Monday Bear

So first of all, I’m feeling alot better about this play. I even wore spike heels today in hopes that I would trip running down the stairs, but after we went through our lines a few times, I made sure to walk extra carefully.
So you all need to come see it the last 2 weekends of June. It’s full of British humour, innuendo, and Liz in her “smalls.” I, prefer to call them “skivvies” or “underpants,” but the script calls them “smalls.” I always thought he was a rapper.
A rapper like Matthew. I mean, I -am- one of those rap guys’ girlfriends. (more…)

So I keep just barely missing 11: 11. This has happened twice in the past 13 hours.

That said, someone told me recently, “Liz, you just aren’t as funny as you used to be now that you’re in love.”
Excuse me, sir, but really, was I -ever- funny? Cute, maybe.

“Liz, you just aren’t as cute as you used to be now that you’re in love.”
That would make more sense if I was the type to doll (or gussy, if you will) myself up. When most women fall in love, they stop wearing makeup, never fix their hair, dress frumpily, and gain 72 pounds. Their reasoning behind this is that they have already “caught” a man… they don’t have to look good anymore. “Now I’ve got you where I want you, now I’m going to be a big ugly lardass.” (more…)

So just to get this out of the way, Matt and I are going to have a poop- off to see who poops faster. (make a wish) I know that I’m the faster pooper in this relationship, but he doesn’t believe me. I timed him today, and it took him 3 minutes to poop. Psht. That’s pathetic. I’m usually a minute and a half or less.

I guess I’m just a good relaxer. Probably because I’m a modern dancer. Not Fat.

So the main thing is my Alley Jo is getting married. Alley Jo and I have been friends for years and years. I met her the first time at church camp in 5th grade. I thought she was really cool and had a pretty voice, but she didn’t know I existed. The only other thing I remember is she flirted with all the boys and she cut holes in the knees of her Tommy Hilfiger jeans. How destructive. (more…)

So remember last March when I had to go to the ER because my mom found me passed out in the bathroom in a huge puddle of the products of my own various bodily functions? Welp, that happened again. And here I sit. Blogging. For you assholes.

Welp, this happened late Wednesday night, except my mom came in before I passed out. I think that this time was worse, but mom says that’s just because I can remember most of this time. I remember:
a. Being temporarily blind
b. Wanting to slit my wrists
c. Various fluids coming uncontrollably from a couple of my orifaces.

Oh, and I passed out in the bathtub. (more…)

So why does the Prince (Erick) want Cinderella (Liz) and not the Stepsister (Michele)?

“Because she gives a good blog.”
- Michele
“She doesn’t have a gag reflex.”
- Erik

You know what’s really embarrassing? When you get hurt, and you want to whine, but everybody’s laughing. So you have to laugh, too. “Oh yeah, my eye’s bleeding! That’s funny! Ha! Yeah… yeah, I’m okay! Psht… just a little sharkbite. That never hurt anybody.”
What’s almost as bad is when you get hurt and everyone freaks out and stops what they’re doing. I like attention. I love attention. Everyone knows that. Just not that kind of attention. That happened to Zephyr, aka Joustin’ Jessica this weekend. She had a lovely time and got to pet a big lizard. A skank. I mean a skink.

I’d love to have some cookies right now, but gosh, I have a limited amount of time to blog. I don’t want to cheat you guys out of any good bloggin’, but I have to be finished by nine. Then mum wants to use the computer.
Ugh, I love cookies more than you guys. And by that, I mean I love cookies more than you guys love cookies. And also I love cookies more than I love you.

“Blog me, baby.”
- Matthew.

So Michael’s prom was last night. I had more fun than I anticipated. I mean before and after. The actual prom sucked, of course, but I had a GAY and merry time.
I felt kind of bad for leaving rehearsal at 1:15, but I guess in comparison, I did pretty well. The -only- reason I left that early was because Michael scheduled our photos for 3:30, and I had to take a shower and had no idea how I was going to wear muh hair. But some girls were leaving at 10 and 11 to get ready, and I’m sure their pictures were later than ours. Seriously, how long does it take to put a dress on and slap on some lipstick?

