Success is having to worry
about every damn thing in the
world, except money...
-Johnny Cash
This is
peculiar. It's a year since VicVic wrote her first blog and this is my 100th blog post.
WOO. This symbolizes
accomplishment for me. Most people consider accomplishment as something physical.. or a goal of some sort. This is an accomplishment for me because I a) managed to keep something intact for a long time and b) managed to let out my feelings without
forcefully annoying people. Like how I underlined '
forcefully'? It's because this blog is incredibly annoying also but people can just trail their cursor
riiighhhttt on up to the big red x in the corner which means they can piss off. It's the diet option. :)
I would like to kindly address the unkind commenters. Don't get me wrong, I love the commenters like Jemmy and Vic and Dani and Davey and Fionaaaa and all. But those little skanks that are too cowardly to put their goddamn name alongside their comments are just pesky. Not even annoying, just pesky. Because I don't get moved easily by people with stupid insights on how I am and how I live. My view on Sabrina.. okay, shouldn't have posted it online. But I do have a right to free speech and all. Sabrina is nowhere near fucking perfect, Mrs/Mr/It Smileyface Anonymous. Neither am I, neither are you, neither is anyone. Perfect is something we all strive for in vain, never reach it, and end up dejected because it's too far forward. Fuck off with your 'faggot' because if you bothered to read further than the first post you saw, you'd realize that I physically am a
faggot. Boohoo, I like girls. Shock horror. Wouldn't be surprised if you homophobic plaster-cast excuses of human beings ended up being gay yourself. Fudge-packers or Rug-munchers. Lalalaaa. If I were you lonely, lifeless creature-type-things, I do this thing called 'Get A Life'... or maybe just 'Build A Bridge'. I don't have time for that type of inane shit. So be gone, moronic fuckfaces.
School, school, school; What can I
say? Sucks hairy pussy. Third year is a mess
already. I've gotten 3 notes on different sections as it is, and it's 3 weeks into term. The homework comes in these god forsaken tidal waves of mass learning and pointless questions. When in our future lives will we
ever need Irish Poetry, Algebraic expressions, Microbiological information and the ability to blanket-stitch? Unless we're all planning on being Irish/Maths/Science/Home-Ec teachers or microbiologists or..... under-paid Indonesian workers. I'm being a journalist; No questions asked. I don't care how I get the job or
where I get the job. I'm just getting the job. I'll go to the worst college there is if I have to. I'm just
doing journalism. Full Stop. I'm pretty sure I have the qualities of a journalist. I'm certainly inquisitive, to say the least. I'd be a crap journalist. Now that I think of it. I should have a back-up.
Brothel; Fuck duh. Or just a waitress. Pie engineer. I could
totally engineer pie. It can't be that hard. Base, crust, chocolate-fudge ripple teamed with ripe, luscious raspberries, covered over with a thin top and sprinkled with icing sugar. Hot out of the oven and passed to a customer.
Orgasm. Now I'm damn hungry. That reminded me of 'Waitress'. Ever see that movie? I liked that movie. T'was goooooord.
I would like to bear an apology for not posting over the past 3 days. I was grounded from my laptop. I
swear to
god, they ground me from it if I accidentally slam the door because the window was wide open or something. My mom once grounded me for dropping a piece of plastic on the floor of her car. Accidentally. And it wasn't dirty plastic or nothing, it was plastic from the front of a brand new Wii game.
Grrrraawwrrr. Sigh. Gaa and youth club on Friday. Don't know which to go for. On one hand, the Gaa is sweaty & horrible accompanied by that utter
shit dance-trance music that's so annoying. On the other hand, it's fun to be out with friends til late, pounding to strobe dancing and making out randomly to my heart's content. But I feel like I'd be betraying youth club and all, even in all it's boringosity. If I go youth club, I'll end up totes third-wheeling on Chrissa and Miss. And that would be crap. But if I go gaa, I'll have to
shave my legs and
put on fake tan, not to mention wear something
incredulously short and 6 inch high heels. Decisions, decisions, decisions.
I'mma go check my online accys now. New Twitter terms of use, according to my email. I'll talk to yas later. Toodle-doo.LUCY
XOXO
