sooo, i was at work today and i received a telephone call.
it was a customer from saturday, inquiring about stock.
i was all "nah, dude, still not in. sorryyyyy"
and he says, "can i buy the display? it's for my potential-girlfriend and i neeeeed it so when she comes home from work, she'll be all amazed."
normally, i'd say something snarky, like "SAVE ME YOUR SOB STORY, FUCKTARD." however, i was touched. so i was all "okay, dude, what's your name? can you come by in like, a half an hour?"
he says to me, he says, "my name is jake! and i'll be there in forty five!"
i was all "okay cool."
so, on the nose, forty five minutes later, jake shows up. i give him his display with a paper to take to get it marked down. he reaches in his coat pocket and pulls out, get this, a fucking bag of cookies!
he says to me, "i hope you like homemade cookies! thank you so much! have a merry christmas!!"
i didn't know what to say, so i was all, ::hug::
it was really touching and put me in a holly jolly sort of mood for the rest of the day!
so yeah!
merry christmas, friends! :D

now that my bangs are all grown out, i kind of miss them. if you were me, which i know - hard concept to grasp - would you chop 'em again? 'cause i'm thinking i wanna. yeah, it's a pain in the ass, 'cause you have to blow dry them or they look dumb. and yeah, i'm not real crafty with scissors... but i'm sick of just blah. no style!
this is only a major decision on which i rally the troops for opinions, because my hair grows like .007 inches a month. hahah

but i feel like a part of my early teenage years, checkin' movie times and starting shit with an inanimate bot has been destroyed by this one message...

rasputina set list 11.23.08 // the note, west chester PA

SO I GOT A FRIGGIN RASPUTINA SET LIST, FINALLY!!!! here are the songs they have played.

1. saline the salt lake queen
2. 1816, the year without a summer
3. hunter's kiss
4. wicked dickie
5. rats
6. american girl
7. new zero
8. bring the egg unbroken back
9. secret message
10. watch tv
11. draconian crackdown
12. rose k.
13. cage in a cave
14. girl lunar
15. identity tokens (fourteen and fifteen, i did not know.)
16. yellowcake (because i don't feel like writing it all out.)

encore!
1. rusty the skatemaker
2. bad moon rising
3. thimble island.

Ju PiterGirl1228: TELL ME IF THIS IS NORMAL
kitty dont dance: ok
Ju PiterGirl1228: she was climbing all over me as i watched the 5 am news okay
Ju PiterGirl1228: and i noticed she had a total turd poking out of her butt
Ju PiterGirl1228: and i was telling her like "kitty go potty"
Ju PiterGirl1228: and then she would just climb back up on me when i pushed her off and like every step she took the stupid turd stuck out more
Ju PiterGirl1228: and she wanted to snuggle and i was like "FUCK CAT YOUR SHIT IS RUBBING ON MY PANTS!"
kitty dont dance: lol, no, that isn't normal. she was trying to shit on you
Ju PiterGirl1228: like it wasnt falling out
Ju PiterGirl1228: and finally i put her in her bedroom and shut the door and when i came back she totally pooped in her potty




you're welcome.
for the lulz.
i know, my sister's hilarious :D

ijji.com.

download it.
play with me.

i = guernica.

BE MAH FRIIIEEEEENNNN'

Start with a Red-Headed Slut:

• 1.5 ounces of Jagermeister
• 1 of Peach Schnapps
• A good splash of Cranberry juice.

Now to make it "La Lohan" -- which means more booze, please.

• Add some Whiskey. However much you're thinking of adding? It's not enough. Add more. It's not like you have a problem or anything. Really.
• All of the above should be going into a shaker with plenty of ice. Shake the fuck out of it and pour into a rocks/highball glass.
• Top it with a floater of Bacardi 151. If you're feeling really daring, why not ignite it? Add some fire for Miss Firecrotch!
  

