Homegrown

So if you can talk the talk and walk the walk, do it. But don't just talk. Because then, what you're really pretty much doing, is just plain lying. And even though I am a habitual liar, I don't lie about my life, neccesarily. I don't front on something knowing I have no intentions of doing it. I don't pretend my life, its not quite a boardgame. I think its just some people really make me bitter. Intensely bitter. And it is a matter of like and dislike, there is no in between. If you make me bitter, of course I don't like you and of course I don't enjoy your company. So things are going by so quickly! I can't wait for spring break, friends to come and visit me in March, my mom to come and visit me in March, and this semester to be over. School wise. Let's see, I just made pretty much the best dinner I've had in a week. Oh, that's a lie, I bought food last night and it was really good. This one cafe I go to has such damn good food, its a little unfair. Without having any resistance to temptation, I usually eat something there. I'm thirsty, for wine. Get out.

So here's the deal. Cunt is my new favorite word, so I'll be using it a lot. What constitutes "keeping in touch" on a regular basis? What would be utterly satisfying for keeping in touch on a regular basis, is there an unknown requirement? I think every now and then is quite appropriate, nothing happens to me every day that is so exciting I leap to the phone to tell it. Sure little funny stories happen, but those are stored and will come out in a conversation of length that has some real reason to it, not just to "check in." Checking in? Whatever, I'm busy. When I have something to tell you, I'll tell you, and the same should apply in the reverse manner. Now, this person I enjoyed talking to, but obviously not enough, has stopped talking to me all together and erased me from their memory. I don't believe I ever did anything so harsh enough to deserve this. God. Today, the sidewalks here were pure ice sheets and I fell down the spiral staircase and twice in one block so I just turned around and came back home, it took me twenty minutes to walk around the block, it sounds ridiculous, but its true. Let's see. I've been stalking this hot server at Cafe Imagination, stalking day number four will be tomorrow. Um, oh! Some friends are coming to visit in early March for their break, last call! I'm glad some friends from back home are finally making it up here, its totally worth the visit. This entry is pale and tired, see ya.

I hate bitches and hos. And what I hate more is those bitches and hos mackin' and being nice to all of my friends. I hate these bitches and hos all over my friends, I know they like me more. I will not lose good friends to bitches and hos. Why do I have to share my friends with bitches and hos who are also supposed to kind of be my friends even when I hate them with a passion. God. And what's worse, in a way, is that these bitches and hos are nicer to my friends, the people they don't even really know, than they are to me. Gah. So you have your bitches and hos, me, and my friends. Keep them seperate. I don't enjoy it much when people I like are in cohesion with such cunt breath dragons. If I didn't care about my teeth I would grit them right now.

Extra Extra! So, I hate people with personal quotes, they piss me off. Like when you're asked to describe yourself, they say, "Well, my personal motto is - blah - and I think that sums me up quite well." Shove it. Just eat the gnarly hairs growing off you thighs. It may just be me on the hating of personal mottos, but I hate them. Back to McGill soon, I'm excited for New Year's, heading to the beach. A day just sitting on the beach would be great then changing and dancing all night long, which is pretty much what I'm gonna do. Wednesday I really need to go shopping, there's no way around it. I'm glad this is my last semester at Mcgill. I get bored easily and so I'm ready for a change, but I'm not leaving just because I'm bored. If that were the case, I would have been to little class, some family functions, a lot of birthdays, job interviews, and just left a plethora of conversations. I believe I spelled that wrong. I cannot, right now, stand the aggressive stupidity of people. And I'm not talking about stupid people, but people who are just socially inept because they were raised wrong. They are completely deficient in some arena of human communication that is extremely vital, and because they have no idea just how fucking dumb and annoying they are, they continue. What do you do but be honest? Sometimes, though, you cannot always assert such honesty, which really blows, because I love honesty. Sometimes it can serve as a purpose for just being a mean bitch, but really its just something that needs to be said. Just like corrective surgery, honesty is corrective behavior. I keep a lot of that in because I know exactly how I would fight. I'd go straight for the eyeballs or the crotch, why play around and give someone a lame black eye. Then they have a battle wound. Jab their eyes and game over, that fight ended before it even started. I would fight verbally like that too, just go straight for what hurts. I know there are several precise things that would send me into a frenzy. So it works both ways. Whoa, bitch overdose, but its true. I like this entry.

I just cracked open a can or Coors Light and thought it'd be a good time to update. There's been a lot of progression in things lately. My horoscope didn't predict any of it so I really wasn't suspecting anything. And since I sing in the shower and the car, there goes all of my thinking time. I went to the eye doctor today because my left eye itches, and got some killer drops that I never want to run out of, they are just plain heaven, I'm to the point where I probably will OD on eyedrops. My flights home were good. On this one from Atlanta to Greensboro, some guy asked me if I'd "care for anything to read" and I'm so glad I said no and turned around to fake sleep because it was a comic book encased in secret as being a real book. And it was Delta, yes! Finally off the crap USAir flights. I left Montreal in a mountain of snow and a round of flurries and that place is g-reat. I love it there. I'll be happy when I'm rich and pumped with botox and can plow that city down going to all the restaurants and lounges and clubs and not have to walk the busy streets asking bouncers, "is there cover tonight?" Not that cover is ever really that much and I'm cheap or anything, but the 5 or so dollars I reserve for cover is strictly reserved for later in the night when I have the drunk munchies and need a burger. Ya know? Maybe not, and I need another beer.

