drunken diarying stuffsd.,
drunk diarying is a hazar.d oh well. i am about eight cans of berryweiss and three bottles of amber ale to the wind. drunka dn cna't type. i don't care. it's fun. right now, staind is singing on my playlist: "You're ugly/ugly like me..."
i got a rejection letter from the attorney today. no legal secreatary. mom thought it might be because of my piercings. bah. i don't care if it is. they are mine and i willl wear them as i weish to. i made my hair all bright auburn tonight, though it doesn't look like it.
i tried to make naughties with the boy, but i'm too drunk to come. no owies for others. just on my own. i make sleepies, but then i got half awake. went and found more beer.
beer good. tired of being sober. it's fun to be durnk. yes. arms are all gelatinous (that's four syllbales, for anybody who saw my newest od entry.)
oh god. beth hart's "la song " always kills me. it's saaad. i don't know why. it reminds me of the summer of my senior year of college. that song, and macy gray's single that came out then. wtf was it? i can't re ember.
"i gotta get out of this town/and out of l.a."
drunk.
isss good to be drunk.
nobody cares if i am. mom and dad are too stupiod to notice. oh well.
just like honey always makes me sad. it reminds me of goodbyes in lost in translation. i love htat movei. i so lost sometimes. so lsot. i can't ... ow. scarlett johansen, i make smoochies with. make her not sad. her and bill murray.
boy. i all the boy? he is gonig to visit anothe rgirl tomorrow. i said: make sSMOOCHIES, dammit. everybody needs smoochies. smoochies are good. at least snurgles. no sad in snurgles. no sad. DETAILS, i said. make smoochies and tell me, dammit. i want to got o oregno. i miss the boy. i do. miss portland. miss their good beer. (though apparently ours makes troubles o fjlits own.)
wonder what happesn if i'm hungover for church tomorrow, and i take kava inna morning? hee. no sermon in my ears. "whatchu say pastor?"
bon jovie. my god. i fuck jon bonjoiv. l
tired of being real and happy. i not happy. i hate everyboyd. wills. no zinestuffs. i don't wanna do it and i want to cuz i make money both nothing else. no inspiration. stupid words slapped on a page.
horny.'
no train of thought.
hate money. hate life. is it bad i've thought of putting a belt around my neck and pullings tihgrts/ tight? it's just attractive when the colelctors are starintg to call.
i hate my life.
yeah. somethign. i shoosh now.
i got a rejection letter from the attorney today. no legal secreatary. mom thought it might be because of my piercings. bah. i don't care if it is. they are mine and i willl wear them as i weish to. i made my hair all bright auburn tonight, though it doesn't look like it.
i tried to make naughties with the boy, but i'm too drunk to come. no owies for others. just on my own. i make sleepies, but then i got half awake. went and found more beer.
beer good. tired of being sober. it's fun to be durnk. yes. arms are all gelatinous (that's four syllbales, for anybody who saw my newest od entry.)
oh god. beth hart's "la song " always kills me. it's saaad. i don't know why. it reminds me of the summer of my senior year of college. that song, and macy gray's single that came out then. wtf was it? i can't re ember.
"i gotta get out of this town/and out of l.a."
drunk.
isss good to be drunk.
nobody cares if i am. mom and dad are too stupiod to notice. oh well.
just like honey always makes me sad. it reminds me of goodbyes in lost in translation. i love htat movei. i so lost sometimes. so lsot. i can't ... ow. scarlett johansen, i make smoochies with. make her not sad. her and bill murray.
boy. i all the boy? he is gonig to visit anothe rgirl tomorrow. i said: make sSMOOCHIES, dammit. everybody needs smoochies. smoochies are good. at least snurgles. no sad in snurgles. no sad. DETAILS, i said. make smoochies and tell me, dammit. i want to got o oregno. i miss the boy. i do. miss portland. miss their good beer. (though apparently ours makes troubles o fjlits own.)
wonder what happesn if i'm hungover for church tomorrow, and i take kava inna morning? hee. no sermon in my ears. "whatchu say pastor?"
bon jovie. my god. i fuck jon bonjoiv. l
tired of being real and happy. i not happy. i hate everyboyd. wills. no zinestuffs. i don't wanna do it and i want to cuz i make money both nothing else. no inspiration. stupid words slapped on a page.
horny.'
no train of thought.
hate money. hate life. is it bad i've thought of putting a belt around my neck and pullings tihgrts/ tight? it's just attractive when the colelctors are starintg to call.
i hate my life.
yeah. somethign. i shoosh now.