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11:04am 24/12/2004
mood: i think its obvious

It's become two parts funny and one part sad that nearly every journal post I've started lately has to begin with hello, because I never update enough to make it a continuous conversation, I always have to make an abrupt, rude ending and return with a plea for forgiveness in the form of, "hello."

So hello. I don't feel inspired to write, really, I'm just writing to keep myself from thinking (funny, you'd think it was the reverse...); I guess I just feel guilty for being neglegent with this thing.

I can already anticipate that this is going to be my worst Christmas, even topping last year when we had a Flu Emergency Room crisis because my little sister's pediatrician was not the most capable person, forcing me to stay up until 2am wrapping all my Mom's presents, even the ones intended for me. At least that memory has a humorous quality to it. Nick left for Alaska, the fuckers wouldn't even let him stay until after Christmas, despite the fact that he's doing absolutly nothing but paperwork because, lo and behold, everyone else is on Holiday leave so there's nothing for him to do. On the way home from the airport, when I was slumped in the passenger seat, his Dad asked me if I was going to send him a Dear John letter in six weeks.
"What? Why would I do that?"
"Most girls do."
"I'm not most girls."
"Yeah, he's probably been telling you some bullshit about gettin' married or somethin'"
I returned to slumping. My manager at work keeps telling me I just metamorphed into "Casper the friendly ghost" as soon as I came back to work, which is her nice way of telling me that I look pale and sickly and generally unattractive, and "will you please put on some goddamn make-up so I can have you do sales on the floor instead of keeping you in the backroom processing stock where no one can see you."

I just feel really tired, and really old. Last night before I went to bed, I imagined myself from an omniscient point of view, my body just lying in my bed surrounded by this messy room, and I just kept thinking about how I've outgrown everything, even my body which felt so large and rundown, and suddenly the pieces in my room that I always thought were sophisiticated and mature suddenly turned into pieces owned by a sixteen year old girl for the effect of making her seem older and more mature. For a minute there, I even had the fleeting thought, "Jesus, and I haven't even had a kid yet, pretty soon it's going to be too late," until I realized that wait, I'm only 18, in my first semester of college, ...I have gone mad. It was as if my body had instantly caught up with my state of mind, it was no longer youthful, cocooned in taut skin, but tired and lonely like a divorced woman suffering through yet another cold night.

Yeah, I think I'm going to stop here before it gets too personal. Merry Christmas to you all. And with respect to the composer, please don't listen to "I'll be home for Christmas" until you can see it's significance.

Adamn, I'm sending you a post-Christmas present, I just have to find time where Barbi and I can go to the post office together because I've never mailed a package before and I think it's scary. Don't laugh, just after I got my driver's license, I even made her get gas with me for my first time with that ordeal, as well.

(9 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

A post about me being a Knucklehead mcSpazzatron.   
04:33pm 06/12/2004
mood: happy
Heather ran into some girl at CSU that went to an EVE 6 concert like two years and remembers when some girl ran up on stage and mooned the audience.

...Just thought you guys would like to know.

ps. I saw the Spongebob on the big screen and I'm not afraid to say that I loved it with all my heart and no I'm not a bandwagon hipster Spongewhore, I remember the days before Hot Topic was selling Squarepants, really, and I'm not embarassed to admit that the movie was actually really fucking cool.
Disclaimer: I, on the other hand, am not really fucking cool, so discretion adivsed.
pss. Before we saw the movie, Nick took me on a shopping spree. I shouldn't have to elaborate, but I will. He said I couldn't go over five hundred dollars, sadly enough I still felt restrained and only spent $250, but let's me honest, those are clothes I never would have purchased with my own money, and they're so fucking beautiful, mmmmm, I've never felt more pampered. What's that I hear?
Cho Chooooo, the Tang Train's coming to town.

(3 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

jump on in and enjoy the fuuuun.   
11:05pm 19/11/2004
mood: fucking ecstatically happy

The world is right again.

My life no longer reflects
"Please Mr. Postman" by the Marvolettes.

(pick a daisy kill a poet)

Because I'm a verb, not a noun. It's thought thinking itself.   
09:33pm 14/11/2004
mood: listless
So, the truth is, that my life isn't nearly as exiciting as it should be.

