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




23:31;   According to Astrocenter.com, "A bond between these two Mars-ruled signs is ardent, passionate, and often stormy. No neutrality is possible, and day-to-day management of such extreme feelings may prove difficult. Scorpio's possessiveness will not tolerate the slightest unfaithfulness, but the Ram often yields fully to the Scorpion's sensuality - unless he or she is startled into scampering away... This poignant dance, in which each partner vies for control, can be fleeting or long-lasting, sublime or terrifying: there is no happy medium!"
I should mention that He is a Scorpio, and I am an Aries.

14:53;   Someone link me. I'll love you if you do.


23:05;   And so ends my evening, with one scream of "fuck", one trip to McDonalds for a "dinner" (whereas "Fred" only ate fries and "Judy" had a mushy drink), a fight with someone over Him, and, uhm, tacky music at the skating rink.
Yes, we went to the skating rink. Yes, it was a horrible evening. Yes, I wish I could've stayed home and paid more attention to Her and Patsy rather than the problems that lurk beneath the relationship of "Judy", "Fred", Him and myself. I can't explain the evening fully, because I swore that I wouldn't say a word. I'll just leave it with the fact that it sucked, and that tomorrow might be better.
But, you know, if it includes the people I was around tonight, then I highly doubt it. No offense to them.

16:31;   Today was a good half-day for me. We got out around 11:20 (5 minutes after expected) and "Fred" and I got into his cute little Nissan and went on a search for a rose. We got lost, and ended up in the ghetto part of town. Eventually, we went out on the southside of town and went to a Publix (Patsy and Her: It's the Publix near Pier 1.), and then hauled ass back over to where He lives. I surprised Him with a flower, and then all three of us went out on a journey to Chu's, a gas station, for slurpees. Afterwards, we came back to my house for a bit and played around on the laptop before my parents came home from a shopping trip, when they finally met "Fred". We talked for a minute, and then all three of us went out again to the edges of the beach, then all the way back into town, near the border to South Carolina. The whole time we just kept on laughing and making cheap jokes at each other.
So, tonight, "Fred", "Judy", Him and I are going out to dinner at the Cinema Grill to see some masculine-edged movie playing (Mission Impossible 2, The Gladiator or The Patriot), or just going downtown and having dinner at some swanky restraunt on a city square.
So right now I'm in an excellent mood. I'll probably redesign before I leave tonight, to add effect to my excellent mood to the page. Wait and see.


18:21;   In French today, as the teacher filled out our progress reports, we watched a splendid film, Les Parapluies de Cherbourg (The Umbrellas of Cherbourg), a film with subtitles that was made in the early 1960s. The lead actress, Catherine Deneuve, is very pretty. The story is more of a long elaborate song, and the storyline (thus far) is outdated, but it's still very good. I am starting to really like these foreign films.
So, yes, we got our progress reports today. And I'm failing History with a 63, and I have a 70 in Math, which is barely passing. The rest of my grades thus far range between 85-95. The average of all my averages is in the area of 83-86. (If you are in an advanced class, you get five points added to your final average, and I was unsure of which classes added the extra points.)
Of course, my father went crazy. It was sort of expected, anyway. He started with his speech: "Diana, if you were me, what would you do?" I shrugged my shoulders and bit my lip. "Well, think of what stress you and your brother put on us when we've got these problems already!" He then proceeded to get up and call my mother at work, speaking calmly to the receptionist. "Hey, dear, our daughter is failing History and our son is failing Math... no, no... I don't know what to do, either... goodbye, dear." At this point, I went in my room, read a few pages of Dreamworld, and eventually ended up just sitting there. He called me, asking about our plans tonight (going to an art museum for one of his performances) and I suddenly got very teary-eyed. Father would never let me go... no, I can't. I must hurt myself for this. I told him that I couldn't go, that I was sorry, and that I'd talk to him whenever I eventually did. After we hung up (or, rather, I hung up on him), I laid down on my bed and watched the tiny spider on my floor crawl over the rough and bouncy terrain. I flicked a piece of paper across the floor before I fell into a deep sleep. I woke up an hour later, ate supper (the second thing I have eaten all day), and now here I sit as my younger brother innocently plays on the other computer. I feel guilty for my grades, because I know I could do better, but it's just that I have no effort to do so, and when colleges decide to show their faces towards me, they're going to notice the grades that I made when I was younger -- years before this, even. I was always an average student.
My younger brother is continuously sucking up to my father. "Who would win in a fight, a centipede or a millipede?" I'm just very quiet, because if I say something about tomorrow's plans, then he's not going to let me do them. Which, honestly, sucks. But, thus far, my plans are still happening. My father doesn't seem too angry right now, but I'm just very careful as to what I do or say. I wonder how She and Patsy are handling it with their parents. His parents didn't care when they looked at the grades, He said. He said they just asked when I was coming over, perhaps just shrugging it off. And he's the one that has failed two or three classes. Patsy and Her, as far as I know, have no failing grades.
There was this performance today in the auditorium. The US Army's Jazz Band. I never quite understood why there was a jazz band for the Army. I thought that they were supposed to be saving our country, and not to play Louie Armstrong hits. They were good, none the less. The singers they had for them (some country-star-turned-jazz-singer and some guy from the Army with this odd voice) weren't too nice, but I just kept on making jokes about the people in the group seeing each other naked in the showers ("That's a mighty trumbone you have there.") and wondering if the guitarist had a pegleg (he didn't) to keep myself busy. We left school afterwards, and the entire busride consisted of talk about aphrodisiacs. I stayed quiet most of the time, trying not to say anything that'd ruin my day any worse.
By the way, my happy thought of the day was little boys in white boxer shorts. It was quickly washed off when I arrived at home.

