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20000812
20:25;
It's been raining on and off this whole weekend thus far. It rained hard yesterday evening (thus not allowing me to go putt-putting), and it's now going to start again. Which just dampers my mood more than anything else, because there's nothing really to do when it's thundering and lightning other than just sit there and wait for the power to go out.
I have one more day of freedom after today. That's kind of scary, you know? I wish I could just make it the best day possible, but that's kind of hard to do knowing that, 1) I can't drive alone, and 2) It's raining, and I hate being anywhere but inside someone's house when it rains. So I might just hang around the house tomorrow, writing about my adventures. Maybe make it a 24-hour thing.
So, right now, as it's raining, I am publishing this thing every other minute. I'm afraid the power'll go out. 20000811
11:00;
I've read most of A Tree Grows In Brooklyn, so I'm not really worried about it anymore. I have my visual aid all planned out for the first day. I just have to do it.
Today is the last day of summer vacation. All that's left is Saturday and Sunday after this. Today sometime, He wants to take me putt-putting. Which I have no problem with. I actually like putt-putting because I can play putt-putt golf without doing half-bad. Then, there's open house at 5 PM. I'm getting a ride with Patsy, and then She, Patsy, and I are coming back to my house for supper (Philly cheese steaks), and then watch a few movies. We're talking about possibly going to Barnes and Noble or Books-a-Million in the morning for cappachino. I'll end up doing my project on Sunday.
Sigh. What a boring post.
20000810
17:02;
I promised myself that I would never return to the wrath that I call "middle school". I never got over the torture it was to walk in lines at age 13 down the halls, three squares off the wall. I don't think any of my friends liked it there, and we all cheered of happiness as we left.
But, alas, my younger brother decided to go to that school for sixth grade, so I was forced against my will to go through the double-doors that lead to my form of Hell. To pass by all the plaster-faced glued-on-smiling teachers made me shudder with a fright. It's amazing how teachers change as soon as they see a parent. I took note of this as I stood outside of every classroom my father and brother wandered into, waiting them to exit. The only teacher that I didn't know that caught my attention was a John Malkovich-lookalike who taught Science in the area. He smiled at everyone, and yet he had this side to him that - I guess - was shy deep down. I don't know. I felt sorry for him.
I saw Her there, so we walked around to the teachers we liked and said a few hello's before I took my exit. There was this girl there, however, that we both knew. She used to be in the same "cool crowd" as the girl was, and I despised her. She was walking around in this small green top and holding the hand of her flavor-of-the-day, wearing some weird hat. (I didn't look too closely, I was afraid she'd burn my eyes out.)
All-in-all, I was happy to take a breathe of fresh air as I exited the school. Thank god I don't go there anymore.
11:11;
I realized that my voicemail is going dead on me, so if you want to make me happy then I suggest you call it. The number is 1-877-708-7846, extension 957. And since it's an "877", it's free! Tell me about yourself, play some music, or do anything that you want to. You don't want a sad Diana, now, do you?
09:38;
My mom left to go visit my aunt this morning. She's staying at my aunt's for three or four days, and comes back on Sunday -- just in time for school. My younger brother's open house is tonight (5 PM), and I'm being forced against my own will to go along to show him what to do. I haven't been there for two years, and yet my mother expects me to know where is where anymore. My open house is on Friday (5 PM), and I'm going with Her and Patsy so we can just find out where our homerooms are. Afterwards, they are staying the night, and on Saturday sometime I plan on doing a visual aid for the book A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (I'm only halfway done and I have a plan.). On Sunday, He wants to take me out on a boating trip just to get some fresh air in our lives. All I'm doing for the next two days - in between all of the mumbo-jumbo with school - is reading. I am going to finish this book, and study the CliffNotes for To Kill a Mockingbird to death. I cannot stand that book.
I get the bus at 6:43 AM. Yeah. I think I'm the only one in the area that gets on at that bus-stop, too. Lucky, lucky me. 20000809
22:25;
I lost my schedule today, only to refind it five minutes before I started to write. It was in a box where I keep all of my Hallmark cards that people get me. Must've gotten there when I was cleaning.
He came to visit me today, and he brought two things for me. One was a Hallmark that had two deer rubbing noses, which sits on my table at the moment. The other thing - which is sitting next to the card - is a candle that has a piece of glass next to it that reflects and creates this sparkle.
My mother and I went shopping last night for some more school supplies. I got a small stapler, some white-out, pens, pencils, a pencil sharpener, and a clock for my locker. I should've bought some bird feed, too. Damn.
