Clashing with vomit since 1975

I'll be a rockin roll bitch for you!!!111111oneoneoenoeneonesdfsf

surfing-feret@att.net — Mon, 09 Aug 2004 22:41:51 GMT

I feel a bit heartless in my…er… old age.

Although it’s not in my jurisdiction to admit it willingly; I’ve completely screwed over a good friend of mine. As to why I managed to lacerate our relationship, my explanations erupt from nothingness. It’s easy to chock it up to pure laziness with the dappling of a poor memory; not only is it easy but it’s less painful. I hate letting down people; damn my conscience.

Aha; six months previous I promised to take Stacie to the warped tour. Undoubtedly it was some frivolous bullshit procured to satiate her whining; what a good friend I am, no? To be blunt, I forgot, remembered, spent the last week or so evading her eye/contact/memory; then laid the good ole “I don’t have a ticket and can’t find us a ride” upon her crestfallen cranium.

A personal confession of the garden variety; the bands of which played on the tour rather not contends to my musical tastes, recent discovery has lowered by preferences to the likes of depeche mode and alien sex fiend (never underestimate the power of techno from the 80’s…still, words do not describe the defunct cacophony Nik Fiend wrote; but I can say he used to tour with a giant Chiquita banana.)

She deserves to flagon me with hypothetical whip and paddle; better yet, she deserves to scythe my tendons from bones; rip each hair follicle from my bleeding scalp, then send my disfigured remains to the strappado. When all is peachy keen, someone can write a historical novel regarding my ear shattering shrieks and tear-jerking laments. Perhaps a soap opera can regenerate from the burning cinders of my unworthy friendship; as long as I get a few good exhilarating lines such as “Oh Venusian sunshine, rip apart my undying flesh and plant the seeds of redemption upon these seething wounds of which limit my arrival at the tour of the warped.”

So I didn’t get to frolic around a weed-crested field with every highschool delinquent in some pseudo-punk-Woodstock. No malignant prodding for me; I’ve retained my dignity and refused to play cattle in the abyss of which is the mosh pit. While I’m paraphrasing in this cathartic delirium, I’d rather refer to this subculture phenomenon as nothing more then a terrible game of human-pinball involving the mashing and grinding of sweaty bodies svelte and robust alike.

I had it in for the Emoids; and still nothing has occurred to alter my ideals in regards to the matter. Now all the gritty subcultures of modern era have fallen into my melting pot of grudges; hypocritical I may be; it really doesn’t matter if you wear tears or studs upon your dickies. The guy wearing disposable fangs and pleather cape has just as little right to infringe the breaches of my privacy as the colossal nipple brute in pink fruit of the loom. I’ve had the liberty of conversing with both in recent endeavors; lucky, no? (It’s difficult to determine what tickles my fancy the most; a guy who crazy-glues plastic to the roof of his mouth; shim with early nineties Madonna nipples; or being fourteen with an obsession for David Bowie in 2004)

The war is waging; as the message board I’ve somewhat commanded now bores me. There is nothing worse then being trapped in virtual purgatory with seven crappily designed ukes. Inevitably; the roleplay has resulted in little diversity reflected within the characters. I find this to be difficult to grasp, each of my characters are reflections of me with exemplified faults. My Wal-Mart write-up had a bit of me instilled within each line; sometimes it’s best to embrace our inner fat ladies; worship Richard Simmons and drink diet-noncarbonated-caffeine free…tab. As long as it’s kept figurative I’m game.

Recently Slash has become the new fashion memorabilia of roleplay; with all my past executions and ridiculers, this is nothing short of entertaining. Still, there are the few who join boards to go angsty Christian with machinegun moralities and purified intention armor plates. Low scale virtual sin, what a topic to type about; really delve into the cryptic websites of blasphemes entity.

Not to mention the lovely death threats I’ve been receiving from fellow slashers.

Cyanide r0mance: Remember this
Cyanide r0mance: I am going to kill you…
DeFiAnT cLaM gOd: Your promise is as good as my dick; nonexistent

…I miss Obi……………………a lot.

He’d have some real good advice like…*smokes*… *eyes roll back*… “There is no spoon” <= (said in stereotypical deep condensing voice, sort of Darth Vader meets satanic teleoperator) and I’ll search for the deep philosophical meaning to his statements, attempt to recite them in Spanish; then reflect whatever lesson involving uncoordinated anguish into a poetic rendition of The Sideburns To Guam.

BELA LUGOSI'S DEAD! (oh my!)

surfing-feret@att.net — Mon, 29 Mar 2004 02:21:04 GMT

Kiddies; get ready for a Lynn production.

That’s right; I’m making a movie and of course as it is of the Lynn variety; it most certainly provides little or no reason or logic whatsoever.

