Madame Bitters

Thu, 06 Jul 2006 06:55:24 GMT

hahah i am a nerd!
my name is not really msbitters but i do kind of look like her. mostly i am a nerd. let's go boil a skull. nincompoop!

from my heart to yours.

Thu, 09 Jun 2005 05:20:19 GMT

dear journal.
ahh today was great. i hit on a bunch of guys and grabbed at their crotches and made them feel really uncomfortable. then i laughed at some cripples. i went and bought some medical waste and mailed it to some newspapers with a really uninteligible ransom note...oh but not before i duct taped my hand to my mailbox. the one that doesn't get any mail but a little family of happy geckoes lives in. oh and then at work i pretended to be asleep so that no customers would bother me but that didn't work. some fucker actually poked me...i just pretended he was invisible. like a ghost. well i have to go now, its time to sit outside my neighbors apartment and act like its mine.

edit:

hey adriann, this is leanna. you're crazy! well i just want you to remember that last night we had a blast! didn't we? (i hope i didn't do or say anything...fucked up). but yeah i'll be moving to tucson really soon so WATCH OUT. hahhahaha!

Subject: (none)

Mon, 28 Apr 2003 04:42:51 GMT

Do you know what the number one thing that I'm guilty about? The number one action, among many, that I feel so deeply ashamed of that I've spoken of it to no one?

A year or so ago, I almost killed my frogs from neglect. I was reading back in my journals and the memory of it went straight to my heart... that pain that reminds you of a wound that you've neglected so it never heals? It was around the time, around one of the times, that KT and I broke up, and for one hormonal reason or another, I was warped in a depression where I was crippled in maintaining everyday life. And during this time, I had forgotten to spray down my frog's terrarium for several days. And then I remembered, and figured they were probably dead, that I had probably killed them. I felt so miserable that I didn't even want to know if they were alive or not. So for several more days, I avoided the terrarium in my room even longer. As the smell grew, so did my foreboding about my little frogs. I eventually waded through my guilt to check it out, I figured that their slow death of suffocation was probably over, and to my dismay, found them still alive. Curled in little green balls under the dried up moss. One of the frog's skin was peeling off. I sprayed everything down and held them both in my hands and felt the deepest need to cry at what a neglectful parent I had been. I cleaned up the terrarium and then told my mom that I was going to sell them, or give them away, to anyone that would take care of them better than me. She ended up taking them to work, where they survive to this day on her care.

Even when I picked them up in my hands, their skin peeling off, their hearts beating so fast and frantically, they weren't afraid of me. They recognized me, the hand that fed them, expecting salvation from the hand they recognized, the one that fed them. When they had scuttled around in their cage, when they croaked, I ignored them and hid my head under my pillow, my face flushing with guilt, and in their ignorance, being just frogs, they didn't know that their suffering came from me. The hand that fed them.

In even the year or so since then, I've committed atrocities against my dear friends, shut people out with no explanation, but never have I been so consumed with guilt as I had when I knowingly did this to my pets. Perhaps the difference lies in taking on the responsibilities of being a care-giver and sloughing them off; and instead of facing it, the guilt, I neglected it further, hoping that turning my head, this feeling of failure might go away. But they didn't. Like any other common cut or sore, it's still one of the festering black spots in my soul that festers and bleeds to this day. Like one of the many black spots in me that I have yet to live up to or apologize for.

I visited my friend a couple weekends ago and asked her if I thought I was intelligent. I have always compared myself to her, making her the superior one, the more beautiful one, the smarter one, and have always felt like her shadow: learning the same lessons as her, growing at more or less the same speed, but my problems with life were always on the outside, while her's were in. Jenn probably has more black spots inside than anyone knows about, perhaps even more black spots than me, but she is revered as regal and strong because she has the ability to bottle the hurt inside and grow from the pain. Myself, it all spills out, sooner or later, and I grow from apologies, opinions and self-loathing.

I am perhaps more the social butterfly than I have ever let on to be... my nectar is humiliation, and I could never survive the publicaly depraved hermit because I could never grow. Alone, I would be the perpetual child, the little girl with the mental Claudia Complex.

So if I rely on people so much, for my sanity, why do I mistreat them more than anything else in my life? Why do I punish the people I need? Is it bitterness that I feed off of their opinions? Is it jealousy that all that my "independent" thoughts consist of is a mosaic of their own?

