Monday Bear

“Do you love him?”

“No, sillyass. I’m way too busy for love. Especially with him.”

We went to our old parking spot just for fun, even though I had a boyfriend back home. We talked and he told me he still loves me. I don’t think he really does; What does he know? He’s just a boy. He certainly isn’t aware of his own feelings and emotions.

We talked and joked about sex, just as we always do. He leaned into me and I held still. If I don’t move, it’s not cheating.

“Why don’t you kiss back?” he asked earlier.

“I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh! I forgot!” He stated it so playfully. No you didn’t you bastard.

He’s my best friend. I never really loved him, I just told him I did so he would shut up.

“Do you know how bad it hurts when you don’t kiss back?”

“Yes.”

So I went to his side of the car and straddled him because I’m a tease. That always gets the best of me. He lifted up my black shirt and sillily planted his face in my cleavage. Then he looked up at me and began to kiss my chest. It felt like sex and my panties moistened. This isn’t right. But God, it felt so nice. My boyfriend never kisses me like that. He’s a virgin. He sticks his hand down the back of my pants and touched me where only he has touched me. Inside where only he has felt inside of me. I quivered, because I hadn’t been touched there in so long. We are the only ones who enjoy being felt that way. He still kisses my chest and my neck and my face and my neck and my chest and my sternum and my breasts. He has trouble with my belt buckle, like they all do, but I don’t help him, because if I help him, it’s cheating, and I can’t do that, because I’m simply not that kind of girl, but I am. After seconds of quivering, dripping, sitting on his lap, clutching onto him, he finally gets it undone. But it’s not right.

“No,” I grab his hand and hesitate my speech, “I didn’t shave.”

“That’s okay, I love you.”

He fondles me with his thumb and slides two fingers inside me– or maybe he shoved them inside me– I don’t remember. It was amazing. It felt like pure sex. I was thrusting and couldn’t help it. I clutched him tighter and said, “I don’t know if this is right.”

“Does it feel good?”

I bit my hand, because I didn’t want to moan and let him know. It felt so damn good. I couldn’t take it. I grabbed his hand pushed it deep into me. I rubbed it. It wasn’t cheating; I was simply using his hand to masturbate. I must admit, my torso looked very sexy, very nice, gyrating, thrusting– I can’t blame him– I would fuck myself. Id fuck myself hard.

Over

and

over.

At any rate, I was thrusting and thrusting and quivering. I wanted to melt, but if I did, that would be cheating.

“Please,” he said.

That would definately be cheating. “I can’t. It’s not right.”

“Please…” He pulled my jeans and my panties to a wrinkled, soggy pile at my feet in the next seat. He kept defiling me with his fingers. He thought it would change my mind. There’s no way I would give him anything, but I certainly don’t mind taking.

“Please– You’re the only one I ever really loved.” Ouch. He wasn’t making things any easier on me. He didn’t have to lie.

He took his hand away, and I replaced it with mine because I didn’t want it to stop. It didn’t feel as good as when he did it. My boyfriend touched me like that. Just once though.

I was touching myself but couldn’t do it the way he does it. It doesn’t feel good to put my own fingers inside of myself. It’s not fair; I wanted to be inside of myself, if that is possible.

I heard something rattle. It was a condom. He must have really wanted it, but I made it clear that I wasn’t giving in. I really do care about my boyfriend. We argued for ages, and he seemed really upset. I considered fucking him just so he would shut up, just like I told him I loved him.

For the first time, I was afraid. He wanted it and I wanted it, but he did and I didn’t. My shirt was still halfway on. I suddenly felt disgusting. Like a disgusting slut. I held my legs tight together, and he put his hand between my thighs and pried them apart. Sometimes I forget I’m not that strong. With animalistic power, he held it against my region, but he looked at me and saw not love, not love at all, but the total terror in my eyes.

He let go. “I’m sorry.”

I cried and I cried and I screamed and I cried and I cried.

“I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole. I’m just– sorry.” He put my clothes back on me and took me back to my hotel.

The next night, we went to a bar and got lapdances from strippers who are mad at their dads. That was fun.

“EAT IT, YOU SILLY HAMSTER!; EAT IT! EAT IT! EAT IT!”
- Robby, Tony Little’s little brother.

So after he said that, I came very close to pissing all over myself for the second time tonight. (my mum had a funny dream, what can I say) I ran to the bathroom, and when I came back, the hamster in turn pissed on me. Hairy little big assed bastard.

