Monday Bear

So let me begin with a 13 year old wannabe slut.� That was me.� I thought it was cool to be slutty, because the slutty eighth graders made fun of me in PE class because I wore “granny panties,” because I didn’t know much about sex, because I thought oral sex was icky, and because I thought sex was bad.� So I was transformed in the summer between 7th and 8th grades.� I turned out to be an anorexic pseudoslut.� I never told people that I had sex, but I always implied it… like someone would have actually wanted to have sex with me.� I’m sure it annoyed the hell out of Dustin, the oldaboy who I thought was my future husband, because it really annoys me.� I’m so glad that none of my little ballerinas think it’s cool to be slutty.� Becuase it’s not.� It’s slutty to be slutty.� DO NOT, I repeat, DO NOT BE A SLUT.� I say this because there is a certain girl who was in CATS who was 13 or 14 and a wannabe slut.� She had a pretty face, and she had quite a bod for an 8th grader, but holy hell.� She had a boyfriend, and she made out, and maybe even *gasp* had sex with a 17 year old.� She always did these stretches in front of him… and they weren’t even stretches that stretch… they were stretches the scream, “I can do this with my bod.� Check it out.”� And it wasn’t even impressive stuff.� And she talks funny.� Here are some things she said:
“Don’t you hate it when 2 boys are fighting over you?”
“I want some pink and black fuzzy handcuffs to hang on my bedpost” (Handcuffs:� a classic for eighth grade ohmahgahkinky sex.)
(After being instructed to crawl out into the audience and sit on someone’s lap) :�”Ooh!� If my ex boyfriend comes on the same night that my boyfriend does, I’m gonna get in my boyfriend’s lap and… mmm.”
1.� What are the odds that her exboyfriend comes to the show?
2.� If he was to come, what are the odds that he would come on the
same night as her boyfriend?
3.� Are lapdances really catlike?
4.� Are you really going to look -that- sexy with cat makeup and a wig
on?
5.� Wh…*shakes head*…

She does a fucking booty dance and body roll, hands on the knees and everything.� She gets into sexual positions.� She wears a pushup bra underneath her unitard.� IT DOESN’T LOOK LIKE A FUCKING CAT.� IT LOOKS LIKE A LITTLE GIRL TRYING TO BE A SLUT.

I don’t think it’s fair that I had to smush my boobies down, and other people wore pushup bras under their unitards.� I understand the whole smushing the boobs down thing.� Cat’s don’t have boobs.� NO CAT HAS BOOBS.� IF YOU’RE GOING TO BE A FUCKING CAT, SMUSH YOUR TITS DOWN.� CATS AREN’T VOLUPTUOUS.

This People We Don’t Like section (sexion) of the blog was dedicated to Emily.

So speaking of 7th grade PE class, they also used to make fun of me for looking at myself in the mirror when I was just wearing my underwear.� They told everyone I was a lesbian because I did this.� Hrm.� All those halfnaked girls and I choose my anorexic body to look at.� Very lesbonic.� When someone disgustedly looks at her body in the mirror constantly, that usually means she is overly critical of herself.� Not a lesbian.

I still look at myself the mirror when I’m nakie.� Not because I’m a lesbian.� Not because I’m an ana.� Only because I’m freaking hot.

And come to think of it, Emily H., the main PE slut, is actually a really cool person now.� And if I’m not mistaken, she isn’t a slut anymore.

“Liz, you’re looking very ugly today.”� They were so mean.� I should have kicked their asses.

Enough wallowing in past self- pity.

I got the period.
I’m on the rag.
I’m menstruating.
I fell off the roof.
It’s “that time of the month”.
Aunt Flo is visiting.

If you can think of any more euphamisms for being on one’s menstrual period, please share.

See, Emily, I told you I didn’t have a baby growing in there.

I decided I want one.� Not now, but eventually.

So apparently I am the only 17 year old girl who keeps up with her cycle.� Everyone with a uterus should keep up with her cycle, especially the ones who are sexually active.� All of you should know when you’re ovulating.� That’s when you’re fertile.� Don’t do it when you’re ovulating.� If you do, USE A CONDOM.� Geez.� Some girls are stupid.

Matt:� You can catch your age up with mine, just kill me 2 1/2 years before you die.
Liz:� That doesn’t make any sense.� How am I supposed to know when I die?
Matt:� Well, you know when you’re ovulating, I figured you might you know when you’ll die.

I don’t die every 28 days.� And we don’t have sex every night at 11:05.

Sarah Mahan is also on her pyramid.� She gets really horny when she’s on the rag.� She was explaining this to her husband, the sheltered farm boy who said, “This is how horses do it,” on their wedding night.� He said, “Well, that’s just because you’re in heat.”� I thought that was kind of cute.

I’m in heat.

So I have a game for you all:

Be that some boob, or be that some ass?� Whose is it?

Here’s a hint:� It sure as hell doesn’t belong to me.

And I expect you assholes to play this time.

Ask me what people in Union City do on Sunday nights.� Not the Baptists.� They go to church.

Oh yeah.� So I like to brag about how my boyfriend is cooler than everyone else’s.� Especially yours.� What’s the big deal.� I’m like a soccer mom.� Soccer girlfriend.� Anywho, I can’t help it that my boyfriend is
A.� An extremely talented artist
B.� Highly intelligent
C.� Hip
D.� A snazzier dresser than I’ll ever be
E.� Skinny
F.� Very good with computers
G.� Close to his family
H.� Superb in the sack
I.��� Chill
J.�� Really really good-looking.

Oh, yeah, and he’s a fucking pilot!� Beat that!

That’s alot better than your lazyass, co-op- working- at, camoflague- wearing, sexually over- zealous, GED- having, psycho- ass, tobacco- chewing, weak- chinned excuse for a baby daddy.

PS:� (Matt isn’t really a pilot.� He got a job at the airport, though.� A good one.)
PPS:� And he can still wear aviators and a bomber jacket to work and pretend.
PPPS:� He got them at one of those vintage stores at which all the hip indie kids shop.
PPPPS:� None of this was meant to sound intimidating at all.� I’m just that fucking cute.

Oh, and we love each other.� That’s more than you can say.

OH, SNAP!

So vindictive.� Such a girl.� Give me some fucking chocolate.

Seriously though.� I don’t really hate being seventeen, but geez, I get so tired of hearing, “You’re only seventeen, seventeen, SEVENTEEN, SEVENFUCKINGTEEN” all the time.

That’s really angsty.� Livejournal.� I would have erased that if this piece of cotton on a string in my jiney didn’t give me an excuse to be angsty.

That’s vagnasty.� VAG!