Perhaps.

Thu, 11 Jul 2002 10:22:49 GMT

Direct quote from Zachary Wolfenbarger's livejournal account. Why? Because I like feeling bad about myself and this post never ceases to make me incredibly angry. This is from nearly a year ago and I have no reason to post it here.

"
She won't read this, but what-the-fuck-ever, right?) Adriann. Are you there? Remember the good ol' days? Remember playing pool with Taylor and Kim (me winning, of course)? Remember walking down to Safeway and picking up a bunch of Taquitos because, well, that's what Paquito would have wanted us to do? I wonder if you do or not. Because I can't figure out what the hell happened to you. Was I really that blind? I really cared for you, Adriann. Not like that sounds to us hormonal teenagers, but you were a true friend to me. Or so I thought. What was the real catalyst that made me see you for what you really are? I guess it was morbid curiosity that brought me to check your AIM profile the other day. Wow, you actually had one. And my, it was as egotistical as I imagined it would be. I know, I know. But it doesn't stop there. My oh my, a link to your webpage! Been there, done that. A long time ago. But you know what I still think is funny?

" I'm especially proud of the ones that I place on this page so no negative criticism will to tolerated."

Yeah, that about sums it up nicely, doesn't it? As much as I would love to just remove you completely from my entire existence, you should know I can't. Taylor is my best friend. Heh, I've read your journal, too. I couldn't help but chuckle at some of the entries. I mean, Lord! How teenager-esque. But, you know what? One, you won't read this, most likely. If you do, Adriann, I implore you to throw me a comment or two. Please. Please. And two, you and I spent a lot of time together, and I guess I remember that time fondly and don't want to admit that things can change so drastically. But enough about me, right?
"

Sigh. What a silly silly bastard. But he wont read this, right? So what-the-fuck-ever.

Thu, 11 Jul 2002 10:07:01 GMT

I bought Joe his birthday presents and he didn't show up at IHOP tonight. Coco thinks that I should wrap them in the obituaries and I think that I just might. I had profound thoughts at work today and decided that I would like a new job at Buffalo Exchange. I read a lot of my book, I reek of smoke, I'm tired and frustrated and passive and still have to wake up in 4 1/2 hours for a doctors appointment tomorrow morning. I feel looked over and smothered and still wanting something that I can't have. I miss the people that I went backpacking with...
- I cradled a head full of peyote and listened to him describe the gray ghost
- I swam in my underwear in turquoise water and dove under a waterfall
- I got sunburned and tanned and healthy again
- I wore no makeup, I brushed no hair, I cleaned myself in the river and drank water with gerardia (sp? Gonnoreah? sp?)
- I felt loved and desired and special and interesting and strong and invincible and so. beautiful. I've never felt like god.
And now I'm back to makeup, sweat, and trying to be attractive to at least myself. I'm no longer and individual, but rather a number. A number like I've always been. My beautiful and poignent new friends have forgotten me, and the thought of tripping on bizarre drugs is like a ridiculous dream. I miss living in my bathing suit and being able to delve so deeply into completely new characters... in people that it turns out that I never really knew.

And damn, that p.b. and j sandwich will never taste as good as it did camped in the grand canyon, next to the clearest water I've ever seen, stoned and so unbelievable high on pleasure.

... but one always has to come home. And so I did. And I've been here for a day and I've already managed to disapoint and frustrate and discourage. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.

hmmm...

