Keep it in the Closet.

Okay, I'm not gonna lie.

I hate clothes.

Honest. I really do. If I can get away with not wearing clothes or at least wearing as little as possible, I'm gonna try. Like in the summer? Tube tops and short shorts, maybe a spaghetti strap tank top if I have to. Little skirt or a little dress. Some days, not even shoes make the cut. An' I'll be sitting around in my bra any day of the year, just at the computer or walking around. Or just a tank top and my underwear. If I'm sleeping maybe I'll kick off my pants or throw my shirt and bra across the room.
Clothes are just restricting. Skin needs to breathe, and boobs need to be seen. Hahaha, okay, so maybe that's not all there is to it, but seriously. If you had a choice between wearing clothes, and wearing less clothes... isn't there an obvious answer?


I had dinner with Amanda tonight. It was great to see her -- she's so fun to talk to. It was a very nice night, too. We picked lilac and wisteria, heehee. She is quite the princess. I have them in my room now -- I love the smell. While, on the books, Spring is my least favorite season, I do love it. Especially the flowers. I always have flowers in my hair when the trees bloom... and all that stuff. ....Huh.. it is suddenly much later than the time that I would have liked to have started writing my paper at.... Interesting.

Talking to Strangers.

Know what I can't stand? ...It just doesn't make any sense.... How is it still socially acceptable!? How is what still socially acceptable? ..."It didn't work out." I mean, what the hell?! Can you honestly sit there, and look me in the eye, and say, "Yeah, it didn't work out," and not be upset that you can never really explain to me what that means. You say, "Yeah, it didn't work out," and then they say, "Oh," "Mmmm," or "Uh-huh." You sigh and move on. That means nothing to me! Or! Or! they say, "I'm sorry." Sorry for what!!??!! What the hell could they possibly know about it? It's what you say, just because that is what people say when they have to say it. And that just doesn't cut it for me. Because there's so much more to it.... You say, "Yeah, it didn't work out," and they're only capable of understanding what in their life didn't work out for them, or nothing at all. Maybe it did work out for them. Then, what are they sympathizing with? Why do we all still sit here and take it? Why do we still say, with pain and sentiment in our hearts and eyes... "It didn't work out."?


...You know, I'm not angry... just.. confused.

Peace out. War in.

The Day's End.

My favorite thing? Well, I don't pick favorites as a general rule, but... if I had to choose one thing that was one of my favorite things of all time..... I know what it would be.

I. love. taking my shoes off at the end of the day and putting my slippers on. There is nothing! like it in the world. ...Nothing at all. And I love it. The guiltiest pleasure... slippers. Fluffy, plushy, stuffy, squishy slippers.

My favorite.



(Make a wish).

Ode to Heinz.

Here's an analogy for you. This one's refined -- subject to scrutiny for years, but it has proven its correctness time and time again. There really is no other way to explain it.

Today... we are going to talk about Cramps.

Cramps. are like ketchup bottles. Bear with me. Imagine... a ketchup bottle. This... sad, populous, abused icon of our society. Let's imagine for a moment, that there is not much ketchup left in the bottle. It is mostly filled with what? Air. Gas. But alas... there is in fact that little bit of ketchup left in the very bottom of the bottle. That little, tiny bit -- a teaspoon or less! -- that no second generation could ever forego (being raised, of course, by their first generation parents). Waste not!! That final, last bit of ketchup, like other things, should not be thrown away if it can be salvaged. Times are tough, I hear.

So, what happens? You turn the ketchup bottle upside-down. All polarity is reversed. (I stress this sentence enough to repeat it). Polarity. is reversed. Then what? You begin to shake the bottle. Up and down and up and down. Violent thrusting motions down toward the center of the Earth's gravity. And then... you begin to squeeze.... You squeeze said unsuspecting ketchup bottle... so close to the end of its battered life, forcing the air inside to contort and fill places that should not have air in them!! Squeezing, harder and harder! and still speeding downwards... I don't know about you, but I have a headache already.
........Oh, shit. ...Here comes the knife.

Knife? What kni-- AAAOOOOOOooooohhhh!!! FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

Yeah, so you've got this knife. Usually it's a butter knife -- sharp enough to get the job done, though still blunt enough to hurt -- but sometimes... it's a steak knife. And you've got this knife sticking all up in you STICK STICK STICK! then scraaaaping the inside walls of the ketchup bottle.
Shaking. Squeezing. Stabbing. A vicious torture. Over and over and over again. Just as the ketchup bottle comes to expect it, so do we. And try as we might, to ease the strange suffering... when it all comes right down to it, there's really nothing we can do about it.
This is my Ode to Heinz. Know it. Recognize it. And remember to honor it. Maybe you can never understand, but you can at least let that one last teaspoon of ketchup go.

Spare the bottle.

010203040506

It's nice to baseball on TV again. You know, when you walk into a restaurant, or you're channel surfing, or something. Not that I would ever really stop to watch a random baseball game of two teams I couldn't give less about, but... I like to see it. I like to know summer is coming.
It is not nice to have your mother calling you asking why you aren't coming home this weekend to work at the baseball stadium. ...Because, you know, you have class, and fighting, and homework, and job interviews, and dates, and that sort of thing. And you're not in the mood to tell her that you coming home that weekend will make four in a row once Easter is over. See... that's not too cool with me. I believe the correct terminology would be "LAMOZOR."

I'm breaking some bones to try and find a show to write my concert report on. Hell, I couldn't even find a jazz concert to get to when I was in New York City. Is that moderately ridiculous to anyone else except for me?

It's just one of those non-stop weeks again. And not the best week of the month for it either, if you take my meaning so. Ahh, but still so much to do. The weather is warming up, thankfully. It makes it much easier to take care of business.

So, you wanna know one of my favorite things, however embarrassing? There is this one scene in the third Harry Potter movie, where the big, purple bus is tearing down the road, and then it stops real suddenly, and bumps into this parked car, making the alarm go off. Now, the normal people, they can't see the bus, you know. So, basically, what's happening, is that there's this car, and the alarm goes off in the middle of the night for no reason. Why do I love that so much? 'Cause I know it. Intimately. When we still lived in our old house, my room was on the Southeast corner, facing the apartment building that later became our home for a year. In the summers I had the window open at night, and all night long! these car alarms would go off in the apartment parking lot. No reason. Nothing going on, no one stealing cars, no stray cats or anything... just... nothing.
...Sweet.