I was tooling around the internets and discovered that "Twitter" is not just a story invented by netizens to scare the normal folk into complacency. No, this evil actually exists, and it IS as boring as everyone says it is.

What is the joy in following a twitter? I guess it'd be cool if you're in a band and you're being followed by fans you can post where and when your shows are. That would be cool. Or if you really, really want a stalker and post where and when you'll be places in the hopes that at least one face keeps showing up so you can milk sweet, dark fantasies that you'll wake up to a bouquet of black roses or have pig blood smeared all over your door. Other than that it's drivel. "Woke up hungover. Again. I don't know why this keeps happening." "Haha - locked myself out of my house, at least my crazy ex-boyfriend still has the key and it's almost time for him to come over and prance around my apartment in my underwear. I'll get in then." "Waiting in the airport. Fat man next to me eating a hotdog. Smells like barf." "I think I have ADD. My boss is talking to me but I have no idea what he just said." 

I mean...have we gotten so out of touch with ourselves that the voices in our heads aren't enough entertainment anymore?? We have to turn to the stupid narcissism of our fellow man to bring us happiness? I mean...really. I'm so disappointed.

I'm also disappointed in my own cellular mutation. Which hasn't happened. When I was 8 I figured that by the time I got to 24 I'd either be dead (most likely, given my propensity to cross streets without looking), a rockstar, or a really cracked out mutant hell-bent on the destruction of the universe. Actually, that's a lie. I still had ideals then. I wanted to be a hero. An astronaut. A teacher who helped poor people learn how to read. A proud mistress to a successful escort service. You know, good things. Good deeds. It wasn't until my parents split up and sent my older brother and I away to Michigan for a summer that I started to realize my full potential.

Gasping in the humidity of the unrelenting Michigan summer heat, sunburns aching and mosquito bites bleeding because of vicious scratching I learned some very important lessons. One - young children are evil. They are little screaming, ADHD-plagued balls of death, destruction, and violent wake-up calls. Two - It takes a really big bottle rocket, or a bunch of small ones to effectively lift and explode the rigid bodies of G.I. Joe action figures, and three - You can't trust adults. They lie, cheat, steal, lie and send you to bed early if you question their authority. Oh - four - lightning bugs and frogs are AWESOME and it's totally a shame that they don't have them where I grew up, otherwise my diet would have been TOTALLY different.

These four lessons put together add up to one thing - summertime is the best time to get a divorce if you have children involved, because it's sinisterly easy to find a place to put them for a long period of time while you "sort out" your differences and move to opposite sides of the city/state/country/world.

Wait, no, that's not where I was going with that. I was on my way to creating the world outlook  I cling to to this day.  A strong belief in the uselessness of babyboomers （excepting the ones that I love. Or maybe even including them. It's totally possible to love someone and still consider them useless), an acute sense of betrayal as I realize that everyone lies - but no one so much as the old people who swear up and down that they know the difference between right and wrong, and that cynicism gets you no where - so you might as well be accepting of other people's faults because lord knows - everyone is crawling with them. Ugh, filthy, lying humans. How I love you so.

And as soon as I get my superpowers, I'm going to DESTROY YOU ALL!! Well, no...not all of you. But I will do my best to become the best megalomaniacal bad-gal I can be to prove to you my love. That's how deep my love goes.

I are at: my floor I are listening to: It's Raining On Prom Night - Me First & The Gimme Gimmes I said # megalomania, mutants, twitter

I'm a little weird about addressed with a pronoun. Not like transgendered "oh, my pronoun has just become integral to my very identity," kind of weird, but more like "you have just ostracized me, put me on display, and stripped me of my connection to the group" kind of weird.

I was outside breaking this dumb piece of pottery I made that had been fused together with its own glaze juices, when "BLAHBLAHBLAH" up comes this pack of old annoying people talking about how they live here and how his son blahblahblah - and then they stop behind me as I'm smashing the hammer into the back of the screwdriver and say "I bet she doesn't need an audience." And I'm like, "You just gave me one."

Being referred to as she has stripped me of casual acquaintance-ness. You don't know me because otherwise you would have used my name, it would have been warm and inclusive. By using my name people would have a new familiarity with me, a warmth, but the pronoun is cold, it's non-subjective, disinterested - a marker for a thing. And now the spotlight is on me, the "she" demands your attention, and now I am a performer, a circus freak, the woman behind the glass.