There are three floors to the school that I go to. The third floor is never used, and is mainly a junkyard for extra desks and books. And birds. Lots of birds.
Usually, they forget that there are broken windows and they decide to fly through the hallways, terrifying the students to death and making them press against the walls, and (every now and then) scream of fright that they might -- gasp! -- defecate. I know, it's just so terrifying that it makes me want to squirm. But I really have nothing to fear of birds, as long as I keep on walking and don't really pay attention. They just fly over head, sometimes resting themselves on the pipes that are resting along the sides of the halls. The school was built in the 1930s, but first used for a regular school. It was formed into an arts school two years back, and has been under 600 since. It's actually not a bad school, since there are so many different people and so many artistic possibilies (ie, I could take dance classes instead of Phys Ed, which I did.). Patsy's parents attended that school, and the hallways in it look so much darker, but they depict the time. The school's pipes and wires are not in the walls. There are old-fashioned bells in the classrooms and some of the hallways. The doors are large and the floors are hard. I know it sounds weird, but I'm actually looking forward to going back to school.
10:38;
I'm walking around my house in a small t-shirt and purple panties, eating KIX (Kid tested, mother approved) and watching "The Daily Show". Oh what a life I live.
He came home last night, but was too tired to talk (online, of course) for long. I wasn't bothered, anyway. I was just kind of sitting there, talking to Ex (about himself, as always) and Him, wanting half of me to go to bed and half wanting to watch the second half of Beetlejuice. But, no. I sat there and read what he was typing (he was obviously too tired to call -- or just didn't want to. Both were understandable.) about how he got me things against my will, and how he even got my father something.
That's something that always bothered me in the back of my head. He always got things for my father. Shotglasses, usually, since my father collects them. It kind of bothered me, because deep down, neither of my parents can stand Him. They say things about Him behind His back that I tell him about, but yet He still does it. I don't know. I don't need this stress. He wants to come over today, but deep down I just want the day to myself.
But you know how it ends up. The obvious. We sit around on the couch "watching TV." Sigh. Anyway. "Who's Line is it, Anyway?" is on. And I have this urge to tell you about my dream.
I was immortal, I guess. My mother had accidentally put a poolstick through my head (from temple to temple) and I fell to the ground. She removed the poolstick and was over me, crying. I wasn't drawing much blood. After a minute, I woke up and looked at her in this confused way. I started crying because she was crying. But the thing was, I was crying blood.
It seems really quickly, but I was suddenly in Her kitchen. But it wasn't Her kitchen. I mean, it didn't look like her kitchen, but something inside me said it was. It was all white and brown (wood, perhaps), and had a balcony. Her, Her younger brother, and Her mother came into the kitchen, looking like they just came back from the beach or something. She came over to me, smiling, saying that she got a tattoo. I asked her where it was, and she wouldn't tell me. "Is it on the back of your neck?" I asked, and she smiled really wide and nodded, pointing to the back of her neck. I looked, and there was this flower tattoo there. Her mother looked on really proudly.
I then told Her and Her mother that I wasn't dead. They thought I was crazy for some reason, and then I pointed to the scabby areas on my temples. "Look at that," I remember saying. "My mother (add enthusiasm to that part) stabbed me with a poolstick, and I am ALIVE!" They both looked at me as if I was unbelievable. Then She asked me if I wanted a tattoo...
Then I woke up. 20000808
21:46;
We did it! There have been over 100 hits (114 at the moment) to Ex's webpage. At 150, however, I plan on telling this redhead crusader that I advertised on my page. (Transcripts will be posted.)
19:50;
I think I'm hallucinating that there's a cockroach on my ceiling, because I keep on looking at that direction with a sense of paranoia going through my body. Ironically, there's a movie called The Cockroach That Ate Cincinnati which is about "rock & roll, hero worship, hallucinations, drugs, madness, paranoia, rebellion and the search for individual integrity". How quaint.
I am actually doing better than what I did yesterday evening. I didn't mean for all that I said to be so... evil. Or negative. I promised myself that I wouldn't be so angst in the future, and I broke it. I got a few queries about what I said, and I appreciate people caring for me. It means a lot.
Now, if you excuse me, I rented a classic movie (Beetlejuice) for the evening, so goodnight. 20000807
21:54;
It's a chain of reactions.
