doing this to my hair:
doing this to my hair:
I'm selling my beautiful Black Canon Digital Rebel XT. I will miss you.
IN HOPES OF GETTING A STUNNING, FUCKING HOT CANON DIGITAL REBEL XTI 10.1 MEGAPIXEL FUCKING AWESOMENESS. DISCUSS! FUCKING DISCUSS!
Starting price for my XT is 550$ or something ridiculously high which is actually a great deal. This camera really is amazing - and it's like new. I handle my camera's like newborns. If you're interested, send a message my way. I've already posted this somewhere else, but if you really want it, go ahead. After this post, though, I doubt you'll want anything less than the XTI.
Oh XT, you faithful, faithful pet. I really will miss you.
not.
Just kidding! Really.
Kindergarten. I'm four, plump and young. Chubby. There's dirt and grass all over my uniform, and my pants are torn in fifty fucking places. All I cared about was owning at punchball, basketball, football, hockey... anything that was associated with 'sport' - that was me. I had to be the best at everything. I thought I was the shit. I had tons of friends. Popularity was never an issue because it was assumed. I was lead in the class. I read books all day. I had just started karate. A little boy was in love with me. I danced in front of people. I made everybody laugh. My best friend was my brother. I believe I can fly. I want to travel the world and go to new places, meet new people, and do new things. Disney is my favorite. I idolize Sailor Moon. I argue when I don't get my way.I love my parents.
Flash forward four years later.
I'm in third grade. Proud. Ambitious. I had a combo class with four other smart 3rd graders, chosen to be an example to the other incoming 2nd graders. I felt like the fucking creme'de'la'creme. I learned leadership. I was smart as hell for my age. I found one of my favorite teachers. I finished every book at Camino Grove's library. Probably twice. I loved to sing. I loved to act. I thought I would be famous when I grew up. My kicks were legendary where I trained Hapkido. They were my specialty, and I knew it. I had tons of best friends. But my best friend was my brother. I loved to write and draw. I was writing an epic story, a novel. I dance in front of people, and show them my kicks. My favorite year. I believe I can live forever. I want to travel the world and skydive and do... everything. Disney is still God to me. I am still the shit. I argue when I feel compelled to. Which is all the time. I love my parents.
Another four years later.
I'm beating the shit out of someone in karate, all sweatdrops and flurries of kicks. I'm a second-degree black belt now. More trained. Disciplined at 12 years old. Training for my third-degree. I wanted to be like, Bruce Lee's prodigy or something. Always late. I could do 75 push-ups and not break a sweat. More withdrawn - didn't fit with my group at school, but blended perfectly at my karate. Middle school. Worried about popularity, and started to give in to peer pressure. Was still headstrong, but only with my family, and at my dojo. I was assured of myself. I started liking a boy, my first pre-teen crush. I dance behind closed doors, with my family. I love Abba - dancing queen, and funky town. I watch cartoons all day and draw. Dreamed about highschool and college. I was still working on my story. My best friends are a blonde girl too concerned with her looks, a brunette too concerned with popularity, and my brother. I want to travel the world and see interesting things that'll catch my eye... and meet people with connections. Roswell and cartoon network ruled. I'm still the shit... people just don't know it. I argue about things I'm pissed off about.I love my parents.
And another four years later.
Still headstrong as hell. I argue about politics. Philosophy. Still trained, but weak in discipline. Lazy. Loved high school. In love. Don't keep in touch with friends as much, and am in early college, and it wasn't the dream I dreamed. Love to make people laugh, but I don't try as much anymore. Regret, I don't dance, and I stopped writing a year ago. I call it an extended writer's block. And I call that an excuse. I love Incubus. Instead of watching Disney, I watch horror movies. My mom sold all my old tapes, VHS's, and n64 games. I go to the movies. My best friend is my brother, my boyfriend, and, unfortunately, someone that is boobless, a hor, and has the biggest lips I've ever seen in my life. I love surprises still, but don't get out as much as I used to - want to. People are surprised at how much I grew up, but I'm always surprised at how they don't notice that I'm not the same, if not worse, brat that I was as a kid. I argue alot. I love debating. My goals are more realistic. I love spontaneity, but rarely get a chance to act on it. I want to travel the world to get away. And to have fun. My life is lacking in fun. I love Disney. And I sing in the shower. I'm mad at my parents.
and fuck you, man. I am the shit. :P
My mid-life crisis is going to be chaotic. Happy birthday, me.