It's a whole lot of whatever, but I still hate it. I have a friend who, when telling a story will refer to me as "she" and everytime he does it I physically take a step back because I feel so ostracized from the whole conversation. Like I have no business being where I'm being talked about. It's disconcerting. I don't like it. Mebbe I'll make a shirt what says "please don't refer to me by pronoun." I don't think anyone would get it, and it'd get taken as a tranny thing, but you know...whatever.

It's getting...bigger than I even thought. I haven't wanted to save anyone in a REALLY LONG TIME. I don't save people. I've watched too many people get pulled down by the people they're trying to save and not only is the boat capsized but they both sink.

In some strange way she's special. I don't know why. I think it's because she's messy. She throws herself like paint against the canvas of other people's lives and you can't not absorb it. Messy people are hard to avoid. Young and delirious with the life - so...why is she doing what she's doing?

Beaten to hospitalization by her last fiancee and now wrapped up and doomed to marriage after three months with a man who won't even acknowledge her in public. He has claimed her and she's oblivious to his dastardly deed. He'll keep her just to keep her and she'll find herself beaten again. I want her out of it. She's like me if I had made some really dumb decisions. I mean...I have. But I also recognize that I can't be happy if I feel tied down.

She's like me. Huru says, "you can't marry your reflection." She's loud and idealistic. she lives on a plane of reality that isn't necessarily always attached to this one. She recognizes that she's unhappy, but doesn't know why, and then she lists the people in her life and although trying to be upbeat about it she slowly becomes aware of their abusive natures. She seems to surround herself in abusive men.

I want to avoid her because I know my habit to abuse in kind. When people expect it I tend to oblige. I told her things about me I haven't told anyone, really. I've written about it, but I can't remember ever talking about myself for so long. Talking about myself. Looking at her. Wondering why she does it. Why she won't just see that three months isn't long enough to love someone. That she's 19 and she doesn't need to be doing this right now. That people will always love her if she lets them. That's she's fucking 19 years old. And if she goes through with this she's going to miss out on everything she told me she wants in life. A free spirit locked in a cage. WHY???

Is it my business? Do I have any right? Any say? 

It's heavy. We need to find black men to love. That's what we need. Just to sate this insatiable thirst.

I are at: All Eyes Open I are listening to: 500 mile is a REAL LONG TIME in a car

Yeah. They made it for me.

I feel like <3<3<3<3...but that could be the sleep deprivation...? Caffeine? Squats?

It's the year of the Swagger. And I'm standing in place.

*SIGH*

I'm sorry 西安. I totally let you down. 虎入。。。没有字会用。。。怎么这么笨！！！

Whatever. Anyone in the room with testicles is wrong.

I are at: ticken chable I are listening to: some chinese movie

Thoughts scattered - can't think.

The muggy air of the library melts my mind with its musty, papery fragrance. Mental images of biblio-decomposition tumble around my legs as they struggle up the stairs. Pressed tree pulp and cracking leather covers collapse to the floor, pushed from their previous perches by their swollen neighbors. Vines sprout out of the stacks and haunting primate howls echo down laboriously long corridors while flickering artificial lights battle with the limpid light streaming in through the windows and collapsed roof. Skeletons with earbuds stuck to their skulls by bits of surviving ear-flesh, their tattered sundresses and sullied slacks flapping limply in the summer breeze, slump over rotting desks, claws still clutching computers and pens.

I stumble out of the close stairway - the smell of people and their disgusting habits swirl around me as I power through row after row of shelves rammed with wretched books nobody has read. A girl steps back and stares as I pass - less than indifferent.

My shoulders ache from my bag, my brain is whirling, twirling, a whirligig spiraling out of the lawn, into the air - up, up, and up until it disappears among the clouds. The soft dampness of cumulus caresses give way to the cold thin air of the upper troposphere, and then the terrifying tepidity of the tropopause. Life slows, the flinging arms of the toy have less to grasp, the air too thin now to support whirling propulsion. Turbulence falls away to soothing soaring as the stratosphere is set upon.

The ghostly arms of a small bat wrap around the stem of the whirligig, supporting it on its journey toward the sparkling vacuum of space. Colder and calmer - more distant, less distinct.

With a cough I crack open a can of liquid caffeine, my closed computer stares carelessly at the ceiling. A deep breath precedes my desperate depression as I realize I still don't know what I'm supposed to be doing.

