How fucking bizarre. A 24 year old Russian chick just sent an e-mail saying she wants to date me because supposedly she saw my profile on an online dating service. What the hell? I think it's just bulk mail trying to get me to get a profile. You guys may appreciate her more though. She's hot.

Quoting Nick B out of context. "They must do it pretty often at female sleepovers." -Nick B on female masturbation.

Women suck. They're catty, backstabbing, gregarious sheep. I'm glad I'm straight so that I don't have to date them. Whores. See, I'm glad that there isn't like an island run by women or anything because they'd all kill each other within three weeks with their conniving. At least a Male Island would be doing something cinematic like dropping bowling balls on each other's heads with planes and doing like.. I dunno, manly things like cavalry charges. Guys are more direct and rational. I don't see how they deal with chicks. It must drive them up the wall.

Like most girls, I have hypocritical fashion nitpicks for other people, because I'm perfect. Okay.

I should.. um. I'm perfect. My hair needs more volume. Maybe highlights. I need like, real clothes. Except those would be expensive. GUCCI. (Alex says, "contacts". Shut your face)

Alex is not noticing any of this stuff. BOY. He DOES, say, though, that "Mr. Willard looked good today. Normally he looks insane. His haircut sucks with the whole bang thing. I don't know what was different today; but he did look not as insane. And when he talks he looks like a FREAK. Have you noticed that? He looks like he's enunciating a bunch." No.

Alex says he's a mad hacker and you might see a post by him soon. MWAHAHAHAHAHA! And a map of Hawaii. hE's disturbing me.

Slept. Feeling better. Unpanicked. But still cruddy.

Oh, I'm silly. I believe I'm being hysterical. Ignore me. Sleeep.

Ah. I know what I'll say when I don't have a Samizdat article tomorrow. "I was.. uh.. feeling uncomfortable with my subject area. ... heh.." Let's write about Kraft maceroni and cheese. I'll be fine tomorrow, I hope. I get random emotional spazzes sometimes, well, no, once before on the first and second day of school when I got hella depressed for no reason at all, so this must be one of those except with panic. PANIC! PANIC! PANIC! Okay, I'm not done i'm done done. Right. i'm imrpessed I cann still spell and capitalize. I think I'll sleep. Ay there's the rub. Watch me die in my sleep. That'd be funny.

Crud, I wish I weren't being haunted by demons from hell. Now I need a new Samizdat topic, because a visit to Satan's homeland may be a little much right now. Or a new passtime at least. I know. Writing trivial Blog entries. YES! HAHA! (Quiet you, it's keeping me sane. Alex. You feel sorry for me. Bring me some prozac and chocolate tomorrow... yesyesyesyesyes.. *giggle snort stomp randomsoundeffect*) What am I HIGH on?

Oh, goody.

*nervous laughter* Oh god. There's got to be something I can do besides gnawing on my knuckles. fuckkkk

It's been a normal day, but I've been feeling funny. Sort of like a violin string that's been wound too tightly. I don't know why. It's the day after Thanksgiving Break and everyone's all relaxed and in a good mood, except for me. I have this 'black rising wave of panic' feeling going on, which sounds like something off of Nick's Goth Quote Generator, except it's true. It comes and goes, and I don't know why, and it makes me nervous. It's creepy. I remember yesterday squelching some unpleasant memory. I was thinking, "I never want to remember this for the rest of my life, but it's not like I can consciously block out my memories, so the best thing to do is not think of it." So I didn't think of it. Except today, when I remembered that I was supposed to be Not Remembering and Not Thinking About something. I've been trying to remember it, and going through all the bad memories and deeds I've had that could possibly make me want to black it out, because in order to face this panic thing, I've got to cast some light on its source. But for the life of me I can't remember what It was. Maybe it's a blessing. Apparently I can have selective amnesia.

I don't want to write my Samizdat Satanism article. Because in order to do that I'll have to go back to the Church of Satan page, and it "fills me with fear and wonder". Because it makes Satanism look moral, and it's very rational, simple, intelligent and humorous. I'm not Christian, but I have this feeling of looking into this deep dark cold (dammit, maybe it's because my computer's in the basement) pool, before diving in and losing my soul. I'm nuts. I'm fucking nuts. But I don't want to do this.

Jesus, someone save me.

I didn't get a chance to blog yesterday. It was my second Thanksgiving dinner, on Saturday. Because my sister and my... brother-in-law (god that sounds weird) had dinner with his side of the family on actual Thanksgiving. Once again, I am the king of mashed potatoes. ROCK. And this year, my brother-in-law didn't get drunk as shit and throw up in our bathroom. It made up for me spending all day with my parents in Wal-mart. -_-. At least I got me some Zelda strategy guides. And a magazine with interviews with Lord of the Rings people. All the women in this magazine (the "Women of Science Fiction" posters ad) are half naked. What a time of empowerment.

Went to church today. For a violin recital rehearsal. It's been forever since I've been to church. No love lost. It amuses me to no end that in Lufia, the RPG I got for my friend, to save the game, you have to go inside a church. Basically.. you must go to church to be Saved! It's pretty funny that there are so many church-like buildings in RPG's, but no one's actually Christian.