They only like you when you’re seventeen.� That was dedicated to Zephyr and Lia.

I’m doing laundry tonight.� Towels and jeans.� And I’m handwashing my dainties.� In Woolite.

Brad has a sparkley cock.� That’s one of the Liz’s Blogs OneLiners that deserves explaining.� Brad Thomson played Rum Tum Tugger, the macho sexy badass cat who all the lady kittens want to bang.� After the tapdance, Brad comes out, and backstage Rachel says, “Oh my gosh… Did you see Brad’s penis?”� I thought she was talking about the size.� Because a unitard doesn’t hide anything.� His package is freaking massive.� Scary massive.� Fucking HUGE.� Anywho, I’m like, “Yeah, what’s the big deal?” (get it, big?)� She says, “It has glitter all over it!”

Backstage, Jared was being a fairy and putting glitter on everyone.� Then everyone’s tails.� Then Mrs. Sacchi’s hair.� That was funny.� I didn’t let him glitter me, because I fucking hate glitter.� I’ll get to that later.� But apparently while I was onstage, he glittered Brad’s crotch.� Not just some sparkleys.� It looked like one of Britney Spears’s bras.� It looked like a hooker’s eyelids.� It looked like a big fucking sparkling penis.� We were laughing so hard that we could hardly sing.� (Penis, hard).� (Oh, oh cock.� Oh singing cock.� Sing sing.)

“That’s what mama paid to see.”

I can’t believe he did that.

He is -so- my hero.

Did anyone else get a little sad when we were singing that last CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?� I did.� Then and when Miz Rita was singing Memory.� Yes, I know, I hate Memory, it’s cliche’ and I’m choking on all my contradictions, but holy gah, you should hear that woman sing it.

“Somebody, please touch her already.”

“Samuel, remember that time you got in trouble with Brad and he made you sit by the bathroom?”
- Michele

That made my day, Michele.� You know exactly how to embarrass a little boy.

I decided that Dave Chappelle isn’t funny, because in his shows between skits, he explains exactly why each part is funny.

The only funny thing he ever said was, “I’m a speed fucker.”

This was me after our last performance:

Oh yeah, so after looking at my calendar today, I realize that Saturday was Three Chord Vaughn’s birthday.� The thought of him nauseates me.

Gosh, I love This song. Go ahead.� Make fun of me.� Go’n ‘head, girl, Go’n ‘head, get down.� Too many apostrophes.

So in conclusion, the cock is my rock.

I mean Hog.  Horseface.

So here’s something that almost made me piss with laughter from indietits.com:

That’s probably my favourite one.

I wish those fing pictures would load.  I tried to load them all yesterday.  On and off.  They wouldn’t load.  I’ll holler if they don’t.

Holler back.

The other night at the theatre, someone asked me what time it was.  Wanting to be a smartass, I replied, “Time for…” and I couldn’t think of anything smartass to say.  After a long pause, Michael, homo of the year, says, “…poontang.”  Yes, Michael.  It is, indeed, time for poontang.

Can I really be a breeder if I’ve never bred?  Bread?

I’ve been having dirty dreams lately.  I haven’t told any of them.  To anyone.  I’m embarrassed.  Not really because they’re dirty… it’s just the nature of the dirt.  It involved Matthew, if that’s what you all were wondering.  I think it’s just because it’s cheesey.  No, not like licking cheese off of one another (Zephyr), but… soap opera sex.  You know how it is.

After a long ceremony, an eager young couple cross the threshold into their honeymoon suite.  The groom overzealously lays his bride, with her multilayered tulle and tafetta gown, onto the bed.  With no amount of tact or heed, he anxiously ruffles through the layers of her gown as she giggles with excitement.

I saw that on TV when I was about 6 years old, and it enthralled me.  Ever since then, I’ve wanted to get married.

And that’s the only reason.  The only.

But yeah, I’ll write about my dream one of these days, you just won’t know it was my dream.  I’ll just pretend it’s another one of my dirty, dirty stories.

Mr. West’s class, anyone?  I don’t even take notes in there anymore.  I’m such a 14 year old boy.

So I sent Matt my ear yesterday.  And by ear, I mean suprise.  That’s right, my virginity.  You guessed it.  First Class.  Workin’ Order.

I also sent Sean that CD I’ve had for well over 2 years.  Jimmie’s Chicken Shack.  It’s an excellent CD.  And you know what?  I just got around to ripping the tracks yesterday at 12:30.

“Computer music is where it’s at.”
- Matt

I gots devil music on my computer.

Alley Jo came over the past two days.  She just got back from New Orleans because her boyfriend is working there.  At any rate, she went to the Hustler store and bought a porno for her and her boyfriend.  Lesbian Orgies.  She also bought me some stuff and made me a package.  (Get it, package?)  I won’t tell you what’s in it.

But anywho, before she left, her mom, who works at First State Bank on Reelfoot Avenue, told her, “Take what you need to be safe.”  Alley replied, “Never say that again, please.”  She’s on the patch.

One of my friends sent me this message.  Names have been changed for the protection of individuals:

-beware of “salt”-

So I was having a pretty normal dream last night, considering how dreams are surreal and dreamlike anyway. After several events that I cannot recall, I find myself in Gizzard’s arms again. I have an idea to put peanut butter all over myself, naked, and then Gizzard does the same. *blushes profusely* Then we proceed to start licking each other, like it’s the most desirable, pleasurable action ever, sort of like getting makey outey. Then, someone hears about it on the grapevine, and it becomes the new thing to do - it’s hotter than sex, in the sense of it’s the new trend in lustful things. Everyone’s covering themselves in peanut butter and lickin’, not banging. Though I’m sure the ones who bang do both. Mmyeah. Weird. :..

(fin).

So there you go.  My friends are weird, too.  And that fin at the end makes me indie, right, Matt?

Some women get really ugly when they’re pregnant.  I look at them and think, “How the fuck did you get impregnated?”  Then I remember that pregnancy takes a toll on some ladies.  I’ll be a cute pregnant.  If I ever get pregnant.  At least I hope I would be a cute pregnant.  

Like anyone would hope to be an ugly pregnant.

Today, I wore that little jacket that I’m wearing in that picture.  It’s one of those hip and trendy cropped jackets that all the coolest femmes wear.  Everytime I wear it, without fail, some creepy old man says, “Your jacket is too small for you,” and thinks it’s the funniest thing in the world. 

What I do:  Laugh, smile, and say, “no, it’s supposed to be like that, hehe…”
What I want to do:  Rip it off and kick his ass, balls first.  Or at least say, “Shut up, it’s not funny.  It wasn’t even funny the first 72 times I heard it.” 