I quite love bounce sheets, a lot. Really any dryer sheet. I found these ones at the store a while back, in the beginning of the semester, and they were cling free! Yah, drying with the benefit of a fresh scent and no ironing. I remember for the longest time I was terrified of bounce sheets. My mom always told me that they would give me a butt rash, so, naturally, I was petrified to use them in the dryer. I mean, I was going to get a butt rash! Who wants that? But they don't give you a butt rash. And now I put them everywhere. All up in my mattress under my sheets, inside pillowcase liners, they're pretty much everywhere. I love them, the smell is infectious. So, weird though, on my flight from Greensboro to Montreal, there were three of us the whole way. I made the sorry mistake of getting into a conversation and stopped it before it got too in depth, I was not trying to talk on the plane or during the layover. I am one uber bitch, those two ladies were nothing but nice, but I just couldn't handle meaningless small talk, I was in no mood. But on the bright side, I got four magazines read and a newspaper. I'm due for a shower, I'm awful tired. Uhhh, I OD'd on pizza tonight, and feel nothing but extreme relaxation. My legs are blurry feeling and my eyelids are heavy in all the good ways. I just might have to leave.

This is the e-mail I just sent to Dell. "My computer is just plain shot to hell. I go to turn the power on and it just shuts off. It won't save, upload, download, I know its full of viruses, what is the best way to fix it? Complete overhaul, take it in somewhere? Its shot to hell. Its fallen and can't get up." I'm not even kidding, but they have to answer me, right? I mean, I did supply them with an actual processing number or whatever. So, the other morning, I had a psychiatrist appointment. You know, just to get my refills. "How are you doing?" "I'm FINE!" (eyeballing the perscription pad hardcore) I was getting there as the doctor was, and, we ended up walking in together, up the elevator, and into her office. It was so weird! That's not supposed to happen, in a few minutes she would be examining me. That's like seeing your gyno at the movies. The person you gave crabs to at the bookstore. Its just awkward.

One thing that really doesn't bother me more is the extreme happiness of service workers. I'm all for a pleasant smile and cordial behavior, but there is no need for excessive humanity. So, I was with my mom getting food and I got a chicken sandwich, grilled because I'm so concious of my waistline, and everything else was in the bag but that. No big deal, really. So the window guy was like, "I'll have to twist their arms back there just to get this sandwich." Clearly kidding. So, then from the passenger seat, I just quietly mutter, "Twist it!" Then, all I hear from the window guy is, "Aight! Gimme my sandwich!" It was classic, just great. He was clearly still kidding, but I knew part of that breath was tainted with a little rage. I know when I would have to work a waitlist at brunch for hours, my smile was plastered with hostility. Why do you think I bleach? So the smile looks more real. Because really, a service worker has no business being so happy. They just don't. If you earn a wage that ends in "cents" then you'd be a service worker. Point one, down. Second, today at the store, there was this display case, I don't know what you call it, but it was full of chickens and wings and, just I was salivating like a fool and it was horrendous. My mom and I talked for a whlie about Montreal people and summed up some nice conclusions and, of course, no story is complete without pictures and I was so happy I had some. So, ya'll know how I'm writing a book, right? No one is off limits. If I've ever met you, even randomly, you might be in it. Not your real name, of course, or any recognition, you're not writing the fucking book, but thanks for the inspiration. I hope it actually gets read by more than my immediate family and people I force to read it. I could always market it to prisons, they've got to get bored in there, I mean, how many times can you read the Bible or a Highlights magazine? Oh! Women's correctional facilities or juvy centers.

So this is not an admittance of emotional instability by any means, but I did get a little misty during the O.C. tonight, and not in my happy place. Also, people actually physically removed me from facebook as their friend. I'm not naming names, but that is an unspeakable new low. The entire point of facebook is to have as many fake friends as possible, because that's what its all about. How many bitches are on your list. What freaks. Am I really that detestable that you wouldn't even want me as a fake friend you've maybe run into on campus once and cannot even pronounce my first name, let alone my last? Gah. I could get deep on livejournal.com tonight, but I'm not. Right now, I'm kinda in a ball pit. You know, those pits you used to get into at like Chuck E. Cheese with all the different colored balls? You think you're touching your leg, but its your arm, you have an itch because the balls tickle but you can't find the itch? Yah, that's where I'm at right now. If you can follow that then ya know.

So we have this piece of shit dog. Its small and yaps. When I say small I mean even a fragile, rotting pound cat is bigger. It yaps like a whiny bitch would, if Ashlee Simpson as a child, well, hell, the same as now, were ever in a hissy fit and could morph into a dog, she would sound like the thing I live with. So I'm on my way upstairs and I pass by the computer, the screen saver is on. Its her, the dog, on a chaise lounger. Yah, she has her own, in the living room, beside the real chairs people sit in. She's sitting in it with stuffed animals beside her. Apparently they're her friends. I'm so livid over nothing but this image, the liquor that should be in my stomach is practically making its way back up. God, its so gross. Oh, I'm also going to pen a book. Thoughts? Comments? I won't use them, but feel free. Oh, and you may be in it, a loosely based version of you, of course. The working title is "If Life's a Party, Then Where is Your Hat?"