diana (me) -- this website's owner/operator; 15/f


patsy -- poet and dreamer; 16/f


meredith -- humorist and saint; 16/f


him -- hunter and listener; 16/m


'fred' -- counselor and taxi; 17/m




10:12;   Instead of working on A Tree Grows in Brooklyn last night, I went to bed. Both Patsy and Her have finished the book. I am on page 50 of 400. He has yet to glance at the book, but promises that the opportunity to read it will be in the time it takes to get to his final spot in Mississippi. Somehow, I doubt that he will get anything done on that trip, besides getting some sun. Even though, deep down, I shouldn't talk. My legs can blind you.
Does anybody remember when "Boy Meets World" was starting out? When Rider Strong was younger (and, thus, more approachable), and everything just seemed to make sense? I watched the "famous" wedding episode of "Boy Meets World" last night, when Corey (Ben Savage) and Topanga (Danielle Fishel) got married. It just seemed so wrong to be watching that again, as if the whole essence of what the show was about (family issues, I suppose) was fading off. I personally thought it was wrong, since Corey and Topanga were only 18 and - to me - that's too early for a lifetime commitment. But maybe Ben Savage and Danielle Fishel knew that the show's success was a distant memory and no longer as widespread. In fact, the whole ABC/TGIF flopped after "Family Matters" was cancelled and all these other shows took its place with plots that focused on the younger teenagers who think that the color of your toenail polish is more important than problems that the US faces. Though I doubt they can successfully base a entire comedy series on America's starvation problems.
But, you got to admit, you miss the times when "Perfect Strangers" rocked the casbah.


23:55;   Sigh.
I'm not tired at all, actually. Which is quite a strange thing, since I am usually dozing by now. Give it a few minutes. But I got to stay awake tonight. I got to get somewhere with A Tree Grows in Brooklyn. I gave up on To Kill a Mockingbird after He and I tried to watch the movie. I've got the CliffNotes on that book, so I'm ok for now. Wait until the teacher decides to quiz us... oh, yes, hell shall break loose then.
Patsy came over this evening for a short visit. We watched episodes of "The Daily Show" so she could glare at Vance, and I could glare at Mo. We're ok, really. The rest of my weekend (or week, for that matter) seems skittish. I'm seeing Him tomorrow morning (from probably 11 AM til 4:30 PM, if you want to get technical) and go on errands with Him to get ready for his trip to Mississippi (from Sunday til Tuesday), as well as be able to see him in a tuxedo before He leaves. I don't know why I like Him in a tuxedo. Maybe because he looks so... different. It's kind of the same effect if you see someone with wet hair. They look completely different from when they have dry (and in most cases, fluffier) hair. But I'm offtopic. I am going to be hanging around Him for most of the daytime, going on trips to WalMart and the like to get stuff like shaving cream and socks, and then that night I will be at Her house, watching something (maybe) other than "XFiles". It might not be an "XFiles"-esque get-together, which neither disturbs or enlightens me. It's all alike in my game.
On Monday or Tuesday sometime, however, I need to really get everything together for school. School supplies, maybe a new pair of JNCOs or something. A binder, perhaps? Something to keep me alive. My bus stop is two houses down, by the way. Same cursed bus. The one that always ends up breaking down and rattling its way to the stops. I get the bus at 6:45 AM. At this moment, that seems too early to even exist.

23:04;   Remember "Judy" and "Fred"? Well, it seems as if their relationship is slowly turning sour. They have seen each other very little (three or four times) over the three-month vacation, and it's killing them both. I've read about what "Judy" is going through, and I think that if it's hurting that much, then she and "Fred" should just break up. Of course, He and I have talked about the matter at hand, and He agrees with me about it all. The fact is, however, neither of us want to tell her what we think. I mean, it's the week before school. Everybody's panicky about the schoolyear, so why add an extra trouble to the ordeal of it all? I don't know. It's "Judy" and her problem. Not mine.
He and I have no classes together. He and Patsy (as far as I know) have no classes together. She and He don't have classes together. I'm trying to force Him to switch his fifth period class (World History) with his first period class (Lit/Comp) so that He can have a class with Her (World History, I think, as well as Lit/Comp) and a class with me (Lit/Comp). The teacher he has assigned for first period, Ms Walker, is really mean, too. The "block" system that the school runs on is weird. I don't really remember it from last year, but I'll try to think it up before school starts.
Now, if you excuse me, I must go watch "The Daily Show". I'm already two minutes late.

16:24;   It's amazing what you can do online these days. (link courtesy of oceanic.nu.)

