i have been such a freaking basket case as of late, so i apologize for all the bipolar entries. school has been nuts, and i'm stressing out about not being able to go out with (e:lilho) cause i have no money cause i can't find a job because i don't have a car because i don't have any money. it's a vicious circle. i'm going to try pet supplies plus this week, godhelpme.
i didn't go to school on friday or monday or yesterday, but instead stayed home and didn't shower and sang along to alexz johnson songs. she's freaking awesome.
and school's been so busy- i don't know what i was on when i signed up for AP art history. also, i have an astronomy test today which i am sure to fail. it's an easy class, but i think i must have a mental block for astronomy, because it all goes WHOOSH right over my head. however, i've been writing a lot a lot a lot the past couple weeks, in light of certain events/revelations, and everything seems to be coming out relatively decent. i am never happier than when i've been writing, no matter how sad the material is.

i think every girl has that one skinny skirt that they don't fit into and that you know you've lost weight when you can fit yr ass into it.
well, this past spring, i bought this crazy pink skirt from lord &taylor that was mad expensive and didn't fit. i know, i am stupid. i couldn't even get the zipper up.
well, last nite, i tried it on, and it fits. perfectly. twenty pounds down, twenty-five/thirty to go.

take that, america's next top model!

hopefully i'll be able to scrape together some cash some (e:lilho), (e:tina) and i can go out on friday.

also, i'll be online tonite during the oc, if anyone wants to enjoy the experience that IS orange county with me.

gah, time for photography. i should not have come to school sober today.

Leave your name and e-mail address (for privacy) and
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what songs and movies remind me of you.
3. I'll pick a quote or lyrics that i think suits you.
4. I'll tell you a secret.
5. I'll tell you my first/clearest 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. I'll describe, in detail, what I find sexy about you.
9. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal.

Alison's Note:
I usually hate these things, but i think this one could be neat within our little group of minions.
You do not HAVE to post in this yr own jrnl, but it'd be cute if you did.

today is hornet/jacket day at my school. everyone in the school, teachers included, are either a green hornet or a yellow jacket. there is a sort of general personality to a hornet and another to a jacket, but people are often misplaced. i am a hornet. we are often quiet and bookish, while jackets are outgoing and crazy like foxes. once you are on a team you are on it for life. eighty year old women come back to my school and fight with people on the other team.
so today, hornet/jacket day, is when the freshmen and new students get initiated into their teams. everyone is dressed all crazy-like in their color and go around the school putting up signs that say things like 'jackets take too long to think of come backs' and 'adam brody is a hornet!' it's really cute.
we have twenty-minute classes and then the activities begin at noon, though i've never stayed for that silliness. my mom's picking me up at noon and we're going to the reservation to buy smokes.
i am feeling uncomfortable. i'm supposed to be set up with that jim guy tonite, and i am really not in the mood. oh well, maybe it well help with thangs... nah, maybe i'll call and cancel... again.


if anyone wants to do something tonite, coffee or whatevah, call me. hopefully i will have evaded the horrid world of dating curly blond-haired preppy boys and will be doing my homework like i should.
until then... let's make out.



P.S. <-- this is funny

now i am a confused red-head. yes folks, that's right! because of popular demand i have gone back to the red-side.
... but am confused for an entirely different reason. intrigued? i think not.

i'm really quite happy, for the moment. i'm in the mac lab all by myself, and the leaves are changing and the stand-up fan is blowing at the perfect speed/angle, and i'm not wearing a bra and i've got a bit of a crush and i'm listening to the itunes indie station and am not planning on wearing a bra tomorrow either and i'm rambling.
this station plays really good music- they've got neutral milk.

sometimes things are good and simple and it overwhelms me and makes me sadder than anything. i want things to stay sweet and affectionate and pocket-sized like a note i can carry around when yr not around.

i think maybe i'm imagining it, so i'll sit patiently and wait my turn. this can't possibly be the way i think it is.

nothing like a good ol' shedding of the endometrium.

had a really bad nite last nite. i guess it was just one of those times where you really work yrself up over every little thing and end up blowing off all responsibilities, kami-kaze style. meh, at least i've been writing.

