Wednesday, February 28, 2001

A letter to a non-reader (I dare not elaborate):

Dearest you,
You've hurt the way I feel about you. You've taken my emotions and crumbled them up and discarded them as useless. You made the wrong decisions at the wrong time and it's cost you a bit of my heart. How could you do something so tremendously hypocritical? How could you do something that you'd kill me for doing? How can you singlehandedly ruin two friendships due to lack of trust? How do you do it, friend? How do you make it seem so easy and sly and that there's no guilt? How do you make me stop crying when you are the one that started it? How can you not cry? How can you not cry when I'm pleading for forgiveness and love? How can you still look at those two friendships ruined by you? Do you realize how I'm suffering? Do you realize how it hurts?

There's so much more I can say to you, but it still won't release the pain. It still won't make two friendships better. It still won't make me fully understand why you can do something and I can't. It won't bring my emotions back. It'll just make me more numb than now. Love, Diana
(6:41 AM)

Monday, February 26, 2001

For some odd reason, I feel terribly sick this morning. I got over my other "illness" two or three days after it's first appearance. That was a stomach-ache. This is more of a liver-ache to me. Yes, I know "liver-aches" don't exist. But I feel as if my liver is calling out to me... Diana, please feed me something, god damn it! I haven't really been listening to my liver lately. Or anything else, for that matter.

It's been a week since I last posted. It's not that I didn't have the time to post (there was plenty of that), but I rather didn't want to post. I did wish to post yesterday, but Blogger was down and it's only worker was taking a well-deserved break. The topic's a complete irrelevence now. It was just mainly about me taking a shower and watching the hair dye make the color turn an ugly black. I dyed my hair. Wow. I know you really missed that post.

I probably won't be making lots of messages this week, considering that I have a ten-page report due on Friday. I'm considering the idea of skipping that day.
(6:29 AM)

Tuesday, February 20, 2001

One could not pick a better day to be sick: my mother was off today, and had gone shopping. She was in a relatively nice place in life and was up for a great deal of rest and relaxation. My father (who gets very protective whenever one of his children stays home from school: no tv, no computer, sleep sleep sleep) is expected home later this evening, so that means that we're eating something mobile tonight -- my mother's not the all-American cooking kind. She's the kind that remembers the numbers to local pizza and Chinese take-outs. C'est super cool, as my French teacher would say. And it is.

Because, well, I decided that I would get out of school early today. I didn't feel too splendid at school (the typical headache-stomachache-backache-nausea-I-might-throw-up-later sort of thing), so I went to the nurse a great deal of times to try to contact my mother. When I was starting to feel better (really, I was sick), my mother was finally contacted and I got to go home, even though I wasn't really that sick. And now I'm in my pajamas, watching a movie or two to pass the time. I have a test to re-take tomorrow (history; I claimed that I was "too tired" to concentrate) and I'm not even supposed to be on the computer. I'm supposed to be, well, getting my rest. Because I'm sick. Or something.
(3:51 PM)

Monday, February 19, 2001

There are ducks in the neighborhood that won't move, even if you edge inches away from them in your car. They're mostly white ducks that have migrated down here from up north. They will threaten to lay eggs in your lawn. They will eat your wilted bushes and begin bladder problems on your newly-polished back deck. They will frighten the dogs and bite at the cats. They own the neighborhood.

These "ducks" (they're more like little monsters) reside in the neighborhood man-made sewer-like ponds. The ponds in this neighborhood are in terrible shape from the evil people that live nearby them throwing plastic bags. In the deeper areas of the water, some crabs and turtles live. Every now and then, a turtle will rest atop a pipe or along the shore. This causes people from out of town to park their Toyotas or Fords in a non-parking area (causing traffic to congest) and sit upon the dog-feces-infested shores and point at the tiny turtles. Then they add to the mess by drinking beers along the shores and throwing them in. And awhile later, the ducks migrate north. Around the same time, volunteers end up coming by to replant small twig-like "trees" along the shores and to remove the six-pack plastic soda things from around the ducks' beaks. They eat lunch around the edges of the water, gossiping about this and that -- particularly about the freaky murder that happened down the road or politics. After a few hours, they pack up and everyone in the neighborhood comments on how pretty it looks there and how they wish it was always like that. Then, the next day, they'll throw another Wal-Mart trash bag in the water. And the ducks will migrate south and nothing will seem to have changed.