I bought me some new shoes. They're beautiful. Worship them, mortals. I am easily made happy by material goods. Ahhhh. Luxury.

Today has been the day of belated revelations. Apparently, Chinese and Japanese are really close. 'Cute' in Mandarin is 'ke ai'. In Japanese, it's 'kawaii'. The sad thing is that I've known these two seperate pieces of knowledge for a long time, I just never bothered connecting them until now. Translating from Chinese is a bitch. Here's a poem translated literally by me, for your viewing pleasure.

Grape fine wine night light cup
Before drink piypa horse up blow
Drunk (something) sand field please refrain laugh
Ancient come war how many return?

Now. What the hell is that? Please?? GothJesus, I hope Chinese to English translators get paid more than I do. I'm proud of my translating work on this poem, actually. I can make it rhyme. Here goes. Meter is too much to be hoped for.

Fine grape wine, night's glow in a glass.
Before I drink the sound of a lute on horseback wafts.
Drunk on the sandy battlefield, please don't laugh
Of the ancient pitched battles, how many men come back?

Better, I should hope. Blegh. Cantonese pisses me off. I'm like the only one at school who speaks that dialect and isn't an immigrant from Singapore, except for Chris Lee. I need to change my blog template- it makes my posts look way too long. I'd do it, if I knew how to move my comments too.

Second revelation of the day. Nick S is a Discordian. Hence, Discordo.blogspot.com. And multiple references to Eris. god, I'm so stupid.

I AM THE KING OF MASHED POTATOES.
On another note.
People somehow universally think I'm referring to Nick S in my 11/20 blog. I wasn't. He seems to be quite happily depraved. Anyone with Hawaiian shirts and a seven inch shlong can't be too depressed. I was referring to some sad depressed people I met on The MoFo. I love the place; it's been my home away from home since 6th grade. I love the people. Even if they're crazy. Like Frederik, who got manically depressed about a bus driver telling him not to drink juice on the bus. And got locked inside a museum in Sweden after closing time. And Rich, who insists that Sonic the Hedgehog is real, and heard voices from cartoon characters in his head. There are other depressed people, but they're not as mentally ill, as far as I know. I have enough Angsty friends who're depressed for a variety of reasons, and for the most part the last thing they need is some shit telling how they should be happy and stop whining. I'm thankful for their existance. Even if they aren't thankful for their own.

There's a funny headline on the AIM news ticker. "Girl Crushed By Cross At Brother's Grave." It's a riot! The article itself is quite tragic, which is why I'm not bothering to link to it, but the headline is hilarious. WOOHA! It's too late at night.

Came back from my friend's birthday party. She's addicted to the RPG I gave her. We tried to three-way call Alex, but it was his answering machine, which, due to some technological explanation that I fail to understand, created some endless loop on our phone lines. So we hung up. Lots of Karaoke in Chinese. I am somehow associated with trance music, and "Chicago House". Sounds like the name of a salad dressing. I don't like Thanksgiving. It's BORING.

I'm happy, actually. Without a crack-encrusted trenchcoat. HAHA, I love that term! See, see, little things make me happy, like it being Thanksgiving and me sleeping straight for four days. Woo! Four! Big things never happen to me. I feel I ought to experience things in life to make me elated, like ... I dunno. Snowboarding in the first snow of winter or rock climbing demented sandstone formations or other Mountain Dew/Viagra commercial stuff. I'll take what I've got though. Which is why I'm not depressed.

Good, my blog thing works. I swear I had linked to my Flaming Fork ASCI last time.

Oh, by the way. Go here. It's funny.

I'm being linkariffic, but my life is rather boring, so I'm entertaining you with other people's life happenings instead. I don't know what I'd prefer- feeling profoundly depressed and angsty, or just numb to the world. Not feeling pain may be a curse in itself. The Univalves, or whatever we call ourselves tend to belittle teenage angst as the ranting of the self-important. If you curse, if you go to school dressed in black, if you're horrendously left-wing, we like to brand you as immature attention-getters, and to a certain extent it's true, in that if you truly don't five a fuck about The Man's opinion, why go out of your way to displease him? But just because you aren't starving or you aren't abused doesn't mean that you must be happy. Lack of suffering does not chain you to an obligation to be happy. Well, it's one reason to be happy, but happiness is more than just not suffering. Any animal can Not Suffer. Then it dies, and worms eat it. That's the fundamental principle of teenage angst. You've achieved survival. And then? And then? What do you do with your life? What do you want to do? I suppose you could shake EvilGothBrooders by the collective collars of their crack encrusted trenchcoats and go, "Shut up and LIVE, you motherfucking bastards!" but that's their own battle to fight, and one hell of a battle. Not yours. If that makes any sense at all.

Thespark.com's test says I'm 35% slut. Go me.

Leonids rocked. ROCKED!!!! Motherfuckers. Woooooo!

I had a dream that I blew up a balloon inside a giant atrium, and if I held onto the neck of the balloon, I could fly. I could go lower too, by letting some of the air out. It was fun.

Eh. According to this web survey, I have a seven inch long mental penis. >_< They should have a boob survey for girls. BOOOBBBIESS! Ahem. Sorry. A second time, I filled in what I thought would be the right answers, just for the halibut, and it said I had a three inch penis.