Thu, 04 Jul 2002 04:03:03 GMT

I'm spent the past few days in a state of waking sleep. I've found trying to explain my current mood very difficult and end up making myself sound vague and mildly insane. It feels like I'm subconsciously waiting for some kind of experience... only now it isn't subconscious and I'm actively trying to ponder what it might be. In every conversation I feel some sort of anticipation, as if I'm waiting for the momentous comment that will come from the other end to make me feel somewhat more whole again. But from every experience, excursion and conversation I walk away feeling disapointed. This disapointment isn't subconscious, it's very apparent to me and it's dipped me into a sort of malaise that I haven't been able to pull myself out of for the past couple of days. I find myself acting fake; laughing a laugh that isn't mine, giving the impression of satisfaction from the outcome of something, and only to turn around and instantly resume the blank, tired expression that has resided on my face recently. I have spent all of today with my eyes out of focus, the state of comfort (resignation?) that they reach when they've been staring at something for a long time, and only snapping out of it when I avoid something with a potentially dangerous outcome. But then all of these avoidances have been subconscious too: I react instantaneously, only realizing half a moment later what I've just barely managed to skirt, and then my eyes lose their focus again. Perhaps it's these reflexes that I should be concentrating on... perhaps all this repitition is frustrating me to the point that perhaps I SHOULD be doing something dangerous. Perhaps this is the experience that I've been waiting for. But again and again my reflexes get the better of me. I've also been entering into conversations that I wouldn't have been getting into before... when I was in a more right state of mind. And in these conversations saying things that I keep hoping will inspire some sort of anger, thus inspiring some sort of anger in me. I really want to scream at someone. Verbally rip them apart until there is nothing solid left of them... until there's nothing solid left of me... until I am nothing more than dripping snot and tears, writhing on the floor with the final understanding that it was only my frustration and anger that was sustaining my solid state and that now that I had become entirely liquid, I would have dripped down the drain with mucus-like droplets.

What I need is the feeling of the complete absense of walls, ceilings and gravity.

Work Schedule as of 5/28/02

Tue, 28 May 2002 23:39:57 GMT

Today (Tuesday) 5-close -- Tentative plans with Leanna and Joe after work
Wednesday 5-close -- Tentative plans with KT around 11 PM. Made promise to self to spend tomorrow baking in sun and working on new batch on skin cancer. Any who wish to bake in the sun by the pool side as well are welcome to.
*Note to self: Give Leanna ride home Friday night
Friday 5-close -- ?

Sat, 25 May 2002 00:32:13 GMT

How dumb are you?

Wed, 24 Apr 2002 05:48:10 GMT

Wed, 10 Apr 2002 23:57:14 GMT

which "monty python and the holy grail" character are you?

this quiz was made by colleen

Mon, 25 Mar 2002 18:23:52 GMT

Something about those online tests...

Twos are defined by their empathy of other people. They are uniquely gifted at tuning in on the feelings of others. This makes them great networkers. They feed on their connection to others, love of friends and family. However being too caught up with other people can drain them, and cause them to lose track of their own personal well being.

Thu, 14 Mar 2002 06:29:09 GMT

I've started seriously considering my mood polarity. I'm now in a pretty good mood: KT was being a sweetheart in so many different ways and Mike burned me a bunch of new CDs and put them in a new CD case. What a stud. There are two new dishwashers that had their first day today and the moment that I walked into the kitchen I was instantly surrounded. Regardless of what ya'll know about Amed, one of them told him (innocently thinking that he had no emotional attachment to me) that "I was his" and they almost got in a fight about it. In a half joke, half not kind of way. Man. Or "men" I should be saying.

--outie

Second Installment

Wed, 13 Mar 2002 22:22:48 GMT

I got woken up today after 2 hours of sleep to take the car in. Tada. Finally, Adriann, you lazy ass. Then I sleep for another 2 hours and then the phone rings and it's 76 assessing everything that has to be done to the car. In a nutshell? Both front and rear breaks have to be replaced and teh whole ignition switch has to be replaced. Grand total? A whopping $900 something dollars. Kurt and Mom have taken pity and are going to contribute a couple hundred but the majority is all mine. GOD I can't even begin to convey how frustrated and angry I am. So here I am, sitting at home on the verge of tears (again) and all of teh friends that I've called to vent to, no one is home. I'm shaky and depressed and pissed off that I have to go back to work and spend another 6-7 hours smiling at complete strangers who have done fuck all to deserve it from me. I need someone to SHOW ME THAT I DON"T DESERVE THIS. Or maybe I do, and the thought just adds to my frustration because I'll never know.