I shall update with the plot and script

If you are interested in playing a character please comment; if you’d like to offer constructive criticism you may comment as well. If you’d like to bash my pitiful attempts in any shape or form; go ahead and comment. Just remember if Rob Zombie can make a movie; then so can I.

surfing-feret@att.net — Sat, 13 Mar 2004 00:42:38 GMT

“I know I'm unlovable
You don't have to tell me
For message received
Loud and clear
Loud and clear
Message received
I don't have much in my life
But take it - it's yours
I wear Black on the outside
Cause Black is how I feel on the inside
If I seem a little strange
That's because I am
But I know that you would like me
If only you could see me
If only you could meet me” -The Smiths

Psychotic mayhem and unplanned destitute, the laments of an eradicator, enter at your own risk but keep in mind “If you read you’ll judge”.

Kiddies, I am officially making this a friend’s only journal not to discourage people or to limit responses but to provide some sort of protection to those whom I’d rather not uncover the information inside. Please comment, I am open to new acquaintances and hopefully in the near future, friends. If you’d like access to my journal add me to your friend’s list, and comment. I will not add you if you do not comment below.

*Keep an open mind when reading the contents, do not discriminate or leave overly obnoxious comments that regard to unnecessary bigotry.

*Read at your own risk; if you find something offensive do not complain to me; I honestly do not care as I tend to be a vulgar person.

*Leave me comments every now and then...^_^

*When commenting try to use seemingly appropriate language, tYpe lyKe DiZ and what ever you have to say will be discarded. It is hard to read and extremely annoying.

*If you know any good RPG communities let me know and I will love you for all eternity…^_^

(Note: I deleted all of my previous friends not because I hate you, please comment below and I'll re-add you. I'm going to keep track of who is allowed access to my journal and that is why deleting/re-adding is seemingly necessary.)

Bloooosh

surfing-feret@att.net — Sat, 06 Mar 2004 03:26:19 GMT

The only thing you can rely on…
Is that you can’t rely on anyone

Recently I’ve felt stressed, and so I consulted my ultimate confident for reassurance and answers.

Tarot cards…

Now, initially this wasn’t my idea but since I’ve been drawn to unconventional phenomenon’s it seemed befitting. I used to do this a while back as a way to put my life back into order, this hobby of mine started around late 5th grade when I was having troubles with my mortal enemy Mr. Bonica. I may have lost faith in god, but I’m actually a deeply religious person. Understanding, that I am willing to accept new ideas and religions, I’m determined to find a higher power if one exists. (Isn’t it sad, only one person agrees with me *sniffle*)

Tarot cards, witchcraft, palmistry, voodoo, zodiac interpretations, star charts, etc. have always fascinated me even as a tot. Of course when I was younger I never really took any course of actions towards exploring these interests, if pretending to be a witch and cursing your fellow classmates during 3rd grade because everyone thought you were weird counts so be it. Around the end of 5th grade after Andria and I had finally made up after our annual fight; we both decided to aspire towards being witches. I’ll admit, drawing pentagrams on the infield of Mattlin’s baseball field during recreation was fun. Even if we sat in a circle and chanted whatever came to mind, it was pleasurable.

Then came my downward spiral around 6th grade, where absolutely everything fell to shreds (I’d elaborate but the causes are secrets I promise to take to my grave, ranting doesn’t seem appealing which I find strange.) By this time I was adept at both tarot and star charts, mainly because the two are often intertwined. Around this time I met someone online who I was infatuated with completely, he could have been some 78 year old male hooker with a tumor on his left foot but it didn’t bother me. (I’ve spoken to him via phone, but this is later. I’ve also seen pictures and damn he’s hot, and most certainly not a prostitute.) His mother worked in one of those occult shops, which Long Island most definitely lacks. He was also pagan/wiccan which was amazing, some of his beliefs are just fascinating, and I’ll drop the eerie scientist motif now. Of course he knew oodles more then I; and so I learned a lot from him, like various types of tarot decks. (I own the major arcana) By 7th grade he mailed me his favorite deck to use, in which I use myself. It’s one of those rarely used Celtic decks that I’m about to shoot myself for failing to remember the fancy shmancy title. The cards are etched in gold, which makes no difference whatsoever but seemed really cool at the time.

I’m getting off topic, and so I gave myself a reading with both my major arcana deck, and the neato cheeto deck that really pains me to look at. (I really miss my friend from afar, another long story to what happened to him…)

Basic reading results (Using the major arcana deck)
The problem or issue: 6th of swords

Indicates lack of organization and or planning, time for oneself is often not regarded but should be used.

Events or situations that are results/affected by the problem: 2nd of wands

Encourages one to listen to others as there has been a failure to communicate in the social sphere, help may be on the way by defining exactly what goals/problems have occurred.

Food for thought: Reversed 6th of cups

Often suggests not to be overburdened by chores and or current responsibilities as they are bringing stress. Friends may provide support, but as they haven’t in the past it is advised to take a vacation away from others in a more secluded manner. A reversed card indicates someone else is controlling an aspect of ones life, the cups indicate that it may be an emotional shrouding.