Fair warning: 151 is very flammable and so the igniting might not be the best idea. But neither is getting behind the wheel. Or starring in Herbie:Fully Loaded. Drink at your own risk.

Okay, so I was noticing today that all the area of everything to have an "it girl" are covered. SAVE LITERATURE, YOU KNOW? It's like... Fashion? Nope, got one. Music? Dime a dozen, baby. Acting? PFFFT, next. How rad would it be to be like, oh say, the Lindsay Lohan of fiction?! AND GET TO GO TO ALL THE PARTIES AND DRINK OVERPRICED BOOZE AND BUY CRAZY EXPENSIVE SHOES.

oh, and here's the kicker. my "Style"? aaaaahahaha. Adult children's books. Like, you know, the "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" series (yes, there was more than one)... just with WAY cooler themes and characters and shit. And it'll be really crudely illustrated, via this bitch (i can't draw to save my skin) and I WILL BE A REVOLUTIONARY WRITER.

because, let's face it... no one reads. they look at pictures.

plot summary: me, the chain-smoking, binge drinking, foul mouthed, racist with a heart of gold & my bffsters molly & kenny. we drive around a lot. we do the stupidest shit. people love us. i talk to myself a lot. like an auto-biography, but way cooler.

the film adaptation will be SWEET.

Warm yourself by the fire, son,
And the morning will come soon.
I’ll tell you stories of a better time,
In a place that we once knew.

Before we packed our bags
And left all this behind us in the dust,
We had a place that we could call home,
And a life no one could touch.

Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You won't let me down, down, down!

Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You will let me down, down, down!

Down!

We are the angry and the desperate,
The hungry, and the cold,
We are the ones who kept quiet,
And always did what we were told.

But we’ve been sweating while you slept so calm,
In the safety of your home.
We’ve been pulling out the nails that hold up
Everything you’ve known.

Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You will let me down, down, down!

Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You will let me down, down, down!

So open your eyes child,
Let’s be on our way.
Broken windows and ashes
Are guiding the way.

Keep quiet no longer,
We’ll sing through the day,
Of the lives that we’ve lost,
And the lives we’ve reclaimed.

Go!

Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You will let me down, down, down!

Don’t hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don’t need your help now,
You will let me down, down, down!

Don't hold me up now,
I can stand my own ground,
I don't need your help now,
You will let me down, down, down !

Don’t hold me up…
(I don’t need your help, I’ll stand my ground)
Don’t hold me up…
(I don’t need your help)
No! No! No!
Don’t hold me up!
(I don’t need your help, I’ll stand my ground)
Don’t hold me up!
(I don’t need your help, I’ll stand my ground)
Don’t hold me down, down, down, down, down!

it's going to be great when you realize it's not your location that is causing you to fail.

it's that you are a failure.

asshole.

Top Commenters on grammariscool's LiveJournal
(Self comments excluded from rankings)

1	kennydeath	159
2	benspastic	101
3	jerrybennett	83
4	chaosinfinite	58
5	canuhearthecry	55
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7	mis_pantalones	45
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LIFE IS A TEST AND I GET BAD MARKS.

Here's a funny story.
People that shit talk on the internet.
I'm. I'm sorry my car's broken. I'm sorry I work 40 hours a week. I'm sorry MY BOYFRIEND pays for me to do things (thusly, meaning i'm BROKE ANYWAY.) I'm sorry I'm getting ready to move soon. I'm sorry I had funerals and viewings to go to all last week.
Mostly, I'm sorry you can't keep your shit together long enough to know that GETTING OLDER BREEDS RESPONSIBILITY. Sorry I can't rearrange my life to fit your needs.

And I didn't feel like being attacked, when I'm still very emotionally fragile.
Next time two people you care about die, BRYAN, I'll be sure to bug the piss out of you about something SO TRIVIAL as hanging out.

Next, please :)

http://grammariscool.livejournal.com/328219.html

REMEMBER THIS?
I AM SO GREAT. :)

i mean. i was way wrong on some things, but others. god, i'm so good at life.

