moral of the story: champagne gets you slobbery-ass crunk... which means it's time to go see harry potter!

Well, it's a good thing I'm not stressed out or anything... cause, y'know, that'd really suck.

I can't deal with this college thang, I can't do it. I don't know how any of it works or how the money works or where it comes from, or who I send things to or when I need to send them in by, I am just completely clueless. Nobody in my family has ever gone to college before, except for my sister who went to a community college for about 2 weeks and majored in dance.

I cannot do this. I want to take a year off, but that seems counter-productive because isn't that just putting off getting a decent job and being financially self-sufficient for another year? I can't do that. I mean, I'm just trying to claw my way out of this stupid divorce thing, and I don't want to depend on my father's child support, or my mother (who cannot seem to keep a job). And then, how am I supposed to move out without money? I can't do that. What if I meet someone, and want to shack up or something? I won't be able to do it without money to hold up my half of things.

This is so fucking frustrating. Let's go to bed and never come out.

Fuck college, mang. Can't I just utilize my feminine wiles and marry rich?

I am way too stressed out, as my acne will attest to. My face is a battlefield (forgive the Pat reference) -- nobody wants to poke this.

And, to make things worse, Thursday is Thanksgiving, the Day of Family. Or wait, is that Christmas? 33 days until that/my eighteenth birthday. Have I mentioned that I'm skipping Christmas this year?

Anyone who really knows me knows that I love Christmas. Ohmygosh I LOVE SNOW. It's so pretty and magical and makes my gut do little girl flip-flops. It's romantic and perfect and I love it. As much as sharing my birthday with that of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ sucks balls, I've always felt this really intimate connection with the holiday spirit, and it's been a lifelong dream of mine, recently magnified, to have a lovely family to share it with. This just seems to be getting further and further away. I'm obviously not going to get it as a child, so I've turned my thoughts to having it as a wife, or mother, but that's so far into the future that it's got me awfully anxious. And then, will it even happen at all? I have this sinking feeling that if I ever actually trick a decent guy into marrying me, that it won't last long, or that we won't be happy. I'm so amazingly high maintenance, and at times I can be downright bi-polar to be around. I'll need some serious Love Potion No. 9 to pull that one off.

But I digress. I want to write. I want to have money enough to be comfortable and have a huge-ass family, at least five kids. I want a little recognition for my writing. This all seems so unattainable. Maybe I'm just kidding myself. Maybe I should just give it up and major in Art History or Women's Studies and leave writing as a little girls affectation. This decision is coming up, as is Christmas.

I'm skipping Christmas, this year. My 18th birthday shall remain intact, for obvious reasons, but Christmas the Holiday shall not exist as 95 Middlesex Road. (Read this as me smoking myself to sleep and just not being awake the entire day.) No presents, no family, no tree, no Vince Guaraldi, no Harry Connick Jr., no special breakfast with fried potatoes, nothing.

And to you who was planning on presents -- nuh-uh. I'm putting my combat boot down on this one. Usually I'm such a push-over, but I am determined to be adamant about no Christmas this year. Let's just let it pass and work on having a great one next year, huh?

This has been such a fucktard of a post, I apologize. Maybe I should throw in some form of humor SOMEWHERE, huh?

Break for Musical Montage!!

Last dance, last chance for love. Yes it's my last chance for romance tonight. WHOA-HO I need you by me, beside me, to guide me, to hold me, to scold me 'cause when I'm bad, I'm so, so bad. Let's dance the last dance tonight...

</Musical Montage>

Yeah, that wasn't very humorous, but that song has been stuck in my head likeCRAZY. Time to finish up my last three hours of school before my 5-day break. For once, I am not at all excited for break. No one will be around, and I have mad shit to do, which will leave me stranded in my attic-room with nothing to distract me from college-thoughts.

Okay, I promise never to make a whiny post like this ever again.
No, really, I promise.
Honest.
Let's shake hands, or play Sexual Checkers on it or something.

i joined myspace yesterday.

... i'm already addicted. anyone else on there? wanna be my friend?

i know you do.

This post is going to be so fucking disjointed. I apologise.

So. I have to say that this was one of the best weekends of my life. I had a genuinely pleasant time, until Saturday night, of course, when I went to (e:ThePink) and got more drunk than I've ever been... like ever. It was the first time I've ever puked from drinking. I've been welcomed to the club.

Men are disgusting. Yes, I was trashed, but I wasn't so stupid enough as to not notice guys trying to take advantage of my friends and me after a few drinks. Maybe we were asking for it, but I'm still repulsed. I always see things that people do and think, "What the FUCK? Where in hell did they get the idea that it's their place to do THAT? I would NEVER do something like that." People are gross, myself included.

I detest the acrobatics of dating. I vote we all knock on the object of our affections door and tell them what's what and see what happens. Of course, I'll never have the cajones to do this, but anyone who does has serious respect with me. (Or, as Ali G would say, Respeckt.) If I ever work up the nerve and manage to hold onto it, someone's getting good and given a confession, Alison-style. No wussing out involved. I've got htings to say, hot and cold, but I'm scared shitless that I'll never have the balls to lay out the cold, even though that's incredibly unfair. I think I'm even more scared that one day I will spill it, and then there'll be nothing left for the hot stuff. I'm just going to try and ignore it, now. Maybe, by the time we're good and older, I'll have forgotten and will be able to have a nice life... or something. For now, I kind of feel sick with guilt.

(Sorry if this post is getting lame.)

I dyed my hair earlier today. The blonde was making me dumber. This is the closest I've been to my natural hair color in years. (see stupid pictures below.)

I really like the song 'Co-Pilot', by Letters to Cleo.

I got a call a little bit ago from an ex, telling me that he's leaving for Iraq in 13 days and that he needs some of his shit back.
We barely dated, but for some reason, this call really upset me. It gave me that pain in the bottom of your gut you got when you were naughty and your parents made you sit in the corner. And I haven't even done anything wrong! He was an immature jackass, and I patted myself on the back repeatedly for ditching him.
I guess it's just because I'm stressed out. School, divorce, male-related issues... kill myself. So anyways, I did a gloriously recockulous Myspace photo shoot to make myself feel better. Here is a brief sample -- to see the rest, you'll just have to friend me, damnit.
(There's pretty much nothing else, actually, so don't sweat it.)

Holy ex-boyfriend, Batman! The KARL has just commented on one of my new Myspace pictures! Is this the night of boyfriends or WHAT?





... because I always do pictures with a hand or two in the foreground.



... because I'm just sweet like this.



... because I basically crack myself up.


oh, (e:lilho)! Here is that picture...
And, for everyone elses clarification, this is a picture of Karl, my one and only uber serious boyfriend, mostly because he's the only guy I've ever met who's been hopped up on enough drugs to take me on full-time. This is the single best picture I've ever seen of him... no joke.





Let's just end this week now... I kind of make myself sick, sometimes... let's just crawl into bed and never come out again, 'kay?