IPOD
RADIO
As per the request of many SG members at last night's soiree, (esp the lovely Ava, who gave me a kiss on the neck!) i'll update. She said, "You can't let the journal end that way" so...I won't. I'll rewrite the end of this journal. Can't storm off being the psycho-girl that I hate dating.
Post-Adventures of the Bionic Femme
Heartbroken, after uttering those confounded meaningless three syllables (I love you) I tried to search for a way out of this bad luck dating cycle, out of the binary code for HELL. So I stopped dating. Then, all of a sudden, love fell out of the sky and bit me in the face.
The artist girl that my friends had been trying to hook me up with 3 months ago called. We started hanging out just as friends. She is considered an art prodigy and has been featured several times at the MOMA. So I went there one night to see her perform some performance art in front of the museum for a private party and my jaw dropped. I was crossing the Yerba Buena gardens, a light breeze raining pink blossoms upon my head, when I saw her across the street at the art musuem. Artist girl, who previously only wore baggy clothing and beanies, turned drop dead gorgeous. She wore a ballet costume, some dark, smokey makeup, and styled her hair. Artist girl looked like a tiny prepubescent goddess, her leotard sharply lining every inch of her body as she pirouetted under an orange streetlight. She was a gorgeous, gorgeous creature, made to perform for haughty, elite people, like a lipizzaner stallion made to dance in the center of a three ring circus.
The deist clockmaker suspended everything and trapped her under frosted glass. I stood, unable to breathe, watching her do the same 8 count ballet movement over and over. She looked over and winked.
So then she took me into the musuem, where they were having an afterhours party for the rich and famous. Charlie Sheen, Margaret Cho, and Yoko Ono were among the party's many famous attendees. Artist girl and I drank trendy cocktails and acted posh among SF's elite. Afterwards, we went for dinner and bitched about psychotic women in SF and how they all go to the sex clubs, how we are mature for our age because we know who we are, how we are involved in our artistry and don't have time for games.
I thought, "HAS THE SEARCH COME TO AN END? DOES THE GLASS SLIPPER FIT?"
We started to go to the movies and hang out more as friends. Until finally one night, in the cab home, she grabbed my hand, kissed the back of it, and held my palm against her face. I was startled at such a romantic gesture so I turned away and blushed. The next day she brought me flowers and I brought wine, we went to the beach and got amorous, kissed, and pinned each other down, raking nails and writing in the sand until the tip of the sun sank into the sea and everything became black. Bonfires blossomed around us.
I thought, for sure, that the quest had ended.
Then, at THE DYKE MARCH, in the MIDDLE OF PRIDE WEEKEND everything changed. She ran into her ex-girlfriend, who proceeded to manipulate and flirt with her. She pushed the ex-girlfriend away. We ran into each other after this incident and she was depressed about it, nuzzling into my shoulder. I ran to a vendor, bought her a glow in the dark flower. Then I pulled it out from behind my back and gave it to her. "Forget about that girl" I whispered, tracing the outer line of her earlobe with my tongue.
Some girls from school came along. "Who gave you that flower" they asked the artist. "I don't know." she said. I was enraged, so I went out onto the dance floor. Artist grabbed my good friend and whispered about me for thirty minutes. My friend returned. "Bionic, she likes you a lot but she's just not ready for a relationship."
"THIS IS RIDICULOUS!" I yelled. "THIS IS THE DYKE MARCH! I AM GETTING DUMPED AT THE DYKE MARCH. OH FOR FUCK'S SAKES!! No drama! I am dancing!" Artist came up.
"Bionic, I like you a lot but--" -Artist
"SHH! CAN'T TALK! DANCING!" -Me
"Please. Please look at me. I don't want to hurt you--" -Artist
"TOO LATE! Save your speech. I've heard it from countless women before, and I won't hear it on the dyke march." -Me
She left, and has not called or written since. It's been over a week now.