The moral of this story? There is none.
(4:47 PM)

Saturday, February 17, 2001

A few minor updates in my life, in no particular order:

My mother got a tattoo this evening. I suspect that she was under the influence of some sort of alcohol. When she and my father arrived home this evening, my mother came up to me and declared that she "did something" and asked me to guess what she did. I guessed things ranging from "fell in love with a drag queen" to "pole-dancing" (she is capable of both, I assure you), and she kept on shaking her head no. I nearly had a heart-attack when I found out the truth. It's a heart tattoo with my father's name inside of it, and it's located on her upper right shoulder.

I got a notice of acceptance into the Savannah Savvy journalism thing. The first meeting is Monday and I'm somewhat nervous about mingling with new people such as these. Hopefully, I'll do okay with the entire thing... it won't take much to impress myself.

I'm incredibly tired right now, even though I did nothing all day besides take a shower and wait in a McDonald's drive-through for thirty solid minutes. (The six-piece Chicken McNugget meal wasn't worth such a deadly torture.)
(10:53 PM)

Apparently, Michael Cuccione, the short-lived teenage star that was last seen on the MTV show "2Gether", had died on January 13, 2001... eight days after his sixteenth birthday. He had been diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease at the age of nine. In the two shows that he appeared in ("Baywatch" and "2gether"), he always appeared with some form of disease, perhaps to cover up the fact that he really didn't have much energy to do certain things.

It scares me knowing that the possibilty of death at my age is there. He was only four months older than me. I suddenly have a great deal of respect for him. (Feel free to donate to Michael's cancer fund. It's all for a good cause.)
(2:18 PM)

Thursday, February 15, 2001

So I'm sort of trying to get a job, except I don't get paid. However, it will sort of make me one step closer to my futuristic goal of writing in some really cool music magazine. I tried out for a spot in the local paper's teen section, cutely called Savannah Savvy. You see, for the past weeks, my parents have been nagging me on-and-off about getting into some social/extracurricular activity, and I figured that I'd chose one that I was actually interested in doing.

Believe it or not, I can actually write articles or essays. When I first got into the whole idea of journalism (around the age of 13; roughly two years ago), I made fictional interviews out of imaginary rock-stars that I created in my mind that had names like "Minnesota Douglas" or something of the sort. I'm not sure if I can still do that (especially with interviewing non-fictional people), but I'm willing to try and make something of my afternoons rather than sitting here. That, of course, is not to say that sitting here is a bad thing; it just won't look too spiffy on my college apps.
(4:20 PM)

Valentine's Day was yesterday, and it wasn't half-bad. It was just another day at school with a little more luggage to carry and a lot of pink hearts. The student council had to refund people for their "candy-grams" (things delivered to an admirer or whatnot while in class) because they didn't come in on time. People were asked to put their balloons and roses in a locker, perhaps because they were an "interruption" in the work area. Photographs were taken in the corner of the cafeteria; two bucks for a Polaroid, which was a heavy rip-off. The pizza was sold two for the price of one, and the lines went all the way to the double-doors. Candy hearts, stuffed animals, and love was aptly spread upon the area.

There was a bad side, I suppose. That's why I hate Valentine's Day. It's never sheerly happy, but rather there is this one little tidbit that makes it seem so rough. I'm not entirely sure what made Valentine's Day seem like just another day in the life. Maybe because I found out that one of my distant aquaintences - and an ex of "Fred's", mind you - has an adoration for Him. Maybe because some people were tired of this mumbo-jumbo. Maybe because some things just didn't etch into the correct spot at the correct time. Or that my father was sick. Or that my mother had to work overnight. Or something.

I don't know, and I really can care less at this point. Happy (belated) Valentine's day.
(6:24 AM)

Monday, February 12, 2001

How would the world be alternated if you didn't do that something different? What if you didn't go to that school or wear that shirt or like that band? What if you weren't at that one place at that one exact moment that alternated everything in your future? My question in particular is What if I didn't move to where I live now?