WHERE'S MY HEAD AT???? I need new hair. What about his?

I are at: 6th floor Davis I are listening to: Sin With Sebastian - Shut up (and sleep with me)

*glomp*

I get tired of reading about people's days. Seriously, our lives are all pretty much the same. We wake up, piss, drink water like fish then if we have time eat breakfast. Grudgingly we go to work or school, and when it's done we run home to sit around in boredom or thrust ourselves on our friends and either pine about how we wish we had an other or wish our other were sane. Sometimes people have something interesting to say like "a crazy ass mother fucker stole my fucking SHOES! He let me keep my wallet, ipod and chapstick, but MY SHOES ARE GONE!!!" and I'm like "okay. That was surreal. I can appreciate it."

But really. I find that more and more often the most exciting thing people are finding to say about their day is that their bowel movement looked a lot like a rabbit eating a goat as it floated in the toilet bowl. Don't care, you know? I just don't care. It's general apathy, really. Once you've talked about it all there's really few words you want to waste on the topic at all.

That said, I have to apologize profusely because this post...is about my day. (if you don't want to know, just watch the video. Then you'll wish you had opted for reading...MUAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Apathetic mother fuckers.)




It started Thursday. Around 9am. My day, i mean. I fell out of bed and struggled to deal with the impossibility of getting everything done that had to be done and pretend to be interested in the process. It was a day that involved yet another impossible Chinese test, a paper about something I was only vaguely sure about, a lecture in Turkish and a lack of interest in all of the above listed.

In fact, the general apathy of my day, and the sickening lack of caffeine resulted in a weird funk that ate my brain. A funk that was struggling with the excitement about events planned that promised some level of excitement. I was excited about the bar because I was promised pool and dancing with some of my favorite people on this crazy blue planet. I was excited about my radio show because I'm ALWAYS excited about my radio show, despite the fact that I have NO LISTENERS. Later, despite how weird it sounds, I was even more excited about waffles.

What I wasn't expecting was:
1. Having my furry car seat cover stolen out of the passenger side (and the steering wheel cover) although NOTHING ELSE IN THE CAR WAS TAKEN. Yeah, I'm awesome, but does that mean you have to make my passengers uncomfortable?
2. Backing into a car and having to write one of those notes that says "Hey, I hit your car. Sorry. I'm not really sure what needs to be done, but here's my number. Please call." I haven't gotten a call yet. I don't know if its because they couldn't read my writing, don't speak English, or worse - STILL DON'T KNOW (this happened around 6:30 AM Friday morning - still hadn't slept)
3. Grinding up on my friend's girlfriend...and my friend. And my other friend. It's okay, though. We're all friends. That's what friends do. Get hot and steamy together to exacerbate already painful sexual frustration, and then hug and say bye. After being rudely loud in a residential neighborhood at 2 in the morning.
4. The madness continued as I shouted obscenities in Chinese over the air during my radio show at one of those friends I had been grinding up on. Something about 我妈妈的豆腐。Which is something I really shouldn't be talking about anyway. 
5. Passing out on my friend's couch, just to wake up when he came home from work so that we could take a nap. I slept for almost 8 hours today. I haven't done that in forever. Usually I'm too jacked up on caffeine for that kind of nonsense.

It was a long day. With a lot of shit going on in it that may come back to bite me later...

But at least I hung out with people who make my life worth living. And I got waffles.

I are at: Bedroom floor I are feeling contemplative I are listening to: Thrill Kill Kult - Twilight Web I said # car wreck, chinese, crazy man, friends, thievery, waffles

"After the rapture, there will be a lot of speculation as to why millions of people have just disappeared. Unfortunately, after the rapture, only non believers will be left to come up with answers. You probably have family and friends that you have witnessed to and they just won't listen. After the rapture they probably will, but who will tell them?" - Raptureletters.com

Can you imagine a world in which every bible thumping, jive talkin, cookie making, housewife and their innocent or dickish hubbies and all thirty of their children disappear from the planet...without dying?

Okay, look. I'm alright with this rapture thing. Everyone's gotta have their own club. Jews were put on this earth as God's Chosen People to get Picked On By Everyone Else For Eternity, Muslims are the Only Ones Who Correctly Follow The Word Of Allah, Damnit - Now I Blow You Up, Hindus are part of the It's Really Great to Have Mutants For Gods club, Buddhists are Tantric Lovers of Futility and Taoists Fill Themselves With Emptiness (Think of adolescent depression, but without the bad music).

