(no subject)
I'm a sellout.
But you already knew that.
For some unknown reason, I'm really pissed off. Like, cutting into flesh (someone else's, not mine) pissed off. I'm letting people get to me who I really shouldn't give a flying toss about. I've turned into a doormat for other people to wipe their shoes, laden with the excretion of dogs, upon. I don't have the testicular fortitude to stand up to people anymore, and this makes me sad. I feel like I've betrayed myself, and it stinks. No one really listens to me, but I don't mind, everyone has his or her own problems. But sometimes I'd like to share mine, and get a reply that's relevant.
I digress.
As the aforementioned statement reads, I'm a sellout. A FUCKING sellout, no less. I work in a corporate haven, and many say I'm gonna stay there forever. Well, I'd just like to say, fuck you.
Now, here is a list of things that make or have made me happy. This is gonna be a large list. You were warned.
*Going to see Bright Eyes.
*The new Alk 3 record coming out in May.
*Leeds festival.
*LIVE MUSIC.
*Hollie Chapman. I wish I wasn’t so bad at leaving the house.
*Closing my till when a customer is just coming over, hopeful look on face and all, and saying, 'Sorry, I'm closed.'
*Walking to work and singing, and getting the piss taken out of me.
*Slash.
*Guys kissing. Covered in slash, I know. But it's my fucking list.
*Matt Skiba.
*Brand New and Jesse Lacey. Words cannot express my sheer devotion for this band.
*My Chemical Romance. 'Cause they're the heaviest band I've ever listened to, lol.
*Taking Back Sunday. 'Cause they'll never be Brand New, but are still pretty good.
*Taking the piss out of NME bands.
*Getting stranded in Birmingham with two people I'd kill kittens for.
*Books. BOOKS, MOTHER FUCKER, BOOKS. As in, reading. Which people do. BOOKS!
*Thinking up awesome words with George at work. Colloquialism is my word. Whore.
*Pasta.
*Rock City. I LOVE Rock City.
*Hating Derby.
*Emo guys in the queue for Bright Eyes. Ohhhhh yeah.
*Crying at music.
*MY FUCKING BED.
*Waste Of Paint.
*Conor’s hair.
*America.
*Americans.
*The Smiths, and The Clash.
*Cherry Coke.
*Almonds.
*Maraschino cherries, with stems.
*Getting a lift off Rob, whom I adore.
*Hating The Strokes.
*The word received.
*The eyes of snails.
*Satanism.
*Hating female vocalists, except Gwen Stefani.
*Black Jacks and Fruit Salads.
*Hating work.
*Talking about work with my Mama, whom I adore.
*MATT FUCKING SKIBA. Again.
*Black and white photographs.
*Conor. He’s Katie’s, but I can look.
*Kittens in hats.
*Black nail varnish.
*Emo hair.
*Veins.
*Forearms.
*Car Smell.
*Faux Fur.
*Emo and Punk Rock. And, Post-Hard-core.
*Chavs.
*Pretty green eyes. Or brown eyes. Or blue eyes.
*Chipolatas.
*People that need to be in a relationship to feel validated.
*Driver 2.
*Summer.
*Waking up three hours before the alarm goes off and dozing.
*Thinking I’m in love.
*Boys who wear make-up.
*Boys who wear girls clothes.
*The last five minutes of work.
*People who can spell and use grammar. This is very important to me.
*People who like shit music.
*Being pissed and dancing.
*Rock City’s stage.
*Camping in a field at Leeds. And knowing, when I wake up, I have a day of music to look forwards to.
*Talking to myself. As I know what I mean.
*Re-discovering a band.
*Not having an arse.
*Seeing people I used to go to school with who are now fat and have three kids.
*Male voices the drip with insincerity.
*People called Frank Iero.
*Having a problem with intimacy. Except for with certain people.
*Girl Drinks.
*Cartoons. Family Guy, The Simpsons. ‘Nuff said.
*Making people laugh.
*Buying CD’s and vinyl.
Ok, I’m bored of my list now, and my anger has dissipated. If I love you, I probably tell you all the time, so don’t worry. This isn’t aimed at you. Ha, like you care. It’s me, after all.
People fucking suck and many of them are worthless bags of skin. People who claim to be your friend and listen to you, but really couldn’t give a toss. Well, fuck them.
Maybe I’ll get listened to one day, but by then it’ll be too late, and the window of opportunity will have passed.
‘How’re you?’
‘Shit.’
‘Awww, what’s up?’
INSERT PROBLEM HERE
‘Ah, right. God I love this song.’
I hope you’re all happy, pleased with yourselves. Maybe my priorities are fucked up, maybe yours are. Who knows?
All I know is that I make myself sick sometimes, but not as sick as everyone else makes me.
