It must have something to do with the hot water.

I, MS, now formally declare that I will not grow up to be a gold digger. I came upon this decision in an life altering fifteen minutes (during my shower).

I mean, for me, money has the equivalence of happiness. One can assume the role of the other, and they are completely interchangeable, if not meshed together. But, really, I'd rather spend my own hard-worked money cuz I think I'll just feel guilty if I use others'. Plus, depending on other people for money has that unstable factor of them leaving you. Why walk a tightrope when I can reap what I hoe? No pun intended.

It's not that being an arriviste fazes me (even though I'll rhyme with 'hairy beast'), it's really the stablility factor. And how can I possibly be happy if I have to manipulate others for an income? Cue the sentimental music. I'm going to follow where my passions lead me, instead of tramping behind my avarice. Again, no pun intended.


Some other interesting, short-term life-altering things happened in the shower.

I shampooed my hair and piled the whole mess on top of my head, then yelled for my mom to come in.

"This," I declared as I appeared to her stark naked with soap dripping down, "is what I would look like with short hair. Waddya think?"

"It makes you look like you have man shoulders."

Ignoring this, I looked into the long mirror directly opposite my shower. My carefully cultivated waistline from the last few weeks of dieting has disappeared under recent lax eating habits. "Look, I'm streamlined," I complained.

"And you're kind of sagging." She glanced briefly at my chest.

I snapped the shower curtain close.

You know what? As soon as my nose unclogs itself, I'm going to return to my exercise routine.




Oh, and I have a candidate for the summer fling. Well...I have candidates in consideration. Until I have more info on them, nothing is sure.

Impulsive little me

New summer goal: Have a summer fling.

Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth.

There's really a lot to love about this book, and the villain/protagonist Humbert Humbert. Despite having an unfortunate name, the character is sarcastic and employs dry humor in narrating this book. When reading this, and when understanding bit by bit his obession with nymphets (or underage girls that carry what he deems as a demoniac aura), I can't help but feel sorry for him. What is worse than having desires that go against the very grain of modern society?

What is socially accepted is really defined by people, and not by any high authority. So what if he likes underage girls? What is so 'unacceptable' about it? Is he killing them, hurting them, or otherwise treating them unwell? Instead of being able to express his desires, he's festering in them. I'd go insane, too, if I was in his shoes.

So, instead of thinking of him as a pervert, I like him. I really don't care that no one else accepts him. Even his creator, Nabokov, stated that Humbert was sick and perverted man. Poor Humbert. Poor, misunderstood man.

Shakespeare's turning in his grave.

My Poem's So Savage It Probably Puts Fear

In Shakespeare

I'm a little past fifteen,

And life's being kinda mean.

It sucks to be me.

Happiness is what I'm looking for, but I can't find the key.

Thank God I'm still young and beautiful.

With boobs like mine, life can't be too dull.

Actually, my boobs are smaller than they appear.

But people hold them pretty dear.

I'm really actually a B.

Although Carl guessed a C.

Really, that's fine with me.

Don't you love my rhyme?

Man, if I could get a dime

Every time I commit a literary crime

I'd be...er...

Rich.

That's right, bitch.

That's the way uh-huh uh-huh...I like it uh-huh uh-huh

Somehow, I pulled off straight A's this year. Everyone, bow at the feet of your Goddess. The Queen of Procrastination pulls through again.

In other news, I went to Berkeley for my psych class today. It was fun (except for that small part on statistics where I almost fell asleep). I have a feeling this class is going to make me gain back the weight I lost (which is four pounds so far). I mean, it's Berkeley. There's an ice cream place every five paces, a gelato place every ten, and a pizza place every other step I take. Temptation! Today, I went to Ben and Jerry's for a vanilla ice cream on a waffle cone, then got Stracciatella and watermelon at the gelato place I forget the name of.

I saw a tourist lady taking a picture of a homeless guy.

Oh my fucking god I have a 90% in Spanish.

FUCK!!!
(this is a good fuck)

A- baby. A-.

It's so sad I'm happy over this.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

It's the end of the schoolyear, and I've been hiding a lot of secrets. I think it's time for...

