuck that. I'm not going to apologize to myself for being mad, because I haven't even cried over it yet but it's never. going. to. fucking. end.
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| @#%*!everything you know is a lie |
Thursday 17, February + 2005+03:31pm |
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mood |
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you have no fucking idea. |
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My school is probably going to close. I've said that a million times, but they cancelled tests today. There's no point if we won't fucking be there next week.
I am considerably angry. We've been fucking lied to the entire time, is that it? The school will be fine, bullshit.
I'm never going to go to prom with my friends.
I'm not going to graduate with my friends.
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Monday 14, February + 2005+07:51pm |
Taken from ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif) star_wars_girls. Just look at it and humor me.
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| @#%*!Potatoes |
Monday 14, February + 2005+02:36pm |
Janolution Boalurge was only ten years old. She was considered a modern miracle: she had no head or upper body, but was a world champion tennis layer with a potatoe for an upper torso.
There really wasn't anyone who would dare to play her. It must have been all the starch that made the carb-fearing athletes tremble and wet themselves with fear. She could see, but no one really knew where her eyes were -- and she had no mouth, so she couldn't tell them.
Her parents would reassure each other that their daughter was living a happy life. She had friends who were no more than playdates; international fame drew other celebrity parents to have their children play with child stars, but her parents knew that Abraham Lincoln and Hillary Duff only wanted their children to play with Janolution so that they could be photographed with her at her birthdays.
They wanted their daughter to have the best.
---
So now it's 30 years later.
The Boalurges moved to the suburbs of Vermont, to give their daughter a normal life.
She's working as a check out girl at a drugstore. She's 43 and has five children, none of whom have her same condition. She's hinted to the father that she'd like to get married one day, live as a family. She's done all this through interpretive dance because, remember, she can't talk. White picket fence one day.
But if she could talk, she'd tell IN WORDS them that she wishes she were 12. She'd tell them that she was happy, and she knew she'd be happy forever, because she wasn't some stupid kid and she knew that happiness can be achieved even when you don't know what you're searching for.
She'll never try to tell them again. She had tried to explain it through one of her made up interpretive dances, and everyone was certain that she was telling them that she wanted to crawl into an oven, and be served baked for her family's Thanksgiving dinner. She was labeled suicidal and hospitalized for twenty months, since no one could understand her.
And THAT is why harping on the past is dangerous.
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| @#%*!IF TREES RAN VALENTINE'S DAY |
Monday 14, February + 2005+02:10pm |
They would outlaw cards made from wood of minscule trees that hadn't even begun to open up their leaf-arteries to the sun. We'd learn about photosynthesis in school, with signed parental permission forms, as tut-tuting mothers call each other about how this is an issue that should be left to the family to discuss at home. We'd all go on dates to boring lectures by forest rangers who you thought were really, really cool when you were little.
Everyone would give their significant other water and sunshine out of fear of having their families killed at night by tree militias.
Happy Valentine's Day.
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Sunday 13, February + 2005+05:26pm |
I'm sick. I'll probably stay home tomorrow. February 18th is THE DAY*, but I won't be home. I wanted to fall asleep at Church, I was so sick and tired. I had a Confirmation meeting today, and I've decided that Uncle Bob will be my sponsor. Uncle Bob is a cool name. I might just stay in bed the rest of the night and watch Lord of the Rings.
* THE DAY: Softimage is scheduled to be delievered on February 18th. zoooooooooooooooooooj.
My parents are now going on a safari around the house for lightbulbs.
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Saturday 12, February + 2005+07:13pm |
I'm watching The Terminator 2 in my room, and my parents are watching A Midsummer Night's Dream downstairs. It's amusing, the Terminator is shooting up police, and then it's followed by opera.
I love my cats.
And, I'm thankful that I don't live in the Republic of Gilead. *nods*
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Saturday 12, February + 2005+10:31am |
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It's a rainy three-day weekend and I intend to spend it writing. I've finished off a bag of chips, and since 7:30 am, three cans of c2 Coke. "Why am I so fat!" The rain is nice. Next weekend me, my parents, two uncles/two aunts, my grandmother, four of my cousins and my cousin's baby and going to stay in Hermosa Beach for my uncle's birthday. It might be odd, because I have one uncle (who I don't think is staying) who hasn't seen his son in over 15 years. His name is Nicky, I was named after him. He's 18 now, and he might come see us. I think that'd be nice. I turn 17 on Wednesday. That is not comprehensible.
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Monday 7, February + 2005+06:41pm |
And onto very pressing affairs, world altering opinions:
Poll #433118
Open to: All, detailed results viewable to: All, participants: 8Am I the only one who finds emo boys extremely unattractive?
(Also: I'm starting to feel weird for buying more icon space. Can anybody actually fill 50 icons spaces?)
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Saturday 5, February + 2005+07:42pm |
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I've been lying to myself my whole life, saying that I have creativity. All I want to do is scream.
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7 (87.5%)