06:42;   OK, since Blogger was not available by the time that I got around to blogging, I couldn't speak about my past year of experiences. So, without further ado, I give you my journalistic stories. (Please note that the real people's names will be used for this entry, and their names that are used on here are in parantheses.)
peacefully dreamin - This was my first attempt, which I started the day before I had to evacuate for a hurricane last year. Everyone was featured on a cast page, including all the folks that are mentioned on this page. Except for a few which came in later.
40 inches - Inspired by Weird Al's "It's All About the Pentiums" ("I've got a monitor, forty inches wide..."), this was the one that kind of had a major effect on everything that occurred in my life. It last perhaps the shortest time, but it was still an adventure when I updated it. (Please excuse the background. If I could fix it, I would.) It was created and updated during the time when the relationship with Patrick ("Him") and I got rather more interesting between everybody.
choke - "The lost entries", which I never really remembered writing, but they still exist. It was created around the beginning of the new year (2000), and was mostly an aggression towards dead spirits between Kyle ("Ex"), Whitney ("Patsy") and myself.
zipperz - When choke (see above) got too crowded with people that I didn't like (aquaintences, usually, that I didn't want to read about my life), I created zipperz, which was very aggressed and open about my thoughts and feelings. It lasted quite awhile, but I eventually ended it so I can find somewhere else to open up to. At the end of doing this journal, I found Blogger, and thus created the page you are looking at now.
Now, before I end this lovely story of how my websites have emerged, I would like to clear up a few people's names. Patrick is Him, Megan is Her, Whitney is Patsy (the background of the name has to do with Liam Gallagher's ex wife, Patsy Kensit, and the name Patsy was used when we played a joke on Kyle midway in the beginning of January.), amnesia chick is Crystal, "Fred" is Kieran, and "Judy" is Bonnie.
So, that's the story of the year. I plan on continuing this, so don't think that I'm leaving you. (Sorry to disappoint.) Please try not to be offended by anything in there, it was just something to write. Ah, memories.


23:55;   The sad thing is that I actually do like that "Come on Over" song by Christina Aguillera. I think I deserve to hide in fear for liking it. I mean, there are points of the song where it just sucks (ie, when she's "rapping") and there are times when you just want to belt out the lyrics ("get close/get tight"). And yet the whole time I hear that song, I always, always, always think, "What does her father think of her saying 'put your hands on me'?" Personally, my dad would kill me for wearing half the stuff that those pop stars do and say. Then again, I doubt that if I did have a song (and a voice) then I would make more intellectual lyrics than "hit me baby one more time".
By the way, in less than 10 minutes will be the one-year anniversary of having a journal online. Links may posted tomorrow morning (ie, 6 am) and I may just comment on a few things.
OK, what is it like right now? It's pitch-dark in my bedroom, and all that is playing is the "cool" radio station (102.1) in the background with Brian McKnight playing smoothly at the volume of 1. The only glow in the room is from the laptop, which sits comfortably on my lap. I'm sitting here like a freaking paranoid cat because my parents will pitch a fit if I was online at this hour. And I'll be miserable in the AM, too. Because, well, I can't sleep right now.
I'm not going out of town this weekend. The transmission in one of the cars (the white one, if you know which I am speaking of) is messing up and my brother's car is too small for that trip. But He doesn't know it yet, so it might be a cute surprise. We get out of school early on Friday for conferences. 11:15, I think, is when we get out. I hope that I got good grades and that there won't be any necessary comments said. But, you know, whatever. I'm still getting a ride home from school from "Fred" and I plan on just sitting there after school, after I see Him, and sigh.
Oh, yeah, and the remix to that Faith Hill song ("The Way You Love Me"? I used to like it. Really, I did.) sucks. And I have a zit that will not die. It's on my cheek.