Confession

1. I don't think Spanish Guy is that bad looking, though sometimes I look at him and I think, "What compelled me?"
2. Bastards don't turn me on like I say they do.
3. I get intimidated by people more liked/more popular than I.
4. I like the way I walk (so stop bothering me about it).
5. I've come to terms with the fact that I like attention. I'm an attention whore. I see that now.
6. I hit on a disgusting guy once in front of a liquor store so I could get a cigarette.
7. I gifted myself with an extra $1,000 worth of stuff this year.
8. I fantasized about him instead of listening to his lectures.
9. I stole a chocolate bar from See's. The lady behind the counter was super nice, but I still didn't feel guilty.
10. I wanted to have sex with three of my friends at different points of time this year.
11. I'm still looking for that guy I saw in my dream two years ago. He's the real reason I like blond guys. My eyes are drawn to wispy gold tones when I enter a room because I still hope one of those fair haired people is him.
12. I kissed four people this year, bringing the number of people I've kissed to an even ten.
13. I'm still mad at her for copying me.
14. I made a neopets account recently. But I don't go on it, so shut up.
15. I have a myspace, I just don't use it.
16. I asked four people to have sex with me. I was serious for three of them. (Though I can't say I was exactly myself when I asked them.)
17. I've stopped liking Tiffany's.
18. I don't think much of her taste in movies.
19. I like my stepdad. Most times, I think he's right, but I side with my mom in arguments anyway.
20. I don't have anything to say to my dad.
21. I went insane a total of two times this year. The first time I screamed and screamed until my throat became hoarse and tore at my skin until I started bleeding. I second time I picked up a pair of scissors, blacked out, then came to a few seconds later with part of my hair cut off.
22. The three lines of discoloration on my wrist are actually from the time I got bored at night and cut myself. No, I'm not emo. I just like the sight of my blood and I thought it'd be funny to put it on my wrist.
23. At times I still think I can fly. I'll try to by jumping a little bit because I get confused with the reality.
24. I think roses are cliche, but I adore them.
25. I've never stolen a book, though I came close once.
26. I laugh when I don't know what to say.
27. I think my mom is a bit pathetic, but I still can't measure up to her.
28. I can no longer sleep at night because I keep writing in my head.
29. If some people died, I wouldn't care at all.
30. I pushed him away at school because I was embarrassed to be seen with him.
31. Talking on the phone with you cheers me up. :)
32. I'm starting to think maybe I've confessed too much. And that I have too much to confess.
33. I don't mind it at all when you guys make fun of my cheeks, but sometimes I do wish they were smaller.
34. I no longer love myself.
35. No, scratch that.

I'm too special to not love. =)

To Love or Not to Love. That is the Question.

B's confession got me thinking. Why don't I ever get a crush? I haven't liked anyone this year (except for Cherub, but that was more of a 'be my bitch' obsession). I don't believe in abstinence until marriage, I don't believe in true love, I don't believe in 'til death do us part', or in any of that stuff. What's wrong with me?

There's a kind of giddiness to love that I can't remember. Love's warm, comforting, fun, exciting... Love's what most people live for. Love's what poets (haha, bards) try to compose with words. I mean, Love is pretty goddamn important in one's life. Okay, taking it a step down, I'm too young to think about love. Let's just go back to crushes.

Once you get a crush, you can whisper to all your friends about him (or her). There's a freshness, and kind of hopefulness in the air that nothing else can compare to. You lay in bed, thinking about your crush, letting him occupy your thoughts like a good dream. You think about him constantly, tortured by the fact that you can't have him, and paranoid about every single girl he looks at.

Ah. I see why I swore off love in sixth grade, now.

Love is stupid. I mean, affection is just a waste of time. It's a masochistic act. Love is pleasure in pain. Who wants to feel pain? Pain = bad.

Oh God, I'm afraid of love. Jesus, this is so cliche. But, I think I have a point here. Love's definitely to fear because if that's love's not returned, you're just suffering. So you might as well not risk it and not fall in love....

Shit, I'm afraid of rejection as well. I'm afraid of love because I'm afraid of rejection. Wow, I'm like my own therapist.

Okay, so this is great. My final conclusion is this: I'm a coward, so I'm condemned to live as a loveless spinster for the rest of my life (but with lots of fuck buddies!).

Not too shabby.

Guess the Disney song!

The key to all heaven is mine
My heart has wings, Mmmmmm
And I can fly
I'll touch ev'ry star in the sky
So this is the miracle that I've been dreaming of

All I Wanna Do

...is take B's music quiz thing and not study for finals.

But before that, a comic (whose ownership remains solely with the artist and not me)!



