(no subject)
Dyke Ball is tonight. I have a sufficently slutted-up, drag queenesque outfit that I am exceedingly happy about.
The retards in the adjacent room are having a contest to see who can scream the loudest, and consequently woke Susie up a good deal earlier than was necessary. She shall take the appropriate measures to secure her revenge, up to but not including a rolicking drunken pre-party that will hopefuly scare the shit out of them and their conservative sensibilities.
Hah. I rejoice in their pain.
Why does writing in this thing feel so unnatural? I can't confide in a public journal (not like I ever really did.) I think the time has come for me to convert to a friends-only format. Hm.
The retards in the adjacent room are having a contest to see who can scream the loudest, and consequently woke Susie up a good deal earlier than was necessary. She shall take the appropriate measures to secure her revenge, up to but not including a rolicking drunken pre-party that will hopefuly scare the shit out of them and their conservative sensibilities.
Hah. I rejoice in their pain.
Why does writing in this thing feel so unnatural? I can't confide in a public journal (not like I ever really did.) I think the time has come for me to convert to a friends-only format. Hm.