Any suggestions on what I should do next time?  Every time I wear this thing, I always see that creepy guy who works at the co- op.  Do you know who I’m talking about?  Ugh.

Ugh.  That’s what I said when Johnny Depp asked me for my number.  Sure, he may be talented, but he’s no Matt Callis.

Bear rug.  I would blog that, but it may embarrass him.  However, he did want me to blog a detailed description of one of our… escapades…

But I’m not brave enough to do so.

And I’m sure not all of you want to imagine me doin’ it. 

Who am I kidding.  Pervs.

Workin’ Order.

Thrust You.

I bet acid is really good.  Better than shrooms.

“Where should I blow it?”
- Davo.

Don’t do shrooms, kids.

“Don’t do acid, man.  It will FUCK YOU UP.”

If you don’t know from what movie that is, I’ll hurt your children.

Oh yeah, my new nickname is Peanut.  “Don’t call me peanut at work, Doodlebug.  We’ve talked about this.”

So in movies, especially scary movies, when someone is listening to rock music, it all sounds the same:

DUNUNUNUNUNUI’MLISTENINGTOROCKNUNUNUNUNUNUNUNUI’MLISTENINGTOROCK

You just had to be there.  Oh wait.

Alley and I went to Maurices.  She likes to live through me, so she picked out about 5 dresses for me to try on.  I picked out 3.  She got a pair of cropped pants, which I -told- her were going to make her look fat.  She just assumed that was the anorexic in me.  Not all of them were that memorable, so I’ll just name a few.  Oh yeah, and we were in the same changing room.  And I was wearing blue panties, a black strapless bra, white fluffy socks (4 year old girl style) and 4 inch open toed pumps.  That really is nessecary for you to know.  And when I took a dress off, I threw it on the floor and she put it on a hanger for me.  Because I’m 7.

1.  Whoops, can’t wear a bra with this one.  Good.

2.  This one makes me look like a million bucks.  I wish I had money.  I would buy it.  But why would someone put horizontal stripes at the waistline?  That’s gay.

3.  Green one that alley picked out.  It had some crazy elastic junk in it that made me look like I had back fat rolls.  “TAKE IT OFF, IT BURNS!”

4.  This one was a joke.  It was ivory.  It had a sparkley bodice.  It tied at the waist.  It had layers of ruffles.  And I almost couldn’t get it over my ass (I stepped into it).
Alley:  Take your bra off.  I can’t take you seriously unless there are nipples involved.
Liz:  I’m blogging that.
Yet she could take me seriously with a pink sticker on my forehead that read, “SPECIAL.”
And yes, before I took the dress off, she went through my ruffles.  She owed me a favour.
Alley:  Hey! Something blue! (referring to panties)
Liz:  And my dress is ivory!  I’m a whore!
At this point, I was laughing so hard that I almost pissed myself
Liz:  I’m going to piss myself!
Alley:  Well put your pants on!

  Anywho, we tried to get the dress off, but pulling it up over my head, I couldn’t get it over my boobs.  I forgot that they were naked, so I turned around to Alley Jo, as she hid in the corner with her hands over her face, screaming, “Get them away from me!”  And you know, I’d do the classic tell-her-I-put-them-away-but-they’re-really-in-her-face move.  It’s the Dirty Sanchez of flashing.  Just think if I had a penis.  I would be one of those guys.  You know. 

5.  The bra is still off.  This is a short, strappless, semiruffley little number.
“OMG, Your nipples are looking at me!”
Liz:  I look like I’m going to my 5th grade cotillion.  I think it’s the socks.

We didn’t buy anything.  An eventful shopping experience, yet anticlimactic. 

So in conclusion, Brad had an abortion over Christmas break.

Ahem.

So Lindsay is alot cooler than I made her out to be.� I didn’t think she was uncool by any means, but she just suprised me, you know?

Sorry, Lindsay, but if I think you’re cool, it’s over.� You probably won’t have any friends after that.

Dr.�Evil does the prologue for CATS.� “Old Deuteronomy will choose the cat to go to the Heavyside LAY- er.” *pinkie to mouth*

LAY- er.

It’s alot funnier with cat makeup on.

Oh, and I’m supposed to mention Caitlin here.� Because she thought it was funny, too.� Everybody wants a piece of my blog.

“Everybody wants a piece.� Of my pumpkin pia.”
- Dan

He added Matthew to his myspace so he could annoy him with his whorishness.� He did.� Matthew DELETED him.

Buuuuhleted.

Diet Coke.� Remember that.� I’d like to say something about that, but I need to finish saying something about Dan.� So… put that on hold, as Prof. West would say.

Dan says gay things:
“Liz, you’re no Trent Reznor.”
“I wish I was Vanessa Carlton.”
And there was something else, and I was like “omg, I’m blogging that” because I’m in highschool and I say things like OMG and guh-ross.� Totally.

“Look, Liz.� Desks, books, bells, friends… these scenerios should be familiar to you.”
- Matt, re: TeenNick

The only actual teenager I know that watches that is Lia.� I only know that because she said soemthing about that show with that kid on it who looks like Dan.� He really does.� I bet he’s Jewish.� Jewish like me.� Apparently.� Get it?

I picked up my photos yesterday.� I got wallets!� *giggle*

Because I giggle alot, too.

Miz Rita, my old vocal coach, who plays Grizabella in CATS, has an orange sparkley bra.� She’s well into her 60s.� Way to go, Miz Rita.� I believe in you.

“I’m late!� Hold the show!”
- Bomballurfuckingrina.

So Diet Coke.� Right.� I’m drinking a diet coke.� A real one, not a generic one.� I usually don’t drink carbonated beverages on days that I have to be in a unitard in front of 360 people, but I just couldn’t resist.� I also I don’t drink carbonated beverages if I’m planning on being in a swimsuit or in my nakiepants in front of people.� Or person.� But I usually don’t worry too much about the nakiepants, because, psht, I’m freaking hot.� Actually, because nakiepants is to be shared with someone you care about, and I’m not saying that if we’re in love, we should all get fat.� That would just be guhross.� I’m just saying that our significant other thinks we look good in our nakiepants no matter what.

Tooshie.

Welp, most people get fat together.� They either get fat or lose weight together.� But most of the time they get fat.� Have you seen that chick and that dude?� They used to be really cute.� Now they’re just fat.� That football player is fat too.� I mean, he’s always had a butt, back when Heather dated him, but bloody hell, he’s a lardass.� He waddles.� Guhross.

