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| most recent 20 entries. back 20 entries. | |
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[striptease for me baby]
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| Thursday, April 25th, 2002 |
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okay, so how did this happen? let's go over it again. i was attacked. not only was i attacked, but i was made to understand that it was my fault. instead of being loyal, you agreed with what was done, and you did not stand up for what was right. you obviously have some issues with discussing me, making me a topic of conversation, because i am constantly told this and that was said about me, and i've actually had to ask that you do not bring me up in conversation at work. go ahead and argue that one. so, in asking that i remain out of conversation, i am denied that right, only to have proven (yet again) that i was completely right in having asked for that in the first place. interesting. and then there's the story of a friend who has stopped being a friend. no phone calls, no emails, no excues. just gone. no reasons. and yet i'm ridiculed for saying people are behaving like they are still in high school. i remember high school. i remember the four a.m. phone calls, and the crying jags, and the constant fight between being there for you, and not getting too close so i wasn't hurt over and over again. i remember the monopoly money and while it was a lame gift, the point behind it was not. i remember the last nine or ten years, and i see a pattern. and i remember the day, a couple of weeks ago, when i noticed you had so-and-so listed as a friend, and the absolute all-consuming pang of hurt and bewilderment that came with seeing it. and i understand that i did something wrong and i apologised for it because i am very sorry, but under the circumstances as i was seeing them, it did not seem wrong at the time. i felt abandoned. i still do. i am sorry all of this happened. i am sorry that there is no such thing as loyalty. i am sorry that people have such an opinion of me, when 90% of my actions are for the benefit of others. i am sorry that i appear to be this loathsome, angry soul. i am sorry that you seem to think you are rightfully able to pass judgement on me from so far away. i am sorry that i put up with so much from people who are obviously not at all interested in how i feel about anything. i am sorry i spread myself so thin on individuals who do not seem to be very concerned with my happiness. i remember high school. and i remember writing this EXACT same thing, back then. word for fucking word. i make mistakes, yes. that much is obvious. but no one seems interested in pointing them out until they feel i have done something to them. i am never a bad person until someone is angry with me. while i'm buying them dinner and cigarettes, i'm never told how much of an asshole i am. interesting, isn't it? there will be no comment section on this entry. i am done, the minute i hit 'post'. i will no longer be concerned for how you are doing or whether or not you need tea because you are not feeling well. i will not be worried about how your relationship is going, or if it's still going at all. because you are not my friends. you pretended you were, until the tides turned, and now i will go back to where i feel comfortable and accepted, and none of you will ever turn my head back in this direction. please do not contact me. please do not try to argue with me. there is no debate, here. there is no listing of facts and opinions, counting off letters and numbers. this is the truth, no matter how you look at the issue, and there is no room for rebuttal. get angry. feel self-righteous. tell all your friends about it. write about it in your journals until you are blue in the face. just leave my name out of it. |
| Thursday, March 28th, 2002 |
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well hello there. guess what? melissa and i have decided to return to new york. surprise! thank you and fuck you, too. |
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| Friday, March 22nd, 2002 |
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as of tomorrow, i am deleting this journal. it's caused way too much drama with people who seem to think i'm so much more interesting than their own lives. i want to stop feeling like a fish in a bowl. i might start a mysterious secret journal sometime, because i really do enjoy being able to post my thoughts, and communicate with intelligent people.. i've saved my friends list, so when that time comes, i will let most of you know where i've gone. for the rest of you, i really have nothing to say other than one simple request: get some help, or get a helmet. |