But I digress…

Our Glorified MegaVan was filled with fags and hags. And most of the fags and hags were wearing black and/ or red. We didn’t plan it. Isn’t that somethin’?
We ate at Olive Garden in Paducah. Olive Garden in Paducah is a family restaurant. I’m going to open a lonely people restaurant. No kids. No friends. Only old people and middle- aged men fresh out of divorces. There will only be tables that seat one person and one person only. If someone tries to sit two to a table, I’ll throw them out and say, “What the hell do you think this is, a family restaurant? Get the F out!” I have to use curse words. That’s the rules on a lonely people restaurant.

Oh yeah, you also can’t masturbate in Olive Garden. Not even under the table. But I can. And Sarah. Not Sarah Mahan. Married people don’t do that. They just coach each other in pooping. This is New Sarah. Or Sara. I just assumed it was Sarah. Let’s call her Sara to avoid confusion until further notice.

What kind of an idiot looks at soap? When I buy soap, I keep my eyes closed. “Irish Spring! yes!” It’s like Xmas, except without Jesus.
Caress. Dial. Lever 2000. Dove. Soft Soap. Zest.

Equate, for us poor folk.

We now have brand name peanut butter. All because of Matthew. Peter Pan. And you know what?

IT SUCKS.

Michael is a motorboatin’ son of a bitch.
“Hey Liz… I’m gay, too…”
- Tony

Just for clarification, that time that he told me he’s never seen boobies, he was joking. I was for sure he was serious. He’s a good actor. Or LIAR.

I’m so VAIN. VAIN VAIN VAIN. Vanity. Vanity is bullshit. So is variety.

Liz: Because variety is the fucking spice of life.
Sara: Bullshit.
Liz and Sara: Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.

Variety is bullshit. bullshit. bullshit. Variety? Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. BFF. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.
That’s every rap song.

Oh yeah, speaking of, I was introduced to new music last night. I had heard -of- the Laughy Taffy song. But I had never actually heard it. I finally did. Finally, after Tony made it happen. And you know what? It’s dirty.
My very favourite one was this one:

Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere. Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere. Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere. Rockin’ everywhere. Rockin’ everywhere.

That song means alot to me. I want it played at my funeral. My funeral party with a DJ and Cheetos. We’ve already blogged about this. I’m just reminding you.

Girl, I wanna get all up in yo’ crevices.

Afterward, we went to Huddle House where they have Icelandic Fish Sammidges, and *cough* Two Fisted Sandwiches. You have to use… both fists…

I’m just gonna walk away from that one.

Jared came by. I miss him. He’s been going through alot of. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit. lately, and he says my blogs have helped him. Man, I really must give a good blog.

But I really am proud of you, Jared. My little Avant Garde cat.

Something that bothers me: Stoner Mike across the street and down two houses has said several things about me. Has he ever said anything to me? Ever? No. He even came to CATS. (A stoner came to CATS. How appropriate.)
So back to Promage. That’s like Fromage, except with a P.
Afterward, Sara and I went streaking in the Teenage Rebellion area. I just gave it that name a few hours ago. I call it the teenage rebellion area, because that’s where both tagging and streaking have occurred for me. Maybe if I ever decide to do drugs, I’ll do it there. As long as I’m still a teenager.
It’s that area between the railroad track and Cafe’ on Main… you know, the cornerish of Main St. and First St.
But now I can’t streak there anymore, because it’s on myspace. Next time, there will be a stalker/ rapist/ killer waiting for me, and I’ll get to be on the news like all those other girls.

Then I went home.

Today I had rehearsal, and I got a great moneyshot of both Michele and Delinda. I was very highly pleased with Michele’s musicality. You’re just like a real ballerina. Except better. You have multiple legwarmer.s.

Then I went to Bobbie’s. It used to be Billie, Bobbie, and Jamie’s way back in the day. Jamie was my hero when I was a young Liz. You know how every little girl has her teenage girl who she looks up to and wanted to be just like. Jamie was mine. She had big boobs and let me wear her makeup. Oh, and she was a cheerleader.
But we went over there, because Jamie is in from Cali. We caught up on alot of stuff, and funtimes were had. Lisa, the cat with no tail, is still kickin’. She’s almost as old as I am. And that’s old.