For starters, I'd most likely still be someone else by now. But even if I stayed in Pennsylvania my entire life up til this point, there would be highly alternating futuristics. I would've given up hope on college by now, considering that there's no such thing as a HOPE scholarship there. We'd probably still be living on the same street in the same house. My mother would still be allowing her mother (who, ironically, just lived across the street) to control her, but my father would be happy to be closer to his family. I'd still be best friends forever with Joanna, and I'd be at all her well-known birthday parties and we'd play in the snow during the winter and swim in her pool in the summer. I'd get a job at the four-aisle supermarket down the road (where everyone knows your name, anyway) and I'd still consider the "downtown" area to be the biggest in the area. My parents would've divorced by now, considering that they've both lived there for a great deal of their lives and knew too many people. (My mother said that.) I would still be in church, as well as the church's choir. I would've graduated from the middle school and be in the secluded high school. I'd be eating authentic Chinese cuisine at school today. And I would still think that it was amazing to be there.

On the flipside, He would probably still be hanging out with the people in his neighborhood and would've chased after other girls. Meredith would probably still have "X-Files" parties every Friday or Saturday. Patsy would still like British rock and wear the same clothes that she does. However, "Fred" would've probably dated his ex-girlfriends more if I didn't (supposedly) influence him to do otherwise. And He would still be under strict control with his mother and wouldn't become friends with "Fred" as well as he has. Meredith probably wouldn't have done some of the stupid things that we did in 8th grade. (Like spit cola onto the classroom floors.) And Patsy would still be without (I assume, at least) the wonderous Ani D. single or a fish.

I wonder how I would be different. Would I be wearing the same kind of clothes that I do today? Would I own a website, or even a computer? Would I be wearing the same styles of clothing, or getting the same musical influences, or even wearing my hair the way I do today? It's giving me a headache to think about...
(6:44 AM)

Saturday, February 10, 2001

I wanted to make fortune cookies because I was hungry for them and the people at the nearby Chinese restraunt don't just deliver a simple cookie. So I went online and I decided that I was going to make them myself. And so I did... sort of.

If you know me personally, you know that I cannot cook for my life. I mess up on the just-add-water brownies. So trying to add more than water to any recipe is hellish for me. The recipe I chose called for stuff that I was unfamiliar with, like corn-starch. And, to be sheerly honest, I to this moment still have no idea what "sifted" flour is. So, none the less, I decided that I would try to do this for ha-has. I got a measuring cup that was in a pizza-making kit for kids (my younger brother's, not mine), a couple of tablespoons, the ingredients, and the yoke separator from my dad's spawn-of-the-devil Egg Wave kit. A few minutes later, I had the ingredients mixed splendidly with little problems. (The only major problem was that a yoke broke in the separator. Pissed me off.) I carefully dripped the ingredients onto a well-greased pan and put them in the oven, three at a time, for twenty minutes.

That, my dear friends, was a mistake. The little things bubbled and crisped in that oven, pleading for their freedom from the 300 degree heat. I took them out five minutes early - at the peak of their cooking. I quickly tried to release them from the pan and fold them into the wonderful little shapes that they were supposed to go into. That didn't work, either, for they all cooled immediately. After yelling and cursing at myself, I washed the pan off (burning myself in the process) and tried again. The same thing happened and I ended up having to eat the flat pieces of bleh-tasting fortuneless cookies. So I decided at that point that a second idea was going to take place: I was going to put two on each platter, put the suckers into the oven for seven minutes, take them out, put a fortune (which I made out of boredom, just for effect) on top of one, and put the other one over that one. It was the stupidest idea, but it would still (sort of) have the similiar effect. Again, I was too slow with my reactions and the things stayed molded onto that platter.

I still have a lot of dough left to eat.
(10:01 PM)

Friday, February 09, 2001

A piece of paper given to me today:

Valentine's Day is a travesty. It is nothing but a horrid excuse to gain money created by the candy and card companies. They try to lure poor suckers into purchasing worthless crap that lasts a few days and giving it to their love interests. The only reason it caught on is because of women's overactive emotions and from men's extreme gullibility. If men were not so desperate to find a female companion, there would be no such things as "Valentine's Day" because the major corporate flowers would not be gaining so much money. Overall, Valentine's Day just capitalizes on love. Love is a beautiful thing that should not be all about money. Also, if you love someone, don't tell them only once a year, let everyday be "Valentine's Day". And no more of this corporate crap. Thank you.

(See the actual note.)
(4:56 PM)

Thursday, February 08, 2001

So here I sit, finally emerging from the depths of my cozy warm bedroom, to write an entry. And it is acting really slow this evening, so I don't know if this entry will even show up. Doesn't matter, anyway. It's just a bunch of jibberish.