So I lost it, for real this time. Randomly threw some shit into a bag and ran away to Santa Cruz for two days. Rode all of the scariest rides on the boardwalk and didn't ask anyone to hold my hand on the rollercoasters. Got a beautiful hotel room with an ocean view and a wooden deck. I looked out at the ocean, and at the train tracks, sipping Sex on the Beaches and White Zinfandel. Slept alone in a quiet, comfortable hotel room. Masturbated in complete silence.
Zen sex, party of one.
The next day, I went to downtown Santa Cruz and went to where all the cafes and bookshops were at, taking in the sun and the good beach town ambiance. After taking myself on the honeymoon I came back to San Francisco, with it's rambling psychos, trapped behind waterfalls of obsidian, concrete, and glass. Trailed by pockets of bad smells, like urine, on specific street corners.
I came back with new purpose. Will take more martial arts classes. Will train in Buddhism. Will try to write more and tell one person, every day, that I love them and what I appreciate about them being in my life. Will try to take the rest of my electives during winter break so I can graduate by the end of this year and get the fuck out of the land of sex clubs and burglars.
I refuse to date any longer, it is consuming and meaningless. I will no longer date any woman as long as I live in the city of San Francisco. There are some people in this world who are made to love, others who are made to fight.
And I am a hellraiser, not a love maker.
Thank you for every comment and testimonial each and every one of you have written. They have really helped pull me out, you guys have saved my ass. In time i'll be reconstructed. But it will take exactly that-- time, and lots of it.
Post-Adventures of the Bionic Femme
Heartbroken, after uttering those confounded meaningless three syllables (I love you) I tried to search for a way out of this bad luck dating cycle, out of the binary code for HELL. So I stopped dating. Then, all of a sudden, love fell out of the sky and bit me in the face.
The artist girl that my friends had been trying to hook me up with 3 months ago called. We started hanging out just as friends. She is considered an art prodigy and has been featured several times at the MOMA. So I went there one night to see her perform some performance art in front of the museum for a private party and my jaw dropped. I was crossing the Yerba Buena gardens, a light breeze raining pink blossoms upon my head, when I saw her across the street at the art musuem. Artist girl, who previously only wore baggy clothing and beanies, turned drop dead gorgeous. She wore a ballet costume, some dark, smokey makeup, and styled her hair. Artist girl looked like a tiny prepubescent goddess, her leotard sharply lining every inch of her body as she pirouetted under an orange streetlight. She was a gorgeous, gorgeous creature, made to perform for haughty, elite people, like a lipizzaner stallion made to dance in the center of a three ring circus.
The deist clockmaker suspended everything and trapped her under frosted glass. I stood, unable to breathe, watching her do the same 8 count ballet movement over and over. She looked over and winked.
So then she took me into the musuem, where they were having an afterhours party for the rich and famous. Charlie Sheen, Margaret Cho, and Yoko Ono were among the party's many famous attendees. Artist girl and I drank trendy cocktails and acted posh among SF's elite. Afterwards, we went for dinner and bitched about psychotic women in SF and how they all go to the sex clubs, how we are mature for our age because we know who we are, how we are involved in our artistry and don't have time for games.
I thought, "HAS THE SEARCH COME TO AN END? DOES THE GLASS SLIPPER FIT?"
We started to go to the movies and hang out more as friends. Until finally one night, in the cab home, she grabbed my hand, kissed the back of it, and held my palm against her face. I was startled at such a romantic gesture so I turned away and blushed. The next day she brought me flowers and I brought wine, we went to the beach and got amorous, kissed, and pinned each other down, raking nails and writing in the sand until the tip of the sun sank into the sea and everything became black. Bonfires blossomed around us.
I thought, for sure, that the quest had ended.
Then, at THE DYKE MARCH, in the MIDDLE OF PRIDE WEEKEND everything changed. She ran into her ex-girlfriend, who proceeded to manipulate and flirt with her. She pushed the ex-girlfriend away. We ran into each other after this incident and she was depressed about it, nuzzling into my shoulder. I ran to a vendor, bought her a glow in the dark flower. Then I pulled it out from behind my back and gave it to her. "Forget about that girl" I whispered, tracing the outer line of her earlobe with my tongue.
