Saturday, November 15, 2003

I have assumed a new identity as A LIVEJOURNAL SKANK.

Rest assured that I'm not really a full out LJ whore. It is just necessary that I assume this disguise for my Top Secret Mission.

... [sob]

Ok, so I'm dropping Pitas like its going out of style and heading over to zee LiveJournal.

See you on the flipside, Pitas. You've been a good man.

P.S. ONE DAY I SHALL BE BAHCK! AND MY RETURN WILL BE GLORIOUS! AND CELEBRATED WITH THREE WEEKS OF BAD 70S DISCO!

Min loved the bomb @ 11:20 p.m. [ ]

Tuesday, September 23, 2003

Eeeeh. The IBJournal is down making me flee to my faithful steed, PITAS!

Hurricane Isabel was surprising mild. I was expecting Andrew-esque MEGADEATH! Head for higher grounds or DIE unsuspecting suburban-folk!-sort of glamor. All we got was a lot wind and rain and not even that much thunder/lightening. But Isabel did manage to knock out three consecutive days of schools. SHWING SHWING, MOTHERFUCKERS!

However, in the midst of Isabel, our power sputtered off for a day and a half. Luckily I had my trusty laptop and backup dial up connection.

Un-luckily, aforementioned laptop is a complete PUSSY when it comes to battery power. It lasted approximately 2 hours before spitting up a cheery "I have used up my battery power. I recommend extreme Rogaine use to make up for the hair you will lose as you proceed to pull out clumps of unsuspecting hair from your scalp." I screamed and tried to force-feed it battery energy [ENERGIZE, you ignorant SLUT!] but eventually gave up and succumbed to a nice 3 hour nap.

So, yeah. I was bored out of mind. Pittered around with homework. Tried to make the television work through my Amazing Telekinesis Pow-wAHs [Didn't work. I did kill a particularly crafty looking millipede though.]. Eventually slept a whole lot and flipped through a few of my old Redwall books. I am glad to pronounce that Redwall holds the MONOPOLY on Deus Ex Machinas. Rats attacking your abbey? Have no fear! A Big Giant GOD BIRD will attack 'em. Foxes holing you up in your Big Honking Mountain? No worries, mate. They're no match for... MIGHTY BADGER RAGE.

Oh well. Redwall has kept me amused for much of my elementary school years. I dreamt that I was Brownmouse! The amazing evil rat with a schizophrenic personality! And I would have my REVENGE on my EVILER GOOD TWIN! With my MIGHT! And I would have a tragic death and would become a good person, because, y'know, I still had those silly notions of "I should at least be SEMI-good".

In other news, I have DAMN GLAD to get cable back as of this moment. PARTICULARLY because I accidently, in a fit of GLORIOUS STUPIDITY, deleted every single one of my MP3s. At that particular moment, death by repeated bashing of skull against window seemed to be a VERY acceptable path to take. Luckily, Good Conscience drowned out Bad Conscience and I was able to reason myself into quasi-calmness.

... SOB. POOR MP3s. AAAAUUUGH. Some of them were RARE too.

So right now, I'm pirating like its going out of style. Here's Min. Signing out.

P.S. Dear RIAA, I'm not REALLY pirating music. In fact, "pirating music" is actually a euphemism for "I'm buying every CD under the planet". Ya know?

Min loved the bomb @ 04:24 p.m. [ ]

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

All right. It's pretty much official. Xenophobia for Dummies is a dead duck and I'll be lurking at the IBJournal until further notice.

P.S. You can read "until further notice" as "until my strange form of blog-switching PMS comes to a full circle". Right now my reason for ditching Pitas? ... The IBJournal is so orange and warm and nice. That and, of course, the icons that kick ass and take names.

Min loved the bomb @ 12:08 a.m. [ ]

Thursday, September 4, 2003

I've just installed the Google Toolbar and I am in the deep thralls of LURVE with it.

Not only can I search without having to type in those pesky extra letters, Google Toolbar blocks Pop ups! I shit myself in GLEE.

Block those bad boys, Google! You are the man!

In other news, I have finally come to the realization that I have committed academic suicide. I have no idea how the hell I'm going to keep up with an assload of A.P./Magnet courses. DOOM ON YOU, faux-overachiever genes. [whimper] It's just the beginning of the year and I'm already hitting the naps something heavy-like. Example: today I got home at 3:44. I slept until 4:57. I'll go completely monkey-poo by the end of this quarter. I am Min's loss of sanity.