Advice on problem/issue: 9th of pentacles

The card indicates that one should grow from current problems in order to channel it into creative energy in the future. Hardships most often come to pass but success can only be achieved if one strives for it.

That pretty much hit the nail on the head, if you’ve read my previous entry (which was friends only ^_^). Now I feel somewhat relieved, it’s clarified that I should spend some time to myself and ease up on the responsibilities (soccer), sooner or later things will come to pass and I should work on becoming more emotionally stoic around those who agitate me.

I’m going to light some incense now and meditate, maybe the dead spirit of John Lennon will come to me in the form of a donkey.

The great disappointment...yes we know life sucks

surfing-feret@att.net — Wed, 03 Mar 2004 19:27:29 GMT

"you are "the great dissapointment". you really dont believe in anything. not yourself, god, or anyone else. you used to but things happened (or didnt) and now you have lost all hope for everything."

(quiz result)

Yes kiddies, I am truly one great disappointment. But then again, why am I so great. Can I be the insignificant disappointment,or the menial disappointment?

The answer is, I can't...*GASP!*

Only because the most wonderful song off of Afi's Sing the Sorrow is called the Great Disappointment...

(Actually I like this celluloid dream oodles but it wasn't one of the quiz results...^__^)

Looking into how trivial that quiz was, but searching for a meaning as I try to do for most spasmodic occurrences "The Great Disappointment" is very befitting towards myself.

"I AM THE GREAT DISAPPOINTMENT!, now kiss my ass"

Senor salsa, you'll pee fire!

surfing-feret@att.net — Tue, 02 Mar 2004 19:42:00 GMT

Today I stayed home from the torrents of er, school. *guitar solo*

I feel quite dandy, and so I started some boring project for Spanish involving describing what you were like when you were little. I don’t know if there are Spanish words that can describe what a demonic creature I was. However, in search of pictures for my report I stumbled across some precious memories, my baby book for instance was one of them.

I’m not really a calloused fiend, so I enjoyed browsing through old memories, resurrecting moments at whim while laughing at the equally baffling photos in which I’m running naked through a hotel room. When I was younger, I never viewed myself as young, maybe because I’ve always delved in my fantasy world. The world only grew as I did each year and situation altering whom and what belonged and left. I’ve always incorporated reality into my fantasies, in other words in the parallel universe lodged in my brain was the nirvana that I desired. Mentally I could make the worse of situations into breezy encounters; physically I was a walking disaster. Enough with pothead ramble…

I found my old year book for elementary school and I keeled over in laughter numerous times. (I never bothered to buy one for middle school, eighth grade was terrible for me…)

I do remember stating how I was demonic as a child, (which really is an underestimation) but really I was sort of like hell’s angel. As an eight year old I was absolutely adorable, when I smiled my face was both cherubic and flawless, golden waves framing my face rather elegantly as I strode around in perfectly coordinated outfits. On the flip side, since my parents have always openly cursed in front of me from a very early age, some pleasing words like “fuck” “shit” “asshole” were regular parts of my vocabulary.

The result was Mary Poppins on crack.

The best and worst thing to happen to me in 3rd grade was a new girl named Andria McMaugh (note: we are best friends to this day). Here was another girl, who resembled myself to the point of peculiarity. As far as looks were concerned, I resembled her more so then her twin did. Personality wise, we both had an aptitude for destruction, (ok anime drama there…) or making kids cry. On the playground we were unstoppable…

Now the signature that makes me smile most was what gym teacher and recreation monitor (the person who yelled at us for beating kids up in our “pirate” game) wrote in my elementary school year book.

“When you and Andria weren’t chasing your peers, biting them, and/or tackling other children on a regular basis, you were a very sweet girl…..Love Mrs. Kaufman”

That almost brings a tear to my eye *sniffle*.

Leah, who was the childhood prodigy (might I add, after elementary school graduation moved on to bigger and better things, like some school for the gifted….) and my other best friend writes.

Dear Lyntron,

See you on planet Urkazoid next year

Love, Leatron

I’d elaborate on how we called each other alien names because in our little worlds we were aliens sent to destroy the classroom settings and the human inhabitants but I have to go swim now…(bleh)

Le-sigh….

I've raped your child

surfing-feret@att.net — Sat, 28 Feb 2004 01:37:22 GMT

Only at night time-I see you
in darkness-I feel you
A bride by my side-I'm inside many brides Sometimes I wonder......
What goes on in your mind, always silent and kind unlike the others......
Fuck the mothers kill the others
Fuck the others kill the mothers
I'll put it out of my mind because...... I'm out of my mind with you
in heaven and hell with you......

My Night Shift Sisters
await your nightly visitor
they don't bother me
no they don't bother me

The cold marble slab submits at my feet with a neat dissection......
looking so sweet to me-please come to me with your cold flesh-my cold love
hissing-not kissing
a happy go lucky chap-always dressed in black he'll come to you, he'll come to you

My Night Shift Sisters
with your nightly visitor
a new vocation in life
my love with a knife

Fuck the mothers kill the others
Fuck the others kill the mothers
I'll put it out of my mind because......
I'm out of my mind with you
in heaven and hell with you......