Along with diet coke, I also don’t drink milk on days that I have to perform.� Well, on days that I have to sing.� I can drink milk if i have a ballet or something, but milk screws up one’s voice.� Diet coke doesn’t screw up your voice, but it increases the probability that you could burp.� That would be funny.� For me or Sarah.� Because our song is supposed to be all seductive and meeyow.� I should burp tonight in the middle of my gyrations.

Matthew said something last night, and then I made him repeat it, only gyrating his hips.� I don’t remember what it was, though.� It wasn’t “workin’ order”.� *thrusts*

All of the interns are going to elementary schools in the next few days to teach 8th graders CPR and Heimlech Maneuver.� I was by myself.� I had a class of about 30- 40 students.� At the end of the class, I asked if there were any questions.
Boy:� How old are you?
Liz:� 17.
Boy:� Oh, good, you aren’t as old as I thought.� I’m 13.� What’s your phone number?
Liz:� I’m entirely too old for you, and I have a boyfriend.
Boy:� He doesn’t have to know.

I told Ashley, and she said, “I would have given him my number just because he had the balls to ask.”� Poor Ashley.

Matt said I should have given it to him.� “If he actually called, then he’d really have balls.”

And in Beth’s class (which she taught with Hog and only had 18 students.� You do the math.) she told them that when someone is choking, you should give them 5 pelvic thrusts.� That’s a new one to me.� Alot more fun than abdominal thrusts, though.

“And if that diamond ring turns brass, mama’s gonna buy you a piece of ass.”
-� Lindsay.

You wouldn’t think it would be so bad being a prostitute.� You get paid to -get it on-.� But alot of the people who pay to -get it on- are fat and/ or ugly.� Hence their having to pay to -get it on-.

So I ask you this question:� Would you rather -get it on- with someone who is fat, or someone who is ugly?� I’d rather -get it on- with someone who is ugly.� Because I don’t hate ugly people.� But that’s just me.

Oh yeah, and when I ask a question in my blog, I mean for it to be answered in my comments, assholes.� I don’t ask rhetorical questions.� Just hypothetical ones.

Some people, such as my mother (pictured), are incapable of answering hypothetical questions.� “Why?� That can’t happen.”� Ugh.

Holly asked Steve, “If you hadn’t met me, would you date Liz?”
Steve replied, “I don’t know, I’m dating you.”� And he’s intelligent.� But some questions that women ask are better left unanswered.� Prime example:

Shanice’s boyfriend, Josh, went to a mixer.
Shanice:� Did you dance with anyone?
Josh:� No
Shanice:� You’re lying.
Josh:� Okay, I danced with a couple girls.
(Shanice gets pissy and calls Liz the next day)
Liz:� Now Shanice, what if he had told you the truth and said, “yes, I did dance with a few girls.”
Shanice:� I would have gotten pissed off.

So why ask the question.� Does it matter?� No.� It’s dancing.� Most of the men I dance with are gay.� All of the men I dance with are gay.

Except when Matthew does the C… nevermind.

meow meow meow.� meow meow meow.

“We’re about to fucking do CATS.� We’re gonna put some pussy on parade.”

I’m worried about Captain Pete.� His nose is all dry, and he’s being quite sedated lately.� When I pick him up, he bends his side, makes a horrid noise, and scratches me.� I think he broke a rib.� I hope that’s all it is.� Tony broke his rib on Mark Adam’s little sister.

We decided that I’m going to be a myspace whore.� Not like Dan or Davo, but a supermyspace whore, like Tila Tequila or Beetlejuice or FoRbIdDeN.� Then maybe they’ll like me.� And I can have pictures of me kissing girls, or me with leaves on my boobs, or me biting my lip, or me with my boobs pressed against the floor.� That’s a superb way to get back into the modelling profession.� That’s the -only- way.� Besides to be on America’s Next Top Model.

My mum told me I’m too short to be a showgirl.

So in conclusion, Matt’s mom doesn’t hate me.� Maybe we don’t have to fake that pregnancy afterall.

So I won’t be blogging in the next few days, for Matthew (Hubert) will be in town (hopefully) this weekend.

Pet names and terms of endearment only work for some people. Or maybe it’s just certain terms of endearment. Some can be ridiculous. Mark Adam’s little sister calls her boyfriend Mr. Waddlesworth. Yeah.

I’m afraid I’m going to be a little out of practice as a kitten. I haven’t performed since Saturday, and my next one is Friday. At least I’m getting rid of this horrible horrible cold. My mum and Steve are both trying to make me take that Airborne mess.
A. It isn’t FDA approved.
B. It’s effervescent and makes my nose tickle.
C. It tastes like goat pee.

There’s Jared, it was blog-worthy.

You know those little cards that always fall out of magazines? Beth filled one out for me to send to the Marines:

Name: Mrs. Sexaholic Liz T.
Address: 1002 Working Order
City: Headland
State: TN
ZIP: SEX
Telephone #: Doesn’t matter I’ll be BUSY!!!
Last grade completed: Kindergarten
DOB: Aug/5/88
Name of School: “Natural” Redhead

Now that wasn’t very nice. But I filled one out for her that went a little something like this:

Name: Beth Fucking Copeland
Address: 72 Handjob Hill
City: Virginton
State: NA
Telephone #: Let’s have “text sex”
Email: boobs@ihatesex.org

I wonder how many of you are going to try and email that…

… It says the address doesn’t exist.

After we poked a little fun at ole Billy Shakespeare, Matt made me this graf:

I went undergarment shopping the past 2 days. I got some stuff. Nice things. “Dainties” as some would call them. I don’t call them dainties though. I call them Delicates. Because that’s how you have to wash them.

Speaking of, don’t you hate it when you have those bras that are like a suit of armour, you know the ones that keep their shape after you take them off, and you wash them, and they get a dent in them, and then they look like you have perpetually hard nipples or a deformed breast? That happened to the bra I got in Omaha. One of the bras I got in Omaha. Kohls was having a sale.

I wish we had a Fredrick’s of Hollywood. That’s a fun place.

Crazy old Jews and their Omaha Element shirts.

I’m goth in Omaha.

This would be my child if I had a child. We bought her pirate gear because she’s poor. Just ask me to show you the Jesus Magic video. It is… hiwawious.

So Sarah told me that she saw Mr. Parker… Mr. Parker, the guidance counselor, the one who calls everyone “Buddy,” adjusts his glasses, and rubs his hands together in that guidance counselor- type way, in SPENCERS. Not only Spencers…. the BACK of Spencers. That’s right… Mr. Parker in the back of Spencers.

Earlier this year, we discussed him having sex with his wife…
As he waits for his wife to finish freshening up, he waits on the bed. Leaning back in his tightie whities, he adjusts his glasses, claps, and rubs his hands together, guidance counselouresquely. He exclaims, “Allllright, buddy! I’m ready! Let’s do this! heh heh heh!”