1. How does the world see you? Nothing Left to Lose - Mat Kearney (Hookay, I'll take it to mean that I'm so skinny I shouldn't lose any weight.)
2. Will I have a happy life? Be Prepared - The Lion King (Whoo! I'm ready, baby!)
3. What do my friends think of me? Twisted Every Way - Phantom of the Opera (Original London Cast) (Gee, thanks guys.)
4. Do people secretly lust after me? The Internet is for Porn - Avenue Q (I'm like porn? Or maybe I'm so uninteresting that people would rather look at porn... Nah.)
5. How can I make myself happy? Dead Wrong - The Fray (I promise I'm not happy when I'm wrong.)
6. What should I do with my life? Le Toi du Moi - Carla Bruni (Yo no hablo frances. Yo no hablo espanol tambien.)
7. Will I ever have children? Paul (skit) - Eminem (I'll have a son and name him Paul. Okay, I can deal with that.)
8. What is some good advice for me? Now That I've Seen Her - Miss Saigon (Okay, okay...so this means I'll fall in love with a U.S. Marine, have his kid, then find him years later to discover that he's married to another woman. And when this happens, I shouldn't yell at her.)
9. How will I be remembered? I'm Not Wearing Underwear Today - Avenue Q (I do, I swear! I just sometimes sleep naked, but that's all.)
10. What's my signature dancing song? Yellow Brick Road - Eminem
11. What's my current themesong? Gymnopedie No. 3 - Pascal Roge (I'm classic. :) )
12. What do others think is my current themesong? Take My Breath Away- by that one girl (That's right, bitches. Look at me and swoon in my presence.)
13. What shall they play at my funeral? I Still Believe - Miss Saigon
14. What type of men do I like? Stoned - Dido (I'm into drug addicts.)
15. How's my love life? So This is Love - Cinderella (*inspects* So this is love.)


(current song) + in my pants = "Never Felt This Way" in my pants. Haha, how appropriate.

By P's demand...

Reply with your name and
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. You MUST. It is written.

Here's Peggah's:
1. I wish you luck in getting into UC Stanford.
2. You remind me of the flick One Night in Paris because our sex life is so much hotter.
3. Jello? Erm...I'll wrestle you in banana jello because if we end up tearing off each other's clothes and having sex, then at least we can tell people there was a banana between us.
4. The OUTSIDERS!!! Ride 'em hard, Ponyboy.
5. First memory....er...this one's hard. Oh right. In Core. Padoan. Friday Power.
6. You remind me of a donkey cuz you have the best ass I've ever seen.
7. What is your favorite color? I've known you for so long, yet I don't know this little fact about you.

Fire's a beautiful sound.

I looked around today and found that my life is in shambles. It's fallen apart to unmanageable pieces that I'm too lazy to pick off my carpet and set right. So what if I burned it all? I'll strike a match, watch the flames engulf my life. I want to start afresh from ashes, but I'm no phoenix.
So I have to work with what I have, but how many tomorrows can I push my dreams to? There's an end to tomorrows. There's an end to opportunity, and a time where I will step in the land of 'it's too late'.
I can already see my future. I'm a dreamer, and the gilded life I fantasize about will only exist in the caverns of my mind. One day, I'll wake up old, worn out, and it'll be too late. Too late... I'll doom myself to the hell of 'coulda, woulda, shoulda'.
My stepdad talked to me about the centralized idea of business. The first question a business owner should ask is 'Who am I?' The next question is 'What is my destination?'
Who am I?
I'm just a girl who's too lazy and too scared to live life. I reside inside my mind, spinning letters into golden stories. That's how I live. I sustain myself on fantasies, on my imagination. My characters are the only things I have control over in my life. I can make them do what I can't. I create new worlds to explore. I create makeshift love for them so I can have a taste of what it feels like. It's love without heartbreak. It's perfect. I take risks without taking them. I live without living.
What is my destination?
I want to be a writer. I want so much money I can spread them into acres and acres of Benjamin Franklin. I want gold enough to swim in, clothes enough to warm the entire world, shoes enough to walk to Mars. I want to taste the world. I want to feel the caress of Africa. I want to smell the exquisiteness of Europe. I want to stoke every blade of grass and tread every road. I want to stand on the peak of Mt. Everest and scream out my lungs, then pass out from the thin air up there.

I think I'll never achieve my dreams.
I'll never become a real writer because once I close my stories with 'the end', I'm too frightened to send them off for publishing. I don't know why, and I can't explain it. I've only sent it once. It wasn't hard. I got rejected, but I don't mind. So it's not rejection that I fear. I don't know what I'm so afraid of.