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you need to die. now. if i knew where you lived, i'd go kick your ass. three things come to mind: 1) grow up 2) get a life 3) it's funny that you call me trash when you're from (insert 'welland' here) - that amuses me well i'm off to bed now. helena will be in canada in two or three days. i'm still sad becca's gone, but at least i have something to look forward to. i should be hearing from the job i've applied to, in the next couple of days. $45,000 a year is a nice start, don't you think? geez, i probably won't get hired though, because i'm such a bitch and all. |
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| Wednesday, March 20th, 2002 |
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becca is leaving in the morning. anyone have any duct tape so i can tape her to my house? <---- sad lesbian. |
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| Tuesday, March 19th, 2002 |
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everyone needs to go here: http://artists.mp3s.com/artists/375/palend.html and download all three songs. robbie finally put his music up on mp3.com. he sort of sounds like toad the wet sprocket - it's sad, depressing music, but he's got such a pretty voice, my robbie has. if you want to comment, leave it here and i'll email it to him. |
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| Monday, March 18th, 2002 |
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...number of people on my lj friends list: 50 ...whom I've met in person: 12 ...whom I've met in person more than once: 9 or 10 ...whose house I've been to: 9 ...who have been to my house: 6 ...whose precise geographic location I know offhand: most of them ...whose full names I know offhand: i don't know.. ten? ...whom I've followed/been in touch with for more than 1 year: 14 ...whom I've followed/been in touch with for more than 3 years: 8 ...who live outside my country: pfft.. all except like, four ...whose journal I consider myself "addicted" to: 90% of those on my friends list. ...whom I've lived with: 0 ...whose ex I slept with: 2 ...who I'd do: 1 or 2 :) ...who I've done: HA - 4! note: three users on my friends list just happen to be people i've met in person, more than once, and they have two journals, so i didn't count them.. but i *AM* popular, goddamnit. i hate drama. hate it. just in case any of you thought otherwise. helena, are you still counting on coming to see me? i'm wondering about dates, etc. |
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| Friday, March 15th, 2002 |
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i found a becca! and i found her tongue! (NOT the way you're thinking, asshole) |
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| Thursday, March 14th, 2002 |
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(just read it. it's cute and really well-written.) This is the story of the night my ten-year-old cat, Rudy, got his head stuck in the garbage disposal. I knew at the time that the experience would be funny if the cat survived, so let me tell you right up front that he's fine. Getting him out wasn't easy, though, and the process included numerous home remedies, a plumber, two cops, an emergency overnight veterinary clinic, a case of mistaken identity, five hours of panic, and fifteen minutes of fame. First, some background. My husband, Rich, and I had just returned from a five-day spring-break vacation in the Cayman Islands, where I had been sick as a dog the whole time, trying to convince myself that if I had to feel lousy, it was better to do it in paradise. We had arrived home at 9 p.m., a day and a half later than we had planned because of airline problems. I still had illness-related vertigo and because of the flight delays had not been able to prepare the class I was supposed to teach at 8:40 the next morning. I sat down at my desk to think about William Carlos Williams, and around ten o'clock I heard Rich hollering something indecipherable from the kitchen. As I raced out to see what was wrong, I saw Rich frantically rooting around under the kitchen sink, and Rudy -- or, rather, Rudy's headless body -- scrambling around in the sink, his claws clicking in panic on the metal. Rich had just ground up the skin of some smoked salmon in the garbage disposal, and when he left the room, Rudy (whom we always did call a pinhead) had gone in after it. It is very disturbing to see the headless body of your cat in the sink. This is an animal that I have slept with nightly for ten years, who burrows under the covers and purrs against my side, and who now looked like a desperate, fur-covered turkey carcass, set to defrost in the sink while it's still alive and kicking. It was also disturbing to see Rich, Mr. Calm-in-an-Emergency, at his wits end, trying to soothe Rudy, trying to undo the garbage disposal, failing at both, and basically freaking out. Adding to the chaos was Rudy's twin brother Lowell, also upset, racing around in circles, jumping onto the kitchen counter and alternately licking Rudy's butt for comfort and biting it out of fear. Clearly, I had to do something. First we tried to ease Rudy out of the disposal by lubricating his head and