The other day, my brother Erick was over here and he was looking at my pictures on my dresser. He picked up my prom group picture from last year, the one with just girls in it, and he said, “Man, look at all those boobies.”
Ha.

Bootehbootehbootehbooteh rockin’ everywhere.

It’s 9:15 now, but mum hasn’t come in here to make me stop muh bloggin’.

Dammit, Linda.

So I was thinking: Short names are good when it comes to spelling and casual conversation, but long names are better for meaningful or formal conversation because they’re prettier. That’s why it’s good to have a “Duel Name,” as I just started calling it, just now when I typed that, such as Elizabeth, Matthew, Daniel, Ezekiel, Rebekah, Michael, or Richard. But especially Richard.

So in conclusion, I’m three inches smaller than I was this time last year, according to Sacchi. But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s Sacchi.

So this just has to be said: My nipples feel really weird. Well, not weird, it’s just weird that they feel this way. It feels like someone has been biting them. And well, I haven’t, I haven’t seen Matt in a week, and to my knowlege, there have been no foreign mouths upon my bosom. Isn’t that crazy?

So Erik and I danced and danced and danced Tuesday, and despite pulled groins and confusion, funtimes were had.
“I can’t wait to read the blog about this”
- Erik G
I stated in my last blog that we’re wearing blue, as opposed to white, because we’re fat. We decided we aren’t fat. We’re just modern dancers.

NO ONE will think that’s funny. Except us.

But Erik, let me tell you… I had the time of my life, and I owe it all to you.
My 126 lbs made him pull his groin, but it was worth it, because he got a facefull of boobies. MAMA.

Remember when I bitched out Brad Weatherbee in my car for ages because he said something about black people? Check out what happened today in English:
“Liz, because of you, I love black people now. I even delivered pizza to a black dude.”
- Brad

I died when he told me that.

But I got better.

“She turned me into a newt!”
“A newt?”
“Well… it got better…”

hahah.

So this blog is really unorganized. You know one of Liz’s favourite ways to organize? That’s right, kids, it’s time to make a list.

Clothing items Liz hates and why:

1. Crocs. They have stupid holes in them. They are the dumbest shoes I’ve ever seen. They’re plastic. There’s no way I would ever wear them, not even with my scrubs.
2. Gauchos. Those pants that look like skirts, you know. They wore those in the SEVENTIES. My old lady friend Mrs. Weldon has been wearing gauchos since I was 3. She’s in her eighties.
3. Wallabees. They’re just ugly and overpriced.
4. Ponchos. Another 1970’s comeback. They aren’t flattering you, ladies. They’re just making you look fat and frumpie. And kind of like Cheech.
5. Birkenstocks. Once more, they’re ugly and overpriced. And they fucking look like potatoes. Who wants potato feet? I sure don’t.
6. Sorority shirts. You don’t need eighty of them. Maybe one. But we can tell that you’re in a sorority because of your highlights and pink flipflops.
7. Etnies and Vans with laces. Do you really need shoes that fluffy?

I think that’s it.
Zephyr said I have the best Homsar voice. Well, I do. But nobody wants to hear homsar. Everybody wants to hear Dot. Dot, I can do.
Zephyr has the best King of Town voice. And the best Marzipan voice, but that comes naturally.
“Liz, my water just broke! Toohoohoo!”

She doesn’t have her pictures tagged on facebook. I’d like for her to tag them before I tag my picture of her, because I’m sure she doesn’t want the Suckling Cow Face picture to be the only one up of her. I have really really grood pictures of her, just not that many that are digitalized.

Hottiefasche. That’s me. Davo, do the voice. The voice makes me so happy. Did I mention that last time I talked to Davo on the phone, I was pooping? I’m still a hottieface when I poop. Everybody poops. I think people should talk about pooping more often. Then they’ll be less embarrassed by it. Everyone poops. I poop, Matt poops, my mum poops, you poop, Dave Grohl poops, Ghandi poops, the Dhali Llama poops, even Jesus pooped back in the day. Dad poops, Erick poops, Zephyr poops, Steve poops, Mark Adam VanZant poops, Fr. Joe poops, Rivers Cuomo poops, Bill Gates poops. Everybody fucking poops. Even I poop.
MY NAME IS LIZ AND I POOP.
“But I poop from there!”
That’s right, folks, even Liz, hottieface extrordinaire, poop. I’ll give you a moment to collect yourselves.

