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Jul. 8th, 2007


Maybe It's Her, Maybe It's Me, Or Maybe It's Maybeline

Okay let's just put it out there. My sexuality is fucked. It's confusing, it's inconsistent, it's frustrating. So when you like a girl, and you hang out with said girl, and girl sleeps in your bed, but clearly isn't on the same page as you. Then what? Or better yet, what about the boy with the girlfriend getting shipped off to Iraq. Or what about the other girl who's so effing cute and you like all the same things, but doesn't really know if she's into that kind of thing? 

And why do NONE of my friends share m exuberuence for pop culture? I would KICK ASS on the World Series of Pop Culture. I know the name of the Simpson's dog, can name all 16 characters from the pilot episode of LOST. I want to name my team after some obsure movie refernces. The Dongers! The Plastics! Team NPH! I mean c'mon!

But back to my pathetic inability to attract anyone not excessively filthy, old, creepy, lame, or un-Croatian. I mean what the fuck? Grr. But aside from that I am absolutely dreading/ eagerly looking forward to next semester. 19 credits? Check. 10 hours a week at work study? Check. Two studio art classes? Check. Two intensive writing night classes? Check. Looking for a new job? Check. Looking for a new school? Check. Deciding where to live? Check. Am I fucking nuts? Check.

I'm seriosuly considering taking a "semester off" after this next one. By that I mean studying abroad. There's got to be something better out there. I know there's something more to life than settling down in the same hemispere you were born in. More than living with your parents and falling into a safe lifestyle. I never want to grow up. Yes, I want to grow, and mature, and imporve, but never grow up. I don't want a mini van, I don't want sectional sofa, I don't want neutral beige paint on my walls, and a sensible haircut. I DON'T WANT KIDS. I don't want bottles, and play dates, and strollers. I want my art, I want a lizard, or a dog, or even CBJ and a few friends that matter. I want to take my time. I want to experience things. I want to breathe this world in. I want to learn. I want to know everything. I'm absolutely sick at the prosect of faling into mundane Americana, I want, everything and nothing. I want to be a fucking vagabond.

Fuck, I'm tired.

Jul. 6th, 2007


Fresh Start: My Revolution Begins Now

Dear God, where to begin. First off let me just put it out there that I consider myself a fairly honest person, if you know me you might say I'm one of those speak your mind types, that I freely express my opinion about, well, just about everything. In person, I'd agree with you, the truth is, that's false. The truth is no one knows me. No one. Not completely, I don't even know me. So this blog, or livejournal is me, me saying "fuck it". This is my internal monologue, the stuff I hold back from saying because I honestly feel I would be committed for if I ever spoke aloud. My open honest thoughts. I hereby promise not to fluff them up, cut them down, or twist them in any way. This is my Harriet the Spy Notebook. The thing I'd be killed in school for if everyone found out this is what I really think of the world and the people in it.  So, here goes. Where to begin? I have no idea. This is not my life story, just my perspective on that life. I'll try for the most part to keep my real life associates, friends, and family out of this, but fuck it, I can't promise anything.

That's one thing you need to know. I can't keep any promises to myself. I'm a fucking liar. Deal.

Another thing, I have a stellar, and to some, possibly frightening grasp of all things pop culture. I know so many useless things that I deeply feel are far more important than quantum physics. Example: the city Jared Leto was born in, the names of Johnny Depp's former band, Winona Ryder's natural hair color. Embarrassing, slightly creepy, useless? Definitely, but I know it. Deal.

I'm very concerned about the future, the environment, social security, fashion, the decline of rock music and the lack of real revolution in any art form. You name it. I worry. A lot. I may seem free spirited, but don't mistake freedom for rampant paranoia. I don't trust anyone a hundred percent.

I don't have a lot of friends I like. Even the ones nearest and dearest to me piss me the fuck off a lot of the time. This bothers me a lot. The fact that they annoy me, it makes me feel like a horrible person, like a heartless bitch who doesn't deserve friends. It breaks my heart. It makes me want to live in a hobbit cave for all eternity.

Factoid Numero Cinque: I hate your music. That's right, I HATE it all. Just because we like the same artists or songs has nothing to do with it, you do. Unless you can match your mood up directly with mine, I will ALWAYS hate your music. I get sick of my own music half the time, why should I like yours? To me deciding what music to listen to and when is an art, one even I've not completely mastered nor do I completely understand. Like most aspects of my personality, this makes not sense, it's just how I am. DEAL.

Six...Never tell me what to do. Unless I ask you. Even then, I probably won't/ won't want to do it. I'm more oppositional defiant than you will ever know. I resent authority. I really and truly do.

And while we're on the enigma that is me, I don't share well. I love to volunteer myself and my possessions to help people. And for a split second I actually mean it. Then I resent it. Yes it's my fault, not yours. Call it only-child syndrome, call it bitchy-ness. I don't care, I hate it too.

I'm convinced no one really likes me. I live under the impression that my life is just filled with a series of people who either tolerate me or simply put up with me due to the fact they feel an obligation to me. There's only one person in the world I don't feel that way about and that's Mike Dugan. He's the only person I've ever believed without question when they said they loved me. He just has this earnestness about him. I honestly believe he would do just about anything for me. It's comforting but also heartbreaking to know I he's the only one I believe. This isn't trying to get me a pity vote. It's the truth. I always feel like I'm more attached to people than they are to me. This summer seems to be underscoring that.

My life is one big reference to a greater work. I have no creativity, no individuality, I just like to pretend I'm original. To reference Chuck as a badge to my lack of personality, "I am a compilation of everyone I've ever met." or my life is one big decoupage piece. I piece from here, a snippet there, a stolen headline, a copied phrase, inspiration stolen from someone else. I am boring and mundane and stupid and must therefor steal, copy, and rip off of those more captivating than I, which is everyone.

My final point is a basic summing up of all of the above, self-deprecation is an art. And I'm fucking Michelangelo. I have more self-hatred than any overweight, Roman-nosed, Jew alive. I can't once in my whole existence remember being satisfied with myself. I'm never been the pretty one, the skinny one, the talented one, the likable one, the noticeable one. Never, and I hate everyone else in the whole world who is anything besides invisible. I hate you all for not being me. I've never been the most, or best anything. Fucking average as the world permits. And yet not average or normal at all. I've never felt like I belonged any where. I've always painted myself as a lone wolf. I don't trust, I don't believe. My entire being is made up of the things I wish I was. Those fucking childhood daydreams that I never fucking grew out of. That never fucking went away. I love life, I do, I just hate mine.

I'm in a bit of a mood tonight, I'm always in a bit of a mood. and I'm completely ashamed/ mortified/ disgusted/ saddened by most of what I've just written but after nearly 20 years of carrying this fucking weight, these fucking chains of my own making. I'm posting, despite the voice in my head screaming not to. Telling me I'm a fucking dramatic bitch, that right now I'm personifying everything I hate. Cry-baby whiners who think their easy American life is so depressing and hard. Being so fucking EMO. But there this deeper commitment to try and rid myself of this by writing it that's winning out so, here I am, and I'm hitting post.


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