But REALLY? Without dying? SERIOUSLY??? That just smacks of an unhealthy fear of dying. Which, basically, means that Jesus didn't write it. He's already died at least TWICE by the time Revelations or Thessalonians or whatever book the Rapture is from was written. Why fear what you've already accomplished? That'd be like my being afraid to take a dump in a public bathroom. 

Beyond that, though, what, exactly, is there to fear about being Left Behind? The Apocolypse? Well, I don't even know what that is, but if Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett are to be believed, then it's going to be hilarious as all get-out, with the harbingers of Doom being the most badass of Hell's Angels on really great Hogs. Unless we're talking about that movie that I saw when my parents were still Part of the Church about the rapture. People's heads were getting chopped off and there were death camps and people wailing about how they wished they believed in God. Bodies were piled up in the streets and I couldn't really figure out WHY they were being executed. Of course I was only about 4 or 5. (And even though she made me watch that movie with her, my mom wouldn't let me watch rated-r movies after that. Like anything is worse than watchign someone's head get cut off when you can't even tie your shoes yet??)

Apart from weird  beliefs about what's going to go down, Christians are SO on top of things they realize that non-believers are going to make up a horrible lie about what happened to the millions of people that had just up and vanished leaving their clothes and kiddie porn behind. The guy from raptureletters.com has rigged his website to work on a Death Switch, so that if he is not there to enter in the code EVERY DAY the first Friday after his disappearance and every Friday after that people will be sent Emails telling them how to save their souls before it's TOO LATE!

Right. If millions of people just up and disappeared I'm sure we're all going to run to our computers and check our emails. "OH MY GOD! HAS MY CRAZY AUNT BERTHA EMAILED ME FROM THE BEYOND TO TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED???" 

Fackin Cracky.

I are at: O-o-o-open Eye I are listening to: Sexy Depressing Girly Trance I said # buddhists, christians, hindus, insanity, jews, muslims, taoists

I'd totally go by "he" for George Takei.

I'm serious. There is nothing I'd love more than just to sit in what must be a ridiculously ostentatious house with pristine furniture and white martinis laughing pedantically at his brilliant jokes. We'd talk about his boyhood, what made him want to be an actor, and I wouldn't bring up Star Trek once. If it slides into conversation, it would be entirely up to him to introduce it. I'd smooth my acid wash jeans as he talked, and every time I laughed I'd brush my feathered, glistening blonde hair back from my carefully accentuated blue eyes and when he asks a question I'd think very hard, the little sword that had skewered my olives pressing gently on my lips. At the end of the night I'd thank him graciously and kiss him on the cheek as I left, and hope, hope, hope he'd call me back!

Or, I suppose, I could be a man for Jessica Alba and we could talk about the neutrality of Sweden all night over white wine and eggplant steaks...

I said # celebrities, writer's block

In this day and age meeting "real" people is so hard. And you feel like you've been had every time you meet a nice guy and all they want is to steal your underwear. Or that nice girl is actually a raging feminist who is just seeing you to prove that men really are dumb. 



When it comes to nasty dating questions we all want to turn to someone who really knows what they're doing. A confident person who has people of the opposite sex at their "pad" all the time and knows the ins and outs (haha) of how to make them happy. Satisfied. Whatever. Swank, attractive - it all goes with the business, right?

Luckily, such people exist. If it weren't for these brilliant entrepreneurs offering $10,000 coaching programs for the meek and timid, well hell. Flirting would never get beyond chat rooms and under-the-breath clever lines you wish you had said when you know, you were looking at that hot person that you thought you would maybe like to try to hit on, you know, if they were into it. But maybe they weren't because they just walked away with that guy wearing a skinny tie and a gay fedora. (I only directed this at males because I saw it happen once and I laughed so hard I go coffee up my nose...nothing is funnier than a guy who gets one-upped by a douche "indie" kid.)

Apparently there's a big market for this kind of thing. I mean, people paying for flirtation coaching. What I like about it is that it's never the coach's fault if you fuck up. You're the loser who can't get any even after forking up the money.