Min loved the bomb @ 07:40 p.m. [ ]

Tuesday, September 2, 2003

Kill Bill: latest Quentin Tarantino bonanza.

While Uma Thurman kicks ass and takes names, I must repress my urge to create Heinous LJ Icons. And of course, repress that primal urge to hoot and ride around like a cowboy in glee. YEEHAW!

This is one movie that I am going to see. And it better not be a weenie roast like The Ring. [shakes fist at incoherency and plot holes the size of rotund African villages]

Min loved the bomb @ 05:00 p.m. [ ]

Sunday, August 31, 2003

Went to Sheila's "Let's start this year off with a booty-shaker" party. Am still mildly pooped from it. It was full of the usual things that girls do at sleepovers: watching scary movies, heckling the Nosy Dead Spirits via Ouija [from the lovely folks who brought us Monopoly! I still favor Monopoly though. Board games just aren't FUN when you can't grind the unfortunate under your IRON of ANGRY DEATH], and, of course, creating a propaganda for the mass hegemony of the United States of Min.

This party was full of Revelations for me. Like the fact that either Sheila or Ana will get preggers first, at least according to the foul mouthed spirits that like directing the Magical Ouija Indicator. I swear to God, we got "Shi7" at least two times. And like ANY native English speaker, we automatically assumed shi7 to equal shit.

And the fact that The Ring isn't all as frightening as its cracked up to be. Now this comes as a revelation because I was still having nervous breakdowns a month after I watched The Sixth Sense, which, I heard from Brave Folk, was about as terrifying as The Jungle Book 2. However, these Brave Folk were still conviced that The Ring was as frightening as all hell. Therefore, when I learned that we would be watching The Ring at night and that I would have to leave before finishing it... Well. Suffice to say that I was wailing about the need for rubber sheets on the couch I was sitting on lest I PISS MYSELF STUPID IN FRIGHT. However, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Maybe it was because I was paying more attention on single handedly DEE-stroying my attempts at knitting. Or maybe it was the fact that my defense mechanism of EXTREME STUPIDITY + SNARK-ERY is undefeatable. But somehow, I didn't really see the extreme creepiness factor. Ok, so there's blood. Popping up in various, random places. Out of your nose. Out of your phone. And out of drowning ho'sses. While mildly inconvenient, I don't really see what's too freak out about. I mean, if it were BRAINS coming out of your phone or insane-with-syphilis-monkeys slithering out of your nose, I would understand the need to shit yourself. But, blood? Puh-lease that is SO twentieth century. I will proceed to snub you. The biggest factor, I suppose, was that I'm too slow/thick/Alcohol-baby-ized to see the creepy CONNECTIONS that LITTER the entire MOVIE. So it's Anna Morgan. Wow, doesn't she look like the zombie-banshee-girl with long hair if you draw on her face with pen? YEAH. But, so do the majority of the people. Especially if the z-b-girl's only distinctive feature is [GASP] that she hid her face with black hair. Bleh. I must admit though, that I actually spent more time staring in abject horror at my knitting [I had managed to turn the original 10 stitches into 17 stitches. I had the right to be horrified! Abjectly too.] than at the screen. So I probably missed out on some prime footage. That's good. Because right now I'm checking my closets for zombie girls with mucus running out of their eyes. That was FREAKY. Even though she did vaguely remind me of the orcs in Lord of the Rings. Hey, maybe they're related!

Yeah. So. The Ring. Not as creepy as I thought. AND I missed the ending. BAH. Somebody tell me lest I be forced to become a Disreputable Person and attempt to download it from kazaalite. ....... I've caved. But someone PLEASE tell me what happens in the end. I MUST NOW. HEAD WILL... IMPLODE FROM TENSION.

P.S. Sheila, you do NOT have permission to release unflattering pictures of World Dictator Min. Especially the one with me in that dorky muppet pose. Some villain is going to feel the backside of my HAND for taking that picture.

P.P.S We captured a cockroach, dubbed him Francisco Pizarro, stunned him with a Coke, and placed him aboard a model ship. And took some pictures of him. Unfortunately, he looked like the stereotypical Piss Drunk Sailor because he was lying on his back and flailing his legs about pitiably. BASTARD. Messing up the photo shoot. You're supposed to be a GLORIOUS Conquistador! For El Espagno [pssst. I don't take Spanish, can you tell?]! For the Queen! For MANIFEST DESTINY! ... Yeah. On second thought, a cockroach probably wasn't the best candidate. But no one else would fit on the boat.