I bet he was really hot when he was younger, though.

You’re going to make fun of me for saying that, aren’t you?

You all can thank me later.

-shudders-

You know who else used to be hot? Mr. Ams. His senior year of high school. Seriously. I guess intelligence is just hot.

Now this may be (is) ridiculous, but check out Mr. Parr when he was in his late twenties. I know, I know…

But they’ve got nothing on Matthew.

What an eventful night that was at Sokol Underground. Let’s all do that again. Minus Rocky, Bullwinkle, and Icky. And that goth kid. Just Lia, Liz, and Dan. The gay friend.

I’m pretty sure Davo and Liz look like a couple of scared rabbits in this photo. Or scared rabbis. Or rabies. I just found a picture of his feet last night. And a picture of Walter looking at my computer screen with Barney in his mouth. He put Barney in his mouth because apparently, back in the day when we had squiggle pens, if you bite on them and look at a TV, it gets all weirdlike. Squiggley. Then we got the idea to try that with Barney, even though it isn’t a Squiggle Pen. All that did for me, though, was make my nose tickle. Kind of like Airborne.

I love how I captured Steve McGee at the perfect emoment. (get it?)

He isn’t really emo, but Holly and I say that he is. He gets really defensive about it, too, which is awesome. He does act it a little sometimes. The black hoodie doesn’t help. Or maybe it does. It could be classified as a 14 year old goth kid hoodie.

Holly and Liz, simultaneously: OMG, he’s so emo!
Liz: (begins to sing that I Must Be Emo song)
Steve: See, I’m not emo because I -can- get through a Hawthorne Heights album without sobbing. I just hate them so much that it makes me angry.
Liz: Angry, eh? So you’re punk now?

Just for clarification, Steve McGee IS NOT Holly’s Steve. Holly’s Steve just looks like your average conservative.

Oh, excuse me, he’s “moderate” now.

There’s some Star Wars pornography for you folk.

I tried to find that photo of Mark eating his wallet.
“Hey Liz, I’m putting my money where my mouth is.”

Now that’s Liz humour if I ever did hear it.

*hangs self*

I could never write with Squiggle Pens. I always had to either leave them off, or just take out the colour thing. I’m delicate. But I’m not a delicatessian.

So in conclusion, I have to go call Matt’s mom. His mom. Yes, his mom. To talk. Am I frightened? Maybe. I’m a nice girl, I’m a nice girl, I’m a nice girl.

And I’m sorry for my photographs possibly causing the page to take a longass time to load. But it was worth it. Just like the handjob. 5 of you got that.

It’s hard to keep an erection for five hours.

Get it? Hard? Erection? It’s funny. It didn’t realize its hilarity when it was said, though. Did you?

But on that note, my sex life is my business, my partner’s business, and that of whoever I choose to tell. Not anyone else, and especially not a 74 year old woman’s… unless I choose to tell her. Which I didn’t. So I’ll drop it.

My mum is really psyched that I have a picture of her up on myspace. Little does she know that myspace kills people.

So CATS is going fably. I think our best night was last night. We got an explosive applause. I really like working with Sarah. I think we compliment each other vocally and charismatically, and Dawn did an excellent job casting us together. She does much better than Bomballurina would do. And she’s not as fat. She’s almost as fat though. That was a joke. Sarah is skinneh. But she’s got the hips of a 17 year old…

Holly: How old are you?
Mark: 17, why?
Holly: Because you act like you’re 6.
Mark: … But I fuck like I’m 10…

Uh oh, maybe I shouldn’t have said the F word. I mean, a 14 year old reads my blogs. We all know that no 14 year old knows the F word, let alone says it… Honestly.

Sorry, I said I would drop it.

Nonetheless, fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckingfuck.

-So- vindictive. -Such- a girl.

However, I did have a bit of purity and innocence left over. I didn’t know what “knocking boots” meant until recently. My mum was proud that she knew something that I didn’t know. Sexually speaking.

It means doin’ it.

“it.”

As in sexin’.

So that video of Matt doing his own rendition of CATS wasn’t supposed to be seen. Too late. Whoops. Everyone thought it was cute though. He was embarrassed… but he’s in for a lifetime of embarrassment.

Mr. West became annoyed with us the other day, because we were forgetting our “4th grade math”.

“4th grade math? I only ate pi(e) in the 4th grade, I didn’t work them!”
- Trey Pruitt.

I used to think he was an asshole. I think he’s kind of funny now. First impressions are most of the time bad. I thought Matt hated me. Heh.

Jamie made me happy the other day in English. This is what she wrote me:
“Wow Liz… I think he got his degree from a cracker jack box! Why don’t you teach the class?”

He’s on drugs.

He must be, because he loved my sonnet. G unit style. He wants me. And Jackie. At the same time. We’re both taken though. Either way, he’s too fat. And married. And we don’t need extra credit in there.

I’m a delicate flower.

“I know everything there is to know about being delicate. I’m a delicatessian.”
- Wonderful Matt

Oh, Jared, I would have blogged that picture of us like I promised, but photobook isn’t working on my computer at the mo. ment. I tried to shorten moment like I’ve heard/ seen it done before, but it’s just not me.

You know how I am. Always gotta be keepin’ it real.

“Good.”

I really wish I would have done something with Jade and/ or Zephyr this weekend. I haven’t spent quality time/ marqueed with either of them in so long. Too long.

I still haven’t had one of “The Best Burgers In Town” at Skankville, USA, aka Bottom’s Up. Maybe I’ll do that this weekend. I also haven’t gone to Los Portales in a long time.

It’s Los Portales. Not LP. It will never be LP. LP will never catch on. You are the only person who calls it LP, and no one else will ever call it LP. Give it up. Shortening things for the sake of coolness is ridiculous. Hence my not using “mo.”

My life is a black abyss. So dark, you know. It’s strangling me. Tighter and tighter. Tighter than a pair of my little sisters pants (which look great on me by the way.)

Maybe I should stop making fun of kids like that. Or maybe my making fun of them is helping them. I’ll assume it is.

But making assumptions has made me very poor in the past month.

Oh, my brother got employee of the month! I am very very proud of him. He’s actually doing something. This is what he gets:

A. About a zillion Applebucks, redeemable at places such as Sam Goody.
B. Another pin on his hat.
C. His name on that bald plaque in the foyer of the restuarant.
D. A bonus or raise of some sort.
E. Whenever he messes up or gets in trouble, he gets to say “AppleStar, Bitch!”

