I have three year old jellybeans in my jar. Jellybeans=disgusting.
Last night was my birthday party, and it was good. I love my friends. They baked me a heart cake with sprinkles. My rad presents consist of red balloons, Mars Attacks, Monty Python and the Holy Grail, a red teacup and saucer from Starbucks, a pair of earrings and my favorite, a "Robyn is 16" mix, although I don't think anything can quite trump "Robyn is 15".
We saw Alki Beach (they were so bad, oh Jesus, I really hate them) and Aaron's new band, the Cigarette Girls and they were fucking rad. I love garage punk-ish rock. It was good for dancing. Aw, yay, rock and roll!
I wish I wasn't so poor.
Today my Dad and I went to Sarah's soccer game (Mom was at work) and while throwing a ball to the girls after it rolled out, he slipped in this wierd moss/mud patch thing and slipped and fell. Yeah, he's my Dad, but he's really old. He's like 58 now? He cracked a rib possibly. I feel so very bad. It scared the shit out of me. I'm the one who falls, not my parents. I didn't really know how to react, so I wiped most of the mud off him and tried to help him catch his breath.
The rest of today I have spent writing Yearbook copy. I have 5 spreads. Who the fuck reads the writing on the English page? Seriously. I have interviewed people and they're like, "I didn't know we had an English page!" and I'm like..."that's motivating". It sounds so simple, but it's so hard. What the hell do you write about? I have written and re-written it, but it's all so cynical.
Shitting fuck mcfuckerson.
Tell me something interesting about you. I don't really care what about, but just something. I bet like two of you will do this. Pft, hahaha, I don't know why I write in this thing.
We saw Alki Beach (they were so bad, oh Jesus, I really hate them) and Aaron's new band, the Cigarette Girls and they were fucking rad. I love garage punk-ish rock. It was good for dancing. Aw, yay, rock and roll!
I wish I wasn't so poor.
Today my Dad and I went to Sarah's soccer game (Mom was at work) and while throwing a ball to the girls after it rolled out, he slipped in this wierd moss/mud patch thing and slipped and fell. Yeah, he's my Dad, but he's really old. He's like 58 now? He cracked a rib possibly. I feel so very bad. It scared the shit out of me. I'm the one who falls, not my parents. I didn't really know how to react, so I wiped most of the mud off him and tried to help him catch his breath.
The rest of today I have spent writing Yearbook copy. I have 5 spreads. Who the fuck reads the writing on the English page? Seriously. I have interviewed people and they're like, "I didn't know we had an English page!" and I'm like..."that's motivating". It sounds so simple, but it's so hard. What the hell do you write about? I have written and re-written it, but it's all so cynical.
Shitting fuck mcfuckerson.
Tell me something interesting about you. I don't really care what about, but just something. I bet like two of you will do this. Pft, hahaha, I don't know why I write in this thing.