So in the time I'm wasting before work, I should be eating. I bought food and everything. Kitty is a lazy, lazy girl.

Apparently, I'm unblocked, but I'm too much of a wuss to say what's up.
WUSSITIS. I have it.

Oh well.

If anyone is cool enough, they'll go to the Conshy Ikea & see meeee. Pretend to be reeeeal interested in some... candles. Or plants. Or something.

Life!
Who'da thunk?!

Why is it so hard to find a free mental health clinic in Philadelphia? I'm starting to feel increasingly nuts.

I really think I need help, and it seems as though it's simply unavailable.

so i'm not dead. okay?!
i'm also not into being bullied about what i can and cannot plan to do with my very own body. fuck off, man.

on the plus side, we've got a discussion date on tuesday.



in other news, i went to making time to see the faint & they sucked out loud. i hate their new music. it's so blaaaannnnnd.
the whole time i was there, i kept looking around. suddenly, i realized i was waiting for vince to come back from the bar or bathroom. when in reality, he wasn't even there.
i just felt like something was missing.
but he does have real good friends. they are comforting in a noncreepy way. ::sigh::

iwishiwishiwish.

gets you nothing.

all of your problems are suddenly unimportant, sorry.


my mother is dying.

I made a drastic realization that no one is coming back. Ever.
I'm not, you're not, she's not, they're not.
It's been a bad day, and it's not even time for soaps yet.

Where the fuck is the PECO dood?! Godddddd :(

See, here's the difference between self-imposed isolationism, and environmentally-decided isolationism:

All things in life, that are fun, require some amount of money. Therefore, I would have to have money or very rich friends to do things in life that are fun. Seeing as I have neither, I do not get to do all the things in life that are fun. And if so, very few of them.
Even some not-so-fun things cost money. Like operation of a motor vehicle. Last I checked, gas was at 2.83 and climbing, so it's not really so much that I don't WANT to do things, because obviously I do, it's that I haven't the means necessary.

Which makes this hiatus more environmental than self-imposed, naa'meen?

Secondly, I would make a more devoted effort to stabilize my friendships, had I a means of communication other than the internet. Apparently, not everyone has hopped onto this boat yet. But, again, with the money thing, I don't have enough money to keep putting time on my phone, and I have bad credit, so I can't get a REAL phone.... circle of life, all that jazz.

It kind of hurts my feelings when people (actually, you, BENNETT) assume that I'm being an elitest, isolationist bitch.

Puh-leez, like I could compete with Japan.

I know you guys are real hardcore into string instruments.
So tell me.
I'm sitting here, freezing my ass off because of a vain attempt to lower the humidity in my apartment.
Why, you ask?
Becaaaaaause, strings g-a don't feel that they're good enough for tuning. And they're like, BAD. prolly ... well, just say I had my viola in my car for a lil bit, and it's all WACKY!
SO! My question for you two, or anyone else who happens to be a concert violist/violinist/et CETERA; WhyTF won't my tuning pegs move?! I've done the soap thing. The humidity is eliminated. It's been in a stable temperature for a few hours, but no dice. I really. Really. REALLY. don't wanna go to a music store and look like a tool being all "heyyyy, tune my instrument maaaan" cause I can do it myself... when the tools work correctly.
What have you done in the past to fix this? Help a sistah out :(

could anyone drive me to willow grove tomorrow around nine thirty-ish (a.m.) for work?
or, be so kind as to tell me how to get there via public transportation?
if it helps, i live right across from the queen lane train station.

fares would help a lot, too, if you know them.

I'M LOOKING AT YOU, JERRYPANTS, mr. publictransportationlover.

The things you find in the drop-down menu on your boyfriend's computer are SO FUCKING FUNNY.