E would be my favourite part. I would like to work there with him if I didn’t have a burned bridge there. Like, my neighbor. “Let me see your grill.”

It’s hard to find a job. But now that I don’t have a job, I get to sleep. And Matthew lives in Hermitage, and if I don’t have a job, I can just go see him anytime I want… when I don’t have school/ a performance. And we both like that. Seeing each other, not school/ performance.

I wonder how I got 55 views today. That’s crazy.

Crazy for you.

So in conclusion, let’s do the time warp again.

Whatever you do, -DO NOT- smell the crotch of Michele’s unitard.  Her name is spelled with one L.  And an E.  It’s like Micheal, but feminine.  Welp… he… you know.

Papa just called me.  I talked to him for almost an hour the other day when Matt was here.  He cracks me up:

“Georgia might be coming down here in a couple weeks… or she says so.  You can never trust them mountain people.  They always lie to you.”

I almost died within the past few days.  You ladies should know how this is.  It isn’t really menstrual, but just femanine.  You have a bad couple days and then something itty bitty happens, and BAM.  You FREAK THE FUCK OUT.  That’s what I did.  I’m talking crying, shaking, bitching, etc.  “I need to be sedated!  Somebody fucking sedate me!  Now!”  (please, no cheesey Ramones jokes here.  Save them for when I get my teenage labotomy).  I needed drugs.  All I had was a sedative that was prescribed to me about a year ago, so I took three.  I didn’t feel much better.

And Caitlin, I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.  I just really don’t like to be touched sometimes whenever I’m freaking out.  I was thinking about that, and it would have upset me if someone did that to me.

We’re having a Monkey Mama Party at my dad’s house sometime soon to initiate Caitlin, Rachel, and Kaylie.  Other Caitlin, Sarah, and Brenda, your time will come.  We haven’t had MMFP in about 2 years.  More than that.  Closer to three.  Sure, we may have grown up a bit, but geez, can’t we still do bizarre hazing rituals to our friends?

Speaking of rituals, it’s confirmed that Steve and Holly do -not-, I repeat, do NOT do the Swahili thing.  I was wrong, you were right.

Matthew came over this weekend.  Fun times were had by all.  Especially him and me.  But also Steve, Holly, mum, etc.  Oh, and The Ross.  The Ross used to work at Olive Garden in Memphis (or Memphrica, as the “emo” boys with badly bleached hair and big butts say).  Can you believe that?  I wonder if his penis ever hit anybody in the monocle.

Matt kind of fixed my computer and he kind of fixed my potty.  He just doesn’t like noises.  I forgot to give him that cardboard.  Whoops.  He’ll have to come back and get it.  And by it, I mean cardboard.  Perverts.

When Steve gets sleepy, he becomes insanely weird.  Not cracker weird, I’m talking Liz and Holly weird.  Holly was trying to make Matt talk by saying singular words and making Matt tell a story having to do with the word.  This was going well, and Holly said, “Pickle.”  Matt began, but Steve interrupted with, “When your art attacks you… Run with it.”  We looked at him confusedly.  He continued, “You know, when you’re painting and your canvas falls on you.”  We told him to wait his turn and not to confuse the poor boy.  Matthew told a story about this kid in one of his classes snorting pickle juice, and then Steve continued with, “When your art attacks you.”  After we had a good laugh about that, he explained, “Maybe I was snorting the wrong pickle.”

Despite what Holly and Steve think, Matt does indeed like them.  They gave us something to laugh about.

Then Holly and her HUGE House Party 3 shirt.

You know, sometimes -you- talk about the same thing over and over and over.  That gets boring.  It wouldn’t be so bad if you talked about the same thing a little bit and said other things, or nothing at all even, but you talk more than you breathe, and you breathe your singular topic.  It didn’t used to be that way.

And -you-.  Give it a rest.  I’m just not interested.  You’re like an overly persistant telemarketer/ door-to-door salesperson.  I can’t stand it.  Just stop.  It won’t happen.  Especially not now.

I am really really happy.  I know, I’m always happy, but… I’m such a girl.  I can’t help it.  We’ve already had our first child.  Jethro.  You saw him in a below blog.

I apologize for not blogging lately.  It’s just that Matthew was in, and I like him more than I like blogging for you assholes.  But don’t you worry your pretty little heads… there -will- be more semi- erotic fictional short stories to come.  (Get it?)  And you’ll actually be allowed to read some of them.

By the way, Yes, I educated the younguns.  But hell, think about when you were their age.  Think about what you talked about with your friends.  Emily and I talked about that stuff in like, 7th grade.  Anywho, they didn’t judge me, and if they didn’t judge me, I -certainly- don’t expect my friends to judge me, even if they are much older than I.  Once again, you and I both know what you did when you were my age.

Sometimes having friends older than I am sucks.  I only need one set of parents.  I’m good after that, I promise.

Everyone, come to CATS.  I know T.S. Eliot was an idiot, but it’s going to kick ass.  I mean, the $15 is worth just seeing me in a unitard.

Beth fucking sucks, and everyone thinks so.  She shows up late, sometimes doesn’t even dance, and nobody says anything to her.  She’s not the fucking star.  Did you see what she did after dress rehearsal?  Yeah, real cute.  I did that in the 7th grade.  And it wasn’t after a dress rehearsal with an audience.

Did you know that grapefruit can get your pregnant?  That’s right.  It’s not just semen that carries that virus.

I would tell a really horrible joke here, but I won’t for fear of burning.  I’ll let Mark or Matthew say it.

Mrs. Dollie told me to use “rubbers”.  And yes, she meant condoms.  She’s 86.

Mrs. Macintosh told me that my grandmother was sleeping with her son- in- law.  Then she said that an RN was and called her a “two- bit- whore.”  We then put her to bed.

I feel goofy in my tummy.  That’s not pregnancy, that’s luuuuurve.

So in conclusion, those girls at the show were -sooo- last season Liz.

I found a poem on my car.

Well, I didn’t find it… Mark had to tell me that he stuck it on there:

An Original Poem From The Mind Of Mark Hall…

(For Liz)

Hugs and kisses

From a guy who wishes

He could put his peenie

In you.

(Thought you’d appreciate that.)

___________________________________________

Brokeback Gump:

“Life is like a b… I’m gay.”

“My grandparents are Senior Citizens”
- Dustin Crowel.

He’s a nice kid. Really funny. Butters is still creepy. Holly agrees. He has tricked us… tricked us into thinking that he’s asexual. But really, he masturbates while thinking about Liz and Holly… making out with each other.

Speaking of, Emily is a lesbian. Today at ballet, she grabbed my ass in time with the music. It made my day, nonetheless.

