that's awasum

Fancy Poop Talk
09.23.04 + 4:14 p.m.

Um, I don't remember making any conscious decision to become all anti-establishment, but it seems to have happened anyway.

I've always somehow ended up hanging with, you know, the artsyweird subverters of dominant paradigms, (and I don't mean to sound like one of those ignorant "fight the man" suburban kids who channels her general angst by blindly accusing anyone who shops at a convenient STARBUCKS of being bourgeois, *scoff*, you know, and who listens incessantly to Rage Against the Machine despite the fact that her knowlege of the machine is limited to the ignition of her mom's minivan, and you just want to tell her to take the 2 X 4 out of her ass and give the beret a rest, Che, [end parentheses,]) but I, myself, didn't really consider myself to be one. My perverse and confusing way of subverting the dominant paradigm was to NOT subvert the dominant paradigm. Which made me sort of post-postmodern, which, in turn, made me full of shit. Scatophilic, if you will.

What?

Come to think of it, I don't even know how true that is. Fuck it.

Point being, I'm a lover, not a fighter. Just like Michael Jackson. I like to say live and let live, just like Axl Rose. I'm quite "eh" most of the time. I am the proverbial duck's back. At least, I used to be.

I've always been pretty good at spotting bullshit. However, lately, my normally high tolerance for it has dramatically plummeted. Bullshit makes me angry and disgusted. Scatotauraphobic, if you will.

For example, my boss is currently in his office, talking with a couple of guys in suits. Despite the fact that the three of them look nothing alike, I suspect that if they were to be left alone in the same room for a prolonged period of time, they would eventually each become a bland amalgam of the others, making the three men virtually identical. Or, they would merge and form a giant, 3-headed beast with a single interchangeable brain.

Merger! Stock options! Bush administration! Real estate! Penis-swinging!

I mean, okay, mostly I'm just shamefully uninformed about most of those things, but still, I want to poke my head in and wail, "Whyyyyy do you caaaaare????"

I suppose they'd have the same reaction to a bunch of emo kids sitting around a cafeteria table, competing over who was the most depressed and who had the most vast knowlege of godawful Dashboard Confessional. So would I, come to think of it.

People are stupid. I'm cranky. My stomach hurts. Waaawaaawaaa. I wish I'd just start bleeding out of my goddamned vagina already and get this crap overwith. It's making me boring.

I think this entry is best read aloud. You may turn the page when you hear the chime go like this:

"DING!"

What else? Oh:

For the past 6 months or so, I had a wart on the middle knuckle of my left middle finger. It bugged me, as it was a wicked-witchy old lady blemish on my otherwise smooth, wide, strong, sugar-maple-leaf hands. So, last night, I chopped it off with a tiny pair of nail clippers. I realize the wart might come back, but my hand looks much better now.

I'm hard core! I'm badass! I'm unsanitary!

PMS is so punk rock.

"DING!"

~ Last Five Entries ~

Moths, and Relative Nonsense - 08.18.05

I Finally Have Internet Access in my Bedroom. But, No Ashtray. - 08.09.05

Here I Am - 08.02.05

One-Armed Paper Hanger Earns her Wings - 07.29.05

Sugar & Lemon - 07.28.05

BUY JEN'S BOOK! BUY IT! DO IT!

BUY DEAN'S BOOK, TOO! YOU KNOW YOU WANNA! SERIOUSLY.
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