I think Holly should know that even though I’m a bitch when we’re doing a physics lab, I’ll always love her. I’m just a nerd, and I get really serious about school.

I fucking hate physics labs. I know I take my grades to seriously, but I just don’t want a bad grade because the rest of my group won’t take theirs seriously enough. Even though I take control sometimes, I don’t expect to do all the work, and I don’t want to either. I really do trust my lab group, except for John Sawyer. I don’t trust him. He makes me want to pee on a turtle.

I don’t trust him because when we were in kindergarden, he was my “boyfriend” (along with Max Hornov) and we were playing in the gym one day because it was raining outside. It was a Thursday, and I was wearing my green stirrup leggings and saddle shoes. I was crawling on the floor, and John came up behind me and pulled my pants down to my knees. This was especially embarrassing, because I was wearing Tuesday’s underwear. It was hard for me to pick out which Days of the Week underwear I was going to wear on Tuesdays and Thursdays, because they both start with a T, and it’s hard for a 5 year old to differentiate between the two. But I walked to Ms. Kim with my pants around my ankles (for proof), crying. He got in trouble.

Then two years later, I got a mullet and was ugly.

I was looking at Matt’s childhood pictures with his mom, and he had a mullet for the longest time. And buck teeth.

So I listened to Jack Johnson on my way to school, and I want to make Banana Pancakes now. I have to learn how to make real pancakes first.

I can make real pancakes. Real BURNT ones! HAHA.

But I listened to Nasum on my way back to school.
I’m so effed up.

So it’s 6:47, and I’m already in my jammies. That wouldn’t be so bad if a.) I had to got to bed/ wake up early for school tomorrow, and b.) I hadn’t been wearing them since 3:00.

At least I don’t wear them to school. I do wear my scrubs to school sometimes, because I intern right after school. That would be like me wearing my tights and leotard to school. Oh well. Scrubs are just glorified pajamas.

I just get sloppier and sloppier. I haven’t worn makeup in a week. I did wear high heels today. And a skirt. And tights. Striped ones. But nonetheless, I don’t fix my hair, I don’t wear makeup… When I was in the eighth grade, nobody saw me without makeup… ever. But now, it’s like magic when I wear makeup. I just don’t really understand why someone would want to wear it eeeevery day. I know, it makes one look better, but psht. Who cares.
But like I said, at least I don’t wear pajamas to school. Some fat girls do that. It grosses me out. Maybe I’ll wear pajamas to school next year. Maybe I’ll go to school naked next year. If Matthew would let me.
That damn luuuv, always crampin’ my style.

I haven’t watched The Golden Girls in 4- evar. (You like that, 4- evar?)

I don’t really go out. My mom called me lame today. That should tell me something. But she’s glad I don’t go out.

“I don’t have to worry about drugs. I just have to worry about sex and rock ‘n’ roll.”
- Mom

If you’re given 2 angles and a side, what’s the first thing you should do?
Rub ‘em together!
I could have sworn I heard that in Calculus today. I really should start listening in there.

But that’s now going to be my default answer. “Rub ‘em together!”

So I made a really funny pun today in Math, and Prof. West even thought it was funny!
You know how you do triangles, AAS, ASA, SSA (or ASS, as I write it, *giggle*), SAS, SSS, and the like? Welp, I wrote down ASS, and he put an asterick by his SSA.
Mr. West: Why do I have an asterick by SSA?
Liz: Ha! Get it? ASSerick? Get it?!
Mr. West: How appropriate.

I didn’t know Mr. West knew the word “ass.”

My books are warm and toasty. They were in my car.

Matthew: whats the easiest way to break up the statistics into a more space and bandwidth friendly way
Liz: rub ‘em together!
Matthew: sponge bad square idea

So in conclusion, Damn you Lindsay for stealing my fucking blog format. Or should I say, “blogmat”. Yeah. Damn you, Lindsay, for stealing my fucking blogmat.