I just keep waiting and waiting for something really bold and extravagant to occur in my life, but it feels like it never does, and if that occurance had happened, by the time it does I've completely re-evaluated my values and see no more significance in it. Last night I had a dream about having sex in a Subway bathroom stall with a guy I just met, and then ran into Vince from my Anthropology class at a diner and lost my cellphone. Freud would say that I'm yearning for a new social group and feel I have lost communication with the ones that I love, oh, and let's not forget, I have an abundant desire to have promiscuous sex in public toilettries.

I don't party. I party at just about the same quantity (and quality, mind you) I had while in high school, on that note I should mention I once told a yearbook reporter that the one thing that would be most regretted about high school for me was that I didn't party enough, and I've done absolutly nothing to solve that defeat. The same elements are working against me: the distance of my house from the city, making my academics a priority over booze, and the general dislike of my character meaning no one wants to invite me. And I feel weird about that. I feel like I'm not a functioning member of my own age group because I don't get shitfaced three times a week. And the same follows with drugs. What is it that I want to accomplish by getting fucked up all the time?

Then I keep thinking about what in particular is keeping me in the C-Rock. If Barbi moves away to Michigan, there also goes my justification, so sometimes I imagine that the wonderful assisstance I'm receiving from the Career Counseling Center (read: I have no major.) would magically devise a fantastic career that I will love and enjoy forever and ever, but lo and behold the only school that offers such a major is one in Fairbanks, Alaska. And then I can head up north, and devote myself to a single person, and happily ever after, until I start to think about Nicole and how she called off her engagement, and what I can learn about my relationship from evaluating hers.

And while we're (technically, I'm) on the subject, I feel totally disenfranchised by my job. I don't know if that's the right word, but I'm keeping it. I think half of the reason why I'm pushing Barbi to get a job at Urban is because I'm unhappy with my own job, and I consider her superior because she has the resources to get another one, so I push her in that direction. But if I'm honest with myself, I see that we both have the same resources, hell I may even be one step above with my car because it works, I just haven't made any substantial decisions about my future, and can't decide whether it'd be better to work close to home or close to school and everytime I get really inspired to go out for the hunt, I just completely flustered and lose all desire whatsoever.

So right now, I guess I just feel kind of conflicted, and quite boring. Notice I didn't write bored, I wrote bor-ing. Because I'm a verb, not a noun. Whatever Lola wants, Lola gets, right, but I guess the real task if figuring out what Lola wants in the first place.

(2 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

a wild pack of family dogs came charging at my halloween festivities   
02:26pm 02/11/2004
mood: cheerful
Why hello!

I have revived myself from the depths of obsoletedom to tell you all about my favorite holiday! (Now is "all" referring to the people of whom I am directing this to, or is it an adverb depicting that there is a lot of information to be told? - You ponder that, and get back with me in paragraph two)

Ah ha! It's nice to see you again! So as mentioned earlier I went to Louis and Elliot's Halloween bash known to some as "Club Hades," and known to me as "Heaven in my Pocket." Just for the record, you should revisit the link and click on photogs, then round one to see pictures of my costume, ah-hem, a picture of my costume, complete with the cocktail. And, because I know you won't figure it out, I'm Cyber Punk Dorothy, in search of Oz of the new Millenia, traversing the yellow brick road to circuitry,. (in reality, I just told the people there that I was kitty, it got a few laughs, until they figured out I really wasn't actually going to tell them what I was, and then made conversation with someone else.

So the party was a blast, and I'm not just saying that to rub it in Barbi's face because she had to work and couldn't attend, but I guess every party attended at Louis & Elli's was a shitload of fun so maybe that goes without saying. But daaaammnn, they must have spent mad bank for this party. Upon entrance, there's a gigantic lit up sign attached to the front of their apartment that they made themselves ($150 upon my inquiry), they got matchbooks and napkins with the Club Hades logo (favor from a friend - price unknown), Louis went to a bartending school and can make anything, and therefore requires everything (estimated cost $800) in regards to booze, they made contracts where you could sell your soul to Lou Cypher (get it?) and they had decorations out the wazoo. The place looked so fuckin' cool. And the people - oh my gosh, they're all old (relatively to me) but so much fun.