(this is my way of hinting to a certain someone who I am aware has the url to this site, (I gave it to him *har har*)dramatic prose/poetry is phun to read/write!)

I'm online yet again and avoiding the world of instant messages because I don't feel like facing people. No, I haven't done anything "wrong" or said something obnoxious, but for once I'm enjoying solitude. Laugh at me not, but I'm spending the night basking in the pale glow of my computer monitor slurping on instant ramen while typing in a romantic roleplay. Slight exaggeration on my part, mother's blender runs rampad in the background while I roleplay with 10 year olds who are unable to spell the word "actually" on neopets. I've had numerous accounts on that site for the last four years, I'm long over the concept of guilds (which instigated a shitload of quarrels between andria and I)and whatever else neopets entails. However, there was indeed a time in which I was compulsive about my account.
I don't know what triggered my mind, but a few weeks ago I remembered the site and all the negative qualities. Curiosity made me check out my accounts, I have over 20. Most have been hacked by enemies of mine (this game ran deeper then you'd think), but "battlebots11" one of my guild feeder accounts has not been touched. Under that name I logged in and for the first time noticed an "roleplay" forum. Children, words do not dare attempt to express how much I miss roleplaying. Throughout my years I was the girl who played pretend games, my friends and I were quite imaginative. One day we were creatures of the night, the next pirates on the sea, my favorite included a spin off of the ronin (sp?) warriors as the "bathroom warriors". Looking back it doesn't seem so funny, but when you're eight the ecstasy flows through childlike limbs.
Roleplaying is the more adult equivalent to flailing your arms belching "I'm a pirate", whether or not anyone else agrees; roleplaying has improved my writing drastically. Never was I at fault when it came to english, but with the combination of both other's vocabularies and song lyrics I've evolved into quite the little shit with a pen.

I'm going to roleplay on neopets now... ta ta love

FREE PORN! (or not)

surfing-feret@att.net — Thu, 26 Feb 2004 22:43:21 GMT

The randomly assorted lapses in which I fail to update have begun to bother me. A lot has happened since the last time I bothered to write that I’ve wanted to record, but finally once I find time and initive to type I’ve had a boring day. Wow, I feel special.

I’ve done some serious “soul searching” (*snort*), and have analyzed my place on the social spectrum regarding high school. Where I lie is sort of pathetic. It has occurred to me that I may very well be the weirdest, most avoided, *needs another adjective* in the entire highschool, and for once I don’t really care.

I’m the kid that pot smoking, drug dealing, thick black eyeliner wearing, sexually promiscuous, whoreific, wigger children, unable to find their genitalia, people look down upon. So I am, the weirdest kid in school. I’ve come to this realization about three days ago, and it bothered me a lot. Before bed on the previous nights, I’d keep myself awake and question why I’m such a loser and I’ve come up with the following.
Surprisingly enough, most of my reasons aren’t negative!

1. The druggies don’t like me because I don’t, drink, smoke, or do drugs. I don’t equate with their standards, partake in “thrilling” activities like “who can snort the most cocaine” or “who gets throat cancer first!” Obviously they view my dislike for poisoning my body as I’m a “pussy”. Yes, I’m the “Pussy” because I don’t need a chemical compound to forget my problems. No, I don’t really deal with my problems but I don’t make my problems evolve into more problems so my entire life manifests from a horrible addiction to a drug. If I want to die I’ll do it Kurt Cobain style, (bad analogy!) meaning with a loaded pistol and my head. Reworded, a loaded pistol to my head…

2. The quote on quote “Japs” don’t care for me because I refuse to be a mindless zombie who’s greatest attributes are defined by wearing the most expensive pair of pants humanly possible. In most cases, if you’re not “in style” you’re merely crap on a stick. It doesn’t matter if you’ve donated your life to charity or kick puppies, as long as you don’t scuff your “whateverbrand” shoes or tear your “Mavi jeans” your still ok. I’ve never gotten along with these type of people, and I’ve often stood up for people who’ve they ridiculed. Of course the people I stood up for never gave a crap…

3. The “goth” (there’s only one and we are in constant warfare. By her graduation one of us is going to be splattered around the hallways; that is how deep our hatred is.) can’t stand me because I see through her weepy moany “look at me I’m so depressed” act. I don’t think she likes my sarcasm either, mwahaha! I really hope she kills herself, it’s a sick thought but I’m ready to hand her a machete and wish her luck.