I saw the prettiest butterfly yesterday. I usually don’t care anything about butterflies, but I was walking around campus, and I felt it brush my arm. I turned around, and there it was in its blue and yellow…ness… ivity. I chased it around the parking lot for a good five minutes until some really pretty girl shot me a look. I didn’t think she was pretty anymore. She didn’t have a very graceful way of moving. That’s why I like spiders and snakes. It’s the dancer in me. If everyone took time out to just observe things, we would all be much happier. People ask me all the time why I’m so happy. I usually reply, “Why aren’t you?” Seriously.

I have a place to live.
I have friends.
I have good parents.
I make good grades.
I’m not starving.
I’m not dying of AIDS.
I have an amazing boyfriend who actually cares about me.
I can dance.

I guess the main reason I’m so happy is because I take time out to “smell the roses,” if you’ll excuse my cliche’. I don’t like roses, though. I like tiger lillies.
Just watch. Listen. Think. There’s so much to be happy about. And you’ll learn to appreciate the beautiful things in life. I’m pretty good about keeping in touch with my inner child (despite the fact that I’m at the ripe old age of 17… and a half…) but I don’t remember the last time I chased a butterfly before yesterday. I used to say that what I wanted more than anything else was to feel the way I did when I was 6. I got that about a year ago, and now I want to catch fireflies. I haven’t done that yet. Not since I was nine. My aunt and I caught fireflies. I kept them in a jar under my bed, then they weren’t there anymore. I think my mom threw them away.

I put a stick and a leaf in there to recreate their natural environment. If someone were to catch a human, what would they put in their jar? A piece of plastic and a computer chip? Home sweet home.

I want to go to the park. Maybe I’ll take Trixie to the park today. I would go with Holly, but she’s in Illinoi…s. I would go with Jade, but she’s camping. Everyone is on spring break. I wonder why I had to come back so soon. My house feels so empty. One of the first things Matthew said about my house when he came here was, “You don’t have much stuff.” I thought he was crazy. But I really don’t. It doesn’t really feel like home anymore. It’s time for me to move out.

Ugly men make beautiful music. Does their beautiful music make them less ugly? Ususally not, but sometimes. Like, maybe sometimes if I think about it hard enough.

So in case any of you didn’t know/ assume, I went to Matt’s house for spring break. He gave me CRAZY directions, so it took me 5 hours to get there. I was making excellent time until I got to Nashville. My first time driving in Nashville, the traffic lights went out because of the storm. Meanwhile, this part of the state was being destroyed by tornadoes. Dan called me to make sure I was okay. That was nice of him. Alley Jo called me to pick up something at the Hustler store for her. I forgot to tell her I didn’t have any money.

But I got there, and there was a living room full of people. Matt told me that his mom hated me. I thought she did until I met her. We got along suprisingly well. On the days that Matt had class all day, we went shopping. And we watched TV. And we talked about Matt. I learned alot about him that I didn’t know. I’m really glad she raised him the way she did. I have alot of respect for her.

His sister Colleen is a year or 2 younger than I. I was very curious as to how well we were going to get along. Matt was right… she’s just like him, except social. We got along very well. We went to Goodwill together one day while Matt was at school and Ms. Terri was taking nap. She loves chicken. I had no idea that there was such thing as Mrs. Winner’s, but there are two of them in Hermitage, TN alone.

So on the way to school with Matt, I was reading his tests in the floorboard of his car. His answers crack me up. “He got his leg eaten by a shark.” “Go realtors go.” And the ones that he kind of knew, he put a question mark after. “War honour?”

And I’m not supposed to blog that he’s allergic to menstrual fluid. So… MATT ISN’T ALLERGIC TO MENSTRUAL FLUID.
Just for the record, that has nothing to do with me. And it also has nothing to do with sex. I just refuse to tell the story for the sake of my life.

Oh, and I met his grandparents. They’re really nice. I think my hair colour got me in good with them. They have a pet ferret. I want one.

I also want one of those pet alligators like Clarissa had in her closet. His name was Elvis. She kept him in a little swimming pool.

I think on Grood Friday, Zeffer and I are going Malling. Maybe for some swimming pool cheese, too. Girls love cheese, you know. I miss her. I haven’t seen her in months.
I have so many friends who live far away. My only really convenient friends are Steve and Holly. Holly’s mom lives a block away. Steve is also walking distance.

