age: 28 (Jan 18, 1984)
MEMBER SINCE: September 2005
occupation: Tavern wench/pitchfork wielder in the 7th circle of Hell
crush: jason lee. criss angel. tommy lee. angelina jolie. al pacino. the angel king. the past.
stats: She had the face of an angel, smiling with sin; the body of Venus with arms...
i lost my virginity: cuz i didn't screw it on properly. i didn't read the instructions.
sign: Danger.
body mods: some holes (ears, tongue, navel, nape), some writing (neck), and a whole lot of blank space needing to be filled.
most humbling moment: when you see that person that you thought would love you forever holding hands with someone ridiculously beautiful...
gets me hot: drum n bass. classic cars. black nail polish. tongues. lips. tattoos. piercings. girls' hip bones & neck lines. vampires. magic. electric guitar. live music. industrial. scrawny, nerdy boys. being surprised by unsuspected, uncharacteristic actions. being tied up. vampires. the ocean.
fantasy: to see the world. eternal youth. "i wish it was the 60's, i wish i could be happy". a black trans am. no more tears.
makes me sad: my dark side and light side constantly warring and threatening to rip me to shreds. being expressly forbidden to pierce my face, at the risk of losing my job. being too lazy to find another job. animals in cages. closedmindedness. homophobia. flawed logic. lack of cookies. being allergic to my kitten. not being good enough.
Alright, I'll do it...I'll write some shit. I guess, if I have to. Ummmm school sucks. A thought: when registering in a course affectionately nicknamed "Rocks for Jocks", one should consider one's lack of fondness for jocks. I do not presume to include all athletes in this category, only those who are the sort of stereotypical jock whom I would rather avoid. I didn't think these people existed in such abundance in "real life"; I'd sort of just assumed they were a cinematic device used by movie writers. However, I was given a rude awakening in the form of a monologue spoken by the boy in front of me in class, the gist of which was (I do NOT exaggerate): "So I was doing bicep curls with the 40 pound weights, but he (a coach or trainer, presumably) told me I should totally be using the 60 pound weights"....and so on and so forth. My god. It didn't really bother me all that much, but I needed something to write about. That's all I got. Life doesn't usually present me with pearls of narrative interest.
Bah.
I am fundamentally bored. With everything, including existence. Wish things would shake themselves up a bit.
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_Pie_