Some girls from school came along. "Who gave you that flower" they asked the artist. "I don't know." she said. I was enraged, so I went out onto the dance floor. Artist grabbed my good friend and whispered about me for thirty minutes. My friend returned. "Bionic, she likes you a lot but she's just not ready for a relationship."
"THIS IS RIDICULOUS!" I yelled. "THIS IS THE DYKE MARCH! I AM GETTING DUMPED AT THE DYKE MARCH. OH FOR FUCK'S SAKES!! No drama! I am dancing!" Artist came up.
"Bionic, I like you a lot but--" -Artist
"SHH! CAN'T TALK! DANCING!" -Me
"Please. Please look at me. I don't want to hurt you--" -Artist
"TOO LATE! Save your speech. I've heard it from countless women before, and I won't hear it on the dyke march." -Me
She left, and has not called or written since. It's been over a week now.
So I lost it, for real this time. Randomly threw some shit into a bag and ran away to Santa Cruz for two days. Rode all of the scariest rides on the boardwalk and didn't ask anyone to hold my hand on the rollercoasters. Got a beautiful hotel room with an ocean view and a wooden deck. I looked out at the ocean, and at the train tracks, sipping Sex on the Beaches and White Zinfandel. Slept alone in a quiet, comfortable hotel room. Masturbated in complete silence.
Zen sex, party of one.
The next day, I went to downtown Santa Cruz and went to where all the cafes and bookshops were at, taking in the sun and the good beach town ambiance. After taking myself on the honeymoon I came back to San Francisco, with it's rambling psychos, trapped behind waterfalls of obsidian, concrete, and glass. Trailed by pockets of bad smells, like urine, on specific street corners.
I came back with new purpose. Will take more martial arts classes. Will train in Buddhism. Will try to write more and tell one person, every day, that I love them and what I appreciate about them being in my life. Will try to take the rest of my electives during winter break so I can graduate by the end of this year and get the fuck out of the land of sex clubs and burglars.
I refuse to date any longer, it is consuming and meaningless. I will no longer date any woman as long as I live in the city of San Francisco. There are some people in this world who are made to love, others who are made to fight.
And I am a hellraiser, not a love maker.
Thank you for every comment and testimonial each and every one of you have written. They have really helped pull me out, you guys have saved my ass. In time i'll be reconstructed. But it will take exactly that-- time, and lots of it.
(see previous journal) a lot of the right half of my face is covered in blood.
FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
I never never never never want to hear another girl tell me Much Obliged is a cute romantic story because it's a piece of shit with no reward and I lived it.
Fucking lived it.
So now I have to try to figure out how to stop this bleeding, or maybe just let it keep flowing.
I have no strength to keep dating psychos for 3 more years or be told I can't be loved.
I can't keep this journal anymore. Thank you for having read it for this past year but this is over with, i'm done talking about the same things over and over and i'm tired of dating crazy women, or women who feel absolutely no attraction to me because I look deformed.
I want to clarify: this is not about not having love. This is about not having someone that I DO love. This is about the football being pulled away from Charlie Brown for the last time. This is not about a writing insecurity. This is about creating an empty tribute that means nothing to the one I meant it for, and the sorrow that comes whenever someone asks me if it was a true story and how it ended. LET ME SPELL THIS OUT SINCE NOBODY SEEMS TO UNDERSTAND THIS: IT IS NOT ABOUT WANTING "A GIRLFRIEND" IT IS ABOUT THE FACT THAT I AM IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE WHO INEVITABLY DOES NOT LOVE ME FOR THE 5,000000000000TH TIME.