15:55;   This summer has been one weird rollercoaster through the brinks of hell and the stairways to heaven. Even though there is one more week of vacation left, it still seems as if it's all over. Roll the credits, lower the curtains. Applaud. Bow. Show's over.
It's still going on for me, though. One more week, and then I will walk into the school and go straight to my art class. Smiling, maybe. Smiling through it all, realizing that I am leaving the summer of my life behind and the schoolyear of the future staring at my face. It's a good feeling.
There have been points this summer where I wanted to give up, take a few pills, slash my wrists, and bleed to death. But I didn't. Because I felt deep down that this would be good. That this would be all better if I gave it the time that it needed to heal my wounds. And, as it turns out, I was right. There were fits of giggles, hugs, smiling, kissing. Everything, in the end of this summer, turned out what I wanted it to be. A summer of change.
This blog was meant to be a summer-long event. I have decided to take it on longer, because it feels good to start fitting in with everything. It feels good to write out what you want to say at any time of the day, and yet have it archived for others to mention and notice. And maybe even smile about.
This has been the summer of change. It feels good to say that.

13:25;   Here is my new school schedule, recieved today:
1 - Visual arts [Computation IIA]
2 - Visual arts [Drawing IA]
3 - Advanced Biology IA
4 - Advanced World History A
5 - Tenth Grade Advanced Literature Computation
6 - Advanced Algebra IIA
7 - French IA
Yeah. I got four classes with Patsy (1st, 2nd, 5th, 6th) and three with Her (2nd, 5th, and 7th). As for Him, I don't really know yet. I'll try to tell you people, though. I know you're dying to find out.

11:30;   Here it is: a photo from the suddenly-famous Brad and Jennifer marriage. (Picture courtesy of eponymous.org)


21:50;   I KNOW I promised you that I would give you transcripts.
I lied. I know. You can send me voodoo dolls and curse me out for it. I appologize. Everyone who has felt some form of remorse will get a Lollipop.
Oh, yeah. Almost forgot. She is an "XFiles" fan, and has graciously uploaded Her first attempt at animated .GIF imaging, with the idea of "XFiles". It's a really good design and worth it-- that is, if you have the patience for the 3.01 MB of it to load. But, anyway, here is her masterpiece in it's full glory. If you want to send kudos to the artist, then do so, I say! Yeah.
He is going to Mississippi on Sunday morning at 3 AM with his band. I am forcing him to collect the payphone numbers in the area code [link first mentioned on DS] for me. So if you're a lucky person and get to see some school band perform for the governer of Mississippi (as lucky as he may be), then pay attention to the trombones. Yeah. He's one of them. I doubt that you'll be one of the people watching them play, but that's ok. That's quite alright.
You're not missing out on much, anyway. *smirk*

14:51;   [Patsy and I play solitaire over the phone.]
Patsy: I need a two... what is it? Clubs?
Me: Yes, clubs. I got a club. Who's got the club?
Patsy: Shut up.
Me: You want my club, buddy?
Patsy: Shut... up...

09:50;   Today is my olderbrother's 19th birthday.
Happy birthday, buddy.


22:49;   Ex thinks that I've turned into Patsy, I guess. It's an odd conversation that we're having. And for once we're not bitching at each other about life. That's always good, I guess. It's weird having a normal conversation with Ex nowadays. I don't know.
Ex asked me out at our 8th grade dance. Which is, believe it or not, a little over a year ago. I had promised myself the year before that I wouldn't date until I got into high school, but at the same time I thought, Gee, it's almost over. So I dated him. For three months. It wasn't as bad as I portray it. It was actually fun until the last two weeks, when we started arguing over everything that we did. She didn't like Ex. Patsy didn't like Ex. He (who had then only been a close friend) was wanting to take the place of Ex. So one day, Ex decides to break up with me for three very distinct reasons:
1. Ex had fallen in love with a cheerleader. (Let me remind you that Ex is a geek. Of all types. The cheerleader still does not know his name.)
2. Religion. He is a strict Southern Baptist. Well, ehm, strict in every way except for his urges of sex. Which I never supplied him with. Damn for me. I at the time had Agnostic beliefs, leaning mostly toward Athiest. Southern Baptist Ex wanted me shunned to Hell for that.
3. We were going to different schools and "drifting apart." (This is the only one I could agree with, even though he is the one now that is saying that I changed and he is still the same guy he was years ago. Hmpf.)
So that's the three reasons. I'll give you parts of the transcripts tomorrow. Promise.

21:49;   ODD FACT ABOUT DIANA, part 3:
I have an obsession with Kroger's croissants.

11:22;   ODD FACT ABOUT DIANA, part 2:
I can only sleep on my left side.

11:14;   ODD FACT ABOUT DIANA, part 1:
I eat the pits of cherries.