This kid is so funny. He says things that he has no idea are hilarious, or he thinks are hilarious for another reason. I did something weird, and he hit his head on the wall. Tony laughed and was like, “Liz, you’re making him hit his head on the wall.” And he started hitting his head repeatedly. Kids do that alot… you know, when adults think something’s funny, they do it repeatedly, even if they don’t think it’s funny, or don’t understand why it’s funny, but then they do it so much that it’s no longer funny, but annoying.

He had all these magic tricks, and it seriously took me about 5 times to figure out how he was making that wand float… I’m an idiot : )

So we went deer humping tonight… me and Mark and Tony. Tony’s friend Brittny went with us for a little bit, but she got on my nerves a little. She’s the type who thinks it makes her cool that she gets drunk, etc.

Anywho, since I first humped deer my freshman year, people started either staking them into the ground or just not putting them out. So the only deer we could really get to were the ones at Aloha Pools and Spas, and most of those were staked into the ground.

When we left Tony’s for Aloha, we let his 13 year old brother Alex come with us. It didn’t hurt anything, and I’m sure it meant alot to him. I mean, when I was younger, I loved hanging out with my brother and his cool friends.

I hear that watch ticking and it’s pissing me off.

Erick has a girlfriend.

Ben is leaving on the 28th… I’ll miss him, and I know Jade will be really upset, but I miss having her all to myself, you know? Is that bad?

Wow, I’m wearing the same camisole that I’m wearing in that picture.

Speaking of pictures, Rob got me a digital camera. Isn’t that nice of him? I thought that was very cool.

Davo Davo Davo Davo Davo Davo Davo. Davo p0wns. Once Davo and Walter came to my house and stayed looking at ytmnd’s until 2AM… on a school night. Crazy kids : ) So there, Davo. I blogged about you. Happy now? Bitch? Oh yeah, that was the last straw with the ex boyfriend… he got all pissy when Davo came over, and DAVO DIDN’T ASK HIS PERMISSION. Wtf, mate?

I really need a tortilla right now. Someone come to my house and give me a tortilla. Better yet, mail me one. Seriously.

721 High St.
Union City, TN 38261

I wonder how many moldy tortilla-grams I’ll get in the mail.

So last night, I had the strangest dream. I won the Miss USA pageant. I couldn’t find an evening gown that I liked, so I went out in my camoflague skirt and my boots… and got best dressed. Then there was a costume section, and everyone else was wearing slutty type or really pretty costumes… I was a giant lobster. There was a hood that came over my head that had the eyeballs sticking out of it, and everything. For the bathingsuit part, I wore pasties, and the judges thought that it was really cool that even though I’m kind of fluffy and really pale, I’m still confident enough to wear pasties. For the talent part, I played and sang NoFX’s “Whoops I OD-ed”, and at the end, I did the robot… in a tutu. I don’t remember what the question was, but I forgot the name of the pageant, and they thought that was really cute. I tried to figure out what the hell this dream could mean, but MAV says it means that even though I’m not the Beauty Queen Girl Next Door type, people still like me. I think he may be right : )

However, Ashley and mum have talked me into being in my school’s I’m-Prettier-Than-You contest… my mum is really excited, because she thinks I have a chance, because I’m “pretty and poised,” but Ashley and I are doing it, because A.) It’s kind of funny, and B.) we get junk at project graduation for doing it. Yes, yes, I’m going to project graduation… it’ll keep me off the streets… of Union City…

I got cool stuff for Xmas: chocolate, sockies because my feets get cold, Buzzcocks 7 in, and (dun dun dun) A WEEZER DVD!!!

Three hours of nonstop weezer madness! WEEZER WEEZER WEEZER WEEZER WEEZER! *does the cabbage patch*

We watched it the other night, and wow. So cool. I love it.

Mark’s little sister Kayla got lots of makeup and she hardly wears any. I found that hilarious.

So whilest googling myself, I found that Liz is a very sexual name. Not only is Liz a brothel mistress, but I also found 5 pornographic novels about Liz, in which 2, Liz is a lesbian, and in one those, she has sex with her DAUGHTER. Wow. So with the name Liz, is it a miracle that I’m not a whore? Do I talk about sex alot because my name is Liz? Think maybe I would be a bit more chaste if I went by “Elizabeth,” or (please no) “Suzanne?” Who knows. Do give me your opinion, though.

Liz was by far the most left-leaning in a pretty liberal family.

Liz was killed in an airplane crash

Liz was raised in the cosmopolitan city of Mexico City

Liz was failing all of her classes and refused to do work. (hahah, now that’s a goodun.)