neck. We tried Johnson's baby shampoo (kept on hand for my nieces' visits) and butter-flavored Crisco: both failed, and a now-greasy Rudy kept struggling. Rich then decided to take apart the garbage disposal, which was a good idea, but he couldn't do it. Turns out, the thing is constructed like a metal onion: you peel off one layer and another one appears, with Rudy's head still buried deep inside, stuck in a hard plastic collar. My job during this process was to sit on the kitchen counter petting Rudy, trying to calm him, with the room spinning (vertigo), Lowell howling (he's part Siamese), and Rich clattering around with tools. When all our efforts failed, we sought professional help. I called our regular plumber, who actually called me back quickly, even at 11 o'clock at night (thanks, Dave). He talked Rich through further layers of disposal dismantling, but still we couldn't reach Rudy. I called the 1-800 number for Insinkerator (no response), a pest removal service that advertises 24-hour service (no response), an all-night emergency veterinary clinic (who had no experience in this matter, and so, no advice), and finally, in desperation, 911. I could see that Rudy's normally pink paw pads were turning blue. The fire department, I figured, gets cats out of trees; maybe they could get one out of a garbage disposal. The dispatcher had other ideas and offered to send over two policemen. This suggestion gave me pause. I'm from the sixties, and even if I am currently a fine upstanding citizen, I had never considered calling the cops and asking them to come to my house, on purpose. I resisted the suggestion, but the dispatcher was adamant: "They'll help you out," he said. The cops arrived close to midnight and turned out to be quite nice. More importantly, they were also able to think rationally, which we were not. They were, of course, quite astonished by the situation: "I've never seen anything like this," Officer Mike kept saying. (The unusual circumstances helped us get quickly on a first-name basis with our cops.) Officer Tom, who expressed immediate sympathy for our plight -- "I've had cats all my life," he said, comfortingly -- also had an idea. Evidently we needed a certain tool, a tiny, circular rotating saw, that could cut through the heavy plastic flange encircling Rudy's neck without hurting Rudy, and Officer Tom happened to own one. "I live just five minutes from here," he said; "I'll go get it." He soon returned, and the three of them -- Rich and the two policemen -- got under the sink together to cut through the garbage disposal. I sat on the counter, holding Rudy and trying not to succumb to the surreal-ness of the scene, with the weird middle-of-the-night lighting, the room's occasional spinning, Lowell's spooky sound effects, an apparently headless cat in my sink and six disembodied legs poking out from under it. One good thing came of this: the guys did manage to get the bottom off of the disposal, so we could now see Rudy's face and knew he could breathe. But they couldn't cut the flange without risking the cat. Stumped. Officer Tom had another idea. "You know," he said, "I think the reason we can't get him out is the angle of his head and body. If we could just get the sink out and lay it on its side, Ill bet we could slip him out." That sounded like a good idea at this point. ANYTHING would have sounded like a good idea, and as it turned out, Officer Mike runs a plumbing business on weekends; he knew how to take out the sink! Again they went to work, the three pairs of legs sticking out from under the sink surrounded by an ever-increasing pile of tools and sink parts. They cut the electrical supply, capped off the plumbing lines, unfastened the metal clamps, unscrewed all the pipes, and about an hour later, voila! the sink was lifted gently out of the countertop, with one guy holding the garbage disposal (which contained Rudy's head) up close to the sink (which contained Rudy's body). We laid the sink on its side, but even at this more favorable removal angle, Rudy stayed stuck. Officer Tom's radio beeped, calling him away on some kind of real police business. As he was leaving, though, he had another good idea: "You know," he said, "I don't think we can get him out while he's struggling so much. We need to get the cat sedated. If he were limp, we could slide him out." And off he went, regretfully, a cat lover still worried about Rudy. The remaining three of us decided that getting Rudy sedated was a good idea, but Rich and I were new to the area. We knew that the overnight emergency veterinary clinic was only a few minutes away, but we didn't know exactly how to get there. "I know where it is!" declared Officer Mike. "Follow me!" So Mike got into his patrol car, Rich got into the driver's seat of our car, and I got into the back, carrying the kitchen sink, what was left of the garbage disposal, and Rudy. It was now about 2:00 a.m. We followed Officer Mike for a few blocks when I decided to put my hand