I am weary, FUCKING weary, of not being the girl that gets taken home to your mom, but instead being the other girl that bangs on your bedroom window at 2am on the outside of the suburban house looking in. The shadowy, psychotic figure that boils your rabbit's head in your kitchen pot for love. At my core I am not a psycho, and I am not a warm, wet cavity to crawl into when the going gets rough. Being the here-and-there girl is not good enough, and it is neither here nor there.
And absolutely nothing has changed since I started this journal.
And if you ever, EVER think your lovelife is bad, just take a gander at mine. Because nobody in the entire world will ever love me. Nobody will ever get those butterflies when I come around, I am ugly and sick.
Good night.
The End.
FUCK YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU
I never never never never want to hear another girl tell me Much Obliged is a cute romantic story because it's a piece of shit with no reward and I lived it.
Fucking lived it.
So now I have to try to figure out how to stop this bleeding, or maybe just let it keep flowing.
I have no strength to keep dating psychos for 3 more years or be told I can't be loved.
I can't keep this journal anymore. Thank you for having read it for this past year but this is over with, i'm done talking about the same things over and over and i'm tired of dating crazy women, or women who feel absolutely no attraction to me because I look deformed.
I want to clarify: this is not about not having love. This is about not having someone that I DO love. This is about the football being pulled away from Charlie Brown for the last time. This is not about a writing insecurity. This is about creating an empty tribute that means nothing to the one I meant it for, and the sorrow that comes whenever someone asks me if it was a true story and how it ended. LET ME SPELL THIS OUT SINCE NOBODY SEEMS TO UNDERSTAND THIS: IT IS NOT ABOUT WANTING "A GIRLFRIEND" IT IS ABOUT THE FACT THAT I AM IN LOVE WITH SOMEONE WHO INEVITABLY DOES NOT LOVE ME FOR THE 5,000000000000TH TIME.
I am weary, FUCKING weary, of not being the girl that gets taken home to your mom, but instead being the other girl that bangs on your bedroom window at 2am on the outside of the suburban house looking in. The shadowy, psychotic figure that boils your rabbit's head in your kitchen pot for love. At my core I am not a psycho, and I am not a warm, wet cavity to crawl into when the going gets rough. Being the here-and-there girl is not good enough, and it is neither here nor there.
And absolutely nothing has changed since I started this journal.
And if you ever, EVER think your lovelife is bad, just take a gander at mine. Because nobody in the entire world will ever love me. Nobody will ever get those butterflies when I come around, I am ugly and sick.
Good night.
The End.
It ISN'T fair!
I can't forget you! You don't remember me! You're fucking THE NEW GIRL!
Why does my life have to be this way? I don't want to date burglars, or psychos, and i'm done with that! But I don't want anybody else! I just want you!!!!
Am I a horrible person if I wish for you to be happy, as long as i'm not sad?
Why does shit have to be like this? This is stupid! Things like this do not happen to NORMAL people!
I don't want to date anyone for a very, very long time because i'm tired of being duped. The next girl who tries it will be torn across the skies.
They might as well surgically remove my hands and replace them with a grafted semi-automatic and a metal hook...I am not made to touch anyone, I am made to fight.
This just in! I got so mad that blood uncontrollably started squirting from my ear! To heavy metal!
That is the coolest and most appropriate thing my body has ever done.
I can't forget you! You don't remember me! You're fucking THE NEW GIRL!
Why does my life have to be this way? I don't want to date burglars, or psychos, and i'm done with that! But I don't want anybody else! I just want you!!!!
Am I a horrible person if I wish for you to be happy, as long as i'm not sad?
Why does shit have to be like this? This is stupid! Things like this do not happen to NORMAL people!
I don't want to date anyone for a very, very long time because i'm tired of being duped. The next girl who tries it will be torn across the skies.
They might as well surgically remove my hands and replace them with a grafted semi-automatic and a metal hook...I am not made to touch anyone, I am made to fight.
This just in! I got so mad that blood uncontrollably started squirting from my ear! To heavy metal!
That is the coolest and most appropriate thing my body has ever done.
So basically I got kicked out of nonuglylesbians.com. 
