Monday Bear

I can’t make everyone happy.  I thought I learned that already.  I thought that after issue after issue after issue, I had finally learned that someone, no matter what I do, will be upset.  It’s just the way things work.  And no, I’m not being bitchy/emo… it’s the same way for everyone.

I’m a good person.  I’m a good dancer.  I’m a good writer.  I’m a good receptionist.  I’m a good talker.  I’m a good student.  I’m a good daughter.  I’m a good friend.  I’m a good sister.  I’m good making people smile.  I’m a good babysitter.  I’m a good actress.

I’m a good girl, dammit.

“Why do I care?  Why do I care?  Why the fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffuck do I care?”
- Dan a few months ago.

But freaking… I don’t know.  I don’t know.  I’m upset.  Hurt.  Confused.  Offended.  Mislead.  Angry.  But most of all, I’m worried.  Irrationally worried, but worried nonetheless.

What do I hate?

I hate it when people bitch and piss and moan and don’t do anything about it.

So I’ll stop.

Sarah, my little ballerina, said:
“Wow, he really likes you… that, or he’s rich.”

But I thought she said:
“Wow, he really likes you.  That or he’s a virgin.”

I watched Saw II last night with Alley Jo.  It had good special effects.

She has big knockers.  They’re fun to lay upon.

“Aunt Jemima has some serious knockers.”
- Dan.  Again.

I wonder how the NIN concert went.

How many punks does it take to change a lightbulb?

Nobody knows.  Punks have never changed anything.

Thank you, Mark Adam.

Metrofest was tonight.  I would have gone, but I don’t trust my own driving on icy roads.

I wonder if I would have gotten my “face cracked the fuck open” like I was promised?  I’ll have to go back and see.

I’m tired of blogging.  Sorry to disappoint you.  I can’t think of more goofy stuff.

Oh yeah.  I can’t dance to my own song because I’m only 17.  And a half.

If you still say “and a half,” it means you’re too young.

Matthew: i want you to have a baby

Liz: i probably will eventually

like

when i get married

Matthew: why not now

Liz: you know what? why the fuck not now.

hell, im being selfish

body, schmody

future, schmuture

vaginal tightness, schmaginal tightness

lets have a fucking baby

Matthew: thats the spirit!

So I might be going to Bonnaroo with him and some other people and sleep in a tent. 

So in conclusion, baby, you got what I need.  But you say I’m just a friend, but you say I’m just a friend.

Biz Markie never fixed anything.

Currently eating:  Pinot Noir and ice cream.

This entry was posted on Saturday, February 18th, 2006 at 2:02 PM and is filed under Awkward Scenarios, Babies, Breasts, Dating, Music. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.