Min loved the bomb @ 06:36 p.m. [ ]

Tuesday, August 26, 2003

Lookit momma! I'm listening to pseudo-rap! I'm BADASS. You no longer have to worry about my future. I am free from a future of geek-ery and sickly pale skin! I'm donning a bunch of gold chains and going GHETTO.

Ok... So its not that ghetto and the song sports some pretty snazzy piano bits, but hey. At least I'm not jamming along with ABBA now. Improvement makes me SMILE.

P.S. I am a big weiner. I have procrastinated and I have to cram in a bunch of Summer homework today. The day before I start school. WAAAUGH. Save me, Weather Man! I want a hideously dangerous, icy, DEATHLY blizzard of EPIC proportions! ...And a tornado! And a hurricane! And a nuclear fallout! NOW.

Min loved the bomb @ 02:02 p.m. [ ]

Saturday, August 23, 2003

Reasons why Guns, Germs, and Steel is not as hellishly bad as I though:
-- Last night I crushed a mutant giant moth with all 494 pages of Guns, Germs and Steel.
-- "The answer slowly emerged: he had confessed to repeated intercourse with sheep on a recent visit to the family farm."
-- "but the virus causing laughing sickness (kuru) in the New Guinea highlands used to pass to a person from another person who was eaten. It was transmitted by cannibalism, when highland babies made the fatal mistake of licking their fingers after playing with raw brains that their mothers had just cut out of dead kuru victims awaiting cooking."

Phwoar. I'm still vaguely intrigued about that whole Sheep-Sex!Dilemma. Not to mention, I want to be a New Guinea highland baby! Rock on Diamond.

Min loved the bomb @ 01:36 p.m. [ ]

Friday, August 22, 2003

Last night I had a dream that I got piss drunk on brandy [It tasted like Pepto Bismol. I have never tasted brandy but I'm relatively sure that it doesn't taste like Pepto Bismol. FIZZY Pepto Bismol.] before a ridiculously easy math exam. Naturally, when it came for me to actually take the exam, I couldn't see properly and proceeded to flunk six ways to hell and back. I believe some hyperventilating was wedged in there as well. And I thew up on my math teacher.

The sad thing is, this is the closest thing I've had to a nightmare in a month. [yanking of hair] Even my nightmares are dorky! I sob.

Min loved the bomb @ 05:37 p.m. [ ]

Thursday, August 21, 2003

So I'm back from the beach. Along the way, I kept trip notes in my HANDY DANDY, antiquated, clunky, hand-me-down-from-Father Palm III. While this little beauty is neither little nor a beauty, it game me relief in troubled times. And it contains the mad cool game of Solitaire Las Vegas style. Toobular baby. I lost $3035. Not toobular.

But here is my account from the beach. One hundred percent pure. Nothing added. Guaranteed. Sort of like Tropicana without the pulp.

8/17
Left for Myrtle Beach at 11:47 PM

8/18
Arrived at Myrtle Beach at 12:43 PM. Hella tired.

8/19
Am very sunburned. Leg is swollen and red. Amputation very probable. Godforsaken hotel towels smell foul. Someone is setting off firecrackers in front of our balcony. Don't know whether to be delighted or furious. Uh-oh. Is that HIP-HOP? Are those fuckos having a beach party? Note to Self: Bring/fashion some sort of BB-Gun or blowdart next time. Sniper Min vs. Cheeky Beach Teens!!! Dad says he saw a bat in front of our hotel balcony. Somebody deliver me from South Carolina.

8/20
Leaving S. Carolina today. Celebrating by watching as many Nickelodeon Cartoons as possible. Am very tickled. Nicktoons saves!
Road Trip so far:
-- J.R. Billboard: Everything from brassieres to chandeliers
-- Topless/Adult Bars: COUNTLESS!!! North Carolina is a soulless country. Very discouraging.
-- No decent radio stations in N. Carolina. Am distressed and sort of sick of the Ghostbuster's theme song.
-- Exxon has very posh bathrooms. Mad props.
-- Carsickness SUCKS BIG PIES! I want to be home!
-- N. Carolina is friggin' HUGE! KILL!
-- Leave Virginia rest stop at 5:25 PM. Am full of cup noodles and temporarily sassyfied.
-- Still in Virginia at 7 bloody 30 pee em. Note to self: Abolish Virginia.
-- Road game devised. For each state license plate that I see, look up state's capital and largest city. V. Educational. I am the summer education mastah!! I rule!
-- Bored of educational yet delightful road game after 30 mins. Nevermind. Road game sucks big time.