I'm a bit tipsy because my father gave me drowsing medicine to calm my cough. I usually don't take medication - I'm against it unless if it is utterly necessary - but this was forced upon me. I just hope that it works, so that I don't feel entirely foolish for going along with my father's idea of curing this cold. I haven't bothered to take my temperature yet - it's pointless because I'll end up at school tomorrow with a box of tissues underneath my arm.

So I'm off to bed. I'll end up dreaming about those damn cannibals chasing me like they did in last night's dream... and then "Fred" turned into a cat... but that's an entirely different story, I suppose. G'night.
(9:34 PM)

Wednesday, February 07, 2001

in a coffee shop in a city / which is every coffee shop / in every city / on a day which is every day / i pick up a magazine / which is every magazine / and read a story then / forgot it right away / they say goldfish got no memory / i guess their lives are much like mine / the little plastic castle / is a surprise every time / it's hard to say if they are happy / when they don't seem much to mind / from the shape of your shaved head / i recognized your silhoutte / as you stepped in out of the sun and sat down / your sleepy smile eclipsed everyone else in the room / as they paused to snear at the girls from out of town / i said, "baby, look at you this morning / you are so way the fucking cutest / be careful getting coffee / i think these people want to shoot us / i think there's some kind of competition here / to see who can be the rudest / people talk about my image / like i come in two dimensions / like lipstick is a sign of my decling mind / like what i happen to be wearing the day / that someone takes my picture / is my new statement for all womankind / i wish they could see us now / in leather bras and rubber shorts / like some ridiculous team uniform / for some ridculous new sport / quick someone call the girl police / and file a report / in a coffee shop in a city / which is every coffee shop / in every city / on a day which is every day...

That, my dear friends, is Ani DiFranco for you. ("Little Plastic Castle")
(6:47 AM)

Tuesday, February 06, 2001

I started a book today that's about love. Around page 12 or so, my mind started wandering. It was thinking about Valentine's Day. I hate that day because everyone's either very happy or very sad. There is rarely an in-between. Last year, I was happy. This year, I hope to be happy. Last year, a great deal of my friends were sad. I don't know what to expect this year. I don't know how to handle this holiday, trying to keep myself, Him, and my friends all happy at the same instant. I guess it's my turn to play superhero.

I don't even know what to get anybody for Valentine's Day. The whole holiday, in short, is just a pink version of Christmas. Everything's in the shape of a cut-out heart (the real-life hearts are, by far, cuter) and pink. And there's balloons, stuffed animals, and jewelery. Everywhere, and yet no where at the same time. My friends and myself were discussing the topic of Valentine's Day yesterday as we plunked ourselves down next to the table selling candy hearts and stuffed bears. We spoke of how terrible the holiday makes people feel (very terrible), and how everyone seems to be happier. I probably won't be happy this Valentine's Day. And the soul reason for this is because other people around me aren't happy.

I'm dying to just celebrate Valentine's Day outside of the school. But things like that don't fly by Him; He's the type that just go with things. Which is a good thing, I suppose; He's the type that doesn't really care about other's opinions. So I guess I'll just have to fly with the idea as well. But I probably won't be smiling as much as last year, and I probably will end up trying to shove this day behind me... it's still eight days away...
(4:48 PM)

Monday, February 05, 2001

It was just "Fred" and I, side by side in his little blue Nissan. We watched his ex-girlfriend from a distance. Practicing soccer. Celine Dion played on the CD player, and we both sang along with the popular songs. And we sat there, side by side, watching his ex-girlfriend kick around a soccer ball and act as if it was perfectly alright in her life.

That's when "Fred" told me that her new boyfriend hit her. In the middle of a song, he told me flat-out and made me promise not to mention it to anyone else. I'm breaking a promise because I think it's important to mention it here. I know that the people that know me personally and that read this won't tell anybody - not even authorities. "Fred's" ex-girlfriend is strong; she's the type of person that won't let things like this happen to her for long. She's strong. Her current boyfriend lives down the road and works at a nearby grocery store. Even though there has been tension between his ex-girlfriend and myself, I still want to go over there and cause havoc. But I can't. I'm not like that. I'm not even sure if they're still going out; they might've broken up.