4. The whore’s are whores, need I say more? Why must people flaunt their ass-cracks, cleavage, and in some grotesque cases cellulite and “rolls”. One thing I’ve noticed with most whores is a vicious cycle that makes the whore look like she is trying to improve her status as a human but exposes her asscrack more so each time around. What I’ve witnessed includes one situation in which a girl notices her asscrack is hanging out of her uber tight so-lows. Observe as she sticks both hands down her pants and pulls her “so-lows” up in order to cover the excessive ass. Then when finding how uncomfortable wearing pants really is she‘ll pull it down, twice as far as it was initially. Sometimes I really wonder, I understand how hard wearing pants is. It’s a feat only the best retain the knowledge to do so…. I’m not a whore, thus they don’t enjoy my company, besides half the whore population are “Japs”.

5. Ghetto wannabe peoples are just above me. They’re constant weed consumption and obsession over fat asses is way too complicated for the likes of me. Let’s not mention how practical wearing silver-plated plastic the size of Guam subsists as “Bling Bling” or why it should matter. Come on everybody, lets pull our pants down so low that we a. trip over the excessive material, b. find ourselves unable to walk or c. Have our pants fall down completely, exposing our divinely attractive boxers with the words “Bling Bling” embroidered in gold script. Oh come on, baggy pants are perfect excuses for masturbating in class. I’m not a whore, but I’m certainly not naïve, and yes I have an observation system. Countless times I’ve seen guy’s hands creep into their pants during boring lectures. Gee, I wonder what’s really going on….

6. The emo children don’t bother with me because I openly insult emo. Yes, emo sucks and that happens to be my opinion which I am entitled to. Fine, I admit, I like Bright Eyes….that’s it though…. *shifty eyes*

7. My friends are a conglomerate of the above labels. Each one has their own problems with me that I’ve learned to cope with. Then again I love them all very much, and underneath our stereotypes we still care about each other. Sometimes I need a place to obnoxiously insult those closest to me. I understand it’s probably not a “normal” thing to do, but now I feel better.

If I’ve insulted anyone, I’m sorry.

Sneeeooooooosh!

surfing-feret@att.net — Sat, 21 Feb 2004 02:57:23 GMT

De pe che-toi, de pe che-toi et attends
Toute la semaine absent et pourtant j'attends
J'ai le cafard, je t'en prie viens voir
Ce que ton amour repre sente pour moi
He , j'ai vu ton mec avec une autre fille
Il semblait dans un autre monde
Cours te cacher Sunday girl
~Blondie

This may come as a surprise, mainly to myself but…..I……am…..happy.

For the first time in about five years, I’ve finally found myself content with life. Like everyone else I too have had my “darkest moments” and over dramatized the agony in order to make myself find humor and/or to seek attention; and at least for now there is no need to. As far as balances in life are concerned, maybe I’ve achieved equilibrium, but damn! I feel like some liberated bag lady who’s finally found god in the foam of her decaf coffee.

This calls for a celebration, time to flail my arms and do a one legged polka to the lurid tunes of M.J

By MJ I meant Michael Jackson, supreme ruler of the unique blend of child molesters and humanitarian award winners. Yes, I love Michael Jackson, adoration with the essence of all his cherubic but pleasantly perverted wit. Every night I bow down to a shrine I have built with old bed sheets and decomposing bagels, doing the moonwalk with my fellow cult members. We sing fluent songs of a promised land that Michael Jackson will bring us to on a magic carpet adorned with jewel incrusted portraits of Steven Tyler’s lips. The dreamers regal us all with lucid fantasies of running naked, hand in hand with Michael Jackson himself while carrying pet moneys on our backs. The sweet aroma of primate excretion overpowers the stench of pot in which Michael Jackson consumes. We are in love, and do not mind.
Our bonfire in which we chant towards is fueled by the adoration my cultic brothers/sisters and I have provided; and the cheap kerosene we bought from a guy named Thad. Around our bonfire lay the remains of numerous tabloids in which vicious critics have accused the great god of committing obscene crimes involving child molestation; we have burned most of the blasphemy at our nightly ceremonial gatherings. Bubbles the monkey is our particular cult section leader. He is the only one who is adorned enough to wear the sacred sequined glove….

“We are the children of the plight
Loyal to the one whose skin looks like pasty cottage cheese
Lest the day we be free of the night
And molest the children by the sea.” (That’s our initiation chant, if you were interested)

Actually, I love Michael Jackson so much that when my parents decide to threaten Brent (my 5 year old brother) with the childhood image of the mysterious “boogie man”, I tell him Michael Jackson wants to take him to “Neverland” and he shuts up.