I've made a list of publishers to send Ilia too. Maybe I'll start there. Maybe from this second of this day, I'll take one tentative step towards my dream. I'll just tell myself there's nothing to be petrified about.

It's about 12:30 am and B just told me "[Present tense] It's usually more... artsy, I guess. Because it takes more talent to write in anything other than past tense."

Key words I picked up: more talent to write in anything other than past tense.

So now, I proudly present to you my short story written entirely in future tense.
***

I will close my eyes and listen to the creee, creee, creee of the wheelchair as they take me down the hallway. I will listen to my mother as she tells me not to be scared. She’ll tell me not to panic at the darkness when she lets go of my hand. When she says that, I’ll laugh.
“I’m used to the darkness,” I’ll say.
When she wheels me into the operating room, I’ll say goodbye to her. She’ll give me a kiss, and I’ll say, “I’ll see you soon.”
She’ll chuckle at this.

The sky will be blue the day after my operation—that dark, dazzling cobalt with iridescent clouds in veils of golden mesh. People will talk about that sky for years.
“Did you remember that blue?” they’ll ask one another, sitting on porches in the twilight years and years later.
“Yes,” will be the answer. “Damn prettiest sky I’ve ever seen.”
And it will be the prettiest sky. The prettiest sky in history because it will be the first sky I’ll see after living in darkness for sixteen years.

I hate life.

I know how utterly ridiculous that sounds and how teenage cliche it is, but dammit, I say I hate life and I mean it. I don't want to hear that other children my age are less fortunate and are starving in Africa because I don't fucking care.

I can't explain this feeling. It's like I've created a bubble for myself and I'm forcing myself to live in it. The thing is, I want out, but I'm too scared and too lazy to find the exit. It's a bubble made of thin glass. I can watch the people outside, but I can't talk to them. It's really kind of lonely this way.

Yes, that's what I feel: lonely. And hopeless. And bored. And frustrated. (yay for correctly identifying feelings)

Lonely: I have no one to talk to and when I do, I'm too pissed off at them to talk.

Hopeless: What the fuck am I doing with my life?

Bored: There is nothing more to talk about. I'm turning so introverted that it scares me.

Frustrated: I'm not making an effort to cheer myself up. I'm lethargic and I hate it.

And another thing. I am so fucking bipolar. This morning I was tired, but content. By the middle of the day, I was ready to commit suicide. Then, in the afternoon, I was super hyper and happy. And I mean really, really, really happy. And now I'm pissed off at the world.

I'm going to stop ranting now. Just reading this makes me roll my eyes at myself, but at the same time, I can't help that I'm feeling all these things.





And in something completely unrelated...

David Copperfield!

(from the Holybibble.net people)

I have the bad habit of taking a bite out of every single chocolate in a box. It's horrible.

Quote of the day:
"Yeah, she's so smart! And guess where she went? UC Stanford!"

Finals are upon me and I find myself having to devote time to actually studying. I have a feeling my finals this time won't be as easy as last time since I haven't been really paying attention to anything this semester.
Here are the things I need to study for (weakest first):
-Math (this is weird since I really love geometry. I haven't been doing so well on my tests recently, though.)
-Spanish (Okay, yo no hablo espanol. Period. I have to relearn spanish for this final.)
-Biology (This is going to be an easy final. I'm just going to skim over the material to make sure I know everything.)

English and History can't make my study list. English = one big vocab test. And in History, Mr. Bowling's basically giving us the entire test.

Life will always let you down.

I was so exicted when I finally got a garter belt. Today, I went out to get stockings for it.

Garter belts are the stupidest things ever invented. Do not use them. I repeat: DO NOT USE THEM. They are useless and they are frustrating and they make me look like a dominatrix (but that might just be because my entire outfit thing was black lace). First, you have to put the stockings on (that is, if you can get them on without (1) tripping and (2) putting a run in them). Next, you basically have to spend fifteen minutes trying to clip the garter on the stocking. After you finally do the front, you have to spend another fifteen minutes doing the back. Finally, you have to find something that will actually look good with stockings. All my skirts are too short and the entire garter belt + top of stockings are visible, making me look like a slutty idiot.

Burn garters, people.

I hate being a girl.

My period is freakish. I mean, the concept of having blood come out of one's vagina is freakish enough, but this is just weird. Why is it tormenting me like this? It came for one day. Now it's gone. Scamooshed. Flittered away like the evanescence of youth. What the fuck?

(yes, I'm talking about this online, but I've always been rather odd now haven't I?))