(no subject)
A lot has happened since I last updated.
I had come back to Raleigh over Thanksgiving and returned to Winston-Salem only to be accused of having sex with Nick Vance, who totally perpetuated the accusations for the first day or two of their existence. I was amazed that two people, who I would refer to as my two best male friends, would actually believe that I lacked the dignity and self control to "resist" Nick. Not that it really takes much resistence, his reputation certainly preceeds him in the most correct manner possible. "If it's got a vagina..""...and not even neccessarily that.." I hit Winston-Salem a virgin, being beckoned from Raleigh as a whore. I recieved a few drunken voicemail messages from Joey telling me to reconsider my life, that I should feel ashamed, and basically stating that I'm a heartless bitch and a bad best friend. Then Nick admitted to lying. As far as frustrations are concerned Kyle let go, before Nick admitted to lying. After that everything dissipated, but their words still kind of float around in my brain, inebriated as they were when they were said.
They haunted me a few days ago, as I was on a 4-day no sleep, no food spin. I lived on stimulants for those four days. Coffee/cigarette breaks kept me alive, but at the same time, assured me that I'd make no progress in my drawing assignments. 4 in the morning one night and all I could hear was Joey drunkenly mumbling "I don't know who you are anymore." It's such a cheesey soap opera line, but hearing that coming out of his mouth when he was sober was the scariest shit on earth.
Shortly after I had been holding steadfast to my own virginity as a show of dignity, I lost it. To a guy I know I'll never be in a real relationship with. This is not complaining, however, because I'm well aware of that and honestly, it's perfectly fine with me. In fact, I think in several aspects it's beneficial. Having to commit to someone usually makes me sick of them much faster.
I have been commissioned to design two tattoos. My mom's friend is getting a tramp stamp of a fairy. Like those Amy Brown fairies you see on t-shirts and purses and stationary and erasers and toilet paper in hot topic. Of course, she's not calling it a tramp stamp. At first, I thought she was getting it done somewhere decent for there to be, of all things, a fairy. There are very few places upon a woman's body where an image of a fairy is acceptable. While she was pointing out designs she liked, naturally, I asked where she was getting it done. It took everything inside of me not to laugh when she lifted her shirt and rubbed her lower back. The second tattoo I am designing for my older sister. This will not be a tramp stamp. She's not even specific about what she wants. So I have no idea what direction to take it in.
Wuthering Heights is a shitty book. I hate romance novels. Romance in general. I suppose I am not imaginative and indulgent enough to enjoy romantic prose. Streblow implies this to a lot of us but is not rude enough to come out and say it. I like that about her. Something about romance just screams complete bullshit to me. Perhaps it is my inability to believe. That's what Streblow would think (instead of say.)
I'm getting very antsy.
I had come back to Raleigh over Thanksgiving and returned to Winston-Salem only to be accused of having sex with Nick Vance, who totally perpetuated the accusations for the first day or two of their existence. I was amazed that two people, who I would refer to as my two best male friends, would actually believe that I lacked the dignity and self control to "resist" Nick. Not that it really takes much resistence, his reputation certainly preceeds him in the most correct manner possible. "If it's got a vagina..""...and not even neccessarily that.." I hit Winston-Salem a virgin, being beckoned from Raleigh as a whore. I recieved a few drunken voicemail messages from Joey telling me to reconsider my life, that I should feel ashamed, and basically stating that I'm a heartless bitch and a bad best friend. Then Nick admitted to lying. As far as frustrations are concerned Kyle let go, before Nick admitted to lying. After that everything dissipated, but their words still kind of float around in my brain, inebriated as they were when they were said.
They haunted me a few days ago, as I was on a 4-day no sleep, no food spin. I lived on stimulants for those four days. Coffee/cigarette breaks kept me alive, but at the same time, assured me that I'd make no progress in my drawing assignments. 4 in the morning one night and all I could hear was Joey drunkenly mumbling "I don't know who you are anymore." It's such a cheesey soap opera line, but hearing that coming out of his mouth when he was sober was the scariest shit on earth.
Shortly after I had been holding steadfast to my own virginity as a show of dignity, I lost it. To a guy I know I'll never be in a real relationship with. This is not complaining, however, because I'm well aware of that and honestly, it's perfectly fine with me. In fact, I think in several aspects it's beneficial. Having to commit to someone usually makes me sick of them much faster.
I have been commissioned to design two tattoos. My mom's friend is getting a tramp stamp of a fairy. Like those Amy Brown fairies you see on t-shirts and purses and stationary and erasers and toilet paper in hot topic. Of course, she's not calling it a tramp stamp. At first, I thought she was getting it done somewhere decent for there to be, of all things, a fairy. There are very few places upon a woman's body where an image of a fairy is acceptable. While she was pointing out designs she liked, naturally, I asked where she was getting it done. It took everything inside of me not to laugh when she lifted her shirt and rubbed her lower back. The second tattoo I am designing for my older sister. This will not be a tramp stamp. She's not even specific about what she wants. So I have no idea what direction to take it in.
Wuthering Heights is a shitty book. I hate romance novels. Romance in general. I suppose I am not imaginative and indulgent enough to enjoy romantic prose. Streblow implies this to a lot of us but is not rude enough to come out and say it. I like that about her. Something about romance just screams complete bullshit to me. Perhaps it is my inability to believe. That's what Streblow would think (instead of say.)
I'm getting very antsy.