I've never been in an abusive relationship. At times, I thought one of my ex-boyfriends had sexually assaulted me because he continuously felt up my leg during history class in 7th grade. He forced me to kiss him under the computer class' tables. But it's not the same as what "Fred's" ex is going through. And we just sat there, side by side, watching her kick the ball around.

If you want more information on rape, abuse, or incest -- or are a victim of this yourself -- please feel free to visit (and donate to) RAINN.
(6:04 PM)

Sunday, February 04, 2001

I'm in one of those moods. You know exactly what mood I'm speaking of. Everyone, after all, has these days. I'm in one of those "I-can-conquer-the-world-because-I-took-a-hot-shower-and-now-I'm-wearing-an-awesome-shirt-and-I've-got-cool-sunglasses-on-and-I-have-no-plans-for-today-and-I-can-care-less-so-let-me-give-you-a-backwards-peace-sign-and-walk-down-the-road" sort of moods. Don't mess it up.

Boo-yah.
(1:36 PM)

Saturday, February 03, 2001

My afternoon consisted of eating downtown with my family (including my older brother, who came into town last night, and his waify girlfriend), renting movies (Trainspotting and Benny and Joon), and going to a thrift shop and splurging a few bucks on two records, three books, and five shirts. Which is perhaps the most that I've bought at a thrift store at one time. I was extremely pleased with myself. Really.

So tonight will be quiet in the household. My older brother disappeared to the depths of elsewhere and my mother has strapped her body to MTV's continuous assembly line of pop stars and starlets. Right now, she's watching a show that represents how they made the halftime show for the Superbowl. Showing the melting Aerosmith confronting 'N Sync and Britney Spears really isn't worth all of this jive. (Just to clarify things, I think that all of the performers at the Superbowl halftime show have some form of talent... but all of them in one big melting pot was perhaps the worst idea they could've thought of.) And we're getting take-out Mexican food, so life can't be entirely bad -- I can survive off of tacos.
(6:25 PM)

Friday, February 02, 2001

On the bus this afternoon, I was joined by Patsy, Meredith, and Kelly because they were having bus difficulties of their own. Patsy and Kelly had a seat behind me; Patsy stared out the window and Kelly rested her head on the seat. I sat alone, and Meredith sat in front of me. And it was a peaceful ride home. Quiet, but peaceful. I looked out the windows and noticed the new things around me. I looked at the floor and saw a toy that belonged to the bus driver's daughter. I looked towards the back of the bus and noticed the sad looks that everyone had as soon as their chatting companion left the bus. And everything began to make more sense with my three best friends at my side.

Incidentally, I'm going to be at Meredith's house for the evening. Consider it another "girl's night out" evening... I'm really looking forward to some of the movies and whatnot that is in mind. Some of the better movies of all time. I would mention the movie titles, but it doesn't really matter. They're my favorites, they don't particularly have to be yours. We all have differences.
(4:16 PM)

Thursday, February 01, 2001

The current buzz is an essay that Blogger co-founder Evan Williams wrote about the future of Blogger. All of the other co-workers and co-creators (Paul, Meg, Jack, and Matt) have been "laid off back in December" and now Evan is the only remaining original creator.

Is it the beginning of the end? Maybe. Evan has gotten support from his personal website as well as from the ever-widespread server fund (ironically enough, Evan is quoted to say that Pyra ran "out of money" and yet they have raised $1,000 over their expected amount and had sponsorship with new servers... there's got to have been a bit of money left over). However, I wish Evan (as well as the entire Blogger/Pyra/ex-Pyra workers) a great deal of luck in the future.
(9:04 PM)

Like just 9% of the population you are a HEALER (Submissive Extrovert Concrete Feeler)-- caring, good with people, and patient. You are completely selfless and full of love. As a concrete feeler, you do well with your emotions, which are very strong. You understand and appreciate *why* you feel the way you do, and for the most part you're at peace with yourself.

Suffering in the world really pisses you off. In relationships, it's easy for you to get hurt. Avoid all kinds of dominant (D***) people, especially in dating or marriage. You are a motherly figure, even if you're a guy. If you're a girl, make sure you're a mom some day. The world's children need people like you. If you're a guy, don't even think about it. Most pedophiles are HEALERS. On the rare occasions when you try to assert yourself, you're cute and awkward, but highly effective. [link c/o Emili]

I am also 100% compatible with Jerwin and April.
(6:46 AM)