So here’s a note Davey found in Fizzicks… I’ll humour the girls who wrote it and blog it.

Note: This is all in big bubbley freshman writing.

So… how many laxatives did you take this weekend? lol.

I finished up a whole box Friday night. I went to get more Saturday morning. In all I took about 42 chocolate ones.

Haha! Did they help with your constipation? We ought to leave this note on the floor and let someone read it lol!

Haha, yeah, they helped a little. I’m still kinda blocked. I had Feta cheese, cheese pizza, cheese sticks, and other cheesey foods.

I like cheesey dinos.

Oh my! That’s triffling. I wish I could be a cheesey dinosaur.

Apparently you are… you eat cheesey food and act like a dinosaur! Haha

Is it a crime to use the back of the paper?

I don’t know I’m going to take the risk… this is risky business : )

You’re going to be serving time for this. Meth, writing on the back of paper, driving around after curfew, and auto theft adds up, you know.

Then it all goes downhill from there. That’s about it. This is a time when red and blue do not differentiate between Rep. and Dem.

All of the interns are at each others throats.

Miss Lizzie says:

god Tyler- its kinda like a bodybag says: Jesus Miss Lizzie says: haha Miss Lizzie says: i meant to say “good.” Tyler- its kinda like a bodybag says: hahaha that explains alot Miss Lizzie says: theres this one episode of bevis and butthead where theyre doing their schools news show, and butthead is reading cue cards, and he says “God morning, students.” Tyler- its kinda like a bodybag says: haha yea some people sound like their saying god whent their saying good Miss Lizzie says: mhm Miss Lizzie says: like how people think im saying “Lez” whenever i tellthem my name Miss Lizzie says: “mhm, my parents wanted a surefire way for me to grow up to be a dyke”

___________________________________________________-

Did he wink at me, or was I just seeing things?

He definately winked at me.

I’m -still- psyched about Nashville. My shins are sexy. Only a select few can see them though.

So in conclusion, I’m going to upload those new pictures

bitch.

So.  Here’s your typical blog.  I need a big ass fucking hug.  These are the bad things that happened today:

A.  I woke up this morning with 15 minutes to get ready, because I was up until 2AM blogging for you assholes.

B.  I forgot that the interns were having pictures today, so I naturally forgot my red scrubs.  You know what I was wearing?  Jeans, a Jillian’s shirt (oh, the irony), no makeup, and pigtails.  What kind of self- respecting Pre- Med major wears pigtails?

C.  I made an 88 on an English test.  And I’m good at English.

D.  I got fired.

That’s right.  Fired.  I’ve been working there for a year and a half.  Fired.  I know she didn’t really want to, but for some reason, it had to be done.

But anywho, the good things that happened today:

A.  My hair is finally long enough to go into pigtails.

B.  Ian told me I had a nice rack.

C.  I got the Presidential Scholarship (I knew it was something good before I opened it, because it was in fancy paper envelope).

D.  I got sympathy hugs.

E.  Kaylie, Emily, and Michelle noticed I’m losing weight.  I think someone else did, too.

Oh, another bad thing:  Mrs. McCallister is dying, quickly.  I know she’s nintey- two, and it’s time, but still… I love her.

Remember, she’s the old lesbian.

She Wants Revenge, Exit/In.  Ooooh yeah : )  Feb. 28.

So I bought 2 new CDs the other day.  Just a couple days before I got fired.  How convenient.

I would kill for a hamburger.  Too bad I don’t know how to make one.  Also, too bad I can’t afford to buy one.

I missed the Detatchable Penis song until I heard it just now.

Oh yeah, the CDs.  I got Panic! At the Disco and She Wants Revenge.  I was highly impressed with Panic! At the Disco.  I listen to it constantly.  Except now.  Now I’m listening to Dexy’s Midnight Runners.

Would you rather belt out the chorus of Come On Eileen every time you orgasm, or reach climax everytime you hear the word “pancake”?
Things to consider:  IHOP, family brunches, karaoke.

Panic! At the Disco’s lyrics are so… fab.  Let me give you a sample:

Isn’t this precisely where you’d like me
You know, Prayng for love in a lapdance and paying in naivety?
But I’m afraid that I, well I may have faked.
I wouldn’t be caught dead in this place.

That’s just a little somethin’ somethin’ that stuck out to me.  But anywho, the whole CD is very catchy.

She Wants Revenge… the best song on the album is Tear You Apart, their single, but I’m still not disappointed.

Is it wrong that that song gets me hot?

oh, yeah, davo wanted me to blog this so he could be (in)famous:

Miss Lizzie says:

how were your tacos?

A Postcard Hello says:

They were subpar.

A Postcard Hello says:

The oles were greasy and mushy.

A Postcard Hello says:

But I can’t complain.

Miss Lizzie says:

ew

A Postcard Hello says:

It was all free.

Miss Lizzie says:

nothing is free,

A Postcard Hello says:

It was as free as things could be for me.

A Postcard Hello says:

Since Walter paid.

A Postcard Hello says:

And I believe just the opposite… that the best things in life are fre./

A Postcard Hello says:

free*

Miss Lizzie says:

like tacos

A Postcard Hello says:

Haha. Yes.

A Postcard Hello says:

But not from Taco John’s

A Postcard Hello says:

Nor any other TexMex / Mexican restaurant.

A Postcard Hello says:

Not homemade tacos.

A Postcard Hello says:

But that -other- kind of taco.

Miss Lizzie says:

.

Boys are guhross.

But then again, I’m about to blog about the first time I used a tampon… and not the Misfits kind, either.

I was 11 or 12… probably 12.  I was in Nashville with Mrs. Helen, and I was hanging out with her daughter, Paige.  We were going to Nashville Shores in Hermitage, but I was on the rag, so I got Paige to give me one of her teeny tiny little ones.

I was in the bathroom for close to an hour.

To this day, that was the most difficult task I’ve ever completed.

I’m not going to be gross anymore.

Placenta.

I’m a liar.

Speaking of, Murfreesboro is -totally- on the way to Memphis.  But usually, I take the shortcut through Toronto.  Then Florida.  -Then- Murfreesboro.  Sometimes I’ll cut through Austin, Texas before getting all the way to Memphis, though.

Only the interns really get that, but it should still be funny to everyone else.

Actually, I’m kind of glad I don’t have a jorb now.  I need to focus on fun.

Focus On Fun.  Sounds like an after school program for poor kids.  My brother was a poor kid.  I was kind of a poor kid, but not as much as my brother was.

My mummy just came home.  She’s so happy : )

But I just can’t stop thinking about that milk porno.

“It’s your turn, Miss Housekeeper!”