The much awaited POST

Wed, 13 Mar 2002 07:09:09 GMT

Where to start, where to start. Ah yes, why not the beginning.
Act 1, Scene I

My good friend Tara came out on Friday and I had to book it to the airport from school to pick her up. We were planning on going camping Sat. night through Sun. and be back in time for us all to run over to Joe's house so she could "free the cows." So Sat. morning rolls around and I look out the window and there's a cop parked outside. He's outside talking to mom (who later comes upstairs yelling for Mike to come down and talk to the cop) and it turns out that a few of Mike's friends had put sand in the church's bathroom sink and thrown food in the street. They were busted and are being prosecuted. So yada yada yada, after a fer hours of showering and trying to get ready for camping and shopping and getting food etc. etc., we pick up Leanna and actually start driving. We went to a place near Florence on the Gila river that Ty had told us about. We were expecting a 4 hour drive, which turned out to only take an hour and a half. Except we couldn't find confounded Cochran Rd. and drove around for another few hours trying to find A) a river and B) some place to camp that wasn't overrun with cows. We drove down a wash, got stuck int eh sand a couple times which was scary but it was a lot of fun. We had taken the Jeep so the clearence was a lot better than my dinky Accord. Though I scraped up the side of it all to hell and one of the thingies on the side of the car had gotten peeled off and was flapping around whenever we hit a bump. Once we got out of the wash and back on the road, we stopped and ran after some cows that I had almost hit wiht my car. After that got boring we assessed the damage I had done to the car. The flappy thing we stuck down with Winterfresh gum and when it didn't work, it was Leanna's fault for being a bad gum chewer. The scratches weren't bad at all and when I washed the dust off it wasn't that noticable at all. So we drive on. By this time I was sick and tired of driving arounfd and just wanted to stop and camp. So the next road that didn't lead down to a ranch we took. Eventually the road turned into another wash which was just lots of loose sand so everytime any of us saw a nice place to camp, I wouldn't be able to stop because we would get stuck in the sand. So Tara just told me to keep going and I did. And low and behold, we hit water! The wash lead down to THE prettiest spot: a solid rocky rivers shore with fire pits and overhanging trees and reeds and beautiful mountains on all sides. We were all exstatic. There was another family there but they were only staying for hte day, so we parked and wandered off for a hike. We found a railroad track and walked along it over the river. Each of us were thinking of our respective movies that included teh three friends jumping off the train bridge into the water when the train came. But the train never did. On the other side of the river was a little tunnel through the mountain side, just long enough that there was a few meters of complete darkness, but about the time you get shit scared, you saw light again on the other side. So we wandered through, pondering about whether it would be scarier to be stuck on the bridge or teh tunnel when the train came. Through the tunnel the track continued to wind along the mountain and on teh left side there was a train car that had fallen off the track and rusted there for years. We decided that this was creepy so we wandered back the camp site... where we found that Tara had left the door open. But, AHA!, the car started and the battery wasn't dead and no one had stolen anything. So after the family had left, we set up camp and decided to go swimming in the river. None of us were prepared for this so we just stripped and poked around in teh water in our underwear. So here we are, 16, 17, and 18 year old girls wandering around in the river nekkid basically screaming "rape me!" to all the passing hikers. Ok, there were no passing hikers and the water was too cold so we got dressed. End of story. No lesbian action. So lit our fire and Tara burned her shoelace through by the "fairies." We tucked a beer bottle under the ashes and watched it bend. Then I put it in the river and watched it shatter. Whee! As dusk fell, hundreds of bats were flying all over the water and we all watched in awe. Bats are cool. The stars were so beautiful and the temperature was so perfect that I thought it was a good idea to go for a night hike. But the noises were way to creepy so we didn't get far. Then we crawled into the tent and prayed for unconsciousness to set in so our imaginations wouldn't scare us shitless. So we listened to people firing off their shotguns. And then we talked about all the guys that would be so nice to have aroudn right about then. Then we slept all in teh same sleeping bag, though Tara and I woke up cold since we were on the ouside edges, but Leanna was snug as a bug in a rug. (This was a sleeping bag zipped up from two sleeping bags. super-sized.) We woke up and tried to scale one of the buttes, but stopped half way up and went down again. Then we sat in the sun for a while and threw our breakfast (chips and salsa) into the river and had