First, I come online to innocently write this. Then my younger brother decides, "Hey, Diana's out here, I can be out here too!" So he creates a ruckus turning on the TV to Comedy Central with the sound blaring and brightness consuming everything in the room. I tell him to go to bed, which ends up with my parents telling him (and me) that he can stay out there as long as I can. Which, quite honestly, can't be much longer. I suppose. This c: drive needs to be defragged again because it seems to always want to mess up on me. I try to play a song on Napster, and it automatically starts to stutter in the midst of the chorus as a page loads.
I hate this computer.
I wanted to spend time away from the computer, starting at 8:30. I lasted until now, before I thought that I should come online to say a few words of what I feel, without being judged. Or without being questioned. But, as we all know, someone out there will pick up the perfect words to crush exactly what I feel... that is, if I can put what I feel into nice English words.
I first want to appologize for everything to everyone who I have ever harmed. Including those who don't read this. I appologize to Him for always expecting so much when there is so little he can do to change his lifestyle. I appologize to Her for letting my suicide attempts in the past get to her head, and have her live through my troubles. I appologize to Ex, for creating such a havoc in his life and making it the way it is now, and how he is now: insecure. I appologize to Patsy for doing things that I don't mean to do and not supporting her enough to have everything feel better. I appologize to everyone who ever sent me an email/voicemail/AOL IM that praised this website and never got a return because I didn't know what to say, or how to think of a compliment from such great writers themselves. I appologize to my parents for causing them such a great hole in their financial state, and for doing the things I do sometimes and causing them stress that they - as perfectly wonderous people - don't deserve in their lives. I appologize to everyone I hurt in 6th grade for saying things that I meant but shouldn't have spoken about. I appologize to myself. I appologize. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.
I might be gone for awhile. I might not. I don't know yet. This site might go dead on everyone, and that's not my major concern right now. If things get any worse, I'll have someone take over temporarily so I can gain some emotional rest. Or whatever.
If you have been reading, you can probably guess that I'll be on tomorrow morning, thinking "Gee, wasn't I in a funny mood last night? Hyuck!" And then everything and everyone would be smiling and thinking that I lived the normal mood swings. That I'm PMSing. That it's just a hormonal imbalance. That it's stress. Well... it's none of those. I am just saying what I want to say. I'll probably end up letting a lot out during this school year, believe you and me.
My room is a mess right now. I haven't gotten anywhere with A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, and there is no possible way for me to cheat on that book. I feel so backed up in everything right now that I just want to scream and let it all out.
But, unfortunately, there are people sleeping in the house.
20:50;
For some odd reason, I feel really alone right now.
10:47;
When I was in 4th grade, there was a filming studio in town to film for a movie starring Julia Roberts called The Kings of Carolina. My mother - who at the time was a popularity freak - signed my younger brother and I to be extras for it. My brother wasn't needed for a part. I, however, was.
In the middle of November, 1994, I didn't go to school one day. Instead, we (my mother and I) went to a building downtown where some people were standing around pretty little trailers and food buffets. We were redirected to a church across the street, where I was informed to change into a different outfit in order to look like "the typical pre-teen." Of course, every piece of clothes my mother brought with her was dress-up and could not be worn. So she was forced to go home whereas I stayed there, in the midst of other girls my age that was being changed by their mothers in the middle of a church.
When my mother finally returned, she changed me into this itchy sweater, stretchy green pants, and ugly green tennis shoes. To compliment everything else, she put my hair in a green tie. I was the "pre-teen" everyone expected me to be. I complied with it all.
That 10 hours of work that day was hell. All we did was go down stairs, end filming, go back up to refilm. The actress that played the little girl in the movie, Haley, and I talked very little with the other girls that were there. We just went up the steps, and then back down. Got a lunch promptly at 2 PM, did 3 hours of sitting in a room inside the church so I could get "schoolwork" in. Whereas, I sat there the whole time and read The Babysitter's Club books. Afterwards, the girls (probably about 5 others around my age) were escorted out to the outside of the building, where we were picked to go with "mothers" (other people in the movie, none the less) down the front steps while the main characters spoke. That's when I saw her.
Standing probably less than 15 feet away was my then-hero. I had seen the movie Hook and was attached to her. Standing fifteen feet away was Julia Roberts. Mind you, these were in the days that she was less giddy-- and less popular. But, anyway, there she was. Right there. In the scenario, we (a few "mothers" with their "daughters") walk past Julia Roberts and the little girl (Haley, remember?) who did a TERRIBLE Southern accent while she is talking to some old lady. We did this for hours and hours until it got really dark outside and we had to use lots of blinding-white lights to catch the scene. We eventually ended around 8 PM and were getting ready to leave.
Then I saw her. Again.
