I had this odd dream last night. She, Patsy, and I were at this cheap hotel with lots of tall busty chicks walking around. We kept on passing this pool where a lady was sleeping. After awhile, we realized that it was a dummy, and then a mystical person appeared. She started controlling the tall busty chicks, and locking them in rooms. When she came to our turn, Patsy said confidently, "We know your secret." She replied with a "You do?" and Patsy pointed up to the sky, where there appeared to be an arrow made out of clouds. The mystical lady started crying and saying she wanted children but the only way it can occur for her (since she was so mystical, I assume) is that we take two green-and-red pills to the direction of the arrow. We took the pills, and started walking. Eventually, Patsy disappeared and She started saying that it'd be impossible to make it the ten miles to the direction of the arrow. Suddenly, her mom came by, and we jumped into the backseat. All of a sudden, She wasn't Herself anymore. In fact, she was Fred Durst. We started making out in the backseat until we reached a bunch of overpasses. There were gadgets in the road that substituted for stoplights. There was a tiny hand attached to them and they waved you on, or firmly held the hand in front of you to stop. There were a few of them stranded in the middle of the road, and we barely passed them. At this point, Fred Durst/She had disappeared, and it was just Her mom and me. We parked at this building and went in.
This was perhaps the craziest part. Each floor in a stairway inside was different. For example, on one of them, there were moving steps, and in another, the handles on the side were shorter than they appeared, and in some, there were just lots of cardboard people sitting there. Eventually we got to this flight of steps that didn't really end. We went up one flight, we ended up at the bottom again. Suddenly, this tall guy in a trench-coat passed us and went into a door near the end of the steps. We followed him in.
This place was the showroom for my ISP. There were ladies -- plump, middle-aged -- coming up to me (I was alone) and asking if I want their cheap prices. I said no and started walking around elsewhere. There was a cage of cockroaches in the back -- huge! Everywhere, there would be cockroaches, crawling up and down this cage. I went back, and bumped into this little boy, who looked at me all strangely. Then I turned again and saw a few members of The Transformers sitting there and listening to odd music. I asked them what they were doing there, and one of them replied, with a smile, "We live here."
Now, what does this dream mean? It means that I have a good future, that I've gotten an undercover antagonist among your friends (sort of), that I am socially and/or domesticly happy, and that I have social gaeity. I also don't really like Fred Durst.
I is here. Really, I is. This is Her. I really don't have anything to say at the moment... I have some World History homework to do, and I have to say, I knew World History was boring, but my jeez, the World History teacher I have to put up with could make a person go catatonic. Like that glazed look that some children get when they sit too close to the t.v., or the look many people get who are on the "web" at 3 AM. It's horrifying. So boring that you can't even fall asleep, simply because you're too bored to sleep. And I still haven't quite figured out what the heck my teacher is laughing at when he teaches. He'll say something about the Romans, mumble something about how if they did some of the things today that they did back then, we'd be in for some real trouble.. ::cue laughing:: ... as I sit there dumbfounded as to how World History can possibly be funny. Then I venture on over to second period, sit down on my humble stool, slap on my headphones, crook my arm into a comfortable position on the table, and immediately fall into a deep, dream-filled sleep. With the occasional lurch from slumber here and there.
Countdown to the X-Files Season Premier: 16 days, 23 hours, 34 minutes, and counting... -Her
My mother got her bellybutton pierced. And, my god, it scared the hell out of me to see a little piece of metal sticking out of her stomach. "It's numb," she said, "I didn't feel a thing." She, actually, hasn't felt anything in her waist area since that un-needed surgery. So my mother is the only mother I know with a belly-button ring, (in chronological order) a nosejob, implants, lyposuction, muscle numbness (applied to the area between the eyebrows, to make frowning/wrinkles harder to accomplish), eyeliner tattooing, lipstick tattooing (both done twice), and tummy-tuck. Jesus. If you saw her years ago, she's still really just look the same, but you get this happy-go-lucky feel around her now. And it now adds to the tattoo/piercings amount in my family to seven tattoos (four on my older brother, one on my dad, and two -- the lips and eyeliner -- on my mom) and thirteen piercings (four on my older brother -- three on ears, one in tongue -- two on father -- ears -- five on mother -- two on each ear, and bellybutton -- and two on me -- ears).