I dare say the Asian Rake has a great couple of blogs (his old one here, which I happen to like better, actually) in which he fully extorts the importance of being able to play the game ("Play on") and even offers himself up for coaching (selflessly, I thought. Any man who is seeing anywhere from three to five girls with busy group dates on the weekends is extremely charitable if he offers coaching in how to build up this kind of lifestyle as well).

His insights are just staggering, actually.

AND, apparently, he was a teacher. As in, university teacher who had all of those twittering little confused post-hteens all a flutter as he smiled and "got his play on." 

I don't think it say so in his blog. I met one of his students in China, actually. She thought he was hilarious. Hot and vapid and the instant she discovered that he had gone professional in his "raking" she dropped her crush like it was hot.

Why?

What's wrong with a man who really knows how to "turn them on?"

I really think I can learn a lot from this dating professional. And in turn, I may, myself, turn into the hoe to his rake.

I are feeling amused I are listening to: bizarre love triangle - New Order I said # hoes, rakes, sexy men

I'm going to tell you a secret. I'm wearing underwear. Not just any underwear, bright orange underwear with white hearts and acid green lace.

Toxic cuteness.

Just to reify the shadow of greatness my mother's dog lives in I called him by our old, dead dog's name yesterday much to the confusion of everyone who knew I was wrong.

I've been fantasizing about riding horses and swinging swords at deformed giants and tyranical kings...and saving princes but getting in with their sexy uneducated knights instead.

Wall-e, Kung Fu Panda, Batman Dark Knight, and Red Cliff were the only movies to come out last year of any worth. I only listed Batman out of fear that if I didn't my stalwart obsession with the cranky, self-righteous and obviously insane hero would be called into question.

To my sad realization the hugs of one can never outweigh the hugs of many.

It was all the fault of the Seven Samurais.

I've been reading the letters to George at solongcowboy.com and I just can't help but think - if all these people hate him so much, why isn't he facing a court for warcrimes and crimes against humanity right now? I mean, I have no doubt that the American people can take him there - so why aren't we? 

...or are we? 

Another google search, another day where I do nothing...

I'm bored. I need my homesies.

I are at: Kitchenoustablous, CO I are feeling blank I are listening to: 老狼 - 鸟儿的幻想

"I'm a bad man," he types.

At 16 he innocently believes it. Although anyone can tell that he's wrong on both accounts.

Typing at his computer, his room cold and dark he tries to avoid waking his mother in the room next door. Well, not so much next door as on the other side of a flimsy partition. His fingers hover above the keyboard for a minute as he strains to hear any hint of whether or not he's disturbed her.  The breathing from the other room is slow and measured and he imagines his mother sleeping there, calm, peaceful. His heart twinges a bit and he winces at the sound of his own unusually loud gulp. Pushing his dark-rimmed rectangular glasses further up his nose he pauses, staring at what he's written.

Why is he bad? Is that what he means to say? Will she understand? It's hard to tell. His English isn't as good as he wishes it was. Then the lists start. The lists of everything he hasn't accomplished, everything he has failed to do well. Whirlwinds of guilt, memories, heartaches, the horrid fear that he's going to let the only one he has down. Again. The tapping of the keys echoes in the still night as he tries to get across to her what he's going through. But he can't say too much. What if she gets too close? What if he hurts her? Worse yet, what if she hurts him?

Well, that's easy. She can't. She lives on the other side of the world! He laughs a little to himself, it's hard and dark and it leaves him feeling barren.

What if she doesn't care?

Jerking back in his seat he stares at the screen mulling over the possibility. What if? She didn't respond to his last email. What if she's actually doesn't care? 

Oh fuck it. All the more reason to finish writing the damned thing. Will he send it? Jerking his head to clear it he hammers at the keyboard again. Whether she reads it or not, whether she cares or not, what does it matter? His heart twinges again. He tries to suppress the thought, but it's already been thunk. He hopes she cares.

Typing in his name - its the one she gave him. He chose it out of the ones she listed because she said it was the cutest - he hastily presses send and turns away from the keyboard. Back to his homework, trying to be nonchalant. Trying not to think that he's going to be nervous until she writes back. If she ever does. Why did he send it? He thinks of sending another one, maybe in it tell her not to read the first...

Fuck it. Just leave it alone. He's done enough damage already. What the hell does it matter if he loses another friend? He tries not to think about how he's going to check his email about thirty times tomorrow...