no idea why they kept going upstream. They were like semen chips. ha ha. While I was brushing my teeth with Tara's funky ass toothpaste, there were all these bees. Since my mouth was full of foam and stuff, there are now "buhhs!" Like "bees" with your mouth full of toothpaste, while full of suprise and alarm. Funny funny. Then we drove back, stopped at the Florence Prison Store and bought prison shirts. Etc. Etc. Tara went home and I had a panic attack at the airport. All I could think about for some reason was how this was the place where my parent's wouldn't let me go by myself until a year ago. How I was surrounded by complete strangers and how they could do anything to me. I felt so alone and vulnerable and scared that my heart jsut started racing and I thought I was going to be killed. But I managed to get over it and headed over to KT's house since he was sick and I felt like making him feel better. We watched a movie and I ended up falling asleep. I woke up at 5:30 thinking "AW FUCK. Mom is going to be so pissed off at me." So I leave my slumbering KT and sneak out of the house. i remember my breath being very bad. Since it was still dark I could see that the car light was on in my car. I didn'tthink anything of this since oine of my rear doors tends to not close all teh way sometimes. When I get to the car and open the door, it reeks of cigarette smoke, the ashtray is on teh driver';s side seat. I was very very very scared. Some complete stranger had been in my car, doing god knows what to it. The stereo was still there, thank god, probably because they thought it wouldn't be worth the trouble. Understandable. So i get it and start the car, still veyr very scared. Then I saw that the little red light was on to show that they had popped the trunk as well. So I get out and check out the trunk, fully expecting to find a body or something, but it was empty. So basically, these fuckers had just fucking around with my car to scare me. Man. Then onteh way home I think to check for my CDs and OF COURSE they were gone. For the SECOND time they had stolen my CDs. And it's not like they were going to sell them for food or anything becasue they were all burned since the last time they were stolen. Fuckers. I was SO ANGRY and VIOLATED and frustrated on so many different levels that when I walked in, I didn't let mom start ranting about where I had been. I just went off on how I was going to hunt those fuckers down and kill them. That was MY space with MY property that they had stolen because they were FUCKING BORED. Then after I was done ranting, mom started talkinga bout Mike and how worried she was with his decisions and how he;ll be sent to a Charter school next year because he is failing positively every class. How is friends are bad and he always makes the wrong decisions to fuck himself over. So I hugged her and I cried. Then I went to bed and had dreams of family division. That brings us up to today. Today I woke up and called the 76 Station to have that INSANELY irritating grinding noise fixed on my car. I described teh noise and they said that it sounded like the brake indicator and that my breaks would need to be replaced. There's a couple hundred dollars right there. Poof go my dreams of buying a camera this week. Fuck. So as I'm ranting at Leanna about all this shit that I've already writen about above, I run a fucking red light and almost kill us both. Oh my god, Adriann, you fucking piece of shit scum. I SLAM on teh breaks and back out of the intersection and am so ashamed of myself on so many different levels. It would have been fucked up if it were just me, but Leanna was there. I had almost killed Leanna. So we watch t.v. and she goes off to babysit. I drive down to Zack's house since I'm on teh verge of tears and desperately need to talk to someone about it and have to wait for 20 minutes for him to get out of the shower. In the mean time, I'm trying to get my key out of the ignition. It takes Zack's dad and a hammer to get it out. He thinks it's because my key is worn down, but it turns out (after it gets stuck numerous times throughout the day, regardless of which copy of the key I use, that the worn down key is not the problem. How much $ is this going to take to fix I wonder.) So he gets out of the shower and he sticks on a patch onhis shoulder. he's quitting smoking and oh, how naive of me to think that he's capable of anything tender and soothing. I tell him about my panic attack and he could care less. I start to cry and he gets up to go shave. Fuck that. I leave. I go over to KTs house and cry and cry and scream and tear, then I lie down, sweaty and exhausted that I have to go to work in 10 minutes. So I go to work which turns out to actually be good for me since I can think of nothing else but work. I'm lauhging and joking by the time we close. But we have to stay for another 2 hours to mop the floor since we haven't been making enough sales to keep the people that regularly do it. I can't wait to work until 11 o'clock once school starts again. I'm going to be a walking train wreck. So here I am. At home. Trying to eat when I haven't the hunger. I hope htis satiates people on why I've been so hard to reach. There will most likely be a second installment.