Liz was also selected as one of the top 100 Irish Americans of 1995. (Don’t call me white)

Liz was the swinging vixen, greedy for love and jewels;

Liz was trash

Liz was admitted to the Hospital for a seven day stay evaluation of the origin, type and extent of her seizures

“A lot of our work was like that, where Liz was out in the field

Liz was enough of a proto-punk, a proto-Goth, that even in the early Seventies, she was fascinated by the darker side of dandyism.

“I’ll make love anywhere” says Liz

Liz insists she will not give up her wild antics. “I love making love outdoors, in bizarre places, and don’t care who catches us at it.” She says. “Life is too short.”

By age 15, Liz was homeless

Liz was always the most energetic of the bunch.

Liz was eventually found, arrested, and sentenced to five years in jail

Liz was released from prison in 1984 on parole, but she still had amnesia.

With no shortage of baggy tops, gaudy bows, and pants with big panels, Liz was
faced with the frustrating truth: �fashion� and �pregnancy� do not always mix.

Liz was the rebel in her family, the one who said “it’s about time.”

Liz was an industrious independent woman who carried on business as a fruit seller
at football matches and other events which attracted a crowd.

Liz was pacing. “I’m not a 44B”

How did the fact that Liz was playing both male and female characters affect the
costumes?

liz was taken to singapore in hopes that i would become a nun on
this island…liz says that backfired big time

Liz was born with a deformed spine, and one leg longer than the …

Liz was convinced they were visitors from outer space

We had been told by previous teachers that Liz was �difficult,�

Liz was bombarded with praises from indie-rock critics.
Liz was a drummer when she was10

Liz was the alpha female.

Liz was also shown throwing a tantrum and sloppily applying make up

A different side of Liz was shown in R18 kiwi porn mag NZX.

Liz was fucking incredible.

Liz was transported to a cosmic universe

Liz was president of our local Jewish Community Center

Liz was hooked. She knew she wanted to race sled dogs.

Liz was very, very pretty. Very popular. You couldn’t dance with her one minute straight without some other guy cutting in.

Liz was about a thousand years older than me.

In addition to gymnastics, Liz was involved in marching band

Liz was right; Bing’s the dad (hahahhahahha! I wonder if Bing read this?)

“Liz” was sitting on the bed breastfeeding her baby while her partner “David” got ready for work.

Liz was shocked, but calmly asked her whose penis she had had in her mouth.

As Donovan hands Liz the three dollars, she unhooks the final two buttons on her blouse and her young firm breasts jiggle free.

Liz was in the process of hating them all.

Liz was going to set up the boys with spa time, but it turned out they just wanted
sushi.

The money Liz was earning from prostituting now was going directly to her pimp,
Liz was raised a poor white hippie child

I was no sooner in the water than Liz was giving me a hard time about how erect
my nipples were

Liz was an extremely attractive young woman, with a body most men drooled over
But the biscuit that Liz was waving around probably had a lot to do with it.

Liz was pregnant.

So a couple of my friends are working at the nursing home, and all of the old ladies just love hog, especially Mrs. McCorkle.

Mrs. McCorkle: Nurse! Nurse! Help Meh!
Hog: (moves her wheelchair)
Mrs. McCorkle: Nurse? I just gotta tell ya somethin’. I love ya.
Hog: I love you, too, Mrs. McCorkle.
Mrs. McCorkle: Ain’t that the strangest thang…
Hog: What do you mean?
Mrs. McCorkle: Well, I don’t know you, and I know you don’t know me, but we just met and we just fell in love with each other…

So after Hog had been working there for a while, Mrs. McCorkle would tell Hog, “You give me lots of pleasure,” and, “You are the only one who can satisfy me.”

Last week:

Mrs. McCorkle: Why don’t you have a seat on my bed?
Hog: (sits down)
Mrs. McCorkle: There, good. Just spread out there.
Hog: (begins to feel uncomfortable)
Mrs. McCorkle: That’s a good bed. I think I’d like to take a nap.
Hog: (begins to get up) Okay, well, I’ll just get another nurse so we can get you into…
Mrs. McCorkle: NO! You stay here. Let’s lock the door, just you and me. (unbuttons her blouse).

I swear. You can’t make that shit up. And the best part is Mrs. McCorkle has Alzheimers, so it took everything she had to get that button unbuttoned.

She still hasn’t gotten anything from Hog, though.

Old Lady: My grandson’s autistic.
Sarah: That’s great!

“Gunter’s in the tree! Gunter’s in the tree!”
- Sarah, apparently forgetting she was married.

So my favourite choker and my cassette tape necklace are at my ex-boyfriend’s house. I don’t think I’ll ever get them back, either, because he’s avoiding me. Ah, children : ) Dude, I just want my shit back.