Min loved the bomb @ 10:49 a.m. [ ]

Sunday, August 17, 2003

I never learn my lesson.

NOTE TO SELF: Two inches is a damn lot of hair.

That's right. Another haircut. Another tale of woe. Let's just leave it as "my hair only comes up to the top of the shoulders. Barely". I will be in my room, assembling an assault rifle with the school supplies I find there. And I will let the hairdressing community know my wrath.

... And to make the SUCKING exponential, it was really all my fault. Me and my utter inability to estimate distances. [sobWEEPwoe]

Min loved the bomb @ 02:11 p.m. [ ]

Friday, August 15, 2003

I am a crime against humanity.... TEEHEE. MADLIBS!

FAIRY TALE

nce upon a time there has a young WARDEN named HENRY. He was SPEEDILY SUCKING in the EXPLOSIVE forest when he met METALLIC ANGUS, a run-away ACUPUNCTURIST from the CONCAVE Queen HEIDI.

HENRY could see that METALLIC ANGUS was hungry so he reached into his TUPPERWARE and give him his CRAPTASTIC OKRA. METALLIC ANGUS was thankful for HENRY's OKRA, so he told HENRY a very FANTASMIC story about Queen HEIDI's daughter BJORK. How her mother, the CONCAVE Queen HEIDI, kept her locked away in a SHACK protected by a gigantic GOPHER, because BJORK was so TOXIC.

HENRY SQUATTED. He vowed to METALLIC ANGUS the ACUPUNCTURIST that he would save the TOXIC BJORK. He would QUASH the GOPHER, and take BJORK far away from her eveil mother, the CONCAVE Queen HEIDI, and HORK her.

Then, all of the sudden, there was a INSIDE-OUT SANDSTORM and METALLIC ANGUS the ACUPUNCTURIST began to laugh. With a puff of smoke he turned into the gigantic GOPHER from his story. CONCAVE Queen HEIDI SHOT out from behind a LAWN CHAIR and struck HENRY dead. In the far off SHACK you could hear a BAMF.

THE END.

Make your own Fairy Tale at fuali.com

Min loved the bomb @ 01:26 p.m. [ ]

Thursday, August 14, 2003

Right now I am in one of those inexplicable frightened as all hell moods. Its not one of those frights that you get from watching a creey movie [I ought to know. After watching the Sixth Sense I very nearly widdled in my pants everytime I turned a corner and saw anything even remotely resembling a person. I am a giant sack of WUSS FLESH.]

Right now its a sort of dull, this-close-to-panicking-and-going-on-a-homicidal-rampage worry about the future. College and jobs and such. I'm sitting here, downloading WinAmp skins, garbling the words to Louie Louie, working half-assedly at my math homework, and grumbling over my GPA and SAT scores. And I am truly dreading college applications and college "Dear Min, We are truly glad that you applied to our college but our sense of SELF PRESERVATION tells us that we will guard our campus with every ounce of STRENGTH within our Muscular Physiques and we will blast ourselves into oblivion before letting you set foot in our Sacred Land"/"Yeah. Come on in." letters. I've applied to Internships and stuff and I've found that I truly SUCK at essays and that I don't have the "I started a soup kitchen, got a 1600 on my SAT, was a silver medalist at the Olympics, and made countless millions. When I was six" punch on my application.

And that's just with a measly internship. College applications will be much much worse because there'll be columns saying "Awards and Achievements". Essays asking "How do you feel about Wednesdays?" [actual application question] and other devious ways of measuring your aptitude... And I'll sit there. Look at it. And break down wailing. The GPA will not be up to par. The SAT will be slacking and drinking in bars instead of bounding into WOW! THIS IS THE FIRST TIME I'VE EVER SEEN A 1700 ON THE SATS!-land. And yet again, I'll be making up excuses and rueing the world.

Why? Because I'm a shallow fop who's consumed far too much questionable cantelope and has no idea what the hell she's talking about at the moment. Let's just settle and say "I am dead panicked about the Future and What It Holds and all I really want to do is remain a high schooler."

Suck it, old age. I'm finding a fountain a youth and a gun. I plan to be the next imperialistic conquistador with an undead army of youthful hoodlums! Like Hell's Angels but ten times cooler.