19:56;   I stumbled across a website known as RateMyFace.com, which basically takes your image and bases what you look like on a score from, I guess, 1 to 10. None the less, I've decided to sign up myself and pray for an egoboost to come out of it all.
I finished movie number one. I am probably going to watch Short Circuit tonight, finishing it up in time to catch "The Daily Show" and, if I'm lucky, some of "TRL" or something. I can find something on TV to watch, even if it is an evil box.
So... I guess I'll talk to you later.

18:54;   Just to get more hits, I write the following words, hoping someone looks them up:
(Ok, I'm done now.)

My mother, brother, and I went downtown to this pottery place where people can paint things. My younger brother painted a bowl, my mother painted a picture frame, and I painted some form of jewelry holder with a sun on it. Really girly. I just liked painting it while the person that was working there -- this art-college chick with lots of blue eyeshadow -- played Natalie Merchant on the tape deck in the corner. It was just peaceful.
There has been two instruments that I have always wanted to play since as long as I can remember. One was the cello, even though I hadn't even seen one til this year. The other was the piano. I had these images in my head that I was going to play the piano and do the melodies that went through my head, no matter how difficult they would be. A few people I know play piano. All I have suceeded in was "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star", and even I mess up on that.
She, Patsy, and I want to start a band. Vonny, we'd call it. An inspiration from a book. She is playing drums. She has lessons. Patsy and I both have guitars. I am stuck with bass, which doesn't bother me. But the people said, "Play guitar first, get used to it." Patsy and I only know a few chords. What are the chances that we'd make it anywhere? Or even play the instruments?
This is my second guitar. The first was was a dinky $75 I got for my 10th birthday party that I strummed every now and then to make my ego boost up. I had this image then, too, that I'd pick up the guitar and play anything that I wanted to play. Of course, this never happened to me. It probably doesn't happen to anyone, anyway. The only time that someone picks up a musical instrument that they never touched before and suddenly -- poof! -- they know all the cords is in the original scripts of 1980s movies.
It doesn't matter. My parents were never on the rich side. We got the generic brands of cereal, we lived with my grandmother and later on, an apartment off of a highway. We used to be better, I guess. I used to go to art classes, my younger brother used to get lots and lots more toys. My parents are getting older, and they are going through the stressful points in their lives. They cannot afford to send their daughter off to a guitar class for $50 per month for thirty minutes every week. It's not my fault, and yet I feel guilty for not holding up my part of the world I call The Music. I am not going out there and trying to learn my instrument that I want to -- in reality -- play. Instead, I let it sit in the corner in it's pretty black case.
That, my dearest readers, is the reality of it all.

11:15;   "Dust Of Snow", Robert Frost
The way a crow
Shook down on me
A dusting of snow
From a hemlock tree

Has my given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part
Of a day I had rued.

09:13;   Yawn. I'm alive. Suffering from another headache. It's August. Fourteen days left until school starts. Fourteen days to read two bigass books that I would otherwise never glance at. Sigh. Life sucks sometimes.
Links. You want links, don't you? I've stumbled upon a website that Patsy had suggested to me that is pretty thrifty. Speaking of Patsy, she and I have found something in common: we both have small obsessions with guys on "The Daily Show": Patsy with Jon and Vance and me with Mo. There's something charming about someone who wrote for "Wishbone".
In other news, one of my favorite websites is having downtime. And another classic of mine doesn't seem to be working right lately. And that I smell like vomit for some odd reason. I don't know. If I get up, I might end up falling over and perhaps collasping again. And hitting my head, causing "incredibly" (Yes, I know I did it wrong in the last post. I'm too lazy to fix it.) headaches again. Now, you don't want that to happen now, do you? Didn't think so.


20:59;   It was around 3 PM. I was talking to Ex online when I decided I needed a swig of Coke. I went into the kitchen and took a gulp of Coke from the bottle as always. Afterwards, I felt this incredible pain in my chest. I rested my head down on the table, hoping that it'd go away. The next thing that I see is my father's face looming over me in a panic.
I had fainted.
Turns out, I fell off my chair and hit the bottom of the sliding door that leads to the deck. I suffered incredibly headaches, nausea, and dizziness. My dad whisked me to the doctor's office, where they told me I was dehydrated from the heat, and that I'd recover quickly. My parents have since over-reacted to the situation, making me drink lots and lots of water and going to bed at the early time of 9 PM.
Sigh. But I feel better now, anyway. He stopped by to bring me a Jones soda and a poem that I really like by Robert Frost. Maybe I'll type it out on here. It's only two stanzas long. Very lovely, though.
I'm ok now, though. But that doesn't mean you still can't send me e-roses.