This stupid girl made a flash animation of a dog kicking a piece of crap at me and it said "Rejected" so I wrote:
Oh no! You've mocked my tally and added a "crappy" animation of a dog taking a shit!
Oh fie! Now nobody will ever ask me to the big gay prom! Is Celene Dion right? WILL my heart go on?
Buck up, honey. I don't really think you look like that much of a prize either. Frankly, your "i'm trying sososoSO hard to be punk/raver" look belongs on a porn website for affecionados of 16 year old hipster musical scenes. (Raverporn) You know. For people to jack off to, not appreciate.
__________
Then I was booted. But before my posting access was denied she wrote this huge thing about me walking off with my tail between my legs and how if she would have voted yes on me, I would have been kissing her ass. So I pursued her in her journal and wrote:
Actually, I wouldn't be kissing your ass; you're really the only girl on nonuglylesbians I considered unattractive, both in your face and your spirit.
Now go, be the pornographic fodder for some 30 year old married pedophile who dreams of fucking a 16 year old raver to Paul Oakenfold.
Ready...Steady...GO!
Ohohoho this is too much. I'm so glad I got booted from their bitchy community. Nothin' like throwing a grenade or two in there first.
I tell you, I am raw and demonic...this is why I should in fact not be loved-- because when I hate you I go below the belt. With a coathanger.
This stupid girl made a flash animation of a dog kicking a piece of crap at me and it said "Rejected" so I wrote:Oh no! You've mocked my tally and added a "crappy" animation of a dog taking a shit!
Oh fie! Now nobody will ever ask me to the big gay prom! Is Celene Dion right? WILL my heart go on?
Buck up, honey. I don't really think you look like that much of a prize either. Frankly, your "i'm trying sososoSO hard to be punk/raver" look belongs on a porn website for affecionados of 16 year old hipster musical scenes. (Raverporn) You know. For people to jack off to, not appreciate.
__________
Then I was booted. But before my posting access was denied she wrote this huge thing about me walking off with my tail between my legs and how if she would have voted yes on me, I would have been kissing her ass. So I pursued her in her journal and wrote:
Actually, I wouldn't be kissing your ass; you're really the only girl on nonuglylesbians I considered unattractive, both in your face and your spirit.
Now go, be the pornographic fodder for some 30 year old married pedophile who dreams of fucking a 16 year old raver to Paul Oakenfold.
Ready...Steady...GO!
Ohohoho this is too much. I'm so glad I got booted from their bitchy community. Nothin' like throwing a grenade or two in there first.
I tell you, I am raw and demonic...this is why I should in fact not be loved-- because when I hate you I go below the belt. With a coathanger.
I hate being in love.
It is pointless and stupid to be in love with someone who does not love you back and does not appreciate your love or grant it any value, at all.
And it sucks to know that the one you love not only does not care, but sleeps peacefully in the arms of some woman who is more capable than you while you sleep alone in a room the size of a box writing in envy.
No i'm not a perfect Bionic Femme. If we are all components and likenesses of God, then I am his wrath; I am the part that created Hell and flings people that I don't care for into it. And I am a jealous God, and you shall have none before me.
I am hateful and mean, and I imagine casting an ancient Filipino hex and the new girl's head exploding joyfully in a burst of holographic glitter, smoking with the scent of marshmallows.
You want to know the truth? I am not a nice girl at all. And it's stupid that I have to keep dating burglars while thinking of someone that I really love who could or could not give a hot damn.
It is pointless and stupid to be in love with someone who does not love you back and does not appreciate your love or grant it any value, at all.
And it sucks to know that the one you love not only does not care, but sleeps peacefully in the arms of some woman who is more capable than you while you sleep alone in a room the size of a box writing in envy.
No i'm not a perfect Bionic Femme. If we are all components and likenesses of God, then I am his wrath; I am the part that created Hell and flings people that I don't care for into it. And I am a jealous God, and you shall have none before me.