In highly different news, I found out what I am going to get for Him for the anniversary: a record player. Second-hand, yes. It's going to be so nifty, I swear. And I'll get him a few records, too, just to splurge a little. Oh yeah, and maybe a card. My whole weekend is planned on a precise schedule. Want to hear it? Sure you do. On Friday, I'm over at Her house (if things go correctly) for the night (He is spending time with the now-single-and-ready-to-mingle "Fred"), and then on Saturday, I need to work on a terrarium project (in the AM) and then go to Goodwill (in the PM). I'm spending Saturday night, as far as I know, at home. On Sunday, I'm over at His house (or vice versa, or whatever) until the evening, which is when I plan on going to see a school production of "Alice in Wonderland", which features some appearances by some people we know (and in some cases, adore) at our school. And that's my weekend. Long and winding? Yes. Soap-opera like in the end? Yes. Will I blog? Very little, but I'll come on every now and then to post Patsy's entries (her computer wants Patsy to die a slow, agonizing death -- it's slightly working) and make sure that She and Patsy aren't starting some form of crazy-ass-naked anarchy here with pictures of penises roaming around.
But, I mean, they wouldn't do something like that... would they? (Oh, by the way, if I do post, I will not have a nifty [posted by ___] thing after my entries. I'm cool like that.)
Hola, Blog people! Greetings from Patsy Nova. How is everyone? [gets closer
to computer screen and listens] That's good. That's good.
I'm doing okay here in_________. Sorry, you can't know our location.
Unless....Diana already told you. Then, that would suck. Cos it's supposed to
be a secret! Neener.
Anyway, I had a nice Wednesday, amazingly. Now I sit listening to the Dandy
Warhols and watching Rosie O'Donnell out of the corner of my eye. What am I
wearing you ask?Nothing, baby. Nothing. RAWR. Perverts all of you!!
Just teasing. I'm wearing my special animal crackers shirt, t-that makes me
invisible.....[uh huh] and my SUPA-baggy jeans. Yeah, I'm going through my
"club kid" phase at the moment. My hair is up in pony-buns. That's right
pony-buns. Like pig-tails but, instead pony asses.
Hm. What can I talk about? I know the people that are reading this are like,
"Jesus, what the hell is she on??" Yeah, that's Patsy for ya.
School today was it's usual boring self. We [Diana and I] spent first and
second period listening to music and doing stupid busy work. Well, take that
back. I didn't really do my work.....
Oh, and I switched seats in language arts!! Not like any of you
care...Okay. I actually want some feedback from this. So, I'm going to construct
some kind of poll. If you could be a superhero, ANY superhero who would you
be? Feel free to create a super power and name yourself. I want to see how
creative you peeps really are. Seriously. So, e-mail yo answers, foo!! I'm at
firstname.lastname@example.org. If you don't answer my question I will find you and kill
you. [smiles wryly]
Have a lovely day. This is Patsy Nova signing off. Cheers. [posted by Patsy Nova]
I have found out a few of my school averages. Here they stand:
French: 99% ("And a fabulous student," she commented)
I found out what I shall be for Halloween. I know you're so excited about this -- but I won't tell you about it until the day after Halloween. Bummer, eh? Yeah, I thought so myself. It's not very original, and I can get everything myself, minus a hat that I need to borrow from a pal. All previous ideas have been ignored (I'm sorry, but I shall not be Mo Rocca this year, much to Her disappointment), and I am copying an idea of someone's who had used it last year. Don't worry, I'll be super-elaborate and you probably won't be able to tell it's me underneath all of the makeup. I might not even go with this idea, considering that I know someone else who is doing it this year, and no plans of mine are ever final.