Yes, I think I may actually go out and do something tonight. I just figured I’d blog first, because I love blog. I love blog almost as much as I love lamp.

Last night, I bought some stuff:
1. Envelopes
2. Notecards
3. Batteries
4. Chocolate
5. Birthday cards

Then I came home and worked on some stuff:
1. Research paper
2. Homework
3. College applications
4. Scholarship applications

My mum and her friend made fun of me because I’m a nerd.

But before I bought my crap, I went to a rich people party. Socialites are funny. I made fun of them and they never realized it. It’s like highschool, except 40 years older. I did the rich people laugh, with the hand thing. Yeah, you know what I’m talking about. There was a champaigne fountain. *drools* And they had Budweiser on tap. Lots of cheese too…

Jared wants my crazy shaped cheese knife.

I can’t read Zephyr’s blog and that saddens me. I wonder how her weekend is going. Very busy girl : )

I got a bunch of new scrubs. woot.

A funny thing about highschool:
Okay, just about everybody gets “Senior Pictures” (kind of a silly idea) and of course, professional pictures are pretty expensive. Well, these girls to whom I never talk come up and ask, “Hey, do you want a picture of me?” or even worse “Can I have a picture of you?” What the hell am I going to do with a picture of you, and vice versa? wtf, mate? I don’t understand.

So this morning, Nancy comes to take class with us. She elicits terror in each of our little dancer toes. She used to teach us about 5 years ago, before she moved to Memphis. She’s tough. Hardcore. A ballet drill sargeant. Of course, she wasn’t teaching, so all I was worried about was if she was going to say something about my body. (EVERYONE is fat. Apparently.) Well, when we were stretching, she went around and sat on everyone’s back (it helps the stretch) except mine. In the dressing room, everyone was complaining about it, and I’m like, “hello, I’d be freaking honoured if she sat on my back.” When it comes to dance instructors, and many college professors, they pick on who they want to succeed. Even when she taught us, she never even looked at me. She always critiqued Leah and Erik, because they were the best, and they were looking for a career in dance. Emily told me, “She just didn’t do anything to you because you’re the most flexible in the class and didn’t really need it.” I would have taken that if I didn’t know her. Even though I can get my freaking legs behind my head and scare small children with my flexibility, nothing is ever good enough. That’s not really just her, that’s just a dancer’s mindset. We’re all self- defeaters. But especailly Nancy.

Just for the record, Hargrove is the second most hardcore instructor I’ve ever had. At Steps in NYC, there was this Russian woman with hairy armpits and a stick that she pounded on the floor and hit my ass with while saying, “tuck eet een! tuck eet een!” She made me cry. I hated Steps. I was about 5 feet tall and 85 pounds, and I was still the fattest one in the class.

So maybe I’ll find something to do tonight.

Oh yeah, John called me today to tell me he was at a family reunion… okay…

February 25, 2005

Dear Suzane Eliah Thomson,

I regret to inform you that you are hereby restricted from any sexual activity, because your hoo-hoo has been deemed defective. You may resume sexual activity when you can prove that your hoo-hoo is non-defective, and then you may file a Proof of Non Hoo-Hoo Defectiveness report in the claims department of the Sexual Activity Regulation building. If you have any questions or comments concerning the defectiveness of your hoo-hoo, you may contact me at (531) 735 ORGY. Thank you for your compliance.

Sincerely,

Tharon Snugs

Tharon wrote me that last year in Speech and Drama… I miss her alot. She’s so cool and… dry. Her idea of love is “I don’t hate you that much.” We had to write a speech last year on racism or sexism, and I usually just thought about what I was going to say and said it, aiming for 5-7 minutes in length. Tharon tried to do the same thing on her topic or Native Americans, failing horribly and only reaching about 3 minutes. Many times in that class, I had to mouth ideas to her to elongate her speeches and presentations, and this was definately one of those times. I whispered, “Trail of Tears…tobacco…reservations…,” to her, and this was working… but she ran out, and I whispered, “Buffalo!” to her… perplexed, she said, “Buffalo? What the fuck, Liz?” Of course, I laughed so hard, I nearly pissed myself. Tharon’s face was totally red, because she gets weird whenever she is forced to make human contact. That story was much better if you were there, I promise. Just like the rest of my stories…

Speaking of Mr. Ponds, he has heard me say some horrible things. Not only has he heard the word “fuck” utter from my lips on several occasions, but:

1. Davey and I were explaining to Beth Copland was a Dirty Sanchez is, and he walks by right as I say, “And he turns her around and jisms in her face.”

