Another Key For My Collection.
It looks like AFI-related things are heating back up. I do love this time of year. I'm glad to have some escape, even if it's only three hours in a darkened room with hundreds of strangers crowding around one group of four. Because, you know, that's never all it is. I hope they announce New York venues soon. It's been less than a year since this change began - for me, at least. I've gained more people than I've lost in that time. I suppose you could call that progress.
On Friday Night, I celebrated Anna Nicole Smith with some of my friends. Well, not really, considering we couldn't find the right movie and none of us have synthetic breasts. But close enough. It was good to get away from the situations I've manifested with the wrongs boys and the right opportunities. Sometimes I can only feel better by wearing my Hello Kitty necklace, dancing, and pretending that every song is "my song." And they all are, aren't they? I can't write songs. I'm blocked by something I can't define.
I've been writing "Stars in Hell" consistently enough. I'll be adding more soon. I really like something about it.
I'm feeling vindictive enough to - metaphorically - sneak into that dreadful boy's bedroom, cut off bits of his hair, and put them in his mailbox with an anonymous note. It would be really funny if it wasn't so disturbing. I need some kind of vindication, though. And you know I can get ruthless. Especially before breakfast. Speaking of which, I'd really like my French toast right about now. I tried the new Tazo Chai Latte Bar at Starbucks yesterday morning and fell in love all over again. They've finally invented a pastry to mesh with my Soy Chai Latte. I don't care if I'm not feeling very "fuck the establishment." It's just too good to pass up. My mother calls it "Fourbucks," and for good reason. She should know; she periodically spends my potential college tuition there.
If Kat's family will allow - since they'll already be in Manhattan for visiting colleges, etc. - we'll go see The Matches (with I Am Ghost, Escape the Fate, and The Higher, I think) tomorrow night. They're playing at the Bowery Ballroom.
Erin, you've got to listen to "Eryn Smith" by The Matches. It's my new song for you. My town, your name; good times.
I felt like I needed a very distinct, yet seemingly subtle change. (That sounds wildly contradicting, but it's not really.) So of course, I went out and bought new nail polish. I usually stick to my red-black-Wicked rotation, and it works pretty well. But it's a hot pink kind of week. And there you have it. This is something akin to a breakdown.
I think I'm better without the thinking about every little detail. If possible, I'd like to divide my thoughts into three categories: past, present, and future. It will never keep me from mixing entirely, but it's a start. I am not myself without my actions. Thoughts come second; it's about the effect. There can be no aftermath without a subtraction or two, right?
Anyway, I have to go feed Peanut before she actually whines her face off. I'm sure it's plausible.
On Friday Night, I celebrated Anna Nicole Smith with some of my friends. Well, not really, considering we couldn't find the right movie and none of us have synthetic breasts. But close enough. It was good to get away from the situations I've manifested with the wrongs boys and the right opportunities. Sometimes I can only feel better by wearing my Hello Kitty necklace, dancing, and pretending that every song is "my song." And they all are, aren't they? I can't write songs. I'm blocked by something I can't define.
I've been writing "Stars in Hell" consistently enough. I'll be adding more soon. I really like something about it.
I'm feeling vindictive enough to - metaphorically - sneak into that dreadful boy's bedroom, cut off bits of his hair, and put them in his mailbox with an anonymous note. It would be really funny if it wasn't so disturbing. I need some kind of vindication, though. And you know I can get ruthless. Especially before breakfast. Speaking of which, I'd really like my French toast right about now. I tried the new Tazo Chai Latte Bar at Starbucks yesterday morning and fell in love all over again. They've finally invented a pastry to mesh with my Soy Chai Latte. I don't care if I'm not feeling very "fuck the establishment." It's just too good to pass up. My mother calls it "Fourbucks," and for good reason. She should know; she periodically spends my potential college tuition there.
If Kat's family will allow - since they'll already be in Manhattan for visiting colleges, etc. - we'll go see The Matches (with I Am Ghost, Escape the Fate, and The Higher, I think) tomorrow night. They're playing at the Bowery Ballroom.
Erin, you've got to listen to "Eryn Smith" by The Matches. It's my new song for you. My town, your name; good times.
I felt like I needed a very distinct, yet seemingly subtle change. (That sounds wildly contradicting, but it's not really.) So of course, I went out and bought new nail polish. I usually stick to my red-black-Wicked rotation, and it works pretty well. But it's a hot pink kind of week. And there you have it. This is something akin to a breakdown.
I think I'm better without the thinking about every little detail. If possible, I'd like to divide my thoughts into three categories: past, present, and future. It will never keep me from mixing entirely, but it's a start. I am not myself without my actions. Thoughts come second; it's about the effect. There can be no aftermath without a subtraction or two, right?
Anyway, I have to go feed Peanut before she actually whines her face off. I'm sure it's plausible.