I log into my WoW account and am casually trying to level for a few minutes when I'm disconnected from the server. This happens quite alot as my computer is a piece of shit and doesn't like to make things easy for me. So I load up WoW again and try to login - when my password is incorrect. I retry multiple times to no avail. I quickly go to the site and change my pass via security question, and when I log back in, I'm next to a mailbox and all my gold and various other items are gone.
What the fuck.
What the fuck.
What kind of sick motherfucker will stoop down to hack pixels that yes, mean next to nil for them and in real life, but cost the person actual time to get? Fuckin' nasty. I found out it was a keylogger, and so I downloaded close to a million programs (Adaware, search and destroy, norton, ...etc.) to try to erase traces of this sick fuck's feces off my god damn computer, of which I just restarted.
The WoW shit didn't bother me as much (though it pissed me off.), but for those few couple of hours, I was paranoid about my paypal, e-mail, and bank account being hacked into. Thanks to this asshole douche bag of the century, I'm now shit paranoid. I've changed my pass a couple thousand times on uninfected computers in the past few hours, and I'm even suspicious of the laptop I'm currently typing on. Suspicious that it might have a keylogger or tracker. What the hell. As I'm typing, I have Ad-Aware open again on my computer running another full-system scan.
You son of a bitch. I'd like to hole punch your scrotum and nail it to a wall. I'd like to burn your house down and kick your mother, you asshole. I hope your dog, teacher, father, kids, and wife catch the black death. Do it again, and I swear I'll find you and kick your white pimply-ass.
I'll find you, shithead.
Note to everybody out there: be careful on the net. It's much like the real world - full of greedy fuckheads.
back to the ad-aware scan. wtf.
]]>Damn. I wish people would write longer entries.
]]>Whenever I listen to a certain song, whenever I smell a certain smell or touch a specific type of texture, it reminds me of me, but in the old sense - a me that was before. Is it just me, or do some of the five senses become almost timeless?
Getting Into You - Relient K always reminds me of a special sort of fucked up time in my life, and when I listen to it the feeling washes over me like an old skin that settles and fits perfectly as if I was just getting on a bike for the first time in 5 years - because everyone knows you can't forget how to ride a bike. The feelings are so surreal, so intense. It makes me feel like I was then and not now. It reminds me of that stage of immaturity, the innocence of crushes, first dances, confusing signs, moodswings, late-nights, and mixed feelings. It also reminds me of a certain special person in my life who learned a bit of the song and played a little of it for me. The song originally was given to me by somebody else, but it became his and mine in a whole sense, a sense that was different and that blossomed. So whenever I listen to this song, like I'm doing now, on repeat again and again and again ... I think of him. And that sense of us that feels so complete.
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I've discovered a breeze in between the smallest crevice in the middle of the brick building of a school and the fence. A breath of fresh air that seeps from the gutters of the town and brings a coolness during the most feverish of nights. It never seemed so strange. But I'm waiting for the bomb to drop on me. I'm waiting for the stench of built up waste, failure, and comformity trash to take over. I'm counting down the hours, even the minutes until those walls cave in on me. So I'll sit on the curb of my cement sidewalk, on the corner of the street and on the beginning of a cul-de-sac with my knees to my chest groping earphones that wistfully breathe of the future. Maybe he'll come through and save me like he's shown me that he can. Maybe he won't let me down like he had in the past. Maybe I won't run my fingers along rusty nails that keep the structure together. Because I know it'll crumble. And I'll be stuck.
but I love you. I love you more than life itself, because life, itself, is you.
Edit:
Everything in life is temporary.
So if things are going good,
enjoy it because it won't last forever.
And if things are going bad,
don't worry because it won't last forever either.
No seriously assholes it's true. If you don't believe me wait until you die. Then tell me you're permanent. Hit me up if you want any more introspective shit.
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