Sigh.

cough gag sniff snort snort spit drool slurp cough

Sun, 03 Mar 2002 18:57:36 GMT

I've had that lame-ass post up for the longest time and the time is NOW to write something to bump it down. Leanna and I made Mike a cake for his birthday and bum rushed him from across the street to his garage with the cake and an Easter basket full of treasure. Little does he know that all the cake's architectural frailties were fixed with lots and lots of frosting. And that if he were able to peel apart the layers somehow there would be a deep handprint of Leanna's. Smooth. And then we bought him plastic nails, hair clips and chicken livers. Happy Birthday! Now Mike can buy porn, smoke cigarettes and get a tattoo. Ah, 18. Why can't you arrive more quickly for me. I have been sick for the past few days, about a week now actually. I'm feeling considerably better now that I don't have to work for a few days. I'm still really congested and I can feel all the snot drippin down the back of my throat and making my breath smell weird. Mmmm. Silly snot, why won't it go away. Tara is coming out next weekend! That makes me happy.

Mon, 04 Feb 2002 06:58:50 GMT

I was going to write something on how mediocre life is but things have taken a short trip to the "better" side of the street. How Seseme Street was that last sentence? Previously I felt the need to spil my guts but no one ever asked a "spill your guts" kind of question. So now that I have a little time to actually do so, and a personal space to hold it, I don't really want to anymore. I think that it's sad/funny that whenever I actually want to talk with Joe about something, something gets in the way. I'm sorry JOE!!

Sunday, bloody fucking piece of shit mother fucking Sunday

Mon, 04 Feb 2002 01:46:28 GMT

We, The Family, are about to go out to dinner. And we are going to go out to dinner every Sunday night for... a while... so all social plans for Sundays are cut off at 6. Mom planned this because she says she doesn't get to spend any time with me and Mike anymore. What does this rate on the pathetic scale? When we have family dinners at home we just answer in "yes"s and "no"s so why will going out to dinner, paying money, make us open up and start talking? Like we're going to have some kind of emotional renaissance at some pasta place some Sunday night. Today, all I did was read and sleep and I'm just as tired. Though I did finish a book and do my chores. So I feel a slight amount achievement but mostly an overwhelming feeling of mediocrity. Sundays generally suck. And tomorrow is another monday and I have to work. Maybe I can fall into the bread cutter somehow and file for workman's comp.

Tue, 29 Jan 2002 06:24:42 GMT

It was just a weird day. I was driving home from work with a palpable silence resting in my car. Just the hum of the wheels and the rush of traffic passing me. I turned the corner onto Rural and a man sat with his bike at the bus stop and as I drove by he started to frantically wave to me. When I got to the video store to visit my friends, a man sat with his leaf blower at his side with his head in his hands. A second later, two police cars ripped through the parking lot towards a destination to end some ?distressing blemish on the Phoenix justice system.? I walked into the store and ate the slice of chocolate cake that I had taken from work, but it was dry and old. My friend was ignoring me as he had been for the past few days and that upset me. But I joked with my other friend and he remarked that he had also noticed that it was a weird day. Weirdness: I seem to constantly smell menstrual blood instead of dishwashing detergent or the smell of the hallway outside my economics class. When I randomly talk to myself when no one is around, I keep saying ?well, what do you want me to do about it?!? Like I?m angry with someone who isn?t there. I?ve done that for a few years now. One time I was unlocking the door, I think it was actually the same night the biker at the bus stop waved at me come to think of it, and I saw something fly around my front porch out of the corner of my eye. I whipped my head around with the key poised in the front door lock and a piece of my hair fell in front of my eye. My heart was beating incredibly fast but I could think of nothing else but how exactly like a movie the situation was: a lonely girl letting herself into her empty house at night, she hears a noise and turns just fast enough for an innocent looking lock of hair to fall in front of her heavily shadowed face. Though in the movies someone strikingly beautiful would probably play the part instead of me. Someone that can open up their eyes super wide and would reflect the impending flying shape of horror coming at her face. Everyone, I?ve noticed, has vibrations that they exude. There seem to be random days when everyone is in a bad mood and it spreads like wildfire to the few people that are in a good one. People are predictable. Incredibly so. To such an extent that I had never noticed it until a few days ago when someone had made a point about everyone paying with $20s on Saturdays because they had just gotten paid, or everyone being in a foul mood on Sundays because they had to wake up early for church and that they would have to wake up even earlier because everyone knows in the back of their mind that tomorrow would be Monday. Or hell, maybe they just had to be virtuous for church in the mornings so they were trying to make up for it throughout the course of the day. There?s a woman that comes into work fairly often. She whips out a couple of extremely worn pictures of her before she had her stomach stapled of her around 250 pounds. I never knew there were people that were really like that. Congratulations on being suddenly skinny with lots of money and no effort, but I don?t need to see those pictures for the third time. Ironically, her name is Adrian and she is very loud, obnoxious and the polar opposite of what I consider myself. She tells me she loves me and waves to the cooks as if she has known them for years when they were obviously completely bewildered that a complete stranger was saying ?goodnight! I love you all!? And then my coworker went on a rant about my personality and how much she admires it. Come to think of it, that was the same night as the biker at the bus stop as well. What days are these?