into the garbage disposal to pet Rudy's face, hoping I could comfort him. Instead, my sweet, gentle bedfellow chomped down on my finger hard, really hard, and wouldn't let go. My scream reflex kicked into gear, and I couldn't stop the noise. Rich slammed on the brakes, hollering "What? What happened? Should I stop?", checking us out in the rearview mirror. "No," I managed to get out between screams, "just keep driving. Rudy's biting me, but we've got to get to the vet. Just go!" Rich turned his attention back to the road, where Officer Mike took a turn we hadn't expected, and we followed. After a few minutes Rudy let go, and as I stopped screaming, I looked up to discover that we were wandering aimlessly through an industrial park, in and out of empty parking lots, past little streets that didn't look at all familiar. "Where's he taking us?" I asked. "We should have been there ten minutes ago!" Rich was as mystified as I was, but all we knew to do was follow the police car until, finally, he pulled into a church parking lot and we pulled up next to him. As Rich rolled down the window to ask, "Mike, where are we going?", the cop, who was not Mike, rolled down his window and asked, "Why are you following me?" Once Rich and I recovered from our shock at having tailed the wrong cop car and the policeman from his pique at being stalked, he led us quickly to the emergency vet, where Mike greeted us by holding open the door, exclaiming "Where were you guys???" It was lucky that Mike got to the vet's ahead of us, because we hadn't thought to call and warn them about what was coming. (Clearly, by this time we weren't really thinking at all.) We brought in the kitchen sink containing Rudy and the garbage disposal containing his head, and the clinic staff was ready. They took his temperature (which was down 10 degrees) and his oxygen level (which was half of normal), and the vet declared: "This cat is in serious shock. We've got to sedate him and get him out of there immediately." When I asked if it was OK to sedate a cat in shock, the vet said grimly, "We don't have a choice." With that, he injected the cat; Rudy went limp; and the vet squeezed about half a tube of K-Y jelly onto the cat's neck and pulled him free. Then the whole team jumped into "code blue" mode. (I know this from watching a lot of ER.) They laid Rudy on a cart, where one person hooked up IV fluids, another put little socks on his paws ("You'd be amazed how much heat they lose through their pads," she said), one covered him with hot water bottles and a blanket, and another took a blow-dryer to warm up Rudy's now very gunky head. The fur on his head dried in stiff little spikes, making him look rather pathetically punk as he lay there, limp and motionless. At this point they sent Rich, Mike, and me to sit in the waiting room while they tried to bring Rudy back to life. I told Mike he didn't have to stay, but he just stood there, shaking his head. "I've never seen anything like this," he said again. At about 3 a.m, the vet came in to tell us that the prognosis was good for a full recovery. They needed to keep Rudy overnight to re-hydrate him and give him something for the brain swelling they assumed he had, but if all went well, we could take him home the following night. Just in time to hear the good news, Officer Tom rushed in, finished with his real police work and concerned about Rudy. I figured that once this ordeal was over and Rudy was home safely, I would have to re-think my position on the police. Rich and I got back home about 3:30. We hadn't unpacked from our trip, I was still intermittently dizzy, and I still hadn't prepared my 8:40 class. "I need a vacation," I said, and while I called the office to leave a message canceling my class, Rich made us a pitcher of martinis. I slept late the next day and then badgered the vet about Rudy's condition until he said that Rudy could come home later that day. I was working on the suitcases when the phone rang. "Hi, this is Steve Huskey from the Norristown Times-Herald," a voice told me. "Listen, I was just going through the police blotter from last night. Mostly it's the usual stuff breaking and entering, petty theft but there's this one item. Um, do you have a cat?" So I told Steve the whole story, which interested him. A couple hours later he called back to say that his editor was interested, too; did I have a picture of Rudy? The next day Rudy was front-page news, under the ridiculous headline "Catch of the Day Lands Cat in Hot Water." There were some noteworthy repercussions to the newspaper article. Mr. Huskey had somehow inferred that I called 911 because I thought Rich, my husband, was going into shock, although how he concluded this from my comment that "his pads were turning blue," I don't quite understand. So the first thing I had to do was call Rich at work Rich, who had worked tirelessly to free Rudy -- and swear that I had been misquoted. When I arrived at work myself, I was famous; people had been