My mom saw her, too. We both kind of stood there next to a worn-down station wagon, wide-eyed at Julia Roberts as if she was some god. My mom looked at me, smiled, and grabbed my hand. We walked over to her very slowly, together. My mother tapped her shoulder, and she turned around, looking down at me at first, and then my mother. Suddenly, as if without warning, she kind of swooped down to give me this hug, told me how well I did as an extra (even though the production crew scoulded me once or twice for not paying attention), and then sent us on our merry ways.
In all, I got paid $50 for 10 hours of work. Which isn't that good, but it doesn't matter. The movie's title was changed to Something to Talk About and ended up flopping.
Besides that, I have seen a few other movie sets that were in the area, including Now and Then (then called "The Gaslight Edition" or something) and Forrest Gump. I had an agent for a short time, because I was dedicated to the idea that I would break out in Hollywood and become a fabulous person with a star on a street and my hands in front of a theatre. But, I was wrong. The agent didn't get me any roles, and thus I gave up on acting a few months later.
But deep down, I really wish that I could've become a somebody in Hollywood. My mom is talking me into modelling now, but I don't have the clear face and the perfect body to be doing things like that. But maybe if I meet someone famous that I admire, that my mind will change.
But for now, I'm a little girl in a boring town that calls people to express their love. And, to be honest, I like it like that. But there is something deep down inside of me that gets all tingly when I see my body pass by on the TV screen. (If you want to see me, then I suggest watching approximately 10-30 minutes into the film. I am the one with the ugly bangs going down the steps. Then turn the movie off. It's a horrible final product.) 20000806
22:33;
This is what I hate about school starting in a week.
My parents remember that they are parents. And that they over-ride any opinion that I state. And that they can suddenly make rules, saying, "Diana, didn't we agree that you'd get off the computer at 10?" when in reality, no agreement has actually happened.
This is what I hate about summer. Goodnight.
20:38;
You want... photos?
16.jpg - This is a photo of Patsy and I a few weeks back when we dressed different from what we usually do and went to the mall, getting lots of weird stares. That's what happens when you live in a yuppie town.
17.jpg - That's Her on the left, and Patsy on the right. The photo in real life looks a LOT less bright, but none the less it kind of captures both of them in their natural state of minds. Though She doesn't always look that pissed.
18.jpg - Self-portrait of myself done at 1 AM a few night ago out of pure boredom. Does it look like me? No? Didn't think so.
19.jpg - Ex. In all of his bright-red-hair-blinding-your-eyes glory. You can see the unedited version on his website, which currently has around 40 more hits to go before it reaches the almighty 100. We can do it! Yeah.
17:59;
I took a Polaroid on my adventures through what I have been into the last day. I would like to share a few photos with you, but I need the consent of the people in them (Him, His brother, Patsy, Her, and Her brother) before I can post. You know, just to be courteous and all. Some of them are kind of embarrassing, but yet they display the life I live in. Kind of like one of those "LIFE" magazine stories' photos. They explain 24 hours in the life of me: hellishly bright, with fake grins and sleepy eyes all around. That's not entirely a bad thing. It's just... creative. I need to do it again soon. Except, like, without expensive Polaroid film.
The two pictures that I like the best out of the ten taken was one in a KMart with Him and His brother. The lights above them are blurred, and His body is sort of in motion (or in a state of confusion) and His brother is standing across from him holding a light bulb or something. It just captured the mood of the experience there, that everyone was tired and life was fading away. The other photo was taken by Her brother when the lights were completely out and we couldn't see two inches in front of us. He flashed the camera when I'm in this pose as if I was in the middle of dancing to Diana Ross' "Stop In the Name of Love", and Patsy is sitting next to me with this evil-looking faux grin on her face. Her face is illuminated, and it just kind of made it seem as if we were going crazy. Which we were. Keep in mind when/if you see the picture, however, that it was at 5 AM when it was taken, and we were, as Patsy would've put it, "tweaking." (After the photo was taken, we sucessfully spilt garlic sauce all over Her wall.)
Today has been odd. I read a little of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn as Her, Patsy, and Her brother slept a few feet away from me. My mom picked me up half-hour early to go shopping for school clothes. The first two stops that we made were to Goodwill, where I bought a $35 worth of t-shirts and a rare skirt or two. The next stop was to one of the two malls in the area, where I bought a pair of faux leather pants, a pair of JNCOs, and a shirt or two. Which cost well over $100. It's crazy how much you can get at Goodwill and how little you can get in mainstream mall-hopping America. |