13:55;   Me: Why do we take advantage of everyone's sadness?
Him: I don't know.
Me: Do you know what I'm talking about when I say that?
Him: Yeah.
Me: For some reason I feel you don't.
Him: [pause]
Me: Nevermind.

00:01;   Ehh... wow. That being at exactly midnight was pretty cool.

00:00;   Anything for you...
The Third Eye Blind song "Anything" is the only song by them that I can swallow. Seriously. I mean, their earlier singles were good, but as soon as their last album came out, all love for them vanishes. Kind of the same for Matchbox 20. But you know what? It doesn't matter.
Now, about what I was saying with my idea for the 24 hour thing. See, as lots of people know, frykitty.com did this. I think it would be a good idea. I'd even open a new blog somewhere and go that route with it all. I would have to do it at an emotional peak just so I can find something to write about for twenty-four hours. And that way, you can experience all of my freaky little moods. How fun is that?! Sounds sort of promising. I'll think of it all.
I'll be bubblier later. I swear.


23:06;   I started watching Being John Malkovich, and I was actually liking it. But then He called, we got into an argument, He hung up on me pleading the word "God" under His breath. I am not happy with what is going on between us right now. I don't think I ever am anymore. Why do you stay with him, you ask. The truth is, I don't know. I expect some god of relationships to realize that we suck as a couple and come to the rescue. Whenever we see each other, we're happy. We're giggly and fun and enjoy seeing each other so close. But there are other times where it gets so negative. I don't wish those times existed.
I don't know why I'm typing this. Maybe to get somewhere on torrez.org and make myself smile. Or something. I don't know.

20:29;   I rented two movies this evening, Being John Malkovich and the always-good Short Circuit. So I guess I'll talk to you people tomorrow sometime.
Oh, yeah, I was thinking of the idea of a 24hour blog like a few other people I've seen do. I'll probably end up mentioning more of the idea later. Maybe tonight. If you're lucky.

20:15;   I'm talking to Him on the phone. We are, of course, sitting there in silence waiting for someone else to do something. All I hear right now is His sniffles (He tends to cry easier and easier these days) and the movement of His phone. I feel guilty for it all. For everything that I have ever done to Him to be in tears on the other end of the phone. And then he speaks,
"I am going to take my shower."
How do you reply to that without feeling like scum? I say an "OK," then a "bye" and quickly hanging up, hearing His mirrored reply as I let the phone drop on the hangup button. I feel guilty sometimes for this pain that I give Him. I know I am His number one trouble. He knows that I am His number one trouble. And yet we act as if nothing is wrong.

19:34;   Her: You know what?
Me: What?
Her: I think all of our musical tastes are growing up by leaps and bounds.
Me: Yeah. Far different from the Spice Girl days, isn't it?
Her: Sure is.
Me: And perhaps better. But that's from looking back at it.
Her: Or maybe it's a wider range thing.
Me: Perhaps it's that.
Her: Inviting the sounds of classical, rock, new age, techno, etc...
Me: Deep down, I think I still love Spice Girls. But it just seems that life is changing, and we're following the flow of music that is overpowering us... and we like it.
Her: Right. Like we find more emotion and meaning in the songs.
Me: Yeah. In wider ranges.
Her: I'm glad it's happened, too.
Me: So do I. But in the sense, I still wish I was the person that was obsessed with the Spice Girls.
Her: [pause]
Me: I would quote something now, but I can't think of what to quote.

17:52;   Got home around 4:00 PM. It ended up that there were six people watching the shows, and five people sleeping at the house that night, including Her. And me. So we as a group watched a few more episodes and some VH1 videos. And then we went out into the computer room so we could download a few things from Napster. During this time, Patsy and I laid on the ground of her computer room and started talking about this commercial I saw with two older ladies in mechanical wheelchairs on a mountain. I might have to explain that all to you sometime. Finally, I went to bed at 4 AM and woke up around 12 PM. Well, no. I originally woke up around 8 AM, saw someone else up, promised that I'd be awake again in five minutes, then fell back asleep. And yet I am still tired. Go figure.
All I have scheduled today is an A&E program at 8 PM on haunted houses, a favorite topic of mine for quite some time. I used to live in this house where a guy died in the upstairs bathtub, and I remember always avoiding that bathroom because I felt it was eerie, like the toilet was in those Look Who's Talking movies. He died of a heart attack or something.
I bought myself a $150 guitar on my birthday this year from a nice place called Rody's. Patsy's parents have said that the place had caught fire sometime and is barely there anymore. There was lots of musical equiptment in there at cheaper prices than at anywhere else. It's really sad that it burned. I was going to take lessons from there sometime, too. She was already taking drum lessons there, so I don't know what is going to happen with Her lessons.

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