But you already knew that.
For some unknown reason, I'm really pissed off. Like, cutting into flesh (someone else's, not mine) pissed off. I'm letting people get to me who I really shouldn't give a flying toss about. I've turned into a doormat for other people to wipe their shoes, laden with the excretion of dogs, upon. I don't have the testicular fortitude to stand up to people anymore, and this makes me sad. I feel like I've betrayed myself, and it stinks. No one really listens to me, but I don't mind, everyone has his or her own problems. But sometimes I'd like to share mine, and get a reply that's relevant.
I digress.
As the aforementioned statement reads, I'm a sellout. A FUCKING sellout, no less. I work in a corporate haven, and many say I'm gonna stay there forever. Well, I'd just like to say, fuck you.
Now, here is a list of things that make or have made me happy. This is gonna be a large list. You were warned.
*Going to see Bright Eyes.
*The new Alk 3 record coming out in May.
*Leeds festival.
*LIVE MUSIC.
*Hollie Chapman. I wish I wasn’t so bad at leaving the house.
*Closing my till when a customer is just coming over, hopeful look on face and all, and saying, 'Sorry, I'm closed.'
*Walking to work and singing, and getting the piss taken out of me.
*Slash.
*Guys kissing. Covered in slash, I know. But it's my fucking list.
*Matt Skiba.
*Brand New and Jesse Lacey. Words cannot express my sheer devotion for this band.
*My Chemical Romance. 'Cause they're the heaviest band I've ever listened to, lol.
*Taking Back Sunday. 'Cause they'll never be Brand New, but are still pretty good.
*Taking the piss out of NME bands.
*Getting stranded in Birmingham with two people I'd kill kittens for.
*Books. BOOKS, MOTHER FUCKER, BOOKS. As in, reading. Which people do. BOOKS!
*Thinking up awesome words with George at work. Colloquialism is my word. Whore.
*Pasta.
*Rock City. I LOVE Rock City.
*Hating Derby.
*Emo guys in the queue for Bright Eyes. Ohhhhh yeah.
*Crying at music.
*MY FUCKING BED.
*Waste Of Paint.
*Conor’s hair.
*America.
*Americans.
*The Smiths, and The Clash.
*Cherry Coke.
*Almonds.
*Maraschino cherries, with stems.
*Getting a lift off Rob, whom I adore.
*Hating The Strokes.
*The word received.
*The eyes of snails.
*Satanism.
*Hating female vocalists, except Gwen Stefani.
*Black Jacks and Fruit Salads.
*Hating work.
*Talking about work with my Mama, whom I adore.
*MATT FUCKING SKIBA. Again.
*Black and white photographs.
*Conor. He’s Katie’s, but I can look.
*Kittens in hats.
*Black nail varnish.
*Emo hair.
*Veins.
*Forearms.
*Car Smell.
*Faux Fur.
*Emo and Punk Rock. And, Post-Hard-core.
*Chavs.
*Pretty green eyes. Or brown eyes. Or blue eyes.
*Chipolatas.
*People that need to be in a relationship to feel validated.
*Driver 2.
*Summer.
*Waking up three hours before the alarm goes off and dozing.
*Thinking I’m in love.
*Boys who wear make-up.
*Boys who wear girls clothes.
*The last five minutes of work.
*People who can spell and use grammar. This is very important to me.
*People who like shit music.
*Being pissed and dancing.
*Rock City’s stage.
*Camping in a field at Leeds. And knowing, when I wake up, I have a day of music to look forwards to.
*Talking to myself. As I know what I mean.
*Re-discovering a band.
*Not having an arse.
*Seeing people I used to go to school with who are now fat and have three kids.
*Male voices the drip with insincerity.
*People called Frank Iero.
*Having a problem with intimacy. Except for with certain people.
*Girl Drinks.
*Cartoons. Family Guy, The Simpsons. ‘Nuff said.
*Making people laugh.
*Buying CD’s and vinyl.
Ok, I’m bored of my list now, and my anger has dissipated. If I love you, I probably tell you all the time, so don’t worry. This isn’t aimed at you. Ha, like you care. It’s me, after all.
People fucking suck and many of them are worthless bags of skin. People who claim to be your friend and listen to you, but really couldn’t give a toss. Well, fuck them.
Maybe I’ll get listened to one day, but by then it’ll be too late, and the window of opportunity will have passed.
‘How’re you?’
‘Shit.’
‘Awww, what’s up?’
INSERT PROBLEM HERE
‘Ah, right. God I love this song.’
I hope you’re all happy, pleased with yourselves. Maybe my priorities are fucked up, maybe yours are. Who knows?
All I know is that I make myself sick sometimes, but not as sick as everyone else makes me.