I have a hard time getting to Ashley’s house. It takes about 20 minutes.
Jade lives waaay waaay waaay out. About 20 minutes as well.
I’ve never been to Zephyr’s house. She usually comes over here. But that takes about an hour and a half.
Dan and Lia live about 11 hours away. I only get to see them 2ish times a year.
I’ve lost track of pretty much everyone else.
Remember when Jessica and I used to be friends? We aren’t enemies any more, we just… you know. Don’t talk. We’re all going to Florida. Ashley, Liz, Holly, Jessica. I can’t forget my sunscreen.
I don’t know if Jade and I are going to NYC. I have a feeling we won’t.

They’re putting the nose back on the sphynx.

I had nightmares about ghosts two nights in a row.
Remember the dream I had where I won the Miss America Pageant with a lobster suit? That was crazy. I’m so hot.

I need batteries for my camera and other things.

I need to unpack.

I only pooped 4 times while I was at Matt’s house. That’s not healthy.
Jessica only poops once a week. And when she does, it’s just a little bit. Once she pooped at my house, and I felt honoured.
Like when Davey Jones used Rosie O’Donnell’s bathroom. Except better. Because Davey Jones uses the bathroom all the time.

Davey Jones’s Locker. I bet he has a mirror and one of those nifty shelves in it. I had a locker mirror in the 7th grade. Then one of those mean girls broke it. It was in the shape of a butterfly.

So in conclusion, hows that for your full- circle ending?

More! More! More!

Remember ages ago when I asked you for a tortilla?� Tony was the only one to send me one.� Thanks, assholes.� Thanks alot.

Dammit, Janet, I love you.

I really would like to see that live.� I hope Jade and I can find a cheap theatre in the Village where we can see it.� Dustyn wants to see it, too.� Davo was going to be Rocky for Halloween… I don’t know if he ended up doing it or not.� I think he just wanted to wear a speedo in front of people.

Camille gave me a good idea for a Halloween costume, but I don’t think even I would do it:� the Coppertone baby.� Get a nude coloured unitard and some blue briefs, and attach a dog to your ass.� Cute, but geez, why not just go naked except for the briefs?� Really now?

Speaking of unitard, JR painted me last night.� It looks really nice.� I’m pleased.� If anyone would like to see, just ask, I have pictures.� Or just come to the performances.� Cats, if you’re an idiot who has no idea what’s going on in my life.� Asshole.

High School Time:

Everyone is bugging me about prom.� They all want me to go.� I, on the other hand, could give a rat’s ass about prom.� I give the excuse that I wouldn’t have anyone with whom to go, and it really is the truth.�� I know I’ve already blogged this, but geez, it’s just too funny:

Liz:� Prom is short for promenade, and I certainly can’t promenade by myself.
Hog:� Psht!� Prom is short for prom-a-night!

Hahah, she’s so excited.� She’s going to have sex with her boyfriend.� Beth gave her a tube of Vasoplex as a joke, and Hog and her boyfriend used it, and she had to go to the emergency room because it burned so bad.

That’s not the reason why she had to go to the emergency room, but it would have been funny.

The real reason she went to the emergency room was because she got a mascara wand stuck in her ear.� True story.� No, seriously.� That’s really why she went.

I’ve had so much about which to blog, but I never can remember once I get in front of the computer.� Before I forget, Steve is getting published!� Holly and I jumped and squealed like little girls when we found out.� Oh wait…

Speaking of squealing, Dustyn is coming down/up/over here the weekend of the 10th.� Fun times will be had by all.

“You have a sexy pancreas”
“You have a sexy sphincter”
“You have sexy cerebral juices”
“You have a sexy pleural sac”

It goes on and on and on.

Everybody hates a tourist.

Today in fizzicks, we talked about friction.� With Mrs. Cres, friction is funny in itself.� I mean, if you’re a rapper, friction = sex.

But today, we talked about bare friction as compared to friction with a lubricant.� And rubbing up against each other.� And shafts.� And pleasing.� Orally.

Once I was doing a lab with Mark, Steve McGee, and Davey, the three most ridiculously dirty guys ever.� Mrs. Cres came over to help us with something, and she said “shaft…erect…balls…hit…hump…shaft…grind…lubricant…sack…” ALL in the same sentance.� Of course, I had my head turned to the wall, crying in my laughter.� All three of the dudes had a straight face.� I must be 13.