calling my secretary all morning to inquire about Rudy's health. When I called our regular vet (whom I had met only once) to make a follow-up appointment for Rudy, the receptionist asked, "Is this the famous Rudy's mother?" When I brought my car in for routine maintenance a few days later, Dave, my mechanic, said, "We read about your cat. Is he OK?" When I called a tree surgeon about my dying red oak, he asked if I knew the person on that street whose cat had been in the garbage disposal. And when I went to get my hair cut, the shampoo person told me the funny story her grandma had read in the paper, about a cat who got stuck in the garbage disposal. Even today, over a year later, people ask about Rudy, whom a 9-year-old neighbor had always called "the Adventure Cat" because he used to climb on the roof of her house and peer in the second-story window at her. I don't know what the moral of this story is, but I do know that this "adventure" cost me $1100 in emergency vet bills, follow-up vet care, new sink, new plumbing, new electrical wiring, and new garbage disposal, one with a cover. The vet can no longer say he's seen everything but the kitchen sink. I wanted to thank Officers Tom and Mike by giving them gift certificates to the local hardware store, but was told that they couldn't accept gifts, that I would put them in a bad position if I tried. So I wrote a letter to the Police Chief praising their good deeds and sent individual thank-you notes to Tom and Mike, complete with pictures of Rudy, so they could see what he looks like with his head on. And Rudy, whom we originally got for free (or so we thought), still sleeps with me under the covers on cold nights and unaccountably, he still sometimes prowls the sink, hoping for fish. (from snopes.com) |
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| Wednesday, March 13th, 2002 |
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 If by chance you're passing by On some adveture through the sky, And if I'm fully awake, Do stop in for tea and cake! truth be told, i'll still watch it, if it's on t.v. there's gonna be a movie, too. this is the most exciting thing i've heard all day, aside from finding out becca will be here friday night, instead of saturday night, like i thought. hurrah! |
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this amuses me. http://www.people.cornell.edu/pages/slp29/insane.html you have to look at the page, with the sound on, for sixty seconds without laughing. no, i didn't laugh, but then, nothing is very funny to me at the moment. |
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| Tuesday, March 12th, 2002 |
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1. When did we meet? 2. How did we meet? 3. Have we ever met in person? 4. Have we ever talked on the phone? 5. Have you ever seen me cry? 6. Have you ever seen me dance? 7. Describe me using three or less words. 8. If you could spend a day with me, what would we do? 9. Have we ever gotten in a fight? 10. Have you ever dreamt of me? If so, tell me about it. 11. If you could give me a present, what would it be? 12. Would you hug me? 13. If you could change one thing about me, what would it be? 14. What do you REALLY think of me? 15. Do you know something about me that no one else knows? 16. Do you know how old I am? 17. Anything you wanted to tell me but never got a chance to? Now's your chance. and BE NICE, or ELSE. |
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| Saturday, March 9th, 2002 |
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every day, my girlfriend sends email to me, of some kind. today, it was some funny forwards, three ecards, and a little note to tell me she loved me. that's eight emails in one day. i'm popular. the following are some of the things she's sent me today. >A little boy was doing his math homework. He said to >himself, "Two plus five, that son of a bitch is seven. >Three plus six, that son of a bitch is nine." His mother >heard what he was saying and gasped, "What are you doing?" >The little boy answered, "I'm doing my math homework, Mom." >" And this is how your teacher taught you to do it?" the >mother asked. "Yes," he answered. > >Infuriated, the mother asked the teacher the next day, >"What are you teaching my son in math?" The teacher replied, >"Right now, we are learning addition." The mother asked, >"And are you teaching them to say two plus two, that >son of a bitch is four?" After the teacher stopped >laughing, she answered, "What I taught them was, two >plus two, THE SUM OF WHICH, is four." these are hollywood squares responses, from the seventies, i think. i've posted some of these before, but i think this batch is new. >Quote of the day >Just a Thought "I just read a report that stated that last >year 4,153,237 people got married. > >I don't want to start any trouble, but shouldn't that >be an even number?" > >--------------------------------------- >You are traveling at a high rate of speed down a steep >hill, and the