is it ture taht poelpe wlil see wrdos mxied liek tihs and udnsatrend tehm?

heonslty, i dnot get it.

mybae i'm jsut msisnig smetihnog.

there are more and more times like this where i just want to throw something through a wall.

but then i remember that the last time i put something through a wall, it was my foot, and i was still angry when i was finished. and yamfoot, although lovely, isnt that enjoyable. much more enjoyable than yamhand, though. punching shit teaches life lessons the hard, then painful, then oddly swollen way.

i think im going to go watch conan then try and find something else to watch then watch whatevers on after that and then

"Umm, store girl, can you get over here cause i wanna look at this purse. hellooooo are you deaf or something, i wanna see this purse, gawd"
me: "i'm not deaf, i'm ringing up this man's purchase *fucking cunt*"
"GET OVER HERE AND SHOW ME THIS PURSE"
following this exchange, our narrator finishes with the purchase and makes her way over to where superficial cunts a & b are standing
a: "um, so yeah i wanna see that purse down there"
me: "this one?" (pointing at a purse on the bottom shelf)
a:"no way (to b) isn't she funny? (back to me) no, silly the LOUIS VWEETON one there"
me: "ohh, sorry *fucking cunt*"
a: "(to b) oh my gad, eighty bucks... it isn't even real"
b: "yeah it is, look at the lining"
a: "yeah, but it's so UGLY. i like mine better"
b: "can we go now, i'm hungry"

w00t! guess what i found at the second hand bookstore??!?!

FOCUS BY ARTHUR MILLER! WAAIII!!!!!!!

looking thru my past blogs.
realized that ainstead of "sewing machine" i put
"sewing player"

wtH?

does anybody know what to do when the stitching on ones sewing player gets all loopy at the back?? its plagueing my fucking existance, i can tell you.

i only need that much pi, thank you.

i have posted yet another inconsequencial entry. w00t!

everyone that ends up talking to me for too long thinks im a douche. any suggestions?

223 people have seen this page! but only like 3 have talked to me. i feel only marginally accepted. i'm realy bad at this internet thing.

so. i have to write an essay. why am i typing this here? because my dork-tastic jornal is being a d-bag. i don't know what really to write about... i was thinking about an incredibly sarky foray into totalitarianism. but that would take far too long. so i'll probably end up doing some silly thing about shoes vs. boots, because i exist on an entirely superficial level.

i am positively disgusted with myself for missing cliff (elvis!) at value village. grrrrmrg.

so this semester:

i don't know very many people in any of my courses except biology, where we have a row of people.
i can't bring myself to talk to people i don't know, especially in art, so by the time the class is over, my voice is lodged in my throat. and i have to write a petit essay for english.

oh, furthermore, i didn't get killt for my math mark. isn't that wonderful? it's amazing. and i got to pick out a discman as a "you didn't totally give up on your life, tried in math, and will not end up a drug-addicted baby machine" present from my parents.

cool, ne? and they were all on sale cause nobody wants discmans anymore. schweet.

"I became operational at the H.A.L. plant in Urbana, Illinois on the 12th of January 1992. My instructor was Mr. Langley, and he taught me to sing a song. If you'd like to hear it I can sing it for you."

So, in other news besides the fact that i am a complete and total dork- well not really, this affirms my dorkiness even more- I am madly in love with the Pandora Music Genome Project. It's completely and utterly brilliant, and i don't know how i lived before the discovery of this miraculous website. Pandora.com ---- GO THERE before you die or something cause it's the best thing since canned peas.

if it was school i'd be home sick.

I GOT MY LETTER FROM THE ART INSTITUTE FOR S.W.E.A.T!!!


you need it to get into the program, and i had a dream last night that i forgot it. haha.