My favorite costumes:
*The MSN butterfly - the best costume of the night, by far, it was brillant, and we had a long conversation about shaving legs and how the pantyhouse were pulling the hair on the top of his feet.
*White trash - A girl wearing a white trash bag with shit taped into her hair - honest to God, no one got it but everyone should have
*Bonsworth from the Beastie's video "Sabotage" (please refer to Josh paragraph)
*The Addam's Family: including Gomez, Morticia, Wednesday, Pugsley, Thing, and Lurch (much to my dismay was lacking GrandmaMa, Cousin IT, and Fester, and don't you worry, I made quite the fuss about it - second favorite movie of all time, eat it)
*The Unicorn and the Giraffe couple - how do I describe this? They bought baby costumes and managed to fit their head inside of the tummy zipper and wore these really adorable costumes on their noggins - the mouths moved if you squeezed the ear
*Teddy Bear - a quasi-punk chick with sleeves that wore a nighty and bear's feet slippers, fucking clever if you ask me
*The Abu Ghriab Prisoner and his American Militant wife that held him by a leash
*The other married couple that dressed up as Louis and Elliot, that was funny, they were really cool to talk to
*a cereal killer - a girl with cereal boxes taped on all four sides, I didn't get it for the life of me, seriously, I kept asking "Well what is she? Total brand cereal or Cornflakes?!? Her costume fucking sucks!"

I came to the party alone but met up with Cassidy (emphasis on the ass - whoo - *exhale*), she was a beat up rugby player which was really disappointing because she just wore her CU uniform knowing she had to play a game tomorrow, but whatev. She got pretty trashed; personally I kept it pretty low scale with the intentions of driving home later (read: vodka tonic, white russian, a lemon drop and another shot that was reaaaalllly tasty but I can't remember the name, and, naturally, sips off everyone elses because that's how I work it). I was talking to the Teddy girl about her tats, turns out her exboyfriend did all of them for free, and seriously, she was covered, she has half the Jaws cast on her leg just because she ran out of ideas, when Bonsworth came up and joined the conversation. His name is Josh, his "approaching style" (aka: how he hits on girls) is similar to that of Tyler Shield's, but none of you were at that party either, so never mind. I spent most of the night hanging out with him because he was funny, and good company, and because he didn't necessarily seem too interested in leaving me?, but anyway, he asked to walk me out to my car, and that's when I had to put my foot down, I stuck my finger in his face and glared and said, "Yes you can, but you cannot kiss me, sir." He laughed, we walked, and I left, smooch-free. And thank god.

Just to make it clear, the reason I left early was so I could get Nick's phone call the next morning, of which happpened to be our one year anniversary, eat it, so I was very, very excited to discover that I did not spend the whole night crying in the corner like I imagined I would, and I was excited to know that nothing regrettable happened with Bonsworth, not in fear by my initiation, but in fear due to his drunken stupor. One year. Sheesh.

Here I come New Years party 2...(do I conclude that statement with 2004 or 2005? Hm.)

(8 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

"the schedule of no plan" yes, I am a no good stealing thief.   
04:21pm 27/10/2004
mood: bored
How am I feeling?

How am I feeling?
How am I feeling?
How am I feeling?
How am I feeling?

How come no one ever asks that shit anymore.

(2 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

just call me lou... cypher.   
10:54pm 25/10/2004
mood: excited
I just wanted to inform all of you, that I am, indeed, going to attend the notorious Club Hades come next week for the best Halloween bash ever. I'm am the supreme queen, the elite invite, that's right, I'm on the motherfuckin' guest list and you can't get in without being on it. How's that for snobbery?


I have a pretty ok idea for a costume, you know I have a lot of intimidation slash pressure slash self-determination to top last year's Cruella or else, because, let's face it, that one just looked so damn good.

I'll let you know what I've decided once I've tried on the shoes.

(1 prepubescent lemon | pick a daisy kill a poet)

If I were a sour skittle, I would be parchment paper flavored.   
10:41pm 09/10/2004
mood: awake
"The TacoBell here makes me think of when we went to TacoBell. We sat in there and talked for 2 hours, you had a cheese quesadilla and I had two tacos instead of a P.B.J. and you called me fat. Then you had a headache wait!, I forgot the buttons. You gave me a button from your belt. I kept that button on me for the next week, constantly. Then I lost it and had a panic attack until you gave me another one. Headache, and we drove back in the Omni and my steet's speed bump killed that car. You didn't care though. That was funny. Still is. I love you. I gave you tylenol or advil then we talked for another 2 hours and then time decided to go against me. 8:00 pm. You had to go home. That's when the awkward hug happened."