I are at: Waiting for Santa I are feeling worried I are listening to: Christmas music on Pandora I said # teenage depression, zhou yang

Well, here I am. Stateside again.

(The day I left)

I'm still jetlagged (fook.) so I'm just gonna write a dumb post no one is going to read (woot?) and you know...not focus on how it's FUCKING SNOWING. 
(the day I got back)

Okay, so...some things people are annoying enough to ask me about is "What's the best thing about being back? The worst?" So I will make list. (that isn't in any particular order)

Best:
1. Being on the same continent as friends/ family (there's nothing worse than getting yelled at for calling at 3am - not that i actually called anyone in the states from China...)
2. Flushing toilet paper.
3. Pandora Radio
4. All-natural peanut butter
5. Fewer, if any, blocked sites
6. American Propaganda
7. Real coffee
8. Multi-ethnic food (esp. Mexican)
9. Friendly cats
10. Understanding (on both sides of any conversation)


Worst:
1. No more awesome, amazing and STUPID CHEAP vegan foods
2. No more hot soy milk for breakfast from the old ayi on the corner
3. No more Chinese language practice with hot Asian boys and cute Asian old people.
4. All my Chinese friends are on the other side.
5. No more cheap clubs
6. American Propaganda
7. Ability to actually understand statements made in stubborn ignorance
8. EXPENSIVE
9. apathy




It's big and empty in the states. There's so much more air, so few people, so quiet. It's disturbing...I'm in a room all by myself. This is the first time i've been alone - REALLY alone - in...six months.

I are at: snowy Colorado I are feeling cold I are listening to: Coral Bracelet - April March

Chocolate covered chocolate cake followed by a smack in the face of universal disappointment of UNC losing in the Final Four.

But chocolate covered chocolate cake...mmmmmm.

Despite my cancerous appearance, I'm a pretty cool cat. I've got skills. Skills you wouldn't even believe. Trust me brothers and sisters, this is a world full of tigers, and fuck me pretty if I ain't a tiger tamer. I don't need whips and chairs - although that makes the ride much more entertaining - no, cousins. All I need is my wits and my fits, and a little bit of something I call optimism.

I'm raging. Foaming at the mouth. Spitting and cursing and stomping around the yard in my Chucks acting like some dumb ass punk on the playground back in high school. Oh, yeah. I'm plenty pissed. The world, you see, it's rabid. It's cold, despite this little thing we've come to refer to as "global warming." That little two-word phrase that's been following me like some kind of yippy dog since middle school. "Care! Believe! Get involved! Do your part! Make the world a better place! We can do it! We just have to try!"

Yeah, well maybe they're right. And maybe they're wrong. And yeah, I believe in global warming, but no that's not what's got me pissed. You see, what's got me so cuss-mouthed crazy is the pansy ass fucktards we have become. Don't you see it? Don't you feel it? We're afraid. We're afraid of each other, we're afraid of ourselves, and WHY? Because "they" might be dangerous?? FUCK YOU! I'm a "they" to SOMEONE and I have no intent to hurt anyone! Not really, anyway. I talk a grandiose talk, but if people don't know I'm full of shit...well...everyone does.

I'm just saying, why are we looking at each other going, "They might want to kill me," instead of looking at each other going, "we're all in this together." Huh? WHY?? And then prejudice - don't get me fucking started. (People see a pack of black kids and they go "OH GOD! I'm gonna DIE!!" But then they see a pack of white kids, and they go "Oh, I'll be safe with these frat assholes." You know, the ones who get drunk and decide it'd be a good game to fuck with the girl with the shaved head. Who pick on the geeky kids and take advantage of people who are too nice to break faces.) They look different. They pray different. They fuck different, piss different, shit different. OBVIOUSLY there's something WRONG with them, instead of them just being DIFFERENT! Isn't that what all of us "INDIVIDUALS" here in America with our cocky-ass "INDIVIDUALISM" are yearning for? Hypocracy tastes like tofu fried in SHIT.