2. “My nipples are approximately dime- sized”

3. “Have you ever tried using lube?”

4. “Show me your boobs!”

5. He also once walked in the room as I was lifting my skirt to show Tharon my Kermit panties.

Either he’s a lucky man, or I’m an unlucky woman.

dododoDOOdododoDOOdododoDOOdododoDOOthesystemisdownthe
systemisdowndootleootdoodoodleootdoodoodleootdoodoodleootdoo

Jade and I still haven’t recorded our techno song. damNit.

So last night, my pants ripped ridiculously in the moshpit. At the crotch. When I was in getting ready, something told me, “Hey, Liz, you need to wear panties tonight.” I’m -so- glad I did. If I didn’t, it would have been less humourous and more unfortunate.

I’d like a Diet Coke, but I have to wake up early tomorrow. Screw it, I’m young.

I want a party funeral, with a DJ and Cheetos. If you read my blog, you’re invited. Lots of people have dreams that I die. If you’ve ever had one, please share. I love the amusement : )

I wish I was a praying mantis. Not only do they eat their mates, but they eat them -while- they’re mating. How hardcore is that?

“You scare the hell out of ‘em, Wizzie”
- My daddy : )

The funniest thing that happened to me today didn’t even happen to me.

Dan’s evile mum: Where the fuck have you been?
Dan: Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain!

hahahaha, that’s still funny.

So my dance company was asked to do a few pieces at this Senior Citizens thing… this is something I haven’t done since I was 6. Anywho, I didn’t mind, wasn’t worried about, because I mean, they’re old, they’ll appreciate it, they’re going to think it’s awesome no matter what. So anywho, I left school at 10:30, drove home to get in my tights and leotard, and went to the place. We did a lyrical piece and a ballet piece… of course they loved it, which was pretty cool… the only thing dance-wise thats more rewarding than dancing for old people is dancing for little girls : ) They all want to be ballerinas when they grow up. So anywho, after we did both of the pieces, Mrs. Sacchi wanted us to do the hip hop dance… well none of us wanted to do it, because it’s a little… vulgar… We explained that to her, and she said, “No, no, just tone it down a little bit… it will be fine!” We obliged, only to realize that we didn’t have the music. Mrs. Sacchi had already enticed the old people, so we couldn’t so “Sorry, no, nevermind,” so we danced to… I shit you not…

“Dontcha” by Pussycat Dolls.

At a Senior Citizens type thing.

And they loved it.

Seriously.

Some of them were even dancing.

But the whole time, I was laughing, thinking, “Oh my goodness… this is so surreal… here I am, doing an ass-shaking dance to a vulgar song, not only in front of old people, but -for- old people.” As soon as we got back into the “dressing room,” (Mrs. Terri’s office) I said, “I’m totally blogging this.”

That was my surreal moment of the day. It was almost as surreal as the character from a romantic poem at Toys R Us. Thanks again, Steve, for the perfect ending to my poem : )

But anywho, there is this girl from ballet named Brenna who is always referring to herself in 3rd person… she’s like 12 or 13, and we loooove messing with her. We call her Brenda. We say we’re going to give her her own SitCom and call it “That’s Just Brenda,” and I’m going to sing the theme song. (If any of you would like to hear it, just ask. That way, when That’s Just Brenda becomes the next Friends, you can say, “I know the chick who sang the themesong, and she sang it for me one time, and it was really cool.) So anywho, about Brenda, she was at this basketball game last night, talking to this boy, and she said, “I’m Brenna,” and he said, “Prunna?!?” Ah, crazy old Brenda and her prune juice.

Oh, and she’s adopted, and she tells people that the stork brought her. Cute, huh?

She’s one of those chicks like I was… she’s 12, but she looks about 15ish, so she gets alot of attention from older boys. I hope she stays out of trouble.

I promised her I would blog about her. I think I’m finished with Brenda.

But I’m not finished with ballet. We did alot of stretching afterward, and Mrs. Sacchi sat on us and such. At one point, she was stretching Caitlyn Kirland’s back, because she is probably the second-least flexible person in the class… anywho, she was straddling her back, pull ing up on her arms, as I thought, “Wow, that’s a pretty sexual position they’re in…” then I hear Mrs. Sacchi say, “Gah, Caitlyn, you’re so tight!” I couldn’t help it… I just had to comment, “She does her Kegals.”

I’m such a 13 year old boy.

Oh, and just for the record, I’m not fondling myself in the picture. I’m throwing up Blood. Well, not vomiting actual blood… you know.

Speaking of throwing up blood, I’m excited for the disaster drill at the hospital…. I get to be an unconcious amputee.