Min loved the bomb @ 02:45 p.m. [ ]

Wednesday, August 13, 2003

My little sister is watching Teletubbies. While this is not an unsual occurence in and of itself, the THROBBING TECHNO ACCOMPANIMENT is. Since when did Teletubbies go trance? UGH. The horror! I can imagine it:

TELETUBBY LAND has been transformed into a DISCO CLUB of immense proportions
[cut to a dance scene]
Tinki Winki is unashamedly grinding with The Little Red Midget Who's Name I Have Forgotten
Lala is getting absolutely smashed.
And Dipsy is pimpin' like there's no tomorrow.

... Death is too good for me.

Anyhow, life goes on as usual. After finding out that I have devoted 500+ words to my foot of all things, I have decided to end the Foot Incident by saying that all is well. Amputation did not occur and I no longer have to worry about the notion of having a wooden foot. Though I still think it'd be pretty handy in a brawl. I could take off my foot and hit people with it! Pretty swell, eh?

So yeah. I'm procrastinating. Not finishing my summer homework. And desperately hoping for a bigass avalanche to wipe the Eastern Shore off the face of the Earth. ...Except not my part of the Eastern Shore. That'd just suck. Just the part where my school is. C'mon teachers, its time to redraw your maps.

Min loved the bomb @ 10:20 a.m. [ ]

Tuesday, August 12, 2003

During this summer, I have realized that there are very many mellifluous, moving, and heart-rendering songs. They tug at your soul and make you weep or laugh or sing.

The Ghostbusters theme song sure as hell ain't one of them but its the best one to PRANCE ALONG to.
[dances] GHOST BUSTAHS!

Min loved the bomb @ 10:49 a.m. [ ]

Sunday, August 10, 2003

I have nevered been so scared of needles in my life. After my mother saw that my methods of curing my beleaguered ankle [aka. Advil. Advil. ADVILADVILADVIL. Crutches when mother is looking. Scampering about on both legs when Mother is promptly distracted] did not work, she decided to give the good old Korean Faith medicine a go.

In case you are not endowed with a Korean mother/grandmother/Older Family Relative of the Female Persuasion, let me explain what Korean Faith medicine consists of. A large part of it involves drinking foul smelling herbs in boiled water. An equally large portion involves crushing up aforementioned nasty herbs and smearing them into a thick paste. The more hideous the color, the better. And finally, it involves Acupuncture.

Now I have a healthy aversion to needles. I believe that this is firm evidence of my good breeding and evolutionary heartiness. I have an even healthier aversion to lying still and allowing a half mad old coot stick the needles into my flesh. Especially so if I'm shelling out 40 clams to get those needles lodged into me. Dammit, it's my appenditure! Go stick needles into your own foot if you're that bored. Leave me in peace!

So, yeah. My mother dragged me off to the acupuncturist today. The first thing I noticed when we arrived was the undeniable stink of MUSHROOMS. No joke. It reeked of mushrooms. And not your regular fungus. This was a PUNGENT mushroom. This is a mushroom that hath been the cause of many a fallen dynasty's grief. This is a Bad Mushroom. It also smelled of mothballs. The batty old man must be hording dead bodies in his pantry. But my mother said not to worry about the smell because it was herbal. And anything that was herbal was 110% A-Ok. Puh. She didn't say that after I got massive hives from playing poison ivy. Then again, she stated that Poison Ivy was not and never will be an herb.

So I sat on top of a little bed and tried not to boot the acupuncturist in the face when he stuck his bedeviled little needles into my feet. I guess the only thing stopping me was the fact that if I kicked him, I would throw off his aim and he would either accidentally stab the needle into an area that would really fucking hurt, or that he would be enraged by my heroic act of self preservation and lodge his pins in my eye. Which would also hurt. Lots. So yeah. I stayed admirably still with only the occasional eye twitch while a madman merrily mutiliated my beloved limbs with his foul, diseased pins.

My foot doesn't feel any better. And, I strongly suspect that he screwed up and doesn't want to tell me. If I end up dead next Thursday, his name is Dr. Lee.

Min loved the bomb @ 02:02 p.m. [ ]

Thursday, August 7, 2003

I've been having a series of really weird dreams lately. Meaning that the dream factory is back and revving up to speed, and all is well.

A few days ago, I had a dream that I was a hitman. My target? Princess Ariel of Little Mermaid fame. But in order to whack the broad, I needed to sit through an Underwater Concert. You know. Like the one in the movie with Sebastian as the conductor and then he gets his knickers in a twist because Ariel is busy looking for treasure and doesn't show up and... Yeah. I was a Little Mermaid kid from ages 3 to 4.

