my wanderin' got my ass wonderin''s Journal|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 9 most recent journal entries recorded in
my wanderin' got my ass wonderin''s LiveJournal:
|Saturday, July 24th, 2010|
|Wednesday, April 23rd, 2003|
|Tuesday, April 22nd, 2003|
|Some Things Must Be Documented
VasoFever: hahah suck you off
VasoFever: hahahaha jack off
VasoFever: i like being crass
undisclosed_recipient: hehe, no, i have it under control love
undisclosed_recipient: no prostitution involved :)
VasoFever: awww no sucking off
VasoFever: i actually don't think I'd be mad if some old lady sucked you off
undisclosed_recipient: well, ewww
VasoFever: that's kinda weird, eh?
undisclosed_recipient: that's like, um, really gross
VasoFever: you like it
I told you I was a tom-boy.
This isn't grandma's birthday, get down there and suck it, bitch.
5000 Current Mood: fun and stupid faces
|Saturday, March 22nd, 2003|
|Wednesday, February 26th, 2003|
|It's All In Vain
I'm doing what I can to survive, posting like crazy, keeping my hands out of the drawer that holds the razors.
People like THIS
make me sad, because if you look at his user info, you'll see that he only has one interest listed, and that is his girlfriend. If I am not mistaken, that is the boy that has like ten million journals, all of which are used to talk about his girlfriend.
For the longest time I didn't believe that anyone with a penis was capable of feeling something like love, and I still stick by the belief that most of them aren't. There are a few who slip through the cracks.
What kills me the most about that guy
is that I had that once, I had a boy who was so crazy about me that he actually was crazy. He really did things that were completely insane, because of his feelings for me.
And what did I do? I fucked it all up.
This too shall pass. Unfortunately, I am going to go crazy until it does. I have no problem being alone, and I think that stupid girls who obsess over having a boyfriend and getting rid of their single status are idiots.
But thinking about what I had, and how I destroyed it, and could have had it for a long time but can now never have it again, KILLS me.
I fucked everything up. Sleepover Saturday, if everything permits. Will be in Fremont drowning my sorrows in cheap champagne. Wish me luck.
Your geographically retarded fuck-up,
5000 Current Mood: sad about you
|Monday, February 3rd, 2003|
|How To Love, How To Know, How To Love, How To Know... Yourself.
The world is passing me by and I hate everyone and everything.
I would elaborate... but I've already ruined this entry with this extra line.
You know me, softening the blows, and ruining things with clutter.
Go fuck yourself.
5000 Current Mood: hopeless
|Sunday, January 5th, 2003|
|I Should Be In Bed
But this acid taste being forced up through my stomach will not allow.
Some people make me sick. Limp-wristed boys who were surrounded by fat girls in high school and poke fun at people who are living in their same predicaments. People with evil step-mothers.
You all make me so sick. I wish that I had the heart to be brave and bestow names upon these evils, but alas, I cannot.
People with hot cars who can get me into bed by just looking at me. I hate you too. People who cheat on their girlfriends. The other women (myself included).
I used to feel bad for all the things I've done, but they make me who I am and I should never have to apologise for that. I thought about fasting to do away with my sins (of which there are far too many) and yet I don't.
An animated spider has taught me that there are more important things in life than these. Like being angry and liking it. Like putting up a wall and not letting people in to spare oneself the agony.
Yes. I'm self-absorbed.
Yes. I'm bad.
Yes. There are two, maybe three people who are warring emotionally over me.
Yes. I am angry and I like it.
There is only one person in the world who I know of that said she'd catch me when I fell. She asked if I wanted her to baby me in order for me to set my life right. She'll pay $40 to have my name tattooed on her body, and I will do the same for her.
I am sick of everyone and their lies.
I am sick of people telling me that they'll do anything for me and then getting angry with me when I ask them to.
I did something tonight that I shouldn't have done. At first, I felt sick about it.
Eat shit and die.
5000 Current Mood: seething.
|Friday, December 6th, 2002|
|Once Again I See A Piece Of The Sky
My mother and I got in a fight last night because nothing of mine in this house is actually mine, not even the things I pay for with my own earnings from work. There are always filthy, creeping fingers taking my things and violating them, whether losing them, breaking them, or using them all up... nothing is safe. Everything gets ruined.
Last night I started screeching about my unhappiness in regards to this situation, and obviously, she felt victimised, so she yelled back. No, it's not her fault that Chad is a mental retard and thinks everything belongs to him. She is not responsible for his stupidity. She is, however, his mother, and should see to it that he gets disciplined enough to where he doesn't think it's ok to take other peoples' shit.
I can't wait to see how much he gets killed in college for taking other peoples' shit and then trying to play dumb like he does here.
Back to the point (well, as much to the point as one can be). It's no secret that my room is a monstrous mess. This is my mother's favourite ammunition. Whenever we fight, she tortures me about the state of my room (which, subconsciously is evil, because it reminds me that yes, this tiny, freezing, haunted, plaster-walled cubicle of hell is what I have to call a room). So last night she starts screaming at me (she always has to come out on top in a fight, even if she doesn't know what it's about... she'll veer off point until you give in) about how she has no forks.
True, there are probably more than a few forks hidden in my room from various meals at one time or another.
So what do I do?
I get all depressed and almost cry, and go buy two packs of cigarettes, one of which I know I'll never smoke because they are actual cigarettes. Go to Rasputin's in search of two things, but splurge and leave with four, two of which I'll probably never make use of.
Then I go buy her forks.. which don't come alone. So actually, I buy her two sets of new silverware, and stainless steel peppermills to match the stove.
I come home and expect her to cry... to notice how sad I was and how bad I felt and whatnot, having bought her this stuff.
She says, "Thanks, it's nice. And it matches."
Only this morning did she notice how upset I was. And she gave me $20 to make up for it.
I have fantasies about Louisiana. I must comb the world and try to find out what it's like there.
5000 Current Mood: stressed
|Sunday, November 24th, 2002|
|Weaving Time In A Tapestry
I'm listening to all of these songs that are so sad, so tragic. Some of them aren't sad at all, they just seem that way because I am a head case. I should be writing my novel, but the fear of failure is stopping me and making failure ever so much more imminent. Talk about irony.
I know where I want to go and I need to keep my fucking mouth shut. I've told two or three people, one of them being a co-worker who I suppose I felt confident in telling because she has the security of a stranger. It seems that you can tell a stranger anything because you will never see them again, and therefore they hold no consequences.
I keep smoking the last of my cloves and sighing a big sigh of relief, and feeling a certain elation in the knowledge that "I am now a non-smoker!" and then I go buy another pack. My life moves in the strangest circles. I eat the ice cream at my work just because it's there to be eaten. My stomach has shrunk and I don't even feel hungry but I still eat myself sick. Apathy is my disease, and consumption is my pitfall.
I have to keep my head focused on the prize. Things will come into order soon enough.
5000 Current Mood: determined