(1 prepubescent lemon | pick a daisy kill a poet)

introducing a brand new post about consumerism.   
11:29pm 08/10/2004
mood: hxc
One time I made Nick feel guilty about being mad at me for working on the day that he calls, by giving him a sob story about how money was tight and I just had to pick up that shift because I only got six hours that week, and how my Mum was thinking about picking up a second job to cover our living costs, but then she turned to selling vitamin supplements to old people instead, and how I'll just start picking up shifts at Aspen and work until eleven o clock on school nights just to free up my Sunday mornings for him, and let's be honest, it was quite the bitchy response, but it got the point across. Actually, it got the point across a little too well. Considering the little bastard wrote me a check for 300 hundred mothafuckin' dollars.

So I cashed the check. And it basically covered that month's car insurance and that month's boob job (half to me, half to him, if you know what I'm sayin'). However, I've been saving like mad for a shopping spree Barbi and I promised ourselves if I could save up to $750. I got so fucking close, you have no idea. I think I was over $600 and since I had alread paid off insurance, I could have made 750 easy by my next paycheck. But then life happened. I had to tap off my tuition, I have to buy snow tires for my retarded car a la manana, and I've realized that I have to keep a substantial amount for my trip to Oklahomo in November, and for the holiday shopping shortly thereafter, and should we be so insightful, books and fees shortly after the latter.
Anyway, basically, this is my public apology to Barbi, that I've forfeited our agreement for a shopping spree based on the above circumstances, and I'd assume that you're not too crushed based on your recent appearances of skirt/pants/hair-part which all equal sex.

By the way, I just got a letter from Nick asking if maybe, perhaps, sometime, if I wanted to, could I please buy him a particular form of anime please. Whatever happened to "Baby, just let me be your suga daddy once. You never let me buy you anything."? Not that it really matters. I'll just use his own money to buy it as his graduation present, and he'll never know what hit him because I'm a coniving little B. (That's right - I'm allowed to call myself a bitch but none of you can... except Barbi. Dammit.)

Happenings in my current love life, or shall I be so tacky as to say loathe life? Yes, I shall.

While I'm in the mood for updating (and by "in the mood" I really mean "procrastinating on homework", as usual) I'd like to pay tribute to a big WTF (to be pronounced in letter form, not the connotative "what the fuck"). Anyway, WTF. Is it just the fucking weather that makes all your exboyfriends crawl out of the woodwork "just to see if we could be friends again" or has someone mischeviously sent out a mass email stating that Nick and his fists are in Oklahoma so try to take some free shots at tappin' ass while my romantic spirits are down?

The following is from our beloved Ian:
"Which is perhaps why I decided to contact you, this summer is most defiantly LONG, arduous, painful, and boring, which is resulting in some sort of psychosomatic rash on the place in my mind that helps me develop new ideas for life and art. SO! I do like on occasion to be mischievous with my free time. And yes the idea of some sort of sexual encounter had crossed my mind between you and I, but don't think so low of me in assuming that that was the sole reason I called." Uhhhhhhhh, yeah right. *click click delete*

The following is a from a person who's name has been respectfully omitted because I suspect that he's still lying to his girlfriend who has access to this lj:
***: how are you?
Doobiecat2003: oh, i'm alive, too.
***: thats good. how are the headaches?
Doobiecat2003: uh, they're still around. i'm not getting two or three a week like i used to.
Doobiecat2003: you know what, this is really fucked up
Doobiecat2003: i dont' know what to say to you
***: neither do i
***: how bout this
***: just know that I miss talking to you. thats all, you dont have to aknowledge me at all
***: I did love you and still do actually
***: I know I fucked up everything
Doobiecat2003: fuck it
***: fuck it.... it is. yay I
***: ' loose
Doobiecat2003: yes you do. bye ***.
***: bye casey
***: and I'm sorry
This one is a little harder to assess. I know he's not in it for a booty call, considering we were never intimate, so I therefore suspect that this is an easy bake oven ego-booster, you know, "if Casey still falls for my bullshit then I must be hot enough to have no regard for another's feelings and get away with it," that sort of thing. But anyway.
I'm just waiting for a call from fucking Luke Munday ("that guy's knee-deep in trog") but I'm assuming he's still healing from a detailed wolf cranium tattoo on his right shoulder so that should buy me at least a month or two.