I am hateful and mean, and I imagine casting an ancient Filipino hex and the new girl's head exploding joyfully in a burst of holographic glitter, smoking with the scent of marshmallows.
You want to know the truth? I am not a nice girl at all. And it's stupid that I have to keep dating burglars while thinking of someone that I really love who could or could not give a hot damn.
Foolish and I went to Haight. She supported me while a very jolly man lanced the top of my ear with a long rod of metal and we went to Kid Robot and she helped me pick out the coolest model robot with the biggest guns to build. We went for tea afterwards and the barista said, "Is he a nice robot?" and I said "Oh no, no, he is a strong fighting robot, but he only uses his strength to protect people" very seriously like he was real.
Foolish then had to go, and I sat at the table while the sun covered half of my face and I stared at the reflection in the window. The rays caressed and trembled over the ring in my nose, the rod of metal in my ear, and flickered at the artificial green in my eyes. I sat there and wondered how much of my body had been augmented, and casually batted around cyborg feminist theory.
Then a country western acoustic singer randomly came on the stage of the cafe and sang,
Freight train, Freight train
Running so fast
I'm running to you
Away from the city by the sea
I'm coming for you, at the speed of light,
riding invisible rails
on thin lines between day and night.
I turned and suddenly noticed a memorial sign on a tree outside of the cafe that said in large letters, "IN MEMORY OF LIZA."
So I thought I would be a fool, then, to listen to the country music or analyze the sign a second longer.
And I got up and walked away.
Foolish then had to go, and I sat at the table while the sun covered half of my face and I stared at the reflection in the window. The rays caressed and trembled over the ring in my nose, the rod of metal in my ear, and flickered at the artificial green in my eyes. I sat there and wondered how much of my body had been augmented, and casually batted around cyborg feminist theory.
Then a country western acoustic singer randomly came on the stage of the cafe and sang,
Freight train, Freight train
Running so fast
I'm running to you
Away from the city by the sea
I'm coming for you, at the speed of light,
riding invisible rails
on thin lines between day and night.
I turned and suddenly noticed a memorial sign on a tree outside of the cafe that said in large letters, "IN MEMORY OF LIZA."
So I thought I would be a fool, then, to listen to the country music or analyze the sign a second longer.
And I got up and walked away.
I'm sorry, i'm about to put holes in my body with Foolish, but I wrote my little sister an IM and got back the following away message:
"see it there in pieces on the screen..." (Her quote)
Do you listen to yourself? Never live for someone else. Do you like the way you feel? Nothing hurts when no one's real. She wants to shake this scene. Yeah, she wants to shake with me. She's not looking for the holes in all their lies. I wanna bullet proof your soul. Would you like to lose control? I won't let you fall until you tell me so.
- Bulletproof
It's hard to lead the life you choose. All I wanted. When all your luck's run out on you. All I wanted. You can't see when all your dreams are coming true. Oh yeah it's easy to forget yeah. You choke on the regrets yeah. Who the hell did I think I was. Stranger than your sympathy. All these thoughts you stole from me. I'm not sure where I belong. Nowhere's home and I'm all wrong.
- Sympathy
Oh my sister. She is so tortured and deep for 13 years of age. I wonder how it was she got to be the serious mature one and I got to be the perky caffinated buzzjoy.
That girl...there will be so much strength and beauty in her when she grows up. Everyone knocks her down and tells her she is plain and people overlook her because she's quiet, but she is so, so wise. Such a good listener. So smart and talented.
I wish the whole world could see in her what I do. She doesn't fit in at this age because she's strong enough to be herself.
"see it there in pieces on the screen..." (Her quote)
Do you listen to yourself? Never live for someone else. Do you like the way you feel? Nothing hurts when no one's real. She wants to shake this scene. Yeah, she wants to shake with me. She's not looking for the holes in all their lies. I wanna bullet proof your soul. Would you like to lose control? I won't let you fall until you tell me so.