Catch the sarcasm; I’m making it evident that I do not like Michael Jackson. As for the cultic scheme, if you really want to put some effort into looking how atypical my mind can be check out: www.churchofhavok.com

I’m a member of that, diss the Davey and feel the wrath of the defiant clam god. Insult my over obsessed conduct, and be deemed sane.
Sometimes, I scare myself. Oh, and the last story I posted in my previous entry doesn’t seem as funny as it did at the time. It didn’t seem funny when I posted it either, I’m not sure if it even is grammatically correct. You’d be surprised how giddy a person can get after they’ve terrorized the highschool with chalk. What we did was write random messages in chalk on the doors of the major stairways. It doesn’t matter how childish, vindictive, and completely immature we were and presumably still are. There are moments when it’s better to throw yourself to the torment of random emotions that too many people restrain. I drew a smilie face on the bell, and defiled the halls with proverbs. MY proverb that I use to confuse the illerate one’s who fall upon my screen name. Besides, it was only chalk. (Oodles of noodles *snort*)

A few days ago I was overcome by boredom, and so I drew a few fashion designs that I plan on submitting to the art department. I may be able to jump into fashion design two, skipping one for next year. Somehow I’ve had enough of the obnoxious people who have started calling my poseur for wanting to have anything to do with the fashion industry. What they don’t understand, is they’re the “poseurs” (god I hate that world) for questioning my eccentric path. How dare they call themselves “artists” (and they do) yet survive only by quashing the creative dreams of others. For ages, I’ve wanted to leave an impression on the world, and only that way will I achieve fulfillment. With my ability to draw, and imagination that leaves an abundance to dream with, I could possibly revolutionize the fashion industry. Of course, I could be a failure and be reduced to conforming with the corporate big wigs, and/or interning at Wal Mart while living in a dumpster eating canned celery. However, the response by my art teachers has only been positive. They believe in me, so I’ll give myself a shot. (in the foot)

I’m really into 20’s flapper fashion, so check out the links (piccies) bellow. My true passion is 80’s inspired. *swoons at the techno colored leg warmers*

http://www.boomspeed.com/kitsunecafe/eee.JPG

and for the larger image

http://www.boomspeed.com/kitsunecafe/435345.jpg

Impulsive to update?

surfing-feret@att.net — Tue, 10 Feb 2004 20:28:03 GMT

Felt a need to update.
pervy story enclosed= highlight of the day
Don't think less of me, it's called sarcasm and bordism...
Fuck the fact I'm making up words and can't speel gud.

Title: Davey’s Trying on Underwear
Author: Guess (it's not me!)
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer:
Notes: Sequel to “Davey’s Going to the Circus”
Summary: Davey is trying on underwear.

**********

“Look at me, I’m in a thong!”
“Davey, take off the thong.”
“No, I want to keep it on!”
“Davey, pink doesn’t flatter you.”
“You hate me!”
“I don’t hate you!”
“I want to wear the thong!”
“No, I don’t think you look that good in pink!”
“What will I wear then?”
“How about a black leather g-string?”
“Oh, yeah! I forgot about that one.”
“Ooh! Take it off, take it all off!”
“Jade, you put on the thong!”
“Davey, I’m NOT putting on the thong.”
“You said pink doesn’t fit me. It fits you though!”
“Davey, you’re the one who wanted to try on all your underwear for me, not the other way around!”
“Fine…”
“Aww, Dave, don’t pout.”
“Who’s pouting?! I’m not pouting!”
“I’ll try on the thong—”
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“—After you finish trying on yours.”
“Okey dokey smokey! Now, here is a lovely piece.”
“Davey, those are a woman’s pair of panties!”
“I know. They make me feel pretty! I’m very pretty, don’t you think?”
“Davey—”
“Am I pretty, Jadey?”

“Dave—”
“AM I PRETTY?!”
“Yes! You’re gorgeous!”
“Love yaaaaaaaaa……..”
“Love you too.”
“And, now for the matching bra!”
“You have a—”
“Look, I have boobies!”
“Matching bra.”
“Look how they jiggle! Jiggle jiggle jiggle…”
“Davey, are those water balloons?”
“No, they’re my boobies! Wanna fondle my boobies, Jade?”
“Davey…”
“I’m not Davey. I’m Davita! And I want you to fuck me. Fuck my virgin pussycat.”
“Don’t you mean pussy?”
“Yeah! What did I say?”
“Never mind. Davey—”
“Davita!”
“Davita, take out the water balloons.”
“No!”
“Dave…”
“THEY’RE MY BOOBIES!!!!!!!!! I DON’T WANNA TAKE ‘EM OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
“Fine! Keep in your boobies!”
“I will! And I’ll wiggle them in your face! Oh, yeah, like that! Give me multiple orgasms! Oh…”
“Not working.”
“Oh, God! You’re hitting my clit so hard!”
“Not… Working…”
“*OH!* JESUS!”
*thump*
“I knew I could get to you!”
“Shut up, and let me work on those multiple orgasms you were talking about."
“Ooh, I like it when you’re all commandy!!!”
“Davey, why are there faces drawn on the water balloons?”
“Oh, because I like to pretend they’re you, and they’re kissing my nipples.”
“Ok then.”
“Kiss my nipples!”
“I thought you liked it when *I* was commandy?”
“KISS MY NIPPLES NOW!!!!!!”
“Yes, ‘mam!”
“Oh! Jade! Punky! Baklava!”
“Why the Hell did you just call me ‘Baklava’?!”
“’Cause you look like a Baklava. Now, fuck my virgin pussycat!”
“Pussy!”
“Right, what did I say?”
“Aargh!”
“Jade…?”
“What!”
“Will you try on the thong now?”
“Davey, you’re really trying my patience.”
“No, this is trying your patience: I unfolded your clothes, and made them all wrinkly!”
“You did WHAT?!”
“See? That’s trying it.”
“I’m leaving.”