(6 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

oh oh the sweetest thing. baby got blue skies up ahead.   
05:24pm 26/09/2004
mood: hopeful
No, we didn't chicken out.
Yes, we actually got them done.
Oh my god, you have no idea.
No, I didn't cry. She didn't either.
No, she actually took it better than I did, we were fucking amazed.
Yeah, they still hurt.
Mine only bled the first day, I'm super impressed.
No you can't fucking see them, I'm not a slut.
Wait, nevermind. If you make me employee of the month so I can get the fifty All Star Points and get myself some shit from Level 3, then I'll let you see them.
They didn't have the ones I wanted, but they still look hot.
Haha, it was so sketch. We went to a place on Colfax with cracks on the ceiling. They didn't even have rooms, they just closed the blinds in the office. I'm so serious. And a homeless guy walked in right after mine got done.

"You'll always be the only girl for me. Because all the other fish in the sea smell and can't compare to you because, your a mermaid." - my new favorite Nick quote.

(8 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

psycho email post numero dos   
04:22pm 07/09/2004
mood: amused
"One weird thing is that he tells a joke before every lecture, and usually people laugh a lot and clap afterwards. Oh, by the way...this is weird...as I was dozing off today in class I had sort of a daydream/nightmare. Just to give you a visual image: the class is in a huge lecture hall, with 300+ kids. Somehow, I was daydreaming that you, of all people, popped into the class wearing that monkey head thing, ran all the way down the steps, stopped when you got next to the professor, clapped, and went straight into some booty dancing. Then, you left. And I started laughing, almost hysterically, and found that I was the only one in the entire room laughing. Scary stuff...good thing it was only a daydream.

With love, Jeremy."

(2 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

can't keep on doin' what I've been doin' these days.   
12:40pm 29/08/2004
mood: graceful like a bumblin fool
I love it when I take a handful of hanger of the hanger tite (aiiight) and disperse them upon the merchandise only to discover, alas, there is one pleated skirt left and one adult bottom hanger left. I got the perfect amount of hangers with no mental calculations required. I love that. It makes my job worth working for a good five minutes before Shirley comes into the back and attempts to teach me how to do the job I've been doing for over a year.

(16 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

how I managed this, I don't know either.   
12:21pm 29/08/2004
mood: awake
You'll get some tonight. how
the fuck YOU managed that,
I don't know....
Billy's Weird...cat...thing tells your fortune!

DODO DODO DO DOOOOOO! (insert trumpet noises here)

(pick a daisy kill a poet)

don't wake me, I plan on sleeping   
10:44pm 09/08/2004
calm down my crafty friend you can always do the timewarp when you need it the most. I have been making alot of movies lately, which are terribly fun. My room will eternally reak of cheap de-sugared chocolate syrup because of the fact, we ruined my grandpa's hat, several shirts are destroyed, my bathroom reaks of rotting milk and my drive way is stained red; so to say the least my parents are proud. What up lover when are we going to make love by the fire with a belly full of ham. oh yes in a class some girl and I are going to practically have sex for a commercial we have to do but I can't find a copy of the Ghost soundtrack and the library also doesn't have it so what's a boy supposed to do? Then the girl gets electracuted for trying to reach up my shirt because I am wearing an Electric Sports Bra (JINGLE: The electric sports bra, the electric sports bra wear it all day loooooong!) which I actually ripped off from a terrible show, which I love. College, hasn't even entered my mind. By the way if your looking for a great Japanese Zombie movie watch "STACY" it's great!!

