Year of Carnage

If I were to die, I'd want to be remembered. More than just a measly facebook group with <60 members, with 3 wall posts. I'd want to be truly missed. Truly.

Mutated

I've decided I could never be a mother. If I gave birth to a deformed child, I wouldn't want it.

Garbage In, Garbage Out

In an attempt to move out of a (slightly) less than happy living experience, my roommate and I need to take matters into our own hands. In order to get out of our apartment lease, we must find new tenants.

However, our landlord is being quite difficult.

Not in the sense of "you can't! you must stay, I OWN YOU!"
No, just being as unhelpful as is humanly possible.

For starters, I have taken control of the situation. My roommate happens to be a hippie, and not the Abbie Hoffman type. The Cheech-and-Chong, fall-asleep-in-the-bathtub type.
So basically, I'm doing it all on my own.

Great.

Let's make some fliers. Let's post them. Let's receive a phone call from landlord->hippie a week later, informing us that the new tenants will pay $50 more in rent. So all those fliers? Waste. Oh, and the landlord knew I was making them. It was actually the landlords idea.

Ok, ok. No biggie.
My other ads are digital, and easily changed. Craigslist had been receiving some good hits, including one woman who is very inquisitive about the full price of moving in. I shall email the landlord, requesting her to email this woman, informing her of the costs, and taking an active landlord roll.

This morning, two days after I had sent the email, I receive this:

There is a first last payment due before move in plus a refebishing fee of $150


There's a what? And where do you keep your punctuation?
Well, ok, I can just mail this to that.... but wait, I cannot understand this sentence.

How can this person be in a place of power over me? This isn't just an off-day for landlord, nor is it a rushed answer. All things written by this person are like this. I'm actually surprised there aren't more unnecessarily cap letters.

On a side note, this person also made a typo in our lease agreement. Not just a "typeo" typo, more like confusing the word "responsible" with "reasonable."


And that counts as a legal document.

Boggle your mind

I actually understand why my parents are voting for McCain.

Mrs. Trollop

No, really.



Is it gross?



Or am I jealous?

Cracker Jack Decoder Ring

Having recently turned 21, I've noticed an increasing number of high school classmates becoming engaged, mostly to people from outside the cliques of HHS. Well duh, we're getting older, it's getting to be that time. Is it? To me, we as an age group, as a class, are not ready to make such a commitment. We can barely keep plans for the weekend. I cannot fathom these people having the finances to start lives together. What are they thinking?

I am beginning to think, maybe it isn't the marriages. Maybe it's the next step. The getting a house, settling down in one place for an extended time. Paying bills and keeping up with the Joneses. Then what, kids? Fuck that.

People of this age group are too self-involved to be able to commit themselves to anything, we are still moving too fast. Do these people have a career? Financial plans for the future? Or are they just hoping their new in-laws will croak and leave it all to the happy couple?

There is no way I could ever drag someone else into such a situation.
"I may have $61 to my name, but I don't care! Let's jump head-first into one of the most important decisions one makes in their lives.
With this perceived lack of planning, there is a strong percentage you will end up making this decision again. I'd say, 50%.

Maureen's Wrath

I am a hero.

Just a small one.

I saved the day, and a little kitty named Milo.

Humpty Dumpty

Excrutiatingly depressed lately.

Excrutiating.

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My computer's been in the shop for three weeks now. Ridiculous.
That word. You know why I spell "ridiculous" correctly? Because once a huge asshole that I cared for made fun of me for spelling it wrong. Rediculous.

Besides the point.

I have a doctors appointment on friday, I'm afraid.
I spent sunday night alone in my closet, bawling, making calls that weren't helping.
Being ripped apart.

Hard to say.

I need a real friend.
I need to love myself, and I don't.

And it terrifies me.

Your face is not your own

While I am unsure why, a picture of Dom and I suckin' face has made its way into the Albright-Knox Art Gallery. It's probably some kind of statement about myspace, privacy on the internet, modern women, blah blah SCANDAL! Teaching us a lesson of some kind. Modern artists and their novel ideas.

I'm in a winter coat, so it's not a flesh thing. I'm not embarrassed of such a picture. So what was the criteria? Why was my profile picture one of the chosen ones, out of... how many people are on myspace now? All the down-the-shirt boob shots and emo angles and legitimate non-myspace photos.
It's Interesting.

I guess I'm art to someone then. Now that's a strange concept.

Torrential Downpour

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