- Bulletproof
It's hard to lead the life you choose. All I wanted. When all your luck's run out on you. All I wanted. You can't see when all your dreams are coming true. Oh yeah it's easy to forget yeah. You choke on the regrets yeah. Who the hell did I think I was. Stranger than your sympathy. All these thoughts you stole from me. I'm not sure where I belong. Nowhere's home and I'm all wrong.
- Sympathy
Oh my sister. She is so tortured and deep for 13 years of age. I wonder how it was she got to be the serious mature one and I got to be the perky caffinated buzzjoy.
That girl...there will be so much strength and beauty in her when she grows up. Everyone knocks her down and tells her she is plain and people overlook her because she's quiet, but she is so, so wise. Such a good listener. So smart and talented.
I wish the whole world could see in her what I do. She doesn't fit in at this age because she's strong enough to be herself.
I had an oddly nostalgic day today, where I thought of each of the girls I have ever dated and played all of the old mixtapes they have given me as gifts. I tried to be positive and think of all of the things these girls have ever done to make me smile, and so I did smile. And I also came to the conclusion that it doesn't matter what anybody votes me on nonuglylesbians.com; the women I have dated have been the most gorgeous creatures in the entire WORLD so my looks must be enough to get by...
So I thought of all of the girls, and all of the lovely memories of phone conversations and dates and morning cuddling. I took the ghost of each memory, placed coins atop their veiled eyes, and put them to rest. Shut them all in a pretty porcelain box to take out again someday.
And I bolted the door to the women of the world. I realized today that I don't want to date for a long time. I am not prepared to date one more burglar or cannibal or coke addict. I can't do that anymore.
So I finally played my own mixtape, one of fiercely seductive battle music called, "Seduce and destroy" that starts off with the Rammstien remix of Rob Zombie's "Spookshow Baby." The speakers blared, "She's a killah! She's a thrillah!" My hand moved to the mouse and I deleted every personal ad I have on the internet. All of them, gone in one wave.
I crushed everything into powder, and blew. Put on my favorite lipstick, and dashed out the door to meet my friend Sara for tea and adventure.
So goodbye, my pretty lesbians. For now, I lead a simple life void of clubbing and alcohol, and thrive off of chicken broth and tea.
It is a declaration, not a warcry.
And I say uncle.
http://www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail9.html
So I thought of all of the girls, and all of the lovely memories of phone conversations and dates and morning cuddling. I took the ghost of each memory, placed coins atop their veiled eyes, and put them to rest. Shut them all in a pretty porcelain box to take out again someday.
And I bolted the door to the women of the world. I realized today that I don't want to date for a long time. I am not prepared to date one more burglar or cannibal or coke addict. I can't do that anymore.
So I finally played my own mixtape, one of fiercely seductive battle music called, "Seduce and destroy" that starts off with the Rammstien remix of Rob Zombie's "Spookshow Baby." The speakers blared, "She's a killah! She's a thrillah!" My hand moved to the mouse and I deleted every personal ad I have on the internet. All of them, gone in one wave.
I crushed everything into powder, and blew. Put on my favorite lipstick, and dashed out the door to meet my friend Sara for tea and adventure.
So goodbye, my pretty lesbians. For now, I lead a simple life void of clubbing and alcohol, and thrive off of chicken broth and tea.
It is a declaration, not a warcry.
And I say uncle.
http://www.homestarrunner.com/sbemail9.html
I AM NOT A BABY DUCK!
I AM A GROWN WOMAN!!!
What's with all this "cute" and "not hot" stuff?
Jesus. I know I look like the type of girl you would like to pat on the head and buy an ice cream, but
I WANT TO LOOK LIKE THE GIRL YOU HAVE SEX WITH!!!!
Thank you. That is all.
I AM A GROWN WOMAN!!!
What's with all this "cute" and "not hot" stuff?
Jesus. I know I look like the type of girl you would like to pat on the head and buy an ice cream, but
I WANT TO LOOK LIKE THE GIRL YOU HAVE SEX WITH!!!!
Thank you. That is all.
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