brakes on your car stop working. What >should you do?" >Paul Lynde: "Honk if you love Jesus.." > >Q: In a survey of teenage mothers, most of them said >they were listening to this when they got pregnant >- what is it? >A: Paul Lynde: A pack of lies! > >Q.What are "dual-purpose cattle" good for that other cattle >aren't? >A. Paul Lynde: They give milk... and cookies, but >I don't recommend the cookies. > >Q. Peter Marshall: According to Amy Vanderbilt, what is >the maximum length of time you and your fianc? should >be engaged? >A. Rose Marie: Engaged in what? > >Q.Peter Marshall: Eddie Fisher recently said, "I am >sorry. I am sorry for them both." Who was he >referring to? >A. Paul Lynde: His fans. > >Q.On what night is a woman most likely to be molested? >A. Rose Marie: With my luck, it's probably tonight -- >and I'm working. > >Q. Your sheep has a temperature of 102. Is she normal? >A. Burt Reynolds: People think I'm not normal because >I keep taking her temperature. > >Q. Why is the booby bird called the booby bird? >A. Karen Valentine: Because they have big... feet. > >Q.You're a 71-year-old man who has lost interest >in sex. Does your doctor have anything to help you? >A. Charley Weaver: No, but his nurse does. > >Q. Paul, why do Hell's Angels wear leather? >A. Paul Lynde: Because chiffon wrinkles too easily. > >Q. According to "Cosmo," will you probably be helped >in overcoming your shyness by choosing an extroverted, >outgoing husband? >A. Rose Marie: Gosh, Pete, I did that once and his wife >caught us. > > >Q. True or false, George: experts say there are only >seven or eight things in the world dumber than an ant. >A. George Gobel: Yes, and I think I voted for six of 'em. > >Q. Dennis Weaver, Debbie Reynolds, and Shelley Winters >star in the movie "What's The Matter With Helen?" Who >plays Helen? >A. Charley Weaver: Dennis Weaver. That's why they asked >the question. > >Q.James Stewart did it over twenty years ago when he was >forty-one years old. Now he says it was "one of the best >things I ever did." What was it? >A. Marty Allen: Rhonda Fleming. > >Q. Your baby has a certain object which he loves to >cling to. Should you try to break him of his habit? >A. Joan Rivers: Yes. It's daddy's turn. >A wilderness area asked hikers to fill out comment cards. >These are actual comments left by hikers: > >Trail needs to be reconstructed. Please avoid building trails >that go uphill. > >Too many bugs and leaches and spiders and spider webs. Please >spray the wilderness to rid the area of these pests. > >Please pave the trails so they can be plowed of snow during >the winter. > >Chairlifts need to be in some places so that we can get to >wonderful views without having to hike to them. > >The coyotes made too much noise last night and kept me awake. >Please eradicate these annoying animals. > >A small deer came into my camp and stole my jar of pickles. Is there >a way I can get reimbursed? Please call XXX-XXX-XXXX. > >Reflectors need to be placed on trees every 50 feet so >people can hike at night with flashlights. > >Escalators would help on steep uphill sections. > >Need more signs to keep area pristine. > >A McDonalds would be nice at the trailhead. > >The places where trails do not exist are not well marked. > >I brought lots of sandwich makings, but forgot bread. If >you have extra bread, leave it in the yellow tent at V >Lake. > >Too many rocks in the mountains. >Learn a new word each day: > >Arbitrator ar'-bi-tray-ter: A cook that leaves Arby's to work at >McDonald's. >Avoidable uh-voy'-duh-buhl: What a bullfighter tries to do. >Baloney buh-lo'-nee: Where some hemlines fall. >Bernadette burn'-a-det: The act of torching a mortgage. >Burglarize bur'-gler-ize: What a crook sees with. >Control kon-trol': A short, ugly inmate. >Counterfeiters kown-ter-fit-ers: Workers who put together kitchen >cabinets. >Eclipse i-klips': what an English barber does for a living. >Eyedropper i'-drop-ur: a clumsy ophthalmologist. >Heroes hee'-rhos: what a guy in a boat does. >Left Bank left' bangk': what the robber did when his bag was full of >loot. >Misty mis'-tee: How golfers create divots. >Paradox par'-u-doks: two physicians. >Parasites par'-uh-sites: what you see from the top of the Eiffel >Tower. >Pharmacist farm'-uh-sist: a helper on the farm. >Polarize po'-lur-ize: what penguins see with. >Primate pri'-mat: removing your spouse from in front of the TV. >Relief ree-leef': what trees do in the spring. >Rubberneck rub'-er-nek: what you do to relax your wife. >Seamstress seem'-stres: describes 200 pounds in a size two. >Selfish sel'-fish: what the owner of a seafood store does. >Subdued sub-dood': a guy, that works on one of those submarines. >Sudafed sood'-a-fed: bringing litigation against a government >official. shanna actually sent me this one, a few days ago. ETHEL'S WHEELCHAIR Ethel is a bit of a demon in her wheelchair, and loves to charge around the nursing home, taking corners on one wheel getting up to maximum speed in the