Tonight, I decide to pay more attention to people. Seeing as ALL OF MY FRIENDS ARE GONE. Ho hum :(
Tonight, I totally am gonna do my best to, you know, make some friends. Not like, club acquaintances either. Real honest to God friends and stuff.

It's gonna be real tuff, y'know?

Today I've been in the business of lengthy replies.
If you've recieved one... oh, dear lord am I sorry.

Please stop by Tom Jones if you have a chance next week.

I really can't wait to graduate from the black pants to the red skirt. It'll be quite a time!

the new FOB album is going to be incredible.
i'm sorry, but the two songs i've heard, while lyrically weak, are musically incredible.
there's no other adjective.

my god, i'm hung over as all hell.
derek had to drive my car home because i was falldown, slur my speech, disgusting drunk last night.
this is why i hate going to shows alone!
i get so nervous that before i know it, i've had seven drinks in an hour and i'm talking to strangers and dancing to nothing, and falling down stairs and hitting on fifteen year old girls for cigarettes.

but, well, really, life is perfect.

i have friends like derek that WOULD drive me home when i'm that bad.
which means a lot.

woo!  

everything's fine.
i just need to stop freaking out about little things.
agreed on twice a week. which i assume means wednesday and friday.
i'm running out of days for everyone else! hahaha

oh. and my work schedule is going to be on a rotation now. i for sure close every thursday.
and i'm real excited!
STABILITYYYYYY!!!
forty hours a week!
doubley good.

after next week's check.
i can re-write heather's check.
give jerry some money to pay back that ish.

getting all caught up is the best feeling in world.

MANIC depression.
is the lamest.

i need to go pluck my eyebrows now.
have a wonderful day.

courtney love is on leno.
AWESOME!

it makes me sad that i'm not watching it with someone.

i deleted all numbers.
all trace evidence.
that everything that ever happened.

i'm sad that things fail to exist.

i'm so tired.
goodnight, moon.


OH! and who wants to take me out tonight? :)  

Dirty laundry is only good metaphorically.
And I am a master of mastering metaphor.

Sometimes even I surprise myself
with my resilience and lack of poise.

Hell hath no fury, all that.

Using spell check means you lose a bit of your humanity in the process.
I'm no machine, man. No machine.

I've given  up on the concept of happy
and moved onto content with the hand I was dealt years ago.

Everything is my fault, and I accept this.

Did you know the suicide hotline is initially an automated response?
That's fucked upppp.
What if I was dying right there?
Whateverrrrr

Commadore Barry.
Tacony Palmyra.
Ben Franklin.
Betsey Ross.
Walt Whitman.
Burlington-Bristol.
I think that's all of them.
it would be ironic, because I'm a hydrophobe.
I think the Walt Whitman is most appropriate, since I fancy myself a writer.

(should've taken that book deal, idiot, you'd be SOMEONE by now.)

Oh well.
We are defined by the choices we make or choose not to make.
Character and the contents therein can only be measured in this way.
Cowards run.
The mediocre stay to see what's going to happen.
The heroes make what's going to happen happen for the mediocre to see and be inspired by, while the cowards run.

You're all kinds of beautiful.
And I probably will miss aspects of being happy.
But I am a mediocre coward.
I'm running while looking back to see if I'm missing out, just in case I want to turn around.
I haven't the internal mechanisms necessary for heroics.
Plain Jane vanilla.

I want to disappear and start a new, extravagant life in a foreign country.
Shh! don't tell.

My biggest fear is going to bed and waking up alone for the rest of my life.
I'm so insecure it's disgusting,
and what's more - you all fell for the "fact" that I'm some brave, strong person.

There is still blood in this veins,
I've not been filled with wired and stone yet.

This has meant nothing.
Will mean nothing.
I'm batshit Tom Cruise nutty.

Why, God, why?

This is the thanks I get for going to church.

I need to check into the hospital, because I can really, honestly feel myself losing whatever sloppy handshake grasp I had on myself.

I would only hand out run-on sentences, were I a judge.

Faith.
True.