17:05;   I was in a minor car accident today. I was on the bus, back seat, back row, and suddenly we have this bump from behind. We (the people on the bus) look at this girl in a car behind us, and she's obviously dented her car. She gets out (cigarette in hand), looks at her car, curses (my guess), gets back in, and almost hits another car before zooming away, thus leaving the scene of the accident. The bus itself is okay, but I think suffered a small dent in it all. So we had to go completely around the school (since it happened at the corner of the school, right in front of the student parking lot) and sat in the bus ramp on the bus while the cops checked everything on the bus and had everyone sign a "witness" sheet. A few people - including myself - rebelled and thus we might get a beating for it later.
I sat next to amnesia chick on the bus. It was a horrific day on the bus for me, because we talked about what occurred a few days ago and got into a yelling / nearly-crying frenzy over the entire ordeal. On top of that, when I got home, He called me and I mentioned amnesia chick and our talk, He got very quiet, as if it were a taboo topic. But in the end, (hopefully) we'll all get along, and I will have some time with Him before I go out of town this weekend. And then He and amnesia chick can spend a few hours together (hopefully) and then sometime in the future, amnesia chick will let Him and I go on her boat in a lake behind her house so that He and I can go (yes, I am about to say it) fishing. And, yes, I will have fun doing so and will not complain. And, yes, it is a surprise on His part.
My younger brother got a game yesterday -- Rollercoaster Tycoon. He has yet to let me on that computer today, and he is currently speaking to himself only five feet away from me. ("He's going to get it now...") In conclusion, I removed a few mindless games from the computer as well -- including my version of Napster, as well as all of the songs (accidental, I swear), and QuickTime. AOL is still available on both of the computers (the laptop and the big one) and I have very little left on this one that I'm on now... (the laptop) But, you know, give it time. I might download CuteFTP for obvious purposes.
I think I might kick my brother off that computer. I want to try that game.


06:43;   Remember when Hampster Dance was the greatest thing in the world? Well, why not check out a few others like it? Like perhaps, should I say, presidential electees Al Gore and George W. Bush shaking their bon-bons? Or perhaps even ex-president electee Bill Bradley and John McCain, or perhaps even watch Bill Clinton's love child do a wild dance. But not all of these dances are actually "dances": some of them prefer to use hovering, hoedown, "getting funky", and polka. Some of the dances you can find online range from the classification of practical to browser-crashing (proceed with warning) to the just plain disturbing.
I have come to notice the (temporary) redesigning of kottke.org. Which, despite the little change of removing those shades of yellow, is a very yummy design for the moment. I have also come to terms with my obsessions and now visit fewer websites. (The computer I am on - as tacky as it is - is dying. It's a sad moment, and I might have to mourn over its loss if it does not survive this time. Which, thus, also means you're stuck with this design for awhile. So sad, isn't it?) I'm also going out of town to visit relatives and watch a football game, but I'll still might (repeat: might) be able to write some things on here, just to keep you updated for the weekend. If not, then I might just have Her or Patsy write a few things as the weekend goes on. Wouldn't that be splendid to have them say a few words over three days' time, and that way you get to know them? I'll see what happens with that.
Maybe I should explain about yesterday's little message. Got no real response out of it, but I really didn't want one. He went fishing yesterday with amnesia chick (who was also the gal in the chatroom), which somehow didn't get me too mad. (Yes, I am very controlling.) The fact that he, however, spent more time with her than he did with me kind of angried me. When He called me up, he told me about his day. We hung up, and I called "Fred" (of all people) to talk about it all, and "Fred" made me forget that it was amnesia chick and that I shouldn't worry about it. Fine. I'm all happy when I finally call Him back, and when he picks up, I say a "hello", and then he says a "Hello" followed by amnesia chick's name. We both sit there in silence for a minute, and then I think I said something stupid like, "Uh, no?" (Yes, that sounded very valleygirlish) and we eventually hang up. The rest of the evening was a blur between talking to "Fred" and Him about amnesia chick and so on. The other reason why I was angry was because my ISP (signature-is.net, the idiots) decided to not let me connect on their faster modems, but rather try to let me connect to their nonworking (there are quite a few, it seems) or slow-as-hell computers. Which is why I couldn't write much yesterday if my life depended on it. (I tried connecting with the laptop, but it kept on disconnecting me.)
And, now, before I leave, I give you a, uhm, moment of Zen. Yeah.


17:16;   I just want to crawl up in a corner and die.
Maybe I will.

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