dismissed by the coffee wench
quick entry.
bought coffee at new favorite street coffee vendor, the Mud Truck. mmmmm.
twenty-something girl begins to make small talk about her job, followed by her asking the most common of the generic introductory questions, "so what do you do?"
"I'm a student."
(Disappointment spreads across her face.) "Oh. Can I help who's next?"
Fucking bitch.
Going home to Chicago makes me constipated. Coming back to New York relaxes me. You know those times when you have to shit incredibly bad and you expect it to take forever to squeeze it all out? I hate those moments. You know those times when you have the same feeling, but when you sit down on the toilet, your hole loses all tensions, and completely opens itself up (1.5" in diameter), dumping everything inside of you out into the toilet in a matter of seconds? I love those moments.
When you die, your hole opens up in a similar fashion. Is death like shitting? Will I feel a pleasurable tickle in my ass when I die? If I could choose, I would want to die with a pale, dark haired vampire attached to my neck, slowly sucking me off. Right before I die, he would stick out his blood-soaked tongue and caress my lips wit it, painting them bright red. After burying his face in my neck again, I would taste myself on my lips, and die with a smile. I wish that vampires weren't ficticious.
My anus has been on my mind a lot. It bled this morning. Despite the pain, it feels good. still spasms. still tickles.
I will now go spend the next eight hours of my life in the library, writing a paper. This paper bores me, hence the LJ procrastination.
My pomo paper is taking shape. I have re-read Frisk and The Bluest Eye, and will re-read Lot 49 tomorrow. All are crucial. Frisk is better the second time around. We'll see about the third and fourth.
I think I'm a good student. I research my ass off, and then read three books (short, but whatever....wish I could re-read "V" instead of 49, but I just do not have the time) that I will only reference once or twice in the body of the paper. Yeah, writing them is typically a pain in the ass, but those moments just after completing it charge me. Those moments just after an electric pulse connects two intellectual synapses charge me too. I'm a loser.
Do David and Anna appreciate these sentiments? I hope so. I need validation.
Becki, I will not be able to attend because I will be writing my paper. Happy Birthday, dear. I will make you a cake some other day. Bake it. Bake it. Bake it.
I wish that I could play the fiddle.
Give me Diamonds and Pearls, so that I might be pretty.
bought coffee at new favorite street coffee vendor, the Mud Truck. mmmmm.
twenty-something girl begins to make small talk about her job, followed by her asking the most common of the generic introductory questions, "so what do you do?"
"I'm a student."
(Disappointment spreads across her face.) "Oh. Can I help who's next?"
Fucking bitch.
Going home to Chicago makes me constipated. Coming back to New York relaxes me. You know those times when you have to shit incredibly bad and you expect it to take forever to squeeze it all out? I hate those moments. You know those times when you have the same feeling, but when you sit down on the toilet, your hole loses all tensions, and completely opens itself up (1.5" in diameter), dumping everything inside of you out into the toilet in a matter of seconds? I love those moments.
When you die, your hole opens up in a similar fashion. Is death like shitting? Will I feel a pleasurable tickle in my ass when I die? If I could choose, I would want to die with a pale, dark haired vampire attached to my neck, slowly sucking me off. Right before I die, he would stick out his blood-soaked tongue and caress my lips wit it, painting them bright red. After burying his face in my neck again, I would taste myself on my lips, and die with a smile. I wish that vampires weren't ficticious.
My anus has been on my mind a lot. It bled this morning. Despite the pain, it feels good. still spasms. still tickles.
I will now go spend the next eight hours of my life in the library, writing a paper. This paper bores me, hence the LJ procrastination.
My pomo paper is taking shape. I have re-read Frisk and The Bluest Eye, and will re-read Lot 49 tomorrow. All are crucial. Frisk is better the second time around. We'll see about the third and fourth.
I think I'm a good student. I research my ass off, and then read three books (short, but whatever....wish I could re-read "V" instead of 49, but I just do not have the time) that I will only reference once or twice in the body of the paper. Yeah, writing them is typically a pain in the ass, but those moments just after completing it charge me. Those moments just after an electric pulse connects two intellectual synapses charge me too. I'm a loser.
Do David and Anna appreciate these sentiments? I hope so. I need validation.
Becki, I will not be able to attend because I will be writing my paper. Happy Birthday, dear. I will make you a cake some other day. Bake it. Bake it. Bake it.
I wish that I could play the fiddle.
Give me Diamonds and Pearls, so that I might be pretty.