So I’m in the tailmaking business now.  Michelle and I are.  And Sarah.  And Rachel.

So in conclusion, come see CATS!  It’s CAT-tastic!

And guess who doesn’t have to go to work tomorrow… : )

and by that, I mean a very nice young man.

“This is the most fun I’ve had without lubricant.”
-  The dude from Saw.

He was hot.  Except when he reached his hand in the poo.  That was just nasty.  That’s the only part of that movie that bothered me.  Alley Jo and I watched it the other night, and we screamed during that part.  Then he killed that guy with the toilet lid.  That was funny.

He wasn’t hot in the second movie.  I bet he smelled.  He looked like he smelled.

Everyone should use protection.

I want a boy to give me pancakes in the morning.  He doesn’t have to make them, he can just get them from McDonalds.  Pancakes and a kiss on the forehead… that’s all I want.  He might want sex in return the night before.  Sex for pancakes?  I’m down.  I don’t see it as a tradeoff, I see it as killing two birds with one stone– getting what I want– twice.

St. Patrick’s Day?  Oh yes.  You.

To any of you who are mentally handicapt, the story in the blog below is indeed fictional, hence the “prose,” “short story,” and “my house.”  I don’t own my own house.

“That wasn’t a very fair tradeoff.”
-I’ll keep it a secret.  You asshole.  If you want to say that you said that, go for it.  It was really funny the next day.  “Yes ma’am.”

How am I supposed to know what everyone is into and what scares everyone else?  You people should come with an instruction manual.

I miss dancing with Lia.  I miss driving around with Dan.  I miss Omaha.  I don’t miss Dan’s bitch ass mom.

You know how I thought Sarah said, “He really likes you.  Either that or he’s a virgin.”?  Welp, something similar happened today.

What Sarah said:  They’re going to have to get out of the way.
What I thught she said:  Some hos gonna have to get out the way!

Speaking of, Nikki needs to fucking get out of my way when I’m singing my part.  I can and will pop a cap in her married ass.

“I see you lookin’, witcho lookin’ ass.”
-  the girl in Alley Jo’s class.

Some people blog too much.  These people are Liz and Liz.  Most people don’t blog enough.  Some people blog just enough.  These people are Daniel Ryan Heeny.

With a teeny weenie.

When he was a widdle boy, his friends used to say, “Dan Heeny has a great big weenie” and he would say, “No I don’t!  Shut up!.”

It’s funny how we change.

I just read Lia’s bulletin.  It said, “yay for robbers on High St.”  I live on high street.  721 High St.  Union City, TN 38261.  Write me a letter.  When I asked for those tortillas, Tony was the only one who sent me one.  You are all assholes.

Amy just got her nipples pierced.  That’s something I will never ever do.  All the ballet girls make fun of my nipples.  Just because they’re small.

So I have some funny stories about porno.  I would type them, but this blog is already too salty.  Message me if you’d like to hear them.  But if Alley Jo’s boyfriend finds out, she’s dead.

I encourage you all to go to www.indietits.com.  It’s a webcomic about some birds who are trying to be indie.  It’s funny.  There’s this one with the Yelling Bird.  In the first pane, he says “BLOG.”  In the second pane, he says, “That’s it.  That’s the joke.”

hahahha.

If I was artistically inclined, I would make a webcomic.  I should team up with one of my many artistic friends.  Or maybe my blog is good enough.  I think my blog is good enough.

I was going to blog about the first time I used a tampon, but I decided I’ll wait to do that another time.  Remind me.

This one isn’t very funny.  The last two blogs make me look like a whore.

Eric called me a whore once.  Then I spit in his face.

I am, however, Miss Baby Prostitute America.  According to that chick.

So in conclusion, I’m still not a vegetarian.  I’m not a vagitarian either.  Guhros

So sometimes when I brake, my car makes a sound that doesn’t sound kosher.My mum did the cutest thing today.  She dated a paper, not 2/14/06, but 2/14/ <36.  Because it’s Valenties day.

Oh, and from now on, Valentines Day = VD.  Always.

So yesterday, I went to ballet, and oh, the delight that my little Sarah brings me.  She reminds me so much of myself, only younger.  She’s so much cooler than I was when I was 13, though.  Alot taller, too.  Anywho, I looked a hot mess, and I took my hair down, and she said, “Your hair looks like a lesbian.”  It did, I suppose.  I thought that was quite hilarious.  Then she said, “My hair is very straight.”  Actually, it’s curly.  But unlesbian.

Steve McGee is so funny.  He’s soooo emo sometimes, with his hoodie and all, but most of the time he’s a goofass.

Oh yeah, ballet, I forgot.  My feelings were hurt.  I’m a good dancer, dammit.  I’m not afraid to move out of my comfort zone, unlike you, you… comfortable…hag.

But on the bright side, sometimes I go running in the morning.  I was wearing the shorts that Zephyr left at my house… on the very bottom of the leg, they read in about 1/4″ print “SAVE THE REEF.” What a great place for an environmental protection message:

LOOK AT MY LEGS!  I’M WEARING COTTON RUNNING SHORTS!  AHHHH!

…

…(and by the way… protect the reef…)

…

But I was wearing those and tube socks (no, I wasn’t cold, I was running, you idiot).  And our little neighbor girls who kind of look like boys (Zephyr can second that) who always leave their bikes in the middle of my fucking driveway had built a snowman in the middle of the sidewalk.  Well, an ugly dog across the street had caught my attention.  I’m talking UGLY.  So of course, I wasn’t looking where I was going.  I suddenly ran face first into the bigass snowman, knocking its head off and messing up its torso.  It wasn’t completely destroyed… until I tried to fix it.  I just thought of all the times that those girls leave their bikes in my driveway, so I knocked it the rest of the way over.  I took a picture of it today, and the alcoholic who owns the house thought I was taking a picture of her.  Pshno.

Oh, and I looked/ felt like a million bucks, as Zephyr’s mom would say, in my new leotard.  Woot.

Maybe it’s because of the 5 pounds.

Oh, and I will never ever EVER be in a sorority.  Ever.  Are those girls still in middle school?  WTF, mate?

Oh, and here’s that germ:

He’s sitting atop my wrinkled bedsheets.  Isn’t he cutesy?  Certainly very cutesy.  He’s half Matthew Callis’s.
So in conclusion, I have to be in 2 places at once tonight.  Work and rehearsal.

*splits her atoms*

Oh, and by the way, next band I’m in…

Will have punctuation.

Like Panic! At the Disco.

Sex, and Gummybears-

Are you supposed to pause after Panic!?  Becuase I do.  And I exclaim it.  And I do jazz hands.

Panic! At the Disco.