corridors. Because she and her fellow residents are one sandwich short of a picnic, they all tolerate each other, some of the males actually join in. One day, Ethel was speeding up one corridor when a door opened and Mad Mike stepped out of his room with his arm outstretched. STOP!" he said in a firm voice. "Have you got a license for that thing?" Ethel fished around in her handbag and pulled out a Kit Kat wrapper and held it up to him. "OK" he said, and away Ethel sped down the hall. As she took the corner near the TV lounge on one wheel, Weird William popped out in front of her -- STOP! Have you got proof of insurance?" Ethel dug into her handbag, pulled out a beer coaster and held it up to him. William nodded and said, "Carry on, ma'am." As Ethel neared the final corridor before the front door, Bonkers Brian stepped out in front of her, stark naked, holding a very sizable (for his age) erection in his hand. "Oh, no!" said Ethel, "Not the breathalyzer test again!" okay, that's it. i will, one day, learn how to do cuts. until then, you are stuck with large, bulky journal entries, clogging up your friends page. sue me. |
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| Wednesday, March 6th, 2002 |
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went to see a movie the other night with brandi. darci was being poopie and sick so she didn't want to come. ended up seeing 40 days, which wasn't exactly awful, but wasn't an award winner either. we went to darci's for tea, afterwards. when i got in my car to take brandi home, we got like a mile from darci's and the fucker stalled. dead. i've been telling my grandfather there's something wrong with that car for weeks. he wasn't listening. the motor is destroyed. we had to push it back to darci's and we ended up having to spend the night there. it's a lucky thing there was three of us, and the car wasn't very heavy to push. i spent the entire night thinking my grandfather was going to scalp me. turns out he wasn't mad, even suggested i put clyde on the road for a little over a week, with a temporary permit thingy, and bought me some gas. odd. so i broke the car, but i have another. lol. becca is coming in two weeks, to stay with melissa and i for her spring break thing. and then right after that, helena is coming. i'm popular. i wish the two could have come at the same time, but i'm not going to complain. i'm very excited. so i get a phone call from my personal job lady, the other day. "apryl, have you ever heard of SITEL?" oh jesus. so she said she'd have someone call me from there, and guess what, kiddies? NO ONE HAS. *sigh* who didn't see that coming? raise some hands, now. |
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| Sunday, March 3rd, 2002 |
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a friend of mine has set up her aim as an ftp server, and has thousands of mp3s for download. if you are interested, she is willing to add people to her list, and allow them leech access. email me, or leave me a comment here, and give me your aim screen name. also, i have set my aim up for this, as well, but as my mp3s keep getting deleted mysteriously, i don't have much to offer. i will, however, be accepting uploads, of mp3s only. so if you would like to send me files on aim, go for it. that is all. |
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| Saturday, March 2nd, 2002 |
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i found the sweetest little mini-dobe (i think) running around my mum's place. no tags, healthy and friendly and knows how to sit, stay and give paw. i'm in love with her, but because jasper is so little, i can't bring a stray into the house - i wouldn't be able to live with myself if he got sick and died, because he caught some weird doggy virus from this little runaway. but i WANT her. she loves me. so my mum had to call to have someone come get her, and i really don't want her to be in that horrible place for any longer than she has to, and no one has called to claim her thus far, so i want someone to go save her. she's so sweet. YOU NEED A DOG. GET A DOG. i just happen to have one, available. FETCH. |
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| Friday, March 1st, 2002 |
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this song makes me want to bounce around like an idiot. the following are sexy bitches: sarah, helena, darci, carrie, brandi, christine, nik, rebecca and melissa, of course. notice nik is the only boy in that list. i must away. have a good night, kids. (yes, i had more to say, but i lost it. oops.) |