“No! Don’t go! Jaaaaade……”
“Bye Dave.”
“DON’T LEAVE ME!!!!!!!!!”

“Davey, let go of my leg.”
“NEVER!!!!!!! Jade, I love you! Shouldn’t that be enough?”
“Davey…”
“I love you, Jade Puget. No matter what insane, stupid, and/or embarrassing things I may do to you, I still love you. You were my first, and you’ll be my only. Please, do you love me too?”
“C’mere.”
“Eee!”
“Oof! You’re *pant* heavy!” *pant*
“Love you.”
“Love you too.”
“I’ll wear the black g-string now. And whatever bra you want me to.”
“Ooh! Yay!”
“Will you wear the pink thong?”

Chips and Cheese please!

surfing-feret@att.net — Fri, 06 Feb 2004 20:38:15 GMT

Deedle Dee!

I am sick, yet again. Which is a slight lie, because I haven’t been sick in a while, and in theory I’m not really sick. I just have one of my classic ear infections. For someone who understands the so called “art” of swimming, or the never ending waltz of torture as I think of it, ear infections are quite common. They can be caused by lots of factors swimming may provide, like stagnant water in the inner ear, even temperature drops and bacteria may be the culprit. So I went to the doctor this morning, accompanied by my father, who had to drive me because I am an underage fuck. The doctor knew what I had and so did I, and so he prescribed my usual dosage to cure my ailing ear.

At least I got to sleep late, as an avowed insomniac any sleep is welcomed with gratuitous arms. There have been recent situations where I had ceased to fall asleep at all, depriving myself of my usual 2-3 hour liaises that I like to account as sleep. Last night was hardly the exception; I kept waking up dry mouthed with a full bladder. Worst of all, my constant clawing as I like to do when asleep; managed to rip my bed sheets off my bed. Call it OCD, or whatever you please, but I feel so awkward having the bed sheets half on and half off. I simply had to fix them, which I did about five times in one night. I believe my ear was what kept waking me up, noticing sharp pains in my left ear was hardly intuitive or food for thought.

My UPS package came today, the worker looked slightly insane or stoned, and sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference. It didn’t matter; I was completely overjoyed that the items I had purchased so long ago had finally reached their destination. Only thing was the bag I ordered was a lot smaller then I expected, I was hoping to use it in place of my backpack but now I see this may prove to be impossible. Still, I like it; it has a zombie cat on it, who doesn’t want a cuddly zombie cat? The shirt I ordered fit fine and the pinstripe skirt is adorable. Most of the crad I had bought was on sale, it’s hard to go wrong when dealing with sales items.
Everything I had gotten was from www.emilystrange.com

I am looking for both layout guidance regarding “overwriting” and suggestions for good RPG communities/games.

I really miss a nice RPG….

The beginning of the end...

surfing-feret@att.net — Sun, 01 Feb 2004 04:16:30 GMT

This is my first ever entry on Caleida, which isn’t much of a surprise seeing there aren’t many “previous” posts. Being a redundant blah is fun, you should try it. (Mwahhahah)
Xanga was starting to get on my nerves (though I am not abandoning my old site, there are many people I would loose contact with as result) and so I was longing for some sort of change.
Change, is good.

As for my current layout, it is the quintessence of sucky (bleh). Time will cause very much of a metamorphosis towards this appearance, that much I can reassure wholeheartedly, as for the content there are very few guarantees *insert evil laugh here*. I need some time to get acclimated with the functions this site can offer, I am not new to the website scene, but as for Caleida I’m feeling both blind and retarded.

There is only one way to start off an online journal, and that’s with a quizzy….
MWAHAHAAGAGGAGAGAGAGGAGAGA *snort*
Btw: I got this from Mia

Name:
*Nickname(s)Lynnie, Lynnerz, Lynn compoop Leen, ree-ree, Prudence, clamoid, Jade, Carl, Jadeous Von whore the third squared plus twenty-four, [how did you get it/them?]: Some are just derived from my name, others have equally strange backgrounds that may take eons to reveal.
*Age: 14
*Location: Hell, newyork
*Siblings: A five year old brother, Brent…
*Pets: One dog, named red, and two ferrets whom I call Blaize and Roxie.
*Why did you choose your Caleida username?- Poem, and I was lost for ideas
TOP 5
Top 5 movies: (don’t laugh, I have horrible taste)
1.- The Nightmare Before Christmas
2.-The crow (CAW LAURA CAW!)
3.-Edward Scissor hands
4.-The breakfast club
5.-Big Fish
Top 5 bands/singers: The list is never ending
1.-A.F.I
2.-Nine inch nails
3.-Placebo
4.-The misfits (Danzig and Samhain are crackerjack too)
5.- Siouxsie and the Banshees