And what about the Us vs. Them in our own country? The "we can't let them win" ideals behind our Two-Broken-Parties Political System? Okay, you want free trade? It sounds like a good idea. Feel like globalizing and punting your factories overseas to give third world nations a hand at making money, while cutting your costs? Fine, whatever. Three pennies a day is more than no pennies a day - I get that. I understand that a shitty option is better than no option. I can swallow that having enough money for one meal a day is a shit-ton better than no money for no meals a day. Money is the new fast runner, the man who can make enough to provide for his family is the new proficient hunter. And yeah, competition is tough. Getting a job is like having some fat-ass standing on your toes while you're trying to walk forward in the unemployment line. We all want better, we all want to be successful, to reach our fantastic "Sueno de Americana" - but do we have to make it a me vs. them, thing? Do we have to be bitches and assholes about it? Do we really need to spit on people who are struggling up the same grease coated ladders?

Look - call me a liberal pansy, call me a weakling and an idealist. I may be too Pollyanna to really make it in this world - but Christ, man. What is so horrible about wanting to stop suffering? What is so wrong with wanting government out of our homes, out of our vaginas, off our dicks and away from our interpersonal relationships? What's so bad about wanting a government that takes care of people instead of controlling them? We elect people to make decisions about things we're too busy to deal with - but let me tell you, Buster! I am NOT too busy to know if I want or do not want a child, I am NOT too busy to know who I love, I DO care where my tax money goes, I do NOT think it's okay to rape our Wilderness lands and Open Spaces in the pursuit of gas and oil when we don't need it, I DON'T approve of growth at the expense of people's lives and standards of living, and I DO NOT WANT the government to FUCK ME OVER and make these decisions WITHOUT ME!!!

What can I say? Tigers in the wild, my friends, ripping off our faces, and we're standing around listening to our ipods hoping it'll all go away so that we can get that brand new sixty inch HD tv to match our chrome plated kitchens and our leather couches. I'm not saying anything original. I know you've all heard it before. I know I'm a flaming liberal, and I don't give a fuck whether or not you agree. But, come on. Let's get real. We're all in this together and I don't care if you think you've got a failsafe plan to get out and above the rest of us - you'll come back down - and you'll realize, yeah. You're human, too, part of a social animal species, and we really are in it together, and no amount of bombs, outsourcing, telemarketing and hatemongering will change that.

Heh - so get in the pit and try to love someone, DAMMIT!

I are at: the South Pole in my bedroom I are feeling determined I are listening to: Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Tich - Hold Tight

Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. OHMYFUCKINGGOD!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK??? FUCK THE WHAT??? SHIT! AHHHHHHH! What is WITH people??? JEEEEEESUS!

AH!!

AHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

IT HAPPENED AGAIN!!!!

Okay. I'll admit it. I'm pretty underdeveloped maturity-wise. I'm 22 and still think that the most entertaining jokes on earth are potty jokes. I love cartoons, I have the same ability at dressing myself as I did when I was 9. The only thing that has really changed about me since I was 15 is that now I don't have to masturbate alone. I'm pretty hardcore about my commitment-phobia, but I think I'm getting a little bit better. I can refer to him as my "boyfriend" now, even though I really prefer not to. I mean, "my ho" sounds much more hardcore. But whatever.

Right! I say "hardcore" ALL THE FUCKING TIME! I dress like a punk rocker and I smell like one, too. The most important things in my life right now are school, work, and holding on to the relationships that aren't held together by those two things. SKULLS are the most AMAZING THINGS EVER!! I'm a fucking pirate-hippie-artist-free spirit-child in a big package.

And everyone I grew up with, or at least, the ones I've found, are married. With children. According to the American Institute of Psychology, they're adults. And I'm still a child. Literally, I read something about it a while ago. It's probably linked in my journal somewhere.

I can't explain how I feel, honestly. I choked. Sitting in a public place checking my myspace so I can drop a line to everyone I've been neglecting and there she is. My best friend from high school in Colorado Springs. I'm like "whoa! Hey!" and then I looked at her profile. I don't know if all three of those kids are hers, but that little boy definitely is. And I think she may be in California. I'm. Shocked. Stymied. Kinda hoped that she was in school somewhere studying to be a lawyer. But that's not really her shtick anyway. She always wanted to be married, and a mother.

Christ.

Please, Patty. PLEASE!!! BE IN SCHOOL!!! She's probably working at Factory Mill. And hating it. So she's probably dating someone to escape from it, and she may have gotten preggers. But she's really not the type to let that happen. I wish I knew how to get a hold of her.

I are at: SHIIIIT I are listening to: ni shi chung go le

Elaine called me the token blonde at visart today. My heart shatters with depression. What ever happened to "token pirate"???

I are at: Chapel on the Hill I are listening to: Internet radio