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For years, it has been believed that electric bulbs emit light, but recent information has proved otherwise. Electric bulbs don't emit light; they suck dark. Thus, we call these bulbs Dark Suckers. The Dark Sucker Theory and the existence of dark suckers prove that dark has mass and is heavier than light. First, the basis of the Dark Sucker Theory is that electric bulbs suck dark. For example, take the Dark Sucker in the room you are in. There is much less dark right next to it than there is elsewhere. The larger the Dark Sucker, the greater its capacity to to suck dark. Dark Suckers in the parking lot have a much greater capacity to suck dark than the ones in this room. So with all things, Dark Suckers don't last forever. Once they are full of dark, they can no longer suck. This is proven by the dark spot on a full Dark Sucker. A candle is a primitive Dark Sucker. A new candle has a white wick. You can see that after the first use, the wick turns black, representing all the dark that has been sucked into it. If you put a pencil next to the wick of an operating candle, it will turn black. This is because it got in the way of the dark flowing into the candle. One of the disadvantages of these primitive Dark Suckers is their limited range. There are also portable Dark Suckers. In these, the bulbs can't handle all the dark by themselves and must be aided by a Dark Storage Unit. When the Dark Storage Unit is full, it must be either emptied or replaced before the portable Dark Sucker can operate again. Dark has mass. When dark goes into a Dark Sucker, friction from the mass generates heat. Thus, it is not wise to touch an operating Dark Sucker. Candles present a special problem as the mass must travel into a solid wick instead of through clear glass. This generates a great amount of heat and therefore it's not wise to touch an operating candle. Also, dark is heavier than light. If you were to swim just below the surface of the lake, you would see a lot of light. If you were to slowly swim deeper and deeper, you would notice it getting darker and darker. When you get really deep, you would be in total darkness. This is because the heavier dark sinks to the bottom of the lake and the lighter light floats at the top. The is why it is called light. Finally, we must prove that dark is faster than light. If you were to stand in a lit room in front of a closed, dark closet, and slowly opened the closet door, you would see the light slowly enter the closet. But since dark is so fast, you would not be able to see the dark leave the closet. Next time you see an electric bulb, remember that it is a Dark Sucker. -- melissa sent me this - i read it to darci on the phone, and we busted a gut. amused. |
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| Monday, February 18th, 2002 |
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..or are not on my friends list, and enjoy spying... melissa and i are going to new york city for a week. we rented a car, opting to drive instead of getting gouged by taking the bus, and we will return monday night or tuesday morning. the lady at the car rental place gave me a really good deal, which i wouldn't have gotten if i hadn't called her. i was just going to do the reservation online, but this way we saved something like a hundred dollars. go me. things to do while in new york city: say hello to susan, the owner of the gallery on prince st. tickle melissa's little cousins haley and eric praise melissa's relatives, because they are wonderful people sit by the beach smoking for hours, listening to the dragons visit the natural history museum stay as far away from the world trade center site as possible pick up 'i heart ny' shirts in bulk finally visit the statue of liberty feed some more squirrels email katharine and see if she'd like to get sloshed on red wine with some old, dirty lesbians get mugged (failed to do so on last trip - am hoping to get lucky this time around) drink beer in gay bar(s) relax, relax, relax.. oh, and visit the toys r us in the square because it's finally open! next time we go, we want to bring someone with us, to offset the cost of the car rental. if anyone is interested in a three or four day road trip, sometime in the spring, let us know. and now i shall attempt to attract the attention of shanna, so that we might track down some chicken. take care, everyone, and have a good week. |
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| Thursday, February 14th, 2002 |
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okay, one last thing, while i'm thinking of it, and melissa's having genius thoughts: if you are from my past, and you don't have information reassuring you that i actually am FOND of you, or that i wish to continue talking to you, please don't talk to me. don't come looking for me. stay away from me altogether. this mostly just applies to the previously mentioned, and a couple others that won't ever read this anyway, but it's my disclaimer, it's here, and now it's legal evidence. if you are not mentioned specifically, then it's likely i don't despise you. *hint hint cough* despite what you may have heard *gives nik evil eye* i must go and calm down before i behead someone. |
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LiveJournal for apryl.
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apathetic.