Yeah, really, what? Where did it come from? If only I knew, then I would waft on up to the weather spirits, gods or machines, and be all, WASSUP? WHY YOU COMIN’ SO LATE!? S’TIME FO’ SPRING, MOFOCKA!
Oh man, I literally just found the website/journal/diary from when I was 14. No, I will never share it with you. IT IS SO EMBARASSING. OH MY SWEET BABY JESUS.
I used to spell like this, and I will award you if you find 10+ words that are properly spelled here:
[k. well id jus lyke ta sai welkum 2 ma syte! lol. umm..this whole syte iz dedic8ed 2 me, but thats cuz i made it. it makez sence dat thiz syte iz dedic8ed 2 me…cuz.obviously i’m the most interesting, exhilirating, wonderful, beautiful beyond belief person that u have ever met so why wudn’t there be a syte dedic8ed 2 me? i mean no syte dedic8ed 2 me is just absurd!]”
OH MY GOD. I wish I could travel back into time and kick myself in the ovaries.
That is all for today. It is snowing and my belly is all achy, and because school has deadlines, I had to read about acids and bases and CHEMISTRY and that just makes my head all achy, too, which is not nice. In fact, I wish I could just sit and watch new episodes of Skins all night long, and be all “bullocks!” and “you twat!”, but no. I have to finish reading Waiting for Godot and think about it, and stuff. Maybe I will go watch that part from The Hangover with the asian guy that jumps out of the trunk and starts jump kicking the main characters in the face? That would cheer me up. “Motha fockaaaaaaaaaaaas!” or this one. Mmmmmmmm, laughter.
In other important like things: tomorrow is the boyfriend and I’s 2 year anniversary! Good grief. I took him to a concert and he’s keeping tomorrow all hush-hush so I have no idea what’s going on, except that I need to bring nice clothes to wear. I wonder what he planned? This is like the first time I haven’t dragged secret plans out of him! I am so proud of my patience! I’m also really excited, but tomorrow isn’t even the big deal. The big deal is that it will be the 730th day that we will have been “together” or “dating” and have “not killed each other.” That’s quite an accomplishment for two young crazy idiots. I think so anyway.
So, that’s a good thing.
I won’t get mushy on you (although, I’ll have you know, I’m really like a rotting banana on the inside – sweeter than sweet in that kind of pukey way. Not like I mind it though, because well, I’d be a banana, so I couldn’t not like myself.) I am pretty banana, if you wanna go that way with me.
So tomorrow go kiss your lover on the mouth and be all “I love you, and shit”.
That’s how a man would tell you he loves you in the 50’s. But in the homosexual 50’s because he said love, and that’s not manly. What a real man would say in the 30’s (I decided this decade was much more manly, because of war and communism and cigarettes and nothing screams manly like economic depression, when they’re all pissing in their pants,) is “Bitch, go cook me some dinner” and by allowing the woman (or female dog) to cook him dinner, he would be providing her with the opportunity to take care of his needs, which is a special position to hold because men are special since there’s only a limited amount of them in the world, and if they don’t like your dinner, they won’t have sex with you upstairs and make anymore and then the world population will slowly decline because your dinners SUCK and then everyone will die out and we will become like the dinosaurs, and all because of a shitty dinner. See: 2010 version of man, here.
Yeah. I think that speaks for itself my sanity.