My life is now complete.

Mon, 28 Jan 2002 21:53:39 GMT

Yes I know I spelled the name wrong on the thing. It's really Peepi! Oh well, you are a hamster who becomes giant and ruins most of the city

Take the Invader Zim quiz!

today

Fri, 25 Jan 2002 04:27:46 GMT

Today was generally sucky. The really bad kind that makes me want to take tomorrow off just so that I can say "fuck all" and find something really distracting to do. Everything's find if I distract myself but as the day gets on it gets harder and harder to do this. I don't think I've ever taken a hit this hard. I feel like I just want to sit down and cry until die, a wretched person. I've managed to get through the whole day with this knot in my throat. Leanna and I drove out to Joe's house so I could take pictures of the old abandoned cars for my photo assignment. I was trying to get some good shots by leaning inside the cars etc. and managed to get paint ball shit all over my pants. Not cool. But we'll see how these pictures turned out. GOD I wish that I could sit down and do something to get my mind off of everything... off of you... but no matter how many pages I read in my book or desperately try to sleep, my mind always refracts back to you. I can't walk out to my car without assuming for a split second that I'm driving to your house to fall asleep on your bed but then I correct myself and am remembered that I fucked it up. I'm sorry I had to happen to you. I wish that I hadn't meant so much because it has been widely shown that nothing good can come of it. I truly am a wretched person and I apologize from the bottom of my little, dehydrated soul. For every tear you shed... I send my regrets for my horrible, naked mistakes. What we have is done but, god, I miss you. I hope that you forget this as soon as you can and can find a girl that treats you like you deserve to be treated. These tears and this ache in my heart are for you. I reserve everything else that I desperately feel the need to say because I want you to be happy again, as soon as you can. You deserve that and more.

I'll love you forever because there will never been another like you. Forget me now, I don't deserve to be cherished.

Thu, 10 Jan 2002 04:36:28 GMT

Adriann Ranta

When I drive by myself, I try to make myself the demi-god of driving. I try to go the exact speed limit, let my foot off the gas at the right moment when I see a red light etc, etc. And then it slowly goes down hill. I get distracted by other people in their cars, applying makeup, singing to the songs on the radio, or fishing for a CD in the backseat, and the odometer creeps past 50 and on towards 60. I quietly swear to myself at what a shoddy driver I am and ease off the gas and hope for 45 mph before I get distracted again. When I first started driving I would zone out completely and forget that I was driving in the first place. I wouldn?t go so far as to creep onto the sidewalk and flatten some pedestrians, but I would catch myself and get a tad neurotic about whether or not I should be driving at all. Things have improved since then?
These days I still have good and bad driving days. They vary with my mood. When I?m depressed I go the speed limit. When I?m excited? I don?t. I have certain friends who seem to crave death in a fiery envelopment of twisted metal and think it?s great fun to play with me while I drive. Namely: taking my head rest off my seat, tugging on my seatbelt from behind, obsessively turning on the emergency lights that I don?t notice are on until I?m a few miles down the road, clinging to the side of the moving car, jumping in front of and/or on top of the moving car, and the list goes on. My brother, for one example, thinks it?s the greatest game to run backwards at my car (as if to mimic me going forward) and jumping on the hood like I had hit him.
Ah, my car. It makes me nostalgic for the last time I chauffeured someone home or trucked myself to chez friend. To feel the power of an iron beast that bends to my every will. I believe that cars are vastly under appreciated. If you didn?t have a backseat, where would you lose your virginity? If you didn?t have a car, how would you break curfew? Pick up the guys? For what would you buy accessories that would make some bold statement about your taste in transportation? I?m not too sure what my original purpose was in writing this, but these fine metal contraptions function as much more than drills fixed at the ozone layer. Have you hugged your car today?