Love, Adam
Creator and Producer of Stripperella


(24 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

location locale   
03:03pm 05/06/2004
mood: sad
Nick and I came across one of Moab's many tourist shops; this one a Native American furniture store with some dorky name and conceited sales people who chose to ignore us entirely because it was obvious that we would pay for nothing. Pacing the rows of tacky brass kokipellis and decorative horseshoes, I was explaining to Nick that this type of place would be my mother's ideal home. My thesis is that she takes to this ancient Indian culture, still rich with history, because she doesn't have much of a history of her own, ethnically or socially, I guess you would call it. I told Nick that my dream house was very Asiatic. I want the baseboards of all my walls to be bamboo, I want rice paper partitions to divide the rooms, I want a traditional Japanese tea room with a lap-high table and silkworm pillows for cushions. Nick told me it sounded wonderful but said he personally didn't care too much about appearances.

He said, "I just want a house with you in it."
I almost cried. I was this close.

He ships off for patriotic suicide July 20.

(4 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

pretty girls make grades. i'm graduating with honors, motherfuckah.   
10:56am 25/04/2004
mood: accomplished
Foremost, I would like to make a declaration. I have recently come out of an aggressive denial and would like to express, in upmost genuinity, that I accept that I have problem. I, Casey Lynmylittlefriend Pearcy, am a lj neglect. One of the activities that my therapist encouraged I do is to give a rundown of past events, in chronological order, and therefore not necessarily in order of importance, to compensate for my apathetic attitude. So here goes.

I've been promoted to a visuals specialist at the Gayp. This is a multi-syllabic term that describes my duties of dressing and undressing extremely toned manequins and making them look like the pictures. Let's just say, in least sexual terms, that I now actually enjoy my job. Penis.

I got put on the waiting list for the highly competitive Colorado College, (maybe because they only admitted 640 incoming freshman, and I'm not a minority, or from a different state, but I'm still pretty fucking unhappy, you bastards) but still managed to get a $2000 scholarship from some Phillip S. Miller bs. Meaning, I have money to go to college with, but no college I want to go to. Top Ramen my ambitions. And it's already May, so I guess my options rely on community colleges or CU Boulder, of which I've already been accepted. Puke.

Afroquasimodorojo broke. My beautiful, omniscent 1987 Dodge Omni. The emergency brake fell out while I was driving and I ran over it. We took it to the shop for the brake, and needless to imply, there was a bit more wrong with it than predicted. As a result my parents generously purchased a brand-spanking new Ford Focus (hereby named "The Fuckus") that they can't really afford, and I didn't really want, but I guess that's consumerism. On the bright side I'm not spending more on gas than I am on food, but on the downside it's not the beater car I used to drive. It's just not. Even stickers and miscellaneous gadgets on the dashboard couldn't resurrect the same personality.

My orthodontist called, he wanted his braces back. *grin*

Despite my freshman year fantasies of making a dress in duct tape and my juinior year fantasy of wearing rollerblades and super-80s makeup, I actually was in attendance for my senior prom, and happened to partake in all of its quasi-romantic glory in a quasi-normal fashion. Emphasis on the quasi usage considering I sneezed all over Heather's food, we totaled two spilled glasses of water at dinner, our waiter only became vivdly homosexual just before we were to tip him, Nick had a dance-off against Mike and lost horribly despite the bold "Scorpion" move, I spent a good portion of the actual dance avoiding a particular ex-boyfriend, we changed in between cars at the school's parking lot for any passing cars to view, instead of being shloshed Nicole was nursing a hangover the whole night, Nick got his self-esteem back from the former defeat by killing Mike in the inflatable boxing ring ("You're a boxer? Do you box?") and Barbi and I missed it because we were putting Mike's shoes in the coat check, etc etc. Actually, please disregard the above paragraph considering you weren't there and my writing hardly does the night justice.
I'll be making Barbi a disc of all of our pictures, so maybe if you asked her nicely she'd post some. By asking her nicely, I really mean bid on her ebay junk so she can pay for college.

I went to Pinback with Enon last Tuesday. It was beautiful. I even enjoyed that show more than the Mars Volta of whom I attended last month. Additional bonus: I got to enjoy the company of the notorious Jeffrey Hammerton who is pleasantly, euphorically psychotic ("Guns don't kill spots. I do."). A compulsively happy skateboarding whiz at the age of 19 whose entire income comes directly from Ebay and is an avid Jehovah's Witness. The most he's done with a girl is "hugged one, but I didn't touch her back."