Top 5 books/poems:
1.-The perks of being a wallflower…(amazing…)
2.-Johnny the Homicidal Maniac… (It’s a graphic novel!)
3.-Anne Rice’s Vampire chronicles,
4.-Pretty much anything written/published by Lovecraft
5.- Ok… I admit, I’m a closet Harry Potter dork since 4th grade
FAVORITES
*Drink: aqua
*Food: HAPPY NOODLE BOY! Spaghetti will suffice…
*Thing to do on a rainy day: Run Naked! Or run, with your bathing suit on, which is uberly phun.
*On a sunny day: scowl and eat ramen.
OPINIONS [Please put some thought into these answers, do not give one word answers]
*Same Sex Relationships: There is absolutely nothing wrong with a gay/lesbian relationship. As corny as this may sound, what matters is the commitment and passion behind the relationship that powers longevity. I congratulate anyone who has found their significant other regardless of gender.
*War: Is meaningless, and only the result of people feeling superior over others. Capitalism, Nationalism, and Despotism all contribute and kindle war. Crap, we should go back to the seventies, VIVA LA WOODSTOCK!
*Drugs: I don’t do them, and find them completely pointless. Honestly, not to be morbid but if you are going to resort to chemical substance to find reason to live, just kill yourself already. Who wants to die slow and painful anyways?
*Premarital sex: Nothing wrong with it, as long as its safe sex. Wow, I sound like some pamphlet at an abortion center. Only thing is there are risks involved no matter the condition when you’re dealing with sex, caution is advised.
*The Afterlife: For all I know there is none. Personally, I can’t see the world stopping after death or at least the end of my perception because most likely the world will NOT stop. I don’t really believe in a heaven or a hell it seems remotely taboo, however I can see reincarnation. Some Buddhist beliefs are pretty funky, the whole nirvana bit sounds believable, and it pokes curiosity…
TELL US...
*If your best friend of 5 years has just told you that he/she is gay. How do you respond?: I’d welcome the news and congratulate him/her for finding him/herself. It takes a lot of courage to find who you are inwardly and even more to expose it outwardly. I do have a friend who is gay too.
*What if he/she told you he/she had a crush on you? First off, I’d find the situation quite funny. If there was no connection (you never know, this has never happened to me) I’d kindly remind her so. Of course I’d continue the friendship but it would most likely be nothing more.
*If you could be someone (dead or alive) who would you be? Why? Hmm, this is one damn tricky questions. There are lots of people I wouldn’t mind being like Kurt Cobain. Historically it would be fun to be Marilyn Monroe. Yes, I’ve got it. I’d want to be Michael Jackson, completely plastic baby.
*Who is your idol and why? Jade Puget, guitarist of afi, fuck yeah. First off, he wears a pink tie, which is admirable. Have you ever seen such a wonderful tie, I think not, his tie can be god for all I know. Also, he plays guitar pretty damn well, it’s something for me to aspire towards. Also, according to Terri he is my other personality (see nicknames lol), which she now calls me, and nobody gets which is just spifferific. According to her, he is the reason why I suck at volleyball, and if he died I’d just be dandy in gym. You know, screw wanting to be Michael Jackson, I want to be Jade Puget wearing that awesome pink tie. I’d hit on Davey too, in my pink tie. Damn I’d be hot.
*3 words that describe you [Please only put 3, we know what words mean. You do not need to give a defination]: clam, I, am (we have feelings too)
*Do you have any hobbies or talents? I swim, a lot, which I often resent, which eventually led to surfing that I adore with a passion. Drawing comics is both a talent and a hobby for me; I have moved many teachers with my vulgar “art” as they say. Listening to music can be viewed as a hobby; I enjoy that strange momentary thrill of finding a new band to continuously listen to. I also play guitar, though my abilities could be a wee bit better.
*What is beautiful in your eyes? : True beauty is brief and often found in the most peculiar places. It is whatever catches you eye for a split second that causes you to suddenly evaluate all that is real and surreal. It is rare, and changes both perception and intellect, to a degree that may be remembered for the years to come. When most people say something is beautiful they’re really experiencing lust or desire, true beauty can be obtained without quarrel.
*What do you fear? Death, and giant shoe monsters.
*Why are you cool? Honestly I’m not all that cool.
*How did you hear about the community? From people the people I know who have them.
*What other rating communities have you been accepted to: I’m new to this
*What other non-rating communities are you a member of: I’m new to this
*Something interesting about you that isn't on this application: I have a spleen, bet you didn’t know that….
*Did you put much time/effort/thought into your answers? On some, most of my answers were vague descriptions.