So putting that embarrasing revelation aside, I had to sit through a concert. Being in an underwater concert is surprisingly like being in a regular concert. No troubles breathing or walking around or anything. Those crafty mermen! Anyhow, the concert turned out to be a musical of Lord of the Rings. Tapdancing Ringwraiths, Saruman and Sauron as linedancers. It was horrific. My brain must truly be a thing of pure vileness. I plan to euthanize myself to save humanity after writing this entry.

But sorrowfully, during his dramatic entrance to the stage, Gollum got stuck in the trapdoor. In my rush to get the damn concert over with and get on to the infinitely more important task of plugging the Little Mermaid full of lead, I rushed on stage to pull Gollum out. Unfortunately, only his head was sticking out of the trapdoor. I grabbed hold of the miserable ex-pimp's ears and gave a mighty tug. Nothing happened. So there I was. In front of all the fish-folk on a suddenly empty stage pulling on Gollums ears to get him unstuck.

And unstick he did. Only not in the way I would have preferred....

His head popped off. Wait! It wasn't needlessly gory or anything. Imagine this scenarioo: You have an olive or a canape on a tulip. You pull off the olive.

That was exactly how it was. Except the olive was actually Gollum's head being manhandled like an immense soccer ball. And that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was that the audience started booing me. It wasn't MY fault that I beheaded Gollum! It was an accident! I was trying to help the pitiable Cro Magnons and they started BOOING. The ingrates! I vote that we all purchase nuclear powered submarines, sharpen out harpoons, and then play a merry round of Mermaid-on-a-Stick.

And then yesterday, I dreamt that I was on the Winter Olympic team for Finland. Except the entire Olympic team consisted of me and two other fellows. One fellow had a peg leg and the other had tuberculosis. Finland, you suck. So for the majority of the dream, I was running around in knee deep snow and clambering around glaciers in the coldest, most forsaken event that I have ever dreamed up: XXXtreme Relay Racing. That's right. We had to go mountaineering for one leg of the race, I believe. Anyhow, I managed to finish the race with all my limbs intact and only minor frostbite [Further proof that this was a dream]. I hiked back to our Olympic Accommodations, which turned out to be a fetid sod hut. Sucks to you, Olympic Committee.

There, my teammates and I prepped for our next event: Sailing. None of us had any experience in sailing so we came to the logical conclusion: We should all stuff our faces with cherry pie. While we gorged ourselves, we watched TV to see the current Olympic standings.

At the head of the entire event was fucking Botswana. Followed closely by Georgia and Krgistan [However you spell that thing]. If this is the future of the world, I plan on hijacking a space shuttle and blasting away to a foreign planet that is much more accomodating of my emotional need for things to MAKE SENSE.

But back to pie and Bostwana, our beloved Finnish Team was so immersed in the TV that we ended up being fifteen minutes late to the Sailing Race. Put that in your bong and smoke it. An Olympic team late to a race... But I never got to find out what foul machinations [SAT word alert!] the Olympic Committee had in plan for us because my alarm woke me up.

Speaking of which, why the hell am I using alarms during SUMMER VACATION?

P.S. I am listening to ABBA while writing this entry. I will never show my face in public ever again.

Min loved the bomb @ 11:48 a.m. [ ]

Tuesday, August 5, 2003

If this little SHIT of a bug doesn't stop whizzing about my computer, I'm going to bitchsmack it into the bowels of Hell.

This bout of bad temper has been brought on by my realization that my foot is turning purple from the heavy duty bruise mating-season that's been taking place there. And the pesky little bruises are making their way up my leg.

[Wail]. I was kidding when I said I wished to be a purple person! I didn't actually realize all the brutish pain that latched on for the ride. Oh the GRIEF. Heavy duty, lumberjack, I-Drive-A-Pickup-Truck Grief. Suck it, you artistes. You're pain and agony are nothing in the face of my bruise-hate.

When I grow up, I will abolish Tennis. And the only sport that will be legal will be recklessly violent blood baths [I'm thinking bowling but the bowling balls will be replaced with automobiles and the pins will be replaced with gaudy pedestrians] or very dull, non-mobile things. Like Scrabble. I'm rather fond of Scrabble. I think I won a game against my Grandfather using the word "Piss". Haha, Grandpa! You're wiliness is no match for my super-hipping semi-slang.

This entry is where hyphens go to DIE.

Min loved the bomb @ 11:55 p.m. [ ]

Tuesday, August 5, 2003

SWEET SASSEH MOLASSEH! IT'S A NEW LAYOUT!

And I'm all tuckered out and sassyfied with the pink. Layout whorism is SO IN.

Min loved the bomb @ 01:49 p.m. [ ]