Attended Jello Biafra's Spoken Word yester-night. So fucking intellectually stimulating I feel like running for Homecoming Queen (That sounded really sarcastic, but I just wanted to use Homecoming Queen because I thought President would be a little predictable). Not to mention, Biafra makes me feel a lot better about voting Nader. And fuck you, because I know what you're going to say, but I'm voting Nader. During the intermission, I made the observation to a a Mister Nickeloftus that the end of this month would mark our six month anniversary. The longest relationship I've ever held, for sure. Between this realization, and some closure regarding some relatively vague Kelly Doran drama, the night had a truly romantic quality that's leaving me a little obsessed about our celebration of the former this coming Friday. Oh, what to wear? Haha, oh yeah, my closet rod broke because I have so many damn clothes! I'm Barbi!

Now decided in this court of hip-hop, my graduation from Douglas Cunty High School is in thirty days. Time to leave because this song is really ambidextrous and I want to dance.

(9 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

KZ King of the motherfuckin vagina!   
03:28am 31/03/2004
mood: horny
Today I was walking down one of the hallways and I spotted Mr. King. In response to my friendly "Good morning," he offered the response "Hey Babe!" and proceeded to snap his fingers and protrude his thumb and index finger in a gun-like fashion.

Oooh, that gets me so hot.

(2 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

My ode to Spencer.   
08:16pm 14/03/2004
  Fuck you, Spencer, you superficial son of a bitch.

I have never done a single thing to you that was resulting from a malicious intent. I genuinly enjoyed you as a person until I was recently enlightened that you obviously, and publically, didn't necessarily feel the same way about me. Nothing can be secretive if it's posted on the internet, you dumbass. Despite your accusations that I'm "annoying" and your suggestions that I'm oblivious to what has been going around me for the last two years, (Jesus - is that how you really feel?) if you ever stepped outside of your self-absorbed persona to attempt to communicate with me on a personal level, I'm more than positive you'd be pretty damn surprised with your findings.

I apologize to those uninvolved that have to sit through this melodramatic bullshit, but frankly I don't even know what state this fucker is in anymore, do I care to make the effort to become informed. But fear not, for I'm sure that with a simple-minded social circle such as his this will reach him through word of mouth, or word of dick. Whatever prefers to get sucked now-a-days.

(2 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

it's a definite feeling.   
09:14pm 08/03/2004
mood: loved
A poem for my Daddy, publically released in honor of Aar7on.

.Its wheels held back by chains and its esophagus hacking smoke

.I cry because the blood that makes my heart drunk
is the same blood that mingled with gravel
in that aggressive April mourning
.Because your wife still howls at the moon
And the moon in return grips its snarled teeth
into the soft black flesh of the pavement
.Because I loved you, love you, were loved by you, lost you
Your hair was home to ravens
And your laughter a beacon for flowers to swoon
.But most of all, I cry
Because there is now a void in my memory
where your emery voice used to be.

(8 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)

the mars nuts and boltsa   
12:34am 02/02/2004
mood: anxious
It's a school night. I've got an IB Econ commentary due in the morn that I haven't even started, and our last issue to critique, and countless exposures to take for photo, but.. alas... I can't sleep and don't want to work.

I just bought the Mars Volta/ APC tix for March 20. They're really a Valentine's Day gift, technically, but it seems like it's much more a gift for myself than for my valentine. That's why I've been up so long, I'm really excited, but I'm calculating if Nick is really worth that much, which he is, let there not be confusion, and also if my next paycheck is going to cover the $88 I lost to ticketmaster. Fuck ticketmaster. And then I'm deciding if I can still afford Henry Rollins, Vagina Day, and (the greatest band ever) all in the same month, and if my
On Friday, Berkun asked if we knew what a blog was...

Who the fuck decided that scholarship applications should be more complex than college applications? Huh? I mailed an eleven page portfolio to an application commitee on Friday, and when my Mom made the observation that my envelope was handwritten and I should have made labels, I got really discouraged and realized I had no chance in hell of ever winning that scholarship only because I hadn't printed address labels.

I'm growing my nails out. Currently, only a thumbnail is bleeding, and another two just have gaping sores. Now that's what I can progress.

(8 prepubescent lemons | pick a daisy kill a poet)