A dream

Sun, 06 Jan 2002 20:49:15 GMT

I was the cook so everything went through me. I was constantly frying a pan of beef on my left and I constantly kept eating some, but the quantity never changed. It later can to be known that someone had kept cruising through the kitchen and putting bodies in my frying pan. That was how the household killer was getting rid of the bodies: I was frying and eating them. The only crime that I remember was the house goodie two shoes was found tied up with a man as a form of a risqu? art piece. She was found screaming and the person that had done all this had polished his cock with a fork to make it museum quality. When the whole house was sitting at the dinner table, someone noticed that the wallpaper was peeling off. Everyone immediately sprang up and started to rip if off around the room. There were 16-odd designed drawn/painted/etched into the walls and we all frantically tried to transcribe them, as if we knew there was a time limit to how long we would be able to see them. I remembered one little girl in a school uniform jump roping on the right wall by the back corner. Then I woke up with nothing solved.

Sun, 30 Dec 2001 08:06:42 GMT

i'm snowboarding.

On my grandfather --

Thu, 27 Dec 2001 02:55:23 GMT

He is such an intelligent man that he hides nothing from himself. There is no level of self-delusion in him and still at 82 he reads the New York Times every morning with perfect competence. Since he lives in New York, and I in Arizona, I only have the chance to see him maybe once or twice a year. My mother communicates with him more often than I do, so it was from her that I heard that he is dying. The whole family was flown out to Long Island by my Aunt Anne for Christmas this year, and as I sit at their computer right now a day afterwards, I realize that this will probably be the last time I see him.
Watching my grandfather as everyone tore open their presents was what made Christmas so much more emotional this year; I?ve always hated Christmas and other holidays where I have to get together with every link of my New York relatives. I still love them and consider them good people but it?s too much stress stringing up and maintaining a happy face and updating everyone one by one on the latest news of my life. Not that I mind talking about myself, but censoring all the interesting parts that would upset them are what makes my life worth living. That leaves my job and high school career as conversation pieces, and that gets very, very old. Regardless, as everyone tore into their presents, my brother playing Santa, I watched my grandfather listlessly watching his entire family with their happy, happy faces and I couldn?t help but imagine all the melancholy thoughts that he much have been thinking. That these are the people that he loves and that this is going to be one of, if not the last, time that he is going to see them all together. He sat in the arm chair, a tired slump giving away his usual fa?ade of elegance and convention. He had gotten so much gaunter since the last time I had seen him; the skin around his face still hung loose and low on his neck, but his cheekbones were showing and his face was just a touch more pallid. When he was handed a present, he would cut the tape with a small pocket knife and unfold the paper delicately and with more effort than it should have taken. On the occasions he got up to move, he slowly raised himself by shaking arms and teetered in his first few steps. He had never moved quickly in the time I was conscious of the way my grandfather walked, but this time his initial steps were unsteady and slow: a seeming paradox to his straight-laced, gentlemanly manner. He still insisted on carrying the wood from the shed outside and putting it on the fire and my grandmother had to send my uncle out after him to do it instead. When my uncle came back in laden with wood, my grandfather stood behind him with resignation and to see someone I loved in such a way wrenched my heart.
I have never had someone close to me die before and to see the event encroaching so quickly frightens me deeply. I don?t know what I would do. He is very disappointed that I?m going to be taking a year off after high school before college and wrote me several letters trying to convince me why I shouldn?t. To have him die with me in his bad graces would be such a weight, regardless of whether it should be or not.
Until then, I spend as much time with him as I can, talking and listening to his jokes that he forgets the punch line to and laughing for him anyway. I watch him every moment and I try to memorize what a treasure he is for when he isn?t around for us anymore.

teehee

Sun, 09 Dec 2001 22:30:53 GMT

I am an Oompah Band.

My baseless fertilised granite tankers meet with personal nightly dictators. I deposit graded noses of flowers outside barrels of wind. My fun directions take spinning elephants.

How do legs write transistors? The Utterly Surreal Test