speaking of which, my school has a news show once every two weeks. i've never participated because their idea of breaking news is that orange is the new pink, but, for some reason, i found myself at the first meeting about a week ago. i was totally right about it, but afterwards, the faculty advisor asked me to be a feature writer and write something controversial and full of opinions for the next airing. i'm extremely excited. she sid she's glad that she has someone to talk about more than the oc (though i do LOVE the oc).

hey- if anyone knows of any job openings i could apply for for on the weekeds and after school that are in the north buffalo/elmwood region, please let me know. i'm very poor and have a smoking habit to support.

well, i'm off to write some, for the news team and ootherwise, cause that's what i do.

i found my ring! it is safe and sound on a fatter finger this time, so it won't go slipping off at outdoor parties.
just finished editing my last two writing posts, both of which i handed in today. if i don't get two big, flashy 'A's at the tops of them, i'll cry. a lot.

i think we should have a football party soon. don't those thigns go on on sundays? we could order chicken wings and drink beer and generally be men about the whole thing.
and i'll bring a book, because football is boring.



p.s. i've decided that the best way to handle school is to not face it sober.

(e:thecarey)'s party was a wonderful time. it was great to meet new people and see all my (e:peep) friends.
the past two weekends, we've had an (e:strip) event, and the one before that was anythingbutclothes. if no one has anything this weekend, i'll be really disappointed in our stamina.

anyways. the first two pictures are from friday nite, when i went to the albright knox with (e:tina) and (e:lilho). good times.

we are planning on maybe coming back and seeing this one while on acid.


i really liked this next one- it was just a room full of little cream-cups of paint. it made me want to nose-dive through them all and do some damage.



finally, this last one is from this morning, after (e:ladycroft) and i left (e:thecarey)'s.
... we were very hungry.

i do not feel well.

    What came first? Was it the burn or the smoke? Did she sit up in bed, stare down at her nightdress for a moment, then make a ring of fire in their room? I bet her sister heard it, woke up, opened her eyes quickly to waving arms and the light of my mother, up in flames. I bet their feet were hard and asleep, toes in shock, an inch above the carpet, trying to stop, drop and roll- silhouettes writhing across the walls. The cotton began to stink, thin and disappearing from her 5-year old body, leaving black in it's wake. Or maybe, was it red? Was she all red and her sister pale when they ran to their mother's room and screamed? And she, awakening to her daughters' dance, died some, maybe? I don't know what happened behind her eyes, even though they're my eyes now too. I couldn't even say maybe.

    So now I talk to a girlfriend quickly, ending conversation before I lose it, the slow creep of inspiration that doesn't visit my room near often enough. With an "I'm at the peak of my high and I've got a great idea for a poem!", I move, smiling with teeth glowing yellow, too fast and singe my pajama pants with a piece of my cigarette. No tissues for crying, I grab what I do have, a piece of paper, and rub the orange to black, not feeling any pain.

     Not like her, when her mother called her father, begging for a ride. Hot and wet, how did she sit in the car on the way? I think, maybe, she dreamed in her fever of firefighters coming to her gymnasium and telling her things. I think she dreamed of having fixed her mother's lighter and presenting it to her the next morning, showing teeth in pride. Maybe she'd just leave it on the counter, or in a purse, hoping her selfless act would stop her parents from the yelling. I've done that too, and I think both of us have learned that our smoke signals cannot reach the noses of our mothers and fathers.

    I always asked, in the supermarket, for candles. At the end of the aisle, coloring all four tiers with Christ and Francis and Mary, they stood like an unattainable realization, Eve reaching for the apple. At fifteen, I finally got a Virgin to guard my room. One turned to twelve and I am here now, lit up and shining and begging for a pen to write about the burns that told her she needed bigger breasts when she was thirty-something, when my then-father came back from Las Vegas with sequins and skin dancing in his head. I'm writing, now, about his mother, who told me that, when I think of 'Grandma', to think of she who maybe was listening to her country music on the way to the hospital, maybe telling her daughters to sing and forget. Because, my father's mother told me on the phone, that's the only grandmother I have now, now that my parents are finishing up their yelling for good.

    Finished up myself, blowing out the candles, I wonder if it's wrong to write about my mother, 5-years old and underneath a butterfly net for two months so nothing could infect her still-tender skin. Maybe it's okay, maybe this is my inheritance- the burn and the smoke, sitting up in bed.