But one time at the beginning of the year, I wasn’t listening to anything she was saying… I was seriously thinking about some boy or something, and I was smiling of course, and she said, “Look at Liz, she’s thinking dirty!”� I may or may not have been, but if it was, it wasn’t a result of something she said.� After class, I asked her what she had been talking about, and she said something about dropping her balls, and she thought it was hilarious.

Of course dropping your balls is funny until it doesn’t happen to you.� That’s what happened to my Jack Russell, Pokey.� We named him Pokey because he humped everything.� I didn’t think animals humped until they grew balls.� I thought wrong.� He got run over.��So did his brother, Giblet.� I named both of them, obviously.

Zephyr’s fizzicks teacher drew a “personal massager” on the board once.� It was supposed to be a bullet…of… something or other.

I’ve blogged that already, but like earlier noted, it’s just too damn funny.

I said the F word so many times today.� Hog and I say the F word to each other too much.

“Shut the F up, Hog!”
“F you, Snodgrass!”

I think it’s funny when the interns call me by my last name.� It’s just not a last name by which one would call someone.� I should make them call me Smitty.� Or just go back to Copperhead.� Copperhead just seemed a little dykish.� Shut up, Daniel Ryan.

stfu.

The people at the nursing home really pissed me off.� They just don’t care about the residents.� If I could, I would take Mrs. Dollie, Mrs. Georgia, Mrs. McCallister, and all of the other ones and take them home with me so they wouldn’t have to stay in that shithole.� I would hate it there.� I want to die when I can’t wipe my own ass.� It would be so degrating to be in that position.� My mom isn’t going into a nursing home.� She already told me she wants to be in a retirement home.� She thinks it would be fun.� Okay…

I love Rocky Horror : )

I love it I love it I love it I love it *kicks the air*

Ashley is afraid of the Mormon boys who come into the library.� I think that’s funny.� She thinks that they’re going to condemn her to hell.� I told her that they wouldn’t do that. “They aren’t like your people.”� I always make fun of her becuase she’s a Southern Baptist.� She makes fun of me because I’m not.

I think everyone should check out a band called Art Brut.� I heard them on Sirius Left of Center.� Great band.

I don’t have sheets on my bed.� They’re in the laundry.

“I shan’t play with you anymore until you’ve had a wash!”
- Saladfingers

Don’t read this, Dustyn:

Dave had a good theory that I’m going to borrow:� the world would be a better place if we were invaded by aliens.� See, when the States were “invaded,” we all came together to make one “I’m going to kick your ass if you mess with Texas” country.� If aliens invaded, we would have to come together, all of the countries, the continents, to form one big proverbial Pangea to kick Planet X’s ass.

Mike from Dive Enterprise really really believes in aliens.� Like, it’s a serious subject for him.� Just ask him about God.� Ask him.� I dare you.

Not you, though, Dustyn.� You aren’t even supposed to be reading this.� However, you can continue.� The bad part is over.

I keep mentioning him because he’s afraid of aliens.� Not as much as I’m afraid of ketchup.� I’d rather eat a homeless guy’s vomit than ketchup.� Seriously.

Speaking of Planet X, Liz, when is that?

Spring break will be fun for me.

Mr. More, my English teacher, has been high for the past week or so.� We have this project, and he keeps changing it.� Everyone is saying he’s hitting the ganja or something, but I just think it’s a cold medicine or a painkiller or something.� I don’t think he’d come to school after smoking the reefer.� He did alot though when he was in college.� He tells us stories.� Damn frat boys.

Damn you, ATO’s.� That’s why I drove through your damn wall.� Kidding.� I mean, I did drive through your wall, but not on purpose.� I was on my way to church.� I loved that car.� Sorry.� My insurance money paid for it, though.� Not that you cared, though.� The only ones who cared were your rich alum.

As pretentious as this is, I don’t want to pay to have friends.

That’s going to make everything hit the proverbial fan.

I got the whole “proverbial fan” deal from Steve.� Like that, huh?� He’s being published.

So in conclusion, Dustin Crow is a Chuck Norris follower.� That suprises me.

fin.

(that makes me indie.)