I guess I'm just very boring, considering that most of my votes on BlogHop are increasingly negative upon my part. I mean, what could I write about on here that would spruce it up? Should I write more about Him, or Her, or have Her and Patsy take over for a few days? I might do that this upcoming weekend, just so I can "take a break" from this whole blogging shinzit. Yeah, in fact, that is what I am going to do: I am going to let Her and Patsy take over this corner of the web and do whatever the hell they want with it for two days. I mean, how can it be, anyway?
Patsy was sick today with a stuffy nose. Patsy is my ride tomorrow. I honestly hope that she feels better soon, because we have PSATs (a big test here in the US, if you didn't know) tomorrow, and I wouldn't want her to miss out on this "grand opportunity". Plus, first period was boring with no one around to talk to.
I'm actually not so tired, because I had no idea it was so late until I got upstairs to see why everything was so quiet. Everything is quite odd for the moment, I suppose. Not in that weird sort of manner, but in that misunderstanding state of mind. If I had known the story between any of these things, I would have been better off. I guess I should explain my story at a better time.
I am dressed like a prep. I am scared to see how I look. My hair is in pigtails (low down, not those high spunky ones that people wore in the 1980s), I am wearing a long-sleeved dark green sweater (the one I got from Goodwill), pants, and my favorite songs: ones with little brown and orange flowers on them. I feel preppy. I probably don't look at much. All I know is that my collarbone is itching like crazy.
The highs around here are supposed to be around 85 degrees Fahrenheit. (I know I spelt it wrong. Don't bug me.)
I hate layouts. I'm pretty sure that they hate me, too, but it all doesn't matter anyway. If you've been reading from Day One, then you'd realize that I: a) have problems with keeping my mind on one idea; b) that bright colors = good, and; c) this blog was first meant to be poetic, but was changed to a "summer blog", and eventually ended up being a bullshit blog. I hate layouts. I cannot keep up with the "trends" and I can't find the perfect purpose for the color pink. I like butterflies, but I can't make them into every damn design. If you want to design my website, then go ahead, email me and tell me your idea (I'm not that picky) and then I'll let you overtake my blog and create the layout that you think I deserve. I swear I'll try to keep it up for longer than a day.
My parents and I went to look at a few Daewoo Lanoses. I particularly fell in love with the grey ones. Tape player, air conditioning, mm, mm, mm.
Afterwards, we went to Best Buy, and I got an Elvis Costello CD that contains one of my all-time favorite songs, "Veronica". Which, and I bet you didn't know this one, was co-written by Paul McCartney, whom was quite a yummy guy in his early years. The CD itself is really good. I like the song "So Like Candy".
Oh, by the way, I went to bed immediately after my last post last night.
OK, I am no longer watching "Saturday Night Live". The cause for these changes of plans? It is the fact that a giant cockroach decided to flicker itself across the floor of the "playroom" that I was in, causing me (who is afraid of the buggers) to go in a panic, and thus pack up my stuff (three blankets, a laptop, a charger for the laptop, my CDs in a carrying case, and a magazine) and haul ass upstairs before the thing eats me alive. This, sadly enough, gives me an easier chance to fall asleep -- I mean, I am laying in my bed, with pillows everywhere, and I am also very far away from those cockroaches, so I won't have to worry about waking up with them crawling all over my body and eating away at my fingertips.
But, alas, I am a hyper bitch. And in the morning, I will most likely look back upon this post and think, "What the hell were you on, Diana? Jesus Christ, you're usually not like this!" You're probably reading this now, thinking I'm crazy. I probably am -- I'm doing unladylike things, like drinking straight out of the bottle of Coke, and reading "Esquire" magazine and giving everything I see a "roughntough" look to it. Oooh, boy, I'm going to regret writing this post in the morning -- wait, it's morning already.
I'll be damned.